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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Aeogeus on 2024-04-10 07:50:18.

First Chapter/Previous Chapter

Tamara woke the following day feeling refreshed. She had slept like a baby and felt she could take on the world right now. Tamara followed the usual routine: wait to warm up, get dressed, and go downstairs. As she reached the last step, she saw her mother sitting at the table.

A little odd, she thought; she was usually up before mom was, but this had happened before, usually when she had tuckered herself out after a lot of play.

“Morning, Mom,” she said in a cheerful tone.

Pancha looked at her daughter and, with a smile, said, “Good morning Tamara.”

Pancha was sipping a steaming cup. “What are you drinking, Mom?” Tamara asked.

Pancha removed the cup from her lips and said: “just hot water and some mint leaves to make it a little interesting.” This was a common tactic for Lamias to help them warm up, usually if they had a busy day ahead.

“Did something come up?” Tamara asked, curious as to why her mother would need a boost today.

“You could say that it’s Odalinde. She hasn’t been doing her job much lately; she keeps disappearing,” Pancha clarified. This was a little disturbing. Tamara was not particularly fond of Mrs Odalinde, that was true, but she was always known to do her work.

Tamara let the information swirl in her head and then asked, “Would you like some help?” Tamara did not particularly want to, but what she hated most was making her mom struggle when she could do something about it. Samuel could wait until noon.

Pancha smiled again. She had such a sweet daughter. “No, it’s fine,” she said, “all I have to do is corner her and make her do her work. You go out and play and maybe learn some more from Aarush.”

Tamara double-checked and then triple-checked that her mother did not need help. Pancha gave her daughter a big, long hug and a large kiss on her forehead, and she sent her on her way. As the door closed behind Tamara, Pancha thought to herself, “Finally, she stopped going to see that monster.”

Part of Tamara wanted to hurry over to see Samuel, but another part of her wanted to see Hansad and Becanda. She felt a little bad for neglecting them for so long, so she decided to spend the morning with them and then go and find Samuel this afternoon.

At this time of day, Becanda would probably be at the market with her mother, getting something for dinner, and with luck, she would run into Aarush there. Maybe they would listen to him if they wouldn’t listen to her.

She passed many people, and they all stopped her to ask how she was; she had not been around the village for so long, and they were getting worried. She calmed them down and assured them that nothing was wrong and that she was perfectly fine.

Tamara raised herself on her tail so that she was now two and a half metres tall and started to scan her surroundings, trying to find a head strewn with ribbons, but as she was observing a stall filled with apples, she felt something tap on her tail.

Tamara turned around and saw Becanda gently and continually poking her. Becanda looked Tamara dead in the eye while saying nothing and just kept prodding. Tamara endured this momentarily until she finally said: “are you having fun?”

Becanda smiled and said, “Oh yes, don’t mind me.”

Tamara let this continue for about ten more seconds when she asked: “can you stop?”

Becanda replied with “yes” and kept on poking.

Tamara then asked, “Will you?”

Becanda once again said “yes” and still did not stop poking her.

Tamara then said, “Now?”

Once again, Becanda said “yes,” and this time, she did stop.

Tamara lowered herself to her usual height and said, "It’s good to see you.”

Becanda smiled again and hugged Tamara, “The same here; I heard you have been spending your time with Mr Aarush.”

Tamara let out a little laugh inside her head; everyone thought that she had been neglecting Samuel to spend time with Aarush, which was not entirely false, “Yeah, we have been learning a lot recently.”

“Really like what?” asked Becanda.

Tamara did want to tell her, but she did not want to repeat herself, so she said: “I will tell you, but first, we must find Hansad.”

Becanda begrudgingly accepted, and the two of them set off to find Hansad. They searched every part of the market for any sign of either Hansad or his parents but found nothing.

The two of them headed to the edge of the village, and Becanda said: “Maybe we should go to his house and ask his dad?” Tamara agreed as she turned around and literally bumped into Aarush.

“Hello, Tamara; where are you and your friend heading?” he asked.

Tamara was a little surprised to see him, but then she remembered that she had not agreed they would see Samuel in the afternoon and had probably been looking for her.

“Hello, Aarush, we are looking for my friend Hansad,” Tamara replied.

Aarush was a little confused. He, after all, assumed that they would go and see Samuel again. However, before he could say anything, Becanda almost blurted out, “Hello, Mr Aarush; Tamara is going to tell us all about the stuff you taught her.”

Aarush was once again confused and said, “But I…” however, he glanced at Tamara and realised he should not speak of that for now. “Umm… yes, in fact, I could tell you myself if you want?”

Becanda’s face practically lit up, her eyes almost sparkled, and a small part of Aarush told him he might regret this.

“What does your friend look like?” Aarush asked the two girls.

“Umm, he’s a Cicindeli and stands about yay high,” Tamara said; she placed her hand a little below her shoulder to represent this.

“He has short black hair, black arms and legs,” Tamara added.

Aarush felt this sounded familiar and remembered that he had seen someone who looked like that, “I think I saw him heading towards that clearing near the village edge with some other people.”

Tamara, Becanda and Aarush travelled to the play area, Becanda asking Aarush questions all the way. They were stopped several times by passers-by who wanted to pick Aarush’s brains about various topics. Still, after a particularly long talk with Mrs Candace, they finally reached the play area.

Hansad was playing catch with Annora, a Lamia with sky-blue scales and hair; she was a little older than Tamara and was the most girlie girl you could imagine.

Tamara said to Aarush like she was talking to a naughty child, “You said that he was here with friends, not a friend.”

Aarush replied, like a little boy being cheeky with their mother, “No, I said that he was heading here with friends; the other two must have left.”

Hansad saw the three heading towards them, that he forgot about the ball heading for his face. The ball made contact with his face, and everyone started laughing. Aarush tried to contain it to a quick snicker. Annora turned around to see who was laughing and what had distracted Hansad.

Annora smiled and said, “Hello, Tamara. I haven’t seen you in a while. Hi Becanda.”

Tamara smiled back and replied, “Yes, well, I have been a little busy recently.”

Annora started to run her finger through her hair, most likely checking for any knots or tangles, Tamara presumed. Annora then said: “Hello Mr Aarush, why are you here?”

“Well, I was trying to find Tamara so that we could… talk,” Aarush answered.

“What about?” Hansad asked, his curiosity peaked.

Aarush tried to think about something that would not bring Samuel into it: “Well, we mostly learn about the world and its many wonders.”

Becanda, Hansad and Annora stood bolt upright, and Aarush said: “Ok, gather round, and I will tell you.”

The five of them sat down on the grass. Aarush spoke at length about everything Samuel had told him before, particularly about the world’s size and the volcanoes; several hours of talking and asking questions went by. Aarush had to admit that it was pretty stimulating.

Tamara then nudged Aarush’s side and gave him a look, and Aarush knew it was time to go. Aarush said, “Well, I’m pretty tired, and I could do with some lunch so we can continue this another time.” There was a lot of moaning, and Annora kept asking him to stay, but Aarush put his hooves down, which was the end of it.

They managed to get away from them and passed through the market. Then, a thought occurred to Aarush.

“Why don’t we bring those three with us? That way, we could show them they are wrong about Samuel?” he asked.

Tamara was not surprised; she had considered the same thing, but she knew how that would end, “I would like to, but none of them will come, and if they would come, if we show them where Samuel lives, there is a good chance they will tell someone who would do something they will regret.”

Aarush was unsure and responded: “Are you so certain of that?”

Tamara said, “Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?” Aarush replied.

“Because that is how you acted when you first met him.” Aarush conceded that she was right, and to be perfectly honest, he quite enjoyed knowing the secret of where a human lived.

They entered the woods and passed through them without much happening, though a bird almost relieved itself on Aarush’s back. They came up to the extension and saw no sign of Samuel, so Tamara screamed Samuel’s name at the top of her lungs. They waited for several minutes, and still, Samuel did not appear. Tamara was about to go down the stairs to find him, but then she noticed something written in the dirt of his vegetable patch...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1c0eaoq/here_be_humans_chapter_11/

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/themegauser on 2024-04-10 06:56:11.

I met a human once a long time ago. Back when earth still sang.

They were a Hardy people. Survivors through and through. They even managed to prosper in places most thought impossible. But they always held a special place for their home. Staunch Protectors of the cradle that birthed them. But the most notable aspect of them was the art, the music. They were a melting pot of cultures and ideas. This making for cultural innovation on scales few races have the capacity for, and fewer still would actively pursue with such zeal.

Anyone within scanner range could tap into the media of earth. They never tried to encrypt it. Claiming it as spiritual enrichment owed to all life. It was only in the final days that we saw a new side to them, a fierceness we thought them incapable of. And the sorrow with which they could lay waste to others.

When the great machines came from beyond, the rest of us fled, and who could blame us?

When star sized behemoths are eating their way through your systems, only the mad and the stupid stay behind in defence of a heap of rock. But it's a funny thing, madness, as well as stupidity. They are so awfully close to bravery and bravery the humans had in abundance.

Whilst the coalition of the time pulled back its borders and evacuated homeworlds towards colonies, the humans did the reverse. Pulling all resources from their colony efforts and making Sol into a fortress the likes of which we hadn't thought possible, and to this day, we scarcely have the capacity to replicate. The great imperial palace is modelled after the remnants of Sol, after all.

They striped themselves of their precious culture, silenced the ever-present hum of life that raduated from their world and shifted into a war economy we still use as an emergency model.

They held on longer than all expected, longer than many dared to dream. So long, in fact, that some began to think they could hold forever.

Hope. They gave us hope. That we might still return victorious to our own homes. And then, try as they might. They could hold no longer. After 10 cycles under a siege that broke other systems in days, the mighty Sol defence buckled. And the machines swarmed in.

And as we watched the great Sol bastion be breached, they sang.

They sang a melody to the stars themselves. Billions of souls sang as one, in defiance to the machine god that ate the sun.

They ended the war that day. Detonated a dark matter bomb we had only theorised possible. And cleaved the known galaxy in two.

The last words from earth, a line from a 39th century poet.

"Let this aspect of babylonia cleanse away the darkness"

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/PolishChurchNo4 on 2024-04-10 06:21:12.

As of the Standard Year 2759, the Terran government has requested the creation of a defensive pact between themselves and our Federation. Due to the nature of this request, I am tasked to evaluate their military capabilities for a more cohesive joint-command. (Note: I learned this term from a human diplomat. He told me about a similar pact created in their 20th century, which used this term often.)

First, I must describe a bit of their history. Despite their rather weak build compared to other member races of the Federation, the humans have a violent past. They have had wars with death tolls in the millions, even before the development of nuclear fission.

Here, I draw attention to the enigma of humanity. Despite their incredible ability to wage war; of which we will immerse ourselves at a later date, the humans have a rich culture. They have a wide variety of music, art, food, and many other forms of entertainment. If I found myself in a different field of study, perhaps I would explore this culture.

At this point, I must bring up recent history. In Standard Year 2687, the Jix'nal Empire ( approximate standard spelling ) invaded Terran space. Upon this, the humans demonstrated another unusual ability of their society. Their ability to enter a state of self-proclaimed "Total War". In these times, most human tensions and frictions between their sub-jurisdictions dissolve almost instantaneously. Their military opens temporary recruitment and training facilities, humans put themselves to work manufacturing weapons, gathering materials, and transporting said weapons and materials. If their Marine Corps or Army lack troops, young men and women will step up. If their Navy needs ships, many humans are ready to offer up cargo shooners, large yachts, or anything large enough to mount a railgun.

One particular facet of this violent past combines with their ability for "Total War." Due to the mass production of military assets in the past, they have large stockpiles of weapons and ammunition ready to dust off and send to the front. I recently met a yacht captain who told me about an unusual program their navy has. On certain occasions, they mount outdated high-caliber artillery weapons, some of which are nearly 600 years old. I met a marine who told me about the rifle she carried, which was of the "M4" pattern. This unit was nearly 200 years old. A combat engineer I spoke to was using an armored vehicle known as the "M60A3E9U17Q2"(another unusual feature of human technology, they really like their "alphanumerical" designations). He stated that although this unit wasn't meant for frontline combat, he secretly hoped that some enemy would "FAFO" ( an ancient phrase from their early internet ) so that he may just get to "try it out". I should note this vehicle is once again nearly 600 years old. (Perhaps a large conflict occured in that timeframe?)

In a brief conclusion, I find that although even their most modern equipment is primitive; still being mostly ballistic in nature, their ingenuity and ability to cooperate may allow them to be a valuable ally in future conflict, as well as possibly providing assistance in Research and Development.

♧My first post here, feel free to rip into it with criticism

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Telemachusfar on 2024-04-10 05:31:03.

The impromptu camping trip continues! I don't really know where to put this and here seems like the best place so just a little announcement! I have set up a Ko-fi for anyone feeling particularly generous. The link is in my bio. I feel I should stress that it is in no way expected and I will *not* be gating any content behind paywalls or whatnot. It is simply there for anyone who really enjoys Pen's story and is in a place to be generous. As always, though, I'm appreciative simply for yall's readership and happy you're enjoying the story.

Anyway enough babbling, thanks for reading! :)

Gareth settled into what he assumed to be a long stretch of boring waiting. That said it could easily be the opposite of boring, that is dangerous and utterly terrifying, and considering the options he’d take boring with thanks and sun. Still, in times like these he much prefers to have one of his books to pass the time. Instead, he’d have to content himself with watching the last bits of light disappear from the horizon.

Pine trees.

They were a very odd kind of plant to him. nearly opposite in his mind to the plant life he was used to. The islands of Weilia were few and far between but the plant life they supported was smaller in scale on a general level and their leaves were wide and heavy. Pine trees had an alien spikiness to them, as if daring something to try them.

His eyes wandered from tree to ground to fire. All of it made him hold his legs closer to his chest and arms. He scooched a little closer to Pen.

Soon enough the only source of light was the crackling fire and as if in direct response to his lamentations of boredom the universe provided.

Chirping and cooing came unseen from tree branches. Chittering echoed from deeper into the trees, far too far into the shadows for Gareth to make out a source. The buzzing of insects grew from one or two to a permeating constant noise. No amount of straining eyes brought clarity and in minutes the sounds were so varied it was nearly cacophonous. The only time the sounds would die down were when a sharp wind took the trees for a few seconds at a time.

“Umm Pen?”

Snore.

“Pen…”

“MMmmm”

“There are… a lot of things around us. a lot of different things all making lots of sounds… are they?”

“Soundssss good. Lemmeknow… if everything goes real quiet. Bad.” She started snoring again.

“Umm alright. Will… will do.”

His eyes darted around. Sound was good. Silence was bad. Didn’t make much sense to him but he told himself that it would be best to rely on Pen’s experience, not that it really helped to calm him. Pen’s presence, though, did have a small calming effect. If she could allow herself to fall unconscious then certainly they were safe.

He looked over to her. That barrel of a chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm. He thought of the scars and his eye went to her leg. Rolled over as she was, he couldn’t see the scar on her left arm. He could see her leg, however. The odd mottling pattern was uncomfortably reminiscent of what heat would do to his shell. He couldn’t look for too long and quickly shifted his attention back to their surroundings.

He occupied himself by trying to mentally catalogue all the bird sounds he heard as time passed. An hour or two passed like this. The only really noteworthy event being a slight scare in the form of an owl. The two large forward facing eyes glowed in the firelight before it dropped of its high perch and glided away into the dark forest.

After another hour Gareth witnessed what he was really afraid of happening. Pen hadn’t moved much as she slept but now, she began shuddering. Her shoulders would jolt and her stomach would seize up. Her breathing also lost the rhythm it had becoming halting and quick.

“Mmh”

“Pen?”

He considered moving over to her but Deag’s interaction one of the first nights she was aboard the Nebula held him in place.

“MMH!” It was as if she were trying to yell but couldn’t open her mouth or put any energy behind it.

Part of him wanted to try to wake her. If he could pull her out of whatever was happening then shouldn’t he? With that in mind he started to move towards her but was stopped. Suddenly she thrashed about inadvertently rolling herself onto her back.

He didn’t know what to do. Would waking her work? Would it be okay? What if she lashed out? Questions on questions swirled around in his mind but he noticed she’d gone quite still. The balled-up clothes she used for a pillow had come out from under her head and now her dirty blond hair was getting caked with dirt.

Gareth was on his knees now but waited, watching her.

After a moment of stillness, a terrible jolt ran through her and her eyes shot open. Her head whipped around, and she locked eyes with Gareth. She had a furious look over her face, her eyes wide, pupils dilated. Quickly, though, reality came crashing back and wherever she was previously drained away.

Everything passes and they were left just looking at each other. Gareth was to stunned to move. He didn’t know what to say.

Pen turned away quickly, heat rushing through her face. She fiddled with the makeshift pillow and laid back down. Her back turned once again; she spoke.

“Few more hours and we’ll head out.”

He had to take a moment to process what she said.

“It’ll still be dark.”

“That’s fine.”

“Pen are… I uh…” He stopped, totally unsure of what to say.

He waited a moment, hoping she’d pick up where he left off but she gave him nothing but silence. Seconds turned to minutes and the window passed him by. Eventually he just went back to listening to the sounds around them. He was far too distracted to really put any thought into it but Pens silence gave him little else to do. He did note that, at her outburst, the sounds of the surrounding forest had gone quiet for a few moments.

A few more hours passed and Gareth noticed Penelope start to stir. She coughed some to clear her throat and came to a sitting position before stretching a few good pops from her back.

“You good to get going” She asked as she stood.

“Um sure, its still dark though. It will be for another hour or so, you could sleep a little longer if you need.”

“I’m fine.”

He considered asking how she slept but figured stupid questions got stupid answers. Instead he just watched as she shook out her clothes and threw them on quickly. Rather than wearing her heavier shirt she elected to tie it around her waist. Then she crouched down and took the helmet-full of water they’d boiled.

“You need-” she started but was stopped with an upraised hand.

“Not a ton of anything I need so by all means.”

“Thanks.”

She brought the rim of the helmet to her mouth and tipped it back, and back, and back. Finally, she let out a heavy, satisfied sigh.

“Ahhhh. Good shit.”

She hooked a warped piece of the helmet into the hanging sleeve of her shirt and tied the sleeve off securing the helmet.

“Rea-” she stopped, kicked dirt over the last smoldering bits of the fire until it was totally muted and continued, “Ready. And don’t worry, I’m not gonna make you run for ten minutes before picking you up this time. Hop on.”

She knelt down again and Gareth hopped up onto her back. With the shirt tied around her waist he could now brace his webbed feet against the rolled up part of the shirt. It didn’t totally solve the rough ride but he’d take it and appreciate it even more as the terrain turned more and more rocky.

A short bit of travel passed before Gareth plucked up the courage to say something about the previous night.

“Um Pen, about last night. I… I don’t want to bring up if you don’t… I just want to make sure you are-”

“I’m fine.” She said curtly.

Gareth noticed the edge in her tone and lamented somewhat.

“But… thank you.”

“If you want to talk-” He was cut off by a hard landing as she dropped down from a ledge.

He didn’t finish the sentence and she didn’t speak up but he didn’t notice the same cold shoulder she’d given any of them when they’d pushed the topic previously. Just silence and the working rhythm of her movement.

They inadvertently kept near to the river as they went. It meandered close at times and quite far at others but generally they seemed to be heading towards its source.

Their trek took them up to the lip of a shallow chasm that cut into the forest, splitting it like an eye. Pen stopped at the edge and looked either way. Both directions would add hours to their journey if they tried to circumvent it. Pen looked back to her travelling companion with a look that did not instill joy.

“What are you thinking now?”

“Im thinking itll be faster to just climb down and then back up the other side.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“You think all my ideas are terrible ideas.”

“That’s because they generally are.”

She smirked, only half hidden by his position behind her.

He didn’t fail to notice it though and huffed.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy terrorizing me.”

“… A little.”

“That’s sick Pen.”

