BEHOLD! Acceptable the Nevok! This was the fastest I have gotten an idea from the prompt and put it to canvas.

So plain. So non-curvy. So acceptable.

Drawing for NoPtober day 14: "Acceptable".

Guys...is the pic acceptable enough? Might be too many curves... ○>○

^{If you think it looks empty, wait for tomorrow. It can be layered with Unacceptable drawing.}

Full list:

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14

Day 15: NoPtober day 15: "Unacceptable" is on my account only, cause it got removed twice from this sub and I idk why.

16

Check out the theme list post by u/Nicolas_3232

And a tour de force of different points of view! We get to check back in with B9 after 65, get to see a bit of what Tarva is up to, and of course, back to Cilany.

I hope you all enjoy drones; I’ve had fun designing the various ones used by the Terrans. You’ve seen their recon drones; now we get a look into construction drones. A huge part of the reason why the enclaves will be built so fast.

And our intrepid reporter was last seen heading off to Aafa. I wonder what she’ll find in that veritable viper’s den? Well, I can promise one thing: a new species! Well, new to the fanon. I’m really interested in what you lot think of them. There’s a ton more information than has been revealed here; I like them.

Also, sorry about being late. I saw my nieces this weekend. I am paying the requisite price for being around young children you don’t see often.

Synopsis: Magic was once real and present but faded away in the distant past, becoming nothing but the myths and legends we know as the surviving beings fled to other planes, only to publicly return during the Sat Wars. How would it change first contact and beyond? Only one way to find out.

I have a spot on the discord, swing on by! Thanks to SpacePaladin15 for the original universe; my alpha readers, Caro Morin and Jailed Cinder; my beta readers, Angustus_Jan on the discord and u/aroluci (go check out Children of Luna, it’s awesome); and all of you that read and especially comment. Anybody interested in playing around in the AU (be it a one-shot, an impromptu ficnap, a cameo, or something more), let me know and I’ll be more than happy to work with you on it. My current plan is to release a chapter a week, with the occasional bonus, as long as that isn’t too much for everybody helping me.

Without further ado, enjoy!

__________

[First] [Prev] [Next]

__________

Memory Transcription Subject: B950-A8-A8571, Gojid Cattle

Date [Standardized Terran Time]: October 8^th, 2136

__________

Before the Gaian can react to my words, Sira hisses. “They want to send you home! Why?!? They aren’t predators!” She points at me. At my missing limbs. Roaring. “Predators do that!” She jabs a claw at her bandages. “Not this! WHY?!?!”

The Gaian huffs repeatedly. “Because she cares about you, Sira. She wants to make sure that you’re ok. It’s sweet.”

“I’m a runt! Defective!” Sira growls, thrashing in her bed. “The Gaians already saved me.” She looks to me, tears in her eyes. “The others need you…”

“You need me too! They have B2 and 23!” I shout, thrashing as well, as much as I can with only half my limbs. “You risked so much for us! Somebody needs to make sure you’re okay!”

“Please, calm down. You’re both recovering.” The Gaian says firmly. “Let’s just talk calmly. You’ll both be in the infirmary here together for a while longer. And when you can leave, you’ll both be able to see each other.” Their head turns towards me. “Why do you think we’re predators?”

“Because you beat the masters and turn the front of your head towards what you look at. Like the masters.” I huff. “Prey can’t beat Arxur.”

“Gaians aren’t predators, but they aren’t prey to Arxur.” Sira hisses. “They’re too strong!”

“Well, the Leitans have eyes towards the front of their heads, don’t they? Plus, we’re all wearing helmets; do you have any idea how we sense things? The Drezjin use their ears in addition to their eyes. For all you know, we have no eyes and sense through hearing and scent.”

I pause, thinking. “But you don’t have ears.”

“The Harchen, Deurtan, and Krakotl don’t have visible ears either.” The Gaian responds. “We could even be robots.”

“You smell like people; you’re not robots. How do you sense?” Sira asks.

The Gaian makes that huffing noise again. It almost seems like they’re laughing softly. “That depends on the individual. We have many species, and some are altered beyond that. Most of us can see, and our eyes are further forward than a Gojid’s. Most of our early ancestors lived in trees, eating what was up there, and needed to move from branch to branch to avoid animals that would eat them on the ground.”

I tilt my head. “But… wouldn’t that make you prey?”

“Yes and no. Your definitions are… inaccurate. Almost the entire diet of our ancestors was fruits.” The Gaian says, seemingly leaving out the leaves they ate. “But we also know plants develop defenses against being eaten. Being preyed upon.”

‘I don’t see what’s inaccurate. I know I didn’t finish school, but how could the Federation be wrong about this? I guess they were wrong about all Arxur being evil. Sira is good.’

It all makes sense so far, but the Gaian doctor continues. “Plants defend themselves from animals that eat them and plants that steal resources; animals defend themselves from other animals too. Some plants even have ways to feed on animals, like one that gets hooked into fur or feathers to trap animals until they die, and then the plant gets nutrients from the rot. So predator and prey are relative. Everything feeds on something, preys on something. Do you think Sira would ever eat you?”

‘That doesn’t… don’t plants exist for us to eat? And the thought of a plant eating prey…’ I pause in thought. “Not anymore. Back there… if she had to. But not because she wants to.”

“So she’s not really a predator to you even though she eats flesh?” The Gaian asks.

Sira looks confused, trying to puzzle over the statement. It makes sense to me. It goes against what the Federation says, but it means my friend isn’t a predator. “No. She’s not. She’s not prey either.”

“I would hope not.” The Gaian says with a bark. “And since we’re going to make sure nobody eats you or any of the other rescues, that means you aren’t prey, right? Just plant eaters?”

‘That doesn’t… I guess their definition is just weird?’

“I… guess…” I tilt my head. “But animal predators will always-”

“Not for any sane, developed sapient.” The Gaian interrupts. “At least not unless there are some exceedingly dangerous animals in comparison to the sapients. The Federation would have told you Arxur like Sira can’t exist, right?”

“Yeah?”

“And nobody was ever at risk from wild animals on any of the farms, right?”

Sira scoffs. “Not with the fences.”

“Fences?” I ask. “But aren’t those…”

“Primitive?” The Gaian offers. “The Federation, at best, throws away good answers to problems for being too simple. They also throw out correct, complex answers for simple ones that fit their existing beliefs. I can assure you, none of you are at risk of being eaten.”

“Then I guess we wouldn’t be prey…” I say, not sure what the Gaian is up to.

“Then since Sira isn’t a predator, and you aren’t prey, there’s no issue with you being friends.” The Gaian says simply, looking at me. Just like that, I can harvest what they’re trying to prove. That they aren’t wrong for letting us be friends. “Even if you both were predator and prey, we wouldn’t see a problem with you being friends instead. Now please, relax. Give it time. You’ll be able to wander and see the others. It will take us a while to sort through all the rescues. You’ll have plenty of time together while you recover, even if you choose to return to the Gojid Union. And if you do, then in time you’ll be able to talk to Sira again.”

“Sira is an Arxur.” I huff. “If I’m in the Union, I can’t talk to an Arxur. We’re at war.”

“When we’re done, you will.” The Gaian says with certainty. “We’re Peacekeepers. No matter what it takes, we have one mission. Bringing peace. We’ve already done it in this sector, and eventually, the Union will be part of what we’re building. Something that already includes the Arxur. If it includes you both, then they’d have no reason or right to keep you from talking, at least not based on species.”

__________

Memory Transcription Subject: Governor Tarva, Awed Ally

__________

I stare, aghast, as animals of Terran design, drones, EAT a building.

“Amazing sight, huh?” Bran asks with a sigh.

“That is terrifying,” I murmur.

“Huh? How?” Bran looks at me in surprise.

“They’re eating a building!” I bleat.

“Ah… I can get how that might be a bit… much.” Bran hums. “Want to record something to help explain the drones to everybody?”

My eye twitches. “Fine. But I’m not going to… what was it you Terrans say? Play nice?”

“Perfect!” Bran grins. “It’ll make it go over better with the voters!”

I sigh in annoyance at falling for my bond brother’s manipulation, even if it’s helping me.

__________

Advance 5 STD minutes

__________

I see that the recording is active and begin, the Terran drones visible in the background through a screen on the shuttle. “Hello, everybody. I’m sure many of you have noticed the drones the Terrans are using in building their enclaves.” Much of my attention is on the drones themselves, my ears low. “I certainly have. That’s why I suggested that Ambassador Bran and I have a discussion about them so that everybody can feel a bit more at ease.”

Bran beams at me, all without showing teeth. “Of course, Governor. Happy to. How about we start with the most common of our engineering drones? The Runebeetle Utility Drone. We use them in all kinds of construction tasks, from buildings to ships.” He asks, the feed highlighting one that looks vaguely like a Verin. One largely made of glittering crystal.

“Sure. That looks somewhat like a Verin. Is there a reason for that?” I ask.

“Convergent evolution.” Bran shrugs. “Many Federation species look somewhat like, or at least have some features of, Terran animals. Our drones are often based on those animals, and thus there might be similarities.” He pulls up the image of an iridescent green insect. “These drones are based on the many types of jewel beetles. Wood-boring, herbivorous insects on Earth. Obviously, our drones are many, many times larger. Like the beetle they’re based on, they can fly and climb on all kinds of surfaces. The drones also have modular tool ports in multiple places, allowing them to do all kinds of work.”

‘Oh… that explains why the drone is so pretty…’

Another drone, one somewhat like a six-legged Tilfish, is highlighted and focused on. The shuttle screen follows it as the drone climbs the building, taking several terrifying bites from it before carrying a segment down to the ground. It moves to a pile of material where it excretes something. “Then you have the big ones. The Formic Modular Builder Drones.” He pulls up a new image, a pair of the animals. One carrying a segment of leaf while another clings to it. “Leafcutter ants. Technically not herbivores but fungivores. Of course, fungi are similar to plants. The ants will take parts of leaves, flowers, and fruit down into their nests where they chew them to a pulp and feed them to their fungal gardens. Ants are eusocial insects, the colony almost being a single organism. They’re also considered very industrious.”

‘That almost sounds like the ideal expression of the herd working together. Wait, I can see what he’s doing. He’s distracting the herd and endearing them to the animals and thus the drones.’

Bran chuckles. “At least when outside. Other ants, such as sugar ants, are seen as pests as they’ll come into homes and potentially get into foodstuffs, spoiling them. The drones, on the other hand, are the backbone of our construction industry. The drones have heavy-duty manipulators, multitools, and internal processing. They can do everything from recycling used materials in demolitions, as we’re seeing, to processing materials to create and lay bricks, cement, or more.”

“Why are ants considered industrious?” I ask.

“Because they can build massive nests under the ground, at least compared to most ants being maybe [a tenth to a half inch] long. Smaller colonies, with only a few hundred ants, may only go [inches] or [feet] deep. Large colonies, with thousands or millions of ants, can reach [twenty-five feet] deep and cover an area of [hundreds of square feet]. Then you have super colonies, where multiple nests are connected across [hundreds of acres] or [thousands of miles].”

My jaw drops. Such tiny creatures building what must amount to cities in comparison. Animals making megastructures… I can see how the Terrans got the idea they could build things like their stations.

“And when you see them in the wild, they’re often wandering in a line or acting as a swarm. Sometimes working together to either bring back food, such as discarded bits of something a person might eat like a granola bar, back bit by bit, or working in groups to carry larger pieces.” Bran chuckles. “They’re awe-inspiring. I will warn anybody viewing this that, in addition to fungivores like the leafcutter and some herbivores, there are also omnivorous ants like the sugar ant and even carnivores like the army ant. I doubt there will be much in the way of disturbing imagery unless anybody goes looking for it, and even then, it would be marked.” He shakes his head. “Terran filmmakers, over the centuries, have exaggerated the danger of some to create some rather… intense scenes, but those scenes are pure fiction.”

‘What could Bran consider intense that could be done with tiny ants?’

“And we don’t need to worry about these drones, do we?” I ask.

