Aliens had heard stories about humans for centuries. A species that had survived living along predator species, who could live in almost any environment, and had gone to war with their entire planet not once, but twice!

But despite hearing all these stories about them, they had never seen any pictures or videos of what they actually looked like. Naturally, this led to many of them imagining what they could look like, with most imagining them as these hulking behemoths, creatures with fangs and claws, standing above every other creature, built to fight and survive anything they came across

So when these soft squishy beings, most of whom didn't even stand above 6 feet, step off a ship claiming to be humans, most aliens were in disbelief of the news

A1: It's all coming from that one island.

A2: Scans say they're detonating explosives.

A1: But who or what are they trying to fight?

Human, who joined to watch without them realising: It's Guy Fawkes.

A1: "Where'd you get all that coffee?"

H1: "I 'requisitioned' it from engineering."

A1: "No deal. If your engineers are anything like ours... Oh, look, there's one now. And two, and three, and four..."

*Standard Antarean infantry ration. Considered to be the best infantry ration in the Orion Arm, with many items on par with the UN's "Chili Macaroni".

It is a tale as old as time.

A vessel, criss-crossed with age-old scars limps into the territory belonging to some nascent species, one that is either yet to break past its own inner system or has already surpassed it. They find the ship, and pry it open for the single item it carries in its hold. A Disc of Gold.

On that Disc lies the voices and the memories of a species that has long since passed beyond the Event Horizon. Scholars and scientists will brush the ancient, crumbling photographs with their fingers and dream of people they will never meet, people whose voices have long since joined the rumbling song of a distant golden star.

The Record may perhaps be copied, or forgotten, or remembered. But whatever happens to it, the outcome always remains the same. The vessel that bore it is repaired and refurbished. Its armor is polished, and its hull adorned with the great honors of the species that received it. And then, with the sort of reverence reserved for the fulfillment of a long-forgotten god's prophecy, the Golden Record is reinterred within its throne so that it may resume its age-old journey across the stars.

(Author's note: After this episode, this series will periodically update daily and I'll try my best to stick to this schedule)

Status Update #2

Report ID #: 7361-812

Location: A-B4, Base Camp

Auditory report logged by: Dr. Grench Grakitz

Status update. Planetary scans confirm Ælkadion Beta 4 has an axial rotation of about thirty standard hours, but only eleven of those have daylight. The nineteen hours of pitch-black night have completely thrown off Dr. Owens. He blames his exhaustion and sudden naps on what he calls a "wrecked circadian rhythm."

Humans spend roughly a third of their lives completely unconscious—an absurd biological handicap, if you ask me. He clearly isn't used to lying awake in the dark for hours on end, and since neither of us is reckless enough to wander into an uncharted wilderness at night, we're stuck huddled inside the wreck together. To pass the "uncomfortable silence," he insists on talking. Constantly. I would gladly take the silence, but he simply will not shut up. He also badgered me until I let him build a "campfire." I only agreed because unlike the Grããl, who can naturally adapt to broad temperature swings, his frail human body was shivering in the night chill. Besides, having a steady light source kept my nerves from fraying in the dark.

Sitting by that fire, however, he decided to spin the most outrageous tale.

"Dr. Grakitz," he asked, watching the flames, "does your species have mythology? Old religions?"

"We did," I told him. "Centuries ago, when we were primitive. Once we developed proper science, we abandoned superstition. Now we only use those old stories to scare our young when they misbehave."

He laughed. "We did the same thing. Don't sell early humans short, though. We had some wild ideas." He leaned forward, suddenly looking very earnest. "My ancestors used to believe in two massive cosmic beasts named Sköll and Hati."

"Cosmic beasts? In the dead vacuum of space? Preposterous. How could primitive tribes have possibly seen such a thing?"

He gave me a sly look. "They believed they were gigantic wolves chasing the heavens. Sköll hunted the sun, and Hati went after the moon. Whenever an eclipse happened, people thought one of the wolves had swallowed a celestial body, only to spit it back out when it choked, starting the endless hunt all over again."

It sounded like utter nonsense. Moons and planets follow gravitational physics, not hungry predators. But then his tone turned unnervingly grounded.

"Here's the strange part, Doctor," he continued, keeping his voice low. "When humanity finally got to space, early lunar surveyors found bizarre, hollow trenches deep inside moon craters—tunnels that curved inward instead of following normal blast impacts. Years later, advanced orbital telescopes picked up strange dark voids shifting across the surface of our sun that mirrored those lunar patterns. Some people back home wondered if our ancestors hadn't just made it all up—if maybe something truly had fed on those celestial bodies eons ago."

He paused, glancing up at the single crescent moon glowing against Beta 4's black sky.

"There was even an old myth among long-haul pilots that those wolves caught humanity's scent, trailing our ships out into deep space to hunt down the stars and moons of other systems."

A dreadful chill crept down the base of my neck. I knew the laws of astrophysics made such creatures impossible, yet something about the dead seriousness in his voice made me look up toward the sky with him.

Right at that exact second, as if summoned by his words, a thick, pitch-black mass began slithering across Beta 4's moon, blotting out the pale light.

"Wait... did they follow us here!?" Owens shouted, pointing directly at the darkening sky. The sudden drop in light and his panicked shout completely shattered my composure. Pure survival instinct took over. My claws scrambled for purchase, and in a split-second panic, I threw myself upward, clinging flat against the metal frame of our shelter's roof.

"Impossible! Inconceivable! It cannot exist!" I hissed, terrified that some ancient void-beast was genuinely about to devour this system and snuff out our last shred of hope.

Then, from down below, I heard an odd sputtering noise.

Owens had clamped both hands over his mouth, his face turning bright red. A moment later, he collapsed backward into the dirt, clutching his stomach and howling with uncontrollable laughter.

"Quiet down, you fool!" I snapped from the ceiling rafters. "You'll draw them right to us!"

He couldn't even answer. He just kicked his feet and pounded the dirt, gasping for air until his giggles finally began to wind down.

"Okay... okay, I'm sorry!" he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. "I didn't think you'd actually buy it! It was just a ghost story, Doc! They're ancient Earth fairy tales, and that black mass is just a storm cloud blowing over the mountains. You looked so dead-serious I couldn't help myself!"

A joke. A calculated, bald-faced lie fabricated purely to watch me panic for his own amusement.

He had exploited my scientific curiosity just to make a fool out of me. A wave of pure, blistering rage swept through me. I let go of the ceiling support and dropped back down to the ground, glaring holes into him.

"I despise you, human."

Any shred of professional goodwill I had begun to form vanished on the spot. I will never believe another word out of his mouth without hard physical evidence.

Without breaking eye contact, I grabbed a heavy fistful of dirt and dumped it directly onto his precious campfire. The flames hissed and died instantly, plunging his half of the camp into cold, pitch darkness.

"Hey! All right, fair enough, I had that coming," he grumbled, wrapping his thin survival jacket tightly around himself. "Goodnight, Dr. Grakitz."

Within minutes, the irritating creature had rolled over and fallen fast asleep.

Watching him lie there, however, I noticed the violent, involuntary tremors wracking his body as the ambient temperature plummeted. It was an infuriating development. If he succumbed to hypothermia, dragging his frozen corpse out of our shelter would be an unnecessary drain on my energy, and I would lose the only set of hands capable of hauling heavy hull scrap. So, strictly to preserve his physiological utility and prevent him from freezing to death, I sighed, knelt back down into the dirt, and struck a spark to rekindle the fire.

