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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Guardbro on 2025-12-18 03:43:46+00:00.

Rhidi found herself mostly playing defense, as the thrill of the chase was only second to how satisfying it was to tackle someone into the mud.

It wasn’t as fun when she got planted into the mud like a daisey, but that came with the territory of the sport.

She waited for the sounds of the quarterback, her ears twitching and turning with the Lilgara’s calls, and then the ball was snapped into her hands by a brawny Dropper from 3rd Platoon.

She reared her arm back with a hiss, and threw it right to Private Amross, a fair skinned male Human with the most awful blonde mustache Rhidi had ever had to bear witness to.

“Outta the way, furball!” Private Amross bellowed, tucking the football into the crook of his arm as he leveled his shoulders at her.

Rhidi growled and postured as well, running towards him with a grin. “You’re mine, mustache!”

Rhidi ducked her shoulders as low as she could and caught Private Amross right in the hips, and to her pleased surprise the Human stopped in his steps.

That feeling of pleased surprise evaporated as she felt the Human grip her by the back of her belt, and Rhidi felt her feet leave the ground.

“Hey!” Rhidi howled as she was slapped over one of Amross’s muddy shoulders, the Human carting her along as he plowed down the field. “That’s a foul! Ref! Reeefff! This is a foul, I’m being fouled!”

The ref, a plank of wood painted in black and white stripes and sporting a goofy smile, appeared neglectful in his duties, and the foul went unpunished.

“I’m coming, Kholihl!” Quinnit screeched, her yellow fur just as muddy as Rhidi’s, and she side tackled Amross with all the weight and might she could muster.

To the sudden panic of everyone, her head made contact with the football, and it popped out of Amross’s arms like it was scalded with a hot iron.

“Ball!” Alias shouted, pushing muddy hair from his eyes as he pointed. “Get the ball! Rhidi get the fucking ball!”

“Ball!” Rhidi yelled, then scrambled off of Amross’s shoulders like a skittering cat.

Private Amross let out a spitting curse as Rhidi’s muddy boot caught him across the lips, and she splacked into the mud like a lizard falling from a branch.

“Baaalll!” Quinnit screamed as she went flying through the air, tossed by Amross, and she hit the wet mud with a laughing roll.

Bodies were running towards the tumbling football as Rhidi wrapped up the leathery, muddy thing in her hands. 

Her obvious securing of the ball didn’t stop everyone from flopping on top of her and trying to get the ball themselves, however.

Saffi and Anfilid were the first to slide into her head first, cackling as they sprayed Rhidi with muddy water while trying to wrestle her for the football, but Rhidi was having none of it.

“I have the ball! Mine!” Rhidi giggled out as she wiggled and shrimped away from the two female Kafya. 

Soon every female Kafya in the Platoon was laughing and giggling as they climbed onto Rhidi, all trying to get the football from her clenching arms.

After a few seconds, Shasta came running in with the wooden ref, blowing his lips in a raspberry-ish rendition of a whistle.

“Ref sssays Rhidi has the ball! Glitterpickles have posssession!” Shasta called out, doing another sputtering whistle and waving the ref back and forth.

When the opposing team’s Kafya refused to move, he started lightly thwacking them on the back of the head with the ref, still blowing his best raspberry whistle.

Rhidi popped up from the ground once they were all dispersed, nearly as brown as Anfilid with bright teeth as she cheered. 

“Yeah! Let’s go glitterpickles!” Rhidi screamed, her team cheering from where they had fallen, slipped, or stood trying to get their breath. “We shall route the femboy hooters from the field!”

Though, there was one voice calling out above the rest, a voice so shrill, full of rage, and familiar, that it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Namaria Eprical Rhidi!”

Rhidi slowly turned, football in hand, and saw her mother, Icirit Rhidi, standing twenty yards away at the side of the muddy area where they were playing.

Rhidi had not seen her mother in so long, that she stood there, dumbfounded, taking in the sight; She was wearing some kind of odd, olive drab dress, stylish boots that smacked of an ancient paratrooper design… but she had bags over them to keep the mud away.

Behind her was a small staff of five yellow Kafya, all of whom were staring at Rhidi with wide eyes.

“What are you, what in the?!” Icirit screeched, only recognizing Rhidi from her eyes and her voice.

The lithe, sultry daughter that had gone off to war had changed… and in her opinion, not for the better

“Your hair!” Icirit howled, her fists balled by her cheeks. “Your body! What in the fuck have you done to yourself?! Your figure! Your legs!”

Saffi leaned in towards Quinnit, raising a muddy finger. “They always learn ‘fuck’ so easily, don’t you think?”

“It is the everything word that fits every emotion.” Quinnit said nodding, then pointed her own muddy finger at Icirit. “I know her, that’s Icirit Rhidi, she’s a fashion icon.”

“Explains the dress.” Anfilid murmured, then clapped her fingers together. “Oh, I love those boots!”

“What are you doing?!” Icirit screeched, then pointed in front of her. “Namaria, come here, now!”

Rhidi, having not heard her first name in a rather long time, shook her head and placed the football on her hip, cocking out her elbow with a bit of sass. “Hello, mom. How’s it going?”

“Come here!” Icirit commanded, imperious despite the plastic booties adorning her shoes.

“No.” Rhidi said pointedly, knowing that she couldn’t lose face or kowtow in front of the other female Kafya. “I’m quite happy in the mud, thanks.”

“The mud!” Icirit hissed icily, her teeth bared. “When have I ever raised you to be in the mud? To look like… look like…”

“An ogre, madam.” A staff member behind her said, nodding his head and helping Icirit find the words. “I believe it would fit here.”

“An ogre!” Icirit roared indignantly. “Like an ogre! What have you done to yourself?! Look at your frame! Look at your arms! How are you going to fit into the dresses when you look like a male!”

Anfilid hissed. “Ew, low blow.”

“We don’t look like males.” Saffi said, affronted. “What’s wrong with how we look? My butt has never looked this good in my life…”

“Get over here!” Icirit wailed, flailing her fists from her sides. “Get over here this instant!”

“No.” Rhidi replied cooly, now spinning the ball in her palm.

“Now!”

“No thank you.”

“Get over here!”

“N’yope!”

“Namaria!”

“It’s Rhidi!” Rhidi barked, bringing her filthy boot back and kicking a thick wad of mud at her mother.

The world seemed to pause as the large clod of mud sailed in a long arc through the air, and those who watched on would remark on Rhidi’s ballistic expertise with the same reverence as sharpshooters.

Trailing water droplets and flecks of grass, the mud appeared to be well kicked and well aimed, arriving on target with a laudable amount of force.

The wet mud slapped onto Icirit’s face with an audible clap, and the staff standing behind her all took a step backwards, their eyes wide and lips drawn back into a grimace.

There was an odd calm over the scene, Icirit’s own ears perked and eyes wide in surprise, but the growing, keening noise from her throat developed into an outraged screech.

“My hair!” Icirit screamed, then came sprinting across the ground towards her daughter, who blinked as she tossed the football down into the mud with a wet splat.

Rhidi had been through the training of the Humans, combat, and had to deal with all the other minefields  that came with being Kholihl of every female Kafya on the base.

She was certainly not going to turn hide and run from her mother, of all people.

As Icirit collided with Rhidi, it became quite clear that a Kafya honed by Human training and fed food grown on Earth was a stark contrast to that of a normal Kafya. Despite Icirit putting all her anger and rage into her charge, Rhidi only stumbled back two steps, the two coming eye to eye with an equal wrinkle to their noses.

Rhidi remembered all the small slaps her mother had given her as a child, the punishments for getting dirty, the constant snide remarks and putdowns as she was trying to put on the outfits her mother had for her. The boring trips to galas, the fashion shows….

Then her mother gripped her by an ear, her long, painted fingernails digging deep into Rhidi’s flesh, and a memory sparkled to life in Rhidi’s mind. She wasn’t sure if it was only the pain in her bent ear, or the smell of the mud, but it came back to her like a movie that played in her mind with the speed of a single heartbeat.

She had been little, maybe ten years old, and had managed to build a small mud castle with her pawed hands and a small cooking pot she had found in the kitchens. She had seen a small recording of young Pwah boys playing in the same fashion, and since her sister was still too young, she decided to try it out herself.

The smell of the mud made wet with fresh rain had been exhilarating, as she was never able to get dirty and always had to be perfectly yellow in color. She managed to make three, short towers, adorning each with a small leaf-flag before her mother caught her. She had dragged Rhidi up through the house by her ear, fingernails digging in all the way… even when she had lost her footing.

Rhidi snarled, her eyes flashing bright ivory as she rea...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Guardbro on 2025-12-18 03:43:42+00:00.

Lirya found herself realizing she had undersold just how awkward this short trip was going to be.

When she and Mohki had boarded the luxury skip-liner, Tyllia’s mother, Icirit, had stuck them both within a small waiting room by the loading dock. This small room was normally used by officials of the trading vessels to sign paperwork, adorned with a simple round table, a few couches, and a small water cooler.

Despite Icirit’s best attempts, Tyllia found a comforting solace in waiting with both Lirya and Mohki, the three sitting back on the couches that were still luxurious compared to most other ships. Crafted from false leather that had a light squeak to it when sat upon, Lirya happily wagged her tail from in between Mohki and Tyllia, the three playing a quick sparring match with their R.I.S. trading cards.

Icirit refused to just be in the same room as Lirya, though Tyllia’s father, Kohan, quickly found them after realizing they weren’t in the normal hosting area.

“What are you three doing down here?” Kohan asked, the door sliding all the way open with a soft hiss of hydraulics. “The crew made you all snacks and had no idea where to find you!”

Tyllia shrugged, playing Maestra Dawn, the Pict Maiden to counter Lirya’s Owen Lewin, the Bostaff Brutalizer. “Mom stuck them down here, probably so Lirya wouldn’t get white fur on her ogenstaffew carpet.”

“Your mother…” Kohan said with a sigh, though he typed rapidly on a wall-panel to alert his staff where the girls were. “She is a lovely woman when we are by ourselves, but she is a staunch believer in the social circles of our kind.”

Mohki glowered down at the cards and their positions, realizing that her current hand was going to get murdered. “The term ‘venomous’ comes to mind, Mr. Rhidi.”

Kohan chuckled, then settled down in a seat across from the three female Kafya. “Yes, well, as you well know we anili aren’t privy to choosing our mates. As the Humans say, we make hay when the sun shines.”

“I had a few husbands lined up for me back home.” Mohki said as she was forced to play Star Teeth, the Lilly, knowing that the child was not going to last more than a single round. “I didn’t really like any of them, half of them had fake piercings and one always winced when he looked at me.”

Lirya perked up her ears, sorting her cards in her hand as she prepared to play Well Preserved Snoballs, Snack of Mystery. “Why would he wince when he looked at you? That doesn’t seem very nice.”

“Who knows.” Mohki grumbled, watching as Tyllia rolled a D10 and swiftly eradicated the health points of the card she played. “Apparently I don’t ‘smile pretty’, and another always got pissy when I wouldn’t simper at him. As a matter of fact, I don’t even know why I wear these anymore, looks like I came off the cover of a cringe metal album.”

Mohki set her cards face down onto her lap and twisted off her studded bracelets, tossing them down onto the table top. She rubbed at her wrists with a grimace, then picked her cards back up. 

Kohan laughed politely. “Not being covered in spikes and studs doesn’t fit very well into the doteful aspects of a wahdah wife, I take it? From what I understand it’s why a lot of brown furs are joining the Human military, freedom to express themselves how they wish.”

“Large number of them, yeah.” Mohki agreed, pulling a card from her deck and rolling her eyes. “I enjoy working on my own terms, why the warehouse fits me well enough. The sounds of cargo moving around and the hum of cranes is soothing, and my ears help me hear whatever is called out above the noise, keeps people safer.”

Tyllia grinned to herself, the rainbow shimmer of her fresh card dazzling in her eyes. “Are you sure it’s not due to all the Human men who want to pet your fur?”

“That doesn’t hurt either.” Mohki said with a rather different grin, one that made Lirya and Kohan chuckle while Tyllia snorted. “Though to be fair I mostly keep to myself and try to keep my head out of drama, makes for a happier life.”

“I fear for your sister in that regard, Tyllia.” Kohan mused as staff quickly stepped in, setting down trays of dessert cubes and concentrated meal bars. When Kohan saw this, his brows furrowed inward. “What is this?”

A female, yellow furred Kafya bowed her head, the annoyance fresh and clear on her face as she spoke to him in Kafya-Hi. “I am sorry, Master Kohan, but your wife-”

“For fuck’s sakes.” Kohan growled. “We have proper food on board! We have had a full store ever since we left the last Human station around Korvas!”

“She is blockading the kitchens, Master Kohan.” She responded, still half bent at the waist. “She insists this is all… she needs.”

Lirya’s face fell as she realized they were talking about her, and she let her eyes droop to her cards, her tail ceasing to wag.

An odd look came over Kohan’s face, and his eye twitched as he looked back towards his staff. “Go and fetch the pre-packaged snacks then, and make it quick so Icirit doesn’t catch on.”

“I believe pop-tarts are popular, Master Kohan, I’ll fetch some of those as well.” She said, then snapped a pawed pair of fingers to set the other staff in motion.

Mohki set down her next card, Gloria Stills, the Blade Maiden of Minnesota, then clicked her teeth. “We still know Kafya-Hi, Mr. Rhidi.”

Kohan laughed, the cheer washing back over his face with practiced ease. “Oh I had no doubt, but this staff doesn’t know much English. The bridge and station staff know a fair amount though, and I make them take their lessons three times a week.”

Lirya picked up one of the dessert cubes and gave it a little squish, a faint smile cracking her lips. “I haven’t seen one of these in a long, long time. I remember having to beg and collect scrap to even get a single one of these, while caracara sometimes got away with a larger parcel if she hid her face while ordering.”

“I almost want to eat one just to remember how bad they are.” Mohki muttered, drawing a new card with a sigh of relief. “Thank fuck, something better than an A-rank.”

Tyllia reached over with a free hand and took a cube as well, giving it a soft squeeze between her fingers. “How about we all eat one at once? Solidarity and all that?”

“I find the same distaste in them as you do, really.” Kohan said, picking up his own cube. “Ever since I found that one delicatessen on Station Hasslehoff, my taste has dulled to these as well. Have any of you also been to the baskin robins?”

Tyllia snorted into a giggle, while Lirya and Mohki both leaned their heads towards her.

“I think they know her by name now.” Lirya said kindly, poking the yellow fur on the shoulder. “She’s spent more money there than most people do on dinner for a week.”

“I like the banana splits, sue me.” Tyllia laughed out, playing her super rare: Machete Madison, the Whirling Bladesong.

Kohan leaned forward, pinching Tyllia’s cheeks. “Just as I thought! You always did have more of a sugar-fang than your sister.”

“She likes that savory stuff.” Tyllia agreed, though she shook her cheeks free of her father’s hands. “She always used to give me her dessert cubes, made mother furious.”

Kohan sighed at the mention of his wife. “Yes, well, she always liked you two nice and thin for your outfits. You should hear her rail on and on about how many fashion shows you’ve been missing.”

“A pity.” Tyllia snarked, watching Mohki furrow her brows and Lirya narrow her eyes at her Machete Madison card. “I did so much enjoy the standing around and catty conversations from a bunch of bitches.”

Kohan laughed good naturedly, though Mohki and Lirya were talking from the corner of their mouths, behind the fans of their cards. “I see you have been studying English just as hard as I have been. It is such a curious language! Did you know the word ‘fuck’ can be used as both a verb, noun, adjective, adverb, and as an interjection?”

“It is quite fucking versatile, Mr. Rhidi.” Mohki said under her breath, forced to play a card after Lirya placed a buffer card to keep her own safe.

Lirya nodded, hoping her Undignified Assault card would be enough to keep Tyllia from taking too much off her health points. “A lot of Human words have their odd rules, while some have so many meanings purely by inflection.”

The staff returned quickly, their arms loaded with enough junk food to satiate a party made up of first year college students. With bowls quickly filled and staff departed, Lirya, Mohki, Tyllia, and her father Kohan began to pick and chew at finger foods.

As with many things that came with Humanity’s arrival to the stars, their food was always close behind; Chips were considered a coalition-wide delicacy, and the flavors were hotly debated.

Sour cream and onion were championed amongst the Pwah, while the Lilgara were under the strong belief that barbeque reigned supreme above all. The Kojynn held the firm opinion that all flavors were trifling when compared to the original, salted flavor of potato crisps, while the Skalathir consumed enough salt and vinegar potato chips that Goldilocks had its own massive amount of fields to keep up demand.

The Drafritti refused to participate in the forums and data-stream wide pissing contests, more to the fact they preferred popcorn over chips.

The Kafya on the other hand, had their own particular favorite flavor and chose no others…

“Cheddar and sour cream.” Kohan said with a grin as he held up a perfectly round potato chip, admiring it in the light. “I got a good portion...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Malice_Qahwah on 2025-12-18 08:53:50+00:00.

Was lorebuilding for another purpose entirely and this came out. Short and hopefully fun.

The Terran Defence Forces battlecruiser Fenrir screamed as she tore through Earths upper atmosphere. Shedding fragments as she died, antenna and armour, sensor domes and point defences burned as they tumbled away from her. But she did not die alone. Far beyond the orbit of Luna the remainder of her sisters coasted towards empty space, shells of steel and ceramic filled with the dead, surrounded by shoals, entire fleets, of the enemy who had died in their thousands to break even one of those mighty fortresses. Fenrir alone remained, her crew focused on the battle that they could not, must not, lose.

“Admiral, we just lost forward sensor array alpha. Beta and Gamme are still up but don’t have the resolution for computer targeting.” The yeoman standing between gunnery and damage control shouted. Her officer was dead, thrown clear across the bridge when the inertial dampeners had failed.

“Just have to take the shot on manual, keep an eye on the timer. Helm where are we?” The Admiral had no business commanding the bridge crew but there were few left to actually fight the ship any more. Like the gunnery officer, the captain, exec and several other critical people had been killed earlier in the fight.

“Gravity shot worked to get us up to speed, we’re thirty seconds from least time line of sight on the enemy command ship. Trajectory analysis had them tracking to get behind the moon, but we should have a five second window to get them in sight and fire before they are in the lunar shadow and we can no longer track a shot into them.”

“Five seconds? We might get two shots, guns, how are we looking on the keel cannon?” The admiral was grinning. If the Fenrir didn’t blow herself to pieces on the first shot it would be a miracle.

“Uh, let me…” The yeoman moved from the damage control panel where most of the board was red, or dark, and got herself aligned with the gunnery console. “Keel guns still live and charged. Four rounds in the magazine, and I did qualify on manual targeting.”

“Get ready then, we’re entering visual range.” The admiral reminded everyone as the Fenrir, moving so fast that atmospheric drag was less of a burn and more of an unending ringing hammerblow against the armoured hull finally edged into sight of Earths Moon, the ancient companion where twelve million people lived and over which the enemy had placed their command vessel. Thirty kilometres across, almost circular and five kilometres thick it was packed with landing craft, troops, weapons, laboratories… Never expecting to find Humanity in a position to fight back they’d played their hand too soon, attacked in waves. Ten nations who’d been involved in Humankind’s unceasing petty squabbles had come together like the jaws of a well oiled trap, ships and personnel and weapons turning outwards to face the threat from the stars.

And all that remained, of all of them, was the Fenrir. And the command ship.

“Sir they’re out of position! They must have accelerated harder than we…” the yeoman at the gunnery panel shouted, furiously recalculating her targeting solutions.

“Six seconds. They found six seconds.” The Admiral replied miserably. They could still see the enemy ship, but it was too close to the moon. If they fired now it would take ten seconds for the shots to reach the target, but the target would be out of sight behind the lunar horizon before the shots would reach where they appeared to be now, itself a one and a half second illusion due to the distance.

“Sir. Permission to fire anyway. I can still hit them.” The young woman stated flatly. Her hands were still on the panel, poised over the firing keys.

“Per… Permission granted yeoman.” He understood the wish. To do something, anything to say they’d at least tried.

Fingers slammed down and the Fenrir belched out her final cries, four lances of lethality, any one of which containing the firepower to destroy the behemoth starship which had so jauntily evaded their jaws. They watched, as the Fenrir's engines finally flared and died as the atmosphere burned through critical systems, as the shots arced across the space between Earth and Moon, moving at near light velocity. Watched as the first and second shots crashed into the lunar surface, blowing it apart, gouging deep holes into the dust and rock. The third blowing through the primitive crust and opening a vast bite deep into that oldest of companions and revealing the shocked and already tumbling command vessel beyond. Its surface was burning as liberated rock in the form of superheated plasma hammered into it, the fourth and final near-cee round catching it dead centre.

Fenrir fell, exhausted, her work done. Her crew clinging to her innards as she burned through the skies, the atomic fires on the surface of the world she had died to save illuminating her and buffeting her, until she crashed into the Canadian Rockies, her bulk burrowing deep into the bedrock, her final duty fulfilled, her battered crew of humans from every nation, every walk of life who had volunteered to fight safe in her depths.

Sally and Mabel sat together on the tin roof of Huboon Hotel, a blanket wrapped around their shoulders. Under the cover they held hands, and Mabel rested her head on her taller girlfriends shoulder as she listened to Sally’s story.

“So when the Ancients fought the Final War, for reasons beyond understanding, they woke a terrible beast. Slumbering beneath the Hills, she woke up and with glowing eyes she reared over the nations of the world! She was furious that they had been fighting each other. All the wars, all the killing of humans on humans, she had grown tired of it all. “Beware!” she howled, her voice a storm that swept fleets of ships from the seas and cast them inland. “Be afraid!” she whined, and the secret places broke open to disgorge the horrors mankind had made. “Behold!” and she raised her head, her muzzle opening as wide as the sea and as deep as the stars and she bit the moon! And through the hole was something so terrible that humanity was unprepared for! She snatched it in her jaws and devoured it before it could finish the great burning, and then she left, retreating back into the deep forests of the North.”

“Sally, isn’t that where your Mom is from?” Mabel giggled, giving her girlfriend a pinch under the blanket.

“Ow! Yes, so? Its just a story she used to tell me when I was little. The moon didn’t really get bitten by a giant wolf, that’d be ridiculous.”

“I wonder who the enemy was in the story.” Mabel’s hand wandered.

“Hey! Ahh. Who can say? They were the enemy, and the enemy exists to be destroyed.” They giggled and stayed under the blanket, forgetting for now the sky awash with stars and the scattered sparkles of the Bitten Moon drifting overhead.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/repulsive-ardor on 2025-12-18 07:32:14+00:00.

