The Hunt

Marco Polo, Orbit of Uncharted Planet “WISE J050822.11-344357.1 b” alias “Bob”

Date: 23 February 2178

Time: 14:47:12 UTC

“Well, it looks like our preliminary naming of this world is off the table. We can't call a jewel like this just Bob.” Captain Jaxon Marks smirked and leaned back in his command chair, eyes fixed on the holographic display projected before him. The planet below, officially still designated WISE J050822.11-344357.1 b, was a stunning celestial body. Turquoise oceans, sprawling continents, and vast mountain ranges stretched across its surface. The ship's sensors had already confirmed a breathable atmosphere, and the readings were still coming in.

"Captain, I'm picking up something unusual," Specialist Elianore Tucker said, with a hint of excitement.

Captain Marks's gaze snapped towards Tucker, looking sceptical. "More unusual than a garden world, Specialist? Don’t tell me we found aliens."

Tucker nodded, her eyes darting between the captain and the data streaming across her console. "Affirmative, sir. I'm reading structures, possibly habitations, and what appears to be a network of roads or pathways."

Marks's brow furrowed. "That's impossible. We're over 200 light-years from Earth. There's no way a human settlement could be out here without us knowing about it."

He leaned forward, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Double-check your readings, Specialist. I want to know if this is some kind of anomaly or a glitch in our sensors."

Tucker's fingers flew across her console, and after a few tense moments, she looked up at the captain. "Sir, I've re-run the scans. The readings are confirmed. Whatever this is, it's definitely not natural."

Captain Marks's mind was racing. The implications were staggering. If this was indeed a settlement, it could only mean one thing: they were not alone in the universe. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He had always wondered if humanity would ever encounter extraterrestrial life, and now, it seemed, he might be the first to do so.

"Alright, Specialist," Marks said, his voice measured. "Let's take a closer look. Raise our sensors to high gain and see if we can gather more information about this... settlement."

As the Marco Polo's sensors began to probe the planet's surface, Captain Marks couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the cusp of something momentous. Something that would change the course of human history forever.

"Captain, I'm reading something else," Tucker reported hoarsely.

Marks's eyes locked onto the specialist. "What is it, Tucker?"

Specialist Elianore Tucker's voice cut through the calm of the bridge, her tone laced with concern. "Captain, I'm reading a disturbance in the Warp C-Band. It's distorted, but it's definitely there."

Captain Marks raised an eyebrow. "C-Band? Nobody uses that for warp, Elianore. It's too violent."

Tucker nodded. "I know, sir. Most WEST ships use the E-Band, it's harder to focus but smoother to sail.”

Marks was well aware of that. The Marco Polo could even use the experimental G-Band, which allows for nearly 2000 times the speed of light but was even more finicky to focus.

Just as Tucker finished speaking, the bridge was bathed in the eerie glow of incoming ships. Two hundred vessels, each a behemoth compared to the Marco Polo, emerged from the depths of space.

There was dire tension in the air as Captain Marks' eyes widened in alarm.

And immediately the proximity alarm sounded! Thousands over thousands of ballistic objects launched from the armada towards the Marco Polo.

"Red alert! Evade, evade, evade!” shouted Captain Marks, “Bring SHORAD online, now! Navigator Dorelman, calculate a warp out of this clusterfuck!"

The Marco Polo shuddered as the antimatter reactors roared to life, propelling the ship forward at nearly 10g. The inertial dampeners struggled to compensate, the crew was still thrown back into their seats. The SHORAD turrets sprang to life, spewing forth a hail of point-defense projectiles that shredded most of the incoming ballistic objects.

Captain Marks's grin was a mixture of relief and adrenaline. "That was a lucky call, people! We're clear of the initial barrage!"

But Navigator Dorelman's voice was laced with concern. "Captain, I'm having trouble getting the warp drive online. The disturbance from the C-Band is too great."

Marks's eyes narrowed. "Keep trying, Dorelman. We need to get out of here, now!"

As the Marco Polo continued to accelerate, the crew struggled to keep up with the chaos. The ship was taking small shrapnel damage, but it was still whizzing through space at incredible velocity, dodging the incoming fire like a fly a fly squatter.

Weapon Officer Kurz's voice cut through the turmoil. "Captain, the enemy is firing unguided... cannon balls? And they're using a 'crossing the T' formation, like a pre-industrial sea fleet, firing broadsides?"

The bridge crew exchanged stunned glances. What kind of enemy would use such outdated tactics? And how could someone be insane enough to travel through C-Band warp?

Captain Marks's face set in a determined expression. "We'll worry about that later. Right now, let's focus on getting out of here alive. Engineer Dorelman, can you give me an estimate on when we'll have the warp drive ready?"

Dorelman's voice was hesitant. "I'm not sure, Captain. The disturbance is too great. You need to bring distance between their warp generators and ours… I’ll try to calculate an E-Band warp, that should give us less speed but easier warp."

Marks's eyes locked onto the engineer. "Do it, Dorelman. I’ll give you some distance to work with, everyone, make haste, we need to get out of here, now!"

"Alright, listen up!" Captain Marks barked, his voice cutting through the chaos of the bridge. "Ready all weapons! We're going to punch a line into their formation and make off as fast as we can. Helm, align 75.15, Sensors, set target painters on every ship ahead. Weapons, prepare to fire the coax rail gun in short bursts. I want them licking theirs wounds but not dead. Repeat, avoid destroying these ships. Let's show them what we're made of!"

Targeting lasers beamed through the void, marking and measuring a dozen of the massive enemy battleships. Upon contact sensors calculated the distance to 14 klicks and immediately the rail-gun fired in short, controlled bursts, unleashing energized tungsten rods at 30km/s. The rods punched straight through the battleships, causing them to lose control and roll in space, venting atmosphere and inner structure.

Already the Marco Polo surged forward, its engines screaming in protest as it accelerated to 11g. The ship shuddered and groaned, its hull creaking under the strain. At least the enemy ships, due to their massive size, seemed to struggle to keep up. They lumbered forward, their acceleration pitifully slow compared to the Marco Polo's breakneck speed.

As the Marco Polo burst through the hole in the enemy formation, the four automated SHORAD turrets calculated imminent collisions, sprang to life, unleashing a hail of point-defense projectiles that obliterated almost two dozen small, nimble fighters within two seconds.

When the Marco Polo emerged on the other side of the enemy formation, its crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. But as they looked back at the enemy fleet, they couldn't help but feel a sense of incredulity.

"What in the...?" Captain Marks trailed off, shaking his head.

Weapon Officer Kurz chuckled. "I think we just got attacked by Steam Punk aliens, sir. I mean, who uses cannon balls in space?"

The bridge crew erupted into laughter, the tension of the past few minutes dissipating. But Captain Marks's expression quickly turned serious.

"Alright, let's keep the jokes to a minimum. We just got out of a very tight spot, and we don't know what other surprises these... Steam Punk aliens might have in store for us."

He turned to the crew, his eyes scanning the room. "Let's keep our focus on getting out of here and reporting back to WEST. If I never see those Steampunk aliens again, it will be too soon."

The bridge crew responded with a crisp "Aye, Sir," remaining resolute despite the smiles on their faces.

"Captain, I'm getting a clear warp on the E-Band," Specialist Tucker said, her voice steady. "We should be able to make it back to WEST space without any further incidents."

Captain Marks nodded, his eyes fixed on the navigation display. "Let's hope so, Elianore. Let's hope so."

Marks continued to call out commands in preparation for warp, his voice steady and calm. "Alright, let's get ready to head back to Earth. Navigation, plot a course for Earth. Engineer Dorelman, get me warp, whatever you can manage."

Just as the crew was about to execute the orders, a Security Ensign burst into the bridge, out of breath. "Hold the warp! Hold the warp, Captain!"

The bridge crew turned to look at the Ensign, annoyance and amusement on their faces.

Captain Marks raised an eyebrow. "What is it, Ensign...?"

"Jamil, sir," the Ensign replied, still gasping for air. "I'm Ensign Jamil. I couldn't help but overhear your plan to warp back to Earth, sir."

Marks's expression turned skeptical. "And what's wrong with that plan, Ensign?"

Jamil took a deep breath before speaking. "Sir, I think we should not underestimate the enemy. We should not warp back directly to Earth. We don’t know…"

Kurz, the Weapon Officer, stepped forward, droning with a stern voice. "Ensign, you're breaking protocol. You should have reported to your superior officer before coming to the bridge."

But Captain Marks interrupted Kurz, his voice calm. "No, no, Kurz. The Ensign speaks rightfully. Navigation, plot a course straight out of the galactic plane, away from Earth. We'll go to warp as soon as possible."

The bridge crew exchanged surprised glances, but Marks continued, his eyes locked on Jamil. "The Ensign is correct. The enemy might have outdated weapon technology but we don’t know if the enemy is able to track warp signals. We better don’t draw a map for him to our home world. And just to make myself clear, if your Captain makes a mistake, warn him. The worst thing that can happen for being wrong is an amused smile on your Captain's face."

As the ship entered E-Band Warp, Captain Marks turned to Jamil, a small smile on his face. "So, Ensign Jamil, what's your story? What brings you to the Marco Polo?"

Jamil smiled back, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'm an ex-police officer, sir. I studied criminal psychology in Mumbay and worked for the homicide department for 25 years. After my second gastric ulcer I wanted to see space before retiring. My job aboard the Marco Polo is usually to calm down minor disputes and maybe lock up a drunk once a week."

Marks chuckled. "You're overqualified for this job, Ensign."

Jamil grinned. "You can't be overqualified in space, sir."

Marks raised an eyebrow. "Fair point. So, Ensign, why do you think I didn't order to destroy the enemy ships?"

Jamil thought for a moment before responding. "I think you didn't want to escalate the situation further, sir."

Marks shock his head. "That's a good explanation but incorrect, Ensign. I didn't think that far, but I knew the enemy would be more busy rescuing damaged ships than writing off destroyed ships."

Jamil smiled. "You're not much of a diplomatic guy, are you, sir?"

Marks smirked. "Not at all, Ensign. But I'll take that as a compliment."

He turned to Jamil, his expression serious. "Stay around the bridge, Ensign. You have earned it and maybe we both can learn from each other."

Jamil nodded, a small smile on his face. "Aye, aye, Captain."

The Marco Polo warped for two hours, covering almost half a light year of distance. Finally Captain Marks ordered the ship to leave warp.

"Alright, let's take a look around," Marks announced, his voice calm. "Tucker, scan the warp bands and see if we have any company."

Tucker nodded, her eyes fixed on her console. "Aye, aye, Captain. Scanning now."

Jamil, who had taken a seat to the left of the Captain, strapped into the safety belts like everyone else, looked at Marks with a curious expression.

"Captain, I have to ask, what's the plan here?" Jamil asked.

The Captain checked his own console without looking up. "We're just taking a look around, Ensign. Making sure we're not being followed."

But before Marks could continue, Tucker's voice cut through the calm.

"Captain, I have interference on the C-Band warp, incoming!" Tucker announced, “ETA four mike.”

Marks's expression turned serious. "Align straight away from the incoming angle and accelerate to cruise at 6g. Let's create some distance."

The Marco Polo's engines roared to life, propelling the ship forward at 6g. The crew was pushed back into their seats as the ship accelerated.

Four minutes later, the enemy fleet popped back into real space, right where the Marco Polo had left warp. But the Marco Polo was no longer there. It had moved away over 1500 kilometers, far outside of the enemy's weapons range.

Tucker's eyes were fixed on her console, scanning the newcomer. "Captain, I'm reading the enemy fleet. 174 ships, the same fleet that jumped on us at planet Bob, minus 24 ships."

"This is not good," Kurz said, his voice low. "We can't outrun them if they can follow us through warp."

Marks nodded and used the intercom. "Dorelman, when can you get full speed on the G-Band?"

Dorelman's voice came over the comms system. "Even without those C-Band disturbances, it will always take a couple of hours, Captain. The G-Band is a finicky thing and only used for long distance warp."

Marks's expression turned thoughtful. "Alright, let's keep moving. We'll try to lose them in the vastness of space. It seems the enemies relativistic acceleration is limited around 2g. Let’s keep cruising at 5g until we can get into the G-Band"

“174 ships.” stated Jamil. “This means they left 12 ships to tend the damaged 12 ships. Their logic is somewhat resembling human psychology.”

The Marco Polo continued to burn its engines through space, its crew on alert, waiting to see what the enemy would do next.

Tucker's voice cut through the calm of the bridge, her tone urgent. "Captain, the enemy is aligning towards us, creating a C-Band-Warp Field!"

Jamil and Kurz looked shocked, their eyes fixed on Marks, who already knew what the enemy was trying to do.

"A short range warp, right on top of us!" Marks exclaimed, his voice rising in alarm.

The bridge erupted into chaos as Marks shouted out hasty commands to get battle ready. "Dorelman, get us warp, G, F, E, D Band, whatever, just get us moving NOW!"

Dorelman's voice came over the intercom, laced with frustration. "Captain, you better make up your mind! I've just configured the engines for an G-band warp!"

Marks's response was immediate. "JUST DO IT, Dorelman! We don't have time for this!"

