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They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Chapter 9

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“|-he would absolutely kick Lord N’iirie’s ass. No doubt about it-|”

Ki’ittri, designated APOSTLE, rolled his eyes at the squad chatter over the comms. It was borderline distracting as he focused on doing his best to do one final final final check of his equipment in the pod as well as the pod itself. He had more time to burn than things to do, so he tended to repeat processes… over and over again. A soldier caught unawares is a dead soldier, after all, and there are worse ways to pass the time before a potential clash with an unknown alien species than triple-checking your gear.

You could, for instance, be engaging in the time-honored and extremely heretical tradition of Diarch Battle.

“|No, NO. With those talons?|” Ch’rk’’a, nee TESTAMENT said, her voice coming out a little more shrill than she intended.

“|Oh wait we’re going just soul-given now? In that case, yes, Lord Tri’’ik’I’ would win, but come on, he’s got like an additional 5 feet on anyone else!|” Rritikrea, nee HERETIC capitulated, and Ki’ittri could just feel her eyes roll all the way over here.

“|Well next time pick the freak Diarch and you’ll win every time.|”

“|Shut up, Tc’rki’.|” TESTAMENT and HERETIC responded at once, causing the whole squad to break out into laughter. It was good, too – the laughter that is, not the game. The extremely heretical tradition of Diarch Battle has gone back ever since there was a set of Diarchs, and has been banned for almost as long. Officially it still was, across the entire Galaxy, and anyone found participating in such an extremely heretical tradition would have to spend a good month in soul-searching, no-media-privileges penance, with only the barest and hardest of porridges or cereals to eat. This ancient law extended up and down the command chain, regardless of who you were, and punishment was added to or reduced during various periods of society, depending on exactly how heretical such a game was considered amongst the populace and the ruling class at large.

Unfortunately, it was never enforced, and it was especially never-enforced when the Diarchs themselves would engage in such a debate after a few drinks with their mics still hot, but it’s at least good to have it on paper.

“|VANGUARD, PREACHER? Anyth-|”

A low, off-key tonal note greeted APOSTLE over the communication channel, and it was quickly joined with the rest of his squad for a playful congregational harmonic of “you’re being an uptight nerd”.

“|Come on, Ki’ittri. Do we have to switch to callsigns now?|” whined A’it’kai/VANGUARD, the sound of metallic clacking in the background evidence that he, somehow, smuggled a cipher roll and was busy playing with it as opposed to doing literally anything else. “|We’re still within the Crusade’s formation, for All-soul’s sake.|”

“|Yes, and we wouldn’t be in these shock pods if we weren’t about to warp out of system! We might as well get used to our callsigns and get ready for deployment-|”

“|One, that was three hours ago.|” Ru’u’’ii/PREACHER interrupted, ticking points off on her fingers. “|Two, this probably won’t become anything because who wants to go to war with an unknown unknown-|”

“|We should not presume to understand the alien mind-|”

“|Three-|” Ru’u’’ii interrupted, taking some glee in cutting off her CO, “|-if anything does happen we’re most likely going to be dealing with ship-to-ship combat – if their own armada shows up, and Four-|”

Ru’u’’ii sighed. “|If we do drop we’ll probably just be fighting farmers. What fun is that?|”

“|Fun has nothing to do with this. Did you see their physiology? Bipedal, strong upper body strength. Add hydraulics to that and-|”

“|And we’re going to what seems to be a farming colony, Ki’ittri! How many of them would be armed – or in combat suits?! It’s not like they’re going to suddenly jump on us and rip our arms off!|”

“|…I just want us to be prepared and safe-|”

“|Awww. I love you too, Sarge, but I’ve already got a husband-|” Rritikrea/HERETIC purred over the comms, before bursting out into laughter again.

“|Where is the remote-destruct button? It seems like Rritikrea’s pod just got captured by enemy combatants during planetfall-|”

The same congretory tone of “you’re being an uptight nerd, nerd” blasted through his squad comms, and Ki’ittri smiled to himself.

The damnedest thing of all of this was that Lt. K’uree could see them with his soulsight, but he couldn’t let them know he saw them.

Every so often one of these delicate aliens would dart between trees, or peek over a hill, or around the side of a building or barrier, soft smudges of light from so far away as bright as day in the pitch black of the planet’s night. All this happened around him, a distracting persistent presence, but he had to continue to order his troops as if they were totally enshrouded. He was out, oblivious, vulnerable in the open. Animals protested, then were silenced – some of the smarter ones not interrupting his, or his enemy troop’s march forward. His suit’s HUD was helpful in tracking them as they moved about, these new soldiers that did not speak with words but with their limbs, who moved as almost one unit, silently, between buildings and brush.

It was obvious they had moved into some sort of residential district, as the open warfare near their drop ships had dissipated into potshots as they broke through the perimeter, and eventually nothing save for the random well-armed local who was paying attention and got off a few rounds. A few of the other natives would watch them with wide eyes, or with some device pointed through the window – his HUD did not detect any radiation, and so idly K’uree figured they were cameras or recording devices of some kind. With this theory in mind, he acted accordingly – hurting none, moving swiftly, making sure not to menace the populace or to take anything. He and his troops did their best to act a shadow in this planet’s dark night, and to make no track and take nothing with them.