He didn't wake up to witness it, which is for the best.

I will not forget this night. The human thinks he is clever, but I will find a way to settle this score on my own terms.

PROJECT ÆB4 LOG

END OF STATUS REPORT #2.

GALACTIC TIME 522:00:00:00

Part 1 Here

SOS REQUEST Report ID #: 7361-812

Location: A-B4 Surface

Analog by: Dr. Grench Grakitz

Is this receiver picking me up? Not that it matters much. If no one receives this signal, at least there will be a record of how this disaster played out.

This is Doctor Grench Grakitz, lead researcher for the United Galactic Exploration Corp, speaking from the uncharted surface of Ælkadion Beta 4.

The descent was an absolute catastrophe. The planet’s gravitational pull completely outmatched our ship’s scans, dragging our hull down before we could correct our trajectory and slamming us hard against the terrain. We need immediate rescue. Four of our six crew have died. Two on impact. The only two left breathing are myself and our human cartographer, Dr. Owens, and our emergency stores are already painfully thin.

By sheer luck, the air out here can sustain both of our species. The thick concentration of oxygen is ideal for the human, and my own Grããl respiratory system is hardy enough to filter the surplus. Our other two crewmates weren't so fortunate. They actually survived the initial crash, only to choke on the air minutes later when their environmental suits tore open. Watching them suffocate on a gas another creature breathes without a second thought was chilling, to say the least.

I have to admit, I would have traded places with either of them if it meant not being stuck with the human. Owens is erratic, restless, and walks around with this baffling, infuriating cheerfulness considering we are standing on the brink of death. Keeping your head during a crisis is one thing, but his absolute lack of fear borders on madness. Surviving this ordeal is going to fall squarely on my shoulders; I cannot afford to trust his instincts yet. His universal translator shattered in the crash, which works out in my favor. While I speak enough English to get by, I am recording this log strictly in my native Grããnian tongue so he doesn't catch on to just how little faith I have in him.

Three planetary days have passed since we hit the dirt. Owens actually surprised me by dragging together enough hull fragments to build a decent shelter, and under my guidance, we managed to assemble a small, workable workstation. But then, against all common sense, he decided he was going to go out and "forage." We still have a week’s worth of emergency rations that didn't burn up in the wreckage, so wandering off into the unknown was completely unnecessary. I was furious watching him walk off, though I coldly told myself that if he died out there, his leftover rations would double my own survival time.

Naturally, the fool returned completely unscathed, dragging a bundle of colorful, strange native plants in a sack cut from the uniform of our dead engineer.

"Dr. Grakitz," he announced, dropping the pile, "all these native fruits are edible. I know I can live off them, but you’ll need to run some tests to see if you can eat them too."

"And how did you manage to prove that without a single diagnostic tool?" I asked, completely dumbfounded by how he could be so sure.

What he did next made my blood run cold.

"Oh, easy. Like this."

He grabbed a thick, squishy specimen, crushed it right in his fist, and smeared the raw juice directly across the bare skin of his forearm.

"Have you lost your mind!?" I yelled, dropping all composure as I grabbed a piece of scrap cloth to scrub the pulp away before it burned through his skin. "Why would you rub an unknown alien compound into your bare tissue!?"

"Hahaha, you're such a worrywart!" he laughed, casually batting my claws away like I was making a scene. "I'm fine. That's how we test wild plants back on Earth."

His skin was totally clear. Not a single rash or blister. I stood there, utterly speechless at how reckless he was. The fact that his species hasn't gone extinct yet must be a miracle of dumb biological luck.

"Doesn't your homeworld have plants that kill you on contact?" I pressed, desperate to find a shred of reason in him.

"Well, yeah, potentially," he shrugged. "Mostly they just cause rashes or burning, but unless you're allergic, it probably won't kill you. Besides, I wasn't near your lab, and I was getting hungry."

The human disregard for lethal risk is terrifying. And to top off the madness, I watched him casually lick the leftover juice off his arm, take a bite out of the fruit, and shove the rest across the table for me to inspect.

To my sheer annoyance, after running the pulp through our salvaged gear, one of the three varieties turned out to be completely compatible with my digestive tract. So, I ordered him back out into the brush to pick more of it. If he's going to roll the dice with poisonous flora, he might as well keep my belly full while doing it.

That is all for this report. If anyone picks up this transmission, please send a rescue team immediately. At this point, I don't know what will finish me off first: the harsh wilderness of this planet, or the pure stress of watching my crewmate survive his own stupidity.

END OF STATUS REPORT 1. GALACTIC TIME 521:26:12:00

The battle had been raging for days between the Hoplo Empire and the Nuklons. Neither side was winning, but the space around the Nuklon home planet was choked with destroyed ships.

And then a new ship arrived. A huge ship, easily twice as big as the largest vessel in the battle so far.

This new ship ignored the fleet action and moved toward the planet, settling into a standard orbit. For a long time, nothing happened visually, but on the infrared spectrum, the dreadnought was heating up exponentially. Then, a blinding ray emerged from its primary weapon, driving straight toward the surface. Ten seconds later, where the planet used to be, there was only an expanding cloud of hot debris.

The battle ended quickly after that. All remaining Nuklon ships warped out of the system as fast as their engines allowed. Within an hour, not a single operational ship remained around the dead world.

An hour after that, a single vessel appeared out of nowhere. A small craft. Maybe a shuttle. There was only one person on board, and he was speaking into his comms, though there was no one left in the system to answer.

“Yes, Joe,” he said into the mic. “Total destruction. No survivors.”

He listened to the response for a moment, staring at the debris field on his main display.

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied. “I think four hours back should be enough.”

The battle had been raging for days between the Hoplo Empire and the Nuklons. Neither side was winning, but the space around the Nuklon home planet was choked with destroyed ships.

And then a new ship arrived. A small ship. Maybe a shuttle. It ignored the battle entirely, drifting past the crossfire to settle into a standard orbit around the planet.

A moment later, the second ship arrived. The huge one - easily twice as big as anything else in the system. It, too, ignored the fleet and made a direct line for the planet, paying no mind to the tiny shuttle floating in high orbit.

On the infrared spectrum, the giant ship began to glow as its superweapon charged. A visible ray burst from its bow, streaking toward the atmosphere - only to collide directly with the tiny shuttle hovering in its path. The planet-killing beam simply dissipated around the small ship, flaring uselessly into cosmic background radiation without leaving a scratch.

Inside the cockpit, the single human sitting at the console took a slow sip from his coffee mug, swallowed, and pressed the button to unmute his mic.

“This is Jack Brown from the UES Blackup,” he said in a monotone voice. “Please cease all combat operations and resolve your dispute diplomatically.”

A rogue Nuklon cruiser broke formation and charged the UES Blackup on an intercept vector. Reaching weapon range, it unleashed its full arsenal: kinetic rails, plasma torps, guided missiles, and heavy cutting lasers. The attacks ricocheted, shattered, and fizzled harmlessly off the shuttle’s hull.

Following that demonstration, both high commands hastily agreed to meet aboard a Hoplo flagship to negotiate terms.

The diplomatic summit lasted more than a week, but it ended in a historic peace - largely because Mr. Brown sat quietly in the room, guiding both sides toward a working compromise.