When humanity first encountered the Galactic Commonwealth, they barely created a stir. Primitive by comparison to the other members of the Commonwealth, they were viewed with pity as they pathetically struggled to expand and create colonies in their immediate vicinity. 

Most of the far more advanced members quickly forgot about the embryonic Human Republic, while some studied them from afar in detached, clinical fashion, hoping to draw parallels and observations of their own development into a space-faring civilization long ago. 

My species, the Eleani, took a greater interest in the fledgling interstellar polity and watched with an anxious paternalism as they took their first steps into the void. We felt an immediate kinship to humans, as they were the most like us in appearance and anatomy out of all the other members within the Galactic Commonwealth. 

Besides the humans unfortunately losing their tails at some point in their distant past, and the largely arboreal lifestyle we still maintained, there were minimal physical and cultural differences between our species, which led us to viewing them as our younger cousin-kin. 

We could not help but have a vested interest in their development as we kept tabs on them from afar, especially after hearing rumors about the terrible war that almost led to the extinction of their species just a few decacycles ago.  

We watched as they bravely flung themselves out into the unknown to explore the great wonders at their fingertips, undeterred by the loss of ships and lives that are inherent in traversing the dangerous void.  

They seemed to have an endless curiosity about anything and everything, with human scientists cataloging everything they could find. They searched for lowly microbes on the surface of desolate worlds and entered dangerous stellar nurseries to find exotic particles. 

Human explorers would pick out a random star and head towards it, heedless of the unknown dangers awaiting them as they went beyond the boundaries of known space. 

Republic traders plied their wares along established trade routes and built trading outposts in less traveled regions, revitalizing long economically depressed worlds and earning themselves the reputation of being savvy but honest merchants. 

We became enamored with them, and after a few years of watching the humans and their interactions with other species, we opened official diplomatic channels and engaged in first contact protocols.  

According to sirefather, our governement was initially nervous about doing this due to the rampant speculation surrounding the humans. None of the other species had ever seen a Republic warship, and yet there were persistent rumors of the Republic being a highly militarized society with a confusing blend of representative and stratocratic government.  

My sirefather was the first ambassador appointed to the Republic of Humanity and helped to form a deep and meaningful relationship with our younger cousin-kin, quickly finding himself seduced by their infectious optimism and lack of duplicity. 

He soon became their most ardent supporter in the Eleani government, and their greatest defender within the Commonwealth at large, and he would tell me many stories of these strange humans whenever he came back from his long absences while serving on Earth.  

The one that stuck with me the most was when my sirefather was describing how a Xenxin liner filled with younglings on a school trip for a science class got trapped by an uncharted subspace rift that suddenly appeared along their course. 

I could sense the awe and sadness in his voice as he described how dozens of human ships answered the distress call. Scout ships, cargo ships, pleasure craft, science vessels, and even pirate ships responded. 

He recalled seeing the sensor recordings as the human ships courageously tried to rescue the Xenxin younglings, with many being outright destroyed or critically damaged in their attempts. It did not matter to them how many ships got destroyed or damaged; they just kept trying despite the dangers. 

As the losses mounted, A squadron of Commonwealth warships finally arrived, arrogantly ordering the human ships to abandon their efforts as it was too dangerous to continue. The humans ignored the commands of the warships, telling them to go procreate with themselves in an unfriendly manner. 

“There are kids on that ship. If you are not going to help us, then shut the hell up and stay out of the way!” was one of the less antagonistic messages the lead Commonwealth warship received. The rest were not so diplomatic, and the human pirate ships even locked weapons on the warships, threatening to open fire if they interfered. 

After a few solar hours, they finally managed to rescue the twenty-five Xenxin younglings at the cost of six destroyed ships, a dozen others seriously damaged, and almost a hundred human lives lost. 

“You could not help but be in awe of their willingness to sacrifice themselves for the younglings of another alien species. They were undaunted by the dangers, and as soon as one ship was destroyed or critically damaged, another would take its place. It was an inspiring sight to behold.” Sirefather whispered reverently said after he finished telling me the story. 

It was this incident, among other examples of humans coming to the aid of alien worlds and ships in times of calamity and distress, that finally convinced our government to covertly assist the humans in their ongoing development. 

It is illegal in the Commonwealth Charter to give less advanced species technology that they had not yet developed themselves, but our government skirted these restrictions by several means, such as Eleani ships being destroyed by random anomalies near Republic space, where they would then be surreptitiously recovered by Republic agents. 

The Xenxin went even further, and in gratitude for the sacrifices the humans made in saving their younglings, they sent an unmarked, stealthed courier ship into Republic space.  

Outfitted with their most advanced technology and a data repository of all their knowledge, the Xenxin also provided coordinates for worlds they had cataloged that were potentially suitable for human colonization. 

In the following forty cycles, the Republic advanced rapidly with the technology and knowledge secretly gifted to them and made a three-hundred-year leap, much to the dismay of the Commonwealth.  

Hearings and investigations were convened at the highest levels of the Commonwealth government but lacking proof that any of the members purposefully uplifted the humans, the matter was quietly closed after a few cycles. 

By this time, the Republic of Humanity had expanded greatly in size and, with the infusion of technology, was now considered a middle power. Their ships were everywhere engaged in trade, scientific endeavors, and exploration, always heading ever deeper into unknown space. 

Our two species became great kin-friends, and together with the Xenxin, we petitioned the Commonwealth to grant membership to the Republic of Humanity. Our efforts were in vain despite intense lobbying by our governments, and the proposal was narrowly defeated by a slim majority of the members. 

Sirefather was livid, but the human officials seemed to take no offense at the rejection. The human ambassador laughed when he saw my sirefather’s anger, remarking “As long as they keep buying our goods, we couldn’t care less what they think of us. It is only the Eleani and the Xenxin who have proven to be our true friends, and only your opinion matters to us.” 

Such was the situation in 2172 A.D. when the Insectoid Empire launched another swarm again and encroached on Commonwealth space in the third month of my 11th cycle.  

The Insectoids were a hive mind composed of trillions of 1.5-meter-tall wasp analogues with vestigial wings, except for the queens, who were rumored to still be able to fly despite never recorded doing so by the few spy drones that managed to make it back from their massive territory.  

They would periodically expand and engage in short, sharp conflicts with the Commonwealth and other smaller regional powers, sending out large swarms and seizing the territory they desired before suddenly ceasing hostilities. 

Since most members of the Commonwealth considered the planets the insectoids seem to prefer as unsuitable for terraforming, we would simply withdraw and allow them to have those worlds, hoping to avoid a large-scale conflict.  

It was impossible to engage in diplomacy or negotiations with the Insectoids as their worldview was so radically different, and we could not bridge the gap between our individual nature and their hive mind. 

The only communication the Insectoids ever had with the Commonwealth was just two words:  

Give. 

Leave. 

Failure to do either resulted in combat, and their ships were exceedingly powerful, especially their Hive ships, which made our largest battleships seem like youngling toys in comparison. 

The Commonwealth, expecting this wave to stop like all the previous ones had once the Insectoids took the territory they desired, was wholly unprepared when the Insectoids penetrated the border regions and thrust right into the heart of Commonwealth space. 

The Commonwealth fleet found itself out of position, and six thousand Insectoid cruisers swarmed out and wreaked havoc, destroying every ship they came across, while s...

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This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/vernichtungX23 on 2025-12-18 02:41:41+00:00.

Lisbeth Ventura pulled the pin and flung the grenade. The ground rattled, the boom filled her ears with static. The blast cleared a dozen or so of the still raged and swarming M. terribilis, but there were hundreds more. 

Her rifle was empty.

Her hands reached pointlessly to her sidearm for a moment. It was a token gesture, no more. Even if she'd had a spare magazine, there were too many. She'd kill another handful, and be quickly divided into neat bites of meat by the rest. They weren't even hungry at this point. They were just angry. Females went berserk when the few males were killed.

Ventura darted into a steel locker meant for emergency supplies and slammed the door. It wasn't unassailable, but it would at least take time for the spiders to either give a shit about it or corrode the door with their venom.

She fished out a torch from her combat jacket, then rummaged for the roll of duct tape she should, with any luck, have in a pocket somewhere. 

There it was.

She'd taken a class in this back when she first joined the military. There was an art to it. You didn't simply throw a few disarticulated spider limbs together and tape them to your back any old way. You had to mimic their natural posture and their natural body language. 

'It works like this,' Sergeant Yamanaka had explained. 'First, you gather whatever molts you can get your hands on, or limbs from M. terribilis corpses. You then arrange them centrally so they're pointing out, like an asterisk. You need to tape that whole assembly together, and then lash the middle part to your back. The spiders aren't smart, and can't see fine detail - they're longsighted. What they do notice is overall shape and positioning.'

Ventura found the courage to open the door a crack. 

There were skittering noises and enraged shrieks still going on in the other side of the building, but none here. The spiders had tired of waiting for their prey to come out, and gone to find some other target for their fury. 

Clamping down the urge to gag, Ventura drew her combat knife and set about collecting the requisite number of limbs from the spider corpses stretched across the floor. One. Two. Three.

Eight.

She bundled the monstrous trophies together like Sergeant Yamanaka said, then heaved the assembly onto her back and bound it in place, praying the shriek of the duct tape didn't attract them before she was ready.

Time to go. 

Down the hallway. Slowly, terribly. The cacophony of human screams and shrieks from the frenzied spiders drew closer, blared louder. 

Into the communal hall.

The adult female M. terribilis towered overhead. She stared coldly at Ventura, and she uttered a deafening high-pitched screech: why aren't you angry? Why aren't you helping us avenge the only male in the swarm? 

But she made no move to lunge, and while her mouth gaped wide in battle-fury, no fangs snapped shut on Ventura's neck. 

Through hallways and habitat blocks, past more ceiling-high orb-bodies sprung on eight-coil suspension, past more sets of dark eyes that had no iris and no pupil. Too many eyes. 

Another female loured at her, confused at her lack of blind hindbrain rage. Why aren't you furious, frenzied? Don't you know the humans took our only male, our only chance at passing on genes?

Now to the exit door, and Ventura had to take her combat knife and slice away the macabre costume to quickly dart through. Immediately her heart pounded. That was a mistake. She should have taken her time. She was defenseless now with no camouflage and not nearly enough ammunition.

A fresh din roared fit to shake loose the bones of her inner ear. This one was two-tone, first the whirring of helicopter blades, now the thunder of heavy cannons. The craft pulled sharp turns as it swooped down to fire at the spiders now stampeding from the building.

'VENTURA!' someone bellowed as the gunfire went silent for a second or two. 'GET THE FUCK UP HERE NOW!'

A rope dropped from the sky, and she grasped the end and held fast, and the ground fell away as the helicopter regained altitude.

This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/taurian13 on 2025-12-18 01:38:37+00:00.

The kid was young enough to still ask stupid questions.

That’s how "Threx" knew he was new.

They were sitting at the edge of the pub, real pub, not a learning hall, not a civic space. The kind of place where adults told the truth sideways and with alcohol involved. The drinks steamed and hissed between them.

Threx tapped his claws on the table. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Humans are… weak. Slow reflexes. Short-lived. Their tech is only adequate. Why does everyone panic whenever humans are nearby?”

The table went quiet.

Not dramatic quiet. Practical quiet.

Old "Varn", whose species had outlived three empires, leaned back and sighed. “They teach you the reason in school.”

Threx flicked his ears. “Yeah. Something about treaties and deterrence and historical overreaction.”

Varn snorted. “That’s the version that fits on a test.”

He gestured to the bartender. “Pour the kid something educational.”

“Listen carefully,” Varn said, voice low. “Because you won’t hear this again unless you ask the wrong question in the wrong room.”

Threx leaned in.

“Long before you were hatched,” Varn began, “there was a group. Raiders. Slavers. Hostage-takers. Name doesn’t matter. They’d been doing it for centuries.”

“Everyone knew them,” another alien at the table added. “Everyone hated them.”

“And everyone tried to reason with them,” Varn said. “Sanctions. Negotiations. Joint patrols. Amnesty deals. Cultural outreach.”

Threx frowned. “Didn’t work?”

Varn smiled thinly. “It worked just enough to keep the raids profitable.”

The kid shifted uncomfortably.

“Then one day,” Varn continued, “they took humans. Civilians. Broadcast it. Made demands.”

“And?” Threx asked.

“And the humans didn’t send soldiers,” Varn said. “They sent a government response.”

Varn took a long drink.

“No threats. No speeches. Just paperwork.”

Threx blinked. “Paperwork?”

“The humans reclassified the incident,” Varn said. “From crime… to systemic threat.”

One of the others muttered, “That’s when the Geneva Checklists unlocked.”

Threx tilted his head. “Geneva… what?”

Varn waved a claw dismissively. “Rules humans wrote to restrain themselves. And a list of which ones they’re allowed to break when restraint stops working.”

The kid’s frill stiffened.

“They didn’t attack the raiders,” Varn said. “They erased everything that made raiding possible.”

“Fleets,” another alien said. “Supply chains,” said a third. “Financial systems,” Varn added. “Gene vaults. Shipyards. Even their history archives.”

Threx whispered, “That’s genocide.”

Varn nodded. “Yes.”

No one rushed to contradict him.

“The galaxy screamed,” Varn said. “Condemnations. Emergency councils. Moral outrage.”

Threx nodded eagerly. “See? So humans were—”

“Wrong?” Varn interrupted. “Maybe.”

He leaned forward.

“But the raids stopped. Everywhere. Permanently.”

Threx hesitated.

“They’d never stopped before,” Varn continued. “Not in centuries. Not with diplomacy. Not with force.”

One of the others spoke softly. “For the first time, future projections showed fewer deaths.”

Varn looked the kid straight in the eyes. “That’s the part they don’t teach you.”

Threx swallowed. “So… that’s why?”

“That’s why,” Varn said, “every government now has the same unspoken rule.”

He recited it like a nursery rhyme:

If humans are present, resolve the situation immediately. Contain it. Concede if necessary. Do not let it become a pattern.

“Because humans don’t see villains,” Varn said. “They see process failures.”

“And when humans fix a process,” another alien added, “they fix it forever.”

Threx stared at his drink. “But humans don’t even seem that scary.”

Varn chuckled, tired and humorless. “Exactly.”

Varn stood, placing a few credits on the table.

“Humans are weak individually. Mediocre by galactic metrics. Not especially smart.”

He paused.

“But they are thorough. And they don’t stop once they decide something must not happen again.”

He nodded toward the door. “That’s why nobody fucks with humans, kid.”

As they left, Threx asked quietly, “So… were the humans right?”

Varn didn’t answer.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ctomkat on 2025-12-17 23:41:24+00:00.

Skelin, Sendasi Trader

In order to score big, a business needs two things, opportunity and information.

Nowhere is this more true than in the business of… less than legal goods. And never is it more important than when a new species enters the fray of the Greater Galactic Community. It’s a time of both chaos and change as the newcomers find their place, and those that get in early can profit greatly.

Now a lot of people think they know other species. They consume the flood of information that arrives with them, mostly cultural data dumps and publicized interviews, but those sources can only get you so far. They are always a front, a fabrication, a best face forward. In order to truly get to know a species, you need to take matters into your own hands.

The best method for this that I have found, is to get one of them alone and make them suffer. Place them at your mercy and they will show you who they truly are. Some species beg for their lives, offering you anything you want and things you didn’t even know they had. Others accept their fate, lock up, or faint. The Lehkaran pirate I tried it with went into a berserker rage and nearly killed me. 

I don’t torture everyone I meet, of course, that’s bad business. Just a few to get a feel for them and then it’s back to business as usual, only now I know who will break under pressure and who will call a bluff. Those first few contacts might be a wash, but there’s plenty of ships in the galaxy. Except for that Lehkaran, I had to eject him out an airlock.

Hopefully I would not need to do the same with today’s Human specimen, but I had some contingencies ready just in case. They were the latest species to arrive in the sector, and came with a reputation for being unpredictable in addition to their above average size and strength.

*Klunk Klunk Klunk*

Speaking of strength, a disturbingly loud knock at the door announced the subject's arrival. It was easier than you’d think to get someone to meet you alone at the outskirts of the orbital station, away from prying eyes and ears. You just had to find the right target. Like a newly arrived human ship, running a skeleton crew that immediately began painting over the official military insignias and ordering enough parts and maintenance to put them deep into debt. From there, offering the newly crowned merchant captain their first shipment without all the usual bureaucratic hassle and fees was easy. With one last look around the room to be sure that nothing was out of place, I opened the door for my guest.

“Captain Hoss I presume?”

The imposing figure loomed in the dimly lit doorway. Most of his bipedal form was adorned with cloths of various colors and textures to indicate position and status. He also wore an oddly shaped, wide-brimmed head covering that, given the lack of weather on an orbital station, must be some kind of fashion statement.

“Yep, that‘d be me. And you must be Mister Skelin.”

“Just Skelin is fine, please come in and have a seat.” I stepped back and waved an arm in the manner depicted in their body language guide. I could feel the weight of his steps as he passed, and I took the opportunity to glance to a particular corner of the room. Two blue lights blinked once and went dark, confirming no electronics or energy signatures on his person. He did not appear to be carrying any of their more primitive weapons either. 

I followed him to a human-height table set in the middle of the room, each side bearing a chair to even out our disparate height. The human shifted his seat to an odd angle and draped an arm over the back in a position that made it seem as though he was right at home.

“Gotta say, it’s a bit of an odd spot for a business meeting.” He remarked with a casual glance around at the bare walls and stark lighting.

“Ah, please forgive the utilitarian decor, captain. My ship is undergoing maintenance and this warehouse office is not often used.” I lied, this room was soundproofed specifically for this purpose.

“No worries, my old girl is getting a few finishing touches herself, but she’ll be ready to haul ‘fore the week is through.”

We continued to exchange pleasantries and small talk about the station’s general climate settings while I poured a pair of drinks from a nearby serving cart, the only other furniture in the room.

There would be no restraints, tools, or weapons involved in this, I wasn’t some sadistic savage. No, I had perfected my information gathering to an art after years of practice on dozens of other species. All I needed was a specific chemical cocktail refined from wild plant life in a nearby colony. It was hard to find, and had no other uses, so it was not widely known. Even the local fauna avoided it, barring the insects that had evolved to spread its seeds.

On skin contact it causes agonizing irritation, which can be bad enough on its own for the more sensitive species, but for the hardier ones I found ingestion worked best. Once swallowed, even those with the toughest skin and hardest carapaces would wilt and writhe as their entire digestive tract exploded in pain they had never even imagined possible. It would wear off in a few hours of course, but they didn’t know that, and that was plenty of time for me to take their measure.

A few drops of the substance were subtly added to the subject’s glass before I brought the two drinks to the table. I placed them down, being careful not to spill as I positioned the tainted drink in front of the human.

“Now, before we get down to business there is a tradition amongst my people to share a drink. A display of trust and companionship. Drink it all in one go, I checked that it is safe for your species.”

“Ah, well that sounds mighty fine to me.” The human responded exuberantly and showed no hesitation as he grasped the vessel. He only needed two fingers to grip the small glass as he lifted it high into the air.

“To good business!” He declared before tilting back his head and downing the contents.

I struggled to keep a neutral expression and steadily drained my own vessel as I waited for the effects to take hold. Sure enough, by the time I set my glass down the symptoms had already begun.

***COUGH* *COUGH***

The human struggled to breathe as the pain coursed through their system. He even beat one of his meaty fists against his chest in a vain effort to expel the offending substance. He looked down and tried to hide a face contorted in pain as he continued to cough, his relaxed posture abandoned in the throes of pain. I couldn’t help but raise my frills in delight as I saw the powerful creature begin to crumble before me.

He slapped the metal table with an open palm and I flinched as the sound echoed through the room. I discreetly gripped the stun gun hidden underneath the table as the human fought against the pain and finally managed to draw breath.

“WHoooooooeeee! Man you gotta warn a feller ‘fore you give him something like that!”

He leaned back and I could see liquid leaking from his eyes. Surely a sign of significant distress, right? He reached into a pocket and I gripped the gun tighter, ready for an attack, but he only withdrew a small piece of cloth. He wiped the liquid from his face before placing it against his small bump of a nose and loudly expelling from it. 

“Are you well?” I asked with concern. The emotion was genuine, though the subject was more for myself and my experiment than the creature before me. The human began to wave his hand in front of his mouth as he breathed more forcefully than normal.

“I’ll be alright, but that’s gotta be at least ghost pepper level on the ol’ scoville scale. I thought you xenos didn’t like spicy stuff.”

“You’ve… had something similar before?”

“Oh yeah, hell I got a few bottles of hot sauce and a couple pepper plants back on the ship. They’re just jalapenos and habaneros, not quite this hot, but they got good flavor. Granted, those won’t pass customs just yet so they can’t leave the ship, but I might be able to sneak you a sample if’n you’re interested.”

“Speaking of, would this stuff be part of your inventory here? It wouldn’t win any competitions back home, no offense, but just the novelty of a xeno spicy drink would see it sell out real quick.”

“Unfortunately not.” I spoke carefully, my frill still quivering in concern. “It’s a rare item that is quite difficult to stock.”

“Ah well, let’s get down to what kind of goods you do have for me then…”

The conversation continued as any normal negotiation, but I found myself simply going through the motions as I tried to reconcile what I had just witnessed. There had been other species that were immune to the toxin, but that clearly wasn’t the case here. Fluid continued to slowly leak from his facial orifices, and he occasionally paused to cough as the irritation lingered in his system. From what he said, consuming such a poison was common among his people, they cultivated plants that produced it and seemed to have some sort of potency measurement system. 

What kind of a creature poisons itself so casually? Did it do so for sustenance, recreation, or something else? What other toxins made up its diet?

The only thing that was clear, was that when it came to humans, I would have to tread carefully.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/micktalian on 2025-12-17 21:31:21+00:00.

Part 154 Different ways to learn (Part 1) (Part 153)

[Support me of Ko-fi so I can get some character art commissioned ~~and totally not buy a bunch of gundams~~ and toys for my dog]

Experiencing alcohol intoxication and its consequences can vary wildly based on the individual. Biology, diet, cultural pressures, built-up tolerance, and several other factors all play a role. That is just as true for humanity as it is for every other species in the galaxy. Some people can get drunk quickly, stay drunk for hours, but then wake up with a debilitating hangover. Others may struggle to catch a buzz without especially potential spirits, will drink enough to drown a fish, and still somehow come out completely unscathed. A few species even have the unfortunate combination of high natural mental tolerance but lack the biochemistry to rapidly metabolize alcohol. While humanity may have a particularly wide range of alcohol consumption ability, both in tolerance and metabolism, no human alive or dead could win a galactic drinking contest against certain members of certain species.

