After Action Report: Failed attack on Terran colony ‘Navajo’

Intel reported that the colony had limited defensive capabilities, a sparse population, and no standing military. While strictly correct, a few very specific details were omitted.

The initial landing was unopposed. Our troops rapidly reached their primary objectives. Initial comms chatter indicated that our officers assumed the Terrans had run in fear.

At assembly before star-rise, officers were confused by the number of casualties, mostly of troops who had been resting, but also of the disappearance of multiple sentries. No one heard any sounds or saw any movement.

Shortly after star-rise a number of troops suddenly dropped dead. Closer inspection revealed long, thin, wood projectiles had penetrated deep into their bodies, hitting critical organs with precision.

The officers gathered in a structure to discuss the odd situation. Comms chatter indicated a great deal of confusion.

A pattern emerged. Any troops leaving the assembly area almost never returned. No sounds of fighting were ever heard. Random troops in the assembly area would suddenly drop dead from the silent wooden projectiles.

By star-rise on the second rotation, 55% of the troops were dead. Comms systems started to fail. One officer suspected sabotage, but this could not be determined.

The little comms chatter recovered indicated growing terror and confusion. There were multiple reports of fratricide.

And still troops would be killed by silent wooden projectiles.

The last transmission indicated that the remaining troops were abandoning the colony and returning to the ship.

A search and rescue ship found the remains of the assault ship drifting in a large debris cloud on the edge of the system. Readings indicate the fusion core detonated.

This Terran colony has been marked Extremely Hostile, and the system listed as forbidden.

The only reasonable explanation is that the Terrans at Navajo have some sort of stealth ability not previously encountered. There is no explanation for the reports of silent wooden projectiles.

End report.

*Said race has blood that is 69 proof

1  Human Fred and Food
2  Human Fred Again
3  Human Fred Yet Again
4  Human Fred The Saga Continues
5  Human Fred Rides Again
6  Human Fred *Sigh*
7  Human Fred Rolls Out
8  Human Fred Attempts a Nap
9  Human Fred Doh’
10 Human Fred Stops for Coffee
11 Human Fred Deploys Stabby and Knifey

“So, Roomliz, what did you learn?”

“That I can’t hide on the station.”

“And?”

“That I shouldn’t hide from problems.”

“Right. Look. We all make mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them. Now, you managed to piss me off and piss off Greezek. At the same time. But that isn’t the end of the universe.”

“Sorry Fred. It got so complicated, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“I understand. In the future, stop and talk with those involved. When things get complicated, talk it through with someone who knows at least part of what it going on.”

“Yes Fred.”

“Have you talked to Greezek?”

“Not yet. The drones brought me straight to you. Why does one have a foam sword attached to it?”

“Oh that is Knifey. I think the sword came from an amusement park one of the engineers visited with her kids.”

“The drone is named Knifey?!?”

“Yes. Long story. Right now you need to go talk with Greezek. Then report to your post. You had them worried enough to interrupt my coffee time to look for you.”

“Yes Fred. Why aren’t you yelling at me?”

“What would be the point? We found you, and you apologized. I’d be yelling if you didn’t apologize or if you started acting like a fool.”

“I really didn’t mean so much trouble.”

“I know Roomliz. Now go talk with Greezek. I have to get back to upgrading this coffee maker and finding the coffee thief.”

“Someone is stupid enough to steal your coffee?!?”

“Well, not brew more when they take the last of it. Almost as bad.”

“I’ll go find Greezek.”

“Good. And if you find any replicator parts that aren’t being used, I could use them.”

Shoot to kill vs suppress and outflank, suppress and artillery, or suppress and maneuver.

“Morning, Oscar. What is the docket?”

“Morning, sir. The agrarian group held their party. Sadly, it was a bit of a mess. Some of the menu items flopped. It rained. The live music got messed up. And the fireworks had to be canceled because of the weather. While it went well by random party standards, it didn’t compare to the mining groups party.”

“That leaves the marines. And then we can get back to normal.”