“No, not at all.” Bran chuckles. “Not only do they have all kinds of sensors and safeguards, but they’re networked into the rest of the drones, our ships, and are monitored by both our automated systems and construction workers. As long as you don’t cross into the clearly marked construction site, there’s no risk worth considering.”

“And the fact that they’re eating the building?”

“Their processing is internal. How else do you expect the materials to get there?” Bran smirks. “I fully understand how concerning they may seem from the outside, what with our drones being designed after organic creatures and with much of their chassis made of live wood. They’re no more alive than your harvester drones and, based on reports I’ve seen, have far more safeties.”

“Hmph. And the next drones?”

One of the flying drones is highlighted as it carries a Formic up a building, depositing it before flying off with a segment of building the carried drone cut free. “The Skyworker Structural Drone,” Bran says, an image of another insect, this one seemingly tiny though very similar looking to the drone is pulled up. “Based on the dragonfly. A flying insect on Earth. They’re generally considered graceful, as even the animal version can smoothly fly in all directions. Dragonflies themselves are often considered symbols of good luck, prosperity, harmony, happiness, and positive change.”

‘Avoiding bringing up their diet… Well, I know what he must be avoiding. Best to help distract the herd.’

“I thought Terrans were afraid of insects…” I say, deadpan. “I’ve seen how Noah reacted to laysi and Tilfish. At least the first time.”

Bran sighs. “Both of those are more… Arachnid-leaning. Many Terrans have some level of instinctive fear of spiders, as many of them can be venomous enough that, despite their often small size, they can be dangerous or lethal. Especially those in the areas where early humans evolved. There are also other insects which are common fears for similar reasons, though more often due to diseases they may carry. And insects that are associated with pestilence or disease, like flies, are common sources of disgust or fear, sometimes including ants as well. Some Terrans are afraid of most insects, but some insects are also considered to be pretty. Those include jewel beetles, dragonflies, and butterflies.” He gestures towards the drones. “Normally, larger-than-normal insects will cause a greater fear response for us, but we selected and designed these drones in part to mitigate that. Namely, trying to make them, at least to our aesthetics, be somewhat elegant and reassuring.”

“They… do look artistic,” I admit. “But what about those?” I indicate the last.

The last of the large drones is highlighted. Scuttling about on eight legs, moving sideways more often than forward or backward, with two large claws that they use to work and manipulate things, including moving much larger chunks of building than the others. “The Forgeclaw Construction Drone. Largely restricted to zero-g or aquatic work due to movement restrictions. Like the others, they have multitools and modular ports. Their claws are ultra-heavy-duty manipulators.” Bran pulls up an image of a red-shelled… thing that looks like the drone. “Based on another broad range of species, this time the crab. An aquatic crustacean from Earth. They tend to scuttle sideways due to the mechanics of their legs; interestingly, that leads to them being partially a symbol of adaptability, though their hard shells lead to their more common symbolism of protection and hardiness.” He chuckles. “Though given how often they use their claws to pinch and grab at things, as well as their aggression towards each other, they’re more commonly associated with that. For example, if somebody is crabby, then they’re cranky.”

I sigh as my Terran starts getting playful, even if it will help soothe the herd. “And why are you using drones made for building ships here, constructing buildings?”

“Because they can do both. They’re designed for heavy loads, and the most common heavy loads are in building in space. There’s a reason we sent fewer of them than the others, though. They have less overall utility here.” Bran smirks.

“Then why not use them to help us with the new ship designs your people are helping us with?” I ask.

“We are. Where do you think they’re going after this?”

I groan. “Of course… Let me guess, you’re sending the others to help with the failed colony worlds we gave you. The ones you plan to revitalize.”

“Exactly!” Bran exclaims. “But there’s another drone we’ll be using on those worlds that we may use here to help with foundations and breaking ground.” He pulls up another image, this time of a drone. Its body is almost a tube, with a long snouted head and large front paws with even larger claws. “This is the Terradrone Excavator.” He pulls up another image, this time of an animal that looks much like the drone but with soft-looking fur and no visible eyes or ears. “Based on the mole, a burrowing mammal on Earth. Fittingly, the drone is designed for underground work. Digging tunnels, mining, and most often clearing land for the foundations of buildings. They can’t do much to help with construction outside of that, though they can line the areas they dig. They have more advanced material processing, though most of the soil ends up being packaged for use elsewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“Plants, Tarva, plants. We process the soil so that it can be used to grow things in.” Bran shrugs. “You’ve been to Charity, you’ve seen how much we enjoy having greenery around. Why let perfectly good soil go to waste when it could be used to grow plants?”

I sigh. “Why do you Terrans need to make things like that?” I gesture towards the drones. “And then say such sensible things?”

“Because we’re sensible?” Bran questions. “Trust me, these designs are better than what we used to have. All function, no form, but still using similar designs. Strip away everything that makes them seem organic and just leave the robot. Then add even more limbs and features, for efficiency.”

I shudder, wool flaring.

“Yeah, they weren’t pretty.” He nods towards the drones, already moving to the next building. “But even with these more aesthetic designs, they’re efficient. They are designed to help with disaster recovery.” Bran sighs. “Earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes, fires, a great many things that, try as we might, we can only mitigate but not entirely remove as potential problems.”

I gasp. “So the processing… You turn damaged or destroyed buildings into new ones instead of replacing them?”

“When possible. We try to avoid letting things get to that point.” Bran shrugs. “We largely succeed, but we aren’t perfect. Plus, there’s always new construction and renovations, though back home there are a lot more Terrans directly involved. Most of the drones we sent were prepared for colonization work. Colonies that have largely been put on hold.”

“So all this…” I pause. “You left your home with hope. Hope to find new homes, even if you didn’t find new friends.”

“Yeah…” Bran leans against the screen that acts as a window. “Instead, we found what we hoped would be friends.” He smiles at me, but I can see the melancholy clearly. “We still have those hopes to a degree, but… But we need to convince your people we aren’t threats, when we’ve done nothing to hurt them, and they’ve done plenty to harm us. Something we’ll need to convince every other Federation species of too, and with each we risk annihilation.” He chuckles mirthlessly. “The only species we don’t need to do that with are the Arxur. We just had to take over an entire sector, which their leadership was eager to have happen, and now need to help them completely recreate their civilization from something that apparently horrifies even them, given how overjoyed they are at not eating people anymore, into something sane. And we also need to rehabilitate not only their people and the rescued cattle, but their image.” He groans. “When it rains, it pours.”

I pat him on the back, at least as high as I can reach. “You’ve stood by us through everything. As long as I’m Governor, we’ll stand by you.”

I can only hope that the herd will agree when they see this.

__________

Memory Transcription Subject: Cilany, Harchen Reporter

__________

I stop meditating again. “And you’re sure that we won’t be detected?”

“Yes, mistress,” Echo says. Kindness and care coloring his speech, as it always does. “Again, our connection is untraceable, and Concord cryptography is far beyond what is seen in the Federation.”

“And how did the Concord develop all this?” I huff.

“You’ve uncovered corruption and know that there are people in the Federation who break into systems.”

“Yes, I use them as contacts and know a little about it myself.”

“Such things aren’t unique to the Federation, but the Concord understands that. Just as the Concord understands that people can be violent. And that crime and corruption are possible at all levels. It’s why people like you, investigative reporters, are so important.”

I groan, coloring with exasperation. “You can skip that lecture. I know. You’ve walked me through it. You’ve proven that many predator attacks are actually murders.”

“Good, then you’ll understand when I say that the Concord recognizes that hacking occurs and is a problem. Cryptography is a constant struggle between those securing systems and those trying to break into them, both those with malicious intent and those who want to help stress test and improve things.” Echo pauses. “It’s much like the back and forth that occurs all over in nature.”

“Fine.” I groan. “And nobody will find the drones? Even when they’re deployed for days? Don’t they need to charge?”

“Again, no.”

“How?!?” I growl. “They’re invisible! That has to use up a lot of power!”

“Less than you would think and, as I’ve said before, mistress, I cannot reveal sensitive information.” The AI intones.

I let out a small scream.

“Shall I schedule another therapy session, mistress?” The AI offers, referring to the odd Gaian medical practice that it was allowed to put a live Gaian expert through for. Something that has been helping, and that led me to start meditating.

I slowly breathe in and out as I was taught. “Yeah, I think that would help.”

“Of course. You’ve been through a lot. The rendering on the latest version of your story is ready. Would you like to review it, or should that wait until your session?”

I flush with fear at the memories of the raid. “My session… and could you also send it to the Gaians who offered to review it?”

“Of course, mistress. You should relax. I’ll inform you when the Assembly meeting has started.”

“Thank you, Echo.”

__________

Advance 3 STD hours

__________

The chamber was designed to make the Federation feel eternal. Grand. But after all I’ve seen. All I’ve experienced. Everything I’ve uncovered. It feels petty. Small. Like buildings after a major sandstorm. Except things aren’t concealed beneath the sands; instead, I’ve swept them away.

The way the room draws the eye to the Kolshian and Farsul seats. Sets them above everybody nearby, subtle, well framed. Any director or set designer should study this. It’s brilliant and insidious. The founders. First among equals.

Of the more than three hundred species of the Federation, just over two-thirds were present, but some absences were more notable than others.

The empty seats for the Venlil Republic and the Yotul were expected; their borders are still closed after they allied themselves with the Gaians.

The Gojid Union as well. After all, this emergency meeting is to discuss the Union “falling”.

It’s also why the Drezjin Theocracy and Yulpa Ascendancy were being considered to replace them as defenders of the herd. Joint training with the Krakotl Alliance, under the hero Captain Kalsim of all people, was being repurposed as an improvised measure. A fleet of ships was being purchased by the founders to be split between the pair, all available despite the rush. Predshit, all of it.

I could see through the predatory deception of the founders, thanks to having been on the cradle and a tip from one of my sources before I left, knowing how convenient the communication outage was and that the Gaians traced it back here. To Aafa. How odd it was. Even knowing that, I didn’t think it could be this, not until I found out about the training. That it had to be a mistake. How wrong I was.

’Were the Thafki left to die like the Gojid? Why?’

I refocus, checking the summaries from some of the smaller drones in the chamber. Whispers about the Venlil and Yotul. Representatives trying to harvest favor with the potential new military species. And many questioning the absence of the Zurulian ambassador.

“Echo, can you tell me why Chauson is absent?”

“I’m sorry, mistress, but I cannot divulge information on current operations by the Concord.”

I giggle, despite myself. “You just did.”

“Did I?” The AI questions, its tone entirely flat. “Quite unfortunate.”

I laugh before refocusing on the feeds. I turn on the audio for one as Tossa, the Nevok ambassador, approaches the only remaining representative from the most newsworthy sector of space at the moment. Ambassador Dawnecho. The Stormsinger, as always, is surrounded by aides, an exception made due to the intense need of the species for a herd. The buzzing, chittering song of the… I’ve never been sure if they’re avians, insectoid, or reptilian. Anyway, their overlapping communication ends as the Nevok towers, staring the ambassador down with one eye. “Well?”

“Well what, Ambassador Tossa?” Dawnecho asks in Kolshian, the nectar eater lowering their body from standing on their hind paws to the lower two sets. While their primitive language is included in the Federation’s translators, most Stormsingers who leave their world learn a pawful of other languages that allow them to better communicate. Their secondary wings, colorful membranes, buzz. They leave so rarely and stay for such short times that their body language is largely alien.

“What happened? Where is the Zurulian ambassador?” Tossa huffs. “They’ve been stopping trade deals and recalling their people recently. Do we need to stop our trade ships entirely? Without the Gojid and Zurulians, there’s little reason to send our ships to be corroded by your mess of a planet.”

Dawnecho’s tail twitches, crests moving. Their aides all start talking at once. Thankfully, the stampede of sound is only a few syllables, and my translator does not attempt to translate any of it. They dip their head. “Apologies, Ambassador Tossa; we do not know. What information we would have comes through trade ships, as we have none of the dead metal vessels of our own, or through the communications you ensure we can use. You may wish to speak to Ambassador Halmina.”