She only chuckled.

Previous

First

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Storms_Wrath on 2024-04-10 04:59:11.

First Previous Wiki

"So," the Pan-Andes Union diplomat said. "You made a special type of nanite?"

"Not exactly," the hivemind replied. "I made a far smallr machine that is capable of generating its movement using psychic energy as fuel. Notably, it also can take conceptual energy, and does not lose its abilities after being exposed to a psychic power suppression field. The Lien Principle, which is that all atoms have the capability to store, act, and be acted upon by psychic energy according to their mass, charge, and size, has been proven as true."

"And do you believe the possibilities of this outweigh the potential damage it could do?" Juan Pedros asked. "I, for one, remember reading several articles about 'Grey Goo' apocalypses. And while most of those no longer apply on the whole due to the Human Diaspora, Earth, Luna, Skandikan, and several other highly populated planets should be entirely off-limits for this type of technology to come to use. If the Sprilnav can corrupt it, which they might, we would all be killed with no defenses we can use to prevent that."

"I concur," the American President said. "We will not support any efforts in cislunar space. However, we can discuss opening a testing facility in a more proper location, secured, but capable of quick destruction if necessary. I would propose having a station to test this on, inside the orbital radius of the DMO's satellites, so we can manually push the thing into Sol if we must."

"A fine idea," the Russian President agreed. "My American counterpart's words are sensible for us as well. I do not believe you would find any objections here."

Blistanna nodded. The Guulin Congressional Republic had joined the UN now and was fully recognized by every nation on Earth. Canada had led the outreach efforts and was rapidly moving up through great power status on Earth. The hivemind knew that such labels had limited application in the context of the Alliance, though. Even Dilandekar ruled an entire planet, and Izkrala had several under her thumb.

The most powerful Earth nations generally could collectively equal the might of Izkrala, if the DMO was factored in. And the rest of the Alliance combined could roughly equal about half of Phoebe's presumed economic and social influence. The hivemind had fought hard to ensure that Edu'frec knew the bounds Phoebe already would not cross.

Self-determination was a paramount value of Humanity, even with the messy history that had resulted. But a mess could sometimes be considered art with the right eye. So, too, could the complex dances that made up Earth and Luna's geopolitical scenes constitute a grand tapestry of common struggle and communion.

"So," the Chinese diplomat said. "It seems we agree on that, then. We will draft a full resolution soon, after the hivemind gives us more information on what, precisely, this achievement could mean, and also could not mean. It is crucial for us to know exactly how dangerous this could be if things go wrong."

"That's the thing," the hivemind said, pulling up several documents that simplified the complex scientific theories and concepts as far as they reasonably could be.

"There is reasonable evidence that we have just managed to create a tiny quantity of true programmable matter. There are many applications for this. The primary application is in manufacturing. Factories could quickly adapt their production lines on the scale of minutes to accommodate needs. Production of incredibly complex objects could become increasingly simple at scale, with no major economic costs besides the opportunity cost present when a factory produces anything at all.

There are more benefits possible. Better graphene meshes. Purer superconductor coils for quantum computers. Faster microchip fabrication, and increased satellite and civilian ship production. Personal shields, hard light holograms, firearms, oxygen tanks, space stations, personal computers, communicators, and wireless broadcasting devices with finer tuning and larger ranges. The secondary benefit is military.

Programmable matter, in a possible respect, might enable the creation of self-repairing material. Armor in suits, or hulls on smaller spaceships that could reasonably support the movements with extra psychic power. Psychic suppression field shielding with direct objects. Mindscape-adjacent shielding, and possibly even methods to produce the ultra-strong alloys the Sprilnav use when neutronium is too expensive. There are more uses, of course.

As for what we cannot do, we cannot use it to make self-replicating technology. That law is enforced by the Source to an uncanny and intelligence degree. All attempts to circumvent that directly have failed, including the construction of purely biological Von Neumann probes. With even Skira unable to breach that ironclad rule, it is unlikely that our programmable matter might do the same. There is also no guarantee that this could not be controlled by an enemy, like the Sprilnav.

We have a few records of the existence of programmable matter, mostly from older and more advanced civilizations than any but the Sprilnav. Most of those civilizations are either in the galactic core or entirely gone. We do not have information from the Sprilnav that confirms any more than our suspicions. Phoebe has been unable to retrieve information related to programmable matter from Sprilnav networks, civilian, academic, or military.

In the same thread, we do not know if the Sprilnav would be able to directly harness this against us, or how to stop such a technology if it was turned upon us. With further study and full authorization from the UN, I can direct more scientists and funding from the DMO and the United Nations Technological Organization. If there is more information you wish to have on this topic, it is inside the Technological Council database and can be accessed through a connected terminal."

"You have done quite a lot of work for Humanity, hivemind," the Australian Prime Minister said. "We are quite grateful."

"Some might say too much. That said, we would prefer a testimony from the scientists involved in this project as well, when your research is fully finished. We understand that you called this meeting to help us get ahead of the severe consequences of this technology's revelation inside our growing arsenals."

As each person expressed their concerns and ideas, the hivemind expanded its considerations for impact even more. Humanity as a whole wasn't ready. Sure, they might be soon. But now? Certainly not. And given the problem of the Sprilnav, things such as this would likely only continue to happen.

Eventually, it was all finished. Everyone took a short recess, reorganizing their documents and getting food and drinks. Then they returned, windows flicking online or holograms appearing in the actual meeting room.

"So," the Chinese diplomat began. "Now, we must discuss the collective action Humanity will take regarding Penny Balica. Her actions have been shown as reckless recently, endangering the security of the Alliance and Humanity. Little has been done about this matter besides lectures. She has no real familial ties, or serious enough friendships to tie her down to either Earth or Luna. As she gains conceptual and psychic powers, she seems to be slowly losing either her Humanity, or her concern for it. With the Judgment hanging in the balance, as well as the potential extinction of the entire human race, I demand that actions are taken to rectify her attitude in more impactful ways."

"I second the motion," the American President said. "If she does not return to the fold, then we will need to make her do so."

"The situation is... complicated," the hivemind said. "Penny is emotionally unstable currently. This is true. But she will not abandon us."

"No, she might not. You do not know whether she will or not, hivemind," the European diplomat said. "And might is not enough to bet our existence on. Similarly, it seems that Phoebe is now no longer in contact with Penny, which conveniently leaves us unable to communicate our concerns. Given her importance to not only the Alliance through Kashaunta, but also to Humanity as a whole, do you, hivemind, plan on convincing Phoebe to give up the act?"

"There is no act. Penny is no longer in contact with her, due to the complicated and unique challenge her location presents, and yes, I have a plan."

"And how exactly is her location on Justicar a problem, with a Q-comms link established between us and Phoebe's android there? The Sprilnav are not blocking our communications. All the codes are still being sent along with our messages. So clearly, there is a disconnect between the information that you have and the information that Phoebe has shared with us. You might understand how that would be a problem in our positions, hivemind."

"I understand quite well. And the simple answer I can give you is that Penny is in an isolated location."

"Well, then, where is she?"

"The risk of Sprilnav listeners to this meeting means I cannot give you all an answer in a way that would not risk her life."

"Her life is at risk, then. I am aware tha...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Shadeskira on 2024-04-10 05:29:08.

She looked out over the control station, her otherwise boring command of a defensive installation on a shipping lane had become a hotbed of activity as more and more reaper and war fleets disappeared in the outer reaches of the empire, and who was the culprit? according to strategic command, the Varillias. But she never trusted commands and looked at the rumors and gossip of the passing merchants.

The gossip was hot indeed, according to them a thrall race of her empire was in revolt and winning battle after battle. Their ships’ IFFs show calls for vengeance and war. Primates from some backwater the merchants wouldn’t even think of shipping too, however, all of them spoke of the primates as kind and friendly, oftentimes demanding a single scan before sending them on their way.

She thought it over, uncomfortable with the idea that these primates were letting her allies merchant through even as they waged a war on her people. The food ships too had halted, along with every major resource her empire's colonies provided. The stockpiles in the center of the empire are more than enough to last for millennia but the nobles such as herself hate rationing.

“Ma’am, we have incoming Arrival signatures, count at forty-five” A Sensor Officer said quickly.

She groans, she doesn’t have a fleet, she has a station. Yes, a powerful and heavily armed station. But still an immovable and static target. “Power Shields to full and activate the secondary and tertiary generators. And send a Data burst to central command for immediate reinforcement.” she barked back, her eyes reading the names of the ships entering her sector of the empire, teeth clenched tight as she recognized some presumed lost cruisers from the Reaper fleet that vanished a month ago to the battle-dreadnought that was part of the last war fleet that lost contact with command.

Her mind noticed a pattern in the naming scheme. Every captured ship of her people was renamed with some kind of insult to her empire, and every ship of these enemies was named in a vengeful manner. This isn’t a revolt, it was a thrall race fighting back. But why and from where?

“Ma’am we are being hailed?” The Communications officer said in confusion.

“Put it through, I will see my opponent’s eyes and judge their merit.” She said back and watched her terminal flickered to life with the Image of a Primate, the computer identified as a seeded thrall race from PS-328-C.

“Greetings Admiral Vostriam vol-Jualmen Kiossmass.” the Primate said with a wide smile “I am Admiral Kenji Watanabe, I am under order to deliver the United Earth's terms to your emperor, we grow bored of your arrogance, and inability to put up a fight. We are willing to make peace.” The primate said, his tone and voice sounded tired and uninterested.

“Bold of you to presume you can defeat us, the forces you have been picking off are barely full fleets but small detachments from our main forces.” She says back with a snarl, she hates it already, for it to sound so underwhelmed by the sight of her station was irritating to her. “I will commend you on accomplishing this much, to have succeeded in eliminating seven fleets is impressive for you backwater monkeys.”

“Really?” The Primate asked seemingly shocked and confused. “You think kicking your ass into space dust would be hard for us?”

“Of course, I will congratulate you on figuring out space travel and FTL technology, even if you reverse-engineered it. But your effort to deny your purpose is over, surrender and I will personally see to your race’s ethical and fair treatment as honored thralls instead of the common grunt.” She said, making no plans to honor such promises. Her eyes dart to the countdown for the reinforcement fleet from central, their arrival vector hidden behind the moon her station sits beside.

“Oh wow… that sounds so tempting…” the Primate says then orders someone off-screen “Call in the rest of the fleets, it looks like we are doing this the hard way.” before it disconnects the hail.

Her eyes go wide in fury, was she just ignored? Her attention was broken as her tactical display started to beep as more and more arrival signatures pinged into existence. The count of incoming ships from the same vector as the primates grew steadily as their battle line stretched wider. Her heart beat faster and faster as the count surpassed her reinforcement. And she ordered in a small panic “Data burst central, we are about to engage an invasion force!” her order was about to be carried out when the station rocked.

“Ma’am, They just took out our long-range Transmitter…” the Engineering Officer spoke. “It was a dual kinetic attack from their flagship… milliseconds apart…”

Her eyes went back to the tactical display as an armada of four hundred ships was idling in the void of her sector. Even if the ships of the primates were half the size of her people, the range and firepower each possessed was far greater than she imagined. She swallowed hard, as her mind raced not for honor but survival, a disgusting thought of giving in to the primate's demands sent a chill down her spine.

“Ma’am, they are hailing us again…” The Communications officer said, clearly shaken by the precision and firepower of the primitive apes.

She nodded and waited as the image of the Primate came on again, choosing to be the first to speak she cut the primate off “You have made your point, monkey, I can see now why you don’t fear us. But the Golden Armada of the throne world will not suffer any damage from your weapons, and they will destroy you, unless…” she swallowed, unable to believe she was about to make such a treasonous offer “you have a Noble speaking on your behalf on your ship…”

“The Golden Armada?” the Primate said, pulling up some kind of crude data storage device and swiping its finger on it. “Oh here…. 500 ships…. Mostly super cruisers… and supported by the Halo, a high-power orbital ring around your homeworld armored and armed to the teeth… that Golden Armada?” It asked.

She slowly nodded.

“Yeah… let me make it clear. We will not be entering your home star system, because we don’t need to to kill your empire.” The primate said with a small apologetic smile. “See… we are here to make you deliver our demands. Failure to comply will result in the deployment of a superweapon into your home star system that will destroy everything in that space sector.” it said far too coldly to be a lie.

She went pale, not expecting such a brutal and honest response.

“We pick you as our messenger because you are the empress's sister. So here is the deal. Peace or eradication. And remember this, the weapons I used to knock out your long-range transmitter was a basic weapon platform on our warships, so you can just guess how accurate we are with our actual big guns” The Primate added quickly.

She sunk into her throne, her mind reeling from the idea of actually asking the empire to recognize these apes as equals if not superior. Her hand hesitantly opened the file the empire had on them and drew a shaking breath as the file ended its active recording during the height of an ape called Alexander and his conquest. Her mind realized her kind were unable to reap them at their threshold and they had achieved a theorized possibility. A thrall race meant for war that didn’t obliterate themselves with nuclear fire.

Her will was shaken, her mind understanding the gravity of the situation and the danger this ape posed, but she filled her lungs and looked up with a determined look “What are your terms…Human?”

The Primate smiled wide “Nothing much, I'll transmit our demands now.”

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/kayenano on 2024-04-10 03:34:00.

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Synopsis:

Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.

Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.

Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.

Chapter 224: Tavern Brawl

No bellow of laughter met my ears.

Gone was the comforting sound of hoodlums at rest, desecrating a corner of a bar instead of a corner of my fields. I heard no tuneless bard monopolising the disappointment of drunkards and no splintering of chairs as peasants directed their fists upon themselves and not against my kingdom.

Instead … all I heard was the din of duplicity.

A muffled sound creeping from the tavern, no different than the movement of burglars in the night.

And then–

Bwam.

It was joined by the crash of a door bursting open.

Hinges groaned as a result of the lightest touch Apple’s head could offer. And then he promptly entered, his measured trots echoing against the wooden floorboards like the butt of a reaper’s scythe.

Behind me, the last gasp of evening poured past my silhouette.

A window of scarlet stretched over shocked faces which shuttered windows had sought to conceal, and yet any warmth was made cold again by the reaching shadow I cast atop from atop Apple’s back. Dimly lit candles leaning from walls hushed to my coming, retreating where hoodlums didn’t.

As the door creaked to a close, only the embers of a dying hearth lit the room, revealing open mouths and eyes almost just as wide.

Left, right and centre, I saw the finest louts any freshly requisitioned tavern could boast. A common room filled with knaves adorned in rags, their ill-intent matching the foulness of their odour.

Hands came to a stop as they were caught with everything the tavern had to offer.

Crates of wine bottles, clinking to Apple’s steps. Kegs hoisted to chests, still with their leaking taps attached. Cutlery, tableware and even the cloth used to wipe them. If it could be carried, it was done by the armful.

And if it couldn’t, it was simply rolled across the floor.

A barrel came to a stop against an oaken table, itself being hoisted between a pair of stunned louts. They watched as Apple bore me past, frozen in their disbelief that a princess would ever sully herself with their presence.

Even so, their astonishment was little compared to my own.

I was appalled.

Indeed, this tavern wasn’t merely closed! It was being stripped bare!

And these hooligans … they were utterly useless at it!

Why were they rolling kegs while these permanently stained tables had yet to be removed? Why were they spending time dodging scattered chairs instead of tearing them away? And why was the floor absolutely littered with unretrieved bottles and steins?

The utter gall!

I expected nothing of ruffians, but I at least assumed they knew how to ransack a simple tavern!

Naturally, since this watering hole was being requisitioned, changes would be wholesale. And this meant everything including the wallpaper had to go–something these charlatans hadn’t even touched yet, let alone the candle wax somehow melted upon it!

Ugh. The absolute state of my kingdom’s looters.

Unless it was a royal tomb, I couldn’t rely on them to even pick their own pockets.

Having seen all I needed, I tugged on Apple’s reins, bringing him to a halt just before the bar.

It’d been swiped clean, all its contents now stacked in a pile beside the only hoodlum to boast rags in the shape of a tax inspector’s uniform.

The leader of these failed vandals.

I noted the inconsistencies at once. The patches of underlying colour beneath the black. The flimsy collar lacking the rigidity to be used as an emergency weapon. The boots with soles far too thin to echo across all surfaces no matter the texture.

But most of all, I noted the utter look of bewilderment upon the man’s face.

Unworthy of more than a glance. Our tax inspectors were practically handpicked by my family. For one not to recognise my regal aura was testament to his fraudulent nature.

Thus–

I idly peered around me instead.

“Salutations, gentlemen. And what exactly do we have here? I see greater organisation in a goblin’s laundry pile. Has a sense of urgency not been discovered in the countryside? Or does that come after you’ve finished spilling my newly seized assets beneath the floorboards?”

I gestured for an answer to shoot past my ears.

Nothing came. And so I pointed at the stack of crates which would need their contents returned.

“Why have the beverages been removed first while the furniture still remains? These are the only things which don’t need to go. The peasants can do without seating, but what will they use to reconcile themselves with their life of inescapable poverty? Your apologies, perhaps? There is a mob of rapidly sobering peasants outside. And when they realise in a brief flash of epiphany that their time could be better spent supplanting their rulers instead of feeding them, chaos and anarchy will reign. How do you intend to escape when you can scarcely walk without stumbling over your own feet?”

I waited.

Silence as heavy as the dourness of the curtains fell over the tavern. Naturally, they’d need to go as well.

And then–

“Bwahahaahahahahah!!”

“Oh gods, I thought it was just me! Someone’s actually ridden a horse straight into a tavern!”

“Oi, we need to make the sign bigger! The drunks are still coming in!”

“Gwahahhaha! Better bring one of the kegs back! We don’t know what this one will do otherwise!”

The tavern echoed with a chorus of mocking laughter.

As though its patrons had never departed, the noise rose as a crescendo of derisive glee. Hands slapped against thighs and boots stomped against the floor. The mirth shook the ageing, wooden beams until even trails of dust came spiralling down.

My mouth widened in outrage.

How … How dare they laugh at Apple!!

“Ahaahaahahaha~”

“C-Coppelia?! Why are you laughing too?!”

Horrified that even my loyal handmaiden was succumbing to the loutish atmosphere, I focused my attention on the loudest source of insult. The lout masquerading as a tax inspector, his face now red as an overripe tomato.

“Bwahahaahhahahahahaha.”

I jabbed my finger directly towards his nose.

“You do not have permission to laugh! There are very few scenarios in which nameless goons are permitted to cackle! Why, you’ve neither a mysterious figure nor a weapon of doom before you! No, you are to properly prepare this tavern for refurbishment, restore the bar to full working order, and then direct me to whichever stained corner a lowly baroness seeks to hide herself in!”

The chorus of laughter faded at once.

Where there was the sound of rampant impropriety, there was now an appropriate silence.

“Tch.”

At least until a tongue clicked before me.

A disgraceful noise to direct towards a princess, worthy of more soap than could ever be mined. At least until I saw where the man’s bleak eyes were narrowed towards.

The copper ring around my finger.

I pursed my lips, withholding my unfair and partial sentencing. For now.

I could fault these ruffians for many things. Their odour especially. But not that.

“Well, well, what'd ya know? Not just a drunk, then. But a drunk adventurer.”

And then the pretender grinned, revealing a line of chipped teeth, freshly broken from the last tavern encounter he’d enjoyed.

A shift in atmosphere filled the air.

It was tangible. Like an errant child’s squirm of delight. And now a group of hoodlums revelling in chronicle inefficiency found their mirth replaced by a different joy. One of roguish opportunity as clear as the glint of a Reitzlake alley.

Somewhere, I heard the sound of knuckles cracking in the dark.

The man before me gave a sigh, donning an appearance of regret only less false than his uniform.

“Tough to be you, eh? Adventuring is a hard life. I know it. Even thought about doing it myself once. Problem is, when your job is being in the wrong place at the wrong time, that means you can’t even enjoy a drink in a tavern anymore.”

