The smallest stories for the largest adventures

Contained here are a wide selection of Humans are Weird stories. 

Ever wonder what an interstellar war with humanity would look like? Or how about debating ethics and political ideals with an alien empire? 

Or maybe all you wonder is how frustrating it would be to try and explain Minecraft is and why a Bionic Commando had his wife made into his new arm. 

Whatever your flavor I’m sure you’ll find a story here that you will like :) 

Stories with recuring characters are organized together, while stories that follow certain themes.

The list now includes 80+ new stories since the last update. 

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Alien Pilot: Hailing unknown vessel please respond, you have entered the atmosphere of a class five hazard planet.

Human: This is Pangu VI responding, what can we do for you?

Alien Pilot: Did you miss the warning beacons around the planet? It’s a class five hazard world covered entirely with lava fields.

Human: We saw them but we’ve planned for this drop off for a while now.

Alien: Drop off?

Alien: What are you-

Alien: Wait a moment, why do you sound familiar?

Human: I mean, I could take that as slightly racist with you thinking all humans sound alike; but at the same time I don’t know what you look like so we could’ve met before.

Alien: Hold on….what are you dropping off?

Human: Ice blocks.

Alien: Oh gods, you’re that human I spoke with about the desert planet turning into a jungle!

Human: Oh hey!

Human: You’re that alien who didn’t understand basic terraforming.

Alien: Are you doing more ice things?

Human: We actually are.

Alien: It’s a fraking lava planet!

Alien: Adding ice does nothing!

Human: I see all those years of space travel have turned your brain smooth because you are talking crazy.

Alien: What in the seven hells are you even talking about?!?!?

Alien: Any ice you add would be instantly flash boiled into steam!

Human: Yes, but the lava itself would also potentially flash cool and create obsidian.

Alien: If you say you are harvesting it to fight white walkers I will beat you will all nine of my arms.

Human: First off, I didn’t know you had nine arms.

Human: Second, that was dragon glass not obsidian.

Human: And thirdly, I’m genuinely impressed you even know what game of thrones is.

Alien: It was regarded at one point as the most culturally significant pieces of interstellar literature until he finished his final book at it all turned out to be a dream Bran was having while he was in a coma.

Human: What is it now then?

Alien: Toilet paper mostly.

Human: Acceptable.

Human: But circling back we actually are creating obsidian to create solid landmasses around the poles of the planet.

Alien: Why the poles?

Human: Statistically speaking the angle of the planets rotation, coupled with the thicker atmosphere in the area, will have the poles be cooler than the rest of the planet meaning that once the obsidian is formed in large enough quantities it won’t reheat from the remaining volcanic activity from the rest of the planet.

Human: From there, much like the desert planet, it’s just a process of continuing the process of depositing more ice to create bodies of fresh water capable of sustaining life and plant growth.

Alien: *sigh

Alien: Why are you doing this?

Human:  From a cost effective standpoint it makes more-

Alien: No, I mean why in general are you doing any of this?

Alien: What can you possibly get out of investing trillions of credits into a terraforming project that could be done on another world for a fraction of the cost?

Human: *Leans in close

Human: *Whispers

Human: I’m actually trying to recreate Middle Earth from Lord of the Rings and this planet had the perfect mountain for Mount Doom.

Alien: What?

Human: Oh come on!

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps) The Kalaxi war had been going on for nearly twenty years now between the Kalaxi and their puppet allies against the Terran’s and now Morgan found himself in the unfavorable position of concluding the war in a peace treaty that made the conflict pointless.

In truth Morgan had little favor for this treaty, and it took the full measure of his years of political skills to hide it from his visible features when looking across the table to look at his Kalaxi counter.

Druknar, was the typical Kalaxi royalty he had despised. Wearing the finest clothing that cost more than a years’ worth of planetary tithes, their opulence was countered by their sheer inhumanity by their train of waiting slaves energy shackled behind them off in the corner waiting on their master hand and foot.

The Kalaxi ruled over several primitive cultures within the borders of their realm which to the rest of the galaxy would call their “allies”. In reality they were nothing more than slave states bound to the whims of their technologically advanced overlords, who striped their worlds for wealth and slaves.

Morgan would like nothing better than to grind their tiny pocket slave empire into the dust and use this autocrat’s skull as an ash tray, but even after twenty years the Terran’s had only been able to liberate a handful of worlds on the outskirts of Kalaxi space. Once they had pressed into their core territory of Kalaxi worlds rather than that of their puppets the fighting had grown far more protracted and devastating. It was only a matter of time until the Terran people would grow tired of the constant fighting and the Kalaxi knew this; engineering the final stage of the war to be long and gruelingly drawn out to the point peace was all that was left.

The terms of the treaty were to restore the prewar borders of territory while the Kalaxi would repay a substantial war indemnity. It spoke loudly how little backlash there was for the terms as it would essentially return four different planets to the shackles and cages of the Kalaxi. Terran citizens just wanted an end and had sent Morgan to finalize the terms.

“With this signing, may our two people’s find peace once more.”

Morgan as drawn back to the meeting as Druknar signed the treaty and held out his grey scaled hand across the table. The last thing he wanted to do was shake it, but there were countless reporters in the room, not to mention camera drones broadcasting the negotiations, so Morgan was left with little choice but to plaster a fake mile and take the despots hand as camera flashes blinded the room.

With that the treaty was concluded and the room’s occupants began to shuffle out until it was just Morgan and Druknar.

“It is a rare feeling to be one who has defeated humanity.” Druknar chuckled. He waved and one of his slaves came forward with a goblet of wine. “Your legacy of “invincibility”, surely will have taken a blow now.”

“Will it?” Morgan replied as he pulled out a fresh cigar and cut the tip of it off.

Druknar grinned. It was an ugly thing of misplaced teeth more akin to a car crash victim than anything alive and breathing.

“All your effort, all your struggles, all those battles across twenty years undone with a single stroke of a pen,” he fixed his eyes on Morgan as he took a sip, “and your name on the dotted line all the more priceless.”

Morgan paid the diplomat no mind as he put the cigar in his mouth and lit it. Taking deep slow breaths, he let the smoke fill his lungs and sweep away the cobwebs clouding his mind before exhaling directly at Druknar.

“Oh I think you will find your troubles are just beginning.” Morgan chuckled as another slave rushed forward hurriedly and fanned away the smoke. Druknar slapped them away as if they were a fly and leaned forward over the table.

“You’re planning on restarting the war?” he inquired, but Morgan chuckled.

“Oh the trouble won’t be from us,” Morgan remarked with a grin that now left Druknar’s face, “but from your former subjects.”

He leaned back in his chair and took another deep breath of the cigar before exhaling another cloud of smoke.

“You see, after we conquered those world’s we didn’t have the time to manage them ourselves so we handed it over to the natives.”

Druknar laughed at this, the sound akin to a pack of squirrels fighting over nuts grating Morgan’s ears.

“Then it is no wonder you were forced into peace.” Druknar snorted, ‘You gave fools the keys to the kingdom and let them run loose! Buhahahah!”

Morgan nodded sympathetically. “At first the concept of self-governance was foraging to them, some even considered in sacrilege thanks to your brainwashing.”

“But that’s the thing about us humans, we are patient; and twenty years was more than enough time to get them up and running to be self-sufficient.”

 It was at this Druknar’s chuckles began to die away.

“The Menphal, Cox, Reg’val, and the Pa-parti all manage their worlds with little to no oversight. We’ve had them doing that for the last fifteen years and have been more than happy to let them go about it so long as they did not interfere with our military.”

The implications of this now cut into Druknar as his voice finally went silent.

“Government operations, civil services, education, religion, military; all run by their on species for the first time in centuries.” Morgan added as he moved the cigar to the side of his mouth and chuckled.

Druknar rapped their fingers against the table, a gesture Morgan had come to know through their negotiations was a calming method the alien employed when extremely tense.

“It does not matter what you have given them, for we shall return them to their rightful place in good order.” He leaned over the table and snarled “At our feet, like the slaves they are.”

To his surprise Morgan merely shrugged.

“You may find that harder to accomplish than you think.” He replied.

“And why is that?” Druknar’s interest was piqued. “The treaty states you cannot enter our borders.”

“During the war,” Morgan began, “we’ve lost a great deal of our ships so we are lacking the capacity to withdraw all of our forces following the established timetable.”

“If you are expecting assistance-“ Druknar began before Morgan cut them off.

“Oh we won’t, because in order to meet your deadline we will be leaving the majority of our military equipment to make extra room for our soldiers.”

The alien’s eyes went wide.

“Rifles, hover tanks, attack craft, ground based orbital cannons,” Morgan continued as if he was reading off a shopping list, “they all take up so much room and we have more than enough stockpiled back on our own planets so we will just dump it and leave.”

“That is unacceptable!”

Druknar slammed his fist into the table, bending the metal inward and splitering the few bits of wood detailing. “You will remove all your weaponry as well!”

