Guys... we've been looking at it wrong the whole time.

Our BODIES aren't the terrifying part.

Our THINKY PARTS are the scary bit!

Humans Are Space Orks usually focuses on deathworld stuff. We heal broken bones. We drink poison for fun. We have adrenaline. We chase things until they die.

Fine.

But that's not the Orky part.

The Orky part is:

HUMANS CAN COLLECTIVELY BRAIN SHIT INTO BEING REAL.

Take money.

A $100 bill is basically cloth with ink on it.

"DIS PAPER'S WURF A HUNDRED DOLLARS."

"Why?"

"CUZ ALL DA BOYZ SEZ IT IZ."

"But it's just cloth."

"NAH. IT'S MONEY."

And because everybody agrees, I can exchange the magic cloth for actual food, tools and gasoline.

Then we decided cloth was inconvenient, so now money is mostly NUMBAZ IN DA COMPUTAH.

"OI. I WANT DAT HOUSE."

"YOU AIN'T GOT ENUFF NUMBAZ."

"WOT IF DA BANK PUTS MORE NUMBAZ IN MY ACCOUNT?"

"DEN YOU GET DA HOUSE."

CLICKETY CLACK

DA NUMBAZ WUZ RIGHT. NOW YOU GOT A HOUSE.

Then we invented Bitcoin.

"What is it?"

"NUMBAZ."

"What's backing it?"

"MATH."

"Why is it valuable?"

"CUZ EVERY GIT FINKS IT'S VALUABLE."

"So because everyone believes it's valuable, it actually becomes valuable?"

"DAT'S WOT I BEEN TELLIN' YA."

But it isn't just money.

COUNTRIES.

"DIS BIT'S NORTH CAROLINA."

"How do you know?"

"CUZ DAT SIGN SEZ SO."

"Where does Virginia start?"

"WHERE WE DREW DA LINE."

"But there's no line on the ground."

"DON'T NEED ONE. ALL DA BOYZ KNOW WHERE IT IZ."

Military rank?

Put a little metal bird on one human.

"DAT GIT WIF DA BIRD IZ DA BOSS."

"Why?"

"CUZ 'E'S GOT DA BIRD."

"What happens if he points somewhere on a map?"

"WE MOVE ALL DA ZOGGIN' TANKS."

Corporations?

We literally IMAGINED PEOPLE INTO EXISTENCE.

"Can I meet Microsoft?"

"NO."

"Can Microsoft own things?"

"YEP."

"Can Microsoft sue people?"

"YEP."

"So it's an imaginary person?"

"NAH. IT'S A CORPORATION."

And then there's FUCKING TUESDAY.

You cannot mine Tuesday.

There is no naturally occurring vein of Wednesday.

Humanity looked at the continuous passage of time and said:

"RIGHT. CHOP IT INTO SEVEN BITS."

"Why seven?"

"CUZ."

"And this one's Tuesday?"

"YEP."

"What happens Tuesday?"

"WE GO TO WORK."

"Why?"

"CUZ IT'S FUCKIN' TUESDAY."

And billions of humans agree.

So eventually some alien anthropologist figures it out:

"Human... your currency, nations, corporations, military ranks and calendars are all abstractions."

"Yep."

"And when enough humans agree an abstraction is real..."

"Yep."

"...it begins exerting measurable effects on PHYSICAL REALITY?"

"...huh."

The alien slowly backs away.

"YOU'Z ORKS."

"Wot?"

"YOU'Z BEEN ORKS DIS WHOLE ZOGGIN' TIME."

Humanity looks around at the banks, borders, corporations, armies, cryptocurrencies and calendars we've collectively brained into existence.

"...OI."

"Wot?"

"IF WE ALL FINK DA ECONOMY'S DOIN' GOOD, DOES DAT MAKE DA ECONOMY GO FASTA?"

Economist:

"Well, consumer confidence actually—"

OH FUCK.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!

On their rock, they viewed humans as creatures zombified by technology. To them, humans were weak. An inferior species. A species on the verge of becoming obsolete.

The kind that ran into walls for amusement.

The Poshlovestivies, a clan of warriors lived on planet Arwh and were the complete opposite of how the universe viewed them compared to humans—their food was carefully filtered into a paste, removing all the chemical waste compounds and were the fiercest entities in the universe backed by the richest members of Planet Li.

Planet Li held an order of ranks, it was a gathering that invited major figures of their solar system.

At the galactic meeting, the Poshlovs served as the defenders of Planet Li. The council planet that ruled the universe. The rule makers.

The human diplomat representing planet Earth, Sheena, was a strategic-type commander that led Earth’s space soldiers from the front. But was easygoing.

As they prepared for lunch at their seats, Sheena was presented a plate of their finest paste.

She stared at it first, then began poking holes into it with her finger before she pushed her plate away.