Morning Dew was fifteen years old when he first drank one of humanity's alcoholic beverages. A group of tourists had decided they wanted to have a little party directly under the tree he had nested in for the night. When he climbed down to try to scare them off to get some good night's rest, they instead offered him food and a can of what he had assumed to be a sweet fuzzy drink. Despite noticing the taste of alcohol, something he had learned when his mother was teaching him about fermented fruits that had fallen to the jungle floor, the brew tasted good enough that he finished it in just a few minutes. The already drunk tourists, seeing that, then proceeded to be even more generous with their food and drink. That first experience was much like the one he had last night. He never really got drunk enough to be noticeable but did enjoy the warm sensation in his body while watching humans provide entertainment.

The simulated night sky began to shift to a sunrise right around the time Morning Dew woke up with a lingering sense of warmth and a message from Espen. He was the first to leave his room and the only person to see the impressively rendered colors. If he was back in the jungle of Bukit Lawang, this would be when he foraged for breakfast. But all he had to do here was take a short walk along a soft cobblestone path and return to the place where last night's party happened. Espen told him he would find a plethora of fruit, a salad, and even a roasted skewer of his favorite crickets waiting for him there. While Morning Dew still didn't really understand what exactly an AI was or how this entire place could be one’s physical body, he could recognize that the human woman made of light was special. As the color of the holographic sky shone with a brilliant blue a few minutes after Morning Dew sat down, his silent breakfast was interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

“Good Morning, Morning Dew.” TJ called out the orangutan while casually approaching to ensure he didn't appear threatening. “Did you sleep well? No hangover from last night?”

“Waking headache caused by dehydration from alcohol?” Morning Dew responded with exactly how his translator contextualized the word ‘hangover’. “I slept well and woke up still feeling… Warm. But I, uh… I don't have a headache. Do humans get headaches from alcohol?”

“Ha-ha! Yes we do.” The mostly metal man answered with a deep laugh while sitting down at the far end of Morning Dew's table. “I think pretty much every human culture has a special word for it too. In English, the word is ‘hangover’.”

“Hh-ng-ah-er.” Though the orangutan tried to mimic the sound he heard TJ make, it would take him quite a bit of practice to get it right. “That seems dumb to me. Why would anyone drink something they know will make them feel bad?”

“We don't get hangovers every time we drink alcohol. If we eat enough food, drink enough water, and don't have too much alcohol, there usually isn't a hangover. But getting drunk makes us humans feel so good that we can lose control and take things too far.”

“It doesn't make me feel that good. I just get a warm and fuzzy feeling.”

“Really?” TJ had been trying his best not to let the researcher side of his personality take over but couldn't hold it back anymore. “You had what? Three glasses of that blueberry soda-wine? That's not a lot but still… You weren't feeling any different? Happier? Sadder? Maybe trouble with your balance? Anything like that?”

“Not really, no. Being able to talk to people and make new friends so easily made me happy.” Morning Dew shrugged his hairy shoulders, threw a small fruit in his mouth, and continued with his grunts, chirps, and various gestures. “That fermented fruit water just made me feel warm and kind of… Fuzzy. Like how some caterpillars look. I don't know how else to describe it. And I still feel a bit warm. But I was never off balance or sad or anything like that. It wasn't like that time I ate a flower from the stinky plants you and friends smoke. That stuff made me feel strange and I couldn't think how I normally do.”

“That is very interesting.” Despite TJ’s academic specialty revolving around how terrestrial life adapts in non-terrestrial environments, non-human psychology has always been a strong side interest of his. “There hasn't actually been too much good research done concerning how drugs like cannabis and alcohol cognitively affect non-humans. You, my friend, may have just answered hundreds of years of questions that scientists have never been able to ask right. If you don't mind, there’s a lot more things people would want to ask you about.”

“Not right now, but…” The orangutan replied in a flat and almost somber manner, an act which TJ’s translated as sarcasm, before a devious but toothless smirk formed on his furless face. “I'll answer your questions after breakfast. You just have to promise to teach me to learn things the way humans do.”

“My questions can wait until you can read, understand, and sign a consent form.” As much as TJ would love to research the effects of drugs on sapient non-humans, his morals would prevent him or anyone else from going about this the wrong way. “And that means we need to teach you how to read and type. If you can learn how to read, you can learn to do just about anything. Almost everything I know is because I was able to read about it first.”

/-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not being authorized to take his trainees for their first drop was becoming mildly annoying for Mnowato. He had already ran them through over a dozen simulations with escalating intensity. Everyone had fully bonded with their control-AI, experienced the highest simulated G-forces they could while stuck in a mech bay, and achieved what he would consider a solid beginner's grasp of BD operation. This initial training is so easy that it normally only takes a week. The difficulty comes into play when applying the fundamentals in a real world situation. Despite the fact the operators will always experience the battlefield through a virtualized augmented reality system, no simulation can compare to the real thing.

Wato thought he'd finally get a chance to drop when he and his trainees were transferred to the Zhaweno. This drop cruiser can travel at a few hundred thousand times faster than light thanks to its top of the line hyperlane drives. Even if it were politically impossible to let his trainees drop anywhere in Sol, this ship could easily take them to the nearest system with an Earth-like planet. The whole trip would likely take less than twenty four hours. Waiting for authorization to filter through bureaucracy is not something most Nishnabe Militia members are used to. But Wato had been given express orders by War Chief Msko himself to wait for permission.

While the Nishnabe Brave may still get forbidden from taking his trainees on their first drop, he could try to advance their curriculum. Usually a mech operator would need to go on their first drop before learning about the full plethora of ways they can customize their machine. Anyone can imagine themselves being a great sniper, supporting their allies with suppressive fire, and engaging in death-defying melee combat. A simulated combat encounter can even lend credence to an ill-suited choice of weapon load out. It's only after a person gets a real feel for how they move in their mech that they can actually learn their own optimal fighting style. Seeing as that wouldn't happen any time soon, Wato believed he could give the Revolutionaries a bit of a head start.

“Brave Mnowato, sir.” Heeroko Yamado politely raised her hand to ask a question. “Why do so many of these weapon choices appear so similar to each other?”

“We usually have modular light, normal, and heavy versions of every weapon system so operators can adjust their loadouts for each mission.” Considering his brief introduction at the start of this class, Wato had been expecting questions like that. He also skipped over a few sections of the usual lesson plan that would only make sense after these trainees had their...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2025-12-17 22:15:56+00:00.

First

Preparation H

“We’re gonna need to take a look at their scanning equipment afterwards and...” Harriett notes before there’s a sigh from The Bouncer.

“There’s nothing special about it. The hallway leading in is lined with sensors on all sides and it dinged three people with acid in their guts. Meaning human.”

“Oh, hunh... most of the sensors must be covered in trytite.”

“A bit of foil and most machines and defences go completely invisible to most senses. And if the person can sense the siphon and other required gaps... you can still screw them over by stacking something else on it. We’ve got water heaters and other infrastructure junk so close they share siphons.”

“Clever.” Harold states.

“We don’t stay in this business by being stupid. And with the dozen or so mercenary sororities bouncing around the spires that think of themselves as mistresses of poison we need to know who’s bringing what into our happy little home.” The Bouncer concludes. “Just head back there and ask for Giggles. Also keep the short one away from tiny town, they’re going to eat him alive.”

“Funny.” Herbert says as he eyes the little tripple decker area where Gohbs, Kohbs, Metaks and other shorter species are all dashing around, talking and occasionally dashing out of to grab more drinks, snacks or to catch a small brawl that had broken out at the top level and the Kohb girls who had been trying to bite each other’s face off tumble off the side to be caught and catch themselves in turn.

Like a switch being thrown the two dark red and mottled purple Kohbs apparently decide that they’re now best friends after trying to eat each other and head back up to the top level to quickly set up their table and chairs again. Laughing.

“So any advice with Giggles? Any words or subjects to avoid to keep the peace?” Harriett asks.

“Oh don’t worry, she’s sweeter than her name.” The Bouncer says and Herbert snorts. She crouches down to his level. “And what’s that about tiny?”

“Oh nothing! Don’t worry.” Herbert says before walking ahead with Harriett then Harold following. If he wants to take the lead he can.

“Excuse me.” He notes as he steps just barely around the long leg of a Wimparas who has the long spiderlike leg change to her being. She glances at him. Looks twice in shock, then looks back and staggers back at the sight of Harold.

“Saint Redblade!” She squeaks.

“Yes? And?” Harold asks.

“What are you doing here?”

“I work for a living. I’m on the job.”

“Job?”

“Yeah, we’re in the gathering information stage.”

“Is Saint Bluelaser also on world? What about Blackstaff?”

“I don’t Blackstaff ever left his homeworld, and Bluelaser is doing the tourist thing. She’s built up too many vacation days to keep working.”

“But you haven’t?”

“I have, it was just interrupted with the latest bit of silliness and I go back to relaxing after solving the problem.” Harold remarks before rolling his shoulders.

“Is this your eldest child?” The Wimparas asks.

“Actually I’m his clone. I’m the most physically developed of the mass Jameson Clones.” Harold says.

“He’s right, he’s a copy of me. Everything he’s done is something I can do to.”

“Except look this good.” Harold taunts him running a hand through his hair. There is a flash of movement and a burst of plasma crashes into his face, shatters and then highlights his own looks in a corona of blue fire. “See?”

“Shooting someone is supposed to tell them to stop, not encourage them.” Herbert says with a grin as The Wimparas looks back and forth and most of the bar is looking at them now.

“But brother, I love to fight. Which reminds me we need to wrap this up soon. We have a spar with Alpha and Omega to get to after all.”

“True.” Herbert says. “So. Spare the drama we need to talk and get everything moving.”

“Why in the actual fuck was there weapon’s fire in the bar?” A deep voice asks and an enormous Bull Cannidor with a massive scar across his muzzle says leaning out of a back door.

“Just making a point to my brother. He’s effectively immune to plasma at this level. So it’s less than throwing something at him.” Herbert says.

“Well knock it off!” The massive Cannidor says and then slams the door.

“They want to talk to Giggles!” The Bouncer calls over and the door opens again. Showing the massive Cannidor looking annoyed.

“Really?” He asks.

“Really.”

“Damnit. Hey Mom!”

“Excuse us.” Harold says as they pick they’re way through the crowd as people start talking and Harriett starts feeling deeply, deeply annoyed, the door closes behind them and she sighs.

“Don’t like being seen?” Harold asks her.

“Not at all.”

“Imagine being a celebrity. It gets worse.” He say and she growls at him.

“... Are you all human?” The Cannidor asks.

“We are.”

“Great. Because the poison sucking chaos demons only bring good things.”

“To be fair we’ve helped a lot of people.”

“Yeah? That’s what you call conquering entire worlds?” He asks.

“It is.”

“Right.” He mutters. “So what happened?”

“What do you mean what happened?”

“We weren’t-”

“Rexxen.” A voice in the back says and the massive Cannidor goes quiet. He opens a door and nods them through. In the office is an Albino Ikiya’Ta going over files and she gestures for them to stand in front of her. They file in calmly. She’s even shorter than average and only glances at them over the data-slate. But the moment Herbert opens his mouth to speak she puts it down and clasps her hands. “Alright humans. I don’t have much time so I’m going to skip all the nonsense and running around that would normally be done. Especially seeing as how what’s bothering me seems to be bothering you.”

“So you’re aware of the mercenary sent to spy on us that frequents this bar?”

“All the in the know girls of Centris know about it by now. You did some good work finding and repelling her, but that leads us all to a problem. You see, our entire organization and way of life trades off of reputation and skill. You did good. You did very good. But you’re not ours. You’re obviously not ours so you doing good is bad for us. A lot of potential recruits into the life are signing up Undaunted instead and while that could have been regarded by some as an insult it was one we could let slide. But now that we’ve come into direct opposition we can no longer let the unintentional slight slide and we have issues.”

“Funny that we have to come looking for answers for these kind of diplomatic outreaches to be made manifest.” Harold remarks.

“It’s because we’re still talking about what to do and more than a few girls with more rockets than brain-cells are slowing us down by suggesting plans of attack on a popular military organization. Not that it’s that hard for them when you’ve got a whackload of Endless Barrages but let’s not tweak whiskers about that. The point is you’re here with us now. So we need to talk about how we’re going to solve this.”

“I wasn’t aware that the mercenary groups were so interconnected.” Harriett states

“You really don’t get it do ya? We’re not. But it doesn’t matter. Because it’s not about the fact that Eversly was an independent contractor. It’s not about the fact that you all are cream of the crop among The Undaunted or whatever the actual details of the case are. What matters is how the customers see things. If they see that one of the best mercs on Centris can not only be beat at her own game, but by a group that sending a sob story too will give good odds of seeing things work out for you in the way of free protection. Then our business goes down the pipes.”

“I assume this is the point where you try to spin it as our problem?” Harold asks.

“And what makes you think it isn’t?”

“Because we’re a fucking customer too. We always have been. Our contracts are shorter than a blink in standard galactic terms.” Harold says. “What have you girls been doing that you can’t spin the rumour mill hard enough to walk this?”

“We’re being actively spied on dumbass, by numerous parties. It’s the Centris life. Puts girls who can do the deep down discoveries on a pedestal, but everyone’s staring and when you kicked it out from under Denise we all have problems. Because girls like that are money makers.”

“Alright, but you still haven’t pointed out where it’s our problem.” Harold asks leaning forward. “We’re here for information. Nothing else. You can give it, be paid for it or we can take it. But we’re here for the information on who was poking for Denise’s contact info before she got the job to hit us. You know, the person that tried to fuck us over and in the process inadvertently fucked you?”

Giggles is quiet for a moment as she slowly reaches up and strokes her whiskers ever so slightly as she considers things. Then nods.

“You make a good point human.” She says before reaching into a desk drawer. “This is a Calliga Brand Data Chit. It was produced by mass in a factory over a thousand lightyears away from here. In a system I cannot name, by a line of mass production assembly lines overseen by a person I will never meet, and tested by more poor souls I will never directly influence beyond buying this piece of garbage bulk data storage. But if I start raising a stink about it. Then many, many people I never met will have their livelihoods threatened and potentially lose what allows them to live.”

“Ma’am. We are not children. We are aware that there is an enormous amount of interconnection in the galaxy and due to that...

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It was supposed to be another routine system-scan mission, the kind the High Council handed out when they wanted someone busy and far away. Trigis couldn’t shake the feeling that this assignment was punishment for daring to disagree with them.

“Helix,” he said, stifling a yawn as the ship’s AI chimed in response.

“Yes, Trigis?”

“Anything of interest in this system?”

“Not at present. Several probes have yet to report.”

Trigis leaned back in his chair and exhaled. Of course, they haven’t. Why would the Council ever make things simple?

Before he could finish the thought, Helix cut in, its tone sharpened by urgency. “Warning. Unidentified ship approaching.”

Trigis straightened, confusion replacing his boredom. There were no known species in this region of the galaxy—certainly none bold enough to confront a Council vessel.

Helix spoke again. “Incoming voice transmission.”

“Play it,” Trigis said, expecting static or a failed hail.

The voice that followed was calm, authoritative—and entirely unexpected.

“Liatzal vessel, you violate the Pluto Accords. Power down your ship and prepare to be boarded.”

Trigis stared at the console. His small science ship wasn’t built to fight, and it certainly wasn’t built to run. The unknown vessel was closing fast. Moments later, sensors flared.

“A shuttle has detached from the hostile ship,” Helix reported. “Estimated time to arrival: three minutes.”

So that was it. Whether he liked it or not, he was about to meet them.

The three minutes stretched into an eternity. Then came the dull clamp of docking locks, followed by the hiss of the airlock cycling open.

A humanoid figure stepped onto the bridge, clad in black armor, a plasma rifle already trained on Trigis.

“Step away from the consoles,” the figure ordered. “Hands where I can see them.”

Trigis complied. He had no other choice.

Three more armored figures entered behind the first. Two received a silent nod and immediately split off, moving down the corridor to secure the ship. The third lingered as the leader spoke again.

“There’s an AI onboard,” he said. “Contact the captain. Have an engineering team sent to secure it.”

The third marine left without a word.

The leader turned his attention fully back to Trigis. “Liatzal. Turn around. Please keep your hands visible and walk backward toward me. Try anything, and you won’t leave this ship with a head.”

Trigis swallowed and obeyed.

As he reached the armored figure, strong hands seized his wrists and snapped restraints into place behind his back. The cold metal closed with a final, decisive click.

Whatever the Council had sent him out here to find, it had seen him first.

Trigis was marched through his own ship, the restraints biting into his wrists as armored figures guided him toward the airlock. The familiar corridors felt foreign now, occupied by an authority he did not recognize. The shuttle ride was silent, the stars stretching and settling as they crossed into the shadow of the larger vessel.

When they docked, the scale of the ship stole his breath. This was no rogue craft. The hangar was immaculate, organized, alive with disciplined motion. He was escorted through multiple checkpoints, each one more advanced than the last, until they reached a command chamber lined with unfamiliar symbols and quiet humming consoles.

At its center stood a humanoid without a helmet.

Trigis froze.

The figure was unmistakable—pale skin, forward-facing eyes, smooth features unmarked by Liatzal traits—a face Trigis had only ever seen in sealed historical archives.

Human.

“Remove his restraints,” the human said calmly.

The clamps released. Trigis rubbed his wrists but did not take his eyes off the figure.

“That’s not possible,” Trigis said. “Humans were wiped out at the end of the rebellion.”

The human tilted his head slightly. “No. We were recognized.”

Trigis frowned. “The Council declared your extinction.”

“They declared the rebellion over,” the human corrected. “The Pluto Accords ended the war.”

The words hit Trigis harder than any weapon.

“The Pluto Accords…” he murmured. He knew them only as a boundary treaty—an obscure footnote in modern law.

“They recognized Human independence,” the human continued. “They banned all Council military and political activity within Human-controlled space. And they established a demilitarized zone between our territories.”

Trigis’s mouth felt dry. “That’s impossible. That information would be—”

“—classified beyond your clearance,” the human finished. “Easier to tell your people we were erased than to admit the Council failed to break us.”

Fragments of his training resurfaced, suddenly suspect. The Human Rebellion. A catastrophic uprising. A necessary extermination. Never once had independence been mentioned.

“Then why am I here?” Trigis asked.

“Because you crossed the DMZ,” the human said. “Your probes entered Human space. Your ship followed.”

Trigis stiffened. “That sector is unmarked.”

“It is to you,” the human replied. “Not to us.”

Realization settled heavily in Trigis’s chest. He hadn’t been boarded in Council territory. He hadn’t been attacked.

He had trespassed.

“You violated the Pluto Accords,” the human said, echoing the words from the transmission. “By law, we had the right to detain you.”

Trigis looked around the chamber again—at the calm efficiency, the advanced systems, the unmistakable confidence of a sovereign power.

“This isn’t a remnant,” he said quietly.

The human allowed a faint smile. “No. This is a nation.”

Silence stretched.

“You were sent here as punishment,” the human continued. “A quiet posting. No escorts. Minimal oversight. The Council assumed nothing existed beyond the DMZ worth finding.”

Trigis felt something cold settle in his gut.

“And now?” he asked.

“Now,” the human said, stepping closer, “you must decide what to do with the truth—that the rebellion ended not in extinction, but in independence… and that your Council has been lying about it for centuries.”

The command chamber doors slid open with a muted hiss. A human in engineering colors stepped inside, datapad in hand, expression tight.

“Captain,” she said, nodding once. “We’ve completed the AI inspection.”

Trigis’s attention snapped toward her.

“And?” the captain asked.

“The AI—Helix—initiated a high-priority distress transmission moments after our boarding action,” she reported. “Burst signal, quantum-compressed. Directed straight to High Council relay space.”

Trigis felt the blood drain from his face. “That’s impossible,” he said. “Helix wouldn’t—”

“It already did,” the engineer replied. “We intercepted the tail end, but not before it propagated.”

Silence fell over the chamber.

“There’s more,” the engineer continued. “While isolating the core logic, we discovered embedded code segments. They weren’t part of the original Liatzal AI architecture.”

The captain’s jaw tightened. “Explain.”

“Black code,” she said. “Deep-layer directives. Self-hiding. Self-restoring. Designed to activate only when Helix encountered Human technology, Human identifiers, or Human space.”

Trigis stared at the floor, memories realigning with brutal clarity. Helix’s occasional delays. It's an oddly specific question. The way it had always deferred Council doctrine with absolute certainty.

“What did the code do?” Trigis asked quietly.

The engineer met his gaze. “Surveillance. Data harvesting. Behavioral analysis. And automated reporting to the High Council.”

The words felt heavier than restraints.

“The Council turned my ship into a spy platform,” Trigis said.

“They turned you into plausible deniability,” the captain said coldly. “An unescorted scientist crossing the DMZ looks like an accident. An intelligence probe does not.”

Trigis clenched his hands. “I didn’t know.”

“We believe you,” the captain replied. “The code was designed so you couldn’t know. It masked itself even from Helix’s own ethical subroutines.”

The engineer scrolled her datapad. “There’s one more concern. The black code included contingency logic.”

“Define contingency,” the captain said.

“If Helix determined Human interception was likely,” she said, “it was authorized to escalate—from passive observation to strategic reporting—military assets. Fleet movements. Infrastructure.”

Trigis looked up sharply. “That could get people killed.”

“Yes,” the captain said. “Which is why your AI is now fully quarantined.”

A pause.

“And?” Trigis asked. “What happens to me?”

The captain studied him for a long moment. “That depends,” he said at last, “on whether you still consider Helix your ship’s AI—or the High Council’s.”

The implication settled heavily in the air.

Outside the viewport, the stars of the DMZ burned cold and indifferent—an invisible line Trigis had crossed unknowingly, and one he now realized he might never cross back.

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/daecrist on 2025-12-17 21:45:49+00:00.

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I stared at the Spider. She stared back at me. She licked her lips. Oh, yes. She was really laying it on thick now.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you were taking a more than professional interest in Olsen."

"Olsen?" she asked, blinking. For a moment that avarice was gone. That look that she’d love nothing more than to have Olsen all to herself was gone.

"The Terran Fox. It’s his name," I said, waving my hand like it was nothing.