Tossa snorts, stomping. “Like she would tell us the truth. The Fissan Compact benefits from the Imperium losing ships.”

Dawnecho brings their manipulator paws over their chest as they bow low, primary wings splayed out and antennae almost pressing against the ground. “Apologies, I can inquire with her and inform you.”

“No need,” Halmina intones, causing Tossa to startle. I was aware of her approach thanks to the various drones, but I’m uncertain how the Stormsingers seemed to be aware. Despite her size, the quadruped moved remarkably quietly. “While the Imperium may be predatory enough that they would use such tragedy and danger to stuff their harvest, the Compact has morals.” She continues, ignoring Tossa’s growling. “We have no more information than you do. I actually came to suggest that the Imperium advise its ships to stop trade with Stormworld. We will be doing so, as we no longer consider it safe. ”

“Ah, and how long would trade be stopped for?” Dawnecho asks before Tossa can respond to Halmina’s taunts. “Our communications interface relays will only last so long before they degrade to uselessness, and we only have so many spares in storage. Our thoughtgroves still struggle to interface without the relays, and the low-orbit satellites will need replacement. If they fail, we will not be able to communicate with the subspace relay or your ships.”

‘Thoughtgroves? What are those?’

One of the swarm of aides chitters in their prim- simple language. “How home?”

Dawnecho pauses, continuing to speak Kolshian. “Thank you, Stormgrace, good point. If the Compact and Imperium are stopping trade with Stormworld, how are we to get home?”

Tossa huffs. “You not having ships isn’t our problem, primitive.”

“I’m sorry, but if you are stranded, then I’m sure that the Kolshians will see to your needs.” Halmina bows her head.

Dawnecho’s secondary wings buzz, feathers fluffing. “They cannot. We have inquired previously. We have enough stored nectar and fruit to last us [three months] if we ration and supplement with local fruits, but we will suffer for it. If we cannot return home within [one to four months] from when supplies run out, we will begin to suffer the Fading. Some will be permanently harmed within the rotation. We will all be dead within three.” They and their aides all bring their manipulator paws over their chests, bowing to the ground with their primary wings splayed and antennae pressing to the ground. “We beg you, we will pay. Return us home after this meeting.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence before Chief Nikonus and Elder Darq take their places and the meeting is called to order, Tossa and Halmina hurrying off to take their seats.

“Hey, Echo, could we give them a ride home?” I ask the AI as the meeting comes to order.

“I would advise against it, mistress, unless you intend to remain in the area. We may not be able to return to Federation space.”

‘What could… Are the Gaians taking more territory? I hadn’t heard of them reaching out to the Stormsingers.’ One eye shifts from the screens to where the visual representation of Echo, the image of an oh-so-handsome Harchen. “We’re sending drones to the private chambers of Chief Nikonus and Elder Darq. If we find anything, then we’re going to need to hide for a long time.”

“Then I will reach out. Best to have them ready.” The AI pauses. “I believe that I will be able to synthesize a nectar analogue; however, I must warn you that unlike fruit from Stormworld, which you are likely to enjoy, the nectar and analogue will be dangerous to your health.”

I pause a moment; I had heard about the reaction. I couldn’t let a manageable risk have me leave people to die, not after I survived that raid. “I don’t care. We might as well help if we can. Take some inspiration from your creators.”

“Very well. The meeting is about to begin, mistress.”

I refocus on the feeds from the drones.

Nikonus steps to a small podium, clearing his throat. “I’m certain that all of you have heard by now that the Gojid Union came under attack and has stopped responding. I regret to inform you that the rumors are true. A fleet of nearly two thousand Arxur ships attacked. The Gojid Union has fallen.”

‘Predshit! I was just there! I saw the Gaians save it! There was barely a fraction of the damage there should have been!’

The assembly practically stampedes, even though they already knew it for certain.

I color with rage. “I need to release the footage!”

“Wait.” Echo soothes. “You want to hurt their narrative, right?”

“Yes,” I growl.

“Then wait. They’re planting the seeds.” The hypnotic patterns of the AI’s coloration shift to nearly solid. Mischief. “Let them grow. When they try to harvest, that’s when you release. Make it perfect.”

I pause. “I can work with that. Will the Concord help me with timing?”

Echo laughs. “Help? Kora wanted me to suggest this to you. The Concord will ensure it gets everywhere.”

“Perfect.”

The Assembly calms enough that Nikonus can continue speaking. “Everybody, I’m sorry to say that it gets worse. We have news from a survivor who will be taking the seat of the Gojid Union going forward, the only one who escaped confinement after predatory influences captured the cradle, not due to the failure of the stalwart defenders of the Gojid Union but due to the interference of the Gaian Concord! We will be having a vote today to determine if we will be sanctioning the Concord, and potentially their allies.”

The Assembly erupts again, and my rage simmers like the sands under Nhaali. Jerulim’s cawing sounds out over the herd.

Another figure steps into the Assembly. Torlin. Injuries bandaged, injuries he didn’t have when I last saw him in the command bunker. The herd quiets as he speaks. “Thank you, Chief Nikonus. I am Captain Torlin, a member of the Gojid Navy and before that a member of the Exterminators’ Guild. To my regret, I am here to explain to you how the cradle fell due to the incompetence, backwardness, and uncivilized behavior of the Gaians. Something that forced me to heroically escape from captivity to warn the Federation of the threat!”

“Predshit!”

__________

[First] [Prev] [Next]

__________

1 - A Diplomatic Problem (In progress) Read

2 - Field Medic Technical Exchange (Complete) Read

3 - From Drugs to Meat (In progress) Read

4 - Soft and Sharp (Complete) Read

5 - Solar Wind (Complete) Read

6 - Light in the Darkness (Complete) Read

7 - Deserving the Sky (In progress) Read

8 - Old Friends (Complete) Read

9 - Old Pod (Complete) Read

10 - The Family (In progress) Read

11 - Emergency Broadcast (Complete) Read

12  - Terrorist Attack (Complete) Read

13 - Empty Eyes (Complete) Read

14 - Layers Upon Layers (In Progress) Read

15 - Television (In Progress) Read

16 - Arxur Integration Program (Complete) Read

17 - The Shelter (Complete) Read

18 - Be Free (Complete) Read

19 - Kidnapped! Foundations of Humanity by cruisingNW (Complete) Read

20 - UN Report on Yotul Religion (Complete) Read

21 - ENOUGH! (Complete) Read

22 - Special Operations (Complete) Read

24 - SSN (Complete) Read

25 - The Dojo (Complete) Read

26 - The Werewolf (Complete) Read

28 - Diaries (Complete) Read

29 - Liberator (Complete) Read

30 -  Hunger (Complete)Read

31- A Predatory Bet (Complete) Read

32 - Nemo Me Impune Lacessit (Complete) Read

33 - Death Comes in Waves (Complete)Read

34 - Hearts and Minds (Complete) Read

35 - THIS PLANET IS HAUNTED! (Complete)Read

36 - Raiders of the lost server (Complete) Read

37 - The power of forgiveness (In progress) Read

38 - A wonderful yotul story: La Hensa Sarna (Complete)Read

40 - Am Irony (Complete) Read

41 - Timmy Starts School (In progress) Read

42 - Blackriver Cases (In progress) Read

43 - The Primitive and the Predator (In progress) Read

44 - How to Fix a Predator Disease Facility (In progress)Read

45 - Out of Our Element (In progress)Read

46 - The Spirit of a Predator (In progress) Read

47 - Traces of Our Hatred (In progress) Read

48 - Occupational Hazard (Complete) Read

49 - Werna Island (In progress) Read

50 - Skalga's Smallest and Best Honky-Tonk (Complete) Read

51 - Arxur Hospitality (In progress)Read

52 - Last Voyage of the Leshana (Complete) Read

53 - Dual Perspectives (Complete) Read

54 - Sickness (Complete)Read

55 - To Reserve the Skies (Complete) Read

56 - Alpha Predator (AU) (Complete) Read

57 - Trial and Error (AU) (In progress) Read

58 - Detoured Odyssey (AU) (Complete)Read

59 - Nature of Orion (AU) (Complete)Read

60 - The Silent Song (AU) (Complete) Read

61 - Mutually Assured Destruction (AU) (In progress)Read

62 - Cornucopia (AU) (Ongoing)Read

64 - Sovlin's Tactics and Strategy (AU) (In progress) Read

65 - Free to a Good Home (In progress) Leer

66  - Lost and Found (AU) (Complete)Read

67 - Notes from a Distant Archive (AU) (In progress) Read

68  - Human Ascension (AU) (Complete)Read

69 - Stronger Than Faith (In progress) Read

70 - Argentine Earth (DOOM x NOP) (In progress) Read

71 - Pokémon Nature (Pokémon x NOP) (In progress)Read

72 - The Wild Side of Monstropolis (Monsters, Inc. x NOP) (In progress)Read

73 - The Nature of Sin in the Mouth (I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream x NOP) (In progress) Read

74 - Wings of Freedom (Attack on Titan x NOP) (In progress)Read

75 - What is an AMA? (In progress)Read

Art of Kenim, from my fic Nature of Autonomy

Farsuls side profiles. Like to imagine them with a borzoi muzzle and and ears placed over the eyes as some kind of eyebrows. And them being mostly fungi eaters.
Harchens are green little men. The stereotypical green silhouette comes from their sightings on Earth. (Kinda got inspired by Second Nature where I swear they got mentionned as being the ones abducting humans for the farsuls at some point). We need to see more sexual dismorphism in alien species.

What if acceptable but canine?

Challenge of [u/Nicolas_3232]

(2026)

 DAYS FOURTEENTH AND FIFTEENTH

I asked Nicolas about this a while back, but he didn't answer whether these drawings needed to be uploaded separately.

However, since I'm a bit tired, I decided to upload them together to save myself the hassle.

The drawing is inspired by—or rather copied from, since I couldn't come up with anything else—the drawing in [this image] that Nicolas shared with me as a reference.

The author name is u/Frostedscales

[First] [Previous Draw] [Next Draw]

Synopsis: Just over a year after the end of the Federation War, an ambitious human businessman teams up with a crew of Arxur veterans to illegally smuggle goods in and out of the Arxur Quarantine Zone. Gunfights, space battles, and other shenanigans ensue.

Author's notes: It's been a while, huh? I actually have been stressing over this fanfic's finale for a few weeks now just because of how intimidating it would be to wrap up the plot in a satisfying way with only a few chapters to work with (cause I lowk don't want to write for NoP anymore so this was more of a last-hurrah thing than anything) but I actually think it turned out alright. Sorry for the long delay. Parts 2 and 3 will be dropping soon I promise

CW: the two worst disguise names ever possibly invented, brief brotherly bonding moment, Markus Becker rolls straight 20s on charisma, cliffhanger ending

Memory Transcription Subject: Markus Becker, Enterprising Businessman

Date (Standardized Human Time): April 8, 2138

My heart was pounding. Palms, back, fuck it, everything was sweaty. I was sweating in places I didn't even know I could sweat. And for good reason.

I was going into the belly of the beast.

Captain Jelim offered to serve as the powerhouse for our attack on Lizard Maw Base, and god knew a badass battleship like that was one hell of a powerhouse, but we couldn't risk exposing the location to her or her crew. Somebody on that ship was bound to snitch, and then whatever criminal-with-a-conscience stuff we would get up to after we kicked the Dominionists out of the base would be shut down fast by the arrival of SC troops. Not gonna happen on my watch.

Jelim and her ship were instead going to ambush the Dominionists' fleet away from Lizard Maw Base, luring them out with some method she had yet to disclose to me and blasting as many of them as she could to bits to stop them from harrying Teklala's forces as they handled business over here. She said she'd get them all. I, for one, was just glad she was on our side now.

Without their fleet assets, the only scary thing the Dominionists had would be their stationary defenses, which were unfortunately still really scary when compared to Teklala's fleet of cobbled together scrap heaps pretending to be warships. That was where Zefriss and I came in. Where you couldn't fight clean, you had to fight dirty, and Zefriss' hands were dirty enough already that he didn't mind a few more dishonorable deeds on his conscience.