“That was not stipulated in the treaty.” Morgan corrected. “By your own wording all Terran “personnel” are to leave your territory; you made no mention of our hardware.”

“A darn shame too in truth,” Morgan remarked as he saw Druknar’s fist push further into the table, “I heard the soldiers on Tempest VI were fond of a vending machine that if you hit it just right would shoot a bag of chips at you like a rail cannon.”

At this Morgan and stood to leave. Just as he reached the door he stopped and turned back to look at Druknar.

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Reflections of the Fading: A Biography of Illnami Du

“I remember when I first joined the galactic council there was a saying that circulated amongst its members in hushed whispers behind walls of listening proof glass.

“Humans can provide anything for the right price.”

I found the notion rather silly, if not inappropriate for such a dignified body. Yet the saying never went away, and what was more surprising was the humans were well aware of it and did nothing to discourage it. In fact they thrived off it; their ambassador going so far as to have it made into a plaque that sat atop his desk for all visitors to see in his official chambers.

At the time, their ambassador was Russfel Midan if I remember correctly. When you last a few millennia as I have names and faces tend to blur together into a blur, but I still remember Russfel if only because how unremarkable and grey he was.

Most people I’ve encountered are vibrant shades of color in the universe. All of them standing out in their own way before fading into the darkness of death; but Russfel was the opposite of such things. I would be sitting across from him discussing the latest political turmoil and I swear there were times I thought I was talking to the wall itself. He was akin to a void of empty space that would occasionally speak and remind you that it was in fact a person. It is that very nature of absence on a universal presence that made him stand out to me.

Regardless; he was a charming fellow to converse with and an even smoother operator in the political arena.

One night we were having drinks after a round of voting and I couldn’t help but ask him about the saying.

“It’s entirely true.” He remarked as he refilled his glass.

“With anything?” I asked, “Even if I wanted you to end a war?”

Russfel nodded. “All I would ask is how fast you wanted it resolved.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the faster you want it resolved the higher my price would be.”

Something must’ve shown on my face as he continued.

“Say you only had about fifty million credits; that could buy you a diplomatic cessation to the conflict over the span of a year.”

“If you had three hundred million, that could get you a naval expeditionary force and with another three hundred million you’d get boots on the ground for a three to six month window of open military support.”

I was frankly surprised at this. Not for the implications it, but how calmly they were talking of using their own and their governments power for profit.   

“And if I wanted the war over tomorrow?” I inquired; unable to help myself.

Russfel leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands. “For one trillion credits we’d deploy a stealth ship in your enemy’s home system and insert a neutron warhead into their star. Within a matter of minutes it would detonate, triggering the star to expand rapidly as it went supernova and consume everything in the system within a matter of hours.”

They took a sip from their drink. “Each additional system would double the price progressively until-“

“You can’t be serious?” I cut in. “You’d kill possibly billions of sentient beings for a trillion credits? Destroy entire solar systems for an influx of currency?”

To my horror the human shrugged. “You probably think me an immoral creature with no concept on the value of life?”

“If you are serious, then I would consider you a black stain on the universe.” I replied.

His expression gave no sign of taking offense to the remark, and instead to on one of mild amusement.

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The spotter’s warning came too late for the trenches behind Mul’s trench as a shredder shell whistled overhead and exploded directly over them. Thousands of tiny barbs fell across the trenches in a hail of deadly rain.

Several of the nearby soldiers dove for cover in waiting dugouts or pulled their thick coats over them, the unlucky ones screamed in agony as the barbs pierced their exposed flesh. The barbs were designed to shatter into smaller fragments that buried themselves deeper into the flesh; the resulting pain driving them to madness.

As Mul cowered in his dugout he watched one unlucky comrade stumbled while fleeing just as the shell detonated. Their fall had them land on their back with face looking skyward as the shards hit them. They flailed about screaming in untold agony, their frantic scratching at their skin to remove the shards only pushing them deeper, before pulling out their gun and putting a slug through their skull to end the suffering.

The first time he had seen that was a week ago when he first arrived at the front. It shocked and horrified him at such brutality. This was now the thirty seventh he had seen and he felt nothing inside anymore.

Explosions rang out across the trench network as more and more shells detonated above, but Mul was now focused on sliding in a fresh power magazine into his rifle to notice. Given previous bombardments the enemy would be over their trenches within the next few minutes and sprinting across killing field between their positions, leaving Mul with only a few minutes to get from his dugout to the firing line or face being overrun.

No sooner had the thought ran through his mind did the whistling of shells cease, only to be replaced by the shouting of officers to man positions. Mul leapt from his dugout with rifle in hand into the trench and was soon joined by a dozen of his comrades that had survived the shelling. They flowed like a river through the trench, stopping only to collect the wounded or mercy kill those that could not be saved, before slamming against their firing steps. He used the butt of his rifle to clear away clumps of shards as he took the firing step and looked out across the dead zone to the enemy lines.

As he surmised, a wall of enemy soldiers were already storming across and had made it half way across. Their thick armor slowing them down as they navigated the fields of craters filled with water and razor wire marshes or they’d have already been within his trench.

 Mul was about to pull the trigger when a new sound rung out. It was louder than any incoming shelling or explosion he had previously heard. As he looked around to see what fresh horror was about to be unleashed he saw his comrades laying down their weapons. He turned back to see the enemy soldiers had likewise stopped and were now holding empty hands in the air to show they were unarmed.

From high above the battlefield the noise grew louder until it as a deafening roar and medium sized shuttle broke through the cloud layers. It was unlike any Mul had seen before with its elongated boxy design. He brought up his rifle and saw through the scope its sides painted in the livery of blue, white, and gold a sharp contrast to the bleak warzone it set down to.

“Are you stupid?!” a voice behind spoke softly. “Put that thing down before you get us all killed!”

Turning to the voice he saw it was his commander who had likewise also disarmed.

When Mul didn’t his commander looked at him more closely. “Is this your first time seeing that ship?” he asked. Mul nodded in reply.

“Then just trust me and put that thing down and just watch.” He spoke as the strange ship landed with a loud thud between the two warring factions.

It sank slightly into the muddy ground as its engines powered down. A large boarding ramp lowered from the underside of the craft but due to the uneven surface came off lopsided when it touched the ground.

Mul couldn’t see the interior of the vessel from where he was but could hear the rhythmic footfalls ringing out.

Both sides watched withheld breath as a lone figure emerged from the ship. They were humanoid in shape and wore a suit of armor much like their ship of the same livery with a helmet faceplate of polished metal devoid of any features.

As they reached the bottom of the ramp they looked down at the unevenness of the ramp and kicked one of the support struts. With a painful squealing of metal grinding on metal the battered ship complied and the ramp fully descended and leveled out before the figure exited on to the muddy ground.

To Mul’s surprise the enemy forces, still standing fully exposed in no-man’s land and with their arms at their feet, kept their arms raised as the new figure looked at them. Mul had seen those warriors charge headfirst into compression rounds that tore fist sized chunk of flesh away with each detonation with depthless courage; but now these same titans of the bloodbath looked more akin to children awaiting scolding by a disapproving teacher.

From their wrist a string of blue light appeared that looked to be a holographic projection. The new figure waved their hand through the list scrolling it and tapped several sections before closing the list. Behind them came a collection of hover carts carrying a variety of assorted packages stacked atop them.

Waving to the enemy soldiers to put their arms down the strange figure began walking towards Mul’s trench as the hover carts followed behind them.

Mul wanted to warn them to stop as the area was littered with mines, but to his surprise the figure seemed fully aware of that already. They walked in a seemingly random pattern, sometimes even hopping unimpressive mounds of mud, as if they could see the deadly explosives all around them. The carts quietly followed behind them as the figure finally reached Mul’s trench and looked down at the gathered soldiers.

“Mortican Rifles, 3rd War Phalanx?”

Their voice was just as surprising as their appearance to Mul as it bore the deep throbbing tones of a machine and a creature that belonged in the cavernous hells of his people’s religion. It scratched every other word while looking over the soldiers.

“Indeed we are.” Mul’s commander answered swiftly, even throwing a formal salute.

The figure said nothing in response but gave an acknowledging nod before pulling up the holographic list again.

“Breken Ketal?” it announced.

“Here!” Mul heard a soldier shout and raise an arm.

The figure reached into one of the waiting hover carts and pulled a package from it before tossing it to Breken who eagerly caught it and began opening it.

“Frenari Wak?”

“Here!” another soldier answered and the strange figure repeated the process of reaching into a cart for a parcel to toss to them.

Mul watched as several more names were called and their owners answered in kind. It went on like this for some time as the carts began to grow thinner with contents.

“Lunda Hi?” the figure called.

No one answered.

“Lunda Hi?” the figure called again louder making nearby soldiers recede in fear.

“They’re not here.” Mul answered.

The figure’s reflected helmet turned towards Mul and he could see the reflection of his face looking back at him. He hadn’t realized how scared he must have been until he saw himself looking back.

“Where are they?” the figure inquired.

“Dead.” Mul answered coldly. “Took a shredder round three days ago and died same day.”