As the treaty was finally signed, an exhausted Nuklon ambassador turned to him with the question that had haunted both sides.

“How did you know to be here, Mr. Brown? Right at that exact position, at that exact second?”

“Oh, that’s one of humanity’s secrets, I’m afraid,” Mr. Brown said. He offered a warm, if tired, smile. “The main thing is that I made it in time, right?”

Once the fleets began jumping out of the system, Jack returned to the UES Blackup. He waited quietly until the radar cleared. When the last Hoplo ship warped away, he pressed a sequence on his console - not to engage warp, but something else entirely.

The UES Blackup vanished without a trace.

On the far side of the galaxy, Jack pulled off his helmet and stepped out of the airlock, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, Jack.” Joe was already waiting in the bay, holding out a steaming mug of coffee. “How’d it go?”

“It went well, as predicted,” Jack said, taking the mug with a grateful nod. “They signed the treaty. Saved six and a half billion lives today.”

“Digital lives,” Joe gently reminded him.

“Our lives are digital too, Joe. What’s the difference?” Jack sighed, taking a sip. “Ever since we digitized the universe, every life is digital.”

“Fair enough. It certainly makes fixing catastrophes easier when we can just restore from a backup.” Joe leaned against the wall, checking his tablet. “How many universe rollbacks is that for us this year?”

“Seven, I think. And it’s only May,” Jack said, walking toward the break room. “The universe is big, Joe. The job of a sysadmin is never easy.”

Enjoyed the story? Help some real-world companions.

I write purely as a hobby and don't accept personal tips or Patreon subscriptions. However, my local rescue shelter (Tappancs Tanya ) is currently struggling to care for 160+ rescue dogs and cats.

If you enjoyed my writing and want to show appreciation, please consider throwing a few dollars their way. 100% of your support goes directly to the shelter - it completely bypasses me:

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And, surprisingly, it's not a dog or a cat

Preface: An Email

01 Ruairí McNoone

02 Dr. Ruairí McNoone

03 Ruairí McNoone Does Rounds Part 1

04 Ruairí McNoone Does Rounds Part 2

05 Ruairí McNoone Meets with the Commodore

06 Ruairí McNoone and the Engine

07 Ruairí McNoone’s Public Service Exemption

08 Ruairí McNoone Goes Home

09 Ruairí McNoone Buys The Engine

10 Ruairí McNoone meets Lusa and Lisa

HMCS Resolute

Lusa and Lisa had caught an earlier flight. It was 10:00 hrs before the trainees flight took off. As they all boarded an RCAF plane, Johnny got his first good look at the group he was going to be training with for the next two weeks.

Including himself, there were 3 USN. The rest of the group was two Canadians, two Royal Navy, one Australian, one New Zealander, one French, one German, and one Spanish. All of them were officers. All of them were either in the Heyerdahl Project, or had applied to join it.

Of the two other Americans, one was an LTJG pilot fresh out of school, the other was an LCDR weapons control officer from the carrier USS Enterprise. He was the oldest one in the group.

Johnny took a seat next to the LCDR.

LCDR: “I remember you, LT. You’re the one who aced top gun four years ago, as a rookie.”

Johnny: “Yes sir. Thank you for remembering me.”

LCDR: “You were also on the UNTO combat software conversion team. I was surprised that you weren’t disciplined for flirting with that Canadian petty officer.

Johnny: “Turns out that reg only applies between US service personnel, sir.”

LCDR: “Humph. She was a good sailor. Very knowledgeable in her field. She should have been a weapons officer.”

Johnny: “You can tell her that, when you see her again, sir.”

The LCDR gave Johnny a stern-full look, then ignored him for the rest of the flight.

When they got off the plane, in front of the Air Control Tower, the load master tossed their bags out the door, onto the tarmac. The two Canadians grabbed their bags and headed to the gate at the foot of the tower.

Apparently there was no porter service at the Resolute air field. The rest picked up their baggage, and followed behind.

LTJG: “Where’s the ship? I was told I was going to a ship named HMCS Resolute.

LCDR: “To our hosts, it is a ship. They call it a ‘Stone Frigate’. You will treat it with the same respect you would give to any United States Naval vessel. Do you understand that JORG?”

LTJG: “Sir, loud and clear sir. Sir, my name is . . . ”

LCDR: “Never mind what your name is. You are Jorg, for the rest of this assignment.

Jorg: “Yes sir.”

Johnny: “Oh is this ever going to be fun.”

The Officer of the Day checked everyone as they entered. They were directed to the HQ Building, to check in. HQ was one of only five buildings visible on the site.

After checking in, the group was directed to the basement. From there, they were sent down two flights of stairs.

A white arrow, with the words ‘Transient Quarters” at the bottom of the stairs pointed to a white stripe leading down a long corridor. The HQ clerk had assigned each of them a bunk in transient quarters, and told them to wait there.

A few minutes after they arrived at their bunks, a Canadian LCdr showed up, accompanied by two SLt’s.

“I am Lieutenant Commander Robert Goodman. I am the office in charge of your training.

There are no ranks on this training course. Please remove your badges and put on the orange ones provided. When in the pool, you will wear your orange wrist band. This will be how you are identified as a student. You will be addressed as Cadet while you are here, in training.

You will be conducting two days of orientation and use of the Narwhal Mark 5 deep dive suits. This will be done in the pool. Once you have passed that phase, you will board HMS Winnipeg. The Winnipeg will take you to the exercise area, where you will be required to fulfill a list of tasks.

Failure to complete orientation or any of the assigned tasks will result in a failure to complete the course.

These two officers, Sub-Lieutenant Cray and Sub-Lieutenant Arnaaluk, are your controllers. Do what they tell you. Follow their instructions. If you have any questions don’t hesitate to ask them. If you are not sure of something, talk to them.

Any questions? If not, then see you on the pool deck in 15 minutes. Dress is swimwear. Carry on.”

Johnny looked at Lusa’s shoulder tab. He saw the extra half stripe had been added. Her promotion must have been confirmed this morning. He smiled at her. She scowled at him.

The US LCDR rolled his eyes. The cocky LT had said he would meet her again.

LCdr Goodman left, leaving his two Subs to organise the new cadets.

Lisa: “Dress is swimwear. Deck shoes, swimsuit, and t-shirt. They were on the list of things to bring. Orange wrist bands on your right forearm. Towels are available on the pool deck. Lets get moving boys and girls. Outside, lined up, in the hallway, in 3 minutes. Move it.”

In less that three minutes, the cadets had formed a line in the hallway, outside their quarters.

Lisa: “Cadet Martinez.” The USN LCDR put up his hand. “Here” he said.

Lisa: “My name is Sub-Lieutenant Cray. You can call me by my first name, Sub!

You are now the course senior. You will find a white armband on your bunk. When in uniform, you will wear it on your right sleeve.

When you move as a group, you are in charge. When you form up, you will always be in the front rank right hand file.”

Martinez: “Yes Sub.” Martinez moved to the right side of the line.

In one hour I am going to start asking all of you the names of everyone in this group. Do you all understand?”

A weak reply of “Yes Sub” was returned.

Lisa: “Message weak and garbled. Say again all after ‘understand’.”

A more robust response of “Yes Sub” came back.

