"I don't get my species du-"

"You're space orcs."

"Wha-"

"Space. Orcs. All of you."

"Thats just a meme dude."

"I know it is a meme, human! That does not change the fact that it is a factual and highly accurate descriptor of your entire species!"

"Excuse me?!"

"You are all orcs! If you were a computer, you would be one of those huge, blocky, primitive cogitators your scientists were using in the run-up to your space age! Sure, your processors are great, but the rest of your software is so primitive it couldn't even run Doom!"

"Well... ouch, man."

"Don't get me wrong. Your intelligence, your knowledge, your skill-learning; it is all highly advanced for your species. Unfortunately, your species is a space-faring form of greater ape that, despite appearances, has not changed that much from its prehistoric self that had wild sex, died of dysentery, lived in small familial troops, and killed everything in its path just to stave off extinction. Your emotions, your instincts, your impulses are still bound to a deep-rooted conciousness that believes itself to still be in a jungle infested with predatory mammalians and reptilians. You. Are. All. Space Orcs!"

"Surely its more complicated than that... right?"

"Well, yeah, but not by much. Space Orcs, the lot of you."

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
17 Human Fred is Annoyed
18 Human Fred Gets More Annoyed
19 Human Fred Smirks 
20 Human Fred Brings Hellfire
21 Human Fred is Confused
22 Human Fred Considers
23 Human Fred is Chipper
24 Human Fred has Some Fun
25 Human Fred Witnesses Stupidity
26 Human Fred vs the Coffee Maker
27 Human Fred Accepts Crap Coffee
28 Human Fred Listens

Fred rolled another empty cart into the hall and tipped it over. He then moved it around a bit to form a small space encircled by stacked carts. It was just tall enough for him to see over while crouched on one knee. He went back into the medical area. 

Greezek was attempting to build the same sort of structure, but the carts were a bit too heavy for her. As she struggled to get one onto the top of the stack, she saw Fred return with blankets and pillows.

“What,” she panted, “are those for?”

“Just because we are in a defensive perimeter doesn’t mean I can’t be comfortable.” He started to arrange the blankets and pillows in his fighting position.

“Could you at least help me first? These things are heavy for me!”

Fred looked over at her structure. “The one on the bottom is turned wrong. One hit and the one on top will fall back on you.”

Greezek stared at him. “That’s it?!? That’s all the help I get?!?”

“Well, I could give you a hand moving some things around. If you really want.”

“Yes!!”

“Fine.” Fred got up and walked over to her pile of carts. He looked it over, and then he started moving things around. He adjusted a few on the bottom, twisted one on the top, rearranged the side a bit. “Go get two more. That should do it.”

Greezek rolled out two more empty carts. 

Fred picked one up and placed it along the front, and set the other one along the side. “There. You’re all set.”

“How can you do that? These things are heavy!”

“Difference in gravity. I train in 1.1g in the gym. This place is much lower.”

“What?!? 1.1g? That’s insane!”

“Not really. I grew up in 1g. I’ve always trained in 1.1g.”

“My home planet is 0.7g! At 1.1g, I  wouldn’t be able to move!”

“If you worked up to it, you would adjust. You would have to change your diet. And likely have regular medical checks.”

“Why?”

“Your system would need different nutrients to adapt. Sometimes that can mess with organs.”

“Aren’t you just full of fun information.”

“Look. It is possible that in a few minutes Droog will be storming down this hall to kill us. Every fighter needs to find a way to prepare. I try to relax, to take it easy. Maybe joke a bit. It helps me be focused. I have no idea what you will need to do, but you should figure it out fast.”

“Why?”

“Command net just reported a boarding vessel headed for a nearby zone. I’d say we have…7 minutes.”

Greezek slumped in her fighting position, her mind racing. She didn’t know how to prepare. With Chief and Roomliz, it was react. But there was nothing here. Yet. She thought back over years of memories, looking for anything that might help. She smiled.

Fred was checking his extra ammunition belts when he stopped. Someone was singing. Not loud, just above a whisper. He didn’t recognize the song or the tune. The translator didn’t even try. It gave the tone meaning ‘No Clue.’ Songs and poems often got that tone. He looked around. It had to be Greezek. He put on his helmet, adjusted the face guard, tweaked the vision system, and tested the local coms. “Greezek, what are you singing?”

“Just an old song my mom used to sing when I was a child. It’s a happy memory. Clear of confusion.”

“Well, get your helmet on. I expect contact in four minutes.”

“Do you have a timer or something?”

“I have a watch. And I have the command net. Group of Droog headed this way. Sounds like about a dozen. From the security warnings, they didn’t expect the sentry systems.”

“Odd that Chief left that out.”

“You give him too much credit. Those are defense systems. He only had access to security. Defense systems can see security, but security can’t see defense. For just this sort of issue.”

“Security turn traitor often?”

“More often than military. Lower acceptance standards. Fewer benefits. Less prestige.”

“The pay?”

“About the same, but military gets better gear, training, quarters, and often better food. They also get more leave and some travel perks.”

“And engineers?”

“Better everything. To get to my level, you have to prove that you aren’t just trustworthy but incorruptible. They actually will test engineers to see if they can be corrupted. Most of the time the engineer doesn’t even know they failed. They just stop getting promoted.”

“You were tested?”

