ã€ŠManann: Stranded.ã€‹


 Blast Those Aliens!

    "In the Year 2751, following humanity''s recovery from a nuclear war in 2118, humanity established diplomatic first contact with an alien civilization, the Beralox Divine Dominion. The Beralox, much like humanity, are native to the Orion arm of the milky way galaxy. However, unlike humanity, the Beralox haven''t had to recover from nuking themselves back to the stone age."

    "This tiny difference manifests in the form of a vast technological gulf between the two civilizations, and soon enough, humanity has become just another vassal component of the Beralox Dominion, serving as the dominion''s bulwark from the wider galaxy. Of course, we humans are stubborn creatures and aren''t quite too fond of being subservient to another species, so we fight."

    "We fight so that we may one day cease to be beholden to a civilization that is not our own. We fight so that out children are never forced to fight for our foes, so that they are never forced to do the things that we have had to in service to our overlords. Some are content to remain shackled to our overlords, and that is fine. They believe that what we gain is worth more than what we lose, and will thus sit idly by while others struggle, I do not fault them. "

    "To fight in a war is a frightening thing, even for one such as I, and to rebel against the status quo requires just as much bravery. It is a daunting foe we face. However, I believe I speak for every veteran of Sirius when I say this: No more."

    "No more will I be beholden to the Beralox. Never again will I be forced to fight their wars. I refuse, as do many of my comrades, to perform atrocities in the name of "quelling a rebellion". I reject the thought of allowing our people to remain beneath the boot of the Dominion."

    "That is why I fight. That is why we have rebelled. And though our enemy may be great in scope and power, I will continue to fight, until I can fight no more."

    "Until the last breath leaves my lungs, upon the battlefield, or upon the homeworld of our species long after we are freed."

    "That is all." - Speech by Sirius Insurgency leader "Haytham".

    _____________________________

    Adam sat in a silent bridge. He was the only person on his ship''s bridge. In fact, he was the only person on the entire ship. His ship, the Wisp, was a mostly automated courser-class vessel. It was designed for silent missions, scouting and spying in enemy space and beyond, and thus only required him to be present.

    The role of a scout-captain was not one that was coveted. He often found himself lonely and isolated, going long stints without speaking to anyone but his three pet razorback hounds, who weren''t intelligent enough to respond to his chatter anyways.

    His most recent deployment had seen him away from a friendly port for three consecutive months, the longest he had gone so far. He was glad that he had but one mission before being ordered to return to a port.

    He simply had to survey the system that he currently found himself in, something his ship could do automatically. So he sat back and watched the survey readout as his ship cruised through the system''s asteroid belt.

    He could see why this system required surveying. It was exceptional. Three habitable planets in one system? A rarity beyond rarities. The fact that the system was hidden within a nebula that would easily block most sensor systems only made it more valuable in his eyes. He could see why it had already been renamed to refuge.

    The planets themselves were gemstones in the rough, too. Hathor, a beautiful green jewel sitting pretty in the fourth spot from its star, its terrain seemed to be mostly plains and steppes. Proteus, a blue sapphire of an ocean world that wasn''t really a planet, because it orbited a gas giant. And Manann, which seemed to him like a second Earth in all its bounteous pre-nuclear splendor. All it lacked were the great swathes of dry land and desert so often present on Earth.

    Not that that was a negative, in his eyes, seeing as he personally despised sand for the irritant that it was. The time he''d spent deployed to Santigar to quell the planet''s rebellion remained one of his most miserable deployments for more than just his having had to deal with embedded Beralox Nobility "Commanders".

    He remembered having wanted to strangle one of them every second he''d spent around the irritating bugger. That noble had likely been the only thing more irritating to him than the sand. Something that wasn''t helped by the blasted "aggression management" bracer that he''d been forced to wear when around any of the bastard aliens, which shocked him like a damned dog every time he''d thought of harming one of them, which, of course, led to his hatred for them intensifying.

    A beep from the system readout drew his eyes to another screen, where the status of the wisp''s sensory probes was displayed. One of the probes in the asteroid belt had gone dark. It was possible that it''d been impacted by an asteroid, but he doubted it, each probe was more than maneuverable enough to avoid an asteroid. He took over navigation and engaged the ship''s hardpoints, beginning a stealthy approach. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    The Wisp, like every other ship of her design, was extremely stealthy. She''d been designed with the express intent to create the stealthiest ship possible with modern terran technology... and what they''d been able to steal from their overlords. For the purposes of stealth, she''d also been made mostly automated. The less crew she had, the less emissions and power-consumption would be produced from her life support systems.

    The saved energy could then be diverted to additional stealth functions, like her concealed heatsinks, which could minimize the heat she''d produce on a thermal scan. Alas, she was not large enough to support a Terran cloaking field generator, which meant that any idiot with windows and eyes would easily spot her. Even if she was painted to match a patch of space. After all, patches of space didn''t tend to move.

    His current approach vector would take him right above the probe''s last known position in under a minute, but he decided to dive out of the asteroid field and dive back into it just adjacent to the probe, a risky maneuver which would undoubtedly surprise any enemies. Not that there were any enemies when he arrived. In fact, he found the place completely devoid of anything, even any trace of his missing brobe, which had seemingly vanished.

    He felt the impact before he heard the alarms begin to scream. His neural interface allowing him to feel as something directly impacted his ship''s aft and sent it rocking. He immediately began evasive maneuvers and turned his ship to face the threat.

    He wasn''t the best pilot, but he''d already had a neural interface and command experience from his days as a power armor company captain, so he''d been given his current positions. Even then, he could likely win a dogfight with any opponent that didn''t have a neural interface, simply because of the advantage in maneuverability and processing power that it granted. Though even with that processing power, he struggled to make sense of what he was seeing.

    The "ship" before him appeared to be an asteroid with undulating masses of color-changing crystal. Crystal which quickly grew and shattered, sending the shards hurtling towards his ship. He rolled his ship out of the way and watched as the shards exploded against an asteroid. By the time he''d turned his eyes back to his foe, it was gone. The blasted thing was invisible to his ship''s sensors.

    He began to dive out of the asteroid field, it would be far harder for it to hide in the open void. As expected, it followed, and he rolled out of the way of another blast of crystal shards. The second blast, unlike the others, tracked him, and impacted against the Wisp''s aft. He was certain the ship had a fairly large dent already forming, the shards were as fast as the Wisp''s railgun rounds, and there was only so much damage that her hull could sustain, even with the standard kinetic shielding.

    Fortunately, his opponent was slow, though how it could maneuver at all was a conundrum, seeing as it had no visible propulsion. Either way, once they were in open space he began to fly circles around his foe. His railguns cutting into his foe''s rocky surface and blowing off chunks of stone.

    In open flight the difference in speed became more obvious than ever before, he was even capable of outmaneuvering the tracking projectile shards, which rapidly began to lose speed after a minute or two. Of course, he noticed how the enemy had ceased to launch anything other than the tracking projectiles, and he noticed how they''d begun to speed up, but there was little he could do about that, and the effect was minimal.

    Then the asteroid broke, revealing more crystal, which rapidly began to shift. It took on a far more dynamic shape, and began picking up speed, as did its attacks. His previous routine of running circles around it changed, now it had become a proper dogfight, the two vessels dancing around each other, firing off their weapons. The speed gap had been closed, and he was in trouble now. The crystal was more durable than his ship, and the gap he''d formed through evasion was being closed quickly. He had no doubt he''d soon start taking hits again.

    He sighed. He''d set out from headquarters with six torpedoes, he had one left. If he encountered an enemy patrol on his return journey, he''d certainly be in trouble. Still, he launched the torpedo. Better to live and possibly regret it than to die because he was stingy on the munitions. The torpedo flew, performing minor course corrections as it did, and the crystal didn''t even try to evade.

    He watched as it was torn apart in the ensuing explosion, differently-sized shards hurtling away in the aftermath. Command would undoubtedly want samples and scans, so he deployed his remaining probes and disengaged the hardpoints and allowed the automated systems to take over navigations. The engineers would not be happy about him getting his ship damaged, but command would be very happy with the knowledge of these crystalline entities, seeing as it might prevent any casualties to ambushes once they figured out how to detect them.

    Of course, Murphy, ancient Earth''s god of misfortune, looked upon his hopes of going home and laughed. The crystalline entity wasn''t quite so dead as he''d thought it to be, and a large shard of it somehow latched onto his ship as it passed through the debris field. By the time the alarms sounded, the crystal had already begun digging through the aft''s hull, directly towards the ship''s jump drive.

    By the time he''d thought up a reasonable course of action, the crystal had completely taken over the core. At least the power generators weren''t in the aft. It made his next course of action far more palatable. He took control once more and launched the ship towards the nearest habitable world, forcing the thrusters beyind their normal acceleration capacity, which caused them to start melting. Not that that mattered, considering that he wouldn''t need them where he was going. He detached the ship''s aft, and set the emergency landing mode, securing himself to his seat with the inbuilt safety harness.

