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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/Risesohigh33 on 2025-12-20 16:27:56+00:00.
I nearly panic as next to nothing happens. The barrel of the GravGun shakes, but nothing ejects. No projectiles come screaming out. No railgun rounds or scatter explosions. This ammunition doesn't work like that. And I start to think it doesn't work at all.
Or worse, I start to think that I failed. That I missed.
Because my friends fall. And fall. And fall. Through the sky, chaos and explosions. Toward the earth. Toward their deaths. It's all my fault. Klara and James are about to die, and I can't do anything about it. I press the trigger again and again, my panic overtaking my senses. The joystick just shakes whenever I try.
And I am already mourning their lives as they fall right toward I aimed. Then, salvation.
James and Klara's bodies hit the target I set and slam to a stop, suspended. It's as if an invisible hand plucks them out of thin air and stops their descent. The technology in of itself is fascinating. So much so that I'm left with my mouth hanging open, watching, watching, watching.
What could these Terrans do using the GravGuns for an assault as opposed to what we're doing now*?* I shudder at the possibilities because I know them. Klara explained.
"Yes!" Matteo hollers in my ear, ripping me back into reality. "Fucking YES! Reel them in! Reel them in before they're fucking shot!"
Holy shit. I did it.
James and Klara are suspended in midair, grabbed by the GravGun's emitted field of energy. We're immediately moving again as Matteo puts full power to our thrusters. I scramble to complete the task, slamming down on the red button in front of me that pulls them into the ship.
James and Klara fly through the air toward the belly of our ship. I shift my eyes to my tablet, which still projects the camera feed from James' optics. My friends are deposited in a small, padded room below the floor, which opens up to receive them. Seats line the outside of the padding, I see as James scrambles to his feet. Space for ten soldiers. Perfect for being shot out of during an attack. We used it's other purpose, and thank goodness for that.
James hauls Klara up with a grunt and straps her into one of the empty seats. Then he takes off.
I'm up and out of my seat as soon as I can, but Matteo's bank forces me back into the chair of the gun room. I sit there, breathing heavy, knowing it's far safer for me to wait than to go. I have no idea how long it'll take Matteo to get us free.
There are heavy feet approaching, and James comes sliding into the gun room. He's covered, head to toe, in blood. Wild eyes and a wicked grin, though there's pain behind it too. He's been wounded. "That's my guy," he says, offering a fist for me.
Despite knowing I'll have to deal with the reality that I've now killed, again, I'll worry about that later. Because it feels good to bump James' fist with my own. To see that I'm as apart of this as anyone. To see my best friend alive. To know that I didn't let him down.
But that's all James has for me, as he taps the side of the open door to the gun room and is ripping himself away. "Stay here! Strap in! It's about to get bumpy."
I find myself protesting before I realize I shouldn't. "Why do I need to strap--"
And it isn't a moment later that I have my answer when an explosion behind us rocks the ship, veers us sharply to the right, and a vibration runs through my chest that I could swear makes my blood run cold.
I could swear the air warps.
What. Was. That?
Another explosion, this one smaller but not by much. Matteo is only accelerating, moving away from those explosions, which continue to make the ship shake. Another. I scramble to strap myself in tighter, as I am truly terrified.
Then we're stabilizing. The ship is still going very, very fast as we speed away from Inferno airspace. And I choose to wait, for at least thirty minutes, because I know James is right. I keep my eyes closed, focusing on my breathing like James once taught me.
Then my friend reappears. He's changed clothes, but he hasn't washed yet.
The blood has dried all over him. "Good shooting out there, today," he says, peeking his head into the gun room. He motions his hand, and I unstrap myself. I get to my feet, wobble a little as I readjust. Then I'm walking after him, and we're hitting the main hallway of the ship.
"Are you going to tell me what that was?" I ask as we near our rooms.
James moves to a stop, nodding at me. "You must be talking about the little present we left them on our way out." He grins again.
"Which was?" He sees I'm not in the mood for jokes.
James rolls his eyes. "You're no fun. They're called Dredgers. A set of seven, separate kinetic explosions set on a timer. The first is, well, devastating. There are EMP bombs in the rotation too. Each explosion is mathematically timed and positioned to do the most damage. They're meant to completely clear the air. To provide relief in the need for an escape."
I think about it for a moment, understanding that this is a Terran assault ship. I do not know how many species across the galaxy can go toe-to-toe with Terrans, but I imagine it's always a good idea to have an escape plan. "Or an impressive display of firepower during an assault." I look at my friend. "Those could kill thousands." I can still feel the shake of the ship. The warping of the air. It was massive.
"They have, and they will again," James says, glancing down for a moment.
"Your people will hear about this," I say.
James' eyes are intense as they study me. "Yes. Yes, they will." He's walking away from me, to retrieve Klara and take her to the medical bay, after only another moment. "We wanted to do it quietly. But loudly will work too."
...
I wake to sirens blaring in my room. The assault on the Ninth Circle Barracks was more than two days ago. I was actually getting some rest in between the nightmares of the smeared Terran bodies all over the walls in Klara's former apartment. The relentless memories of my work.
The red light above my bed is as angry as ever. I scramble to my feet, slipping over myself and slamming into the floor. I hiss as the side of my head slaps the metal, but I'm pushing myself up off the floor and pound on the door's lock to open, rubbing my jaw, before the pain fully registers. I swiftly grab a sweater and throw it on.
I'm not two steps into the hallway before someone huge and strong grabs me. I can't fight back as they throw me over their shoulder. "We need to get you strapped in!" the voice bellows. "They shot at us before we could even respond!"
James. That's James' voice. While I'm happy I'm not being taken away to be killed--by Inferno, which was the first thought that came to my brain--James' tone does nothing to make me feel better.
He's legitimately worried. For me. Terrified for me. He's running as quickly as he can toward our cockpit before I can ask what the hell is going on. He's throwing me into the copilot seat, strapping me in and slipping the extra harness around me before I can yelp at how tight it is.
I strain my head to see the pilot's chair is empty. I don't know where Matteo or Klara are as James fastens himself into it.
And as our ship falls out of the sky, James turns to me.
"I'll explain everything. I promise."
Then we're crashing into the earth, I'm gasping at the pain in my upper body from the harness, letting my head slap into the seat behind me far too hard, and I meet darkness once more before the pain comes.
...
I'm greeted by warmth on my face. Wherever I am, it is as peaceful as the summers on Gyn used to be. It is a small consolation that my family was killed in what would be our winter, otherwise all these memories would be perverted.
Summer days on Gyn featured light throughout the sky for ninety percent of each day. Harvests were plentiful. Celebrations even more so. Everyone's moods were better. My father had always been a generous king when he could afford it, and he found that ability often. I know he was loved, he was making our people prosperous, because I distinctly remember the Lopov family frowns whenever those topics would be brought up.
All the best trade came in during our summers, from islands and far continents. My favorite were the sinloks, sweets that came from the east. Or the wilvers, salty meats from the south. I'd describe all of those delicacies to you in detail if I could, but comparing them to Terran food would do both races a disservice. So, I won't waste my time or yours. But I can taste them in my mouth right now. I let my tongue run over the inside of my mouth. It's dry, and I crack my eyes open.
The room in which I rest is minimally furnished. Other than my bed, there is what James calls a desk in the corner with single chair. There is a screen in the corner of the room, larger than I would expect for a room of this moderate size. The floor is beautiful stone, with a dark carpet underneath this bed. A closet, it seems, though it's closed. And a comfortable-looking chair in the opposite corner to the desk. The chair is occupied.
Before I press that lever, I gla...
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