“About, oh, twenty times. I managed to bribe the tester the last time around. He lost his clearance. Boy was he pissed!”

“Where is he now?”

“Last I knew he was XO on an armed freighter out on the edge of the right arm. Doing really well. Two minutes. We should hear them shortly.”

“You keep in contact?”

“We exchange messages now and then. He realized I could bribe him because his heart wasn’t in it. But being on an armed freighter. Yeah, he loves that.”

“I hear rapid firing.”

“Sentry system. I don’t know what the Droog are wearing for armor or what they have for weapons. Headshots aren’t 100% certain death. Aim for their throats. Short bursts.”

“Right. Grenades?”

“Make a mental note of a spot along the hallway. When they cross that line, throw a grenade. Don’t lob it. Trying to bounce it down the hall at them.”

“Why?”

“A lobbed grenade is easy to see. They might try to shoot it or bat it back.”

“Right. Flashes.”

“Here we go. Keep chatter down. Call out issues.”

They both hunched forward into their positions. 

According to the grand registry of the Terran Federation, this sector was completely dark! the human scout insisted aggressively hammering a metallic stake into the manicured lavender grass. "We call dibs. It's the law of the cosmos."

High Chancellor Vrel adjusted his ceremonial robes and glared at the massive colony ship currently crushing his imperial hover-car. "Sir, you are standing in the courtyard of our Ministry of Foreign Affairs," Vrel hissed, his translator vibrating with irritation. "We have a planetary defense grid. We sent you twenty automated warnings and you had to physically swerve around our orbital customs station just to crash-land here!"

The human paused, looked up at the towering spires of the alien metropolis, then looked back at his clipboard. "Yeah, well, none of your spires are shaped like a flag, so technically it was up for grabs."

A shadow moved silently between the rocks leading to a cave. There was no wind. Clouds hid the stars. The glow of a fire spilled from the cave. The shadow hesitated, listening. Just the regular sounds of insects could be heard. The shadow moved a few meters closer to the cave, its shape changing as it…

“You’re late,” came Oscar’s voice. 

The shadow froze. The rocks and the ravine made it difficult to pin-point the location of the voice. 

“I expected you hours ago. I’m not sure if that means you’ve been extra cautious or poorly trained. Which is it?”

The shadow turned, centimeter by centimeter. There on the opposite side to the cave. Its shape changed and elongated as it raised a weapon, took careful aim…

“Yeah. Don’t waste your ammunition.”

The shadow hesitated. 

“I mean, you might have spotted me. Or not. If you want to take the shot, go for it. You do you.”

The shadow spun in place, bringing the weapon onto a faint outline above the cave, and fired.

The energy bolt flashed from the weapon, scorched through the air, and exploded in a brilliant burst.

“And there goes some of your vision. Good spin. Not too bad of a rapid shot either. However…” Oscar squeezed the trigger on his rifle. There was a sharp crack, no flash, and the shadow dropped. 

It attempted to get back up, but there was a second crack, and it crumpled. It scrabbled on the ground for its weapon, but a third crack caused the weapon to explode in a fountain of energy, fire, and molten rock. The shadow screamed and rolled on the ground attempting to put out its flaming clothes. 

Oscar dropped down from a dark overhang well above and behind the flailing shadow. “You almost spotted me about an hour ago. You were debating between going high or going low. I shifted to get a better view, and you heard the pebbles fall. But you either didn’t recognize the sound or ignored it.”

The shadow tried to back away from the approaching Oscar. 

“Your backup will not be joining us. Nor will the ship come when called. And I don’t think your spotter will do you much good. It’s amazing that supposed warriors forget useful weapons. Silent weapons. I’ll bet your spotter had never seen a crossbow.”

The shadow had made it to a large rock and was attempting to pull back onto its feet. 

“Just how good are you with that knife? I assume you can fight with either hand. But without a leg, well that is more difficult. Oh, if you want to use the grenade or the poison, I won’t mind.”

“You missed one!” Hissed the shadow as another shadow leapt towards Oscar from a ledge. 

Oscar’s hand moved fast. His pistol cracked twice. The shadow landed with a wet thud. 

“Nah. I was wondering when she would come into play.”

“You never turned your head!”

“Why would I do that? I knew where she was. There are only so many angles, and she wouldn’t want to risk a melee. No, she wanted to land on me. Now. You have some options.”

“Oh. The Terran sense of fair play! How nice.”

“I think you misunderstood me. You have some options. You can slowly die from your injuries and elements, or I’ll finish you off quick. I don’t care. Your call.”

“What? Now I should beg?”

Oscar’s pistol cracked again. “Now you have no functioning legs. Shall I disable your other arm? Slow or fast. Or arm.”

The shadow was silent aside from some groans. “What if I do tell you things?”

“I wouldn’t trust it.” The pistol cracked again. “No arms. No legs. You have selected slow.” Oscar turned as started to search the crumpled body. As he pulled things off of the corpse, he would examine them and either toss them down the slope away from the groaning shadow or put them into a satchel. This took a few minutes. 

Oscar stood up, stretched, yawned, and turned back to the shadow. “Before I leave, I’ll answer a question for you. You are wondering how a pistol killed your partner so easily and was able to destroy your arm and leg. That, my friend, is easy. Not all kinetic rounds are hard. These have a soft core with a hollowed-out nose. They expand, doing a great deal of damage. Of course, I make mine with a small chemical charge so they also explode. Enjoy your evening.”

