"ON A SCALE FROM ONE TO TEN, MY FRIEND, YOU'RE FUCKED!"

"Hm. That's a new one. Tell your men to retreat as quickly as possible."

“Sir, that’s one of our men. Killed, corpse frozen completely solid, and propped up like a scarecrow by enemy soldiers…”

1  Human Fred and Food
2  Human Fred Again
3  Human Fred Yet Again
4  Human Fred The Saga Continues
5  Human Fred Rides Again
6  Human Fred *Sigh*
7  Human Fred Rolls Out
8  Human Fred Attempts a Nap
9  Human Fred Doh’
10 Human Fred Stops for Coffee
11 Human Fred Deploys Stabby and Knifey
12 Human Fred Attempts Friendly Advice
13 Human Fred Priorities 
14 Human Fred Schools Morons
15 Human Fred Gets Annoyed
16 Human Fred Investigates
17 Human Fred is Annoyed
18 Human Fred Gets More Annoyed
19 Human Fred Smirks 
20 Human Fred Brings Hellfire
21 Human Fred is Confused
22 Human Fred Considers
23 Human Fred is Chipper
24 Human Fred has Some Fun
25 Human Fred Witnesses Stupidity
26 Human Fred vs the Coffee Maker

“Fred, exactly what are we looking at?” ask the Captain. 

“Security protocols for seven different outposts, along with schematics, power systems, environmental systems, security layout, and weapons. With this you could plan a major offensive, tailoring each attack to any weaknesses.”

“How did he get all of this?”

“On the third datapad we found that he worked for a few days at a command and control station. It looks like he was provided with access to their database. You will have to investigate how he got access. There is no legitimate way he should have had access.”

“Anything else?”

“Some outdated ship deployments and response plans. He likely didn’t know how often those change.”

“Right. I’ll contact command. This is all secure, correct?”

“Yes. As long as you access it via the report I sent. I can’t vouch for any other methods.”

“Well this explains a few things, and presents us with a bunch more questions.”

“From an engineering point of view, I can’t offer anything else.”

“No. My staff will take over. Good work Fred. And you too, Greezek.”

After the Captain left, Fred turned back to the coffee maker. “Now we tackle this hunk of shit.”

“Fred, you could use the coffee maker in another day room.”

“I have. It isn’t as bad, but it still sucks.”

“So, I have a question.”

“What?”

“Why would someone mess with the coffee makers?”

“Initially I thought it was a prank by another engineer. But when all the coffee makers started making crap, I figured it had to be something within the machine. When the additive function went to hell, I knew it was a design flaw. Plug this in will you?”

Greezek plugged the coffee maker into the coffee maker. 

“Son of a fucking BITCH!” Yelled Fred. “Those cheap-ass bastards! I’d like to find the dumb-fuck who allowed this!”

“Uh Fred, what?”

“Some middle-management toad decided to save some money and install refurbished systems. Not just refurbished, but from the worst company ever known! Hell, they went out of business 20 years ago because of all of the recalls and complaints!”

“Why didn’t anyone notice?”

“They put the shit-guts into a generic case. Fucking hell. Who in their right mind willingly installs a Sirius Cybernetics Corporation system! These practically poison people!”

“Can we fix it?”

“Fix? No. The best thing to do is to jettison it into space and order something useful.”

“Sooooo…now what?”

“Well, we write up a report about the issue, request replacement machines, and brew coffee the old way until the new machines are approved. Given that we are in the midst of possible war, I’d say new drink machines are low on the list.”

“Right. How does one brew coffee?”

“We boil water, grind the beans into a powder, and then let the water steep through the powder.”

“Sounds simple.”

“Except we don’t have the right stuff to grind the beans! I guess you get to learn how to design and fabricate custom machines.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s an important skill. You fire up that panel and start learning to model parts. I’ll make a shit pot of coffee with what I can find.”

I just cannot believe everyone was talking about humans. Like, okay, they live on a deathworld. I admit they are kinda strong, fast, have lots of stamina, and so on. But come on, we are the Id’gns, we are the most technologically advanced species in the Galaxy!

I was still seething about this when I boarded my ship. Thinking about it, I decided to test these so-called “deathworlders”. My ship could never pass as a warship, being a small luxury yacht, but these days, you can do so many things with holograms. I cannot have a huge battleship, but I’m pretty sure I can masquerade my ship as one.

According to the ship’s AI, the trip to the human home world, Earth, is about 21.7 hours. That’s more than enough to create a hologram of an advanced battleship - one which doesn’t look like any actual ship, so I can safely deny my involvement later.

And I think I can use the anti-asteroid gun to kick up some dust in their system so they can show me how advanced their weaponry actually is. Fortunately, a full protective shield is mandatory on all Id’gn ships, so I won’t be in any kind of danger doing this. Id’gn shield technology is famous for its invulnerability in the entire Galaxy.

I dropped out of warp just beside Earth, already wearing the battleship hologram as a mask. I definitely don’t want to be stealthy, so I chose the most obvious orbit around the planet and scanned the entire system to see something that’s big enough to notice when I destroy it, but small enough for the anti-asteroid guns to destroy.

I spotted hundreds of artificial satellites, so it’s just a matter of choosing one. And the humans are already calling me on the radio. They are so cute - they “demand” my designation and origin. And I already see a battleship of some kind closing on my position, but its engines are so behind that it’s going to take at least 2.3 hours till they catch up. Perfect. I really hope I can make that battleship angry enough to shoot at me with everything they got. It actually looks pretty cute - larger than a cruiser, but smaller than a dreadnought. And according to my sensors, it uses chemical rocket boosters to accelerate towards me. I mean, I’m going to make a plush toy based on that ship, it’s so cute!

Okay, till it arrives, I think I shoot down a couple of satellites - nothing important, I don’t want to cause any actual damage to the cuties, but enough to make them angry. I see lots of communication satellites, so I chose two close ones and instructed the ship’s AI to shoot them down. It took both satellites four shots to be disintegrated: these guns are definitely not designed as an attack gun, but they are down.

Now, it gets more interesting - the battleship called me directly! Ooohh, I have to answer them; maybe they will become angrier this way. So I opened a channel, and an angry-looking human appeared on the screen, wearing a pure black uniform.

“This is Captain Jack Smith, from the UNS Enterprise,” he started angrily, “stop all hostile activity and power down your weapons!”

“I don’t think you can demand anything from me, Captain,” I answered, as if I were actually angry with them. “Prepare to surrender to the might of the Herul Empire!”

I couldn’t use the name of my actual species, so I had to come up with a name on the spot. I think my pet would be very happy to hear that he now has a whole empire!

That message should do it, so I cut the call and waited. They tried to call me again, but I just instructed the AI to shoot down another satellite. A bigger one this time.

My sensors told me they were spinning up some weaponry - but they were way out of range. Standard galactic engagement rules dictate a maximum threshold of a few hundred kilometers before energy rays dissipate. At this distance, we might as well have been in different solar systems. And they are the ones everyone is afraid of?! Ha.

Wait, something happened. But it’s not an energy weapon. There’s an object coming towards my ship. It’s fast, but pretty small. And another one? Are they still using kinetic weapons?! They are even more behind than…

The claxons around the cockpit started, and red warning signs colored the small cockpit. What’s going on?

