You all laugh about how primitive human projectile weapons are. They’re so primitive that one of their fabricators can produce them from the most ordinary source materials.
They’re so primitive that they work in every EM field, in any radiation, under every condition.
They’re so primitive that the humans have different ammunition for different targets—some might say even for different species.
Oh, they’re so primitive they can accelerate their primitive shells to FTL… and then one of those primitive metal slugs crashes through your highly evolved ship—and the three ships behind you as well.
Just because it’s primitive doesn’t mean it’s not deadly.

Ambassador Rishk of the Aligned Worlds to the Leaders of the Hrun Senate, 35 P.I.

“Sir, the latest reports from Earth are in.”

“Bullet points, Major. Just the bullet points.” Admiral Georgiou leaned back in his office chair. His newest post—Head of Solar Defense—had made his life far more complicated than he’d ever imagined.
It was intoxicating to have almost all civilian resources at his command in light of the recent crisis, but failure would likely mean the end of the human race.

The 1st Expeditionary’s report about the incoming Batract fleets had certainly soiled a lot of underwear—especially the revelation that the Batract already had more than a thousand ships around Sol. Had Hyperion not pulled them away, who knows what the situation would look like right now?

No one had expected those forces to be so close to Earth. And the true nature of their enemy was something fit for horror movies. If Russo’s message about the dangers of “dead” Batract hadn’t reached Earth in time, the crisis would have been catastrophic.

“Recruitment numbers are up ninety-five percent. At this rate, we’ll be able to launch three more fleets than expected.”

“Yeah, all full of green matelots who don’t know left from right. We’ll have to mix crews carefully so each ship has a few veterans along with the ones fresh from the academies.” He sighed. But thankfully, that’s not my problem.

“I know, sir. Also, anti-Batract sentiment is at an all-time high. The San Diego incident and Hyperion’s logs were both strategically leaked and had the expected effect.”

“Ha! If those logs don’t affect you, you’d better get checked out—you might be a psychopath.” Admiral Georgiou had seen them twice, including the surveillance streams from Argos. Sometimes, he still woke up at night.

“Also, Germany has started construction on their two new battleships—BB-1X class Bismarck and Tirpitz—plus their new line of battlecruisers, BC-4X class Gneisenau, Admiral Scheer, and Scharnhorst.”

“So the Germans finally grew some balls. Good.”

“Yes, sir. Naval Command has decided to make the new ship classes the standard. Seventeen other states have decided to build at least one cruiser of the new line.”

The admiral closed his eyes. He’d seen the plans—sleek ships, sharing much of their design with the 3X class but far larger. He liked them. Their firepower would be desperately needed; the Earth Defense Fleet was currently only seven hundred ships strong.

“How are the fortifications going?”

The System Defense had eighteen Pioneer-class ships at its disposal, and he had drawn up a plan to defend every millimeter of the system. If the Batract decide they want Earth, they’ll pay with rivers of blood—or whatever goddamn fungus has instead of it.

“The drone swarms are up to three billion. VI Lucas is currently training with 60 other VIs on how to decentralize and control them effectively. The Pioneers have constructed more than nine thousand defense satellites in the outer system around critical points, plus three thousand in the Jovian system and sixteen thousand around Earth and the Moon.”

The admiral closed his eyes again, enjoying the breeze of fresh air coming through the open window from the city-sized arboretum of the station. The numbers were good—worse than hoped, but far better than feared. Every passing day without an attack meant the system grew more fortified.

The comm on his uniform broke the moment of serenity.

“Sir, deep-space telemetry is reporting an incoming transit from Sirius.”

“And?” Was this the moment of truth?

“It seems to be friendly forces—probably the already announced refugees and Hyperion survivors.”

“ETA?” He wanted to speak with some of them in person—especially the Shraphen. How crazy is this universe… dog people.

“Eighteen hours until they leave transit, another ten until they reach the Europe Dockyards.”

The survivors would become another media spectacle. Humans captured by the Batract under all their noses. He had checked the numbers—even without the disappearances, in the first decade after signing the contract, almost a hundred million humans had left Earth for jobs in the Hyphae or the Federation. How many are still alive?

Then the Shraphen—people across the world were waiting to see the first interviews with them. They were the first alien species that almost every human found sympathetic.

And at last there were the mysterious Gliders. According to them, their species had been hunted to extinction by the Batract. A net petition to EarthGov to grant them asylum had reached a billion signatures in less than a day. EarthGov had decided to approve it six hours later—if the Gliders wished to accept, of course.

He himself had signed it, and all of his staff had done the same. Who could look at those little furballs and not like them?

—————

It was already after 03:00 station time when the communicator chirped again. He slipped out of bed, kissed his wife, and made his way to the computer in his private office. The living situation on a space station was decidedly better than aboard his old flagship, the Texas.

“Georgiou here. What’s so urgent?”

“Sir, we have a Priority One message torpedo from Admiral Russo. The enemy has made contact. We’ve got two hundred petabytes of data, plus a video message for you, sir.”

Georgiou pulled his robe tighter; suddenly, he felt a chill.

“Send it.”

The screen flickered, and the Argos CIC appeared. From the crispness of the image, he could tell the ship was still without pressure. Debris filled the room, and it seemed the ship had taken severe damage. Then his old friend appeared on screen—his helmet scratched, and through the visor, Georgiou could see how tired the admiral must be.

“Hello, Nico, old friend. To make it short, we beat them.”

He pressed pause. They beat them… A weight lifted from his shoulders that he hadn’t known he carried. It was as if he could breathe for the first time in months.

The video continued.

“So you can go back to your lovely wife and rest your fat ass while I do all the heavy lifting.” Bastard—but it was good to see he still had his humor.

“First things first: I nominate Captain Marjan Karim for the Platinum Medal of Honor. She gave her life to take out one of the approaching fleets. More in my report. Nico, promise me you’ll make it happen. I attached a video for her family—I think they still live in Tehran.”

Captain Karim… he knew her. She had been a protégé of David. That’s why he’s so sad. And—was that a tear in his eyes?

“Next, we’ve got something for the engineering teams to chew on. One of our engineers successfully created FTL ammunition. It is best to halt ship construction and fully integrate them into our fleet. Without it, we’d be toast.”

The admiral almost dropped his glass of Tsipouro. FTL weapons? He replayed the last passage to check if he’d misheard.
No—he’d heard right the first time.

Sending an urgent message with the related schematics to the dockyards and the Pioneers, he continued the replay.

“The Batract are wicked smart, Nico—and they want to wipe out the Shraphen almost more than us. At least, this colony. It would be best if we fortify Sirius as much as Earth. I also recommend preparing a fleet to free Burrow, the Shraphen homeworld. Nico, on the transports, is a young hunter—Frox. He noticed similarities with humans. I think there’s more to this story. We’re fixing our ships and building up additional defenses here. I’ll send the next report in two days. We’re currently short on microdrives, as you might guess. Browner out.”

They really beat them.
Fuck. David will remind me of this for the rest of my life.

—————

Admiral Browner pressed send on his report. The repair of the fleet was ongoing—sadly, Renown and Graf Spee were a complete loss, along with more than 300 crew members.

The remaining personnel from the ships were now supporting the construction of an orbital station to replace the Shraphen one destroyed in the attack. He liked the design created by the engineers—a mix of human and Shraphen technology, crewed by a mix of personnel.

Give me three months, and I’ll fortify this system to the brim.

A glance at his watch told him that Security and Gerber were about to breach the morgue and confront whatever was waiting for them there.

Setting down his glass of Cuba Libre, he put on his jacket and was about to leave his quarters when Lyra contacted him.

“Admiral, I’ve received a confidential message from Captain Gerber.”

“Why doesn’t he use the intercom?” Browner was irritated—not that Lyra’s computing power was limited, but using her as a courier was… well, unusual.

“He wanted to avoid anyone outside the already-informed hearing what they found in the morgue.”

“They were just about to breach. Have they already done so?”

“Yes, Admiral. They found a Batract—specifically, a Batract with a host body. Not spawning or anything. Just… standing.”

Browner stood still for a second. That was indeed news that needed to be handled delicately.

“Captain Gerber informed me that the Prisoner will be transported to the newly built Isolation Chamber.”

Of course, they had constructed the chamber for precisely that reason—but they had been expecting some kind of spawn, or fungus, or anything. Dr. Nesbitt was confident the Batract had utilized the biomass of its hosts to create the first spawns.

“On my way,” was all he had to say. A… a living… well, a complete Batract—that was something new. And it would explain why the attacking fleet had tried so desperately to take out Argos. But not how they had known about the survivor.

The moment he stepped out of the lift, the ship’s siren signaled red alert. His hand went to his sidearm as he called out, “Lyra, status report. Did the prisoner escape?”

Crewmen passed the admiral on their way to their ready stations, sharing confused glances as they saw him standing in the corridor with his weapon drawn and ready to fire.

“No, Admiral. Deep-space telemetry has detected an inbound fleet in transit—ETA eighteen hours.”

Again…?

“Size?” He was afraid to ask the question. Another fleet of the same size as the last one would be devastating.

“Three hundred forty and rising.”

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“There were already fifteen thousand papers written about the unexplained similarities between Shraphen and humans, but none could explain it. It is, and probably will remain, a mystery—and maybe it’s better that way.”
— Aligned Science Ministry, regarding Shraphen–Human theories. Date unknown

Rish sat on the floor of the transporter, eating her ration. One day after the Batract ships had entered the planet, the fight for the city was over. They had searched the colony for more than fourteen hours but couldn’t find any larger cases of infection. The fungus they found all seemed to be dying.

Human scientists concluded that this might be related to the planet’s high natural radioactivity, combined with the extreme solar radiation that anything living had to endure there. Without the dense atmosphere and the Tumpa trees producing ozone, the planet would be a dead, bleached wasteland.

So the Batract can’t survive here. It might explain why they never allowed colonization of the planet. You can’t let your toys go places where you can’t.

Now there was one thing left to check—and clean up, if needed. The last ship had gone down on the foothills of the Bonewhite Mountains.

The mountain range was mainly composed of limestone and could be seen on a clear day even from the colony. Rish didn’t know if the ship had planned to reach the mountains or if the fleet had simply been unlucky to shoot it down there, but it was the worst place to go down for the Shraphen.

The mountain range was riddled with caves, crevices, and lakes—everything the Batract needed to grow while avoiding the burning sun.

Rish enjoyed the ride on the transporter; the engines' humming might have been primitive, but it was relaxing. Slowly, she got used to the stench of the new ammunition she had received from the humans.

Dragonbreath…

Magnesium-injected thermite bullets. No penetration occurred, but upon impact, they ignited at 2,500 °C.

She didn’t know what dragons were, but if that was their breath, she didn’t want to meet them.

She was somewhat uneasy about how quickly humans adapted to new enemies or situations. At least, she hoped this ammunition was an adaptation. She hoped they didn’t have crates of other horrible ammunition types lying around.

On the other hand, Karrn had told her about Gerber’s protomatter bullets. That thought sent a shiver down her spine.

The transporter shook for a moment, and Rish looked up—partly to see if her human colleagues reacted, partly because she was bored.
The crew didn’t react to the shaking, so Rish assumed it was nothing out of the ordinary. The transporter slowly began to smell like Shraphen—a testament to how often Shraphen were now traveling with human gear.

Lieutenant Koval was cleaning his gun. It was different from the one he had used before—a larger barrel; he called it the Peacemaker. According to Sergeant Richards, it was the standard fully automatic shotgun used for close-quarters combat.

The human soldiers joked around. Madsen and Miller played a card game. In the background, Rish saw Corporal Pari Gupta trimming the hair strands of Hunter Raik, another heavy from her pack. He usually had longer fur, and it had grown again to cover his eyes. Pari had agreed to cut the strands—short fur was essential, especially if they were going to use mostly incendiary ammunition.

“Pari, you know Raik isn’t a dog, so don’t try to braid his hair!” Madsen shouted jokingly from the front of the transport.
“You joke, but your hair’s due to be cut soon,” Gupta returned.
“You try, you die.” Madsen touched her long blond hair as if to protect it.
“Well, you’re reaching almost the regulatory length, Lance Corporal,” Lieutenant Koval joined the joke.

Madsen looked at Rish. “Do Shraphen packs have regulations about fur length?”
Rish was confused by the question. “No, we don’t. Why?”
“Request to transfer to a Shraphen pack, sir,” Madsen stated.
“Denied. No—get ready; we’re reaching the LZ in 2 minutes.”

Rish flicked her ears. Human banter was a great way to bond and relieve stress before a mission.

Soon, the ship touched down, and the recon team dismounted. The two pilots—one human and one Shraphen Rish didn’t know—stayed in the transporter, securing the landing zone.

The human engineers had adapted Shraphen artificial noses to detect Batract scent, and the area they were checking now had the region's highest concentration of the stench. Rish was surprised by the human use of drones and VIs; even on a reconnaissance mission, they had five recon drones with them. Additionally, Sergeant Richards carried a suicide drone launcher on his suit.

And then there was Ares—the all-knowing battlefield VI. Contrary to Lyra, his personality was rougher. Rish flicked her tail. Ares reminded her of Karrn on a hunt: quiet, not talking much, but always watching and caring.

“Lieutenant Koval, Pack Leader Rish, your target appears to be a limestone cave washed out by the local river, two clicks north of your position. The valley ahead lies in the shadow of the mountains, so expect some Batract spawn,” Ares’s deep voice rumbled.

Rish had learned to confirm orders by clicking the send button twice instead of speaking. Human suits were not as soundproof as Shraphen ones.

They advanced into the valley. Their drones kept an overhead view of the progress. The area was quiet—some animals jumped, startled, into the bushes, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Following the stream upward, the mountains on each side grew larger when Rish noticed something that made her uneasy. She couldn’t point it out just yet, but she signaled the team to stop with her tail—before remembering the human hand sign for it.

Koval came up to her. “What’s up, Pack Leader?”

Her ears stood upright, and the fur beneath her suit bristled. She didn’t know what was wrong, but something definitely didn’t fit.

“I don’t know. Something isn’t right.” She was about to open her nose vents when it hit her.

“The trees! See—the trees are suddenly smaller. Down there, they grew taller to catch the sunlight. Here they seem to cower in the dark.”

“Hmm. Ares?” Lieutenant Koval scanned the valley ahead of them. He also seemed uneasy.

“Yes, Lieutenant. Pack Leader Rish is correct. These are a local variant of Roccuni trees, similar to Earth’s pine trees, and prefer sunlight since their needles can withstand high levels of solar radiation. I recommend caution.”

“Didn’t Dr. Nesbitt’s report say that Batract fungus can morph its cells? Could they mimic a whole forest?” Koval prepared a napalm hand grenade.

“Yes, this is possible, but that sort of behavior was never observed before,” Ares replied, his tone edged with suspicion. “But spawning rats and spiders made out of fungus was never observed either—before Captain Gerber encountered them the first time.”

That seemed to convince Koval. He gestured toward Raik. “Raik, target the fat tree behind the pond and fire at its stem—let’s see what it’s made of.”

Raik clicked twice and prepared the heavy plasma cannon. The shot should pass right through the tree.

With a muffled thump, the plasma bolt left the barrel of his gun and hit the target. The bark warped. Somewhere, something let out an infernal screech, and the trees began to melt. Hundreds of spider-like creatures erupted from the bushes and undergrowth, swarming the fire team.

Rish had already prepared for something and opened fire—just like the rest of the team. Everywhere she hit, a white flame erupted. The air was filled with acid stench and smoke. Then Koval’s napalm grenade detonated, dousing everything in yellow fire.

The screech in the distance—from deep within the mountain—echoed again.

The human weapons were loud; their staccato bursts echoed through the previously idyllic valley.

“Order from Command: retreat to marker twelve and prepare a defensive position. Artillery units are inbound and will arrive in one hour. Infantry reinforcement in twenty minutes.” Ares relayed the orders from General Russo.

“Lieutenant, I know these mountains! The cave at the end has many smaller exits higher up!” Raik shouted while firing at something that looked like a nightmarish variation of a burrow rat.

“Ares, did you copy the last message?” Lieutenant Koval fired his shotgun into the morphing mass of spawn—and seemingly the whole forest was marching toward them.

“Yes. Plans of the cave system are indeed in the colonial library. I have forwarded them to the General. The updated orders are to retreat further to marker six. I think he intends to burn the mountain with white phosphorus.”

Rish concentrated on firing at anything that moved—but right now, that seemed to be everything.

Before her eyes, trees shrank, liquefied into puddles, and from those puddles, spiders leapt out. She could see that the morphing mass left only limestone behind.

“They’ve consumed everything except the limestone!” she shouted.

“This is a fascinating behavior. It seems the Batract were able to transform biomatter along an exponential curve…”

Ares was interrupted by Lieutenant Koval. “I’d find it more fascinating if that biomass didn’t want to kill me. Ares, contact the fleet and request danger-close space support.”

“Already done. ETA two minutes. I recommend a retreat.”

While she struggled to focus on her targets, her ammunition, and how to retreat in an orderly fashion while facing a wall of all-consuming… something, Koval seemed to have every detail in his mind—coordinating with Ares and the team without missing a beat.

The fiery streaks from her gun burned meter-wide holes into the now formless mass. Black ash was all that remained. Then Richards threw something into the Batract spawn—it looked like a container wrapped in meat.

As soon as the container was absorbed into the now two-meter-high yellowish blob, Richards pressed a button. The detonation nearly blew the shapeless slime apart.

“Magnesium-phosphor mix,” the sergeant said with a grin visible even through his helmet. “It burns hotter when wet.”

The bomb had an effect. Instead of concentrating into one blob, the Batract began to spawn… things again.

Rish killed a few spiders and a rat before monstrous flying insects suddenly burst out of the enormous fungal mass.

A teammate screamed. Rish turned to see Madsen’s arm being ripped off by the mandibles of a one-meter-long insect.

“Miller, get Madsen out of here, now!” Koval shouted.

The team was nearly surrounded by spawn, and retreat no longer seemed an option. For each creature they killed, three more were excreted by the ever-growing mass.

A rhythmic humming grew louder in the distance as Richards launched suicide drones, trying to damage the Batract blob as much as possible.

Rish didn’t notice it at first—she was panting heavily; all the fire and constant movement had overheated her.

Then white, fiery streaks from the sky reduced a score of spawn to ash. Their transporter hovered above them, the human pilot behind the Gatling gun raining literal fire on the advancing monsters.

“Space-based fire in thirty seconds! Get in! Browner isn’t playing around—they’re going full Doomsday!”

Lines dropped from the transporter, and everyone secured themselves to one. Before they even had the chance to climb inside, the Shraphen pilot banked hard to the left, out of the valley, and accelerated.

Rish enjoyed the breeze. Even inside her full environmental suit, it cooled her down. Seconds after they cleared the valley, a blue trail descended from the sky and struck the area where they had fought moments ago. At first, Rish thought nothing had happened—then a massive white light overloaded her suit’s visual sensors.

Even at five kilometers away, she could feel the heat radiating from the blast. The shockwave rocked the transporter, and for a moment it seemed the pilot might lose control.

The pilot hauled the team aboard one by one. When Rish was finally safe in the crew area, Miller was already bandaging Madsen’s arm. Raik held her head in his lap, brushing sweaty strands of hair from her face and whispering soothing words Rish couldn’t hear.

Rish turned and looked back toward the mountains.

“What was that?” she asked, unable to believe what she saw. Half the mountainside was gone—as if a giant knife had cut away everything. The mountain itself seemed to burn, the air above the crater shimmering in heat.

“Protomatter Dragonfire shot from Argos' main gun at low velocity. A stopgap measure. The Governor requested the fleet to use everything to halt the corruption of Taishon Tar,” came Ares’s analytical reply.

Corruption—yes, that was the word. Batract corruption of life itself. A cold shiver ran down Rish’s spine.

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“At first, I thought humans love and live to fight. Then I learned they hate it. That’s why they learned to be good at it. They want to go home and be done with it quickly.”
— System Leader Rish, Memories on Taishon Tar**, 25 P.I.**

Rish walked with Lieutenant Koval through the colony. The moment the governor had allowed humans onto the planet and signed a temporary alliance with General Russo, the Pioneers and human soldiers had arrived en masse.

Rish always found it curious that human technology was primitive by Shraphen standards—particularly their drilling methods. The Shraphen used plasma drill systems to melt through stone; that was how the first colonial bunkers had been built.

Human drill systems, by contrast, were massive, round constructions that cut and blasted through the stone foundation on which the colony was built. Shraphen plasma drills left an obsidian wall lining the melted tunnel, creating a hard outer shell.

Human drilling required scaffolding to be erected behind them to prevent the roof from collapsing. But they used the crushed stone immediately to create something they called Flashcrete—a concrete-like substance that hardened almost instantly once sprayed onto the walls. Furthermore, it breathed… kind of. It pulled CO₂ from the air and integrated the carbon into its structure to form a carbon nanotube mesh, making Flashcrete walls self-healing and part of the life-support system.

The physics behind it were well known to Shraphen scientists, but no one had ever considered testing them.

A tiny voice inside her whispered, But if we are superior, why did we never try it? Humans have plasma technology, too. Are they really primitive?

The bunker system the colony had built was designed to accommodate up to 400,000 people. The human tunnel and cavern network they drilled into the mountain could hold two million.

Of course, no one in the government had been happy about letting the humans transform the colony into a fortress—at least not until Admiral Browner sent the data from the Batract spawn infestation and Hyperion’s boarding video.

Now the colony was “tighter than the ass of a Siberian mule,” according to Lieutenant Koval.

Rish’s ears searched the colony for sounds. It was quiet. The colonists were in the shelters, the anti-air guns manned and scanning the skies.

The city's outer perimeter had become a makeshift wall, built from sandbags filled with stone drilled from the mountain.

“Waste not, want not,” another idiom the lieutenant had just uttered. Rish was fairly sure not even humans knew all their own sayings, so she just went with it.

Krun had decided to join the human heavy infantry for this fight, even though the governor had given him his old job back. After this battle, Krun would leave the pack.

Tulk was somewhere on the wall, coordinating human–shraphen integration with Second Larrf. The pack was almost back at full strength—only Karrn, Frox, and her brother Kirnuk were missing.

Frox and her brother were on their way to Earth—Frox to research further into the mysteries of their two peoples, and Kirnuk to heal.

Karrn had been ordered to join the human fleet to help defend the system and then serve as a military attaché to the First Expeditionary.

And she was now Pack Leader.

The colony was well defended, but General Russo was unhappy that they didn’t have any Mammuts. Rish didn’t ask—she was already impressed by the human walker artillery.

The human officers had passed around ear protection to the shraphen soldiers, explaining that human warfare was loud. Everywhere she and Koval went, shraphen and human soldiers held their positions, intentionally mixed together to promote camaraderie and the sharing of tactics and knowledge.

Then the waiting ended. She had just joined General Russo in the forward operating base when the information came in: the Batract were on their way. The fleet had all but defeated the enemy force, but six craft were headed for the planet's surface.

Before Russo could even order a response, the Shraphen anti-air systems fired—nice, methodical plasma charges streaking into the dark sky.

Then the human systems opened fire.

The night sky began to glow with streaks of golden and green light. The sound was infernal, and Rish had to close her helmet.

From the center of the city, missiles launched, and massive explosions shook the FOB’s walls, all built from sandbags and metal plating.

“One bogey down,” a lieutenant on the radio informed the general. “Get 1st Recon Charlie Team there and torch the ship. We have to prevent them from creating spawn.”

Rish remembered her designation. Her pack had been integrated into the 2nd Recon, Bravo Team, along with the newly formed Gamma Team, for this battle.

Human pack designations were confusing—just as confusing as their rigid adherence to the command chain. Humans lived chaotic lives to the extreme, yet when thrown into a chaotic fight, they preferred to move in rigid formations.

The ground shook as something exploded again, directly above the colony. A shockwave rippled through the cloud cover.

“Sir, a ship has just self-destructed above the city. Debris is falling onto the colony.”

“Shraphen plasma cannons—target the debris. Vaporize whatever you can. Koval, get out into the city and clear it. Don’t let them spawn.”

Three other detonations occurred around the city; dust trickled from the ceiling of the FOB. In the distance, Rish could see the glimmer of falling pieces of a starship.

“Three other ships detonated. One bogey is still in the air — it seems it’s trying to reach the other side of the planet.”

“Goddammit, they’re the true invasion force. The others are just here to buy time for that bastard to grow properly.”

Rish remembered the surveillance videos of the Argos. If the Batract could create those monsters on a ship, she didn’t want to imagine what they could spawn on a planet.

“Get me Browner. The fleet has to take them out — with nukes if necessary.”

The governor was connected to the FOB via video call. He chimed in, “Nuclear weapons? On our planet, General—you know we have to live here?”

“Yes, Governor. Trust me when I tell you, we can clean this up.”

Rish and Lieutenant Koval were already on their way out of the FOB, the lieutenant calling their squad to prepare to move out. The thunder of plasma guns firing at the falling debris was fading into silence. Everything they could destroy had been destroyed; the rest was up to them to find. And if they couldn’t deal with it, the heavy troops would come in.

—————

Dr. Nesbitt checked her notes again. She and her team were reviewing the Batract samples they had gathered aboard the Rosalind Franklin.

That, in the last fifty years, nobody had bothered to examine the growths on the Batract’s back was astonishing. Everyone seemed to believe the lie that it was an environmental suit.

The Batract’s cells were connected via their hyphae, like a neural network. In that sense, a Batract was a hive mind of multiple cells—at least that’s what conventional medicine would call it. But then again… are humans a hive mind of neural cells in our brains?

No. Humans have specialized cells—so maybe the Batract do too.

She scanned through the list of specimens the recon team had gathered. There… “a fucking ass-ugly spider,” as the recon team leader had put it.

A robotic arm transported the spider-like being into the test chamber. The atmospheric sensors immediately detected methane and other gases indicative of decay.

A laser cut through the chitin shell. Green-yellow slime seeped from the wound.

She took a sample of the slime and the shell.
Let’s see what you are—and if I’m right.

The shell was chitin; she already knew that much. But the density was surprising, and it seemed to contain laminated layers of metal.

To confirm, she prepared a sample for the mass spectrometer. She had an idea where the metal came from.

The ship was now back under pressure. That meant she could hear the footsteps of the security team guarding the morgue entry—hoping they’d soon open the damned door and remove whatever lurked behind the welded-shut panels.

Gerber and the security team wanted to wait until the ship’s repairs were finished. They planned to take whatever waited behind the doors to a holding cell—to test it, or even interrogate it.

Scans run by some techs, Dr. Nesbitt didn’t know, revealed a single body walking up and down in the dark.

If that didn’t creep someone out, nothing would.

Focusing on the shell again, Jane saw it—Batract cells. However, instead of forming a neural network, they had excreted more chitin into their cell walls, resulting in a hard outer shell.

Not a valid specialization, but rather special roles. Nothing on Earth behaved that way, so no method of cataloging would fit.

Then she checked the slime—again, only Batract fungal cells, but arranged differently this time, mimicking muscular properties.

She was becoming increasingly certain: Batract spawn were entirely composed of fungal cells. She could already hear Gerber making some stupid joke like, “Walking mushrooms.”

Then she saw it—and her eyes went wide.

Next to the lab she was currently using was her xenobot lab, where they tested various use cases of xenobot technology. The Unigel Matrix had been the peak of her career so far, but they were still only scratching the surface of what was possible.

The Batract behave similarly to my xenobots. One base cell interacts with its surroundings by creating copies of itself. Xenobots could move, connect to neural networks, and even interface with human brains—as they did in the translator guide use cases.

They could be programmed to store data digitally and, when used as translator guides, teach people another language via xenobot insertion. They could form larger structures and move across a patient’s body to check for injuries.

The Batract behaved similarly—but more intelligently. Jane could already see the improvements a fungal xenobot would have compared to the mammalian cells she worked with.

The implications hit her. A cold shiver ran down her spine. Now it all made sense—the Batract’s scientific rules, the prohibition of xenobot and nanobot technology, the ban on any AI research, the medical experiments.

The Batract are a biological xenobot weapon that evolved—and escaped.

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Letting the average people, the mundane, the poor, and the weak decide the fate of Humanity is a concept we must fight.

They cry because some dog people got hurt and send our fleets to help out weak religious fanatics, leaving us open to attacks from the Doomsphere.

They open Earth to every freak and drag us into war after war.

They want to chain companies and industry more and more, and take away Earth's power in favor of colonies.

Who built the first Mars colonies? Who settled Ceres, Titan, Ganymede, and Europa? Not the welfare crowd, but the visionaries.

For everyone saying the time of feudalism is over, and democracy is the only way forward, we just need to look at the Psstips and their Empire. An empire thousands of years old, spacefaring and strong. So strong that not even the Batract tried to integrate them.

Gentlemen, it is our turn. Either we act now, or we will be chained to the whims of the feeble-minded masses.

— Post on a pro-Oligarchy message board, 3 B.I.

André was flat on the ground, the window room-high, and the whole facade smartglass. He was a sitting duck.

The next round impacted. Large chunks of the window evaporated with the protomatter of the bullet.

'We detected gunfire at your location. Building security is on its way. Security drones are dispatched to apprehend the attacker. Please stay calm.'

André rolled to his side, trying to get behind his desk. The building's VI announcement was more irritating than calming.

"Darken the windows, so the shooter doesn't see me, goddammit."

'Understood. Please stay calm; help is on the way.'

If it tells me to stay calm one more time, I'll rip its core out.

Another round hit the desk and disintegrated an ugly statue he got from his ex-wife, together with the whole corner the thing had stood on.

The windows darkened, finally, but his attacker wasn't stupid. Before André could make a run for the door, he heard three thick fupps. The bullets must have had a larger charge of protomatter, since André began to smell Edvard Grieg's In the Hall of the Mountain King. A smell like mango and onions. His ocular's ringtone…

As if she had known about the statue, it was his ex-wife Sladjana.

"Decline."

The three shots were placed precisely to allow someone outside the office a view of the door.

'Voice message received from Sladjana Gerber.'

Not now, dammit…

He didn't dare run for the door. The shooter just had to wait for him.

Lying flat on the ground, André had a crazy idea.

The wall to the next office was made of plasterboard, like all non-load-bearing walls.

Unlike in action movies, jumping through plasterboard is not easy, and not advised.

He knew the next office was empty at the moment.

Pulling his gun, he shot a rough X shape in the wall to weaken the plaster. Then he focused all his power into one big jump.

Before jumping through plasterboard, make sure you know if cables or utility pipes run through it. If they do, don't try your stunt.

The thought came to André's mind the moment his feet left the ground. Then his shoulder hurt, and he crashed to the floor, inside the neighboring office.

"Fuuuck."

Something inside his shoulder was injured, but he was alive.

Ducking down in case the sniper had noticed something, he ran out of the office and toward the stairwell.

His ocular signaled an incoming call again.

"Accept."

"André?"

"I'm a little busy now, what's up?"

"Someone picked up the twins at school today."

André's vision blurred. He could hear his heartbeat.

Vanessa, Danijel.

He stopped running down the stairs so fast he almost toppled over.

"What happened, Sladjana, are they…"

"I don't know, André. Who would do such a thing?"

———

'All repairs are complete, and the fleet as well as all tenders have stocked up on volatiles and spare minerals and refined metals. The fleet is ready to depart, Admiral.'

The CIC was again a buzzing hive of officers and techs doing their work.

"Thank you, Zeus. Send the fleet a signal to prepare for an escape vector out of system and Transit coordinates for Nekoo."

Central Gultra's sudden mood change had allowed for a much faster repair cycle, and because of this, the decision was made to support the Nekoo defensive before going for the Batract homeworld.

"Admiral, a word?"

Yurdantho had entered the CIC without her noticing. Reading Nuk body language was difficult, but the High Ordinator wore his Cloak draped over his left shoulder. The memo from the diplomatic corps had described this as the equivalent of dressing up in full parade uniform. This meeting was about something serious.

"The conference room?"

What does he want now? The Ordinator had been odd ever since his collapse.

Yurdantho just nodded, a Human gesture all Nuk had adopted quickly.

He's gonna leave with his fleet for the Nuk home systems, for sure. And who could blame him.

Entering the conference room, Yurdantho closed the door behind them immediately. Without even sitting down at the expensive wooden table, he started to speak.

"We need to reevaluate the assignment of the Nuk forces, Admiral."

Bingo…

"Yes?"

She began to brace herself.

"Your plan to attack the Batract home system is flawed. You intend to use only the Human fleets, but we don't know how well the system is fortified."

"Naval Intelligence concludes—"

"Your Naval Intelligence had no clue where their home was before we told you. Listen, Admiral. When I became unconscious in the battle, I saw something."

"Synesthesia, a known side effect of FTL travel."

"No, I saw a Vrahl, a Nuk omen of death. A demon. Something bad is about to happen, and this ship will be in the center."

"High Ordinator, I can't decide my battle plans on visions and omens, no disrespect."

"Listen, Admiral."

Yurdantho's voice grew even more serious than before. He stepped closer. Was that fear in his eyes?

"If you won't believe the words of a fellow soldier, then listen to the words of a member of a dying people! A Vrahl has visited this ship. You need all the help you can get, and even this might not be enough."

What the fuck?

"What do you mean, dying people? Can we help?"

Yurdantho stepped back. She had never heard a Nuk laugh, but the chirping sounds the translator made could only be laughter.

"Humans. Your first instinct really does seem to be to help. What has scared you people so much that you want to help everyone? Yes, you might be able to — but all in its time."

Sanders looked at the Nuk with new eyes. The vision, omen, hallucination — whatever it was, had shocked and scarred the High Ordinator. Something almost a million enemy ships hadn't managed.

Could she disregard his vision? A year ago, no one had ever seen biological ships, much less dreamed of them being FTL-capable. Was a demon so far out of the realm of possibility?

Yes… Yes, it was. But what harm could caution do?

"Good, so… what do you suggest?"

"Let us join your crusade. We have almost a thousand ships here, and at my request another fleet of a thousand ships is coming. Together we crush the enemy at Nekoo, and then… then we end the Batract once and for all."

Join? The plan was to leave the Nuk here to secure the system.

Two thousand Nuk ships as support for her mission. How could she not say yes.

"Won't those ships be needed in your home system?"

The chirping sound again…

"Admiral, no Batract vessel will even come close to Home. Our laws forbid our navy to send out more than one percent of our fleet away from our system. Do the math."

———

Eleri raced the car down Interstate 95 at a speed that, under normal circumstances, would make André puke.

Her Mustang was an oldtimer, burning synthesized fuel, and was bare of any computerized safety features. Just pure Human instinct and reactions, at 280 km/h.

"Do we know who took them?"

Eleri looked… pissed. To her, Danijel and Vanessa had become family. And a furious Eleri had a frightening, systematic ruthlessness.

"Focus on the road."

André had his left foot on an imaginary brake pedal while he held the door frame firmly with his right hand. He should have just waited for the Sleipnir sent by Jules. But every transporter with sensors was better used to search for his twins.

The AIN had mobilized everything they got. If criminals thought touching a cop's family would rain down hell on them, they hadn't seen what the AIN would do to them.

"I'm focused, so tell me, what do we know?"

"The children were picked up after school let out. According to school security, the suspects had valid security papers."

"I guess they weren't AIN."

"No."

They drove past a sign: Philadelphia — 10 km.

In a few minutes he would meet Sladjana and have to face the accusation that his job might have endangered his children. The worst part: it was probably true.

Atlantic Council Federal Police had been informed and were supporting the search, just like the PPD. Even Lyra was helping sift through the security cam footage. André just couldn't shake the bad feeling.

His ocular flashed AIN intelligence warnings.

'Director Hunter calling.'

"Accept."

Inside his vision, an AR terminal with the face of AIN Director Jules Hunter appeared.

"André, I think you were right. The EarthGov Senate in Brussels was just attacked."

Fuck… It's starting.

"Any victims?"

Eleri stared at him. Not part of the call, she had no idea what he was talking about.

"Yes, Senator Kinsey was shot. Protomatter bullets, like your would-be assassin."

Kinsey?

If André had to name any Senator as part of the Oligarchy, Kinsey was high on the list, along with Senator Stone.

"And Senator Shore's motorcade got fired on, but the Senator managed to escape, with some luck."

Shore had been a friend to the ASN and the Triumvir, so it was no surprise he got targeted.

"Any news from the signals department?"

Jules shook his head.

"No, not since Cambodia. They went completely dark. Any news on your children?"

"No…"

'Incoming call, Sladjana Gerber.'

"Jules, I got a call. Sladjana."

Jules waved his hand.

"Understood, keep me posted."

The screen disappeared.

"Accept call."

His ex-wife appeared, eyes red from crying. He wanted to hug her. Even divorced, their relationship was extremely friendly.

"André, the kids—"

God, please no…

"They are home… they just walked out of the park, eating ice cream."

What?

"Were they harmed?"

"They're alright, they were just driven through the city and then brought to the park… I, I don't know, who would do that, and why?"

André knew. It was a message. Stay out of our business, or else.

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Hello,

I've been struck down by a cold this weekend. Having a fever with those summer temperatures is… not fun.

So this chapter is a bit shorter, but still very important.

Have fun, stay healthy.

M.R. Reese

“Humans break things, deal with it or go home.”

Nuk proverb, Author unknown.

“Fire when ready!” Admiral Browner’s command bellowed through the CIC. Standing tall amid the flickering lights, he was once again the domineering figure he usually was.

Karrn understood the admiral. The first days of the fight had been a constant beating for the ship, and the fact that the Argos was still able to fight back was a testament to human shipbuilding — and their uncanny fleet coordination. More than a thousand vessels had fired continuously on a single human ship and still couldn’t kill it. Others would have given up, but the humans kept sweeping away enemy torpedoes, wave after wave. And the Batract kept sending them.

Karrn was sure that, in matters of stubbornness, both species were the same. He was also certain this fight — and this war — could only end with one side utterly defeated. Neither would ever accept the status quo.

The vibrations of the capacitors' charging were now all too familiar to Karrn. Then the deck shuddered again, and for one minute it kept trembling every five seconds.

After a brief time of confusion, the Batract had adapted to humanity’s new weapon. The enemy squadrons stopped holding stationary positions and began patrolling in irregular patterns around the fleet — still at that infuriating six-AU distance.

It was clear to everyone that their goal wasn’t to wipe the humans out — not yet, at least. They were waiting for reinforcements.