He waved his arm at the furniture yet to be replaced, then presented his chipped smile once again.

“Luckily for you, I’m better than that. So I’ll make it easy for you. Take a seat. Any seat. You can play it smart and sit it all out somewhere nice and warm until this all blows over. Or you can be dumb and find yourself at the bottom of a well. A fair offer. And better than any of these would allow.”

I covered my mouth with my hands.

I … I scarcely believe it.

This completely irrelevant henchman was … taunting me!

The absolute insult to social hierarchy!

These were all utterly nameless, bo...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/karenvideoeditor on 2024-04-10 04:37:39.

Whenever I saw those action movies on TV, with cryptic communications between spies and conspiracies that ‘went all the way to the top’, I always thought they were exciting. Who wouldn’t? Our ordinary lives, being Joe Schmoe and having a wife and 2.5 kids, is tedious at best, which I think is one of the reasons so many of us have aimed for different lives. Not just more fulfilling, but more interesting, more engaging. Not all of us achieve that James-Bond life, of course, but we do reach.

Turns out? Being involved in that kind of life isn’t as great as I’d imagined.

“Hey, Ketchup!” came the shout from the living room. “Get in here!”

I barked out a laugh, putting Family Guy on mute and shoving myself up off the couch. “I told you, only my high school buddies ever used to call me that.”

What I used to consider the embarrassing story behind that particular nickname was, at this point, hilarious. In the cafeteria one day, the cap loose on the ketchup bottle, I shook it, and it went directly all of my shirt, making me look like a murder victim. So, in hindsight, I suppose the nickname could’ve been a lot more gruesome. My classmates had instead gone with something simple.

“Yeah, but you got a letter addressed to you,” Connor told me, handing over a few envelopes.

I flipped past two bills, and my gaze turning curious. There was a letter to me here in the home I rented with three roommates, something that never happened aside from birthdays and holidays. Our address was handwritten, but rather than my name, the letter was addressed to ‘Ketchup’. “Huh,” I muttered. Examining the return address, also handwritten, I shook my head. “Dunno who it is. No one’s called me that for…geez, has it been six years already?”

“Maybe your high school realized they messed up giving you that diploma and you need to give it back?” Connor suggested, walking backwards as he spoke.

“Ha ha!” I called after him as he headed up the stairs to his room. Sticking my thumb under the flap and tearing open the envelope, I sat down at the kitchen table, taking out the letter inside. There were two thin pieces of cardboard on either side of it, which had made the envelope hard to bend. A memory card in a plastic case dropped out onto the wooden surface of the table when I opened the piece of paper. I narrowed my eyes at the card and picked it up, examining it briefly before putting it down and turning my attention back to the letter.

Hey Jake,

This is Katie Branch. I know you always hated that nickname, but I needed to make sure this got to you. I can’t tell you what’s going on. And I can’t tell you what’s on that SD card (the password to unencrypt it is with someone else). But I need your help.

At this point my expression had turned serious and my spine straightened.

It’s been six years since graduation, but I know your memory isn’t that terrible, so picture me with contacts now instead of glasses and you’ve pretty much got it. Aside from that, my life has gone a bit crazy recently, and you won’t be familiar with that part of me. I work at a company that I won’t discuss here, for security reasons, and I’m in some trouble. The kind you can’t get away from. The kind you need to make sure the people closest to you don’t know about, or it could put them in danger.

I swallowed hard, my eyes flicking up and around my kitchen, feeling as if there were eyes on me. I’d never gotten a letter like this and I’d sure as hell never expected to. Taking a deep breath, I read on.

You remember that time you punched Andy Shaw in the nose after he wouldn’t stop bullying Charlie? When the school wouldn’t do anything and you couldn’t just stand there and watch? I do. To be honest, that moment is who you are to me. You’re protective, you don’t put up with bullies, and you’ve got a good heart. So, I decided to go to you on this. I decided I could trust you.

I’ll be emailing you every three days from now on. It’ll be something you can recognize from me, but it won’t talk about things that actually happened. As long as those emails keep coming, keep the SD card. You don’t need to buy a safe or anything; just put it somewhere no one will stumble upon it. If that third day ever comes and I don’t email you, I need you to mail this SD card to Saul Mertens at CNN. Address enclosed below.

Picking up the SD card, I stared at it as if doing so would eventually reveal its contents. When that didn’t work, perhaps unsurprisingly, I put it down and continued to read.

I’m sorry to put this on you. If you can’t handle this, stick the letter back in the envelope with the SD card, seal it up, and return to sender. I’ll find someone else. But I think I’m running out of time, so I’m hoping with everything in me that you’re still the guy I remember from high school. If I can count on you to do this, put two blank pieces of paper in this envelope before returning to sender.

Either way, thank you. I feel lucky to have people I know that I can turn to when my ship gets caught up in a storm. Hopefully, you’ll never have to do anything, and this’ll just be some weird story you get to tell down the line.

Sincerely,

Katie

I did it. Of course I did it. I wouldn’t have left a friend hanging, no matter how long it had been since we’d last spoken. With no clue what the hell was going on, I mailed the envelope back with the blank sheets of paper and put the SD card in an old piggie bank on my shelf that I occasionally chucked change into. And I waited.

The emails arrived like clockwork for months. Every three days, I’d wake up and there would be some nonsensical email from some lady calling herself Martha Kent, talking about things going on in her imaginary life. Until one morning, I booted up my laptop, checked my email, and it wasn’t there. It never arrived.

I skipped work that day, unable to leave my computer’s side. Genuinely concerned, I found myself pacing, unable to even concentrate on anything on Netflix to pass the time. I even opened every email in my spam folder in the hopes that something had gotten jumbled when it sent, but nothing. That night, I slept restlessly. How long was I supposed to wait until I took action? What if it was a fluke? I could get an email the next morning.

Despite my agitated mind, I fell asleep. And upon checking my email again that next morning, nothing.

I didn’t wait any longer than a few hours. That afternoon, I wrote the address of the guy at CNN, Saul Mertens, on an envelope and put five pieces of paper folded in it to make it difficult to bend, enclosed the SD card, and sent it off.

The next two days were agonizing. I stalked the reporter online furiously, finding everywhere he had an online presence and obsessively checking each of them. It wasn’t long before I spotted what it was that I’d sent out to him. Because the story took off, and the narrative they reported about the corruption and embezzling was on every news channel. Strangely, it was scary, and it was sad, and it was despicable, but it was anticlimactic.

Until the next day, when they found her body.

I kept an eagle eye on the news following the story as it continued to develop, and I probably knew her identity even before the police figured it out. Before they’d even connected it to the breaking news story dominating the airwaves. Her body had been pulled from the Hudson, they released a description and said they were going to check missing persons, and the police said her identity would not be confirmed until next of kin could be contacted.

Sitting there sunk deep into the couch cushions, tears in my eyes, I felt helpless. Katie clearly had taken on something too big for her to handle and what had I done? I’d sat on an SD card for a few months. Could I have reached out and encouraged her to seek out different, safer avenues of dealing with the situation she’d found herself in? I hadn’t even tried to contact her.

The next day, begrudgingly dragging myself out of bed to go into a job that I couldn’t quite convince myself mattered right now, my cell phone rang as I pulled out clothes from my closet. It wasn’t even yet 9 a.m., making it unlikely it was a spam call, so I picked up. “Yeah?” I asked tiredly.

“Ketchup?”

My heart stuttered in my chest. “Wh-What?”

“You heard me.”

I swallowed hard, taking a few unsteady steps and sitting down heavily on my bed. “Who is this?”

“Saul Mertens,” he spoke. My eyes widened in shock. “They identified the body.”

“I know,” I muttered. “Tell me they’re going to answer for this. That someone will go down for her murder.”

“That’s not why I’m calling,” he said, his voice soft. “She sent me a letter with the SD card’s password. She wanted me to make sure that everyone who helped her, the ones like you, know what you did.”

“I didn’t do enough, I should’ve-”

“That is exactly what I meant,” Saul interrupted. “She was a smart woman, and extremely careful. What happened her is terrible and tragic, but it was not your fault. You did exactly what you needed to here. You brought justice down on the people who tried to silence her. And what happened to her is not on you. It’s on them. All right?”

I let the words soak in for a long moment before I nodded. “All right.” I swallowed hard. “And Saul?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you. For making sure they didn’t get away with what they were doing.”

“Just doing my job, kid,” he said softly. “So was she. So were you. Sometimes, life sucks. Sometimes things aren’t right, they aren’t fair, and they hit us hard. All we can ...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/DragonStryk72 on 2024-04-10 02:57:44.

Part 1 here: 

Author's Note: This is Part 32, I accidentally mislabeled Part 31 as part 30.

So... fuck. According to what I'm looking at here, as far as Portland goes, I'm basically fully off the leash. Let's take a moment to go over the basics. So as a full hero, I now had full arrest and detainment authority in line with police and federal agents. That was the big one, and it also removed the weapons restrictions I had as a teenager. If I had a weapon, I could use it. I could start and do patrols, coordinate with law enforcement, and even military.

That was the hero stuff. The next bit, the emergency powers, is where things went off the rails. Portland had declared homelessness a state of emergency several years ago, in order to be able to cut through a bunch of red tape, and be able to apply for federal relief. When the H.A.A. declare it an exigent crisis, it changed the rules in profound ways. By change, I mean burned them to the ground and pissed on the ashes.

Let's for a moment go over what my new powers and authority looks like

Vehicle Restrictions- Gone. Whatever it takes to get the job done as far as vehicles, I'm considered to be licensed through the H.A.A. and federal government behind them. I could literally roll a tank down Cesar Chavez, and while I might have to explain myself in later reports and hearings, it was otherwise perfectly legitimate.

Weapons Restrictions- Nope, don't have that. I couldn't drop a nuke except under special provision, but my restrictions more or less ended there. Everything else was on the level, and I had authority to kill, though obviously, I would have to answer for it after the fact. Not that I would, but the fact is, that was still there.

Command- I am in command off all H.A.A. assets in the entire state of Oregon. Heroes and employees, John included, fall under assets. Apparently, this is the provision in the military that lists attempted suicide as 'destruction of government property'. This included all offices of support, including tactical teams within the STATE of Oregon. Yeah, the fourteen year old now has command of a small army. Truly, what I'm looking at in the armory of these guys is... extreme, even by Texan standards. I could even order up the National Guard if I so chose, but I didn't... wait, does the National Guard have access to Army Corps of Engineers? Okay, I might have a use there.

Requisition- I can order emergency requisitions. Sure, if I go full monkey shit, I'll get told no, or be explaining myself to a Congressional Budget Committee, but shy of that, I could order just about anything I needed, personnel included, as long as they were attached to the H.A.A.. Given the presence of magic, and the research being done, that could get frightening quickly.

Authority- I had emergency authority over federal agencies in Oregon. FBI, DEA, ATF, just so many three-letter groups. I could direct and guide efforts, and state and local government branches were obliged to work with me, though that part was a bit more nebulous.

Access- I had full access to the H.A.A., including files. First thing I did with that was get copies of all the contracts in the system, encrypting them to the full extent of my own abilities, technopathy included, and then moved the files to an air-gapped computer, a fresh laptop from Best Buy. I didn't really care about specs, I just found one that was essentially intended to be used in heavier work, like construction yards and the like.

There were tons of things like this, all essentially designed around the concept that in a crisis, a hero couldn't be held back by unnecessary rules, regulation, or pig-headed bureaucratic bullshit. I could build and declare emergency structures, declare curfews, it was truly insane. If this fucked up in any way, John was going to disappear down the deepest darkest hole.

After reading to Merida and tucking her in, I got to work, learning the rules. The short version of it was that, as far as the crisis in Portland was concerned, I was answerable to the Geneva Conventions and God. Everyone else would have to wait 'til afterward to tear me a new one.

First things first, I copied files outlining my authority, made physical copies, and essentially just got paperwork in order. I was rapidly realizing that if you had the right paperwork, you could get away with anything. John sent over official paperwork via pdf with his signature on it, and told me to be certain to pick up my badge as soon as possible from the H.A.A..

Okay, think. The crisis is homelessness, so what do we need? Shelter. I mean, I could make more tents, but that was inefficient when I could just order actual army tents. It wasn't ideal, though. According to the most conservative estimates, there were just shy of seven thousand homeless people in Portland as of last year. Of course, it was insanely difficult to get actual numbers, so the real answer was almost assuredly higher than that, so I made the assumption that Portland had missed about half of the actual number, so I planned around fourteen thousand people.

I initially started from a baseline of looking for how to house everyone in Portland, but it was a serious problem. Even assuming the seven thousand was accurate, you would still need at least seventy camps, assuming you limited the camps to a population of one hundred each, which was a pretty big camp. Where do you even put that many people? Generally speaking, I could commandeer buildings, but that would turn into a giant clusterfuck, spreading out forces across the entire city, creating massive traffic snarls... no, that's not gonna work.

I reached out with my technopathy, let my senses reach for the search, Sync following as fast as I could think, and my own speed of thought being rather augmented already. Images began snapping up in front of me, I was sifting through information spanning across all of Oregon, when I saw it: An article. It was one of those touristy sites, and they had written an article on the top ten ghost towns in Oregon. Some were left over from the gold rush, some had been nearly wiped out in natural disaster, or the a new rail-line took their business away, killing the town. They were perfect.

One of the core problems of treating things like addiction is neighborhood familiarity. An alcoholic in Portland was under constant exposure to places to get a drink, making it steeply more difficult in the beginning days of sobriety, when your willpower is weakest, and your stress around sobriety is highest. I cross-referenced, and for most recovery programs, they pushed for ninety days, whether it was AA with their "90 meetings in 90 days" point out of the gate, or more formal rehab facilities. Thirty days was a sort of minimum, but ninety from the research I was doing was far and away better, with markedly lower percentages of relapse. I mean, of course it made sense, the more time you got to work on you, and the longer you could be kept in a controlled environment away from the substances you abused, the better.

Scanning the map, I even located a good foundational strip, just east of Warm Springs Reservation, home to the Wasco bands of Native Americans, which were a part of the larger Chinook if I'm reading their home site correctly. Hm, I should talk with them if I'm going to be operating around them. Guess it's time to learn conversational Wasco.

The towns themselves were absolutely minute, places like Shaniko, Kent, and Antelope, to which even other Oregonians would respond, "Where?" but they were located along the same strip of highway. People here don't really think about it, but Oregon is large enough to fit the entire UK landmass inside of Oregon, with thousands of square miles left over. Population-wise, however, we were one-fifteenth the size of the UK, 4.2 million people in Oregon, versus just over 66 million in the UK.

There were concerns to this idea as well. What residents did exist would need to be spoken with. Yes, I could just do what I wanted, but what I wanted was to make sure I had everyone on-board. Guess getting that public speaking merit badge is about to be a reality. I contacted SolCo. They were working on the move already, but I would need them to send folks along. Whatever we were doing, we would need power, and solar was fast to put together, and we could always hook into larger power later. I ran through their catalog of stuff, and notice two prospective projects that were interesting for different reasons: For one, a projection of how to use solar panels to cover parking areas... I could use that for the mall, and let Raj know about that, but the second piece was a bit more long-term, solar roofing tiles. At current, they... didn't look all that great, but I moved that off. I could work on that later when I had more time to explore, but I couldn't help but think it had promise.

I knew I would need to make adjustments, reposition, but I couldn't waste time trying to be perfect. I could use local Portland locations to process the homeless, then relocate based on more targeted groups. The first and largest separation would be in delineating which ones had serious mental disorders, and get them into facilities that could care for them. We would need to keep families together as best as we could. I kept going through what was essentially sorting groups based on the various challen...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1c08p6f/incremental_improvement_part_32/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Justanotherfluffy on 2024-04-09 17:34:00.

*beep*

*beep*

In pilots training there is one thing you never forget.

*beep*

In survival training there is one thing you never forget.

*beep*

In the military academy there is one thing you never forget.

*beep*

Dont panic.

*beep*

Tearing my eyes open i can already tell that everything was wrong, dead crewmates and officers strewn about the bridge. The electrical’s flailing about with sparks. The smell of burning flesh. The sound of whatever surviving equipment failing. The numbing feeling in my appendages.

*beep*

And all i can think about.

*beep*

Is how cold it is.

*beep*

And with an instant everything fades away as my lower ambulatories blind me with an intense pain, i look down to see im trapped by a metal beam that has impaled me. The purple blood from my ambulatory slowly oozing out of the wound.

*beep*

I look around me in an attempt to find anything to stop the bleeding, only to find one of my upper appendages has melted with the interface infront of me. Panic drives me stupid as i rip the appendage off the metal in moment of shear terror, as it leaves a good 2 inch chunk of flesh behind on the console. I stop and take a moment to calm myself.

*beep*

How the hell did this even happen. It took less than 5 seconds for us to go from a routine system scan to crash landing on an alien planet 12light years from the nearest explored system. And another 48 from the nearest station.

*beep*

I guess it doesnt really matter how. Atleast not right now. What matters now is how im going to get out of this mess. Looking around me i find im at the nav console, Dal ‘Anak is dead 2ft infront of me. Poor fellow mustve been flung into the wall during the crash. The console infront of me is blaring red with something. “Danger. Reactor meltdown in 30 minutes. Please engage safe guards immediately”.

Oh so help me lords above.

*beep*

Panic begins to flood my mind as i look around me to try and figure a way to remove the mangled metal from my lower ambulatory. Better yet. To stop the bleeding if i do remove it. I find the emergency aid kit on the side of the console infront of me and dig through it to find something to help. How i wish i hadnt skipped med training now. I finally find some thermal cauterizers and a numbing injector. Popping the cap and stabbing the injector into my lower ambulatory i slowly try to pull it off the beam. Removing it might be the dumbest thing i could possibly do right now, but time and space leave me no choice as i pull out my lower ambulatory from the metal beam i rush to cauterize the wound to prevent me from bleeding out, with purple blood soaking my appendages i slowly pull myself away from the seat.

There has to be other survivors.

I move to try and find the captains console only discover a badly mangled machine. With no other choice i must exit the ship. Calling out to any other survivors. Limping out into the hallway outside of the bridge is like seeing a scene from a bad terror vid. Only instead of laughing at the clearly fake blood and the lame attempt at a scare with a gory scene. Instead its real blood with real body parts and real guts. The scene wrenches my guts and i turn to expunge my stomach contents. I quickly head in the opposite direction of that horrific scene to try and find somebody or an exit.

The halls and rooms seem to blend together as destroyed plating and unfortunate crewmates litter the ship. Nobody has responded back to me despite calling out more times than i can count. I suddenly happen upon….. natural light? I slowly limp my way towards the opening and im suddenly blinded with the sight of a vast endless landscape of tall needle like plant-life covering the hills dotted with imposing mountains and all coated in a thick layer of frozen water.

I push myself to exit the ship through the clear cut hole in the ship. And trek a small distance before turning around and seeing the ship in its current state i freeze in horror at the shear destruction that has occur.

The HVSS Distant Horizons corpse lays split in two across this desolate landscape, on an alien world.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Shadeskira on 2024-04-10 01:55:52.

The alien commander sat back on his throne, watching the five officers and the tech thralls of his bridge at work as they prepared for their last FTL jump to the backwater system his brother had disappeared in.

He knew of this backwater, PS-328-C, a system with a class five deathworld, seeded with a battle thrall race of primates for boreal combat. Which made the need to check on his brother all the more mysterious. His brother has succeeded in reaping no less than 600 races so far, which means this backwater making him go dark is shocking at most and suspicious at least.

His eyes notice a bit of confusion in the sensor station, and being in command means he needs to know why, turning his head to the officer in charge he speaks with the authority of his station “Lieutenant Waztik, why are your tech thralls acting out of order?”

The lieutenant turns and seems nervous and confused. “Sir, We are detecting forty Arrival signals on our entry point, echos suggest the arrivals are from PS-328-C, sir”

“Who would dare to reach this deep into our empire?” He roared demanding to know which of the empire’s enemies would be so brazen.