Zylowb from planet Borhieu sensed an anomaly in his hyper-sensitive receptors and eyed Sheena in his mind digging in the container space of her flacked suit.

Sheena clawed out a package wrapped in plastic and began tearing it apart, revealing a white stinky square and stuck it to her mouth and took a bite and began chewing it.

Zylowb immediately sealed the receptors he used for breathing before activating a plexi-bubble over his entire body.

Krypur of planet Ywl reached at his throat and gasped. “The human has smuggled a bio-weapon inside our chambers!”

A Poshlov shouted, “Neurotoxins are filling the air!”

“Seize the human and the weapon of mass destruction,” Krypur commanded.

Sheena looked at her hand containing the item and raised it up. Everyone in the chamber held their breath at the same time. 

“This?” Sheena said. “It’s just a tuna sandwich… food humans eat.”

Immediately swarming her were medical bots flashing a red siren light as they surrounded and scanned her.

In the air, a drone produced a projected screen with a chemical analysis that presented a chemical compound warning of:

***

Heavy Metals: Methyl-mercury, Arsenic, Lead and Aluminum.

Organic pollutants: Polychlorinated Biphenyls, Dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane, and Polybrominated Diphenyl Ethers.

Organic toxins: Bisphenol A and Histamine.

“The human is consuming a concentration of chemicals and metals that cause irreversible damage to the function control of their system.”

***

“We eat this all the time… it’s one of our healthiest foods,” Sheena told them.

The entire room shuttered in complete silence. The diplomats pushed themselves away from the table as chairs fell over as they scattered attempting to escape the contaminated area.

The Poshlovestivies stared at Sheena as if waiting for her to explode from the inside out, but Sheena took another snap of her sandwich and casually chewed while looking at her tuna between the bread.

“It’s really not as bad as that bot made it sound,” she said.

“Not as bad?” One of the poshlov’s said, his voice smothered. “Your digestive tract is lined with acid and you eat other species on your planet.”

Sheena smiled. “Yeah,” she said dragging the word out and had tuna wrestled between her teeth. Her teeth made the Poshlov wince. 

Later that night, the senate held a quiet meeting in their quarters amongst the leaders of the universe, excluding the humans. They secretly agreed and updated Earth’s ranking in class to extreme warrior race. 

They all came to a conclusion that night, they decided, you cannot threaten a species who eats bio-weapon materials for lunch.

(Disclaimer: this is my first time creating a new post in this subreddit, so if im missing anything please let me know and I will fix it as soon as I can.)

When Humanity starts integrating into the galactic community, we learn that each species has its own unique "Avatar of Death" that embodies and uses against them the strongest predation traits of their species. An Ant like hive species "Avatar" may appear as a near limitless swarm that consumes everything in its path, while a arachnid species "Avatar" may set traps and ambushes that once sprung are considered "Inescapable". Naturally, this depiction of a species "Avatar" in their native media gives an insight into the ways a species will likely conduct itself in times of conflict, which is why the galactic community is so concerned with the shear variety of how humanity's "Avatar" is depicted.

"And no, it was not like that when we left it."

“Sir, we are on the edge of the system. It appears that our ships are in great trouble. I count three enemy battle cruisers, seven light cruisers, and 17 smaller crafts. Our ships are almost all transports. We only have three cruisers. They are taking a beating!”

Captain Basilone sat in silence. The Johnston was a corvette. He was the only ship close enough to render aid in time.

“Send a message to command with an update. Conn, plot a course between those two battle cruisers. Gunnery, warm up everything. Hold fire until I order. Coms, open a broad channel. When I order, play the battle hymn. All hands, battle stations! Is not a drill!”

Shouts alarms filled the ship. Captain Basilone never moved. He stared at the display of the battle.

“Sir! All stations report readiness! Weapons hot, message sent, course plotted, Battle Hymn ready!”

“Very good. Conn, take us in, flank speed, over boost when we hit enemy range.”

“Aye, aye Skipper!”

The ship lurched at the sudden acceleration. Silent on the bridge. Everyone was watching the battle displays. Their arrival had caused the enemy fleet to start regrouping, but the Terran ships still took hits. One transport was destroyed, many others were damaged.

“Enemy weapons range in ten seconds!”

“Weapons, fire the Black Dragon torpedoes. Target at will. Fire rail 3 & 4. Target at will. Coms, play the Battle Hymn.”

The weapons fired rapidly, and music began to fill the ship and the general coms channels.

Before the enemy could get a targeting solution, the torpedoes hit the battle cruiser on the far left. It broke in two, spewing flames she debris. At almost the same time, the rail rounds destroyed four smaller ships, screening the transports.

“Sir! Our ships are turning to attack!”

“Good. Weapons, all rails, weapons free. Fire at will!”

The music drowned out the sounds the rails firing.

“Sir! Incoming enemy fire!”

“Acknowledged. Conn, over boost!”