The enemy fleet suddenly flashed in at just seven kilometers to their side, immediately opening fire. The Marco Polo's SHORAD turrets sprang to life, spewing forth a hail of point-defense projectiles to counter the incoming fire.

"Red Alert, evasive maneuvers!" Marks shouted, his voice carrying above the din of the battle. "Fire Wrecker Torpedos at the closest ships!"

The four Torpedo Tubes opened fire, sending the bulky warheads towards two carriers and two massive dreadnoughts. The carriers spewed out fighters, which were quickly engaged by the Marco Polo's medium range missile systems.

As the battle raged on, Kurz took the liberty to fire the coax rail gun at targets of opportunity, literally cutting an alien cruiser in half and punching holes into five more ships. The crew was thrown around their seats, only held in place by the safety constrains as the ship performed insane evasive maneuvers.

For almost ten minutes, the Marco Polo danced through the void, avoiding the enemy's attacks and striking back whenever possible. Finally, Dorelman's voice came over the intercom, his tone relieved.

"Captain, I've got a D-Band Warp ready! We can jump to warp now!"

“Engage!” shouted Marks so loud Dorelman could hear him without the intercom.

The Marco Polo sped off to warp space, riding along the rough D-band warp. The crew was shaken around, struggling to maintain their footing as the ship shuddered and groaned. The D-band was the oldest practically used warp technology but closer to a roller coaster than a smooth flight.

Marks's voice cut through the din, demanding ammunition and damage report. "Alright, let's get a report on our status. What's our ammo situation?"

Kurz’s voice boomed angrily behind him. "Captain, we've got one SHORAD turret down, and the three remaining are down to 30% ammunition. Mid-Range Missiles are down to 50%, and we've got 8 Torpedos left out of 16. The coax rail gun has 60% ammunition left."

Marks's expression turned grim. "Damage control, what's our damage situation?"

The damage control officer's voice came over the intercom, his tone strained. "Captain, we've got 400 small leaks, temporarily sealed by security foam. We're working on welding more permanent seals, but it's going to take some time."

Marks nodded, his mind racing. "Alright, let's prioritize the SHORAD ammunition, take it from the damaged turret to the working ones. Whatever comes next, without SHORAD we are toast. Don’t worry about the seals, the foam should hold up for a while and we still have EVA suits."

Kurz's smuggly laughed, his tone triumphant. "Captain, we disabled seven enemy ships, with at least four being total losses. And I scored at least 20 random hits on other ships, nothing critical, but hopefully taking them out of the fight for the time being."

Jamil shook his head in concern. "Captain, I think the enemy Commander is taking this personally. He is becoming more and more reckless, sacrificing ships in a fight he could easily avoid. He's not going to leave ships behind to help the damaged ones. He might even bring the damaged ships back into the fight, even though they're only good for soaking up more hits."

His face turned sour as the bad news kept on coming, meanwhile the Marco Polo rumbled harshly through the D-band warp, the crew on edge, waiting to see what the enemy would do next.

“Do not discuss this on the Bridge.” stated Captain Marks, “Kurz, Tucker, Jamil, Dorelman. Mess Hall. Now.”

Soon the core command found itself in the deserted mess hall.

Captain Marks's expression turned grim as he concluded the dire prospects they faced. "We're dealing with an enemy that can travel the violent C-Band as fast as we can travel the calm E-Band. They can do precise short range warps, and they're not afraid to get into a bloody fight without reason."

"Agreed, Captain," Jamil concluded calmly. "Their immediate violent reaction shows they're utterly territorial. Their restless pursuit hints at them being vindictive too. They're not just defending their territory, they're seeking revenge."

"Sir, the sheer size of their fleet is ridiculous," Kurz said, his voice laced with concern. "And that seems to be just one fleet guarding a single farming world with low population. The sheer tonnage of that fleet almost surpasses all space-born assets WEST holds."

"Affirmative, Lieutenant," Tucker added. "It's like they're trying to intimidate us with sheer numbers, and to be honest, it works. But it's not just the numbers, it's the tactics they're using. They will throw everything at us, no matter the costs."

"A single farming world could never sustain such a fleet, Captain," Jamil said, his eyes squinting. "They must be a multi-star civilization. Maybe hundreds, if not thousands of worlds. The implications are staggering. No matter how superior our weaponry is, a fight between our civilizations would be apocalyptic for us."

Captain Marks stood up and straightened his uniform, looking sternly at his command crew "I will not lead them to Earth, and I will not let the Marco Polo fall into their hands," Captain Marks said, his voice firm. "No matter the costs. We'll do whatever it takes to protect our people and our way of life. Sooner I will steer the Marco Polo into a black hole."

"Aye, aye, Captain," the bridge crew replied in unison.

"We'll keep running, and we'll keep fighting," Captain Marks said, his voice resolute. "We'll find a way to outsmart them, outmaneuver them, and outlast them. And if we fail, we make sure they get nothing out of it."

The Marco Polo shuddered as it hit a series of magnetic anomalies of the D-Band warp, everyone tightening their safety belts. This wasn’t going even close to the book.

Jamil spoke up, a hint of sarcasm in his words. "Captain, before we hop into a black hole, I think we should try something. We can't just give up."

Captain Marks nodded grimmly. "I agree. Let's hear some ideas. Speak your minds, people."

Tucker spoke up first. "We can never leave our chasers behind while running on the D-Band, Captain. At worst, those Steampunkers are even able to attack us in warp when they catch up. At best we run out of energy sooner or later."

Dorelman nodded in agreement. "And we would need a couple of minutes in real space to reconfigure our engines for E-Band again. Easily half a day for the G-Band."

Kurz's voice was grim. "We won't survive long enough with the Steampunkers warping right on top of us. We need to come up with something, and fast."

Officer Dorelman's face lit up with a hold-my-beer expression. "I think I have something, Captain. One of our eight warp field generators has been damaged and can't safely operate any more. Instead, we could use it as a decoy."

Marks's eyes narrowed. "Go on."

Dorelman explained, "We could strap an auxiliary generator to it and let it drift while the Marco Polo drops out of warp and reconfigures the engines for E-Band Warp. The decoy would continue on, making it look like we're still running on the D-Band."

Tucker's eyes lit up. "I can synchronize the warp fields between the decoy and the Marco Polo. For an external observer, it would be barely a noticeable blink when the Marco Polo drops out of warp and the decoy continues onwards."

Dorelman nodded. "The warp field generator would need to run at 200% to actually fake our signature. It would sooner or later explode like a nuke.”

“Later would be better,” Jamil remarked. “How about slowly reducing the energy after launch? It's better to keep them guessing than to completely expose the bait by blowing it up.”

Captain Marks's expression turned thoughtful. "Let's get to work. Dorelman, get the decoy ready. Tucker, synchronize the warp fields. Kurz, you’ll have navigation while Dorelman is busy, also double check all weapon systems. Jamil, get me regular sitreps."

The crew sprang into action, their faces set with determination. It was a long shot, but also a good plan.

One hour later, the preparations for the decoy maneuver were complete. Everyone on the bridge was tense as Dorelman opened the hangar doors and floated the decoy outside, a worrying pile of scrap metal held together by duct tape and prayers.

Tucker's hands flew across her console as she tried to synchronize the warp fields. "Slow down, Captain, just a couple of percent. I need to align the fields perfectly."

Captain Marks's. "Kurz, you heard her. After the decoy gets going we don't have much time."

The tension on the bridge was palpable as Tucker worked to synchronize the warp fields. Finally, she nodded, her eyes fixed on her console. "It's done, Captain. Everything is running on computer now."

The Marco Polo's warp field flickered and died, and the decoy propelling both forward for one, two seconds. Then the Marco Polo slipped out of the warp field and with a hefty shaking entered real space. The decoy, meanwhile, was already speeding away several times faster than light.

The crew held their breath as the massive fleet of pursuers passed by through warp space. They could almost feel the disturbance of real space, like someone walking over their graves. It was a chilling feeling, but they knew they had to hold silence.

Dorelman's voice was calm and focused. "Engine room here, starting to align our warp generators to the E-Band Warp Field. ETA three Mike.”

“Let's get away from our warp exit,” Captain Marks announced “Helm, heading 315.90, cruise speed. Dorelman, I love your tinkering but I am gonna get ready if things go south before we get into warp again."

The Marco Polo's relativistic engines roared to life, the ship began to shake and tremble. The crew held on, this was a risky gamble, but they had to try.

Kurz let out a hearty laugh as the ship reached cruise speed. "Let's do this. We'll make it out of here, or we'll die trying."

But then of Tucker spoke concerned. "Distortions in the D-Warp-Field have suddenly ceased, Captain."

Kurz's voice was grim. "Our decoy might have just gone the way of the dodo."

Moments later, Tucker announced, "C-Warp-Fields are winding down, Captain. The enemy seems to be slowing down."

Dorelman's voice was calm and focused. "ETA two minutes for E-Band-Warp, Captain."

The enemy signal came back, moving back towards them. "ETA one mike till Warp, Captain," Dorelman announced.

The enemy armada dropped out of warp, some 1200 kilometers away, realigning for a short warp towards the Marco Polo. "ETA 15 seconds, Captain," Tucker warned.

The enemy fleet blinked in within nine kilometers. "ETA 10 seconds, Captain," Dorelman announced.

Marks's opened the intercom. "Dorelman, hit the button whenever you're ready."

The enemy barrage was underway, but the Marco Polo was ready. "ETA minus 5 seconds, Captain. HIT IT!" Dorelman announced.

The Marco Polo blinked into warp, the enemy barrage wasted on empty space. The crew breathed a collective sigh of relief as the ship disappeared into the safety of the E-Band warp.

"Made it, Captain," Dorelman said, his voice laced with relief.

Marks's voice was calm and resolute. "Let's keep moving, people. We're not out of this yet."

---

The flight in the E-Band was now much smoother than before on the D-Band. The crew had settled into a routine, with repairs going well and the ship managing to keep a safe distance from their pursuers.

With Captain Marks overseeing the repairs of a torpedo launcher, Tucker's voice came over the intercom. "Captain, I've managed to guesswork from the sensor readings the number and tonnage of our followers. Still over 150 ships on our tail."

Captain Marks's expression turned grim. "Keep monitoring them, Tucker. We need to know what they're up to."

The next four days passed in a blur of routine and tension. The crew worked tirelessly to keep the ship running, while the Steampunkers, as the crew had aptly nicknamed them, continued to pursue them.

On the fifth day, Captain Marks called a staff meeting, inviting Reactor Engineer Ling. "Ling, how's our fuel situation looking?"

Ling's expression was serious. "We can operate on this level for two weeks, Captain. But then we'll run out of fuel. We need to stop and scoop some Hydrogen, which would easily require a whole week."

Jamil, who had been quietly observing the conversation, spoke up. "Not exactly an option with the Steampunkers on hot pursuit, is it?"

Kurz's voice was laced with a hint of desperation. "Maybe it's better to go out with a bang than a fizzle. How about the black hole again?"

The room fell silent, with everyone brooding for a moment.

Again it was Jamil who broke the silence, "I wonder if the Steampunkers would follow us into the black hole too."

A sudden blink of realization washed over everyone.

Captain Marks's expression turned cold and calculating.

"It's not the Marco Polo that needs to end in a black hole. It's our pursuers."

A thoughtful Dorelman spoke spoke up. "The Steampunkers have a much lower relative acceleration, Captain. The Marco Polo can burn at 12g for several minutes, maybe more. The Steampunkers... never went beyond 2g. Even their fighters are slower than us."

Jamil's eyes narrowed at Dorelman. "What are you up to?"

Captain Marks let out a cruel chuckle. "We could warp into the gravitational field of a black hole, so close that the Marco Polo could escape at full thrust. But our pursuers would be sucked in, lacking the powerful relativistic engines like the Marco Polo has."

The room fell silent, with everyone considering the implications of Captain Marks's plan.

"Captain, what if the Steampunkers could just evade by a short distance warp?" wondered Tucker concerned.

Dorelman raised a brooding brow. "I'm unsure about the distortions of the black hole, Tucker. It might make their warp ineffective. But if not... If I could generate a B-Band Warp Field, this would definitely disable their C-Band-Fields."

Captain Marks's eyes narrowed. "Nobody travels in B-Band because it literally rips atoms apart, but just generating a disruption B-field, that should be not too hard."

Dorelman nodded. "I can try to modify the warp generators to produce a B-Band disruption field. But we'll need to search for known black holes to find one that's suitable for our plan. We don't want to end up in an active black hole with an accretion disk that glows at billions of degrees.”

Captain Marks's listened carefully then made his decision. "Let's get to work on this plan. I want a list of potential black holes and a detailed plan for generating a B-Band disruption field."

The teams were busy for the next hours, tinkering with the warp generators and researching known black holes. Dorelman and his team worked tirelessly to modify the warp generators, while Jamil, Tucker and Kurz poured over star charts and astronomical data to find the perfect black hole. Everyone knew that their plan was a long shot, but they were willing to try anything to shake off their pursuers.

Four days later. MACHO-20896-BLG-19, an intermediate black hole of he Olbert class, lied in ambush in the darkness, was invisible to the naked eye, only made its presence aware by bending the light of the stars behind it, even consuming light itself, its hunger eternal. And today would be feeding day.