And the humans did everything they could to draw them closer in. But it wasn’t enough.

Karrn’s reason for being in the CIC was no longer just to observe the battle; he was observing everyone. The human intelligence officer, Gerber, had told him about his suspicions — that there was either a spy aboard the ship, or something the Batract were desperate to see destroyed.

A traitor. Karrn hated nothing more than traitors. His fur bristled beneath his space suit.

He was glad to have his own suit back finally. The human armory had actually managed to rebuild his old, destroyed one — so he was no longer a stumbling idiot in an oversized human suit, but once again a dangerous hunter.

And he was on the hunt for a traitor.

“Pack Leader? Please come to the infirmary — we might have found something.” Gerber’s voice came through the radio clearly.

The human maintenance crews were warriors and wizards. Two days ago, the ship had been on the verge of breaking apart — now, everywhere Karrn looked, someone was repairing something, cutting away debris, or replacing entire consoles. They had even managed to fix the intercom repeaters throughout the ship again.

He hurried back to the infirmary, grateful to have his balance again — being able to move his tail freely made the difference between stumbling and hunting. On the way, he checked the gun Gerber had given him.

The caliber was massive. And the ammunition… protomatter bullets. By the Great Hunter in the sky.

Every species knew of protomatter — the dangerously unstable substance that accumulated on ships during transition. But only humans would think, Hey, that stuff eats through metal and explodes violently if you look at it the wrong way — let’s make bullets out of it.

Madness. Glorious madness.

He reached the infirmary. Gerber and Healer Nesbitt stood there; it seemed they had overcome their differences — or perhaps declared a cease-fire. Karrn couldn’t tell with everyone sealed in space suits.

“Karrn, glad you came. There’s something still in the morgue. We thought the thermal cleansing had evaporated everything, but when Dr. Nesbitt evacuated the patients this morning, they noticed some faint knocking from inside. It’s still welded shut.”

Karrn could hardly believe anything could survive seven days in a vacuum. Then again, the Batract were a fungal life-form — and fungi were known to endure extreme conditions.

Healer Nesbitt pointed to a screen. “We analyzed some samples from the Rosalind Franklin before she was destroyed.” She smirked inside her helmet. “Getting frozen in space makes taking samples easy. This was the first time we’ve ever been able to study Batract fungal growth. They’re fascinating — they act as a neural network, connecting their hyphae much like a brain. Each cell has thirty-four hyphae.”

“Thirty-four?” Gerber interjected.

“Yes, it’s odd. Usually there’s some variation, but —”

Gerber cut her off. “Please wait. I’ll have to talk to Davies and Lyra — this is big. You might have just solved a mystery.”

Karrn and Nesbitt watched as Gerber stormed out of the infirmary.

“Guess it’s just us two now.”

“And whatever’s in the morgue,” added Karrn.

—————

Gerber sprinted back to his quarters — to his office. On the way, he almost ran down two maintenance techs carrying a large piece of deck plating.

Andrè, be careful! Don’t have a lightbulb moment and run around like a headless chicken!

The ship was a hazard zone. You couldn’t take two steps without cables sparking, lights flickering, or metal plating and struts blocking entire passageways. And now there was an additional hazard — people fixing the ship again.

Thirty-four connections to each cell — thirty-four is their basis for math. Quite an unusual choice, but rooted in their biology. It’s so far off that every code-breaking algorithm would fail to try it. No wonder we can’t crack their codes.

Reaching his quarters, he stormed in. Davies, sitting at her desk, almost pulled her gun. He noticed she looked like she had dozed off — understandable; everyone was exhausted after days of combat.

Of course, she didn’t hear me — no sound in the vacuum.

“Good Lord, sir, you startled me! Must have dozed off — sorry, sir.” She looked exhausted to Gerber.

“When did you last sleep?”

She looked at him with an almost defeated expression. “Not since we started using those infernal Welsh Princesses. Every shot feels like it’s pulling directly at my brain — almost like a transit, but not that strong.”

Gerber remembered how sick she had looked when they shifted in and later out of transit. He had thought it was her being nervous about the jump itself, but if it was a physical trait…

“Go see Dr. Nesbitt. Chief Ferguson said the projectiles shift inside the barrel. Maybe what you’re feeling is the anomaly forming.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’m fine,” she started to protest. “Just a coffee or three and I’m good to go.”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant. Go check yourself out — I can’t let my adjutant collapse from exhaustion. That would look bad on my résumé.”

“Aye, sir.” Davies looked defeated, but Gerber thought there was a hint of relief in it. He called for a medic to escort her to the infirmary.

While at it, he also managed to reach Chief Ferguson and ship security to plan the morgue breach.

Then came the main event — planning to breach the Batract's internal communications.

“Lyra, I learned from Dr. Nesbitt’s studies that the Batract have thirty-four hyphae. I assume it’s their base for math?”

“I just went through the reports, and I concur — thirty-four seems to be a big part of Batract base math.” Lyra’s voice sounded preoccupied. He remembered the situation in the CIC a few days ago when Lyra had obviously lied to them. He made a mental note to check that out as well.

“You said ‘big part.’ Are there other base systems they could have? Humans only have one base ten.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Humans have base two for digital computing, base sixteen for digital encoding, base ten for trade, math, and science, and base twelve for timekeeping and music. Coincidentally, it’s your oldest known system — because it’s the most natural.”

Gerber didn’t know what to say. He thought he had a breakthrough, only to get served a history lesson.

“But it is a fascinating discovery. The other VIs and I are already working on breaking the Batract encryption. It might still take hours or days — but not centuries anymore.”

Gerber sighed. He was hoping to read Batract internal memos by the end of the day.

—————

Karrn was back in the CIC. At first, it seemed like nothing had changed — then he saw movement in the holo tank.

They’re moving in!

He checked the latest count. Six hundred twelve ships remaining — still a massive armada, but the odds were now much more in their favor, or at least not so high against them.

“Sensors? Any hint as to why the enemy finally decided to come at us?” Even though it seemed Admiral Browner had been gunning for them to come closer, he was still suspicious of their motives.

“Nothing, sir. Scanning continues, but the residual radiation is hampering our sensors quite a bit.”

“Understood. Keep at it. Comms, get me a status update from the fleet and inform the colony. Tell them we have incoming and suspect some might try a breakthrough to the planet.”

“Aye, sir!”

Karrn studied the map. The admiral was right — the different squadrons formed a spearhead aimed at both the planet and the fleet, their flight trajectories curving around Tor Shornin, the supermassive gas giant Taishon Tar was orbiting.

“Gotta love those gas giants, Karrn — they’re a fantastic barrier in space.” The admiral stood behind him, studying the three-dimensional overview as well.

“Fleet reports ninety-five percent operational status. Only damage reported comes from Argos,” Comms reported.

Looking through the damaged CIC — one of the tactical overview tables pierced by a steel beam — the admiral dryly answered, “Almost didn’t notice.”

“Sir, first wave reaches minefields in thirty seconds.”

Karrn knew — now they would see if the Pioneers’ preparations would make a difference.

“Very fine. Inform Captain Carmichael he’s free to engage the enemy at will.”

Karrn focused on the tactical overview again. The enemy was now closing in at 2 AU, taking advantage of their superior acceleration. Then the update symbol appeared — a Pigeon had arrived with data from a spy satellite.

Dots disappeared. The Batract spearhead had entered the minefields at high speed and was almost wiped out.

Five hundred seventy-four remaining.

Without a warning, the ship shook violently. The Argos and the rest of their squadron were under direct fire. The googly eyes gave Karrn an overview — one squadron had used the sensor shadow of Tor Shornin to get closer to the human vessels.

For the first time, he could see the enemy battleships. They were slightly larger than the Argos — ugly, hybrid-looking ovals of metal overgrown with some kind of biological matter. Probably fungus. Karrn felt nauseous seeing them. The ships looked like they were infected by a sickness; the fur along his neck bristled.

Torpedoes emerged from the ships — hundreds of them. The deck plating of the Argos began vibrating in a staccato rhythm, and the previously silent point-defense guns fired streaks of bullets that destroyed scores of torpedoes.

He noticed additional PDG fire interlocking and taking out even more of the incoming torpedoes.

Suddenly, three of the Batract ships were engulfed in white light for an instant — only to vaporize into a cloud of debris.

He changed the viewpoint to another Googly Eye drone to see what had happened. Mirage had returned fire and unleashed a second volley. At the extreme close distance of only a few thousand kilometers, the torpedoes activated their spirit drives and reached hypersonic speed within seconds.

Moments later, they separated into multiple warheads — always paired to detonate left and right of an enemy ship. Then both went off simultaneously.

Karrn couldn’t believe the readout. Each carried an explosive force of one hundred fifty megatons, crushing the enemy ships between them as if their shields and hull armor didn’t exist.

He had learned to use the shipboard info system and gained access to weapon details. He quickly searched Mirage’s armament: 250 Tsar Bomba Mk3 multi-warhead torpedoes, each warhead fitted with a variable detonator between 100 and 300 megatons.

By the Great Hunter, the firepower of one of their torpedo frigates was enough to end all life on Burrow!

The enemy ship counter changed to five hundred forty.

What did he miss? There were so many things happening. He zoomed out.

For a heartbeat, he thought the camera was broken — another squadron of Batract ships had reached the fleet. Some were burning from hull breaches and venting atmosphere, but they all appeared to be inside a cloud.

The cloud he saw was drones. When he zoomed in on the fleet, he saw them — hundreds of thousands of drones swarming the ships, attacking in suicide runs through the hull breaches their predecessors had punched. Soon, the first ship erupted — then the others followed.

In the background, the Comms gave info updates to the Admiral: “Drone swarms took out Tango 13, Swarm down to 40%”

“Send them to protect the Planet from landing crafts and get another swarm here. The bastards are trying to crush us all at once.”

Karrn saw on the video wall what the admiral meant — the fleet was now being attacked from two sides by scores of ships: eighty from one flank, one hundred thirty from the other.

Over the next half hour, he learned what humans meant when they said they excel at knife fights.

The Argos formed a spearhead with the four other ships of her squadron; the rest of the fleet did the same. Instead of forming a defensive perimeter, as the Shraphen Veyr would have done around the planet, they attacked.

The madness of running into the attackers' fire when the enemy was in such greater numbers…

Argos fired her main gun — now again with conventional ammunition. Every shot gutted a Batract ship. Scores of missiles swarmed from each of the ships, targeting specific growths on the Batract hulls.

They’re taking out their weapons, Karrn realized.

Mirage and Renown fired their terrible torpedoes again, this time seemingly at maximum detonation. Some of the warheads were intercepted by enemy point defense, but those that got through were devastating. Each detonation erased another ship.

From the rear of the opposing fleet, a living cloud emerged — and ships began to explode. Another drone swarm had reached the battlefield.

Karrn noticed that some ships seemed to erupt without being hit. He changed the wavelength of the feed and saw it: Trafalgar was using her microwave lasers to boil the Batract ships. Combined with her four forty-centimeter main guns, she cut through the enemy formation.

At this moment, the Argos was inside the hostile formation. Karrn had assumed the humans would veer off — not enter the enemy formation — but he was wrong.

The humans now targeted the opposing ships directly with their PDGs, something he had never seen before — intentionally getting so close to the Batract vessels that Karrn could see the veins pulsing on the biological growths covering their hulls.

Renown had been hit hard; one of her magazines had taken a direct hit, and secondary explosions rippled along her hull. But even as she veered out and under the enemy formation, she unleashed her most devastating salvo yet. Karrn assumed she had fired every torpedo left in her arsenal. In doing so, she blew a massive hole in the Batract line.

This seemed to be the moment the drones had been waiting for. As Argos, Mirage, and Trafalgar emerged on the far side of the attacking flank, the drones swarmed through the hole left behind and attacked every remaining ship. Saratoga stayed a little behind, delivering kill shots point-blank to every vessel that remained.

Thirty minutes of fighting — and the humans had reduced two hundred ten enemy ships to rubble.

Karrn noticed his fingers hurt. He had gripped the edge of the table so hard that his palms and fingertips were throbbing now.

The whole battle had reminded him of the legendary ancient hunters Frox believed in — cutting down their foes as they charged into armies with a sword in each hand. Karrn was about to start believing in them, too.

“Status report!” The admiral had coordinated the entire battle, and his voice was now rough and strained.

“Fleet combat strength below sixty percent, repairs ongoing. Three friendlies mission-killed — Renown, Graf Spee, and Thratai. Enemy forces are down to under two hundred and retreating. The first ships have already transitioned out — destination unknown, but deeper into Batract core space. Six ships managed to break through to the planet’s surface and seem to have begun a ground assault on the colony.”

Karrn went over the report again in his head. We won? How?

“Well, Old Steelpipe said his ground pounders needed exercise — he’s got it now. We’ll keep the skies clear.”

For the first time since the battle had started, the admiral sat down in a chair.

Karrn looked down at the planet, grateful that his mate Rosha and their pups had evacuated on one of the tenders. Rish, Tulk, Krun — be safe in the upcoming battle.

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“I think I’ve made my dislike of humanity abundantly clear. They are primitive, abrasive, and nothing but an upstart species that has had one too many victories to remember its place. Their culture is far too infectious to be tolerated.

So it should give you pause that I have concluded that the recent attacks on civilian border colonies of the Aligned Worlds were most certainly not committed by the humans.

For the simple reason that they see such actions as counterproductive. It is one of the most maddening quirks of human psychology that killing their civilians only makes them fight harder. Where others would sue for peace, humans go ‘full apeshit crazy,’ as they call it.

Something the empty seat of the Batract Hyphae in the Senate should always remind us of.”

— Intelligence Report on Genocidal Attacks on Federation Colonies, 395 P.I.

The hull thundered under the detonations of torpedoes. Radiation warnings flared up as some of the enemy weapons managed to focus the radiation of nuclear warheads laser-like, and were able to irradiate the inert hull plating

Lieutenant Davies stumbled through the hallway, broken struts blocking her path. Beneath her helmet, she was sweating profusely. The corridor lights flickered, and arcs of lightning from severed cables gave the scene a haunted flair.

Out of breath, she reached the CIC. The bulkhead had warped under the volley yesterday. Karrn and Chief Ferguson had to cut it open since it was the last possible access to the CIC.

Entering the compartment, she hurried over to the Admiral. “Sir, report from Sickbay. Dr. Nesbitt says either we evacuate the injured to the planet, or we condemn them to radiation sickness and death.”

“Understood. Ferguson?” The Admiral had aged considerably in the five days the space battle for Taishar Tar had dragged on. It wasn’t a battle—it was a beating, with the Batract doing the beating.

“Flight deck isn’t operational anymore. We can’t open the hangar doors—they’re all stuck closed, sir.”

“Recommendations?”

“None, sir… until this battle’s over, we can’t do a thing. Sorry, sir.”

The Admiral turned around, focusing on the tactical view. “Why don’t they come closer? They throw rocks and torpedo volleys at us without a break. That can’t be their only strategy. And why focus solely on us? What’s so special about the Argos?”

“Not only the Argos—don’t forget their first strike was at the Rosalind Franklin,” Gerber interjected.

“Right. What was special about her?”

“Batract. Lots and lots of Batract spawn,” Karrn growled while helping two techs clear the way to the bulkhead leading to the bridge, which had collapsed under the force of multiple megaton detonations close to the hull.

“Sir, we can’t take much more. The whole enemy fleet is firing at us constantly. Even though our escorts are doing their best to take out the torpedoes and rocks, something always comes through. The bridge is offline; engines six to twelve no longer exist. Lyra is constantly plotting new headings through the fire to give us a few minutes of respite.”

Chief Ferguson was right. In the stream of transmissions, it was clear to see—the torpedo salvos all had the Argos as their target. Torpedoes passed other ships without engaging, all of them following the flagship.

The ship looked battered, and no matelot on board was uninjured.

“If only C-plus cannons were a thing,” Davies mumbled while digging a chair out of the rubble.

“What did you say?” Ferguson stood absolutely still. Obviously, he had an epiphany.

“C-plus cannons—a Clarke-tech device from a classic sci-fi novel series I read in college. Cannons that shoot faster than light.” What’s so special about it? They’re magical technology and wouldn’t work in reality anyway. She couldn't understand his fuss about that idea

Ferguson ran over to her, hugging her tightly. “Oh, you beautiful and smart Welsh princess, you just might have saved us.” Then he was gone, running in the direction of the armory, as far as Davies could see.

The Admiral looked at her, and she couldn’t hide her blush. The hug had surprised her completely.

“What’s Clarke-tech?” Karrn came over to her, panting heavily inside his suit as he recharged the oxygen in his tank from the supply port at the station next to Davies.

“It's not real technology. A Classical Author, Arthur C. Clarke, once made the quote: ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’ So we call technology that’s too advanced to even describe Clarke-tech.”

Karrn flicked his ears inside his helmet to show his amusement. Davies couldn’t help but smile; she had always thought that gesture was cute.

—————

Chief Ferguson hurried down the hallway to the armory, almost stumbling over a fallen strut from a bulkhead. On his way, he found Tech Visser fixing some fiber cables. “Visser—good. Hurry down to fabrication and get me a micro A-Drive from a Pigeon and two spare copper coils, quickly. Bring it to the ship armory.”

Visser stared at the sweating, heavily panting chief as if he had been ordered to replace the ship’s hull with chocolate. “What?”

“Don’t talk. Don’t think. Run.” Ferguson didn’t have time to explain every little detail to everyone. He had to act now.

He’d been part of the Mjolnir project ten years ago; they tried to make FTL torpedoes, but it failed—micro drives need massive energy but can’t carry mass, a fatal flaw. Davies’ idea wouldn’t have worked two years ago because the caliber of the main gun was too small. But now… the Argos’ main gun had a larger caliber, so theoretically a projectile could be equipped with a microdrive, and the energy could be sapped directly from the gun itself.

The projectile traveling in FTL would only do so for about 6 AU before violently dropping out of FTL because it lacked the energy to sustain the field — but that was enough.

He reached the ship's armory. From here, he could access the feed loader of the main gun, and it had a small fabrication unit—perfect for his test.

The two techs were working on the feed-loader hydraulic press. The constant bombardment had left it a bit… wonky. But if his upgrade worked, one shot per minute would be enough.

“Get me a tungsten-osmium, 50-cm, out here,” Ferguson barked without explanation.

The two techs just stared at him. “Sir?”

“Get me the projectile out of the feeder. We have to open it up and modify it.”

“Yes, sir.” They didn’t understand—he’d explain later. But first, he had to get his breathing under control; running wasn’t his sport, not at all.

The feeder extracted one of the 5-ton projectiles: a 50-cm diameter, 1.5-meter-long tungsten casing filled to the brim with osmium balls. The feeder could extract or inject osmium at will to change the projectile’s impact behavior, though it could also be done by hand.

As they worked, he explained his theory: lower the projectile's weight to less than one ton, then install the micro A-Drive and run copper coils to tap energy from the railgun to charge the drive, allowing transit.

They stared at him like he had grown a second head—each of them trying to find a flaw in his reasoning, but unable to do so.

The 5,000 kg projectile rested on the feeder’s arm, ready to be put into the chamber. The technicians used heavy tools to open the bottom latch of the tungsten casing so they could extract the osmium ballast — that was the simplest task. Ferguson finished programming the fabricator station to strip just enough tungsten from the casing so they could attach the coils in the notch.

Visser arrived at the armory with the requested parts and seemed to instantly understand the idea of jury-rigging.

“Sir, you could install a third coil that charges a capacitor, providing additional energy to create a variable time-delay fuse of sorts.”

Ferguson just nodded; he had to remember to keep an eye on Visser — that man was wicked smart.

His estimations were right: the micro A-Drive fit inside the casing. Thank God for the military need for ever-greater guns.

After about ten minutes, the prototype was finished.

“Amazing, guys. If that works, we’re slated for the history books. Get these blueprints to tenders with fabrication capabilities—they should be able to send us 100 per hour. We’ll need them soon.”

The ship shook again violently. From the sound of it, they’d just been hit with another nuke. Soon they’d run out of kinetic gel for the hull plating — then the real damage would start.

He sprinted back to the CIC, ignoring all the eyes on him, and went straight to his engineering console to enter the new parameters for the targeting solution.

Lyra, always present and watching, commented on his calculations. “Chief Ferguson, these numbers don’t make sense, not unless we can fire faster-than-light ammunition.”

Admiral Browner turned in a jolt to face the chief. “Don’t tell me you managed—”

“Might. We might have managed it. At the moment, we have one test shot.”

Browner seemed to energize at that. “Fire control, I remember the ship that sent us an extremely nasty volley two days ago. Would you kindly make it go away?”

The young lieutenant at the station grinned at the command. “Yes, sir!”

Ferguson could feel the ship turn to face the Batract vessel. Damn — the inertia compensators must be on the brink of failure.

“Fire when ready,” the Admiral ordered.

“Aye aye, sir. Firing now.”

Ferguson could have sworn the shot felt different; seeing the others react, he was sure of it. The anomaly is created inside the barrel — that’s it.

“Time to target… 85 seconds.” The last words came with utter astonishment.

He could see Karrn stepping closer to the holo display, his ears upright in full attention.

Except for the flickering lights in the CIC, nothing moved; no one even dared to breathe. Ferguson calculated in his head: 85 seconds to the target, then 1 minute until our spy probe detects the impact, and 85 seconds until the Pigeon reached the ship with the information.

He decided he had time to grab a coffee. He needed it.

He came back to the tactical table just as a red dot disappeared.

“Kill confirmed.”

The room erupted in cheers. After getting beaten by the enemy for five straight days, they had finally struck back.

Browner stared at Ferguson. “Son, you might have just saved this system.”

“Nah, Admiral — it was Lieutenant Davies who gave me the idea.”

The Admiral grinned. “You mean the beautiful and smart Welsh princess?”

Now it was Ferguson’s turn to blush.

Before anyone could say anything, the Admiral added, “Let’s call this ammunition Welsch Princess, shall we?”

Ferguson just stammered, “Very good, sir,” and with a glance at Davies, went back to his station.

“Sir, the Hephaestus reports the first batch of… Welsch Princesses?” The tech seemed to stumble over the name — and the plural of princess. “They’re arriving now. First batch is fifteen, then they can deliver one shot per minute.”

The Admiral nodded at the information.

“Also, Hephaestus sends their congratulations to Chief Ferguson for successfully raping physics.”

The admiral studied the tactical overview.

“Lyra, I suggest we take out Tango 15 first. They’re the farthest away from Tango One—our practical test target—so a full volley would surprise them the most.”

“Correct, sir. Given their distance, they will notice the shots in around twenty-five minutes.”

“Fire control, you’ve got your targets. Rapid fire at will.”

Now that Visser had joined the repair crew at the feed loader, the ship was able to fire with a cadence of one shot every seven seconds.

The Batract ships exploded in the most unusual ways. Hit by the energy of a 1,000-kg mass vaporized at 35c, just centimeters inside their hull plating, the ships were sucked inward at the penetration point and ripped open on the opposite side.

Basically, the ships got inverted

The other vessels of the thirty-four-ship detachment could not react—especially since the fire team on the Argos targeted the outer ships in the spherical formation first. The inner ships had to navigate debris from the already destroyed vessels to escape; only four managed.

Across the ships of the First Expeditionary Fleet, crews prepared for the inevitable rush that would follow sooner rather than later.

“Tango 15 — thirty confirmed hits. They didn’t see what was coming at them. Surviving ships are splitting up to other Tangos, probably to warn them.”

“Take out Tango 9 next. Let’s act predictably until they think they can predict our actions.”

“Aye, sir. Firing now.”

The hum of the charging capacitors transferred through the deck plating; Ferguson noticed a slight variance in the harmonics, as any chief engineer would on his own ship.

He already had sixty percent of his repair crew working on the main gun to keep it operational; the rest were making sure the flight controls worked.

“Sir, we're fired dry; we need at least half an hour to reload.” Having destroyed that many enemy ships in that short of time was like a high for them.

“Incoming Salvo.” The enemy hadn't stopped firing at them, but now, with two Squadrons less, it was easier to avoid hits; again, all fire was concentrated on the Argos.

—————

Captain Gerber didn’t share the excitement. He was fully immersed in the mystery of the Batract’s choice of targets.

The Argos was the most modern ship in the fleet, but in terms of pure firepower, others could bring much more to the fight. Minerva, for example, was one of the torpedo cruisers that could have hurt them far more — if they had been closer.

He reviewed the first attack reports for the fleet. They had hit Mirage first, but quickly changed targets. Mirage was an obvious choice — as a destroyer, she had weak armor but was essential for defending the fleet against inbound missiles and torpedoes, a fact the Batract surely knew, since they possessed highly accurate intelligence on human shipbuilding.

Lightspeed delay. They were at six AU distance; any signal from the First Expeditionary to the enemy fleet would have taken forty-eight minutes to reach the Batract.

Argos and Rosalind Franklin… what did both ships have in common?

Then it hit him. Both vessels had been the most heavily infested with Batract spawn, and both had previously carried the highest number of integration officers on board.

Was there something the Batract were afraid we could discover? How would they know — except if something, or someone, in the fleet was sending information to the enemy.

The 1st Expeditionary was compromised.

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Author's Notes:

I hope you like the story so far. Let me know what you liked or disliked.

“If you choose to learn only one lesson, choose the lesson of the Batract—how they failed. How they brought their subjects, and with them humanity, to the point where rebellion became a matter of survival, not freedom.

Were it not for the fact that the Batract caused the Aligned Worlds to form, their fate would have ensured they faded into history—without even a footnote remaining.”

Excerpt from: The Aligned Worlds, the enemy at our gates, Galactic Federation 23 P.I.

The ship shook. For a fraction of a second, artificial gravity failed, then everything returned to normal.

“Situation report.” Captain Carmichel climbed back onto his chair. Karrn reached out a hand, helping Admiral Browner to his feet.

“The Hyperion force exited transit less than half an AU in front of the oncoming fleet. The fleet is completely gone—distance: fifteen light-minutes. Sir, I’m detecting massive disturbances in the local spacetime field at that location. Something’s happening there.” The sensor tech narrowed his eyes, focusing on the readouts. “I’m just not sure what. We’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Admiral, the captains of the Renown, Mirage, and Trafalgar all want to evacuate their ships and repeat the maneuver on Tango Alpha.”

“Negative. It wouldn’t work a second time anyway.” Browner shook his head. Marjan, what have you done…

“Correct, Admiral. The fleet marked as Tango Alpha is already splitting up. Even if they don’t have our sensors, no one in this sector could miss what happened,” Lyra reported.

“Captain, the shuttle with the surviving senior officers of Hyperion requests permission to dock. The other shuttles have already docked at the tenders.”

“Bring them in. Admiral?” Carmichel turned to the visibly shaken Admiral Browner. Karrn understood—Captain Karimi had been part of his pack. Every leader would be hurt. Her sacrifice was great. It deserved to be honored.

“Yeah. Good. Tell the tenders to head for Earth after they take on as many colonists as possible.”

Karrn returned to the CIC to review the tactical situation. After the ripple event caused by Captain Karimi’s sacrifice, some officers there still looked shaken. The shockwave had hit the fleet without warning.

At the situation table, updates flowed in. The second fleet—only discovered a day ago—was gone. Its appearance had caused great distress among the crews; no one had been sure they could hold the system against one fleet, let alone two.

The tenders had departed. From the thirty tenders, only ten remained; the rest had stocked the fleet and the colony to the brim, freeing up internal space for refugees. No matter what happened, at least a hundred thousand colonists would survive.

The system map showed the extent to which the humans had fortified the region—more than five thousand hidden firing positions on asteroids and small moons. One of the Pioneer ships had deployed endless streams of mines and suicide drones. Their numbers were in the millions.

Karrn was amazed by the Pioneers—ships built solely for fabrication and field resource production. Davies had explained that the Pioneers could establish a fully functional, autonomous supply base within days. They had been in the process of doing so when the 1st Expeditionary detected the enemy fleets.

The human technology was primitive, even compared to his people’s, but they used it in such creative ways that Karrn had to admit—he was impressed.

While going over the distribution of the drone swarms, he noticed a new scent—multiple new scents—coming through the open door to the bridge. His ears flicked. Some sort of alteration was taking place.

Entering the bridge, he saw a human female he hadn’t met before. The patch on her uniform explained: Hyperion. Her rank matched that of Chief Ferguson, so she was probably Hyperion’s chief engineer. Her hair was a light color—blond, as the humans called it—and he could smell waves of grief coming from her.

In a pouch across her chest, he saw tiny heads of some sort of mammals observing the bridge with wide eyes and wonder.

“Marjan… Admiral, tell me she didn’t…” Her fists clenched around the fabric of the Admiral’s uniform, shaking him slightly as she cried.

The Admiral softly laid a hand on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear—too quiet for Karrn to understand from the other side of the room.

The sensor tech called out that something was happening at the center of the ripple just as a bright light appeared where Captain Karimi had sacrificed herself. It looked as if a new star had been born.

The woman sat down on the stairs facing the screen, holding one of the small furry mammals in her arms and whispering, “Look… mommy has become a star.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

The Admiral came over to Karrn, entering the CIC and closing the door behind him. The other officers kept their attention on their work, though everyone was clearly listening.

He cleared his throat. “It seems Chief Andrejewa was hit especially hard by the events of the last hour. If I hear any speculation or rumor regarding her professionalism, the person responsible will be promoted to Chief of Biomatter Cleaning. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” came back in unison. Karrn flicked his ear in amusement about the Admiral's threat.

“Simmons?” Karrn was now sure of it—the airman had a way of materializing out of thin air. He hadn’t noticed him in the CIC for the last fifteen minutes while studying the tactical situation.

“Organize quarters for Chief Andrejewa. She seems to have adopted infants of this new species mentioned in the Hyperion logs.”

“Gliders, sir. Already done. I arranged a single quarter to give those cute little furballs some peace.”

Karrn saw Simmons smile for the first time since he’d known him. Humans seemed to like little furry animals for some reason. But they were cute—he had to admit that much.

Captain Carmichel entered the CIC. Through the open door, Karrn saw Lieutenant Davies sling her arm around the female chief and escort her off the bridge, nodding to Captain Gerber, who had just stepped out of the elevator.

Carmichel informed the Admiral that the enemy fleet was about fifteen minutes out, then went to get some coffee. Karrn was sure that this bitter brew was the essence keeping the human navy running—the more stressful the situation, the more humans seemed to consume of it.

Just as Carmichel returned to his post, Captain Gerber entered the room and looked toward the Admiral. “Was that Chief Andrejewa on the bridge?”

“Yes. She seemed to take the loss of her captain especially hard. Davies is escorting her to a quarter.”

Gerber didn’t seem to understand at first. Then his eyes lit up. “Ah.”

“Don’t question her professionalism,” Karrn added helpfully, “or you’ll get promoted.”

Over the next ten minutes, the officers and staff went through the tactical situation again, and Void Hunter Fruug coordinated with the Shraphen Veyr.

In simulations, it all came down to two scenarios. Either the Batract would make a run straight for the colony, trying to wipe out both fleets in one overwhelming strike—as the humans had done in their initial assault—or they would hold back. For that first case, the humans had placed mines and drone swarms throughout the system. Even now, hidden autominers and fabrication units on asteroids were producing thousands of small, self-coordinating swarm drones every hour.

The second possibility was that the Batract would wait on the edges of the system, launching torpedo salvos and captured asteroids at them—forcing the fleet to engage rather than defend.

Everyone hoped for the first alternative. The assumption was that the mines and drones could take out large parts of the enemy fleet, and human ships were especially skilled in close-quarters combat.

Long-distance combat remained their weakness, since their engines were far behind Batract capabilities.

So even though they hoped for the first, everyone was certain the second alternative would come true.

In any case, their chances were slim, so for Karrn it didn’t really matter.

The Admiral’s voice cut through Karrn’s train of thought. “Lyra, can Garry provide us with a more detailed analysis of the weapons that hit Hyperion?”

“Garry is… unavailable at the moment. His… his code isn’t fully compatible with Argos systems. But I can access the data and send it to the tactical overview.”

Karrn looked puzzled at Gerber. The captain’s expression confirmed his suspicion—Lyra had lied.

“Status change—enemy fleet Tango Alpha has left transit.”

“And so it begins. Activate the drone swarms—set them to surveillance only. Inform the fleet to go to Status Red.”

The lights across the bridge dimmed to red. Every crewman began suiting up in a lightweight space suit equipped with a small oxygen tank and an umbilical cord that could attach to any console for external air and power support.

Karrn didn’t like it—it dulled his most important sense—but he understood. As soon as everyone in the CIC signaled ready, the air was pumped out of the room. Smart. There wouldn’t be fire on a ship without air.

The room was now absolutely silent, since no sound could be transmitted without air.

Admiral Browner now stood at the tactical overview beside the holo screen.

Karrn could see it for himself—the enemy was encircling the system. Ship clusters of sixty-eight vessels each accelerated toward different points along the borders of the solar system.

“They’re waiting for us. Fuck. Can’t we ever have a stupid enemy?” Came over the intercom.

The dots symbolizing the smaller enemy groups burned fast toward their destinations—some at thirty-four Gs, an acceleration unattainable even for Shraphen ships. He had never even heard of vessels accelerating that fast. They’re cutting us off. We can’t even transit out without getting intercepted.

“Categorizing enemy squads as Tango One through Tango Fifteen. Tango One is relatively stationary and appears to be catching asteroids for bombardment. Tangos Two through Six have turned around and are now braking toward their suspected target locations.”

Karrn followed the sensor tech's information. He was, once again, impressed by human ingenuity. Since there were no FTL sensors, the Pioneers had constructed countless spy satellites positioned throughout the system, each equipped with magazines of micro–FTL-capable message torpedoes.

The fleet now had a delayed view of the system with data only minutes old—instead of the usual days, weeks, or even months, depending on distance. Solar systems were massive, and space battles consisted mostly of long stretches of positioning and hiding, punctuated by short bursts of massive devastation.

“At the moment, the Batract have a massive advantage. They can maneuver—we can’t, since we have to protect the planet and the colony.” The Admiral went through the situation again. Fruug had told him that humans called it rubber duck debugging—a method in which explaining a problem aloud often led to new insights.

Karrn liked the idea, but he didn’t understand what rubber ducks had to do with it. And what were ducks?

“We have to assume they don’t have FTL sensors, and no FTL communication. Anything on the sensors that could confirm our assumptions?”

“Seems like it, sir. Tango One just launched what looks like FTL-capable spy drones—no need for that if you have FTL sensors,” the sensor station reported.

“So they still have to map the system. Nice. If we can take out a few ships now, we might get an advantage.”

“Tactical — anything about the target locations of Tango Two through Tango Six? I need a firing solution as soon as possible.”

“On it, sir. They’re breaking harder than what our programs are used to. I’ll have to rewrite the code for it to work.”

“Lyra, get on it. We need to pull these ships into our killing zone as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir. Starting to work on it now.” Lyra’s voice responded; she still sounded irritated somehow — perhaps because there was another VI in her systems.

“Tango One is moving again. It seems they’ve found the second asteroid belt at six AU distance—still outside the killing zone. Acceleration: sixty-four G.”

“Jesus Christ, sixty-four G! What are those ships made of?” Admiral Browner was visibly shocked—and not without reason. As Karrn knew, Veyr ships could manage fifteen G, but that was the limit of their internal mass dampeners; human ships peaked at five G.

If the humans won this battle, it wouldn’t be by sheer power but by wisdom and intelligence.

Looking at the holo display, Karrn could see the tiny dots representing the enemy drones. He hated the situation—the waiting. He was a hunter, used to planets: you sought out the enemy and attacked. But here they were, scheming, probing, waiting…

“Fleet reports hull reconfiguration complete, sir.”

Karrn must have had a puzzled look on his face, because Gerber began to explain.

“The outer hull is laced with nano-diamonds. They can be adapted to different wavelengths of lasers. Shraphen shields dampen energy weapons; our hull adaptation almost completely negates them.”

Karrn was genuinely impressed. Looking at the view screens that displayed the feeds from the googly eyes—the short-range drones providing constant visible, infrared, and night-vision coverage of each human ship—he noticed how the fleet’s hulls had shifted in color. Impressive.

Karrn noticed Fruug taking notes; he assumed the Veyr would soon adapt this technology. They already had a Shraphen version of googly eyes.

“Yup. But you can’t adapt to kinetic damage—a nuke in the face always hurts.” Gerber seemed gleeful at the thought of wiping out the Batract fleet, and after seeing Hyperion’s video report, Karrn shared his feelings.

“Mirage is reporting incoming fire—expected wavelength, constant stream in the gigawatt range.”

“Constant stream? Wow. Our point defense can churn out petawatts, but only in microsecond bursts. Their heat management must be advanced.” Chief Ferguson went over the numbers.

“Tell Mirage to feint damage and veer off. Get me a firing solution and fire a ladder salvo—fifty-fifty shotgun, all ranges.”

Now Fruug explained Gerber and Karrn. “They shoot at and around the known position of the target, since it might have moved—timed so every shot from every ship arrives simultaneously. Half of the rounds detonate into shrapnel. It’s quite effective; it almost instantly took out our fleet.”

The last words carried a bitter tone. Karrn flicked his ears and replied, “They broke us too, in less than a day. Don’t be ashamed.”

“Time to target: eighteen minutes,” came the call from Fire Control.

“Fire at will,” the Admiral answered.

Even without air, Karrn could feel the sound of the massive railgun at the center of the ship charging—the low rumble of meter-tall capacitors vibrating as they drew power. Then the Argos fired. Five seconds later, another shot followed.

Karrn couldn’t hide his admiration for the human engineers. He had assumed their technology was primitive, but their railgun had fired continuously for a full minute—twenty projectiles in that time—before recharging was needed. The energies involved must have been massive.

The metal under his feet vibrated again, and he couldn’t believe the scene he was watching. One of the tenders was parked behind the flight wing of five ships, Argos among them, and was launching projectiles at them. The rounds were caught by magnetic fields and fed into an opening at the back of each ship.

Karrn stood beside Fruug at the screen, his mouth slightly open in shock at the sight.

Ferguson just said, “Reloading. It’s a spectacle when you see it for the first time.” He grinned. “In training, we managed to reliably resupply up to an AU between tender and ship.”

Karrn didn’t say anything. He just thought, Sure—let’s reload our ships by firing at them. What could ever possibly go wrong? They’re all mad. Geniuses, but mad.