The figure groaned loudly and brought up the package that must have been intended for Lunda. They pulled a black cylinder from their waist and wrote something on it before tossing it back into an empty cart.

It was then they looked back at Mul and he held his breath.

“What is your name?” it asked.

“Mul Vakaren.” He answered. His voice had meant to be proud but when he actually spoke it was soft and barely above a murmur.

The figure pulled up their list again and scrolled through it before finding an entry. They picked a large package from a cart and chucked it to them with ease. Mul caught it but was knocked off his feet as the tiny package was far heavier than its size alluded to.

“Apologies.” The figure called out as Mul stood back up.

Mul was about to say it was nothing when he looked back to see the figure navigating through the minefield back to their ship with hover carts in tow.

He looked down at the package and saw that the writing on it was that of his brother Aka. It was addressed to Mul with his name, rank, and last known location with Aka’s home location listed in the above corner.

Tearing open the package Mul found that the contents were that of a portable thermal heater. He remembered writing to Aka several weeks ago about how cold it was on the frontlines, but he had never expected him to send anything. It was all but impossible to reach the frontlines even with military transport, and the danger of enemy attack was rampant only further adding to the danger.

When Mul looked up to thank the figure he saw that they were now standing in front of the enemy soldiers delivering packages to them as well.

“Don’t do that!” he shouted. “They’re dangerous!”

The figure didn’t even bother to turn around to look at Mul as they kept handing out packages.

In anger, Mul dropped the thermal heater and grabbed his rifle. Before any of his comrades could do anything he had brought it up to firing position and was taking aim when a bolt of hot plasma struck his rifle.

He was thrown back from the explosion and hit the trench wall hard as his comrades came over to him. Looking down Mul saw that half of his rifle was now nothing more than a melted pile of scrap cooling on the trench floor.

From over the trench he could hear the squishing sounds of footfalls approaching until the figure was now standing over their trench looking down at them. A compact weapon mount had emerged from their shoulder, barrel cooling from the recent firing, and trained itself on Mul.

Alien: What do you mean you're withdrawing?

Human: The offensive has failed.

Human: We’ve lost over half our regiment and half that remain are barely walking wounded; so we’re getting rotated out.

Alien: You get your nose bloodied once and you retreat like cowards?

Human: What part of losing over half our regiment did you fraking miss?

Human 2: *shambles over with injured leg.

Human 2: It’s too fraking early for shouting.

Human: Well tell it to this prick calling us cowards.

Human 2: He what!?

Alien: You still live yet no flee the battlefield; hence you are cowards.

Human 2: …….

Human 2: Are you naturally this stupid or is it a new development?

Alien: Choose you words carefully, lest I take you remaining good leg.

Human 2: You better fraking do it because you’re going to need the handicap for the ass whooping I’m about to give you.

Human: Down boy.

Human 2: Nah, frak that!

Human 2: *draws combat knife

Human 2: Get your scaly ass over here; I’m going to turn you into a dentist waiting room sofa.

Alien: *Confused

Human: Don’t look at me; I’ve not idea what that means either.

Human Commander: *kicks in door knocking human 2 on to the floor

HC: What is going on here!?

HC: *Looks down at H2 laying on floor with knife in hand

HC: Son, what in the nine hells of Kaleb are you doing on the floor?

H2: *Coughs

H2: Searching for my will to live, sir.

HC: You’re in the core, boy; you’re will to live was the first thing we took from you!

HC: Now what is all this screaming about!?

H1: Just a lively discussion about tactics, sir.

Alien: More like the lack of them on your part.

HC: *Rapidly rounds on alien

HC: I’m sorry, but did I ask you a goddamn thing?!!

Alien: I-

HC: Your translation unit must be malfunctioning because that was not an invitation to speak!

HC: It is in your best interest to get down on those corkscrews you call knees and pray to whatever god felt bad enough to be your patron and listen before you open those sagging lips again!

 Alien: ………

HC: Good, now listen.

HC: Every man and woman here is ready to die for their country, provided they take about twenty sorry bastards with them.

HC: The difference is when we do so we die with a purpose!

HC: The core did not invest so much time and money to be wasted every time some grunt wants to reenact glory!

H2: Well said sir.

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The chamber of the War Sanctum was shrouded in darkness, disturbed only by flickering blue light of the holographic projector nestled in the center of the room.

A dozen faces looked on in silence as the projection shifted to display a stellar system and an ever increasing amount of red hostile icons. The speaker motioned to these icons as they continued with the briefing.

“By our projections, the Tikon system will fall within the next two weeks.” Fleet Admiral Franklin announced gravely. “The current forces the Trytonians have in system are not enough to repel the incoming invasion force of Drumari.”

“Surely you exaggerate.”

Franklin turned Admiral Vikon as she voiced her observations.

“I’ve served alongside the Trytonians and I know they have substantial fleet assets. They might not beat the Drumari, but they certainly would give them a run for their money.”

“This is true,” Franklin conceded, “but those assets are scattered throughout their territory and by the time they regroup and move to Tikon it’ll be too late.”

The lights of the chamber slowly turned back on and the holographic projector powered down. Franklin turned from the gathered admirals and diplomats to look upon the one individual seated alone from the rest.

“What say you, my Emperor?”

Emperor Markarian Etonis clasped his fingers as he collected his thoughts. He had served as the ninth emperor of the Terran Republic and had largely overseen measured expansion and diplomatic stability; yet this invasion posed one of the most critical threats to his plans and it wasn’t even done directly against his people.

“If I recall correctly,” Markarian began smoothly, “we do not have any military agreements with the Trytonians.” 

He cast his gaze at one of the sitting figures across from him who quickly rose to their feet.

“You are indeed, my emperor.” Prime Envoy Helen Partuck agreed. “We have several trade and travel agreements, but the Trytonians have repeatedly refused any attempt to form defensive agreements.”

She turned to the others who let out stifled chuckles at the irony of the situation now. “Their culture makes such agreements impossible despite repeated attempts. They view such things as open displays of weakness.”

“And without such agreements our options become limited.” Markarian continued. “Franklin?”

“We could have the 7th fleet deployed within the hour, with the 3rd and 4th following within a week.” The Fleet Admiral answered.

“But such actions without provocation will be seen as an act of war,” Helen cut in, “and the Drumari would likely mobilize across out entire border in response.”

Rather than offended at the interruption the fleet admiral nodded in agreement. “While we could defeat them in the Tikon system we would be leaving four systems of our own vulnerable.”

“Ozbek, Tanivore, Rih, and Hoptulus would be put to siege and the disruption of trade would trigger a wave of economic panic in the surrounding systems.” Helen continued. “While I do not claim to know the military situation for these worlds, the loss of material from these planets would send an unhealthy signal to our enemies that there is blood in the water.”

“And the sharks would come.” Franklin finished grimly. “We’ve only just beaten back the Tusk and Binar Confederacy and they’ll want their worlds back. If they see us diverting our forces…”

 “It’ll be a feeding frenzy.” Markarian finished.

 “Is there a downside to remaining neutral?” another admiral interjected. “It seems that our involvement would trigger a war we could be hard pressed to win.”

Markarian chuckled at the barely suppressed outrage from Helen and Franklin at their colleagues question and decided to cut in before egos were hurt.

“If the Drumari take the system we will no doubt see a complete closure of their borders, cutting us off from our allies in the Jin Nebula, who in turn will face increasing pressure to switch sides.”

The admiral who had spoken up went quiet as it dawned on them the domino effect which would unfold as Terra became ever increasingly isolated.

“So if we intervene we enter a war we can’t win, but if we stay on the sidelines we face a slow death from all sides.” The admiral finished.

“You hit the problem deftly on the head.” Franklin chuckled.

“Then perhaps we need a third option.”

Every pair of eyes turned towards the Emperor as a devilish grin began to form across his face as a most devious idea took form.  

“And what might that be?” Helen inquired.

Markarian looked to his fleet admiral. “I’m in the mood for some figs.” ----------------------

“Terran vessel, please repeat last.”

The Drumari ship master looked through his viewscreen at the massive Terran warship filling the entirety of the screen.

It was designated the “Eternal Horizon”, and was the personal flagship of the Terran Emperor. Standing at nearly four miles long and a mile in height, it was covered from bow to stern with enough gun decks and shield arrays that put the single vessel on par with an entire fleet.

The massive warship had appeared in system above the main trading world from nowhere and began transmitting a signal across all frequencies which repeated:

THIS IS THE ETERNAL HORIZON, FLAGSHIP OF THE TERRAN REPUBLIC.

THE EMPEROR OF TERRA REQUESTS TRADE WITH THE WORLDS OF THIS SYSTEM.

ALL HOSTILITIES WILL CEASE FOR THE DURATION OF THE EMPEROR’S VISIT.

Despite repeated attempts to clarify, or at the very least someone of authority, no Terran had responded to the Drumari’s communication attempts.

The ship masters orders were clear to engage the Trytonians and take the system, and to repel any Terran hostile intervention; but they had nothing to clarify this situation.