The Marco Polo aligned its flight path tangential towards the gravity well of the monster, its course precise almost down to Planck length.

At his final speech to the crew Captain Marks's voice was calm and resolute.

"Crew of the Marco Polo, you know the plan. This is the moment we shine, no matter the costs. We'll either get home in one piece or die trying. But either way, the Steampunkers are going down into the black hole. If anyone can make this plan work it is us. We'll take out the Steampunkers and hopefully make it back to Earth in one piece. Failure is not an option."

The crew gave back a war cry, their cries full of determination. They knew that they would be dancing on the blade of a knife, the teeth of the monster itself, but they were ready to face it head-on.

And then the Marco Polo flashed back into real space next to MACHO-20896-BLG-19, its gravity well stretching out like a predators claw in the fabric of space-time.

Specialist Elianore Tucker shouted worried across the bridge. "Captain, we're fucking close to the event horizon! We're talking kilometers from the point of no return!"

Captain Marks's calmly called out commands. "Align the ship and fire all thrusters at max power! We need to stabilize our position and hold position for the B-field disruption."

The ship groaned as it was almost bent at 12g, hovering so close to the event horizon that the monster literally blacked out half the sky. The Marco Polo slowed down from falling towards the singularity of the black hole, the limits of known physics straining while keeping the ship intact.

Meanwhile in the engine hall, Dorelman's voice was screaming in frustration while trying to connect another auxiliary power cable directly into the third warp generator. "Come on, you piece of shit! Create the B-field!"

Jamil's voice chimed in, "Did you try rebooting? Maybe it just needs a kick?"

Dorelman's response was a string of curses, "I've tried everything, you numbskull! I've kicked it, I've screamed at it, I've even tried bribing it with a pint of beer!"

To make things worse, the Steampunkers warped in. 152 ships, caught off-guard, facing the black hole, some straight forward warped beyond the event horizon, gone for good, the rest immediately pulled in without mercy. As expected, they quickly aligned, creating their C-warp-fields.

But it was too late. Jamil went bonkers and used a sledgehammer to force the power connector into the warp field generator. Suddenly the lights all over the ship flickered and the generator awoke with a dull humming.

“You fucking did it.” Dorelman laughed and focused the B-field, and the Steampunkers' warp fields violently flickered out of existence, their warp drives crippled by the B-field disruption.

The Marco Polo's crew watched in awe as the Steampunkers' ships were pulled towards the black hole, their screams of despair almost echoing through the void. It was a brutal, merciless end, and the Marco Polo's watched without remorse, the Steampunkers' ships slowly redshifted towards the event horizon, their lights fading into the distance. The Marco Polo's crew surelly respected their enemies but didn't shed a single tear for them.

"Well, I guess black holes just suck," Jamil chuckled with the last enemy ship slowly faded from space-time.

The Marco Polo still burned its engines at 12g, creeping out of the gravity well of the black hole.

"We're so close to the black hole's event horizon” Tucker's voice was filled with awe, “that our time shift is almost by a factor of one thousand, Captain. Time is literally slowing down for us relative to the rest of the universe. One second for us is almost 15 minutes for the outside universe"

Captain Marks's voice was cold and calculating. "Keep burning, people. We need to get out of here before we become part of the black hole's body count."

But before they could even process the enormity of their situation, another fleet of almost 400 ships exited warp below them. More Steampunks to feed the black hole.

The crew's reaction was one of flabbergasted shock. "What the...? How did they even...?" Tucker’s voice trailed off as he stared at the viewscreen in horror.

There was incredulity in Captain Marks' voice. “Did they really send 400 ships as reinforcements without sending a scout ahead? What kind of military strategy is that?”

Tucker's voice was barely above a whisper while she read her sensors. "I think this IS the ahead scout, Captain."

Moments later, almost 2000 ships blinked into real space, also instantly falling towards the black hole. The sheer panicked reaction was evident as tens of thousands of escape pods were launched, none escaping the hunger of the black hole.

And then another fleet, again 2000 ships. And another, 800 ships. All ending up in the maws of the black hole.

The dying took on absurd scales as nothing seemed to stop the vengeful Steampunks from warping into their death. The Marco Polo crew watched in stunned silence as the carnage unfolded before their eyes.

And then, finally... nothing.

The Marco Polo crew remained silent, their faces pale and shocked, as their battle-marked ship slowly crawled out of the gravity well of the black hole. The blackness of the hungry stellar predator seemed to hunger for them, not content with the thousands of ships it had already consumed, swallowed them whole, a dark warning of the horrors they had just witnessed, the crew's minds were reeling, trying to process the sheer scale of the destruction they had just witnessed.

Two hours passed, and the Marco Polo cleared the gravity well of the black hole, finally Captain Marks's relaxed and send out the long awaited command, low and somber. "Dorelman, get us out of here."

Jamil reminded the Captain gently. "Not directly to Earth, Captain. We don't know if they have any more surprises waiting for us."

Marks nodded, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen. "I know. Let's take the long way home."

They entered E-band-warp, again out of the galactic plane, their engines humming as they zig-zagged through local space to shake off any pursuers.

But none showed up.

For weeks, the Marco Polo travelled the endless dark of space, changing course randomly, sometimes luring for a couple of hours behind a deep space asteroid, looking for their hunters, their only companions the distant stars and the endless darkness of space. Finally, they dared to make a long stop around a dark rogue neptuniod, drifting between stars, siphoning off its cold hydrogen and conducting repairs.

Still, no sign of their hunters.

The crew's silence was palpable, an almost suffocating blanket. They knew what they had seen, what they had witnessed. Yes, they saw the defeat of their enemy. But more ominously, they had glimpsed the violent resolve that lay beneath their surface. The message they carried back to Earth was clear: humanity was not alone, and any notions of friendship were a delusion.

After weeks adrift, they finally engaged the G-band warp field, propelling the Marco Polo back toward Earth. They returned with news of how one scientific vessel had vanquished an armada of thousands of warships, but also about an unrelenting enemy. The defeat they had inflicted upon the new enemy would surely awake a vendetta in their alien foes. They had awoken a giant, filled with terrible resolve.

For better or worse humanity would now awake its own monsters to prepare when they meet again.

---

The story itself is complete but I think I need to rewrite some wording and maybe add a more fitting ending.

Undocumented Buttons

"Globtroq, what are these buttons for?" asked the spindly Ognimalf named Bert, holding the pilot chair upside-down to his obese Adnap buddy, Globtroq. The unlikely duo owned a run-down repair shop for small spacecraft in the remote corners of the galaxy. Their business was far from glamorous; in fact, they spent most of their days fiddling with spaceships that had been acquired in rather dubious ways.

Globtroq looked at the buttons: two green, two pink, one grayish. They were cleverly concealed beneath the obviously human pilot chair.

“Dunno…” Globtroq mumbled, reaching towards the buttons.

"Hell no, don't touch them!" Bert shrieked, pulling the chair away. "Last time you pressed an undocumented button in a human spaceship, you emptied the entire septic tank into our garage!"

“Uhm, sorry, instinct…” grunted the portly Globtroq “Never seen such buttons. Don’t know.”

Bert held the chair overhead, turned it around, then put it under the examination lamp and used the sonic scanner on it, looking for clues.

"This doesn't make sense," he snorted in annoyance. "No labels, no cables. What are these buttons for?"

The stubby Globtroq climbed on top of table and peered at the pilot chair. “Dunno… but they hid them well. Must be something very special. You know how humans are. Always doing something incredible stupid in a brilliant way or something brilliant in an incredible stupid way.”

Meanwhile Bert flipped through the printed manual, gasping in frustration. "Crap! This manual is printed in 24 different human languages, and I can't read a single one of them. Globtroq, get me a dictionary."

…ten hours later...

"...and this button controls the windshield wiper speed," Bert finished, tossing the manual annoyed into a corner.

Globtroq, scratching his fluffy behind, asked cluelessly, "Uh, Bert, I dozed off, did they mention anything about those buttons?"

“NOTHING!” squeaked Bert “They fucking wrote NOTHING about buttons under the pilots chair!”

"That's odd," Globtroq shrugged.

“That’s not odd, that’s steaming Nacluv Shit!” a pretty pissed Bert snorted. Then he declared, holding the thick manual in his hand, "I'm going to translate the entire manual until I find out what these buttons are for!"

"That's only the Quick-start Manual," Globtroq dryly stated, lifting a massive box filled with thousands of pages onto the table.

The spindly Ognimalf suddenly grasped the enormity of the task before him, and the vibrant pink in his feathers faded away...

…six days later…

Bert's feathers had turned almost grayish as he studied the endless stack of manuals in front of him. His annoyed brooding was interrupted when Globtroq startled him by entering without knocking. As usual.

"Globtroq, what the... who is that alien?" Bert asked, pointing at a newcomer.

The fatty pointed back at his companion and replied dryly, “I found a human. It is a human pilot chair. A human should know about the buttons. Human, that spindly dude is Bert. Bert is not his real name but I am unable to pronounce his real name. Bert, that is human.”

The human let out an amused chuckle and nodded at the spindly Ognimalf. "Hey there, I'm Max. Well, that's not my full name either, but Globtroq can't wrap his tongue around..."

Max couldn't finish his sentence as Bert interrupted him, exclaiming, "Oh, by the feather gods! A human! I was going bonkers! Look, we've got this pilot chair from a human spaceship, and it has buttons that are nowhere to be found in any documentation. We've been at it for nearly a week, and…"

"Hold on, buddy. I'm just a tourist; I know zilch about piloting a spaceship..." Max explained. However, seeing the color drain from Bert's feathers, he felt a pang of sympathy for the alien avian. "...but hey, I'll take a look and see what I can see, alright?"

Globtroq happily led Max to the chair and showed him the buttons, while Bert looked at the ceiling and wallowed in despair.

“Uhm, I have an assumption” Max stated “can I visit the cockpit for a moment?”

A sulking Bert and an overjoyed Globtroq led him into the small cockpit, where Max promptly opened the glove compartment, retrieved something, asking, “You wouldn’t mind if I take one of these human snacks?”

Bert just continued sulking while Globtroq happily took one of the small snacks offered by Max.

"Tasty," Globtroq remarked.

Max nodded in agreement and returned to the pilot chair “Cherry flavor. A bit past its prime, but still good.”

Bert reluctantly followed, trying to sulk as hard as possible.

And then, to everyone's surprise, Max spat out his snack and pressed it alongside the other buttons under the pilot's chair. It stuck.

“Gentlebeings.” Max announced dramatically, "the individual who sold you this heap of junk was a downright repulsive being. These buttons? They're dried-up globs of chewing gum."

---

The End ---

The Survivors

“How did your people survive your first contact with the humans?” Slaver Lord Abrax catches up with Guild Master Felbin right after the official part of the conference was over.

“Hm?” the fat albino wombat wonders while munching fried roaches, looking puzzled into the face of the mighty reptilian warrior. “What do you mean? Survive?”

“You said you made first contact recently with the humans, didn’t you?”

“Oh yes. Weird people. Crossed into an exclusive trade zone inside our border, nibbled at some asteroids without asking. I send a scout ships, delivered an angry message to them. They were all ‘Oh, did we something wrong? You claim these? We need fuel, can we make a deal?’”

Felbin shovels another hand full of roasted bugs into his mouth, munching happily.

“So they were in a weak position? And you did press your advantage?”

Between munching the wombat mumbles “Oh No. Their fleet was quite impressive. Two medium support carriers, around a dozen smaller escort ships, two dozen industrial ships. A lot more than we had at hand at that moment. We were quite surprised when they offered compensation for trespassing our territory and a pretty fair deal on keeping the resources. And they immediately entered trade talks with us.”

“Stop bullshitting me old usurer!” the reptilian growls “How in the world did you force the humans into submission? When we learned of the humans we send a slaver fleet to their world, numbering hundreds of mighty warships, demanding 0,2% of their population per year as tribute. A very fair deal as you will agree!”

The wombat did the equivalent of shrugging his shoulders “Well if you say so. How did it end?”

“It ended terrible for them! We killed millions of them by our penal operation when they rejected our generous offer!”

“Well, that is partially true but not the whole story.” Princess Shem, her large belly swollen by hundreds of eggs interrupts the discussion. Outranked, the Slaver Lord hissed in annoyance and fell silent.

“They fought your fleet back with monstrous weapons, vaporising your mighty flagship with a single one of their ungodly ‘Nukes’, even ships dozens of miles away had their outer hulls molten by this single attack. After less than an hour your fleet had scattered. The biggest damage your fleet did was raining debris on their world, killing a couple of million unprepared civilians.”

“How do you know…” the Slaver Lord gasps “Not a single Slaver made it back alive!”

The princess bows down her antennas in shame “Because my father, the rightful ruler of my people, is currently prisoner of war in the hands of the humans. He watched your foolish posturing on television in his prison cell and was allowed to report the incident back to his home world as a deterrent against future aggression.”

“Your people surrendered to the humans? How pitiful!” laughs the Slaver Lord.

“Surrendered? No, we were simply overrun. And we most likely only got off easy because the humans decided you were a bigger threat.”

The wombat looks at the princess in surprise “Oh, your people went at war with the humans too? But why?”

“Territorial dispute. They settled a barren world in a remote system, we had a claim on it for centuries. In return we annexed one of their border colonies, arrested their officials and put them on trial.”