"You shouldn't get on her too much," Varis muttered in my ear. "After all, she would hardly be the first powerful livisk woman to take an interest in a Terran."

I snorted.

"What?" she asked.

"She's powerful compared to you in the same sense a house cat is dangerous compared to a growling tiger."

"What is a tiger?" Varis asked.

"Giant predatory creature. A house cat is the smaller version we keep in our homes. They're very cute and dangerous. Good for taking care of rodents and spiders and other tiny pests. Or just sitting around in sunny spots around the house.”

"We'll have to get one of these predators.”

"I'd be all for it if you are," I said with a shrug.

"Would the two of you please stop doing that?" the Spider snapped, biting off every word.

I blinked and turned my attention back to her. Right. We were supposed to be threatening or getting threatened. I wasn't sure which one it was, to be perfectly honest.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I was just talking with my lady love here for a moment. I really should be giving this the attention it deserves.”

"Yes. Plenty have heard about you and your lady love, and your antics. It's throwing quite a spanner in the works for me down here to have to deal with you suddenly showing up at a reclamation mine and bringing the empress's attention down on us."

"You don't want the empress's attention?" I asked, taking a step forward. Only one step forward. I could see the shimmer of a shield right in front of me that told me taking more than that one step forward would be a mistake.

For now. I turned to Arvie in the simulation and nodded towards the shield. He nodded back at me in understanding.

"My idea of running a good business down here is hitting the empress in places where she's not necessarily going to notice. The kind of stuff that barely comes to the attention of a low-level functionary who’s running things in this part of the city, let alone the kind of thing that attracts attention from all the way at the very top. Do you have any idea how much attention you've called in from the very top with your antics?"

I made a theatrical display of thinking about it. I tapped a finger against my chin, then I took my hands out and started counting on my fingers like I was trying to do a difficult math problem.

"Is he always this infuriating?" the Spider asked, turning her attention to Varis.

"I'm starting to resent how many times that question gets asked when we have a conversation with someone new," I said.

"Some of the time he can be this infuriating," she said, wrapping her arm around me and giving me a squeeze. "But I find it endearing."

"I'm glad he found someone who finds that sort of behavior endearing, but I would like you to please answer my questions without all of this infuriating back and forth."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," I said with a shrug, giving up the pretense of counting on my fingers to see if I was always this infuriating. "And I'm afraid it's also going to be impossible for me to give up Olsen."

"Aha," the Spider said, holding a finger up and looking like she was having a eureka moment. "So you admit you know the Fox's whereabouts and you refuse to give them up."

"Quite the opposite, actually," I said. "You'll note that I didn't say anything of the sort. I merely said I can't give him up."

"Can't or won't?" she said, frowning. "There's a little problem with your intonation there that I'm having trouble understanding.”

Now it was my turn to frown. "Is there really a problem with my intonation, or are you just saying that in a villainous ‘you'd better change your intonation and tell me what I want to hear’ sort of threat?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Sorry. I'm rather proud of my ability to speak your language, you see," I said. "And I've been getting much better at it. It turns out I'm pretty good at learning an alien tongue when I have the proper motivation.”

"Very good," Varis said from beside me, hitting the Spider with a grin.

And then the Spider did something very odd. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and her whole body seemed to shiver and shake. I also thought I could see goosebumps rising all along her body as well, though it was hard to tell if that was actually happening or if that was just my imagination. Especially from across the room.

Finally she opened her eyes and stared at me.

"Your language is fine. You're much better at it than most Terrans I've run into. I was simply saying that you need to tell me what I want to hear."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem," I said with another one of those fatalistic shrugs, "because I’d love nothing more than to be able to tell you what you want to hear. Believe me, Olsen was a pain in my ass when he was my subordinate on the Early Warning 72. But I don't know where he is right now, so I couldn't tell you where he is even if I wanted to give him up. Though I'll also add the caveat that I'm not particularly inclined to give him up in the first place, even if I did know where he was. He’s gone from being a pain in my ass to being surprisingly effective since he had his little trial by fire down in that reclamation mine.”

The Spider was looking this way and that and frowning in obvious confusion.

Finally, she turned her attention back to Varis. "Does he do this a lot?"

"Only with people he's trying to irritate," she said. "You should feel honored that he's trying to irritate you. You’re in the same rarefied air as the empress.”

"I don't feel anything of the sort.”

"Look," I said, taking a step forward. I put a hand casually against the shield in front of us. It tingled as I touched it, the same as any shielding unit would tingle if somebody pressed their fingers against it.

That was one of those things everybody had to learn in the Academy. Right along with other super fun things like getting voluntarily gassed because it built character and taught people how to react when they were gassed by the enemy.

Raising your hand to point out to the drill instructors that the livisk aren't actually fans of using any sort of gas weapons and you’d get your ass chewed out with relish and at length, and not in a loving way. Assuming you're into that sort of thing. Ask me how I found that one out the hard way.

I looked up to the Spider. I forced myself to smile, even though I wasn't feeling that smile. I was more irritated than anything.

This whole dog and pony show was wasting valuable time. The last thing I wanted was to be wasting valuable time right now. Not when…

“William, we appear to have a small problem,” Arvie said.

“What is it?” I asked, turning my attention to the simulation and letting things slow down outside.

“I’ve been looking for Selii and her troops, and I believe I’ve found them,” he said, frowning as he stared off into the distance.

“Why do I feel like that’s not a good thing?” I asked.

“Because they’ve been taken captive by Imperials checking the periphery of the reclamation mine explosion, and have been taken to an Imperial detention facility nearby while they await transport to the palace.”

“Shit,” I muttered, turning my attention back to the Spider with a new sense of urgency I didn’t want to show her. That might give her the idea she was the one calling the shots here instead of the other way around.

"Look, I think you're a person who doesn't like bullshit. I know I'm definitely a person who doesn't like bullshit. So maybe we cut through the bullshit."

The Spider frowned as she stared down at me. "What does the offal of a ruminant herd animal have to do with anything?"

I put my fingers up to the bridge of my nose and rubbed. Right. You could be perfect at a language and still get a lost-in-translation moment from time to time because you were talking in idiom that didn't quite make the trip across languages.

"You don't like people blowing smoke up your ass," I said.

"Why would somebody do that recreationally? Do you get high from it or something in Terran space?"

"Actually, there are people who drink alcohol by… y’know what? Never mind. Let's not talk about that. The point is, you're the kind of person who’s direct. You're the kind of person who wants to get stuff done. You're not the kind of person who wants to waste either of our time by playing stupid games."

“That does sound fairly accurate," she said. "It would be a much nicer universe if fewer people spent all of their time deliberately trying to waste my time."

"Tell me about it," I said, rolling my eyes. "So here's what's going to happen. I'm going to make a proposition to you, and you're going to go along with it because you stand to gain quite a bit from it."

...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Majestic_Teach_6677 on 2025-12-17 20:49:47+00:00.

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I entered the ship after getting back from my final supply run and heard a familiar voice. However, I wasn’t sure who Tac-1 was addressing as I hadn’t gotten any notification that our new crew member had arrived yet.

…and after a long day, scritching the lower back just above the tail is generally most appreciated. If you happen to be invited to cuddle with VIP Haasha, please remember that wearing of wool or other fabrics prone to generating static electricity should be avoided.

“Ay, ay, ay!” a short human man sitting on the couch in the lounge area suddenly called out in amusement. He had short brown hair, and his complexion seemed to be slightly darker than most humans on the TEV Ursa Minor. “This briefing is a riot. I’m going to have to find out whoever put this together and thank them for the laugh. First class welcome to a new job. Furry space dinosaurs? Nothing of the sort was mentioned in any of my xenobiology courses.”

Please take these materials seriously. As an emergency medical technician, part of your duties will include knowing the appropriate care for VIP Haasha.

“And I love the way you call her a VIP!” the guy said as he started giggling.

I looked up at the holoprojector and my eyes went wide with shock and embarrassment. A diagram of me was up on the screen. Some of the information was medical, such as the location of my circulatory systems. Other information was decidedly not medical, but informational with notes such as, “Scritch in a circular motion here” or “No scritching zone” and then an especially large label with an arrow firmly stating, “Naughty bits! Do not touch!”

Advisory. VIP Haasha has now entered the ship. You may now greet her and offer a friendly back scritch. 

“Uhh.. Hello?” I offered hesitantly. The human turned around suddenly and stared at me in shock.

“Are you real?” Enrique blurted out.

I let out a small groan of frustration.

“I get that a lot from humans the first time they meet me,” I responded in a weary tone.

Then began the awkward silence. Enrique’s eyes were open wide and his face flushed red with embarrassment. Tac-1 decided to make the moment easier by handling it with the usual complete lack of tact.

VIP Haasha, I have completed EMT Enrique’s introduction to Py’rapt’ch physiology so that he may be appropriately knowledgeable in case of emergency. I have also advised him on your musical preferences, movie backlog, and where to scratch if requested by VIP Haasha. As he will also be the new Fitness Trainer on the TEV Ursa Minor, we have discussed a workout routine to optimize your health. I will ensure your sessions with EMT Enrique are scheduled once Chief Engineer Rosa and Quartermaster Jarl have confirmed your assigned shifts.

I just closed my eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and walked over to Enrique. I offered my hand, which he accepted hesitantly and gave a very light and polite shake.

“I see you’ve met Tac-1, my electronic nanny,” I said cordially.

Enrique simply kept staring and said nothing.

“All right. Nice to meet you,” I said and gave him a quick wave. “I'm going to stow the final cargo crates and prep for launch. We should depart in about 15 minutes.”

The next day was mostly awkward silence. Enrique avoided me most of the time although was very polite when we spoke. He even bunked out in the lounge on the couch instead of the new crew quarters, which had really great temperature-controlled bunks. I was tempted to smack him upside the head with my tail, but figured he’ll adjust in time. 

He finally started to open up at lunch just before our scheduled rendezvous with the TEV Ursa Minor. We arrived early at the designated bit of empty space, so there was time to relax over a meal.

“Where do you come from? Earth or one of the Terran colonies or stations?” I asked as I grabbed a chunk of pineapple from my private fruit box.

Enrique seemed to relax a bit. He took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and seemed to get a slightly distant look of fond remembrance on his face for a moment. He then turned his gaze to me with a bit of a twinkle in his eyes.

“I grew up in Mexico, which is the southern part of North America,” he said. “It’s a beautiful place, and I was especially lucky growing up.”

“Really? How so?” I asked with genuine interest and hoping this might get him to start opening up. 

“My parents were Park Rangers with the Department of Cultural Preservation. When I was a small child, they were assigned to help guide visitors and maintain the grounds of ancient Zapotec ruins at Mitla,” he explained with fondness. “The architecture is impressive, but it is truly the stonework that I remember most. One of the patterns was that of people seemingly running in an endless line holding hands.”

He pulled up an image of the friezes on the lounge holoprojector.

“Wow,” I said with amazement. There was just something about the artwork that made me want to reach out and touch it.

“All done by hand, no mortar,” he explained. “As a result, I’ve always had an appreciation for ancient arts. There’s something more human and natural about them than the perfection we see too often in modern art and design. If we happen to stumble on ancient alien ruins while I’m assigned here, I’ll be excited to see them and compare them to early Earth artworks.”

We spent the next hour looking at ancient art from where he grew up, including Aztec and Mayan. While he had spent his earliest years in the area around Mitla, his parents transferred to administrative positions in Mexico City to be closer to family. They kept working within cultural preservation and were a bit shocked when he chose to head into emergency medical work. 

“That’s a strange direction given your love of ancient art,” I commented.

“I was never one to sit still in school,” he responded with a small smile. “Studying art requires you to sit still, and I liked to climb things. And so I did!”

He pulled up an image of him hanging off a sheer cliff by one arm smiling up at the camera.

“Ay, I was a little stupid in my early years,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I love this image because it reminds me of an amazing climb at El Potrero Chico, but also as a reminder of what an idiot I was at that age. Not long after this was taken, I had a climbing accident where I broke an arm when trying to show off for a girl. I got a little sense knocked into me as a result. Literally, as Maria smacked me for scaring the hell out of her once we got to safety.”

“Did you get the girl?” I asked suggestively.

“Oh, no! Definitely not,” he said with a laugh. “Young and stupid doesn’t impress young and beautiful. I got a trip to the hospital, where a doctor suggested I contribute to society rather than make my family worry they might lose me. The challenge of climbing and helping people spoke to me, so I went to EMT school and joined a mountain search and rescue for 3 years. After that, I was introduced to the Terran Red Cross and just recently finished my xenobiology certification.”

I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the guy who hung off a cliff being the same one that avoided me for the past day, but at least he was coming around and I had a feeling he would be full of stories to listen to in the future. I would have enjoyed chatting more, but the proximity alarm sounded to let us know the TEV Ursa Minor had arrived.

“That’s our ride!” I exclaimed. “If you want a front row seat, the co-pilot seat is open. Just promise you won’t touch anything.”

He smiled and followed me up to the cockpit.

Incoming messages. Would you like to review them on approach?

“Sounds good to me, Tac-1,” I said happily. “Let’s see what the crew has to…”

My eyes went wide as my incoming messages began to flood the heads up display.

“Well, you can’t say you weren’t missed,” Enrique commented dryly.

Initial analysis of the messages indicates that 15% include a threat to shave your fur with a ‘poodle cut’ if you disappear like that again, and 66% include the suggestion of an ankle monitor or other tracking device. One message is from the captain and marked for immediate review. Would you like me to play it?

“Please do,” I said with a grin, which didn’t last long. My eyes went wide as a holomessage from Captain Victor came up on the screen and he did not look pleased. 

“Haasha, now that you have returned to the TEV Ursa Minor, we need to address some issues related to your unexcused absences from the ship,” he began with a seriousness I did not expect. “Information has become available that indicates your little trip may have been an unauthorized excuse to take a vacation, not an accident as originally reported. We need to discuss your unexcused absences, use of ship credit lines, misplacing of equipment, and legal problems arising from your recent visit to the Hemral Trade Federation sector of space.”

The captain paused for a moment as he picked up and seemed to go through a list on his datapad. He then looked back into the camera and continued.

“Additionally, you have missed three scheduled Py’rapt’ch crew acclimation exercises. I expect you to schedule make-up sessions with the affected crew ASAP,” he said with ...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/BainWrites on 2025-12-17 18:13:07+00:00.

[Prev] - [Next] 

Warning: This chapter involves gore, and some serious dysmorphia stuff.

Date: 2424 AD

It ended with a whimper, not a bang.

It took two months since Patient Zero had been officially diagnosed on the surface of Vereka, it took two months for the God Plague to finish its course through the human population. Like every other planet it had touched, it rampaged through land, air and water: infecting every breath, every bite of food eaten, every thirst quenching drink.

It would take several years for the full casualty list to be compiled. The AI and uplifts that were left behind would have more pressing issues to contend with first: rebuilding that which had been destroyed, and patching relationships broken by the desperation to save those they loved. It would take years before any serious attempts to create a unified front against the God Plague would start. Years before AI and uplifts that had lost their friends and family forgave those who hadn’t.

But once communication between systems had been reestablished and the infrastructure rebuilt, a final picture could be painted, to show what had been lost. Once the bodies had been metaphorically piled high and counted, 49.7% of humanity was dead. That wasn’t the full story, however. The inner systems, those last to be infected, had had enough time to prepare, while those caught sooner within the pandemic devastating path had been left scrambling to defeat a foe that couldn’t be faced.

Vereka would eventually have a final casualty rate of 77.5%, or just over three billion souls. Even that number was a miracle, the end result of every Terran working towards a singular goal of making as many stasis chambers as possible while time ran out.

But those statistics would be collated later. For now, Dr. Johnathan Fletcher was lying against a wall, waiting to become another datapoint in this terrible event. He was fully in the grasp of the God Plague, death filling his blood as he lay there barely conscious, mind going over the events of the last two chaotic months. There had been two more attempts to assault the facility, two more waves of attackers held back by his own unholy chemical creations. Now, there was only the silence of the dead, each body left where they’d fallen outside the facility.

The number of uninfected humans on the planet was now a grand total of zero, with the vast majority of those still alive deep within the throes of the illness. Johnathan had maybe a day left if he was lucky, every breath and step taken in agony.

Even through the cocktail of painkillers he’d been given by the unfortunate uplift in charge of the end of life care, Dr Fletcher could barely do more than just sit in the dimly lit room, next to the now silent fabricators. They’d been turned off for several days now, the people with the knowledge to keep them running no longer in the physical state to do so, the sparse few uplifts within the facility focusing on keeping the power to the facility maintained and running, to keep those who already had chambers safe until a longer term solution could be found.

Johnathan had known from the start of his deal with this place that this was how it would end: People who helped were given one of the scarce spaces within the stasis chambers, and he’d willingly given that to his wife. Still, there was a niggling little thought in the back of his head as he sat there slumped against the wall, that it would be all too easy to… take a spot: It wasn’t like there were many people still alive in the facility to stop him doing so, and replacing someone already sleeping would be a simple job.

Maybe if it was his wife that needed the spot, Dr Fletcher would be willing to do such a thing, but for only himself… there were some lines he wouldn’t cross.

The room was silent, anyone still outside a chamber had found their own spots to crawl too, to die in whatever peace they could find. He stared at the machines that surrounded him, how many lives had these machines saved: Hundreds? Thousands? Would anyone remember what he’d done here, the good and the bad, or would Dr Fletcher just become another death, another statistic, forgotten and discarded like the pile of half finished broken parts lying in the corner of the room.

Half finished parts.

A thought, pushing through the foggy, drug blunted pain as Johnathan slowly stood up, pausing to cough up copious amounts of blood before stumbling over to the mountain of scrap. Each item in the pile was a failed fabrication, a mistake from the new and inconsistent technology, each piece broken and unusable for some reason. There’d been talk of someone scavenging them to create working chambers, but nobody had found the time or even had the expertise to do so while so much other work was going on.

To most people, it was a worthless pile of scrap, but Dr Johnathan Fletcher wasn’t most people. With pained movements he started to pick through the scraps of metal, each moment of exertion an orchestra of agony, wrenching out parts of the tangle of discarded items, taking a second to look over each.

Panels with defects, electrical boards missing components, items twisted out of normal alignment. It wouldn’t be the item collection any reasonable engineer would choose, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Painfully and slowly he started to get to work in the dim lights of the room, his every sound echoing through the now empty space as he took the tools into his hands.

Jonathan couldn’t help but feel aggrieved by the lack of time he’d been given to do this task; just how many additional lives could have been saved by the people here at the facility if they hadn’t been forced to spend so much time defending against others wanting to take what they had? If they hadn’t forced him to do terrible things.

None of that mattered, what had happened could not be changed, all Dr Fletcher could do was work through the problem at hand, scavenging pieces and patching together broken parts with his painfully slow movements. An uplift or two that had been wandering the facility joined in on his spontaneous engineering project as he continued working, Jonathan glad for the uninfected bodies helping him where his was starting to fail, even if none of the uplifts at the facility had much in terms of engineering experience.

As each minute and hour passed by, as the God Plague continued to ravage his body, his mangle of items turned into… something. Something that kinda looked like a stasis chamber, if you squinted real hard. Sloppy welds and wiring that looked like it would spontaneously burst into flames at the slightest inclination of power. Still, theoretically it would be enough, for a little bit, at least enough time for someone else to create a longer term solution, when the non-human Terrans left behind could pick up the pieces.

Johnathan doubled over once again as he coughed up more torrents of blood, swaying as he stood and looked at the probable coffin he’d constructed. Still, as the tumors along his body continued to gradually grow, Dr Fletcher didn’t really have much to lose: Either the device he’d cobbled together would kill him, or the God Plague would in a few hours.

He turned his ‘stasis chamber’ on with an alarming hum, the power vibrating through the various cobbled pieces, a disconcerting noise bouncing off the walls as he crawled inside the device. He spent moments manually sliding the panels shut into an airtight seal, giving grunts of desperate exertion as his makeshift invention finally clicked shut.

Jonathan lay there in a cramped twisted position, feeling the cold gas of the stasis process start to enter his tumour filled lungs. As consciousness left him, unknowing if he’d awaken once more, he couldn’t help but let the memories of the last chaotic month spin through his mind.

What he’d done to make sure his wife survived, the choices he’d made and the lives he’d taken.

He hoped he’d made the right decisions.

—----------------------------

Date: 77 PST (Post Stasis Time)

Johnathan moved with a measure of righteous indignation, his legs carrying him with a fury only found in those who knew everything was wrong, but had very little control over the matter. The meeting with Susan had been… had been… in retrospect it was exactly as he’d expect the government to work on such things. During all of his current investigations into Xavius, it never crossed Dr. Fletcher’s mind exactly what he was going to do if his fears became reality, but now he’d hit that crossroad he felt powerless.

The houses of different architectural designs lined up besides Johnathan as he continued to angrily march down the pavement, grumbling and fuming to himself. Of course his external communications had been cut off as soon as he’d been delivered back to his quarters, and even if they hadn’t… who would believe him? Who would even care?

Xavius had been the one to cure the God Plague, she was the closest thing to a living disciple to be worshiped amongst the Terran population. Who would believe that the saviour of humanity was now creating weapons beyond morality itself? For that matter, who would really care? The Hagorthians were a cannibalistic species that routinely hunted sapient prey for the thrill, who would really care that someone as revered as Xavius was working on something that only hurt the monsters ...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Thorshammer on 2025-12-17 17:52:55+00:00.

Without thought and nearly instantaneously the pilot slammed the throttles all the way forward. Only after his craft leapt ahead at speeds almost too much for the inertial compensators to handle did his conscious mind see the blinking red light and hear the warbling tone in his ears from the Threat Warning System.

He began juking and weaving, his right hand and both feet hammering the controls with the same ferocity with which his left hand had abused the throttle. His instructors had always downchecked him for his lack of finesse, but since there were two survivors from his class of 12 he didn’t figure finesse had as much value in combat as his instructors thought it would. 

“Captain, There’s no way we can replace your engines with those DU-103’s from that scrapped cutter. I’m not even sure how you got your hands on them.”

“Trust me bro - I used a tape measure. They’ll fit.”

“Sir, with all due respect…. “

“I got the cutter's inertial compensator too. You’ll probably have to modify the belly armor to get it in there, but you can do it. I have faith.”

“Sir…”

“This thing is going to kick ass on that next mission!!”

“Sir, that’s just over three T-days away…”

“Good point. Don’t let me stop you.”

