Space combat is generally a long drawn out process as ships detect each other and maneuver across the length of a star system. All that gets dumpstered when twenty ships emerge from the same round kilometer of a gate. In such close quarters visible sensors become meaningful, as well as armor and point defense systems. Two things human civilizations specialized in. Singularity frigates rolled dumping missiles from every tube in a mad scatter. Smart missiles flew and maximum burn seeking targets and mostly finding bioships. Chaff pods, counter mines, and the living ammunition of the biofleet countered hard, launching their own living projectiles at the frigates.


    Point defense beams carved a bioship in half, burning through the tiny patrol craft in a desperate attempt to keep it from ramming them. A venture they were half successful in, as the bioship split aft end spiraling into deep space while the prow rammed the frigate. Dropping its shields and puncturing its armor. Bioforms would soon infest the human ship turning every hallway into a charnal field.


    The other factions didn’t give them a chance. Nuclear warheads slagged the bioship into a jet of plasma that poured into the frigate melting the gooey human center. Plasma slagged the reactor and the ship vanished as a second star was created. Snuffed out by the Azhurai prism ship. One missile from them wiped out half the bioships, and their main array sliced one of the two dreadnoughts in half. Asteroid moons that carried between one and ten million crew, gone in a second. They issued a message to the remaining seven ships. As if firepower needed any commentary.


    “Comply or be destroyed.” It read.


    A readout of the planet accompanied the message indicating the Azhurai’s plans for development. They would claim two of the surface gates, both located in Eurasia, everything else was free game.


    Two Singularity frigates angled for the Americas, shadowed by the technocracy dreadnought. While the bioships angled for the southern tip of Africa.


    —


    Jim and Haime watched the battle play out, not bothering to watch after the Azhurai laid claim. Earth was going to be carved into pieces, every resource extracted from the world.


    “Poor bastards.” Muttered Jim.


    “What are the chances a damn Azhurai ship showed up? Twenty billion habitable worlds and they cold dialed this one.” Said Haime, shaking his head.


    “Bro, time to piss off. Nameless must have tipped off their dogs. I get the Singularity and Technomancy monitoring this galactic arm for new worlds, but bioships too? Hell naw. I’d rather shave my balls ten thousand times.” Said Jim, standing and heading for the cryotubes.


    “As if you can count past ten thousand! Bah, fine, I’ll get the jump engines warmed up. Take care of any cargo not worth its hold space and recycle any fatties I miss. Maybe mind wipe one or two of the sweeter things for ourselves. You know what I like.” Said Haime, selecting a million cryopods and sending their obese occupants into the protein recycler.


    “You old perve.” Shouts Jim, clearing the cockpit as the ship trembles.


    Nine thuds tell of the nine portals being launched. They connect instantly to any other portal in the galaxy assuming you can supply it power. Which these particular earthlings can’t. The Azhurai will fix that, force the earthlings to advance just enough to be useful slaves. Within a year they’ll have fortresses built and their gates powered up.


    “Sucks to suck earthlings. Sorry but you weren’t gonna survive either way. Aint no way to avoid getting fed into a recycler on Syrak-9. Not unless the heavens open and xeno-Jebus saves you.” Says Jim, shaking his head softly before flushing a few hundred thousand morbidly obese.


    The ship would break them down into molecules, scrub them of undesirables like heavy metals, drugs both prescription and recreational, all non-human DNA –bugs or parasites– and then store the molecules in ready to consume bars. The fatties would never choke back another Twinky, but they would be choked back. Good riddance. A few of the women catch his eye, one has a golden ring hanging from her nipple, no tattoos though. She’s not good enough for Haime.


    “You and your obsession with pierced nipples.” Groaned Jim, already typing in commands to the ship’s AI. “Cycle all the skitzos to the back, rank them from least to most insane, then sort out any abnormalities.” He said.


    The hallway’s blast doors open for him, cycling as he walks. Not paying attention as the AI sealed each door before unsealing the next, it was standard protocol aboard any ship. Just another part of life in hard vacuum. Besides, it gave him time to flush a million of the worst basketcases. Six intervening airlocks divided the freighter, preventing any one breach from killing every soul aboard. Still, the ship was cavernous, an entire city could fit inside each section on this arkship after all one trillion cryopods took up a lot of space. Jim smiled at the sleeping audience. Occupants hanging on his approval for life and death. About half of those were currently full, but that was alright. You never wanted to be at 100% capacity, then every technical fault or power hiccup would cut into your profits. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    “Faults detected, unable to access one hundred and four candidates,” Began the ship’s AI, “Displaying four million, eight hundred and–”


    “Recycle any that have less than ninety percent compatibility with flash training.” Interrupted Jim, hoping to save himself some work.