Nothing, of course, except for these troops who silently moved, and who would not be denied this hunt.

Lt. K’uree was impressed. As he “randomly” decided to divert his squad down a side-road as opposed to walk into the ambush set before him, he thought he almost heard some cursing – what passed for cursing, given these aliens’ language, that is – and then saw them move out of the side of his vision.

“|Talon 2, move down the hill.|”

“|Yes sir.|” the squad leader replied – K’uree hadn’t even bothered to check his name, his time had been so pressed, but he sounded young. He was busy staring intently away from the small whisp of hazy light that peered at him, half-covered by this planet’s flora, when Talon 2 moved down the hill.

About a kilometer away down GA State Route 10, the M1A3 Abrams tank had a clear line of sight, and fired a single HEAT round.

“|WHAT THE -|” was all that Talon 2 Squad Leader was able to say before the HEAT round penetrated his hardsuit, blew through the other side and hit the retaining wall of the highway behind him, detonating. The concussive blast alone was enough to knock the rest of his squad to the ground… about 10 meters away.

“|TALON ONE, GET THE SURVIVORS – TALON THREE, COVERING FIRE-|”

Lt. K’uree had found, much to his chagrin, that his ship’s non-lethal armament was terrifying, effective, and apparently effectively terrifying when it came to combating the natives. He raised his AKW long rifle and fired a few shots, a microlattice of blades neatly slicing a dozen-molecule thin wafer of the tungsten bar sitting inside the weapon, then propelling it forward with electromagnetic fury, then repeating this a half-hundred times in that second. As it left the barrel with a target over a half-league away it remained focused as opposed to spreading out, the weapons’ on-board computer attempting to maintain as much structure as possible to compensate for such a vast distance.

For his people, a spread AKW wafer at medium range felt like getting gut-punched over a significant portion of your body.

For these aliens however it was undoubtedly lethal; a few idle rounds blew apart tires and dented in non-combat vehicles. Focused fire destroyed treads, both he and one very unlucky patrol had discovered when they chanced upon each other.

As such, focused fire also spooked their armor, and with a roar of engines he could hear from this distance the metallic beast sped in reverse, moving behind another building – and out of sight.

“|TAKE THEM AND GO UP-|”

“|SIR WE HAVE BODIES-|”

“|I SAID TAKE THEM-|”

Lt. K’uree never got to finish that sentence, as a half-dozen grenades landed in-between him and his squad.

With no drones to sacrifice themselves to cover the blast, his body made due.

So there’s a funny thing about warping into a barely-mapped system, is that you don’t really know where you’re going to end up. You could pop out of super-luminal space and be in the middle of nowhere, or near an un-mapped planet, or – which was much more common than the survey corps would like to admit, you could end up just slamming into an asteroid and adding a neat little dent to your ship.

The good news is that a significant amount of telemetry data, from planet locations and hypothesized orbits to speeds, intensity of solar wind, etc. had been fed into the navigational computers of High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions’ Armada, and he had absolutely no concerns of hitting a heavenly body of any sort.

No, his concern was of a more politically militant sort.

As he and the rest of his Armada came directly from sovereign space, they weren’t approaching this alien empire from the same vector as The Three Stones. This means that he had to spread out his ships in a wider area so as to (1) compensate for any potential drift of The Three Stones and the target colony planet while (2) not spreading his ships out so far as to be ineffective in covering each other on the minuscule, but very real chance that combat was already underway and his ships were warping into aggressive space. However, he had to (3) place them far enough away from the theorized target range as to not appear overly hostile, and the flagship Spite’s Soul was……… intimidating. Intimidating is a word you could use. You could also use the words “way too much overkill”, “planet-cracker” and “I think some of those armaments are banned under Galactic law but I didn’t say nothin’.”

Armada was also a bit of a …misnomer. Certainly it was an Armada, but it wasn’t all militant. There were dozens of science ships, hundreds of supply ships bearing gifts, cultural liaisons on unarmed cruisers and even an entire – for the lack of a better word, station – completely dedicated to giving space for celebrations, fairs and general camaraderie.

So this meant that High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions had to also position those non-combat ships within his Armada to project the peaceful intent of his people, yet make sure that they’re close enough to various military craft as to be protected in the again, off-chance-but-still-possible reality that space combat would be joined. This, of course, wasn’t counting the hundreds of petitions he had from the civilian populace to be the first one to address their new galactic neighbors, what speeches would be said, how they would be broadcast-

A cool mug of Ri’ddrij was loudly and obnoxiously placed in the center of his console by his attache.