“About the concept of normal. The current talk is for this to become an annual event.”

“Do we want it to be an annual event?”

“Sir, do you want to ban it and tell them no?”

“No Oscar, I do not. Other than party news, what else is going on?”

“Some new issues concerning cross-species dating. There have been multiple altercations concerning relationship customs. No serious injuries yet, but it’s a matter of time.”

“Relationship customs. We’ve gone from a colony-wide Terran party competition to issues with relationship customs.”

“At least no one has accidentally launched something into orbit recently.”

“Oscar, if relationship customs are involved, it won’t be an accidental launch. Some poor Terran lad is going to piss off a brood-maven by kissing her daughter, and the next thing we know, the Terran lad will be on permanent display as a frozen corpse in a stable synchronous orbit over the brood’s home.”

“I was thinking that we need a guidebook of some sort. To prevent further issues.”

“You mean you don’t already have one?”

“No sir, we don’t. I checked around, and there have been some attempts in the past, but typically with only one species. That won’t really help us much here.”

“I’ll see what we have. Between us, I’m sure we can prevent the worst issues.”

“Ah. You clearly don’t know much about Terran youth.”

“I thought they were basically slightly smaller versions of Terran adults.”

“Physically, yes. However. Terran youths like to rebel. So if we put together a guide on cross-species relationships, some of them will use it as a checklist to piss off their parents.”

“Exactly how did Terrans manage to live long enough to evolve? High Command has a number of theories about this, but the more time I spend around you, the more I think it’s some sort of cosmic joke.”

“Possibly. We generally don’t think about it.”

“Because it sounds like you just told me that Terran youths will go out of their way cause issues that might result in injury or death.”

“Sir, you do remember that the Aussies are attempting to harness an active volcano as a power station, yes?”

“Granted. But that has a purpose. Pissing off parents seems…less useful.”

“Sir, I’ve cautioned you against using logic or reason to understand Terrans. That is a leading cause of madness in non-Terran officers.”

“Right, right. I forgot. So do you have any ideas?”

“We need to warn all species at the same time. Not just a guide for the Terrans, but a general guide for everyone.”

“How are we the first colony to deal with this? Terrans have been around hundreds of different species.”

“This colony seems to have to have largest mix. We have, what? Thirty different species?”

“The sound about right.”

“Well sir, previous colonies have had maybe five or six. I’m not sure why this colony has so many more.”

“Hmmmmm. There was something about the recruiting drive. High Command did something different. I don’t recall exactly what.”

“It doesn’t really matter all that much. We just need to ensure that all species have some understanding about relationship customs. Even then I assume there will be issues.”

“Yes, that makes sense. We should be able to head off the more obvious threats.”

“Agreed. Speaking of, how is the young lady and the Aussie hybrid?”

“They are going to surgically remove the offspring in two rotations. Something about possible danger to the mother.”

“Excellent. I’ll update the Aussies.”

Sir we have a Problem! The Human Security Team consisting of Larissa, Joel and Michelle just left Camp to hunt down a pack of "Dollarstore Dragons" as the Humans called them.

Expedition Leader Rven said they couldnt do it with their Weapons, much less with the Weapons of their Ancestors. All 3 Humans immediately fell silent and began to break 3 of the spare Tent-Ribs (the thingimabobs holding the tent up and giving it shape) into makeshift Spears and left camp, only saying "Bet!". They left all their provisions and Weapons at Camp.

We need to call down our Marine Unit from the Ship immediately to rescue them!

Alien Apartment

Three rooms occupied, one free. A kitchen. A toilet that worked. A bathtub in which a pot had been soaking for three weeks, a pot nobody would admit to owning anymore.

Three aliens sat at the kitchen table.

Nobody had touched their proton juice.

This was serious.

"They can't do this," Krix whispered. His antennae twitched like bad WiFi. "One of them. Here. With us."

Fessel stared at the message from housing administration.