Without speed the Trytonians would be able to reinforce in ever increasing strength and likely outnumber the Drumari strike force when they fully arrived. If they attempted to force the matter however the Terrans would be drawn into the battle and be seen as rightly defending themselves.

It was a blatant attempt for the Terrans to lend aide to the Trytonians, but if it had been meant to stop them why only send one ship? Where were the rest of the Terran fleets?

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*Image slowly comes into focus of a green scaled alien standing behind a podium. Plastered across the front of it is the image of the human homeworld underneath a giant galactic boot.  

Necar: Greetings, compatriots.

Necar: Welcome to the 27th annual gathering of the Conclave of Me’ban.

*Series of screens pop open showing other users joining the group chat.

Jiji: Question.

Necar: *sighs

Necar: Yes?

Jiji: Why are we called the Conclave of Me’ban?

Huvuk: It wasssss a name chosssssen by the group founder.

Jiji: I don’t recall seeing that name in our roll calls since I joined.

Necar: They were removed from the group shortly before you arrived for breaking the group bylaws.

Jiji: What’d they do?

Huvuk: They married a human.

*Collective booing from other members

Necar: *Bangs virtual gavel

Necar: We will have order!

*Collective booing subsides

Necar: We do not speak of the traitor.

Necar: And to answer your question……she never gave me full admin rights before we kicked her out, so I can invite people to meetings but not actually change the group name.

Jiji: Well that is anticlimactic.

Jiji: Why not make a new group then?

Morg: MORG HATES CHANGE! NO CHANGE!

Necar: No one is changing anything Morg, calm down.

Necar: Moving back to official business, I would like to welcome our latest member; YSF.

YSF: *Screen pops on showing a green alien with three eyes.

YSF: Ello.

Necar: Explain to the group why you wanted to join.

YSF: At first I welcomed humans into the galactic community.

*Collective boos.

Necar: Order.

YSF: No, I deserve that.

YSF: It wasn’t until after they actually started moving into my community that I saw them for what they really were.

YSF: They don’t learn anything and instead demand you conform to them.

*Collective grumblings in agreement

YSF: Then they started changing my neighborhood with their foreign designs and human influences.

YSF: Worse yet was how it started infecting the younger of my species who openly embraced their hedonistic ways.

YSF: By then I wanted them gone and that’s when I heard about your group from a friend.

Necar: It’s a sad story we’ve heard time and again.

Necar: I guess that segues nicely into our open debate segment; how best to defeat humans.

Morg: DESTROY THEM IN COMBAT!!!!

*Collective agreement mumbles

Jiji: Didn’t your people get destroyed when you went to war with them?

Jiji: I heard you had to give them three moons to buy peace.

Morg: WE DID NOT WANT THOSE MOONS ANYWAY!!!

Huvuk: Direct combat does seem to be only efficient if done with technological superiority, overwhelming numbers, a vast industrial support base, and rapid timing.

Huvuk: Lacking any one of them will ensure that the humans can recover and retaliate in good order.

YSF: That’s why you don’t directly attack them.

Necar: Can you expand on that?

YSF: I’ve learned direct conflict only further invigorates them, which means you need to come at them from a direction they would not expect.

Morg: SOUND LIKE YOU COWARD!

Huvuk: I feel inclined to agree with my colleague.

Necar: You need to expand more.

YSF: You could empower a peace faction within their ranks who then begins sabotaging the war effort for their own personal gain.

Jiji: What race would be so foolish to do something so foolish?

YSF: You filter it down to personal rivalries between different humans and then shape the war for them as a personal conflict rather than a state one; thus ensuring that they become invested on a personal level.

Necar: It does sound like an unusual tactic.

Necar: Do you have any others in mind?

YSF: Drawing out the conflict for a long time also provides decent results.

Jiji: You mean by intentionally losing battles?

YSF: No; more akin to forcing a stalemate.

Huvuk: What effect would that have?

YSF: Human civilians tend to lose interest in things over time and the same goes for extended conflicts.

YSF: If you can draw a conflict into years with nothing to show for victories they become enraged and will often turn on their own leaders, regardless of how competent they are.

Necar: I see many of your ideas are about turning them against each other.

Necar: Normally we do not engage in such underhanded methods.

YSF: Is this not a secret conclave?

Huvuk: It is, but secret in the sense of maintaining our own anonymity rather than our implementations of removing the human problem.

YSF: In that case what about inserting spies into their own groups to discover what they are up to?

Necar: That is a stupid idea.

*Collective laughter

YSF: Is it?

*YSF green alien suddenly vanishes to be replaced by a human male.

Necar, Huvuk, Jiji: WHAT!?

YSF: Hi everyone, my name’s Frank.

Morg: WHERE YSF GO?!?!

Frank: YSF was just a smokescreen to get me into your little club.

Frank: *Chuckles

Necar: You find this amusing?!

Frank: Kinda since my name should’ve given it away right away if you were a human on the interweb.

Jiji: I do not follow.

Frank: Y. S. F.

*No response.

Frank: You. Stupid. Fu-

*Collective angry shouting.

Necar: You will be removed immediately!

Necar: *Onscreen typing and interacting with menu screens.

*Lasts several minutes while Frank remains.

Jiji: Why are they still here?

Necar: I don’t know; it’s not letting me remove them.

Frank: Probably because you don’t have admin privileges like me.

Necar: Impossible!

Necar: There’s no way you could…….

Necar: ……

Necar: You’re the human our founder married, aren’t you?

Frank: Guilty.

Frank: She told me about this little group and how embarrassed she was about being part of it before we met.

Frank: So I figured I’d sneak in and dismantle it from within for funzies.

Necar: *Scoffs

Necar: And how do you plan to do that now that you’ve let down your ruse?

Frank: Well, while I was telling you my generic racist story I was hacking all your terminals and insert a virus that will crash them the moment I finish this sentence.

Necar: That’s imp-

*Computer screens turn off one by one.

“I just heard back from the judge and they’re dismissing the case based on the insanity plea.”

Jonathan smiled as he took the offered coffee from Marvin. The warmth running through his hands was a calming reminder that this was all very much real.

“I wasn’t sure the judge would take that in all honesty.” He admitted as he took a sip. “I thought they would just laugh the entire thing out and move to have me disbarred.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

Jonathan looked at the senior partner to see if he was joking. “You had me defend the headless horseman from being locked away for grave robbing….”

“Yes.”

“You don’t see how crazy that is?”

Marvin merely shrugged. “I guess I’ve been with the company so long things like this don’t surprise me.”

“That’s another thing,” Jonathan continued, “why do they follow the law at all? They’re supernatural, and I’m pretty sure immortal.”

Marvin nodded as if he was a tenured professor and his prize student just asked the question of the day.

“We’re not sure why exactly ourselves, but what we do know is that there exists a carefully maintained balance between the human world we know of and the world just behind the veil.”

He nodded at the headless horseman who was being led away with a guard following in step behind carrying the talking pumpkin that acted as his head.

“They are bound to follow the dominant laws of the human world in whatever area on the globe they currently inhabit. Most of them find such things trivial, if not amusing, and so the law keeps them in check from acting on their more primitive instincts.”

“If that was the case, then why are there so many legends of these beings doing whatever they wanted before?” Jonathan countered.

“Take into account when those tales originate from,” Marvin continued, “a time when law and land were constantly shifting and the standards of one settlement could mean nothing to the settlement just a mile down the road.”  

“It was absolute chaos, and so they were free to do as they pleased.” Jonathan concluded.

“Precisely; and so with the birth of modern societies, with far more stable laws and borders, the chaos began to diminish.”

It was a lot for him to take in; especially since it was first day as a lawyer and he’d already defended an undead revolutionary war legend. Had it not been Marvin handing him an envelope he would have most likely spiraled into a miasma of intrigue within his own mind.

“What’s this?” he asked; taking it and offering a nod of thanks.

“Your first check.” Marvin replied with a smile.

Jonathan opened it and his eyes went wide in shock at the number.

“You will find our lawyers are very well paid for their time here.” The senior partner said with a dry grin. “The government likes to keep us on hand specifically to smooth over these situations.”

“The government knows about this?” Jonathan asked in total surprise.

Marvin nodded in confirmation. “They put aside a decent amount of funding for us in their yearly budget.”

“If the government knows about this why have I never heard about it?”

Marvin shrugged as he motioned Jonathan to follow him. “They tend to keep a tight knit circle around these types of cases; limiting the amount of judges and jury members to ensure the general public is kept in the dark.”

“I would have thought the public would be more understanding with the idea of monsters living amongst us.” Jonathan remarked as the pair began passing through the strange doorways of the office once more.

“Not to mention Fey and Demons,” Marvin replied, “but they are another matter; and as for why you’ll find out with your next client.”

“Next client?” Jonathan asked. “You’re already sending me to another case?”

“We tend to work much faster here at MFD.” Marvin answered.

He stopped just outside a door that was vastly different from the hallway it connected with.