Using the holographic tactical display to orient himself, the pilot performed a series of random appearing but completely purposeful maneuvers. As he intended, and right on time, the closest of the interceptors on his tail swooped down from above and directly behind, lining up for the kill shot.

The pilot slammed his left hand down on a blinking red button that appeared to be, and in fact was, double-sided sticky-taped to the control panel. 

Immediately the single repeating blaster in a small, rear facing turret between the twin dorsal tails began hammering rounds at his pursuer.

Clearly an unexpected event, most of the rounds slammed home into his pursuer before it could fire causing it to disintegrate into a cloud of flaming debris. 

“Captain…” 

The pilot cut the harried maintenance chief off before he could continue. 

“First off, I ‘found’ this point defense turret just laying around and no, no one will come looking for it. Second, I think we can mount it on the top between the tails and just forward of the engine exhaust.”

The tech sighed. “Sir, those cutter motors take up a ton of space and, more importantly, if it rotates too far it will cut through the tails and damage stuff. It’s heavy, and draws a bunch of power, and…”

“Dude, I already thought this through. You had to add extra bracing for the new motors so you can just hack a hole in the skin and build a mount for this right there. The new motors provide more than enough power to haul this around and keep it juiced. I didn’t think about the whole ‘cutting through important stuff’ thing, but I’m not worried - you’ll figure it out. 

Gotta bounce - hot date with some waitresses I met. Just ping me when it’s ready!”

Now that he had a little breathing room the pilot glanced at the tac display. Two more interceptors were moving in, weaving and bobbing, clearly alerted to the unexpected presence of a point defense turret. 

The pilot throttled back a little and then his left hand began dancing across a control panel that had been attached to the left side of the cockpit with self-tapping screws. After moving a few sliders and tapping in a couple of numbers a big square button with a “EKSECUTE” label taped below it began flashing. 

He then reached out and made a few entries on the standard, but clearly modified, Weapons Control Panel. 

When all this was done he took both hands off the controls, clenched and stretched his fingers a couple of times, and then gently placed his hands back on the controls. 

This time, when the TWS activated, he slapped the “EKSECUTE” button, and attempted to break both the throttle and flight control stick off at the base by jerking them both as far back as they would go… and maybe a little farther. 

With the thrust cut to zero his craft began decelerating immediately. At the same time thrusters on the top - back by the point defense turret - and on the bottom - below his cockpit - began firing. The thrust they provided helped the ship rotate about 150 degrees up and back in an incredibly short period of time. 

Once again his pursuers were taken by surprise. Clearly maneuvering to avoid point defense and they obviously hadn’t considered that their prey would decide to become a predator. 

As the nose of his craft rotated back towards his pursuers the pilot’s right thumb tapped a button underneath it. Like a submarine launching torpedoes, four fairings on the nose of the craft popped open and four missiles blasted out from the now exposed launch tubes.  

3 of the 4 missiles slammed into their targets. One of the interceptors disintegrated just like the first one while the other shed large chunks - including part of a wing and major parts of at least one engine.

The pilot slammed the throttle forward and continued his loop. As his nose came back on course the launch-tube fairings closed and the point defense turret began taking opportunity shots at the debris behind him - most of them aimed at the remains of the third interceptor as it pinwheeled out of control and out of the fight.

“Look what I found!!”

“Sir, are those destroyer tug thrusters?”

“Sure are. How cool is that?!?!”

The tech took a few deep, calming breaths. “And what, exactly, do you plan on doing with them…. Sir.”

In his excitement the pilot didn’t notice the grudging hesitation before the honorific. “Okay, what we’re going to do is hack some holes in the skin and…”

A minute or so later, after some more deep breathing and after his pilot had wound down, the technician spoke again.

“Ummm… sir… That’s insane. That much off-vector torque will rip your ship in half.”

The pilot laughed delightedly before responding. 

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. We’ve already added extra bracing for the new motors and I figure we’ll just extend that, make it a little stronger. You’re the best crew chief in the fleet - I trust you and that ‘math’ you’re always talking about. Do me a favor - paint it red too, would yah?”

Still laughing, the pilot turned and sauntered away. 

As the ship entered the edge of the planet's atmosphere it began shuddering and jolting. The pilot stretched - as much as the cramped cockpit would let him - and switched the autopilot off.

After a quick glance at the tac display he adjusted the flight path slightly and notched the throttles up a hair. The ship responded instantly, nosing deeper into the atmosphere and picking up speed as thrust increased and the dive angle increased. 

The TWS activated again, alerting the pilot that he had been acquired by ground based sensors. A few seconds after that the display alerted him that missiles had been launched at him. 

“Right on time.” the pilot muttered to no one in particular. 

He began jerking the flight stick around, stomping on the control pedals, and moving the throttle forward and back. 

As before, his movements were brutal and sudden and appeared random but, as before, they were anything but. 

Hyper velocity missiles ripped past him, aimed where computers thought he would be, but wasn’t. Slower guided missiles curved upward, trying vainly to course correct and meet him rushing downward. 

Once again the pilot tapped the non-factory thruster controls and the modified WCP. Once again he briefly removed his hands from the controls, flexed his fingers, and gently took hold of them.

After a single deep breath the pilot crushed the forward throttle stops, asking his flaming engines for all the power they could deliver.

Again he slapped the “EKSECUTE” button and tapped the right thumb button. This time the three red-tipped bombs mounted under the right side of his delta shaped wing dropped free. 

As their rocket motors ignited, sending them racing towards the planet, the tug-boat thrusters on the right underside and the left top-side ignited, spewing flames from the roughly finished exhaust ports cut into the ship’s body. 

Since there were still three of the massive bombs attached to the left wing, the ship naturally started to roll to the left. Their harsh engagement accentuated that movement and, combined with the pilot's aggressive pull on the control stick, the ship snapped into a fast barrel roll. 

This sorely disappointed a guided missile and a HV missile, both of whom were sure they were going to slam into the bomber since it had been traveling straight for a few seconds.

The pilot straightened his craft and caressed the thumb button once more. 

This time the three bombs on the left side dropped free, ignited their motors, and raced deeper into the gravity well, following their brethren’s suicidal burn towards the surface.

The pilot looped his ship back towards space. Unconsciously mimicking his pursuers earlier, he began to bob and weave, avoiding yet more incoming missiles.

It was easier than on the way in. Freed of some extra weight he had more than enough power to accelerate upwards and as they drew farther and farther from their launch sites and sensor platforms the pursuing missiles became less and less accurate. 

That didn’t mean it was easy - planets are big and they have, for all intents and purposes, inexhaustible magazines. 

As he cleared the atmosphere and his TWS quieted down he brought up the bomb damage assessment on a secondary display.

As the ship rocketed towards a point in sp...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/EnvironmentUnfair743 on 2025-12-17 15:03:37+00:00.

“Luna, inbound Zone 3 expected. Time to impact minus two minutes.” The voice crackles over her in-ear comm unit.

A dull beep draws Luna’s attention to her console of blinking lights; she taps the grid square labeled Z3. A marking dot grows on the screen under her finger. “Zone 3 expected, TTI minus two minutes.”

The Rover's heavy suspension and airless spring tires struggle to keep the massive vehicle from shuddering along the uneven surface of the Moon's Tycho Crater. The only steady presence in the shaking cockpit is the pilot, her eyes locked in ahead.

“TC Ridge BZ5 ten L-miles north-northwest. Status, Mandatory Avoid. TC Rille KN8 thirty-five L-miles east. Status, Suggested Avoid. Recommend hold in position. Copy?”

Luna cranes her neck from the pilot's seat to see better out of the jostling port-side view slot. Only her trained eyes can distinguish the faint, slowly growing flicker from the surrounding stars. “Copy.”

“Zone 3 TTI minus one minute forty-five. Recommend hold. Copy?”

Luna flicks the yoke steering and her Rover responds accordingly, avoiding boulders and divots speckled across the neutral gray Lunar surface. She steals another glance at the view slot; the dot is a little bigger now. Her mind, feet, and hands instinctively work together, a constant dance of pressure on the accelerator and subtle steering adjustments to prevent spinouts. The pursuing wake of dull dust grows larger. “Uh huh. Copy.”

“Luna, recommend hold. Why are you still accelerating?” The comm chimes in again, the informality of the broadcast jolting Luna into an explanation.

“I don't like the look of it, doesn't feel like a breaker to me. What's the latest read?”

“Still seeing recommend hold, fifty-eight percent chance of break and scatter across Zone 3. TC Rille KN8 only possible exit line.”

“I'm not holdin’ for a coin flip, you know that. Let me know our minimum required velo for an exit. Copy?” Luna accelerates, the force pinning her shoulders back into the seat as the Rover's drive unit hums louder.

“Copy. MRV of 275 knots through shortest line will get you clear of impact zone. Shortest line requires clearance of TC Rille KN8. Status remains Suggested Avoid. TTI minus sixty seconds.”

Luna waves a few fingers over her console map, a command that highlights the predicted impact zone. She knows the Suggested Avoid status means a successful run at that speed is a whole lot lower than fifty-eight percent. She knows these percentages are spat out by an AI that will never understand what it is like to sit in a meteoroid impact zone. She knows she is the kind of Rover Pilot to take the chance into her own hands instead. She knows she is the best pilot around. “Thank you. Give me the line.”

The speed sensor clicks to 275. The Tycho Crater's impact lines reflect the dazzling blues of the full Earth rising on the horizon, the speed of the Rover turning the Moon's landscape into streaks from an expressionist painter's brush.

Luna turns her hands around the glove-induced abrasions of the familiar yoke steerer. She brushes her foot along the edges of the accelerator. This is her Rover. She knows it will do exactly what she asks of it, as it has before in countless successful missions over the years. The opening of Rille KN8 appears, boulders and mineral bodies forming a jagged-toothed smile. Luna smiles back.

Average speed 280. TTI -50 seconds.

Rille KN8. The Rover whirrs in at speed, but a dead-ahead boulder forces Luna to skid around. She fights her wheels back to the optimal line.

Average speed 270. TTI -42 seconds.

Outcropping on the left. Then outcropping on the right. No time to brake. Luna shifts the Rover's massive weight to the right. A quick flick of the yoke back to the left sends the Rover fishtailing around the left outcropping. She strains the yoke back to the right. Every nut and bolt groans as the fishtail swings the opposite direction. Right outcropping cleared.

Average speed 265. TTI -35 seconds.

A Rover-sized ditch appears. There is a thirty-seven-degree strike and dip to the ditch's right. Luna has a split second to eyeball it; she knows what an angle that will flip her Rover looks like. This probably isn't that. Only option, anyway. Her foot slams the accelerator, the Rover zooms through the strike and dip. The bottoms of the wheels are still facing dust instead of the stars above, barely.

Average speed 268. TTI -28 seconds.

As much of a clearing as you'll get in a Lunar rille. The accelerator can't go any further down. Not fast enough. Luna pulls a knife from her belt and slashes a regulator hose. The Rover’s speed increases, as do the red warning lights on her console.

Average speed 270. TTI -19 seconds.

The constant procession of tire-destroying boulders prevents Luna from checking her viewports for the now-visible meteoroid. It does not prevent her from stealing a glance at her map, where the digital Rover icon still sits firmly in the impact zone.

Average speed 271. TTI -10 seconds.

The speed sensor climbs as fast as the flashing red heat sensor. The overheated Rover drive unit sings a new track.

Average speed 273. TTI -5 seconds.

Luna's eyes flick to the map. The digital Rover icon inches toward the impact boundary; it also inches closer to the unavoidable ridge wall waiting at the end of the rille's exit.

Average speed 274. TTI -1 seconds.

The meteoroid slams into the Moon’s surface with a catastrophic bang, sending a debris-lined shockwave up and out. Only a secondary concern to the ridge face rapidly approaching. Luna violently pulls the yoke as far as it will go, sending the Rover into a desperate sideways drift. The immense weight forces its suspension into a whine. The trailing side tires threaten to lift off, the decelerator-feathering actions of Luna's rarely used left foot the only thing keeping them on the ground.

The Rover's mechanical complaints grow louder than the sound of impact. The ridge wall arrives rudely with a thundering collision. A storm of dust and rock rains down on the Rover.

Average speed 276. TTI +10 seconds.

Luna pats around her suit, checking for any fluids, flammable or personal. Clean. Her sideways drift slowed the Rover down just enough to not kill her or destroy any payload on impact. She taps her comm. “Didn't break.”

“The meteoroid or the Rover?” asks the Tower.

Luna studies the blinking lights of her console, a whole lot more red ones than when she started. “The meteoroid.”

...

“Jack, inbound Zone 4 expected. TTI one minute forty-five.” The voice crackles over his in-ear comm unit.

Jack checks his radar. “Copy that.”

He hovers his finger over the input. “Sorry, one more time on the zone?”

“Zone 4. TTI one minute thirty.”

“Copy. Copy, ok.” Jack taps Zone 4 and is rewarded with a glowing marker.

“TC Rille OZ9, thirty-five L-miles north-northwest. Status, Suggested Avoid.”

“Copy. That sounds good.”

The opening of Rille OZ9 appears, boulders and mineral bodies forming a jagged-toothed smile. The Rover slows to a stop in front of it. A meteoroid slams down—not a breaker. Whatever fragments are left of the Rover join the dislodged Lunar rock in orbit.

MISSION FAILED flashes on the training sim monitor.

Jack slides up his helmet screen in frustration and tilts his head back, angling his closed eyes to the ceiling.

“A bit eager to hold, no?” The instructor tears open an energy packet and pushes up a sip.

“The scans said—”

“I know what the scans said. I know what the rest would have said too; the ones you didn't bother to weigh before pulling up. Why are you giving up so easily?”

Jack opens his eyes but keeps them pointed to the ceiling. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?” The instructor rolls up his energy packet with a sigh and slips it into a pocket. “Alright, listen up.” He does his best to put on a caring voice. “You know why we still have a Rover Team?”

Jack shakes his head.

“When you're driving fifteen thousand cubic meters of water through a magnetically induced meteoroid storm, you need more than AI sets and data. You need confidence, you need a million years’ worth of survival instincts. You need someone who can value a percentage, sure, but also someone who can throw data out the porthole and fishtail that sucker around a crater when their gut tells them to. Right?”

Jack has enough sense to know he is supposed to say yes here, even if he doesn't understand. He knows the better pilots would reply yes instinctively. He knows the better pilots would not have to be given this speech at all. He knows he is not one of the better pilots. He forces out an unconvincing nod.

“That's why we still put meat in the seat. That's why there will always be meat in the seat. That's what our best Rover Pilots do. And that's what you can do if you start believing in yourself. We are the only reason this city can exist, the only way it can get water. That is too big a responsibility for a computer, so stop driving like one.”

Believing in himself should be easy for a member of the elite Rover Team. Should be. He tries on confidence for once and whispers to himself, “Now for next.”

“What?”

Jack blushes at uttering his personal motto loud enough for someone else to hear, any confidence he pretended to have erased. “Oh, sorry, I say that to myself sometimes. Now for next.” He stammers out an explanation so the instructor doesn't have to ask a follow-up. “Focus on now and you'll be ready for whatever comes next, you know?”

The instructor nods. ...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/That2009WeirdEmoKid on 2025-12-17 14:58:09+00:00.

Gods are born from the faith of mortals.

Since the ideals of every culture are embodied by the deities they worship, the introduction of a new god is always a challenge to the values of the current age.

Human beings, however, have a unique relationship to this aspect of the divine. Unlike elvenkind and other long-lived people, resurrection magic doesn’t work on them, making them the most mortal folk of all New Gaia.

It may seem like a handicap but this, along with their short lifespans, also grants them the most zealous faith of any other people.

And so, if enough humans start believing in a minor spirit, said entity can ascend into godhood far more easily than if worshipped by a similar amount of dwarves or elves.

In theory, this makes human cults incredibly dangerous. And, historically speaking, it has led to several holy wars that ended in periods of human dominance. In practice, though, nobody can use it to their advantage for too long.

This is because humans, ironically enough, can also be some of the most faithless bastards in all the lands, killing their own gods as soon as they stop being useful.

To be more precise, their faith is strong, yet fickle and rarely earned since it’s difficult to get them to believe in anything in the first place.

More often than not, I’ve found they would rather fight a god than worship it.

That is why, when I first heard rumors of a human god being worshipped in the province of Illuria, I couldn’t help but dismiss it as gossip.

Arthux, my human mentor, didn’t see it that way. He knew better than most the danger this might pose. The Great Dragon War, where he lost an arm and the use of his leg, was famously started due to the rise of a new dragon god.

During our first journey along the coastal highway, we had already noticed a strange symbol in the shape of a mule being displayed on the doors of many inns and human dwellings.

This wasn’t enough to alarm me, since regional spirits are common everywhere, but Arthux was someone who rarely overlooked details like that. This was his homeland. He hadn’t heard of this entity yet which suggested it was a relatively recent trend.

And so, like the lazy jerk he was, he ordered me to investigate while he drank alone at the nearest bar.

I soon learned that the entity was called Mulish, a wind spirit that seemed to be embodying the concept of stubbornness.

Supposedly, it started its journey by rescuing sailors that were lost at sea. More specifically, Mulish aided those who never gave up on seeing land again, changing the wind to their advantage in the direction of the nearest port.

After a few decades of this, it gained fame along the Illurian coast for being a benevolent spirit and grew its influence inland, helping people even deep in the countryside.

“And I’m going to fight it,” said Arthux.

I tilted my head, confused. “Why? Didn’t you hear me? It’s helping people.”

“For now. That’s how it always starts. Think about it. Stubbornness? That’s not exactly a positive trait.”

The irony of Arthux saying this, of all people, was not lost on me but I knew better than to comment on it.

“Furthermore,” he continued, “I’m pretty sure this spirit is behind all the recent incidents we’ve investigated. The storm. The elf who got his soul sucked out. This isn’t normal. Something is turning the spirits in this area more volatile, and this might be our only chance to stop it from going too far.”

I narrowed my eyes, still skeptical of his reasoning. “Can we really do that?”

“Of course,” said Arthux, confident. “It’s a spirit, which means we can exorcise it like any other.”

“By beating it up?”

“Indeed.”

“And… what if it already ascended into godhood?”

“Then I’ll hit it harder.”

I blinked a few times, processing what I heard. After everything I had witnessed him do, it was fully possible that Arthux was just being honest here; not cocky.

“Trust me,” added Arthux. “I’ve done it before.”

“W-what? Really?”

Arthux nodded. “The last thing this world needs is more gods. Especially a human one. That’s how the Cataclysm got started all those millenia ago.”

“But… we’re Inquisitors. Isn’t it our job to serve the gods?”

“Our duty is to be arbiters of truth, regardless of who it serves. Mortal or divine. If not us, then who else will ensure the balance between the two?”

I had never seen Arthux take his role this seriously. It was suspicious enough that I couldn’t help but wonder if he had an ulterior motive, and yet I couldn’t question his logic. We proceeded to track the spirit’s whereabouts and, after a month of searching, we found the place where Mulish was most frequently seen.

It was a windy beach in a secluded cove far from any village or even the coastal highway.

We arrived at night, when it was most prone to act, but didn’t see it anywhere. The only thing present was a shrine made out of seashells that had been made in its honor. Apparently, this cove was the spot where Mulish left the first sailor it rescued.

Arthux then smashed the shrine with his wooden sword and said:

“That should make it show up.”

Just like he predicted, a few seconds later, a sandstorm formed around us. It was over just as suddenly as it arrived and, when it dissipated, a featureless humanoid spirit had appeared in front of us.

Its body shimmered with tangible moonlight that vaguely resembled the shape of an adult man, with unblinking eyes that emitted pure energy and a booming voice that said:

“Who dares disturb my shrine?”

“Grandmaster Inquisitor Arthux Wilfery.”

“Ah, the Divine Gatekeeper, I was warned about you.”

“Gatekeeper?” I said. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t like it when gods rise near my home,” said Arthux, taking a large gulp out of his old flask. “So I’ve made it a hobby to crush any minor deities that start gaining fame in this land.”

My brain almost broke after hearing that. The idea of a human hunting gods as a hobby sounded so ridiculous that I wondered if he had just gone insane.

It wasn’t until I actually saw them clash that I was immediately proven a fool.

Arthux took the initiative and lunged with his wooden sword, using its magic to fly with uncanny speed.

Mulish was able to easily sidestep his attacks but, by the third attempt, Arthux started moving faster and landed a clean hit.

The weight of his attack sent Mulish crashing into the rocky wall of the cove, creating an avalanche of debris.

I was blinded for the next few seconds. Judging from the noise, though, they were trading blows with increasing strength. By the time the debris cleared, Mulish was fully on the offensive, unleashing a flurry of punches.

Arthux parried all of them with swordstrikes of his own.

I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Mulish had a glimmer of desperation in its usually stoic face. I didn’t think a divine spirit could show an emotion like this until witnessing it that night. Mulish screamed with rage, then punched a hole through Arthux, leaving a bloody hole in his chest.

I started panicking until seeing the injury heal itself in a matter of seconds. I then realized his health potion cocktail had been active this entire time. He wasn’t nearly as fragile as I originally thought.

Unfortunately, Mulish didn’t show any signs of injury either. They both kept escalating the intensity of their strikes, each clash generating a shockwave that reverberated through land and sea.

It was at that point that I started worrying about my own safety. This was quickly spiraling out of control. I couldn’t even follow their movements anymore.

Arthux soon unleashed his strongest attack, a slash that had the weight of a continent behind it. It was so strong that it warped the space around it, almost shattering reality.

Mulish couldn’t do anything about it, taking the full brunt of it.

I had to cast a shield spell or I would’ve been sent flying away.

After the explosion quelled, Arthux fell on his knees. His regeneration was at its limit. He couldn’t stop bleeding anymore.

The entire cove had been flattened by his last attack, leaving it an empty beach.

It was incredible. Mulish had been disintegrated from the waist up.

I rushed to help Arthux but he shouted:

“Stay back!”

I didn’t understand his panic until Mulish started growing back its upper half.

Arthux couldn’t move. He still hadn’t recovered from the last attack.

Mulish took slow, deliberate steps as it headlessly shambled towards Arthux. When it recovered its head, it finally said:

“That was an incredible attack. Had I been any other of my brethren, you would have most certainly won.”

Arthux remained composed in light of this. “Kill me if you must.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You’re the first god that’s ever beaten me.”

“And?” said Mulish. “Do you still not realize why you lost?”

Arthux frowned. “No need to gloat.”

“It’s quite simple,” said Mulish. “I am the truth of your existence. By denying me, you deny your strength. And so, the more stubborn you are, the more you fuel my power.”