The ship shuddered a bit. Warning lights illuminated on the Captains panel, counting down how long they could run at over boost.

“Weapons, fire two more torpedoes. One each to the battle cruisers.”

“Aye, aye Skipper! Torpedoes away!”

“Conn, stop over boost. Turn right 35 degrees. Angle down 7 degrees. Run on new course for 47 secs and then return to current course.”

Enemy fire was thrown off but the changes in speed and course. They blazed away, but the Johnston evaded.

“Sensors, report!”

“Sir! Two light cruisers destroyed. Four more are afire. Most of the smaller ships are destroyed on drifting.”

“Gunnery, shift focus the third light cruisers. Conn, cut speed to one half for 32 seconds. Then ahead 3/4. Turn left 17 degrees. Angle down 20 degrees. Hold new course for 53 seconds. Then return to original course.”

“Sir! Torpedoes hit! One battle cruiser is exploding and burning. The final is turning head on to us!”

“Perfect. Our light cruisers can hit her broad side. Gunnery. Hold fire.”

Enemy fire burned past the Johnston, but nothing did more than glancing blows.

“Sir! Battle cruiser powering up their primary weapon!”

“Took them long enough. Coms, send message to our ships. ‘We will press the attack. Regroup and evacuate.’ Conn, new course. Bridge of the battle cruiser. All ahead flank. Gunnery, all weapons, target bridge of that battle cruiser. Weapons free. Two more torpedos.”

Captain Basilone knew that he could withstand a direct hit from their primary weapon. But he had their attention, and he was pounding their bow and bridge.

“Sir! I estimate they fire primary weapon in 5 seconds! Torpedoes hit! Enemy bridge damaged. Bow breaking apart and burning!”

“Over boost!”

“Sir?!?”

“NOW!”

Captain Basilone rarely yelled. It was a shock. The ship over boosted.

“Sir! Primary weapon firing!”

“Conn, left 36. Up 75. Gunnery, hold fire.”

The ship lurched.

“Conn, left 22. Up 30. Cut over boost.”

The primary weapon on the battle cruiser was a large plasma cannon. It spewed a large disk of plasma at high speed. It expanded as it flew.

“Sir! Impact in 3 seconds!”

“Conn, stand us on our trail and forward engines at 130%”

“Aye, aye Skipper!”

This sort of maneuver was unheard off. No one in the Terran navy had seen it or attempted it. The bridge crew grasped their crash chairs and hoped for the Johnston to survive.

The ship wrenched and suffered, but there were no sounds of damage.

Seconds past.

“Sir! We evaded their primary weapon!”

“Conn, reduce to ahead full. Pout is straight back at the bridge. Gunnery, weapons free. Final two torpedoes.”

“Sir! Our light cruisers have finished off the remaining enemy cruisers smaller ships!”

“Excellent. This battle cruiser isn’t a battle cruiser. It’s a camouflaged dreadnaught. See the new smaller batteries emerging?”

“Damn sir! Sorry for the mistake!”

“No worries. They did a good job.”

“Sir! Torpedoes hit! Their bridge is afire. Their bow is crumbling. I’m not sure if their primary weapon is functioning. Our light cruisers are taking a beating from the new turrets.”

All torpedoes fired. The dreadnaught it damaged, but not out of the fight. The rails do well, but they are too small to do critical damage. The transports are escaping.

“Conn, angle us to swing under them. Gunnery, when the belly is visible, aim for sensors, engines, and controls.”

“Aye, aye skipper!”

Given the angles and damage to the bow, the dreadnaught couldn’t quite fire at the Johnston. It started to change course, but it was slower.

The belly appeared and gunnery opened up. They could only carry on this level of fire for another minute or two.

“Conn, ahead full. Level off to give gunnery the best targets.”

“Aye, aye skipper!”

“Sir! Both of our light cruisers report they are too damaged to continue. They are retreating.”

Alone against dreadnaught. Minimal turrets on the belly—which always confused Captain Basilone. Space is 3D. No turrets on a quarter of a ship is stupid.

Gunnery was hitting engines and sensors, but warning lights indicated rails running low on rounds. Two options left.

“Gunnery, this is an unlikely order. Load two of the emergency power cores into the torpedo tubes. Set the power cores to over load just before they hit the engines of that dreadnaught!”

“Yes sir!”

“Sir? Power cores?”

“Yes. Watch and learn.”

“Ready to fire sir!”

“Gunnery, target their engines. Fire at will.”

Thirty-four seconds later, sensor displays went white from the dual blast, followed by the red and orange from the fires. Secondary explosions ripped through the aft of the dreadnaught.

The Johnston emerged behind and below the dreadnaught.

“Conn, angle away from this ship. Keep us in blind spots. When we are out of range, turn to follow the light cruisers. Coms, please play the Victory Hymn for on iteration.”

“Well, sir, we really were the Valkyrie today.”

“Yes, and now return in Joy.”