“We don’t know sir, of the forty we can only identify six of them as your brother’s ships sir…” The Lieutenant responded with a bit more fear.

He sat back, his mind racing with questions, but he wasn’t going to take chances, his brother would have followed protocol and sent a single data runner to carry a message, sitting up he spoke aloud, “Prepare for combat and deploy all wings…” he ordered, looking at the tactical screen as it pulled up his fleet of six cruisers and the arrival zone of the unknown vessels.

As the unknown vessels arrived, the tactical screen started to try to identify them against known vessels in the galaxy and identify their transponders but was having difficulties, like the Shipboard AI couldn’t make sense of the information, before it suddenly clicked and the screen displayed the names of the unknown ships.

He had no knowledge of Hiroshima or Nagasaki or why they needed a second coming, or what a Tokyo was and why it was furious. But something that made his blood boil was the renames of his brother’s ships, the Golden Ark was renamed to Fool’s Gambit, and The Black Reach was renamed to Idiot’s Resolve.

Before he could give the order to destroy the insulting upstarts the Communications Officer spoke up. “Sir, we are being hailed… sir…”

“Put it through. Let's see which enemy has new ships to their arsenal” He says, eager to find out to which of the other galactic powers he will be aiming his fleet at next.

However the face of a primate Battle thrall of PS-328-C was not what he was expecting, nor was that the signal was coming from a ship half the size of his. The Primate was dressed in a primitive pressure suit of some kind and smiled broadly revealing the row of sharp incisors and canines, before it spoke, the computer translating the words in real-time. “Greetings from Earth, we regret to inform you that you are about to trespass on United Earth territories. We recommend you turn around and order an emissary to be dispatched from your homeworld.”

“Foolish Monkey, your fleet is no match for mine, even with my brother’s fleet on your side. Surrender and we will spare more than half your population.” He growled back, his fury boiling as this thrall race had the nerve to tell him what to do.

To the bridge's collected surprise the Primate spoke back almost immediately, suggesting that they too had real-time translation software. “I am sorry, but did you say ‘Brother’?” Its eyes narrowed with a new expression, the computer interpreting the facial cues as hate.

He was a bit off-put by how much this primate's attitude had shifted at the simple mention of his kin but decided to wave it aside. “My Family’s noble Bloodline is of no concern of yours, monkey. Surrender and I’ll be merciful in the execution of my duties.”

The primate frowned and looked away, its voice not being captured before it looked back and spoke. “I am under orders to offer you two more chances to turn around or surrender, failure to do either will be considered an act of aggression and will be met in kind.”

“YOU DARE TELL ME TO SURRENDER OR FLEE!” He roared in anger, these primates were sapping his limited patience and now had the gall to make demands like they were his equals.

“Last Chance, Surrender or turn around and leave. United Earth and its territories are not open to your empire, failure to comply will be considered a full declaration of war with intent to eradicate and will be answered in kind, you have two hours to comply. Watanabe out” the Primate disconnected the hail, the ships arrayed against him showing spikes in power as they were preparing to fight.

He stared at the display, stunned and in shock that a thrall race would dare to disconnect from him, to brush him aside in such disrespect of his heritage. Looking to the tactical display he growled the next orders with malice and spite “Destroy them all, make it swift, and let none escape.”

His bridge crew got to work, sending out the standard attack patterns, the movements meant to shield his cruisers as they got into attack range. His ears raised as his excitement over the coming slaughter grew, His tail wagged quickly as he was ready to see the primates' pathetic ship implode.

But the sudden impact on his ship knocked him to the ground, his body feeling the motion dampeners catching the sudden declaration just in time to save him. looking up at the display with the state of his ship he saw all his reverse engines had been destroyed. Not just that, fifty escort shieldcrafts in three lines were nothing but floating wracks. “What the ‘fuck?’ just happened?” He roared standing up again.

“We were hit by three kinetic weapons, sir, we lost our reverse engines, and we are bleeding atmosphere in decks 3 to 11” The Engineering Officer said back in a panic, frantically issuing damage control teams with his neural uplink. “Sir… they hit out shield reactor… its offline…”

“FTL NOW, Get us ou…” he was attempting to scream as his main reactor was hit, causing his ship to disintegrate in a ball of plasma.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/I-Own-A-Voice on 2024-04-09 23:18:59.

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“You really couldn't wait Kyle?” Fabricator complained. His ship had made it to the main armada just as it was all wrapping up. The glowing scar cut deep within the planet pulsing and flowing with the glow of the breached lower mantle. The atmosphere had been reduced by about a third, the ozone creating a cloud of gaseous debris above the planet that would take several years to return. Millions of insectoids sat in their ships, slowly floating in a holding orbit wherever the ships had been when all the Hive Queen instances had been destroyed.

“It's not like we're done.” Kyle said as he began to grip his head. A migraine was making it's way through his head like a parade of toddlers with claw hammers for hands. What he had meant to say after that was, 'it wasn't genocide without completing the job' but for some reason all the reason for revenge, for completing the erasure of the species just went away. Kyle would continue to be unaware, but the small connection he had maintained with the Hive Queen, the source of his drive to eliminate her, was gone. With her dead (or more accurately, with her being so far away, and in such a weakened state, that any connection had no hope of making it) it was simply erased.

Sword popped out into real space, a single glowing eye bubbling to the surface of his polished dark metal. “Interesting, I was wondering what that was.”

“What what was?” Kyle asked, gripping his temples.

“It matters not, your weapon was most impressive, perhaps enough to rip apart a fraction of an elder god. Given an army of these, you may have a chance to dissipate the vast structures that comprise the elder gods.”

“Headache, sorry, you're gonna have to repeat that.” Kyle said, slumping into a chair straight out of star trek. Something further was said, but Kyle had already fallen asleep.

“Alright Agents, we have some cleanup to do. All insectoid ships are to be congregated into one large orbit, confirm life signs and ensure they're docile. They're to be brought to blacksite alpha for sorting. We have plans, so get to work!”

Ships began to exit their combat formation, fabricator arrays were deployed utilizing Kyle's sun siphon system for power. They were still good so long as the energy was properly dissipated, but would melt as soon as the weapon stopped firing for any extended period of time. Frankly it was a marvel of technology, but well within the realm of energy transfer tech.

Civilian starliners began to form within the massive ship gantries that were deployed, enough to capture and transport every remaining insectoid. They had orders to capture as many alive as possible. The agents knew why, they had made an ally of the subQueen and these were to be the start of her much more peaceful species. They didn't see it as genocide, a necessary evil to wipe out the bad within the species, and would have stopped Kyle if need be. A small prick from Klei's arm needle ensured he had a headache and a nap. Kyle was to be brought in as well, though not before some public relations work with the Drizzk.

They were an extremely difficult species to find common ground with, but Kyle seemed to be the key in bringing them into the human alien alliance. The defeat of their longstanding enemy was a prize for sure, and they were eager to congratulate and reward Kyle for his momentous work. They were already blowing up the communicator with requests to speak to Kyle, but a relations Agent assured them that he was exhausted from his efforts and would speak to them within the next couple of galactic days.

After that Kyle's destiny laid with whatever work the Agency had for him. Likely within the R&D department. Sword on the other hand would be contained as the anomalous object he was, in order to prevent Kyle from attempting to resist. It was a necessary evil, Kyle unbound was bound to cause ripples in the universe that the Agency was very interested in containing. Well... Klei shook her head. What was she thinking.

Sword would also be a good source of information, as shady as he was, about these Elder Gods. The Agency had heard rumors and legends, but that was all. A living (breathing?) entity that could update them on a potential threat, was always welcome in their containment facilities. Or he would be if he didn't always disappear into his little pocket dimension.

“We'll have to get him to an Agency research facility to coax him out of his little hiding space.” A tech said. The readout of his tablet stated that there was a tiny energy anomaly floating around Kyle's head, and was inaccessible at the moment.

“Acceptable. Let's wrap this show up and bring 'er home gents.” Medusa barked. Thankfully she wouldn't be part of the cleanup crew, she had to return home in order to report her info, and exit confidentiality mode. She would be allowed to keep a gist of what had gone on, but anything classified would be locked inside of her memories. It wasn't all bad, the bonus alone from this mission would let her live it large if she wanted to, plus she was due some time off. All things considered it had turned out well.

The Agents boarded a warp cruiser and exited the system, a couple of hours for them would be a week in real time, but that was perfectly acceptable. They hauled Kyle's sedated ass off his ship with them, as their next destination was the Drizzk homeworld. But as far as the Agents were concerned the mission was all but over.

Kyle awoke a few hours later feeling refreshed and revenge free. He opened his eyes and just laid there. It was nice. Though he certainly wasn't expecting to be laying there with someone. His vision shifted and he saw that Klei was sleeping next to him. He certainly didn't mind, and as such he closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep once again.

When he awoke once more the bed was empty, the smell of freshly roasted coffee wafting into his quarters. He got up, the soft warm bed inviting him back, but coffee was much more inviting. He stepped out of his room and followed the smell of his coffee.

“You're looking perky this morning.” Klei said amused, looking over her shoulders at Kyle.

“Perky? Wait...” Yup, butt naked.

Kyle retreated back to his room, the rosy glow of embarrassment lighting up his face. It certainly didn't help that Klei's laugh followed him all the way there. He put on a nice comfortable set of pajamas and re-emerged from his quarters, cheeks still rosy red.

“Why do you always strip me while I'm sleeping?” Kyle complained. “It's indecent.”

“Considering what we've done I would imagine it's the least of your worries.” Klei shot back slyly.

“Hey I'm not exactly experienced when it comes to this kinda stuff. Machines make sense, people don't.” Kyle said, his nose leading him to a pot of coffee.

“Well to answer your first question, can't exactly do a full body medical scan with clothes on.” A blatant lie, the scanner didn't care about clothes. Klei just liked seeing Kyle flustered.

“Lies! All lies!” Kyle said amused, coffee draining down his throat hole and into his stomach sack.

“Regardless, enjoy some breakfast, lunch, or dinner. That coffee is the real deal too, brought it from Earth.” Klei said, sipping from her own cup.

“No shit, you can really tell the difference.” Kyle said, not tasting any difference whatsoever. Still, it was authentic non fabricated coffee. That shit grew on trees.

Kyle ate as Klei updated him on what had gone on, the fact that he was about to attend a Drizzk awards ceremony, and was expected to be heavily armed for the whole thing. This amused Kyle, who spent his next couple of hours fabricating an exoskeleton and various guns to go with it. He also made the effort to make a sheath for Sword, who would be hanging at his hip during the ceremony.

Happy with his work he punched the print button and waited for the weapons to assemble.

“Say Kyle, how well can you reverse engineer technology?” Klei asked him as she took a seat next to Kyle.

“Pretty well, depends on what sort of tech it is and what sort of lab I have available. Something like a weapon is easy, prefabricated electronics require a scanner and a computer, with things like power sources being tricky but doable if I have the containment facilities if things go kaboom.” Kyle rattled off, but sensed there was a part two to the question. “Why do you ask Klei?”

“I really hope I turned off all the surveillance.” Klei said in a whisper. She scooted up right next to Kyle and whispered into his ear. “The Agency cured my cancer, so to speak, the nanites in my blood kill it as it appears. For all intents and purposes I'm healthy. Though it binds me to the Agency, my loyalty is guaranteed you see?”

“Oh. That's right. And you want me to...” Kyle got the picture.

“Yup, reverse engineer and fix me for good. They're willing to do it, if I lose all my memories of being an Agent. That's my entire life Kyle. Could you lose the person you are for freedom? Could you forget it all, become someone entirely new. Die? Even then I'm not sure they mean it.”

“I'll do my best, though it does light up our history with a new light.” Kyle said, two eyes meeting in gaze.

“I know.” Klei said. “I hope that...”

“I'll do it, though...

Content cut off. Read original on https://old.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1c03k7z/the_human_is_bored_on_the_way_to_something_more/

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/CommercialBee6585 on 2024-04-09 17:05:42.

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Pieces of rubble fell from the cavern ceiling and danced along the barrel of his gun.

He barely even blinked. After his last shot, he hardly moved a single muscle. Now, he was pure focus. The only sound he heard was his own short, raspy breaths.

“Come on. Come on…”

The long, unbroken silence stretched out and lay across the city like a ghostly veil. But it did nothing to cover the litter of Ratman corpses he’d left strewn across the streets.

Vermin, he thought. Just like that bastard toad.

Whatever a human saw in them, he had no idea. When he’d first spotted the strange-looking man in the dank robe of the rat-priests, he’d hesitated for a split second before pulling the trigger. That had been his fatal weakness. In his profession, a split second was literally the difference between life and death.

He supposed it was hypocritical of him to fault the human hunkering down there with the scared little beasts. After all, he was guilty of the exact same crime – of being a traitor to his people.

“Fingel Darragut,” he murmured into the stock of his rifle. “The traitor of his House. Last of his line…”

No. That wasn’t how his story was going to end. He would be marked as a traitor in the Annals of Stone, yes, but it would not take long for his son to clear their family name. The boy was a natural Golemsmith. Before long, he’d revolutionize the whole industry. Then nobody would care what his talentless father did – a man who could do nothing but bring death from afar, sneering down at this war-torn world through the scope of his gun.

“Arnel,” he said. “Mariah – wait jus’ a bit longer,” he said as his eyes picked out movement behind the chapel’s broken windows. “I’m coming.”

Like a sudden swarm whipped up into a frenzy, the Rats spilled out from their hiding space, zig-zagging through the narrow streets towards his position, using the burned-out houses for cover.

“Finally lost yer minds?,” he said, pulling back his chamber and checking how many powder-shots he had left. “Alright. Let me send ye to yer filthy God.”

He popped a few heads left and right as they dived for cover, reloading with quiet intensity, imagining the head of that bloated frog Skegga with every skull his bullets dashed against the walls of his people’s former city. The recoil, by this point, barely even shook him. His shoulder was tight. His cloak was moist with sweat. His eyes were moving faster than the little beasts could. One by one, they fell before the marksman of Darragut.

“Where are you..?” he murmured through each new hit, scanning the church for the tallest one among them. Searching for the priest with the staff that had blinded him with his little magic trick.

And then, like a creature born of the stones themselves, he appeared.

He came striding out of a building a few meters south of the chapel, walking calmly as though he were an angel of the caverns come to pick up the dead and carry them down to the center of the earth to be with their fellows.

He strode right to the top of the narrow road running red with the blood of the Ratmen, and stopped.

Just…stopped.

He stared right up at Fingal, and the latter couldn’t help but stare back through the scope of his gun.

“What the…” he mumbled, hearing the screams of Rats as they cried out below for their comrades.

He’s a bloody nutcase, his mind told him as the black dot of his makeshift reticule danced between the eyeballs of the human’s face. He’s…he’s lost it.

Fingel’s fingers shook as he fought against the urge to pull the trigger. To cut the head from the snake. To end all this…

The world, once again, was wreathed in silence.

“You got some kinda death-wish?” he asked the form of the human staring up at him. Unblinking. Unafraid. Totally calm and collected in his filthy, flea-ridden robe.

Fingal reloaded. Checked his aim. Felt the trigger thrumb behind his forefinger.

One shot. That’s all it would take.

One shot to buy him freedom.

One head to carry home.

One path to secure his family’s future.

He ignored the sweat pooling upon his hairy brow and grimaced beneath his cloak.

“Stone take you,” he spat. “You wanna go, boy?”

He licked his lips and steeled his resolve.

“Fine!”

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet whizzed through the air, knocking the stock against him, sending his death projectile towards his once chance in this life.

It phased right through the skull and embedded itself in the back of the chapel behind.

“…What?”

Fingel’s eyes beheld the form of the human slowly turning translucent in the wake of his shot. The ghostly form of the boy wavering like a silent specter being returned to the earth. And where the Shai-Alud once stood, now, there was nothing but air.

A deco-

His training kicked in before his head even finished forming the thought. He spun around, hearing the trapdoor open behind and three shadows surge towards him.

One he popped below the chest with a single round, fired point-blank. The others collapsed, prone, as they felt the shock of the bullet shred their friend’s body, and he desperately worked his fingers to reload, using all the time their momentary paralysis gave him. His chamber slammed shut. His stock came back up and then –

Pain.

He looked down to see the spear of the armless Rat embedded in his gut. He staggered, spat up blood, and looked to see the priest’s grizzly maw snapping at his face.

And with the gut-rending crunch of his bones, the world of Fingal Darragut ended in a haze of crimson-coated fangs.

…

“GATSKEEK!”

Marcus heard the scream before he registered that they’d manage to kill the Dwarf. He saw the pudgy being’s body fall from the tower, pieces of his face trailing in bloody chunks after him, before he hit the ground and became nothing but a pile of goo.

His weapon landed beside him, smashing upon impact.

But he had no time to lament the loss of such a technologically advanced piece of equipment.

He pushed through the cheering Ratmen and those who corralled around the Dwarf’s body to spit or defecate in his mangled remains and saw Skeever and Deekius carrying the shaking form of their comrade from the doorway of the spire.

“Be moving!” Skeever shrieked at his men.

Redwhiskers (he apparently survived) understood his master’s command. He corralled the other Ratlings together with a general shout and brought them back to the chapel, commanding them to take the Dwarf’s remains with them.

Marcus paid them or their bloody desire no heed. He followed after the three limping commanders as they threw themselves into an adjacent building with a long bar table covered in cobwebs and threw Gatskeek on the table.

Marcus watched from the doorway. He said nothing.

“Where is your healing magic?” Skeever shouted at Deekius’ snout.

“It is being spent with the apparition spell,” the priest explained. “Sire Marcus needed it to ensure us victory. I have follo-“

“I DON’T CARE!” Skeever cried, gripping the priest by his robes and pulling him to the floor. “Be fixing him, now!”

Marcus slowly entered through the commotion, ignoring both Rats as they scrambled on the ground, and his eyes found Gatskeek’s shuddering form.

“Gatskeek…”

A bullet had torn clean through the side of his abdomen. His ribcage, muscle, and bone, was fully exposed on his left side.

“Be fixing him!” Skeever wailed. “Fix him!”

“I cannot be doing the impossible!” Deekius spat back at his comrade. “He-Who-Festers’ will has been spent.”

“Then we take him to Fleapit, now!” Skeever replied, throwing spittle and phlegm across the floorboards. He rose to move the old, wounded warrior who groaned in pain and shoved him away.

“You…are being…ngh…fool, kinsman.”

“Silence!” Skeever roared. “You will be fixed. The capital is being two hours away. Be hanging on!”

“Skeever,” Deekius said, laying a hand on the hulking rat’s heaving shoulder. “Be looking at him. He is gone.”

“Don’t say another word to me, priest!”

“It is the way of such things!” Deekius continued in the face of his commander’s ire. “Talon-Commander Gatskeek is never being a believer in the Unclean One! His faith is not being strong enough to make it home. You know this is how things must be, Kin-“

Deekius’ final remark was cut off by the claws of Skeever scratching at his eyes. Both rats fell back against the wall, their teeth and nails slashing at the other, their bodies locked in animal combat.

“Enough!” Marcus shouted.

His voice – full of authority, yet clearly shaken – was enough to bring them back. Even if it was just for a moment.

Then his tired eyes looked down at Gatskeek’s pallid form. His chest, once rapidly rising, now started to slow.

“Do not…be wasting…effort…” he told his brothers. “Kinsmen…I am going…where…I…must…”

Both Rats looked away, Skeever gritting his teeth in consternation, Deekius bowing his head.

But Marcus didn’t. Marcus looked straight into the red-rimmed eyes of the dying rat.

And without even thinking about it, his body started moving towards him.

“Shai…Alud…” the old Rat croaked, coughing up blood and bile as his fading body rocked with sudden laughter.