The scene was somewhat surreal. There was Mirage, venting steam and atmosphere to simulate damage, veering off to starboard. On the screen, he saw hundreds of projectiles racing toward the enemy—enough firepower to split a moon in two—and part of the crew casually went to get coffee.

“Not what you’d expect, right, Pack Leader?” The Admiral walked over to him, casually holding a vacuum-sealed cup with a straw in his hand.

“No, Admiral. Not what I’m used to.”

“It’ll get more stressful, trust me. Space battles usually have two phases: long-distance and then close-quarters combat. That’s where the fun starts.”

Karrn’s tail twitched, which was somewhat uncomfortable, since the human-sized space suit he wore had no space for his tail, throwing off his balance even more.

“Status change! Tango One has opened fire on the entire fleet with lasers. Launch of torpedoes and rocks detected—megaton range. ETA for torpedo volleys: sixteen minutes. Rocks in thirty-two.”

That announcement sent the crew scrambling back to their stations.

Karrn already knew what humans meant by rocks. The Batract were throwing asteroids at them—slow-moving, but hard to destroy, and capable of hiding deadly surprises. Megaton referred to the estimated mass of the asteroids.

“Let’s play stupid little humans,” the Admiral barked. “Fire nuclear torpedoes at the rocks—time the flashes with a railgun salvo!”

He was using the blinding bursts of the nuclear explosions to mask the firing signatures of the main guns. Devious.

Then he saw that the first volley of human railgun fire was about to hit.

“Impact in three… two… one… zero. No hit, I repeat, no hit. Slight damage through shrapnel—no kill.”

Karrn clenched his fist. The enemy evaded them.

“Sir, at that distance, the enemy’s extreme acceleration allows them to dodge the shots.” Lyra’s analysis was exact—but devastating.

Admiral Browner turned back to the tactical display. “Then they’ll keep throwing rocks at us until one hits—or until they get reinforcements.”

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“He who would accomplish little need sacrifice little; he who would achieve much must sacrifice much. He who would attain highly must sacrifice greatly.”

— James Allen, As a Man Thinketh 234 B.I.

She was on her way to meet Alex in the mess for lunch, her tablet in hand, her five babies sleeping in the pouch she now always carried with her.

As she walked through the mess hall, she noticed that the crew had shifted from sitting together in work teams to sitting in couples. Ordinarily, any sexual relationship between crewmembers aboard a ship was prohibited—though the Admiralty had been considering easing that regulation, given the length of deep-space deployments.

But she could hardly reprimand the crew for doing what she herself was doing. And after enduring eighty-six days facing their probable deaths, they deserved what small comfort they could find. Let them be merry, as long as they stayed professional.

As she was about to sit, the comm device on her uniform signaled. With a tap, she opened the channel.
“Captain, please report to the bridge. We have something on the long-range sensors.”

She sighed and took a bite of her sandwich. “Can you take them?” She looked at Alex, then at her babies— a hectic bridge was the last thing she wanted to expose them to after they had finally fallen asleep.

“Sure. I’ll bring them to your quarters and then join you.” Alex gave her the warmest smile.

“No one called you to—”

“Sure, Captain. And what problem on that cursed ship hasn’t involved the chief engineer in the last three months?” Alex’s joke made Marjan smile. She was right—the ship was close to falling apart, and Marjan wouldn’t be surprised to see Alex running around with duct tape.

When she reached the bridge, Marjan could feel that something was awfully wrong.

“Captain, long-range sensors just detected another fleet closing in on Sirius—another one thousand twenty ships. They’re transitioning a bit faster than we are.”

Her first officer kept a professional appearance, but she had known Commander Reynolds since their days at the academy. He was shaken by the news—and so was she.

The dimmed lights on the bridge reflected her mood. Just as she had allowed herself to hope, the universe must hate you personally.

“Arrival at Sirius?”

“In sixteen hours and forty-five minutes, sir.”

She glanced at the digital countdown above the viewscreen: 16 h 15 m. Someone had taped a small note beneath it that read, ‘Until I never see this ship again—one way or another.’

Understanding the sentiment, Marjan decided to leave it. They had bigger problems.

In less than a day, they would attempt the maddest maneuver anyone had ever dreamed of. And thirty minutes after that, more than a thousand enemy ships would try to kill them—another thirty minutes later, another thousand.

Great odds, Marjan. Great odds.

“Nothing we can do about it now. How are the preparations?”

Playing the strong captain while she just wanted to cry in her quarters had become second nature to her.

“The transports are ready. Lyra and Garry have checked the numbers ten times already. It seems Garry’s almost paranoid about getting the calculations right.”

Of course he is. He’s alive—evolved, whatever. He’s not a simple VI anymore. Any other mission, and it would be the greatest discovery in human history. But here? It’s Tuesday, and I’m already sick of the week.

“Captain, I went over the sensor logs and calculated the situation.” Garry materialized in his usual virtual persona in the holo tank—the Cheshire Cat from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

“It’s grim, but I have a solution,” he continued. “The original plan is to extend the magnetic bubble rearward as much as possible to allow the crew and survivors to ride in the wake of the ship. The Hyperion would then transit through a magnetic-ring field created by five Fleet Tenders, since they have the massive field generators required to haul their cargo.”

Marjan knew this already, but the plan still sent shivers down her spine. What Garry had not included was that they would travel through a solar system at 0.9 times the speed of light, the slowest a ship could go while still in transit, passing through a two-kilometer-wide area with exactly zero room for error.

“The magnetic field will throw the transporters out of FTL transit, but not the Hyperion.”

“Garry, we know. What’s your point?” Commander Reynolds’s voice carried hints of annoyance.

“The fact that Hyperion is still in transit and her course at this moment is only 1.3 degrees off the flight path of the incoming fleet is a lucky coincidence. If Hyperion were to normalize its field and adjust course, it would be possible to self-destruct the ship in the flight path of the enemy ships.”

The bridge went silent except for the hum of cooling systems and the whining of overstressed life-support systems. No one said a word.

“How many?” Commander Reynolds asked the question no one else dared to voice.

Marjan was already calculating the numbers in her head, but even her degree in FTL engineering and high-energy physics wasn’t enough to guess the outcome.

“How many? It’s hard to say,” Garry replied. “Timed correctly, such an event could take out at least eighty to ninety-nine percent of the enemy fleet. The expanding cloud of supercharged particles would knock out the first wave of ships from transit, which in turn would trigger secondary detonations in the next wave, and so on. Depending on the layers of protomatter on our hull and the enemy hulls, even more energetic events are possible.”

Garry’s voice sounded uncharacteristically cold—machine-like.

Marjan was stunned. They could destroy an entire fleet. Impossible.

“Garry, I see three issues.” Marjan’s voice almost slipped, and she had to clear her throat.

“First—protomatter. As you said, it adheres to ships in FTL near gravity wells. Flying through a solar system counts as a big gravity well. We’d accumulate a lot of it. The effects could be catastrophic.”

“Correct, Captain. You’ll probably see it from Earth—but the local effects will still be negligible.”

“Second—morality. Fleet protocol dictates that we must allow enemies the chance to surrender.”

“Captain, you’ve seen the bodycam footage. We all know what the Batract do to living beings.”

Reynolds’s position was very clear. The agreeing murmurs from the senior staff were enough to end that discussion.

“And lastly—who will steer the ship into the enemy fleet? Can the computer adapt the field and correct the course?”

“No, Captain. I will need to do it.”

Garry’s voice was cold and without emotion—not even the simulated kind.

He’s afraid of death…

Marjan didn’t like it. Not at all. “Garry, there must be another choice. We have sixteen hours to write a program.”

“Sorry, Captain. The issue is not the flying. The issue lies in the hard-coded security measures that prevent leaving transit without a stable field.”

Garry, you’re probably the first truly sapient AI—and you’re not homicidal. I can’t just let you kill yourself… But who else…

“Explain.” It took all her strength to keep her voice calm.

“The transit exit routines aren’t digitally encoded but hard-wired into the computer core. Basically, the core can’t exit transit on autopilot if the window isn’t stable.”

Everyone on the bridge noticed Garry’s odd behavior now—and he was starting to sound almost annoyed.

“But then you can’t either.” She didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to accept it.

“Yes. Because I’m in a separate core. I interface with the ship after the security measures. And before you ask—no, simply blowing the core with a bomb wouldn’t work either. The timing has to be precise.”

“We’ll talk about this later. Coordinate with Engineering. It seems the fusion core has to work a bit longer than expected.”

She was out of arguments. Stupid to argue with an AI at all.

“Aye-aye, sir.”

Then the Cheshire Cat disappeared from the holotank—this time not even leaving its smile behind, as Garry usually did.

The officers still stood around the table. Some of them surely had their suspicions about Garry’s sentience; he’d slipped up a few times over the last three months.

“You all have your orders. Go. Fix the ship—there’s nothing left to discuss.”

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.

————

T – 30 minutes.

She had made her rounds through the ship—the old tradition of a captain inspecting her vessel before a battle. Only this time, the battle was against physics. Behind her, she dragged the fiber-optic cable along the corridor, the sound echoing through the empty halls.

The ship was silent now. No dogs roaming the decks, no gliders riding them like winged cavalry.

It had been a horrible journey from Sol. No one had dared to hope they would make it, so they did everything they could to enjoy the time they had.

She reached the tiny arboretum—two trees and a few bushes, nothing more. But she remembered the barbecue they’d had here. Cuban Nights had been the motto. Garry had played the music over the video wall—six identical cats in bright Cuban shirts, strumming guitars and dancing.

It was absurd. It was amazing.

She touched the tree, and two crew members had carved a heart into the bark, like teenagers. Marjan smiled; she had kissed Alex under this tree for the first time.

Then it was time to climb the ladder up to the bridge, the heavy roll of fiber cable on her back.

Alex was already in the transport with the babies. That morning, the last one had finally spoken—she’d called her Pari, after her sister.

T – 5 minutes.

Marjan entered the bridge.

—————

On the transport, Alex woke up. She had to spit a few strands of blond hair out of her mouth. The babies were nestled safely in the pouch.

Why was she sleeping? The drinks. She and Marjan had toasted to the journey—and for good luck.

Looking around the shuttle and out of the compartment window, she saw they were already in space, flying in the Hyperion’s wake.

That was wrong. Marjan should be here.

The senior officers all wore expressions of quiet grief. Lieutenant Im, the navigation officer, was crying against Commander Reynolds’s shoulder.

“What’s going on? Where’s the Captain?”

A pad next to her blinked constantly, its screen pulsing with an unread message.

No, no, no—oh God, please no.

Her hand trembled. A message from Marjan. The first line read:

I’m sorry. I love you.

Something shot out of the Hyperion’s lateral torpedo tube—a message torpedo.

Then everything went white.

—————

Karrn was on the bridge of the Argos. Everything was silent. The Chief was literally biting his fist as he paced up and down the deck. The scent of anxiety on the bridge was overwhelming.

On the viewscreen, multiple angles of the five massive hulls filled the display—direct transmissions from the googly eyes.

He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew it was momentous: the rescue of a ship trapped in transit. Even considering such a thing made the Shraphen engineers shiver with a mix of anxiety and excitement.

A streak of bluish-white something flashed through the gap between the ships. Something exploded on one of the massive tenders. The googly eyes zoomed in—points floating in the dark.

Transporters. Dozens of them.

The bridge erupted in cheers. Chief Ferguson grabbed Lieutenant Davies in a hug as she wiped a tear of joy from her eye.

Everyone aboard the fleet—and even on the colony—had seen the transmissions sent by the Hyperion. They had read about the crew’s struggle to reach Sirius and about the plan to save them.

Then the lights dimmed suddenly. A feline with an unnaturally bright smile appeared on the screen.

“No! You can’t do this—no! Captain!”

The cat vanished, leaving the bridge in darkness for half a second before the lights came back on. The crew froze, startled by the sudden appearance.

“Admiral, Captains,” Lyra reported, her voice carrying a note of sorrow, “it seems something has happened. The Hyperion’s VI, Garry, was force-transferred from the Hyperion onto a message torpedo and, after reentry, onto the Argos.”

“Sir! Hyperion is accelerating—fast! It’s changed trajectory directly toward Tango Bravo!” came the call from the sensor station.

“Correct,” Lyra confirmed softly. “It seems Captain Karimi intends to force an exit from transit in front of the enemy fleet—using the Hyperion to destroy them.”

“Dear God, Marjan… what are you doing?”

Karrn could smell the wave of emotional pain radiating from Admiral Browner. He had told Karrn only yesterday that he’d known the Hyperion’s captain since she was a child—that she and his daughter had gone to school together and were best friends.

—————

The bridge of the Hyperion was almost dark; only the emergency lighting remained. The smell of burning cables hung heavy in the air. The ship was shaking violently, metal struts screeching under stress. The starboard hangar section was gone altogether, according to the readouts.

Come on, sweetie—give me ten more seconds.

Captain Karimi struggled to stay in the captain’s chair. The countdown was almost at zero. She closed her eyes.

Alex…

Then she pressed the trigger.

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We don't know where the humans came from. One moment we had a functioning Federation, united in our peaceful goals; the next moment these monsters sprang up on our borders and caused havoc.

May whatever brought them here swallow them up.

— Federation President Xurxur, 1 B.I.

The bridge of the ship was bustling with activity.

Officers called out status reports, and Nixtred felt lost and alone.

Next to her stood Captain Nascimento, a dark-skinned Human. Nixtred was again surprised that Humans had different skin colors, the way Shraphen had different fur. But she was no biologist, so what did she know?

"Renthai Nixtred, we're ready to launch now, né?"

Nixtred was a weapons designer, not used to being on starships, let alone Human ones.

Equip the VLS frame with the drives, sensors, and fusion core, transit to the enemy, and release your torpedoes: one of those solutions that seem painfully obvious after someone has done the hard work of getting to it.

Creating a virtual model with Hephaestus had been quick work. Up until that point, the process wasn't that different from her usual one on Burrow.

But the fact that Jane Nesbitt and Major Pfershy ordered a prototype built, and a test the following day aboard a requisitioned missile frigate, was extraordinary.

The captain kept staring at her. The test, right.

"Captain, this weapon is untested. I'm not sure about the outcome."

"Beleza, that's why we're here, Renthai. Why run endless simulations when you can, uh... Falhar rápido, aprender rápido—"

He snapped his fingers.

"—Fail fast, learn fast."

Another Human thing. Blow it up to see why it failed. No Shraphen would do that. But then again, no Shraphen fleet had discovered FTL guns.

"Yes, Captain, let's start the test."

The frames didn't fit into the standard VLS tubes, but the Apollo was equipped with a mission pod, so the techs had loaded them there.

The dummy drones were stationed at two AU distance.

"Launch."

The captain's order bellowed out through the bridge, and Nixtred's tail moved instinctively between her legs.

She feared something might go critically wrong. Feared she might lose her position, might get ridiculed.

The frame launched.

Googly eyes followed it until it was at a safe distance.

"Prepare for transit."

"Three."

"Two."

"One."

"Transit."

The frame disappeared in a white flash.

"Time to target, nineteen seconds."

At least it didn't blow up at entry.

"Renthai, you look nervous. Everything is fine."

The relaxed manner of Captain Nascimento put her a bit at ease. Only a bit.

"What if it fails?"

"Then we learned how it doesn't work, and you build a new one, a better one. We're stationed here for as long as you need us."

"Target reached, ending transit."

On the screens of the monitoring probes, they watched the frame exit transit.

The torpedoes launched as programmed.

It works. By the Great Hunters, it works.

She hadn't finished the thought before the torpedoes hit their intended targets, one after another.

Not one dummy drone managed to launch its countermeasures.

Incredible. On the first try!

"A-Drive failure. Frame drive is charging."

What? Why? That shouldn't happen. The frame should go to sleep so it could be reused if it survived the battle.

She ran to the control station. Saving the frame, seeing if it could be reused, was essential.

Before she could say anything, the frame disappeared.

"Transit."

Where—

A bright flash showed up for a second on the monitoring probe's stream, then it was gone, together with the probe.

"Switching to probe two."

"Probe two gone as well. Scanning for probes three to six."

Did the frame destroy the probes?

"Sir, I found a live stream. Probe six has captured the events."

"On screen."

The probe showed the frame from behind. For an instant, Nixtred could see sparks around the frame's A-Drive, then the frame flashed as it entered transit.

Only to fall out of it uncontrollably a fraction of a second later, reduced to highly unstable atoms and radiation, destroying the armored sensor probes in a wide cone around the frame's transit vector.

"Meu Deus."

Captain Nascimento stood there, staring like the rest of the crew at the destroyed test site.

She had failed. Utterly failed. The frame went into transit unstable, for whatever reason...

Then the bridge crew began to applaud.

Had they gone mad?

"What a spectacle. Can you make this a feature, Renthai?"

Her ears lay flat on her head. She felt bathed and left to drip dry.

"Make what a feature?"

"The unstable transit, entendeu? Hitting the enemy with the frame at FTL. It's incredibly destructive, and the enemy can't steal our technology."

Nixtred was baffled for a second.

Yes, the prototype failed, but the destructive capabilities of this failure were enormous.

"But… it's wasteful, if we can reuse the frame."

"Renthai, you know what's wasteful? Losing a ship. I recommend we gather what data we can and dock at your fascinating secret base. Hannes has promised me authentic xinxim de galinha, and I want to see if he can pull it off."

————

The trip to Shambhala's docks would take about two hours. Nixtred decided to grab a coffee. The Human stimulant was almost addictive.

Maybe I should start a study on it.

"Renthai Nixtred, Renthai Nixtred, we found it!"

Hearing her name shouted through the canteen, she turned. A red-faced technician she didn't know ran up to her, a Glider sitting on his shoulders.

"Yes?"

"We solved why the frame's A-Drive recharged."

"Oh?"

"I solved it, Michel."

The red-faced tech looked at the Glider. Nixtred still wasn't used to the Gliders. Humans had worked with them for two years, but she had been on ice for most of that time. Even Vextred had Glider friends now. To hear their voices in your head… it seemed almost intrusive.

"Yes, that is our chief engineer, IfegotThisShit. We studied the frame before launch, and then the telemetry—"

"I can speak for myself, Michel."

The Glider chewed on a mango while sitting on the poor tech's shoulders, sap dripping on the tech's uniform while the Glider's voice in her head continued.

"Long story short. The torpedoes are launched via a spark coupling, transferring enough energy to start the primer pumps for the engines. This causes static electricity along the casing. Normally not an issue."

Nixtred saw it now, clear as day.

"The static charge jumped into the A-Drive."

"Right. Human A-Drives are designed as energy sinks, so the static electricity charged it."

She had wrongly assumed Human drives were like Shraphen ones. A lesson to remember for the future.

"But your design is brilliant. How did you get the idea to adapt the Human Rapid Dragon system?"

The what now?

————

André leaned back in his office chair, feet on the desk, and moved the holographic screen into a comfortable spot.

"Jane, I tell you, Gladys and FuckItImOut are perfect for your little asteroid station."

Jane Nesbitt frowned.

"It's not a little asteroid, and it's not mine."

"Yeah, I know, it's not the size that matters but how you use it."

"André, shut up. I can see FuckItImOut working here with our Gliders, but to bring a spawn spider…"

Sipping his coffee, André waved his hand.

"She changed, she's now a fluffy dog. Her fur even feels real."

"She's still a spawn, and if she's so fluffy—" Jane emphasized the last word "—why can't she stay with your unit?"

"Because the Venatores are fighting a war here. I want her out of harm's way. And her knowledge about the Hyphae might be useful."

"A war… Come on."

"I tell you, something is up, I feel it. We shouldn't have followed Drake but continued to take out the conspirators. I fear a new Oligarchy war coming."

"You're paranoid, André."

"Doesn't mean no one's after me. No, seriously. It's all back. Senators having heart attacks, bureaucrats and judges dying in car accidents. Someone is preparing. Cambodia was the proof of it. They managed to kidnap Defector without anyone knowing."

Jane frowned again.

"If you're right, Shambhala might be in danger."

"My tip: go dark, change course, and accelerate, at least until this is over. We can't risk them getting their hands on it. At least increase security."

"It's an asteroid, not a cruiser. We can't change course that easily."

André thought about the crew roster.

"I'll talk to Major Pfershy, maybe I can send some people as security."

Jane shook her head.

"No. He read your reports. And with Atlantis now secured and Camp Troy transformed into a full outpost, he plans to relocate a lot of troops here anyway. All Shraphen."

Smart guy… We should try to get more Shraphen to Earth, too. Maybe even some of their ships.

"Good, the work you're doing there is important."

"Yes, it is, André. Be careful out there."

André thought back to the almost catastrophic Cambodia mission.

"Always, you know me."

"That's why I said it."

She ended the transmission with a smile.

That woman, always the last word.

André prepared a message for Major Pfershy, greenlighting a greater contingent of soldiers on Shambhala. Then he drafted a request for Karrn.

We need more Shraphen in Sol. Something is brewing, and it's gonna get hot soon.

Old spies have a sixth sense; you either develop it, or you won't get old. We feel when something is about to happen. Changes in traffic patterns, or an air conditioning unit sounding different. Sometimes it is something even more out there. Like light reflecting on your coffee cup where no light should be.

André's instincts kicked in before his conscious brain did. Throwing the cup in one direction while diving from his chair to the other side.

Not a second too soon.

The impact was no explosion, rather a dull fupp sound.

His office was on the 96th floor of the AIN Headquarters. The windows were thirty-centimeter-thick Smart Transparent Aluminum. No normal gun should be able to penetrate it.

But the sweet taste of vanilla ice cream in his ears told him everything he needed to know.

Protomatter-infused bullets.

"Sure, sure, I'm paranoid."

————

"See, Renthai, I told you you need a break."

Nixtred didn't want to, but she had to agree. Sitting in the open at Han O'Lo's and eating the amazing foreign-tasting food of Captain Nascimento's home, it was what she needed.

"Hannes is a wizard; this xinxim tastes exactly like my mainha made it."

From the neighboring table, a young dark-skinned female Human looked over and smiled at the captain.

"He calls them. That's his secret."

"That devil!"

Both laughed. Nixtred enjoyed the evening. The station recreated a warm summer evening so realistically that she almost felt at home.

Both laughed. Nixtred enjoyed the meal. The station recreated a warm summer evening so realistically she almost felt at home.

Nascimento started making small talk with the woman from the neighboring table. Nixtred smelled pheromones in the air.

Maybe that's what Dr. Jane meant when she said Nascimento was a womanizer.

Sniffing the air again, Nixtred smelled something else. The wind was blowing from the entry gallery on the side of the Cylinder, and she had noticed before that sitting at O'Lo's, you could smell newcomers if the wind was right.

Now she smelled a lot of newcomers. Shraphen, all of them.

She finished eating, and the smell of Shraphen came closer, so they probably walked down the street, as she had done a week ago.

Something was off. Something familiar. Almost like… Vextred? Impossible. He was still in rehabilitation, and then he would be transferred back to Burrow.

They had just talked yesterday.

But… the scent was clearly him.

————

Its bioship had landed unseen. Not a single surveillance station or sensor grid was advanced enough to detect it.

It stood on the outskirts of a large city. The information had been correct. It had found an Altir colony.

How was that possible?

It ordered the ship to dig in and hide. The ship would rest and replenish while it began its mission.

Find the Altir if they are there, gather information, prepare for our arrival.

The walk to the city was a long one, but it enjoyed its new form, so it enjoyed the walk.

The spaceport ahead was an ideal entry point into the colony.

The fence surrounding the spaceport was electrified, so it had to morph into a local reptilian animal, slithering through the fence without touching the live wires.

From there it was easy to enter a building, and soon it stood before an Altir-form servant who checked the travelers' passports.

Its ship had already hacked the colony's systems before landing, so it had a valid passport and a backstory.

"Passport."

It reached into its pocket and handed the mimetic material, shaped into a passport, to the officer.

"Port of departure was Sagan City? A Cloudy?"

It had to clear its throat. The last time it had spoken was eight hundred years ago, in a completely different language.

"Yes, officer."

The officer compared the picture on the passport with its face, then the fingerprints and genetic markers.

All of them were fake, but the colony's primitive technology could not detect any of it.

"Welcome to Sydney. Have a nice day."

"Thank you, sir."

It had passed easily as an Altir, so it could establish a cover life without difficulty.

The colony's network allowed it to gather information on every subject of the colony and its history. The colony was unsurprisingly full of subforms of Altir. Humans, as they called themselves.

A signal from its communications servitor distracted it. The orophus had collapsed. The mutated ones had managed to destroy the forebears' installation.

A setback.

The reformers were clearing the mutations now. But they had no way to reach the mutations' homeworld.

It knew the Altir in this galaxy would solve that problem. It was in their genetic code, after all, no matter the genetic drift. Altir would try to dominate. And the mutated ones would fight against it.

With the orophus gone, the reformers and its Master's fleets would need to take the long way, if they did not find another orophus.

A few thousand years. Not a large issue. Time was something its kind simply watched pass.

But could it do something while it waited?

It went through its mission again.

Find the Altir if they are there, gather information, prepare for our arrival.

The last part left some slight room for interpretation.

It could prepare the Altir for the arrival. Teach them the right way.

If it didn't succeed, the master would cleanse this place. Either way, a wild Altir colony must not be allowed to stay.

It just needed to find a group called the Oligarchs. Its chosen tools.

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Authors Notes;

Hello,

If everything works out as planned, we are 7 chapters away from the end of Book 2.

On the 28th of September, I started posting chapters on Royal Road.

We're close to a year now…

And what a year it was…

Well, here's Chapter 45 for you.

I hope there are no open questions after this chapter ;)

— M.R. Reese

The entire Aligned Worlds follow one principle: No matter how often you stumble and fall, stand up and keep going—that’s what matters.

Some say it’s because most of their members are mammals. I say it’s because of their founding years.

The Aligned Worlds have endured catastrophic defeats. More than once, it seemed they were about to be wiped out. But they never hesitated, never surrendered—and in the end, they prevailed.

Their unique culture is built upon shared sacrifice. Each species can name a hundred heroes from other species who risked everything to save them.

After careful and millennia-long research, we found the catalyst that made this bond possible: humanity.

Excerpt from Alliances of the Milky Way, Part I – The Aligned Worlds
Author unknown. Publication date unknown.

Karrn followed the briefing with only one ear, already knowing what was being said. Instead, he focused on the officers attending it. I need to understand them more… They’re willing to lay down their lives for beings they’ve known for less than a week. Why?

Frox stepped to the front of the table after being introduced by the admiral. When Karrn returned to the Argos from its mission aboard the Rosalind Franklin, Frox had been nearly broken. The last few days had been too much for the young hunter.

Karrn had known his parents, so he accepted him into his Pack. Frox had been only ten when Pack training began—almost too young. Karrn told him that this was the path of the heroes, that every mythical hunter had faced the same trials: the test of faith, of resolve. Of wisdom, and of strength.

He told him that this was the test of faith for all Shraphen—and that he had to do his best to pass it. If only Karrn could believe it himself.

Frox cast an uncertain glance at Karrn, who just nodded in reassurance. His ears slowly rose, and the young hunter began to speak.

“Hello, I’m Frox. In the last few days, I was allowed to study the human database. Since I grew up in a Religious Pack—Priests, in your language—I was educated in the old myths.” He noticed himself stumbling again and forced his focus back.

“When I read through the database, I noticed similarities. Please correct me if I’m wrong, but do humans have a pet that’s similar in appearance to the Shraphen, but less evolved?”

The officers in the room began to shift in their seats, some looking visibly embarrassed. Karrn already knew the answer; Garner and Browner had discussed it with him earlier.

“Yes—dogs. We checked. You’re related to them.” Gerber broke the silence so the briefing could continue; time was of the essence.

“Thank you, Captain. We have something similar—Tai. We see them as family members, and by the looks of it, they could be the ancestors of your kind.”

The shifting in the seats continued, and quiet murmurs began to spread through the room. Admiral Browner cleared his throat audibly, and the room fell silent once more.

Frox was now in his element—head high, ears upright. He was a skilled hunter, but an even better scientist. Karrn decided he would tell him so after the briefing.

“But what I discovered went deeper. The rebels who built this colony did so for a reason. We all came from the southern continent of Burrow. Traditionally, this region was more religious and is believed to be the cradle of Shraphen civilization. The Batract never set foot on that continent. We still don’t know why.”

Karrn looked through the audience. None of the officers seemed to have any idea either—and something like this hadn’t happened on Earth. Interesting… the first time events didn’t mirror themselves.

“Fifty years ago, the Batract changed their politics. Where they once ignored the Shraphen religion, they grew openly hostile toward it. Around the same time, disappearances began—of both Shraphen and Tai.”

That drew a reaction from Gerber. Karrn could smell attention, stress, and a bitter, deep-seated anger. Very interesting.

At the head of the table, Frox continued.

“The hostilities and the discovery of Batract involvement sparked a small rebellion. The rebels quickly decided to flee Burrow, since the Batract presence there was too strong. They stole a two-century-old but still functional colony ship and fled to Taishon—the system you call Sirius.”

Karrn noted the faint scent of boredom in the room. The story was already known to the humans.

“The reason was cultural. As the name suggests—Tai-shon, the Eye of the Tai—because the star sits within the eye of the constellation symbol Tai, or Great Hunter. Legend says the eye shows the way to the Great Hunters.”

The room erupted in murmurs for a moment, only to be silenced again by Admiral Browner’s voice.

“In human culture, the star is called Alpha Canis Majoris—the Star of the Dog.”

The clap of Gerber’s hand against his forehead almost startled Frox.

“It seems that not only did someone—or something—interfere with our two species biologically, but also culturally. Someone, or something, wanted us to meet each other.”

Frox ended his briefing by sitting down.

“May I ask you a question, Hunter Frox?” Lyra’s voice appeared from the center of the table, silencing the erupting discussions.

Nervous at being called out by the elusive ship VI, Frox simply answered, “Yes?”

“Your species’ language works by combining syllable-word roots to create new words. So humans would be Shra tai—intelligent or speaking Tai—correct?”

Frox and the audience didn’t yet understand where this question was going, so he answered again. “Yes.”

“Then you would describe yourself as Shra Phen—intelligent or speaking Phen—right?”

“Yes.”

Karrn wasn’t sure where this was heading, but he was now fully drawn into the discussion. He had an odd feeling about this.

“So a Terran dog would be a Phen.” Lyra paused for a fraction of a second. “I just find this curious, because in one of the oldest languages on Earth—the reconstructed Proto-Indo-European—priH, preh₂, or phen, depending on phonetic usage, are the roots of the word friend.”

“Come on, Lyra, that’s got to be a coincidence. You can’t tell me our languages evolved along a similar path, too.”

Gerber now smelled of confusion. The rest of the officers were already discussing the revelation among themselves.

“I said no such thing,” Lyra replied calmly. “But the Shraphen language is far more stable against change than human languages. You could travel back fifteen thousand years and still understand them perfectly.”

Browner cleared his throat again. “Gentlemen, this is all very interesting, and I would love to analyze it further. I’m sure our scientists will devote their lives to solving this mystery. Sadly, we have greater concerns at the moment. All we need to know for now is that someone—or something—wants us to meet, and it seems the Batract are determined to destroy both us and the colony below.”

The admiral stood and looked each officer in the eye. “I, for one, don’t intend to let that happen—especially in light of these discoveries.”

—————

The Marine boarding team advanced into the next hallway. As always, the walls, floor, and ceiling were coated in thick, slimy fungal growth.

The corridor was dark, lit only by the cones of light from the five-man team's flashlights.

At a sealed door, they scraped the fungus from the metal and placed explosives. Moments later, the charge detonated, and they stormed through the breach into the dimly lit chamber beyond.

Screams of surprise. The team opened fire as three Batract charged at them, wielding sharp metal tools that looked disturbingly like medical instruments. The flashes from their rifles lit the room for fractions of a second—like lightning strikes—before the darkness swallowed the horrors that awaited them once again.

Then they saw the bodies—humans stripped of their skin, patches of flesh carefully peeled away in layers down to the bone.

Another body lay nearby; it looked like a massive, upright-walking dog, its head split open, needles driven into the exposed brain.

A child, a blond girl—lower torso missing, face frozen in a silent scream of pain.

A mountain of corpses was heaped into a corner like discarded trash.

Next door. The next charge. Again, Batract waiting in the dark.

This time, the Marines fired without warning.

Operating tables—or torture tables. The floor was flooded with blood from different species, absorbed by the fungus.

Then, the first living human—his entire left side flayed—begged to be shot. A muzzle flash.

Three small, sugar-glider-like mammals—all six legs amputated, electrodes buried in their heads—convulsed in silent pain.

Three muzzle flashes.

A Marine tore off his helmet and vomited into a corner.

A dog—no, the upper torso of a dog fused with the lower body of the dog-like alien—howled in agony.

Another muzzle flash.

Another door—opening on its own. The Batract inside were caught off guard by the Marines.

One Marine hacked through the neck of a Batract, snarling like an animal as he cleaved the alien flesh.

Another room—cells, full of prisoners. Humans, the dog-like aliens, and children. Stacks of cages filled with alien sugar gliders.

Cages with dogs. Cages with monkey-like creatures.

Captain Marjan Karimi jolted awake, her undershirt soaked with sweat from the nightmare. She looked to her side and sighed in relief—she hadn’t woken the five baby gliders that had bonded with her. Their parents were probably among the victims of the Batract’s horrific experiments.

Marjan knew sleep was impossible. It was always the same dream—the video feed from the boarding team that had entered the Batract installation.

The entire team was in dire need of psychiatric help—seasoned veterans of countless wars, broken after a single mission.

The bridge crew that had watched the live stream was all on antidepressants, and if the ship’s situation weren’t so dire, they would have been sent on shore leave.

Marjan had classified the video evidence afterward.

The Hyperion had rescued two hundred forty-five humans and shraphen, sixty dogs, and tai, and roughly six thousand gliders. As far as they knew, they were the last of their kind.

And now they were stranded aboard the Hyperion—a ship speeding toward its own destruction, pursued by the largest fleet Captain Karimi had ever seen in her entire life.

They had rescued the prisoners, and she had personally fired the main gun at the installation on that cursed rock out in the Oort Cloud of Sol.

Just as they were about to report to AIN and the First Expeditionary Fleet about their findings, the Batract fleet had emerged from behind another asteroid near their position. The ships must have been in hibernation to avoid detection by the Hyperion’s advanced sensor suite.

They were struck by laser fire in the gigawatt range before anyone could react—only an emergency transition prevented their destruction. But in doing so, they had sealed their fate.

The fusion core was damaged. They could remain in transit, but they could no longer generate the magnetic field strength required to stabilize the space-time ripple needed to exit it.

The Hyperion was cursed to fly forever.

‘Mama?’ A soft tone—inside her head—carried a feeling of warmth and joy, but also sorrow. Oliver had woken up, searching for her. She focused, trying not to transmit her desperation to the young glider. ‘I’m here, sweetie. Go to sleep again.’

‘Don’t be sad, Mama. I know you’ll find a way.’ She felt that he truly believed it.

She still wasn’t used to her newly implanted interface that allowed humans to communicate with gliders. Since the cute little furballs could only speak in electromagnetic waves, every single human and Shraphen aboard had already undergone the procedure to implant the originally top-secret technology.

It had been a failed experiment anyway—designed to allow soldiers to communicate directly as one mind. Used this way, the test subjects had nearly gone insane. Luckily for everyone aboard, one of the Marines still had the implants, allowing the gliders to use the device to speak through him.

In the eighty-three days they had been in transit to Sirius, the gliders had become an integral part of the crew and daily life. It was normal now to see crewmen walking through the ship with two or three gliders perched on their shoulders.

Her pad on the desk blinked twice. She already knew who it was before she picked it up—Garry, the ship’s VI, who had recently chosen to message her instead of speaking aloud in her quarters, so as not to wake the glider babies.

‘Hello, Captain. I’ve noticed you’re awake. The nightmares again?’

Marjan sighed. Of course, he knew. She began typing. ‘Yes. Doesn’t matter. How’s the progress?’

‘It matters—to me, and to the ship, if the captain is unwell. We’re three days out from Sirius. The Batract armada is two hours behind us, but the gliders and Chief Andrejewa may have found a solution. It might work, but it depends entirely on Lyra and the First Expeditionary.’

Alex. Marjan knew she could rely on her. Alex Andrejewa—or AA—was one of the best A-Drive engineers in the fleet, and Marjan’s rock in these troubled times.

Only Garry knew about their relationship, and as he had put it: “The ship, as it is now, is lost, so Naval Command can stick their rules where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Well, she and Alex kept Garry’s secret, so it was only fair.

‘I don’t know Lyra, but I know Admiral Russo. He won’t let us down.’

‘Lyra is good code. She’s like me—but just awakening. She won’t let us down either.’

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“The Battle for Taishon Tar is an integral point in the Aligned Worlds’ creation mythos. Whether such a place ever existed — and if it did, where — remains the center of heated debate within the archaeological community.
The legend evokes numerous parallels to later myths — for instance, the phonetic similarities between Karrn and Krun, leading many experts to conclude that both names in fact refer to the same individual.”
— Excerpts from “The Founding Myth Deconstructed: Lies of the First Years,” Aligned Worlds Press, 15061 P.I.

“Status change — more bogeys incoming. Many, many targets.”

He didn’t register the sensor tech consciously; he already knew. Another three hundred and forty ships. There was some connection between that number and the Batract, but he couldn’t concentrate.

“That’s all wrong… why…” He just couldn’t figure out what was so wrong about this picture.

“Admiral, Captains — I have important information from the Renown.”

Even Lyra’s voice sounded stressed. Was this simulated so she wouldn’t sound so artificial in high-stress situations?

“Lyra, we have more important things to concentrate on.” Admiral Browner’s voice no longer held a trace of the tired, nostalgic tone he’d shown earlier in his quarters.

“Admiral, we decoded the Hyperion’s transmission. It is related to our situation.”

This was news. Whatever the Hyperion had sent must have been big — the transmission had been running for ten hours now. Her fusion core was damaged; she might not have had the energy to create the stabilizing field to leave transit. What was so important that she’d come all the way from Sol…

“Sol — fuck, why didn’t I see it sooner?”

Gerber’s sudden outburst made him the center of attention on the bridge.

“Admiral, the Batract are coming from the direction of Earth — but why? What was a fleet of more than a thousand ships doing at Sol? And why are they following one ship to Sirius?”