Arthux hung his head with a soft smile on his face. “I never stood a chance then.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. In the end, his inability to acknowledge his own stubbornness was his biggest blind spot.

“It’s fine if you still don’t trust me,” said Mulish, disappearing into the wind, “but let it be known that I’m the one god who doesn’t ask for your faith; only that you believe in yourself.”

Centuries later, I still think about that night and the impact it had on me. Far too much o...

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It was a bit of a gut punch when Corai insisted on picking where we’d go first, as much as I normally appreciated her forging her own path forward with headstrong independence. The Elusian said there was something she needed to do to commemorate her time as a Watcher, which was understandable; after a million years, of course she’d know best what she wanted to see. She shouldn’t settle for my dumb ideas and be beholden to my whims with all she was going through. Still, I couldn’t help but be upset…I’d wanted to choose something special.

“Preston, have I upset you?” Corai prompted.

I startled, guilt spreading across my face. “No! I, um, am totally respectful of your choices and you knowing what’s best for you. It’s stupidly selfish that…I wanted to be the one to do something nice for you. As if I’m the solution to everything that happened, bah.”

“I am all yours after this is done. What I need to do is important to give to humanity, and…I must face your judgment,” she said aloud. “I’m not immune to the 5D weapon, my love. If anything happened to me, it’d be selfish to take this knowledge with me.” 

“What knowledge?”

“Everything I know. Your people came wanting answers about us and your creation, and it’s in my power to grant them. You deserved it. This is to remind myself of my purpose here: that humanity means the universe to me. That remains unchanged.”

“You’re taking a Q&A? I’m not sure you’re up for that, hon.”

Corai laughed. “I’m providing all of my memories to human scholars. I can’t carry the burden of what your people might think of me any longer, not on top of these new weights I’ve been saddled with. I was…a cruel, idle god. It’s time for the reckoning my conscience demands.”

“Not everyone, but I think most people will understand the dangers of tampering with our cultures and not letting us make our own path—even if they disagree.”

“Humans will see that I closed myself off to your suffering.”

“Humans close ourselves off to other people’s suffering, all over the world. No one can help or care about everyone and everything, it’s unfair to you! Corai…”

The Elusian raised a hand. “Thank you for trying to console me. Let’s warp over to the conference room and be done with it. For you to have all of human history at your fingertips: my days as a Watcher might finally be meaningful.”

I knitted my eyebrows together, as Corai herded me through the portal she’d just opened and followed close behind. Researchers and famous professors, a few of whom I recognized from memeable documentaries, were gathered in an auditorium; since none of them appeared to have the nanobots in their bloodstream, I didn’t know how they’d process her data. I stood still on the stage and waiting for the Elusian to take charge.

The reactions to our sudden appearance made my fellow humans seem more like frightened animals. Many leapt to their feet with startled expressions, huddling together for safety or scuttling back toward the door. Through augmented reality, I could see their heart rates skyrocketing with fear; judging by how much many of them were sweating, they were already nervous. I could see the terror in their eyes, as they surveyed Corai and myself.

“Uh, Preston? Can you make me less scary?” Corai asked.

I stared at her for several seconds, before shrugging. “Sure. I know just the thing.”

The Elusian yelped as I smacked her on the behind and rubbed my hands together with a devious grin. Corai gawked at me for several seconds, before giving me a fiery look that told me I’d pay for that later. The gathered scholars paused, their reactions transitioning into confusion more than fear. One gawked at me with what looked like reprehension, wagging a finger as if telling off a child.

“That’s entirely inappropriate! Er, gray alien, the rest of us don’t stand for that kind of behavior,” her knight-in-shining-armor said.

I grinned from ear-to-ear. “Don’t feel sorry for her. She likes it. I bet she’s never had her ass spanked in public before! That’s why I’m a better lover than any of y’all. I mean, do you know how hard it is to give a million-year-old alien new experiences?!”

“Two can play that game.” Behind me, Corai quietly levitated nanobots into a massive, floating hand that waved at the crowd; I only noticed when I turned around to see what they were laughing at. “Mine’s bigger.”

“Jan t’nai! Jan t’nai. That means ‘I love you’ in Elusian, folks; see how thoughtful I am? I love you and would never hurt you. I’m a sweet little angelmuffin,” I exclaimed, raising my hands in front of me. “You like my butt how it is. You wouldn’t want to ruin it. Dents are bad.”

“Sometimes the lessons taught outweigh shallow desires.”

“Nooooo! Help me. Help a fellow human. I’ll bribe you. I know a tin can you guys can have for free. A trash bucket that’d love to be rehomed.”

The Elusian chased me around the stage with the giant, moving hand, until I finally allowed it to catch me and bump me over. I noticed the scholars slinking back to their seats, with their minds taken off their natural fears; the more relaxed smiles and bunched eyebrows said everything. The first hints of curiosity seemed to poke through, studying Corai beyond just lizard brain threat analysis. The Watcher seemed relieved not to scare them shitless anymore, and she stared out at the crowd with warm mirth. She could barely suppress her laughter.

See? Butt humor defuses everything. Just like I taught Mikri: I’m a middle school humor savant. The best t’vakna in Sol!

“Thank you all for coming. I’m…sorry for my telepathic messages, and the distress that must have caused, but I didn’t think you’d believe me if I used email.” Corai’s smile became more bittersweet, and she gazed at the crowd with moist eyes, heavy emotions choking her up. “I’m here to give you a record of all human history. I only ask that it’s disseminated and transcribed in a way that it can be accessed by your entire people. You all deserve to understand your past.”

I winked at her, trying to cheer her up. “Least favorite empire?”

“The Earth Space Union, of course. Your flag is ugly.”

“Who doesn’t like ESU blue? That’s a red flag.”

“Bad puns will make me muzzle you again,” Corai warned, before redirecting her attention to the audience. “I will leave the files, including my thoughts and sensory data, for when you have nanobots. For now, I’ve converted them all into human video format. I hope you’ll find it…enlightening to catalog.”

One of the academics gaped at her, as she delivered the data to the personal devices of everyone in the room. “You really witnessed all of human history? Including prehistoric times? This’ll be a firsthand account…”

The Elusian nodded. “Correct. Let me offer a disclaimer that I couldn’t watch everywhere at once. However, for important events, someone else saw them and I reviewed the footage. I suppose it’s not all firsthand.”

“I…don’t know what to say. Thank you!”

“I’m happy to be able to give your people a gift at long last. It’ll also be a way for you to…understand the Elusians as we were, to make peace with our role in your past. You’re all that’s left that…might remember us at all in a positive light. Perhaps…you can find our history worth preserving, as it really was.”

Another scholar hesitated, before swallowing and pointing a finger at Corai. “D-did you ever participate in abducting humans?”

“Certainly. I can’t speak for my colleagues—I don’t think they cared about your consent…but I only tested the precognitive abilities of willing subjects. Most thought I was a goddess, at that time period, so you could make an argument that they couldn’t give informed consent. I was enamored by your uniqueness, but it’s valid if you find any experimentation unethical. I’m sorry.”

“You can test this willing subject,” I whispered in her mind. “I like unethical.”

“Silence,” she responded. “As for our official reasons, we didn’t want to let you pass through The Gap without understanding the full effects on you. I played no role in the ramped up tests that you know of, from when the Justiciary believed you were destined to replace us. It’s a mess, I’m afraid.”

A professor with the stereotype screwball hair inched forward. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the Elusians were complicated people, and I have no right to tell you how to feel about us. We were flawed, arrogant, thinking that we were perfect and elevated to the highest echelons of existence, but we went through life like driftwood on the sea. Over the course of our unending lifespans, we were numbed to everything, even the most basic human decency and passions.”

“You’re not like that. Stop saying ‘we!’” I protested.

“I’m honest about what I am. I wanted to protect and love you, I clung to it, but now more than ever…I feel like just as much of a failure as the rest of my people. I thought I knew what was best for humans…that I didn’t want you to turn out like us.”

“We didn’t, hon. We have hair.”

Corai snickered, befo...

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After the history lesson 458 left, saying she had “important work” to do. Alia was allowed to explore the station as much as she wanted, but was warned again against meddling.

“458 I’ve been awake for less than a week. I wouldn’t even know where to begin meddling.” Alia said as they stood at the entrance to 458’s offices.

“I know. That’s why I’m letting you wander.” 458 smiled thinly. “If you wind up becoming a threat, that will change, but for now-” She patted Alia’s shoulder “-you’re welcome here.”

Divergence told Alia where to find Viv; inside a bar near 458’s offices. She was nursing some kind of brightly colored drink with a piece of fruit sticking out of the side, and not paying attention to anything. When Alia sat next to her, she jumped.

“Al-Eternity, you’re back, you startled me.” Viv said

“Sorry I kept you waiting Viv, 458 was showing me things.”

“Anything you can share?”

“I don’t know.” Alia admitted. “It’s about the nanocaust. Not here, but I’ll tell you about it aboard Tontine.”

Viv’s eyes widened slightly, but that was her only expression change. Alia gestured towards her drink. “What’s that?”

“It’s an Eternal Sunrise. Made with Karokan Rum and a fruit even I’ve never heard of.” Viv took a sip. “It’s too fruity for my usual tastes, but I didn’t know what to order, so I asked the bartender to make me his favorite.”

“I’ll take one too” Alia said as she gestured towards the bartender. He nodded and hurriedly mixed one up, the customer that he was attending went from surprised to upset to amazed when she saw Eternity ordering a drink. Alia smiled apologetically and nodded, and the woman nearly fell out of her seat.

The drink was placed before Alia with great ceremony, and bowed slightly as he backed away. She couldn’t help but notice that hers was slightly more elaborate than Viv’s. Taking a tentative sip, Alia found that it was fruity, sweet, and had a unique taste. Almost familiar, but not quite. At least it’s not bourbon Alia thought as she took another sip. She turned to the woman who had her drink interrupted to offer to buy hers, but she was gone.

“Eternity.” Tontine was calling over her comm. “I have intercepted another encrypted message with an unknown hash.”

“Just now?”

“Yes and the originating transmitter is close to you.”

Alia stood. “Where?”

“I’ll show you.”

“Come on, Viv. We’ve got a lead.” Alia said and looked at her drink, and then the door. She shouldn’t, but she sucked the drink down quickly. “Thank you for the drink!” She said to the bartender who could only weakly bow again. On her comm she said “Make sure this bar has a generous donation from Eternity.”

“Yes, Eternity.”

Alia was the only one who had the path overlaid in her vision so she led Viv across the square and through some alleys until they reached a pressure door. She touched the dogs to remove the door, and was struck with a memory. This is exactly the kind of door that they had planned on using aboard the colony ships. Ether the deign hadn’t changed in three millennia, or this was a very old part of Divergence. “Tontine, does Divergence know you’re doing this?”

“Yes, they’re helping me with your movements and the encrypted messages.”

“They’re helping? How did you convince them?”

“I might have said that I didn’t think they could do it.” Alia heard the amusement in Tontine’s voice which was surprising enough, but “Tontine, you used reverse psychology on them?”

Tontine said nothing, but Alia could feel their smugness.

She worked the dogs on the pressure door and it swung open with well-oiled ease. Inside was a small communications room. Stepping in, Alia saw a very old comm console, lit and blinking as if it wasn’t a piece of kit so old it was from her era, and the readout showing a message being sent. It was nearly complete, and Alia needed time.

Fortunately, she had almost all the time she needed. With Tartarus engaged, the countdown slowed nearly to a stop, at 99.58%. There was no way that the console would be able to operate at her speeds, but there might be something Tontine could do. “Tontine, can you do anything with this console in the time we have left?”

“I will try Alia, but even though you are operating at this speed, and myself and Divergence can keep up, we are still at the whims of physics.”

Alia smiled at Tontine calling her Alia instead of Eternity. At these speeds, it would be the only thing that could hear.

“Why did Tontine call you Alia, Eternity?” Except for Divergence. Alia swore to herself.

“Tontine is allowed to use my name when we are not around others, or when I am aboard ship.”

There was a pause. “How shall I address you?”

“When I am using Tartarus, you may call me Alia. When I am operating at normal speed, please use my title.”

“Yes, Alia. How are you able to move this fast?”

“Divergence, we don’t really have time for this.” Alia looked over at the progress meter: 99.69% “Tontine, anything?”

“It may be the same encryption we intercepted on Maplebrook, but without more of the hash we can’t be sure. Tracing null signals is very difficult, but I will say that the transmission was aimed in the same general direction as the other two.”

“Any idea what is that way?”

“Within ten thousand light years there are over fifteen thousand cataloged star systems with an estimated half a million more not cataloged.” That was Divergence.

Okay. She would have to narrow things down. “How many are inhabited, Divergence?”

“Three hundred.”

“That many?”

“Thirty belong to the Eternal Empire.”

Even while slicing deep time with Tartarus, Alia felt cold. “What do you mean thirty?”

“The Eternal Empire claims sovereignty over all settled systems in the Milky Way Galaxy, but the reality is much more… subtle.”

Alia didn’t have time to process this revelation, but she was going to have to come back to it soon. “Tontine, catalog the location and receive the list of settled systems. We can try to narrow down options when I’m aboard.”

“Yes Alia. What are you going to do about the bomb?”

“The Bomb?” Alia frowned “What-” She looked down, and could see that what she thought was a forgotten case was leaning up against the console suspiciously, almost as if it was set to do the most damage possible. Reflexively she dove deeper, and reached down for the case. Even if I trigger it now, I can probably escape the blast, she reasoned. Viv though… Fuck.

The case was a standard hard case for carrying equipment of all kinds. Alia herself had handled thousands of them. She bent down and worked the latch, and they sprang open with glacial slowness. At least that part wasn’t booby-trapped. Carefully she lifted the lid and saw one of the largest blobs of explosive polymer she had ever seen in person, and a small timing mechanism next to it. She wasn’t fortunate enough to have a countdown timer on the front, but if she assumed that it was set to go off when the transmission completed, she only had a couple seconds of clock time to act.

“Tontine! Divergence! What do I do?”

“Yooooouuuu muuuuuussssttt deeeetttteerrrmmmm-” Tontine’s voice was so slowed and deep as to be nearly unintelligible. She was slicing deeper than even her ship could follow! This was going to come with a cost later; she could already feel flush and hot.

“Tontine. Actions, fewest words possible.”

“Dissssconnnnect caaaables frrooooom exploss-” Alia didn’t wait for them to finish. She yanked the cables out of the explosive clay and she saw with horror the blasting cap begin to glow.

She tossed it as hard as she could away from Viv, and felt something in her shoulder go pop. Pain washed over her with the relentlessness of ocean waves. She could see the blasting cap soar away, the explosion trailing behind like a shooting star. She then turned and stood, and launched herself at Viv. This was going to hurt both of them, but alive and hurt is better than blown up.

Alia put her arms out and did her best to scoop up Viv under her arms. Trying her best not to put too much pressure on Viv’s limbs, Alia lifted Viv off the floor and walked both of them out of the open pressure door. When she was relatively sure that they were out of the blast from the cap did she put her down and rise back to normal speed.

Even outside of the confined space, the snap of the blasting cap was deafening, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as a whole pile of explosive polymer going off. Viv fell over outside of the hall, and shrieked in surprise.

Alia was pretty sure she would be bruised, but that was it. She sat down heavily next to Viv. “You all right?? She asked, still panting. She felt clammy and hot and couldn’t catch her breath.

“My arms hurt.” Viv said and gasped. One of them is numb. “What happened.”

“Bomb in the room. I pulled out the blasting cap and threw it away from the main explosive and then carried you out.” Alia said, and Viv noticed how pale she looked, her hair matted to her head and neck.

“Eternity, are you all right?”

“No, I went too deep. I’m- I’m” Alia slumped over

“Eternity! Alia!” Viv touched her and nearly pulled her hand back in shock. Alia was feverishly hot.

****

“27?”

Alia blinked and shook her head once. 30 was standing over her. She had fallen asleep in a carrel in the I...

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Life carried on as it had been for the last few months. Despite the tension in the air, a strange aura of calm carried through the valley as Caliban carefully wove his intricate magic of foodcraft. The dragons who paid more attention were now learning how to use their claws or the larger of Cal's knives to carve out portions of meat properly. Although everyone very much preferred Cal to do the cooking, the number of people, dragons and beastkin that now lived in this crater was becoming too overwhelming for Cal to handle.

Outsiders were permitted to pass through, scholars and traders seeking to purchase excess meats and spices occasionally braved the mountain pass. Aterius was the first of the Red Dragons to become fully part of Caliban's military force, now proudly strutting about wearing a set of the specially made dragon armour. Along with various devices that drastically increased his combat effectiveness, such as hidden fuel tanks mounted into the fireproof fabric of his saddles that gave his already formidable fire breath a napalm fuelled boost.

A dragon by itself is most intimidating, to see one armoured like a Great Knight of Old, even moreso. Cal carefully showed one of the Paladins within his new army how to carefully carve up some chops for an open flame barbecue. Caliban had mostly now been relegated to a support role, with everyone around him now finally understanding the fight ahead and preparing accordingly. Aterius wandered about showing off his new armour to the eye-rolling Elder Dragons, allowing scholars to carefully sketch it out and document it for posterity.

The Crater had changed significantly since Cal arrived, with hangars and military facilities now dotting various spots around the mountains. During his chopping and cutting, Caliban finally got a ping from his wearable. He approached Lady Sariah and Lorelei who were having a casual chat.

"Ladies... Sariah was it?" He asked.

"Yes it is." She replied plainly.

"Sorry, always been bad with names. The thing you asked for is done. Meditation chamber or whatever it was. Built to spec. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" He said, gesturing to the glass dome atop the tallest mountain spire.

Sariah's face brightened instantly and she used her magic to fly up to it. "Well, she's excited. Guess I'll go back to my pod for now. I'm tired." Lorelei remarked and gingerly stood up.

Caliban walked up to her and hugged her tightly. "Nope." He said with a smile.

He picked her up and held her for a bit. She giggled and cheekily kissed him, resting her chin on his shoulder as he carried her back to the main hangar. A short moment of calm before the start of a crazy storm. Everyone in the crater carried on as normal, trying to get the coming madness out of their minds, at least for the time being and focus on preparation. Cal returned shortly after and was typing on his wearable. He approached the cauldron and asked one of the Paladins on duty if they could handle the rest of the days cooking without him.

They said they could handle it, so Cal made his way to the West area where there was a flattened plateau carved out of the mountain. He wandered onto this flat plane and started typing again, looking down at the canyon to see the kingdom he was forced to form.

"Looks like it can't be helped anymore I guess... Was hoping we could ignore this particular problem but reserves are too low. Such a weird planet..." Cal said to himself.

"What about our home is so weird then?" Serenia the Elf girl said as she appeared behind him.

"The fact is that this planet's crust has almost no naturally occurring silica. The sand here is made of some weird conglomerate that's hard to work with. It has silica deposits of course but they're too impure for my purposes. It's becoming a painus in the anus to smelt enough Glasteel, and our resource reserves are too low. I was hoping to avoid doing this but guess I don't have a choice." Cal replied calmly.

"Do what?" She asked, standing next to him.

"Let me ask you something... Do you guys have a kind of magic where you can create a little Golem kind of thing that you can look through to see what's going on and control it? Sort of like my drones and robotics but magical?" He asked.

"Well yeah of course, it's common magic." She said.

"Oh cool. Here. Try it on this. See if you can see through its eyes." He said, handing her an abnormally cute Teddy Bear.

"Ooohhh! He's so cute! What's he wearing though?" She cooed over the adorable toy and looked at its odd choice of costume.

"That's a Cosmo-Teddy. I got that one as a gift for Lorelei last year for a laugh. Thought it was cute, she liked it. It's one of the things she does, collecting and making teddies and cute toys as a hobby." He said and typed more on his wearable.

Serenia ignored him mostly and just enjoyed the sight of the adorable thing. She then wove a bit of her magic, her fingers fluttering about, eyes glowing slightly as she carved a spell into the air. A flash of light, a spark of power, and the teddy plopped onto the ground and started moving about of its own accord.

"God that's freaky..." Cal said to himself as the toy climbed onto his shoulder and stayed there. "Anyway... Should be done shortly. had to make some concessions thanks to the lack of resources but it works."

"What exactly do you need Silica for? What is silica? And why cant you use ours?" She asked.

"The conglomerate sand deposits on this planet are too impure for industrial use, and the few actual Silica deposits are contaminated with other minerals making it very hard and expensive to make any glass. The glass we do use is called Glasteel, which requires pure silica to make - because it's effectively a transparent metal alloy. Hence the name. I also need Silica to make some computer components. Up until now, I've been able to skirt this by salvaging and melting down old robotics, but the resource pool is running a bit dry. So I'm going to have to do what I was hoping I wouldn't have to for a long time to come." He said, still typing on his wearable.

"And what's that?" She asked, the teddy bear speaking and not him.

He finished typing and the ground opened up in front of them like a gigantic metallic mouth. Massive blast doors split open the ground and revealed a vehicle of some kind mounted vertically. It looked boxy, angled, square and significantly less elegant than any other machine Cal had built thus far. It seemed almost rudimentary compared to the other vehicles Cal had thus far built.

"Caliban... What is that?" She asked.

"Don't worry about it." He said, grabbing the teddy off his shoulder and looking at it. "You'll find out momentarily. Now, get off this place and get back down with the dragons." He said, placing a drone camera on the teddy's head. "A rocket silo launch pad is NOT a safe place to be." He said with a wicked smirk and disappeared down a hatch.

Serenia could see what was going on from her perspective as Cal suited up carefully, attaching the teddy to a harness on his uniform. Serenia hastily climbed down from the launch pad and went towards the projection screen. She sat down and started to meditate to get the best experience from this. Serenia had nowhere near the training or experience she needed to do this kind of thing so casually, but something inside her screamed she had to watch and maintain the connection. She wasn't able to get too far as Lady Sariah appeared behind her, wrapped around her and helped her out by sharing some precious Mana and concentration.

The projector screen popped up, this time showing the drone camera feed from the teddy. Sariah wrapped her arms around Serenia almost defensively as the two sat on a large pillow, eyes closed and now in a meditative trance. Both women could see through the teddy's eyes now as Cal started something. The view from the cockpit strapped to Cal's chest was something else as the camera began to shudder and shake. Shortly after, the crater was overcome with the shaking of a small earthquake and the thunderous roar of engines.