    Certain mental abnormalities would prevent the flash training from taking hold, and that would result in wig outs. People who remembered their lives on earth and their time in the tubes, as well as the flash training process. Schizophrenics were the worst. No matter how thoroughly you erased them, or how many times they underwent flash training, it was only a matter of time before they went postal on the same people who paid good money for these draftees. As a freelancer it was easy for Jim to collect a few extra people, but this haul would set a performance record for the galactic quadrant. He’d HAVE to siphon a few million people off the top just to make this believable. Otherwise they’d have some AI crawling up and down his throat; investigating every aspect of his cover story. Jim activated his neural link, the personal one and sent a dozen messages to interested buyers in two dozen solar systems.


    [got extra merchandise, top quality, or in quantity. Need to offload quick. Discounts for purchases exceeding a million.]


    Jim Sent the message, smiling as buyers lined up. With the numbers they were offering him, the feds wouldn’t be able to touch him. Hell, two crazy aliens were offering him planets!


    He laughed. Hooting with joy for long minutes before returning to his work. There were millions of schizophrenics on board. All of them liabilities.


    “Aw hell, revise ninety percent compatibility with ninety five percent. Loop in the other harvests too. Lets deliver triple A goods and keep the wig outs to a minimum.” Said Jim.


    “Ten million candidates fall below that threshold.”


    Jim pressed the button to recycle them.


    [ERROR: Recycler is full.]


    “Oh baby, a hold full of rations and a billion person bonus haul? Yes please, ice my birthday cake some more.” Said Jim, casually flushing the remaining nine million people into space. They died without ever feeling a thing. A mercy that Athena Finley would soon come to dream of.


    The AI dutifully aimed each person on a collision course with the nearest planet, a standard practice meant to cut down on space debris. Over the next few weeks Earth would be treated to countless meteor showers as millions of their draftees returned home.


    “Five minutes later the AI spoke again, “All ten million vented, approximately two hundred thousand anomalies remaining. One urgent fault.”


    “Teleport me.” Snapped Jim, reaching for his sidearm.


    Cool Vanadium alloy brushed against his fingers. The simplest solution to an ‘urgent fault’ was a bullet between the eyes. Loose crazies aboard a spaceship could get them all killed. Blue light flashed once, fading as he appeared in front of a woman’s tube. She jerked in surprise at his arrival, feet flailing as she curled into a ball, arms covering double Ds before her shapely hips twisted, covering herself. Attractive, but not Jim’s type, nor was she Haime’s.The pervert spent too much time in simulations, nowadays the only thing that could provide suitable stimulation came from  impossible amalgamations. Things nothing other than a robot could provide.


    “Ha, after this payday, maybe I’ll buy the jackass a few catgirlbots. At least then he’ll leave the merchandise alone.” Jim laughed, leveling the pistol at the woman’s nameplate.


    “Athena Finley” appeared on it.


    His barrel poked the readout, opening a communication link into the cryotube.


    ‘Suitability with flash training, 500% match.’ It read.


    “Five hundred? What the hell? Felicia! Run some diagnostics! Aint no way. What kind of cyber crack are you smoking– Ah, the brain scanner fell off.” Jim said, fear turning to humor as he realized the tube was suggesting cryogel was the perfect match for flash training.


    “As if. Ha, we’d clone people if that worked. Hey! Athena Finley, put that crown on or I’m gonna flush you into deep space. You’ll freeze to death mighty fast, but it’ll be a painful few seconds. Bad way to go. Helmet on.”


    Her eyes shot wide, mouth opening as his words were translated. Jim rolled his eyes, ignoring her sudden wet screaming. So hysterical. He held up three fingers, counting down.


    “Flushing in three, two–”


    Athena scrambled, hands grasping in the viscous fluid for the neurallink. It slid onto her bald head, soon inserting itself into the brainstem and linking the onboard AI directly with her consciousness.


    “Anomaly, compatibility rising to three thousand percent.”


    “AI, link in cryotubes until compatibility equalizes!” Snapped Jim, his mind working as he leered at the readouts.


    Three thousand percent was possible for a human, usually indicating some kind of trauma induced schizophrenia event. Or some abnormality. Except there was a one in a million chance that kept him anchored, staying his itcher fingers from disposing of Athena. Two cryopods added their onboard processing forming a three way linkage. Compatibility lowered to 1000%. A near perfect specimen. Young, intelligent but not cynical, cooperative yet independent, that left two remaining questions. Jim’s tongue ran over his lips, working the spit around his mouth.


    “Analyze ESP potential.” He whispered.