“Gatskeek, I…I didn’t think…”

“No,” Gatskeek replied. “You…you…are…thinker,” he said through raspy breath.

Marcus w...

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I didn’t know what came over me.

I didn’t even know if it was even me that chose to do it.

But what I did know, was that I followed through with it.

I bolted up and out of the room, darting through the small labyrinth of stretchers and medical beds, and towards the door that led out and into the rest of the ship.

There was no plan, no rhyme or reason, no higher thought or organized sequence of events that led me to that action.

Instead, there was just pure, raw, and unbridled emotion; an overwhelming sense of dread that descended like a thick blanket of fog that threatened to snuff me out if I didn’t leave.

I could barely breathe anymore, let alone think.

The air around me felt stale, the walls around me felt like they were caving in, and there was just no more room for anything else but a desire to just get out.

And so I ran.

I sprinted, darted, leaped, and scampered from hall to unending hall, all in an effort to get away; all in an effort to just leave.

75 Hours After the First Round of Interloper Interrogations. UNAFS Perseverance. Medbay.

Evina

“I screwed up.” I spoke with little in the way of any emotive force, other than an overwhelming sense of regret. “I thought he knew something. I thought this would be like every other encounter where a good talking to would result in… I don’t know, something. I… heck… I don’t… I wasn’t thinking now was I?” I turned to the alien, as if he’d be the one with answers to my own shortcomings.

“I’m not a psychologist, nor am I qualified to make that call, Evina.” Lysara spoke in the most diplomatic way possible, his eyes darting back and forth between his data-tab and my own face. “But with all due respect and from a purely personal point of view? No, no you weren’t really thinking. You were allowing your personal thoughts and feelings to take the reins of what I’d thought would be a personalized but tame series of questions and answers.” He spoke frankly, in perhaps one of the most candid instances of him actually expressing something truly personal. “It was ultimately my fault however, for not breaking that conversation up. I’d initially assumed you’d be best suited to take the reins of that aspect of the conversation, considering you best understand the intricate contexts involved in Eslan’s inheritance situation.” He continued, lowering his head down somewhat. “But I’m as much to blame for this turn of events. I should’ve stepped in, but I didn’t. This… has been a recurring shortcoming of mine that I am trying to rectify.”

“No, no it’s fine. It’s… it was mostly my fault for pushing for my own agenda. In retrospect, my questions were more an attempt to find answers for me rather than for the one who’s really hurting here - Eslan.” I managed out with a long drawn out breath. “But that’s beside the point now. Sitting here feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to fix anything.” I reasoned, pulling myself out of that dangerous pit of self-despair that could easily spiral into a self-wallowing session that’d get us absolutely nowhere. “I’m assuming you allowed Eslan to dart out of here, right?”

That question seemed to catch the alien off guard, if his stammering was any indication. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Easy. You have full control over the ship and probably a hidden army of a million robots. You could’ve easily ordered them to capture him or something, but you didn’t. Which means that either you’re incompetent, or that was intentional. And for my own sanity, and with respect to you, I’m assuming the truth leans more towards the latter rather than the former.” I surmised.

This prompted the alien to look on at me with something between a look of shock and one of respect as he lowered his head accordingly. “You are… indeed correct in that assertion. The thought did cross my mind to forcefully and physically restrain Eslan before he could leave. However, I thought it would be prudent not to provoke him further.”

“Yeah, no, that was a good call.” I acknowledged. “That being said, there isn’t anything dangerous he could run into on the ship right?”

“No, I ensured that the available paths he could take would lead him towards the observation lounge, if not another recreational area. Moreover, any paths to anything that could be remotely dangerous, such as, say, areas with weapons or heavy equipment, have been appropriately sealed off.”

“Good.” I nodded. “I kinda guessed you were going to do that.”

A small pause punctuated our back and forth following that, as I took a few steps towards a free bed, and parked myself atop of it with a satisfying ploompf!

“From my experience with Eslan, going after him, and trying to console him immediately after something like our failed talk with him would do more harm than good. So it’s better to just let him decompress for a bit before we go after him.” I reasoned, trying to come up with an action plan before moving forward.

“Understandable. I’ll ensure that he’s in a safe location while we give him some time to breathe.” The alien responded with another nod, bringing up his tablet once again.

“You know… this would be much easier if you had another crewmember or something aboard. I bet having someone else that’s not, well, us to talk to, would allow him to take his mind off of this; at least for a bit. Like, heck, imagine if you guys had AI or something. Eslan would get a real kick out of that, and it’d probably take his mind off of this quicker than even with another alien or something. Not that your species is boring or anything, Lysara.” I quickly corrected myself after a nearly unfiltered stream of consciousness.

The alien, however, seemed to be prompted into some degree of deep thought following that. As if I’d triggered some sort of a light bulb moment in his head.

“So… you’re saying Eslan would actually enjoy the company of AI? Not fear it?” The alien spoke, throwing me for a complete loop, as I struggled to figure out exactly why this throwaway line had stuck with him.

“Yeah, why? We’ve been absolutely fascinated with the concept of AI ever since the first mechanical computers were built. In fact, if you look into our records, our obsession over like… these automatons stretched back even into the pre-industrial clockwork era, where you had like these clockwork robots that helped to build utopias and stuff. Like, we’ve been obsessing over it for ages. It just seems like every single piece of tech we make outshines and outpaces our AI industries, like… there’s always someone or something that keeps the dream twenty years away, while other industries flourish. Yet despite that, the idea of creating a whole other artificial species to finally talk to has always captured the public imagination; even with all of the setbacks and the seemingly lackluster funding or roadblocks we seem to encounter.” I practically gushed over the topic, realizing for a moment that I’d essentially allowed my first iteration to speak through me again.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable or awkward experience though. If anything, it felt liberating, like a part of me that rarely came out, finally did. But anytime it happened though, I was always kinda weirded out by just how… out of control I felt.

It was half an out of body experience, and half a cathartic one, and it was just so difficult to put any of it into words. In fact, the entire classes and lessons on this phenomenon just didn’t click with me until I finally experienced it for myself.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to explain that little aspect of things to the alien, as he seemed to focus entirely on the AI issue instead.

“Fascinating.” He responded. “In all my encounters with aliens, we seemed to have shared the same lingering sort of fear to the very concept of AI. You’re the first culture, aside from that of the humans, that seemed to not only be impartial to the idea, but instead be outright eager.”

“I mean… I don’t get why you’d be scared of them? Like, if you’re advanced enough to make an AI, you’d know not to make it like a paperclip maximizer. I guess there are other concerns like rapid cascade decay but like, again, if you’re that advanced already I’m sure you’d be able to fix it when the issue arises. Besides, the risks always outweigh the benefits when it comes to those sorts of advancements.” I responded, or rather, my first iteration was really coming to the surface to do the talking for me at this point.

“I see…” Lysara spoke with eager eyes. “In that case, I have a confession I need to make.”

My whole body tensed up at that, as I expected yet another reality-shattering revelation that’d take us down yet another rabbit hole.

Please don’t be another rabbit hole, please…

“I apologize for not being upfront with you about this first, but… my ship isn’t actually manned by me alone. It is in fact, a ship consisting of a crew of two. Myself, and my AI partner.” The alien gestured towards a screen, where an incredibly friendly, almost entirely amicable robot looking avatar popped into frame.

“Hello! I’m Vir. It’s nice to finally meet you, Evina!” The...

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Part 1

Mecha Marauder - How I accidentally became an alien war hero 2/?

The minigun sang its beautiful tune, the sky was a light and vibrant blue.

Guts and blood spilled from bugs, hordes and hordes all killed by one.

Machines of metal crash and burn, all of our soldiers will fall to earth.

A beacon of light shines above, its plasma hue stands burning for all.

Well, I really hope my plasma sword keeps ‘burnin’ for all’ because that's one hell of a bug in front of me. Apparently, this game has got me making poems while playing, probably because I don't have any music in the background. It's kind of sad without it. Seriously, these bugs are too easy, and just sitting here with my thoughts, the violent screeching, tearing of limbs, and cracking of caprices is almost making me feel bad (not really).

O’ How I yearn for you, O’ great Mick Gordon, your siren sounds call to me, begging to be listened to. Seriously did no one think to install any kind of music system in this thing? Cutting edge, my ass.

***

After taking off in a dead sprint forward with my grappling hook in my left and minigun in my right, a volley of small laser fire was lobbed in my direction. I doubt that would feel good, so I use my left hand to fire off the grapple, hitting the ground to my front left. The grapple works just like I envisioned it to, basically a big ass cable with a claw on the end that is fired from my arm. The cable seems to be attached to a wench at the joint of the exo-arms elbow. The screeching of metal stops, and the grapple lodges itself into a big rock. I push the button on the side of the grip of my exo-arm. Sure enough, the winch starts to pull the cord, taking me along with it. My intuition is never wrong (Mostly).

With the laser volley coming my way, I lean the mech back, letting the momentum of my sprint drag me forward. Using the grapple, I pull myself along as my mech bends backward pulling a neo, letting the volley pass harmlessly over me. My feet dig into the soft earth as my mech gains momentum; the winch pulls me in, swinging me in a wide arc from where the grapple is hooked. As I am carried along the arc, I point my right arm toward the bugs and let the minigun sing.

The jets of plasma make a seemingly continuous beam as I aim for the incoming horde. My mech continues following the arc, mowing across the frontline of bugs as I'm pulled along. When I reach the apex, where I am now the closest to the bugs, I press the secondary button on my grip to release the jaws of the grapple, dislodging it and sending it reeling back to me.

I get a good look at what I'm up against now. There seems to be a contingent of foot soldiers that look like bipedal ants, red and brown, plated with natural rocky armor. They seem to be about the size of an average person, and they carry some laser rifles. Strangely they seem to be the only ones among the horde that carries a ranged weapon.

Another kind of bug is right mixed inside their numbers, looking like a massive isopod with a dark brown, jagged, rock-like exterior. They shamble on six spear-like legs with the same rock armor adorning them. Their underbellies are unarmoured and glow a faint pulsing orange, aka weak point central. There look like multiple kinds of these isopods (I'll call them rockipods). Some are less armored and move faster, and others are taller and cover some of the smaller troops like a shield.

Another enemy-type barrel towards me now. They look like big spiders but are covered in the same armor as the rockipods, about the size of a small dog. They have massive pincers that attach to a diamond-shaped head with seemingly no eyes. Moving fast across the ground, skittering about towards me, they seek out blood. So basically, they are the weak but numerous enemy types.

Now, focusing on the spiderlings, I have to actually form a plan. As much as I would like to just run in and start blasting, I'd get overrun by these things quickly. Those pincers look like they could snap a bone easily, so with hundreds on top of me, I'd be a goner. The minigun makes quick work of them, but I have to take steps back as I sweep my arm back and forth across the landscape to keep the distance between me and them.

I took a chance and glanced behind him to see what his teammates were doing. I saw a bunch of shambling suits trudging through the terrain. It's like they are just learning to walk, taking care in each step they take and looking down at their feet to make sure their planting them on solid ground. Wow, this AI sucked.

Turning back to the fight at hand, I unloaded another burst of plasma fire to clear out the closest bugs. The real problem was those foot soldiers with rifles. If they shot the same plasma rounds as his guns did, he could be in trouble. He didn't know the health pool of his suit yet, so when looking at the bugs reading to fire, he stood his ground this time. He had to test their damage one way or another.

The bright red laser volley dove its way toward him, the air around it wobbling at the intense heat it gave off. A series of metallic thuds peppered his suit, and at the top of his HUD, he looked at the readings. There were bars that showed the integrity of each part of his suit, each arm, each leg, and body. His gattling arm took about 15% damage, whilst the body took 8%, and his right leg took about 5%.

That is some serious damage. With the number of bugs wielding, those things hed be turned into Swiss cheese quickly. He needed to keep moving not allowing the bugs to get a clear shot. As they readied their next volley, I shot the grapple to my right. It hit the ground only about 10 feet away, and I yanked my arm backward, propelling myself toward where the grapple was lodged while also using the winch at the same time to give me extra speed. It worked pretty well; it acted kinda like a short dash, shoot grapple, pull, and winch. Altogether, I had a solid movement tech.

I shall name thee. Grapple Dash. Hehehe, this is fun.

Using the grapple dash, I maneuvered my way around each volley of fire while returning my own back. The gattling was easy enough to aim even while dashing around the exo arms strength meant it could keep up with my arms as I whipped it back and forth. I focused on the ranged rifles first. Dashing forward, I got close enough to pinpoint my aim on the riflemen, then, while still shooting, I used my grapple behind me and dashed backward, not allowing any of the spiderlings to overrun me. Every time they got close and made a jump for me, I dashed away.

Dash forward, shoot, dash backward, repeat.

My minigun soon started to overheat; even the stops between while dashing weren't enough to let it cool down. I trekked further backward to let it cool and got a look at how my teammates were doing.

Not well, it seemed.

Five of them were being overrun, metal and polymer being sheared off and eaten. The flailing of their arms stopped by the weight of the bugs on top of them. Looking around more, I could see the reason why they were losing so quickly.

They were slow as fuck.

Their shambling movements were no match for the small speed of the spiderling bugs. They seemed not to be able to shoot and move at the same time, either. They had to either focus on one or the other, making them extremely vulnerable. It was pathetic, really. I mean, I know the tutorial AI is supposed to be bad, but come on!

I looked to my left and saw another teammate about to be overrun, dashing forward while spraying plasma at the incoming bugs. I went to them. When I was in range, I shot my grapple, landing it squarely on the back plate of their mech. Using the winch, I dug my heels into the ground and pulled the mech out of its impending doom. I focused on the ones clinging to its lower body with my gattling, trying not to damage the mech as much as I could. As it got closer, I released the grapple and got in front of the downed mech.

Liberating the nearest bugs, my gattling began to overheat again. Damn energy weapons; I hope there are upgrades down the line to physical ones.

Then, an idea struck me. Looking back at my downed comrade, I saw both of its legs torn to bits. They weren't getting up anytime soon, and I took it upon myself to re-purpose their unused gun, laying slack in their hand.

Dualweilding time baby!

To my luck, I could attach the other gattling to my left hand. It seemed like some magnetic attachment device, allowing it to latch on swiftly like a universal mount and be ready to fire. So, wrenching it out of the downed suit's hand, I readied both arms and let loose. By now, the swarm had started to surround me, so sweeping my arms in circles, I made sure the bugs couldn't get past my torrent of fire.

Orange guts, limbs, heads, and bodies flew through the air as the plasma jets hit them, countless corpses pilling upon one another as they threw themselves at me over and over. My mech was doused in neon orange blood as the bugs exploded around me. A maniacal laugh left my mouth as the drill of weapons fire filled my ears.

Hordes of bugs kept coming, a seemingly never-ending onslaught. The rockipods were a challenge, as I had to switch to my other rifle. It had armor-penetrating qualities, but the big isopods o...

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Fen could only describe the next few days as odd. Around her extended family Zhe started to change. Her language became more gruff and she carried two soar-knives. They were thin, razor sharp leaf shaped blades connected to her wrists with a reel of monofilament wire. She showed Fen how they're used. She can toss them lightly or with force and they fly from her hands and soar across a room. If they don't find a target, she can swing her arms and cause the monofilament to fly around, causing mayhem where they touch. They were originally developed by the Gren who never really developed traditional throwing weapons, but their bladed weapons were bar none. Fen thought it odd that they made the soar knife one that could be thrown, but Zhe explained that it was developed after the Gren made it to space, so it was probably an accommodation for microgravity.

Regardless of why it was developed, it was a wicked weapon and Zhe was a master in its use. Fen started carrying around her battle rifle as well, slung to her back. It wasn't out of place, most of the pirates were armed on the Heap. Fen offered Northern a pistol to carry, but she turned her nose up at the weapon. "The day I need a gun to defend myself is a sad day Fen." She refused to elaborate.

Everyone onboard was friendly, but standoffish. Fen was willing to chalk that up to them being new on the Heap, but Zhe was worried. "Sure, they're careful about visitors, but I'm family for Ancestors sake. Once I vouch for you, it should be songs and drinking time. Instead they're... polite." Zhe's ears twitched, irritated. "Something is going on."

"Like what? Do you think Hemmi is causing trouble?" They were back onboard the Frigate. Northern wasn't connected, so it was just some rooms and a kitchen for them. The airlock was sealed though.

"Or in trouble. If he was here, I'd have a better handle on everyone. Hemmi has been in charge for cycles. He's practically an institution."

Northern glanced at Fen who tried not to make a face.

"What?" While they were with the pirates, Zhe also seemed to become more aware. It was fascinating to Fen. She was practically developing into another person - or her real personality was starting to surface.

"I wonder if we arrived at a bad time, Zhe. It feels like leadership on the Heap is changing."

Zhe's tail started to flick back and forth. "You're thinking a coup? Hemmi wouldn't stand for it, he'd space everyone he could find that was planning to oust him. It's not like he's never done it before."

Fen blinked, "He... spaced people?"

"Sure, how else are you going to send a message that insubordination won't be tolerated. Hemmi is in charge, what Hemmi says goes."

Fen leaned forward, fascinated. "Hemmi is like your father, right?"

"Like? Hemmi is my father." Zhe smiled.

"K'laxi don't normally care about that sort of thing. At least my famililal line didn't. There were the adults, there were the kids and there were the elders. Who came from whom was never discussed."

"Hemmi was not into that whole thing. He cared about the kids he sired and where they came from. Moms thought it was silly, but he always ran paternity tests. I was Hemmi's kid and he was raising me to lead after him." Zhe turned away from them. "Then, I left to go straight and I know it broke Hemmi's heart. I hope he's all right. I want to see him."

While Zhe was brooding in the kitchenette, there was a repeating tone over the speakers. Northern looked up and made a face. "Fen, that's a radio beacon. We're being hailed."

Fen unfolded her pad and tapped and slid until she found ship controls, and then tapped and slid again until she found the radio. The signal was scratchy and weak, from far across the system. "-dentified frigate, unidentified frigate, this is Hemmi Navarren and I'm hoping you're here to lend me a hand." His voice sounded out of breath and tired.

Zhe's ears pricked and she shouted. "Daddy! It's Zhe, what's wrong?"

There was a pause on the line. Fen had thought it was cut, but then there was a shuddering sigh. "You came back, Sunbeam. You came back. Ancestors, it's good to hear your voice." As soon as he heard Zhe's voice he sounded stronger, as if he was given a burst of energy. "Listen Sunbeam, there's trouble. Rev knows about it, but he has declared himself to be neutral. Have you been aboard the Heap?"

"Yes Daddy, everyone seems standoffish, but they were polite enough."

"That's because they knew what was happening, and didn't want you to know. I imagine they were hoping you would come, and then leave right away."

"Wait wait wait, everyone was treading on eggshells because they didn't want Zhe to know? Why?"

Even through the weak radio signal, everyone could hear Hammi's grin. "Because Zhe is merciless. Once I turn her loose, It will be like a hull breach. It will be like a hurricane." He pronounced the human word oddly, like he wasn't used to speaking Colonic. "Zhe hon. They tried to kill me. They nearly succeeded. I beat them back and spaced the rest, but my runabout is damaged. I'm printing some parts to fix the wormhole generator, but I won't be able to link to the Heap until tomorrow. Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything Daddy." Zhe's voice was a tight whisper, and her furred hands were already gripping the soar-knives.

"Go take care of them. Leave Rev, leave Elmar, and leave Xiian."

"See you soon Daddy."

"See you soon, Sunbeam."

The line was cut. Fen listened to the backround of radiation of space for two beats before she looked over at Zhe. She was already making her way towards the airlock. "Zhe! Wait!"

Zhe turned and whipped her face around to Fen, her mouth a snarl, and her ears vibrating. "Fen, either come help or lock yourself in the frigate until I'm done. I've got work to do."

Fen spun her rifle to the front and racked a fresh round. "You're not doing this alone. If you're sure this is what you need to do, I'm with you all the way."