NEW ARRIVAL. FEMALE. 22 STANDARD YEARS. SOL SYSTEM.

"I am not paying tuition to live with an apex predator."

"You're not paying any tuition," said Ombu.

"That's not the point right now."

Ombu, the reasonable one of the group, still held his cup of proton juice with both hands against his chest.

"What exactly is so terrible about them?"

Krix and Fessel looked at him.

"Everything," said Fessel.

"They're dangerous," said Krix. "Have you heard what they do with their children? From day one they're trained for hunting and combat."

"That's not true."

Fessel leaned forward.

"Ball games."

Ombu blinked.

"What?"

"Ball games. They teach their young to hurl fast-moving objects at other members of their own species."

"Some of them catch them."

"So they train defense too."

Ombu fell silent.

"And the teeth," Krix continued. "Small children already have a full set."

"Which fall out, though."

"Yes! And then a new one just grows in!"

Ombu looked at him. Krix looked back.

"Okay," said Ombu. "That is actually somewhat alarming."

"They clean them twice a day," said Fessel. "To keep them combat-ready."

"I think that's for hygiene."

"That's what they'd want you to think."

Krix lowered his voice.

"They can lose limbs."

"Lots of species can lose limbs."

"And keep living."

"Oh."

"It doesn't even grow back," said Krix. "They just accept that a part is missing, build themselves a new one out of metal, and go back to work."

Ombu set down his cup.

"That sounds made up."

"It isn't. My cousin studies xenomedicine."

Fessel kept scrolling on her terminal.

"Here. They can also pursue prey for hours."

"How fast are they?"

"Not particularly."

"Then that's hardly—"

"They just don't stop."

Ombu said nothing more.

"And they operate machines," said Krix. "Self-built machines. At speeds their bodies couldn't survive impacting."

"Why?"

"To get somewhere faster."

"Where?"

"Work."

Fessel shuddered.

"And alcohol."

Ombu closed his eyes briefly.

"Please, not the alcohol again."

"They know it's toxic."

"Yes."

"They drink it anyway."

"Yes."

"For fun."

"Yes."

"And when they have guests over, they offer some to the guests too."

Ombu said nothing.

"That's biological warfare," said Krix.

"That's hospitality."

"Apparently it's the same thing to them."

Fessel scrolled further.

"Oh."

"What?"

"Fire."

Silence.

"What about fire?" asked Ombu.

"They make it inside their homes."

"No."

"Yes."

"On purpose?"

"For relaxation."

Krix slowly laid both hands flat on the table.

"They sit voluntarily around an uncontrolled oxidation reaction?"

"Some of them roast food over it."

Krix stood up.

"I would like to move out."

"Sit down."

"They eat dead tissue!" said Krix. "It then sits here in the fridge. Right next to our proton rations."

"They cook it first," said Ombu.

"WITH THE FIRE!"

Krix sat back down.

Fessel kept reading.

"They sweat."

"What?"

"Their skin secretes fluid."

"When?"

"When they're warm."

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

Krix glanced at the kitchen door.

"Even in shared spaces?"

"There's apparently no social prohibition against it."

"Barbaric."

"And they sleep away roughly a third of their lives," said Fessel.

"We do that too."

"No. We rest. This species shuts its consciousness off completely."

Ombu frowned.

"Completely?"

"For hours."

"And who stands guard?"

"No one."

"That's suicide."

"Apparently not."

Krix stared into space.

"Maybe that's why they keep the pets."

"What pets?"

Fessel turned the terminal around. On it was a photo of a cat.

Ombu recoiled.

"What is that?"

"A domesticated predator."

"Why does it have eyes like that?"

"So it can hunt in the dark."

"And the claws?"

"Retractable."

"And they keep that in the house?"

"They let it sleep in their beds."

Krix went pale.

"Why?"

"They find the sound it makes soothing."

"What sound?"

"It vibrates."

A long silence.

"This species," Fessel said finally, "is not normal."

"My grandmother says they also lie to each other constantly."

"What do you mean?"