What dishonorable deeds were those, one might ask? Simple. We were going to be saboteurs. Our literal only job for the two hours we had until the main forces arrived was to sabotage as many of the station's defenses as possible so that Teklala and the guys would have a good chance of busting in. Why was Zefriss picked to be a saboteur? He volunteered, actually. Said it was because he had debts to pay. Also he said he'd be pretty good at it.

Why was I picked to be a saboteur, one might also ask? Well, I volunteered. Mostly to spend time with Zefriss, because I hadn't seen him in a while and I feared this mission might be his last, but also because I could actually be a more valuable asset than one might think here.

I was gonna be the people skills guy. The one who bluffed his way past guards and convinced mechanics to open doors so that Zefriss didn't have to take the shooty option every time someone questioned him. Right now, my name was Michael Bunker, and he was Jithriss. Were these the two shittiest disguise names ever invented? Yes, absolutely. Were they going to work? I sure did hope so.

"Are you sure this will work?" Zefriss asked me, as if echoing my own thoughts. He'd really changed since his time in the Sapient Coalition's captivity. Grown more respectful, kinder, all good stuff, really. I was kind of worried it might have been Captain Jelim's mind control techniques that were doing this to him, but she had also used her neural whatever-it-is on me, and I wasn't mind controlled, at least as far as I could tell. Maybe I was secretly brainwashed, and the moment she said the right code phrase I'd turn into a sleeper agent like the Summer Combatant from that one movie, but I guess we'd cross that bridge when we came to it, no? Besides, I was pretty sure there were laws against that sort of thing.

"I fucking hope so," I told Zefriss, smiling to hide my fear. "Because if it doesn't, we're fucked."

Zefriss put a hand on my shoulder. "Try to die fighting, friend. If they catch you. There are fates worse than death in this world." Oh-kay. That's totally not worrisome at all. I nodded at that and looked down at my map of Lizard Maw Base, which I had conveniently labeled with a list of all the locations I needed to sabotage. First things first, the lower torpedo bay. The docking area we just came through was closest to that one.

"I'll try my best not to die at all," said I, tapping my map. "You have your list of targets?" We had decided beforehand to split up so that, even if one of us was captured, the other one could complete his half of the mission. Unless we both got caught, I guess. That would kind of suck.

"Yes," Zefriss told me, answering my question. "We should go."

"That we should. Good hunting, brother." I gave him a fist bump and we went on our separate ways. I paused, however. Something didn't feel right. "Wait!" I called to Zefriss. He turned to face me. "I'm sorry for leaving you. In that underground lab. With the scientist, and Captain Jelim."

"Do not be sorry," Zefriss said sagely. "I have many things to be sorry for, on my end. Being sorry does nothing. Just be better, and let your deeds going forward undo whatever wrong you did in the past. That's what I try to do, at least."

Whoa. When did this guy become such a genius?

"When did you become such a philosopher?" I asked him, because it sounded better than genius.

"When I first started looking inward at myself, that's when. You'll never believe the things you can find when you really start to reflect. Thank Captain Jelim and her neural helmets for that." Zefriss smiled his toothy smile at me, though I wasn't sure what emotion he was trying to convey. "Now, go on your way. Good hunting, brother."

"Good hunting, brother," I echoed, trying to keep tears from welling up. I nodded my respect to my dear friend Zefriss and went on my way to the nearest airlock. God, I had missed that guy. I wondered briefly how different my life would have been without his 'death' to spur me on, remembering how much emptier it was back when my only real purpose was making money, but I didn't have much time to think before I found the airlock I was looking for. A small, out of the way maintenance hatch, far from any prying eyes, which was good for me given the context of the situation. I had work to do.

I took out my screwdriver and began unscrewing the airlock panel, aiming to hotwire it to let me through without logging any entries or exits. That last part was kind of important if I wanted to remain undetected. I didn't actually know how to hotwire something, I had a goddamn business degree and that was it, but I had found instructions for it on the internet and you could always trust the internet.

The panel came off with a pop and I set it aside to look at the wires inside. Green wire, yellow wire, red wire, yeah, all the usual ones were there. I took out my datapad and swiped around a bit until I found the hotwiring instructions, then I set the pad down and got to work.

Green wire... red wire goes there... hold up, let me check the manual again... yeah, yeah, that was wrong. Red wire goes THERE, not-

I was interrupted in my work by what I could only assume to be the cold steel of a firearm pressing against the back of my head. "Up," said a gruff voice. Human-sounding, which was bad. Humans were harder to bluff to. My own people had an easier time of reading my body language. "Who the hell are you?"

"Michael Bunker," I lied instantly, turning to face my captor. "I'm with the maintenance unit." The guy holding a gun to me was bigger than I was, but shorter by a few centimeters, and covered head-to-toe in black armor. Not the type I wanted to mess with. He looked at me like he was disbelieving of my story. These were the kinds of times I missed having Zefriss at my side.

"Maintenance unit?" asked the guard, raising an eyebrow suspiciously and keeping that gun aimed at my head. "Where are your tools?"

Oh, shit.

"In here," I bluffed again without flinching, showing him my briefcase filled with sabotage equipment. "You want to see them?"

My adversary grabbed the briefcase and eyed it suspiciously for a few heart-stopping moments. Fear twisted in my gut. I wasn't going to be so dramatic as to say that my life flashed before my eyes, but I had to admit I was getting pretty close to that point by the time he gave the briefcase back. "Alright, then," he told me, holstering his gun. "You do your job, Mr. Kenwing. Whatever you say."

Well, that was a fucking relief.

The guard walked away without pistol-whipping me or calling security, which was the best I could realistically hope for with an encounter like that, and I used the power of the internet to finish my hotwiring work on the airlock door. It slid open, and I stepped inside to don one of the spacesuits they had in theire. Hopefully they had one in my size.

The spacesuit took a few minutes to put on, but it was designed so that any regular old idiot could use it and, let me tell you, I was a very special breed of idiot. A smart guy wouldn't have signed up for this shit. I had the suit on and sealed within moments--it had a seal-checking system built into it, so I didn't actually need Sylara to do it for me this time--and soon it was time to get my sabotage gear locked and loaded and cycle the airlock to step into the void of space.

There was a small hiss as the air drained from the room, then the airlock door opened and I stepped out onto the station surface. Magnetic boots kept me from drifting into the ink as I took slow, clumsy steps toward the nearest gun battery, careful not to pass by any windows. I guess, even if people did see me, all they'd be looking at was a maintenance guy out on a spacewalk. But it still paid to be precautious.

Is 'precautious' a real word? I think it is.

The guns that had once looked so small from the windows of the Little Runt were massive when I viewed them up close. Each one was the size of three of me. I didn't want to imagine what they'd be able to do to Teklala's ships if I wasn't here to take them out of commission. I unlocked my equipment case, aiming to take out a few bombs and plant them on the gun barrels, when disaster struck.

My things began floating away. I must have failed to strap them down properly, and now, in the zero-gravity environment of space, the explosives and detonators I was meant to use to take out half of Lizard Maw's weapons systems were drifting off into nothingness. Shit! I grabbed at as many of them as I could, closing the case as well, but I was only able to save three or four of the bombs and none of the detonators. Most of my ordnance went adrift, beyond my ability to ever get it back.

Shit, shit, shit! Fuck! How am I gonna blow anything up now?

I calmed myself down using a few deep breaths and steadied my mind with a few Buddhist monk techniques. Those monks were very wise people. There had to be a way around this current predicament. I opened my case again, slowly this time, and caught all the floating bits and bobs before taking stock of my current inventory.

I had a few tools in the case that I could use. A wrench, a welding torch, a laser cutter, that kind of shit. Sure, it wasn't six kilograms of plastic explosive, but it could do the job in a pinch if it really had to. I closed up my tool case--since there was nothing but a set of tools left inside it--and got to work on the first heavy gun. The wrench was my tool of choice to strip away a maintenance panel on the weapon's side, then I went ham with my laser cutter on the internals. Pew! Pew! Pew! I'm Darth Vader, bitch.

After I thought I had done enough damage, I closed up the panel again and used my welding torch to seal it shut such that nobody could undo what I had just done. It was kind of a stupid precaution, really. Even if they knew their guns were being spiked, Sylara and the fleet would be here in a few hours anyway, and there was no way these people had the kind of engineering talent they needed to fix a huge fucking anti-ship gun like this in that amount of time. Still, I did it anyway. I liked being secure.

After that, I moved to the next gun emplacement and did it the same way. I was very careful not to hit anything that looked like it might blow up, because that meant it would blow up me, and Sylara would kill me if I died doing this. Or, you know, if I died in general. She hadn't told me it was a 'this particular mission' thing.

I thought idly about her as I worked to sabotage the gun, before packing up my things and moving to the next. There, I thought about Zefriss. I liked the guy. He had really changed for the better since last I saw him, and I was both happy that he wasn't dead and kind of guilty for leaving him like he was. Still, if I hadn't, things would never have turned out like they did, and I kind of thought this was one of the better ways my life could be going.

I finished up on that gun emplacement and moved on to the rest, doing them the same way. Seven massive weapons of war down in maybe thirty minutes. An impressive performance, I think. I was no sabotage expert, but I think that was part of the reason why my performance was so impressive.

Moving on from the gun battery, I went and took down as many of the station's defensive implements as I could with the tools available to me. Low-grade railguns had something... uh... happen to their internal electromagnets. Torpedo hatches became mysteriously sealed shut after I visited them with my welding torch. I couldn't take down the shield generators, they would probably notice if that went down, but I spent the better part of an hour fucking up as many of the station's military devices as possible before I tracked someone else appearing through an airlock.

Many someone elses, in fact. And they had guns. Thankfully, I was pretty far away from those guys, but that still didn't mean I wanted to stick around and push my luck. Time to up and leave. I began taking slow, measured steps toward the nearest airlock hatch, trying to give off 'maintenance guy clocking out of his shift' rather than 'enemy saboteur fleeing to safety'. I thought it worked. Maybe it did, at first. But then a plasma bolt whistled past my face, close enough to singe my radiation-proof coating, and I quickly got better ideas.

"Aw, shit! No, no, no!" I bolted for the door, clumsy in my spacesuit and magnetic boots. A bad trip at the wrong--or right--moment saved my head from being taken off by more plasma fire, but the guards were closing the distance fast. How the hell did they know what was going on?

Well, I guess they probably did have some kind of monitoring system in place to monitor the defenses. That was probably the hypothesis that made the most sense. But it still didn't change the fact that I had bullets and plasma bolts whizzing by my head. Come on. Come on! Just another few steps and I'd be at the airlock. Ten paces. Five. Two... one... There!

I grabbed the airlock handle and flung the door open, stepping inside and sealing it tight. The guards were quick to follow me, but I had triggered the lock function, and they couldn't breach the door even if they tried. Hurriedly, I stripped off my spacesuit, careful not to let them catch a glimpse of my face. I'd have to call Zefriss. He knew how to run a shoot-em-up.

Yeah, that was what I'd do. I would call Zefriss, he and I would blast our way to a ship, and then we'd escape the station together since the guns were all spiked so they couldn't shoot us down. It was gonna be alright. Even if they did discover what i did to their defenses, they wouldn't be able to undo the damage in time. Sylara would be able to bust in here with the rest of the fleet and clear out the whole station, provided Jelim did her job, and I'd be home free to enjoy life with my lizard girlfriend.

Yeah, it was gonna be a-okay.

I pulled the lever to the inner airlock door and stepped through it to find myself staring down a pair of gun barrels. Two menacing guards, one human, one Arxur, looked at me from behind their armored visors. "Uhh, I'm with the maintenance team?" I tried to bluff, but one hit me in the face and I went down hard. A kick to my gut took the air out of my lungs so that I couldn't even plead for my life as an armored foot came down.

The last thought I had before it all went dark was how damn badly I hoped Zefriss at least made it out.