    He knew what came next, he would activate the ship''s "colonization procedures", start getting the lay of the land, and wait for a couple of months until rescue came. Assuming he survived the crash after atmospheric entry, which, considering the speed and angle he was entering at, was highly unlikely. Or as the shipboard computer put it: "Probability of surviving emergency landing, twenty percent. You will be gladdened to know that the bridge will be the first section to be destroyed, and you will be unlikely to suffer.".

 Chapter 1: Another Happy Landing

    He awoke to the hiss of his suit¡¯s life-support system delivering an injection of adrenaline, painkillers, and several stimulants directly into his nervous system. It was not the first time he¡¯d crashed, he knew the procedures, and he put them to use immediately. He began by assessing himself, through the suit¡¯s read-out and his own senses.

    Immediately he noticed that one of his legs was unresponsive, and his suit had several breaches, likely from shrapnel. Fortunately, his body, with the exception of his right leg, remained responsive. So, he moved onto the next step, assessing his surroundings.

    The ship¡¯s bridge had suffered not-insignificant amounts of damage, but was by no means ruined. Part of the hull was dented, several panels had flown off, severed wires dangled freely, and some of the terminals had been ruined by the shrapnel and the impact. There was even a hull breach letting sunlight and air into the compartment. The good news; he could breathe the planet¡¯s atmosphere.

    The bad news: he promptly discovered that one of the hull¡¯s panels had flown directly into his right leg. Considering the amount of blood pooling beneath him, the leg had likely been severed or gotten damn-near close to complete severance. At least his suit had begun to compress around the leg, serving as a tourniquet. He ran little risk of bleeding out, if he acted quickly.

    He breathed deeply and hit the release on his seat¡¯s restraints, expecting to feel pain as his body was jostled. The painkillers spared him the pain. He reached beneath his seat and pulled the emergency kit secured there loose, and onto his lap. The kit contained little, an injector containing the same cocktail of drugs his suit had injected him with previously, a canister of sealant gel, to seal any open wounds, disinfectant liquid, and the tools he¡¯d need for any emergency medical treatment.

    It also contained a handgun and a combat knife, for pilots stranded behind enemy lines. He hoped to have little need for the weapons in the immediate future. He was wounded and would take some time to recover, even with his ship¡¯s top-of-the-line medical equipment. Of course, he¡¯d not have to use any of those if he didn¡¯t act fast to preserve his life. He steeled himself, gripped the panel that had crashed into his leg with both hands, and wrenched it free.

    Beneath the panel, his leg hung to his thigh by a sliver of muscle, ready to snap. The leg had been mostly severed right above the kneecap, the bone had been snapped, the flesh had been shorn through, and blood still dripped from the wound. He pulled the knife from its place in the kit and cut the flesh that remained, watching as the remnants of his leg slumped to the ground.

    Honestly, he was surprised that this was the first limb he¡¯d lost so far. He¡¯d been in more battles than he cared to remember and had more near-death encounters than he cared to tally, but this was the first limb he¡¯d lost. He applied the sealant gel to the wound and waited the seconds it took for it to dry, leaving a clear film where it had previously been, before he started assessing his other wounds.

    He tended to those wounds that he could, removing shrapnel and patching the wounds with sealant before attempting to stand. He hopped to the nearest control terminal and began a diagnostic program, to determine how much of the ship could be salvaged. It was his good fortune that the ship¡¯s power core and med-bay remained intact, the loss of either would likely have damned him. The continued functionality of the ship¡¯s foundry and probe bay was an appreciated bit of fortune that would spare him great pains in the coming days. Alas, the Wisp¡¯s rear cargo bays had been ruined during the crash, and the entire aft had been ejected.

    He didn¡¯t expect his ship to ever get back in the air, but that wasn¡¯t too much of a concern, not with his wounds. Having confirmed that his ship¡¯s medical bay continued to function, he hopped from the bridge and towards it. The sterile room full of medical equipment had been designed with the express purpose of tending to his health, and, due to his ship¡¯s lack of crew, could do so automatically. All he had to do was settle down on the operating table, which he did with gusto. He couldn¡¯t wait to be fully functional once more.  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    A holoprojector near the operating table ignited and a screen appeared, floating in midair. It showed his status, his vital signs, with more statistics appearing as the arms began to attach sensors to him and the scanner above him completed its task. He toggled the med bay''s ¡®drastic measures¡¯ mode, which would grant it permission to bypass some of its normal limitations and quickly felt the telltale pinch of a needle on skin. He didn¡¯t feel much more after that.

    When he next woke, it was to a jolt of electricity between his shoulder blades and the familiar smell of cleaning agents. A cursory accounting of his physical state was enough for him to know that the machines had done their job. His wounds were sealed, the blood had been cleaned off him, and a shiny cybernetic leg had filled the void left by his now detached flesh-and-blood limb. He ignored the prompts from the medical bay¡¯s virtual intelligence, which warned him that he ought to stay in bed to let his wounds heal, and stood.

    Letting his wounds heal the old-fashioned way would take weeks, time that he did not have. Instead, garbed in a surgical coat that he didn¡¯t remember putting on, he walked the ship¡¯s halls towards his quarters and did his best to ignore the pain that flared up where his new leg connected to his flesh. Every step brought another pulse of pain, another reason to search for a way to further speed up his body¡¯s natural regeneration, once he got back home. The standard genetic modifications had already significantly cut down on the time he¡¯d take to heal, but it could certainly be faster.

    The doors to his quarters opened with a hiss, and his hounds growled in response. The first to be seen, as he lay on the couch in plain sight of the door, was Ripley, the oldest of his three hounds, and one who had served alongside him in more than half of his battles. The next was Clotho, the youngest and largest of the beasts, who peered at him from her open cage. The last to be seen was Kettle, or Ket for short, a hound that had originally belonged to another, but been transferred to him upon her handler¡¯s death in combat. Ket was also the smallest, and smartest, of the three, and the only one to attempt to ambush him.

    He side-stepped her pounce, careful to avoid her sharp tail as she flew past. Her cybernetic eyes tracked him even then, and she immediately corrected her course upon landing. For reasons unknown to him, Kettle had received cybernetic enhancements and an entirely different brand of training from what the other hounds had been given.

    Vellaxi Hunter beasts, or ¡®Razorback hounds¡¯ as they¡¯d come to be known by human soldiers, were formidable creatures that the Beralox had seen fit to domesticate for the use their human soldiers. They resembled old Earth¡¯s many species of predatory canids, though reptilian in nature and gifted with their namesake razor-like dorsal scale ridges. They also possessed a flexible blade-ended tail which they could make highly efficient use of and a bite force to match their fierce size. The tallest of the beasts, Clotho, stood at fifty-four inches tall at the shoulder when quadrupedal.

    It just so happened that humanity¡¯s tendency to bond with everything had made them the perfect handlers for the beasts. The fierce creatures had become a staple of modern peace-keeping operations. It also helped that they were capable of pack-bonding, highly protective, and could be quite docile and friendly around those who didn¡¯t show hostility towards their handlers, or vice versa.

    The three hounds quickly gathered before him as he lay himself down on the couch in a way he knew meant they knew that something was wrong and were awaiting orders, though he quickly dismissed them so he could get some sleep. He was faintly aware of the three settling down near him as he let himself fall into a deep sleep.

    He awoke to renewed pain as his treated wounds screamed their agony and barely had the presence of mind to fumble around in his coat¡¯s pockets for the injector that he knew to be there. The injector brought immediate relief for his pain, a relief that cleared his mind of the fog brought forth by the pain and drowsiness and he quickly remembered his tasks. He had to confirm the ship¡¯s status and perform any necessary repairs, to ensure that it wouldn¡¯t fail him before its auto-repair functions could begin.

    He had no expectation of the machine being able to repair the destroyed segments of the ship, but he needed those that remained to be fully functional. And so, he stood, lumbered through his morning routine, and equipped himself with the equipment he¡¯d need. He had a long few days ahead of him. It was a good thing he¡¯d taken the ship repairs course during training.

 Chapter 2: Early Explorations

    It took him the whole of three days to repair what he could, though it would have taken far less time were he not injured. Still, he was glad to be sure that the ship¡¯s systems wouldn¡¯t all shut down and leave him without recourse.

    Now, however, he got the opportunity to begin exploring the planet he¡¯d landed on. Was it unwise, considering his state? Certainly. But he¡¯d always been impatient, and he needed to get his mind off of his situation if he wished to preserve his sanity. Besides, who knew what secrets the planet held? The scans certainly hadn¡¯t been thorough enough to reveal anything other than the conditions on the planet and the resources available on it.

    So, he donned his armor, grabbed a rifle and some survey equipment, and set out to explore. He¡¯d have to have the ship repurpose some probes into scout drones to aid him. If he was efficient about things he might yet manage to catalogue his region before rescue arrived. Or better yet, a colony ship.