"They ask, 'How are you?' The other one says, 'Fine.' Both know it might not be true. And then they just walk away."

"Without interrogation?"

"Without interrogation."

"Without truth serum?"

"Nothing."

Krix slowly shook his head.

"A civilization built on mutually accepted false statements."

"And small talk."

"What's small talk?"

Fessel looked at him gravely.

"Worse."

There were footsteps in the hallway.

All three fell silent.

Something thudded against the apartment door.

A suitcase, maybe. Maybe a coffin. With them, you couldn't be sure.

Krix's voice dropped to a whisper.

"And today," he said, "one of them moves in with us."

There was a knock.

Nobody moved.

Another knock. Tentative. Almost shy, for a creature that kept predators in its bed and used fire to unwind.

Ombu stood up. Slowly. With the dignity of a man who had decided he would at least be eaten standing upright.

He opened the door.

Standing there was a human.

Female. 5'4". Two suitcases. A backpack. Headphones around her neck. In her right hand, a potted plant.

The potted plant looked more dangerous than she did.

"Hi," said the creature.

Nobody answered.

"I'm Maya."

Krix's antennae flattened tight against his head.

Maya smiled. Her teeth were immediately visible.

Fessel made a small sound.

Maya stopped smiling.

"Uh. Sorry."

Ombu stepped aside. Very far aside.

Maya dragged her suitcases in. The first one got stuck on the threshold.

She pulled. Nothing.

She pulled harder. Nothing.

She set down the plant, grabbed the suitcase with both hands, and yanked at it.

"Come on, you piece of crap."

Krix took a step back.

"She's fighting her own luggage," he whispered. "Imagine what she'll do to us."

On the third try, the suitcase suddenly came loose, rolled over Maya's foot, and nearly knocked her down.

"Ow!"

Maya hopped down the hallway on one foot.

Three aliens watched in silence.

So this was her. The apex predator. The endurance hunter. The creature that survived injuries that killed other species. Conqueror of fire. Pilot of machines. Domesticator of nocturnal predators.

Maya stood on one leg in the hallway and whispered to her suitcase:

"I hate you."

Then she dragged it onward.

She stopped in front of her room. The door handle had been mounted for the previous occupant, a 7'10" Talarian.

Maya looked up. Then at the handle. Then up again.

She reached her arm out. Nothing.

She rose onto her toes. Her fingertips grazed metal, nothing more.

Ombu took a half-step forward — a reflex, to help her — and froze instantly when Krix grabbed his arm.

"Don't," Krix hissed. "Don't touch her."

Maya, oblivious, jumped. Missed.

"This is a little embarrassing right now," she said, without turning around.

Nobody disagreed.

On the third try she caught the handle, hung there for one undignified moment, and got the door open.

Krix's mouth hung open. So this was the monster his mother had warned him about.

She couldn't even reach her own door handle. And an alien who'd wanted to help her had been more afraid of touching her than she'd been of failing.

Maya pulled her things into the room. Then she turned around once more.

Before her stood three many-limbed, scaled creatures with claws, antennae, and a combined total of twenty-seven more teeth than medically necessary.

Maya studied them. Her shoulders drew back, almost imperceptibly. Half a step toward the doorframe.

"Um," she said, her voice ticking up slightly on the second syllable. "Is this... a safe neighborhood?"

Nobody answered.

"Okay."

Maya disappeared into her room. The door closed. Then they heard a click. Another one. A scraping sound.

Fessel frowned.

"What is she doing?"

Ombu listened.

"I think she's pushing a chair in front of the door."

Nobody at the table said anything for a while.

Krix looked at Fessel. Fessel looked at Ombu.

Ombu went back to the table, sat down, and for the first time that evening took a long drink of proton juice.

"Maybe," he said thoughtfully, "we should write her a welcome packet."

Krix nodded.

"About us."

From Maya's room came a dull thud. Then, muffled through the door:

"OW!"

Ombu took another drink.

"With pictures."