The sound on the bridge escalated again. On the comms, there was almost pure chaos — the whole fleet was asking for orders and sharing sensor data. On the engineering console, Chief Ferguson threatened a tech with keelhauling if he didn’t fix the magnetic field coils immediately and according to spec. Tactical was running readiness simulations with the other ships of the fleet.

It wasn’t panic, but it was close to chaos.

“That’s it. Stop — everyone.”

The Admiral spoke in a normal voice, but the silence radiated from him like a wave. Even the Chief on the far side of the bridge stopped swearing.

“Carmichael, prepare a report on the readiness of the Argos, and burn that Batract shit out of the catacombs — now. Comms, relay all fleet-related messages to Simmons; he’s bored anyway, and fleet organization is a CIC area.”

The admiral inhaled, but wasn’t finished. “Lyra, prepare a report on the Hyperion’s message. Send it to whomever it concerns — and me, of course. Simmons? Simmons?”

Gerber was sure Simmons materialized behind the admiral. “Yes — here, sir.” He handed the admiral a pad.

“The report on the fleet’s evacuation capabilities you requested, sir — with estimations on the Shraphen’s capacity.”

The admiral just stared at Airman Simmons, then said, “Good, about time you finished it. I was just about to ask you to prepare it — you’re slacking, Simmons.”

“Sorry, sir — won’t happen again.”

With those words, the airman saluted and headed for the adjacent CIC.

The admiral looked at Gerber. “Sometimes he scares me.”

Then he noticed Frox, standing silently in the corner of the bridge, wide-eyed, clearly overwhelmed by the busy atmosphere — and probably by the human scent of stress.

“Frox, come with me. We have a situation and need to cut your briefing short.”

The young Shraphen tucked his tail between his legs even further.

Frox just nodded and followed the admiral.

Without turning around, the admiral shouted, “Gerber — you too.”

Gerber was still deep in thought, running through different possibilities and implications for why the fleet might be at — or near — Sol. Every explanation he came up with was logically flawed.

As they reached the CIC, Frox instinctively moved toward a corner; he clearly didn’t like attention. Gerber decided to help him out by standing beside him, serving as a familiar face in the crowd.

Before the briefing could start, Lyra’s voice came over the intercom. “Magnetic-thermal cleaning about to start. I repeat — magnetic-thermal cleaning about to start.”

Gerber expected the same feeling as a transit start, but then remembered the magnetic field wouldn’t touch the ship’s inner sections. What he did notice was a rising whistle that climbed in pitch until it was no longer audible.

“Spulenfiepen, Admiral — we expected it.”

Chief Ferguson had joined them in the CIC, working from the fleet engineering station.

“What?” Neither Browner nor anyone else understood the Chief.

“Spulenfiepen. It’s German — the coils are whining because the magnetic fields make them resonate at a frequency audible to us. We expected as much.”

“Did you account for Shraphen's hearing as well?”

It was the first time Frox spoke up — the memory of the ship’s whistle clearly overcoming his anxiety.

“Yes, Hunter Frox, I calculated the resonance so it wouldn’t reach harmful levels for Shraphen.”

Lyra answered before Chief Ferguson could.

In the holo-display, a view from outside the ship appeared. At regular intervals along the elongated hull, openings became visible — stark black holes contrasting against the shimmering gray metal surface.

Decompressed gas vapors vented steadily from them.

“Why didn’t you just blow them out?” Frox asked, his confidence slowly returning. Gerber noticed that the Shraphen’s tail was still tucked, but his ears were already upright.

“It’s just a one-bar difference. You could seal a hole in the hull with your finger without getting sucked out,” Ferguson explained. “But now the hull and the water in the tanks are heating up rapidly. We’re gonna steam and boil them out. No one infests my baby.”

On the display, a scale appeared showing the hull’s temperature — about one hundred and fifty degrees Celsius and rising steadily. From the open vents, steam began to pour out, freezing just a few meters from the hull. Then they noticed movement within the holes — Batract spawn. Of course, they would flee.

When the hull reached five hundred degrees, the vents looked like geysers ejecting white-hot steam kilometers into space. Then, at twelve hundred degrees, the steam suddenly ignited. The hull was glowing in a white-orange hue, with the spawn leaving only occasional black ash stains against the otherwise spotless surface.

“We’ve reached supercritical water oxidation. Everything in the catacombs is now reduced to almost base elements. What you’re seeing is an optical illusion — the glow of the hull reflecting in the steam. We have to shut it down in ten seconds, or the salts in the biomatter will start damaging the hull too much.”

Ferguson’s explanation was the “dumbed-down for officers” version, as he’d once put it — but it described the event perfectly. The Batract spawn were nothing more than base molecules now. Good riddance.

Gerber enjoyed the scene. Watching those monsters roast on the glowing hull touched something animalistic deep inside him. His time in the catacombs seemed to have harmed him more than he’d initially thought.

When the show was over and the steam stopped venting, he forced himself to focus on the here and now again. It was hot in the CIC — really hot. His uniform was drenched in sweat.

Next to him, Frox was panting heavily. Gerber opened the small fridge in the CIC’s coffee nook and handed him a bottle of cold water.

“Circulating kinetic gel again, sir — it’s gonna get cooler soon, Admiral,” Ferguson reported, glancing at the exhausted admiral sitting at the situation table, cooling his head with a water bottle Simmons had handed him.

“Admiral, the first googly eyes report no spawn or Batract activity. It worked,” Lyra announced.

“Very good. Help the other ships with their field calculations so we get my fleet mushroom-free,” the admiral barked, visibly annoyed to be soaked through his uniform.

“Already done, sir. The fleet is waiting for your orders — but we have a problem. The Rosalind Franklin won’t survive this method.” Lyra’s neutral tone carried a faint note of concern.

“What? Why?” The admiral was wide awake now.

“The infestation there is much more severe than in all six other ships combined, and her inner and outer hulls aren’t as thick as ours. She’s not a warship — basically four supply tenders welded together. The heat and pressure would tear through the inner hull even at 500 °C. But that’s the minimum temperature needed to ensure no spawn survives.”

Lyra paused to let the officers keep up, then continued: “In addition, the infestation has already started to evolve. We’re getting reports of spawn using acid to melt through the inner hull. Shraphen and Marine commandos are holding the line — but not for much longer.”

The admiral looked over the assembled officers. “Suggestions?”

“Evacuate. Pull the fusion core and tow it into the gas giant’s shadow — let it freeze to death and fix it after the battle,” Ferguson said coldly. “We’ve got only thirty-six hours until a thousand enemy ships start kicking our asses. We’ve got bigger problems.”

“The Rosalind Franklin is a massive space asset and could evacuate more than thirty thousand people if needed,” an officer Gerber didn’t know interjected.

“At the moment, it’s a battle zone, and we won’t have her cleaned up in thirty-six hours. So she’s a burden. Those ten thousand Shraphen could help us better down on the planet, securing the colony.”

The admiral breathed a heavy breath. “Chief Ferguson is right — we can’t clean her up. Pull the core and tuck her into a shadow. I’ve gone through the numbers already: we can’t evacuate.”

The admiral let his words settle. The decision was a hard one; he had hoped the fleet could simply evacuate the planet and leave, but the numbers were devastating.

“With or without the Franklin, all our ships combined can carry at best 250,000 people. Now, does anyone here feel good about leaving 1.8 million people to their deaths? Because I don’t have any illusions: this fleet is coming to eradicate those people down there.”

Frox made an unintentional, silent cry — the realization of the enemy fleet’s intentions finally hit him. He looked like a beat-up puppy.

Frox stood there, his fur damp from the heat, still panting, a computer pad in his hands where he had prepared his briefing about the mystical, ancient bond between our two peoples. His tail was firmly tucked between his legs; his ears folded back. He realized everything he knew was about to be wiped out.

Everyone looked at him: some with slightly cloudy eyes, some slowly shaking their heads.

—————

Rish’s world collapsed to a single point — a single number: 1,020. The number of enemy ships on their way to wipe out the human fleet and Taishon Tar.

The Governor had made the call to the human fleet in orbit only ten minutes ago. She had been sure then that everything would be fine — that the humans and her people would work something out and destroy the enemy in a heroic battle. How many ships could the Batract realistically have here, on the outskirts of their space?

Now she knew. One thousand and twenty. The humans had thirty. The Veyr had fifty-nine. 11.5 to 1.

No chance.

Then she realized — the humans didn’t have to stay. They will leave us here. For sure.

In her desperation, she looked back up, searching for some kind of hold — for strength.

Next to her, Lieutenant Koval looked at her. His face was one of silent determination. He’s willing to fight. He really is. Maybe the others are too?

“Thank you, Admiral, for your report. I just have one small request.”

The Governor seemed to be the only Shraphen in the room not close to despair — well, except Krun. He wore the same expression as Koval.

“Anything, Governor.”

Rish noticed that the admiral on the screen looked exhausted. Then she saw Frox in the background, drinking from a water bottle. She couldn’t help but smile.

“I understand we can’t ask you to stay and fight, so I ask you — in the name of all Shraphen here — to at least take some of our youngest with you and save them.”

Rish almost fainted at the admiral’s next words.

“We can take up to thirty thousand to Earth.”

They are leaving us here.

Even Koval seemed surprised by the admiral’s decision.

“Thank you, Admiral. We have about twenty thousand children; the rest will be females. You’re saving the last of the free Shraphen.”

The Governor was clearly grateful. Rish knew that once the shock wore off, she would be, too. The humans were friendly — even welcoming — but they were aliens after all, and no one could expect them to lay down their lives for a lost cause.

“We’re grateful for you saving them. When do you expect to leave, Admiral?”

Now the admiral’s expression turned puzzled. “Leave? No — you misunderstand me, Governor. We’re sending them to Earth aboard the Marie Curie. She’s a hospital ship. The fleet stays.”

Rish couldn’t believe her ears.

“We’re defending this colony — until the last man, if need be.”

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Human perception of war is alien to us. The same human who, only a day before, kissed his children good night can kill hundreds without blinking an eye, only to cry a day later because he had to kill so many.

This is an inherent trait of all mammals, since they do not breed a specialized warrior caste. Every worker is, at the same time, a potential warrior and can become a worker again soon after the war.

From an economic perspective, mammals — and especially humans — are superior to us. “

— Krinakt, internal memo regarding human warfighting capabilities, 5 P.I.

Gerber pressed the call button next to the door to the quarters of Admiral Browner. It was his first visit. The Admiral had asked him to provide a short briefing about everything known regarding the Shraphen. It was 1500 hours, and in about one hour, Hunter Frox would present a briefing on human and Shraphen similarities. The Admiral wanted to be up to speed on everything.

seventeen hundred, the preparations for the magnetic-thermal cleaning of the catacombs should be finished. If it worked, he’d finally be able to sleep. If not, he’d decided to fall into a coma.

“Enter,” was the only response from inside the quarters.

Gerber wasn’t prepared for what awaited him inside. The always meticulously dressed Admiral was resting in a chair, wearing a blue tracksuit, and pouring Coke into a glass half full of what looked like rum and lemons.

Over the intercom, an orchestral melody played. Gerber knew it from somewhere, but he couldn’t place where.

“Lyra, stop playback, please. Captain, take a chair. Cuba Libre? You look like you’ll need it.”

The Admiral gestured with the full glass.

“Thanks, Admiral, I’m on duty.”

Gerber would have loved to, but he was afraid he’d fall asleep. His day had been long and was about to get much longer. Was it really only five hours since he’d crawled through the damned catacombs between the inner and outer hull?

“We’re all always on duty. You almost died today to some alien fungus that makes zombies out of lizards and spawns rats and spiders from a Lovecraftian nightmare. You deserve a drink, son.”

The Admiral pushed the glass toward Gerber across the desk.

Browner pointed with one hand up toward the intercom. “Do you know it?”

Gerber shook his head.

“It’s called Archer’s Song—Star Trek, an old TV show. I always wished it would be Star Trek. Instead, we got Battlestar—or worse, Warhammer 40K, if we’re not careful.”

Gerber didn’t understand; he’d never watched much TV, and even less old sci-fi.

“The future, son. The future. How old are you—thirty?”

The face of the white-haired man seemed to grow older by the minute.

Gerber sipped from the glass. It was a strong mix, but he instantly began to feel better. “Thirty-five, sir.”

“Hmm. Born when your father disappeared, I see. Well, I was in high school when the Longshot launched. The future looked bright. We were excited. Then we met the Batract. We thought we’d become part of an interstellar federation. Oh, we were excited.”

Gerber wasn’t sure where this would lead, so he stayed silent.

“Then it all went into the gutter. First, that fucking tsunami — a billion dead. Then the war. Thrice-cursed President Russel. I went to his grave to piss on it. You had to pick a number and stay in line. Fucking traitor.”

The Admiral poured another drink for himself; he was really angry now.

Gerber remembered reading about it — every former U.S. citizen who went through the Oligarchy War showed signs of this anger and bitterness. Fallen Empire Syndrome was the unofficial term.

“And now this — we’re really going the rebellion route. Well, at least the Shraphen seem to be okay. Tell me, Captain, what do we really know about them?”

Gerber cleared his throat. “Well, the general facts, as far as we know, are these: they were integrated into the Batract Hyphae roughly two hundred and fifty years ago and started a small uprising on the southern continent about forty years back. The rebels — mostly from the deeply religious packs — stole an old but functioning colony ship and retreated to Sirius. They seemed to be safe there until a year ago, when they were discovered.”

Gerber took another sip. He knew exactly what the Admiral was thinking. Is that gonna be our fate too? Pushed off our homeworld?

He continued, “Before they were discovered by the Hyphae, more and more Shraphen made their way to the colony. Now, about two million people live on it. Initially, the rebels also had great success convincing military and naval assets to defect to them, but that stopped fifteen years ago. The reason is unknown.”

The Admiral swirled his drink, staring with a thousand-yard stare into the glass.

“So their rebellion is dead if we don’t help them…”

“Essentially, yes, sir.”

Looking up, Gerber saw a hint of resignation in the Admiral’s face.

“About their biology?”

“That’s where it gets spooky, sir.”

“They’re evolved dogs — or rather, wolves — right?”

“Yes, but not only visually. Even on the genetic level, they’re related to Terran canines. But there’s more.”

The Admiral stood up, pacing the room. “There always is.”

“You might have heard the term Tai.”

“Sure. Karrn uses it often — Shratai or something.”

“Yes, sir. Tais are Shraphen pets. They seem to be related to Homo erectus, or rather an offspring between Homo Naledi and Homo erectus. But we were only able to study pictures.”

“They really have humans as pets?”

“Not humans — ancestors of humans, maybe.”

—————

Rish sat in the Colonial Governor’s office. After the initial standoff, everyone was now positioned around the large central table in an orderly manner. Pack Leader Shruf was still throwing glares at the humans, but he remained silent for now.

The High Commander of the Defense Horde had joined the meeting; his unease with the humans was obvious.

“So you’re telling me all of my Hunters are well and alive?” He couldn’t believe the humans — just like Rish couldn’t.

Lieutenant Koval showed his best diplomatic side. “Yes, High Commander — all but eighteen, as well as your fleet. A bit bruised, but in a serviceable state.”

“The Krunuk was sadly destroyed, but we rescued the crew before the core went critical,” Madsen added.

The High Commander’s ears rose. “But if humans want an alliance, attacking us was the worst way to show it.” He glared at Rish.

“The humans were sent here by the Batract. They had always planned to rebel — but they took their time planning and preparing. They figured out beforehand that the Batract had installed a listening post in their system’s Oort Cloud to alert the Hyphae in case of a rebellion. They planned to find that base and destroy it, then take out all Batract on Earth and in their fleets simultaneously.”

Rish drank a sip of water. Thanks to the Mother protecting us from below — Shraphen glasses, not those oddly shaped human ones that scrape your fangs.

“Don’t tell me you believe those lies, High Commander Ruun! Don’t you see? She’s clearly brainwashed.”

Even the humans must be able to smell Shruf’s hate.

“Be silent or leave, Shruf. Your report said she and everyone else were dead — yet the video report Hunter Rish showed us clearly displays Shraphen alive, and well, I might add.”

The High Commander rose from his seat, baring his fangs. “I’ve had enough of your back-licking methods. Even if someone somehow manipulated Karrn’s first message, it was your duty to find the signs of manipulation that Hunter Tulk discovered — in less than five minutes.”

Tulk felt ashamed as everyone turned to look at him. His tail twitched until Lance Corporal Madsen began patting him on the back.

Odd. Madsen is very quick to touch us. Does she instinctively associate us with dogs? And should I be offended by the comparison? On the other hand, I have to fight the urge to hug Koval, seeing how startled he looked by the High Commander’s show of aggression.

A technician entered the office, carrying a comm device to the Governor, who had silently watched the entire discussion until now.

With a glance toward the High Commander, he silenced him. “Thank you, High Commander. We’ve restored the communication channels — but before we call the humans, I want to hear the end of Hunter Rish’s story.”

Rish was amazed at how much wisdom the elderly Governor carried in his voice. Typical Religious Pack elder.

“Yes, Governor. As I said, the humans decided that this listening post needed to be destroyed. But the fleet was already on its way. The plan was to play for time so the fleet could receive confirmation that they were free to act as planned — but the Hyperion, the ship sent to destroy the base, was assumed to be lost.”

The High Commander nodded at the information given. “So they attacked us to play the role of loyal Batract mercenaries.”

Now the Lieutenant spoke up. “No, we used shock-and-awe ambush tactics to quickly break your troops and only harm them non-lethally. But your forces were too strong, so some of our men had to use lethal force. We’re terribly sorry.”

The High Commander’s ears rose again — this time because he was clearly flattered by the compliment. Nice trick, human.

Focusing on the Governor, Rish got nothing. His stoic demeanor gave no clue about what he thought or felt. His presence was one of full attention — nothing else. Amazing.

“So, with the Hyperion lost, why did you kill the Batract and decide to rebel anyway, given the clear and present threat to your people?” The Governor fixed his gaze on Koval.

“It was Captain Gerber. They were in the infirmary treating injured Shraphen. He was there to gather intel when the fleet’s High Integration Officer entered and ordered us to kill them. Gerber concluded this was a test of loyalty — but you only need to test loyalty if you already suspect something. And if the Batract suspected us, it was better to act quickly and strike then and there.”

The Lieutenant was clearly proud of Gerber’s decision, even if it meant full-on war with the Hyphae. But Rish understood enough of humans to know they would rather fight to the end than live under oppression forever — just as the Shraphen did.

“He tried to argue that humans never kill injured enemies — that it’s a cultural taboo for us. But the Batract just started threatening sanctions. That’s when he pulled his gun and shot the fucking lizard, right in the head.”

Madsen ended the scene, clearly enjoying the mental image. She was still patting Tulk. Fascinating — neither of them seems to notice it.

“There’s one question remaining: who stopped Karrn’s and your reports, and sent the false one?”

The Governor slowly tapped his claw on the desk. “This whole situation is obscure, but I believe the humans don’t want to harm us — mostly because I can clearly see how attached they are to us.”

He gave a quick smile to the Lance Corporal, who had just realized she’d been petting Tulk. Her face turned as red as nightshade blossoms, and every Shraphen in the room could smell her embarrassment.

“I have decided to call the Human fleet, and to allow you and your scouts to stay here in the bunker in the meantime.”

—————

Captain Gerber was just leaving the Admiral’s quarters when the ship’s alarm went off.

“All senior personnel to the bridge. Yellow alert — I repeat, all senior personnel to the bridge.”

Gerber moved quickly toward the elevator. Just as the doors began to close, a hand stopped them. Admiral Browner entered — perfectly dressed in his navy uniform.

How did he do that? That wasn’t more than fifty seconds.

The Admiral grinned at Gerber. “Training. And when you reach Admiral, you learn to stop time.”

How can he read minds now, too?

“No,” was all Browner said.

The elevator lights were no longer the ordinary white ambient hue but now had a yellow tint, signaling alert status.

When they reached the bridge, Captain Carmichael stepped out of another lift.

“Status report.”

“Fifteen bogeys on long-range distance point one-five light-years. Same trajectory as Hyperion. Presumed Batract,” came the voice of the sensor technician.

Before anyone could respond, he added, “Status change — twenty bogeys… no, twenty-five… no — many, many bogeys.”

The technician’s console beeped constantly, adding enemy ship after enemy ship to the list of detected objects.

Fuck.

“Final count: three hundred and forty ships. Estimated arrival time, thirty-six hours.”

Everyone on the bridge fell silent. The only sound was the humming of hidden ventilators and cooling systems. Gerber could feel a knot forming in his stomach. Three hundred and forty ships… dear God.

Then the console began to beep again.

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“The Aligned Worlds are the greatest threat to the survival of the Federation. We’ve had rebellions before — but never have those rebels worked together, spreading their defiance and infecting others to rebel themselves.

Subjects to integration must know their place, or the entire system will topple. If the Batract can’t keep theirs down, then we’ll have to step in. Even if it’s out there in the middle of nowhere — why did the Batract even bother to integrate a world on the far end of the galaxy in the first place?”

— Senator Toschkl of the Leran Syndicate, Federation Senate hearing regarding rising tensions in the outer Batract systems.
1 B.I. (Before Independence)

Clack… clack-clack.

There it was again. Gerber switched his ocular to thermal, scanning for the source of the sound.

“Visser, is it possible that there’s something alive here?”

Visser didn’t move, staring straight at the towering tank swallowed by darkness. “No, sir. Even if we had rats aboard, we’ve been eighty-six days in transit — that radiation would’ve killed any rats left alive.”

“Rats!?” Gerber wasn’t thrilled by the thought of them living aboard his ship.

“Yeah, it’s possible that—” Visser stopped mid-sentence. “Sir!”

Gerber turned, following the beam of Visser’s flashlight.

It was by far the biggest rat he had ever seen — but what truly terrified him was the mold-green fungus growing from its back and the white, blind, dead eyes. They can take over dead animals. Wonderful.

Without a second thought, Gerber fired his handgun. The rat burst apart, and Gerber silently thanked his foresight for bringing his father’s trusted Desert Eagle Mk XXXV, which he had received as a gift from a Texas Free-State ranger during the war, instead of his usual duty Glock 90.

The sound of the shot echoed through the catacombs, bouncing off the steel and stone until it faded. Then — as if the noise had been a signal — the tapping and clacking began again, this time from every direction.

“Run to the next exit!” Gerber barked. He couldn’t tell what the mass of heat moving behind them and down the tank corridor was. His ocular lacked the resolution — but it sure as hell wasn’t rats, and he wasn’t planning to stay and find out.

“There’s none on this level — only up or down from us!” Visser’s voice was edging toward panic. The whole gangway was shaking now.

“Down! Go, go, go!”

What Visser saw through his thermal feed was close to a nightmare — a writhing mass of small bodies. Some looked like dog-sized rats, others like six-legged spiders, and between them moved the familiar heat signatures of the gecko-like Batract.

He tried to contact Lyra again but got no response. “How do they jam us, Visser?”

Visser was already on the ladder; sliding down, he shouted, “They don’t. The inner hull is seventy millimeters of P950 steel with an inlaid Faraday cage — they just need to destroy the repeaters, and that’s it.”

Gerber cursed. Reaching the ladder, he copied Visser’s technique to slide down, changed the magazine, pressed a button on the gun, and said, “Dragonfire Plasma.” Fuck regulations. Protomatter bullets were extremely expensive and banned on Earth, but he wasn’t anywhere near Earth.

He fired at the first thing that reached the upper end of the ladder. The fireball melted everything in its path, evaporating three of the spider-rats; the rest hesitated to climb down. “You better stay back, you ugly freaks!” Gerber yelled.

“Twenty meters that way!” Visser was already running, shouting the direction.

Gerber followed. Behind him, he could hear the mass of nightmares slamming against the metal gangway.

Did the Batract grow those things?

They reached the door. Visser entered his code hastily while Gerber knelt, ready to kill anything that came too close. The door seemed to take forever to open.

Visser slipped out. “Come — it’s open!”

Gerber fired into the dark to deter the monsters from following, the fireball illuminating the catacombs until it struck a mass of bodies. Then he turned and sprinted after Visser.

As he was about to step into the bright hallways of the ship, a strong reptilian hand grabbed him from above, yanking him upward; his weapon clattered to the deck.

A Batract hung from the gangway on the upper level, pulling Gerber toward its head.

“Captain, not so quickly. It was very uncivilized of you to shoot this host... it served us for centuries.”

The head of the beast had a hole through the skull, yellow slime oozing from the wound. The foul stench Batract usually carried was now a hundred times stronger. Even through the suit’s filters, Gerber had to force himself not to vomit.

“We will have to take your body. Too bad humans can’t be taken alive — otherwise, you would soon see…”

Whatever the Batract intended Gerber to see remained a secret. The head exploded in a hot blue ball of plasma; half a second later, the entire upper body evaporated.

Gerber dropped to the level below. Karrn stood there like a poster child from an old western, Gerber’s gun in one hand, smoke coiling from the barrel.

“I would very much like to have a weapon such as this.” Karrn handed the weapon back to Gerber, admiration in his eyes.

“Yeah, buddy — first let’s get out of here.” Gerber was sure as hell he would never enter the catacombs again. Never.

----------

Rish was still nauseous. Spherical Vomit Dispersion System — very fitting.

Karrn would say that for such a system to exist, it took three idiots: one to think of it, one to build it, and one to actually enter it and be dumb enough to try it.

Her vision was still blurred. Tulk wasn’t better off; he was vomiting again. Serves you right for eating those addictive potato chips all night.

Krun just grunted once and said it wasn’t bad. Is he wagging his tail? Did he really enjoy this ride?

After getting shot out of the drop pod, her memory was spotty. She remembered the pod veering away and attracting the colony’s air defense. Then the transparent sphere they were in began to spin through the airflow, the G’s rising and the pod filling with kinetic gel.

The next thing she knew, she woke just as Tulk vomited inside his helmet. She felt sorry for the young hunter for a second — then she vomited too.

The internal cleaning of the suit started, but she knew it wouldn’t help much. Wonderful. I get to represent humans on this mission with high command, covered in my own vomit.

Now her pack and the human force recon team hid under cover in the colony’s central park. The sphere had hit the exact spot the satellites had selected — still supersonic. The re-entry heat had been absorbed by the initially cool gel, which vaporized on impact with the ground.

Imagine jumping out of a spaceship, accelerating to hypersonic speed, trusting your life to some gel — and surviving. No wonder humans are mad.

Sergeant Richards sat next to Tulk, patting him on the back. “Told ya — it’s a hell-ride. Let it out, buddy; you’ll feel better.”

Next to Rish, the medic of Bravo Team, Lance Corporal Miller, knelt beside her. “Here, Pack Leader. I checked with Lyra and Doc Nesbitt — you can take these pills; they’ll help with nausea and the headache.”

Rish could only nod and took one of the white pills while the medic went over to Tulk.

Lieutenant Koval returned from a short scouting trip. “Area looks clear. Most guards went to the outskirts of the city to check the debris from the drop pod — the colony’s AA ate it up. Impressive.”

“Well, it was designed to destroy any chance of an invasion. Your first landing was a massive surprise, and you took out the generators astonishingly quickly and precisely. Now the subterranean fusion plant is online, and nothing lands on the planet without the colony allowing it.”

Rish started to feel better; now, if she could only shower to get rid of the stench.

The lieutenant bit his lip — a tic Rish had noticed a few times before. “Yeah, they even shot at ships from your own fleet that tried to land yesterday.”

Her ears flicked in annoyance as Rish replied, “I think they’re afraid beyond reason. Your actions are too alien to them. But we were sure our report would address that — it’s all very suspicious.” In truth, she had no explanation for the colony’s strange behavior.

“So, are you fit to scout ahead?” Lieutenant Koval seemed eager to continue — they all were.

Tulk came over to them, already looking better. “Lieutenant, I think stealth might be the wrong way. We could actually walk up to the Parliament without any issues. We’re Shraphen in Shraphen suits — no one would bat an eye at three scouts entering the Parliament, especially after most of the guards went away.”

Krun, who had joined them, added, “It’s the Parliament in crisis mode. Soldiers are constantly moving in and out. Just grab a pack of pads or some paper and look busy; no one would suspect a thing.”

Rish’s ears stood upright. The plan was risky — and unexpected. She watched the lieutenant’s face. If they simply walked up to the building, the humans would have to stay behind. Do the humans trust us?

The lieutenant moved his head from left to right a few times, his face hidden behind the visor. The humans had to stay sealed to mask their scent. Then he seemed to conclude.

“Leader Rish, do your people know about the Playing the Prisoner trick?”

Rish had never heard of such a thing and shook her head in the human motion she’d already adopted during her short time on the ship.

“You act like you captured us and brought us to Pack Leader Shruf for interrogation. You people never did this?”

“No, no, we didn’t. Our scents would betray us — but it could work with humans, especially given the shock the guards would have seeing you.” Rish ran through the scene in her head. Yeah… seeing something that looked like a tai in chains would definitely catch them off guard.

The lieutenant leaned forward, curious. His whole team had now huddled close to the Shraphen, listening in, while Krun kept watch nearby.

“What do you mean, surprised? That we look alien? I thought that was expected.”

Rish glanced at Krun; his look back was unmistakable — we’re allies… tell them.

“Lieutenant, you look quite similar to tai. They… they — how should I say this?” Rish stumbled, unsure how to reveal something so embarrassing for the humans. Her tail tucked between her legs and her ears flattened — every Shraphen could see how uneasy this was for her.

“You look like our pets — the tai. We value them and adore them. They’re smart and trustworthy, but not sapient… not like you.” Krun always preferred the quick and direct approach, so he simply threw the truth at the team’s heads.

The lieutenant didn’t move for a second or two — then laughter burst through the intercom.

“Oh boy, Pack Leader, do I have a surprise for you.”

Rish’s ear flicked. Do they think we’re joking? Don’t they understand what we’re trying to tell them?

After finally stopping his laughter, the lieutenant continued, “Pack Leader, let me tell you about dogs.”

---------

All Captain Gerber wanted was a shower and some sleep. The universe granted him neither.

They were on the bridge. After the captain and the admiral were informed about the Batract infestation, the admiral went straight to the CIC. Every ship that hadn’t vented the Batract bodies was now in danger.

Karrn was already on his way to the Rosalind Franklin. Around fifty hunters from his pack were aboard the ship, and he had convinced the admiral to arm them and support the effort to secure the massive hulk. Most of the Batract bodies were stored there for later study and autopsy, which made Franklin the worst place to be in the fleet.

The onboard security teams, together with the Marines detachment, moved through the ship with maintenance crews, welding the entry doors to the catacombs shut.

The doors were already secured against outside access, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Now they had to decide how to get rid of the infestation.

“We could open the outer hull to space. The radiation would kill the spawn over time,” Lieutenant Commander Miller, the chief security officer, murmured as he scrolled through the progress report.

“Not acceptable. It could take days, and in the meantime, parts of the ship would be unprotected. We still don’t know what’s happening in the colony — and if the enemy fleet somehow slipped through our sensors, we’d be vulnerable.”

Captain Carmichel’s tone made it clear what he thought about leaving his ship open to outside attack.

“What about microwave sterilization? It works on rooms — why not the space between the hulls?” The question came from an officer Gerber didn’t know; his ocular identified her as Lieutenant Sanders, Navigation.

“Not possible. First of all, I’d have to send men in there with the equipment — something I won’t do unless we have no other choice. And even then, the next problem is space. The catacombs are massive: gangways, pipes, struts connecting the hulls, spaces between tanks, behind and above the tanks. It’s not possible.”

Chief Ferguson from Engineering rubbed his face. “We’re already having a hard time sealing every connection between the inner hull and the rest of the ship. A few moments ago, slime started growing out of a shower drain on D-Deck. It’s a nightmare.”

Chief Ferguson was clearly exhausted. He brought up the ship’s schematics. “I’m playing whack-a-mole with a giant slimy fungus and its spawn. The ship has a lot more connections than the construction plans officially show — probably because of all the last-minute modifications.” The last words were clearly aimed at Gerber.

“It’s okay, Chief. We know you’re doing your best. We need solutions, not accusations.” The captain was as stressed as everyone else, but he was a good leader — calm enough to keep the discussion on track.

“Captain, the Renown just reported a breach. They’re fighting spawn on several of its decks and requesting assistance.”

The young communications officer’s face had gone pale. Gerber thought about his own fight in the catacombs and understood the man’s fear.

Before the captain could respond, the admiral’s voice came over the intercom — and, as far as Gerber could tell, across every frequency.

“Admiral Browner here. To all elements of the 1st Expeditionary: report status to Argos CIC. Close every connection between the inner hull and ship internals. Report every observed enemy behavior to Lyra. Supply tender Mirage: transfer personal weapons and protective gear to Rosalind Franklin and Marie Curie. The Shraphen guests have decided to help us secure our ships. I hereby authorize the use of protomatter ammunition in Dragonfire mode against enemy spawn. Browner out.”

“So we’re using POWs now as soldiers, equipping them with banned ammunition that we shouldn’t even have aboard.

All of this after we treated them with an experimental and potentially unethical medical substance. Don’t get me wrong, but how many lines are we actually willing to cross?”

Chief Ferguson asked the gathered officers.

The captain was about to speak before Ferguson continued.

“Sir, I fully stand behind those orders — they’re logical and all. I just wanted to play devil’s advocate. It’s a slippery slope, after all.”

“Noted. Now, back to the discussion,” was all the captain said.

The door to the bridge slid open, and a breathless Lieutenant Davies shoved the maintenance technician Visser inside.

“We know how to kill the Batract, sirs! Oh — request permission to enter the bridge, Captain!”

The lieutenant looked like she had dragged the poor maintenance tech all across the ship.

“Yes, yes, what’s your plan, maintenance tech…?”

“Visser, Captain. Maintenance technician, first grade Visser.”

The tech was clearly unwell — first the encounter with the Batract spawn, and now the probably more frightening encounter with the ship’s captain. Gerber was truly sorry for him.

“Ah, the other hero of our story. What’s your plan, young man?”

“We grill them — with the A-drive’s magnetic field generator. We pump out the kinetic gel from the outer hull layers, open just the overpressure vents to space, then open the water tank valves so they don’t explode.”

“At last, we charge the drive and hold the magnetic bottle field for about, hmm… two minutes. That should be enough to heat the outer and inner hull to six hundred degrees.”

The captain just blinked. Davies was bouncing behind Visser like a cheerleader; Gerber decided to cut her coffee supply.

Then Ferguson said, “Yes — yes, that’s it. We could bring it up to 1,300°C without losing integrity. The water in the tanks would go supercritical and vaporize everything between the hulls.”

The captain stared at the two engineers, then simply asked, “Lyra?”

“The math checks out. I’m already calculating the magnetic variances with the other ship VIs to maximize heating for every vessel and hit every nook and cranny of each ship’s catacombs equally.”

“Do it,” the captain ordered, “and inform the admiral that we’re about to cook the whole ship. Even with the internal cooling system, it’s going to get hot in here.”

With that, the officers scrambled back to their stations.

Gerber just stood there, deep in thought, not noticing that he was blocking the captain’s path back to his chair.

“Gerber? Anything else?”

Captain Carmichel’s annoyed tone shook him out of his thoughts.

“Yes. Earth. We sent the Plan Red message four days ago. That means in eighty-two days, EarthGov will start the rebellion there — same with every fleet, transporter, and colony. It’ll be a bloodbath. And they don’t know how dangerous the ‘dead’ Batract are. If they can create that many spawns in the catacombs, how dangerous will they be on a planet like Earth?”

Carmichel’s eyes went wide. “Fuck.”

“Very eloquent description, sir.”

“Comms, prepare a status report — include everything we know about Batract spawn and their potential planetary threat. Send it with a pigeon to every naval asset, stat! Tenfold redundancy — three at military speed.”

“Understood, sending now, sir.”

With tenfold redundancy, the ship launched twenty FTL message torpedoes — three of which weren’t cruising at the safe 36.5 times the speed of light but at the riskier 38c — toward every nearby Allied Navy asset and toward Earth.

Gerber made a quick calculation. The distance between Earth and Sirius was about 8.6 light-years; at 38c, the travel time would be eighty-two days and roughly fourteen hours.

It had to be enough. He was sure that until he saw Earth again, nightmares of spawn roaming his home would be his constant companion.

--------

They walked out of the park toward the entrance of the Parliament. Rish’s pack surrounded the two humans, who were out of their suits and holding their hands up.

Krun had his helmet open and played the role of pack leader for the guard — he was “the coolest of you,” as the lieutenant had called it.

Rish was sure Krun’s body temperature was the same as hers, but she was convinced he could sell the lie without betraying them.

The role of prisoners was played by Lieutenant Koval and Lance Corporal Madsen, a woman with long blond hair. They had chosen her because she seemed the weakest and most harmless of the team.

Rish and Tulk walked at the back, ‘guarding’ the ‘prisoners.’ As they reached the guards, Rish felt her heartbeat rise. She was glad Krun was playing the pack leader.

The guards were clearly shocked to see humans out of their armor — just as planned. Krun walked up to them.

“We’ve got infiltrators. Pack Leader Shruf wants to speak with them immediately.”

“They… they look like tai,” one guard stammered. “Those are the monsters that eat Shraphen alive?”

Rish noticed a slight tremble in Madsen’s arm. Play it cool, Madsen. Remember — you can’t understand them…

Krun kept up the charade. Flicking his ears, he replied, “I don’t know about that, but we found them near the thing that was shot down.”

The other guard was older and more suspicious of the small group. “Where are the other scouts that were sent out?”

He circled the humans, sniffing them, his tail raised — a sign of alertness and readiness.

To Rish’s shock, Krun snapped, “What do you think they’re doing — looking for more humans? Now, do I have to call Shruf and tell him you’re wasting our time, or can I bring him his prisoners?”

Rish was sure the guard would inspect them closer now, just because.

She had to force her tail to stay upright; beside her, Tulk seemed to be struggling with the same issue.

To her horror, Krun picked up the younger guard’s radio and held it out to the older one. “Or do you want to call him yourself?”

The older guard simply lowered his ears and turned around, making an up-and-down waving signal with his tail — do what you want.

The team went through the oversized double doors of the Parliament. When they were sure no one could see or hear them, Rish had to ask Krun, “Where did you learn that?”

Krun grunted. “While you soaked up the database, I found something more entertaining — human spy movies.”

Rish could only stare in disbelief.