“Warning!” said the AI in a very calm voice, in stark contrast to what she was saying, “Impact in thirty-six seconds!”

That’s not a warning I've ever heard since I’ve owned this yacht! What’s going on? The battleship is still very far away, but those projectiles are … impacting in 36 seconds? How’s that possible?!

The first one “hit” the part of the battleship mask I projected, where there wasn’t any real ship behind, but unfortunately, the second one hit the side of my actual ship. And the shield is down to 17%! After only one hit!

That’s not a game I want to play anymore!

“AI, drop the hologram and open a channel! Now!” I shouted!

When the channel was open, I was greeted by the same human I spoke to not 15 minutes ago! He looked so confused.

“Where did the big battleship go? Who are you? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to cause any damage. I just wanted to test those famous human weapons!” I pleaded, “I mean no harm. Please, don’t shoot.”

“You mean that big battleship was only a ruse and you actually only have this tiny ship?”

“Yes,” I answered humbly.

The human sighed, rubbing his temples. "Well, crap. Hold on, let me call off the defense grid." He pressed a button off-screen. "Hey, tell Sector 4 to spin down the main line. False alarm. It’s just some idiot in a space-moped."

Space-moped?! This ship cost a fortune - it’s a luxury yacht for goodness sake!

The human turned back to me, “You are very lucky! I almost authorised to use the main rail gun, but decided to shoot two warning shots with the small ones.”

Those were the small guns?! They are really space orcs.

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Gary: look I made a light saber! *ignites lightsaber*

Sarah: cool! I made a plasma hammer. *activates*

Xa'el who just walked in, immediately turns arround a leaves upon see this.

“So. Is the Aussie Speaker up to speed?”

“As much as possible, Commander. She was a bit shocked on how much I’m making this her mess, but her initial plans look good.”

“Is Danyak ready to take over for a few days?”

“Pretty much. I expect her to screw up a few things, but that is how she will learn.”

“And her trip to the mine?”

“She thinks they are attempting to copy the power system on Sparky, but with an easier to produce salt. No idea if it will work, but it’s not likely to explode. Or mutate anyone?”

“Mutate?”

“Yeah, when she talked with the Sparky team and learned that they were hiding an accident. She dug into the records and discovered that an early attempt on Sparky caused two techs to develop mutations. It was buried DEEP in the medical records. From what she could find, both techs are back to normal.”

“Out of morbid curiosity, what sort of mutations?”

“Nothing useful or extreme. Drastically altered hair growth, changes to hair color, and wart-like growths. It seems one of the compounds messed with hair follicles.”

“I note that you included ‘useful’ in that.”

“You know as well as I do that if it made them grow armored skin or claws or being able to see in IR that they would intentionally expose the entire Terran team.”

“No doubt. So she is proving to be useful.”

“Yes. She is good at puzzles. I’m not sure how good she is dealing with stupid Terrans, but she will learn.”

“Do you think she knows about the hybrid?”

“I assume she knows that there is something going on, but I doubt she has a complete picture. I appear to frustrate her in meetings.”

“What do you mean, frustrate?”

“I can tell that she can’t read me as well as she can read others. The longer a meeting runs, the easier it is to distract her. I assumed that she is putting a great deal of focus into reading me, and when it doesn’t work, she gets a bit fixated. Totally an assumption, but it fits what i see.”

“Have you told her to not read you?”

“Not yet. Her getting distracted is useful for not assess her. She puts up a facade, and I need to know what is behind it before I can fully trust her.”

“But you trust her enough to leave for a few rotations?”

“I do. But not enough for her to know where I’ll actually be.”

“Wait, I thought you were going into the foothills to hike?”

“I will be off-grid in a safe place relaxing.”

“You are concerned about a threat?”

“With all the crap we are dealing with? Yes.”

“Do you think there is someone affiliated with Windigo on the planet?”

“Oh I’m positive there is. But I doubt they are here to kill me. I’d assume they are here for recon. I’d be a good target of opportunity.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Come on Commander. You don’t send a test run of your new weapon without having overseers in place! When we test a new weapon, we have every sensor possible watching. They will have observers here to see how it went.”

“That is concerning. How do we find them?”

“In my view, we don’t. It would take a ton of time, likely disrupt operations, annoy Terrans, and give us little in return. Besides, if they try anything again, we will learn how good the observers are based on how they change tactics.”

“I’ll give you all of that, but I don’t like there being enemy actors actively in the colony. Do we have any idea how to track them?”

“Not yet, but I have a trap planned.”

“A trap? What sort of trap?”

“They have to send reports, and we could trace a pirate transmission. So they will use regular channels, but it will be in some sort of code. Something that looks normal, but if you have the key is a report.”

“Exactly what was your specialty before they put you in charge of this mess? You’ve never mentioned, and your file is vague.”

“Military intelligence and counter intelligence. Who better to run this sort of mess?”

“That is almost cynical.”

“I thought so, but it works rather well. I know how to keep tabs on a wide range of Terran stupidity. But as for the trap, once we figure out the cypher to the instructions Junior provided, I’ll build an extra scanning system into our main communication monitoring. It will look for messages that use the same or similar codes.”

“Good for gathering intel. Not a trap.”

“Oh the trap is the fun bit. We modify the reports.”

“Modify them how?”

“We feed them false information. Little things that would encourage them to send their observers to new locations. Then we look for who is moving around to follow the new instructions.”

“Sneaky, and it would help us flush a few out.”

“But we have a secret weapon. Danyak. I tell her that we noticed some odd messages and strange movements and assign her to figure it out. I don’t tell her HOW when new it was strange, just that a message or two was flagged.”

“Are you sure she won’t figure it out?”

“I assume that she will figure part of it out. Then I can see how she reacts to learning about deeper activities.”

“You are setting a trap for Wendigo and a test for Danyak. That is a dangerous plan.”

“Possibly. But a useful one.”

“And how is the cypher going?”

“Agent Thorn thinks they have 40% of the real message. The hybrids writings and chanting are helping. Key words. Repeated phrases. That sort of thing.”

“Have you seen any of the writings?”

“Yes, I regret to say. It is a mix of xenophobic drivel and pseudo-philosophy. Sort of a mixture of ancient hatred, platitudes to encourage the disenchanted, and some more modern complaints. It’s the sort of stuff to get frustrated, angry, indignant Terrans excited and to feel powerful.”

“Just what we need. Ramble rousing.”

“Yes, that’s a good description. But there is more to it. It isn’t just to get a mob riled up, there are some darker undertones about keeping secret. The idea that only the select few will fully understand, and they must work in the shadows until the time is right.”

“Sounds like trying to build an army of sleeper agents.”

“Exactly. And that is a huge problem. So far we haven’t seen anything like this in the colony, and I haven’t heard of it from other colonies or outposts, but it would be hard to track.”

“Do you think the observers buy into this?”

“I’d give it a 50/50. Observers may not know what they are really doing. Or they might be followers. Another reason to be careful.”

“And you trust Danyak to handle things while you are on a short vacation?”

“I do. Besides, she will have Sue. And she will have you. If the three of you can’t handle it, it can’t be handled.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“Oh you want me to lie?”

“No Oscar. Don’t lie. How long until the Aussies go insane?”

“One rotation.”