Oscar started off down the ravine, away from the decoy cave and towards his actual camp. He’d have to send marines out to collect the bodies. But he was on vacation, so that could wait a couple of days. 

*****

“So Danyak, how is your first day?”

“Sir, Terrans are idiots.”

“You are going to be more precise.”

“Are you familiar with a ‘still,’ sir?”

“Yes. The use it to distill alcohol so they can drink it.”

“They blew one up!”

“Only one? Slow night. Injuries?”

“No sir. Some property damage, but no injuries.”

“Must have been a small one. The big ones can take out a couple of buildings.”

“You aren’t bothered by this.”

“No. Should I be worried? No injuries. That’s a win.”

“They also released a number of livestock, which rampaged around.”

“Not emus? Please not emus.”

“No. I think they are called pigs.”

“Did they cover them in grease or oil first? Was there betting?”

“How did you know?”

“Happens all the time. They get drunk, boast, a challenge to catch a greased pig is made, and we have this. How many in medical?”

“Three. Broken bones.”

“About average. Did anyone catch the pig?”

“Well, security wrangled them.”

“That makes 57 straight wins for the pigs. You would think they’d learn.”

“You keep track?!?”

“Oscar does. He asked me to make notes so he could stay current.”

“May I ask why he keeps track?”

“Not really sure. He always laughs about it, so maybe it’s a Terran thing. I’ve run across similar activities in their history. Catching the pig comes with a great deal of prestige.”

“Moving on, nothing of note from the Aussies. They are holding elections in two rotations. The volcano has stopped actively erupting, the emus have been exterminated, and the power station is running stable.”

“What capacity?”

“Uh…they are keeping it at 60% for now. They have some tests to run before starting the colony-wide power grid.”

“What sort of tests?”

“Safety tests.”

“Sure. I believe that. No, I believe you, Danyak. I don’t believe them. Send some extra techs to ensure these tests aren’t going to make things worse.”

“I’m positive the report is correct. I talked with the tech personally.”

“I believe you. And I’m sure he was sure. But I doubt he was told the truth by the other techs.”

“They are hiding things?”

“Yes and no. They are experimenting, and they know we would object. So they tell us some truth and leave out the additional bits.”

“And Oscar allows this?”

“Danyak, they have built what was believed to be impossible. It will power the entire colony and more. We keep an eye on them to prevent huge issues, but they have discovered and learned more in the past two months than any other similar project in decades. Oscar allows it because it works and is beneficial to us all.”

“Logical. A bit hazardous. But reasonable. I’ll send extra techs.”

“Anything else?”

“Three attempted break-ins at genetics labs. I have a note saying that is common. More Terrans hoping for hybrid children. A handful of fights. One assault on a non-Terran. And a repair shop at one of the mining stations reported an issue with kids stealing short-range shuttles and ‘joy riding’ through the night. Apparently it keeps happening. The shuttles are always found the next day.”

“Did they catch the kids?”

“No. Wait. That is strange. They found no forensic evidence in any of the shuttles. Weird.”

The Commander’s blood turned to ice. He stopped breathing. “Say that again.”

“They found no forensic evidence in any of the shuttles?”

“Oscar.”

“He wouldn’t steal a shuttle…oh. Oh. Oh fuck.”

“I didn’t know you knew that word.”

“I’ve been interviewing marines and drunk Terrans. What do we do?”

“Well, first we don’t panic. Second, you get all of the security footage from that mining station. Third, we track everyone on that footage. Then, when we figure out who took the shuttle and how many helped, we send in the marines.”

Below is something I thought in response to the title. I'm curious to see what you folks write about aliens trying to understand our love for the cold

----

The imperium had conquered the temperate zones of Earth, the region where Humans were comfortable residing in. Yet Earth wouldn't stop fighting. In fact, the humans in the northern zones and in the mountains had actually launched nanities designed to eliminate greenhouse gasses entirely, sending the planet into an ice age.

General Aboa of the Imperium ordered his chief biologist to appear before him. "The Humans prefer temperatures of 21 degrees Celsius yet they have sent the planet into an ice age! Why?"

The biologist shook in terror. "My lord general, I do not know why the humans are freezing their planet but we cannot tolerate it if it goes below 15 degrees."

"Fine, get me one of the Terran prisoners." The general commanded his guards. A Terran was brought up, beaten and barely coherent. "Terran!" General Aboa lifted the face of his human prisoner, a pale skinned Terran. "Why are you freezing your planet?"

The Terran smiled and in a deep tone said "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know."

"Biologist. Will the Terrans die with this ice age?" The general asked as he threw the Terran to the ground. The Terran was still singing.

The biologist checked his tablet. "Yes. Their internal body temperature is 27 degrees celsius at a low. The ice age will force them into the equator zone that we control. We will have to hang on until that happens."

I straightened my tunic, took a deep breath, and stepped towards the door. It slid open with a gentle 'swish' like always. My XO barked "Captain on deck" and as everyone started to rise I said "As you were" as I stepped into the briefing room. Everyone settled back down as I went to my chair at the end of the table.

All five department heads along with their seconds, plus the XO and myself for twelve even. Too many for a decision, but that wasn't a problem. I was the Captain, I would make the decision. Not that a decision was called for, yet. This was a discovery session, where everyone involved would explain what they knew about the situation. Then, we would discuss options. That was always fun.