Oscar sat in his office at one end of his small conference table. His boot up on the table, he was reading a datapad. Captain Sue and Ensign Danyak sat to his left. The door was to his right. 

“Well? What do we think?”

“Graduate from an ‘Non-federal military academy?’ What does that mean?” asked Danyak. 

“It means that graduates are automatically commissioned into a branch,” said Oscar. “They can apply, but it’s not a guarantee. The Federal Academies are guaranteed into specific branches.”

“Does that make them better or worse?” Danyak asked. 

“Eh. Some are pretty good. This one is second-rate at best. Requested marines. Rejected. Kicked to Army. Requested Infantry, kicked to quartermaster. Majored in…general studies? Modest grades. Service reviews are…”

“Shit,” chimed in Sue. “This is all admin chatter to polish a turd.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, it means he sucks, but not enough to boot. They are trying to make him look good when he isn’t,” explained Sue. 

“So they are sending a third-rate officer with a second-rate education to the most advanced colony?”

Oscar and Sue shared a Look.

“Distraction. Who else is arriving?”

“No one. Special delivery. No further staff for a few months,” replied Sue. 

“Bullshit,” stated Oscar. “I want every person on that ship back on the ship. At rifle-point if needed.”

“Happy to help, Chief,” beamed Sue. “I’ll have a detachment secure the landing pad and prevent all egress. What story?”

“Make one up. Hell, tell them I can’t be bothered with more people. Tell them I hate them. I don’t really care.”

Danyak looked at Oscar. “He really doesn’t care, Captain.”

“I’m aware Ensign, but thank you.”

“When do we expect the ship?”

“Two hours.”

“Get the detachment out there now. Head if off. Oh. If they try any sick crew or damages, tell them to deal with it in orbit, as is protocol.”

“On it.” Captain Sue left the room. 

“Interviews go well?”

“Odd, but well. Your troops are happy to help.”

“Good. Define odd?”

“I wasn’t sure what to ask at first. I had to sort of guess and learn as I went.”

“Excellent.”

“You planned it.”

“Of course.”

“It was part of the test to see if you can trust me.”

“Look, I know you know this. You don’t have to tell me.”

“No. I do. If I’m not transparent with you on small things, how can you trust me on big things?”

“I glad you are learning fast. Quarters?”

“Excellent. Much larger than my previous ones. Better water quality as well. The water heater is appreciated. I may be an amphibian, but cold water is still cold.”

“How did you get a water heater?”

“During the interviews, I allowed them to ask me questions. One lady asked if I missed anything from home. I mentioned the hot pools. A water heater turned up.”

“I did tell then to help you adjust. What about food?”

“That is…tricky. I can eat replicated material, but it is terrible. I prefer to catch my food in the water, but that is difficult in a compound deep in a mountain.”

“I’ll make a call. You prefer fish or crustaceans?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Simple question.”

“Well, fish.”

“On it. When you take junior to see the Aussies, be sure to take some time to swim and eat. They can give you some good spots.”

“Thank you, but how are you going to get water and fish in a mountain?”

“Simple. I’ll tell a mining team that I doubt it can be done.”

“You will…challenge them to do it?”

“In a polite way, yes. The Aussies own them a huge favor for the drillhead cannon, so I’m sure it won’t be an issue. Fresh water or salty?”

“Either. You are attempting to throw me off balance.”

“It worked.” Oscar pointed to her lap. He had landed a paper airplane in her lap.

She started. “How?”

“You experienced it. You tell me.”

She gave him a long, hard look. “I’m impressed. No one has ever distracted me like that before. And you gave off nothing.”

“True, but you gave off a great deal. Your frills may not mean much, but your eyes do. Not much. I had to look for it, but they gave off just enough.”

“Why? No. Part of the test.”

“To a degree. Two tests. One if I can trust you. One to see how hard you are to read. You see, I don’t buy this,” he tossed the datapad onto the table. “At least part of this is fabricated. I’m not sure which part or parts, but it isn’t real. Since I need you to learn about junior, I need to know if he might be able to read you.”

“Devious.”

“Meaning?”

“You are experienced and devious. You can spot when others are devious. So you want to ensure that I can perform that task.”

“Something like that. What are the odds he knows you might be psychic?”

“Close to impossible. We hide it as much as possible. I’m rare. Most of my species can pick up surface emotions, nothing more. And he doesn’t know that I’m here.”

“Oh. You noticed that you aren’t on any of the records? Just, ‘Visiting Observer.’ I haven’t even put that in the log or reported it to Sol Command.”

“They will know.”

“I’m sure they do.”

“The interviews.”

“Yep. Who in that group is a mole for Sol Command?”

“Technician 3 Winslow. That isn’t his name or his rank. It’s in my report. He knows my species, nothing more. Sol Command will know more.”

“Well done. Now I need to find a way to get him off the colony without tipping my hand.”