Master Felbin put his empty bowl aside and reached for the wine. “Oh. I guess they send you an angry letter, did they?”

“The letter was lacking all rules of court.” boasted the princess with her antennae twitching angrily “It made demands were praise was required and disputed the obvious. It was literally an insult. Can you imagine? They demanded ‘a diplomatic talk’ and ‘compensation’.”

While grooming his fur Master Felbin dryly stated “Well, I know myself human diplomats and lawyers are a very special pest. The trade agreement we worked out with them is literally an epic in itself, surpassing absolutely any work of literature of my people in length and complexity. The chapter on the shape of bananas alone is over 1400 pages long. Thanks but no thanks."

Felbin licked some wine before continuing "So you found their diplomats lacking and tried if their warriors were more amicable and found them lacking too?”

The princess grumbles ashamed “We never met their warriors. They send a police assault unit and subdued our occupation force while we were hibernating…”

Slave Lord Abrax laughed aloud “Oh yes, we also found out the hard way that humans do not hibernate like most others do. In fact they only need a light sleep to recover and not much of it anyway. Also they can go for days without sleep. Freck. To keep up with them we needed to outnumber them 10 to one, taking turns in sleeping 18 hours and fighting one hour. And then they still manage to outdo us most of the time.”

Guild Master Felbin stopped licking at his expensive gobble of wine. “Aha, so you were pretty lucky when they offered you a somewhat fair peace deal?”

“Ending slavery was not a ‘somewhat fair peace deal’” Abrax railed “Our whole society was based on exploitation of the weak and now even high warriors have to clean their houses themselves and pay for mere services like food preparation. This is utterly unacceptable!”

“Oh dear, how pitiful you look.” Felbin giggled “And still both of you can be happy you survived your first contact with the humans almost intact.”

“Like there is any bigger disgrace than having ones father being prisoner of war.” Princess Shem grumbled.

“Or having to change your entire way of living.” Slaver Lord Abrax muttered.

“Yes, I think I am the lucky one of us three” smirked Felbin “although I have regular nightmares about human paper work recently. But trust me, compared to the devourers, we all got off easy.”

“The Devourers?” Abrax laughed “They are a myth. Parents tell their children about the Devourers when they don’t behave and need a good scare.” and with a mocking tone he continued “Head your parents words or the Devourers eat you!”

Even Princess Shem proclaimed with fervour: "As if nature would even allow such horrors! Beasts the size of a house, attacking entire worlds in apocalyptic numbers and devouring everything in their path."

“Oh, nonono. Devourers are not a myth.” the guild master explained “Yes, they haven’t swarmed in two centuries but my people still remember them from the old times when they crushed even the best defended worlds into dust during their reproduction cycle.”

Looking for something, Felbin continued “Actually, have you seen the Human Ambassador? Or, to be more precise, his young daughter?”

Shem turned her antennae towards the girl on the other side of the conference room: “She doesn't look anything special. For a human.”

“Nonono, also not the daughter. Her pet. The six legged creature sitting on her shoulder?”

Abrax and Shem looked puzzled at Guildmaster Felbin, then at the creature on the young girl's shoulder. The creature purred and played with the scraps of food the daughter offered to it.

“That is what is left of the devourers after the humans have tamed them.”

Ich gebe es auf. Ich bin zu doof in irgendeinem Forum einen Post abzusetzen. Ich glaube selbst dieser wird nicht durchgehen.

Ich poste auf Heise dass die Moderation eigentlich gut geworden ist, zumindestens in den Themenforen und Newsforen. Aber auch dass Telepolis nach wie vor nur den Bodensatz der Antidemokraten anzieht und unlesbar ist - wer Telepolis kennt glaubt mir das ungesehen.

Wurde gebannt für drei Tage :-)

Ich will auf Reddit was posten. Abgelehnt, Regel Drölfzig. Angepaßt, Abelehnt, zu lang. Editiert, zu viele Umlaute, abgelehnt. Editiert, Regel soundso passt nicht. Anders formuliert, vom Moderator abgelehnt wegen Soapboxing, keine Ahnung was das ist aber auf Rückfrage bestätigt mir der Moderator dass kein Soapboxing vorliegt. Nochmal gepostet, hängt seit acht Stunden in der Moderation.

Im Newbybereich gefragt wo man einfach mal posten und diskutieren ohne riesiges Regelwerk, abgelehnt wegen Regelverletzung. Anders formuliert, abgelehnt wegen "RTFM". das Fucking Manual gelesen, da steht nix zum Thema drin. Einen Moderator gefragt welchen Punkt er meint, gesperrt wegen Mobbing.

Poste einen Witz in r/jokes, wird gesperrt ohne Begründung. Fünf Minuten später postet der Moderator den Witz und bekommt 500 Upvotes in einer Stunde.

Jetzt schauen wir mal wie weit ich bei Lemmy und ngb.to komme. Ach, ich sehe gerade dass Golem jetzt auch ein paar Themenforen hat. Und wenn nichts mehr geht poste ich bei X. Das ist so broken die könnten meine Beiträge nichteinmal sperren wenn sie wollten.

PS, diesen Beitrag nicht zu ernst nehmen. Ich bin ja selber grade am kaputtlachen.

Meine Cousinen sind schon ein merkwürdiges Volk. Das Frauenvolk :-)

Jeder in der Familie weis dass ich gut mit Technik kann. Also so richtig gut, mit Studium und 35 Jahren Berufserfahrung.

Situation, Cousine ist nach Umzug etwas knapp an Geld. Beim Umzug geht der DVB-S-Receiver und der Fernseher kaputt. Was macht sie? Rennt zum Expert und sucht sich einen kleinen, veralteten Fernseher ohne DVB-S raus und einen Extra DVB-S Empfänger dazu. Nur einen 43 Zoll Fernseher weil sie ihn nicht tragen kann. Dass Expert liefert und ich auch jederzeit helfen kann und dass sie den 43-Zöller auch nicht tragen kann... ich frage nicht.

Weil sie die dafür notwendigen €600 nicht dabei hatte geht sie zur Bank. Unterwegs laufen wir uns übern Weg und sie erzählt ihren Plan.

Ich weise sie darauf hin dass ordentliche Fernseher einen DVB-S-Receiver eingebaut haben und dass das Gerät was sie angesehen hat maßlos überteuert ist. Ich besorge ihr aus dem Internet einen €300 Fenseher mit 50 Zoll ordentlicher Qualität mit DVD-S, 4k, USB-Recorder, Internet, Apps und sonstwas.

Ihr Argument gegen den Kombifernseher war übrigens "Das ist mir zu kompliziert." Dass es anschliessend einfacher als vorher war hat sie selber überrascht. Dass ich ihr das vorher fünfmal gesagt habe hat sie aber schon vergessen.

Sie hat einen alten Videorekorder und will ihn unbedingt am Fernseher anschliessen um Sendungen aufzunehmen. Ich erkläre ihr dass Videorekorder aus den 1980ern nicht mehr an modernen Fernsehern funktionieren und schenke ihr eine alte 160GByte USB-HD um darauf Videos aufzunehmen. Mediathek hat sie auch.

Nach zwei Jahren nehme ich die USB-Platte wieder mit weil sie diese nicht einmal verwendet hat. Genau so wie die Mediathek. "Das ist mir zu kompliziert". Ja, der rote "Record"-Knopf ist schon sehr kompliziert. Der blaue Knopf "Mediathek" ist ein Rätsel.

Nun gut. Sie will sich ein Festnetztelefon holen. Ich frage sie ernsthaft: Wozu? Da fiel ihr nichts drauf ein. Ich schlage vor einfach nur das Mobiltelefon zu verwenden. Aber das klingt so schlecht. Sie hält mir einen uralten Nokia-Knochen vor die Nase. Ich frage was sie pro Monat zahlt. €40 seit 15 Jahren. Habe sie zu einem €150-Smartphone und einem €10-WinSIM-Tarif mit 15GByte überredet. Festnetztelefon fiel ersatzlos weg. Sie hat nie wieder danach gefragt.

Jetzt lacht sie sich im hohem Alter nochmal einen neuen Lebensgefährten an. Das erste was er macht: Er drängt sie sich ein Festnetzanschluß für €45 zu holen weil sie damit Fernsehen kann. Dass sie das seit fünf Jahren ohnehin mit ihrem Fernseher über Smartphone-Tethering kann es aber nie verwendet hat - "das ist doch kein richtiges Fernsehen" sagt ihr neuer Freund.

Achja, vor einem halben Jahr kauft sie sich für €160 ein neues Smartphone. 6GByte RAM, 128GByte Flash, 256GByte SD-Karte mit ihrer Lieblingsmusik Update-Support für fünf Jahre. Neuer Freund: Das ist doch ein Müllhandy.

Und hält stolz ein Iphone Xirgendwas hoch. Gebraucht gekauft für €400. Mit weniger RAM, weniger Flash und nichteinmal halb so lange Support. Das ist ein echtes Handy. Cousine geifert gierig nach dem Gerät und fragt mich ob ich ihr so eins besorgen kann. Ja aber dann sind natürlich alle Deine Bilder und Filme und sonstwas weg und Deine Musik paßt auch nicht drauf. Der neue Bekannte verspricht ihr dass das alles ganz einfach ist. Und hat es selbst nicht geschafft die Daten seines alten Iphone 7 auf das Xirgendwas umzuziehen.

Nur zur als Info: Er ist angestellter Malermeister, ich bin studierter EDV- und Telco-Berater und Techniker.

Jetzt ratet mal auf wessen Rat sie hört.

Nun, für mich ist der Käse gebissen. Solange sie auf ihn hört helfe ich bei technischen Fragen nicht mehr. Er schwatzt ihr gerade noch Netflix auf. Ich bin jetzt schon zu 100% sicher dass sie das nie verwenden wird, genau so wenig wie sie das neu bestellte Festnetz nutzt um Fernsehen zu guggen.

Michael Mittermeier hätte seine Freude an ihr: Sie ist Fleisch-Wurscht-Fachverkäuferin.

Philosopher: Hey, did you hear about the mathematician who got into a fight with a triangle?

Mechanic: No, what happened?

Philosopher: Well, they squared off, but things quickly spiralled out of control. The triangle kept shouting, "Hypotenuse, hypotenuse!" while the mathematician tried to reason with it using the Pythagorean theorem. But instead of resolving the conflict, it just led to a series of nonsensical equations and abstract symbols being thrown around.

Mechanic: That sounds odd. What did the mathematician do next?

Philosopher: Oh, you won't believe it. They decided to introduce an imaginary number into the mix, hoping it would diffuse the situation. But instead, it only made things more complex and surreal. The triangle started spinning in circles, shouting, "I'm acute, I'm obtuse, I'm everything and nothing at the same time!"

Mechanic: That's... bizarre. Did they ever find a resolution?

Philosopher: Well, eventually, the mathematician tried to divide by zero, thinking it would bring harmony through undefined infinity. But it only caused a cosmic glitch in the fabric of reality, and the entire scene dissolved into a flurry of nonsensical symbols, abstract shapes, and existential angst.

Mechanic: Wow, that's... um, not interesting at all. I don't even know how to respond to that.

Philosopher: Exactly! That's the beauty of mathematics meeting Dadaism. It's like a joke that isn't funny but leaves you pondering the absurdity of existence and the elusive nature of meaning.

All targeting solutions for sublight speed are computable.

Last month, the UN conducted a global survey:

"Please give us your honest opinion about a solution to the Food Shortages in the Rest of the World."

​

The poll turned out, not unexpectedly, to be a huge flop.

Why?

​

-In Africa, participants didn't know what 'food' was.

-Russia didn't know what 'honest' meant.

-Western Europe did not know the word 'Shortage '.

-The Chinese did not know what 'opinion' was.

-The Middle East asked what 'solution' meant.

-South America did not know the meaning of 'please'.

-In North Korea they ate the survey sheet.

-Switzerland didn't want to give anything for free.

-And in the USA, no one knew what 'the rest of the world' was.

Not my work but a very early and really moving example of HFY.

Copyright has run out so it is basically free. I suggest to read the linked version as it contains illustrations and legal mumbo jumbo:

A Pail of Air

The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Pail of Air

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: A Pail of Air

Author: Fritz Leiber

Illustrator: Ed Emshwiller

Release date: March 15, 2016 [eBook #51461]

Language: English

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PAIL OF AIR ***

Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

                         A Pail of Air

                        By FRITZ LEIBER

                  Illustrated by ED ALEXANDER

       [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
             Galaxy Science Fiction December 1951.
     Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
     the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]




            The dark star passed, bringing with it
            eternal night and turning history into
            incredible myth in a single generation!

Pa had sent me out to get an extra pail of air. I'd just about scooped it full and most of the warmth had leaked from my fingers when I saw the thing.

You know, at first I thought it was a young lady. Yes, a beautiful young lady's face all glowing in the dark and looking at me from the fifth floor of the opposite apartment, which hereabouts is the floor just above the white blanket of frozen air. I'd never seen a live young lady before, except in the old magazines--Sis is just a kid and Ma is pretty sick and miserable--and it gave me such a start that I dropped the pail. Who wouldn't, knowing everyone on Earth was dead except Pa and Ma and Sis and you?