It’s frame was rotting and ragged with chips of paint peeling away like the bark of a dying tree. A cold chill emanated from it that took Jonathan by surprise, as when he took two steps away from the door the temperature rose back up to bearable warmth.

“I’m glad you handled the Horseman well,” Marvin began as he rested a hand on the door, “but I warn you now that working with us you will be asked to defend being on a malevolent nature the likes of which you have never seen.”

Jonathan chuckled at the seeming scare tactic. “How much worse can it get?”

Marvin said nothing as he pushed open the wooden door.

A blast of artic air hammered Jonathan instantly as he began shivering on the spot. As he blinked and rubbed the sudden frost from his eyes Jonathan got his first good look inside the room. The walls of the room were worn and just as rundown as the door had been; paint peeling and rebar exposed in some places. Along the bottom of the walls was a surprising amount of snow piled up, yet Jonathan wasn’t sure where it had come from as there didn’t appear to be any windows or other entry point’s aside the door he now stood in front. At the center of the room stood a similar table as the last room, but when he took in the figure standing behind it his eyes went wide.

It looked human, but its proportions were all wrong. A body with a bloated gut yet skeletal frame held limbs too long to be natural. The arms alone dragged along the floor as Jonathan saw its twitching hands open and close taloned fingers with irregular movements. Pale skin stretched across the body as if it as a glove three sizes too small.

As Jonathan gulped and followed the frame upwards he saw a deer skull with too many antlers looking back at him. Empty eye sockets holding the darkest void seemed transfixed on him. A jaw of raw bone with teeth as sharp as knives hanging open as if to scream yet no sound came making figure even more unsettling.

“This Windigo is seeking damages and a restraining order against the logging company Franklin Powderson which has illegally begun chopping down trees of its forest, disturbing the wildlife and nature it has dwelt in for the last two thousand years.”

“Now,” Jonathan began shakily, “I have not heard much of…..”

“Windigo’s,” Marvin answered.

“Yes; but aren’t they-“

“Yes, they are.”

The flat, emotionless tone Marvin answered made Jonathan realize just what he had been trying to express a moment before.

“Then-“ Jonathan began but Marvin held up a hand.

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Jonathan: Pleasure to meet you Mr……

Jonathan: Actually forgive me, but I don’t know your name.

Headless Horseman: You can call me horseman.

Jonathan: *Looks between empty space where head is, then back down at carved pumpkin on the table that the voice emanates from.

Horseman: *Looks over at Marvin, senior lawyer partner of MFD law firm, waiting in the corner.

Horseman: You sure this kid is a lawyer? He can’t even look me in the eye when talking to me.

Jonathan: I’m thirty seven, not a child.

Horseman: And I’m over two hundred and fifty, so shut it.

Jonathan: Point taken.

Jonathan: I know you’re the headless horseman, but I don’t recall any legend ever mentioning your actual name so I wished to be respectful.

Horseman: Respectful indeed considering I was paid to put down this little democratic experiment of yours.

Jonathan: It’d be best not to mention that in court.

Horseman: Truth is I can only become who I was once I get my head back.

Horseman: Until I do I am cursed to search for my head and be this monster before you.

Jonathan: We can use that for sympathy with the jury; they tend to eat up emotional gut wrenching stories like this.  

Jonathan: Now, you mentioned you are being held by the Hudson Park service for grave robbing?

Horseman: For the record I was not grave robbing; do I look like a sick bastard who gets his schwanz hard by digging up corpses?

Jonathan: But you were caught in the act of digging numerous holes at a cemetery.

Horseman: I’ve been digging holes up and down the length of that verflucht river for centuries trying to find my head.

Horseman: It’s not my fault that you American’s keep building things next to it.

Jonathan: So what you’re saying is that in your mind it being a cemetery was not on your radar, only that it was near the Hudson river?

Horseman: Most of the time.

Jonathan: Most of the time?

Horseman: Where else would you put body parts if not at a graveyard?

Jonathan: Medical hospitals, museums, art displays-

Horseman: Art displays?!!

Horseman: *Smashes fists against the table

Horseman: Is that meant to amuse me?!

Jonathan: *Throws up hands apologetically

Jonathan: I assure you I’m not.

Jonathan: Some people believe that there is nothing more beautiful than the human form and body, so naturally there are those who taken to turning it into art pieces to admire.

Horseman: …….

Horseman: You’re not ficking coming on to me are you?

Jonathan: What?! No-

Horseman: Because I had one of those necro-lover lawyers before and your friend here had to stop me from ripping their arms off when they tried to kiss my neck stump.

Marvin: My apologies for that unprofessionalism.

Marvin: Though you did rip one of their arms off; which was a rather inconsiderate yourself.

Jonathan: *Looking more nervous as he eyes his client.

Jonathan: I think I can get you out of being sent to jail but it’ll have to be with an insanity plea.

Horseman: Do I look insane to you?

Jonathan: I look insane just by talking with you.

Horseman: *Light from carved pumpkin enlarges, flames licking out of the carved eyes and mouth.

Horseman: What. Did. You. Just. Say?

Jonathan: *Takes several gulps before steeling his nerves.

Jonathan: Look, let’s examine the facts.

Jonathan: You are a walking corpse that uses a pumpkin to replace his lost head and have spent centuries terrorizing the Hudson valley searching for what is now most likely a pile of dust collecting under the foundation of a Macy’s.

Horseman: *Flames burn even brighter now, forcing Jonathan to recoil slightly from heat

Jonathan: But!

Jonathan: You are driven to this by a curse placed upon you not of your own doing.

Jonathan: Forcing you to walk the earth, keeping you joining the afterlife, trapping you in an endless cycle of pain and suffering.

Jonathan: Your existence now is a cycle of nothing but endless torture and dread as you desperately scramble on your hands and knees from one hole to the next searching for your final rest.

Horseman: *Says nothing but flames dim slightly

Jonathan: So, we play the insanity card along with your story which will play heavily on the heart strings.

Jonathan: While that is going on, I will reach out to both the British and German embassies for them to intervene in your case.

Marvin: Why involve them?

Jonathan: By my record the horseman is still a German citizen, and he is still under the employ of the British crown as his contract was not formally ended; meaning both parties will have an investment in stepping in.

Marvin: It’s an interesting tactic, but a long shot mind you.

Marvin: The British would argue that his contract ended upon his death, and the Germans might say that as part of the Holy Roman Empire he does not have formal citizenship in the modern Germany.

Jonathan: *Nods in agreement

Jonathan: True, but narrative wise if it is leaked to the public their opinion would shift the matter.

Jonathan: To the German people, hearing one of their lost heroes is still trapped in this hell unable to receive the proper sendoff he deserves would make a ruckus.

Marvin: And the British?

Jonathan: They’d most likely be panicking that someone on their payroll has been terrorizing the American countryside for two centuries and they’ve done nothing about it.

Jonathan: *turns back to the Horseman

Jonathan: We also have treaties with both countries with regards to the returning of fallen soldiers, so they would apply their own diplomatic pressure to have your head located and returned to you.

Horseman: *Quiet as the flames die down and return to normal

Horseman: I’ll admit that never occurred to me.

Jonathan: Forgive me for asking, but was your whole plan just keep digging holes until you found your head?

Horseman: When you say it like that it sounds stupid, but yes.

Jonathan: *Turns to Marvin

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“I must say your resume in quite impressive.”

Jonathan felt the corners of his mouth stretch into a smile at such praise before he quickly recomposed himself. The last thing he wished to have his future potential employer thinking was that he was one of those caricature lawyers who come off as egotistical glory seeking to make a big name for themselves.

I mean he was, but they didn’t need to know that. Nor did they need to know half his listed positions were all fake.

The job search had not gone as well as he’d been led to believe after finally finishing school and passing the bar. He had worked at a few firms and for his local court house as a public defender, but they had been nothing to write about leaving him trapped in an endless cycle of dead end postings that would never be attractive enough for a larger out of town firm to take notice of. So when he saw an online ad for a defense attorney position at MFD he thought he’d try a different approach.

He added several entries for firms that had for one reason or another gone under, and with the help of some close friends as “references”, he had created several positions that on paper were highly credible to fill out his resume. If they questioned him on case specifics he was prepared to deflect with stretched notions of client confidentiality and steer the conversation onto safer ground.

Was it illegal? Beyond a shadow of a doubt; but his need for something exciting to happen was drive enough for Jonathan to try it.

“Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.”

The remark pulled Jonathan back into the present as Marvin Dakattar, one of the three senior partners, leaned back in their chair. He appeared as a man in his prime who has begun to slowly slide into his waning years. A single streak of grey ran along the left side to note his age. It strangely fell in line with a scar that ran from his jaw across his cheek to his hairline.  

“When you get arrested, your first call should be….”

“-your lawyer.” Jonathan finished.

Marvin nodded and stood up.

“Walk with me.”

Marvin motioned for him to follow and the pair walked out of the interview room. As he did so Jonathan noticed that the other applicants that had been waiting outside were now gone and smirked. It bode well for his prospects at getting the position, but something else began to nag at the corners of his mind.