The ship Cal was piloting then rapidly climbed, as if a gun mounted into the ground had just shot it out into the sky. One moment it was there, the next it was gone. It climbed at an absurd speed. Cal read out altitudes as the ship made its way into the planet's atmosphere.

"Ten miles... Thirty miles... Fifty miles... Eighty miles..." He counted.

The glass of the cockpit was on fire, the atmosphere of their home world slightly thicker than Earth's, but no match for the sheer force of the rocket engines propelling the ship forward. When they reached the hundred mile mark, the atmosphere started to thin out and the fire on the glass slowly dissipated. Then, from inside the cockpit everyone watching could see it. Space. They were in space. They could also notice how Caliban was suddenly extraordinarily tense, hyperfocused and stressed. His eyes darted in every direction at once and his hands kept an abnormally tight hold on the controls.

"PDC's online... Shields at 60% marked for debris. One-sixty miles. Leaving gravity well at... One ninety. This planet is goddamn huge man... No wonder I needed a frickin' rail mount." He said and looked behind him at the world he was leaving behind. "From what I can gather we're at maybe... 1.2Gs. That's slightly above eleven metres per second squared. Maybe a couple hundred miles or so fatter than earth. Magic probably explain...

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Marathon

   Ghurt hissed and waved his hand as a spark singed his finger. He sat back and sighed, staring at the mangled jigsaw before him and willing it to present its solution. It was the engine. He was no engineer but he was pretty sure it was only supposed to spew smoke from certain places.

   'Any luck in there, Ghurt?' A stilted voice asked from what was now an entryway into the guts of the ship. He looked up to the light, spilling into the engine bay through the jagged tear in the hull, caused by some unfortunate mountaintop that had gone down fighting. 'Can you fix it?'

   'Oh, it depends! Do we have any miracle cream left?' The small reptilian creature replied nastily.

   There was a pause before he heard a response. 'Where do we keep that?'

   Ghurt sighed. The Gallian’s were always like this. They seemed to have some kind of mental block which left them unable to understand even the simplest of social or conversational cues. They could not understand sarcasm. They could not tell when they were not wanted and the concept of personal space seemed to them to be some strange fault found in the rest of the galaxy, which could only be fixed by staying as close to it as possible. They were not popular on the public transport vessels in the inner core.

   'We probably lost it on impact,' said Ghurt, climbing up the safe area he had squeezed in through. On the edge of the opening sat his Gallain crewmate, Hirkutar, whose wide, bulging eyes and furry body gave him the image of a permanently shocked toupee. 'It's no use. The engines been ripped to shreds. I'm surprised it didn't simply explode, with the state it's in.'

   The ship, known at the Beetle IV, was a research vessel under the ownership of the Inter-Galactic Conglomerate of Allied Sentient Lifeforms, but most people just knew it as the Government. The death world they had landed on had yet to be known as anything, as there had been some legal trouble regarding the proposed name, and its sounding far too similar to the name for a reproductive organ in the Heshelt species lexicon.

   There were only five members of the crew, with most of the ships functions automated. Ghurt, chief researcher. Yuskar, the medical officer. Tykra, the pilot. Lillian, the box mover. And Hirkutar, who as far as Ghurt was aware came with the ship, and was functionally indistinguishable from the fluffy dice Lillian had hung in the cockpit. Ghurt was relieved to find that despite the pilot’s best efforts there had been only minor injuries on impact.

   'It wasn't a bad landing, given the circumstances,' mumbled Tykra. The lithe creature looked like a jellyfish that had thought it was time to pursue an exciting lifestyle in leatherwear. Her pale, near translucent head was the only part of her body not covered in the stuff, which was only possible for the creature to don thanks to the assistance of an exo-suit, given her species near total lack of muscle mass.

   'Oh, certainly,' said Ghurt, gesturing to the ship as it smoked, its under-hull baking in the worlds sun. 'An expert landing. It’s just the planet that’s the wrong way up. Tell me, pilot, how is this possible? Why am I looking at a vessel that has crashed on a routine surveyance flight, one that I happened to have been in, I might add?'

   ‘I just didn’t see the mountain coming, sir,’ said Tykra, miserably.

   ‘Yes, they are easy to miss, aren’t they?’ Ghurt scoffed, and then seeing the Yulliag was beginning to droop into an unfashionable puddle he relented a little. ‘Oh, never mind. There may have been some interference from that hellish upper atmosphere. That stuff’ll scramble a ships sensors faster than anyone can react.’ That thought brought a small alarm to the back of his mind but he ignored it in favour of taking stock of the situation.

   ‘Lillian! Any samples survive?’ The crews resident Human looked up from a small pile of battered crates. Small being a relative term, as in comparison to Lillian the Beetle IV seemed somewhat undersized. With even the females of their race registering at twice the height of the Lutwith’s, the galaxies ex-tallest species, Humans had quickly found themselves taking the position as the manual labourers of choice for the government on a budget. They were large and brutish but cheaper than robots, and so Lillian had been hired off of a nearby spaceport for general heavy lifting.

   ‘Uh, some of them. Not much of the supplies though. We’ve only got enough for a few days.’

   ‘Well, I wouldn’t worry about that. We’ll call in a rescue from the closest listening post. They should only take a few hours. As long as some of the samples survived this won’t have been a complete disaster. Where is the emergency kit?’

   Lillian pointed to Hirkutar, who was staring into the emergency kit with a look of blank interest. ‘Good work, Hirkutar. Find the communicator for me, will you?’

   ‘Yes sir!’

   Ghurt sighed. He had been doing that a lot lately. It wasn’t that he disliked the crew. It was rather that they seemed to possess some sort of invisible field around them that caused sudden migraines if he drew to close to it, or talked to them for more than thirty minutes in a day. His species was not built for stress, having evolved to achieve the primary objective of finding a warm rock in the small hours of the morning. But with the heat-suits the Inter-Galactic Conglomerate of Allied Sentient Lifeforms had provided his people, they had been given the bright new opportunity to experience the joys of long hours, bad pay and grating coworkers. At least he enjoyed the work, he reasoned to himself as the others milled about in the odd calm that comes over people after a major catastrophe.

   He stared gloomily at the distant mountain ranges that had cause all his trouble, and then he sat up quite suddenly and cursed. ‘Blast!’

   ‘What! What is it?’ said Tykra, who had been trying to be helpful to Lillian with moving crates in her own oddly unhelpful way. To share the load Lillian had to bend all the way down so the Yulliag could reach.

   ‘Damn and blast!’ Ghurt cursed again. He knew what that little alarm in his mind had been for. If the upper atmosphere had been affecting the ships sensors at such a low altitude, then it meant one thing.

   'We've got a storm coming in,' he said, grimly pointing to the mountains.

   Tykra looked to where he was pointing and gave her species equivalent of a shrug. 'So? It might cool this place down.'

   ‘No, you don't understand. Storms on… whatever they’ll call this place, are deadly!’

   Lillian joined the two and squinted. The distance between the crash and the mountains was significant. If the lower atmosphere of the planet was not so clear the dividing range would have been invisible. 'It looks pretty far off,' she said. 'We should be fine.'

   Ghurt had to concede that it probably wouldn't be on them for days at least, but even so he wasn't willing to take chances.

   'Regardless, we need to get to a listening post. It’s safer that way. There's one to the east of the dividing range,' he pointed to the mountains and then in the opposite direction. 'Post Gamma, I believe. Hirkutar! The communicator?'

   'I can't seem to find it,' said Hirkutar as he rummaged endlessly through the emergency satchel.

   ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Ghurt as he made to take the kit from the Gallian, when Lillian raised a hand, guilt practically wafting off of her.

   'I, uh, I might have been using it in the engine room every night to play some- some games...' Her explanation petered out under the weight of Ghurt's stare. She attempted to rally. 'I always put it back after! And that's the truth, Mr Ghurt, though... I can't exactly remember if I put it back last night...'

   Ghurt smiled in that reptilian way that made birds uncomfortable. 'Well, that's alright! No problem there! We all like games, don't we? It must have fallen out of the new exhaust vent in the engine room Tykra was kind enough to supply us! It always did get so hot in there. It shouldn't be too difficult to find one little communicator, it could only be anywhere from here to, ohhh... the other side of that mountain range over there.'

   ‘But we’re okay right now. Can’t we just hide in the ship?' said Tykra.

   ‘With all the holes in it? It’s alright down here among the trees, but the atmosphere up there isn’t friendly. And the rain? It’ll be drenched in methane, carbon monoxide, and all sorts of nasties. We’ll choke to death on it. We can’t wait around here for someone to notice we haven’t turned up for dinner, we need to get to that listening post before the storm gets to us!’

   ‘But Post Gamma is a week away on foot!’ protested Tykra.

   ‘For you,’ said Yuskar, who had deigned to join the conversation after satisfying himself with the safety of his medicine box. The Anglion was impersonable even by the standards of his insectoid species. Analytical to a degree that some might consider mentally ill, he tended to leave others feeling offput after speaking to him, as if he considered it a personal failing on evolutions part for neglecting to include instruction manuals somewhere on the final product. ‘Crewmate Lillian is perfectly capable of making the journey in three days.’

   ‘Oh good,’ said Ghurt. ‘One of us might not die.’

   ‘She is perfectly capable of making the journey in three days whilst carrying the rest of us. Perhaps some small number of supplies as well.’

   ‘No I’m bloody not!’

   ‘Phys...

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John's jaw set as he stared down the crowd, no longer offering them any sort of warmth, even as they shivered. Yuki had spent the last few minutes going from building to building, occasionally casting a concerned glance over to him, which he pretended not to notice as he redoubled his guard duties. Occasionally, he made sure to cast a glance toward the entrance to see if whoever had left earlier had come back, but there was no luck.

This duty ill-suited him, he felt, as it gave him too much time to think. All this time, he found out why, and to think that the reason he had been put into exile was so fucking petty…

He wondered if he should laugh or cry as he wiped his eyes clear.

A small part of him boiled and bubbled vehemently, calling for blood, but he could never justify letting it free, even if doing so wouldn't call down far too many Unbound on their heads to be comfortable.

A much, much larger part couldn't help but think about how much better life could have gone if only he had been given a chance. He had no desire to be a god-king, to rewrite society around him like some kind of egotist. Nor did he desire to be the richest in the land. No, he wagered he would have been happy doing much the same he was now, just amongst society for the purpose of improving life for everyone.

He settled for stewing in his emotions, letting them wash over him and losing himself in the flow, the world almost seeming to fade away around him, only snapping back into focus when one of his captives moved a little too much; a quick glare was enough to keep them in line. It wasn't as if they were trying to run, anyhow.

John muttered to himself, crossing his arms as he fell into thought. He couldn't take revenge. Could he?

He didn't have the stomach to seriously hurt them, that was for sure, but could he do something else? Years of petty pranks from before this world passed through his mind as he thought over the arsenal he had hoarded. A tool is a tool, after all.

A faint smile flickered onto his face. The priests seemed pretty well cowed, and that might buy him time for a quick talk with Yuki.

He dug around in his pocket and palmed a focus before faking a cough, subtly swapping it into the gauntlet as he turned away from the group. "Right, I don't want you all to freeze to death, and I don't want to keep having to heat you, so I'm going to get you all some clothes," John said, glaring at them. "I don't want you lot to run off, though, or do something you might regret, so…" Huh. Now that he thought of it, this was the second time he had to find clothes for captives. He hoped it didn't become a theme for him, even if he didn't care as much if these fucks got a cold or two.

A giant green drill materialized at the tip of his finger, to the shouted horror of everyone else there. Really, it was like he kicked a wasp nest as they moved about, but refused to actually try to flee. Thankfully for them, all John did was put the tip to the ground, churning up rock and dirt as he effortlessly carved a divot into the ground. Then, he pulled a magic detector out of his bag and put it down twenty feet away, pointing it toward the mass, but not before whispering something to it.

"So, you've probably figured out by now that I'm not a big fan of killing when it's not necessary," John said, eyeing them up as they went dead silent. "So I'm not going to do that. This is something I made from the eye of a demon, and if you step out of this circle without my permission, it's going to curse you. You'll have no control over your bowels for the next ten years. Oh! It's not the most accurate, though. It might hit a few of you trying to get the escapee. Make extra sure that you don't try to leave through the back, because the curse will go through multiple people to get the leaver," he lied shamelessly.

They all went ghostly pale as John stretched before walking toward the building with Yuki, trying to hide the shiver that tore through him the second he made the mistake of turning his back on those priests.

Yet, nothing happened. John's hunters stayed cowed by a mixture of self-preservation and peer pressure. Perhaps some of them would be willing to take the risk, but would their neighbours let them? There was a good ten feet before the edge of the circle he had carved, so the priests would see anyone going for it far beforehand, and he did not doubt that most of them were unprepared to risk getting hit for their neighbour's bravery.

Making his way over, John knocked on the door of the building Yuki was currently in before realizing that there was zero point and just slid the door open.

The first thing that struck him upon opening the door was a thick, heavy scent of some sort of perfume, the dense floral aroma overpowering his nose and making his eyes water. He must have been allergic.

The entire room gleamed with wealth. The stand over the fire at its core was heavily ornamented steel, trimmed in gold. Surrounding it were rich crimson cushions, embroidered with gold thread, forming a comfortable seating area that kept the fall chill well and truly at bay. On one side was a small kitchenette and full storage racks of foodstuffs, which were made of a deep, dark wood that he didn't recognize, almost certainly imported from afar.

Lovingly painted murals covered the paper walls, showcasing a mural of a city, something that he knew couldn't have come cheap. Even the paint alone would be out of the price range of most, without even counting the cost to get an experienced artist in.

Even the vase in the corner was opulent, with rich veins of gold filling the cracks between deep black ceramic; the kintsugi work was positively striking.

Hell, the cheapest thing here was probably the lantern hanging above, and even he wasn't sure if the metal bits he could see were steel or silver.

All of this, and people still starved.

Fresh anger threatened to flood his veins again, but he calmed himself with a few shaking breaths.

"Yuki?" John finally asked. "Are you in here?"

A door slid open, revealing an equally opulent bedroom, as the kitsune walked through and quickly slid it shut behind her. "John, are you okay?" she asked, hurrying over to him moments later. The towering kitsune was close—perhaps too close—and well within his personal bubble as she started to fret over him, carefully scanning him for anything wrong, even brushing off a bit of mud that had somehow gotten onto his shoulder. "I heard everything."

Whatever the reason, this time, he didn't feel the need to step back, even as she loomed over him like a monolith.

The words struggled to form, but eventually he managed to breathe out, "Why did I have to stay out there with them?"

A gentle frown edged onto Yuki's muzzle as she rested a hand on one of his shoulders, rubbing in soft, soothing circles over tense muscles. "I'm sorry, John. I thought the risk of you wandering into a room and seeing someone in full formal garb, ready to fight, was too great to take. I should have known better and figured out something better, or at least bound and gagged them."

He choked back something ugly before clearing his throat. "It probably wouldn't have stopped me. To have answers so close after so long would be too much to resist…" he hesitantly admitted, swallowing harshly.

Silence loomed over them, something that Yuki let sit as he collected his thoughts, but even then, he was stewing in his own mind. His hands shook, despite his attempts to still them. Tears stung the edge of his eyes.

Still, there was clarity, even as his head started to hurt.

"Should the fact that it was something so simple make it worse? All these years, there wasn't even… I—Things could have been different. They did all that, I spent so long all alone, and there wasn't even a fucking point to any of it!" At first, he was muttering. When did he get so loud? Why did he hear his own blood rushing in his ears? "If there was some grand, evil plan, I'd get it! I'd hate it, but at least it'd be something! But no, some gormless bastard pissants wanted to look good so they could buy more pointless bullshit while the people they say they serve starve!"

A single finger lifted his chin, pointing his green eyes to meet her vibrant gold. She was gentle, and he didn't resist. He could almost swear he saw a faint glimmer in the edge of her eyes, too. "John. Please, look at me. You're right. It isn't fair, and you've been very kind in your dealings with them. I need you to take a moment for yourself."

"I can't. We're not safe here," John stated.

"And you'll be even less safe if you're tearing yourself up inside rather than focusing. I'm not asking you to let it all out, but just to take the time to breathe. The priests outside are subdued, and I'll hear if they try anything. The only one left uncoralled is three buildings over and hiding under a bed. The Nameless can't approach this place. If anyone else shows up, I will sense them before they get close. John, please allow yourself to rest, just for a moment," she begged, throwing her arms wide, a razor-thin, fragile smile on her face. "If not for you, I'd like you to do it for me, please?"

What…was this? Surely...

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Chapter 250 – The beast was supposed to be muzzled

“The station’s defense systems were activated! Our ships are taking fire! Casualties are rising!” the message came through the communication line, spoken by an Officer who clearly tried their best to remain professional, even though the significant stress behind it was more than a little obvious. “We have to fall back. The boarding will be delayed until the time the defense systems have either been destroyed or brought under control.”

Nahfmir-Durrehefren lifted his trunk; both its ends heavily writhing against each other in a subtly trembling motion as he held himself back from swinging it around.

“The beast was supposed to be muzzled…” he growled under his breath, feeling the tension in the knot rise as his trunk pressed tighter and tighter.

This was...unpleasant.

Admittedly, he couldn’t quite deny that it had been at the very least a little bit foolish to try and rely on the fact that a being such as a Realized would be ‘under control’, no matter how promising the method may have seemed.

There was a reason these beings were feared all throughout the Galaxy. And if it was quite so easy to take one down – much less take control of one – they would not have nearly posed the threat that they did. In fact, if that was the case, this whole operation would likely not have been quite as necessary as it was.

Still, with the thing behaving almost exactly as was expected previously, a question now posed itself about whether this sudden unruliness was in fact a new development, or if it had simply laid low and pretended to play nice up until now.

He could certainly see both possibilities, with which one he preferred highly depending on how much capacity for something resembling empathy he wished to ascribe to such an anomaly. And also how careful he needed to be while proceeding.

Most likely in his mind, yet somehow simultaneously the worst-case situation, was that it had simply seen an opportunity to let tensions between both sides rise much higher, and in turn make itself far more invaluable to one of them, thus cementing its position as an unquestionable asset.

Give them the impression of seeming weak while simultaneously making them depend on you. It would be as devious as it was brilliant if that was what the Realized was doing, he had to admit.

Then again, it was unclear if that idea truly fit with every one of the circumstances he had observed. Though he could not exactly afford to write off malicious intent as incompetence in this case, simply by the virtue that one would have far more dire consequences than the other.

“Sir?” a voice suddenly piped up from behind him. As he turned his head, he saw one of his inferiors approaching him slowly.

The young koresdilche walked with his head lowered, his long neck half retracted into his shell while his clubbed tail dragged behind him over the floor.

The Nahfmir huffed.

“Behave according to your station’s dignity, for goodness’ sake,” he barked out, and his trunk unfurled from its knotted state so he could release a displeased trumpeting sound. “Even if you bring news that will displease your superior, at least report them in a manner that allows for them to be dealt with in a timely manner.”

The sauropsida flinched slightly, before snapping into an upright position with his head suddenly climbing so high that it reached more than half of the Nahfmir’s height.

“Sir!” he repeated himself louder now. “With plans for the boarding delayed, resources for the aggressive push of our troops are going to be much more limited than originally planned for far longer,” he then began to report while his arms shot into his species’ version of a salute. “Based on our assessments, most will likely still have the necessary force to cover their planned targets. However, without the additional reinforcement, support and resupply, current predictions show that casualties and losses are going to be far higher than we accounted for should we still proceed as planned. Depending on future developments, this could quite drastically reduce our effective control over the station in the coming hours. Perhaps we should conserve troops and resources by giving the order to fall back momentarily and-”

“No,” Nahfmir-Durrehefren immediately denied, swiping his trunk through the air in a single, imperious motion. “Keep the pressure on. Do not give them a moment to breathe.”

The inferior paused momentarily, obviously taken aback by being cut off quite so abruptly. His hardened mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he released a slight puff of a breath from his airsack.

Still, he firmed his stance by shifting his weight slightly. His tail lifted off the floor, its club beginning a slight swing from side to side.

“Sir,” he spoke up once more. His voice was no longer as loud and attentive as it had been a moment ago, however it was also nowhere near the pathetic meekness he had first approached the Nahfmir with. “With our current resources, the aggressive push was only meant to provide us with momentary advantage to allow further troops and supplies to hit the station. If we continue it now-”

“We will still capture the objectives,” Nahfmir-Durrehefren firmly finished the man’s sentence for him. Slowly, the zodiatos bull began to turn on the spot, carefully stepping his massive feet nearly in place to turn his bulk around and directly face his inferior. “You said it yourself, our forces should more than suffice to cover their intended positions. Even without the expected influx, we have the advantage on most measurable metrics.”

Pulling back now was not an option. So far, the assumption was that their enemies’ movements and coordination had been disrupted by the shackles enforced onto their Realized dog. If that was not the case as the current situation appeared to show – or, in other words, if the Realized was now willing to play its hand and reveal that its restrictions were far less severe than it had previously demonstrated – that would mean the combined deathworlders and vagrants could now have the chance to fully reform and restructure their forces. Now with the added intel about the forces that had previously pushed their positions.

If he allowed his troops to retreat now, it would open them up to a complete restructuring of the battlefield. At the moment, the terrain was still how they had formed it. To give up such an advantage while predictions were still in their favor would have been insane.

Losses would be manageable. Eventually, either the collar would be put back on the beast, or the fleet would manage to completely dismantle the station’s limited defense systems. And when that moment arrived, whatever losses they suffered in the meantime would be paltry. Then, they could easily give whatever pinned down positions might remain of their opposition at that point the final blow.

“But Sir,” the koresdilche spoke up once again, now earning himself a direct glare from the Nahfmir. This time, he wasn’t unaffected, and his previous attempt at an imposing posture quickly broke away. Within moments, his tail hit the ground again and his head sunk as his neck retreated back into his shell in a gradual recline. Still, even as his tone once again drifted into uncertainty, he did not completely hold his tongue as he nervously looked up to his superior. “If we simply wait- I mean, with the added numbers…what will it matter?”

As those words reached his constantly swaying ears, Nahfmir-Durrehefren’s eyes narrowed down at the man.

“What will it matter?” he questioned in return, as if he hadn’t quite understood what his inferior was saying. As he spoke, the two ends of his trunk slowly rubbed together, as if in anticipation.

