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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ethenhunt65 on 2024-11-25 19:03:39+00:00.

HFY The Substitute

The magenta sun cast long shadows across Tzzk'rix's hydroponic garden as he tenderly adjusted the nutrient flow to his prize-winning crystal melons. Life on Agricultural Colony P-789 was peaceful, predictable, and most importantly, completely devoid of anything remotely resembling an "adventure."

"Perfect," he chittered to himself, his mandibles clicking in satisfaction as he recorded the day's growth measurements. "Another successful harvest cycle without a single near-death experience."

His communicator buzzed. Again. For the forty-seventh time that morning. He ignored it, just as he had ignored the previous forty-six notifications. The Empire could wait - his melons needed him.

The crystal melons sparkled in the dying light, their faceted surfaces refracting tiny rainbows across his exoskeleton. Nothing like the sweat-inducing horrors of that Australian "vacation" three years ago. His therapist said he was making excellent progress, though he still couldn't look at a coffee cup without flinching[1].

The communicator's buzzing grew more insistent, developing an almost angry undertone. Tzzk'rix adjusted his farming apron and continued pretending he couldn't hear it.

A shadow fell across his garden. A very large, distinctly shuttle-shaped shadow.

"Oh, void take it," he muttered, watching his prized melons crack under the heat of the shuttle's landing thrusters. "Not again."

The shuttle's door hissed open with unnecessary dramatic flair. Commander K'thax emerged, all four arms crossed in what Tzzk'rix recognized as the universal gesture for 'you're in deep trouble, soldier.'

"Shadow Strike Commander Tzzk'rix," K'thax's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Or should I say... Farmer Terry?"

"I was just about to check my messages," Tzzk'rix lied, trying to shield what remained of his crystal melon patch. "Been terribly busy. Very important agricultural duties."

"Forty-seven ignored communications," K'thax's upper right arm twitched. "Including one marked 'Urgent: Fate of Empire at Stake' and another labeled 'Your Mother Wants to Know Why You Haven't Called.'"

Tzzk'rix's antennae drooped. "The melons needed precise attention during their crystallization phase?"

"The High Command requires your... unique expertise." K'thax managed to make 'unique' sound like a terminal disease. "We have a situation on Earth."

The word 'Earth' sent Tzzk'rix's nervous system into overdrive and several scales fell off. His secondary heart started palpitating, and his chromatophores flickered in distress patterns that spelled out 'NO' in seventeen different languages.

"Absolutely not," he backed away, clutching a broken crystal melon like a shield. "I'm retired. Completely retired. Look, I have a garden! And... and... a collection of exotic fertilizers!"

"It's about their young.A simple mission this time."

Tzzk'rix paused. "Their... offspring?"

"We need someone to infiltrate a human educational facility. Someone with experience in human behaviors. Someone who has survived their recreational activities."

"But surely there are others-"

"You're the only operative who's ever returned from a human 'vacation' with all limbs intact, albeit with several interesting new phobias."

"The coffee wasn't my fault! And those 'drop bears' are real! I know they're real!"

K'thax's mandibles twitched in what might have been sympathy. "I repeat. The mission is simple. Infiltrate. Observe their young. Report back. No hiking, no spicy food, no bungee jumping."

"Their young," Tzzk'rix repeated slowly, remembering the docile Draknid hatchlings he'd helped raise before his military career. His eyes darted around like he wanted to bolt.

K'thax's antennae curled in amusement. "So you'll do it?"

Tzzk'rix looked at his ruined garden, then at the setting sun. His sense of duty warred with his hard-earned survival instincts. "I suppose... for the Empire..."

"Excellent! Your bio-modification begins tomorrow. We've made some upgrades since last time. The sweating issue should be mostly resolved."

As K'thax turned to leave, he added casually, "Oh, and you'll be handling something called a 'kindergarten class.'"

Later that night, as Tzzk'rix packed his emergency beacon (now upgraded with triple redundancy), he wondered why the word 'kindergarten' made his commander's mandibles twitch so violently. After all, he'd survived Australian wildlife. 

His last thought, as he locked up his greenhouse, was that at least this time he wouldn't have to drink any coffee.

The bio-modification chamber hummed ominously as Tzzk'rix endured his second transformation into human form. Three years of peaceful farming hadn't prepared him for this moment.