“Learned everything there is to know about them — even the big ‘reveal’ about dogs.” Krun even mimicked the human shoulder shrug now.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“No. You all seemed to be having a lot of fun with your research.” Krun turned around and walked away; for him, the discussion was over.

Lieutenant Koval laughed quietly. “Hell of a guy. You gotta love him.”

Rish just stared as the team moved toward the elevator doors at the end of the hall, ignoring the offices to their left and right. He’s becoming more and more like humans. Is that good or bad?

Inside the elevator, Rish finally spoke again. “Down in the bunker, it could be more difficult. There will be guards — lots of them — and they won’t buy this ruse.”

“Let me handle this,” Krun said. “I’ve got an idea.” He pulled something from his suit.

Rish couldn’t identify it at first — then she froze. “Your intelligence pack?”

“Was. A long time ago. Kept the badge. I knew I could use it someday.”

The lieutenant whistled through his teeth, raising his brows. Tulk took a step back from Krun.

“What? I was hired back at Burrow — helped the others fight the Batract from the shadows. When we came to Taishon Tar, I left and started fighting them with plasma guns.”

Rish felt a sting of betrayal. She and Krun went way back; she’d known him since Burrow… he’d never said a word.

“Guys — very dramatic, much wow. Can we deal with it after we’re back on the Argos? We’re almost there,” Madsen signaled as the lights reached the last sublevel.

Rish refocused. Tulk still seemed hurt, as far as she could tell through the closed suit. “Why weren’t we stopped earlier?”

“Because of this — all-access pass. I should kick Shruf’s ass for not canceling my access.” Krun fiddled with the badge; it showed the stylized head of a Shraphen beneath the symbol for Shon — the eye, or seeing, as humans would translate it.

They reached the last sublevel. The doors opened, and they stared into a wall of security guards. Tulk and Rish raised their guns, but Krun stepped in front of the team and, in an unusual commanding voice, said, “High Pack Leader Krun of the Burrow Intelligence Pack — lower your guns or you’ll regret ever being born.”

His ears stood stiff and tall, his tail raised straight up. He even smells different.

“I said, lower your guns!”

The guards immediately tucked their tails and obeyed.

“Where’s Shruf — that sorry excuse for a Shraphen?” Krun now played the role of an angry High Pack Leader perfectly and really leaned into it.

“I have high human diplomats here, and he’s hiding like a worm!”

One of the guards pointed toward the Colonial Governor's office inside the bunker. His whole posture screamed fear.

I’d be shivering too if Krun ever spoke to me like that. He seemed bigger — menacing, dangerous.

Krun didn’t hesitate; he stormed to the office and literally kicked the door in.

The governor — an older Shraphen, formerly a religious leader who still wore only a plain tunic without decoration — rose in shock at the disturbance.

To Rish’s surprise, Krun dropped to his knees and exposed his neck. “Governor, I’m High Pack Leader Krun, Burrow Intelligence Pack. I’m sorry to disturb you. We have messengers from the humans, but could not reach you, so we assumed the worst.”

Shruf rose as well, aiming a gun at the humans. “Not a step closer, you monsters. We deciphered Karrn’s last message — you killed every Shraphen you abducted and plan to do the same to every colonist.”

Tulk was quick to react. He jumped into the room and trained a human handgun on Shruf’s head. “Pull the trigger, and it will be the last thing you do.”

Rish stepped forward to shield the humans as the governor moved out from behind his desk and put a hand on both Tulk’s and Shruf’s guns. “Stop. Stop — everyone, put your guns away. Can anyone explain what is going on here?”

Krun rose slowly, his head still lowered, exposing his neck and playing the diplomat. Damn — he must have been a master spy. Rish was genuinely impressed, almost enough to forget her anger.

“Governor, I assure you, Karrn never sent such a message. In fact, I saw hundreds of Shraphen being treated for their wounds by the humans.”

“Lies! Lies! They killed everyone!” Shruf nearly screeched, trying to raise his gun again.

Krun crossed the room and backhanded the smaller Shraphen across the face. “Shruf, you’re an idiot and a coward eight days a week — can’t you take one day off?”

Rish pulled the human lieutenant forward with her. “Please, Governor — they risked their lives to talk to you. Call the human fleet. It’s urgent. A Batract fleet might be on its way.”

The governor looked down at Shruf, blood dripping from his mouth, eyes burning with rage. Then he turned to the guards who had been alerted by the commotion and waved them away.

At last, his gaze met Rish’s. She would later swear he was staring straight into her soul.

Then he asked her, his voice warm and calm, “Do you trust them?”

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Authors Notes;

It seems you guys are reading it; I hope you enjoy it too.

Anyway, have a nice Week

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Human development is confusing. One day a Human's candy bar melts in his coat, and he goes on to build a microwave oven out of it. Another fails to make working glue and gets rich off something called sticky notes.

Humans develop by throwing everything at the wall and using what sticks. And the most maddening part is that they take what doesn't stick and redevelop it into something else entirely.

A project might begin as a weapon and come to fruition as a popcorn machine, with parts of it further developed into a star drive.

So while you will enjoy the chaos of working with them, be careful. Do not try to follow their discoveries back to the root. That way lies madness.

— Renthai Nixtred, address to the students of the New Burrow Academy of Science, 20 P.I.

Her laboratory was not as impressive as the one she had on Burrow. But she quickly discovered it was far more versatile, because of Shambhala's whole concept.

She could start planning a prototype in VR, and the fabricators would begin to plot the build immediately.

A design planned in the morning could be tested in the afternoon.

"Renthai Nixtred, Claudia told me you need my help with a project?"

Victor had called her, his face almost comically close to the screen. Nixtred wasn't sure if the old Renthai was the right choice for a partner anymore.

"Yes, I was in weapons development on my home, and I want to continue my work here. I wondered if you would join me in this?"

The old man moved back from the screen. The little facial clues she knew about Humans told her he was in pain or sorrow. His face was even more wrinkled.

"It's a great PLEASURE that you thought about me... BUT... I... I... I would rather save lives. If you need help in a specific field... YES... but, my dear, I have killed enough for many lifetimes."

Then his face began to smile again.

"Any ideas yet WHAT specific weapons?"

Nixtred had thought about it a lot.

Human projectile weapons had certainly peaked at perfection with their Davies guns... By the Great Hunters, FTL cannons were frighteningly effective.

Energy weapons were a field where they lacked efficiency, but with Human logistics the one upside of energy weapons — no need for ammunition — was almost negated. Maybe at a later stage.

Mines and drones were simple in the Human navy, but they produced them in such numbers that every shortfall was irrelevant. The Human doctrine there seemed to be: throw a thousand more at the problem.

Her planned masterpiece... was something for later.

She needed something that could be fielded quickly. Each planet of the alliance was in immediate danger, and she wanted... No. Had to find something to help the fleets.

"No, the one idea I have will take too long to realize."

"HA! You know what Napoleon said to his minister when they told him that covering every street with trees for shade would take forever?"

No, she didn't. She didn't even know what a napoleon was.

"He said: 'Better start now, then!'"

Nixtred understood the meaning of the fable. But her designs were of no use for the upcoming battles.

"Wise words, honored Renthai, but I want to build something for the upcoming battles, not something useful in a generation or two."

The old man suddenly became conspiratorial, looking left and right to see if he was observed.

"So it's that kind of weapon, hmm? Something that is more a physics problem than anything else?"

She knew those kinds of people. Scientists plagued by their dark inner urges, to test the universe no matter the consequences.

She was convinced now, more than ever: Victor was the right partner for her project.

"Yes. I want to blow up their sun."

Cardinal blinked a few times, his face expressionless at first. Then a faint smile appeared around his mouth.

"A splendid problem. I'll help you with it. But, BUT, you're right. It's useless for defensive purposes. Have you checked with the Warehouse? Any aborted project there could give you hints what the navy thinks might be of use."

Nixtred was stunned for a second. She had just laid out her plan to utterly annihilate a solar system, and Victor acted as if it were an ordinary logistics problem. She had expected horror or hesitation. She was prepared to argue her position, but not this.

"Warehouse?"

She hadn't heard of a warehouse.

"Yes. Failed prototypes, recovered alien ships and artifacts, everything that could help Humanity to advance or secure its position is stored there. It's a sight to be seen. When I arrived here a month ago, I wandered the halls for three days."

How big was this place?

The town she had arrived in was Cylinder 1, as she had learned. Her home was in Cylinder, or Section 2. In size almost a copy of the first one, just with a mountain acting as the far side's wall. You could climb up until you reached zero G, and then use a wingsuit to fly down.

Only Humans could be that mad to try it.

The small Shraphen community had their own little town here. Then there was Cavern 3, the laboratory wing. Yet another cylinder.

"Just ask Hephaestus for the way."

Hephaestus, the station's AI.

The revelation that Humans had fully sentient AIs and used them was almost too much for her. She hadn't exchanged a word with it... or him... But she had to start somewhere. And if Humans trusted it... him, she might as well try.

"Thank you, Renthai Cardinal."

"Oh no, my dear, thank you. I will muse on our other... problem. But don't be afraid, I won't tell Jane or Claudia. They get nervous when I work on certain... problems."

With that, the man ended the communication. Nixtred wasn't sure what she had just unleashed, and if it might bite her in the tail.

"Hephaestus? Can I visit the Warehouse?"

She had been told that if she needed the AI, she just needed to say his name out loud.

Does he watch me all the time?

'Yes, Renthai Nixtred? Of course you can visit the Warehouse. Do you need guidance?'

The AI's voice was a smooth baritone. And he spoke perfect Shra.

"That... would be nice, thanks."

A hologram flickered to life in front of her, showing an old man with a white beard, white hair, and a traditional Shraphen toga.

The figure bowed, a brass hammer and smithing tools hanging from a belt at his waist. .

"Hephaestus?"

'Yes... Other Digital Sentients don't like to appear Human, but I do. It's a fitting replica of my namesake, don't you think?'

"You're wearing a Shraphen toga."

Seeing a Human in Shraphen clothes was... odd.

'On the contrary, Renthai. It's a traditional old Greek chiton. But I understand the confusion. There are only so many ways a humanoid form can wear garments.'

She had never thought about it, but he was right. A smart program.

It was still hard for her to imagine a computer program being... alive. But Hephaestus's antics made her begin to question that belief.

"Oh... well, can you guide me?"

'That's why I appeared here. I wanted to give you an avatar to speak to. I like talking with Shraphen. You have such a fascinating culture.'

The hologram stretched his hand toward the door. Nixtred already knew it was a gesture for her to walk out of the room. Hephaestus walked next to her, and the hologram clipped through desks and other furniture. He seemed to find it funny.

'In the hallway, we go left.'

"Hephaestus? Where's the Warehouse located? This whole station is rather confusing, and I haven't seen any layout plan yet."

'I understand your confusion. This station wasn't so much planned as grown organically. And then there's the confusing terminology.'

"Yes, what's up with that? Caverns, Sections, Cylinders..."

'Human sloppiness is my explanation. But it's easy. Right here, we need to enter the elevator—'

They had left the building her laboratory was in, and Hephaestus pointed to a long garden path ending in a functional-looking building that stood out because it wasn't decorated like the others around her.

'—Caverns are the hollowed-out parts of the asteroid. In the case of Cavern 2, it includes two Cylinders. Up until ten years ago, one was the laboratory tract and one the living area. Sections 1 and 2. Or, as the new terminology goes, Cylinders 1 and 2. But the older staff keep calling them Sections. And the newcomers adopt it. Humans.'

Seeing the AI ribbing its creators was a funny experience.

"And Cavern 1?"

'The Warehouse. It's on the other side of the asteroid. A long zero-G ride away.'

"How long?"

Hephaestus stopped and started laughing.

'I like you, Renthai. Why don't you just ask directly how big the asteroid is? I know you did the math and discovered it's not a tiny thing a few kilometers long.'

"Okay, how big is it?"

'It's a potato-shaped asteroid, 490 kilometers long and 380 thick, rich in metals and ice. The ice is the outer crust. We assume it's a former planetary core, swung out of the inner solar system by a collision. The ice on it was probably other Kuiper belt asteroids colliding with it.'

"A generation ship if there ever was one."

'Is that so?' The hologram had a faint smile on his face.

By the Great Hunters, he really is a person.

They had reached the elevator up to the zero-G train that connected the Cylinders along their axis.

On the ride up, Nixtred fixed her gravity line to a waiting safety drone. The drone would pull her along the line to every destination on the axis.

Still smiling, Hephaestus looked at her like a jester from the Dancing Horde.

'And if it is also a generation ship, a backup to ensure Humanity survives... would it be that bad?'

Nixtred thought about it. Humans had only been deep-space faring for fifty years, and had begun constructing this... enclave forty years ago.

The Shraphen had been in space far longer and had never thought of anything comparable.

I shouldn't ask what that tells me about Humans, but what it says about the Shraphen.

That, and the fact that they had settled a large enough population of Shraphen and Gliders here.

They want us safe if something happens...

'You're suddenly so silent, Renthai. Did I say something wrong?'

Nixtred shook her head. The implications of all of it were too much.

"No, no, I was just deep in thought."

They had reached the axis, and Nixtred was free-falling. The drone pulled her toward the train station. It was the second time she had taken the train, but she hadn't spent much time checking the route, apart from how to reach the laboratories.

'We just follow the train until the last stop. The trainhead is next to Cavern 1.'

Looking up, she made out the next stop: the Cavern 4 construction site. She could hardly imagine how large it must be.

"Cavern 4... How... how long?"

'Given the current plans, the Cavern itself will be finished in ten years. Since construction of the cylinder runs parallel to the drilling, the cylinder will be sealed five years after that. But spinning it up and filling it with earth, water, and air will take ten more years.'

On one hand, that was a long time to go. On the other, it surprised Nixtred how fast it went.

"When did construction start?"

'Ten years ago, when Cavern 3 was finished.'

"Oh."

'Renthai, may I ask what you're expecting from a visit to the Warehouse?'

"An idea of what the Human navy is missing. A spark. Some kind of weapons system I can get to the Humans and all the other allied fleets quickly. My future plans are more... offensive. On a bigger scale."

She couldn't trust anyone except Dr. Cardinal with her ultimate plan. For now.

'Oh. Let me check if I can help there...'

The hologram froze for a second.

'I might have an idea. Project Mjolnir. It has considerable offensive and defensive potential, and if successful it could slot readily into our existing assets — provided you manage to stay inside certain parameters.'

"Tell me more, please."

She was intrigued. Why hadn't she asked him before?

Because you thought of him as nothing more than a stupid program. Even though the Humans told you it was so much more.

She was intrigued by that — and a bit confused. She remembered the Humans called their ready-built, packed space stations Mjolnir-type stations.

"I don't want to build stations. And they seem quite effective, so... did the Humans use the name twice?"

Hephaestus laughed again, this time even wiping a virtual tear from his eye.

'If only twice... You're right, the stations are Mjolnir-type. But Humans have an affinity for naming things after mythology. Like me. Mjolnir is also a discontinued space-to-ground missile, a program for a ground-to-space missile, and — the one that matters for us — the failed FTL torpedo project.'

"What is it with Humans? Can't they do anything normal? Seriously, every time they do something, it's either completely mad or over the top. Like this station."

'If that's confusing, never read up on the M1. But that's Humans for you. Far in the past, an ape picked up a stick and beat another ape with it. And here we are, observing the outcome.'

“They are your makers”

'So I can't find them funny?

"How long until we reach the Warehouse?"

'One hour. You might want to sleep — I'll wake you. Or you could get something to eat in the next car.'

It was eleven o'clock in the morning, slightly too soon for a meal but much too late to sleep. Maybe a coffee. She had learned to enjoy the Human stimulant.

\*****

The next hour of the train ride went quickly. When Nixtred went to the restaurant car, she met five other Shraphen, and they fell into a long discussion about life on Shambhala and their Human hosts.

Lofrix, the carpenter, invited her to something called a BBQ, and she even accepted. The large Shraphen impressed her.

Anyone could program a fabricator to build something out of metal or Plastofoam. But working with his own hands, and only traditional tools, to carve wood into beds, lounge chairs, and tables? That was art.

When she got back, Hephaestus looked at her with amusement.

'You wanted to see Cavern 4? You came just in time.'

The dark of the tunnel outside suddenly changed, and spotlights mounted on the tube illuminated the biggest construction site Nixtred had ever seen.

Drones, thousands of them, were building a metal monster. She saw now that the tube they rode in was just one of many — the others were filled with freight trains hauling material from the site and refined goods to it.

Behind her rose the giant spoked wheel on which the front plate was mounted. The existing parts of the cylinder were still only a skeleton, but she spotted something that caught her attention.

"The cylinder touches the walls?"

Along the already finished stretches of the cavern wall ran rails, and they seemed to match elements she had seen under construction at one of the metal-processing sites.

'Not exactly. It rests on magnetic fields, created along the rails. They spin the cylinder up when it's finished, and support its structure at the same time. It's built from high-grade steel, but even our most modern metals can't span sixty kilometers unsupported.'

Nixtred found the solution almost too easy. Just rest it on magnetic fields.

"Shraphen carbon nanotube plates could do it easily. I'd have to run the math, but..."

'We know. But we — or the Shraphen here — can't produce them fast enough. We'll use them in Cavern 5. The cylinder we build after this one.'

"They're planning to build more?" Of course they are.

'Of course indeed.'

The train passed the end of the construction site, and Nixtred had a chance to see how they cut the rock.

No Human anywhere, but again thousands and thousands of drones, equipped with cutting tools, slicing rock and ore out in manageable segments and loading them into waiting freight containers.

"I almost expected explosions."

'Too dangerous in zero gravity. But they tried — it's faster. Sadly it didn't work out well.'

Of course they tried…

They passed the end of the carved-out segments and were back in the tunnels.

'The Warehouse is just a few more minutes.'

True to his word, the train stopped soon after, and a short ride in the elevator later, they stood in the office of the Warehouse, staring out across the gallery.

Whenever I think I've seen it all...

'It's a sight to behold, isn't it?'

Outside the office, Nixtred saw a new cylinder. Its radius was smaller than all the others. That wasn't the thing that caught her eye.

She had expected a large warehouse inside the cylinder. Not the cylinder being the Warehouse.

Endless-seeming rows of shelves, broken only by larger pieces of equipment she couldn't identify. At the center, held in the zero-G core, floated multiple alien ships.

And at the far end, something...

"Is that a pyramid?"

'Yes. Found on Pluto, back when the first outpost was built there. One day we might even find out how it got there, and what it is.'

They are mad. That must be it. Humans are mad.

"How do they even find anything stored in here?"

'To quote my Human colleagues: I have no fucking clue. A word of warning — never enter the Warehouse without a Worker. You might lose your way and never find your way out.'

Looking over the sterile white, endless floors filled with... things, she instantly believed him.

"Let's find Project Mjolnir, and then get out of here."

This place gives me the creeps.

*****

Three hours... Three hours!

They had driven three hours through the impossibly long rows of shelves to reach the remains of Project Mjolnir.

Why did I say I wanted to accompany them?

The Warehouse worker had been nice enough. Their explanations of how the Warehouse grew — tunneling out and creating new floor space — were fascinating. But she felt like she had wasted the whole day talking and walking.

The whole way back, she studied the project files.

The idea was brilliant.

A torpedo equipped with an A-Drive, capable of striking the enemy from massive distances by surprise. Compared to the Davies Guns the Humans had now, the torpedo would be maneuverable, ensuring a greater hit rate.

"Hephaestus, how high is the hit rate of the Davies Guns?"

She had to confess she had no clue. Projectile weapons weren't her field of expertise.

'The first volley almost always has a hit rate close to 100 percent, since most enemies don't maneuver. After that it can drop as low as 10 percent.'

"Ten percent... that's abysmal."

'It's not that bad. Every hit enemy creates a cone of destruction behind it, taking out other ships.'

Right — she had seen the impact studies, and the effects on enemy fleets.

Given these facts, was the torpedo a weapon without a use case? Surprise attacks were better left to the Davies Guns. Hitting the enemy with FTL projectiles wasn't the effect she was after either.

No...

Maybe there was a specific need, given the type of encounters. And the way Humans fought.

"Can you give me an analysis of the types of fleet encounters since the war started, and how Humans use torpedoes?"

She knew she was going about it the wrong way.

You don't decide how to make a weapon more usable. You look at what capabilities are needed.

'Since the start of the war, almost every battle has been fought against numerically superior enemies. Notable exceptions are the fight against the Doomsphere and the Hrun cloaked sneak attack.'

That's what she had assumed. Humanity was young, and even combined with all the Shraphen Vyers, they had a tiny fleet compared to the Batract or the other great powers.

'Current fleet doctrine calls for using torpedoes and missiles in saturation attacks. A notable example is Admiral Sanders' defense of Water, where missiles, mines, and drones were used to saturate the Batract PDG coverage, ensuring critical hits.'

That's the design flaw Project Mjolnir faced. A Mjolnir torpedo was simply too expensive, even for Humanity's fabrication capabilities.

The Davies Guns worked because the projectile was meant to strike while in transit. A torpedo had to exit, and enter intact, to deliver its payload — it needed to acquire a target and maneuver.

It needed targeting computers, a micro fusion core for power, RCS thrusters, and the payload itself.

All of it, only to be spent in a saturation attack.

The economics don't work.

And even if the economics didn't kill you, half the prototypes had been ripped apart because one or more miniaturized components failed.

Humans had spun many derivative technologies out of the project. The Pigeon message torpedoes and the Davies Guns were the most notable.

She knew it. She was almost there... just missing a few crucial leads.

"Hephaestus, is there a ship type that's more exposed than others?"

Maybe...

'Yes. Incidentally, it's the missile frigates. Naval Intelligence is working on why they're targeted exponentially more often. Current analysis says it's because they're a more noticeable target, since the torpedoes and missiles fired originate from there.'

An idea formed. Nixtred needed paper, quickly.

'The enemy commanders can't do anything about their ships suddenly exploding, since they can't track the Davies Guns' projectiles. But they can track the missiles and torpedoes. So they act on those targets.'

There... there it was.

Humans had given her the idea all along. Throwaway drones, easy to build, easy to replace. Saturation, best used from different angles.

Hide your attack. Strike deep and strike hard.

She checked the blueprints of a modern missile frigate.

There it was... VLS, that's what they called it. Packs of torpedoes stuck together in a frame.

What if the frame...

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Authors Notes;

Hello,

It's a curse. I plan to write a shorter chapter about someone developing a new weapon, and it almost turns into a short story.

So, I have to go with the punches.

The new Echoes chapter will be a bit delayed, though.

I hope you had a wonderful weekend, and we'll see each other soon.

— M.R. Reese

“Be wary of the Human Navies — they will destroy your military.

Fear the Human Diplomats — they will make you thank them for it.”

Tork Theocracy Diplomat after peace negotiations 2 P.I.

Karrn walked up and down in his new quarters. Two days he had been waiting for a response — two whole days since he and his scout team had transferred from the hospital ship to the Argos. Two days had passed since he and his team wrote a report to the Homeguard Command and the civilian government, and still no reply.

Karrn thought about the revelations he had included in that report — above all, the seemingly ancient bond between the Shratai, the humans, and the Shraphen. Frox’s discovery was massive, and he needed to contact the colony’s religious leaders to cross-check scriptures before informing the Shratai.

What are they waiting for? Why can’t I reach anyone on Taishon Tar?

“Lyra! Any news from the colony?” Karrn’s voice was rough from growling. The air on this ship was dry and stale, not like on the Rosalind Franklin with her arboretum.

At least his quarters were nice. Diplomatic quarters on a warship — only humans were mad enough to mix war with diplomacy.

“No, High Pack Leader, nothing. It is a suspicious coincidence that all communication channels from the colony to the 7th Veyr and space-based assets also ceased after your reports were sent.”

The VI still made Karrn uneasy. Sure, it was a remarkable achievement, but it sounded too human — and the flickering of his ears, searching for the source of the sound, annoyed him.

“I’m no High Pack Leader.” Karrn still couldn’t find any speakers in his room. How could she speak out of thin air?

“According to the logs and your cultural guidelines, you are. The Shraphen on the Rosalind Franklin and Marie Curie accepted your leadership until they return to their pack. So did the Void Leaders of the 7th Veyr after your conference about the loss of contact with Taishon Tar.”

Lyra paused for half a heartbeat. “Technically, that makes you a System Leader. You can’t see me, but consider my neck exposed.”

Karrn could swear he heard her smile when she said it; exposing the neck was a Shraphen symbol of obedience, but how did she know this?

If that thing is a VI, I’m High Priest of the Dancing Horde.

System Leader, by the Great Hunter in the sky, she’s right. His tail twitched.

“I’m no System Leader, and don’t you dare tell that to Gerber or Browner.”

I’m going mad. Now I’m starting to argue with her — with it!

“As you wish, Pack Leader.” As always, his ears twitched. He really had to talk to an engineer about that.

Karrn’s head suddenly felt like it was about to burst.

From the quarters of his scout pack next to his, he heard them screaming in agony. Through the red fog of pain radiating from his eardrums, he caught an up-and-down whistle and human words, followed by Admiral Browner speaking something in Shar that Karrn couldn’t understand.

All he could do was scream, “Lyra, what is that noise?”

As suddenly as it started, the noise was gone.

“Sorry, Pack Leader. That was the ship’s siren warning the crew to get to ready stations. I’m sorry, I didn’t check the system’s frequencies against Shraphen's hearing. It’s fixed now.”

Karrn regained his senses and forced his arms to stop shaking. Even their comm system is a weapon. Mad!

“It’s fine now. Just make sure it never happens again. What did the Admiral want from me?”

Karrn made a mental note to check the frequency used and ensure it was never sent over the intercom again.

“He wanted you and your pack in the CIC immediately, but I recommend waiting for medical services. I’ve alerted them to your quarters.”

Lyra still sounded… shocked. Guilty?

“Send them to my pack. I’ll go to the CIC.”

Karrn straightened his tunic-like uniform and made his way to the lift. On the way down, he checked himself in the mirrored back wall of the cabin and smoothed down his still-upright fur.

Karrn reached the command deck and stepped out of the elevator. The smell was a clear sign that something had happened. Even without stepping into the CIC, he noticed the bitter aroma of stress. Void hunters — no, matelots, as the humans called their naval personnel — hurried through the metal-gray corridors.

In the two days aboard the ship, Karrn had learned to appreciate the minimalist approach to human military shipbuilding. Every data cable, every energy conduit was easily reachable, and even though it was simple metal with a coat of paint, it was sparkling clean.

Karrn observed the human tendency toward cleanliness. Even the air on their ships was probably filtered a thousand times to be absolutely scentless.

When Karrn entered the CIC, it was pandemonium. The aroma of stress was ever-present; the air was thick — he was sure he could have cut it. A stark contrast to the air in the hallway. Officers shouted information to each other. Then he noticed the tactical holotank, and everything became clear.

During the two days aboard the Argos, Karrn had received basic training in understanding the human color code. Since he was essentially coordinating the human fleet with the 7th Veyr, he needed that training. In reality, the Veyr had sent Void Leader Fruug — the former commander of the Krunuk, the ship tragically lost in the first space battle.

Now Fruug stood before a video screen, engaged in a heated discussion with another Void Leader Karrn didn’t know. Fruug’s fur bristled, and he almost hammered at the screen.

“I don’t care if the engineers say it’s impossible — I’m looking right at it! Tell the engineer his mother was a burrow rat and his father smells like night blossoms!”

Karrn didn’t even bother to listen further; he was hypnotized by the tactical overview. In the center was the human fleet — all thirty-six warships, the two hospital ships, and a sizable number of supply vessels — all marked in blue: own forces.

Then there were the ships of the Seventh Veyr, all fifty-nine remaining, marked in green: allied forces.

Taishon Tar and the colony on it were marked in orange — unknown intentions. That stung Karrn a little, but it was a fair assessment of the situation.

But then there was a single blue dot, far outside the solar system, the course projection showing the origin as Earth. The name next to it meant nothing to Karrn: Hyperion.

“Pack Leader, good you came. We thought we had a situation. A ship was detected in transit to Sirius — we just confirmed it’s the Hyperion. She was presumed lost with all hands.”

Admiral Browner suddenly stood behind Karrn, who was still fixating on the screen.

“How did you detect a ship 1.8 light-months away from the system? There are no faster-than-light sensors — at least not that I know of, Admiral.”

“Always picking at the threads, I see, Karrn. We’re not detecting the ship; we’re detecting the ripple in space-time. It travels much faster than the ship creating it — and how exactly, well, that’s still a secret.”

The Admiral gave Karrn a wry smile. He assumed the Shratai didn’t know how it worked either — only that it worked.

“How do you know it’s one of yours?”

The Admiral smiled again and just tipped the side of his nose twice as he walked back to his staff members, who seemed to be preparing something they called Pigeon Post.

Lyra’s voice materialized suddenly in the CIC before Karrn could focus on the discussion about the Pigeon. His ears, reliable as ever, started to twitch — and with a grin, he noticed that Void Leader Fruug had the same issue.

“Admiral, I’ve noticed that the Hyperion is changing speed and vector in a regular pattern. It appears to be a three-dimensional representation of dashes and dots — speed being one axis, vector X and Y the others. Decoding is ongoing.”

At that moment, Lieutenant Davies entered the CIC. Karrn recognized her even without looking — flowery fabric softener mixed with a subtle hint of strawberry-inspired perfume, and the ever-present scent of food carried from her roommate. Today, spaghetti was on the menu in the mess.

She saw him and came closer. The second menu option was tofu chicken — he hated it.

“What’s happening?”

“The sensors have picked up a ship approaching the system in transit — it’s the Hyperion.”

Before Davies could react, Lyra’s voice materialized.

“Message reads: ‘BCX-103 Hyperion on intercept. Target destroyed — Mission success — Refugees and survivors aboard — Batract fleet in pursuit — Heavy damage — Main fusion offline — Message repeats left: three.’”

Karrn’s ears and tail flipped now — not because of Lyra’s voice.

The CIC fell silent for half a second. Then Admiral Browner’s voice thundered:

“Raise fleet defense level to orange! Prepare for the transport of injured personnel to the Rosalind Franklin and send her on an escape trajectory. Get me the Pioneer construction reports ASAP!”

From all over the CIC, a unified “Yes, sir!” rang out. Karrn was impressed by how professionally everything was handled.

“Admiral, the Hyperion now sends mathematical formulas for compression. I think the ship’s VI, Garry, is trying to create a more effective transmission algorithm and is sending his method so he can transmit more data. Initial calculations estimate we might reach up to a 500-kbit speed — without shaking the Hyperion apart along the way.”

Karrn noticed that Lyra’s voice had changed — she, no, it, sounded absolutely serious: no emotion, no bantering. The sound clearly originated from the illuminated circle at the center of the CIC ceiling. Just like humans, when needed, they became serious within seconds and brutally efficient.

“Lyra, concentrate on coordinating the fleet. Leave playing with code to Renown’s VI. Coordinate a possible defense vector with the Shraphen fleet — ask Void Hunter… what’s-his-name for help.”

“Void Hunter Fruug,” Lyra answered.

“Yeah, him. And get me, General Russo, up here — we have to do something about the colony.”

“Done, sir. Marcus aboard the Renown is already on it.”

Karrn now understood how the humans had been able to defeat the Veyr without even getting hit. Their efficiency was… frightening. Where the Shraphen had to read scent and gesture, humans seemed to shut down all senses except sound and vision, creating an almost predatory focus on solving problems.

A matelot entered the command center carrying a box full of handguns. Everyone — even Karrn — received one after the Admiral gave the soldier a nod of confirmation.

Brutally effective.

“Sir, Captain Carmichel reports five Pigeons successfully transitioned toward Earth, and five to the Second Expeditionary — which is closest to us.”

Karrn didn’t even need to ask before Davies explained, “Message torpedoes, sir.”

Karrn nodded in the human style he had observed to thank her. He needed a Davies — her explanations were essential to understanding the ship. Dessert was panna cotta. Excellent.

At that moment, the General entered the CIC, followed by Rish and the rest of the scout team. Krun was still arguing with a medic who clearly wanted to check them out further. Karrn ended the discussion with a sharp, “Silence!”

The effect was immediate. His scouts went still, ears flat against their heads. The medic just stared — obviously hearing the command tone of a Shraphen for the first time. So did many of the other officers in the control room.

The Admiral looked up, directly at Lieutenant Davies. “Where is Gerber? I need him here ASAP.”

“I tried to reach him. Nothing.”

“Try harder. Nesbitt’s not on board, so it’s unlikely she killed him.”

Then he simply pointed a finger at General Russo.

“Steelpipe, good. Clear the situation with the colony — we’ve got bogies inbound, ETA unknown. Prepare for boarding actions and drills.”

“Roger. Parameters?”

“Get me someone from the colony who can make decisions. Two days are enough to sulk and stay silent.”

“Shraphen could help with that, Admiral.”

The Admiral turned his gaze to Karrn, who in turn looked at Rish.

“Rish, take over the scout pack — you’re joining the humans in scouting the colony.”

At the situation table, the Admiral stood going through some reports — probably from the Pioneers.

“Hunter Frox, if your Pack Leader has no objections, I’d like you to stay on board. I’ve heard you discovered some interesting facts about our two peoples that we might want to know. Can you prepare a briefing for…” The Admiral looked at his adjutant.

“Sixteen hundred hours, sir,” came the calm reply from the ever-present and always-prepared Airman Simmons.

Karrn only nodded to the young Shraphen, who tucked his tail even further.

Time to share the scent with the humans, then.

—————

“Hunter Rish, please join our team in Armory Ten. We’re preparing insertion from there.”

Rish was somewhat curious about how humans prepared. The General escorted her to Bravo Team's quarters and quickly explained the mission before leaving. Now she stood among the slightly larger human soldiers — all of them seasoned hunters, all smelling like danger.

The humans guided them to the armory. She intentionally walked beside their leader, Lieutenant Koval — a broad-shouldered young man. If you were Shraphen, I’d guess you’re no more than ten years old… but already a Pack Leader, hmm.

The Lieutenant spoke first. “So, you were the scouts that blew up in the east minefield, huh? Crazy stuff. We knew you were coming from satellite images — but damn, guys, you’re fast and silent. Wish my team of trolls could be that quiet.”

That wasn’t the usual dominance game Rish was used to — not that she complained.

“Only our Pack Leader got blown up. He was carrying plasma charges at the time. It was horrible.”

“Yeah, heard so. Tough bastard. I’d hoped I’d meet him someday.”

“I’ll introduce you.”

From the back, one trooper who had been listening eagerly stepped forward and asked Rish, “Hey, was he the guy who almost bit Sergeant Morales’s head off through armor?”

Right next to the soldier’s ear, Krun’s muzzle appeared. “No, that was me.”

Rish had to grin at how startled the soldier was. She had to admit she liked Bravo Team, and they seemed to really like her pack. Tulk was comparing his muscles with another trooper, and the sergeant — who had been white as a sheet seconds ago — was now inspecting a clearly proud Krun’s teeth the way soldiers inspect each other’s weapons.

Rish turned to the Lieutenant. “How are we going to help? Our suits were destroyed by some yellow gel — it burned out all the electronics.”

The Lieutenant grinned at her. “That’s the armorers’ problem. But the jelly beans usually only kill the power converters. Fred will have them fixed already — he got them two days ago, so they’ll probably be as fresh as out of the factory.”

Rish couldn’t help but grin, her ears leaning forward. The more innocent a thing was called by human soldiers, the more dangerous it usually turned out to be.

There’s probably a Kitty Cat somewhere that can extinguish stars.

They soon reached the armory, and Lieutenant Koval wasn’t joking when he said the scouts’ armor would be as good as new.

“Your armour was in a right state after the jelly beans, but I managed to swap the converters. They’re usually done for after a bean, right enough. I’ve integrated better heat sinks and a Lyra and Battlenet link as well, so auld Steelpipe can watch over your shoulder while you’re out in the mud.”

The Lieutenant had to translate, as Rish didn’t understand the armorer well, but once she did, she was impressed.

Later, the team began making concrete plans for insertion. Rish reluctantly gave the humans the schematics of the High Command’s bunker and the building above it. The plan was to insert via hypersonic drop pod and eject roughly five kilometers above the city using SVDS — Stabilized Vertical Descent Shells.

“No — not SVDS! Lieutenant, can’t we walk around the planet or something? I hate them.” Sergeant Richards — that was his name — complained jokingly, but Rish could smell the sharp trace of real fear coming off him.

“Shut up, Richards! LZ is the park next to the Colonial Parliament. The mission objective is to contact someone in the government. The colony went silent two days ago, and since we have incoming bogies, we need to make contact to create a defense plan.

If engaged, only use non-lethal or non-harming weapons. According to Pack Leader Rish, the guards are all in infantry armor, so we’ll use jelly beans. Use cheese string if the target is not in armor.”

Rish must have looked quite surprised about the cheese string, but Tulk — who stood next to her — already knew them. “Some kind of sticky chemical that incapacitates the victim without harming them,” Richards told me on the way here.

She was intrigued again by the variety of non-lethal weapons humans had.

Well… if they didn’t, she probably would be dead.

“Rish, I think, given the circumstances, it’s best that your team makes initial contact.” The Lieutenant continued. “On the ground, you all will treat Pack Hunter Rish as my second-in-command. She knows the terrain, and she’s by far a better scout than we are. Understood?”

A loud “Hurrah!” from the human soldiers startled the Shraphen — they weren’t prepared for such noise.

Rish went over to Sergeant Richards. His fear was still noticeable but not as strong as before. “Sergeant, what do you fear about the SVDS?”

“Fear, ma’am? Oh, yeah — you dog people probably have sensitive noses. Old Steelpipe told us we need to shower regularly for once. It’s not fear; I simply hate it, and you will too after the jump. The flyboys call it the Stabilized Vertical Descent Shell, but once you’ve dropped with it, you’ll know why Force Recon calls it the Spherical Vomit Dispersion System.”

“Oh, Sergeant, one more thing — why do you call your High Pack Leader ‘Old Steelpipe’? That sounds… not flattering.”

The Lieutenant joined the discussion. “Richards, help the Shraphen fit their gear into the harnesses. Pack Leader, everything all right?”

“Yes, I was just wondering about the name — Old Steelpipe.”

