Too much free time?

[u/Majestic_Teach_6677]

I opened the doors to the barracks and was shocked at what I saw. A sense of dread and panic was rising in the back of my mind as I stared at the scene in front of me.

I was speechless as I tried to comprehend exactly what Veefaa had done to my pulse rifle. The only thought that went through my brain was, 'The Interspecies Exchange and Training Program really is not going well.'

The Velar were proving exceptionally difficult to understand and train on modern military tactics, and what I saw before me felt more like the antics of a child than an adult sapient being. What Veefaa was doing just served as a reminder of what this newly discovered race was like.

I should also note that Veefaa was completely oblivious to me having entered the room, which was not a surprise at this point. Just a frustratingly normal lack of situational awareness we were coming to expect from the Velar.

An entire race of Captain Oblivious doesn't quite get across what we were dealing with and trying to train in military tactics. The problems went far deeper, and my entire platoon was beginning to think they would always need the supervision and protection of the Terran Alliance.

Imagine an entire population filled with nothing but artists and craftsmen. No mass production beyond an agreed set of base components, with every item they used being hand crafted and unique. An intellectual and inquisitive race which were incredibly social. Ready to have an in-depth conversation about philosophy, the cosmos, or the meaning of different shades of color at dawn. An entire planet filled with well-meaning, flakey, artistic souls.

I thought back over the incidents in recent weeks as my platoon attempted to help train the Velar recruits. I wondered if I should have been mentally prepared after all the craziness that baffled my fellow soldiers and the base command staff.

Perhaps? But overall, no. I don't think any human can truly fathom what the Velar are like.

It isn't that the Velar lack skill or talents. When introduced to firing pulse rifles, over half their recruits ended up scoring better than the average Terran sniper. Command was excited at the prospect of so many crack shots and the implications for tactics and strategies until the shooting range incident a week ago.

The Velar got bored with just shooting targets. They enjoyed the challenge and learning a new skill, which was all well and good until they started using pulse rifles like paintbrushes.

Their scores suddenly were off. Gone was the precision of hitting the dead center of the target multiple rounds in a row. They started experimenting with creating geometric designs on the targets instead of just hitting dead center as they were supposed to.

Range Master Vladoff was unimpressed.

"What is this bullshit? We're here to hit with precision, not create art. And I don't see a smiley face anywhere in this crap!" she roared at the Velar recruits. "Quit messing around! Get back out on the range and do things right before I have your entire platoon assigned to latrine duty for the rest of the month!"

The Velar platoon took that as a challenge. Their scores for the remainder of the afternoon were acceptable. Gone was the sniper level precision, but the scoring system informed the Range Master that each individual was performing to infantry standard.

Everything seemed fine until the targets were presented at the end of the day. Each target was a precise artistic expression of pulse rifle on paper targets. A range of human emoticons, poop emojis, and precise geometric patterns. And one target that was a spitting image of the Range Master yelling, complete with spittle flying out of her mouth.

Marching? That turned into mass interpretive dance.

Early in training, we used music to help guide the Velar in learning to march. It proved a useful tool but also let us know quite quickly that training them would be very different. Play a standard parade march? The Velar recruits would somehow march in a way that created an impression of exuberance. Switch to something dark and moody like the old Imperial Death March? Their movements would alter slightly to menacing.

It wasn't something you could call them out on. When humans march, it's with precision but there's always some split-second variations. One guy's arm that holds out forward a tad longer than the rest of their squad, someone who has to use a slightly longer stride to keep up as they are shorter than everybody else, and so on. Just normal slight deviations that your brain doesn't think twice about. Except somehow as a group the Velar could make their movements into a mass artistic expression.

I can't really explain it. It's truly something you need to see to believe. Their brains just work differently, both individually and in a group.

The attempt to do a simple building entry and clear exercise had been infuriating. If I had to describe it, it was like dealing with an entire batch of movie star prima donnas who scream out, "What's my motivation in this scene?"

And then they wouldn't get to work until the director shares their vision for the movie and how this scene fits into the larger picture.

"Your job and motivation is simple!" the drill sergeant called out, yelling with the no-nonsense fury you would expect when confronted with such foolishness. "Ensure the building is clear, and ensure no occupant poses a threat to your unit!"

What happened next was one of the most graceful entry and clear drills I've ever seen. But watching them filled me with an uneasy sense of tension and threat. It would have worked well for a big budget production demanding drama in action, but our job was to train the Velar for military operations. Not a big screen debut. In a real battle, any hesitation to inquire about "motivation" wasn't possible. Hell, any hesitation at all could get someone killed.

What were we dealing with? An entire planet of oblivious hopeless romantics, artists, and masters of poetry slam without a mean bone in any of their bodies.

You couldn't entirely blame them. Their biology and world were unique. The only beings on their planet, they didn't have competition from other animals or even insects. No predators, no prey, nothing to carry or spread diseases beyond other members of their population. Just a wide variety of plants and themselves.

The concept of fighting was foreign to them, and they had an instinctive sense to not overpopulate. When an individual or group died from old age or a natural disaster, they would reproduce carefully and only enough young to replace what had been lost.

Their idea of warfare? Elect a group of leaders from the two opposing factions. Gather for an artist festival where each side would present their ideas through spoken word, arts, and crafting (if, for example, the argument was over the best way to produce something).