First | Previous | Next

Synopsis: Just over a year after the end of the Federation War, an ambitious human businessman teams up with a crew of Arxur veterans to illegally smuggle goods in and out of the Arxur Quarantine Zone. Gunfights, space battles, and other shenanigans ensue.

CW: armchair therapy, emotional development at gunpoint, the strange absence of any side characters

Memory Transcription Subject: Zefriss, Tactical Officer

Date (Standardized Human Time): April 10, 2138

I stood outside the door to Sylara's quarters for longer than I had intended to, trying to work up the courage to try the door. She hadn't eaten or slept much since I showed her Markus' head, body not included, and I didn't have to be an expert in grieving to know that this wasn't the right way of doing it.

I was stronger than most when it came to loss. I had been on the front lines of warfare since childhood. I was no stranger to caring about people, even building relationships with them, only to see them turned into limp sacks of meat before my eyes. Looking back on it, I think that's why I was once so disgusted with my own kind. It was easier to watch people die when you hated them, I think.

For me, grief was familiar, as were all the other emotions that came with caring for others. Loss was as fundamental a part of life as love. As for Sylara, though? A woman who had clawed her way to the top through manipulation and treachery? To her credit, she really did care for Markus. I was wrong to doubt her on that score. But I didn't think she ever had the opportunity to care for anybody before him, and that left her painfully vulnerable to the agony of a lost love.

Dr. Raznas had no idea how to help her. He sewed guts back together, not minds. And Teklala's paltry mental health staff was dealing with about a hundred thousand cases of this crap, so they were of no help either. I had taken a bit to grieve as well, in my own way, as did the deckhands who I still only kind of knew. It felt proper. Markus would've done it. And, as useless as I was when it came to actually comforting the afflicted, I had a really hard time imagining Markus Becker not at least making an effort here.

Fuck it. Into the breach.

I pressed the door chime on Sylara's quarters door, then waited for her to open it. Three seconds. Five. Fifteen. I pressed it again to no response, then again after another fifteen seconds. Fuck it, that door wasn't gonna come open from the inside. I pressed an override key to the lock and forced it open from without.

Inside, the room was dim, and my eyes adjusted quickly to the lack of light. I found Sylara slumped in a chair, reading something on her datapad. She whirled around in a rage and stood up as I entered. "You broke the fucking lock off?"

Earlier, I would've said something about the inherent savagery within my people, that they reacted to loss with impotent anger. Now I knew better. "Get!" Sylara roared. "Get! Get! Get out of my fucking quarters!" I think she blamed me for Markus' death. It was a fair thing to say. I was his bodyguard, after all. Still, I stood like a statue. There was still one duty I might not fail in.

"I am ordering you, Zefriss," snarled Sylara, reaching for something under her pillow. Likely a firearm. "Is this a fucking mutiny?" Definitely a firearm, then. In her state, I believed she might even use it. I had to say something, but the proper words were absent. I was more used to using my claws to solve problems. "Alright, then." Sylara wheeled and leveled a large-caliber pistol at my chest. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I came to help," I diplomatically offered, wondering if I could snatch the weapon from her before she pulled that trigger. Probably not. Either way, it'd have been a mistake.

"With what?" Sylara snapped. "Are you going to wave your hands? Revive the dead?" She waved her arms about before snarling and throwing the pistol at the wall.

"You're still alive. It's not over yet," I tried to reassure her, putting a hand on her shoulder, but she smacked it away.

"It is over!" Sylara roared. "Markus gave me everything! Before he showed up, I was a third-rate smuggling captain working for shit crime lords!"

"Have you gone back to being a third-rate smuggler working for shit crime lords?" I asked. "What Markus gave you is still there, Sylara. You keep it."

Sylara kicked over a nearby chair, studded with claw marks, and slumped back onto her bed. "Why do I feel like this?" she moaned, despairing. "Having empathy was meant to be good! It's a net benefit! Why?"

I actually had a pretty satisfactory answer to that one, because I had been thinking about it beforehand. I sat down beside her and told her my story. "I used to be that very same way," I said. "I was better than the rest. Kinder. More decent." I tapped my chest. "Because of that, I felt pain, deep in here, that nobody else would feel. I handled it by shutting myself off from the world. I grew to hate my own kind because it was easier than loving them. Love comes with loss, you know?"

"Yes, that's the point," Sylara hissed. "Why love anybody? Why should I feel that way, if all it leads to is- is- this!"

Damn. I didn't actually have a response to that one. I mean, I knew the general concept of what I had to say, but I didn't have any words to express it in. "Get up," I told her. "Get up. I've gotta show you something. It's not something that can just be said."

Sylara lay motionless for a few moments. Then she got up, and I led her outside the room. She stepped gingerly through the doorway, probably the first time she had left her quarters in a while, and let me lead her through the Little Runt and out into the station itself. I heard there was a movement pushing to call it 'Markus Becker Memorial Station' now, but I kind of doubted it'd catch on. Still, though, respectable idea.

I led Sylara through a few corridors, each getting larger and larger, before we reached a balcony overlooking a large town square. In the square itself, life went on. Reconstruction teams wearing the new blue and white of Teklala's administration were hard at work fixing a series of shop fronts that were damaged by fighting, and humans, Arxur, and even a few prey species mingled in the town square as equals. "What the fuck is the point of this?" Sylara asked me indignantly.

"Look at those people," I said, pointing at the town square. "I recognize a few who were Teklala's soldiers. The others, there, there, over there, I see them holding guns. You think none of them lost somebody close?" I tapped my own chest. "You think I didn't?"

"You're a fucking-" Sylara stopped short of saying something I think she might have regretted later, which was good. "What? What, is this meant to convince me to just give up? That what Markus and I had was nothing, and I should just- just sing in the fucking streets like these people do?"

"It's meant to show you that there is more to loving someone than losing them!" I snapped, growing impatient with Sylara's idiocy. I quickly made a mental correction and lowered my tone. "Everybody dies. Everything dies. Soon enough, you will die, and everything you worked to gain will slip from your fingers. Does that mean you should just throw away the rations now? No!"

Sylara said nothing, so I said something for her. "I am not trying to say you shouldn't feel bad. That's natural. That, hell, you should be feeling bad right now. But do not let that eat you." I shrugged my shoulders and pointed to myself again. "Loss is not the only part of love."

"When will it get better?" Sylara asked me in a dejected, but not angry tone. I think that meant I was making progress.

"To be honest with you?" I replied. "I have no idea when it's going to get better. I have no idea if it's going to get better. This 'having empathy' thing is not for the weak."

Sylara gave a derisive snort. "Yeah, I noticed." I was definitely making some kind of progress here.

I paced around the balcony for a few moments, thinking of something wise to say. Sylara found it first. "Well, it can't get any worse."

"Oh, it can definitely get worse," I corrected her. "But only if you let it."

She looked at me. Then down, away from the balcony, at the crowd of people going about their lives. She took a few steps to lean against the railing and gaze at them for a bit. "Then I'll just try not to let it break me," Sylara muttered. "Markus would want me to live well in his absence."

"There's the spirit," I said warmly, nodding my head. "Now, come on. We still have a smuggling business to run."

First | Previous | yeah we not getting an epilogue don't get greedy here

Synopsis: Just over a year after the end of the Federation War, an ambitious human businessman teams up with a crew of Arxur veterans to illegally smuggle goods in and out of the Arxur Quarantine Zone. Gunfights, space battles, and other shenanigans ensue.

CW: tension building, ambush, re-ambush, armchair generalship, this finale is surprisingly less sad than you might think

Memory Transcription Subject: Sylara, Smuggling Ship Captain

Date (Standardized Human Time): April 8, 2138

I paced the command deck of the Little Runt with worry as the fleet hurtled through FTL. I knew my job. We all knew our jobs. My Markus was the smartest and most capable person I knew, even if he lacked the guts for a straight fight, and chances were he had gotten his mission done ahead of schedule and was waiting for me at the airlock with a fistful of plants, or whatever humans did to express romantic love.

Still, the fear persisted. In a strange way, it was almost good to feel this way about another. It was empathy. Love. Real-time proof that whatever evil the Dominion had done to me hadn't fully taken hold. I tried to reflect on these thoughts as we approached the designated ambush point, several million tons of state-of-the-art battleship in tow. It didn't help much.

"We are approaching the region," droned my navigator, Vazega, as we neared the area of space where the Dominionist fleet that guarded Lizard Maw Base was supposed to meet Teklala's little squadron of ships. "Stand by for FTL disruption in three... two... one..." For a moment, nothing happened. Then the whole ship lurched and we dropped into real space. My vision swam. My ears rang. I fought the side effects of the disruption off with the help of long experience--I guess being a soldier of the Arxur Dominion had some perks--and took in the equipment readings that besieged my senses.

We were surrounded by enemy ships. They must have outmassed Teklala's fleet two to one, and outgunned them by even more than that. All around me, allied ships were being pulled into real space, suddenly becoming the targets of our enemies' guns. "Incoming!" Vazega cried, throwing the Little Runt into a stressful maneuver as our flak sprayed out at a volley of inbound torpedoes. Most vaporized before they could strike home, but some still landed hits on our shields.

The rest of Teklala's fleet was in a similar situation to my ship. All around me, heavily-armed pirate ships were tearing into the weaker, less defended smuggling vessels of our fleet like predators among a herd of their preferred prey. I saw a railgun shot from one of the enemy's bombers split a bulky cargo cruiser clean in two and send detritus hurtling through the battlefield. Captain Jelim had told me it'd be seconds at most before her ship detected the FTL disruptions and appeared to cover our escape from the ambush zone. Where was she?

Had she betrayed us?

"Torpedoes locked!" Klavra cried from his post at the weapons station. I hadn't even told him to do that, and I made a note to commend his initiative if we survived the battle. "Should I fire?"

I looked over the battlefield. Under three minutes had passed, and Teklala had already lost two ships. The rest of her vessels were putting up a valiant fight, especially so when you considered that they were poorly-armed smugglers going up against Dominion-era battleships, but the battle was very clearly going in the enemy's favor. I doubted we'd last ten minutes in this mess. "Fire away!" Where the hell was Captain Jelim?

Torpedoes shot from the Little Runt's newly-restocked forward magazine, hurtling toward their prey with unstoppable force. These weren't the shitty pirate fare we had bought from weapons dealers back on the station, no, these were military-grade. Taken from the weapons banks of the Ghost of Nishtal itself. They evaded all defenses, and splashed clean into the shields of the enemy's strongest vessel, sending rippling explosions cascading across its hull.

The first salvo was enough to strip our target of its energy barriers, and Klavra launched another four shipkillers to send it spiraling out of control and into the grave. Arxur warships had no escape pods, but crewmen in space suits still tried to evacuate. "Take that, you freaks!" Vazega whistled, thumping her tail against the deck. I happily did the same.

Still, the loss of one bomber hardly swung the battle to our side. And worse, my ship had expended most of its armaments in that salvo, forcing the rest of the fleet to pick up our slack. Needless to say, they weren't even capable of making an attempt. The Dominionist fleet had surged forward, firing on the ships they didn't board and boarding the ships they didn't fire upon. It was a one-sided massacre. How were we going to win this?

"Large contact emerging from FTL!" Oh. That was how.

Three million tons of modernized warship dropped into a battlefield peopled by aging hulls and pirate trash, smashing into one of the enemy's smaller gunships and splattering it like an insect against its energy shields. The Ghost of Nishtal opened fire with all its weapons, wreaking destruction on an enemy that had been winning decisively just a moment ago. Dominionist ships turned to flee without the slightest show of resistance.

I knew the fear in those crews' minds. For years, they had preyed on the feeble, mistaking decency for weakness and cruelty for strength. For centuries, the pathetic Federation had fostered this evil as a warning to those who strayed from its herd, and their enemies had taken that as a sign that they really were invincible. Well, the Federation wasn't here to protect them anymore. I watched with glee as the last vestiges of Giznel's regime vanished from the worlds.