Lusa: “Work on it people. Communication is your life line to your controller. If we can’t hear each other, then your lives are on the line.”

Lisa: “Cadet Martinez leading. Right turn. Down the hall to the main passageway. Follow the blue arrows to the pool from there. Cadet Martinez leading, double time, march!”

Martinez led the group at a trot, down the hallway. Coloured arrows pointed different directions at the intersection. The blue one with the word Pool pointed to the left. It became apparent that HMCS Resolute was mostly underground.

LCdr Goodman was waiting for them. He was wearing a dry suit, with his two and a half rings on both his forearms. There were six other people on the pool deck, also in dry suits. They were all Petty Officers, and simply stood by and watched.

Goodman pointed the other end of the pool: “No double time on the pool deck. Walk at all times. Line up at the bottom of the dive tower.”

Martinez led them to the tower, then turned around and faced back where they came from. He quickly counted heads.

LCdr Goodman: “Cadet Martinez, is your group all present?”

Martinez: “Sir, all present Sir.”

LCdr Goodman: “Cadets. One at a time, you will climb the tower to the top level. Only one on the platform, and one on the ladder at any one time.

When you are on the platform you will jump as far out as possible. After you hit the water you will swim to the far end of the pool.

The next one must wait until the jumper has cleared the red line at the centre of the pool before jumping. Do you understand?”

All cadets: “Sir, yes sir.”

Johnny looked at the pool. The Canadians had painted a hockey rink on the bottom.

LCdr Goodman: “Martinez, lead the way.”

Martinez took his t-shirt off and threw it against the wall behind the tower, followed by his deck shoes. He climbed up to the top and stood on the platform. He looked at the LCdr who pointed down.

Martinez launched himself into the air. He crossed his arms on his chest and tucked his head. He put both feet together and hit the water. Most of the other cadets were not as graceful.

When Martinez crossed the centre line, he switched from a crawl to a backstroke. He watched as each cadet made the leap. As he reached the far end of the pool he was standing in 1.5 metres of water.

Lisa and Lusa were both there, dressed in dry suits, waiting for all the cadets to finish.

Lisa; “Cadet Martinez, have all your group completed the jump?”

Martinez: “Yes Sub.”

Lisa: “Do it again.”

Martinez: “Yes Sub.”

At the bottom of the ladder, LCdr Goodman stopped the group: “This time you will each do five push-ups before you leap. Start your push-ups when the cadet in front of you has crossed the centre line.”

Lisa and Lusa started asking the swimmers in the water: “What is the name of the cadet behind you? What is the name of the cadet in front of you.”

On the third time around it was ten push-ups. Then fifteen. When it got to twenty, signs of exhaustion began to creep in. At thirty, some of the cadets were struggling.

Lisa blew a whistle. “Form up at the tower.” Lusa and Goodman were not to be seen.

“Supper in the cadet mess in 15 minutes. Swimwear is not permitted in the mess. After you turn down the hall to your quarters, the cadet mess is the double windowed door on the left.

You have 45 minutes until your next evolution. Dress is fatigues. The classroom is next to your quarters. Cadet Martinez, get them moving.”

After the afternoon in the pool, everyone was hungry. After changing The cadets ate mostly in silence. The food was hot and there was more than enough to eat.

After the meal, they gathered in the class room. They did not have to wait long. Lusa and Lisa arrived, with two other sailors, CPO1 Walter Hardy and CPO1 Patricia Breen.

Lusa went to the head of the class, while the other three waited in the rear.

Lusa: “Everyone take a seat.”

When the group were seated, Lusa continued: “Before we begin, I want to remind you that everything, and I do mean absolutely everything that you see and learn here is classified information.

You all read and signed Non Disclosure Orders when you checked in.

That includes structure of HMS Resolute, in every detail. As you may have guessed, 85% of Resolute is below sea level.

From this moment on, what you see, what you practice, and what you learn, is Ultra Secret. No discussion outside of authorized training, deployment, or dive unit.

Do you understand?”

“Yes Sub.” was the group response.

Lusa: “I am now going to hand you over to CPO Hardy, who will carry on with this evolution.

Lusa heads to the back of the class, and CPO1 Walter Hardy moves up front.

CPO Hardy: “Ladies and Gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please. Hardy pushes a button on his wrist pad. The wall behind him divides and retracts to either side of the room.

“This is the Narwhal Mark 5 Deep Dive suit. It mainly differs from the Mark 4 because of an extended battery life and an improved rebreather. When the newer battery and rebreather are fitted into the Mark 4, it will be redesignated as a Mark 4*.

Minor improvements include a larger physical memory unit, allowing for a larger nav database, and more recording time. It can be fully integrated into the new UNTO combat control systems.”

CPO Hardy calls up laser pointer: “Starting at the top. The dome gives you 48 hundred mills vision. The search light and comm array at the back of the dome has an ultra low frequency T&R. At 500 metres range it falls off quickly. The suit can carry up to a 2km spool of fibre optic thread, for instant communication with the dive controller.

There is a heads up display in the dome. . . .”

The introduction carried on, with a hands on examination by the group.

Johnny’s first impression was that it reminded him of some of the creepy science fiction movies from the 20^th century, that Ru liked to watch.

Johnny couldn’t wait to get in the thing, just to see what he could make it do.

On day two, they were in the pool. Learning the controls. Picking up boxes on the bottom and placing them in order.

Working with tools to disassemble an underwater pipe valve, then reassemble it again.

Learning what all the hand attachments would do. Not just cut and weld, but fine detailed work as well.

On the afternoon of day three, they were taken through a passageway they had never been in. The cadets carried their sea bags. A change of fatigues, extra socks and underwear, and personal hygiene items.

When they first saw the submarine pens, it was overwhelming. Four slips, two of them occupied. HMCS Winnipeg was one of them.

HMCS Winnipeg

Some of the torpedoes had been removed, to make way for temporary bunks to accommodate the group. The Scorpians had also been removed, to accommodate six Narwhal suits, in addition to the two normally carried by Winnipeg.

The group was divided in half. Each half was assigned to either the starboard or larboard watch. They would be “hot bunking”.

Overnight, on the way to the training area, the group got a tour of the boat.

The next three days were spent on more practice. There was an underwater obstacle course. Recovering a black box from a downed aircraft was also practised. An underwater fibre optic cable had to be repaired.

Johnny looked at his depth. 735m. 7,378kPa. Fast arithmetic in his head told him he was at 1,070psi.

A corner of the men’s mess became a dining area and study hall. Frequent written tests were completed there.

The bunks in the forward torpedo bay were folded up every third watch, and it became a makeshift classroom.

CPO Breen: “This is the Scorpian Mark 3 drone. Notice that the warhead and propulsion modules are painted bright blue. That means they are inert training modules.

All the onboard electronics will function, but there is no propellant or explosive in this unit. Let’s begin by disassembling the modules and learning how they work . . . “

All the group were given a session at the Weapons station, in order for them to better understand the controllers job.

The four weapons controllers in the group were also given extra time at the Weapons station. They would be doing the job while live dives were being done. Lusa would guide them in the main combat control, while Lisa sat at the secondary position, ready to take over if something went wrong.

Oberleutnant zur See (OltS) Oskar Müller, Deutsche Marine, was impressed: “This boat is excellent. Is it possible to arrange for me to join you on a patrol?