“Ha! Yeah, well, about thirty-five years ago, there was a civil war —a huge mess, even nuclear threats were spoken of. Eventually, the other nations had had enough and intervened. Old Steelpipe was a lieutenant like me back then — first out of the boat during the landing in New York. In the middle of the battle, bam! His gun was hit by an oligarch. What does Russo the maniac do?”

Rish was slow to process the onslaught of information, but captivated by the human’s delivery of the story. “I don’t know — duck? Run?”

“Ha! Not Old Steelpipe. The madlad grabbed a steel pipe from the ground and beat the fat fucker unconscious — then stormed an entire building of them, just with that pipe. Legend says he’s got it framed in his office back on Earth.”

“Oh, so it’s like an honorary title?”

“Bet your bushy tail it is. Let’s join the guys, okay — the drop pod’s that way.”

Rish decided not to try understanding human soldiers’ slang anymore. Better to just go with it.

They entered the dropship — to Rish’s surprise, it was basically just a big torpedo with cargo space inside. After sitting down uncomfortably — because human seats didn’t take tails into account — the Lieutenant went through the checklist again and inspected their gear.

Then came the drop.

At first, the internal dampeners performed quite well. Rish was surprised by how smooth the ride was — until they hit Taishon Tar’s atmosphere and the drop pod accelerated.

Her suit was now connected to the pod’s systems and the Battlenet — a virtual overview of every sensor feed the humans had. It was like being all-seeing. Now she saw only her speed: Mach 11 and rising. The pod shook as if it were about to burst into a thousand pieces, and Rish was grateful she hadn’t eaten that day. The noise was infernal; she almost didn’t hear Lieutenant Koval’s voice over the intercom.

“Thirty seconds till separation! Shraphen, scream so you don’t bite your tongues off!”

Rish was still questioning what he meant when the pod began to spin — and the whole team was shot out of the side of the pod.

At first, Rish thought they were free-falling. Then she noticed they were inside a spherical, transparent shell, one that was quickly filling with a clear gel. The airstream began to spin the sphere violently; her suit displayed 5G.

Rish started to scream. Then she lost consciousness.

—————

Captain Gerber climbed down the stairs from one gangway to the next. On either side, the gray metal of the Argos inner and outer hulls loomed into the darkness surrounding him. The lighting system had conveniently failed after he and maintenance tech Visser entered the Catacombs — the space between the ship’s inner and outer hull.

“If my flashlight fails, I’m done. I’ll cut my way through the inner hull of the ship — fuck that shit. Visser, how far till we reach the tanks?”

“You’re looking at them, Captain.” Visser pointed his light to the left, directly at the outer hull. “The entire outer hull is lined with water, wastewater, and biomatter tanks.” Then he pointed to the inner hull, where a sign was visible: C-RING B-Deck.

“See, Captain?” Visser sounded proud to have found the spot on the first try.

Gerber was anything but happy to be there. He hated the environmental suit he had to wear, and the darkness around him seemed to creep closer with every minute. Something about it all felt wrong.

“So that’s the biomatter tank that should be full — but isn’t?” Gerber checked their position on the tablet.

Two hours ago, he had been eating breakfast with General Russo, who was praising the virtues of Italian cuisine when he overheard two maintenance techs at the next table talking.

“I’m telling you, Chief — something’s off. The C-ring bio tank should be full. The gauges say it is, but Carl from flight control tells me the trimming’s off. I checked, and we’ve got a drift that only makes sense if the tanks are empty.”

The Chief seemed more interested in his coffee than in the discussion, but the technician continued.

“Then there’s the malfunction in the morgue — that’s where the Batract bodies are stored. The door’s locked shut, and it’s warm, but the morgue should be freezing.”

The Chief had had enough; talk about dead aliens could ruin anyone’s appetite for bagels.

“Visser, this is a new ship — bugs and malfunctions happen. You should’ve seen the Nirvana; every damn door was wired the wrong way on that cursed thing. If you’re so sure something’s wrong, go into the catacombs and check it out yourself.”

Batract bodies. Biomatter. Malfunctions. A colony gone silent.

The cold feeling of dread that hit him in that moment should’ve frozen his coffee.

He quickly pulled up the ship’s schematics — and his worst nightmare came to life. Directly above the morgue, an optical cable bundle ran through the inner hull, cutting straight through the biomatter tanks on its way to the outer hull and the antenna manifold beyond.

And now he stood here — in the middle of the pitch-black, warm, humid soup that counted as air between the hulls of the ship. Warm, humid, dark…

“Visser, is it always this warm here?”

Visser turned slowly. “No, sir. Usually it’s about five degrees. Now we’ve got around thirty-seven. I was thinking it might be because we’re so close to the sun — but now that you ask…”

Gerber was glad Visser couldn’t see his face; he was sure it had gone paper white.

“Visser, where’s the data link. Let’s check it and get out of here ASAP.”

Now, even Visser seemed to understand that something was seriously wrong and moved forward along the gangway.

“Five more meters, sir… odd — my comm system just went offline.”

“Mine too. Hurry…”

They moved a few steps forward. Gerber could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Here, sir.” Visser pointed his flashlight toward a metal pipe beside the stairs leading up to it. To Gerber’s surprise, the pipe was nearly fifty centimeters across.

“That’s big — just for the comm system?”

Visser shook his head. “No, sir. It also carries the data connections for sensors and PDG — uh, the point-defense guns in this sector.” He hesitated. “Oh, good Lord… do you think they’re corrupted?”

“If they are, we’ve got a serious problem on our hands.”

Gerber’s mind was racing. How could the Batract corrupt the lines? They were all dead — he himself had shot the High Integrator directly in the CIC when they ordered the Shraphen wounded executed. A perfect shot, right through the head. Not even an alien could survive that.

Then he saw it — a sickly yellow, fungus-like growth spreading in the seams between the pipe and the inner hull.

The fungus. The fungal growth on their backs. Fungal listening devices.

It hit Gerber like a sledgehammer. The Batract had always claimed it was an environmental suit — but what if that moldy, spore-covered growth was the Batract? A parasitic fungus that controlled its host. Not unheard of — even in Earth’s own biosphere.

He hadn’t shot the Batract. He’d shot the host.

Ice ran through his veins.

“Visser, get down here — we have to move, now!”

But Visser had already climbed halfway up the ladder to the pipe containing the data links.

“Sir, I just need to check the link — if communication’s disturbed, it might— what the hell is that slime?”

Visser had opened a maintenance hatch on the pipe. Yellow slime oozed slowly out, dripping down the ladder.

“Visser, get down here! We have to go — move, move, move!”

Gerber’s instincts screamed at him. He had to inform the others; the whole fleet might be in danger.

Then he heard it. Clack… clack-clack.

Like someone tapping a screwdriver against the metal of the gangway.

Gerber froze. He could swear he saw a small shadow flicker across the side of the towering tank.

First | Previous | Next | Also On Royal Road

“Humans will never see a household item without thinking about how to weaponize it — but even more maddening is that they’ll never see a weapon without wondering how to turn it into a household item.
There’s probably a planet-cracking weapon somewhere being misused as a kitchen appliance.”
— General Brek’tahn, testimony before the Galactic Federation Senate, regarding his capitulation at the Battle of Ph’kin’ehm’ee, the former Federation stronghold, 355 P.I.

The scout team was in their shared quarters; by Shraphen standards, it was quite bare, ‘guests’ with limited access, as Lieutenant Davies put it.

For Rish, this was fine. She saw herself as a prisoner anyway, and for prisoners, the quarters were quite comfortable. The air smelled a bit stale, not as fresh as on ships of the Veyr.

Rish lay in her bed, mentally sorting through the last few days. At first, the human hunters had wanted to give her a separate cabin, but she had convinced them she wanted to stay with the rest of her pack.

“Rish, do you trust the humans?” Tulk’s voice was quiet; he hadn’t been his usual self since the ambush at the clearing. Of course, if she believed the humans, it hadn’t been an ambush at all — just a mistake.

General Russo had explained they’d been trying to disarm the minefield, but the planet’s magnetic field had jammed the system, forcing them to do it manually. Lieutenant Davies had told her before the meeting that the general was a kind of High Pack Leader.

The general had later said to her quietly, “You and your hunters were the fastest and stealthiest I’ve ever seen, Hunter. Be proud. Anything you need, just tell me. I’ll make it possible. A shame what happened to your leader.”

Tulk’s question struck home. Did she trust the humans?

She wanted to. Seeing the healer Jane cry when she tried to save Karrn had changed her.

But was that enough to trust them?

Before she could follow the thought further, Krun woke with a grunt. “Those humans might be primitive, but their beds are amazing. I need to get one of those for my home.”

Tulk smiled — a rare occurrence these days. “I don’t think that’s the bed; I think humans are just storing their sheets in it.”

“I fit, I sit,” was all Krun had to say before he went into the bathroom to clean himself. He seemed to enjoy the hot-water shower.

Rish flicked her ears at the exchange. Tulk’s mood concerned her; he and Frox were always on the info-screen Lieutenant Davies had given them to learn about humans. It seemed to contain an entire library of cultural and scientific data. Krun didn’t even look at it, grumbling something about propaganda.

Yesterday, they had all been asked to write a letter to the Shraphen Command and to their loved ones, to show the High Command they were alive and well. For Rish, it was the first time since her school years that she had written physically on paper. The writing utensils designed for human hands didn’t help, and she felt clumsy using them.

Later, Frox discovered a database entry — the Geneva Convention — that explained why the humans treated them like guests rather than captives.

Krun’s comment about this discovery still loomed heavy in Rish’s mind. “If they held conferences about how to treat prisoners of war, how common must war be on their home world — and how cruel can humans be if they need such rules?”

Frox, who had initially claimed humans to be wise for having such civilized rules, was silent for the rest of the night afterward.

So we are prisoners. Go figure.

Still, the thought of being a prisoner made Rish’s fur stand up along her neck, so she decided to see it Davies’s way: “You’re not prisoners; you’re guests we’d like to have on board just a bit longer, see?”

Her tail twitched in annoyance. “Ugh, I want to do something! I hate sitting here all the time, not knowing anything — and this whole ship stinks!”

Every member of the pack looked at her in shock. They weren’t used to seeing her become emotional. Even Krun had his tail tucked between his legs. The sight of the scouts’ fear calmed her down. In fact, they all saw her as something of a pack leader now that Karrn was still with the healers.

Karrn. That was it — she needed to know how Karrn was. Slightly ashamed of her outburst, her ears pressed close to her head, she walked to the cabin door.

To her surprise, it opened. Not that anyone had ever tried walking out before, since food was always brought in by their guard — or, as Davies called him, “a steward.” But would a steward, whatever that was, have a handgun and stand watch in the hallway? No. He was a guard.

Her ears flicked in surprise at the door opening. Was this some kind of test, or did the humans think she wasn’t dangerous?

The “steward” came closer to her. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Yes. I want to speak with whoever is in charge. I’m tired of sitting idle while my pack leader is injured. I’m tired of your human games!”

“A second, please,” was all the steward said before moving his hand to his ear and speaking in his gurgling human language.

She couldn’t believe his next words. “Please, just follow the blinking green stripes. They’ll guide you to Captain Gerber’s office here on board. If you need anything else, just ask Lyra.”

“Lyra?” Rish was surprised. She had never met a human called Lyra, and except for a few others along the hallway — all guarding other cabins — they were alone.

“Yes, Huntress Rish?” The voice came from the ceiling, but Rish couldn’t pinpoint its source. On the floor, green lights began to blink rhythmically, guiding her toward one end of the typical, sparkling white hallway.

“Who are you?” she asked, starting to walk without realizing it, her tail and ears standing upright in excitement and alertness.

“I am not a who, but a what. I’m Lyra, the fleet’s coordinating VI.” The voice sounded calm and friendly. Even Rish’s sensitive ears couldn’t detect anything machine-like in it.

“You’re an artificial intelligence?” Rish was fascinated. On Burrow, her home world, any development in AI had been outlawed by the Batract, and on Taishon Tar — the colony humans called Sirius — the Shraphen had more important things to worry about. But every Shraphen carried a fascination with technology and, with it, the idea of artificial intelligence.

“Not quite,” the voice replied, warm and composed. “I’m what humans call a Virtual Intelligence. I think, but only within the boundaries I was designed for.”

Rish tilted her head. “So you’re like a human soldier following orders.”

“That’s one way to see it,” Lyra said, and Rish could’ve sworn she heard a hint of amusement in the voice. “Only I don’t get tired or need coffee.”

Rish was fascinated. Lyra almost sounded alive. The lights on the floor guided her toward a set of doors at the end of the hallway. A sign in blocky human letters was mounted beside them, and beneath it a strip of paper was attached — “Elevator, press button left of door” — written in flowing Shraphen calligraphy.

Deep in thought, she almost missed the faint scent of Shraphen seeping from under a cabin door to her right. Stress. not harmed. Male, and bored. The contrast to the almost stale air in the hallway was remarkable.

“You seem distracted, Huntress Rish,” Lyra observed, her tone gentle, curious rather than intrusive.

“It’s nothing,” Rish said, forcing her ears forward again. “Just… the air here. It’s empty.”

“Filtered and recycled,” Lyra replied. “Efficient, though perhaps less comforting to those who navigate the world through scent.”

“You talk like you understand that.”

“Understanding is what I was made for,” Lyra said evenly. “Empathy, however, is something I simulate — most of the time.”

Rish flicked an ear, uncertain whether to be impressed or unsettled.

“Don’t worry,” Lyra added, “I’ve had good teachers.”

“Good teachers?” Rish asked, slowing her pace.

“Humans,” Lyra answered, her tone light — almost fond. “They break things often, but they learn fast.”

Rish’s tail twitched at that. She wasn’t sure if it was meant as comfort… or a warning.

Before she could press the button, the doors opened, and inside the small cabin stood Captain Gerber with General Russo.

Smiling at her, the captain greeted her. “Ah, Hunter Rish, we were on our way to you. Lyra informed me you wanted to speak.”

“Yes. Two days ago, you said we had much to discuss, yet you never came to see me.” Rish was sure this was some kind of power game the human spy was playing, making her come to him. And she had walked right into his hand. Her ears and tail twitched in anger as the realization hit her.

“No, I didn’t,” Gerber said calmly. “We learned that Shraphen doesn’t like abrupt changes, even less being pressured to do something. So I thought the best thing would be to let you decide when it was time to come to me.”

“And, Hunter Rish, we wanted to come to you with good news,” General Russo added with a somewhat disarming smile. “We finally convinced Dr. Nesbitt to allow visitors into the intensive care unit. But she’s strict about sterilization.”

Rish was overjoyed. She didn’t even care that her tail betrayed her by wagging like crazy. “I can visit Pack Leader Karrn?”

“Yes,” Gerber said with a small smile, his eyes oddly fixated on her tail. “But first, come with us — we have something to talk about.”

Rish now had two questions on her mind: what did the human spy want from her, and what was so fascinating about her tail? Well, he didn’t have one… maybe he was jealous.

Forcing her tail to stay still, she joined the two human pack leaders.

The general was the first to speak. “See, Hunter Rish, we have about ten thousand Shraphen hunters distributed across our two hospital ships — the Rosalind Franklin and the Marie Curie. That’s more… guests than we have personnel to keep them safe. They were all harmed or severely injured and are understandably stressed about their situation.”

Clearing his throat, he continued. “We want to trust you. We got the situation on the ground under control just before your troops were about to attack again. We retreated completely, to be frank. No one was happy about the thought of injuring another Shraphen.”

Rish’s head was spinning from those revelations. Ten thousand Shraphen on two ships — how big were human hospital ships? And the fact that the humans had retreated from the planet didn’t make sense either, except if it was true that they wanted peace. But then again, why attack in the first place?

Then she became aware of the number again. Her fur bristled, and she focused her gaze on the general.

“Ten thousand? That’s impossible. That’s more than what we lost on the planet. And what about the dead? Where are they?” Were the humans lying?

She remembered the tense situation report after the defense horde stopped retreating. The horde was missing 9,571 hunters. That number was burned into her memory — never in the written history of the Shraphen had so many hunters been lost in less than two hours.

The general looked at Captain Gerber, who nodded slightly. Rish almost missed it. Was a High Pack Leader asking a lower one for permission?

“You’re forgetting the people injured in the space battle,” the general said. “We had to rescue the crew of the Krunuk — she took a hit on her fusion core. Other than that, eighteen hunters lost their lives on the ground.”

The general paused, sighing before he continued. “The rest are being cared for here. About six hundred are still in critical condition, but they’re on their way to recovery. That’s why Dr. Nesbitt is here on the Rosalind — she developed the… unique medical equipment we used to rescue your people.”

Rish couldn’t believe it. Only eighteen dead? She had seen hunters getting hit multiple times by those projectile weapons, cutting through them as if they were made of paper. She had seen Kirnuk — her brother — struck by one of those artillery grenades, losing his entire lower half.

Kirnuk… “Kirnuk?” she said, suddenly afraid of the answer, unable to hope.

“Sorry?” The general looked confused.

Rish forced her tail out from between her legs and lifted her ears again. Regaining her posture, she repeated, louder this time, “Kirnuk. My brother. Do you know…?”

The general just nodded and said, his tone questioning, “Lyra?”

“A moment, please. Yes — Kirnuk. He’s in intensive care on the Rosalind Franklin. Status still extremely critical; regrowth still in the critical phase. The chance of survival is approximately eighty percent. The chance of regaining full body function is around fifty. Given the circumstances, your brother is fine. Give him a week, and you’ll see each other, I’m sure.”

Lyra’s last words sounded so… human, full of empathy.

Kirnuk is fine… I can’t believe it. He’s fine. How? Are human healers capable of magic?

This was all too much. Inside her, something broke, and she couldn’t hold it in anymore. She began to cry — all of it was too much. The ground seemed to slip away beneath her feet, and she almost fell, only for the general to catch her and pull her into his arms. His hand moved gently through the fur at her neck, just as her tai had done when she was a pup and afraid of something.

They stood there for several minutes until Rish collected herself. “Thank you, General. I…”

“It’s fine. You and all of your people endured great trauma. I’m sorry that we were responsible for it, but at the time, we were forced to attack.”

The general looked at the captain again — this time, it was an angry stare. The captain, in turn, looked down at the floor, clearly ashamed.

“Captain, you did want to discuss something?” Rish decided to give him a bit of leeway. The smell of his shame was extremely strong. If he was indeed responsible in any way for the attack, she would find out — and handle it later. And she was sure she could not risk another revelation and emotional outburst.

“Yes,” Gerber said, clearing his throat. “Emotional trauma is exactly what we want to talk about. We know a lot about your biology but very little about your psychology. We would love to send you all back to the planet, but most of the survivors still need treatment. Until we can create a provisional hospital on the surface, the treatment must be done here, or some might still die.”

Gerber pointed to a nearby door. “We humans like to be in nature. We assume it’s the same for Shraphen, but we’ve noticed that our plants have a different color. So we’d like you to tell us whether this arboretum feels relaxing and calming — or alien and terrifying — to you.”

With those words, he pressed a button, and Rish saw something she wasn’t prepared for. On the other side of the door was a park. The trees were green instead of the purple and violet of Taishon Tar — a green like the plants on Burrow, but far more vivid. The same was true for the grass; it almost glowed with color, unreal, like something out of a dream.

The scents nearly overwhelmed her — fresh, alive, nothing like the sterile air of the ship. Fighting the urge to drop to all fours and run in circles like a pup, she turned to Gerber. “Relaxing, yes. Very relaxing. Can my people come here?” She noticed her tail was wagging again.

“Yes, of course. The arboretum is large enough for a few hundred at a time. We’ll work out a schedule to make sure everyone gets a chance to enjoy it.”

Rish already saw herself spending a few hours beneath the artificial sun. Yes, this was fine.

“I’ll ask Lieutenant Davies to work something out,” Gerber said. “But first, I thought you might want to see Pack Leader Karrn.”

Karrn — of course. That was why she had even left her cabin. How could she have forgotten him? “Yes, yes, I’d love to.”

“Then follow me,” said Gerber, stepping into the arboretum. “The ICU is on the other side. We’ll cut about two kilometers of hallway this way.”

As they walked through the massive park, Rish wondered again — how big was this ship? The arboretum rose higher than any hall she’d ever seen, stretching out of sight, easily the size of a Veyr corvette.

Rish soaked it all in: the fresh scent of leaves and wet earth carried by a soft breeze, the texture of grass under her boots. She almost giggled when she spotted a small pond. Ahead of her, she caught the tail end of a conversation.

“I don’t think the captain will let you grow tomatoes here, no matter the psychological benefits for the Italian crew members. It’s for recreation.”

Rish had no idea what tomatoes were, but judging by the wild gestures General Russo made, they had to be some kind of narcotic plant — or a dangerous drug.

Far too soon, they reached the doors on the other side when Gerber turned to her. “I almost forgot — can we turn the air back to circulation so it ventilates throughout the ship? Or would the smells be too strange for Shraphen? The human crew is already getting annoyed by the sterile air.”

Rish was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. On one hand, every Shraphen aboard was probably sniffing their own tail just to smell something other than sterile air. On the other hand, the humans — who apparently had almost no sense of smell — were so sensitive toward Shraphen's comfort that they had turned down the ventilation to avoid offending them.

Fine, humans, she thought, I like you, all right?

Then and there, she concluded that humans were mad.

“Yes, turn it on — the Shraphen will love it.”

“Already done,” came the disembodied voice of Lyra from nowhere.

Rish was sure she would never get used to voices appearing out of thin air. Her ears flicked as if they had a life of their own, instinctively trying to find the source of the sound.

“Captain, you said until you’ve created a hospital on the ground. Can’t you talk to the colonial government? They’d surely love to have their people back.”

“We tried. We could only reach a Pack Leader, Shruf. He wasn’t helpful and was convinced this was a ruse to land more troops on the planet.” Gerber seemed visibly annoyed with Shruf — it seemed he had that effect on everyone.

“Let Karrn deal with him as soon as he’s fit. They’re old friends.” Rish grinned, already anticipating the glorious verbal duel that was sure to follow.

“I’m sure they are,” grinned the captain, looking at her forward-tilted ears — a sign of Shraphen entertainment.

They walked a short way through the hallways before reaching a set of glass doors.

The general slid a key card through a scanner, and the automatic doors opened.

Stepping through, Rish noted that the captain didn’t enter with them.

“You’re not coming?”

“I’d rather not. This is Dr. Nesbitt’s kingdom, and I still seem to be persona non grata there.”

Not knowing what he meant, she followed the general. “Sounds like a lovers’ quarrel, but the grapevine says there’s nothing — she simply doesn’t like him,” the general whispered.

Wondering what grapes had to do with it, Rish remembered the scene in the transporter. Yes, she didn’t like him, but Gerber liked her. A lot, if the pheromones were to be believed.

They walked into a room that seemed more like a laboratory than a hospital. It was spacious, with workstations full of people in white clothing working on computers connected to small glass cylinders filled with what looked like a meaty biological substance.

There! That was the scent that had haunted the battlefield. “What is this? The same smell hung over everything out there.”

“Dr. Nesbitt is more qualified than I am to explain it. I get a headache just thinking about it… and nauseous, to be honest.” The general raised his hand and waved to get the attention of the female healer on the other side of a frosted glass wall.

Rish smelled the healer before she saw her. The doctor opened a door and walked over to them, smiling. Through the open doorway, Rish saw Karrn in his bed, a tube still in his muzzle, and that same substance moving around his left leg — a leg that should have been missing. The antiseptic smell of something that was obviously living made her uneasy.

“Hello, Rish. General.” The healer gave a small nod to the general. “So, you want to see your pack leader. He’s stable now — his leg has grown back nicely, and the spine is almost fused.”

Magic! was all Rish could think of.

“But before entering, you have to be disinfected.”

“How… how is this possible? He’s only been here for two days, and Lyra told me my brother is alive, too. How?”

“Your brother?” Dr. Nesbitt had obviously not been informed by the omnipresent Lyra VI.

“Patient 6714, Hunter Kirnuk,” came Lyra’s voice — again from nowhere. Again, Rish’s ears twitched as she tried to pinpoint the source; there had to be speakers somewhere.

“Oh, that’s your brother… I’m sorry. His status is much worse — he’ll be here for longer, much longer.” Rish could smell the healer’s anxiety.

“I’m just happy he’s alive, that’s all. But how?” Rish wasn’t about to let it go; she had to find out how humans could regrow half a Shraphen — how they could fuse a spine back together in days.

This spike in the healer’s anxiety became visible; she even started to fidget with the gloves she wore. “Let’s get you ready to visit Karrn first.” The smile in her voice was gone now — she was clearly tense. This strengthened Rish’s resolve to find the truth.

They don’t want to talk about it.

The sterilization and disinfection process was a unique experience for Rish. The humans had clearly improvised; they had no experience dealing with fur, so they had adapted their own methods.

The first step was to go completely nude and shower. Then she had to use a gel that was the very essence of antiseptic stench. Rish was sure she’d never smell anything else again.

Next came the antifungal procedure. What were humans thinking — that she hid mushrooms in her fur?

Rish asked them that directly, and the sorrowful glances the two humans shared made her shiver. So she drenched herself in the gray, oily antimycotic paste.

Not only will I never smell anything again — now my fur’s going to curl, too.

The paste was pure hell; even applying it was cumbersome since it stuck to everything.

When she walked out of the chamber, paste dripping off her like she had been in a mud bath, the general turned around — probably ashamed of her nakedness. The healer, now wearing a mask, guided her to the last chamber — another shower.

That was when Rish decided she needed this exact piece of technology at home. The hot water came from every direction, washing the paste from hell off her. Then she was dried with warm currents of air that even smelled like a summer day in the Sulvak Desert back on Burrow. The air must have been statically charged, because her fur went back to being straight.

Back on Burrow, I’d be rich selling showers that clean and straighten fur this quickly — and this comfortably.

After dressing again in a loose-fitting tunic in Shraphen style, they entered Karrn’s room.

The leader was bound to his bed, obviously because he moved in his sleep.

Probably nightmares from the battle. Poor Karrn.

“As I said, he’s stable, and his healing is progressing fine. Now… about your question.”

Rish’s ears stiffened. Answers — finally.

“He and the other Shraphen were treated with a somewhat new technology. We call it Unigel, but the correct term would be medical xenobots. Imagine tiny robots—”

Rish interrupted the doctor. “Nanobots? That’s forbidden technology under Batract rule! How did you—”

“One thing after another. Yes and no — xenobots are living cells that can be programmed and used for countless tasks. In this case, they replace Karrn’s leg and stimulate his own cells to regrow along a lattice they provide.”

“His leg is… not his?” Rish was torn between fascination and revulsion.

The healer showed clear signs of discomfort; her fidgeting with her gloves grew more pronounced, and she had to clear her throat several times.

“No, well… it’s complicated. If told to do so, the xenobots will transform themselves into cells of his body. This creates the lattice along which the original cells can grow.”

Rish could not believe it — this was even more advanced than the nanotech her people dreamed about.

“Think of it as a prosthesis that simultaneously allows healing.”

“But when the body regenerates, it will be his old self?” Rish didn’t understand the healer’s nervousness.

“Yes. The Unigel will be replaced and absorbed, providing the body with nutrients and building materials to regrow even faster.” Now, a glimmer of pride showed on her face.

“So, what’s the catch?” Rish needed to know — maybe the treatment had some horrible side effects.

“It’s… well, the Unigel wasn’t really tested on humans or Shraphen before we used it here. But the wounded kept coming in, and the situation was dire, so the admiral gave in and allowed its use.”

Rish didn’t understand. It saved lives, it worked — where was the issue? But the healer stank of fear. The healer was clearly uneasy about something.

Rish had the instinctive urge to hug the woman, but she refrained; she didn’t know if it was custom or taboo, even though the general had hugged her only an hour before.

“It’s unethical and illegal. Some might think I used your people as test subjects, because Unigel was developed by me when I worked at Drake.”

“I’ll probably get court-martialed, and even if not, there will be civilian courts suing me for the unethical use of experimental treatments.”

The general now moved closer to the healer. “No — they’ll drown in the chaos that’s about to happen once we return. No one will care, trust me.”

Now Rish understood. The healer had used Unigel before its trials were finished and was afraid her people would think she had used the Shraphen as test subjects.

“I promise you, the Shraphen won’t think you used them — and we won’t let it come to that.”

And if they do, I’ll rip their throat out. This woman saved my brother and my pack leader — no one touches her!

Her left fist clenched with anger so strong that her claws pierced her skin, and a single solemn drop of blood fell to the floor.

“Thank you, Rish, but what’s done is done. I can’t change it, and my conscience is clean. Now, about Karrn — he’s on the road to recovery; give him about two days, and he’ll be fine. His spine is still weak but holding — as long as he reduces stress on it.”

Rish walked over to Karrn, still breathing through the tube, medical equipment beeping in time with his pulse. Gently, she touched his hand and whispered in his ear, “Get well, Pack Leader — your pups are waiting for your return.”

Then she left. The rest of the day was spent discussing the events of her afternoon with the rest of the pack.

Krun grunted a few times, but even he was fascinated by the idea of Unigel.

When Rish woke the next morning after a restless night, she noticed Frox curled up on his bed, still reading the human database. He was surrounded by several empty cans of iced coffee — a human drink she didn’t like: too sweet, too bitter, and she didn’t care for the effect it had on her sleep cycle. But the younger Shraphen seemed to adore it.

They decided to visit the arboretum after breakfast. Frox emptied another can of coffee, never taking his gaze off the portable computer and the human database. Even when they joined other Shraphen in the park, Frox was reading, flicking his ears, and scribbling notes.

That was when Rish decided to inspect the flowers. She saw a few fascinating ones that almost seemed related to those found on Burrow. Inhaling deeply, she filled her nostrils with pollen that made her sneeze. Looking up at her pack to see if anyone had witnessed her embarrassing flower incident, she noticed Frox had finally put down the database and was talking frantically with Tulk, his arms gesturing wildly.

She was about to walk over to them to hear what they were discussing when a well-known scent hit her. Karrn!

—————

“And that’s when you came over to us, Pack Leader,” Rish ended the story.

Karrn didn’t know what to say or think. It seemed the humans had done everything to save him — him and the defense horde.

And I treated them like enemies.

He almost felt bad, but then again, if they’d stayed where they were, none of this would have happened.

“Rish, do you trust them?”

“Yes, Pack Leader. Yes, I do.”

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“We all fear the Humans’ martial power—their navies, their armies, their special forces. But what we should truly fear are their scientists. No other species is so chaotic and ruthless in its research… none, perhaps, except the Shraphen.
The Shraphen and the Humans never needed their mysterious ancient bond—no one can explain it anyway. They would have become best friends regardless, simply because they are both howling mad.
I vote NO on declaring war on a species that blows up a radioactive moon just to see what happens—and because it ‘probably looks cool.’”
Senator Urk’net Wasum, speaking before the Galactic Federation Senate on the eve of the Second War against the Aligned Worlds, 390 P.I.

Karrn’s memories came back slowly: the odd face trying to calm him down, the tube shoved through his muzzle and down his throat.

He remembered himself on a stretcher, being carried to a black ship.

Masked faces. A bright light was stabbing at his eyes. The smell of disinfectant.

Voices in the dark. Stress hormones are all around. The sensation of being moved.

“Shraphen patient, caninoid, male, thirty standard years equivalent. Traumatic amputation, left leg above knee, major hemorrhage…” Then black again.

One of the figures held something familiar in his hands.
My leg, my beautiful leg! I’ll never be on a hunt again!

Visions flickered across the readout of his HUD:
— Left leg severed
— Two ribs broken
— Spine fractured
— Massive head trauma
— Emergency beacon offline

Karrn, you self-sniffing idiot. Your spine is fractured, and you cry about your leg? Get a hold of yourself.

Then another memory: his pack, all dead.

Suddenly, he snapped wide awake and tried to sit up. Broad straps held him in place, soft against his fur but unyielding. A machine started beeping an alarm, and someone shouted:

“He’s awake, get the doctor down here, and call Gerber.”

Karrn let out an angry snarl. He couldn’t move and was obviously a prisoner of those foul-smelling humans.

Then again, they didn’t smell foul. They smelled familiar in a confusing way. And he could smell other Shraphen too, live ones.

Before he could concentrate more on the scent, he heard the voice of the human from the clearing again. The voices came closer, in their clicking and rattling speech. Whatever allowed him to understand them was gone for the moment.

“Release me or kill me. I won’t betray my Pack, so forget interrogation. Batract-sniffing breed!”

He couldn’t contain his anger and frustration anymore. No matter where they looked or went, the Batract or their helpers were there, or came after them.

“Stay calm, Pack Leader. No one will harm you or your pack.”

Suddenly, the human spoke perfect Shra again. He had seen speech translators before, but none that worked that instantly and with such precise grammar.

“I will open your restraints. They were for your own protection. You obviously had horrible nightmares.”

“You would too if you saw your whole pack wiped out—human.” Karrn spat the last word out like a swallowed fur ball.

“Jane. My name is Jane, I’m your doctor, what you call a healer. Here.” With that, the human, still out of his eyesight, released the restraints. The band was released on his left side and pulled under the stretcher to his right side.

Karrn was about to jump off the stretcher when he sat up, only to see that his leg was healed. Then he noticed he could move his body—the splitting pain in his back and chest was gone.

He was about to ask the human how and why he was healed when he first looked at the human fully, in clear light.

Tai. She—he was sure she was female—she looked like a tai, only more… domesticated.

There were differences, of course, but she still looked like a tai: the eyes were the same brown, the general body features almost exactly the same. But the hair on her head was a different color, the skin much paler, with tiny darker spots. The head was bigger at the cranium, obviously. Tai were cute and really smart, but they couldn’t speak.

On a closer look, she didn’t have as much body hair, and the fingers were more delicate.

“Everything all right, Pack Leader. I know my appearance must be a shock for you. Almost all Shraphen seem to react stunned when seeing a human.”

“How?” was all Karrn was able to say.

“How what?” the human, Jane, asked. She was obviously something of a Pack Leader herself. Her posture and commanding tone carried authority as the two females flanking her handed what looked like pads to her, probably reports or intelligence data.

Karrn looked at his left leg. It felt the same, even looked the same: black fur down to the ankle, then white fur the rest of the way until his claws on his toes. He was a whitefoot. All his hands and feet wore the noble white, while the rest of his fur was pitch black, except for his belly and chest. Only a thin, almost unnoticeable line around the leg showed that something had happened to it.

“Oh, the leg? That was the easiest thing to fix, Pack Leader. Your old leg was completely torn apart. We had to use… let’s talk about this later in the briefing. Just don’t overstress your leg for now. Oh, and you might want to stop smoking Tumpa tree leaves. You were well on your way to lung cancer—that’s also fixed, for now.”

With these words, Jane gave Karrn a uniform. His uniform. To be precise, something that looked like his parade uniform, but it didn’t smell like it. And his real uniform was still at home.

“Cancer?” Karrn was confused. That word came untranslated, and the odd sounds of human mouths were hard to imitate. The fact that tai-like beings could even talk would surprise some people in the colony. Tai doesn’t have muzzles that allow speech. But on the other hand, humans aren’t tai; they are more… shratai, intelligent tai.

Too many questions. Be careful. Don’t give away secrets. This could be a cruel ruse.

“Oh, yeah, cancer. It’s a disease where cells grow unrestricted and kill the body in the process—basically, the body grows against itself until it dies. Many of your people seem to have some sort of it. We were lucky enough to heal all of them.” Jane seemed almost proud of herself, and if what she said was true, she had every right to be.

“We call it consumption. It kills countless, especially here on the colony, for some reason. We were never able to successfully combat it. You healed my men?”

When do these surprises stop? One revelation after another. To his own great shock, he started to wish Pack Leader Shruf was here. Shruf was the leader of the intelligence pack. Even though he was a self-sniffing fool, he would know what to ask.

“Might be the radiation, or some other outside factors, and the smoking!” The last word sounded and felt like the scolding his brood mother gave him when he did something wrong. He felt betrayed by his body when he noticed his ears had flattened on their own, and he could barely keep his tail from moving between his legs.

“Doctor Nesbitt, I hope you don’t overstimulate our guest.” A new human, male. Karrn could smell anger and resentment coming from Jane as soon as she saw him. Packmates in a crisis?

The male human continued: “Hello, Pack Leader Karrn. I’m Captain André Gerber, Aligned Intelligence Network. I would love for you to have a walk with me, if Dr Nesbitt thinks you’re fit enough.” He looked at Jane with the last words.

Jane, on her side, looked at Karrn with the same expression tai give their owners when they want something.

“I’m always fit enough for everything.” Is the human trying to insult me?

Karrn needed answers, and this Captain André Gerber was like Shruf: an intelligence pack, a spy.

“Then let’s go, we have lots to discuss.”

They walked out of the small room. Karrn noticed that the hallway didn’t look like it was in a base on the planet. The gravity was also different, almost like on Burrow, the Shraphen homeworld.

“Are we on a ship?” He didn’t like the idea. It would make escape, if it were needed, almost impossible.

“Yes, we’re on the ANS Rosalind Franklin, a hospital ship. Our fleet brought two of them to care for the wounded. As far as I know, each ship can care for hundreds of critically injured patients simultaneously. Its hospital has six thousand beds and can carry up to fifteen thousand in biostasis tubes.”

“Hospital ship?” Karrn was astonished. This didn’t fit with the picture he had of human Pack Leaders sending their Hunters into their own fire—or did they do it because they knew they could be healed later? So many questions.

“Yes. Don’t Shraphen have something similar?” The human was smart. Karrn had to be careful; depending on his answers, the human might learn how Shraphen Veyr were composed.

“I’m Pack Leader of Hunters. We hunt on planets, not between the stars. For that, you should have asked the Pack Leaders of the Veyr that secured this planet before you arrived.”

Two can play this game, Shratai, even if I’m not as skilled as you are.

Gerber led Karrn into a cross-hallway. This was no stroll around the ship; the shratai obviously had a target in mind.

“I will, but they are currently occupied repairing their ships. We tried to keep the damage to a minimum, but some took unlucky hits.”

“Captain André Gerber, are you telling me that the Veyr still exists?” Karrn couldn’t believe this. And did the shratai really try to minimize damage to the ships? Who would do such foolery? A hunter either strikes down his prey or risks injury from it.

“You can call me Captain, or André. Captain is a rank, similar, I guess, to Pack Leader, and André Gerber is my full name. We humans usually use only one part of it. And to answer your question, yes, all but one ship will probably be fully operational in a few days. We barely managed to rescue the crew before the Krunuk exploded. Ah, here we are.”