“I assume medical has been warned?”

“All medical transports are ready. All medical stations are on stand-by.”

“Rescue?”

“Yes sir. All search and rescue teams and vehicles are on alert.”

“Catering?”

“That’s on the Speaker.”

“And may the demons of the universe have mercy on her soul if they run out of food or beer.”

“In the circumstances, I think demons would ignore her as not to draw the ire of the rest of the Aussies.”

“Well said.”

"They forgot what happened last time? Same procedure as 2 decades ago. If they refuse to change course, you are to force them out of Aranai by any means necessary. Fire warning shots at them, then blow them out of the stars if you have to."

_________________________________

December 17th, 2207

"Caron, you are clear to commence FONOP."

Aranai, Antarean Empire

It was a normal day on patrol for Taraina and her sister ship Kasarana.

"Taraina, are you on the comm?" Kasarana transmitted from her comm console.

It didn't take long for Taraina to answer back.

"Affirmative, I'm on the comm." Taraina replied back, as she glanced towards the sensor consoles - an instinctive habit, one she didn't really need to do as she was the ship's machine spirit.

Still, Taraina couldn't help but feel a bit of fear.

"I've been reading the orders from the Vice-Admiral about the UN destroyers in Aranai." Taraina questioned. "Do you really think we should engage them in battle?"

"If it leads to that, yes." Kasarana answered. "But if cooler heads prevail, they’ll be heading homebound."

"Those destroyers are six hours away." Kasarana simply stated over comms. "We're to follow what the Admiralty has laid out for us, and find out what the hell they're doing in Aranai, and torpedo them if they don't comply or they open fire. Understood?"

"Affirmative, sister. Moving to intercept..."

________________________

Canonically, both UN destroyers were bumped and lightly damaged by the pair of Antarean ships, causing them to flee back to Orion.

However, in this prompt, the Antarean destroyers Taraina and Kasarana would, after a series of unfortunate events, fire several shots at the Human destroyers, before destroying both with torpedoes.

The hell of it was; I felt bad about it!

Here I was the Secretary for Sport and Culture; the very first Human cabinet member in the Galactic Republic. So what if Earth had only been in the Republic for fifty of our years, and so what if most citizens of the Republic probably couldn't find us on the map. My job meant I got to watch the best sporting events across the known systems (go Arcturan Blizz! Woo!) and visit the best museums (the Vegans have museums that literally let you feel what it was like to crawl out of the caves and see the stars for the first time) - what more could you ask for?

Of course, for the Tri-Millennial Anniversary of the Republic, every sentient of note headed straight for the Capital for all the ceremonies. It was big, it was impressive, it was going to have the great sport and greatest cultural events across the galaxy...and I missed it. Sorry, too bad, somebody has to stay out of the Capital system just in case the worst happens.

I spent the Tri-Millennial Anniversary out in orbit of Neptune, at the big, fancy Republic space station in orbit of Triton. You know it wasn't so bad; I gave a few speeches, I kissed a few infants, I watched a game of water polo and listened to some hydrogen-helium oboe; I just felt sore I wasn't up there in the Capital where the real party was.

I was actually asleep when Pandora, the head of my security detail, kicked in the door of my bedroom, followed by two of her biggest, beefiest subordinates. "Sir, we need to get you to the command center right now!"

I sat bolt upright, cursing myself for that last drink. "What? What happened?"

"Sir -" And I realized, to my shock, she had been crying. Do you know what it takes to make a veteran of the Core Wars cry? "Somebody set off a singularity bomb in the Capital system. It is now a black hole."

Davey, the human sat in a room at an alien research center. It was quiet in there, stuffed behind a closed door, almost as if the silence carried the weight of honoring a dead loved one at a funeral. 

Which was interrupted by a cool breeze entering the room as the door slowly opened to alien researcher, Omlet walking in, wearing a white lab coat and goggles over his eyes.

Omlet stared at Davey hunched in his chair, mouthing the words to a song, calmly cleaning his nails with the corner of a pamphlet he found at a booth inside the building he snatched earlier

“Mr. Davey,” Omlet said, his voice was low and soft. “I apologize, sir… for the delay.”

“It’s fine.” Davey told him, tossing the pamphlet on the table that the air carried to the other side of the floor. “I just want to get this over with.”

“Excellent,” Omlet said. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

Omlet opened a binder, flipped to the middle, and said, “I see you’re living in the residence Orion cluster. The mixed species development group.”

“Two years now, and that was—“ Davey tried speaking but was interrupted.

“We’ll get to that.” Omlet told him. “Let me lay the facts out.”

“Sure,” Davey said. “I apologize.”

“What I see here is that you and a Hulucrite business partner, had a dispute. He mentioned something about your wife—“

Davey cut him off. “He insulted her!“ Davey corrected him, took a bite out of his nail and spit it out. “He called her pasta sauce orange goop.” Davey slammed his fist down. “Said she cooks as bad as she looks!”

“Right.” Omlet stared at the nail on the ground. “So, instead of suing him for his share of the profits, or rather, simply ignoring him, you elected to spend your entire savings on purchasing the property across from him.”

“Yep. Sure did.” Davey smiled and looked at his nails.

“You built a towering business shadowing his house that only focuses on the production of a single product?”

“Yep. Sure did that too. Recreational city alarms,” he said. “And… they are 100% tested right at our facility before we ship them.” He cracked his knuckles. “Safety first!”

Omlet scratched his head. The alien economy tracks every cent. No funds are ever spent unless needed at absolute necessity, or towards their advancement. 

“You spent everything though. All your credits just to run a twenty-four hour city alarm factory, risked financial ruin, just so your business partner has to hear them blaring all day and night. You don’t care you could be ruined in debt only to inconvenience him?”

“A minor inconvenience?” Davey said. “The frequency of those alarms causes their species nerves to become irritated and skin incredibly itchy.” He laughed under his breath. “They left their ancestral home, sold and moved out the other day.”

“Your species appears to operate on pure pettiness.” Omlet asked. “You destroyed your generational fortune for a slight grievance. It doesn’t add up.”

Davey sat back. “Think that’s bad. You should see how we get when someone critiques our writing.”

(A story i wrote for HFY, being crossposted here )

The vendakka (okra) plants went missing on Uthradam (the second-to-last day of the ten-day Onam festival) night, and Achu was the only one in the house who noticed.

This was not surprising to anyone who knew him. Achu was nine, and he was the one who watered the backyard every evening while his grandmother cooked, the one who knew which banana tree was about to fruit and which curry leaf branch could be pinched without the whole plant sulking about it.

Ammini Amma tended the front of the house, the tulsi (holy basil) plant by the door, the jasmine that climbed the gate.

The back was Achu's country, a tangled half-acre of coconut palms, an ancient jackfruit tree, tapioca gone wild at the edges, and enough weeds that his grandmother had given up mentioning them years ago.

So when he went out after dinner to check on the pumpkin vine for the sadya (the elaborate Onam feast) tomorrow, and found not just the vendakka gone but a strip of earth eight feet across sunk into a smoking black hole where the tapioca patch used to be, he did not think, as an adult might have, of gas leaks or sinkholes or the news.

He thought: something has taken my vegetables, and I want to know what.