"Starfleet has few hallowed traditions. Times change, and the way we do things must change too. Still, no matter what the bureaucrats say, the starship crews WILL do some things the way they always have. One tradition is the discovery and planning conference whenever one of our ships runs across something new, something not in the procedures. If immediate action was required, I would make the decision on my own and give the orders, but whenever we have the time we do this to allow our officers a chance to exercise their skills."

"While most of us have been through this before, three of you have only done this in exercises. This time, it's for real. There is a planetoid that appears to be inhabited only four light-minutes away from us, and we are more than two light-years away from the nearest star. Navigation will tell us what they know from our sensors, and then we will each present our suggestions. XO?"

"Yes, sir. Now, this is the fun part. By tradition, we start from the most junior and work our way up to me. That way, the more open-minded of our junior officers can put their ideas out before the more experienced officers present recommendations. After some more discussion, the Captain will make his decision. By tradition, this first round is called 'What Would Captain Kirk Do?'"

"Fleet Admiral Kirk passed away more than 50 years ago, but his legend lives on. It's okay to make outrageous suggestions, you can't POSSIBLY come up with anything more absurd than some of the things he did, but your 'recommendation' must at least be possible. If Weapons or Engineering or Deck say that's not possible, you lose points. So, Nav, you're up. Once you're done, unless one of the other departments has something to add, we'll start with Lt. Jameison telling us 'What Would Captain Kirk Do?'"

Humans are Weird - Crow

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-crow

Commander Eighth Click saw the shadow that fell across the entrance to his office and finally glanced up with what he mostly hoped was not a threatening glare on his face. It had been a long day. The newly arrived humans had done far more damage since their arrival than even the most pessimistic engineers had predicted. It was almost as if you imported a giant bipedal species and set them loose in Winged architecture they would put stress on foundations and platforms not built for them and only hastily remodeled. Having to deal with the fourth report of a buckling undergirder this week had not put the commander in the best mood to deal with whatever was making Private Twenty-fourth Click’s footsteps drag so slowly.

As Commander Eighth Click suspected the private’s ears were drooping, his eyes were wide with some hurt, and his fur lay slack against his body. The faint hope that the private was just popping in for a moral boosting glance at his wing commander puffed out of existence.

“What is it Private Twenty-fourth Click?” Commander Eighth Click tried not to demand harshly.

The private cowered a little but started talking fast enough to show that his tongue was working fine at least, even if his wings were drooping.

“I think one of the humans is offended at me,” Private Twenty-fourth Click burst out. “I just showed him the math. I even used human calculation methods in base ten! I don’t know why that made hims so angry but now he won’t even look at me and-”

“What math?” Commander Eighth Click cut swiftly across the current of conversation, not that he expected that to be the relevant thermal, but math at least an engineering wing understood.

“He was wrong!” Private Twenty-fourth Click burst out puffing up. “It came up on the non-feedback stress tolerances discussion. It was a simple linear equation on the load-bearing side. A hornless, flightless knows that, but the human was so confident that I checked the math. I wrote it out and everything-”

The private waved the paper on his winghook vigorously.

“In base ten, yes, yes,” Commander Eighth Click redirected the drift of the conversation now that he felt he had a decent lead under his wings. “So you wrote out in detail how the human was wrong and showed him-”

“And he didn’t even make a pretense of thanking me!” Private Twenty-fourth Click sputtered out.

His nose, frilless enough to mark his genes as coming from the far north or south, positively rippled with indignation.

Commander Eighth Click heaved a massive sigh as he stared at the seething bundle of offended propriety. He found himself wondering if a human engineer would understand why that interaction might have been a touch offensive without having his horns guided into it.

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

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**Remember BOOK 4 is now available! (**^{except on kobo becasue what do you even mean title field is blank, I fixed} *\^{that dangnabbit!}\*)**

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Humans are known for toiling the most hostile of ecosystems. Worlds that otherwise would require heavy terraforming or particularly expensive adaptation mechanisms - humans just settle almost as is and turn places that are too expensive to properly build up into rural worlds, small self-sustaining economies where they grow food, mine minerals and rarely breed above a few billions. This careless approach gives their opponents an opportunity.

These worlds, being on the outskirts of any logistic system - often become easy target for enemy invasion forces. They can hold the planet hostage under a threat of nuclear bombardment while casually planning invasion. Humans are tough but not invincible and they feel for their kin. So they have to protect everyone and split their forces even for the systems that can not support big military presence.

---

Or so their enemies thought. As one of the human opponents tried to take the world hostage, the moment they proclaimed their demands - a set of nine massive alien titan-class ships appeared in the system. All targeting shocked invasion forces. Then - came the message:

"Stop right there! According to the GC-resolution about prtotection of endangered species you are claiming to destroy rare lifeforms! Leave the low orbital radius and disarm your weapons or prepare to face the justice!"

"Humans? Humans are not endangered!"

"Who said anything about humans?! This planet has extreme weather conditions, holding hurricanes and typhoons that are just perfect for extremely rare species of whistletrees!"

"The what?"