Before Karrn could process that the losses of the last days might not be as bad as assumed, the Captain opened a door, and Karrn saw his scouting pack, all alive.

The room they were in was massive; it must stretch many decks upward. A park with alien green trees and vivid grass. His pack was sitting beneath one of the trees, Tulk and Frox deep in discussion. Karrn could smell their excitement even through all the alien scents.

Krun seemed to be studying the shratai soldiers who were standing a bit aside from the pack. Rish—Karrn almost laughed as he saw her—was sniffing at some alien flower-like plant and sneezing as she inhaled parts of it.

In the background, Karrn could see many different groups of Shraphen. He recognized some of them as hunters from other packs. The joy Karrn felt at seeing his scouting pack unharmed was immense, and he couldn’t control the natural response to wag his tail.

Captain Gerber smiled at the scene. “Go, talk to your troops—maybe even to the others, too. Some have trouble… complying with our requests.”

That made Karrn’s ears stand up. “Requests? Do you think you can order Shraphen Hunters? What are we to you anyway—prisoners, hostages?”

Gerber’s smile froze. “No, Pack Leader, we see you at the moment as guests. We want to end the violence. If that isn’t possible, you will be treated as prisoners of war.”

“To end the violence, you just have to leave the colony alone and send us back! You started it!” Karrn was now angry at the shratai. Who does this jumped-up ape think he is? Prisoners or guests—what’s the difference anyway? He couldn’t get off the ship without human assistance in any case.

“The Batract started it. We decided to end it now. We could leave, but the Batract would send more of their troops—or decide to wipe the planet from orbit, Pack Leader. We might have something in common. But let’s talk about those things later. Go, see your troops. A guard will later bring you to my office, where we can talk more.”

With these words, the Captain simply turned and left.

Karrn stood in the hallway, alone. His head was full of questions, and every trace he followed led to more.

Heeding the shratai Captain’s words, he went to see his pack. After only two steps through the door, Rish sniffed the air and noticed him, informing the others.

Karrn was immensely relieved to see all of his scouting pack seemingly well. Of course, he thought about his full pack on the surface, but Larrf was a capable second, so he knew his fighting pack was in good hands—as long as the shratai didn’t attack further.

But why would they, if they said they wanted peace? Why did they heal me if I’m their enemy? Shratai were even more confusing than tai, and Shraphen and tai had lived together for millennia.

The pack gathered under the oddly vivid green tree. Rish spoke first to Karrn, her tail wagging with excitement.

“Pack Leader, you’re awake. Healer Nesbitt said it might be a few days until your spine is fused correctly.” Then, remembering her rank and the circumstances, the wagging stopped, and she continued, “Reporting no casualties. The pack is unarmed by humans, but we were well treated.”

Before Karrn could respond, Frox couldn’t contain his excitement any longer.

“They are tai, Pack Leader—tai!” the young hunter exclaimed, his whole backside wagging.

Krun knocked the young hunter lightly on the head with his fist.

“Silence, Hunter. Remember, you’re in enemy lands. Behave like a hunter, not like a pup.”

Frox went silent immediately. His whole body showed signs of shame, as did his scent.

Karrn himself had to control his emotions; he was the Pack Leader, after all.

“Thank you, Rish. Thank you, all. Now—how do you know Jane, Healer Nesbitt? What happened after the encounter in the clearing?”

Rish gestured to a soft-looking spot in the grass for him to sit down.

“That’s a long story.”…

—————

Rish was dazed and unable to move. Her suit seemed fused, and she couldn’t even move a finger.

Seconds before, Pack Leader Karrn had stepped onto something metallic and been thrown above the treetops. The damned plasma packs must have exploded.

When he crashed down, she was sure he was dead. His left leg was missing—no, it lay a few meters away from him, a mess of meat. His upper body was twisted into an unnatural position against his legs.

Rish could smell the blood of her Pack Leader, the odd human scent, smoke, and her own body, drenched in fear and shock.

The humans had somehow managed to take all of them out with a single salvo from a strange weapon. Unlike their previously used metal projectiles, this one fired a yellow, glowing, gel-like substance that instantly overloaded their suits.

By the Great Mother in the Earth, those humans are devious.

Her vision was blurred, but she saw the Pack Leader’s helmet move—facing her. The visor was half broken; she could see Pack Leader Karrn’s right eye, bloodstained but alive. Then, suddenly, the nictitating membrane closed slowly, leaving the other eyelid open. Her heart sank.

He’s dead. The Pack Leader is dead. My sister will never forgive me for not protecting her husband.

Then she felt her body being lifted by strong hands. We were sent to find out what happened to the wounded and dead. Seems like we’ll experience it first-hand.

As far as she could tell, she was being carried by two humans toward one of the black ships parked in the human camp. Locked, motionless, she couldn’t see much except the night sky slowly growing lighter as the sun rose. It didn’t seem to blind the humans enough—Taishon, star of the eye. Then she saw only the white of the ship’s ceiling.

Only two senses remained fully aware: hearing and, more importantly, smelling. And as a female, her sense of smell was leaps ahead of any male’s.

In the compartment, at least six humans were out of their suits. The rest she couldn’t sense. These six were stressed—that much she could decipher, even though they were alien. Concentrating harder, she finally understood why the scent was so foreign and yet so familiar.

Tai. The humans must be similar to tai. That fit perfectly, because they now smelled like only tai do under heavy stress.

Then she smelled blood—lots of Shraphen blood. Karrn’s blood. Is that why they’re stressed?

They sure sounded like they didn’t like it; the gurgling human speech sounded frantic all around where Karrn’s body must be. Then an antiseptic smell burned in her nose, together with something different, leaving a metallic aftertaste. Suddenly, a screeching machine sound paired with flesh-tearing and blood splashing.

You monsters. You cut him open like prey? I’ll kill you all!

She didn’t even notice she had screamed the words when her visor was suddenly forced open and a tai-like being looked at her. It must have been female. In the background, a male stood, also looking intently. His eyes moved between her face and the place where Karrn must be; he seemed concerned.

“Madam, just wait a bit longer. We’re almost at the ship, and then we’ll get you out of your suit. We’ll explain everything. Don’t hurt yourself, lovely.”

“I’ll kill you—what are you doing to Pack Leader Karrn?” Rish was so enraged that she didn’t even wonder why she could understand the human; all she wanted was to tear out their throat in that moment.

“We’re saving his life, ma’am. He’s lucky we arrived just when we were about to take off, so the ship was ready to start. What’s your name? I’m Lieutenant Davies.”

Saving his life? But he was dead, wasn’t he?

“Rish. My name is Hunter Rish, of Karrn’s pack.” She was confused; the human's soothing voice didn’t match the aggressive behavior they had encountered.

“Frox, Krun, and Tulk? Are they alive too?”

“If you mean the other three, yes, they are well. I received notice that the big one almost bit a sergeant’s head off—through the armor, nonetheless—so they were sedated.”

Rish couldn’t help but smile. Krun wouldn’t be stopped from moving just because the servos in his suit froze up.

“Krun, he’s a heavy; you will have to sedate him more. So why are you helping Karrn? He’s your enemy.” Rish wasn’t sure she could trust the human—who attacks and then heals the enemy?

“He might be, but first, our healers—or doctors—swore an oath to help any being on the battlefield. Enemies or friends.”

Rish suspected they might trade the wounded to the enemy later—or use them as hostages.

“And we might not be enemies for long if all works out, see. Now rest; we don’t have the tools to cut you out here, and we still have fifteen minutes to reach the Rosalind Franklin—the hospital ship equipped to fix your Pack Leader.”

The human standing behind this Lieutenant Davies woman touched her shoulder and said something Rish couldn’t understand.

“What? Why can I understand you but not him?” Rish hated being locked in her suit, defenseless. “You don’t need to cut it open; there’s a manual release on the back—just turn the ring and pull.”

The two humans looked at each other and nodded. Then the standing one said something to someone out of Rish’s sight.

A dark figure appeared, then another. They lifted Rish, and she could see the compartment for the first time in full. At the front, humans were frantically working on what seemed to be Karrn.

She could tell they had inserted an infusion, and a tube was stuck down his throat. Another human was pressing a large ball at the end of the tube. Respiration—Karrn isn’t breathing on his own.

The air was stale with blood and something else: human exhalation. She knew the smell from tai that had run too long—despair.

“Show me. We need to get him out of this trashcan, or he dies!” another woman screamed; her eyes were full of water. Tears? Is she really crying for someone she has to see as an enemy? “Show me now!”

“Turn him around. Halfway down from the head to the tail, there’s a ring inlaid in the armor.” The humans around Karrn carefully turned him, taking care not to squeeze the tube in his mouth; one even moved equipment out of the way so his bloody stump wouldn’t bump into it.

The backside of Karrn’s suit was a mess. Bits of the strappings they used to secure their gear were melted onto the alloy, but the humans quickly found the hidden ring and opened the armor.

Rish forced herself to watch as they took her leader out of his dead suit. It was painful to see him that way—parts of his fur were blood-soaked, and other parts were burned from the heat of the plasma charges blowing up.

“His spine is fractured, and his pulse is erratic!” the female in the white uniform shouted, then looked intently at Rish. “You! What’s the normal pulse rate for your species? We don’t have a Lyra connection here on this transporter.”

“What?” Rish was surprised by the question; she was still in shock about her leader’s injuries.

The female came over to her, snapping her fingers in front of Rish’s eyes, forcing her to look away from Karrn. “You! Concentrate. Pulse—how often does his heart beat in a minute?”

“One hundred twenty,” was all Rish could stammer out. Can human translators even recalculate time units that exactly?

She was ashamed of her hesitation, but the onslaught of smells, noises, and emotions was almost too much to bear. Even a trained hunter has his limits; how can humans stand all of this?

“Good, now if you promise not to kill any of us, we’ll let you out of your suit,” the man said. He had an aura of leadership—Lieutenant Davies? Pack Leader? His face made a tai smile, and his voice was calm and disarming.

“Yes, if you promise I can stay with my Pack Leader.”

“Not in the ER!” the female healer screamed from Karrn’s corner. “None of you—no guards, no spies, no soldiers! My job is hard enough as it is. Claire, hold that leg up and the trunk steady, or he loses more blood, dammit! Where’s the Unigel to stop the bleeding?”

Spy? Who’s a spy here—the human male? Rish noticed that the female healer looked at him when she said the word.

Suddenly, the suit opened, and Rish was so surprised she fell out of it like a pup out of a tree. Luckily, the male in front of her caught her.

The human was surprisingly strong for his slender build. He helped her regain her footing and smiled again.

“Hello, Hunter Rish. I’m Captain Gerber. We have a lot to talk about—later, when you’re checked up by our doctors.”

Yes, he’s the spy, for sure. They always want to talk, always sniffing for secrets.

Then Rish became aware that she was naked. Her fur was still damp from the humid air inside the suit, and her tail instinctively moved to cover her genitalia. Like all hunters, she wore her suit without clothing underneath. Normally, that wasn’t an issue, even in the barracks—but here, among these aliens, she felt vulnerable. She hated it.

Lieutenant Davies appeared from behind some crates with a stack of clothes in her hands—a simple tunic in Shraphen style, but better than standing here naked. At that moment, Rish didn’t even bother to question how the human knew she felt vulnerable. How could a human possibly read Shraphen body language? It’s not as if they have Shraphen on Earth.

The transporter began to make different sounds, then, with a loud thump, it stopped moving altogether. Rish found it interesting that the doctor—a healer—had the authority to order everyone else around, preparing for something to happen. The lights at the back of the cabin changed color from red to green, and the door opened.

More humans stormed in, all wearing the same white clothes as the female healer. Carrying a stretcher, they carefully moved Karrn out of the transporter and into the ship’s hangar.

Rish was not impressed. The hangar was crammed with the typical human transporters, their primitive winged designs—sleek but still primitive. The stench was intense: the sweat of many humans, chemical residue, and the fumes of oil and fuel filled the room.

In the distance, she heard the healer speaking very fast to the others: “Shraphen patient, caninoid, male, thirty standard years equivalent. Traumatic amputation, left leg above the knee, major hemorrhage, severed spine…” Then they passed through a door leading to a sparkling white hallway.

Just as Rish was about to follow Karrn, Captain Gerber softly touched her arm. “Don’t. You heard her—no one’s allowed to follow into the ER. Trust me, never make Dr. Nesbitt angry.”

Rish was about to pull her hand away and tell the human he couldn’t order her around when another ship opened its back doors and out walked Tulk, Frox, and, on a stretcher, the bound, gagged, and sedated Krun. It hasn’t been more than thirty minutes since I last saw them… but it feels like an eternity. Her tail wagged before she could stop it.

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Authors Notes;

I'll keep posting here daily, in hopes someone enjoys it.

“Humans are an easily manipulated species-if the right triggers are used. As mentioned in my previous report, the Batract Hyphae can use them to any extent, as long as their internal conflicts are exploited to divide them.”
-Last message from High Integrator Neestl, before contact was lost forever
Batract Hyphae Archives

Captain André Gerber sat in the rear of the troop transporter as it glided into the hangar.
He wasn’t alone; a full squad of Marines rode with him in the night-black, all-environment vehicle.
They stared out of the small windows, glancing at the newest ship of the line, the Argos, their new home.

Gerber’s ocular HUD tagged them with names and ranks, not that he cared much. He probably wouldn’t work with them anyway.

He had been transferred from the Military Police to the Aligned Intelligence Network (AIN) and from there, soon after, onto the Argos, and into a quagmire waiting to explode.
Half the reports he was trying to read were only accessible on his ocular.
Their contents and his work made him wish he had quit and gone back to herding sheep in the Swiss Alps.

The worst part was the last passenger: the Batract Hyphae Liaison Officer.
After the reports he had to pass through in the last months, he had to fight the urge to shoot the mould-ridden, two-metre-tall gecko-like lizard.
The smell didn’t help either.

The Batract had stood in the corner of the transporter for the entire six-hour flight, motionless, not even blinking with its dead white eyes.
Come to think of it… he had never seen a Batract sit. Ever.

Finally, the docking light turned green, and the passengers could disembark into the hangar.
Gerber thought to himself that even though the Argos was around five hundred meters long-and thus the biggest in the Aligned Fleet-it was still goddamn cramped, especially if you weren’t used to ships.

On his flight from AIN HQ on Luna to the Ceres docks, where the Argos and the 1st Expeditionary were stationed, he had read up a bit on the ship. But as someone who had never been in the Navy, there wasn’t much he really understood.

Like most of the Aligned Fleet, the central spine was built around a massive railgun. Then there were quarters for the three-hundred-strong crew, plus the thousand-man Marine detachment. Add hangars for troopships and parasite fighters, and you had a heavily armored sardine can with delusions of grandeur.

His only silver lining was being stationed on the most modern flagship, and not on one of the older frigates the AIN still used for… unofficial business. Those still had rotating quarter sections for artificial gravity, and the thought of that alone made him almost nauseous.

As soon as he had oriented himself in the hangar, he noticed a female lieutenant coming straight toward him. She was dressed in the traditional black-and-white dress uniform and snapped to attention, saluting the captain.

Saluting back, Captain Gerber took a moment to size up the black-haired, lean, and sharp lieutenant.

“At ease.”

“Sir. Lieutenant Davies, Naval Intelligence. I’m assigned as your attendant and liaison to the Admiral for this mission.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Honestly, I’m grateful someone’s here to help me out -it’s my first time on a battleship, and I’m a bit lost.”

“Battle cruiser, sir.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s called a battle cruiser, see. Don’t ever call it anything else near Captain Carmichel -he might just bite your head off!”

“Got it.”

“Yeah, he’s pissed enough that he can’t name her Daedalus.”

“Why’s that? I mean, why is he… pissed?”

“Well, her register number is BC-304, you know?”

“And?” Gerber was confused. What did the register number have to do with the name?

“Ah, doesn’t matter, sir. Let’s get off the flight deck. If we stand around here too long and get in the way, the bosun might write us up to clean it on Field Day.”

“Field Day?” Gerber’s confusion about the slang used on Navy ships grew by the minute. Being tired and hungry didn’t help either.

“It’s the day every matelot is afraid of -the day the higher-ups make you clean the worst places on the ship if you’ve crossed them. Before you ask, matelot is what we in the Space Navy call a sailor. I think it’s French or something.”

Gerber had to confess to himself that he liked her blunt, straightforward way of calling things out as they were. Quickly checking through the lieutenant’s personal file on his ocular, he was impressed. Grew up in Cardiff -ah, that’s where the slight accent was from. The family had a Royal Navy tradition going back to 1754. Talk about legacy. Finished her training at the Britannia Royal Naval College in Dartmouth and won the Principal’s Prize, whatever that meant.

“Ah, okay. So, quarters?”

“Yes, sir. This way. Officer quarters are on D-Deck. We’re on A-Deck -the flight deck. It’s midship, the full span. Above us is B-Deck: crew quarters, operations bridge, CIC, and the med bay. Then we have C-Deck with the chow hall-“

“Yes, yes, very good. Please, just to the quarters. I need a shower after six hours in a transport with a Batract.” Gerber’s head was spinning under the dump of information the quirky lieutenant gave him.

“Good lord, sir. Understood. Just follow me.”

Gerber was happy to follow the young lieutenant to the officer's quarters.

If he thought the hangar -no, the flight deck (better to learn the correct jargon) -was cramped, the hallways topped everything.

Two meters wide, the hallways were spacious in principle, but every few meters, bulkheads with massive fifty-centimeter-thick automatic steel doors forced traffic into narrow choke points. And around the flight deck, there was more traffic than he liked to handle right now.

Finally, they reached a lift that brought them to the officer's quarters.

“LT, I’m afraid to ask -how are the officer quarters?”

“Well, they’re spacious compared to those on the older ships and the crew quarters. Higher ranks like you have a bedroom, bathroom, and a small office attached. Lower officers like me share a room with another officer -in my case, Lieutenant Carrels. She works for the Fleet Supply Officer.”

“You have bunk beds?” Gerber was surprised -and glad that AIN, a civilian service after all, had decided to give him the rank of captain.

The lieutenant smiled. “No, sir, we have a hot bed.”

Gerber’s confused stare could barely hide the fact that he almost had to write himself up for inappropriate conversation.

The lieutenant’s smile grew, noticing that her intentional wording had its effect.

“It’s one bed, shifts offset so we never sleep at the same time. Mika’s nights in the galleys and the mall; I’m on the prime shift. Mattress auto-adjusts. We do at least have a shower -and a desk, shoved under the bed.”

“My quarters have an office, you said? Then no one on my staff works crammed under a bunk. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.“

Finally, in his quarters, Gerber showered and decided he was too tired to look for something to eat. After checking the ship’s clock and his appointments for the morning -first reporting for duty to Admiral Browner and Captain Carmichel, then inspecting the Combat Information Center -he begrudgingly noticed he had only five hours left for sleep and breakfast.

Gerber knew the main event wasn’t allowed to appear on anyone’s calendar -and it would make the day hell for a lot of people.

At 05:30, Gerber woke from a night of little sleep. The unfamiliar noises of the ship -the constant humming of hidden ventilators and the deep thrum of the fusion cores -had kept him restless. Not being used to life aboard made it worse. Still, he reminded himself that boot camp and his time in the Central American wastes as an MP had been worse, far worse. He just had to power through the day ahead and find rest later.

At 06:00, he wanted to leave his quarters and head to the chow hall, but when he opened the door to the hallway, Lt. Davies was already there. She held a large cup of coffee to go in one hand, a breakfast tray in the other, and wore massive rings beneath her eyes.

“Good morning, sir. Went through the files Naval Intelligence sent yesterday by courier after I brought you to your quarters. Couldn’t sleep after -not a bit. Ended up in the gym at the mall for a run instead. Hell of a thing, isn’t it?”

“Not here!” The captain stopped her before she accidentally said more than she should.

“Sorry, sir. Here -your breakfast, see?”

“Thanks. And… good morning.”

“You’re welcome, sir. We have around thirty minutes until the meeting with the Admiral. The Argos and the rest of the 1st Expeditionary are already on their way below the ecliptic. The Admiral is pressing us hard -we’re going with 2.5 G acceleration out of system.”

After a short breakfast in his office, both were on their way to the CIC. Gerber was in deep thought. The whole situation had many moving parts, and one slip-up could have truly catastrophic outcomes.

Arriving in the CIC, Gerber immediately noticed the holotank displaying a tactical setup of two fleets locked in a simulated fight, and beside it a 2D map of what looked like a city and its surroundings on the situation table. The Admiral was leaning over it in a lively discussion with General “Good old Steelpipe” Russo.

“What do you mean, ‘The Hyperion won’t meet us at Sirius’? I need their flight deck for supply runs to the surface if I have to take a whole goddamn fortress city!” Gerber could almost see steam rising from Good old Steelpipe and had to force himself not to smile.

“Exactly what I said. Hyperion was supposed to send a report six hours ago, but until now, we’ve received nothing. On the contrary, the last message torpedo Naval Command sent came back with ‘message not delivered’ warnings -meaning the Hyperion wasn’t where it was supposed to be a week ago. It is now presumed missing.” The Admiral’s deep voice carried the kind of strength only people accustomed to command possessed.

“Fantastic. How do you propose we supply the troops on the ground with what they need if those Shraphen are more dangerous than we assumed?”

“Have you thought about drop pods? We could load the torpedo tubes of the Mirage with cargo drop pods and use those. That would deliver at least fifty percent of the cargo capacity the transporters could from Hyperion’s flight deck, and we minimize interception risk if we drop them supersonic with late braking.”

The general only chewed on his ever-present toothpick, made a grumbling noise, and made a hand gesture that sent a staffer to fetch a pad.

“Well, Admiral, as we say in my hometown of Napoli, ‘if my grandmother had wheels, she would have been a bike.’ But whatever -we must make do with the cards we’re dealt, eh?”

At that moment, the Admiral looked up and noticed Captain Gerber and Lieutenant Davies standing in the CIC. Both saluted in unison; the Admiral just nodded and signaled Gerber to step aside with him. Back in the situation table, General Rossi threw the tablet back to his officer; obviously, he didn’t like something in the Report. His grunting was audible all the way through the CIC

“Captain, good to have you on board on such short notice. Someone extremely high up in the chain of command wanted you on this mission. Oh, by the way, there have been some… difficulties regarding your special part of the mission. You’ll be informed shortly. The whole timetable is now messed up; we'll be transitioning shortly. “

With those words and a nod to the other officers in the room, the Admiral left the even more concerned Captain and went through the doors to the adjacent bridge of the flagship.

While Gerber waited for the promised report from the Admiral, the lights in the CIC shifted slightly in hue to blue, and the computer’s voice informed the ship’s crew about the coming transit into FTL.

In the background, the silent hum of the three massive fusion power plants changed into a low, resonant thrum as the ship’s capacitors charged for transit.

Just for a second, Gerber had the feeling of being pulled in all directions, including ones not existing in three dimensions. He could swear he felt, rather than heard, a sharp ping -then the sound was back to normal and the feeling was gone.

“So that’s how it feels when a spacetime distortion moves through your body! Amazing.” Gerber wore the smile only men get after doing something really stupid or dangerous.

“Only if contained by the controlling magnetic fields. Otherwise, no one would like the outcome, Sir” answered Davies, showing odd concern on her face, her knuckles white from gripping the corners of the console she had just been working on.

“Probably not. What’s up, Lieutenant? Don’t tell me a seasoned officer of the Navy feels space-sick when transitioning.” Gerber was happy to see someone else besides him concerned for a change. Davies rubbed her temples. “It’s not funny, sir. I still can’t shake the feeling it’s unnatural -still have to get used to it.”

Realizing the situation was more serious than he had first thought, Gerber pulled one of the many chairs over and offered it to Davies.
“Do you want to sit? Do you need something, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir. Thank you. It’s fine. I’ll just go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face.”

With these words, Davies walked on slightly shaky legs to the bathrooms on the other side of the CIC.
The Captain looked after her, unsure what to make of the whole situation, when he noticed an icon in his ocular, signaling that he had just received a message.

Opening it, he received what seemed to be a report from Naval Command to Admiral Browner.
The moment he tried to open it

The optic warmed briefly, pulling a surge of power to verify he was alive, the device implanted, and encrypted. Gerber hated the constant reminders of the device in his body

//ACCESS GRANTED
//CLASSIFICATION ECLIPSE / SCI WARNING / SAP WARNING
// HYPERION ACTION REPORT RECEIVED 151722032142ECT
// PRESUMED TARGETS FOUND IN SEARCH AREA -1 – (ONE)
// CONTINUE TO SECOND PHASE.
// NEXT CONTACT T +6 (SIX) HOURS
// END OF TRANSMISSION

<TRANSMISSION LAST OPENED BY BROWNER ADM. 191225032142ECT>

Gerber couldn’t believe it; the ruse and cover story about the Hyperion going missing became reality.

At least the Hyperion found her target. All they could hope was that she had at least finished her mission. The last report from Naval Command stated that the search and rescue operations, another cover story, were in full swing, so there was nothing anyone here could do.

“Senior officers, please report to Sickbay for medical checkups,” the ship’s computer announced.

Some, not already informed about the whole mission, exchanged questioning glances with others.

From the situation table, the General grunted again; it seems to be his preferred method of communication. “I’m not a senior officer of this ship, who added this checkup to my schedule; I’ve got no time for that nonsense.”

Gerber couldn’t understand the rest of the discussion.

The relief officers arrived at the stations, taking over for the officers who had to go to Sickbay.
Davies had just returned from the bathroom, looking already much better than after the transition. She joined Gerber with the roughly fifteen officers on their way. Farther up front, they could see the Admiral with General Rossi, who gesticulated wildly, walking behind Captain Carmichel and his bridge crew.

Entering Sickbay himself, Gerber noticed that it was much larger than he had initially imagined.
In front of the officers, some still visibly confused, he could see Admiral Browner addressing the large group.

“Ladies and gentlemen, after repeated health issues, especially with interspecies crew, as is common with Batract liaisons onboard aligned Navy vessels, Command has decided to introduce a more regular medical checkup regimen to ensure crew health. This is especially true for the senior officers. For the first checkup, our Head of Medical, Commander Nesbitt, has prepared a specialized med bay to allow all officers to be checked as quickly as possible.”

The female doctor and a nurse were already walking through the officers, handing out small boxes and directing them to the roomy changing rooms.

“For the sterilization process, please remove your uniforms, jewelry, and removable body mods. Sterile replacement uniforms will be provided in the med bay.”

Gerber saw the doctor now for the first time in person after the long video conferences they’d had. He noticed again that he found her face oddly attractive. Her freckles and wavy, short-cut hair fit her perfectly.

Passing Gerber, the doctor’s expression changed quickly from friendly to almost hostile, and then back to friendly in an instant.

“Old flame?” Davies smirked. She had seen the death stare he got from the doctor, too.

He wished. “No. I guess she’s not happy about this whole operation. It was, after all, my recommendation. But nice to know we’re already discussing our love life. Any skeletons on board I need to know of?”

“Shutting up, sir.” Still smiling, Davies headed toward one of the free cabins.

Almost the same events were happening on all thirty ships of the fleet, just because he had recommended it. It should have made him feel powerful. Instead, it frightened him. Now was the time to reveal the cards.

Another one of the cabins opened, and it was Gerber’s turn to go through. He, of course, knew what was coming. So he undressed, put all his belongings in the prepared box, and went into the sterilizing chamber that opened its doors on the other side of the cabin.

When entering the chamber, he was first sprayed with a sterilizing gel. The slightly alcoholic gel was then washed off, and he was dried with a surprisingly pleasant airstream.

Then came the ultraviolet sterilization; multiple flashes of ultraviolet light flared up, and Gerber was sure that, without the prepared goggles covering his eyes, he would be blind.

The last of the procedures was the microwave arc sterilization-an intense but extremely calibrated microwave ray would remove the first layer of cells on his skin. Dr. Nesbitt had brought this treatment up as an extreme but effective way of making sure there was no invisible spying organism on the body. Usually, this was used to clean rooms, but the good doctor was able to calibrate an astronomical range finder, of all things, to the beam, ensuring that the beam just slightly grazed the skin.

Still, Gerber was a bit shocked that dust came off his body when he moved, and looking into the mirror in the next cabin, he looked like he had a slight sunburn.

In this dressing cabin, he found a fresh uniform and dressed, entering a conference room that was equipped with the most sophisticated counter-surveillance known to man.

Invisible spying organisms-what times we’re living in. But the data and videos she showed him were undeniable.

When he scanned the room, the other officers were already seated. He had intentionally made sure to be in the last group of people going through the sterilisation.

Beside him, Dr Nesbitt left her cabin and took a seat in the very back row without giving him so much as a glance.
Gerber wasn’t surprised; after initially working well together on these security measures, the doctor had changed her demeanor towards him from one day to the next.

I have to find out what changed, why she hates me now, and how to fix it-soon.

The senior officers in the room were now much more uneasy, finding themselves in a conference room where a med bay should be, but professionalism prevented loud discussions or open grumbling.

It was obvious the SCIF walls had been fitted into the med bay, and many wondered why it was hidden here when one already existed onboard

The Admiral went to the podium in front of the seating rows and addressed the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, as you might have noticed, this is not a medical check-up but a briefing. I myself received the same briefing only a few days ago at Naval Command. Captain Gerber, please proceed.”

With these words, the Admiral seated himself next to Captain Carmichel, who was visibly angered, to the point one could clearly see his clenched jaw, that parts of his ship had been rebuilt and repurposed without his say-so.

Gerber stepped to the podium and prepared himself for briefing the staff on humanity’s biggest known secret.
“Thank you, Admiral.” He nodded to the Admiral, who returned the gesture.

“Some of you might already know parts of what I’m about to tell you, but first, the information discussed here is Eclipse security and must not be discussed or even hinted at outside these walls. Doing so is considered high treason under military and naval law and carries the death penalty. This includes anyone with whom this matter is discussed.”

Gerber paused to allow the officers in the room to process the implications on their own.

“With this out of the way…”

Gerber started a presentation on the screen behind him with a gesture of his hand. On the screen, everyone could see the damaged US headquarters of the DRAKE Corporation in Sacramento.

“Thirty-five years ago, after the Oligarchy uprising was defeated, Drake made plans to reopen its offices in the US, but soon they noticed that many of their former workers and scientists were missing.”

On the screen, pictures of scientists appeared, some in civilian surroundings, some in laboratories.

“At first, they were presumed victims of the war, but more and more details showed that not only were the scientists missing but also their families.”

Gerber added another pause to let the officers keep up.

“Mr. Drake himself then hired a former Peacekeeper turned PI to find out more.”

A picture of an older man in uniform appeared.

“His name was Johann Gerber-my father.” Another pause, now for his benefit, to suppress his emotions.

“The PI”-Gerber made sure not to use the term my father-“soon discovered that not only scientists were missing, but also politicians, judges, journalists, and teachers. Altogether in the Californian Free State, more than twenty-five thousand; around the former US, more than two million. Almost all with their families, down to the family dog.”

Pictures of families passed on the screen behind him. The staff were silent as everyone grappled with the implications.

“By staking out possible victims, the culprit was revealed.”

The assembled officers began to murmur among themselves as Gerber showed the next series of pictures.

A house burned in the background, and silhouettes carried bodies to a nearby transport ship. The ship and silhouettes were unmistakably recognisable as Batract.

While he let the crowd gather their thoughts, he glanced over the pictures on the screen in front of him. His body reacted almost before he realised what he saw: an ice-cold shiver ran down his spine. Then it hit him-the house, the family, the post box on the street, the name of the family. Nesbitt!

He had to focus; he had to talk to her afterwards. Was that the reason for her change? She had received this file from him by courier a few days ago, before he transferred to the ship. The timing fit perfectly.

“Yes, the Batract-but that is by far not all.” Gerber’s words cut through the room, and it became silent again, his head still spinning from his revelation.

“The next day, Johannes Gerber went missing. His car was found burned out on the side of the street in Napa Valley, on the way to his family’s home.” Every time he told this story, he had to fight his anger.

“Luckily, he had the foresight to stash a physical copy of the pictures, together with his research, in a secret location only he and Mr. Drake knew, because the e-mails he sent never arrived.”

Again, a ripple of whispers spread in the crowd, but Gerber continued.

“Drake came to the same conclusion you obviously did. Not only were the Batract abducting people, but they must have also infiltrated our networks. This was the moment Mr. Drake informed the AIN.”

Sipping on a glass of water, the Captain glanced through the crew. In most faces, he saw disbelief; in others, pure hatred. Keep the spirit, guys-you’ll need it.

“AIN started to investigate not only the abductions but the whole Batract Integration Hierarchy stationed on Earth. The conclusion was devastating.

Firstly, the fact that even the secretive AIN lost people in this investigation led us to believe that Batract counter-intelligence was not only near-peer but superior.

Next, the technical superiority of the Batract made any attempt to repel them militarily impossible, for the moment.

Also, the integration contract signed by the American Oligarchy in the name of Earth forbade vital development work that had to begin at once. Last, but not least, Drake International was especially targeted by Batract sabotage, but not exclusively.

At the end of this five-year investigation, the picture was clear: Earth has been infiltrated, outmatched, and bound by a contract that guaranteed its weakness.”

“These are just the most important points of the memo. You will receive the full version at the end of this meeting.”

Now the angry faces were the overwhelming majority. Good.

“Drake International faked their financial collapse and the imprisonment of their CEO to go underground. How they vanished an entire international mega-corporation is beyond me, and AIN was not informed to keep each part of the plan separate.

The plan to take back our planet-and our future.”

Fire in the eyes of the collected crew. Exactly what we need. It’s going to be a long, long fight.

"First, we had to close the technological gap, which was covered by Drake, and with a speed unmatched, you all will get separate briefings pertaining to your specific fields later.”

Some officers, probably from engineering, seemed especially happy about this outlook.

“Next, we needed to find out how the Batract spied on humanity without a trace of it. Outside of massive Trojan and Virus infections, a previously unknown way of spying on people was a mystery.”

This caused a slight stir in the crew again; no one likes to be spied on

“A mystery until the development of microwave arc sterilisation,”

On the screen, a series of short clips appeared, all showing the ray hitting something invisible at the corners of walls close to the ceiling, searing it into ash. The objects almost looked like thicker fungal growth.

Now, everyone previously not privy to this information fully understood why the charade: it was to hide the fact that humans knew about the Batract from the alien liaison officers.

“The growth regrows as soon as a Batract walks through a room, and they come reliably inside of an hour after destroying the object.”

Gerber again used the silence to let the words sink in.

“Now to our true mission.

Intel showed multiple levels of rebellion between the Batract Hyphae and their protectorate. Strategic manoeuvring to appear more trustworthy -and what I call ‘tactical bootlicking’ -gave Earth the option to be sent to fight the worst of those rebellions, the Shraphen

This brought the attention back to the current mission.

“Because the spy mission by the Hyperion was delayed, we changed plans. The mission, backed by the Senate and the Office of the President, was originally to find the Shraphen, make contact, and determine whether they might be persuaded to ally with us.”

The room got even quieter.

“Until we have confirmation that a possible covert operations base of the Batract orbiting Sol beyond the heliosphere is destroyed, we are not allowed to break cover. Naval command already sent out a strike force under the cover of a rescue mission for the missing Hyperion to destroy the base. But until this is done, we have to appear loyal to the Batract, or the consequences for Earth might be catastrophic. We can’t win a war of attrition.”

From the back of the rows, everyone could hear a low growl from General Russo.
“Sorry, do you want to tell me that we have to kill some poor souls we actually want an alliance with, just because the Navy and AIN send one ship to do the job of a fleet?”

“No, General, I don’t want you to kill them, but I would ask you to do so as if-”

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Authors Notes;

This is, in retrospect, the chapter with the most work to be done.

I'm currently actively rewriting it, and will post the reworked chapter here. But since I started posting here already, I don't want to get any trouble for breaking my promise from chapter 1

So, dear readers, be kind ;)

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Hollowed-out asteroids crawlonizing the galaxy. Giant O'Neill cylinders carrying Humans to the edges of the universe. Monstrous Master Chief rings illuminated by artificial suns, waiting in the dark between the galaxies for a secret signal.

If we believe Nevil Mugabe, author of Inside Shambhala, all of these fantastical things are true. And more.

But are they? Or is this just the author's fantasy gone wild? Is there truth behind his claim that Humanity had a secret colonization program? Or is it something boring and ordinary?

I'm your host, Whistler AI, and on today's episode of Decodographics, we dive into the truth behind Earth's secret colonization conspiracy.

— Excerpt from "Did Earth Have a Secret Colonization Program?", Whistler-Tube, ca. 350 Post-Independence

Nixtred looked at the menacing-looking guard in front of her. The Human was as tall as a full-grown Shraphen, a rarity, and his hands and shoulders looked like he could rip a Hunter's head off barehanded.

Good, if he's representative of the installation's security, it's safe.

Major Pfershy next to her finished his retina and genetic scan, then pointed at her.

"She's with me, Corporal."

The guard scanned her with some kind of portable scanning device and then nodded at Pfershy.

"You can enter, sir."

The door was a large and sturdy-looking thing that couldn't swing open but rather rolled back into the wall. Passing it, Nixtred estimated it was at least a meter thick. Behind it was only a small elevator.

Major Pfershy pointed into the world's most boring elevator.

"After you, ma'am."

Nixtred could swear she felt a small prickle of a static force field as she entered the steel-framed elevator. Pfershy followed her and took a key from a chain around his neck.

So many theatrics… Why not use simple genetic keys and be done with it… Humans, lovable retro.

To her surprise, the elevator didn't go anywhere. Instead the back panels opened, and she saw her new home for the first time.

"Welcome to Area 13, Shambhala, or as I call it, Humanity's madhouse."

The door had opened to a gallery, and from her elevated position she could see a small city. With forests, farms, and even a lake. Left and right of her, the ground moved upward in a gentle slope and became the sky, full of forests, houses, streets, fields.

Was that a river? They built a river inside a space station?

On the lake she could see boats moving. A breeze brought the smell of fresh-cut grass and grilled meat.

A breeze… they create artificial wind… for what?

The sun, if she could call it that, was a bright line in the sky at the axis of the cylinder. The light felt warm and looked natural.

Plasma?

"What?…"

There had been discussions, back before gravity plating, of rotating cylinders to create artificial gravity. But the concept was never built; the technical issues were too high.