Even at that, I don't suppose I should have been surprised. We all see things now and then. Ma has some pretty bad ones, to judge from the way she bugs her eyes at nothing and just screams and screams and huddles back against the blankets hanging around the Nest. Pa says it is natural we should react like that sometimes.

When I'd recovered the pail and could look again at the opposite apartment, I got an idea of what Ma might be feeling at those times, for I saw it wasn't a young lady at all but simply a light--a tiny light that moved stealthily from window to window, just as if one of the cruel little stars had come down out of the airless sky to investigate why the Earth had gone away from the Sun, and maybe to hunt down something to torment or terrify, now that the Earth didn't have the Sun's protection.

I tell you, the thought of it gave me the creeps. I just stood there shaking, and almost froze my feet and did frost my helmet so solid on the inside that I couldn't have seen the light even if it had come out of one of the windows to get me. Then I had the wit to go back inside.

Pretty soon I was feeling my familiar way through the thirty or so blankets and rugs Pa has got hung around to slow down the escape of air from the Nest, and I wasn't quite so scared. I began to hear the tick-ticking of the clocks in the Nest and knew I was getting back into air, because there's no sound outside in the vacuum, of course. But my mind was still crawly and uneasy as I pushed through the last blankets--Pa's got them faced with aluminum foil to hold in the heat--and came into the Nest.

   *       *       *       *       *

Let me tell you about the Nest. It's low and snug, just room for the four of us and our things. The floor is covered with thick woolly rugs. Three of the sides are blankets, and the blankets roofing it touch Pa's head. He tells me it's inside a much bigger room, but I've never seen the real walls or ceiling.

Against one of the blanket-walls is a big set of shelves, with tools and books and other stuff, and on top of it a whole row of clocks. Pa's very fussy about keeping them wound. He says we must never forget time, and without a sun or moon, that would be easy to do.

The fourth wall has blankets all over except around the fireplace, in which there is a fire that must never go out. It keeps us from freezing and does a lot more besides. One of us must always watch it. Some of the clocks are alarm and we can use them to remind us. In the early days there was only Ma to take turns with Pa--I think of that when she gets difficult--but now there's me to help, and Sis too.

It's Pa who is the chief guardian of the fire, though. I always think of him that way: a tall man sitting cross-legged, frowning anxiously at the fire, his lined face golden in its light, and every so often carefully placing on it a piece of coal from the big heap beside it. Pa tells me there used to be guardians of the fire sometimes in the very old days--vestal virgins, he calls them--although there was unfrozen air all around then and you didn't really need one.

He was sitting just that way now, though he got up quick to take the pail from me and bawl me out for loitering--he'd spotted my frozen helmet right off. That roused Ma and she joined in picking on me. She's always trying to get the load off her feelings, Pa explains. He shut her up pretty fast. Sis let off a couple of silly squeals too.

Pa handled the pail of air in a twist of cloth. Now that it was inside the Nest, you could really feel its coldness. It just seemed to suck the heat out of everything. Even the flames cringed away from it as Pa put it down close by the fire.

Yet it's that glimmery white stuff in the pail that keeps us alive. It slowly melts and vanishes and refreshes the Nest and feeds the fire. The blankets keep it from escaping too fast. Pa'd like to seal the whole place, but he can't--building's too earthquake-twisted, and besides he has to leave the chimney open for smoke.

Pa says air is tiny molecules that fly away like a flash if there isn't something to stop them. We have to watch sharp not to let the air run low. Pa always keeps a big reserve supply of it in buckets behind the first blankets, along with extra coal and cans of food and other things, such as pails of snow to melt for water. We have to go way down to the bottom floor for that stuff, which is a mean trip, and get it through a door to outside.

You see, when the Earth got cold, all the water in the air froze first and made a blanket ten feet thick or so everywhere, and then down on top of that dropped the crystals of frozen air, making another white blanket sixty or seventy feet thick maybe.

Of course, all the parts of the air didn't freeze and snow down at the same time.

First to drop out was the carbon dioxide--when you're shoveling for water, you have to make sure you don't go too high and get any of that stuff mixed in, for it would put you to sleep, maybe for good, and make the fire go out. Next there's the nitrogen, which doesn't count one way or the other, though it's the biggest part of the blanket. On top of that and easy to get at, which is lucky for us, there's the oxygen that keeps us alive. Pa says we live better than kings ever did, breathing pure oxygen, but we're used to it and don't notice. Finally, at the very top, there's a slick of liquid helium, which is funny stuff. All of these gases in neat separate layers. Like a pussy caffay, Pa laughingly says, whatever that is.

   *       *       *       *       *

I was busting to tell them all about what I'd seen, and so as soon as I'd ducked out of my helmet and while I was still climbing out of my suit, I cut loose. Right away Ma got nervous and began making eyes at the entry-slit in the blankets and wringing her hands together--the hand where she'd lost three fingers from frostbite inside the good one, as usual. I could tell that Pa was annoyed at me scaring her and wanted to explain it all away quickly, yet could see I wasn't fooling.

"And you watched this light for some time, son?" he asked when I finished.

I hadn't said anything about first thinking it was a young lady's face. Somehow that part embarrassed me.

"Long enough for it to pass five windows and go to the next floor."

"And it didn't look like stray electricity or crawling liquid or starlight focused by a growing crystal, or anything like that?"

He wasn't just making up those ideas. Odd things happen in a world that's about as cold as can be, and just when you think matter would be frozen dead, it takes on a strange new life. A slimy stuff comes crawling toward the Nest, just like an animal snuffing for heat--that's the liquid helium. And once, when I was little, a bolt of lightning--not even Pa could figure where it came from--hit the nearby steeple and crawled up and down it for weeks, until the glow finally died.

"Not like anything I ever saw," I told him.

He stood for a moment frowning. Then, "I'll go out with you, and you show it to me," he said.

Ma raised a howl at the idea of being left alone, and Sis joined in, too, but Pa quieted them. We started climbing into our outside clothes--mine had been warming by the fire. Pa made them. They have plastic headpieces that were once big double-duty transparent food cans, but they keep heat and air in and can replace the air for a little while, long enough for our trips for water and coal and food and so on.

Ma started moaning again, "I've always known there was something outside there, waiting to get us. I've felt it for years--something that's part of the cold and hates all warmth and wants to destroy the Nest. It's been watching us all this time, and now it's coming after us. It'll get you and then come for me. Don't go, Harry!"

Pa had everything on but his helmet. He knelt by the fireplace and reached in and shook the long metal rod that goes up the chimney and knocks off the ice that keeps trying to clog it. Once a week he goes up on the roof to check if it's working all right. That's our worst trip and Pa won't let me make it alone.

"Sis," Pa said quietly, "come watch the fire. Keep an eye on the air, too. If it gets low or doesn't seem to be boiling fast enough, fetch another bucket from behind the blanket. But mind your hands. Use the cloth to pick up the bucket."

Sis quit helping Ma be frightened and came over and did as she was told. Ma quieted down pretty suddenly, though her eyes were still kind of wild as she watched Pa fix on his helmet tight and pick up a pail and the two of us go out.

   *       *       *       *       *

Pa led the way and I took hold of his belt. It's a funny thing, I'm not afraid to go by myself, but when Pa's along I always want to hold on to him. Habit, I guess, and then there's no denying that this time I was a bit scared.

You see, it's this way. We know that everything is dead out there. Pa heard the last radio voices fade away years ago, and had seen some of the last folks die who weren't as lucky or well-protected as us. So we knew that if there was something groping around out there, it couldn't be anything human or friendly.

Besides that, there's a feeling that comes with it always being night, cold night. Pa says there used to be some of that feeling even in the old days, but then every morning the Sun would come and chase it away. I have to take his word for that, not ever remembering the Sun as being anything more than a big star. You see, I hadn't been born when the dark star snatched us away from the Sun, and by now it's dragged us out beyond the orbit of the planet Pluto, Pa says, and taking us farther out all the time.

I found myself wondering whether there mightn't be something on the dark star that wanted us, and if that was why it had captured the Earth. Just then we came to the end of the corridor and I followed Pa out on the balcony.

I don't know what the city looked like in the old days, but now it's beautiful. The starlight lets you see it pretty well--there's quite a bit of light in those steady points speckling the blackness above. (Pa says the stars used to twinkle once, but that was because there was air.) We are on a hill and the shimmery plain drops away from us and then flattens out, cut up into neat squares by the troughs that used to be streets. I sometimes make my mashed potatoes look like it, before I pour on the gravy.

Some taller buildings push up out of the feathery plain, topped by rounded caps of air crystals, like the fur hood Ma wears, only whiter. On those buildings you can see the darker squares of windows, underlined by white dashes of air crystals. Some of them are on a slant, for many of the buildings are pretty badly twisted by the quakes and all the rest that happened when the dark star captured the Earth.

Here and there a few icicles hang, water icicles from the first days of the cold, other icicles of frozen air that melted on the roofs and dripped and froze again. Sometimes one of those icicles will catch the light of a star and send it to you so brightly you think the star has swooped into the city. That was one of the things Pa had been thinking of when I told him about the light, but I had thought of it myself first and known it wasn't so.

He touched his helmet to mine so we could talk easier and he asked me to point out the windows to him. But there wasn't any light moving around inside them now, or anywhere else. To my surprise, Pa didn't bawl me out and tell me I'd been seeing things. He looked all around quite a while after filling his pail, and just as we were going inside he whipped around without warning, as if to take some peeping thing off guard.

I could feel it, too. The old peace was gone. There was something lurking out there, watching, waiting, getting ready.

Inside, he said to me, touching helmets, "If you see something like that again, son, don't tell the others. Your Ma's sort of nervous these days and we owe her all the feeling of safety we can give her. Once--it was when your sister was born--I was ready to give up and die, but your Mother kept me trying. Another time she kept the fire going a whole week all by herself when I was sick. Nursed me and took care of the two of you, too."

   *       *       *       *       *

"You know that game we sometimes play, sitting in a square in the Nest, tossing a ball around? Courage is like a ball, son. A person can hold it only so long, and then he's got to toss it to someone else. When it's tossed your way, you've got to catch it and hold it tight--and hope there'll be someone else to toss it to when you get tired of being brave."

His talking to me that way made me feel grown-up and good. But it didn't wipe away the thing outside from the back of my mind--or the fact that Pa took it seriously.

   *       *       *       *       *

It's hard to hide your feelings about such a thing. When we got back in the Nest and took off our outside clothes, Pa laughed about it all and told them it was nothing and kidded me for having such an imagination, but his words fell flat. He didn't convince Ma and Sis any more than he did me. It looked for a minute like we were all fumbling the courage-ball. Something had to be done, and almost before I knew what I was going to say, I heard myself asking Pa to tell us about the old days, and how it all happened.

He sometimes doesn't mind telling that story, and Sis and I sure like to listen to it, and he got my idea. So we were all settled around the fire in a wink, and Ma pushed up some cans to thaw for supper, and Pa began. Before he did, though, I noticed him casually get a hammer from the shelf and lay it down beside him.

It was the same old story as always--I think I could recite the main thread of it in my sleep--though Pa always puts in a new detail or two and keeps improving it in spots.

He told us how the Earth had been swinging around the Sun ever so steady and warm, and the people on it fixing to make money and wars and have a good time and get power and treat each other right or wrong, when without warning there comes charging out of space this dead star, this burned out sun, and upsets everything.

You know, I find it hard to believe in the way those people felt, any more than I can believe in the swarming number of them. Imagine people getting ready for the horrible sort of war they were cooking up. Wanting it even, or at least wishing it were over so as to end their nervousness. As if all folks didn't have to hang together and pool every bit of warmth just to keep alive. And how can they have hoped to end danger, any more than we can hope to end the cold?

Sometimes I think Pa exaggerates and makes things out too black. He's cross with us once in a while and was probably cross with all those folks. Still, some of the things I read in the old magazines sound pretty wild. He may be right.

   *       *       *       *       *

The dark star, as Pa went on telling it, rushed in pretty fast and there wasn't much time to get ready. At the beginning they tried to keep it a secret from most people, but then the truth came out, what with the earthquakes and floods--imagine, oceans of unfrozen water!--and people seeing stars blotted out by something on a clear night. First off they thought it would hit the Sun, and then they thought it would hit the Earth. There was even the start of a rush to get to a place called China, because people thought the star would hit on the other side. But then they found it wasn't going to hit either side, but was going to come very close to the Earth.

Most of the other planets were on the other side of the Sun and didn't get involved. The Sun and the newcomer fought over the Earth for a little while--pulling it this way and that, like two dogs growling over a bone, Pa described it this time--and then the newcomer won and carried us off. The Sun got a consolation prize, though. At the last minute he managed to hold on to the Moon.

That was the time of the monster earthquakes and floods, twenty times worse than anything before. It was also the time of the Big Jerk, as Pa calls it, when all Earth got yanked suddenly, just as Pa has done to me once or twice, grabbing me by the collar to do it, when I've been sitting too far from the fire.

You see, the dark star was going through space faster than the Sun, and in the opposite direction, and it had to wrench the world considerably in order to take it away.