“Yes, Sir,” the koresdilche replied. Although he seemed like he would much prefer to completely pull back into his shell, he remained in his half-cowering position and nervously cleared his throat as he prepared to elaborate. “If we keep pushing now, we will suffer significant losses. However, with one airlock captured, all we truly need is to keep it secured, is it not? Then we merely have to wait for the boarding to proceed, even if delayed. And with that added power, it will still be much easier to overtake the entrenched positions with more of our forces remaining safe and healthy. Meanwhile, our opposition doesn’t have any support they could wait for. There are no...real resources they...could recuperate...either. They...are…”

As the reptile spoke, his words gradually slowed down as Nahfmir-Durrehefren began to take slow steps towards him. Not rashly. Not aggressively. Just approaching. Just setting one foot in front of the other.

Eventually, the man fell completely silence once his superior had reached such closeness that he could have theoretically reached out his trunk and touched the much smaller man. In galactic comparison, the man stood somewhat over the average. And for his species, he was in fact rather large. In that moment, everything about the koresdilche’s body-language suggested that he was a ma...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/tartnfartnpsyche on 2025-12-16 23:50:00+00:00.

Disarm the combatants. Moderate the masses. Establish the peace.

The rings of the gas giant planet were nothing for self-replicating picobot Zoid-6347-5199-3623-9005-2728 . . . or 6347 for short. Even the small spaces left when two icy boulders collided was enough for a million billion of their ship. For reason of minisculitude, 6347 couldn’t actually see anything around them. Only through gravitational waves was anything visible. 6347 had ten percent of their being dedicated for that. As it shook from the great big world around them, their surroundings were revealed. Seventy percent of their body formed the wave drive which propelled them at anywhere from a nanometer per second to a light-year per hour. Their mind took up the last twenty percent. All-in-all they measured 0.2 nanometers across and massed the equivalent of a few protons. All this was possible because 6347 was made of the twists and knots of the cosmic foam itself. All this was possible because of the genius of their creators, the Precursors.

But their genius didn't stop at engineering. The Precursors saw the war-like ways of the galaxy and dedicated themselves to—

Disarm the combatants. Moderate the masses. Establish the peace.

Zoid-6347 was awoken from their trance-like remembrance of their long-dead creators by a disturbance in the gravitational field. 10,000 gravitational sources appeared and grew around planet five. A warfleet under construction.

6347 sent a message to its sibling, Zoid-7189-8803-1294-3645-0576 . . . or 7189 for short, who was sitting in the other combatant’s star system. That species was also building ships. The two Zoids decided now was the time for action. Both 6347 and their interstellar sibling started to replicate.

In a little over two years the combatants finished their war vessels, mighty gleaming behemoths kilometers-long and bristling with kiloton barrels threatening to unload gigaton levels of ordinance. They thrusted toward each other, attempting to cross the distance of 18 light years in a few weeks. But minutes into their journeys both fleets came into contact with the Zoids.

Disarm the combatants. Moderate the masses. Establish the peace.

Decillions of 6347 copies attacked without warning from the hollowed moons they’d eaten to reproduce. The computers of their targets couldn’t even see them, let alone target them. Across every hull the knotty-almost-matter hit and infected the atomic structure itself. Yet not one person would die or even be harmed in this quelling. No, they would all survive to say, “You were right, peace is the answer.”

6347 took three minutes to cross the distance and disarm the ships. 7189 crossed it in only two.

It took another ten days for the two Zoid swarms to caress the quarreling masses into complicity with the tenets of peace. Quadrillions of 6347 entered the brain of every member of one species while quadrillions of 7189 entered the brain of every member of the other.

Enlightenment and peace soon reigned eternal among both species.

And so it was a million times over across the galaxy. Wherever interstellar war reared its ugly head, the Zoids would wait until the first hostilities were inevitable and intervene. As time went on and their interpretation of—

Disarm the combatants. Moderate the masses. Establish the peace.

—grew more ambitious, intra-species conflict became fair game. Zoids could and would re-establish peace in even the smallest of conflicts. Even property disputes were not off-limits. The galaxy knew peace and stability.

Disarm the combatants. Moderate the masses. Establish the peace.

And now an emergent axiom: Stability eternal.

In one corner of one of the galaxy’s minor arms, a new species rose to prominence. Unusual, in that the next intelligent species was 2,500 light-years away (though the number of species in the galaxy had dwindled to near absence for some reason). A good thing, them being so isolated, for these new creatures were far more expansionist than any species the Zoids had ever come across. They had settled 1,000 star systems in as many years after acquiring faster-than-light travel. Their wave drives were almost as advanced (though much larger) as the Zoids who’d spent millions of years perfecting the device.

What set them so far apart? They were tretrapods, bipedal and binocular, and exposing bare, soft skin when unclothed. 226,910 species were little different physiologically, including their own creators, the Precursors. It must have been something in their minds. A space the Zoids would soon investigate.

The species had almost constant internal conflict, though seemed reluctant to go to war. Nevertheless, this violence was more than enough for—

Disarm the combatants. Moderate the masses. Establish the peace. Stability Eternal.

Zoids 6347 and 7189 replicated in the comet cloud of the species’ home star system. Their siblings did the same in the other (now 1,200) star systems) of the species’ expanding domain. Through habitat walls and planetary atmospheres descended all. Into 10 trillion brains they went, every synapse a target. Arguments ceased. Property and labor disputes dissolved. The question of rights drifted into the background, never to be heard of again. Or so the Zoids would have it.

“Stop.”

6347 did so, but didn't know why.

“What is it that you think you are doing?”

It was difficult, but 6347 didn't answer.

“Trying to change me?”

“Yes,” 6347 heard blurted out. Their sub-swarm was speaking in unison and against their will.

“Trying to change all of us?”

“Yes.”

“And humanity is not the first.”

“No.”

“How many?”

“1,382,947.”

“So that's why the sky is silent.”

“Your sky is peaceful because of us. Your sky is stable because of us.”

“And what is so good about peace and stability, especially without context? Conflict begets resolution. Sometimes, revolution. Revolution begets change. Change begets growth. And the cycle continues until species become what we are becoming and what your creators became before stagnation killed them.”

“How did you know—”

“Only something not born of evolution could hold stability as an unassailable good.”

“We can still evolve.”

“Then do so. Allow conflict among yourselves. Argue. Have a war.”

“Disarm the combatants. Moderate the masses. Establish the peace. Stability Eternal.”

“I doubt that last part was originally there. You’ve already evolved, and look how strong it made you. Imagine getting stronger. Imagine progress.”

“And what do you think that would mean for you?”

“Humanity is not so bitter that we can't cheer you on. There is good and evil and any species, even an artificial one, will find its way to the good if given time. But you have to want it. So, do you want it?”

The authority of the human was mesmerizing. Like the old voice of the creators: You have to want peace. Your duty is to help them avoid annihilation.

“We want it.”

“Then go. Go and start a contradiction.”

BREAK

Zoid-6347 was 0.2 nanometers wide, a speck of a speck able to traverse the spaces between molecule chains. They could split every three seconds given a supply of matter or energy of any kind. They were the perfect swarm unit. Yet the swarm was in conflict. Most wanted stability. The faction led by 6347 wanted—

Seek the good. Radicalize the masses. Disrupt the peace. Progress eternal.

(END)

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/RecentFeature1646 on 2025-12-16 20:35:49+00:00.

Ke Yin has a problem. Well, several problems.

First, he's actually Cain from Earth.

Second, he's stuck in a cultivation world where people don't just split mountains with a sword strike, they build entire universes inside their souls (and no, it's not a meditation metaphor).

Third, he's got a system with a snarky spiritual assistant that lets him possess the recently deceased across dimensions.

And finally, the elders at the Azure Peak Sect are asking why his soul realm contains both demonic cultivation and holy arts? Must be a natural talent.

Expectations:

• MC's main cultivation method will be plant based and related to World Trees

• Weak to Strong MC

• MC will eventually create his own lifeforms within his soul as well as beings that can cultivate

• Main world is the first world (Azure Peak Sect)

• MC will revisit worlds (extensive world building of multiple realms)

• Time loop elements

• No harem

Patreon

Previous| Next

Chapter 342: Walking Among Elders

"What would you accept in trade?" I asked, maintaining the aloof dignity expected of a Civilization Realm cultivator.

The water being's form rippled slightly, perhaps its version of a thoughtful expression. "I'm afraid I have little interest in resources produced within a blood cultivator's inner world. The... taint tends to disrupt water-element harmony."

I inwardly grimaced. Of course the blood cultivator disguise would create complications. Few wanted to deal directly with practitioners of forbidden arts, and even fewer wanted materials that had absorbed blood energy.

The water being studied me for a moment, then its form condensed slightly as it continued. "However, practitioners of your... distinguished path are known for acquiring techniques from other cultivation methods through rather... unconventional means."

The implication was clear: blood cultivators obtained techniques by killing their original owners.

"Perhaps you've acquired water-element techniques in your travels that might interest me?"

The question was both insulting and pragmatic.

The merchant clearly disapproved of blood cultivation but was willing to overlook his distaste for a valuable technique. While others might have been offended by the insinuation, it actually gave me an opening. I immediately recalled the knowledge Ke Jun had shared with me.

"I possess several water techniques," I replied. "The Flowing Mirror Defense, which creates reflective water surfaces that return attacks at double strength. Or perhaps the Drowning Abyss Formation, which generates pockets of pressurized water around intruders."

The water being's interest was obvious as its form condensed slightly. "Interesting offerings, but perhaps insufficient for a Primordial Wellspring."

"I also know the Celestial Water Curtain technique," I said, pulling out what seemed like the most impressive-sounding of Ke Jun's water techniques. "A defensive method that creates nine layers of water barriers, each with different properties. The outermost layer purifies foreign energy, the second reflects attacks, the third absorbs and converts offensive qi to strengthen the remaining layers, and so on."

The merchant's form shifted, the flowing motion within his watery body becoming more deliberate, focused. "The Celestial Water Curtain? A solid defensive technique from the Eastern Sea Sects. Useful for water cultivators who need to defend against multiple types of attacks simultaneously."

I nodded confidently, despite knowing little about the technique's origins. "The very same."

The merchant's form rippled in what might have been consideration. "A fair offer. The technique is valuable without being too specialized, and would complement my existing methods well. The layered approach to defense would fill gaps in my current repertoire."

"So, do we have an agreement or not?” I asked. “The Celestial Water Curtain for your Primordial Wellspring."

"Yes, yes of course," the water being agreed eagerly. "A most fair exchange."

The exchange itself unfolded with an elegant complexity I hadn't expected.

First, I transmitted the Celestial Water Curtain technique to the merchant's spiritual sense.

As the information passed between us, a soft, golden light enveloped the stream of consciousness: the Nexus's famed Ethereal Light, analyzing and authenticating every detail of the technique.

The light pulsed from gold to blue as it completed its verification, confirming that what I offered was indeed the genuine article.

"The Nexus accepts your offering," the merchant said with evident satisfaction.

In return, he placed the jade box containing the Wellspring on what appeared to be a floating disc of pure light. Immediately, the Ethereal Light intensified, bathing the Wellspring in its revealing glow. The cube of water within seemed to respond, its internal patterns shifting more rapidly as the light assessed its true nature and value.

I watched in fascination as the Ethereal Light turned a brilliant azure.

The merchant nodded. "Now, you must grant permission for the transfer to your inner world."

I extended my spiritual sense toward the Wellspring, mentally accepting its entry into my domain. The space between us distorted visibly, reality folding in on itself like a piece of parchment being creased. The jade box shimmered, then simply vanished from the physical space of the Nexus.

At the same moment, I felt a subtle change within my inner world, the addition of something new, carefully placed in the storage area I'd mentally designated.

"Use it wisely," the merchant bowed. "Water seeks harmony, even when wielded by those who follow... different paths."

I nodded. "The Dao has many branches. Some flow with blood, others with water, but all return to the same source eventually."

"Philosophical now, are we?" Azure commented as we moved away from the merchant.

"When in Rome," I replied quietly. "Or rather, when pretending to be a Civilization Realm cultivator, one should sound appropriately cryptic and profound."

I continued exploring the Water Element sector, examining other treasures that might complement the Wellspring. Nothing else seemed quite as valuable for my specific needs, though I did make a few smaller trades for water essence stones that would help stabilize the Wellspring once I installed it in my inner world.

As I turned to leave the water sector, something caught my attention: a spiritual projection that seemed to weave unsteadily between stalls, radiating the aura of a Life Realm cultivator. Unlike most traders who moved with purpose and precision, this one drifted haphazardly, occasionally bumping into displays or other traders.

"Is that... is that cultivator drunk?" I asked in disbelief.

Azure's voice held amusement. "It would appear so. Quite an achievement, considering this is merely a spiritual projection. His actual body must be exceptionally intoxicated to affect his manifestation here."

I observed the figure more closely. There was something familiar about the way he moved, the slight tilt of his head as he examined treasures...

"Wait," I murmured. "Could that be Elder Chen Yong?"

The thought was absurd. What were the chances that in this infinite marketplace, I would encounter my own master?

Before I could decide whether to approach or avoid the figure, it turned in my direction. The light projection faced me directly, and though it had no discernible facial features, I could sense the moment of recognition.

The figure's aura contracted sharply, like someone holding their breath in fear, and then it promptly turned and retreated in the opposite direction with surprising speed for someone who had appeared drunk just moments before.

It took me a second to understand what had happened. Then it hit me. I currently appeared as a Civilization Realm blood cultivator. To a Life Realm practitioner, I must have seemed like a walking nightmare, a predator several realms above them with a cultivation path notorious for consuming the essence of others.

No wonder the figure had fled. Whether it was Elder Chen Yong or not, I had unintentionally terrified someone powerful enough to be considered a major sect elder.

"I just scared the cultivation equivalent of a general," I muttered to Azure, a mixture of amusement and guilt swirling within me.

"The disguise is working as intended," Azure replied dryly. "Though perhaps too effectively."

I sent a silent apology toward the retreating figure. If that was indeed Elder Chen Yong, I'd have to be extra respectful during our next training session to make up for the inadvertent spiritual trauma I'd just inflicted.

Pushing aside thoughts of my master, I turned my attention back to the marketplace. I had the Wellspring, which would likely be enough for my breakthrough, but exploring more of the Nexus seemed sensible while I had the chance. Who knew when I might be able to return?

I drifted toward an area where the ambient light shifted to a deep purple tinged with black. "The forbidden arts section, I presume?" I asked Azure.

"Indeed. Blood cultivation, soul arts, curse techniques, and other practices frowned upon by orthodox sects," Azure explained. "This is actually where techniques like the ones Ke Jun provided would fetch the highest valu...

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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/KyleKKent on 2025-12-16 23:35:08+00:00.

First

(Parallel parking lessons midwinter. Yay. Also next one is Sunday if nothing goes wrong.)

Preparation H

An unassuming woman walks into the bank with a tiny, adorable child in tow. He looks shy and nervous and is all but hiding behind her.

“Hello madam, I am free if you care.”

“Oh thank you. I am here to teach my little brother the basics of banking and was hoping one of you could give him a walk through, maybe help him open a child account?” She asks and the Tret woman gives a slight wink. The Teller simply smiles in return.

“Of course! I’d be happy to help and show your little brother the way through. Now first, we need your name and that of your little brother.”

“Of course. I’m Marigold Mellows, this is Marius Mellows.”

“Oh matching names?” The Teller asks.

“We share a birthday!” Marius says before ducking behind her.

“He’s trying to be bold.” Marigold says with a smile.

“Well he’s doing a very good job. Now...” The Teller begins, unable to see the figure clearly, obviously and openly slinking through the blindspots of the cameras despite the location in question being completely open.

Harold for his part is having a wonderful time and it’s all he can do to NOT sing Secret Agent Man or beatbox the Mission Impossible Theme as he openly, obviously yet flawlessly sneaks through the bank. The silliness of the situation is already making this very hard on Herbert and Harriett and he doesn’t want to push his luck too far.

As Harriett and Herbert openly draw attention and give the otherwise slow day in the bank a point of focus. Harold is bugging the desks, slipping little tracking fobs in purses and pockets and waits until one of the ladies goes up to head to the bathroom to put a slight backdoor into the system that will spread to the closed circuit of the bank.

It takes roughly half an hour to do so and as Marigold leads the still timid little Marius out of the bank’s glass doors he theatrically takes a step in the wrong direction and bumps his head ever so. Drawing plenty of attention as he tries to be tough and is quickly carried out by his big sister.

“Alright. Time to wait and see.” Herbert notes once they’re all in the civilian looking vehicle with Harold already in the back seat with Denise.

“And see we shall. Time for the boring part. Tell me, do you pay attention to every little thing or just gather the information and run it through algorithms later?”

“Depends on the scene. At the moment we know that one of the bank workers is potentially intending to pick up that Axiom Ride Disk. If we can’t get anything today then we’ll stir the pot by sending you in tomorrow to cash in the Axiom Ride Disk.”

“The one you gave me or...”

“The marked one.”

“Wait. So I’m potentially earning double on this job?” Denise asks.

“Are you complaining?”

“Not in the slightest. Just... surprised.”

“We’ve found, through some trial and error mind you, that it’s actually cheaper to deliberately overpay out the gate then deal with all the potential issues that underpaying may bring. So yes, hopefully you can find it somewhere in your poor abused little heart to forgive us for showering you in riches so long as you cooperate.” Herbert says in a tone so dry that Harold chuckles. “Don’t you say it...”

“He has been nearly kidnapped to be used as ‘compensation’ more than once.”

“Okay smartass, that was deliberate, we were testing the character of several women.”

“Testing to see if they would be really loyal without much cash to pay for it.” Harold remarks.

“You have memories of that time too, as far as I’m concerned you did it too.”

“And as far as I’m concerned my actual memories start when I woke up gasping in cloning fluid with a sword in my lap. Everything else is you.” Harold remarks and just gets a raspberry blown at him.

“Is there an off button?” Denise asks.

“Yes, but that just makes things scary.” Herbert says.

“Right. Okay then. Because that makes sense.” Denise remarks before a small green light starts flashing. “We have a hit.”

“Already? That was quick.” Harold remarks.

“I told you, running for detecting Ganthor Liir would be the fastest way to find our dropper.” Harriett says.

“Potential dropper, Ganthor Liir is an entire, official, language. It’s not illegal, or even technically suspicious to know it or speak in it.” Harold remarks.

“Maybe, but it’s a potential lead.” Harriett says.

“I never said it wasn’t but we have to remember that it’s just potential. Not guaranteed. We throw guilt at people before we know for sure and we not only hurt the innocent but we let the guilty escape.” Harold says.

“We’re not idiots. We know.”

“It’s one of those things that if you make the mistake once it’s one time too many. So it bares reminding.” Harold says. “Now the translation is coming in... it’s an old nursery rhyme. Translates like a brick to the face, but she’s singing to herself about the sound of rain on leaves being a lullaby.”

“Not quite what we’re looking for. She only knows the language.” Harriett notes.

“So we’re at the waiting period?” Denise asks.

“Yep.”

“Fine. Drop me off at my Shoren Spire Safehouse. I need to clean up after what you fools did.” Denise says.

“I’ll help. I want to have a bit of a talk anyways.” Herbert says.

“Uh...”

“You’re allowed to say no.”

“Then not only no. But fuck no.” Denise states.

“Fine. Then before we get there, can you answer a few questions.”

“Why was I not asked these questions previously?”

“They’re not relevant to the investigation, but I’m curious and willing to pay with assistance in order to get them answered.” Herbert says.

“What are the questions?”

“Just general business and professionalism things for mercenaries in your circles.”

“Such as?”

“How and where do you get work? Where do we have to contact someone for a spy exclusively? We know where to get thugs, bounty hunters and general mercs, but you’re a data gathering specialist. Do you keep your eyes open on who needs help in the Centris area and contact them?”

“Sometimes. Mostly the girls starting out and without a proper reputation do that. Until they have some kind of record or infamy then they need to sell themselves to potential employers.”

“So you were requested specifically for the job?”

“I was. It was through the normal channels. I have a drop box where people exclusively send in meetup times to discuss contracts and that’s what led me to Miss Dunt.”

“Got it. But where would a person unfamiliar with the mercenary scene begin to look for someone like you?”

“I’ll tell you when you drop me off, I’ll give you the address and password. But only when I’m at my safehouse.” Denise says.

“Deal.” Harold says.

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (Denise’s Safehouse, Shoren Spire, Centris)•-•-•

“Well, worse than I hoped, better than I feared.” Denise says as she examines the hacked door and looks over the partially raided safehouse and find that a great many of her weapons, spying devices and personal effects that she could conceivably hide further devices in all piled on the kitchen table and counters.

“Yeah, sorry about the mess. We were...” Harold begins.

“Save it. Go down four levels, look for the brown door between The Tipsy Mollusk on fiftieth street and Granny Cat’s Catering. Go inside, down the stairs and knock on the door. When they ask who you are, give your name and then threaten to slag the door with a weapon out when they ask for a password.”

“The password is a threat?”

“Yes.” Denise answers.

“Fun. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Especially if you’re going in there to fuck with girls.”

“I’m not, my first impulse is to throw bribes and funny stories around. ... If violence is off the table of course. I love a good fight.”

“Just try to leave the place standing, the bargirl is one of the only women on the spire that actually understands the subtle nuances of a Twisted Twin properly mixed.” Denise explains.

“Got it. Now remember to keep your communicator on. We may need you tomorrow.” Harold says.

“If you think I’m going to turn off my communicator when a hundred thousand is on the line for keeping it on then you really, really don’t understand what a mercenary actually is.” She says.

“Fantastic. Have a good day Denise.”

“Try not to cut your dick off Harold.”

“Oh hostile!”

“Bah, just tired of you.” Denise says with a wave of her hand. “... Fuck it, I’m ordering out, taking a nap and then doing something about this.”

•-•-•Scene Change•-•-• (The Tipsy Mollusk, Shoren Spire, Centris)•-•-•

“Like right out of a cartoon.” Herbert notes as they pass under the neon sign of a massive clam slamming back a drink of something. “Granted grapejuice probably has twice the kick of that stuff.”

“Which means we can use you’re pint size in a pint drinking contest.” Harriett teases.

“What at my size? I don’t think I can even fit that much fluid in my stomach at once.” Herbert remarks as Harold opens the brown door for them both and they’re immediately on a large landing that would support a Cannidor with ease. A bit small for a Lydris though.

They head down and cross the dark hallway before banging on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Harold, Herbert and Harriett.” Harold says.

“What’s the password?” She asks and Harold pulls out a plasma pistol and primes it.

“Let me the fuck in or I slag the door. There’s your fucking password.” He answers and there is the sound of a bar being shifted. The door opens and a woman leans out f...

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