"This world lacks atmosphere altering industries, has reduced light and noice pollution and designates the whole areas as natural parks where endangered species are accounted and cared for! This is the one world in a million and you said that you are about to bomb it into wasteland! Now guess who's gonna follow! Kill humans all you want. There are tons of them. But this - is the matter of Galactic Community's interest!"

---

There is a big difference between bombing humans from orbit and facing them on the ground. Even on the worlds that lack large cities and industries - humans tend to arm their households to the teeth. So the only thing alien invaders can do in such cases is just blockade the world from high orbit and watch how humans continue to live down there like nothing happened. Celebrating on the streets and holding festivals dedicated to local endangered species they often even draw on their colonial flags.

So, with all this Pack Bonding and "If not friend, then why Friend shaped"? meme stuff on HASO and HFY, lets see what happens when Mad Scientists and Apex Predators meet... Never mind Kitties and Rover, lets get wild.

What happens when a 5 year old child accompanies her parents to an academic posting on a University world, bringing her pet Peddy Bear along. A gene-mod Polar Bear at full grown adulthood the size of a newfoundland or saint bernard dog, while retaining the cuddly fluffy cublike oversize paws and fuzzy fur that makes humans want to boop them...

KSNS Kanishtai (CV)

5/10/2277

“This is an open transmission from the fleet carrier Kanishtai, to all Imperial K’sella Navy warships who are in a state of rebellion against the Empire of K’sella and her Government.”

“Why do you fight for the ones who ended our Great Leap Onward with a single gunshot?”

“Why do you fight to betray our Antarean brothers and sisters, who have honored the Kaniara Pact every time we have come under attack?”

“Why do you fight to shackle our economy to Earth, our resources bound by foreign companies and corporations who care not for the K’sella people?”

“Why do you wish to tear apart everything we have built through sedition and rebellion?”

“Why have you betrayed our nation, K’sella?”

"It ain't that bad."

"Asgtian hurricanes are built different! I should know because I've lived here all my life!"

"Come on, it-"

"I'm telling you! It's a Category 5! In Anakanai of all places! We gotta leave before-"

*sigh*

"EVERY WAFFLE HOUSE IN THE COUNTY IS CLOSED!"

The aliens humans first come across have childcare centers when the aliens were in the stone age the whole group would take care of the children this lead to the children needing large groups for care this has lead to companies and government found childcare centers for childcare and seen as neglect for a child to have less than 4 parents.

Left Alone in the Void
The captured alien soldier was tied to the cold metal chair. Beaten and bleeding, naked, his muscles twitching involuntarily.
The human stood in shadow, shaking his head at the tack his predecessors had taken.
He did not use such crude measures. Sleep. Half rations. A cell that grew smaller every day. He treated the work the way an artist treats a magnum opus. The psyche was the canvas.
“You’ll understand why humans were to be left alone in the void.”
He stepped forward only far enough for the light to cut one cheek. Assessment. Not a smile.
Blood had dried down the alien’s chest and thighs. The restraints were already biting. A muscle jumped in his throat as if the body were still fighting something that had left the room.
The human circled once.
“They thought pain was the language. Break the body, the mind follows. Amateur work. It leaves marks that look like victory and tell you nothing. I don’t need the body. The body is just the frame.”
A vent changed pitch. The air cooled.
“You’ll sleep when I decide. You’ll eat what keeps the canvas from tearing. The walls will move. You won’t believe it at first. Then you will.”
He crouched, still mostly dark.
“I’m not going to ask you the question tonight. Information is cheap. What I want is the moment you understand the shape of the thing that took you.”
He stood. The shadow took him back.
“Rest while you can pretend it’s rest.”
The door sealed. The twitching went on a little faster.
He left him in the chair until it stopped. Then he untied him and laid him on the floor. Alone. No blanket. No words.
Consciousness came back in pieces: metal against a cheek, old blood in the mouth, hands free and useless.
The moment his eyes opened, sixty-four speakers began. A cricket. Never the same panel twice. Never a pattern long enough to learn.
The lights ran a broken rhythm. Thirty seconds of white. Two of black. Thirty of white. Then it all slipped and started over. There was no day.
Food was a scoop of gray in a depression in the floor. No spoon. Always almost enough.
The human did not come back for a long time. That was the first real cut. A beating ended. This did not.
He counted chirps to keep a clock and lost the count. Sometimes the speakers played his own voice, delayed, saying things he did not remember. Sometimes a door that was not his. Sometimes nothing long enough that hope became an injury.
When the human returned, he did not ask for ships or commanders.
“You are doing well. The story of why you were taken is already lifting at the edges.”
Kindness, dosed.
“I rearrange the room you live in until there is no reliable you left to refuse with.”
Then he was gone again. The gray scoop was waiting. The walls, if the alien measured them, were not where he had left them.
Afterward he was not sure the human had been there at all. He put a palm on the floor where a shadow had seemed to kneel and found only blood and metal.
He went looking for the cricket. For a switch. For proof the room still obeyed physical law.
His nails came away in the seams. He did not remember the moment, only the searching. The floor freckled red.
Then the screaming. He could not tell if it left his mouth or stayed in his head. He covered his ears and the sound moved behind him.
In the next room the human watched the feed. Head tilted. Impassive.
It crept out the most hardened interrogators. Men who had used boards and fists asked for the screen to be cut. Not because of the blood. Because the face at the glass did not change.
“He is no longer sure which sounds belong to him,” the human said. “That is the beginning of the useful surface. Let him hunt until he forgets what he was hunting for.”
On the fifth day everything stopped.
No cricket. No flicker. The last scoop untouched. The walls still.
The alien was a ball on the floor, crying, mumbling into his own skin—rank, a name, a prayer—and flinching at the sound of himself.
The interrogator stood in that dark and asked:
“Are you ready to tell me your deepest secrets?”
A slight smile. Not happiness. Satisfaction.
The mumbling snagged. The ball tightened.
The alien woke the next day at a desk in a different cell. On the desk: a revolver and one bullet. The interrogator sat across from him.
“Let’s begin.”
Eyes darting. Was this real. That’s a gun. Can I load it. Am I about to die. He said let’s begin. Wait—how do I understand him.
“Why am I alive?”
The smile left.
“You’re alive to tell me things. Remember.”
Cold in every word.
He looked at the gun.
“That is for you at the end of our… conversation.”
The alien’s eyes snapped to him.
What followed was not maps or ranks. The human asked for what sat underneath—what the soldier still thought he was, what he had prayed to in the dark, what he had told himself the room could not take—until the answers came out of the same mouth that had mumbled on the floor. He did not raise his voice. He did not touch the revolver.
When nothing left in the alien still belonged only to him, the interrogator stood.
He did not look back.
The door sealed.
A single gunshot came from the room.
The alien slumped to the floor. The revolver lay where a hand had been. The spent round stayed in the cylinder.
In the corridor the human walked as he always walked. Impassive. The canvas had taken the last mark itself.