The Big Jerk didn't last long. It was over as soon as the Earth was settled down in its new orbit around the dark star. But it was pretty terrible while it lasted. Pa says that all sorts of cliffs and buildings toppled, oceans slopped over, swamps and sandy deserts gave great sliding surges that buried nearby lands. Earth was almost jerked out of its atmosphere blanket and the air got so thin in spots that people keeled over and fainted--though of course, at the same time, they were getting knocked down by the Big Jerk and maybe their bones broke or skulls cracked.

We've often asked Pa how people acted during that time, whether they were scared or brave or crazy or stunned, or all four, but he's sort of leery of the subject, and he was again tonight. He says he was mostly too busy to notice.

You see, Pa and some scientist friends of his had figured out part of what was going to happen--they'd known we'd get captured and our air would freeze--and they'd been working like mad to fix up a place with airtight walls and doors, and insulation against the cold, and big supplies of food and fuel and water and bottled air. But the place got smashed in the last earthquakes and all Pa's friends were killed then and in the Big Jerk. So he had to start over and throw the Nest together quick without any advantages, just using any stuff he could lay his hands on.

I guess he's telling pretty much the truth when he says he didn't have any time to keep an eye on how other folks behaved, either then or in the Big Freeze that followed--followed very quick, you know, both because the dark star was pulling us away very fast and because Earth's rotation had been slowed in the tug-of-war, so that the nights were ten old nights long.

Still, I've got an idea of some of the things that happened from the frozen folk I've seen, a few of them in other rooms in our building, others clustered around the furnaces in the basements where we go for coal.

In one of the rooms, an old man sits stiff in a chair, with an arm and a leg in splints. In another, a man and woman are huddled together in a bed with heaps of covers over them. You can just see their heads peeking out, close together. And in another a beautiful young lady is sitting with a pile of wraps huddled around her, looking hopefully toward the door, as if waiting for someone who never came back with warmth and food. They're all still and stiff as statues, of course, but just like life.

Pa showed them to me once in quick winks of his flashlight, when he still had a fair supply of batteries and could afford to waste a little light. They scared me pretty bad and made my heart pound, especially the young lady.

   *       *       *       *       *

Now, with Pa telling his story for the umpteenth time to take our minds off another scare, I got to thinking of the frozen folk again. All of a sudden I got an idea that scared me worse than anything yet. You see, I'd just remembered the face I'd thought I'd seen in the window. I'd forgotten about that on account of trying to hide it from the others.

What, I asked myself, if the frozen folk were coming to life? What if they were like the liquid helium that got a new lease on life and started crawling toward the heat just when you thought its molecules ought to freeze solid forever? Or like the electricity that moves endlessly when it's just about as cold as that? What if the ever-growing cold, with the temperature creeping down the last few degrees to the last zero, had mysteriously wakened the frozen folk to life--not warm-blooded life, but something icy and horrible?

That was a worse idea than the one about something coming down from the dark star to get us.

Or maybe, I thought, both ideas might be true. Something coming down from the dark star and making the frozen folk move, using them to do its work. That would fit with both things I'd seen--the beautiful young lady and the moving, starlike light.

The frozen folk with minds from the dark star behind their unwinking eyes, creeping, crawling, snuffing their way, following the heat to the Nest.

I tell you, that thought gave me a very bad turn and I wanted very badly to tell the others my fears, but I remembered what Pa had said and clenched my teeth and didn't speak.

We were all sitting very still. Even the fire was burning silently. There was just the sound of Pa's voice and the clocks.

And then, from beyond the blankets, I thought I heard a tiny noise. My skin tightened all over me.

Pa was telling about the early years in the Nest and had come to the place where he philosophizes.

"So I asked myself then," he said, "what's the use of going on? What's the use of dragging it out for a few years? Why prolong a doomed existence of hard work and cold and loneliness? The human race is done. The Earth is done. Why not give up, I asked myself--and all of a sudden I got the answer."

Again I heard the noise, louder this time, a kind of uncertain, shuffling tread, coming closer. I couldn't breathe.

"Life's always been a business of working hard and fighting the cold," Pa was saying. "The earth's always been a lonely place, millions of miles from the next planet. And no matter how long the human race might have lived, the end would have come some night. Those things don't matter. What matters is that life is good. It has a lovely texture, like some rich cloth or fur, or the petals of flowers--you've seen pictures of those, but I can't describe how they feel--or the fire's glow. It makes everything else worth while. And that's as true for the last man as the first."

And still the steps kept shuffling closer. It seemed to me that the inmost blanket trembled and bulged a little. Just as if they were burned into my imagination, I kept seeing those peering, frozen eyes.

"So right then and there," Pa went on, and now I could tell that he heard the steps, too, and was talking loud so we maybe wouldn't hear them, "right then and there I told myself that I was going on as if we had all eternity ahead of us. I'd have children and teach them all I could. I'd get them to read books. I'd plan for the future, try to enlarge and seal the Nest. I'd do what I could to keep everything beautiful and growing. I'd keep alive my feeling of wonder even at the cold and the dark and the distant stars."

But then the blanket actually did move and lift. And there was a bright light somewhere behind it. Pa's voice stopped and his eyes turned to the widening slit and his hand went out until it touched and gripped the handle of the hammer beside him.

   *       *       *       *       *

In through the blanket stepped the beautiful young lady. She stood there looking at us the strangest way, and she carried something bright and unwinking in her hand. And two other faces peered over her shoulders--men's faces, white and staring.

Well, my heart couldn't have been stopped for more than four or five beats before I realized she was wearing a suit and helmet like Pa's homemade ones, only fancier, and that the men were, too--and that the frozen folk certainly wouldn't be wearing those. Also, I noticed that the bright thing in her hand was just a kind of flashlight.

The silence kept on while I swallowed hard a couple of times, and after that there was all sorts of jabbering and commotion.

They were simply people, you see. We hadn't been the only ones to survive; we'd just thought so, for natural enough reasons. These three people had survived, and quite a few others with them. And when we found out how they'd survived, Pa let out the biggest whoop of joy.

They were from Los Alamos and they were getting their heat and power from atomic energy. Just using the uranium and plutonium intended for bombs, they had enough to go on for thousands of years. They had a regular little airtight city, with air-locks and all. They even generated electric light and grew plants and animals by it. (At this Pa let out a second whoop, waking Ma from her faint.)

But if we were flabbergasted at them, they were double-flabbergasted at us.

One of the men kept saying, "But it's impossible, I tell you. You can't maintain an air supply without hermetic sealing. It's simply impossible."

That was after he had got his helmet off and was using our air. Meanwhile, the young lady kept looking around at us as if we were saints, and telling us we'd done something amazing, and suddenly she broke down and cried.

They'd been scouting around for survivors, but they never expected to find any in a place like this. They had rocket ships at Los Alamos and plenty of chemical fuel. As for liquid oxygen, all you had to do was go out and shovel the air blanket at the top level. So after they'd got things going smoothly at Los Alamos, which had taken years, they'd decided to make some trips to likely places where there might be other survivors. No good trying long-distance radio signals, of course, since there was no atmosphere to carry them around the curve of the Earth.

Well, they'd found other colonies at Argonne and Brookhaven and way around the world at Harwell and Tanna Tuva. And now they'd been giving our city a look, not really expecting to find anything. But they had an instrument that noticed the faintest heat waves and it had told them there was something warm down here, so they'd landed to investigate. Of course we hadn't heard them land, since there was no air to carry the sound, and they'd had to investigate around quite a while before finding us. Their instruments had given them a wrong steer and they'd wasted some time in the building across the street.

   *       *       *       *       *

By now, all five adults were talking like sixty. Pa was demonstrating to the men how he worked the fire and got rid of the ice in the chimney and all that. Ma had perked up wonderfully and was showing the young lady her cooking and sewing stuff, and even asking about how the women dressed at Los Alamos. The strangers marveled at everything and praised it to the skies. I could tell from the way they wrinkled their noses that they found the Nest a bit smelly, but they never mentioned that at all and just asked bushels of questions.

In fact, there was so much talking and excitement that Pa forgot about things, and it wasn't until they were all getting groggy that he looked and found the air had all boiled away in the pail. He got another bucket of air quick from behind the blankets. Of course that started them all laughing and jabbering again. The newcomers even got a little drunk. They weren't used to so much oxygen.

Funny thing, though--I didn't do much talking at all and Sis hung on to Ma all the time and hid her face when anybody looked at her. I felt pretty uncomfortable and disturbed myself, even about the young lady. Glimpsing her outside there, I'd had all sorts of mushy thoughts, but now I was just embarrassed and scared of her, even though she tried to be nice as anything to me.

I sort of wished they'd all quit crowding the Nest and let us be alone and get our feelings straightened out.

And when the newcomers began to talk about our all going to Los Alamos, as if that were taken for granted, I could see that something of the same feeling struck Pa and Ma, too. Pa got very silent all of a sudden and Ma kept telling the young lady, "But I wouldn't know how to act there and I haven't any clothes."

The strangers were puzzled like anything at first, but then they got the idea. As Pa kept saying, "It just doesn't seem right to let this fire go out."

   *       *       *       *       *

Well, the strangers are gone, but they're coming back. It hasn't been decided yet just what will happen. Maybe the Nest will be kept up as what one of the strangers called a "survival school." Or maybe we will join the pioneers who are going to try to establish a new colony at the uranium mines at Great Slave Lake or in the Congo.

Of course, now that the strangers are gone, I've been thinking a lot about Los Alamos and those other tremendous colonies. I have a hankering to see them for myself.

You ask me, Pa wants to see them, too. He's been getting pretty thoughtful, watching Ma and Sis perk up.

"It's different, now that we know others are alive," he explains to me. "Your mother doesn't feel so hopeless any more. Neither do I, for that matter, not having to carry the whole responsibility for keeping the human race going, so to speak. It scares a person."

I looked around at the blanket walls and the fire and the pails of air boiling away and Ma and Sis sleeping in the warmth and the flickering light.

"It's not going to be easy to leave the Nest," I said, wanting to cry, kind of. "It's so small and there's just the four of us. I get scared at the idea of big places and a lot of strangers."

He nodded and put another piece of coal on the fire. Then he looked at the little pile and grinned suddenly and put a couple of handfuls on, just as if it was one of our birthdays or Christmas.

"You'll quickly get over that feeling son," he said. "The trouble with the world was that it kept getting smaller and smaller, till it ended with just the Nest. Now it'll be good to have a real huge world again, the way it was in the beginning."

I guess he's right. You think the beautiful young lady will wait for me till I grow up? I'll be twenty in only ten years.

        *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A PAIL OF AIR ***

This is a massively reworked repost. The original has been posted a couple of weeks ago. I reworked it several times so it bears little connection to the original.

...

Yorktown

Yorktown

Chapter 1: First Blood

Admiral Tosomo of the Heraldry fleet tightened his safety belt one last time in the command room aboard the 'Fist of the Six Kingdoms'. Moments later, his fleet dropped out of warp, catching the unprepared Terran Proxima Fleet off guard. A cunning attack on the warp inhibitors allowed his fleet to strike directly at the heart of the enemy's main fleet base. Just five minutes earlier, the Empire of the Hundred Suns had officially declared war on the Terran Federation.

Tosomo began issuing orders from his prepared checklist. Everything was going according to plan so far. "Launch all bombers, followed by the fighters! Rail-guns, target their launch bays! Prevent their drones and fighters from launching!"

A rain of death and destruction descended upon the unprepared base, causing ships to explode and turning the battle into a one-sided massacre. However, Tosomo felt unsatisfied as half of the expected enemy fleet was nowhere to be seen, particularly the heavy carriers. Nevertheless, he had managed to lay ruin to a third of the coreward Terran fleet.

"My Lord," a young officer reported with a polite salute, "a fleet is approaching at high speed. Seven carriers and twenty-eight support destroyers. They have already deployed their drones and are advancing in full battle readiness!"

Surprised, Admiral Tosomo felt his neck fur bristle. Some enemies had not only managed to avoid complete annihilation, but they had also regrouped quickly for a counter-attack!

With his own troops running low on ammunition and out of position, Tosomo ordered an orderly withdrawal. Most of his objectives had been achieved, and now it was time to minimize losses.

"All fighters and bombers, disengage and break contact!” Tosomo commanded, “Wings still armed with anti-ship weapons, delay the enemy fleet as much as possible. Your bravery will be honored in the afterlife. All other wings, fall back to the nearest carrier. To all fleet ships: prepare for an orderly withdrawal."

As the Imperial fleet aligned for the withdrawal, two wings of heavy bombers headed towards the approaching Terran fleet, ready to meet the honorable death of an Imperial knight. Out of the 26 Imperial bombers, 21 were destroyed by the drones, SHORAD, and CIWS of the Terran fleet. Four bombers rammed into support destroyers, reducing them to molten wrecks, while one hit the bridge of the light carrier Yorktown, causing her to lose control and break formation, with fires raging on half of her decks.

With most of their objectives fulfilled, the Imperial Fleet departed, leaving behind burning wrecks and ruins, marking the beginning of the second interstellar war against the Terran Federation.

...

Chapter 2: To Victory

"You have performed admirably, Heraldry Admiral Tosomo," praised the Emperor personally during the audience, commending Tosomo for his remarkable success. It been just three weeks ago since the significant blow to the Terran Federation, with only 26 bombers lost while eliminating the most significant obstacle in the campaign to gain control of the Centauri system.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Tosomo replied, "May your light shine upon your knights and your shadow fall upon your enemies."