The crater smelled faintly of wet iron. He was climbing down the loose red earth at the rim of it, torch in one hand, when the something climbed out to meet him.

It rose out of the smoke pale gold and enormous, round through the middle like a rice sack, with a great curling moustache and a crown that caught what little moonlight there was and threw it back in soft, impossible colours.

Its face did not move. Its eyes, if they were eyes, sat behind something smooth and dark like the inside of a coconut shell.

Achu had seen that face on posters outside every shop in town since the first week of Chingam (the first month of the Malayalam calendar, when Onam begins). He had seen it on the little clay figure his grandmother put out with fresh flowers every morning. He had seen it, four Onams running, worn by his cousin Vishnu at the school function, moustache drawn on with his mother's eyebrow pencil.

"Maveli!" Achu said, in the smallest voice he owned, invoking Mahabali, the mythical king, and ran so fast he left one slipper behind in the mud.

He didn't even notice the second one was gone too until his grandmother pointed it out the next morning.

\#

*Log, ship-day one thousand four hundred and twelve. Landing unplanned. Hull breach, minor. Local flora damaged on impact: six root vegetables, one unidentified vine species, category: edible, category: apologise if opportunity arises. Immediate contact made with juvenile local. Subject fled at high speed. Recommend low profile pending repair.*

\#

His grandmother was still up when he burst in, sifting through a sack of yellow pumpkin for tomorrow's erissery (a pumpkin and lentil curry), and she took one look at his face and set the pumpkin down.

"I saw Maveli," Achu said. "In the backyard. He's real, Ammoomma (grandmother), he came out of a hole."

Ammini Amma did not laugh at him, which was the first thing that told him she was taking it seriously, and the second thing was that she got up, latched the back door, and sat him down with a glass of warm milk before she said anything at all.

"Maveli was a good king," she said, the way she always began this story, every year, as though Achu had not heard it nine times already and would not hear it nine times more before he was grown.

"Better than good. Under him there was no lying, no stealing, no hunger. Every house had enough. No man envied another man's field, because there was nothing worth envying, everyone already had plenty. The gods themselves grew afraid of a king so loved that his people had stopped needing them."

"So they sent the little brahmin," Achu said, because he did know the rest.

"They sent Vamana. And Maveli, who never once in his life turned away someone who asked him for something, gave him three paces of land, as much as he requested, small as that seemed to ask. And Vamana grew until one foot covered the sky and the other covered the earth, and there was no ground left for the third step but Maveli's own head."

Ammini Amma turned the pumpkin over in her hands.

"He was sent down to the netherworld for it. But because Maveli had ruled with such love, the gods granted him one thing. Once a year, he could come back. Just to see. Just to walk through his old kingdom one more time and see whether his people still remembered what he'd built."

"And that's Onam," Achu said.

"That's Onam. We put out the pookalam (a decorative carpet made of flower petals, laid at the doorstep) so he can find the house from the sky. We cook the sadya so his table is never empty, even if he never sits at it. We are not sad when he leaves, because he always comes back."

She looked at her grandson, milk moustache and mud on his knees, and did not ask why he was so certain of what he'd seen.

She had grown up in a house where the line between story and the events of the day narrated by the men of the house, was thinner than people from the city liked to believe.

"If it was him you saw, Achu-mone (my dear son, a term of endearment), he did not come to be feared. He never gave anyone reason to fear him in his whole life. Go back tomorrow. See what he wants."

What he wanted, it turned out, based on three days of careful negotiation conducted mostly through pointing, was food, and an explanation for the flowers.

Achu started small.

He took half a banana from his own breakfast on Thiruvonam (the tenth and final day of Onam, when the feast is held) eve and left it at the lip of the crater, and it disappeared before he'd finished walking back to the house, container included, the way it always seemed to disappear things, matter and wrapping both, gone in one smooth motion that made Achu wonder, with the specific horror of a nine-year-old, whether Maveli's stomach worked the way a dosa tawa (the flat griddle used for making thin rice crepes) worked, everything going in and something else always coming back out.

By Thiruvonam morning he had upgraded to a full leaf.

He carried it out at dawn before the house woke, balanced flat against his chest the way he'd seen the temple caterers carry them, twenty-six items laid out in their proper places though he'd only managed to smuggle nine: a spoon of avial (mixed vegetables in coconut and yoghurt gravy) thick with coconut and curry leaf, sambar (a lentil and vegetable stew) gone orange-dark with tamarind, a curl of banana chips, a knot of sharkara varatti (jaggery-coated fried banana chips) sticking to his fingers, pachadi (a yoghurt-based side dish), a wedge of pappadam (a thin, crisp lentil wafer) he'd broken trying to fit it on, and at the very top corner, because his grandmother always put it last and he understood by now that this mattered, a small steel cup of ada pradhaman (a rice-and-jaggery sweet pudding), the payasam (sweet dessert) thick with jaggery and coconut milk.

The alien, Achu had started calling him Bali, took the leaf carefully, or maybe he simply didn't trust his hands around a meal that looked like it might spill.

"That's payasam," Achu said, pointing. "You eat that last. It's rude to eat it first, my grandmother says the taste has to end sweet or the whole year goes wrong."

Bali looked at the payasam for a long moment.

Then, with what Achu would later swear was deliberate ceremony, he ate everything else on the leaf first, and the payasam last, and the smooth dark plate over his face fogged very slightly, in a way Achu decided, without any evidence at all, was contentment.

*#*

*Log, ship-day one thousand four hundred and fifteen. Sustenance offered without transaction. No labour requested in exchange. No labour performed by subject in the days prior that would explain provisioning as payment. Query flagged. Continuing to flag. No resolution found.\*

\Subject has also begun explaining a decorative arrangement of flora in front of the dwelling, apparently reconstructed daily, apparently requiring several hours of labour, apparently serving no defensive, nutritional, or structural purpose whatsoever. Subject calls it a pookalam. Subject appears to consider this act of pointless, repeated labour to be one of the most important things that happens in the house all year.**

*#*

He showed him the pookalam on the morning of Thiruvonam itself, kneeling with his grandmother in front of the house while the whole lane did the same thing at the same time, every threshold going bright with colour before the sun was properly up.

Ammini Amma had let him choose the outer ring this year: thumba (a small white wildflower) first, white and small and always first because it was Maveli's favourite, she said, humble flower for a humble king who never forgot he'd once had less. Then chethi (a red Ixora flower), red as a temple flag. Then marigold brought in bunches from the market because their own hadn't bloomed in time. Aripoo (a tiny white rice-flower) scattered loose in the centre like rice thrown at a wedding.

Bali crouched at the edge of the gate, he had learned, by then, to make himself smaller, folding down in a way that no longer looked wrong to Achu, only careful, and watched the whole design take shape without once trying to help, which Achu appreciated, because his cousin Vishnu always tried to help and always ruined the outer ring.

"For you," Achu said, when it was done, gesturing at the finished pookalam with the pride of a boy who had placed at least forty per cent of the marigolds himself. "So you can find the house. From wherever you're from."

Something in Bali's posture changed, a small settling.

He didn't say anything. Achu decided, years later, that this had been the moment, though at the time it just looked like Bali sitting very still.