It was as if he was trying to recall the details of a dream, yet every time he began to focus the memory would slip through his grasp like mist.

“I take it you know what we do here?” the senior partner asked as they rounded a corner and through another set of heavy wooden doors.

Jonathan nodded. “You have an impressive track record of won court cases.” He answered as the doors close behind them and the sense of unease began mounting. It was only then at the thud of the doors that he took a look at his surroundings.

“These walls…” he began and Marvin stopped to turn about and look at him.

“Yes? What about them?”

Jonathan turned in place taking in the hallway. “Nothing….sorry, just confused for a moment.”

Marvin nodded. “These walls do have a habit of doing that.” he remarked with a smirk. “They’ll take you to where you’re meant to be, but not necessarily where you want to be.”

He didn’t know how to take the remark so he simply nodded as he motioned to a closed door. Unlike the previous ones they had passed through this one was made from wrought iron.

“We like to be sure our lawyers are held to a certain degree of professionalism, so we developed a test of sorts to make sure they are up to snuff.”  

He removed a strange key with three heads from his neck and inserted it into the lock of the door.

“What sort of test?” Jonathan asked.

Before turning the key Marvin paused and looked back at Jonathan.

“Behind this door is a client of ours, a repeat client to be frank. He has a rather unique agreement with our firm to retain our services and in exchange he allows himself to be used as part of the test.”

A cryptic answer but not one to his question Jonathan thought. He remarked as much to the senior partner.

“The test is simple. All you need to do is get a not guilty verdict on his case and you can join the firm.”

This was certainly a shock to Jonathan. “Forgive me but this is certainly unlike any test I’ve been asked to do before. Are you sure the client is okay with these terms?”

Marvin shrugged. “It’s part of that unique agreement I mentioned before. Even if you should fail he still retains our services.”

This only further confounded Jonathan but he knew better to keep asking questions.

“So, what crime is the client accused of?” he asked as Marvin turned the key finally and the heavy iron door began to swing open.

“I’d rather they explain the charges, though it is safe to say it is a charge he has had against him in numerous court proceedings over the years.” Marvin replied calmly.

His mind raced with the possibilities. A mob boss on tax evasion, or perhaps a spoiled rich heir on drunk driving charges? Before Jonathan could say a word the door swung wide open and he got a good look at his new client.

There, sitting behind a plain metal table sat a figure dressed more fitting to be a renaissance fair performer with leather belts and buckles about his person. Worn leather gloved hands rested on the table curtailed by the white furls of their shirt protruding from a thick black leather jacket that went from shoulder to ankle. Yet most striking of all was the fact that whoever this figure was they were missing their head; and whats more there sat a large pumpkin carved sitting before them with soft candle light flickering within.

At first Jonathan thought this was some joke until he heard the soft rattling of the gloved fingers against the metal table.

“You’re late.” came a rasping voice that took Jonathan completely by surprise. He took a step back from the doorway, searching his surroundings for the voice. Marvin was undeterred by the situation and began addressing the pumpkin.

“May I introduce your new attorney, Mr. Jonathan Meir.” He spoke as he turned back to the stunned Jonathan. “Mr. Meir, this is the Headless Horseman, your client.”

The flickering light from the pumpkin grew brighter as the voice returned. “The Hudson Park service has accused me of grave robbing as I search for my head; no bail and a sentence of 100 years in prison.”

Marvin leaned on the doorframe and took the measure of Jonathan. “The crime usually has a max of 3-4 years but our friend here is a repeat offender.”

Jonathan stood there in the doorway for a moment in complete silence. His mind reeling from the implications before him, let alone the fact his client was one of the oldest colonial legends known to American history. Some might even say the first urban legend of the America’s.

Straightening his tie, Jonathan stepped into the room and pulled out the chair opposite the horseman. “Alright,” he began calmly, “I want you to tell me everything that happened and not skip a single detail.”

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Alien 1: What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen humans do?

Alien 2: I once saw my office mate steal a stapler than frame another human in the office for it by placing it on their desk.

Alien 2: He said it was because the other human kept stealing his lunches.

Alien 3: There was this human female that lived across the street from me that would lift up her top when drivers went by to see if they’d cause a car crash.

Alien 1: What the florp?!

Alien 2: I can see the appeal to that type of chaos.

Alien 3: What about you?

Alien 4: I don’t want to play this game.

Alien 1: That means he knows one that really did something messed up.

Alien 2: You gotta tell us.

Alien 4: It’s not something you want to hear.

Alien 3: Which makes me wish to hear it more.

Alien 1-2: *Chanting

Alien 1-2: Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!

Alien 4: *Smacks talons down on table.

Alien 4: Fine!

Alien 4: It was a human that fought on Dressa VI during the Configuration Wars. I met them while sharing some drinks after hours and we started swapping stories.

Alien 4: He and his squad had been sent behind enemy lines to cut off Tivani supply lines and cause general havoc.

Alien 1: So they’re a war vet, it doesn’t sound so-

Alien 4: They would kill isolated patrols and position their bodies for their comrades to find later; frozen in place by the subzero cold.

Alien 3: ……. What?

Alien 4: Sometimes they’d make them look like they were praying. Other times they’d be sitting around a spent campfire as if they all died in their sleep. One time they made it so the body was used as a sign post, arms pointing in directions to go.

Alien 4: When the war didn’t end quickly they started making it more……nightmare.

Alien 2: I think we don’t need-

Alien 4: Oh you wanted to hear so you will.

Alien 4: They gouged out their eyes, cut their limbs off before stuffing their mouths with severed fingers and hanging them from the trees like totems. They’d swing in the breeze before the ropes gave way and the bodies fell

Alien 4: They’d take the limbs further away and bury them facing down in the snow like stumps with half of them sticking out of the ground; sometimes for a mile long stretch of ground.

Alien 4: One patrol found a comrade of theirs tied to a tree with a burnt out fire in front of them. The human had set it and made the Tivani soldier watch as the fire went out and they slowly froze to death. You could see the gashes in their arms where the chains bit deep as they thrashed to free themselves before dying.

Alien 1: …….

Alien 2: …….

Alien 3: …….

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“Earlier you spoke of our faith as a weakness, can you elaborate?”

Nekar’s question was the first thing anyone had spoken in hours, although it could have been mere minutes of silence instead. Inside the stone prison cell time lost all meaning the moment the door sealed behind the students as the room held no windows and the door they had entered from had blended into the surrounding walls so perfectly that were it not for the bound human before them he would have lost its position entirely.

“Do I detect a note of curiosity?” the human chuckled. “I thought that was the first thing they had beaten out of you when they took you in at this house of dogma.”

His fellow students bristled at this but it was Nekar’s turn to attempt conversion and so they remained silent.

As their only chance of being released from the room was converting the human they had decided to take turns with conversion by themselves by whatever means they thought necessary.

Jindal had gone first, but his linear thinking of religious doctrine was mocked and ridiculed at every turn by the human nearly leading Jindal to strike him out of anger had the rest not intervened.

Hassun and Taka were next seeking to use any familiar ties against the human promising that if they converted and accepted our savior that they could return home safely. The human laughed and said that our faith had slain everyone they had ever cared about and that it was their great satisfaction knowing that by being stubborn it would result in all of them failing the conversion and starving to death.

It was Nekar’s turn and he had decided on a different approach after observing the human’s response to the prior two attempts. There was something there beyond crud deflections with human comedy.

“Please answer the question.” Nekar replied unmoved.

The human paused and looked at Nekar; his face no longer one of mockery, now akin to mild interest.

“If I understand your faith you pray when you need guidance, strength, support, etc; you basically pray to your divine sun for what you need in the moment.”

“A rather simple view of our faith, but one I cannot refute as many pray in troubling times for such simple things.”

The human’s mouth twitch into a grin for a moment before continuing, “Then if they are so simple why pray at all?”

 A perplexing question Nekar did not have an answer for, but the human didn’t provide him a chance to as they continued.

“If you wish to become stronger, train your body. If you wish to become smart, learn to sharpen your mind through studies. If you wish to find love throw yourself into the maelstrom that is the social world until you find the person who becomes your rock!”

“You pray for things that are well within your reach yet you seek the help from a supposedly-“

“Not supposedly.” Jindal cut in; his tone sharp with warning. The human just smirked as if being threatened by a tiny creature.

“-divine being to grant you this through your abasement to them.” They finished.

Nekar shook his head. “Our worship is not abasement, but reverence for a higher power beyond the scope of our understanding that has deemed us worthy of its love.”

The human snorted. “And you wonder why I see you as weak. I need not pray for divine intervention every time I lose my keys or make it out of battle alive. I am here because of myself, no one else.”

Nekar gestured to the surroundings. “Look where your heresy has brought you then. To a room you will be converted in or die by at the hands of the faithful.”

“The same can be said of you, Peter the Hermit,” The human retorted, “leading your flock to their doom.”  

 “Who?”