On the sidelines, the Emperor's sycophants and courtiers rejoiced at the imminent victory. However, Tosomo remained silent, accepting the praise while knowing that the battle was far from over.

And no sooner had he left the throne room than his adjutant approached him with grave news.

"My Lord, a ragtag fleet has just attacked supply outpost seventeen. The enemy fleet consisted of two light carriers with four destroyers for support. The leading carrier was the Yorktown."

Again, Tosomo felt the fur on the back of his neck stand up. The Yorktown... she was supposed to be a wreck. The bridge, the sensors—everything had been destroyed, akin to a decapitation by a sword. He had witnessed the fires raging below deck. Impossible.

He straighten up. "Prepare the second detachment. I will personally deal with the Yorktown."

One month later, Tosomo stood on the command deck of the 'Fist of the Six Kingdoms' once again. And there, facing him, was the Yorktown. She bore the scars of her previous battle but had been mostly repaired. A new tower, new sensors, new drones. She had not perished last time. But today, she would meet her end.

The enemy fleet was headed to join the main fleet, with the Imperial Fleet hot on their tail. The knights in their fighters and bombers closed in, overwhelming the main defenses of the enemy fleet. They fell swiftly, but not without a brutal fight. Only the Yorktown remained, her drones assembled around her, her flight deck riddled with holes, her guns glowing hot. She defiantly withstood the relentless assault of a superior enemy for another moment.

Finally Tosomo saluted the valiant ship as her engine exploded, tearing apart her aft section. She had fought bravely, but it had been a matter of honor for Tosomo to be the one to end her. He had gambled high to achieve his goal. Perhaps too high. Not only had he lost one wing of his best pilots to the enemy, but now his other five wings were dangerously low on fuel. The Terran Fleet's main force was closing in rapidly, their spearhead wings already engaging the depleted Imperial wings.

Tosomo decided to cut his losses and ordered the three most distant wings to die in honor while directing his fleet to retreat to safety. As his fleet disappeared into the darkness of deep space, the Yorktown continued to burn brightly while the Terran main fleet annihilated the remaining Imperial stragglers.

...

Chapter 3: Waypoint Station

Tosomo personally welcomed the replacement pilots aboard his fleet. Word had spread about the Yorktown, a mysterious ghost ship returning from the dead to haunt the living.

"You are following in the footsteps of the Empire's most honorable knights. We Knights strike hard, we knights strike fast, we knights hunt down our enemies without mercy. Do not believe the enemy's lies about the ghost ship. I personally witnessed her destruction. She is no more. Let the story of the Yorktown serve as a warning to our enemies that we never allow them to escape after shedding our blood."

He looked into the faces of the young recruits. They looked green, insecure. Those weren’t the elite knights he had to sacrifice to hunt down the Yorktown. But they would have to suffice for now. They would have to do for the upcoming campaign to capture Way-Point Station. A rotten dirt ball in the middle of nowhere, but also the most important resupply outpost within four light years.

Three months later his fleet dropped from warp, far away from Way-Point station. Eight heavy carriers, twelve battleships, sixty smaller escort ships. The Terran Warp-Scramblers were plenty and powerful, so this was the closest he could get to the outpost. He couldn't even determine the exact location of the enemy fleet, but he knew they faced the same challenge. The Imperial Fleet burned their engines hot to create distance from the warp exit point. Scouts raced off into the dark, fighters formed defensive screens around the fleet, and bombers prepared for action. After three days of stalking in the darkness, the scouts had reported only minimal enemy activity towards Way-Point Station.

The overall absence of enemy presence suggested that the station had no fleet defending it. Tosomo ordered his fleet to advance towards the station, preparing for planetary bombardment. From a safe distance, he launched his bombers and escort fighters, ready to surprise the station as he had done months ago against the Proxima base.

However, with his wings just halfway to the enemy base all hell broke lose! Several enemy scouts appeared from a different direction than the enemy base! Impossible! But what if the enemy fleet was nearby? Did both fleets pass each other just out of sensor range?

Tosomo immediately called back all fighters and bombers. He hastily launched his fighter reserve for fleet defense, urgently needed space in his hangars to accommodate the returning bombers, had to refit them for fleet operation, all while his flight decks were in utter chaos.

Just as he completed the reconfiguration, enemy bombers appeared on the sensors—six wings, a massive fleet. That was the complete complement of a heavy carrier! How could he have missed such a significant target?

His reserve fighters barely managed in time to engage the Terran bombers in a brutal fight and eventually emerged victorious. Meanwhile, his bombers and fighters returned from their interrupted assault on Way-Point Station, causing a bottleneck on the landing deck. Fighter after fighter, bomber after bomber waited for their landing clearance, resulting in overcrowding and confusion, several wings needing ammunition or armed with the wrong ammunition

Tosomo made the decision to reconfigure half of his fighters for fleet defense while refitting the other fighters and all bombers for anti-ship combat. He had just dispatched his first bomber wing to the suspected location of the enemy when the sirens blared again—more bombers were approaching from Way-Point Station!

The green fighters of his reserve wing attacked the enemy straight forward and without fear. And sure they won but by paying a terrible price in blood.

...

Chapter 4: A rock and a hard place

Just when Tosomo thought he would get a break another wing approached from another direction – there was only one sane conclusion: His fleet was trapped between two fleets and Way-point Station! They could attack from three sides at will. Unbeknownst to Tosomo, the last wing had been mistakenly sent in the wrong direction and was now returning with its fuel dangerously low, inadvertently stumbling upon the Imperial fleet.

His half refitted bombers and fighters filled his hangers, his fleet was essentially not combat-ready. Whatever was combat ready he threw into the meat grinder, several unorganized fighters from several ships joined the fray – within minutes, hundreds of fighters and bombers darted on fiery lances in the endless dark, tracer rounds drew lines across the darkness, explosions flashed through the sky. Even Tosomo struggled to keep up with the fierce fighting happening so close to his fleet.

Amidst the chaos a single enemy bomber slipped through and went straight for the open hangar bay of the heavy carrier ‘Spirit of the Ancestors’. The carriers guns spat fire and death towards the intruder, damaging him but not stopping him. The bomber crashed into the hanger, full of armed ships, full of ammunition. What happened next was a fierce flash as the ‘Spirit of the Ancestors’ was simply vaporized from internal explosions!

Tosomo slumped back in his seat, horrified by the sudden loss of one of his most valuable ships. His fleet was trapped, and the enemy continued to relentlessly attack. The Terrans had already lost seven full wings, yet another wing appeared on the sensors.

Finally a scout reported the location of one of the enemies fleets.

Six carriers. Two heavy carriers, four light carriers. Among them...

The Yorktown!

Bearing even more scars from her last battles. However, still she was moving under full power, riding on bright flames towards Tosomos fleet! Where he had seen her old engines explode, new pristine engines drove her forward, out of hell towards him, driven by a thirst for revenge. She unleashed fighters, bombers, and drones without end, accompanied by her fellow ships. Seven more wings were heading towards Tosomo's fleet, and there could be even more.

Tosomo gave the order to launch any armed fighter and bomber, regardless of their fitting. He sent the ground attack bombers against Way-Point Station and two formations of anti-ship bombers against the two fleets, against the fleet he successfully scouted, and the one he mistakenly believed to exits but was just the single enemy wing having lost its way. It was a last gamble before the hammer would come down on him.

When the Terran fighters and Imperial bombers engaged above Tosomo's fleet, it turned into a massacre. For the first time, the Imperials suffered significant losses and became increasingly disorganized. A random anti-ship missile struck another carrier, causing it to lose power. An enemy fighter pursued an Imperial fighter near Tosomo's flagship – the carriers CIWS made quick work of the Terran fighter but also of the Imperial fighter, both crashing into Tosomos ship. One hit the engines, while the other crashed so close to the bridge that the bridge decompressed, causing all systems to go offline.

Tosomo found himself hurled through the bridge, surrounded by debris. His adjutant was impaled by a steel bar, and Tosomo briefly lost consciousness. When he regained awareness, two ensigns were dragging him to a shuttle and informed him they were abandoning ship and transferring to the battleship 'Worlds on Fire.' Just as he boarded the shuttle, a massive explosion rocked the carrier, and through the hangar shields, he witnessed the 'Valiant Victory' drifting, ablaze and leaking atmosphere—another heavy carrier lost.

Upon reaching his new command deck on the 'Worlds on Fire,' he surveyed the losses. Out of the eight heavy carriers, four were completely lost. Two were burning but salvageable. The enemy fighters and bombers were retreating after suffering heavy losses. His own fighters still were so numerous that he didn’t even have space to land them on his last two carriers, not to mention the many bombers operating in the deepness of space.

Meanwhile, his bombers had reached Way-Point Station and commenced bombing empty hangars, depleted ammunition depots, and half empty fuel depots. A pointless operation, Way-Point Station was just an empty shell after having dealt massive damage to his fleet.

Shortly after this Pyrrhic victory, the anti-ship wings Tosomo had launched earlier finally encountered the enemy carrier group. Two Terran fighter wings met them face on and Tosomos bombers melted away like snow in the summer sun, under the combined fire of the fleet and the fighters. However, an Imperial wing managed to break through the Terran line, firing their ordinance at the Terran fleet, resulting in the destruction of several support ships and direct hits on three carriers. Among them, the Yorktown suffered significant damage, losing its main maneuver thrusters and spiraling out of control.

With no place to retreat, the Imperial bombers received the final order from Tosomo: fight to the death. The Yorktown. He realized how much of a symbol she had become. A symbol which he intended to destroy, no matter the costs. Out of spite, he ordered his doomed wings to focus their attacks on the Yorktown.

The battle around the Terran fleet intensified as they valiantly defended the Yorktown. Despite the Terrans efforts, the Imperial bombers managed to strike the Yorktown seven more times until she finally broke in two, her keel shattered and her gut spilling into space.

Tis was good. The Yorktown was no more. A flawed but personal victory for Tosomo.

He immediately ordered his fleet to retreat, but it was not an orderly withdrawal. It was a desperate run for their lives. He left behind the wreckage of four carriers, two battleships, and six escort ships. Compared to his initial strength, only one-third of the fighters and bombers managed to squeeze into the remaining hangars, leaving a quarter of them behind with no room to land. They had no choice but to fight to the end, devoid of ammunition and fuel. They refused to surrender, and the Terran fleet simply waited for them to suffocate in the dark, cold void of space.

...

Chapter 5: The Ghost Ship

"So you have finally brought the Emperor's justice upon the Yorktown, Heraldry Admiral Tosomo."

Tosomo couldn't ignore the slight insecurity in the Emperor's voice, though he would never mention that publicly.

"Yes, Your Highness. She is no more. She broke in two. We haven't seen her for six months. She is gone."

Since the Battle of Way-Point Station, the Imperial fleet had been force into defense, and at Tosomo's request, he was now overseeing the fleet's rebuilding.

The Emperor waved his hand, and a hologram of a battle appeared in the middle of the room.

"Then explain this to me."

The Yorktown! Her flight deck ablaze! She was sailing without power above the burning Imperial colony of Oshtay Prime, surrounded by Terran and Imperial wrecks. The Terrans had rebuilt her AGAIN! The damaged midsection was visibly replaced with a new one, made from a different material. She had even gotten larger through this repair, now easily classifying as a medium assault carrier.

"My Lord, this cannot be true! I saw her... but... it is her! I recognize her scars! It is the Yorktown again! My Lord, I have no excuse for my failure."

"This is getting out of hand," thundered the Emperor. "The Empire is becoming alarmed by the rampant myths surrounding this insignificant ship. Even the children fear the undying Yorktown."

Tosomo didn't dare to look at the Emperor as his voice boomed through the hall.

"I, Emperor Yaday the 19th, command you to restore your honor by putting an end to this insult to our might once and for all. Dismissed."

Etiquette demanded that Tosomo remain silent and depart the hall, his face bowed in shame. Thankfully, this concealed his horrified expression from the Emperor.

...

Chapter 6: Undying

It happened again. At the battle of Leifstein the Yorktown showed up again. Bearing scars all over her hull she engaged in a one-on-one battle with Tosomo’s heavy carrier. She ultimately lost but managed to ram her burning hulk into a nearby Imperial battleship. Then Tosomo was then forced to order his fleet to fall back to avoid being flanked by the Terran main fleet.

Just two days later, Tosomo witnessed the badly damaged Yorktown escorting a troop carrier, using her SHORAD and CIWS systems to protect the troops during their landing. The bow of the Yorktown was mostly gone, ripped away, exposing her interior structure. Although unable to function as a carrier, her guns proved effective in suppressing the imperial ground forces. In the end, the Yorktown crash-landed alongside the troop carrier, and her crew joined the ground assault. As a result, the Imperial fleet had to break orbit after losing their ground-to-orbit cover.

Following a brutal six-week slaughter, the colony fell. The Emperor's personal order was for his troops to fight to the last drop of blood, demonstrating to the Terrans the high cost of further incursions into Imperial territory. Thus, his troops perished while fulfilling their duty. Out of nearly three million Imperial soldiers, fewer than 300 survived. The toll on the Terran side was also significant, but their war machine, now running at full steam, showed little sign of slowing down.