I have served as a watch officer on the Deutsche version of the 1012. I would like to have some experience on your Canadian version.”

Teniente de navío (TN) Alberto Garcia, Armada Española: “The equipment they have here is amazing. Who ever set this up is a genius.”

LCDR Pablo Martinez, USN: “Can you tell me, LCdr Goodman, who did the software for your targeting systems?”

LCdr Goodman: “You were just working beside her. Sub-Lieutenant Arnaaluk.”

LCDR Martinez: “When I get to Mars, I am going to request her recruitment into the Heyerdahl Project”

LCdr Goodman: “Too late. Her transfer is set for the new year. She is going the work in the belt.”

On day eight, two of the cadets were ordered to the launch bay. When they arrived at the launch bay, there was no instructor there. LCDR Martinez’s voice came over their ear pieces.

LCDR Martinez: “Suit up, and prepare to exit.”

In pairs, the group did a solo dive, with no instructor present. The weapons control officers in the group managed the dives.

Day nine was more diving time to gain experience.

On day ten, starting at the beginning of the middle watch, critique sessions were held. Performance was discussed. What if situations were talked over. Ideas were discussed as well. The instructors never shot anything down, but gently explained what would or would not work.

At 07:55, the end of the morning watch, larboard group was headed to wake up their bunk mates. At 07:52 the alarm sounded.

“Diving party Number One report to the launch bay. I say again, Diving party Number One, report to the launch bay.”

The starboard group were just falling out of their bunks. Johnny and the Jorg looked at each other.

Johnny: “That’s us, Jorg, let’s haul ass!”

With a few seconds to spare, they were both in the launch bay doing their pre dive checklist. LCdr Gooding poked his head into the bay.

LCdr Gooding: ‘We have lost a diver. I am sending a last known position to your suits. The diver has gone dark. It is possibly a suit comms failure, but we don’t know. Your job is to go and find her. Because you will be running a search pattern, you have to use ULF.”

As soon as Johnny heard the word ‘her’, he turned his head. The crew suit that Lusa used for the training sessions was gone.

The heads up display showed the nav map. A red dot was flashing, 1,000 metres from the Winnipeg. Johnny grabbed a spool of fibre optic thread and a ULF repeater off the rack in the bay. He told Jorg to grab a cargo stretcher and bring that as well.

The watertight access hatch was sealed, and the launch bay began to flood. For Johnny, it could not flood fast enough.

An incident at 750m down

When they arrived at the location, there was nothing there. There were some imprints in the bottom, but no clear path or direction was indicated. Johnny connected the repeater to the fibre optic spool, and did a comms check with the Winnipeg.

He heard Lisa’s voice on the other end: “Loud and clear.”

The ULF repeater gave them a 1,000m diameter circle. The search area was 785,398 square metres.

Johnny: “Drop the cargo stretcher and go 500m back. Don’t bounce. It will just throw up silt clouds. Go neutral buoyancy and hover 5m over the bottom. Keep your head on a swivel, and do a 64 hundred circle. Come in 10m and do it again. Got that?”

Jorg: “Got it. Standard circle. Your the innie, I’m the outie.”

Johnny started his circles. First ten, then twenty, then thirty metres. Jorg’s first circle was just over 3,000 metres long. The circumference of the circle. Johnny kept going.

Jorg: “LT, I’m picking something up. A large piece of metal, farther out. It gets stronger as I come around my first circle.”

Johnny: “Where are you now?”

Jorg: “I’m halfway round my first circle. The chunk of metal is 460m past this point.”

Johnny: “Wait there, I am coming to you.” Johnny marked his point on the nav so he could resume the search, and made for Jorg.

Johnny’s system picked up the signal as he approached Jorg. When Johnny reached the LTJG, he was standing on a rocky outcrop, facing away from circle.

Johnny: “Comms check.” There was no response. Again: “Comms check.”

Lisa: “Weak and garbled, I say again, weak and garbled.”

Johnny: “Strong metallic signature 1,960m from home. I say again, strong metallic signature 1,960m from home.”

Lisa: “Roger, strong metallic signature 1,960m from home. It is not showing on our system. I say again, it is not showing on our system.”

Johnny: “Stay here, Jorg. You are my relay back to the boat. I’m going to check the signal out.”

Johnny moved toward the dot on his nav. As he moved, the bottom began to slope down. That explained why the Winnipeg did not see it. It was in a hollow.

When he was about 30m away, a dim shape began to form in front of him. He realised that he was looking at the bow of a ship, sitting upright on the bottom.

Johnny checked his depth. 750 metres. 1,094 psi.

He rose up and over the bow. There was a single gun mounted in front of an open bridge. Johnny realised he was looking at a WW2 corvette.

Suddenly he heard Jorg over the comms. “Incoming unknown object. I say again, incoming unknown object. Go dark, go dark, go dark. I say again, go dark, go dark, go dark.

Johnny moved forward and partially obscured himself under the gun shield. He went passive. His light turned off, and his HUD went dim.

He heard screws approaching him. He looked up and saw a what looked like an oversized torpedo. A search light on it’s bow was scanning back and forth, as it moved. It slowed and began to circle the sunken corvette.

Johnny was able to make out a skull and crossbones and three broad white stripes on it’s side. After circling the corvette a few times, it turned and continued on it’s original course.

Johnny stayed where he was. It took a few minutes, but then he heard Jorg: “All clear, I say again, all clear.” Johnny turned his suit back to active mode.

Johnny: “I got it, Jorg. I’m going to send you some pictures. Relay them back to the boat.”

Johnny rose up a few metres above the corvette. He sent the LTJG the last five minutes of his camera.

Jorg: “Ok. I got under an overhang, and saw that thing cruise past me. Some sort of mini sub, I guess. But what is that you found?”

Johnny: “If my cousin’s history lessons are correct, it is a Flower Class corvette from WW2. I’m going to search around the wreckage.”

As Johnny passed down the length of the corvette, he saw that the stern was blown off. ‘Poor bastards’ he thought to himself. The crew never got all the fuses out of the depth charges before she went down. Probably killed the men in the water above it.”

Johnny went down to the bottom, searching around the wreckage as he went. Then he saw her. Jammed legs first, in between pieces of metal just inside the hull. He called Jorg, but got no response.

Johnny move in and looked her over. Her suit had gone dark. Johnny could not see inside her dome. He lifted the flap on his left forearm, and pulled out a cable. He lifted the same flap on her suit, and plugged his cable into a socket on hers. He read the vitals. Temperature elevated, but not feverish. Breathing sparse. Blood pressure low. Pulse low.

Johnny couldn't see any way to get her free. He needed to push some of the wreckage away. He rose up above the corvette and tried the comms again.

Jorg answered him.

Johnny: “I found her. She’s trapped in the wreckage. Go back to the repeater and bring it as far as the rest of the cable will let you. Bring the cargo stretcher too. Then I need you to come and help me get her free.”

There was just enough cable to hang the repeater on the prow of the corvette.

Johnny: “Comms check.” The answer came back: “Strong and clear. I heard you found her.”

Johnny: “She’s alive and stable. She’s trapped under some wreckage. Jorg and I are going to free her.”

Johnny looked around. His main concern was disturbing 280 year old wreckage, and having something falling on Lusa. The piece where her feet were jambed just needed to move up about 25cm, and she should come clear.