"you hid an experiment from me, tortured a human who are protected by us and our allies, gave him state of the art cybernetics, tried to mind control him and when that didnt work tried to sweep it away with 50 FAILED ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS and pissed away WHO KNOWS how much money before coming to me"

11:45 pm S.F.T(Standard Federation Time) Kepler-186f, Day 3

The path back to the communications array was easier to follow now that Loyd somewhat knew where they were going, though the deepening cold made the walk less comfortable than their first visit. Pale spores swept between the mushroom stalks in thin clouds, gathering inside their earlier footprints and softening the trail almost as quickly as they followed it.

Harriet carried Loyd’s omnitool and checked the recovered map whenever the terrain forced them away from a direct route. Omega remained beyond the communications array, separated from the rest of the colony by a large section of missing data, but enough of the surrounding terrain had survived for Harriet to keep them moving in the right direction.

Serria followed behind them with Teralis’s and Kiki’s samples secured among the remaining medical supplies. Her insectoid limbs sank deeper into the damp soil than Harriet’s talons or Loyd’s boots, leaving a trail that would be considerably easier to follow on their return.

“How long will it take us to reach Omega?” Serria asked.

“The map doesn’t show enough of the terrain to tell,” Loyd answered. “It could be an hour away or on the other side of the planet.”

The communications facility eventually appeared between the mushroom stalks ahead. Loyd slowed as they approached, watching the empty entrance while the others stopped behind him.

“I’ll check it,” Loyd said, keeping the bent support beam in his hands.

Harriet lowered the omnitool and looked toward the entrance. “We should remain together.”

“I’m just checking the hallway,” Loyd assured him. “If I don’t see or hear anything, we can decide whether it’s worth going farther. If they’ve settled down, we might be able to reach Aquaponics without fighting through them.”

Serria lifted her forward blades. “Call out if they approach.”

Harriet’s feathers rose around his neck. “They had not settled down when I left.”

“You also disturbed them by escaping from the room where they were feeding,” Loyd reminded him. “They might have returned to the lower levels by now.”

“And if they have not?” Serria asked.

“Then we keep moving toward Omega,” Loyd said. “No point in trying to fight past hundreds of them just to get codes we can’t use.”

Loyd adjusted the cloth covering his nose and mouth before stepping through the open entrance. Darkness swallowed him as soon as he crossed inside.

He stopped before taking a second step. During their earlier visit, light from inside the facility had been dim but was still there, and the steady buzz of powered equipment had followed them through its corridors. Now the only light came from the forest behind him, reaching far enough to reveal a small portion of the floor before the hallway disappeared. The electrical buzz was gone as well, with only the wind blowing through the entrance to fill the air.

Loyd remained near the entrance and listened. Beyond the wind, the facility was silent. Then something scraped against the inside of the wall ahead of him.

The scrape of several small limbs answered from the ceiling. Their rapid movement passed above the entrance and continued deeper into the facility, joined by another cluster crawling somewhere near the floor.

Loyd stepped backward into the forest before any of them could move toward the sound of his breathing.

Harriet’s feathers remained raised as Loyd emerged. “Are they still inside?”

“They’re moving through the walls and ceiling,” Loyd answered. “The facility also lost power.”

Harriet looked past him into the entrance. “How do you know?”

“The hallway is dark, and the electrical buzz is gone,” Loyd explained. “If the facility isn’t receiving power, neither is the communications console.”

“Could you determine what caused it?” Serria asked.

“Not without going inside and finding the electrical system,” Loyd replied. “I’m not doing that in the dark while those things are still crawling around.”

Harriet continued looking into the entrance. “Even if we recovered the codes, the transmitter would remain dead.”

“And Teralis and Kiki would still be infected,” Serria added. “The facility cannot help us now.”