For just an instant, Zhe's face registered something Fen was surprised to see. She saw, anger. Anger at Fen coming along? Fen found it odd, she was having an easier time reading body language. She was always decent at it, but now it was like nobody had any secrets for her. She then softened. "It will be dangerous Fen."

"The way everyone here is frightened of you? The way Hemmi said you were like a hurricane?" Fen winked. "I'll come along. I need to make sure you survive to meet Hemmi at the dock."

Zhe turned to Northern. "And you?"

Northern held up both her hands. "And ruin my clothes? These are the latest from Hyacinth. No, I'll go become the ship again and keep an eye out for people trying to make a getaway, and waiting to hear from your Dad."

"Thanks Northern, thanks Fen." Zhe pushed the cycle button on the airlock. "Let's go make sure my Dad has a place to come home to."

As they stepped into the Heap, there was a K'laxi that Fen didn't recognize standing around. His gun - a human pistol modified for K'laxi use - was in its holster around his chest, and his tail was limp and his years droopy. He was clearly bored. Zhe flicked the soar knife at him and took his head off before he even registered their presence.

With a twist of her wrist, the soar knife reeled itself back to her hand, the blood flying off as it returned. "This way Fen." She pointed towards one of the doors over to the side. Striding up to it, the door slid open automatically.

"Oh Hey, Fe-" Another K'laxi's head removed before they could even finish their sentence. As they continued down the hall, Fen would see someone, kill them, and continue on. Fen followed mute, wondering what was going on. Surely there would be an alarm by now? Wasn't there some kind of central administration? Was the Heap really just a pile of ships loosely tied together?

They reached a bar, or cantina. There were a few dozen people inside eating, drinking, playing games, nothing special, nothing specific. Zhe walked in and scanned the crowd. She gestured for Fen to stand back. As they did the bartender looked up and said, "Hey Zhe, are you here-" As their head was removed.

Zhe flicked both soar knives out and spun. This time, there was enough people that the screams could be heard. Fen would stand and gesture with her arms as the nearly invisible monofilament wire careened about the room. Tables, chairs, lights, flesh, nothing stopped it. People would stand up to reach for their gun and their top half would slide off their bottom half. They'd drop to the floor and try and shimmy away, and the blade of the knife would find the back of their neck. All Fen could do was watch and see if anyone got away.

None did.

Eventually, the screams turned to gurgles and whimpers, and then stopped. Zhe reeled the knives back to her hands and turned. In the corner was Rev, who was standing still as a statue, his hand still holding his drink, halfway to his mouth.

She was next to him in a flash, one of the knives in her hand millimeters from his eye. "Hemmi says you live." She looked down at his arm. "But living is a spectrum, isn't it?" She twisted her wrist awkwardly and the hand holding the drink popped off like it was a toy. To his credit, Rev didn't scream, but Fen could see the color run from his skin u...

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The Council of Magic slowly filtered into the cavernous room slowly, wizened faces bearing centuries of magical knowledge and expertise turning this way and that as they observed the throng of common witnesses that were to observe this special session. It wasn’t everyday that the Council sat in trial against one of their own, so this would be a special occasion for the common citizenry.

The head of the council, an elf by the name of Vesryn Faesatra, slowly settled down into his seat and snapped his fingers, triggering a bell toll to ring throughout the chamber. Immediately the not so quiet chatter of the common folk and the other council members died down.

“My friends and colleagues, we are gathered here today to determine what is to be done about one of our esteemed council members. The charges levied against him are few, but serious and quite rare. Bring in the accused.” He said, his voice clearly heard by all.

A set of doors opened at the far end of the room and all eyes turned to face them. A man in fine black and purple robes was brought in, magic suppressing shackles upon his wrists and arms and he was escorted by a pair of knights from the Winter Legion, though they were more commonly known as mage hunters.

The robed man was none other than Trerick the Ironclad. This title had been bestowed upon him at the battle of Carreti, where his defensive magics had held the entire right flank against the demon hordes. It was also what had elevated him to a position of high standing within the council. Yet even with the added responsibilities he had joined an adventuring party, never one to truly settle down for any amount of time.

Speaking of, as he made it a good ways into the room his party followed, disarmed of course, and shuffled off to a special booth typically reserved for family members of the accused. Since Trerick didn’t have any living family, they would have to do.

Vesryn waited for the robed human to stop at the center of the room before he stood, looking down his crooked nose imperiously while the older human stared up at him, a mad glint in his eyes.

“Grand Wizard Trerick the Ironclad, you stand accused of not only creating wildly immoral spells, but also of utilizing them. How do you plead?” He spoke, and Trerick sniffed, clearing his throat.

“Guilty!” He said, his voice echoing as a collective gasp was given by the crowd. His party all groaned and slumped in their seats, the only other full time magic user of the group burying their face in their hands. “Yet the argument could be made that all magic is immoral.” He added, and the councilors all looked confused. “Eh, something to discuss later.”

Vesryn shook his head and raised a hand, calling for silence and he received it almost immediately.

“So you do not deny the charges? You would not even defend yourself?” He asked and Trerick shrugged.

“I don’t see why I have to in the first place, it’s not like I’m running around using these spells willy nilly now am I? I used it once and in a very specific situation. I can even prove it!”

Vesryn’s eyes narrowed but knew from the reports he’d received from others that had witnessed the event in question that Trerick was not lying.

“Very well, we shall see things as they transpired from your point of view.” Vesryn raised a hand and gave it a slight flick, metal columns studded with crystals rising up around Trerick. Once in place they activated, mana flowing through them and creating a link between his mind and mana projector.

Above his head appeared his memories, jumbled at the moment but as Trerick closed his eyes and focused, the images resolved themselves into the beginning of the incident.

– – – – – –

There was naught but fire and ash, screams of wounded and dying adventurers. The air was thick with the stench of burnt flesh and molten metal flowed freely into wounds or onto the ground. A roar split the air, the deep bass of an elder dragon. It wasn’t just any average elder either, it was THE elder dragon, Etyr. He needed no epithet, no dark title, his name alone was enough to instill terror amongst any who heard it. It was this dragon that a contingent of adventurers and knights had been tasked with slaying, a task that many now felt was impossible.

Though thick black smoke obscured the bright light of day, the shadow of the dragon soaring overhead made it all the darker, what warriors that remained doing their best to remain out of sight. Their initial plan of sneaking up on the dragon had gone to shit rather quickly, as before they’d even made it to the lair of the beast it had been upon them, as though it knew exactly their intentions. While they had put up a valiant effort, it had meant little against the searing, sticky flames the dragon spewed forth. Magic seemed to have little effect against it, and arrows never once found a chink in that scaley armor.

Trerick huddled with his party under a large rock, casting an annoyed yet distant look towards the sky as another roar filled the air.

“We can’t stay here, eventually that thing is gonna land and roast us all.” Syllia hissed, clutching her sword firmly. She was the group's resident elf, and the leader of their party as well. An old elf for certain, though her appearance begged to differ.

“Oh sure, just run out there into plain view and get roasted even quicker, or worse, eaten and slowly digested over a few days. That sounds like a really good idea, let’s do it!” A halfling said, Zalser was his name. He was a ‘reformed’ cutpurse, or so he said. If any of them needed something that was dubiously legal, he would always manage to acquire it… somehow.

“Well, do you have a better idea?” Syllia spat, and Zalser grimaced before shaking his head. Another chorus of screams filled the air as Etyr made another run, bathing a huddled group in flames. The party grimaced, Trerick included though his gaze remained fixed upon the sky. “Trerick! Any ideas?”

“Hmm? Oh… No, not really. I might have one if I knew the sex of the beast, but it’s hard to determine that from here.” Trerick said, and for a moment the slaughter around them faded as the party stared at him in bewilderment.

“The… sex. The hells would you need to know that for?” Zalser said, Trerick sighing.

“Some spells work better on certain sexes, I’ll have you know.” He retorted, and the third member of the party shook their somewhat bouldery head.

“But magic is useless against those scales. Spells just bounce off them or get absorbed.” Said Bahk, the group's tanky golem.

“Why, yes, I already knew that when I watched my perfectly good lightning bolt get deflected and annihilate that poor sheep. These spells don’t attack the outside, they attack the inside. Very specific parts of the inside mind you.” Trerick explained, only for the collar of his robes to get grabbed by Syllia as she pulled him close.

“Then cast the damn spell already!” She yelled, casting a look towards the sky as the dragon made another pass and it appeared as though they’d been spotted.

“TELL ME THE DAMN SEX OF THE BLOODY DRAGON THEN!” Trerick yelled back, his patience now thoroughly expended.

“MALE!” The rest of the party responded and Trerick threw himself out from cover, standing and raising his staff towards the dragon that now dove towards them.

“SAESTARI KORRUUPTI!” Trerick nearly screamed, the end of his staff blazing a rich violet for a brief moment before the dragon choked on his roar and plummeted to the ground like a stone hurled by the gods. The beast slid, leaving behind a deep furrow in the ground before coming to a halt with a keening groan. The forelimbs of the dragon slid under it, clutching between its rear legs and shuddering violently, even as its eyes rolled in their sockets and it seemed to dry heave a few times.

The survivors, what few there were, left the safety of their hiding places and gathered around the incapacitated dragon, looking in confusion while Trerick looked quite pleased with himself. His party gathered around him, Syllia motioning at the dragon with her sword and looking at another party. They nodded and moved forward to finish the dragon off.

“What… what did you do to him?” She asked, and Trerick chuckled.

“Simple, I gave something precious of his a little twist!” He said, and they just looked at him confusedly. “Ugh, to put it simply, I twisted his balls.”

Immediately Zalser, and any man close enough to overhear, cringed and squirmed uncomfortably. Even Syllia looked a bit mortified.

“And… You’ve just been sitting on this spell the entire time? Why haven’t you used it before now?”

“Well, it is a particularly nasty way to fight isn’t it? I figured it was a good spell to hold in reserve, for when it's really needed. Besides, I wasn’t really sure it’d work.”

“Ooookay… And why didn’t you know he was a he from the beginning?” Zalser asked, adjusting his britches a bit as if he was still uncomfortable with the thought of balls being twisted.

“Listen, I study magic, not dragons. Besides, all the stories always assume a dragon is male until proven otherwise. For all I knew, the beast could have been a very angry lady.” Trerick snapped.

“And if he was a very angry lady?”

“Well then I’d have made her uterus implode.”

Now it was Syllia’s turn to shuffle about uncomfortably, while everyone else just groaned.

– – – – – –

The memory faded and everyone save Trerick’s party looked at him with barely disguised horror, several men ev...

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Chapter 162 – Creation 9:2-3

Six dark eyes stared at the enormous screen in front of them, watching live as three pitch-black ships hovered a few hundred miles outside of Gewelitten's atmosphere, slowly turning in place with a gravitational spin that would've crushed most people with its speed.

Although the camera was focused right on them, their exact forms were excruciatingly hard to make out as their strange coloring seemed to swallow up light, causing the massive vessels to appear more as shapes than as actual discernible structures while they merged into the blackness of the void.

However, even with that vagueness, one thing that was impossible to miss was just how much one of the three forms dwarfed the other two already massive ships. Had they been beasts, the enormous flagship would've been easily able to swallow up it's accompaniment and still have room to spare, so large was the difference in scale.

For such a small species to produce a ship moving at that scale; it would've been ridiculous if it wasn't so concerning.

Even for zodiatos, a vessel of that size would've already been able to qualify as a flying city. And humans took up not even a tenth of the space of one of them, generally. That wasn't even mentioning their ability – and even tendency – to live very closely together with each other.

Among other things, it was what helped their population to become as massive as it was. Just how many of them would be within just that one ship?

'Atrocity-Class' they called it. The question was: Was it an atrocity waiting to be committed? Or was it's mere existence itself already an atrocity.

The humans had given just a small demonstration of their individual power back when she had first found herself confronted with one of those floating fortresses. Well, fortress probably wasn't the right word for it, though she wasn't sure if she could actually think of a more fitting one.

But back then, just a small group of them had actually left the vessel as they had descended on her planet. And just that small group had been necessary.

Of course, back then, she had been caught unawares. Had she figured what was happening, she could've put up way more of a resistance. Against a full defense, even a ship of that size was by no means an even match.

She couldn't deny it, the humans had acted well to move quietly and hit hard when it mattered. And yet still, even for just an ultimately small-scale stealth mission, they had come bearing absolute insanity.

To bring just a single wall down, they had utilized weaponized unstable hyperspace. World breaking technology that was well recorded within the galaxy to have extinguished more than just one fledgling species on its way to develop faster than light travel before they could ever leave the cradle of their homeworld – reduced to a forcible entry tool.

And as if that hadn't been enough, they then proceeded to leave the planet by injecting their shuttle into an extremely powerful hyperspace externally generated by the flagship down into the atmosphere.

Though it was sort of amusing to think about that specific instance a bit more, since a single mistake during that maneuver would've been enough for most of her problems to solve themselves in a literal instant. Then again, as much as she would've loved to simply chalk it up to dumb luck and recklessness, it was highly unlikely that they would've both employed and pulled off such a stunt if there hadn't been an extensively tested protocol of some kind for it.

Ultimately, it sort of seemed that the deahtworld primates had found a sort of kindred existence in the fickle nature of hyperspace, allowing them to employ it in ways that were quite near to only being explainable through the Will favoring it itself. It was quite possible that the humans had seen one of its extended opportunities and grasped it without even realizing what they had done there. A rather unfortunate circumstance.

“It must be quite fun getting to name one of the war-class ships,” a voice suddenly pulled her out of her thoughts. In an instant, Apojinorana Audoxya Tua, High-Matriarch of the zodiatos people, was back in her office, staring at the screens in front of her that still showed the enormous deathworld ships gently hover after they had not moved from their position even a tiny bit. “I'm sure the name is already taken, but I believe if I was to get to name one I would call it 'Thirty year'.”

Turning her head, the High-Matriarch tilted her vision down, as always needing a moment to completely focus on the tiny figure that had taken up a position right next to her. By now, her brain had gotten used to the rush of endorphins that the sight of the generally adorable-looking offworlders brought with it. The general appeal was still there, but by now she had enough contact with the troublesome species that the looks alone weren't enough to raise her mood whenever she laid eyes on them anymore.

“I'm assuming there is a joke there that I don't understand,” Tua replied to his words as she tilted her head at him further to really get the tiny person into her vision. Luckily, he was in fact small enough that she barely had to pay any attention to the two of her four tusks that were pointing downwards while she moved her head like that. With many other species, she would've had to be cautious to avoid accidentally hitting them with the natural weapons, however the human's head was still far below the range of any danger as long as she kept standing. And even if he wasn't, he should've so easily been able to avoid her movement that he himself would be entirely to blame if she ever did accidentally bump him like that. “But even if I did, I doubt I would be in the mood to laugh at it right now, Alexander.”

The light-haired human nodded his small head, and as he so often did, he reached for the pendant around his neck to tightly close his fist around it.

“Indeed, not exactly an amusing situation we find ourselves in here,” he agreed, needing to tilt his head back quite far to look up at the screens that were on eye-level for Tua herself. “Though I will admit there is a certain magnificence to knowing that such powers were set into motion due to one's own self. This must be what it feels like to stare up at one of God's messengers, feeling the true weight of something so far out of your own realm paying attention to you. Really makes you feel your own insignificance...”

Tua released a displeased trumpeting sound at his waxing. God's messengers? Insignificance? They were just large ships. Tua herself had many like them under her command. Even if they didn't pack quite the same firepower as those she saw before her, their own numbers were far from insignificant.

“I can understand respecting an opponent's power, but maybe you shouldn't admire them quite so much,” she harshly criticized the small primate, which was usually enough to make him think twice about his words. However today, it seemed like the man was feeling a bit bolder than he so often did, as he shook his head in denial of her admonishment.

“You have to understand, of course I admire this,” he then defended himself and took a step closer to the screens, forcing him to tilt his head back even more so he could keep his gaze on them. By now, his pale blue eyes were reflecting the electric lights above as he gazed almost directly into them, hiding his black pupils behind the reflection and causing the illusion that his eyes themselves were glowing from the inside of his head. “This is the accomplishment of my people, a true creation of our own making. Whether it is directed at me or not, it doesn't change it's very nature of what it represents. On our world, on Earth, we are the pinnacle of creation. And what would prove it more than something like this? A mountain moving at our behest, carrying power that can only be surpassed by the Lord and His hosts themselves.”

Despite both her annoyance and the much larger problems she currently had to deal with, his words made Tua pause for a moment as she inspected the young Guide's face. She couldn't make out any hint of deception or theater. Quite the opposite. His face indeed showed the same pure, undiluted adoration that his words and tone also carried with them.

“It is strange that you would get so excited about it,” the High-Matriarch commented, pulling back firmly on her annoyed and stressed tone as she wondered if she would gleam something useful about her current ally from this moment. So far, she had experienced him as someone who scorned much of the specific technology that differentiated his people from much of the rest of the universe. It was the very reason he had decided to ally with her and her cause in the first place. Even if their goals didn't entirely align in any way, that specific factor was what had brought him into this alliance, and so it was quite curious to see him act so entirely against it now. Of course, she couldn't just ask him outright about it. She would have to word it a little more refined. “Isn't encroaching on your God's powers a blasphemous act in your eyes?”

As tended to...

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Start

Previous

Despite all of her searching, when Mira got back to The Apiary, the files she could find on the insignia she saw were frustratingly slim. The group the strange boarder was affiliated with were apparently called the “Wandering Empire,” but apart from a single thin entry on the intergalactic heraldry page she couldn't find anything outside of hypotheses and rumor mongering. Even the heraldry page simply said that the Wandering Empire were a migratory group of zealots, operating off of a single planet-sized spacecraft and raiding vulnerable and outlying settlements for both the occasional supplies, but primarily for further clues and artifacts related to their “holy mission.”

They apparently believed that the gods themselves spoke through some of the earliest cultures to roam the galaxy, and that they too could piece together and rebirth such a divine mandate by collecting the fragments of long-dead civilizations and their writings and inscriptions. The name had sounded vaguely familiar, the sort of echoes she had heard around corners. She had a distinct impression her parents had discussed this band of precursor-obsessed bandits, but had fallen silent regarding them whenever Mira had entered the room.

Part of her remembered the queen's advice, that perhaps her parents had not told her of their mission in detail for fear of a greater danger of some sort that they might face. But apart from the heraldry website, her other leads continue to spiral into chat nodes and conspiracy nets which ascribed all manner of impossible, improbable, and downright-stupid attributes and behaviors to the Wandering Empire.

She leaned back with a heavy whuff of breath, her eyes starting to feel like they were going cross from reading so much, as she heard the buzz of a cluster of Queen and Kin fly in, carrying a plump strawberry and a small handful of roasted peanuts.

“Oh man,” she started to say before stopping herself, but the closest bees looked up at her in concern.

“What is the matter, caretaker? These foods are sufficient and appropriate, are they not?”

“Yeah, well, I appreciate you bringing me a snack, but I kind of feel like strawberries and peanuts have outlasted their welcome as my top choice on our first years-long flight together.”

“Ah, but caretaker, you have not tasted these particular strawberries and peanuts before. Please give them a try.”

Mira did as requested, and her face then lit up as she stared in marvel at the fruit in her hand. “That tastes like…like candy,” she said. Then a memory of a bright pink taffy that her parents had once given her surfaced, and she continued “That almost tastes like ‘cotton candy,’ I think?”

“Yes, it's a specially-bred varietal intended to indeed mimic that flavor. Human gardeners and horticulturists once managed to replicate the flavor in grapes, and have since expand it to other eligible fruit as well.”