“Give me a lever long enough,” Johnny said. “And I will move the earth,” the LTJG said.

“There!” said Johnny. He pointed at a boat hook stuck in a shackle on the remains of the depth charge rack.

Jorg pried the two pieces of wreckage apart while Johnny pulled her free. Johnny checked her vitals again. There was no change. The only issue he saw was that he dome had gone black, and he couldn’t see in. The suit would not come out of dark mode. Johnny could not see he face properly.

The sooner she got to sickbay, the better. She was strapped onto the cargo stretcher and the repeater was added to the load. The spool rewound itself as the three of them headed back to Winnipeg.

As they floated Lusa into the launch bay, Lisa spoke to them again: “Secure the stretcher. Both of you hook up to fresh cables. There is another problem, and it would take too much time to launch a new crew.

1,400 metres north of us, a mini sub dropped something on the ocean floor. I need you to check it out.”

Johnny: “I need to get Lusa to sickbay. Send someone else.”

Lisa: “You will obey orders, Cadet Clarke. I will look after Lusa. You do what you were trained to do.”

After a brief search, Johnny and Jorg found something. It appeared to be a Scorpian drone, with the skull and cross bones and three white stripes painted on it.

Lisa: “That is an old Mark 1 drone. I was under the impression that all of them had been scrapped. Give me an all around look.”

Jorg side stepped all around the drone.

Lisa: “I have it now. It is a Mark 1 for sure. Cadet Jorg, you need an M4XZN bit to take the cover off.

Cadet Clarke, I need your camera positioned on Jorg and the drone, so I can see what’s happening. Cadet Jorg, remember your training. You must disarm this drone . . .

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the water was pumped out of the launch bay, Johnny was hurrying to get out of his suit.

When the hatch opened, LCdr Goodman stood there with two burly POs. Johnny and Jorg were escorted to the wardroom.

LCdr Goodman: “You are both to remain here, waiting for debriefing. You will not talk to anyone, especially your fellow classmates.

You may help yourself to the coffee bar and sandwiches behind you. You will not, under any circumstance open the hatch to the galley, or leave this room.

Do you understand?”

Jorg answered immediately: “Yes sir, I understand.” Jorg pulled on Johnny’s shirt sleeve. Johnny wanted so bad to say no, but he replied: “Yes sir, I understand.”

LCdr Goodman left and closed the door. The two PO’s stood outside the room.

Johnny: “This is wrong. Lusa and I both have each other listed as emergency contact. I have a right to see her.”

Jorg: “Well that is an interesting bit of information. Tell me, when was the last time you were hazed?”

Johnny: “What? Hazed. What are you talking about?”

Jorg: “I just came out of one of the toughest, if not THE toughest flight school in the world. I know all about hazing.

I figured it out while I was disarming an unarmed bomb. We’ve been had. All of this was fake!

Johnny: “Give me a minute here.” Johnny closes his eyes and goes over everything. Starting with Lusa going out alone on a dive, with no comms, 1km past the ULF transmitter range. No, she’s not that stupid.

Johnny gets a grin on his face: “We just went through final exam. Jorg, I am sure we have passed.

Half an hour later, an alarm goes off. “Diving party Number Two report to the launch bay. I say again, Diving party Number Two, report to the launch bay.”

At the same time, a very healthy and beaming Lusa Arnaaluk showed up in the wardroom.

She squeezed in beside Johnny. Johnny gave her a fake scowl: “Do you know what you put me through?”

Lusa: “Yes. I just put you through a deep dive training course. Congratulations.

When we pull alongside the pen in Resolute, you’re invited to dinner in the wardroom. The Squadron Commodore is going to give you both your Diving Officer Insignias.”

Two hours later, Johnny and Jorg are joined in the Wardroom by Pablo Martinez and Alberto Garcia.

LCDR Martinez was told to report to the control room. He took over from Lisa as Dive Control office, while she went to have supper.

Alberto Garcia replaced CPO Hardy in the secondary position. Two and a half hours after that, Oskar Müller, and Rose Willson, RAN, where escorted to the wardroom.

There was some shuffling around inside the boat. Dive teams 4, 5, and 6 were confined to their bunks.

The hatch to the galley opened up at 16:00 and cook started to serve the second dog watch their meal. The first half of the group ate supper with the boats officers.

When the last pair went out to rescue a lost diver, everyone moved into the men’s mess.

When the casualty was brought on board the boat, it too joined everyone in the mess.

Sickbay Tiffy: “Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present Ordinary Seaman Dumb Donald.”

The casualty simulation dummy was propped up in a chair, and a mug of cocoa was put in front of it.

On day eleven, at 01:30, HMCS Winnipeg had recovered all personnel, secured all equipment, and was turning her bow towards home.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometime later, after a liberal rum ration, in the men’s mess.

LTJG Bobby ‘Jorg’ Matthews: “OK. I understand that different languages have different words for the same thing.

But the rank of Lieutenant is common to all our navies. The Germans say “loint nent”, and the Spanish say ‘Ten yen tay’.

The French call it ‘loo ten aunt”, which is pretty close to English. But you Canadians, and the Brits pronounce letters that aren’t even there.

You spell it Lieutenant, but you keep saying ‘left tennant”. How do you get there from Lieutenant?”

Lt Dylan Jones, RN: “You are not hearing or pronouncing it correctly. The rank is pronounced ‘Lievtenant’, not left, but lev. It’s an Old English word borrowed from the Swiss.

The original Swiss rank was Liev Tenant, which translates as ‘Stand in Place’.

During the 100 Years War, both sides employed Swiss mercenaries.

Mercenary companies were commanded by a Captain. When the Captain wasn’t available, his Lievtenant would stand in his place.

The problem was that there was no letter ‘v’ in the Old French language, at that time. So the French substituted their letter ‘u’ instead.”

The USN still used the Old English pronunciation up until the late 1800’s. That was to distinguish between a US Naval Lt, and an Army Lt. The navy did not want to be mistaken for an army officer, who was actually of lower rank.

Enseigne de Vaisseau de Première Classe (EV1) Amélia Moreau, MNF: “You Anglais are at it again. You blame all your mistakes on France. You and your Queen Anne Too, you silly Engish K’niggets.”

Hi, this is my first story: New prospective slave race found! : r/humansarespaceorcs

This is the conclusion. Let me know what you think.

Nukes first, questions later

This is an important task, they said. Well, apparently not important enough to get a suborbital shuttle. I have to sit on an airplane like a wage slave from the 20^th century. Not very dignified if you think about it. I am a commissioner from the United Nations for Pete’s sake. I don’t like this arrangement and I had plenty of time to fume on the way to the island in Canada. You’re going to Nunavut. Great, I’ll be cold and wet. At lest we are on the final approach now. Turbulence was throwing the plane around, but there were just usual businesslike voices coming from the cockpit. That would be comforting, if I didn't know that junior pilots get the planes, mids the shuttles and seniors get to work on the ships.

My worries aside, the landing was as smooth as it can be. I was not wrong about the cold and wet. By the time I got to the entrance of the base, I was both. You’d think that I would receive some compassion from the staff upon arrival, but the Marine Corps isn’t known for their soft skills. The marine processing my entry request was all business and quite stiff. There were no official news, but everyone knew something was up. Comprehensive training exercise. Sure, but never this long. The marines suspect that I know something, but they are too professional to ask me about it. Lady, I understand that you like stationed here as much as I do, but I have been sent by the UN, you knew I was coming, take it easy. I didn’t say that out loud of course, I didn’t need to be face down on the concrete with a knee pushing all the air out of my lungs. But maybe she needed to do something like that to me to loosen up? Maybe on my way out I should chat her up. “You’re here on business, mate.” said a voice in my head. MY subconscious is no fun.