Nekar was unfamiliar with the name. It sounded human but it was not a phrase he had seen before in the archives.

Tilting back as far as he could against the chains binding him to the floor, the human looked at his inquisitor.

“On my world, long long ago, a great leader of faith once called for a holy war in the name of their god. All the kings of men who swore oaths of the faith were summoned to deliver righteous wrath and reclaim their lost holy land.”

“Now enters Peter, dear sweet stupid Peter, who thinks himself a truly righteous man and more devout than the current leader of his faith. He gathers around him the masses and sets out months ahead of the scheduled meeting time; marching ahead of the gathering kings with an army numbering in their thousands.”

“I am confused by this reference you make to me,” Nekar interrupted, “as you describe a true man of faith rising up against the evils of the world; for it is through the power of faith that mountains are moved by even the humblest of souls.”

The human laughed. “His faith led his followers to the slaughter, for he felt faith alone would sustain them over logistics, intelligence, planning, and military strategy; as you now lead your fellows to their deaths in the name of faith.”

 Nekar’s face hardened. “Hard tasks are set before us to prove our devotion, for no journey worth traveling is paved upon easy roads. Though this Peter worships a false god, his devotion and faith are most worthy of recognition.”

“I’m sure the thousands that died for this prolific realization of faith felt the same as they were cut down.” The human sighed; casting their gaze around the gathered students. “Only a fanatic would proclaim a massacre an act of faith.”

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Species: Terran Government: Terran Confederation Subject: Military overview Author: Tenzi Fa

The TC boasts one of the largest military forces amongst the galactic community. Legions of ground forces comprising of infantry, mechanized armor, and heavy weapon platforms are back by flotillas of warships ready to transport them to and from any world they see fit. It was once said that if they wished they could fight in the shade on any world at any time of their choosing, for their fleets would blot out the very stars themselves with their numbers.

Yet for all their military strength one may find it odd that amongst their naval forces their largest vessels are carrier class, such as the TC Dublin; a fighter carrier capable of launching at least a thousand manned craft and ten times that number with automated drones.

For such a militaristic society it is rather odd to see the lack of overwhelming firepower a battleship class vessel can bring to any engagement; let alone what a dreadnought class ship could do. The Fring’nar for example have their Shu’nah class which boasts the firepower equivalent of an entire sector fleet. Even the Lunexi, who only have one planet to their name, have their Runika super dreadnought which stands eternal vigil over their homeworld.

This question became such a high priority for military think tanks that during a naval conference on Brend’nu VI Fleet Master Hadaka asked Admiral Philip Mord directly about the matter. As the Admiral took in his surroundings he could see that quite a few other attending officers from other races were pretending to not be interested in his answer with terrible attempts.

Taking a moment to look out the window, the Admiral looked between the orbiting ships and pointed to one in particular.

“That is a Nebula class Frigate, and it is armed with one Corona cannon running the length of its entire body firing a projectile five feet in diameter.” He cocked his head back to the gathered delegates and gestured to himself. “Right now I’m standing at 5’4 for reference.”

Few jaws dropped at this while the majority retained their quiet composure.

“Would it not make sense then to have a ship with multiple such cannons for their armament?” one of the alien officers inquired; to which Mord shook his head.

“We only need one.”

He pointed his finger at the officer and acted as if it was a gun firing.

“One shot from a Corona has enough force to punch half way through a tectonic plate; we know because we tried. Even on kinetic shielding the result was a confirmed penetration after .03 seconds which collapsed the shielding like a soap bubble.”

He took a drink off a circling waiter and took a sip of the drink, before quickly returning it to the tray realizing Hunga ale tasted little more than ginger bleach.

Alien: I don’t get you lot.

Human: Frankly that doesn’t surprise me.

Human: About half of our conversations start off with you not understanding our customs and then asking for an explanation.

Alien: This is different.

Human: I swear to Christ if this is you asking why Chicago pizza is a soup again, so help me I will beat you with a bread stick.

Alien: Not that.

Human: Good, then ask away.

Alien: What is the purpose of these celebrations?

Human: Well it’s New Year, of course.

Alien: But why is that worthy of celebration?

Human: It’s the start of a new year and the beginning of-

Alien: I don’t mean literally like you are reading off a fracking calendar.

Alien: Why this much celebration?

Alien: The drinking, parties, firework displays; it all seems overdone and unnecessary for something as trivial as the date changing.

Human: *Pauses to consider question

Human: You’re right.

Human: If it was just about some numbers on a laptop or excel sheet being moved around it probably wouldn’t make much sense at all.

Human: But that’s not even a fraction of why we throw ourselves into such revelry.

Alien: Then why?

Human: *Leans on railing and points with beer in hand towards thee city.

Human: Think about everything that happened last year.

Human: Disease, war, political drama, factionalism, racism, hatred, blood lust, anger, despair-

Alien: By the gods you are depressing me enough to break my vows just so I may have alcohol to lighten this depressing mood.

Human: Just think on it all for a minute then look at yourself now.

Human: You survived all of that.

Human: Despite all the pain and hardship we go through each year we made it through the storm and came out the other side.

Human: Maybe some of us got off better than when we start, maybe some got it worse.

Human: Fate is fickle with those types of things.

Human: But the point is that you still kept moving forward and even if you just moved a tiny fraction forward with your goals in this rollercoaster of a life, you still kept moving; and that’s something worth celebrating.

Alien: So you celebrate your continued existence?

Alien: Are you so self-absorbed that such things are needed for your own self-importance?

Human: Yeah.

Alien: *Stunned silence

Human: Most humans don’t like to talk about what we’re going through; to be a burden on others.

Human: So we bottle it up inside and it just stirs within us like a storm in a bottle.

Human: Our celebration of this day is part of a way we release some of that pent up anguish and just be happy.

Human: Even if just for a moment.

Alien: Rather poetic for a human drinking a three credit beer.

Human: *Chuckles

Human: You should see me after a pint of virgin blood; I orate better than Socrates.

Alien: ………

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“We just lost the Sepheron and Lenin’s Fury.”

“The Attila is reporting engine failures in primary and secondary engines.”

“The Cobalt, Marian, Constantinople, and Norske Løve report minor damage but are still in the fight.”

From his command throne Admiral Benedict heard the status reports coming in for the ships of his fleet, yet his eyes never strayed from the view screen composing the entire wall opposite him. There, just ahead of his own flagship the Morning Star, was the abomination he had been sent by the Galactic Council to slay.  

The Beneficent.

Former flagship and most powerful vessel of the Galactic Navy, it now had turned its mighty arsenal against the very ships it once fought alongside at the behest of her treacherous captain and crew of Volki.

After a recent council vote which ended the Volki/Denaren War, the serving Volki aboard the flagship turned on their comrades and absconded with the vessel. Her mighty star cannons were used against the moored ships at Port salvation and decimated them before initiating an emergency jump out of system. It was naught three weeks later reports started flooding in that Denaren worlds across the sector were being attacked by the Beneficent leaving only ruins in her wake.   

The Volki government denied supporting such actions, but refused to commit forces to hunt down the traitors under the fear of further Volki ships joining them and switching sides; while the Denaren began mobilizing for war under the pretext of continued hostile aggression. It would only take another push to reignite the flames of war that had so recently been stamped out; and so the Galactic Council had assembled an emergency taskforce of remaining ships with the single purpose of hunting down the Beneficent and capture her if possible, or destroy her if not.

Admiral Benedict had been placed in charge of the adhoc task force and quickly took up the hunt. Reasoning that the rogue ship was targeting only Denaren planets, the admiral laid a trap above the world of Huskal II; dispersing his fleet into small strike forces and hiding them in low orbit around the various moons of the planet.

Sure enough, after three rotations of waiting, the Beneficent emerged in system and made a b-line straight for the planet to continue its path of carnage. It had just made stationary orbit above the largest city when Benedict sprung his trap and his fleet emerged from their respective moons orbit and swarmed the enemy ship.

Even with the element of surprise though, the battle was still hanging by a knife edge.

His fleet had been able to surround the ship and prevent it from making an escape jump, but the armament of the Beneficent was more than a match for the strike force and its guns lashed out with the furry of a cornered beast.

A violent shudder ran beneath the decking and ran up the Admiral’s spine. He knew something critical had been hit well before his chief of engineering contacted him.

“The jump drive took a direct hit.” He could hear Carson Murray cough as sirens blared in the background.

“Can it be repaired?” Benedict inquired as another series of shudders ran across the deck.

“Not unless you politely tell those frackers shooting at us to stop.”

“We must abandon ship!”

The admiral turned to see Representative Fink cowering amongst his gaggle of hangers on. His presence alone would not have been tolerated had they not been directly planted aboard his ship by the council to monitor the situation and report back.

“Without a jump drive we cannot escape this battle!”

“Escape?” the admiral replied, his voice thick with disgust. He pointed at the view screen showcasing the Beneficent. “We have finally caught our quarry, there will be no leaving until this hunt is completed.”

“Do not let your human pride blind you!” the representative stammered. “We will need at least three times the fleet to bring down that beast!”