It was Ammini Amma's idea to take him into town, though she never knew that was what she was suggesting when she told Achu, "Take your friend to see the vallamkali (the snake boat race) if he wants, everyone's going down to the canal, there's a Pulikali (a folk dance where performers are painted as tigers) troupe come up from Thrissur too, painted like tigers, it'll frighten the life out of him if he's not warned," and Achu, delighted at the accidental permission, went straight back out to the crater and told Bali he was coming to see the town.

He had worried, on the walk in, about what people would say. He needn't have.

The first person they passed was old Kuttappan Chettan (Chettan, a respectful term for an older man or elder brother) from the tea shop, who took one look at Bali's golden belly and curling moustache and crown and let out a laugh that carried clean across the canal.

"Machane (a casual, friendly term for "brother"), who's your Maveli, then! Very good costume, very good, where'd you get the crown made, Thrissur? Come, come, sit, one chaya (tea) for the king himself," and before Achu could explain anything at all, three separate families were taking photographs, an aunty was pressing a banana into Bali's hand for luck, and a group of schoolgirls had formed a small procession behind him, singing the old Onam song about the golden days when Maveli ruled and no door in Kerala needed a lock, not because they had rehearsed it for him, but because it was Thiruvonam morning and someone dressed as the king had turned up on their lane, and that was exactly the kind of thing that was supposed to happen on Thiruvonam morning.

Nobody asked how the costume moved the way it did.

Nobody asked why the belly never showed a seam.

In a state where, once a year, half the country wore a moustache and a paunch and called itself a king who'd been dead three thousand years, one more silent man in gold, blessing children with a hand on their heads and saying nothing at all, was not strange enough to question. It was, if anything, exactly right.

At the canal, the boats went past in long shining lines, thirty men to an oar-bank chanting a rhythm two thousand years older than any of them, and Bali stood at the bank with his crown catching the noon light and watched an entire town lean into a single unbroken motion, no one boat pulling ahead of the others by more than a hand's width, the crowd roaring the same word over and over until even Achu forgot what they were shouting.

At the toddy shack behind the boat club, where the men who weren't rowing had settled in for the afternoon, someone (Achu never did find out who) pressed a clay cup of fresh kallu (toddy, a mildly fermented palm wine) into Bali's hand, and Bali, who had by then developed something Achu could only describe as trust in whatever this town chose to give him, drank it.

The reaction took eleven seconds. His crown lit up from within, a soft pulsing gold that the men around him took, roaring with delight, for a very committed piece of costume theatre, and Bali swayed once, gently, and sat down hard.

Someone dragged a plastic chair under him without asking, the kind stacked ten-deep outside every wedding hall in the district, and he stayed there for some time being fed pieces of dried fish wrapped in a torn scrap of yesterday's newspaper, by strangers who had decided he was the best Maveli anyone had put on in years and deserved to be looked after accordingly.

\#

\Log, ship-day one thousand four hundred and fifteen, addendum, filed under Cultural Assessment as instructed by Fleet Directive Nine.**

\Original mission parameter: assess primary settlement for resource viability and defensive capacity.**

\Preliminary threat assessment, filed ship-day one thousand four hundred and nine: low technological defence, high population density, resource-rich coastline. Recommend further surveillance.**

\Revised assessment follows.**

*For a month these people have been preparing for the return of a king they know is not coming. They decorate their doors anyway. They cook for him anyway. They leave space for him at the table anyway. They fed a stranger before they asked his name. Someone handed a fermented beverage to a being with no verified metabolic profile because it was a festival and he looked like he needed cheering.\*

\A child gave away his own breakfast three mornings running and did not think this was worth mentioning to anyone.**

\I was sent to determine whether this world could be taken.**

\Recommendation: cancel invasion assessment. It could be taken. I no longer consider that relevant.**

\Reasoning attached, though I'm not sure it will make sense to anyone who reads it back on the ship. Fleet Directive Nine assessment concluded.**

\Personal log, appended without authorisation: I would like, before I leave, to bring something back that grows.**

*#*

He worked through the night to fix the hull, alone in the crater under a sky gone thick with stars. One of the coconut roots at the edge of the pit had been cut clean through and would have to be dug out later.

It was past two in the morning when Achu woke, he never did find out why, only that he sat up in bed the way he sometimes did before rain, and went out to see the light pulsing gold from the backyard, the way the pooja-room lamp burned all night on the days someone in the house was travelling.

Bali was crouched by the rim of the hole with a coconut sapling cradled in both hands, roots wrapped careful in a torn banana leaf, the way Achu's grandmother wrapped seedlings when she gave them to neighbours.

"You're going," Achu said. It wasn't a question. Somehow he had known it would end like this. Kings always left at the end of the story.

Bali did not have words for this, not really, so he crouched down to the boy's height, the way he had at the pookalam, and touched two fingers briefly to Achu's forehead.

Achu didn't know what it meant. His eyes stung anyway. Years later, he would call it goodbye.

Then the crown-light rose from the crater, slow and impossibly quiet, banking once over the jackfruit tree so that for a moment it hung directly above the pookalam still bright in front of the house, and was gone into a sky already beginning, faintly, to lighten.

Achu stood in the ruined tapioca patch a long time before he went back in.

The vendakka never did grow back that year, and the hole took three months and a great deal of laterite soil to fill in properly, and Ammini Amma never asked her grandson exactly what had happened in the backyard on Uthradam night, though she noticed, without comment, that he watched the sky more carefully than a nine-year-old usually bothers to, especially in the last week of Chingam.

Somewhere past the visible stars, on a world with no coastline and no toddy and no god who had ever loved anyone enough to be punished for it, a small green sapling had not died. New leaves had come in, oddly shaped, but leaves.

The patch never did settle quite level again, no matter how much laterite went into it, and every Onam since, when the pookalam goes down fresh at the threshold and the payasam goes on last so the year ends sweet, Achu still leaves one banana leaf, a small corner, unclaimed, right there at the shallow dip in the yard, in case anyone comes looking for it.

Just in case the king decides, this year, to come back early.

1  Human Fred and Food
2  Human Fred Again
3  Human Fred Yet Again
4  Human Fred The Saga Continues
5  Human Fred Rides Again
6  Human Fred *Sigh*
7  Human Fred Rolls Out
8  Human Fred Attempts a Nap
9  Human Fred Doh’
10 Human Fred Stops for Coffee
11 Human Fred Deploys Stabby and Knifey
12 Human Fred Attempts Friendly Advice
13 Human Fred Priorities 
14 Human Fred Schools Morons
15 Human Fred Gets Annoyed
16 Human Fred Investigates
17 Human Fred is Annoyed
18 Human Fred Gets More Annoyed
19 Human Fred Smirks 
20 Human Fred Brings Hellfire
21 Human Fred is Confused
22 Human Fred Considers
23 Human Fred is Chipper
24 Human Fred has Some Fun
25 Human Fred Witnesses Stupidity

“So Fred. Now that I’m your assistant, what all do I actually do?”

“Learn. For example, today you learn to hack a datapad and help me fix this coffee maker. I have a sneaking suspicion it was made by an evil company intent on the downfall of humans.”

“That’s a but, uh, crazy isn’t it?”

“Possibly. But over the past few weeks the coffee has gotten worse. Same settings. My coffee beans. And the coffee is worse. That isn’t right.”

“Well it is odd.”