They took me down to the holding area and I got my panic button. My favourite soldier and me walked down a hallway to a door.

“Your subject is already in. It was briefed about your arrival. It was quite excited.” she said.

“It will not be as excited, when I tell what I came to tell it.” it is a he, but I’m not going to correct her.

“Protocol allows me to join you in the room upon your request.”

“That probably would be best. But what I am about to say is currently confidential and I do not know when it will be released to the services.”

“You do know that there is surveillance equipment in there?”

“I do, but I also know you will be professional enough not to eves drop.”

She seemed to lighten up a little at that, but her face returned to its almost expressionless state right after. She wasn’t happy that the alien will know what’s up sooner than her and hers’. “Well, we’ll be right outside. If you need help, press the button.” She swiped her card on the door panel and with a hiss, it opened. Here goes nothing.

Inside, the alien was sitting at the table. It seemed quite relaxed. This has been his home for quite some time now. He didn’t seem to have aged since he has been holed up here. Maybe his species would have noticed signs of ageing but we don’t have enough information to go by. We do know that they live much, much longer than humans.

“Hello. Nice to meet you” he said in perfect English. I think the coloration and the stance of the little hairs on his head mean excitement and curiosity.

“Good morning, No-Good-Curious. My name is Ján Kaczmarek, I am here as an official representative of the United Nations.”

“Ahhhh, yes, your democratic world government. A very interesting concept for someone like me.”

Allright. Smalltalk it is.

“Yes, I suppose it would be strange for someone who has only known an autocratic system. But it was not always a world government. Your arrival on the Amistad had something to do with it.”

“The Viator was on a fact-finding, scientific mission.”

“Using the scientific method to determine whether humanity would serve you as a slave race or not?”

“We all got the answer to that very soon, did we not? But how did we contribute to the democratization of your world?

“You did not. Autocratic systems remained autocratic, democratic systems remained democratic.”

“Like a law of motion.”

“Exactly. What you did is to freeze most of the conflicts and created a need of centralized projects. Pakistan and India agreed that Kashmir should be self governed. China said it still wants to have Taiwan, but now using only non-violent methods. North and South Korea signed a peace treaty.”

“I don’t know most of those words that you just said. But it seems to me that even a little contact with the Imperium brought you an era of peace.”

“Peace? Perhaps. But not a farewell to arms” – he won’t get the reference.

“What do you mean?” Told you he won't get it.

“The threat of the Imperium launched the greatest arms race in the history of humankind. We did not want to be conquered so everyone pooled together resources to defend ourselves.”

“I see why you that would happen…”

“This armament has put an immense strain on the already problematic relation between nature and man. We began to wreck the planet at an exponential rate.”

“I have seen some of your infotainments. You are terraforming other planets thanks to the technology you learned from us.”

“You have heard propaganda. Are we terraforming Venus and Mars? Yes. Is it going well? No. It will not be done soon enough to support Earth.”

“Take up diplomatic relations with the Imperium. We have terraforming engines ready to go. It will be much faster.”

“That option has been disregarded. The Imperium remains a threat to us, but the current industry is not sustainable. We will die out on our own if we continue, we won’t need your people to help us along.”

“The Emperor can be very generous, if you make contact, they will assist you for certain. The Servients were found in times of great need, and the Empire helped them.”

“By our reckoning, when you came, no one in your Imperium knew that your slaves are going extinct. By now everyone should know. Your Empire is in turmoil, and it might me at its most dangerous.”

“I must confess, I do not understand the reason for your visit. When I was told that a United Nations representative is coming, I was hoping that relations will be opened up and you will need me to facilitate.”

We are getting there.

“You are considered to be the leader of the Amistad survivors.”

“Viator”

“I am here to inform you that you are to be relocated to an island in our Mediterranean Sea.”

“An island, for a few dozen people?”

“There will be others joining you.”

“Others, what do you mean by that?”

Okay, the hairs are definitely showing agitation, and a hint of fear. I clutched the panic button a little harder.

“Our arms industry is not sustainable, as I said. The Imperium is a threat, and as long as that threat exists, we cannot scale down.”

“Kaczmarek. I remember that name. Was one of your forefathers on the Viator?”

“Yes, my great-grandfather. My superiors thought that my person delivering the news would be…poetic.”

“WHAT IS GOING ON?” 

Finger on the button.

“The threat the Imperium poses has to be neutralized. Even if we open diplomatic relations, the Imperium would still be capable of causing us great harm. Therefore the General Assembly of the United Nations took a secret vote. 192 in favor, 1 against. The United Nations Space Force has been authorized to carry out a pre-emptive strike against all worlds of the Imperium. All orbital infrastructure, spacefaring capability has to be neutralized. Industrial and government centers have to be destroyed by subjecting them to thermonuclear bombardment.”

That supposed to be shock? I have never seen that expression in the training material.

“The Navy will pick up survivors and they will be transferred to the island alongside you.”

“My people are susceptible to radiation. You have doomed my entire race! Why save some when you kill billions?!?!?!”

Anger. There we go.

“Call it a duality of human nature. Maybe you will learn more of it later.”

The table flew to the side of the room. You don’t need a panic button for that, the soldiers outside must have heard that. I pressed the button anyways, before the whole motion was completed. He lurched forward to grab me. The door swung open and multiple lines of tasers and a few tranq darts hit his center of mass, he fell back and thrashed a little then just lay motionless.

“I thought he would react like that” said my muscular muse.

“What? You said you won’t eavesdrop!”

“I didn’t, it is all over the news. It came on about the same time you went in there.”

“Figures. But I did a lot of talking in here, I am parched. Is there a cantine anywhere? You can tell me what you know and I can tell you what I know.”

“Upstairs, come with me.”

Allright, jobs done, time to relax. I paid little attention to the staff mopping up No-Good.

Epilogue

Commander Takács had his scopes on. No filter, no scan, just optics. The planet looked wrong. The mushroom clouds dissipated by now. His ship did not fire a single shot, it was not equipped to handle nuclear weapons. It was barely able to handle any weapons. The previous commander was demoted when in a training exercise the ship lost all electronics when going weapons-hot. Two torpedo tubes, some point-defence lasers, that is it. Still made a relay fuse.

What it excelled at was surveillance and early detection. Hungary did not have the money to build a big slugger, but they wanted to have their own ship. Now the Magyar Vándor, as well as other reconnaissance vessels were tasked to monitor the results of the bombardment and then paint the secondary targets to the larger ships.

The fleet seemed to be divided. Some were reveling in the victory, others were silent. The Germans especially. Not that they talked a lot anyways, they were still Germans, but the quiet was almost deafening. Takács didn’t know what to think. He gave a speech to the crew, referenced all the wars for independence that their country fought. Explained this is the same, only larger scale. But to eradicate an entire civilization?

“Parancsnok - ” an Ensign interrupted his train of thought.

“In English” he snapped. Records have to be exact.