    He could imagine the faces of the new colonists as they first stepped off of their ships and onto the planet¡¯s sunlight. Well, not quite ¡®imagine¡¯, considering that he¡¯d made that face as he stepped off his own ship. The planet was breathtaking, and he¡¯d never seen anything quite like it. Oh, he had no doubt that the Beralox had planets just like it, jewel-green with plant-life and brimming with lifeforms of all kinds, but he¡¯d never been on any such world. The closest thing he knew to it was what few images of old Earth had been preserved.

    Modern Earth was little more than sprawling cities separated by great expanses of black and grey. The planet had never quite recovered from the great war, and the Beralox didn¡¯t appear keen to lend their terraforming expertise to their aid any time soon. So, of course, Manann was a breath of fresh air, literally. From the moment he stepped from his ship¡¯s impact radius he was surrounded by greenery, greenery rustling in the air and with the movements of the native fauna, greenery tall and small.

    Great trees and tiny grass, ferns, flowers, fungi. A new ecosystem full of animals. His survey equipment¡¯s scanners were going wild, trying to scan everything around him, to catalogue every new lifeform in his surroundings, and he let them. He took his time as he trod through the land, took the time to appreciate the beauty that surrounded him, but remained alert through it all. He¡¯d had alertness drilled into his mind more than enough during training to ensure he¡¯d never forget to keep his eyes open and watching for threats no matter where he was.

    Eventually, hours into his exploration of the planet, he found something truly interesting. The native life was beautiful, yes, but even it had not truly caught his interest. Instead, it was the irregular metallic structure he had found that drew him in. The scanners identified the material as an alloy of sorts, though of unknown composition, and it was clearly artificial.

    From the shape it took it nearly seemed like a part of a ship, a very big ship. It was old, very much so, but it was not so old that it had begun to degrade. This begged the question, who had crashed onto the planet? And are they still present on it? More importantly, where had they landed?

    If there were aliens on the planet, then his landing had most certainly been seen, and it was only a matter of time before someone chose to investigate the site. Only a matter of time until he was forced to interact with them. He wasn¡¯t a trained diplomat, he wasn¡¯t qualified to establish first contact, he wouldn¡¯t be able to negotiate with an entirely new society.

    There was also the question of their disposition. Were they friendly, would they welcome him with open arms without pretext of subjugating him? Would they approach cloaked in affability only to try to dominate, to subjugate him as the Beralox had done to all of humanity? Or perhaps they¡¯d be hostile and would try to kill him from the very beginning.

    Then, of course, there was the possibility of another spacefaring civilization knowing about the system. A possibility that the system wouldn¡¯t be quite so safe for the rebellion as they¡¯d figured it would be. Of course, it''s not like he could send a message back to High Command, so he¡¯d have to wait for rescue to arrive so they could port the message back.

    ¡°I have a feeling this will turn out to be one hell of a vacation...¡± He sighed as he began the trek back to his ship. The return journey was far faster, thanks to his suit¡¯s navigation systems and the relative distance being rather short, as he¡¯d been taking his time and exploring. The journey still gave him the time to plan out his next steps. As much as he wished to keep on exploring, his food supplies would only last him so long, especially with the destruction of the rear cargo bays, so he had to start thinking about establishing a ¡®farm¡¯ of sorts.

    He also had to set up a perimeter around his ship, complete with turrets, fence, and sensors. This was imperative for his continued safety. He now found himself on an unexplored planet, and everything from the fauna to the flora could be out to get him, he could ill afford to take any chances.

    He¡¯d also need a source of water, as there was only so far that water purifiers could take him, and the ship¡¯s generator needed it to run just as much as he did. Fortunately, he¡¯d found a nice brook that he could siphon water off of. The bigger concern was food. Plants took time to grow, and he¡¯d have to run some through a rapid domestication gene-mod program if he wished to have a feasible food-source. This took time, time during which he¡¯d be eating into his stockpile or whatever animals he could hunt from the environment around him.

    He got to work immediately upon his return to his ship. He had precious little time to waste and would be far slower than he would like to be due to his ongoing recovery, so he¡¯d have to make good use of what time he had. So, he¡¯d have to do his planning then and begin the manual labor early the next morning.

    The next day began with the sound of power tools and violent swearing. By the second hour of his work, he¡¯d acquired a newfound appreciation for the engineers and labor automata that normally set up their fortifications. He could not fathom why the prefab fortifications had to be so damned finicky, really, it should not be so difficult to get two fences to connect in such a way that they¡¯d run power through each other. And manually digging the emplacements for the bases of each of the turrets? That was a fresh type of hell for him.

    It took him six days and several repeated reinitiations to successfully establish his fortifications, and then he began his attempts to establish external hydroponics systems, which was yet another pain. A pain that was exacerbated by the knowledge that he¡¯d have to wait several weeks for the domestication programs to finish so that he could actually plant his crops. That took another five days, as the technology needed gentle care, and he still had to take his time for his recovery. An additional day was then spent on establishing the water siphon and sensors, but he was done.

    Now, it was time for a hunt. He¡¯d noticed several species of large prey creatures that he¡¯d like to hunt, and he didn¡¯t intend to let that rest. So, he picked out a suitable rifle, a classic subsonic slug thrower, one with an inbuilt silencer, high caliber, and a long range, and set out. Kettle, Clotho, and Ripley followed close behind him as he set out on his hunt.

    The three, like all combat hounds, could be quite stealthy, even with their size, so there was no risk of them alerting his prey. Though one had to ask the question of why someone had seen fit to give Kettle an optical camouflage implant, which was certainly not the least of those she¡¯d been granted. Not that he was going to complain about having a hound that could easily sneak up on anyone, when she wanted to.

    Once he¡¯d found a trail, he allowed Ripley to take over the tracking, seeing as that is what he¡¯d been trained for. Well, tracking fugitives rather than animals, but he figured that the skills transferred over. Ripley certainly hadn¡¯t failed him, seeing as they soon sighted their prey. ¡°Ripper, hold.¡± he commanded.

    Their prey was a large six-legged mammal, thick with muscle. The creature¡¯s belly lay low to the ground, and its long snout was being used to root through the detritus beneath a tree, searching for mushrooms. He doubted it was as defenseless and clueless as it seemed, the creature possessed a back full of quills and a thick tail that would no doubt be used offensively if needed.

    It was likely an omnivore that would gladly feed upon his corpse if it could kill him, but he wouldn¡¯t let it. If he was a good enough shot, it would never even know he had been near it. So, he took a knee, took aim, and took his shot, aiming for the kill. His shot took the beast through the head, and he watched it begin to thrash, though he waited for it to fall limp. The fact that some creatures would thrash even after death was something he¡¯d learned early on, in a rather painful manner, and he had little desire to repeat that mistake.

    ¡°Retrieve.¡± He ordered his hounds, and the beasts burst into motion, closing the distance and latching onto the large creature¡¯s tail and rear legs. The hounds slowly dragged the corpse towards him, and he laid out a tarp on which to transport it on their return to the ship. The butchering process turned out to be the more difficult of the hunt¡¯s components, and he soon found himself with a few additional cuts from his own knife. Then again, he was a novice, he¡¯d never had to butcher a creature before, only kill those that had started bothering their operations, so a few cuts were only to be expected, really.   Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    It mattered little, anyways, seeing as he¡¯d gotten what he wanted in the end, which was food. The creature, which he¡¯d decided, in his endless creativity, to bestow with the name ¡°Quillbeast¡±, turned out to be good prey. The meat was rich, took well to spices, and required nothing in the way of special treatment. He¡¯d certainly have to see if they could get the creature domesticated, once rescue arrived. If so, then it¡¯d likely turn into a staple for whatever colony they set up on the planet.

    He had decided to play around with hounds a bit and later take the opportunity to update his ship¡¯s logs when he received a ping from the ship, a notice that one of the drones had returned and had found something. The ship¡¯s communications systems were still non-functional, having decided to break down while he was in surgery, so the drones had to return anytime they wished to report something, which wasn¡¯t very optimal, but it was better than nothing. He hadn¡¯t expected them to find anything so promptly, seeing as they¡¯d only gotten online a few days prior, but sometimes his expectations were exceeded.

    Fortunately, this time was not one of those times. The drone had found something, certainly, but it was merely another remnant of whatever ship had crashed onto the planet previously. To be more specific, the scans figured it was a piece of a thruster or afterburner belonging to a battleship-class vessel. Which, while alarming, confirmed that the previous part had not been a fluke.

    It also meant that a rather large population of alien soldiers had likely crashed onto the planet, assuming that they had a similar size to humans and tried to pack as many troops as possible onto their ships. If they had survived their crash, then they would most likely also have survived the wilderness, and he¡¯d eventually have to deal with them. He¡¯d expected that to be a possibility, and it was one that he was ill-prepared for, but he¡¯d try to make the best of it, if he got the chance.