Loyd adjusted his grip on the support beam. “Then we go to Omega.”

Harriet reopened the damaged map with his clawed wing. The marker remained beyond the communications array, isolated from the other colony structures and surrounded by missing information.

He turned away from the facility and began guiding them along the portion of the route that had survived.

The trail continued through the mushroom forest before curving away from the main settlement. Loyd kept slashing the trunks of the mushrooms to mark their path, but found a surprising resistance that hadn’t been there before.

What remained of the map showed no buildings or service routes connecting Omega to the other facilities. Even the thin path they followed disappeared after several hundred meters, leaving Harriet to navigate by the marker itself.

“The map is no longer showing a route,” Harriet said when they reached the final visible section.

Loyd stepped around him and examined the display. Their position rested near the edge of a corrupted block, while the Omega symbol remained ahead of them with nothing visible between.

“Keep heading toward the marker,” Loyd instructed. “If there was a path, the missing portion of the map took it with everything else.”

Harriet tilted the omnitool until the marker aligned with the direction ahead. “No, I was going to stop following the map .”

“We’ll find a way across it when we get there.” loyd responded.

Serria moved around them and started toward the slope. “Standing here will not reveal one.”

The forest became thinner as they climbed. Mushroom stalks that had towered above them lower in the valley grew farther apart, leaving broad patches of dark ground exposed between their trunks. Stones pushed through the soil in uneven rows, forcing Harriet to watch both the map and the terrain beneath his talons.

Loyd followed close enough to catch him if Harriet slipped. The support beam dragged against the ground whenever the slope steepened, occasionally striking stone with a dull metallic sound.

Harriet stopped near the top of a rise and looked ahead. “The marker is beyond that cliff.”

A dark wall stretched across the landscape in front of them. It rose above the remaining mushroom stalks and continued in both directions until the forest concealed its edges. Soil and vegetation covered much of its face, while exposed sections of dark material showed between hanging roots.

Loyd wiped moisture from his forehead with the back of his bandaged hand. “Does the map show a way around it?”

Harriet studied the display. “The coordinates appear to be inside the cliff.”

“Then either the position is wrong or Omega is underground,” Loyd replied.

Serria continued down the other side of the rise. “We will learn which when we reach it.”

They approached the cliff while Harriet monitored the distance to the marker. The wall grew larger without revealing any obvious opening, and the slope at its base became increasingly difficult to cross. Roots wound through piles of loose stone, while pale growths clung to the smoother sections above them.

Harriet slowed as they drew within a few dozen meters. “We are nearly on top of the coordinates.”

Loyd looked from the omnitool to the cliff. Then back at the omnitool before his attention snapped back to the cliff. The exposed surface was too smooth, too… artificial.

He moved closer and brushed aside a hanging sheet of pale vegetation. The dark material beneath it curved away from his hand, unbroken by the grain or cracks he would have expected from stone. A long seam ran across it beneath the dirt, continuing farther than he could see. Loyd struck the surface with the end of the support beam. A hollow metallic reverberation traveled through the wall. 

Harriet lifted his head sharply from the omnitool. “That is not a cliff.”

“No,” Loyd said as he pulled more of the vegetation away. “It’s a hull.”

Serria looked toward the buried structure surrounding them. “The entire cliff?”

Loyd stepped backward, following the curve of the exposed metal with his eyes. Features he had mistaken for irregular stone became clearer now that he knew what he was seeing. Reinforced seams divided the hull into enormous sections, and several dark shapes farther along resembled windows buried beneath layers of mineral buildup.

“At least the part we can see,” Loyd answered. “Most of the ship is beneath the ground.”

Harriet examined the Omega marker again. “The map did not label it as a vessel.”

“It didn’t label it as anything,” Loyd reminded him. “Omega might just be the designation the colonists used for it on the map.”

They followed the exposed hull until they reached a section where the ground had fallen away. Part of the ship’s side remained visible beneath the dirt, revealing recessed lettering worn smooth by age.

Loyd cleared the remaining soil with his hand. 

U.S.S. ULIXES

“U.S.S. Ulixes,” Loyd read aloud.

Harriet looked up from the omnitool. “Olivia Brandenburg served aboard the Ulixes.”

“As its chief medical officer,” Serria added, her mandibles clicking faster. “This vessel should  contain the equipment we need.”

“If anything survived,” Loyd cautioned.

Serria turned her compound eyes toward him. “We have found the colony ship buried beneath a cliff. Allow me to be hopeful until we learn otherwise.”

Loyd looked farther along the exposed hull. “First we need a way inside.”

They continued following the ship until the slope beside it dropped sharply. An opening appeared at the bottom, partly concealed behind roots and accumulated soil. The metal surrounding it had bent inward, leaving enough room for them to pass one at a time.

Loyd stopped before descending the slope. A dim glow reached through the opening and illuminated the mushrooms and mossgrowing across its lower edge.

Harriet stared at it. “The ship still has power.”

“The communications facility lost power within hours of your visit,” Serria said, “but this vessel has power while buried beneath the ground.”

“I noticed,” Loyd answered.

“How is that possible?” Harriet asked, leaning forward to look into the opening.

“I have no idea,” Loyd admitted, tapping the support beam against the ground.

Loyd descended carefully, using the support beam to test the soil before placing his weight on it. Harriet followed with the omnitool, while Serria moved sideways to keep her larger body from sliding down the slope.