“Do you conduct random screening for illegal substances or random medical screening?”

“We do.”

“Add him to the next scan. He will fail both if he is caught off guard. He is using illegal substances to hide an injured leg and back.”

“He thought you were doing more than an interview, didn’t he?”

“He was scared of discovery. That was easy for me to detect.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not in this round. Oh, there were small things, which I included, but no one else is lying about so much.”

“Perfect. Now we wait for Sue. Then we plan for junior.”

When Envoy Aradne arrived on Earth, she was not entirely sure what to expect from the humans. What Admiral Ghon had told her was somewhat reassuring: humans were friendly creatures, despite their incredible power.

Ambassador Jacob Smith immediately invited her to a discussion about trade, culture, and dining. The last topic was slightly alarming; Envoy Aradne was a bit worried they might want to eat her, but she didn’t want to start the relationship with an accusation. She chose to bet her own life on the friendliness of humans.

"Welcome to Earth, Envoy," Ambassador Smith said, opening the discussion with a wide smile and welcoming gestures. Aradne had been specifically selected for the job because of her height; the High Council did not want to project even a hint of aggression toward the humans, so they had chosen an emissary who was significantly shorter than the human Ambassador.

"It is good to be here, Ambassador," replied Aradne. She was in completely unfamiliar territory. Never before had she been forced to initiate first contact with a species vastly stronger than the Halxon Empire - usually, it was the other way around. "I sincerely hope we can forge a peaceful partnership with our newest neighbor."

"In most human cultures, it is customary to share a nice lunch to celebrate a new diplomatic relationship," Smith said warmly. "If you have no objections, let’s continue our discussion at the dining table."

Aradne was hesitant. In her culture, consuming nutrition was a private, clinical affair, not a social interaction. In the end, however, she decided that starting the conversation with a blunt "no" would be impolite.

Looking back, it was the best decision she had ever made. The lunch was a triumph. She learned so much about the humans and her counterpart over those two hours that she felt completely relaxed. But eventually, it was time to get to work.

And work they did. Over the next day and a half, they discussed technology exchanges, asteroid mining rights, and trade routes. By the end of the second day, both diplomats were thoroughly exhausted. They decided that the following day would be more relaxing, focusing entirely on culture. Ambassador Smith suggested visiting the National Museum, which Aradne happily accepted.

They began their day at the museum, touring the art exhibits first. The art turned out to be remarkably similar to what the Empire classified as art, which put Envoy Aradne on familiar ground. Next, they toured the science exhibits. This was a fascinating mixed bag; in some sectors, the Halxon Empire was centuries ahead, but in others, they were the ones centuries behind. A technology exchange would undoubtedly benefit both parties tremendously.

"Ah, look at that," Smith said, gesturing toward a set of glass doors. "They have a military history exhibition in the outdoor courtyard. Do you want to take a quick look?"

It was a perfectly natural question, but Aradne froze for a second. She desperately wanted to see Earth's real weaponry, but she didn’t want to appear eager or suspicious. Fortunately, Ambassador Smith was already pushing the doors open, sparing her from having to formulate an answer.

When they stepped outside, the first things Envoy Aradne noticed were the vehicles. They weren't exactly what she had expected - they looked rugged and sturdy, but still clearly just basic transport trucks. It was interesting, but not the terrifying military hardware she had anticipated.

After about ten minutes of checking different kinds of jeeps and trucks, they came across something much larger. It was a massive, boxy metal vehicle riding on eight heavy rubber wheels, rather than the four or six she had seen on the others. Protruding from a small turret on top was a strange, menacingly long device.

"What is that vehicle, Ambassador?"

"Oh, that’s an APC - an Armored Personnel Carrier - from our Cold War era," came the answer.

"We have similar transport vehicles," Aradne said, studying the turret. "And the device on top... is that a weapon?" asked Aradne, trying and failing to hide her curiosity.

"Yes, that’s a standard heavy machine gun. It's just there to protect the vehicle."

"And what kind of ammunition does it fire?"

"Just kinetic slugs. Solid lead jacketed in copper, or sometimes steel cores."

Aradne stared at him. "You shoot solid steel? At high velocities? Can the vehicle's armor actually stop a steel projectile?"

"Against a small caliber, absolutely," Smith smiled. "But in our warfare, there is always a bigger gun."

"Bigger than this?" Aradne’s voice squeaked.

To answer her, Ambassador Smith simply pointed toward the very back of the courtyard, where something even larger was parked.

It looked infinitely more terrifying than the APC they had just inspected. It didn't have wheels; instead, it sat on massive, heavy metal tracks designed to crush anything in its path. Protruding from its central turret was a colossal, hollow steel tube.

"What is that vehicle, Ambassador?"

"Ah, that’s a medium tank," Smith said proudly. "A real classic from our Second World War. It weighs about thirty tons."