"We've made significant improvements," Chief Medical Officer V'lax announced, her tentacles dancing over holographic controls. "The sweating issue should be mostly resolved, and we've added a new feature - your skin won't change colors when stressed."

"Mostly resolved?" Tzzk'rix's mandibles clicked nervously.

"And the coffee resistance has been upgraded to maximum capacity," she added, ignoring his question. "Though I still wouldn't recommend testing it."

The transformation process felt like being turned inside out while solving complex mathematical equations in zero gravity. When it was complete, Tzzk'rix examined his reflection - tall, lean, with what humans would consider an "approachable" face. Perfect for a substitute teacher.

"Remember," Commander K'thax briefed him, "you're 'Mr. Terry' from Canada. We've prepared extensive documentation about your teaching credentials."

"Surely watching young humans can't be worse than-"

"Don't say it!" K'thax interrupted. "Every time someone mentions Australia, the medical bay's PTSD sensors overload." Somewhere an alarm sounded.

Happy Valley Elementary School loomed before him like a fortress. Tiny humans swarmed the entrance, their high-pitched vocalizations piercing the morning air. Their energy signatures were off the charts.

"Mr. Terry?" Principal Johnson extended her hand. "Welcome to Happy Valley! Don't worry about the scorch marks on the playground equipment - the fire department says they're mostly cosmetic."

Tzzk'rix's bio-suit registered a spike in anxiety. "Scorch marks?"

"Oh yes, little Timmy discovered chemistry last week. Such an enthusiastic learner! We've since implemented a strict 'No Unauthorized Explosions' policy."

The tour of the school revealed what Tzzk'rix could only describe as organized chaos. Tiny humans ricocheted off walls with impossible energy levels. Art projects that defied the laws of physics adorned the halls. And was that... a hamster giving him a suspicious look?

"This will be your classroom," Principal Johnson gestured to Room 23. "Mrs. Henderson had a family emergency - something about her sister's pet iguana achieving sentience. The usual substitute is out with a medical emergency - the doctors say she'll stop speaking in rhymes any day now."

Inside the classroom, evidence of recent chaos was everywhere. Glitter - the most persistent form of human biological warfare - sparkled ominously on every surface. Crayon drawings depicted scenes that would make military strategists weep.

"One last thing," Principal Johnson added cheerfully. "We've had to ban sugar in the classroom after The Great Cupcake Incident of Last Tuesday. We're still finding frosting in the air vents."

As she left, Tzzk'rix noticed a crude drawing on the wall labeled "My Family Fighting Dragons." The dragons were losing.

His internal communicator buzzed: "Status report?"

"Preparing for first contact with human offspring," he replied. "Request permission to upgrade bio-suit's armor rating."

The first tiny humans began filtering into the classroom. Their energy signatures made ghost peppers look tame.

"Are you our new teacher?" a small female with pigtails asked. "Mrs. Henderson let us keep Gerald."

"Gerald?"

A class tarantula waved from its terrarium.

Tzzk'rix's bio-suit began sweating despite the upgrades. It was going to be a long day.

"Don't worry," a boy with missing front teeth grinned. "We only lost two substitute teachers this year!"

His emergency beacon suddenly felt very, very light in his pocket.

The morning bell rang. Somewhere in the universe, his crystal melons were probably wilting in sympathy.

Tzzk'rix's bio-suit hiccupped. This was definitely worse than Australia.

"Mr. Terry" - stood before his classroom of twenty-five kindergarteners, who stared at him with unnervingly calculating eyes. His bio-suit was already beginning to malfunction under their intense scrutiny.

"Good morning, tiny hu- I mean, children," he managed, trying to sound cheerful rather than terrified. "Your regular teacher had an emergency, so I'll be-"

"Why do you sweat so much?" a small girl with pigtails interrupted, her hand still raised even as she asked the question.

"And why does your face glitch sometimes?" added a boy missing his front teeth.

"I have a medical condition," Tzzk'rix replied, using his standard excuse. "It's very common in Canada."

"My mom's from Canada," another child piped up. "She never glitches."

Before Tzzk'rix could formulate a response, the classroom door burst open. Mrs. Henderson's assistant rushed in, looking frantic.

"Mr. Terry! Emergency staff meeting - just five minutes. The children are having their morning snack, everything's laid out. They're only allowed the sugar-free options in the blue containers!"

She disappe...

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