Loyd listened before crossing inside. A quiet mechanical hum filled the interior, confirming that more than a single light was operating. Something aboard the Ulixes was still functioning.

He raised the support beam and stepped through the opening.

Harriet followed, keeping the omnitool close to his body as he looked along the corridor. Serria entered last, lowering her blades to avoid catching them against the damaged hull.

The hallway was far larger than Loyd had expected. Its ceiling rose several meters above them, while the floor stretched wide enough to move vehicles and heavy equipment through the ship. Doors lined both sides, most of them large enough for Serria to pass through without adjusting her stance.

Colored lines ran along the floor before separating at the first intersection. Each continued into a different hallway, accompanied by human labels identifying where it led. Loyd read them in turn. Red led to Medical, blue to the Mess Hall, grey to Engineering, black to Command, and orange to Storage, while a sixth line was marked Crew Quarters.

Serria examined the lines spreading through the intersection. “Which color do we follow?”

“The red one leads to Medical,” Loyd answered as he stepped beside it.

Harriet looked from the lines to the surrounding corridors. “Does the omnitool contain a map of the vessel?”

“No,” Loyd replied. “We follow the guide lines until we find a directory or reach Medical.”

The red line continued into the central hallway before turning through the second intersection. Loyd took the lead with the support beam held ready, while Harriet walked behind him and Serria guarded the rear.

They reached another intersection after several minutes. The red Medical line crossed four other colors before continuing down the middle passage. Loyd followed it.

The hallway divided again a short distance later. One branch curved upward, another descended, and three continued in different directions across the same level. The red line turned through the corridor on their left.

Harriet glanced back toward the junction. “Why are there so many connected hallways?”

“It was a colony ship,” Loyd explained. “It needed room for equipment, supplies, living quarters, and however many people came down with it.”

“This still appears excessive,” Harriet replied.

Loyd looked down two of the passages they were leaving behind. “Kind of, but I’m sure there’s a reason.”

They continued along the red line as it wound through the ship. Each corridor led to another cluster of intersections, and every intersection divided into several more. Some hallways were wide enough to contain rows of sealed doors, while others remained nearly empty until they connected with another route.

The guide line carried them through all of them without bringing them any closer to an identifiable medical facility.

Serria’s mandibles clicked impatiently as they passed another unlabeled doorway. “How much farther?”

“I don’t know,” Loyd answered.

“You said the line would lead us to Medical.”

“It should.”

They reached another intersection. The red line crossed the floor, curved around one support, and disappeared down the far-right passage. Loyd stopped instead of following it.

Harriet nearly walked into his back. “Why did you stop?”

“We should have reached Medical by now,” Loyd said.

Serria looked back through the halls they had crossed. “Do you know where it is located?”

“No, but we’ve been following this line for nearly half an hour. A medical facility aboard a colony ship should be accessible from the main entrance without walking through half the vessel.”

“The ship may be larger than it appeared outside,” Harriet suggested.

“It could be, but this route still doesn’t make sense.” Loyd crouched beside the red line and examined the word printed beside it. “There should have been signs for emergency treatment, individual departments, or at least a distance marker.”

Harriet lowered his head toward the lettering. “Is it the correct signage?”

The word had looked familiar enough that he had read it without examining it any closer. Now that he was paying attention, the shapes bore little resemblance to the rigid lettering printed beside the ship’s doors.

“It still says Medical,” Loyd explained, “but the problem is the font.”

Serria waited for him to continue. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Comic Sans,” Loyd said, tracing one of the letters with his finger. “A human font- a style of writing.”

“Does the style alter what it says?” Serria asked.

“No,” Loyd replied. “That isn’t the problem. Comic Sans was designed to look informal. Humans use it for children, illustrated stories, casual notices, and things people aren’t supposed to take too seriously.”

“And this style is being used to direct us toward Medical?” Harriet asked.

“Which no safety inspector or ship designer would ever approve,” Loyd replied.

Loyd stood and crossed to the nearest guide line. Engineering had been printed in the same rounded lettering. Crew Quarters used it as well, along with Command and Storage. He moved to the remaining route, running his fingers beneath the lettering.

MESS HALL appeared in squared, uniform letters that matched the labels printed beside the doors.

“Even I can see the difference now that you’ve brought it to my attention,” Harriet observed.

“This one uses official lettering,” Loyd replied.

Serria looked toward the other colored routes. “Then someone added the remaining labels.”

“Or changed them,” Harriet suggested.

Loyd examined the intersections around them. Every route except the Mess Hall line had been marked in Comic Sans, sending anyone who followed it deeper into the network of connected hallways.

“We don’t know where any of those lines actually lead,” Loyd said. “The Medical line could keep circling the ship for hours.”

“Why leave the Mess Hall unchanged?” Serria asked.

“I don’t know,” Loyd answered as he looked down the corridor marked by the only official guide line. “But it’s the only route aboard this ship we have any reason to follow.”

Harriet stepped onto the Mess Hall guide line and turned toward the passage ahead. “Then we follow it and determine where it leads.”

Loyd adjusted his grip around the support beam before joining him. Serria moved behind them, keeping the samples secured between her manipulating appendages as the three of them left the false Medical route behind and followed the only line that appeared authentic deeper into the Ulixes.

Part Eighteen