    In the meantime, he would have to begin preparations to battle technologically advanced foes, as that was a possibility. Typically, their strategy for fighting well-equipped opponents armed with equal or superior technology would be to apply liberal amounts of heavy weaponry with the express purpose of obliterating enemy fortifications, armor, and masses of infantry. No such thing was possible here.

    He did not have heavy weaponry, no armored vehicles or spaceship guns, the Wisp¡¯s own guns had been destroyed in the landing. He also did not have the advantage, superior military tactics, as he was a lone man, a captain without a company. Should his worst fears come true, he would have to resort to stealth, traps, and guerrilla warfare. Except guerrilla warfare was infeasible due to his dependency on the Wisp, he would likely die without it. So, he would need to make taking it from him infeasible and begin making a contingency for if it should occur.

    He would double the number of turrets around the perimeter to a nice even ten, set up a shield generator, and see if he couldn¡¯t get some dormant mines buried about the perimeter, to be awakened when needed. As for his contingency, he could work on setting up some hidden outposts with a foundry. And he might as well see if he couldn¡¯t find a source of mineral materials before he ran out of materials for the foundry to work with, which meant he¡¯d have to have it build some extraction drones to exploit that source.

    He was quickly finding himself wishing he had greater numbers. Many hands make light work, and the work was getting very heavy. Plans made, he sighed and stood from his place in the bridge¡¯s command chair and strode back to his quarters. He¡¯d taken his time to clean up the ship while he performed what repairs he could, and seen to it that his leg got a proper send-off via the incinerator, so his ship was currently as clean as he could make it, and as comfortable and desolate as always.

    Once more he strode into his quarters and found his hounds waiting, and once more he collapsed upon the couch, tired. ¡°What do you think about going spelunking tomorrow, girl?¡± He asked Kettle, though he knew that the hound couldn¡¯t really understand him. The beast merely tilted her head at him, cybernetic eyes shining with orange light, before barking at him. ¡°Guess we¡¯re going spelunking, then.¡±

    The next day, he departed towards a cavern that one of his drones had detected, it had found several others, but this one was particularly rich in minerals, and close to the ship. It was a good thing they¡¯d landed so close to a mountain. He¡¯d scout out the cavern a bit, set up one of the recently manufactured comms relays, and wait for his mechanized workforce to be complete. Then he¡¯d have the extraction drones carve a hole into the cavern and the builder drones would set up a new foundry and generator, and he could build himself an outpost and start manufacturing new drones and equipment from there.

    He¡¯d decided to only take Kettle on this excursion, as she was the smartest of his hounds and actually capable of climbing, thanks to her cybernetic paws, and using several scanner modes that would come in useful, like infrared. So much of the runt was mechanical that he sometimes wondered if the organic parts were actually there or merely a semblance to make it look like he hadn¡¯t been given a robot. A very well-programmed robot. Well, if Kettle really was a robot, he figured they ought to have made her a bit brighter, perhaps a bit more capable of speech.

    Not that speech would have made her any more useful for this excursion, he merely had her along for her ability to share her vision with his helmet, but he really did miss having conversations. There was only so long a man could go with his only communication with others being the occasional survey report before he started going a bit mad. Still, that wouldn¡¯t last long. With luck, he¡¯d be back among friends and comrades soon.

    Now, however, he found himself beneath stalactites covered by bioluminescent mosses, glowing gently in the dark. He and Kettle were surrounded on all sides by stalagmites, fungi, and the myriad creatures that lurked in the cavern¡¯s darkness, beasts that slither, scuttle, crawl, and squirm. Particularly interesting were the native rodents, as tall as his forearms are long when on their back legs, the rodents had, for whatever reason, turned out to be very much friendly. Currently one of them rode upon his shoulders and three stood on Kettle¡¯s back, chittering softly among each other.

    He did not know why they were so friendly, but this whole segment of the cavern had been interesting enough to justify the detour from the mostly desolate main caves. He¡¯d have to see to it that this segment was kept preserved, if only for the rodents¡¯ sake. The four disembarked as soon as he and Kettle returned to the main caverns, seemingly wanting nothing to do with whatever hid there. He and Kettle, however, kept walking on, ever closer to the largest concentration of minerals.

    Soon, they found themselves just before that section of cavern, and he started setting up the comms relay, drilling it into the ground with the power tool he¡¯d brought along for just that purpose. He worked in a reverie, boring several holes into the ground, one for each of the comms relay¡¯s legs, but eventually broke out of it at the sound of a growl. Kettle was growling so loud that she had overshadowed his drill, and he wasted no time to drop to his knee and bring his rifle to bear.

    He¡¯d picked a different weapon this time, as he had no intention of stealth. A MAC, Magnetic Accelerator Carbine. This obviously named Terran original was a staple of planetary defense forces on every human colony. The weapon itself was actually a variant configuration of the Modular Magnetic Accelerator Weapon, or MAW, for short. The MAW had been designed to fit nearly every battlefield role with just a change of parts and could pack a punch in any form it took. The exception was any role that required fully automatic fire, as that tended to melt the weapon¡¯s barrel due to the heat generated by the projectile when accelerating.

    That particular aspect of it, the impressive firepower that all magnetic accelerator weapons shared, was both their greatest strength, and their greatest weakness. In urban and voirborne environments, magnetic accelerator weapons had to be tuned to specific outputs and limited constantly unless you wanted to blow a hole in any walls you were pointing at, which could mean civilian casualties in Urban environments, or depressurization in spaceships and stations. You did not want either.

    In this case the overpenetration mattered little, so long as he managed to kill the charging insectoid monstrosity, which he did. A single pull of the trigger resulted in a piece of metal tearing the insect apart from one end to the next, as magnetic accelerators tended to do. Magnetic accelerators, in all of their variants, were listed among the deadliest weapons of the modern age for a very good reason. If you got hit by a shot from one, you were guaranteed to die¡­ Unless you were equipped with a personal energy shield.

    Fortunately for him, the gigantic bug had not come with a personal energy shield, so he wouldn¡¯t have to resort to the standard tactic for dealing with shielded enemies, or opponents you didn¡¯t necessarily want to kill, that being melee combat. With his enemy dealt with in a rather anticlimactic manner, he returned to the completion of his work.

    Those minerals were not going to extract themselves, and the automata that would extract them would need guidance. Also, he sure as hell wasn¡¯t about to search for the source of the insectoid menace, not in person. He figured that he¡¯d just send a drone down to check things out later, instead of risking the loss of his life at the mandibles of a bunch of insects. Assuming there were more of them.

    No, he¡¯d not risk that. He had happily finished the relay¡¯s installation and departed the cavern system with all of his limbs intact and untouched by giant insects and he would avoid having to enter it again until his drones had confirmed that the insect he killed was the last one, or alternatively, until the chamber the insect originated from had been thoroughly cleansed with a generous quantity of incendiary explosives.

    He could stand normal insects, but insects that stood as tall as he did could not be tolerated. Unless they were sapient and he had assurances that they would not attempt to eat him. He¡¯d had more than enough of that on Santigar.

    Indeed, he would be the first to admit that that campaign had left him with a particular fear of the larger insects that would likely never leave him, so he was quite glad to be back on board his ship, and away from the overgrown pests. Now if only he could get all his work done so he could rest easy¡­

 Chapter 3: Contact

    A month passed. Nothing happened. It was the most astonishing thing he had ever gone through. He had gone through so much preparation, to the point of excess, and nothing had happened. No big threat, no first contact, no sign of rescue, nothing. Just silence.

    He had used the time wisely, of course, bolstered his defenses, built a trio of contingency bases, fully self-sustainable, obviously, and started up a stockpile of weapons and ammunitions just in case¡­ Not that there was any sign of him needing it. He really had thought that if any sapients lived on the planet they would have at least sent someone to investigate the place where the giant ball of fire that fell from on high landed. But no, there was no sign of that either.

    His sole concern was the missing status of several of his scout drones, and even that could be explained away as casualties to the native flying fauna. Some of those critters were massive and would certainly attack his drones. Even his food supply had really ceased to be an issue, seeing as his hunts were successful and the rapid domestication program would end in little more than a month, so he¡¯d soon be able to plant some native vegetables.

    It was both relieving and frustrating. On one hand, he wouldn¡¯t have to fight anyone or serve as a diplomat¡­ On the other, all of the effort he had put in, all of his preparations, had been for naught. It was irritating.

    But it was nowhere near as harmful to his health as the idleness was. It was in those moments of idleness that he got a chance to reflect, on his life, his decisions, his losses. What could he have done differently? Would things have changed if he had?

    It was in the darkness of idleness that his deepest regrets bubbled to the surface, that his mind began to tear itself apart. It was in the idleness that he truly felt the pain, for its herald was the boredom. It was in that darkness that he truly felt it, the desolation of his life. He was alone.

    When was the last time he spoke to another person? When was the last time he slept unassisted, without the need for exhaustion or pharmaceuticals? The last time he joked with a friend, saw his parents, held a lover? He could not remember.