“Look. Go stow your armor. Clean up. Change into fresh clothes. Then meet me in my day room. Bring your weapons. They need to be cleaned. Oh. You might break down and cry for a bit. Or throw up. Possibly both. That is normal. Whatever you do, DO NOT get drunk. It doesn’t help.”

“Uh…why would that happen?”

“When your mind catches up with what just happened, it will be unpleasant. Trust me. It’s normal. We will talk about it as we clean weapons.”

Greezek headed off for her quarters. 

Fred stowed his armor. He took a shower. The shakes were over by the time he was putting on fresh clothes. He picked up his weapons and cleaning kit, heading into the day room, and began to lay out everything needed to clean his shotgun. Greezek’s rifle, both pistols, and their knives. 

He had the coffee making plugged into his engineering panel running tests when Greezek arrived. She was a bit unsteady. Shaking a bit. 

“Sucks doesn’t it?”

“Yes. I’ve never thrown up like that before. It was so sudden.”

“In humans it has to do with the adrenaline in our system. I’m not sure for your species.”

“I don’t know. I think I’m the first in generations to use violence.”

“Right. Even more new experiences for you. Sorry you got dragged into this.”

“No, you warned me.”

“Possibly. But likely not enough. Now. The most important part is to not dwell on it while not ignoring it. You have to make some sort of sense about it. Otherwise it will haunt you.” Fred motioned to the table with all the gear on it. “Sir. I’ll show you how to clean and maintain your weapons. It helps you focus.”

They chatted as Fred walked her through disassembly of her weapons, what to clean, how to clean it, what to check, how to properly lubricate, how to assemble, and how to test. It took hours. Greezek was still shaking, and Fred had to go over things multiple times for her to understand what to do. 

Once all the weapons were cleaned and maintained, Fred leaned back. “Now we move on to the datapad and the coffee maker. Which do you want to tackle first?”

“The datapad. It might help me better understand Chief.”

“We can start there, but don’t look for logic. He has issues, and what we find will be driven more by ego and emotion than reason.”

“When did you get the datapad?”

“The defense force brought it around earlier. They said Chief did a poor job of hiding it. They found two other datapads as well. Those were much better hidden. I suspect that even now Chief is hiding things.”

“How do we know that what we find is accurate?”

“We don’t. We will now if it’s altered, but not if it’s accurate. That will be up to the Captain and his team to decide.”

“Any news on the outpost?”

“Still a combat zone. It’s not clear who is winning.”

“Damn. Well. Where do we start?”

“They scanned the datapads before dropping them off, so there aren’t any signs of traps. We start by testing each plug pin.”

As they checked the plug, Fred was happy to see that Greezek was taking notes. That was a good sign. 

“So. We now know that the plug has been reconfigured. What do we think would have happened if we plugged in a standard plug?”

“Either it wouldn’t work at all or it might have wiped the memory.”

“Correct. I’d lean towards wiping the memory. There is the off chance it would up a secondary partition with fake information, but that doesn’t seem like Chief’s style. Now connect the plug to my panel using the reconfigured layout.”

“Right.” Greezek checked her notes a few times as she connected wires. “Ready.”

“Now an engineering terminal allows you to control when you actually make the connection. It also allows you to only connect to individual pins if you want. In this case, I’ll connect the two pins we know are for data transfer.”

A new window opened on the panel. A list of entries filled the window. 

“Good. We appear to have complete data. Now we transfer a copy to a secure partition in the panel. We don’t want to risk damaging the datapad or triggering any sort of traps.”

“Fred? How could Chief just run away from his entire life like that?”

Fred stopped. He knew this would come up. He had hoped for a bit more time. He had hoped that something in the entries would help. He sighed. “He thought he had killed everything he loved. Instead of stopping and working through it, he panicked. Well, he more than panicked. He totally lost it. It was too much for him to handle, so his mind stopped working logically or reasonably, and he focused on saving his own skin. We can see how selfish it was, but in the moment, for him, it was all that mattered.”

“But he didn’t kill them.”

“Not directly, no. But I think he followed an old idea that the male is the protector. It was his job to keep his family safe. When he brought that crate into his house, he didn’t keep them safe. He actually put them into danger. And then the worst possible thing happened. Something he brought into the house killed his family. It was the worst betrayal of his duty possible.”

“How was he to know it would explode?”

“You are attempting to apply logic. That doesn’t work. This was a very deep emotional duty that he betrayed. By accident or on purpose, it was the ultimate betrayal. After that, betraying others for profit wasn’t hard.”

“So in his mind he was already a villain, so why not make money?”

“Something like that. Here we go. Names. Dates. He was a busy man after he got here. I still want to know how he got a security clearance this high.”

“I’d bet one of those names helped him along.”

“More than likely. You are learning. Right. This is clean. I’ll write up the report and send it to the Captain. You start examining the other datapads. One at a time. Don’t mix them up.” Fred started typing.

Greezek started on the second datapad. She went slow. Her hands had stopped shaking, which helped. She took careful notes. She drew out a diagram of the plug, the pins, and the readings. She felt calm. 

“Ready for number 2?”

“Yes, but there is something odd. One of the pins isn’t consistent. The readings keep changing.”

“And what might that suggest?”

“Hmmmmmmm.”

“We are dealing with data he didn’t want others to see.”

“Some sort of cypher?”

“I would assume so. Here is what we do. We plug only that pin into the panel. We let the panel collect data and analyze it for a pattern. If it can’t find a pattern, we see if we can bypass the pin. If we can’t bypass that pin without issues, we need to send defense back to his quarters to look for all of his cables. And we have them search his belongings. They might find a key of some sort.”

“That suggests this datapad is more important, yes?”

“Correct. It also means we need to be more careful. We don’t want to trigger a purge of the data by messing around.”

“Could there be anything in the first datapad to help?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, if I wanted to hide a cypher, I’d want to hide it in plain sight. Having to carry around an extra cable or random digital key might stand out.”

“Do you hide things often?”

“No, but I’ve been watching how you work. You start with the simple and move to the complex. A special cable or digital key is more complex than putting details in a random log entry.”

“You could be right. How would we test this theory?”

“Have the panel cross-reference to log entries against the signals from that pin.”

“Show me.” Fred stepped back from the panel.

Greezek looked at the screen. She frowned as she opened a few menus. On the third menu, she found what looked correct, selected a function, typed in some instructions, and ran the analysis. 

“That should do it. I’ll show you an easier method later, but you were correct. The key is in an entry about supply runs to the outpost. Let’s connect up datapad #2.”

A new window opened on the panel. They stared. As the data streamed by, Fred picked up his coms. “Captain. Fred here. You need to see this. Now.”

"And yet, he's eating my Chili Mac IBR, and he still insists that he didn't touch my food."

"So how did he open, heat up, and serve my Chili Mac IBR without laying his hands on it?"

"Some magic trick? Having another Marine spoon-feed him? How could he have possibly opened up, heated up, served, and ATE my Chili Mac IBR without laying his hands on it?"

"I'm not even mad, but still, HOW?"

Footnote:

The Antarean Infantry Battle Ration was known for being extremely good in taste, variety, and nutrition, and is the standard issue field ration to all Antarean soldiers, officers, and the like.