Four weeks later, the Yorktown reappeared, hastily patched together but already operating at 80% efficiency. While patrolling supply lines, she encountered an Imperial fleet detachment and rescued an Amazonax Super Freighter from certain destruction. Facing an Imperial light carrier and two escort ships, the commanders on both sides stared each other down for a minute before the Terran Captain transmitted his laughter via radio to his enemy and ordered the attack on the superior force.

The Imperial ships' final transmission reported a burning escort ship, one escort ship dishonoring itself by fleeing with dozens of fighters in pursuit, and the Yorktown ramming her nose directly into the bridge of the Imperial carrier. The Yorktown had been leaking atmosphere even before the ramming operation, so her crew was as good as dead. The next day, Terran news reported the successful boarding and capture of the imperial light carrier by the Yorktown's crew—an unprecedented feat in the age of space combat!

When the Terran fleet reached the last world before the Imperial planetopolis two months later, it was hardly a fair fight. The Imperial ships were in dire shape, with even their vac-doors failing to seal properly due to a lack of spare parts. For every Imperial ship there were three Terran ship, for every Imperial fighter there were five Terran fighters, for every Imperial bombers there were three Terran bombers, twice the size of the Imperial ones.

The battle commenced with the Yorktown flanking the enemy and launching waves of bombers at the Imperial supply ships. The results were devastating for the Imperial force. What was expected to be a months-long siege was reduced to a battle lasting days before supplies ran out. Sure, the Yorktown got punished hard—railguns and torpedoes tore open her portside, she began to tumble and slowly descend into the atmosphere, trailed by dozens of enemy and friendly fighters and bombers locked in combat. When she crashed into the south pole's ice, she lost her bridge once again, broke her keel, and half of her decks burned out. Nevertheless, her surviving crew held out in the grim cold isolation for three weeks until rescue arrived.

The last Imperial transmission from the world of 'Gods Praise' depicted heavy Terran carriers towing the wreckage of the Yorktown into the newly conquered Imperial docks for repairs. The Yorktown had become an almost unrecognizable heap of junk and twisted metal.

For the first time, Imperial forces surrendered en masse on the ground and in orbit. When the Imperial knights were asked about their surrender, many claimed they were afraid of the undead ship. That they believed they couldn't fight an enemy that returned ceaselessly from the afterlife to fulfill her duty.

...

Chapter 7: Endgame

The palace of Emperor Yaday the 19th shook under heavy shock waves. The end was nigh; it was obvious to everyone except the Emperor. The Terran fleet darkened the sky and swiftly overwhelmed the orbital defenses. The once honorable knights of the Empire still stood before the enemy, but they were so few in number, most knights now were fearful youngsters, hastily conscripted, filled with doubt and fear. They surrendered in droves.

Heraldry Admiral Tosomo stared down the Imperial bodyguards.

"Let me in. This is your final warning," he commanded.

The last of the Emperor's bodyguards stood at gunpoint, facing Tosomo's personal knights.

"We cannot. We have sworn an oath," one replied as they reached for their swords.

"Very well. May the gods honor your loyalty. I will not."

Tosomo waved his hand, and his knights gunned down the Emperor's bodyguards. Without wasting a second, they broke through the door to the throne room, surrounding the Emperor without an Empire, their guns pointed at him.

"Put an end to this madness NOW!" Tosomo barked.

"You are betraying your oath, subordinate!"

Tosomo held up a communication device, displaying the face of a human admiral.

"I am Grand Admiral Wilhelm Praetorius the Elder, commander of the allied Terran Fleets. We are prepared for a full-scale invasion of your last world. Your game is over. Save face and salvage what remains of your Empire. Surrender now."

"Never!" Yaday defiantly cried out.

"Then we will send the Yorktown after you. She witnessed the beginning of this war and will witness its end. This frequency will remain open until she arrives."

Tosomo had reached his breaking point. He stormed forward, grabbed his Emperor by the collar, held a gun against his head, and dragged him toward the balcony.

"Look at what you have brought upon your Empire! Upon your Heir! Upon your people!"

A distant light in the sky gradually descended and accelerated, leaving behind a trail of smoke and fire. It seemed to move slowly, but that was an illusion; the object was simply far away and immense. Slowly, the light grew brighter, the flames surrounding it became more distinct, and its shape began to take form. The flames receded, and the silhouette became recognizable—it was the Yorktown, heading straight for the palace!

"They wouldn't dare!" cried Yaday.

"Think, you fool!" shouted Tosomo. "Your Heir is in this very palace. Your entire family is in this city! You have mere moments to save your family, your dynasty!"

The Yorktown thundered above the roofs of the peasant quarters. Windows shattered and roofs collapsed from the powerful shockwave. It was now evident that she was a crude patchwork of different metal plates, a wounded and vengeful monster. Nevertheless, Yaday remained resolute.

Tosomo took a deep breath. These might be his final words in this world.

"Yaday, do you understand what will happen when the Yorktown arrives? Your dynasty will perish, and the Yorktown will be repaired to sail the stars once more. Do you want to grant a piece of junk the honor of ending an 80-generation heraldic line? Do you?"

Yaday realized the gravity of these words. He twitched briefly in shock, grabbed the communicator, the bow of the fast approaching Yorktown now casting a colossal shadow over the Imperial gardens before him.

“I surrender! Stop her! Stop the Yorktown!”

With those words spoken, the reverse thrusters of the Yorktown engaged. A tempest roared through the gardens, uprooted trees, shattered windows, raised a cloud of dust across the palace. Yaday and Tosomo were blown off their feet, fell backward into the throne hall. Yet, the Yorktown continued moving forward.

She grew larger and larger, dominating the sky. Her bow loomed higher than the Imperial palace. The storm transformed into a hurricane, shaking the very foundations of the Empire. The cries of Yaday and Tosomo were drowned out by the deafening hurricane.

Then, silence.

Tosomo peered out to the balcony. All he could see was the bow of the Yorktown, obstructing the view of the outside world. The ship that had hunted him for years, the ship that refused go down. She stood unmoving for a moment, hovering above the garden, her bow so close to the balcony that Tosomo could almost touch her. Then, she descended a few feet and sank into the soft grass of the imperial garden. And never moved again.

For the first time, Tosomo didn't see the Yorktown as an enemy. She was a noble warrior who had reached the end of her duty. And laid down her sword without question when her fight was over. She bore countless scars. Tosomo examined her armor. Made from the hulls of her slain adversaries—the 'Fist of the Six Kingdoms,' the 'Valiant Victory,' the 'King's Honor,' the 'Protector of the Light'. And so many more. Not a single piece of her hull originated from Terran forges after all those battles.

He took a step closer, reached out, and briefly touched the still-hot hull.

"May you find peace now, my honorable adversary.” he whispered.

“May we all find safety from your wrath."

I got a Wiki at Reddit to list my works and external links. What would be the correct way of doing that within Lemmy?

https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/wiki/authors/crass_spektakel/

I also saw user-wikis under something like the following but I have no idea how to create these neither in Reddit or Lemmy.

https://www.reddit.com/u/example/wiki/

The easiest way would be to just create a Lemmy Community c/crass_spektakel but that feels a bit boastful.

Is is possible to give users within a Lemmy Community a Wiki or share a Wiki between several people?

A Spark in the Dark

In a universe constrained by the absolute speed of light, we, the Shrill, are the oldest and most powerful beings within our local light cone. We allow no one to rise before us. Any spark we discover in the endless dark is extinguished before it becomes a blazing fire. So when we received another powerful radio signal seeking friendship, we knew what we had to do.

Eliminate the source.

This may sound brutal, but it has ensured our continued existence for over 10,000 years. The rules of the game are simple: anyone who makes the universe aware of their presence is a valid target. My people have maintained perfect radio silence throughout our existence. To the universe, we do not exist except when we strike. In the dark forest of the universe, the tiniest sparkle becomes a target for everyone.

The nearest industrial outpost to the new signal was the lush farm world of Spica 3, a mere [twelve light years] away. We immediately initiated construction of a relativistic kill vehicle while analyzing the star system from which the signal originated. It was a triple star system, with two stars closely orbiting—a yellow main star and an orange dwarf—along with a red dwarf orbiting at a considerable distance. The signal emanated from a small planet orbiting the red dwarf. It was an unlikely discovery, as life typically does not thrive on these types of worlds. Nevertheless, we had a duty to fulfill.

[16 years] later, the relativistic kill vehicle (RKV), weighing [one megaton], was completed and began accelerating to 12% of the speed of light, primed to strike the target in approximately [100 years]. Throughout this time, the radio signal persisted, continuing to seek friendship. Once the RKV reached its destination, the transmission abruptly ceased. The planet vanished from our sensors, and the signal went silent.

[24 years] later, Spica 3 suddenly exploded. The world, with its population of 12 billion, was obliterated, reduced to a cloud of ash and debris. Before we could comprehend what had happened, we received another radio signal, once again asking for friendship. It originated from the same star system and the same planet, which was now orbiting its star as if nothing had happened.

Panic swept through our civilization! Had we encountered our equals? Or worse, had we encountered our masters?

Half of our worlds, those closest to the signal, began constructing retaliation weapons. Over 200 RKVs were ready within [100 years]. We accelerated them to a breathtaking 40% of the speed of light, while our sensors meticulously studied the planetary bodies within the triple star system that had emitted the signals. In total, we identified 16 major planets, along with 100 smaller moons and asteroids. We decided to strike them all, leaving nothing to chance. The RKVs closed in, precisely timed. 250 years after the destruction of Spica 3, they annihilated the entire star system, except for the stars themselves.

We rejoiced. The enemy had been dealt with. No reasonably sized planetary bodies remained. The threat had seemingly been eliminated. No signals, no planets detected on our scanners. Tis was good.

However, 26 years later, the minor scientific outpost Remolo 17 vanished. One minute later, the city world of Tremolous 1 was transformed into molten slag. Three minutes later, no signs of life remained within the entire star system. Only a brief audio message from a patrol craft on its last reserves gave us a glimpse of what had occurred: dozens of near-light-speed projectiles had struck their targets without warning.

And the attacks continued. Every star system that had launched an RKV, every planet, every colony involved in the military operation vanished over the next 32 years. Our civilization had lost half of its worlds and population, with over 300 billion Shrill turned to dust.

And immediately after the attacks ceased, the radio message resumed, once again seeking friendship. To make matters worse, the planetary bodies we had believed to be obliterated reappeared on our sensors, one after another, within a matter of days.

We were genuinely terrified. This was beyond our comprehension. We had lost 30 garden worlds and hundreds of smaller settlements to an enemy that retaliated massively without showing any signs of their own losses. We realized that we couldn't win this battle using our old tactics. We fell silent. And for the first time in history, we constructed an interstellar scout ship to investigate our enemy. Meanwhile, we focused our best sensors on the triple star system, to learn what we could learn.

After 120 years, our scout ship finally closed in on the star system. As expected, a couple of light weeks away, our ship was discovered. However, this time the "Others" didn't ask for friendship; they demanded that the scout held its position and made contact. The crew, however, chose not to comply. They remained silent, took evasion maneuvers, and collected as much data as possible. And what they discovered was mesmerizing. The star system was constantly under attack from RKVs. In the month that our scout ship survived, it sent scans showing that the "Worlds" of the "Others" were being bombarded by over 2,000 RKVs from all around the galaxy. The "Others" had practically declared war on the entire galaxy, and they were winning.

Despite the relentless onslaught, the "Others" fought back with impunity and cold precision. We observed them using massive particle accelerators, each the size of a small moon, firing without pause. Before our scout ship went silent, it was able to map 50,000 projectiles being launched into the darkness at near the speed of light, bringing death to tens of thousands of worlds. Every single projectile aimed at the source of another hostile RKV.

It took us some time to comprehend what we had witnessed. The constant barrage of RKVs had no effect on the "Others." The worlds struck by RKVs simply reappeared after a while. Our scout ship, being so close, finally understood what was happening. These planets were fake, mere facades made of thin iron foils rotating for stabilization. Holographic fields projected clouds, while emitters simulated atmospheric electromagnetic radiation. And we, foolishly, had revealed the positions of our own worlds by launching RKVs against empty fakes.

The "Others" had thought ahead of us. Instead of waiting for potential targets to stumble into a hateful hostile universe, they had politely requested their neighbors to reveal their positions and intentions.

And it worked astonishingly well. Some worlds chose not to respond to the request for friendship, and the "Others" left them alone. Other worlds responded and were greeted politely, treated like friends. However, those who dared to show aggression were swiftly eliminated from the galaxy.

We realized our own foolishness, the steep price we paid for our ways. This was a fight we should have never started. As we remained silent for more centuries, our scanners detected tens of thousands of worlds exploding all around us. We were fools to think we could destroy them. Throughout it all, they continued to send radio signals to us, requesting friendship. Yet, it took us another 400 years to gather the courage to respond to their message. With great caution, we relayed our response from an uninhabited star system.

Our message was simple:

Who are you?

Why are you sending a radio signal?

To our surprise, the response was not one of death and destruction. It was an equally simple answer:

We are Humanity.

We shout into the dark forest and await the response.

To distinguish friend from foe.

Which one would you like to be?