    He had drowned it all in labor, in duty and his loyalty for his people, and in his na?ve belief that things would get better. But had things gotten better? He had left everything for the rebellion, his friends, his comrades, many of whom remained loyal to their oppressors, his family, and even his fianc¨¦e, for she had refused to against their ¡®saviors¡¯. And where was he now?

    Stranded on a random planet, because he had gotten sloppy. He should never have investigated the loss of that probe. But he hadn¡¯t been thinking right. He had volunteered for the scout service, he had isolated himself and watched as the routes grew longer and longer, and he got less respite. And he¡¯d never brought up a single concern.

    Then he made a mistake. Now, he suffered for it. He was alone on a middle-of-nowhere mudball with nothing but his training simulators and his hounds to keep him company, hoping for rescue to come soon. How long until he went mad? How long until the combat simulators and walks through the jungle ceased to stave off the loneliness?

    Truly, it was astounding how he¡¯d never noticed it all earlier. How had he missed all of this until he was already knee-deep in it?

    Another month passed without fanfare or eventuality.

    Another month of nothing. His crops had been planted, and he tended to them. His perimeter had remained undisturbed. His resource stockpiles grew. Nothing happened. No rescue came.

    He knew it would take time, but it still angered him, even as he started to wonder what the point of his struggle was. Really, it wasn¡¯t like the information he held was important enough that the rebellion would miss him, in fact, they¡¯d probably yet to notice that he had not reported recently. He could die and the person sent after him would inevitably find his ship and get the data off of that.

    Who would miss him? Would he even be remembered? What would he be remembered for? He could imagine his memorial plaque, ¡®Here lies Captain Adam V. Miller, a fool and a traitor to the Dominion.¡± If he even got that much. He was nobody of note, and he had left everybody who might have given a fuck about him behind, and for what?

    A dream of freedom? Of his people one day having the right to rule themselves and spread out among the stars at nobody¡¯s behest? What did that matter when more than half of his people were content under the yoke of their ¡®benevolent overlords¡¯? The fact that he wished that he were like them was infuriating, but perhaps he¡¯d be better off as one of them? That too elicited rage, the thought that he¡¯d be better off as an expendable slave to the Beralox, and it simmered just beneath the surface.

    He released all of that fury in a flurry of blows at the holographic copy of himself that he was fighting, but even that was stripped from him as the copy dematerialized and the simulation abruptly ended. A message from the medical bay¡¯s virtual intelligence took over his suit¡¯s HUD. ¡°Mental status; Critical, please seek help from a councilor.¡± The message read.

    ¡°YOU THINK I DON¡¯T KNOW THAT!?¡± he bellowed at the air, at nothing. ¡°I¡¯M STUCK HERE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I¡¯M ALONE, THERE¡¯S NOBODY TO GET HELP FROM! SO, STOP. TELLING ME. TO GET. HELP!¡± each word was punctuated with a punch at the ship¡¯s bulkhead, and he was prevented from breaking his hand only by his suit¡¯s armor and the padding it provided, and he slumped to the ground, defeated.

    He sat there for what seemed to him like hours, unable to even muster up the motivation to cry. He didn¡¯t notice the arrival of his hounds, nor did he know how they¡¯d gotten to him, seeing as they could not open the ship¡¯s doors, and it didn¡¯t matter. Not then. All that mattered was that the modicum of comfort that they brought him allowed him to drift away, for just a few hours.

    ¡°-RIMETER BREACHED¡± the alarms bellowed, jolting him awake. ¡°ALERT: PERIMETER BREACHED¡± He tried to stand and found a great weight atop him; he was surrounded on all sides by something with scales, or a trio of somethings. The three awoke shortly, and moved to let him stand.

    He lumbered up the hall and to bridge, where a map of their surroundings was being projected and the perimeter breach was highlighted, a red line through the outermost layer of sensor coverage. He had organized the sensors into several ¡®layers¡¯ of coverage, each a part of the perimeter, each layer with independent defenses that could be awakened at any point in time. Whatever had breached his perimeter had left quickly, but it wasn¡¯t an animal.

    ¡°TECHNOLOGICAL SIGNATURE DETECTED." The alert read.

    ¡°PERIMETER BREACHED¡± the alarms bellowed once more.

    ¡°I am aware of that.¡± He said in response. He got an idea and opened the terminal¡¯s record function. ¡°If you¡¯re hearing this message, then you are either a member of the recovery team, or someone who managed to crack the ship¡¯s Blackbox encryption, either way, I¡¯m probably dead when you hear this. It has been more than two months since I crashed onto this rock and frankly, I¡¯m tired. I have not spoken to anyone for months, I¡¯m bored, and I¡¯m stressed, so I figure I may as well start taking risks. Now, someone recently breached my ship¡¯s security perimeter, and I¡¯m going to investigate. If you¡¯re hearing this message, then that investigation resulted in my death.¡±

    ¡°Clotho, come along. Rip, Kettle, stay.¡± He ordered as he departed the bridge. Whoever or whatever had breached his perimeter was fast, they were in and out in minutes, so the breach had been brief. They were undoubtedly long gone by now, so he would have to move fast if he wanted to catch up. Fortunately, he¡¯d thought to have a rapid-response vehicle, of the peronnel carrier variety, loaded onto his ship for any missions that required him to land and move quickly.

    The Wisp¡¯s cargo bays, those that remained, were kept open at all times nowadays so retrieving the vehicle would be trivial. But first, he needed to equip himself. He decided to go for lighter armor than he tended to use, a more form-fitting suit with sleek armor plates that didn¡¯t impede the wearer¡¯s movement, not like a suit of medium or heavy armor could. The armor left no skin on display, even his face was covered by a recon hood, and then that was covered by the armor¡¯s faceless helmet. The helmet had inbuilt cameras somewhere near where the eyes should be, though nowhere visible, the camera footage was projected to the wearer in real-time in lieu of the helmet having eyeholes through which to see.

    For his weapons, he selected what had been his standard kit when he¡¯d deployed, a MAW outfitted for sniping, a submachine gun, and in case he had to fight shielded enemies, a Modern Arms Falcata. The Modern Arms company was one of the largest weapon manufacturing companies in Terran space and had started off as a company dedicated to the modernization of ancient melee weapons. All of their weapons were equipped with either plasma or a rift field generator, a type of molecular disruptor, that would coat the blade in said field and allow it to cut through most materials. He personally preferred the rift field, as the blade remained sharp and could be used as a weapon without having to toggle the generator and spend its battery. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    The company also produced shields, though he chose not to wield one. He did load up on grenades, as explosives were always useful, and he made sure to grab an emergency kit, in case he suffered another wound. Then, he equipped Clotho with her own armor, which included a shield generator for personal and squad use as well as a medical stim dispenser, again for personal and squad use. It also came equipped with a dorsal turret that could fire upon any enemies that Miller indicated.

    Each of his hounds had been trained for different purposes and were armored and equipped differently. Clotho had been trained to bolster a squad with protection from enemy attacks and rescue for the wounded. Though none of those were why he had brought her along. Rather, it was the fact that Clotho was large and strong enough to be used as a mount, in case his vehicle failed or suffered damage. At Fifty-four inches tall at the shoulder and eight hundred pounds of pure muscle, Clotho was a formidable beast indeed, and it was a good thing his vehicle was designed to carry similarly weighty passengers.

    In fact, it could carry even more than that, which meant that it hovered through the forest effortlessly and at its top speed. At the rate they went they arrived at the initial breach point in minutes and were following along the trail that the intruders had left immediately. From what he could tell, the intruders were driving tracked vehicles, multiple of them, which is why he figured there were several intruders.

    The question was what these intruders wanted. Were they from a settlement nearby, sent to scout his territory? He wouldn¡¯t know, seeing as he¡¯d been unable to get any data on any settlements. Though he assumed that the locations where his scout drones went dark were at least close to the alien settlements.

    He drove along peacefully, far beyond his territory, following the trail that the aliens had left behind, at least until he found the wreck of one of their vehicles, something akin to a motorcycle, but with treads. Whatever had wrecked it had dealt severe damage to its treads, to the point of decoupling them from the vehicle proper. It appeared that the driver had managed to escape intact, at least, seeing as he¡¯d yet to see a corpse. That was, of course, assuming that there had been a driver to begin with.

    He continued to drive along the trail. A bright light rose up into the air somewhere ahead of him, a flare, perhaps? He accelerated to his vehicle¡¯s top speed, a crisp hundred miles per hour, and blasted forwards. The flare had certainly not been meant for him, but he wasn¡¯t about to complain about a prolonged search having become unnecessary.

    Soon enough he could hear the sound of a scuffle, the telltale crackle of lasers and the battle-sounds of animals. Animals? He was certain that no native animal could have taken out one of the bikes, seeing as they¡¯d been very well armored. He dismounted his vehicle and started to approach the scuffle.