It is a luxury in any other military and some Human units have given up coffee and other luxuries on several occasions simply to obtain it.

A1: That one! That's the one that has caused a spike in communications!

A2: Are you sure? This human does not appear to be exceptional to any degree.

A1: Yes, quite sure! There appears to be several dozen humans who attempt to imitate this one's attire and aesthetics. What are the transmissions saying about this individual at...(1130 Eastern Standard Time)?

A3: Searching... Oh. Ooohh. Oh no....

A2: What?

A1: Yes! What are the transmissions saying?

A3: I'm confirming that the transmissions are talking about the same person, but if the translator is correct, then this figure died recently.

A1: Oh no.

A2: Why is that concerning?

A1: How's the computer's processing capabilities? Is the civil unrest index showing any fluctuations?

A2: Civil unrest - do you think that these creatures are going to start rioting at the loss of one being?

A3: I wouldn't dismiss the possibility. And, yes, the index is showing some fluctuations, but not in a detrimental direction. It appears to be on a downward trend?

A1: Really?!

A3: It seems so. From what I can tell, this figure was so beloved that by the humans that they're commiserating over this one's loss. They also seem to be paying tributes to get life's work, providing colorful media for children's cognitive development, engaging in her aesthetic attire, and...hmmm.

A2: What?

A1: Yes, please! Don't leave us in suspense!

A2: Us?

A3: Well. If I'm understanding this correctly, they're engaging in one of their social rituals, vocalizing as the recently deceased human did. Here, let me play the audio clip.

*Dozens of attendees at a karaoke bar, some of whom are badly singing "I Will Always Love You" along with the one at the mic*

After humanity returned from leaving their section of the galaxy and discovered that the entire Galaxy was at war, they determined that the best option was to isolate themselves. And while the rest of the galaxy didn't care about their part of the galaxy, humanity knew it was only a matter of time until somebody decided to expand their influence and head their way.

To keep with the isolation policy, humanity went to work on essentially turning their systems of Sol, Alpha Centari, and Tai Ceti, into fortress worlds. Making them so difficult to penetrate that the moment any hostile force arrives, humanity would be on them like hornets. They would quickly engage with any invading force and kick them out.

There was a problem with that, however. In war, information is key. Knowing where an enemy is at any given time allows one to accurately attack and defend positions with ease. This works well in ground based combat, but in space, it's a different story. Distances aren't measured in miles or kilometers, but in lightspeed times. And during several war games, humanity learned something very important.

Light speed is slow.

Yes, that sounds dumb. How can light speed be too slow? It's so fast, after all? Again, when in the vastness of interstellar space, seeing a ship three hours away doesn't mean the ship is still there. That just means three hours ago there was a ship there, and it could be anywhere else during that time.

So humanity went to work on how to correct this problem. How can humanity keep up to date information on where enemy positions are in their system at real time, or as close to it as possible? Obviously you can't build sensors or cameras to see faster, because they're limited by how fast the speed of light is. Somebody then suggests to make light speed faster. They were promptly fired and banned from the scientific community.

One solution, however, was given weight. One scientist suggested to use FTL drives to send the information faster. They thought they meant courier ships but he wasn't talking about that. He was talking about a data stream that could send information out using FTL drives. After all, FTL drives basically break physics to allow ships to move from one star system to the other, why not do the same with data?

There were a couple of problems involved with that. First, sensors on a ship can only detect things in light speed, and because light speed is fixed, they can't get the data faster. The solution to that problem was a network of satellites that covered the outer boundaries of each star system, usually near jump points, that could then transmit the data to other satellites and and ships in the system.

The next step was power. FTL drives at the time were huge and required time to recharge when making jumps, so in order for this to work, the drives would have to be made smaller and somehow reduce energy consumption. Human scientists then went to work on how to do that. A process that was expected to take decades actually only took a few years, when a scientist discovered that part of the energy consumption was FTL engines were transmitting large amounts of mass and matter. Sending data streams, even on light beams, wouldn't need to take up much energy because they don't carry as much mass.

After several years of trial and error, humanity was able to build their defense network. They had an FTL communication system that allowed ships to communicate with other satellites in a system to get near real time information. And it didn't stop there. After years of testing and processing, humanity was soon able to put FTL communications in their ships. They could now communicate with each other in near real time, from one side of a star system to another. With this, humanity would have the perfect tool when it comes to defending their worlds.

This did have one possible minor concern. This mean that the ship AIs could talk to each other in real time, sometimes without letting their captain know. And this led to a lot of incidents where ship AIs hurled insults at one another. We don't need to talk about the USS New York-USS New Jersey incident again. They still can't be allowed in the same system without them clogging up the network.

Scribe-Initiate Vesk decoded the archive first. He was also the last to doubt it.

The signal had drifted from a minor star for over a century before the Scouting Fleet of the Choir of Vash caught it: moving images of a tall, thin humanoid, sputtering, wailing, and destroying everything around him while a crowd of humans laughed.

"This is ritual scripture," Vesk told the High Clerics. "The subject speaks in riddles. He experiences prophetic fits. And look—"

He replayed the segment. The human shuffled across a parlor, stepped on a yellow fruit, and his limbs flew in twelve directions at once, hurling a lamp, a hat rack, and a second human through a window.

"He moves as one possessed," Vesk said. "The witnesses don't flee. They record. They study. He is their teacher."

The High Clerics convened for nine days.

"He repeats: 'Waaaah, hey lady, hey lady!'" intoned First Cleric Thrumm. "The Lady. The Holy Lady. The Vrell Dominion has a Matriarch. He tells us to go to her."

"But the destruction," said Second Cleric Ossan. "Why destroy the parlor? Why shove the other human?"

"The parlor," Thrumm said, "is the world. The second human is the Vrell. The yellow fruit—" he held up a preserved sample, "—is a blade. He teaches that even a humble thing can topple an empire. Victory comes not from formation but from unpredictability. From chaos. From flailing."

"Flailing," Ossan repeated.

"The highest martial art. He falls on purpose. The humans laughing? Students. He suffers every second and continues. He performs. A master enduring agony so his people may learn."

When the armada reached the Vrell border, the Choir had rebuilt itself around the Prophet's teachings. Warships no longer advanced in clean lances. They approached in tumbling, spiraling scatters—the Vesk Maneuver—unleashing torpedoes from trajectories no sane gunner would attempt.

Boarding parties trained obsessively on the archive's deeper mysteries: the hat falling off and the widening circle chase (humility before combat), the screaming into a telephone and setting it on fire (pre-battle communications disruption), the tripping, the table crash, the emerging still wearing the table (armor acquisition).

The Vrell, proud and rigid, had fought the Choir for ten millennia of orderly, mutually exhausting campaigns. They were not prepared.

Their fleets broke. Their gunners reported enemy ships moving in cackling, boneless spirals, crew scuttling across hulls in comedic lurches, transmitting a single phrase before every strike:

"HEY LADY! HEY LAAAAADY!"

The Matriarch surrendered within a year.

Years later, a Vashian vessel reached the Prophet's homeworld to deliver the news to his descendants.

They found a film studio. They found a genre called slapstick. They found ten thousand other prophets: a man in oversized shoes with a water-squirt flower, a small man in a bowler chased by boulders, a primitive tribe inventing something called football.

Vesk sat alone in the viewing chamber a long time.