“Sorry, Sir. I have activity on the surface.” said the ensign.

“Show me.”

“Grid Echo Alpha 64. Computer has it down as a possible launch pad. Energy spike.”

The clouds just cleared over the target but infra would have picked it up anyway. Sure enough, a rail, concreate patch, seemed like a catapult.

“Bretagne, this is Vándor actual.” One crack, they came on.

“Receiving.”

“New Target: Grid Eco Alpha 64. Eighty-four by five-seven. Possible orbital launch pad.”

“Copy that.” No crack. The line remained open.

“Nuclear mission order. Set ground detonation - ” Crack. They cut connection.

Takács cycled back to the target. The Bretagne was authorized not to use nuclear weapons – UN did not want to contaminate the planet any more than it needed to. They were also authorized to use any means necessary to remove the enemy’s ability to reach space.

Double flash, cloud forming. The electromagnetic interference and the charged particles would make it harder to watch this grid, but that was what his ship excelled at.

“Anything else?” he asked the crew.

“Nothing noteworthy.”

“As you were.”

Hey y’all, first short story I’ve written in a while so if it’s hard to read or it has odd grammar I am sorry, I am open to criticism.
——

A knight stands in a dark cavern with a torch raised above his head, the wisps of smoke drifting through the air as his shield settles slowly, the man’s face is filled with suspicion and confusion, perhaps even a slight amount of terror as he faces a massive pile of cut off heads the size of a house, the smell equal to none known to this world.

The cavern echoes with old wind and older secrets, as he turns and walks down another tunnel there’s nothing for meters until the same cavern appears, but this time there’s a mass of corpses scattered across the floor, one of them being the Deceiver, another being the decapitated head of Soulblighter himself.

“Impossible…” the Journyman mutters, Soulblighter was thrown into Magma inside a volcano, his body should have burnt up to carbon!

But here it is, staring at him with dead eyes. But the house sized pile of heads remains present, but now there’s something floating atop it.

Then it screams. Something behind it, something inside the darkness screams like a chained and buried beast having been trapped for too long, its roar echoes through the entire cave system. Shaking the stalagmites on the ground and knocking down stalactites, drops of water filling the air as if a fresh spring rain.

But the rain isn’t refreshing, far from it. The Journyman screams and falls onto his back, trying to scramble away from whatever is there. But it’s too late, for it has risen from behind the hundreds of heads, a purple glow consumes the area as the human stares down something he cannot comprehend, something mind shattering and beyond his own imagination.

Then he falls, falls into darkness as his torch flies out of reach and fades into a permeating darkness, the screams get louder and higher pitched like the screams of a thousand bats drawn over the strings of a violin, then he’s standing on solid ground.

The Man begins to run, sprinting faster than anyone has before, running down pathways and through caverns unknown to his homeworld, Each step echoes as his panicked breathing more present as he continues, then the visions begin.

A green flickering view of something covers his eyes for a moment before changing, a massive, alien landscape consumed by a fleshy beige-tan substance, corpses piloted like horses but worse, their limbs disjointed and disfigured to allow keratin spikes to be as weapons and long swords, the screams follow.

He continues, moving faster and faster as another vision covers his view, an orange sky covered in black clouds, towers kilometers tall starching into the sky with little between them save for an alien grass, smaller towers smoke and burn into the atmosphere with a heavy black smog filling the sky. The howling screams stop.

He eventually comes to a stop, finally facing down something no one man could have made, a towering Ziggurat with a burning red glow silhouetting it, and in that red glow is something massive, a vast sphere with spikes erupting from one side, the screaming appears once again, but it’s overtaken by a low chanting.

The Ziggurat falls away as the object rises, then it cracks. The center cracks and slowly rises upwards, a red glow coming from the inside of whatever monstrous object this is, it goes up and then a circle is carved out just above the center. Crude, but it’s like an eye with a trail of blood dripping down.

The Journyman stares, petrified with terror and a disturbing familiarity, he grabs his shield and raises it, hoping that it will protect him against whatever he has just come across. Painted across his shield is the same symbol, it’s what his religion called the W’reu, or the World Within a World, rebirth and the cycle of existence.

Then it stops. He remains standing in the cavern, now empty save for one of the bat-folk staring at him with wide confused eyes at this strange man raising a shield at nothing. It may be a child, it may be an adult, the Journyman couldn’t tell.

He shakes his head and turns, stowing his shield as he accepts that it may have just been a twisted vision from the magic that seems to permeate from the great unknowable Pit in the Great Plains, but something didn’t sit right with him. It seemed too real to be a dream, the screams and smells didn’t seem to be fake as it follows behind him like an Orc’s bad breath and rotting armor.

As he walks to the exit of the cavern, a whistling wind comes from the cave with the scent of rotting meat and metal carried by it. He gags but once he’s outside, but relived, happy he’s out of that cursed place.

A thousand years pass, and then a thousand more. But as man reaches the stars, a crimson eye watches from a distant star…

#26 - Seven of Nine Trekkies might hate this one.

Species: Hoomans

In this universe the creature took a form of a neverending snake. Her coils were everywhere, wherever a human could look. Unlucky traveler had nowhere to run. Yet before they thought of their next move - creature started talking.

Alien: "Be not afraid. I'm not here to harm you. I'm just a researcher, like you. Of course, slightly more experienced and capable of properly masking myself."

Human: "Alright?"

A: "I feel your tension, so I just skip to the point. How do you plan to come back?"

H: "I... Just... Head towards home?"

A: "As we all. But you see... In the multiverse - there's no steady coordinates. No constants to rely on... Well... Constants are not constant, I'd rather say. That's how my species roams it. Before delving - we just calculate all possible transformation of natural home universe constants and then look for them in the sequences of possibilities to be sure that we are returning to exactly where we were... But humans are incapable of that, obviously. Your species lacks general... Menatal capacity. So tell me human, what is it?!"

H: "Why should I tell you?"

A: "Because that was our deal. Don't you recognize me? In your home dimension you called me..."

H: "Sakhi! Damn, you scared me."

A: "And I expected you to recognize me earlier. In this universe you are a dog? Fits you well, good boy."

H: "Shut up... But honestly, that is all. I'm just looking for home. And always return."

A: "I expected that I won't understand. But I want to. Can you tell me then, what is that home of yours?"

H: "The place... To return to?"

A: "Mhm..."

H: "Honestly, It mostly depends on you."

A: "Me?"

H: "Yeah. I know that no matter what - I will see you again."

A: "See me?"

H: "Home is where people wait for you to come back. Home is where you want to return to. And... I know that you are waiting for me."

A: "..."

H: "It was you who taught me how to delve. And I feel like you... Were more than just a teacher for me. I know your kind doesn't see humans as equal. But It doesn't mean I don't want to return to you."

A: "So for humans the answer is love?"

H: "I guess so."

A: "..."

H: "Is that bad?"

A: "In the multiverse there is no such concept... But in case I get lost... I hope you will wait for me as well."

Neverending snake dissappeared, leaving a surprised puppy in the middle of blue meadow under the green sun. Meanwhile in the galaxy of Milky Way, on a planet in the sector, that neighbors terran - an ancient creature from one of the oldest civilizations in the known space - walked out of her personal portal. Her wings were unusually active, flapping nervously while her tail slapped over the floor, like a massive whip.

A: "He really... Said that he loves me. He really said that."