    He had ordered Clotho to stay behind as it would be rather difficult for the massive beast to hide, and he wished to stay in stealth. As he approached the ongoing battle, and it became possible to discern the alien language from the normal ruckus, his universal translator implant began to decipher what he was hearing. The Implant was a piece of technology that he was certain had not been a Beralox original, but rather something they¡¯d reverse engineered from the ruins of a far older civilization. It was simply impossible for them to have created it themselves. The implant¡¯s workings were a mystery to him, how it could manage to decipher a language it had never heard before with just a few short interactions was something he had marveled at and would now make use of.

    But first, he had to save the poor foolish aliens from the animals they had angered, a species that even he refused to anger. The Skirr were a species of omnivorous mammals that could bounce great distances on their back legs so as to savage their prey with their razor-sharp claws and teeth, a truly nightmarish sight. The main reason he didn¡¯t like angering them, however, was that they weren¡¯t typically hostile and were actually quite friendly to larger beings that didn¡¯t show any hostility. They had a rather symbiotic relationship with some of the larger herbivores, where they would provide the herbivores with protection from predators, and eat whatever the herbivores knocked from the trees or attracted towards them.

    Unfortunately, he¡¯d have to kill these. But not before observing the ongoing combat for a while. Knowing the capabilities of the aliens would be helpful if they turned out to be hostile.

    As far as he could tell, these aliens weren¡¯t military. They didn¡¯t wear much armor, their tactics were scattered, and most had weapons that were either badly made, or poorly maintained. They mostly wielded laser weapons, the highly inefficient predecessor to plasma weaponry, though he could spot a few kinetic weapons, though none looked like magnetic accelerators.

    Species-wise, the aliens appeared to be a ragtag band of species. The most numerous were a species of humanoid avians that appeared to possess two pairs of wings as well as the standard pair of arms, he was unable to estimate a size beyond ¡¯probably shorter than myself¡¯. There were some larger avians that were definitely taller than him and had a clear lack of wings, as well as a long tail that the other species lacked. There was also a trio of fully armored beings that he could not discern the classification of and a centaur-like alien that was... also avian.

    The wrecks of several bikes of varied sizes, as well as a treaded platform that he assumed was used to transport the centaur, lay nearby, all with destroyed treads. Some of them had metallic spears protruding from the base of the tread, oddly enough, and he was beginning to put the truth of events together. Either the native aliens were in conflict with each other, or these were more recent arrivals to the planet and had somehow come into conflict with the actual natives.

    He didn¡¯t have time to think more extensively about the situation because one of the aliens fell and would soon be dead at the hands of a Skirr unless he intervened. So, he took aim and, with a single well-placed shot, took the head off of the Skirr that had the alien pinned. His next shot tore another open, and took another through the heart, the next shot left a hole through one as it pounced towards an alien, and the shot after that pierced three and scattered those around them. Each shot was a resonating boom, like a blast of thunder impacting by his side, and would certainly have rendered him deaf were it not for his suit¡¯s audio dampeners making the sound little louder than a pistol¡¯s shot, though he still felt the recoil and how his suit battled to keep him kneeling rather than flat on his back.

    He ought to have laid down. Two more shots followed before he needed to reload, at which point some of the beasts had started bounding towards him so switched to his submachine gun. No sooner had they entered their pounce¡¯s range than he pulled the trigger. His chosen submachine gun fired magnetically accelerated pulses of molten metal, and could easily tear the creatures apart. In a way, it was very similar to a laser weapon, though it had a slightly greater range than a laser, and the munitions could actually be seen. Lasers were, as a general rule of thumb, almost invisible unless they used specific materials, like neodymium, or were very high intensity.

    His submachine gun, on the other hand, made it very clear which of his enemies would be next to die by sending a crimson pulse of molten metal in the exact direction he pointed. By the time the gun¡¯s ¡®ammo¡¯ canister was dry no Skirr remained anywhere to be seen, unless they were fleeing. Except for the one that had managed to flank him and thought it would be able to pounce onto him. That one had made the mistake of thinking him alone and was caught mid-pounce by Clotho¡¯s own.

    Clotho had started her approach the second she heard gunfire and had bagged herself a snack for her troubles. ¡°Good girl.¡± He praised as he reloaded his guns. ¡°Now, let''s see about these strangers...¡± His implant¡¯s readout said it would be able to begin active translation, so he¡¯d put it to the test.

    The two left the tree line for the clearing, walking at a relaxed pace, though he made sure to keep his gun at the ready, and could see Clotho¡¯s turret swiveling between targets as they moved, ready to open fire at his command. The aliens started arguing amongst each other as they watched the two approach. It was quite an interesting argument, even if he only heard part of it.

    ¡°-your funeral!¡± One of the aliens berated. This one was one of the two that the others gathered behind, and he assumed that they were the leaders.

    ¡°We need the pay, Krelaw, the captain says we¡¯re losing money by the day!¡± The other retorted, waving a handgun around. The sight of it made him cringe, and confirmed that none of these were soldiers, or just didn¡¯t know basic firearm discipline. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you think it¡¯s suicide, think of what the collectors will pay!¡±

    ¡°Pay?!¡± The other squawked. ¡°Think of our lives, you fool!¡±

    ¡°This could be the payday we need, you moron!¡± Said the undisciplined one. He grew more agitated by the second. ¡°We could get the captain a new ship! And our own [Vraskar], for every man on the crew!¡± The word ¡®Vraskar¡¯ had no translation, but it appeared to hold some sort of weight among the crew, as it sent them muttering.

    ¡°To the Halls with that, we could make more credits elsewhere!¡± was Krelaw¡¯s response. ¡°Besides, you know what honor demands, and you know that the captain will heed his honor.¡± It appeared that he had noticed his counterpart¡¯s agitation, as his hand had begun to drift to the sidearm at his side.

    ¡°He won¡¯t if he doesn¡¯t know wha-¡± The alien had begun to aim his gun and would certainly have fired it had the other not beat him to the point. In but a single trigger-pull a charred hole had become his face¡¯s most prominent feature, aside from his beak.

    ¡°Does anyone else have any stupid ideas?!¡± Krelaw asked the muttering crowd. Seeing no objections to his actions, and having heard no response to his question, he turned to Miller, holstered his weapon, and bowed.  ¡°This Lieutenant Krelaw Dak-Turin thanks you for your aid and apologizes for the display.¡±

    Miller knew that, with the aid of the translator and the implant that had replaced his voice-box after the events on Santigar, he could most likely speak the Alien¡¯s language, so he carefully prepared a response. ¡°I, Captain Adam Miller, accept your thanks and your apology.¡±

    ¡°A captain? But where is your crew?¡± The alien asked.

    ¡°Dead.¡± Miller lied. He secured his weapon and beckoned Clotho closer. ¡°Died on impact, though my pets survived.¡± The alien eyed Clotho warily as she approached, as anyone with a sense of self-preservation ought to.

    ¡°My condolences, captain, it must be hard to lose so many comrades.¡± Said the alien. ¡°Our captain will be grateful once he hears that you saved us, perhaps you could join us?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps.¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant, it is time for us to depart.¡± Interjected another alien. ¡°To dally here is folly.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you¡¯re quite right. Move out!¡± Krelaw ordered. He turned to Miller and bowed once more ¡°Farewell, captain, though I feel it shall not be for long. I am certain that our captain will wish to repay you for the aid you have provided.¡±

    ¡°Farewell, Lieutenant, I look forward to meeting your captain.¡± Said Miller. He watched the aliens depart and turned to the corpse. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you were arguing about, but you don¡¯t deserve to be left to the animals.¡± He threw an incendiary grenade onto the corpse and turned to depart. ¡°Rest in peace.¡±

 Chapter 4: The Crew

    It didn¡¯t take very long at all for the aliens to contact him, just a few hours. One of them showed up just beyond his base¡¯s perimeter and informed him that their captain wished to speak with Miller and had ordered this crewman to guide him there. And so the crewman did.

    Miller soon found that he wasn¡¯t the only person on the planet with a spaceship and, more importantly, the alien¡¯s ship was functional. Their ship was larger than his, and far uglier too. It was a bulbous construction of blackened metal and glass, guns jutted out at random intervals, pointing in every which way, and the ship¡¯s hull had definitely seen better days. It had clearly received shoddy repairs more than once, the hull being patched over in several places, and whoever had built the ship had clearly never learned that windows were a structural weakness.

    But it was a ship, a functional ship, one that had landed on its own power and would be able to leave on its own power. They hadn¡¯t set up much of a perimeter, just a few patrols and some deployable cover, but he supposed that they could be forgiven for that, seeing as they had a functional ship and could simply take off whenever they wanted to.

    The existence of the ship did confirm something for him; they weren¡¯t native to the planet. The system¡¯s existence was known to external factions. This begged the question of why it hadn¡¯t been colonized yet. It was, as far as he could tell, a perfect system. Several habitable worlds, a resource-rich asteroid belt, a gas giant, and a very well-hidden location within a nebula. It would be a perfect location for just about any kind of settlement.