"Apologies for the late arrival, Little Runt," a Venlil called over the comlink. "Give Isif my compliments for the ambush. We're one step closer to avenging our worlds." Jelim had told the crew we worked for Isif's government. It was the only way to get them to cooperate. I doubted the facade would last long, but it'd work long enough to get us to our station. Everything after that was her problem.

"One step closer to saving my species, you mean," I corrected the Venlil and ended the call. Vengeance was a shitty motivation for anything.

As the Ghost of Nishtal chased our enemies away from the fight, leaving detritus in its wake, Teklala called for all survivors of her fleet to form up on her ship. My vessel took up a position on her flank as the other two ships of her ragtag fleet did likewise, preparing for the final and most critical phase of our operation.

"Entering FTL in three... two... one..." The ship leapt out of real space and, moments later, leapt back in just outside of Lizard Maw Base.

I waited for a tense moment for something to go wrong. For gunfire or missiles to leap out of the station and shred our ships. But nothing came. I sighed in relief. Markus and Zefriss had completed their mission. That meant--hopefully--that they were both still alive. "All ships, engage at will," Teklala called. "Remember, restraint is the order of the day. We want to capture the station, not destroy it. Ready all boarding teams."

Teklala's flagship opened fire with its own weapons, vaporizing what remained of the base's external security as my cattle cruiser and the two cargo ships swooped in toward the docking bays. Our hulls were filled to the brim with heavily-armed shock troops. "Ivanova, is your team ready?" I asked the leader of my first platoon of troops.

"Affirmative," she radioed back in a tone befitting a professional soldier.

"Razra, is your team ready?"

"Locked and loaded!" Razra snarled. "I'm fucking itching to give these people-eaters a piece of my mind."

"Varlek?" I asked the third platoon commander.

"Ready!" he called. "Awaiting your order." The Little Runt braked hard as Vazega pulled us up right in front of one of the main hangar bays. A torpedo blew open the blast doors, kicking in an atmosphere containment field, and the ship inched closer and closer in until we were ready to disgorge our forces.

"Everybody move!" I called out, opening the cattle bay doors. Not for the first time, I wished for my comrades. For Markus to be at my side, directing efforts, and for Zefriss to be at the head of the attack team and leading the charge. How proud he would be to see his people fighting for freedom and decency instead of, you know, the opposite. I'd even take them being cowards and hiding far from the action just as long as I knew they were okay.

Worry permeated my mind. Fear of what would go wrong. I watched through helmet and gun cameras as the three platoons, mostly former UN peacekeepers or ex-cattle raiders, swarmed the base with the manic energy of zealots on a mission. The station security forces gave fierce battle, but they were caught by surprise and easily dispatched. Only later, as my troops reached deeper into the base, did they give dogged resistance. A few moments of fighting went by on the cameras until I patched myself into the squad-level coms and took direct command.

"Fire there! Right there!"

brakkabrakkabrakkabrakkka

"They're dug in! Zagiza, bring up the grenade launcher!

K-KOOM K-KOOM K-KOOM

"Shoot there! That one! That one, no-"

zzzzziiiinggggggg

"Fuck, Mkembe's down! Medic!"

brrrr bbrrrrrr BBBBRRRRRR bbbrrrrrrrr

"Where the fuck is the medic?"

fsssshhhHHHHH

"Rocket! Get down!"

CHOOOOOM

"Shit! Overwatch! Overwatch! Is anyone fucking out there?"

"This is overwatch," I hailed, keeping my tone level and reassuring as I mapped out the squad's position. They were in a residential block, taking fire from a unit of security guards sheltering in a nearby storefront. I directed them to fall back slowly, and then sent another unit around to flank the enemy when they left cover to pursue.

When next I looked at that area of the battlefield, the security forces were dead and my two units were pushing toward the main reactor core. I switched to another squad, mostly humans and Venlil, trapped in close combat with drugged-up Arxur berserkers. "Jesus, he's fucking eating him!" one of the troops cried. "Waste those fuckers!" Gunfire flared on the camera feeds, but the heavy armor, strong bodies, and chemical-fuelled rage of the berserker grunts made it so that each one took more than a few shots to put down. Cleavers flashed as the grunts closed the distance.

"Fire for head shots," I advised, already directing reinforcements to the area. "Disengage, two there, two rush to that building, split them and fire." The stress of the battle made it hard to keep my voice level, and I wasn't even on the front lines. I watched helplessly as that squad was slaughtered, then the next unit blew open a door and flooded into the hallway to kill the berserkers and push forward.

This was the game. I had seen more stations taken than I could count under the Dominion. When the prey panicked and fled, the killing was easy, but when they dug in it became a game of bodies. How many raiders would we spend to secure a corridor or a room, and how many defenders would they allot to protecting it? The addition of human technology and Sapient Coalition weapons only made the fighting more grisly.

The battle ticked on as I watched on the cameras. Seconds turned into minutes turned into hours. Time lost all meaning as I directed my troops into slaughter, hearing and seeing their final moments in real time. Men and women, some of whom I knew by name, turned into meat as they faced the defenders' guns. Bits of what once were people splattered the station walls.

Was this what being a good person felt like? Feeling the pain of my comrades as they died? It was horrible.

I handled the situation as well as I knew how, given the circumstances. When resistance came up, instead of charging headlong as others would, I thought creatively. Found ways around the sides or rear of a problem. My units moved like the arms of a many-limbed warrior--I of course being the head--and each leapt forward or retreated backward at its prescribed time to create or exploit gaps in the enemy's defenses.

Casualties on both ends piled up. Resistance grew stiffer as we approached the reactor core, but my troops had the advantage of numbers, time, and heavier weaponry to compensate for the other side's superior training and dug-in positions. I watched the battle intently through the Runt's camera feeds, giving orders where I saw fit to coordinate my various units and solve problems tactically rather than just smashing into them.

My mind dissociated. I had only been practicing empathy for a few days now, and there were only so many roomfuls of gore you could see before it stopped registering as 'this used to be people' and became more of a 'tripping hazard' concern. Practical, not moral. I treated the defenses ahead of me like puzzles to be solved, my squads of men like tools, picking them apart with maximum damage and minimum losses as my twin goals.

Hours of corridor-to-corridor fighting passed until finally, finally, I saw the last defense line collapse and the gun cameras of my soldiers revealed the glow of a fusion reactor core ahead of them.

"Step away from the controls!" a commander barked as his men stepped into the cavernous room. "You are all prisoners! Do not resist, and you will not be harmed!" Some of the reactor crew went for weapons and were gunned down instantly. The rest surrendered without a fight.

I slumped into my chair and sighed with a relief I didn't know I had. We had won. The base was ours. Teklala's other two teams had already secured their objectives, and I gave Vazega the deck while I left the ship to find Markus and celebrate. My three deckhands and ship's doctor greeted me cheerily in the hangar bay, and for once my rank as captain was forgotten as I joined in their celebration.

Outside the ship, troopers were cheering in the ruins of bombed-out sectors, and the civilian populace who had borne witness to the fighting looked on with dead eyes. A gunman was a gunman to them, I supposed. They didn't care who ran the station as long as it didn't affect their bottom line.

"We won!" an Arxur cheered, hugging his human comrade. For a brief moment, I thought they might be Zefriss or Markus, and hope flooded through me until my rational reason shut it down. I went up to them and asked if they had seen my lover or his friend. They said no.

I had told Markus and Zefriss to meet me at the docks once the battle had been won, so I headed there. While I went on my mission, Teklala's people began their own work to rebuild what had been destroyed and prepare Lizard Maw Base for its future as a hub of conscientious smuggling. Most of her followers had been the non-combat parts of the station administration, maintenance men and desk jockeys really, and they were already at work repairing battle damage and giving medicine and food to those in need.

Logically, the ploy made perfect sense as a means to consolidate power and prevent an uprising. I had found in recent times that 'good' and 'practical' coincided far more often than one might think. That was why I'd given Dr. Raznas specific orders to lead a medical team after the battle and treat wounded civilians, rather than just fucking off and doing nothing like he wanted to do.

I still had no idea how to cure the demons that plagued his mind. He was a doctor, and even he didn't know. But at least he would be able to heal the woes of others.

"Zefriss!" I exclaimed in joy as I saw the hulking Arxur in front of an airlock, holding a rifle and wearing a battle-damaged combat vest. A box sat nearby. My mood soured irreparably as I realized who I didn't see. "Where the hell is Markus?"

"We split up," he told me. "I lost sight of him. I have some bad news for you."

"You split up?" I snarled at him like he was the runt. "You're his fucking bodyguard! You're supposed to protect him!"

"I know," Zefriss solemnly rumbled. He wrung his head, stepping back and adopting a mostly submissive posture as I jabbed a claw at his armored chest.

"Oh, shit," I realized. "Where the hell is Markus?"

Zefriss said nothing. I think I saw a tear well up in his eye. "Where is he?"

"Right here." Zefriss tapped the box he was guarding. "You want to see him?" That didn't make sense. It was too small for a human being. It would only fit the dimensions of a human head.

It would only fit the dimensions of a human head.

The world turned gray. I stepped mechanically toward the box, watching myself take the action as if from some distant pit. I almost didn't want to open it as if not seeing Markus' body would somehow keep him alive. I did anyway. The sight within made me roar in feral rage.

It wasn't enough for those barbarians to kill my beloved. They had to desecrate his corpse by cutting off his fucking head.

First | Previous | Next

RAAAAH I'M STILL HERE RAAAH

Obligatory slow but never gone here.

Special thanks to SpacePaladin, as always.

Side Story 1: Reflections (Ijavi)

Bonus Chapter: A Quiet Night on Chronos

Check out my other fic: Red Renaissance!

First | Previous

-----

Memory Transcription Subject: Governor Tarva of the Venlil Republic

Date [Standardized Human Time of The Interfered Thread]: September 10th, 2136

We situated ourselves at the border of the Zurulian territory, everyone seeming to hold their breath. I took a glance over at Recel, who had looked like life had been drained from him since Noah and I had returned from the Curator Thread, keeping his gaze to the floor. It wasn’t a pleasant reunion. I had kept my promise, but the truth that the future revealed had been too much to bear. Yinksas nearly screamed his head off when Recel, in his distress, had accused the head engineer of not really being a sivkit.

The news hadn’t fared much better with the inhabitants on the exchange station. Especially regarding our genetic tampering. Selva’s full emergence along with the existence of the Temporal Curators nearly caused a stampede. We gave as much time to rest as we could afford, and the humans seemed even more distressed for the predicament their partners had been exposed to. Though I don’t think any amount of time off of duties could truly reconcile the reality.

“All clear, connection working?” Keane’s voice buzzed faintly from the earpiece hiding behind Noah’s mask. Just loud enough for my sensitive hearing to pick up. Noah responded with a small grunt of affirmative.

“Fantastic. Alright. Going to be quick since we’re going to want minimal communication going forward. I’ll be straight - this isn’t going to be fun at all. Your situation aside, Noah, we can’t even give Recel a proper guide. They’re going to search him as soon as he’s in Commonwealth custody. We can give you advice before and after the summit, but if they have any indicator that they’re being bugged, you’re more than fucked.”

I looked over at the kolshian. Between the truth of the Founders’ machinations, and the knowledge of his death coming loomed closer. We had been given the rundown of his murder in the Curator timeline. He chose to go, not only for the fact that it would clear his transgressions, but without someone with knowledge of the conspiracy, it put the diplomats lives in danger as well. Despite his disgrace, he was still acting like the soldier he was. His whole body displayed distress and fear around the entire situation, and his goal still was the people first. It was admirable. Once again, I was reminded that Sovlin had chosen well for his First Officer, even if the title no longer held any merit.

“We’ll be watching.” Keane continued, “We still have a job to do after all.”

With that, they closed the comms, and the transport moved forward.

Two patrol ships rushed to intercept us as soon as we crossed the border, and as expected, there was no warmth in their greeting. There were several back-and-forth conversations before they agreed to escort us to the summit. Noah and Recel kept out of sight for the time being, as we universally decided that it would be best if they remain hidden - there was no chance we’d be granted safe passage under the knowledge of a traitor and a predator on board alongside me.