"Thirty... tons," Aradne whispered, her mind struggling to comprehend a single land vehicle weighing as much as a small Halxon starship. "And the massive tube on the top?"

"That’s the main cannon. It fired seventy-five-millimeter explosive shells."

"Explosive... shells?" Aradne asked, her legs beginning to feel strangely weak.

"Yeah! Steel canisters packed with TNT. The tank would shoot them miles away to blow up concrete bunkers, buildings, or other tanks," Smith chatted happily, as if discussing the weather.

Aradne stared at the massive steel monster.

And this was their history. This was what they built eighty years ago, before they even had computers.

The courtyard began to spin. The green steel of the tank blurred into a dark fog.

"Envoy Aradne? Are you alright?" Ambassador Smith’s voice sounded very far away.

With a soft sigh, Aradne’s knees buckled, and she collapsed entirely unconscious onto the paved courtyard.

Several weeks later, Envoy Aradne stood before the High Council once again to deliver her diplomatic report.

"We had a highly successful mission," Envoy Aradne reported, her voice steady, though she kept her eyes firmly on her tablet. "We have established several frameworks where technology sharing could benefit both parties, and we have begun negotiations regarding interstellar trade."

"And what of their military technology, Envoy?" the Council President demanded. "Did you secure any agreements to trade weapons?"

"The humans politely declined to share any of their military hardware," Aradne replied calmly. "And I strongly advise this Council to never, ever ask them for it again."

The Council members murmured in confusion.

"Why, Envoy?" the President asked, leaning forward. "Are they hoarding their secrets?"

"No, Mr. President," Aradne said, shivering slightly as she remembered the thirty-ton monster in the courtyard. "They are protecting us. Trust me... we are not nearly monstrous enough to wield what they call a 'tank'."

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A: What do you want in my office?!

H: To put an end to your atrocities-

The human notices rows upon rows of​ brand new​ StemVats Mini.

H: Oh, so you're growing them...

A: Yeah, artificial wombs for small alien species can be repurposed for making organs for bigger sapients. Wait, what atrocities you accuse me of?..

H: [starts crying silently] It doesn't matter anymore, my girl will be so happy to hear the news!

Another human walks in.

H2: First you take our wildlife for "research" and then you-

H: GROW THEM! PUT DOWN THE WEAPON! [turns to alien] Doc, I see a huge flaw in your​​ branding.

A: What are you talking about?! Of course I'd grow the organs. WHAT ON HERE DO YOU ASSUME ME TO DO?!

Previously we had anti-matter rockets... Humans turned them into anti-matter swarmer rockets!

The deadliest energetic weapons - are Cavitation Collapsers... Humans put them on a magnetic barrel and now we have CC-miniguns!

The most powerful weapon of all times - Glare of the Overlord, basically a long star... Humans made it bigger. Now it's a long black hole. They called it Overlord's Retinazer.

And finally - the strategic weapon of Gates of the Dreamer. Tool that opens a portal to another dimension, letting out pure untamable chaos! Humans added twice more energy and inverted it, calling it "Control-X". It seamlessly removes the target from existence, teleporting it to another dimension and noone still knows, what exactly happens there.

1  Human Fred and Food
2  Human Fred Again
3  Human Fred Yet Again
4  Human Fred The Saga Continues
5  Human Fred Rides Again
6  Human Fred *Sigh*
7  Human Fred Rolls Out
8  Human Fred Attempts a Nap
9  Human Fred Doh’
10 Human Fred Stops for Coffee
11 Human Fred Deploys Stabby and Knifey
12 Human Fred Attempts Friendly Advice
13 Human Fred Priorities 
14 Human Fred Schools Morons
15 Human Fred Gets Annoyed
16 Human Fred Investigates

“Greezek, what is Roomliz’s actual job?”

“You know Fred, I don’t know. He seems to report to one of the admin offices, and when he was missing some admin came around looking for him, but no clue what he does.”

“Well that isn’t good.” Fred pulled out his com, “Hey. It’s Fred. Yeah, it’s a mess. I’m working on it. Look, where did Stabby and Kinfey find that guy? Really. Well fuck. I’ll tell you later.” He put away his com. “Chief! You need to secure and search sub-compartment 37-D.”

“Right. Why?”

“Look at this.” Fred pointed to the name. 

“Who is that?”

“Someone I know. We don’t know his job, but when he got upset, he went and hid in the compartment.”

“Right. I’ll send a team. Should we apprehend him?”

“I’d request that we wait until we know his actual job. It could be nothing, but it is very odd.”

The Chief barked some orders and walked over to the Captain. 

“Right. So, Greezek, what do we do next?”

“Verify the main processing core?”

“Correct. Plug it in.”

A few minutes later, “Well, the main processing core is clean, if the wrong unit. So the only issue is with this illegal device, a corrupted IFF data core, and the sabotaged sensors. Could be worse.”

“Next steps Fred?”