“And if we leave now it will only further embolden them and encourage further defections amongst the fleet!”

Benedict’s voice was stern. He would not kowtow and humor these ignorant fools who believe themselves experts of war after watching several holo-dramas.

If they did flee then it was all but assured that any other Volki serving in the Galactic Council would defect and turn a lone ship into the heartbeat of a massed insurrection.

There was no room for debate. They would end this threat here or die trying.

“But-“ Fink began but was interrupted when Murray cut in again.

“Sir, can you scan sector SG-7 on the Beneficent?”

 Without saying a word the admiral relayed the order to his scanning officer.

“Do you not hear me!?” Fink protested louder. “I will not be-“

“There’s nothing there, sir.” The officer replied cutting off Fink once again.

“You catch that Murray?” the admiral relayed.

“Perfectly sir;” Murray’s voice took on a note of hopefulness as he continued “have all guns direct fire on that sector of hull.”

To Fink’s surprise, instead of questioning the ridicules command Benedict opened a fleet wide transmission and relayed the targeting coordinates to his remaining ships.

As one the mighty but battered host fired every gun and missile they had. The space between the fleet and the lone warship was instantly illuminated by countless energy blasts and flickering lights of missile thrusters at full burn. They struck at nearly the same moment and the massive warship’s shields flashed bright blue as they began weathering the torrent of fire.

“No damage registering.” The scanning officer relayed.

“Just keep at it!” Murray shouted over the com network. “Trust me sir, please.”

“Continue fire.” The admiral relayed as the barrage of weapons fire continued.

The Beneficent’s own weapons began lashing out, catching the Constantinople’s bridge with a direct and raking the rest of the fleet with a torrent of fire.

“If we do not flee now-“ Fink began once again, but the universe’s sense of humor remained strong as the events unfolding on the view screen interrupted him once more.

Without warning the layers of shielding surrounding the Beneficent popped. Ripples of energy verberated across the hull, like lightning in a bottle, and at every point the bolts of energy touched the hull that section would explode outward into space. One by one the weapon batteries of the ship went silent until finally it sat silent in space; convulsing as the strike force continued their attack.

The admiral let this play out for several minutes while the fleet continued pounding away at the enemy vessel until finally raising a hand to order the bombardment to cease.

“Order the boarding ships to position,” Benedict called out, “I want that ship secured and any survivors brought onboard in chains.”

“Relaying orders now.” The communication officer replied before quickly sending out the command. From the view screen those gathered saw the strike force slowly pulling in close to the Beneficent as it slowly tumbled in space without power.

“What did you do?” Fink asked. He could see they had won, but the reality of the situation appeared to have not yet caught up to the representative.

“Power relay collapse,” came a voice from the entrance to the bridge, “followed by a nasty feedback which overloaded critical systems one after another.”

The admiral turned his head to see Murray slowly walking in and gave him a nod before returning to the tactical displays monitoring the boarding operations.

“I toured the Beneficent some time ago when I was just in my engineer stripes and marveled at two things.” Murray continued as he stepped next to the admiral and handed him a data pad containing the damage report. “One, if given the proper crew she could decimate half a sector before being brought down.”  

“And the second?” Fink inquired.

Murray chuckled. “How shoddy its maintenance had become.”

He pointed to the portion of the Beneficent’s hull the strike force had targeted.

“Areas without critical systems were given the bare minimum of inspection and upgrade; entire areas were using outdated tech and was held together by little more than duct-tape and prayers.”

“I still don’t understand.” Fink replied as his head still spun.

“To simplify,” the admiral cut in, “once we began targeting that area their captain no doubt ordered additional power to be sent to the shield emitters in that area to reinforce them. The fraying systems couldn’t handle the sudden increase in power and imploded, triggering a feedback surge which spread out like an overloading wave triggering multiple system failures before their emergency breakers could activate.”

“And once the ship’s mainframe detected multiple system failures, the result of which was a power surge, it scrambled the reactor to preserve the remaining critical systems at the expense of leaving the ship without power.” Murray finished.

Fink finally stopped his stammering as the plan finally made sense. Well, at least for one remaining part.

“Why did you not inquire about this plan when he contacted you earlier? Why did you blindly follow his suggestion?”

The admiral looked to his chief engineer and smiled.

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“We are delighted that we can sit down and resolve our disputes with you; for far too long now we have only met across the fields of war.”

Jonathan took a sip of water and carefully looked at the Vernun diplomats. Normally he would have been briefed on how to read their facial expressions or body language to tell when they are lying, but two factors had made that impossible.

First was the fact that despite being locked in a three year war this had been the first time he, or any other human diplomat, had met a Vernun diplomat face to face. In truth Jonathan was starting to believe that the concept of diplomats was just as alien to the Vernun as humans were. The second, and more present problem, was the fact that they wore full encompassing environmental suits. Body language was out the window and their visors were so tinted that their faces were completely obscured.

It was actually a surprise when the Vernun reached out to initiate diplomatic talks. The war had not been particularly hard on either of their government, though projections did show that within another six years the Vernun would lose the capacity to maintain the war front. That being said six years was still a long time which anything could happen and there was no guarantee still that Terran could withstand that timeframe as well.

“A cessation of hostilities would benefit us both.” The Vernun lead delegate Hasi replied. His voice was thick with robotic speech as the translator did its best.

Hasi reached into the pockets of his robes an withdrew a data pad.

“Here are the terms we believe are best.”

He slid the pad across the table which Jonathan deafly swiped up and began reading. It was not a long document, more akin to a rough draft by Terran standards; or so he thought as he got to the bottom of the list.

His colleagues must have been confused by his souring expression until he copied the file and forwarded it them all. The sourness of Jonathan’s mood quickly found new roots with the rest of the Terran delegates.

“Forgive me,” Jonathan opened calmly, “but am I to assume that this is the first draft of your proposal?”

As he anticipated the Vernun shook their heads.

“It is the final and only offer.” Hasi remarked. “If you do not accept this then the war will continue.”

Jonathan looked down at the document once more. “Removal of Terran forces from all occupied worlds I could understand, but you also wish to allow for us to allow your forces to reoccupy the disputed worlds as well and then create a buffer zone between our two peoples by further carving up our own territory.”

Hasi nodded. “As the aggressor of this conflict-“

“Aggressors?!” Jonathan cut in. “You invaded thirteen neutral worlds under Terran protection, and you have the gall to say we are the aggressors?!”

“The worlds in question are rebels who were formerly incorporated into the Vernun domain. Their status of independent neutral worlds has no legal footing.”

Jonathan scoffed at this paper thin rouse. It was not to say that Terran’s had not also used this pretext before, but at the very least his people put in more effort to make it somewhat credible. Cloister III for instance had a civilization dating back at least three hundred years older than the first Vernun space flight.

“We came here to negotiate peace in good faith.” Jonathan replied calmly. “What makes you believe that we would agree to such a lopsided settlement?”

In response Hasi tapped a button built into his suit and a holographic projection appeared before them. The image flickered in and out of resolution but while it was in focus Jonathan could make out rows of humans, shackled and bound together, standing in a large outside area enclosed by perimeter wall.

“Because if you do not agree to our terms we will continue to hold hostage the three hundred thousand humans we have captured during our engagements.”

For a moment the Vernun felt vindictive triumph. It had been no small order to capture so many humans, but the shock value they presented as bargaining chips was well worth it. It was well known humans would never do anything to jeopardize their fellow-

“Where exactly did you capture them from?”

The casualness of the remark took Hasi off guard for a moment but he rallied.

“They are your brave soldiers who you have sent to fight and die against us.”

There was an awkward pause as the humans looked between each other, and then at Jonathan before giving him what could best be described as an odd shrug.

“If that is all then we are done here.”

For a moment Hasi wasn’t sure what he had just heard. It soon reinforced itself however once the human delegation began packing up their paper and leaving.

“Did you not hear us?” Hasi spoke louder to draw their attention. “We have over three-“

“-hundred thousand of our soldiers, yes,  yes.” Jonathan interrupted. “You can keep them.”

“Keep them?”

“Yes, they’re all yours.”

“Do their lives matter so little to you?!”

To his shock Jonathan nodded in agreement.

“I honestly would have more stress of you leaving a cup on the counter with no coaster than worrying about the lives of those people you have locked away.”

Now Hasi truly was flabbergasted. Nothing in his briefing had mentioned this callus, this ruthless nature of humanity towards their own prisoners of war.    

Determined to get the last word in, Hasi declared “What do you think those you have cast aside will think when they hear of this? They will flock to us in their thousands!”

Jonathan stopped in the doorway and turned to look back at them.

“I should hope so, it would certainly make things more interesting.”

And with that the human left the room with the door closing behind them with a resounding thud. ---------------------------

“When do you think they’ll realize?” one of his aides asked Jonathan as the group walked back to the landing pad.

Jonathan shrugged. “Probably not until after they release a few thousand just like he said, but by then it’ll be too late.”

He chuckled at the thought.