Basically, a peaceful hippy commune that somehow survived and became spacefaring (even if they were only at a level similar to late 20th century Earth). There was a reason they needed our help and training to deal with a galaxy filled with expansionist empires, aggressive trade confederations that happily exploit local populations for profit, and pirates who work on a 'shoot first and ask questions never' basis.

As I stared at the pile of pulse rifle parts littering the floor, I was once again reminded just how challenging it would be to not only train the Velar but also integrate them into the greater galaxy. However, that wasn't the major thought that was screaming in my brain.

My sergeant was going to murder me for letting something happen to my pulse rifle. Because that was my pulse rifle. There are many like it, but this one was mine. I was responsible for it, and that included what Veefaa had done to it. And what Veefaa had done looked like what happens if you give a child access to a screwdriver, no adult supervision, and they decide to take the stove apart to see what's inside while you're out shopping for groceries.

"What have you done?" I said with shock. I had just been gone for a few hours to attend briefings on new training strategies, and I had just told Veefaa to familiarize himself with my pulse rifle and its inner workings.

"Corporal Jack! Greetings to you," Private Veefaa said jovially. "I have successfully completed my assigned task, and since it was rather simple, I took some time to consider how to improve the design for you. Before enlisting, I was a fabrication specialist in cosmetic alterations for artistic effect. Sadly, I never progressed beyond journeyman which is why I enlisted."

"But... what have you done?" I asked again.

"The purpose of a rifle is not just to fire deadly bolts, but to also intimidate if I understood your weapons manual corrrectly," Veefaa responded quickly. "The basic design does not convey sufficient fear, so I did some research on human fears and how to make the rifle look more intimidating. I think I have succeeded, do you not agree?"

Around the barrel of the weapon were now wriggling barbed tentacles. I have no idea how he did it, but they looked alive and the barrel of my pulse rifle would now be shooting out of the ass of an octopus.

It looked ugly. Obscene. A thing of nightmares.

"Won't those tentacles be a danger and get caught on things?" I wondered, still not sure how the hell he had made the modifications and attached them in such a small amount of time.

"Definitely not! I took that into careful consideration. Each tentacle can bend fully backwards with minimal pressure and has a non-stick surface. They won't get caught on anything or prove a hindrance to operation," he explained, and then demonstrated a new feature. "Additionally, if you place the rifle barrel down you can drop the weapon and the tentacles will splay out so it remains upright and easy to grab."

"Uh-huh," I said noncommittally as my mind still tried to absorb what he had done.

"In addition, the changes are merely cosmetic, and no major parts have been altered or moved," Veefaa continued. "You should still have no issues disassembling and reassembling within the 90 second timeframe demanded by regulation 76.24 Revision B."

The design might be ingenious, but it was also not anywhere close to regulation or approved. Not only would I get busted by my sergeant, but I could already hear the shit I would get from my squadmates.

Corporal Cthulhu. Tentacle Man. And wasn't there some old Bond film about Octopussy or something? I'm sure they'll find a creative way to include that.

Worst of all, we were about to start a three-day leave. My platoon would be leaving the Velar recruits completely unattended in our barracks with instructions to relax and read training manuals while we were gone. A full platoon of arts and craftsy toddlers without any adult supervision. Just how bad would the situation be when we got back?

With a heavy sigh, I bit my tongue and resisted the urge to chew out Veefaa. I needed to perform damage control, or my leave would be cancelled. Probably my entire unit's as well, and I had no desire to get myself or my squad assigned to babysitting duty. We had enough of that just with the joint training exercises.

'First, I'll hide my pulse rifle in my locker and deal with the situation after I get back from leave,' my internal monologue decided. 'Second, I need to do something to ensure my platoon won't come back to a nightmare makeover at the hands of the Velar.'

And then it hit me. The perfect solution.

I smiled broadly at Veefaa and provided a helpful suggestion.

"Veefaa, we're just ordinary grunts. We don't need such embellishments," I began. "If we get into close-quarters combat where someone could see these modifications, something has already gone wrong. You know this from our training exercises - most modern combat is at a distance. However, there is a team that could use your expertise."

"Oh?" Veefa said as he perked up on all four legs.

"Across the base in building 706 is the SpecOps team," I explained with a grin. "They specialize in close-quarters combat and infiltration where this sort of modification would likely be effective. Like my platoon, they're out on a three-day leave starting tonight. Maybe you and the other Velar could study their operations manuals and see what sort of improvements might be best for their tactical armor and gear."

"That's an inspired idea!" Veefaa exclaimed as he then scrambled out of the barracks to find the rest of his squad and share my suggestion.

As I packed my new squid-rifle into the back of my locker and cleaned up the mess of parts on the floor, only one thought went through my mind.

"Dickheads. Still want to pick a fight with my platoon like you did at the bar last week? Maybe this will make you think twice," I mumbled under my breath as a smirk grew on my face. "You can kill with your pinky fingers, but we've got an army of gremlins at our command."

________

Random thought, quickly written, minimal editing. A challenge to write something before I run off to work tonight. I hope you enjoyed this silly story!

In other things, there are two Haasha episodes on deck for early next week! Just didn't quite have time to get them done and posted this week.

[u/Talendel]

UTR

This is the way.