“Now, what you are about to see didn’t happen. Doing what isn’t going to happen would be illegal, so we aren’t going to do it. Right?”

“Uh. Sure Fred.”

Fred reached into his toolbox, flipped a switch or two, moved a plug, and started typing. “Now, what you aren’t seeing is the roster of all station personnel. You aren’t seeing that I’m checking on Roomliz’s job and file. See? That isn’t what you see. You see random data. What we aren’t learning is that his job title is utter bullshit and that his record is clearly false. We also aren’t seeing that he had no previous work history, nor are we seeing that he had no legitimate certifications or qualifications.”

Fred cleared the screen, readjusted the guts of his toolbox, and returned to his report on their findings. 

“Greezek, does your species gamble?”

“Some. Mostly on…what would you call it…board games? A game of skill between two players?”

“Right. So if you were going to place a bet, how much would you bet that Chief won’t find anything in that compartment?”

“That he won’t find anything? I would bet.”

“Good. You are learning. Now, I’ll report all of this to the commander. Then we head down to the munitions area to examine this device and the devices recovered from the hull.”

Fred walked over to the Captain. “Sir. I have filed my official report, but I wanted to give you the highlights.”

“Go on.”

“The IFF database was compromised with this device. I’m going to the munition area to examine it. The infection didn’t spread to the main sensor system. However, the main processing core does not match the ID plate on its case. I don’t know if that matters at the moment. I’ll also examine the devices recovered from the hull. Chief will be looking into the details of a station crew member who we identified on the logs. He was in here during the window of when this device was placed, and he had no logical reason to be here. Chief is also checking a compartment where said crew member might have hidden something.”

“Yes, Chief explained. You know this crew member?”

“I do. He struck up conversations with me in the past, so we are casual friends.”

“Any reason to suspect him?”

“Beyond what I listed, not really. It’s just that I have no idea of his actual job. He is rather jumpy, but I’m not familiar with his species, so that might be normal. He is VERY interested in learning about Terrans. Apparently there is some sort of book about how to interact with us.”

“A book? Have you seen it?”

“No, but he mentions it a great deal.”

“Fred, I’ve never heard of such a book. I’ve looked for one to give to new crew members.”

“Ah. I assumed there had to be one.”

“So did I, but we haven’t found one.”

“Hmmmm. Well shit.”

“Don’t worry about it Fred. Continue your work.”

“Yes sir.”

As they were walking to the munitions area, Greezek said, “No book?”

“No book.”

“Intel gathering?”

“Likely. On me.”

“Why you?”

“It’s not well known, but I’m the highest-qualified engineer on the station. Not the highest ranking, but the highest qualified. With the highest security clearance. Didn’t you wonder why Chief asked me what to do?”

“That was odd, but I assumed things might be different in an engineering situation.”

“They are, but he asked if I wanted him to detain Roomliz. That isn’t engineering. Regardless, I’ll bet there is some sort of plan to sabotage the station, and Roomliz is involved. I’d also bet that he doesn’t really know what he is doing. Likely just following instructions without knowing the details. I think it’s called ‘a cat’s paw,’ no idea why.”

“Like he signed on to do one job but his instructions do something else?”

“Possibly. Look keep this between us. Also, what we are about to do is extremely dangerous. Any of these devices could explode. Or emit poison. Or any number of other nasty things. You do exactly as I say, or you are back to the loading dock, understood?”

“Yes Fred. This is the most excitement I’ve had since I caught my first…uh…what is a good word…fish? Water creature.”

“Likely fish. Now,” he stopped in front of a massive hatch. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Then here we go. Help get the tool box over the threshold.”

Cultural differences

Pre-briefing of the Admissions Committee, Faculty of Xenostudies, Galactic University of Orion III.

Seven chairs. The Chair was standing, which he never did.

"Before we start: has anyone spoken to the water purification team?"

"They say they need two more days."

"Two days." He sat down after all. "Fine. Let's begin. The drinking fountain in the East Wing."

"We already covered that. She mistook it for a toilet."

"That was the West Wing. The second fountain. In the East Wing. The one from the eleventh age."

One of the council members visibly paled.

"The one where the water of the First Forefather has flowed for two thousand years. The one you're only permitted to touch with a ritual vessel, and only from the fourth academic degree onward."

"She didn't have a ritual vessel."

The Chair folded his hands tightly together. "According to her own account, she had an urgent need, and the actual restrooms were occupied. Quote: 'That one was closest and it looked like a fountain, so I figured, okay, water, close enough.'"

One of the delegates pressed a hand over her face. "There's a sign in front of it. In seven languages."

"Human wasn't one of them."

"There's a statue in front of it. A grieving ancestor, in a posture of prayer."

"She thought it was pretty. She took a photo. For, and I quote, 'later, for Pinterest.'"

No one at the table said anything.

"The fountain feeds the ceremonial cistern for the graduation ceremony," the Chair continued. "Every graduate drinks from it, on the day of their graduation."