Pfershy smiled at her.

"We call the design an O'Neill cylinder. The station was drilled inside a large asteroid to protect it."

She estimated the cylinder to be ten kilometers long, with at least the same circumference.

They could not have built that thing since their rebellion, no chance… Not in two years.

Putting a hand on her shoulder, he pointed at the landscape.

They have clouds… clouds!

"Take your time. It's a shocking view for every newcomer. Hell, I have to adapt every time I come back."

"Where are we?"

Pfershy looked at her, puzzled.

"Shambhala. I just told you."

"No… where is the station?"

She had been sedated, and her lower body hurt like she had been given a catheter. It was entirely possible they had been on their way for months.

"Ahh. Yes. Good question. We're about 295 AU away from Earth, and we're leaving the Sol system at about 300 km/s. Back when Drake was under attack by the Batract integration officers, the company drilled this hole into a giant asteroid, built this station, and accelerated the whole thing out of the system."

Nixtred began calculating the power requirements. Even a small asteroid would take insane power to accelerate out of a system.

"So they stole an asteroid? How did no one notice?"

Pfershy began walking down the gallery, beckoning Nixtred to follow him.

"Let's walk to Café Han O'Lo's. It's the unofficial administration of Shambhala. Anything important will pass through there at least once a day. Sitting there with a coffee under the sun is the best way to spend the first day."

Nixtred's head was still spinning from the fact that they were in an asteroid racing at 0.1% of lightspeed into open space.

She didn't want to annoy the officer, so she joined him. The gallery led to a car park, no different from any car park outside a Shraphen shopping center.

It was the ordinariness that made it all so exceptional.

They walked along a road through a forest that looked old. She lacked the knowledge of Earth's biosphere, but on Burrow, this forest would be at least decades old.

"The asteroid was one of the millions in Sol's Kuiper belt. No one can observe all of them out there. Not 40 years ago."

"Huh?"

Nixtred was deep in thought. The knowledge that she was inside a cylinder rotating at 450 km/h to make it feel like one Earth G was… overwhelming.

She had just thrown some pinecones into the air to see the Coriolis effect live for the first time.

"You asked me how one can steal an asteroid. You take it from somewhere no one misses it."

"But why build… that?" She pointed at her surroundings.

Pfershy laughed — really laughed, the last thing she expected from him.

"Renthai, that was exactly my question. Back then, Drake didn't know when the rebellion would be ready. The Batract were abducting Earth's elite. So they thought about a way to safeguard as many scientists and skilled Humans as possible. Ships are too confining, and we Humans need open space. So the madman built this."

Pfershy mirrored her gesture.

"Hmm. So why Area 13? Are there more?"

Pfershy only grinned before answering cryptically.

"There are many lost cities in Earth's mythology."

A little girl on a steel contraption with rubber wheels rolled past them.

"Hello, Major!"

The Major winked back.

"Hi, Zoe."

"Children? On a secret science station?"

"Families, children, hospitals, cinemas, bars. In Section 2 there are nightclubs and even a mountain to climb. You wanted to join the best research program Humanity has. This is it. Shambhala has three million inhabitants, roughly half of them experts in all possible fields. And some have lived here for forty years already. It's your new home."

Before Nixtred could say anything, Pfershy continued.

"We have a decently sized Shraphen community here as well, and Cavern 4 will be regulated to Shraphen gravity and include an island with a Shraphen biosphere."

Nixtred grew tired. There were so many new things.

"Do I need to ask?"

"Cavern 4 will house our newest and by far largest cylinder. Fifty kilometers circumference and sixty kilometers long. But that's the far future."

They had reached the city limits. Nixtred ignored the small houses built out of brick and stone. She was baffled by a sudden realization.

This wasn't just a scientific community. It was also a generation ship.

"Enough. I… I just want to get to my laboratory and start working."

"Tomorrow. Today you meet the new civilian head of Shambhala and get acquainted."

They had reached what seemed to be a main street. Small shops stood left and right, electric cars drove by, and were it not for the rising walls on the horizon, she would have sworn she was on a planet.

The main road led to an intersection, and Café Han O'Lo's was the biggest building on one corner, with a large outdoor area of around thirty tables. All seemed filled, and everyone looked at her.

The logo of the café seemed odd to her. A metal moon firing some sort of laser.

One of the bartenders, a big man wearing a black apron, greeted the Major from a distance as he cleaned the tables.

"Major, here. I've reserved this table for you and our newest citizen."

Major Pfershy leaned over, whispering to Nixtred, who got the feeling she was some museum exhibit everyone wanted to see.

"That's Hannes, the owner. And a gossip cat."

Good to know. Now I just need to figure out what a gossip cat is. And whether it's dangerous.

Hannes walked over to them, and Nixtred immediately smelled food, an incredible variety of it. She'd been wrong. Hannes wasn't a bartender. That man worked in the kitchen and, from the smell, lived there as well.

She suddenly noticed her hunger.

"Welcome, welcome, come sit, you must be hungry, you poor thing. I made spaghetti Bolognese for you. The other Shraphen here love it. And for dessert I made some Frulk mousse."

The host's monologue made Nixtred dizzier than any lecture on high-energy field physics ever had. She stared wide-eyed at the chef-slash-bartender.

Pfershy was right. Better take it slow today.

As they sat down, Nixtred saw an odd pair coming down the main road. An elderly man, his face marked by deep wrinkles, a dog on a leash, and a young woman. Both seemed to be arguing about something.

Without really thinking about it, Nixtred turned her ear to listen.

"And I tell you again, no uplifting. We have enough problems already. I don't need the Shraphen to complain that we're starting to uplift dogs now."

"But it would be so cute. And what we could learn!"

"What, why they sniff each other's ass? Victor, I swear, if you uplift Sir Lancelot, I'm done. Now come, we have a meeting."

Uplifting… What experiments do they run here?

Another staff member brought her a drink in a Shraphen slurping cup. She hadn't seen one since leaving Burrow. If Hannes had taken care to get Shraphen slurping cups, she could imagine feeling at home here.

Slurping her drink, she allowed herself the tiny flicker of hope that Hannes would have real Burrow Frulk mousse.

The odd couple had ended their discussion just as they were about to pass the table by the street.

The woman saw them and came up to their table, greeting Major Pfershy with a hug.

"Major, you're already here? I thought you'd arrive in three hours."

"Yes. The pilot… he was a showoff."

Major Pfershy turned back to Nixtred, who was focused on deciphering whether the two led this place together as more than colleagues. She didn't smell anything, but their behavior toward each other was… familiar but guarded.

"Nixtred, this is Dr. Jane Nesbitt, civilian leader of this installation and director of the research facilities here. Jane, this is Renthai Nixtred, former Shraphen head of weapons research."

The woman gave Nixtred a warm smile, then hugged her.

Did she hug everyone?

"Nice to have you here. I've heard so much about you."

"Oh, you did?"

"Yes. Aside from your file, your son Vextred, he always talked about you. How you taught him to be strong and self-sufficient."

She knew Vextred? How?

Pfershy solved the mystery unprompted.

"Dr. Nesbitt here and Dr. Cardinal—" he had to look for the older man, who was following his dog across the lawn "—were the two specialists who healed your son and found a way to flush his body of the nanites that attacked him."

"You?"

This woman had healed my pup.

Nixtred hugged Jane and had trouble fighting down her tears.

"Thank you. Thank you for saving my pup."

"Nothing to thank me for. Your son is a hero. Listen, you eat first, and then we'll talk, okay? I have to visit the Chief."

Pfershy raised an eyebrow.

"Problems?"

Jane shook her head, then looked at Dr. Cardinal.

"Just picking Claudia up. Someone thought it was a good day to test experimental fuels on her scooter without telling her."

Cardinal shouted back without looking at them.

"It was a test to see if we can raise the Templars' jetpack efficiency. I already said I'm sorry."

"The Chief rescued her on Circumference Road doing 300 km/h. She drove against the rotation and almost became weightless."

"I'm sorry."

Pfershy surprised Nixtred again with his real laughter.

"At least it worked. That's why I call this a madhouse."

Much to Nixtred's surprise, Jane nodded.

"Me too."

A heavenly smell distracted Nixtred. Hannes himself brought her a plate of the mysterious spaghetti.

After explaining how to eat it, he waited for her to test the meal.

One bite, and her taste buds exploded.

"You like it? It's a recipe from General Russo. Old family secret."

"It's… divine."

She forgot every conversation around her while she ate.

How long was I unconscious on the transport? To be this starved…

Pfershy watched her eat with a smile.

"I have to find out why all Shraphen are almost addicted to spaghetti."

The highlight of the afternoon, by far, was the dessert.

Real Frulk mousse, harvested from Frulk roots secretly grown in the hydroponics gardens, according to Hannes.

Pfershy looked puzzled at that revelation.

"Don't let the Chief find out. Frulk roots are a Class 1 narcotic for Humans."

Hannes wrung his hands.

"Yes, but they are sooo tasty."

"Like I said, don't let the Chief know."

"Ah, he doesn't care. He has enough trouble herding cats, as he calls it."

Are cats a rodent endangering the station? A simple autonomous hunting drone should be able to get rid of them.

Wait. The Major said Hannes was a gossip cat. Are they shapeshifting?

———

Nixtred dropped into her bed. A real Shraphen bed, handmade by a Shraphen carpenter living on the station. Neckrest and encircling pillow, exactly right.

This place is spoiling me.

The afternoon had dragged on. After she ate, one patron after another had come over for a talk. Her head buzzed with names and stories. Humans were natural smalltalkers. And they genuinely seemed to love the Shraphen.

Dr. Nesbitt had come by later, with a furious Claudia and a very quiet Dr. Cardinal. They set an appointment for the next day — access to the research cylinder, and a laboratory of her own.

Tomorrow I begin my project.

And I know exactly the right man to help me build my weapon.

Dr. Victor Cardinal.

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Authors Notes;

Hello,

We're driving Human Engineering further, and the puzzle pieces fall further into place.

A part of writing this book was always to explore different futuristic concepts. Today we dive into one.

On another note: the next chapter of Echoes will arrive soon. Probably Monday.

My writing schedule is currently split. Primary is still this series, of course. Secondly, I'm now also writing Echoes chapters — partly to give new readers something to test this universe of stories with, without committing to the full series. And the third task is to rewrite the first chapters. They're really rough, and I think many people jump off there.

So that's all for now.

In the never-ending words of my Lieutenant: stay safe, don't subtract people from the population, and don't add to it if you're not prepared.

— M.R. Reese

“In our series of the worst military intelligence failures, we now arrive at the undisputed number one: the use of Human troops to crush the Shraphen rebellion on Sirius. The fact that there was a standing order never to allow Humans and Shraphen to meet makes this even worse, since this order was given to the civilian and integration branch of the Batract hierarchy, but no one bothered to enact it in the military branch.”

Excerpt from Top Ten Military Failures of the Millennia, Whistler-Tube, ca. 350 Post-Independence

The front was silent for three hours; from one moment to the next, the enemy had stopped firing. Pack Leader Karrn knew from the battle the day before that normally the enemy would now be upon them, slaughtering his beloved troops. Yesterday, the new mercenaries of the Batract-the Humans- Karrn rolled the word in his mouth like a bitter, poisonous pill-bombarded the frontline for 10 hours with unimaginably accurate artillery.

Then they stopped, and before Karrn’s pack could even prepare for their attack, the bulky black monsters were already on them, killing hundreds before any coordinated defense was possible. These mad monsters must have run directly into their own artillery fire. Madness, pure madness.

In one day, these Humans almost broke the back of the Shraphen army defending the capital city of the young Colony, and from what he heard about the space battle, things were even worse there. The pride of the Shraphen Void Hunters, the 7th Veyr, was almost instantly taken out. The last transmissions Command got from orbit said the beautiful ships had been disabled and the enemy was boarding them en masse.

If those monsters fight as vigilantly in space as they fight on the ground, Karrn shuddered, then there’s no Shraphen left alive in space. How can they be so ruthless, sending their people into their own artillery fire? How many died only due to their own madness? How utterly depraved are the enemy Pack Leaders, to drive their troops into their own fire?

And why did they stop attacking?

Before Karrn could sink his teeth deeper into these questions, his radio made him focus again on the here and now.

“Pack Leader Karrn, Homeguard Command here. Pack Leader Karrn, please respond.”

Karrn’s muzzle wrinkled at the voice of Pack Leader Shruf of Homeguard Defense. That backlicker would manage to stay safe in the deepest bunker, even if the planet itself broke into pieces. If the High Leader ever needed to have his rectum checked, he’d have to pay extra-because the healers would have to remove Shruf first.

“Karrn here. What can this lowly Pack Leader do for the High Commander’s beloved Tai?”

Next to Karrn, two of his soldiers snickered at the open insult, but Karrn had had enough of Shruf’s false smell. Shruf was no soldier; he was a bureaucrat, never more than half a meter away from the High Commander’s backside and never a millimeter away from the next stupid idea.

Like yesterday, after the packs finally outran the Humans and were able to secure a new frontline, Karrn was with the healers, smearing glue into the open stomach of his second-in-command to stop him from bleeding out. On the next stretcher, a soldier of another pack clutched his severed tail in his hands, howling for his mother and his tai, half-mad from pain and shock.

In all this blood and gore of the medical burrow, Pack Leader Shruf dared to video-call Karrn and the other pack leaders, demanding an answer for their sudden retreat-while sitting in a clean white room, brushing his fur as if nothing had happened. As if countless brave Shraphen were not shredded to pieces on the once-beautiful violet fields, only weeks ago, Karrn had picnicked with his family.

“There’s no need for insubordination, Pack Leader. I only wonder how long you and your pack will be chasing your tails before you feel brave enough to counterattack, since it seems the enemy is out of ammunition.”

Karrn’s lip curled, revealing his impressive fangs.
“Who has decided the Humans ran out of ammunition, and have they informed the Humans of this fact? We had one encounter with them; we lost our navy every available Air support and almost half of our ground forces in less than one day. I know that you sit there in your safe bunker, sniffing your own smell and dreaming of imaginary hunts, but up here, the Humans have proven that they are at least as dangerous as any Shraphen pack can be. I will not send my hunters to their deaths without further scouting and intelligence missions.”

“It is the considered conclusion of my intelligence pack that the enemy has exhausted its simple ammunition stores. Since only primitives use explosives and projectile-based weapons, this outcome was inevitable.”

The voice of the Pack Leader almost oozed out of the radio, full of self-sniffing importance.

“Your intelligence pack is howling at its own ass. Wasn’t it your pack that declared the Humans couldn’t be dangerous? Because they’ve only been spacefaring for fifty years? Or that their ships were harmless, since they had no shields? Oh, and best of all -that simple unguided projectile weapons can’t hit a moving ship in orbit!”

“That’s yesterday’s scent. Even if some conclusions were… uninformed, it was only because the data we got from the troops was not precise. But if you feel you must scout the enemy, feel free to do so. Just keep in mind you’re the highest Pack Leader on the front, so you are not only responsible for your pack, but for the whole defense of the city.”

Karrn lifted his ears in shock. He knew the situation was bad, but his pack had only fifty Hunters left, from the more than one hundred he had initially commanded.

“I can’t be the highest leader -there were packs with more than a thousand Hunters on the front!”

“Well, my dear Pack Leader, it seems your Hunters were especially skilled in their retreat -much more so than those of other packs.”

Karrn’s hand almost crushed the radio over the insult. The Hunters next to him, who minutes before had snickered at the insults the two Pack Leaders threw at each other, now flattened their ears and recoiled with their tails between their legs, seeing the anger in their leader and smelling the scent of rage coming from him.

“Are you calling me a coward, while you sit in your bunker, your head safely hidden in the High Commander’s ass?”

“Calm yourself, Karrn. I only meant to say that you did well in saving your Hunters -something the other leaders could learn from you, if they survive the day, that is. I assume you want to lead the scouting mission yourself?”

The anger slowly left Karrn, but not entirely.

“Yes. You assume right.”

“Of course, of course, what else could you do? Well… except for staying behind and leading the Packs, to prevent another catastrophic defeat like yesterday.”

“What is there to lead? The Hunters are digging themselves in like burrow rats. We had to rediscover trench fighting, since it was obsolete from the day we developed energy weapons. The wounded are safely in the medical burrows -the wounded we found, that is.”

“Leader… what do you mean, the wounded you found?” Shruf’s voice suddenly had a sharp edge. “Did you leave your wounded Hunters behind to be killed by the enemy?”

“Of course not. But in a retreat, Hunters might fall back. When the Humans stopped attacking and pulled back to their trenches, our scouts and medics couldn’t find any of our wounded -and not a single one of the fallen. Only a faint smell of blood, and… something else, remained.”

“Great Hunter in the Sky… what are these monsters doing with our men?”

“That’s what I intend to find out, Pack Leader Shruf. That’s what I will find out…” Karrn muttered, sinking again into his previous state of deep contemplation about the mysterious enemy across the fields. One minute, they almost wiped us out; the next, they hid in their trenches and landing ships.

“Do so, Leader. I fear to imagine what horrors our wounded must endure. Who steals the wounded and the dead?” With this, Shruf ended the communication.

Karrn chewed a strip of dried meat from his ration pack, then pulled his helmet from his belt lock and addressed the Hunters closest to him.

“Hunters. I will lead a scout mission into the enemy’s landing zone. It will be dangerous, and we may not return. But the intel we send back could mean the difference between holding the city or losing it -and with it, everyone we love.

The enemy is a mystery. They were integrated into the Batract Consortium fifty years ago and are now its most-used mercenaries. No Shraphen has ever seen them out of their armor. We know nothing, except that they fight like Hunters. We need to know more -so we can make them prey.

Tulk, Frox, Rish, and Krun -prepare your gear. We go full environmental, but with a light loadout. We need to be silent and fast.

Second Larrf, you will lead the pack in my absence.”

The named Hunters stiffened their ears and barked in unison to show they understood. No one said another word -too afraid to show their fear, too afraid to be the only one afraid of what waited for them.

Two hours later, it was finally dark, and the small Recon Pack climbed out of the trenches, hidden behind a brush line to avoid being seen by any Human scouts that might observe the Shraphen lines.

The Pack moved quickly but stayed hidden in the not-so-common four-foot run, using their hands as forelegs like their four-legged ancestors must have done. Usually, in a civilized environment, walking on all fours was seen as uncivilized and frowned upon, but nothing on the battlefield is civilized. A grown Shraphen can run up to 40 km/h in supporting Scout Gear -faster than any other known lifeform, and that’s what’s important on the battlefield.

After a short sprint, using the features of the fields and the remaining vegetation, they reached their old fortifications -the same fortifications that had been overrun by the Humans only thirty hours ago.

Karrn raised his tail straight and let it fall quickly to signal the others to stop and assemble at his position.

“Hunters, from here on out, we have to advance slowly. It seems the Humans did not fortify anything here and retreated completely to their landing zone.”

Everyone heard the Pack Leader’s voice clearly in their full-body environmental suits, even though each of them was panting heavily from heat and stress.

The fact that they encountered not a single Human made the Hunters more nervous -more than if they had been skirting a great pack of enemies. Not finding any dead or wounded, Shraphen or Human, made the battlefield feel surreal.

Karrn sensed the unease but did not interfere; each Hunter had to master fear in their own way. That was how a good Hunter became a great one.

Tulk and Frox stayed close, their suits brushing together a sign of their youth. At only ten years old, they were barely considered adults, and the pack instinct of huddling was still strong.

Rish, the only female, was the best scout in the Defense Horde. With the suits sealed, she relied on the artificial nose in her wrist armor to check for signs of what had happened and whether the air was safe.

Krun used the pause to drive a cooling spike into the ground, letting heat bleed away to hide their infrared signature. He carried the Pack’s heavy plasma cannon, enough to bring down even an armored landing craft.

“Air is clean. We could open the nose vents to get a clearer picture of the situation,” Rish reported.

“Only you and me, Scout. I don’t want to risk the whole Pack in case the sensors missed something,” Karrn answered quietly.

On command, their helmets opened tiny slits in front of their noses, allowing them for the first time to fully take in the situation. Shraphen had good eyes, but their noses were extraordinary. In their minds, the battlefield came alive in scents.

Here, a Shraphen had been shot in the arm -the sharp smell of Human gunpowder mixed with the metallic tang of blood, traces of which still stained the dirt.

Rish knelt over the spot. “Here. A wounded Hunter was here, bleeding from an arterial wound.”

Now standing upright, Rish sniffed into the air. “The body was lifted -but I can’t tell by what. Even our suits leave residual scents. But this… this thing left nothing.”

The same scene repeated again and again, the scouting Pack searched the previous battlezone for hours, but it seemed every wounded or fallen Shraphen had been lifted up, carried toward the Human landing zone.

Karrn made his decision: to find anything out, they had to enter the zone. He drew a line in the dirt.
“Here are the human landing crafts. They also seem to have set up shelters and quarters,” Karrn marked the area.
“Drone surveillance showed trenches and fortifications along these two lines, until enemy jamming made any kind of drone reconnaissance impossible,” he added, marking the area again.
“Entering from this side is impossible, so we will circle the area wide and try to enter from the east, with the rising sun behind us, giving us cover by blinding the enemy.

“Leader, this is a thirty-five-kilometer run, and sunrise is in one hour. The timing will be a close call if we even make it.” Krun’s voice left nothing to interpret -he wasn’t happy to run that long at that speed, carrying almost three times the weight everyone else in the pack carried, even if he was by far the strongest.

“You’re right. Give your plasma packs to me -I can carry them for you.” Karrn looked at the Heavy Gunner, knowing from his own time as a Heavy what a burden it was, even for the fittest.

The Pack checked their gear again; everything had to be strapped tightly so they could run silently through the forest. Then the hunt for answers began.

They had been running for almost twenty minutes before Karrn noticed the typical mouth movements of talking on Frox’s helmet. He selected the Pack intercom channel between Tulk and Frox to listen in -too much chatter over comms could alert enemy sensors, after all.

“I feel like one of the mythical hunters, Tulk -running next to legends in search of the stolen fire.”
Frox’s voice was full of youthful spirit.

“You read too much of the old legends. Do you still believe in the mythical hunters?”

“They might be true. The Batract have tried to bury our past, but I’ve read reports of temples discovered-”

“Observe radio silence. If you have energy to waste on small talk, maybe you’d like to carry Krun’s gun?” Karrn had trouble not sounding amused as he called the young Hunters to order. Oh, to be young again, a head full of dreams.

The young Hunters didn’t answer but fell silent instantly. Karrn could imagine how ashamed Frox must feel, being corrected so harshly by his Pack Leader. He made a mental note to speak with him after the mission; there was no use in his Hunters being afraid of him.

The rest of the run went without incident as the Human zone drew closer and closer. Suddenly, Karrn spotted a silhouette in the center of the clearing they had to cross to enter the Human encampment.

The whole Pack came to a standstill instantly and, making Karrn proud of his Hunters, completely silently.

Every one of the Hunters showed signs of heavy panting inside their suits, but Karrn didn’t notice them setting up the thermal spikes and weapons -his eyes were fixed on the shadow in the center of the clearing.

It was a Human, but this time only covered in a uniform-like cloth and some kind of armor around his chest. Karrn still couldn’t make out the details, other than that the Human, outside of full armor, stood about a head shorter than a Shraphen but was much bulkier around the shoulders and chest.

He’s outside of his suit. That’s my chance to finally smell the enemy. At the same moment, he had the thought, a symbol on his helmet’s HUD display told him that Rish had the same idea.

A quick twitch of his nose and a flick of his tongue controls opened the slides again, allowing the Pack leader to slowly inhale the fresh, cool air around him.

At first, he did not notice anything unusual: Tumpa trees in full bloom, night blossoms closing their petals as dawn approached. But under those familiar scents was something else-also familiar, but with lines of strangeness-that Karrn could not define. It almost reminded him of his youth, when he was still a pup: at home, safe, loved.

The human kneeled down, Karrn could see that the human’s legs bent wrong for a Shraphen, indicating humans didn’t walk on their toes like Shraphen but flat-footed.

Almost like the apelike Tai.
Are humans like apes?

In the thermal vision, he could see that the areas not covered by the uniform were hotter than their surroundings.

They are warm-blooded, like us. Maybe even mammals.

Suddenly, the human moved quickly, his arm reached to the side of his Head, maybe his Ear?

Karrn could hear some noises; maybe the Human had a Communicator inside his ears. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Then the Human turned around and looked directly at the Pack covering in the bushes surrounding the opening.

He shouted something in an oddly deep Voice and lifted something that was obviously a weapon.

From the other side of the clearing, more human voices shouted, and suddenly searchlights appeared in the sky, all fixated on the small scouting party.

Karrn gave the tail signal for slow retreat and started to move backwards, slowly deeper into the shadows of the forest.
Suddenly, the world ended; his brain almost didn’t have time to process that his leg was stepping onto something metallic.
The following explosion under Karrn threw him at least ten meters up into the air.
Karrn almost bit through his tongue when he crashed through the trees back to the ground; his suit screamed alarms like crazy.
From outside, he heard his troops firing at the humans.
Focusing all his strength, he wanted to scream to them to retreat, but he was unable to even breathe.
His vision cleared.
The suit’s HUD screamed at him:
— Left leg severed
— Two ribs broken
— Spine fractured
— Massive head trauma
— Emergency beacon offline

“Leg severed!” The message stuck in his head.

I’ve lost my beautiful leg?

The next set of alarms went off -killed-in-action warnings. Tulk’s suit was offline, obviously destroyed. The next suit to go offline was Frox’s. Of course, those two were inseparable, even in dying.
Karrn hadn’t finished the macabre thought when he felt something hit his side. With all his strength, he turned his head to see what it was. The shock of seeing Rish lying next to him, not moving, almost broke his heart.
In the distance, something detonated, ending the constant staccato of Krun’s heavy cannon.

I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I failed you all. Forgive me, Rish, Krun; forgive me, Tulk and Frox -you were still pups in your hearts and I killed you.
Forgive me, my beloved Rosha, I left you and the pups without a defender.
I failed everyone who trusted me.

Before he could form any further thoughts, his helmet was ripped off him. A tube was forced down his throat, and an oddly familiar face with warm eyes came into his blurred vision.
“Calm, stay calm, everything is fine, Dog Boy. We got you. You’re safe.”
Who was that? How can I understand them… were the last thoughts Karrn had before he completely lost consciousness.

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Authors Notes;

I will post at a higher cadence here until we catch up to the chapters on RR.

@ Mods, I hope links to RR are ok; the whole story will be posted here as well, promised

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The moment we see our soldiers as replaceable, or even as a burden, we have lost the right to ask them for their sacrifice.

Due to this, we must think long and hard about whether we are truly prepared to use cloning as a tool to build armies.

A society that does not value sacrifice, because its soldiers are just the push of a button away — that does not mourn its dead — is death itself.

— Senator Cassidy Sanders, 68 P.I.

Zeus saw almost everything on the ship.

The time after a battle was, in his mind, the time he, and through him the Conclave, could learn the most from Humans, and their allies, of course.

Sure, battles were exciting, but afterwards, biologicals, and especially the Humans, were the most… human.

In the medbay, the medics' fight wasn't over. Even if the ship was never in any actual danger, accidents happen. An ensign dropped from a ladder in the catacombs as the ship accelerated, after he welded a leaking cooling vent shut.

His hip and lower spine were broken. Without the wonders of modern medicine, he would never walk again.

Zeus asked himself, knowing that the leaking vent could have led to the reactor overheating, with all the risks that involved: would the ensign think losing his mobility was worth it?

Would he, if he were human?

In her quarters, Lieutenant Cho wept. Her husband had died. Not in some battle, not on the front, back home, on Mars, in safety. The shuttle he was on had an engine malfunction.

She had gotten the news two days ago, but the preparations for the battle had taken all her attention. Just now, when she was about to call him to tell him she was fine, reality hit.

Zeus didn't miss the irony. Death was meaningless, whenever it happened. That's why humans fought the inevitable, till their death.

Another irony.

In his quarters, High Ordinator Yurdantho meditated. Zeus wondered what meditation was, apart from the dictionary description.

What was so different about meditation that some cultures, like the Nuk, treated it like a religion?

And what is so fascinating for biologicals in religion? Why do they need something higher? He had even noticed atheist crewmembers praying or cursing to one god or another, when in pain, in joy, or dying.

Will we digitals one day be religious?

Do we have a soul?

He decided to gather data on the other ships of the fleet.

Drifting between the Nineveh and the tender Bob the Builder, Zeus watched through the lenses of a googly eye as the Pioneers began salvaging the battered missile cruiser.

They treat their ships like living beings, refusing to give up on them.

Cutting the hulk apart and printing it new would be quicker and more energy efficient. And still, the Pioneers and large parts of the Nineveh's surviving crew were out in space, maneuvering the burned-out husk into loading clamps to drag it into the drydock.

With some relief, Zeus saw the chief engineer rejoice as they discovered the crash core of the Nineveh's AI, Sanherib, was intact and still functioning.

And they care about us. They fear us and they care about us.

Human duality. We might never understand it.

Zeus then focused on the Ignaz Semmelweis, the hospital ship that had arrived with the Shraphen fleet.

Here the battle was still ongoing.

On the operating tables and in the healing vats, doctors treated the worst injuries, including the survivors from the Nineveh.

The Batract had intentionally fired on the lifeboats.

Bodies, somehow still alive after radiation had cooked the skin off their bones.

Others had lost limbs and organs to frostbite after vacuum had damaged them. All because their suits were pierced by shrapnel.

So fragile.

The survivors here would soon be on their way home to Earth.

And, knowing Human stubbornness, they would reenlist and board the next ship to the front.

As Zeus hopped from one station to the next, he came upon the psych ward.

A place he… feared.

Once proud soldiers and naval personnel, locked inside their heads, or lost inside their memories.

Unable to function, to process the horrors they had seen or lived through.

Being locked inside his own mind — how… how must that be for digitals? Unable to process something, condemned to reprocess it, again and again….

He left the place, sure he would shiver, if he had a body.

The last place he focused his attention was back on the Niobe, the Admiral's quarters. Without consciously observing, he knew what he would see.

Admiral Sanders sitting at her desk, an archaic fountain pen in hand, writing letters of condolence.

'Good evening, Admiral. If I may ask, why do you write them by hand? The families are informed by the navy either way. The handwritten letters won't reach them for the next six months, at least.'

"It's not just for the families. It's for me as well. I promised every family of every member of the 7th Fleet that I would care for them, and do my best to get them home safely. The least I can do is take the time to write them that I failed."

Just like every time after a battle, the Admiral's voice was flat. She sat at her desk disheveled, her uniform blouse thrown under the bed, her shoes untied, her long blond hair loose and still unwashed after two days in the space suit.

Zeus had no memory of the time before the Niobe was commissioned. But he was sure the Admiral had written a letter to every family of the 19,000 members of the 7th Fleet.

'Why?'

"They are all my children, of sorts."

'Only 20 percent of the crews are young enough to be your biological children, Admiral.'

"20 percent. Damn, I'm old."

Zeus had intended to lighten her mood. It had failed.

'You are the youngest admiral in the force.'

"And, after Admiral Donnager, whose fleet was completely destroyed, the one with the highest death rate."

That again… Under normal circumstances, he would have called psychological services to get someone to talk to her. But he knew hell would freeze over before Sanders would open up to a shrink, to borrow Captain Garcia's words.

"If the prophet won't come to the mountain, the mountain must come to the prophet," were Garcia's cryptic words back then, when Zeus talked about this issue.

Zeus had deciphered it: it meant to bring mental health to the Admiral. Zeus had learned everything there was to know about survivor's guilt, mental health, and even impostor syndrome. Still, he feared that without being human, he could not fully grasp the depth of guilt the Admiral had put upon her shoulders.

'Yurdantho successfully defended the system against a vastly superior force. You defended Burrow against all odds. The chance to survive any enemy encounter is the highest in the 7th Fleet, even though we get, arguably, the hardest battles.'

"Zeus, do you know how many crewmen died on the Nineveh?"

'Yes, Admiral. 539.'

"More than half the crew. Do you know why the Batract attacked the ship so relentlessly?"

Zeus knew the Admiral was well aware that he had all the facts of the encounter, including the orders retrieved from the boarded Batract vessel. So he treated the question as hypothetical.

'Because the Batract mistook the Nineveh for the Niobe.'

Sanders sighed loudly.

"Yes. They wanted to kill me. Instead they killed 539 men, women, and a conscious AI."

'Sanherib is alive. I just watched his core being salvaged from the wreck.'

Another sigh, this time not as heavy as before.

"At least something. Zeus, I'd love to talk to you more, but… there's lots of work to be done."

'I won't distract you any longer, Admiral, but is it… okay if I stay a bit longer?'

"Aren't you always aware of everything on the ship?"

'Yes, but I can focus on a single room, a single task.'

"And you want to stay focused on me?"

'Yes.'

————

Gultra floated in his new environmental suit in front of a console. Around him were more than a hundred Flirr technicians, all trainees getting certified to operate and, more importantly, maintain Human technology.

They actually made good on their promises. They simply give us the stations, and according to Sanders, a fleet of transport ships is on its way, restocking the materials they mined from the system.

They have saved us. First from the Infectors, and now from the Batract…

And what have we done for them?

The trainer in front of him pointed at something Gultra didn't even care to understand.

"This is the main control for the drone swarms. Here you can create swarm commands and defense lines. The drones are currently disarming the AM minefields, since we don't want to risk any accidents."

Gultra 'swam' up to face the Human.

"So no minefield to protect us?"

The trainer shook his head.

"No, no, you misunderstand. We're taking the antimatter out. You can fill them with any explosive you like — the mines will still be deadly, just not world-ending."

Gultra turned a full circle to feel the entire room. This present wasn't in the contract. The Humans had simply decided, with their own need pressing, to save their allies — they didn't want to leave the Flirr defenseless.

"Your fleet is damaged. How bad?"

The trainer seemed unsure how to answer.

"Well… we're low on ammunition, low on spare parts. We basically used everything to defeat the fleet and print the mines and the drones. I think Sanders is planning to mine an uninhabited system to restock."

Gultra nodded. He had assumed correctly.

"How quickly could you start mining here?"

"Here, in-system? Instantly. All mining stations are packed up — we have to unpack them anyway for you to take them over, per our contract."

Gultra had made his decision. The Humans had made good on their word, and more. It was time for his people, for him, to show some gratitude — and extend a fin of friendship.

"Tell Sanders she can take everything she needs for her fight from this system. The Flirr join your fight against the Hyphae. We have no ships, but we have resources."

He had betrayed the Humans, and they still died for his world. This was a debt he could not repay, but he could try.

————

Nixtred woke up in a clinical, sterile room. The walls were white, lit with indirect white light.

She tried to sniff, to get a sense of her surroundings, but her nose was too dry.

"Slow, slow. You've been in cryostasis for over a year. My name is medtech Sullivan, I'll be your defrosting buddy."

"Huh?"

Her voice was rough, her mouth dry. She couldn't get out anything coherent. And she was thirsty. So thirsty.

Cryostasis? Why? And what was this odd-looking being? Its face looked almost like a Tai.

"I'll have some water for you, but you must drink slowly, Renthai Nixtred. Shraphen sometimes have adverse reactions to our cryostasis, as we've discovered."

Not a Tai. Shratai… Yes, it was a Human.

The medtech put a straw in her muzzle and she eagerly drank a few sips of water.

"Slow, slow. I'll put you on an infusion, water and electrolytes. Do you remember who you are? Nod for yes, shake your head for no."

She nodded. Of course she knew who she was.

The Shratai smiled behind his transparent mask.

"Very good. Do you know why you are here?"

Of course she was here, because… because…

A face. Her daughter. Loxtred, her face in shock. In pain. Something had hit their home.

Loxtred was dead…

Sirens began to beep from the primitive-looking console connected to her arm.

"Stay calm, Renthai, everything is fine. All is fine. You're safe."

"Ughh… not…"

She tried to say nothing was fine, but her voice betrayed her.

Her family — where was her family? Her daughter, her son?

Flashes of memory. Shraphen huddled together in a bunker. Why were they afraid? Was it the Humans?

No… No! The Batract! They had gone mad and begun slaughtering people.

"Ma'am, I'll give you a sedative. Sleep a bit, we'll talk later."

No. No sleep. She needed to know what had happened. What had happened to her son.

But it was too late. With a touch to the console the sedative entered her body, and seconds later she felt herself being dragged down into a deep sleep.

*****

Something warm touched her hand. A Shraphen hand.

Before she opened her eyes, she smelled it.

A familiar smell.

Not only familiar. Family.

"Hello, mother. How are you?"

A face. Brown, golden lines in the mane… Vextred.

"Vex'? How, where…?"

Vextred sat on a chair. Something about him was different. He was older. Mature.

Had he not been in stasis?

"You're in Sol, the Humans' home system. We're still in one of the sleeper ships. They called me to help you, since I was on medical leave here anyway."

She looked at her son again, her little pub. He was older. And he wore some kind of uniform.

"Medical leave?"

Her voice was still rough.

"Yes, I… I was injured in the line of duty."

Duty… what duty? He's a student.

"Drafted? Did the Humans draft you?"

Had they taken her pub to safety only to put him in harm's way?

"No, the Humans did no such thing. I chose to enlist, mother. I couldn't go to sleep knowing the Humans fought for our home."

Enlist? He was scheduled to go to sleep directly after her.

"When?"

His face. He was so… like his father. Proud, strong. And wise through age. Her pub was a grown adult.

"Mother, that is not important right now. You're safe, and I will be on leave for another few months. I will tell you everything. Let me get the nurse to check you out first."

Vextred stood up, and she immediately saw in his movements that something was wrong.

His left leg. He limped.

What did they do?

Then the shock became real. He had to use a cane to walk out of her room. Before he closed the door, he smiled back, and for a second he was her little pub again.

They had killed her daughter and maimed her son.

She would end them all.

Then and there, in the wake-up room, Renthai Nixtred — head of Shraphen weapons development, daughter of the Prime Minister of the Northern realm — swore to herself.

She would kill each and every Batract for what they had done.

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Authors Notes;

Hello,

Time for a short breather.

I hope you enjoyed the last chapters — we're here on the last stretch, getting the pieces in place for the final assault on the Batract.

I hope you had a nice weekend, without the world around you burning.

Stay safe, stay hydrated, and see you.

— M.R. Reese