    He considered this as he was led into and through the ship until he arrived at the ship¡¯s mess hall and was then led to the ornate table where the ship¡¯s captain sat. The captain, much like most of his crew, was an avian of some kind. He was the largest alien Miller had seen, aside from the avian centaur and the insectoid juggernaut. The captain, when standing, would have stood at about a hundred and sixteen inches in height, and more than enough in width that miller doubted the captain would have fit through any of the Wisp¡¯s doors, other than that of the hangar bay, that is.

    The captain was, much like the majority of his crew, a humanoid, though possessing four arms rather than the human two. He looked much like an owl, one of the avian species that humanity had been able to resurrect via cloning. Much like an owl, the captain had large eyes, brown feathers, and a hooked beak. He also had a noticeable lack of wings, and a large array of scars on display.

    Once Miller had settled into his seat and been provided with a flagon of what his suit¡¯s scanners told him was a mead of some kind, the captain spoke. ¡°I am Captain Kolhu, of the Word of Arnit, and I thank you for saving my crewmen. I owe you a debt of honor for the salvation of my crew, one that cannot easily be paid.¡± The captain saluted and drained his flagon, which the scanner told Miller was full of a weaker liquor than the mead before him.

    ¡°I am Captain Adam Miller, of the Wisp, and I greet you as a fellow captain and a warrior.¡± Miller considered dismissing the debt, but had a feeling that, if the captain¡¯s culture was big on honor, that would be seen as an insult, and so he refrained from doing that. Instead, he drained the flagon of mead.

    ¡°Tell me, Captain Miller, what species are you?¡± captain Kolhu queried, his gaze assessing Miller. ¡°My ship¡¯s systems do not recognize your technology, nor do they recognize your species.¡±

    ¡°I am a human; my people have not ventured beyond our origin cluster until recently.¡± Miller responded, watching as a crewman snatched the empty flagons and replaced them.

    ¡°I see... Your people are warriors, or so I assume, considering what those you rescued told me.¡± The captain beckoned another crewman to his side. ¡°Prepare the best of our merchandise, I will let our new friend take his pick from it, in that way I will begin repaying our debt.¡±

    ¡°You are a merchant?¡± Miller asked, though he was growing suspicious.

    ¡°Yes. And a veteran, much like you, I can tell you¡¯ve fought in a few conflicts and suffered your fair share of wounds.¡± Said Captain Kolhu. ¡°One of your legs is a replacement, I recognize the gait, you have quite a few scars on your face, many more beneath your armor, and you¡¯ve got that alertness, the one that all soldiers who¡¯ve seen active combat recently have. You¡¯re watching the corners and anywhere that might serve as cover, or concealment, looking out for attackers. How long ago was it for you?¡±

    ¡°Two years since my last large-scale operation, four months since the last firefight.¡± Miller answered. ¡°I think you¡¯ve had a longer time still, seeing as your edge has dulled somewhat.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll admit you¡¯re right, I retired six years ago, after the Hegemon I served won her war of conquest. I¡¯ve had firefights and little skirmishes here and there after that, but nothing to keep me on edge like planetary warfare did.¡± Captain Kolhu chuckled. ¡°Sometimes I miss it. What about we exchange tales, old war stories, one veteran to another?¡±

    ¡°Certainly, it''s been a while since I¡¯ve spoken to anyone who knows a true war¡¯s rigors.¡± Said Miller.

    ¡°I¡¯ll begin, then, but first, a toast. To a fellow warrior.¡± The nearby crewmen appeared to have heard the captain as they too raised their flagons in salute. ¡°I fought in Hegemon Kalirra¡¯s war of conquest, she¡¯s a big name in the known galaxy, as your people will learn. Hers is one of the greatest empires in existence, one of the largest, too.¡±

    ¡°I joined the war the year I reached the age of majority, thirty-three galactic standard years ago, by joining the Hegemon¡¯s armed forces. I fought on many planets, but none so grueling as Skyla six.¡± He paused and drew an axe from his belt. ¡°This axe was the reward for those who survived. Four hundred million soldiers died on that planet, less than ten million remained by the time it capitulated. It was a fortress world, in every sense of the word, so heavily fortified that twenty million had died by the time we made landfall.¡±

    ¡°Seventy percent of the world¡¯s population was dedicated military, a military that never got the chance to deploy. Four hundred and fifty million, against billions. The world¡¯s population went underground the second we landed, and the only entrances were fortresses. thirty million died before the first fortress fell, even ship-grade weapons could not pierce the defenses that it sported. It took a miracle to find a weakness, a tiny hole in the shield matrix, on the western side of the shield, just low enough that a ship in orbit would be incapable of hitting it.¡±

    ¡°It was out good fortune that the enemy had a traitor within their midst, one who happily exposed the shield matrix¡¯s weakness. After that, the destruction of the fortress was only a matter of time, and then the real war began;¡± He paused, his hands spasmed. ¡°Tunnel warfare.¡±

    ¡°Our enemy was everywhere; they knew the tunnels more intimately than anyone else and they knew how to use that to their advantage. My people dislike the tunnels, we evolved under the canopies of the Kemak trees, not in the dark and constrictive confines of the stone¡¯s halls, yet there we were forced to fight.¡± Another flagon of liquor was drained before he resumed his tale. ¡°The enemy could appear anywhere; at any time. We were ambushed countless times, peaceful sleep became a dream, the situation fostered paranoia, infighting, accusations of crimes and treason flew left and right.¡±

    ¡°But we kept going, down, down, ever deeper, searching for their seat of government, and we bled every step of the way.¡± said the alien captain. The hall had, without Miller¡¯s notice, gone quiet, and every member of the crew listened attentively. ¡°The tunnels seemed to flow with our blood, even once we reached the enemy¡¯s seat of government. By then, there were less than a hundred million of us, and our enemy¡¯s defenses had only grown fiercer, but we had been ordered to bring this planet into compliance, and so we would.¡±

    ¡°The battle for their seat of government lasted for weeks, and we were only barely able to prevent the escape of their leaders before the battle¡¯s end. The destruction of their transportation system was vital to our victory, and costly, but it allowed us to prevent the escape of their leaders and the arrival of their reinforcements. Once that was done, their leaders were captured, and their surrender was secured. Had it been any other civilization, their leaders would have ordered that their troops continue to fight, and we would have lost that battle.¡±

    ¡°That certainly sounds like a difficult war, and is certainly far worse than my own experience, but I will tell my tale all the same, it is only fair.¡± Began Miller. ¡°My people are a warlike people, something that is our greatest blessing, and our damnation. We have fought more wars among ourselves than our historians could ever hope to record, though that is in part due to the cataclysm that preceded our modern era. A single madman in power was more than enough to nuke our people back into primitivity, but that was hundreds of years ago.¡±

    ¡°We recovered from our cataclysm with significant amounts of bloodshed, with war and destruction, for nothing motivates us to progress more than war does, and we finally left our world for the stars. We didn¡¯t get very far. The Beralox Dominion was waiting, and our ¡°leaders¡±¡± He spat the word like a curse. ¡°Bent the knee without much struggle.¡±

    ¡°But that was many years ago. In the modern day, our civilization exists as a vassal state, and those like me, my people¡¯s soldiers, are forced to fight at the behest of our overlord. For years I served like any other soldier, traveling from world to world to put down rebellions and quell unrest, and building up resentment against our overlords all the while. My experience came to a head, however, at the battle of Santigar.¡±  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°Santigar was a desert world, an endless expanse of sand as far as the eye can see, anywhere you land. The few colonies on its surface that thrived dedicated themselves to mining, it just happened that they dug too greedily and too deep and awoke a ravening foe. The first emergence saw an entire colony disappear, and unrest rose throughout the planet. It was the unrest, which became open rebellion when aid failed to arrive, that forced our deployment, not the rampaging insectoids.¡±

    ¡°The war on the planet¡¯s surface was harsh, a three-sided skirmish upon the sands. The rebels were quick, crafty, and well-lead, they would soften up our troops with short skirmishes, and then they would evade the counterattack and let the bugs have their go at us. The bugs were endless, mindless, relentless in their attack, they would emerge from below and tear into our ranks, softening us up for further attack.¡±

    ¡°So, we hunted down the rebel bases, those that we could, and waited for reinforcements once it became clear we would need more troops, and reinforcements we received. Would that the reinforcements had included less incompetent Beralox Nobles. The nobles took control of the operation upon arrival and immediately began to torment us, shock bracers, psionic thought enforcement, and general cruelty became our fare around them. Tens of Millions of us died because most of the alien nobles were too incompetent to command us, and lacked sufficient common sense to divine that the rebels would not establish a base within the insect-infested underground, where they would handily be devoured.¡±

    ¡°I was one of the poor fools who was sent down into the underground, into the bug tunnels, and it took everything I had to survive. The tunnels were a labyrinth, twisting, turning, full of chittering pests just waiting to tear anything that wasn¡¯t one of them apart, and we were tasked with charting them, searching for a rebel base that did not exist. Ichor flowed freely then, and we spent three years fighting the bugs before the decision to simply glass the planet was made. Then I went home and joined the rebellion, the real rebellion, and volunteered as a scout, and here I am.¡±

    ¡°You must have killed thousands of bugs during that deployment.¡± Kolhu noted. ¡°And now you fight against your people¡¯s vassal-lords... Tell me, what became of your leaders?¡±

    ¡°Many retired, because nobody would elect them, and others were forced out of office, and then disappeared from the public eye.¡± Said Miller. ¡°I know at least one, a member of my people¡¯s larger subspecies, the ¡°Goliaths¡±, enlisted and was promptly killed in action.¡±

    ¡°A subspecies? What subspecies are you?¡± Kolhu asked.