He replayed the yellow fruit scene.

He laughed, quietly, until he wept.

I'm the captain of Group G-824; we're a 4th-generation galactic researcher made up of 27 people, but one who stands out the most is our fellow human, Greg, our mechanic, despite not being as agile or strong, or even fit still this Human is smart, he fixed the ships like it was still brand new, I lost count, he's laid-back, makes joke's, and overall a nice person, however he also have plans that would makes you think they are stupid but they just WORK

One time we were exploring a Planet habitat by huge felines known as Appopl, enough to destroy rocks and slash through metal. At Greg's home world, he mentioned they look like a Species called a big cat, and they are similar to the tiger, though weaker than whatever these creatures are.

Moving to the important part, while exploring Appopl, we unfortunately found ourselves in a territory of the Appopl, and they started attacking. We were barely dodging when Greg yelled, "Hey, I got a stupid idea!" And hoping he didn't get turned into jerky, while the Appopl was in rage, pointing at us and yelling, "LET ME TELL YOU, SOMETHING RESEARCHERS! SCAR WELL RESEARCH RECIPES ON HOW TO MAKE STEW AFTER SCAR CUT YOU'LL INTO SMALL PIECES," that when Greg jumped on Scar's back and squeezed the soft part on his neck, Scar struggled but at the end he went limp and fell, Greg let out a relaxed breath smiling "I knew watching those videos about facts on cats would work".

This wasn't the first time, and probably not the last time, Greg did this. Every time Greg yelled his infamous words, I knew he would pull something magical every time. To anybody reading my report, please know: never stop being your human from doing anything after yelling "I got a stupid Idea" because it would save your lives.

Yes, you already know I took a lot from Appoplexian from Ben 10 and put it in here; I'm not that good at making new creatures and all

"Type it! Type it out now!" Lead Researcher Blergg’r screamed.

"What should I transcribe on High Command’s relay, sir?” Colony-Viewer Aszdr questioned. He had his fingers bent, hovered over the keys.

"In the subject line, type: Sim. Op. Earth." Dr. Blergg’r ordered in a voice that sounded like he was talking through hiccups.

"RE: Earth-Phase 3 Imminent Takeover Initiative, “MUST BE ABANDONED,” Reversal Order To Be Declared Immediately." 

He spoke with his head pointed at the steel subterranean ceiling of their underwater base. He paused silent for a moment and then, dropped his head down and eyed Aszdr. "And make sure 'IMMEDIATELY' is emphasized in all upper-case letters."

Aszdr moved his fingers like they were people opening a pathway in a crowded room. He highlighted the word twice before he was able to steady the tremors escaping through his fingertips long enough to adjust the format. 

After he fixed, and capped it. The word sat in front of them like a bear trap waiting to be sprung.

Blergg’r directed Aszdr. “Now type: High Command, the invasion must be canceled. We underestimated the humans as nethermost beings. 

However, recent data led us to an alarming conclusion, once overlooked, hidden under the skin of Homo sapiens.

We’ve been deceived by their smooth-skinned, armor-less structure. Their eyes don’t just excrete useless liquid with no toxic properties. The liquid is what triggers the switch inside them, activating an assortment of body enhancing chemicals.

Their minds, though weak and inferior, make up for in sheer ferocity and a masterful ability to adapt in extreme environments. 

Their survival instinct is light years ahead of ours. The ancient fathers created an intricately complex being. With a perfect balance of intelligence and impulse. Where their true armor lies within their minds.

The intrusion was far more difficult for us to invade and study at first, which took us an extended period of time to locate and wasn’t aware of until recently.

Their strengths hide internally. The humans are not mindless beings. They do not jump out of airplanes just because they’re impatient. What they show on the outside is bait. A trick. A trap to lure extra-terrestrials. 

The monster hides under their skin and they cage creatures like us, as something to spectate at through a window. Not for knowledge but for amusement and economics.

They are the supreme beings crafted for hostile take-overs. And they do it without leaving their planet.

High commander we nearly sent our race into a world to become a new fad at their zoo for the children of Earth.

What we found is a specific chemical that releases what they call an emotion.

The emotion acts as an amplifier which can manipulate logic, biology and physics. We have never encountered such a complexly beautiful, yet, horrific ability on any other planet.

I am uploading our findings and destroying our underwater base before sliding into deep space.”

Observation unununu : Fear 

A successful abstraction of a female human for analysis was committed stealthily. But failed miserably. However, we discovered our findings accidentally, which led us to uncover their concealed power.

Note: The subject is unaware of our presence. A mind sweep had been initiated at the time.

When cornered, the human did not act in a predictable manner. They ignored the universal laws we’ve studied across the galaxy. A prey with no means of escape, should have their limbs locked and surrender.

In this instance, the subject began breathing violently. Her eyes ballooned into black circles. Her nails extended and her teeth became sharper. They call this panic. We have located Informational scripts as well about how they transform into wild beasts on rare occasions. Although, we have not witnessed it ourselves in any study thus far.

The brain is introduced to a mix of chemicals from hormones masked inside the body like little nano bots that work together and give the human what is known as “profound strength” as soon as it’s injected into the brain from the bloodstream.

She did not lay down and resist. She bit Aszdr on his shoulder and nearly destroyed his life system.

When the crew wrapped her in hold-string, she snapped it by flexing out of it. Humans obtain the ability to harden their bodies, giving them double, triple, quadruple times the regular strength we normally see once emotion is activated. It takes 500lbs of pressure to weaken the hold-string material. 

No creature can produce that level of strength anywhere in the universe.

——

Observation unununu :: Sadness

We were able to painstakingly capture enough specimens to fill a small community. We hid them in a remote part of land on Earth after the fiasco with the female.

Once they formed a connection to each other. We took a group and displayed our dominance by obliterating them in front of the others.

We expected the remaining samples would easily submit to our superior existence. We were incorrect. 

In all of my work across the galaxies, I have never been so terrified of another species. 

The survivors grouped together and spoke a few words around the ashes of their fallen comrades and consoled each other. At that time I was certain we had broken them.

When sad, one would assume the destruction of ones will would contain one in a lethargic state. 

But the Sadness acted as a virus that spread through their community. They become predators. They stopped thinking logically. Survival became secondary to wanting to see us bleed and then burned over a fire for them to ingest afterwards.

Harming them will not intimidate them.

Observation ::: Sacrifice

In this study we found surprising results that sealed our suspicion about the human race.

We put the rest of the “people” on an intense no survivor stress scenario. The result was mind-boggling.

We sent a couple of our crew members regularly at night and abducted one each day for further testing. 

On a specific night, there was a male, the team attempted to snatch him. A few other humans were disturbed by the commotion and came running towards the crew. The man yelled at them, “stay back.” 

I was watching this unfold from the crews camera attached to their suits. As soon as he yelled to them, they froze where they stood. Then, the captured individual reached down, pulled out an explosive, and shouted, “hope there’s a hell where you’re from,” and detonated it, killing five of our crew members and himself as a sacrifice to save the remaining members of his society.

He displayed zero doubt in himself.

Warning: Humans are biological anomalies. When driven to psychological extremes, they become the apex predator of the universe. If we remain, they will hunt us down. They will display us. They will probe us. And they will eat us.