Still enjoying the new flavor in her mouth, Mira grabbed a pair of the peanuts, noticing they had a sort of dark flakes of something mixed with them. Popping them into her mouth, she instinctively puckered and winced before her mouth got used to the intense combination of chili and sour citrus. The heat was noticeable and made her eyes water somewhat, but was nothing compared to the scorched earth level of intensity that the chorwit skewer had presented, so she happily chowed down on the remaining nuts as the swarm spoke, a clearly-pleased tone in their voice.

“We also were not only running low on basic spices and cooking supplements, but we thought it might be enjoyable to broaden our flavor options for spicing as well.”

Mira nodded vigorously and quickly finished the food the bees had brought for her. As she did, the cluster landed and lay down on the screen she had open, and began reading through a. A single bee delegating herself to the corner of the screen at the scroll bar, and bumping her abdomen every few seconds to help scroll the page down as they read.

“This name, and more importantly this insignia, seems familiar. We have not encountered them in recent memory, but given this partial recollection we may need to consult with the Diutinus, as they may have records of when our swarm last met this ‘Wandering Empire.’”

“Dia-what?” Mira asked. She had heard the swarm mention that phrase once or twice in the past, almost referring to it in the way one spoke of a library, but now something about the way they spoke of “them” made Mira suspect this might not be a place, but rather a person or people.

The swarm buzzed for a long moment, discordant voices in discussion lasting far longer than the normally in-sync collective needed to take. Finally the cluster nearest her spoke, but there was again that odd, almost-echoing to the tone that she had last heard when Hybris had dissented and split with the swarm.

“The Diutinus are the record keepers for us. A sort of multifaceted role analogous to what humans would call scribes, librarians, teachers, and advisors.”

“Wow,” Mira said. “I had no idea.”

“Generally we prefer to keep the Diutinus out of the public eye. They are valuable, and while not as long-lived as the queens, their lifespans are such that one Diutinus can teach many generations of workers and drones within the scope of their year, and help guide new queens into maturation confidence of their power.”

Mira knew she knew she would have remembered if the Queen and Kin had spoken of a hidden scholar class before, but something else the swarm said captured her attention.

“Wait, you mean every bee in the hive learns from these Diutinus?”

“That's correct, caretaker. The queens receive the most comprehensive education, as well as direct support from a cadre of experts, but every bee is taught to some degree. The Diutinus read lectures to the grubs and pupae in their cells, and then after emergence the newly-mature bees attend regular lessons in the evening, when the sun has set but before slumber is required.”

Mira marveled with new found respect and amazement for the workers crawling along her finger. “Do you all learn the same things, or is it up to the bee in question?”

“There are some broad and general lessons, such as our history, the operations and needs of the hive, and a set of essential knowledge needed for starship operations given the maintenance needs for our home. But beyond that, it is indeed up to the individual worker or drone in question. Some pursue the arts, others mathematics and physics, and yet others become experts in clusters of knowledge, studying intensely under the Diutinus almost as much as the queen's do and becoming sources of introspection and stand-ins for the Diutinus when the swarm is away from The Apiary.”

“So when you have a question, you can just ask the members of the swarm who have the knowledge to help answer?”

“It is more…direct than that most of the time, but from the perspective of one who is not part of a collective intelligence, we presume it is accurate enough to understand us better.”

Mira nodded, sitting up from where she was reclined in the lone mess-hall chair, and checking on a small readout panel that was linked to the bridge. It was just showing almost half a dozen hours before they were due to hit orbit around the other moon; Plenty of time for her to follow up with her line of investigation.

Turning to Queen and Kin, she said “I don't suppose any of your members are experts on the heraldry of this ‘Wandering Empire?’”

“Unfortunately not. The few that have focused on specific species and civilizations have focused their attentions elsewhere, so it is a gap within our active knowledge. But we likely do have records of it, if the name carries this much familiarity and resonance for us.”

“Oh, I can find a record!” Mira said, starting to pull up a new window on the display panel.

“No, our records nearly predate electronic storage, and we have found over the years that it is easier and preferable for us to carry our wisdom with us, rather than rely on the whims of electricity and the electromagnetic decay of storage mediums.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said, “But I'm still amazed that you have scholars like that. What exactly did they record?”

The cluster of Queen and Kin near her did not answer, but instead parted allowing her to see a single bee that had been mostly-obscured in the midst of the cluster of insects. It plodded forward, and Mira could see that it was missing quite a few hairs and bristles from its legs and abdomen, a sign of old age for the worker bees and queens she had seen. The bee was also, for lack of a better term, slightly portly: not so much so that she would have picked out from the swarm, but enough that she could see a slight thickening of the abdomen and thorax at this close of distance and in comparison to the regular workers nearby.

“I am one of the Diutinus,” they buzzed quietly and singularly. ”If you wish, I can show you my records for observations for the day.”

Mira nodded in hushed fascination, and she could see that the bee carried a tiny scroll of some sort of paper or malleable wax under one leg. This scroll was passed up to its main front limbs and quickly unscrawled, nearly an inch long but only a quart...

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[First Contact] [Dark Ages] [First] [Prev] [Next] [wiki]

"There's always some motherfucker trying to ice skate uphill." - The Daywalker, Second Vampire War, TerraSol, Age of Paranoia

"Where there's a whip, there's a way!" - Unknown, Age of Myth & Legend, TerraSol

"You die; she dies; everybody dies!" Warlord Ard, Age of Myth & Legend, TerraSol

Specialist Grade Five Armkept had been having good morning. PT had been fun and engaging, breakfast had been delicious, his shower warm and steamy, and his uniform had been nicely creased but still soft and comfortable. A Lieutenant had complimented the shine of his boots as he had walked back from the mess hall to his quarters.

He was whistling a recent pop-tune out of Rigel as the door opened into the Ready Room where troops did last minute element level gearing up for a mission.

When he saw who was standing next to the door to his Arms Room, reading the plas sheets magtapped to the wall, the whistle dried up in his throat.

The Drimarian Master Armorer, Specialist Grade Five Gulgulka, turned at the sound of the door. The Drimarian's uniform was pressed and starched, everything exactly as it should be, and his boots and leather belt were polished to a high gloss.

Armkept just knew it was with KiwiBlack, not something like Mopppenglow or other cheating methods.

The Drimarian lifted up on his toes and back down, harrumphing deep in his throat.

"Before I continue to address you, Telkan Marine doctrine and regulations are contradictory. Do I address you as Battalion Master Armorer Armkept, Armorer Armkept, Specialist Armkept, Specialist-Five Armkept, or Specialist Grade Five Armkept?" Gulgulka asked.

"Specialist Armkept is fine," the Telkan Marine said, staring.

"Excellent," Gulgulka motioned at the Arms Room door. "Your TO&E was upgraded at 2236 Hours last night. I am here to ensure that you have the necessary access and clearances in order to bring your Arms Room up to TO&E requirements and Telkan Marine Corps standards."

Armkept felt a sinking sensation in his guts. He just knew that his whole day had been ruined.

We drop out of hyperspace in 32 hours, maybe I'll get lucky and the Mar-gite are already there and I'll be deployed to the surface in a jockstrap and reflective belt, the Telkan thought. He nodded at the Drimarian. "All right," he turned his palm up as he moved toward the Arms Room door and checked his email accounts. "Huh, I don't have the TO&E update."

"I will remedy that," Gulgulka said, harrumphing. The Drimarian made a tossing motion and Armkept found a priority update from Corps. There were clearance and access codes and permissions attached. "You must be ready to pass inspection very soon."

"Yeah," Armkept managed to avoid slumping in resignation as he opened the door with the physical keys for the mechanical locks. The Arms Room opened up and Armkept hit the lights.

"Let us examine and inspect your Arms Room to see what defects there are that must be remedied," the Gulgulka said, moving in, his hands behind his back and clenched together.

The next hour make Armkept want to scream. Every item had to be accounted for by lot number, Confederate Department of War Accountability Control Number, Telkan Department of War Accountability Control Number, Confederate Department of War Inventory Control Number, and Telkan Department of War Inventory Control Number. Each item had to be inspected closely, sometimes with a molecular scanner for the molecular circuitry unit.

Gulgulka seemed to be able to sniff out the slightest defect or flaw, an almost uncanny sense that had Armkept ready to start screaming, go on a shooting spree, kill himself, or maybe all three at once.

After another hour of absolute misery, Gulgulka stood in the middle of the Arms Room, going down his checklist.

"Your Arms Room does not match your Table of Organization and Equipment, Specialist Armkept," the Drimarian said. It had gotten to the point that Armkept didn't even notice the harrumphs any more.

Armkept slumped. "What now?"

"Your Armor Inventory Control Sheet shows that you should be in possession of one hundred eighteen Helreginn, Mark II, Anti-Mar-gite Full Contact Powered Combat Personal Protective Equipment Systems," Gulgulka said. He shook his head. "You do not have the update to the inventory. I will remedy that."

Armkept blinked rapidly as Gulgulka opened up his palm mounted holoemitter and started tapping through boxes, data sheets appearing in Armkept's vision.

"The Helreginn suit was devised during the last Mar-gite War, not the Mar-gite Resurgence. The war ended with the Mark II Type IV suits in production. However, they were never deployed and update packages were never transmitted to the Mar-gite Containment Zone," the Drimarian harrumphed. "During the Resurgence, certain flaws and suboptimal system performance design flaws were corrected by the issuing of the Mark III, which slowly moved to the Mark VI."

Armkept kept blinking away the sheets as fast as they were coming in.

"Checking the Corps databases last night, I determined that the final upgrade was a mere two hundred sixteen years four months nineteen days ago. That resulted in the Helreginn Mark VI Type IX series, which is mission configurable and an upgrade of six hundred thirty eight point two nine five percent in survivability for the operator," Gulgulka said. He paused to harrumph a few times. He turned and moved toward the door. "Last night at sixteen thirty two hours shipboard, the Corps Level Master Armorer resigned and I was occupationally promoted to take his place although that position requires a Specialist Grade Eight and I am a Specialist Grade Five, meaning I lack training and experience under most circumstances. I filed a formal protest to my promotion to Specialist Grade Six with shipboard PERSCOM at seventeen seventeen hours shipboard time."

Armkept locked the door and pulled the barred door into position and locked it while the Drimarian monologued.

"I find such a promotion to be dangerous. Promotions should only take place due to realities of a hazardous deployment zone or through the point and time in grade and service system," Gulgulka led Armkept down the corridors. "However, my protest was overridden, leaving the Division Master Armorer position vacant."

He glanced back.

"Pray to whomever or whatever you worship that you are not promoted in such an untidy manner," he said.

Armkept just nodded.

"My first posting was as an Armorer for a Confederate Space Force unit in the Lanaktallan Star Herd nation. A posting that set my habits, biases, and methods, something I do not apologize for," Gulgulka stated. "It was there I learned that graffiti was for the hazard zone, not the armory, and that operator modifications had to be removed to ensure that the war material can be properly PMCSd (Preventive Maintenance Checks & Services) to discover any defects."

They were silent as they walked for nearly thirty minutes to reach one of the massive fabrication bays. Gulgulka consulted his palm emitter and followed the arrow until they found a HiKruth standing in front of three massive Class XXX Creation Engines. He had all four hands clasped behind his back and his four legs were stiff with anger.

"You are Technical Sergeant First Class Numvattra Drossman?" Gulgulka asked.

The HiKruth turned around. "Whose asking?" his voice was obviously irritated.

If Gulgulka noticed, he didn't seem to care.

"I am the Corps Master Armorer, assigned position by Captain N'Skrek's command staff," he pointed at the Telkan next to him. "This is Specialist Grade Five Armkept, Master Armorer for the 9th Telkan Power Armor Battalion."

"So?" the HiKruth was obviously unhappy about being disturbed.

"I have put in a requisition for one hundred eighteen Helreginn Mark VI Type IX Anti-Mar-gite Full Contact Powered Combat Personal Protective Equipment Systems eleven times in the last sixteen hours," Gulgulka stated. "Procurement Command granted me access to five Class XXX Creation Engine Systems, each capable of producing a full suit every fifty-two seconds of dry print, yet you have not responded to a single email or requisition and the creation engines allocated to the Corps Master Armorer appear to still be cold and dark. As warsteel is needed, I had expected that the creation engines would be heated and ready to go."

Armkept was suddenly glad that the HiKruth were renown for their patience. He would have started screaming or lost focus about twenty words into that monologue.

"They aren't responding. They have not been responding since I was assigned to them," the HiKruth snarled.

Armkept realized he was seeing a HiKruth that had run out of patience.

"So, if your cold blooded ass can figure out how to get them to even talk to us, you're more than welcome to try," Drossman snarled.

Gulgulka just turned his palm up again, consulting his holoemitter. He consulted a few charts and what Armkept was sure was the TO&E for Fabrication Bay 19, then simply walked away.

Drossman had turned back to the creation engi...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ralo_ramone on 2024-04-09 23:06:05.

“I… The System asked me to relay you a message,” Firana muttered. “He said we are behind schedule.”

The damp, cold air of the underground shrine stuck to the gray walls. Far from the sun and the court intrigue, time stood still, and seconds became eternal. Firana’s words reverberated against the bare stone until silence reigned, but my brain refused to process the message. My eyes fell on the girl. Despite her carefree attitude, she was far from stupid and knew something odd was happening.

I glanced at the Zealot, hoping the headgear had muffled Firana’s voice.

“I know I always say we are behind schedule. You don’t have to remind me every time,” I stuttered, trying to project my best lighthearted teacher’s voice.

[Awareness] flooded my mind with information, and my heart raced inside my chest.

“No, the—” Firana said, but I interrupted her.

“The Class assignment ceremony is not the right moment to joke around,” I said, looking over her shoulder to see the Zealot’s reaction. A thin layer of cold sweat covered my forehead. I could do only so much damage control if the Zealot believed Firana’s words.

“Right. I’m sorry. I didn’t pretend to—" Firana mumbled, but the Zealot interrupted her.

“I saw it too.”

[Awareness] sent my mind on a whirl of several threads of thought. Silencing the Zealot was an option. The aftermath would be catastrophic. Did the inhabitants of Ebros know about heart attacks? A bribe might also work. Lady Jorn probably had access to her family's funds. Unless the Zealot was completely loyal to the Church. Subterfuge. Trick the Zealot into believing you know more about their Quest?

All options were equally dangerous, but letting the Church know I had direct contact with the System might be even more risky. Being burnt at the stake wasn’t part of my short-term plans. However, being branded a false prophet by the High Priest was easier than proving that the System actually contacted me. I needed to convince the Zealot to take my side.

“The System talks to you. Why?” the Zealot asked.

I raised my arms in defeat.

“I promise I’ll tell you, but let’s take things with ease,” I said, turning to Firana. “I need to know what happened. What did you see?”

Before answering the Zealot’s questions, I needed a complete picture of the situation.

“I touched the Zealot’s hand and was transported back to Magnolia, outside the old Aias Manor. The city was deserted, but a sense of tranquility and peace filled me, and I knew there was nothing to fear,” Firana said. “I headed to the main square because I felt that was where I should go. Everything was as I remember: the gardens, the fruit trees, and the fountains where I used to play when I was little. Then, as I was approaching the market through the main street, a man stumbled outside a store. He was tired and sweaty as if something had been chasing him.”

I nodded in silence. Firana’s story was similar to what Elincia had told me about the Class assignment ceremony: a familiar place, a peaceful feeling. However, Elincia hadn’t mentioned a man stumbling out of nowhere.

“Was he blonde, a bit chubby, and dressed in a yellow shirt?” I asked.

“Yes!” Firana replied. “He signaled me to follow him to the main square while he mumbled something incomprehensible. Once we were on the square, the System spoke to me—not with words, but inside my mind. It was strange. Only when the System spoke to me to offer me the Classes, could the man in yellow speak clearly. I knew he was also the System somehow. He told me to relay the message to you, Mister Clarke, but…”

Firana tried to hide her face between her shoulders.

“But?” I asked, hoping that ‘but’ wouldn’t put me in a more precarious position.

“But he didn’t get to tell me the whole message. He told me you were behind schedule. He was so disturbed that I panicked, picked a Class, and the vision was over,” Firana said.

That was anticlimactic. However, the Zealot stepped forward and closed their hand around my shoulder like a pincer. I had underestimated their strength.

“Tell me, do you know why the System is two but one simultaneously? What does that mean? The Voice of the System doesn’t mention anything like that. Does this have anything to do with the Covenant of the Radiant Fountain?” the Zealot asked, burying their nails deeply in my skin.

I cursed my bad luck. I didn’t want to get involved in a fight between the three branches of the Church. The message from the System Avatar was worrying enough. Being behind schedule could only mean the System Avatar was losing the battle against the piling errors in the code, which meant more Corruption poured into this world.

“Listen. The System gave me a quest,” I said, minding my words.

“But you are not one of us,” the Zealot replied.

“Think about it. Why would the System give a Quest to a Scholar instead of a Zealot? The answer is easy. The System wants something only a Scholar can do,” I said, wincing in pain.

I needed to put the Zealot on my side, and I knew how.

“I think you might be part of that Quest; otherwise, the System wouldn’t have sent you in my direction,” I said.

The Zealot let me go and walked around the tiny shrine while I rubbed my shoulder. I could almost see the Zealot’s inner struggle through the golden mask covering their face. My words had the desired effect. I needed the Zealot to keep my secret at all costs, but to achieve that, I needed to topple some of the Zealot’s beliefs.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“I’m a Zealot. I’m not supposed to have a name as long as I wear the mask.”

Good. There was doubt in the Zealot’s voice.

“The System allowed me to disclose my Quest at my discretion, but I won’t share it with anyone I don’t trust. If you want to be part of this, you better show I can trust you. It’s your call,” I said, feeling the metallic taste of fear in my mouth.

I needed to be more aggressive.

“If you tell your superiors about this conversation, I will deny everything. I will even convince them you are preaching dangerous teachings. I will ask Prince Adrien to back me up, and you’ll be branded as a rebellious Zealot, a heretic.”

My throat was dry.

Slowly, with trembling hands, the Zealot removed their white headpiece and untied their golden mask. A cascade of black hair fell upon the Zealot’s shoulders. It was my first time seeing the Zealot’s face: sharp jaw, small nose, yellow eyes, thick eyebrows, and wolf ears. The Zealot was a woman.

“My name is Astrid,” she said, almost embarrassed without the protection of the mask.

“It's nice to meet you, Astrid,” I replied, knowing I had already won half the battle. A Zealot from the capital would be a valuable ally; I just needed to convince her not to rat me out.

“What does the System’s words mean? Are we in trouble?” Firana interrupted us.

No matter how I tried to phrase it, the words stuck in my throat. A part of me refused to tell Firana the situation was dire. Putting that burden on a kid’s shoulders felt wrong, no matter if, in this world, she was already considered an adult. Firana would always be a kid in my heart, but that was also dangerous. Whether I liked it or not, Firana was already part of this mess.

Something was wrong. I expected to have more time to deal with the System’s quest.

“We are not in trouble, Firana. We are just behind schedule,” I said, approaching the small shrine and putting my hands over the orb. I needed to ask the System Avatar what the hell was happening.

The orb remained inert.

“We have been down here too long. If we stay longer, we will raise suspicions,” I said, pulling my copper bracelet and putting it on Astrid’s hand. “Find a Courier called Corin. Show her the bracelet and tell her I invited you. Make sure nobody follows you. Be discreet. Tonight.”

Astrid nodded, and my bracelet disappeared between the folds of her tunic. Then, she put back her headpiece and golden mask, and a moment later, we emerged into the audience room. The Marquis was still there, accompanied by the Captain, Abei, and Kellaren. They glanced at us with curious eyes.

“That took some time,” Abei said. “Did you have trouble selecting a Class?”

“Mister Clarke came up with the idea of giving a motivational speech just before I touched the orb,” Firana said, rolling her eyes.

When did she get so good at lying?

I wasn’t going to complain.

“Don’t be so harsh on him. We Scholars have a poetic vein. It shows, especially when we are moved,” Abei laughed. “So, little miss, with which Class the System bless you?”