    ¡°I am of no subspecies. My people¡¯s subspecies aren¡¯t natural subspecies, rather they are a result of our experiments with genetic modification in the 2600s, an attempt to create better humans.¡± He stated, a gesture from Kolhu made him continue. ¡°The Goliaths are big, strong, durable, shorter than you, but larger than any other subspecies of my people.¡±

    ¡°I am far taller than most of my people, a genetic defect.¡± Kolhu added. ¡°Are there other subspecies?¡±

    ¡°Yes. The second subspecies is rarely seen, and was not created by my people, but by our indolent overlords. We call them ¡®Enforcers¡¯, a perfect splice of our genetics with those of our overlords. They are faster, more reactive, possess keener eyesight, and have greater flexibility. But they are weaker. They are more susceptible to the elements, take longer to heal, and cannot bring to bear quite so much strength as we can... and they cannot survive the same wounds we can.¡± Said Miller.

    He detached his cybernetic leg, which was not covered by his armor, and placed it on the table. ¡°The wound that necessitated the amputation of my leg, while traumatic, did not kill me, I bled out for minutes before coming to, and still survived. Granted, the suit helped to restrict the flow of blood to the wound site, but even with that aid, an Enforcer would have bled out and died far faster than I would have.¡± He explained. ¡°Killing them is easy, so long as you can hit them.¡±

    Further conversation was interrupted as the crewman who Kolhu had sent off to prepare their goods returned and saluted them. ¡°It appears it is time, come, let me show you our goods, they¡¯re quite impressive.¡± Kolhu said as he stood. Miller reattached his leg, the limb locking in place with a hiss, and stood to follow.

    Their walk was brief, a quick jaunt through some halls to a lift and then a brief walk towards a cargo bay upon disembarking it. The sounds he heard coming from the bay were not encouraging. He had heard similar noises before, in the times when he had patrolled through camps of evacuees fleeing the havoc of war, and it remained engraved in his memory even now. He didn¡¯t need to step into the compartment to know what awaited him.

    His hosts were slavers. He thumbed his pistol¡¯s safety, though he knew that using it would be folly. He was surrounded by enemies. And soon he was surrounded by suffering masses of aliens. A quick count gave him a hundred count, a hundred wounded, beaten, collared aliens. It was something you only saw in holovids... unless you were unfortunate enough to serve under a Beralox, then you would be the one collared.

    ¡°These are not the finest of our goods, just the most recent ones to be collected. Follow me to where we keep everything of quality.¡± Kolhu lead Miller through that compartment and to the next where a similar sight awaited him, and then to the one after that. It was the fifth compartment that finally gave him a different sight to behold, though not one he¡¯d call better. This compartment held only ten aliens, and not all were of the species he¡¯d seen in the previous compartments.

    ¡°Here they are, our highest quality goods, these fetch a high price in the Confederacy, though the Hegemon despises our trade. You get to pick one of your choice, as a thank you for your aid. I¡¯ll give you what information we have on them.¡± Kolhu stated.

    Kolhu gestured towards an impressive alien who was glaring at them from within a room that very much resembled a prison cell with a glass wall rather than a hard-light barrier. This one was tall, standing at ninety-four inches, certainly shorter than Kolhu but Miller had no doubt that she, and it was obviously a she, would certainly still be more than capable of tearing miller apart.

    She resembled, of all things, a Minotaur, a mythological creature that appeared to be a human with a bull¡¯s head. Though, in this case, it was more than a bull¡¯s head, and the minotaur glaring in his direction was obviously female, unlike her mythical counterpart. It was an intimidating sight, especially considering the sheer amount of muscle the creature had, covered in little more than a layer of fur and the tattered uniform of some alien military.

    Hooved feet slammed against the ship¡¯s metal as she stood from where she sat, and the pair of horns that adorned her head glinted in the artificial light. Somehow, the creature managed to look feminine. Kolhu saw what he was looking at and grinned ¡°That is Becka Halfhorn, she was a corporal in the Domrin Federation¡¯s army, until she and her comrades failed to apprehend us. She is strong and would make a good war-thrall.¡±

    Next, Kolhu pointed out another alien, one of the reptillian humanoids that had populated the previous bays. ¡°That is Princess Signy, of the native kingdom of... I never bothered to learn what they call themselves... Ah, it doesn¡¯t matter, the point is that she¡¯s important to her people, and a capable warrior and leader, seeing as she led her troops against us valiantly. Valor just wasn¡¯t enough to beat us.¡±

    The reptile was far calmer than the minotaur, and that gave Miller pause, she was calm even when captured and possibly about to be gifted off to some stranger? Then again, it could be an enforced calm, he¡¯d suffered through such a thing before and didn¡¯t put it beyond slavers to use such technology.

    This alien was certainly formidable, even when calm. Eighty-four inches tall, proportionally wide, and very well armored. No doubt she was a terror on the battlefield. Her entire species would likely be a terror on the battlefield. Bipedal, possessing thick scales, a long tail to help with balance, clawed hands, a short reptilian snout with razor-sharp teeth... they¡¯d be a foe to be reckoned with in any battle. Especially with the consideration of their coloration, as most appeared to be some variety of verdant, the sole exception being the blue scaled ¡®princess¡¯.

    At the very least they didn¡¯t seem to be able to reach the same proportional muscle mass that some humans and evidently, minotaur-like aliens, could, and instead seemed to keep to something like a sprinter or acrobat¡¯s build. Or at least, none of the reptilians he had seen so far had displayed anything beyond that build, not even the seven generals that Kolhu proceeded to point out.

    The next notable alien that Kolhu pointed out was one that surprised Miller. While most of the aliens that he had seen so far were extremely distinct from humans, even if some did bear resemblances to Earth¡¯s creatures, this one could absolutely be mistaken for a human, a very short, stout, and hairy human, but a human, nonetheless. The bearded fellow, who Kolhu had called Thorfinn Blackrock, glared at them and muttered something that was not audible through the glass, but was likely a curse of some kind.

    ¡°Thorfinn was transferred to us by the Schale company, whom his family apparently owed sufficient debt to that they decided to take a member of the family as payment. Thorfinn was a prospector, which will no doubt come in exceptionally useful if you wish to chart any exploitable sites on this planet.¡± Kolhu finished explaining. He¡¯d made a similar sales pitch for most of the ten aliens, and Miller would need to consider his decision carefully.

    He didn¡¯t want to leave any of them here, so he would certainly be trying to free them all sooner rather than later, but that would be risky. He was outnumbered. He needed someone who knew how to fight with modern weaponry. He doubted that the natives could be included among that number. Only two of those arrayed before him might know how to use modern weaponry, so he had to make a choice between them, but that was easy. One was a soldier, the other a miner, he picked the soldier.

    ¡°Good choice, Miller. I¡¯ll upload some language files to your translator, so that you can speak with any others that land on this planet and properly order your new pet around." Kolhu stated. ¡°I¡¯ll keep my ship on the planet for a few weeks yet, so we can collect more merchandise, and in case you change your mind and decide to join us. Now, would you like me to have my crew transport her to your camp, or would you like to take care of that?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it.¡± Said Miller. ¡°I appreciate your hospitality, and the gift. It is not often I meet a fellow veteran nowadays, and not often that my people make amicable first contact.¡± Miller tried to act as he had previously, to prevent suspicion, though he felt slimy just from doing that.

    He felt even worse, however, as he watched the alien he had picked be escorted from her cell and given a few shocks from the collar on her neck when she tried to resist. And worse still when he remembered that, until recently, he had been getting along with the cause of this predicament that the aliens were in. He was going to kill every last one of the slavers.

    He and his selectee were led out of the ship through the hangar¡¯s exit and he and Kolhu said their amicable goodbyes. He¡¯d see to it that the next time he saw Kolhu would make him the last person the alien would ever see. But that was for later, first he had to recruit his companion, and make some preparations. For this, he waited until they were at such a distance from the alien ship that no one would be around to spy on them.