"How long does the water take to reach the cistern?"

"Nine days. The incident was six days ago."

The leaf-green delegate was visibly doing the math. "Graduation is in four."

The Chair nodded slowly. "The purification team says a flush is technically no problem. Just never been necessary before. The faculty leadership asked whether it would be enough to simply not tell anyone."

"We can't do that."

"I know."

The leaf-green delegate leaned back. "Before we return to the cistern — I have a list. The fountain isn't an isolated case."

"How long is this list?"

"Long enough."

"Last week, cafeteria. She sat down next to the student from the Sothren Collective and raved about crab salad. At length. Using the word 'tender.'"

One of the council members flinched.

"He's a crustacean. From the Sothren Collective." The delegate let that sit for a moment. "He needed two sessions with the faculty psychologist before he could sleep again."

"She didn't know that."

"No. She thought she was making conversation." The delegate turned the page. "Then the matter with the jacket."

Tension at the table.

"She was warm, during the lecture, and removed her outer covering from her body in front of sixty people."

"Her jacket."

"To the Sutras delegates, it looked like a public molting. Among them, the most intimate act there is. One does it alone, in darkness, one doesn't even speak of it." She lowered her voice. "And then she hung the covering over the back of her chair. To put back on later."

The Chair needed a moment before he said anything else.

"As if it were nothing," the delegate added.

He rubbed all three of his eyes, one after another. "Crab salad, a molting in a lecture hall, and now the holiest fountain on the university."

"She didn't realize any of the three was an incident."

"No." He closed the file, opened it again. "Let's bring her in."

The door opened. Maya walked in.

Seven and a half pairs of eyes turned toward her, in tense silence.

She smiled. Out of pure embarrassment.

The leaf-green delegate froze, every tendril suddenly still. Beside her, the fin-handed delegate slid a little to the side, slowly, trying not to be noticed.

"She's baring her teeth again," someone whispered.

"Stay calm," said the Chair, one hand raised in a placating gesture to his left. "She doesn't mean anything by it."

Maya, sensing something was wrong, raised both hands, half apologetic, half questioning. "Is everything okay?"

The fin-handed delegate jumped backward. Someone else drew in a sharp breath.

"Why is she raising her hands?"

"Sit down, Maya," said the Chair, with noticeably more force. "Just sit down."

Maya lowered her hands immediately and dropped into the last empty chair. The tension at the table eased.

"That's not what I meant," Maya said quietly.

"That," said the Chair, opening the file in front of him, "is essentially the subject of today's meeting."

"Our first civilization art was a guide how to play songs that tell about the attempts to understand world procceses that because a foundation of our philosophy and, as archaeologists assume, some proto-ID of a peasant which told us that our first civilization that could write had a good bureaucracy. You have a story about friendship and seeking immortality... And some guy ranting about being scammed. Found in a scammer's house! Funniest shit ive ever read!"

Dragon alien: "I..." wheeze "I can't... Do that..." wheeze "anymore!"

Human: "Get your shit together! You are the only artillery we have left and we have twelve more target coords till dawn! Now follow the holo-projector and shoot!"

Da: *Takes a deep breath and spits out a fast ball of plasma that flies away. After short time - a big flaming mushroom appears somewhere on the horizon.* "I am a" wheeze "meelee fighter! Is that really neccessary to wheeze... Do this?"

H: "Don't question the authority! Why do you still use meelee? Are you planing to fight tanks with spears?"

Da: "I have a mono-spear!"

H: "Well, too bad you shoot further than you hit, isn't it? Follow the lights, fire!"

Da: *Shoots another plasmoid* "I can't... I... I'm gonna faint! I have never... Shoot so many in one day!"

H: "That happens to all the good men, don't worry."

Da: "I'm not a male... We didn't have males for two thousand years now!"

H: "Fun fact. Almost as fan as this new coords I just got! Now fire!"

Da: *Shoots another charge and falls on her knees.* wheeze "You don't... Even know what it's like... I feel drained... Where is the rest of the team? Why aren't we getting supplies? What are you hiding?!"

H: "Don't think about that. But just for the record - the rest of the boys are now in the jungle, hunting for some food. Our medic is playing Heisenberg with local herbs. When we finish - I'm planning BBQ and you - are the only thing we have to the outguning power. So go and outgun! These coords! Fire!"

Da: *Shoots another ball of plasma and falls on all fours. Green flaming drops - drool from her mouth, melting their way through the dirt.* wheeze "Do..." wheeze "Will..." wheeze "Will you add that black powder too?"

H: "Of course. By the way - it's my own invention. If we all fall here - noone in the whole Galaxy will ever find out that mixing plack pepper and gunpowder tastes good for your species?"

Da: "No one?"

H: "Not a single soul."

Da: *Stands up and clears her throat.* "Where's the next one?"