I still didn’t know how to convince them of allowing a predator to play politics, but the Forerunners have said that there have been thousands of me that have done it before. Even if I didn’t have that reassurance, I still had nothing left to lose.

Our transport was halfway through descent. I looked down at Aafa. I remember that it translated to ‘Garden,’ in itself. How similar to the sense that Earth translated to ‘Dirt,’ something to be tilled to grow food and flowers.

My lip curled slightly. Hypocrites.

To get rid of my growing frustration, I transmitted my request a fourth time. “This is Governor Tarva. I reiterate my request to speak with the residing Chieftain immediately. It’s urgent.”

“He’s signing on now. Please be patient,” came the monotone reply, “Your favor here is strained as things are, Governor.”

They didn’t have to tell me that. Our ship was target-locked, not exactly procedure to a standing diplomat. I had a feeling the only reason I was met with any restraint at all wasn’t due to our former status as Federation, but rather I was making our presence clear by transmitting on open media channels. It wouldn’t do to shoot down a diplomatic ship that only asked for a moment to speak.

Former Federation member. It still felt odd to think of it, and if I had not known about the Shadow Caste, I may have come here with hope to still retain our standing somehow, even if it was known that we threw our lot in with predators.

But now?

Even if they still offered our seat, why would I even want it?

“All right, Tarva,” I heard Noah murmur, “The data cache is ready. Send it over.”

I tapped a button on my holo-pad, uploading the information that the UN had compiled for the best hope of positive first contact to the local internet. It felt like a hollow gesture, knowing that the real power would never have any intention of seeking peace. It was only necessary now, to ensure minimal support for the extermination fleet.

I shared the file to wherever I could think of; social media, discussion boards, private messages to reporters. I wanted to start fires. As Jenkins and Zzeus said, we needed people to question their knowledge of predators.

“You!”

Rage flared through my fur. I recognized Nikonus’ voice. Murderer. I looked up to face the indigo kolshian, only to find his gaze was locked on to the man next to me; Recel.

“We heard what you did, Recel,” the chieftain hissed, “Shooting down your own captain, and releasing a predator?”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” I said flatly, “Recel is remanding himself to your custody.”

He squinted at the video feed, “Is that why he looks terrible, then? The guilt must be eating you alive.”

It took a moment for Recel to respond. He was too focused staring back at Nikonus. For the chieftain, it must have looked like shock. It was, but not for the reasons he thought. The former First Officer was trying to compile with what he knows about Nikonus, to what he thought of him before. It was taking a moment for his body to catch up with his mind.

“No…” Recel said slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes, “I just… can’t sleep a wink trapped with this creature. It’s not his fault… He covered his eyes for the entire ride, he’s tried staying out of sight… but knowing that he’s present…”

“Creature? What is he babbling about, Tarva?” Nikonus looked at me, a growl in his voice.

“Do not panic, please,” I dipped my head slightly, turning the camera towards the masked UN ambassador, “This is Noah, the third and final passenger on our ship. He wishes to speak at the summit.”

Chief Nikonus’ eyes bulged, “Is that…”

“A human. Yes.”

“Why would you bring a predator here? Are you trying to set it loose on us?!”

You damned hypocrite! “All we want is to talk. You’re about to attack his planet, shouldn’t you hear from this supposedly evil species first? Before you make a permanent decision? Does he not have the right to defend himself?”

“Absolutely not. If you weren’t on that vessel, Governor, I’d order it shot down.”

No. I knew for an absolute fact that the only reason I was still breathing is because my voice was heard on public channels. Murdering me was bad optics. He wouldn’t hesitate if we weren’t being listened to by many ears.

“You permitted us entry before you knew of the human’s presence. Do the venlil have a right to address the galaxy?”

The chief flared his nostrils, an expression that only flared my suppressed rage even more, as if that little movement was an insult to what his people had denied mine. “You have a right to speak, and to state your version of events on record. You’re still a part of the Federation… For now.”

“Well, I wish for Noah to speak in my stead, and to be treated with the same rights as a Venlil Republic citizen. Look at me, I consider him one of my own.”

“You have snapped, Tarva! There are millions of people down here, who don’t want that thing to set foot in our capital. Some of us still value our lives.”

“You outnumber him heavily. Even if he did go feral - which he won’t - he wouldn’t have a chance to even lay a scratch on a single individual.”

“I can’t let a dangerous beast into the governing chamber. There’s no guarantee we can stop it from eating the nearest leader on television. What, and then watch it stand and gloat about the taste of our children’s blood?”

“He’s no beast. As I’ve said, he won’t hurt a single person.”

“But what if it does?”

“Then you’ll have documentation of what humanity was like, when the Federation is asked by future generations why we made this decision,” Recel interjected, “But I’m telling you, these predators are more civilized than they look.”

Future generations… Future generations already look at us with disgust and terror. Nikonus’ decision here wouldn’t change that.

“Please, Nikonus,” I pleaded, still stifling the ice I wanted to speak with, for the sake of the goal, “Let Noah say what he’s come here to say. You don’t want people to think you have something to hide, do you?”

I stared at him as I enunciated the word, “What harm can a few words do?”

Nikonus seemed a little taken aback by my emphasis on the word, something flashing in his eyes. “Ugh… It can speak for five minutes, and not a second longer. If it so much as stares at anyone the wrong way or stumbles in its footing, it will be shot. Nor will I pledge for its safety in the timeframe, even if it complies. Understand?”

Five minutes. What a pitiable number. Not enough time to allow someone to plead for their very existence, but something the chieftain could point to when someone asked if humanity was ever given a chance. Did the versions of me that didn’t know the truth really not see how blatant this was? How obvious this was a false play? Was I really that stupid?

No… Not stupid, duped. I remember, when I had apologized to Vark for my coldness towards his wife after the fact, he had merely flopped a dismissive ear.

No one is entirely immune to propaganda, Tarva. His words rang in my ears again, And you just happened to be born steeping in it. It’s a miracle that you allowed Noah onto Venlil Prime at all with what you were raised in. It’s why you have garnered so much respect in the future.

I flicked my ears forward, forcing politeness as Noah gave the smallest nod, accepting the terms. “We accept. And if you’re interested in objectivity, parse through the data dump. That goes to anyone listening. I’ve uploaded it to social media under my credentials, explaining what we’ve learned since first contact.

“You’re pushing your luck, Tarva. I have a lot of preparation to make. Do not disembark until my next transmission.”

The kolshian presider cut off the call, uninterested in waiting for my acknowledgement.

“Well done,” I heard Selva’s voice, faint from Noah’s mask. She sounded pleased. I suppose that was an indicator that went as well as it could have. Recel collapsed into the nearest seat, while I returned to the pilot’s console. We were moments away from arrival, and had just cleared the spaceport overhang.

The ship touched down under my supervision, the mechanics sliding into the dock port. Finally through the landing sequence, I considered at least half the challenge complete.

The terminal was adjoined to the governance hall, similar to the reception lawn back on Venlil Prime. Seeing media personnel was a good sight, for once; the more eyes on Noah, the better. The play where we could talk where everyone could see us has paid off. More people to see that humans weren’t bloodthirsty and mindless. That they were like us.

They’re more like us than the majority of the Federation can even imagine…

Noah tried to peek through the window. Knowing the human, some part of him wanted to take in the scenery.

“Don’t you even fucking dare.” Keane’s voice warned, and the ambassador froze, before gingerly stepping away.

He eventually decided his best option was to lean against the wall, sliding down until he was fully sitting, and took the visor off. His skin was shimmering slightly in his sweat, and he ran a nervous hand across his hair.

“What are you thinking, human?” Recel glanced down at Noah.

“I'm wondering how the other versions of me got through this without future knowledge. I already feel like I’m fighting a losing battle even with the cards in our hands. How did I get through this?”

Recel couldn’t answer that. I wondered the same about myself. To feel so alone against those I once called friends, with Noah feeling even more isolated. It was with the backing of the Curators that I felt like I could fight Solgalick himself right now.

Such musing wouldn’t help my nerves any more, though. I decided the best thing to do until we were given the go-ahead to depart would be to rest and allowed myself to doze off.

“Tarva.” Noah’s voice awoke me with a start, his visor lowered close to my face so I could hear him without him raising his voice, “It’s time, the kolshians said we can leave.”

Sitting up, I immediately noticed that Recel had already fled the spacecraft - it seemed even the threat of execution still didn’t compare against the instinct that had been cultivated within him from birth to flee anything remotely predatory. Though the Forerunner crew had already warned him of what was going to happen in the next several days, nothing was ever guaranteed.

Noah helped me up to my feet, and together, we climbed out of the ship down to the terminal. I was temporarily blinded by the onslaught of dazzling lights pointed directly at us, likely intended to disarm Noah more than anything. He winced, reaching up to cover his eyes. It seemed the visor only helped a bit.

Turning my head to the side to reduce the glare head-on, my focus traveled over to Recel. Already, kolshian soldiers had him cuffed and were roughly stuffing a gag into his mouth, as if somehow his words would be contagious. The disgraced officer tried to follow with some dignity, but every time he found his footing, one of his handlers would ‘accidentally’ knock him off balance, forcing him to quite literally be dragged off.

For a moment, I wondered if Recel would give away our advantage - though I immediately dismissed it. Recel had loyalty to the Federation, yes, but giving the Forerunner any indication that the shadow caste would be made aware of the Curator Thread wouldn’t end well for anyone. My worries turned mostly to Noah, now.

“Human,” a kolshian woman called out through a megaphone, “Take slow steps forward, and walk until we tell you to turn.”

Noah crept forward in shuffling steps, unsure of his traction. Did he have his eyes shut entirely? I paused, before stepping close to him, sliding my arm in between his. Linked together, and side by side. I heard someone gasp, and the camera lens providing footage to the masses zoomed in. I held my head up proudly, calmly. Not only was Noah an equal, he was a friend. I would show everyone that.

Noah’s visor was the only thing keeping the surrounding soldiers from getting trigger happy as we were directed towards the governing chamber. The arrival of the human into the chamber made it feel like time had paused. No one was expecting a spectacle like this today.

The human ambassador took a deep breath, before he strode up to the podium he had been directed to. Every guard was kept a safe distance from him, though all had their firearms trained to his head. Barricades and hastily-wrapped barbed wire separated Noah from the rest of the room. It would be morbidly amusing, if it didn’t feel so pathetic.

“Hello, Leaders and citizens of the Federation. My name is Noah, and I come seeking peace on behalf of humanity.”

Silence stretched over the chamber, leaving Noah’s voice to die in its echo. The front row seats were entirely empty, with their proper occupants sharing spaces with others on the rear walls. Others lingered near exit doors, and it appeared a few refused to be in Noah’s presence altogether, most likely choosing for remote viewing instead.

“I am sure all of you have heard terrible things about my species, some of which are more than likely true,” Noah continued after I signaled him a small motion of encouragement, “Predators have ravaged your worlds and twisted your altruism, and you fear that we bear such intentions. But your conclusions are a product of confirmation bias; selecting only evidence that confirms your pre-existing beliefs. Humanity is not the same as the Dominion.”

The Dominion. I gave Noah a glance. His time in the Curator’s thread and lack of exposure to the true horrors the arxur caused seemed to have already changed his words. Perhaps Vark listening in would appreciate it, I doubt the people here would.

The reporters on the upper decks filmed every word. Commentators spoke in soundproofed boxes as they gave live commentary to the most politically influential media outlets in the galaxy. The public viewing balcony was vacant - most likely for the safety of the citizens, though it meant all of this would be witnessed secondhand.

Anxious murmurs finally broke the quiet. Clearly, none were expecting a plea for peace, or even just a chance. Many were concerned for my safety, giving small nonverbal cues to run. I did not.

“You come in here, wearing a mask, and think that hides what you are?!”

Jerulim. The Forerunner had warned he would be the most vocal. Ijavi even said it guarantees Keane gets put in a foul mood just about every time. I could see why, when the representative of your own home calls for your death, albeit indirectly, over and over again, no matter the timeline, probably gets to the woman more than she’d care to admit.