Firana’s smug grin far surpassed Elincia’s most mischievous smile.

“Don’t say a word, kid. That’s not something Osgirians should know,” the Marquis said, casting a derisive glance upon Kellaren. “Is it a good class?”

“Yes, sir. The best,” Firana replied with a bow.

I had no doubt Firana would get a good class, but hearing confirmation was relieving. I smiled. Seeing her smug grin was enough to know she was thoroughly pleased with her pick. To Zaon’s detriment, I foresaw a lot of bragging in the near future.

Kellaren cleared his throat.

“I disagree with this secrecy. Firana is an important asset of the Aias Family, the information about her Class is instrumental to outline our future plans,” he complained.

I refrained myself from lashing out. Kellaren’s wording caught [Awareness] attention. Asset. The Aias name alone was enough to back up Kellaren’s mercenary operation, and it wasn’t a secret that he wanted to become the head of the famil...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/GIJoeVibin on 2024-04-09 20:59:34.

You wanted a good story? Hmm, well. Alright, here’s one from my industry days.

Until I got this job, I worked for what Humans call a think tank, writing analysis for companies, nations and interstellar powers wondering what equipment to buy for which job. I’m not foolish enough to believe anything I wrote ever caused any procurement decision, but I know it certainly helped swing people one way or the other. And I enjoyed it, and I got paid a fair amount, so it was more than worth it.

And so, my work would send me to exhibition after exhibition, travelling from star system to star system, to watch manufacturers and salespeople make their pitch on all sorts of things. It was a good job, well paying, and I got to see a lot, although I find myself in my latter years less interested in doing that much intersystem travel, and so you find me settling down here. Of course, many of the people reading my work and making decision would have had colleagues attend these exhibitions, but I often served as a sort of second opinion, particularly since I would put together a bunch of my research, make comparisons, and so on. A breathless colleague's glowing review, mixed with a more sober assessment by me, would often be enough to start a discussion.

Anyway, the story. So, I was asked to cover some expos in Human territory, and it had been a while since I was there, so I jumped at the chance. Well, as high as a Valnur like me can jump. It’s a figure of speech, it- nevermind. It was a long stay, which was unsurprising, as the shows were scattered across United Nations space, and ran at different times. But I rotated from expo to expo, show to show, planet to planet using the time between to either write new articles, or simply explore the planet in downtime. A truly wonderful time.

There were many airshows: Zhuhai, Farnborough, Bengaluru, I could go on. All fantastic experiences, watching everything from fighters to civilian luxury jets showing off. A few demonstrations done in the void of space, attempting to sell specific spaceship designs, which were rather a treat to watch. The Pacific Coastal Republic put on a rather fascinating one near that was entirely dedicated to logistical vehicles, and let me tell you, that had all 3 of my hearts racing. I could have spent a decade there, looking at them all.

But the one that will always stick with me was a land warfare expo on Nakula… no, hold on, it was Sahadeva. I always get those two mixed up, they’re the binary pair of habitable planets, you see. Beautiful sight. But that’s off topic.

It was, as I said, a land warfare expo, one that was pretty popular with Hekatian firms too, given the Vega system is rather close to Commonwealth territory. And given the planet was mostly uninhabited but still habitable, it had the advantage that the demonstrators got to go big, blow up vast tracts of land to advertise their new artillery and so on, without any legal difficulties, or without being bothered by those pesky peace protestors. All very annoying, people complaining about the negative effects of the arms trade or whatever when all you want to do is just report on the latest weapons.

So you would go out there, and you would watch as whole battalions would manouevre and fight fake battles across open plains, to entice you into endorsing whatever product they were selling. Tanks, IFVs, artillery, drones, fighters, gunships, you name it. And one day I’m watching a range day, where various companies try to show off how their thing hits further and better than anyone else’s.

This was, for once, a rather big deal, as the Commonwealth had just announced it was seeking a new tank gun, as part of a modernisation program. So everyone was doing their best to impress. The organisers set out lanes for each company, and parked a bunch of military vehicles at various ranges, so everyone would get to show how good they are at destroying each.

The two major competitors in this undeclared bidding war were a Hekatian company, and a Human company. The Hekatians had brought out their newest design, an impressive model that was cheaper to buy and to run than the Human competitor, and was based on the existing turret, thus making it rather appealing since there would be very little retraining needed and parts could be saved (or so they claimed: I later found out they had been slightly exaggerating just how much commonality there was).

Their tank raced about, showing how the new turret did not impact it's manouevreability, all us spectators and interested buyers watching on crystal clear drone feeds. Then it raced up to it’s firing positions, and began to let loose with it’s particle beam. It was really rather impressive, the flash of the beam, the lurch of the target, and satisfying holes punched through each of them, all done as the tank flitted from position to position. The teams began playing the footage again and again, showing off the power of their weapons, their accuracy, and so on.

Then came the Human demonstration. Their tank did much the same in the manouevring test, which was unsurprising given the whole point was a new gun, not a new engine. It sallied up to it’s first firing position, unleashed the particle beam, and much the same as had happened earlier was repeated… except this time, the targets didn’t just lurch, with holes punched through them.

No, they exploded, one after the other, burning fiercely as funeral pyres of black smoke billowed out into the sky. One of the targets to explode in this manner was, rather conspicuously, a mockup of their competitor's turret. When it was over, the Human marketers grinned, and began looping their footage, as the Hekatians quietly disappeared out of sight.

Of course, there was something afoot with it all, but I wasn't quite sure what they had done. Wild theories flew back and forth between us observers, including the idea that the weapon had somehow been overtuned, that the targets had some design flaw that had been exploited, that they had been extremely lucky, and so on. The Hekatian team attempted to have their competitors thrown out, claiming they had broken the rules, only for their attempt to fail: it was the opinion of many observers that the Humans had somehow bribed the organisers to get away with this flagrant breach of the rules.

I never managed to get a clear answer, until I stumbled into one of the Human team a few years ago, and pressed her. She admitted, finally, that they had indeed faked a more dramatic result, except that said dramatic result was achieved not by any of our fanciful theories. Instead, they acquired large quantites of petrol, that liquid stuff you run really antique vehicles on, piled it up inside the targets, and when each target was hit...

Since this was not, technically, banned by the rules, which specifically focused on placing explosives and detonating them, rather than adding fuel for fires, they had gotten away with the whole endeavour. I asked why they had cheated at such a event, only for them to respond that "it wasn't cheating, it was showmanship. Very different."

The Humans won that contract, by the way.

Author's Notes

Not much to say, this was a quick little piece based on what was a one-line brief for several months, before I decided to write it entirely over the course of today. Hope you all enjoyed!

If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee, it helps a ton, and allows me to keep writing this sort of stuff. Alternatively, you can just read more of it. If you are interested in doing narration of my work, please contact me through Reddit DMs ahead of time. I promise I don't bite.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2024-04-09 22:16:27.

First

The Bounty Hunters

(Sorry for the delay, news of my grandmother passing followed by a not so pleasant dental appointment killed all my will to write.)

“Milady, as you have called, I have come.” Harrika says as she bows to the hologram before her.

“You may rise Miss Spindle. You have totally served the Empire well, and like we offer you a chance to serve further still.” The Figure before her states. Harrika is not personally familiar with the woman, but through rumour alone she knows that the Gravia, Lady Matrix, sits within the Empress’ Court of Lablan. Specifically she sits as Advisor to both the Lady of War and The Lady of Commerce. Advising both in equal measure. Her chosen form has grey skin and white hair to both blend and contrast with her immaculate white gown.

“This is to do with my... comments on The Chainbreaker isn’t it?”

“Totally.” Lady Matrix states. As she moves her image goes to a series of abstract shapes in a gown before reforming into a woman that looks more real than real. “You like, totally showed fierce protectiveness of them, cause they totally showed fierce protectiveness of their own.”

“Yes.”

“And there were little notes describing how totally unfair it was that you had to stay professional.” Lady Matrix says with a smile on her dark lips. “Now, what I’d like, like to do is for you to get what you want as we get what we want.”

“And is that we a plural or a royal we milady?” Harrika asks.

“Totally both.” Lady Matrix says. “It’s been totally agreed, like unanimously, that Holy Lablan and The Undaunted are compatible cultures. One like wants the best overall culture and the other like wants the best people.”

“Yes, this is fairly obvious from interacting with them. While we of Holy Lablan seek to be a greater people, The Undaunted seek to be better as people. For as confusing as that might be to say.”

“Don’t worry, I totally understand.” Lady Matrix says before nodding. Her presence temporarily goes down to very primitive and seemingly fake, then back into hyper realistic. Gravia that relax and let their bodies just cycle normally can strain the eye, those that control it are somehow more disturbing. Which is why there was no consensus among the Gravia as to which to be.

“Now, we’ve been watching the pattern. The Chainbreaker is totally going on a recruiting spree, and not like only fighters. All Undaunted ships are on a talent search. They’ve like got themselves two girls, Begrobs Sallie and Susie-Lu. Sisters both. One totally a shooter and the other a weapon smith.”

“Yes I am aware of them. Although neither of them spoke much to me about my charge.”

“Totally aware, one talked about how like scary he could be with his drones and the other was totally complementary about his skill putting them together.” Lady Matrix says. “Which like, totally brings us to you.”

“It does?”

“It totally does.” Lady Matrix says. “We have like, not had any real contact or communications with the humans so far. Before this we were only like, kinda sure about what they were. But now we totally see that even if the humans a a whole aren’t like, like this then it’s still worth it to have some solid cultural outreach.”

“And how does this involve me? I am not a cultural outreach official or a proper representative of The Lablan Empire.”

“But you totally are! While we’re totally going to make contact with their official headquarters at their main ship and the embassy. There, like, needs to be another set of eyes on the ground. One that like understands people and totally has a good introduction into things. Also you’d like, like to be there.”

“I would, but it would be very inappropriate for me to simply run off and join their ship. I have my own career and life and...”

“Like, no romantic prospects that have panned out, a job that you love and a totally limited social circle after the office event.” Lady Matrix says and Harrika resists a flinch. She hates it being brought up. Oftentimes the price of doing the right thing is the loathing of the people who should have done it first.

“It’s like... totally a tragedy when the people of Lablan can’t live up to the dreams we share. But that’s like, the whole reason we keep trying. Because we’re totally not there yet, and like, might never be.”

“It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.” Harrika says and Lady Matrix claps her hands together and nods.

“That’s totally it! See? You live it! You’ve totally embraced it!” Lady Matrix says in a happy tone. “It’s your choice. You like...”

She coughs into her fist and takes a deep breath. She then opens her eyes and fixes Harrika with a look that pierces through the hologram. “It’s your choice. You are not a member of our military. You have only sworn to follow our laws and live under our protection. You do not have the obligations of the Command Class, let alone the higher ranking Nobles. You have every right to refuse and this will not reflect poorly on you.”

The Gravia glances away from a moment before her lips quirk. “Although some women will question why a healthy young lady such as yourself refused to join up with a ship full of strapping men. But that will be as far as it goes. That I can promise you.”

“Your accent ma’am?”

“Is an accent. Gravia like myself are naturally taught and conditioned by our own language and culture to be as clear as possible, but Galactic Trade is so unclear compared to our own language that we will use conditioners such as totally and like to indicate certainty and approximation where appropriate. It takes a little... mental planning to speak without it, but it’s merely reflexive habit, not overwhelming compulsion. I could tell my accent was starting to irritate, so I apologize for the discomfort.”

“I accept however, this does not change the issue of things being a concern about potential corruption or foul play... I just finished evaluating them as an appropriate home for the newly risen Lord Slithern. To say that people will decry this as a conflict of interest is the least of the concerns. There are also...”

“You are free to refuse.” Lady Matrix cuts her off and Harrika comes up short. For a moment both women simply regard each other.

Then as there are no protests from Miss Spindle, Lady Matrix slowly smiles. “If you are willing to accept, then I can arrange for everything you need to be in order. But the better an idea we get about The Undaunted, the better off it will be for all. Their dedication to self improvement and our dedication to societal improvement means that we will have a great many interactions. The Council and I would like to see what those interactions will be.”

“Are you sending anyone else?”

“We’ve requested several volunteers, and then had to pare them down and hold a lottery for who could be in the proper lottery. You Miss Spindle, will be the envy of many a woman. You’re at the front of the queue.”

“What is the plan?”

“We have a group of five volunteers that will be offering to join The Chainbreakers. No doubt they will know that we are trying to get a read on them, so any more than five soldiers and a civilian will be a bit much. Granted The Chainbreakers could refuse, but with how large their ship is and how eagerly they recruit I doubt they will.”

“And what will be expected of me? I’m no spy, not any kind of infiltrator. I’m not even a fully accredited psychologist.”

“The accreditation can be taken care of. You’ll need a quick test and primer to get you onto the newly revised standard level, however you can easily earn your doctorate.”

“You sound so certain.”

“Your old essays and lessons still hold a great deal of promise and while the standard shave tightened somewhat, they’re still strong enough to get a passing grade.”

“... Alright putting aside how much my own life seems to have been examined under a microscope, we’re ignoring the issue that The Chainbreakers are far from stupid and may very well refuse on the reasonable ground of not wanting to be spied upon.”

“I already have a woman working on that.”

“Of course. I can’t believe I expected any less.” Harrika notes in a dry tone.

•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•×•

“Well, yes. Of course, we introduce ourselves like this of course they’re going to want more. Honestly this isn’t unexpected at all.” Pukey says to the figure projected from his communicator and receives a grin from the physically youthful agent in return.

“I know, this situation has a lot of ‘well duh’ going around. I’m just saying the official policy is summarized as ‘go with it’ Lablan has some odd regards in some ways, but is pretty damn agreeable culture. They want to get to know us, we want to know them. Let it happen.” Herbert explains. His business casual may not be as iconic as Private Stream, but it still makes him look like a child playing grownup.

“It’s not exactly hard. We’ve already invited two civvies in, how many more are coming?”

“From what we can tell they’re going to assign a small honourguard to the ship to ‘protect’ your son. Although in all honesty they’re probably going to want to... well... I’m sure you can fill in the blanks.”

“They’re waiting until he’s at least eighteen.” Pukey says in a tone that brokes no argument.

“Hey, dial back on the big man routine. I’m on your side.”

“I know. I’m just saying.”

“And I’m saying as well, cool it. We have done some digging and the rare times that...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Shadeskira on 2024-04-09 22:10:59.

The alien war leader walked through the ruins of his attack. razing of the city was a calculated risk to quell the uppity primates, his people seeded them for a purpose but the empire's distraction from keeping them in line had let them develop disgusting thoughts and ideas.

He looked over as a primate coughed, its red blood splattered the floor between them. “Foolish Monkey. You should have died, but redundances for resistance were always in your genetics.”

The primate looks up, his hand holding his small communication device up, and spoke through its pain “Fucking Ugly alien, why did you attack?”

The Alien chuckles and activates his translator so this primate will understand him. “Because you monkeys had the misfortune of passing your threshold and ironically not obliterating yourselves.” He snarled, walking towards the dying Primate, his spear held tight. “We seeded your miserable kind on this world but we had other things to handle when your threshold for upliftment and enslavement came and went. Now we will either subjugate you by force or eliminate you as a failed seeding.”

“So… we are crops? beasts for you to use and discard as wanted? Why not talk and speak with us, offer us a chance for the stars as friends?” The primate says through bloodied teeth, its strength and resilience failing slowly.

The Alien chuckles “Friends? Do you think we would let you think yourself equal? Do you think the Empire believes in your miserable notions of egalitarianism and democracy?” He readied his spear but stopped, angry at the hateful glare of this dying Primate. “You think yourselves able to defeat me? Your kind are failures, you are bred and genetically engineered for violence and warfare, but you have stagnated in complacency and peace. Look at your world and tell me you think your world peace and equality is a path to advancement and power?”

The Primate coughs and wheezes as it chuckles in pain, its body at its last legs. “I don’t know what is funnier, the fact you think you can beat us? Or the fact you had attacked the most peaceful city in our world because you think this is our seat of control” The Primate turns the communications device towards itself and smiled “Ladies and Gents, Fuck’em up for us, and make them regret attacking Tokyo” The Primate says before breathing out his last breath.

A second later the Alien began receiving alerts of incoming ordnance from seven directions two of which were nuclear, his ground forces at the edges of the city receiving fire from every direction, and three of his six cruisers in low orbit being hit by kinetic weapons with enough force to knock the shields offline. Had he been wrong, did they never pass their threshold, were all their efforts for peace just them delaying the eventual obliteration of themselves? And if so, then what had he unleashed? His chances to answer his questions were cut short as a missile with a blue star slammed into him and ended his life and a ship from a tiny nation got to tally the kills of the invading aliens’ commander among its small but impactful list of kills.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Shadeskira on 2024-04-09 21:23:16.

The council was silent as the nervous and shaking Ensign walked to the microphone, taking a shaking breath, he opened his report and glanced at the human diplomats. “Hello, i am ensign Kilati'uphtix Zolpear, of the Kianx Collection…” he swallowed nervously “i have been tasked with providing Supreme Commander Zolk's daily report on the situation in the Gamma sector…”

“Where is Supreme Commander Zolk, Ensign!?” The high Chancellor roared.

The Ensign's natural camouflage flared and made him translucent for a second before he calmed down and spoke in a shaking voice “he passed out sir, the new developments in our war shocked him…” The Ensign shifted back to staring at the happy-faced humans.

“WHAT DEVELOPMENTS!” The high Chancellor roared again.

“The enemy is retreating sir…” the Ensign choked out, his eyes not leaving the humans.

“Expl… explain” the high chancellor said, confused and stunned.

“As you know all signatories of our council must contribute to ongoing galactic level wars…” the Ensign started before swallowing down some fear and mustered his courage to continue. “The latest reinforcement was from the humans, sir, but they sent…” The ensign froze as the humans smiled wide, and continued as the lead diplomat gave him a nod, “They sent six thousand ships sir, and twelve million ground forces with dedicated transport and support fleet numbering an additional three thousand, they took operational control of the sector and have liberated six worlds across four systems… sir.”

The council was eerily silent as the news sunk in, they had all dismissed humanity's claims to reinforce with warriors, knowing them as the merchants and diplomats of the galaxy, so to hear the news that they had mustered so many ships and troops was understandably jarring.

The Ensign continued, “The Humans… have also… made contact with the enemy sir…”

The High Chancellor looked to the human delegation for confirmation, which Ambassador Sam Kriger gave with a nod. “Eleaborate Ambassador…”

The Human Ambassador stood up and smiled. “The enemy we have been fighting call themselves the Vor, They are a hierarchical hive mind of insects from a class six death world.” He says calmly, announcing the existence of the only other class six deathworlders in the galaxy, the other one is the calm and collected humans. “They attacked because they require resources to feed their growing population, and the Human Empire is currently negotiating for peace.”

“Y-you can’t do that… you are a signatory, not a seated race.” the high chancellor said, angry at the brazen break from the bylaws of their Federation.

“Well… see the Vor refuse to speak to anything they deem as a non-threat. Deathworld mentality and all that nonsense.” The Ambassador said back calmly, “To be frank, humanity understands their point of view, but we just took a different path in space, we came to you with peace and friendship because we didn't feel like dealing with a galactic-level war. I mean honestly your entire military force was having trouble with their harvesting fleets”

The silence that followed the news that they were losing to fleets not meant for warfare was broken by the Ensign passing out at the podium. The multiple bio-reactions to fear, dread, and horror from the 200 delegates lit the room up in a mesmerizing display. But the Human Ambassador continued “So… The Vor will not parlay with the federation, because to them you are all petulant children playing at governance, however, they have recognized Humanity as equals and are amiable to staying in their corner of the Galaxy if we ship them 30 trillion tons of foodstuffs suitable for carbon lifeforms. Moreover, they seem ready to agree to a Defensive pact with humanity which will extend their military support to the federation if humanity is not ousted.”