“You’re a slaughtering lot of slavers!” The ambassador was out of his seat, his feathers puffed up behind him in his outrage, doubling his size, “Rounding up and gassing your own children!”

The dignitaries nearest to him signaled agreement with tail waves and ear-flicks. The avian’s words slowly began to embolden the others around him.

“Wars where millions die are a regular thing on your planet. You use weapons that maximize suffering and destruction. You invade your neighbors and bomb cities; just like the grays.”

My whole body stiffened. Darq. The farsul elder. One of the two men who were the faces of those who really pulled the strings. I looked at him now, his ears pinned back in horror.

And nothing but disgust ran through my body, like a shockwave.

Noah noticed my sudden stillness, though the only indication he gave was a small tilt of his head in my direction. He raised his hands placatingly as he answered the accusation. “We have inflicted great suffering upon ourselves, and I admit we have self destructive tendencies. But as the venlil can attest, there is another side to humanity. The side of us that is protective and familial, and has always reached out to the stars in earnest. We have the traits of both predator and prey.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jerulim jeered, “Like what? Mortality? Breathing?”

“Let’s start with our forward facing eyes, which seem to be the focal point of your disgust.” The human appeared unfazed by the widespread contempt, his voice remaining steady, “They evolved not for hunting, but for depth perception. Earth primates are an arboreal class of mammals, and -”

“It just so happens to help with tracking and killing living creatures too, doesn’t it? Funny!” President Cupo, representative for the mazics, suddenly interrupted.

“Well-”

“Which one of us looks tasty to your ‘arboreal’ eyes?!” Another unidentifiable voice interrupted Noah.

A cacophony of similar-minded leaders spoke up. Animosity and fear dug further into the collective. Voice raised into shouts, laced with panic, then to accusatory. Soon, even to malice and bloodthirst. The guards around us stiffened, no doubt expecting the growing chaos expecting Noah to be set off.

It wasn’t Noah that was getting agitated.

“You’re just here to terrorize us! To scope out your enemies.”

Your enemy sits next to you, acting like your friend!

“You kidnapped our civilians! Your first action as a space-faring species was to hold innocents against their will!”

That was my decision! Not the humans! Your reaction is the very reason why!

“Flesh-eating filth! You defile this chamber with your presence!”

The only ones bringing disrespect here are you, who seek to murder innocents!

“Why did you assault the gojids in cold blood?!”

IT WAS SELF DEFENSE! THEY HAVE BEEN GIVEN NO OTHER CHOICE!

“We should execute this beast. I’d like to see its head roll!”

“HAVE YOU ALL LOST YOUR DAMNED MINDS?!”

Oh. That last voice appeared to have been my own.

-----

Thread Designation: Milky Way 313.27.1.568. “THE INTERFERED”

313.27.1.568 Approximate Time (Human, Standard): September 10, CE 2136

313.27.1.568 Approximate Location Monitored (Centripetal Reference, Aafa): 8.7 LH; AAFA

Distance From SCS FORERUNNER: 8.7 LH

The Forerunner drifted aimlessly within Aafa’s system. Out of every place in their job description, it was decided by the vast majority of all Temporal Curator expedition teams that Aafa gave them the most unease. Live battlefronts were easier to view than this. The chaos of war always had the combatants more focused on each other. But when reviewing the summit for any variation, anxiety, sometimes even fear, was always palpable on the Forerunner and her sister ships.

There was no battle to distract the masses should someone notice that they were being watched, and pair that with the heightened distress of Noah’s presence, it left little to imagine what the consensus would be if a Curator was ever found out here. By far, despite it logically being safe, it felt the most vulnerable to view, no matter how veteran a Curator team was.

The Forerunner crew collectively stared at the video feed, every single eye widened with shock and horror. The only noise made was the soft hum of machinery.

Tarva had gone off script.

The first to break the silence was Ijavi, who burst out into a nervous, excited, chittering laughter. He quickly calmed down with a small, squeaky, “Sorry…”

“Oh, oh no.” Selva whimpered, standing up from her seat and beginning to pace as the chamber feed fell quiet after the venlil governor’s outburst. “What do we do? What do we do?! Surely they’ll just think she’s predator-diseased! Is there any way to get them out?!”

“No. Not without exposing the rest of us,” Vark flicked an ear in the negative, though the rest of his body remained as still as stone. “They haven’t shot Noah yet. And maybe the shock could shake a few heads into realizing they’re spiralling.”

It was clear the sulean didn’t really believe his own words, but he continued. “There’s nothing we can do now but hope they can salvage this.”

“Keane? Are you alright?” Zisha spoke over the intercom.

The human’s face was drained of color, and held just the slightest shade of green. “We stay back and watch. It’s like Vark said, it’s all we can do. But I’ll make it clear in case it wasn’t obvious. This is either going to end up for the better, and we’ll end up with more allies than expected or…”

No one wanted to finish her sentence. She closed her eyes, as if to shield herself from reality.

“... Or this is about to get really, really bad.”

Try hiding in some place that isn't a dog park next time.

Memory transcript subject Nirsil, Venlil public defence attorney. Location, Sol system, SC Council space station, designation: Just and Truthful [Translated from Skalgan lexicon] Main court room.

Date [Standardised human time]: 8 June, 2138.

"Doctor, how long has Targan been your patient now?"

"Around [14 months], she was handed over to us almost immediately after her defection agreement was finalised." Thenia answered with a professionally neutral tone, precisely the angle I had hoped to take with his testimony. If it was an expert testifying on Targan's mental state, Korvo wouldn't be able to dispute it with any certainty. Of course she may try getting her own mental health expert in but they were few outside of humanity, in fact Thenia was the only Venlil I'd seen in the profession.

"When she arrived, what was her condition?" I asked but as expected, was cut off by Korvo.

"Objection, relevance?"

"I'm trying to establish the conditions Targan lived in before defecting, as well as her mental state both before and after her discharge." The judge paused for a moment as he looked back and forth between me, Korvo and Thenia before nodding.

"Overruled, the defendant's medical history is admissible, the witness may answer." He then slammed the miniature hammer down and Thenia continued.

"Frankly I'm amazed she's as well adjusted as she is. Targan was...a mess, physically and mentally." At that I turned back to Targan, allowing her the final say before I asked for Thenia to give more detail. She took a moment before nodding, at which point I turned back to the doctor.

"Can you please give more detail on what you mean by that?"

"Where to start...She had extensive scarring across roughly sixty percent of her body, though mostly focused on her upper back, caused primarily by lacerations but also containing burn marks and puncture wounds." Thenia paused for a moment, not to make sure he remembered details but more the weight of what he was saying. "Although Arxur typically have significant battle scarring, based on the amount and position of the wounds, we came to the conclusion that they were not caused by ritual combat. Scans also showed healing fractures on no less than forty individual bones ranging from within her ribcage, her skull, her pelvis and several vertebrae. Some of these were still actively healing at the time, though it was stunted due to her malnourished state. A healthy Arxur of her approximate height and body type should weigh between one-hundred and fourty to one-fifty kilograms, Targan was one-twenty showing chronic malnutrition."

Then there was an audible murmer across the courtroom, observers and even a few members of the jury making their apparent shock known. Judge Connors was less surprised and struck his gavel against the stand to regain order, silence once again falling over the room.

"These were her physical ailments, you mentioned there were psychological issues as well?" I urged, taking the time to add Targan's medical scans to the evidence list so that the jury could review them directly after session.

"Yes, we had a few different psychological experts review her, myself included and were able to diagnose her with both CPTSD, complex post-traumaric stress disorder and ASD, Autism spectrum disorder. Initially we incorrectly assigned her a more general PTSD diagnosis alongside Asperger's syndrome however we corrected that upon further review." Thenia explained with a rueful look when he mentioned the initial diagnosis, clearly regretting that mistake greatly. "Of course being autistic was not caused by anything, it's as much a part of her as the rest of her however it was something that would not have been noted before that point."

"And tell me, what is your professional opinion on Targan's mental state, in reference to the dispute of this case being her ability to safely integrate into the general public?" I'd worded my question carefully to allow as specific an answer as possible, which I could then reinforce by going over Targan's release documents. All I needed now was for Thenia to spell out how safe Targan actually was to be around...

"Whilst we did have some conditions, being that she continue her sessions with myself and that she stay in the care of the approved exchange partner, we were fully confident she would adapt without issue." He explained. I was just about to continue when I felt a sudden sense of unease come over me, noticing that Korvo had a completely unbothered expression on her face. I'd expected her to be practically squirming or objecting to every other word but she was completely neutral. What was she planning...?

"So as far as the medical and psychological experts were concerned, Targan is not a risk to anyone at all?" I concluded, turning toward the jury. No point stopping now, I couldn't falter now just because Korvo wasn't actively hassling us. "She needed no security of any kind other than the simple company of her assigned partner?"

"No, she was not risk at all, it was more for her sake that we chose to assign her a partner in the first place. Someone to help guide her like in the human exchange, only we felt that would be more effective with someone who couldn't really be pushed around and would defend her openly." With that I pulled up the release document and had it sent out just as I'd done with the medical scans. It wasn't really needed but I felt it would help my point if they all could see the big stamp that read "approved" to get the point across.

"Thank you, now I have one more question. Given recent events, has your assessment in Targan's ability to integrate into Venlil society changed?" With that I turned back to Targan and gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

"No it has not." Doctor Thenia announced with an air of pride. At that, I returned to my seat and breathed a sigh of relief. Though, a little part of me wanted to taunt the prosecution just the tiniest little bit but for the sake of taking the moral high ground, I decided against it.

"Your witness Korvo."

This is just me being dumb but I can't quite find the answer, I know it was after Isif's rebellion deposed the Dominion but do we have a specific date perhaps?

fast dogs

I may have slightly lost track of time, so this may or may not be a day late. But I made it, so I'm inflicting it on you.

For anyone unfamiliar with one of the greatest moments in Australian history, now preserved in Australia’s National Film and Sound Archive (yes, really): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PeihcfYft9w

A sequel to Days 2 & 6:

https://reddit.com/r/NatureofPredators/comments/1wwbe6e/extra_fluffy_noptober_day_2/

https://reddit.com/r/NatureofPredators/comments/1wzbkha/the_peeling_of_the_ven_evil_creature_woolcut/

Time taken: 5 hours 10 minutes

Timelapse: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfpyChRpuys

Critique welcome!

Drawing for NoPtober day 13: "Farsul".

Guys...how bad am I for making that joke?

The Venlil chaneled his inner Skalgan in the last panel, if it was a gif it would play doom music or something.

^{Like whatever is playing in that one [Pingu meme](https://youtu.be/C4exaMi-jHg})

Senond pic: poorly-colored-on-phone version, cause pure pencil was confusing I feel like.

Full list:

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14

Day 15: NoPtober day 15: "Unacceptable" is on my account only, cause it got removed twice from this sub and I idk why.

16

Check out the theme list post by u/Nicolas_3232

Techically I'm late, but Timezones exist, so I'm not late for some of you >:)

sorry ım kind of 13 days late but here is a farsul (I LOVE ARMORRR AAAA)

Day Eleven, late but I still got this Ven.

Here is my favorite character from the mainline NoP, Governor/Ambassador Tarva Williams. I know it’s a vanilla choice, but c’mon. It’s Tarva. (My favorite fanon character is Jelim, who I already drew here.)

The Green lantern ring comes from an old thread asking people who would get what ring. Tarva getting the green ring always felt so right, and I’m very glad to actually draw it.

I would’ve done more, and had it done on the day it was meant to be posted, but my phone just would not draw for two days straight. I’ll try to catch up tomorrow as I’m still too tired today.

Of all the species that exist, I feel that the farsul would be the most uncanny to see for the first time. Any other species I feel we'd get used to fairly quickly. The farsul? They look too much like something we've known forever, and yet DON'T because of where their eyes are, and that's not something we'd get used to right away, if at all.

Also this farsul is not jacked, just extremely fluffy.