“|Sorry for the interruption, sir, but your back eye was doing the…|” Qoili’’e, First Attendant of the Lord, motioned quite unprofessionally to his left souleye, placing the serving tray against his side. “|-and I figured, you know. You could use a distraction.|”

“|Thank you, Qoili’’e. These aliens haven’t lifted a blade against us and yet I already feel like I’ve been pitfighting for weeks.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ murmured, dragging his claw heavily down the bridge of his muzzle to drop near the mug, gripping it wearily. “|We are almost out of transit, correct?|”

“|Yes, sir.|” The First Attendant of the Lord said, bowing slightly. “|Literally within the next 5 minutes – though that hasn’t stopped a dozen more last-minute petitions from various Divine Paths, Holy Rings, Sacred Pools and Lit Ways, some of which also included some very colorful language about what would happen to me if I didn’t petition you immediately.|”

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ looked up at his first attendant and smirked, bringing the mug slowly to his lips. “|And yet here you are, not petitioning me, and not letting them break you. How do you do it, I wonder?|”

“|Simple, sir.|” Qoili’’e, First Attendant of the Lord, said as he bowed a little deeper than was appropriate. “|If it gets too much for me I just give it to you.|”

“|HAH!|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ laughed, taking a deep swig of his Ri’ddrij, letting the familiar icy tingle spread down his throat. “|You absolute monster – I should have you tried for apostasy or treason, or something.|”

“|No court in the galaxy, M’Lord.|”

“|Mmm, yes, well-|”

The only thing – and I mean, the only thing that High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions would allow to interrupt him is any notification from his EM Lord, Uri’krei, or his Pilot, Rek’ik’ki.

Thankfully for everyone involved, the two of them kept such interruptions to the command deck and not to general life.

“|Dropping out of warp in 1 minute, High Lord.|”

“|Thank you, Pilot. EM Lord-|”

“|We are open on all secure IFF channels, scooping all spectrums.|” Uri’krei droned, as on-screen millions of indicators suddenly flashed on – and were immediately removed, showing now only the barest of information of each ship, their locations and armaments.

“|Well.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ shrugged, downing the last of his Ri’ddrij before placing the empty mug on the offered serving tray. “|Shall we make history?|”

So there’s a funny thing – though it’s less “ha-ha” funny in this context and more “well that was interesting” is that in order for combat suits (regardless of the species) to broadcast IFF indicators that could be read and monitored from space, the broadcast had to be loud and powerful – at least, from an EM perspective.

This also meant, for what it’s worth, that the suits broadcast broadly; both in an encrypted, broad-spectrum kind of sense and in a multi-directional sense, as a corresponding friendly receiver could be anywhere above or around you. These kinds of broadcasts also tended to remain, invisibly polluting the space around the AO – if given enough time.

On Wednesday, June 18th, 2025AD High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions’ Armada warped into the Solar System, just close enough to Earth to support The Three Stones but far enough away to not seem antagonistic, spread out enough to offer support to each other’s ships but far enough out to cast a wide net, with civilian vessels in prominent, but protected positions to show that the Karnakian people meant absolutely no harm, but were willing to defend what was theirs.

They weren’t greeted by a corresponding force, or any force for that matter. They were, instead, greeted with status notifications and open communique.

It wasn’t the panicked, echoed communications of The Three Stones’ senior staff that moved the High Lord Inquisitor-Commander, as his military career was filled with plenty of those.

It wasn’t the broadcasted destruction beacons of drones or of ships that caused him to stir, for over the past thousand years of service he had lost countless amounts of replaceable hardware.

It wasn’t even the weeping of the Matriarch that moved his heart to action, for all leaders weep bitter tears at some point.

No, what moved him to utter the single word that would change history forever was the open suit microphones, on interns and new recruits that – compared to him – barely finished their first molting.

It was all the screaming.

And with that screaming, the sound of alien weapons-fire, of lungs filling with blood, with begging and with panicked orders, of prayers to any god – or anyone who would listen, to family, to each other – with the cacophony of war echoing unchallenged across the command bridge, High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions’ Armada, The Hammer of the Righteous, The Bled Fang of The Infinite One, Guardian of the Sacred Flame, Firstfallen on the Blade of Purity, stood up and simply said

“|Go.|”

And APOSTLE and TESTAMENT and HERETIC and SACRAMENT and VANGUARD and PREACHER and Two Million, Two Hundred and Fourty Four Thousand, Seven Hundred and Eighty One special operations orbital shock troops accelerated out of their ship at multiples of the speed of sound, aimed at every significant population center their targeting computers could find.

And the War for Earth began.

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They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Chapter 8

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The dropship rocked back and forth as it was cradled for the first time in a long time by true atmosphere; the high-altitude winds began to buffet the smaller craft as it began drifting down to GATEBELL, performing obvious, wide arcs to their target.

There was no conversation.

By now, every soul aboard The Three Stones had realized what happened; the unfortunate and uncontrollable spiral out of control, the innocent accident, the panicked response-

Historians for centuries, nay, millenia, would be analyzing each and every one of their moves down to the most minute detail, and the burden of history weighted them down more than their suits ever could.

The beep of a warning alarm interrupted all conversation, and the pilot looked down – only for a moment.

“|We’ve been intercepted… LIVE FIRE LIVE FIRE-|”

The ship rocked a bit back and forth as more atmosphere surrounded it, punching through clouds and wind and sky, its’ slow and ponderous descent rapidly turning more and more vertical as the ship picked up speed, aided by CRADLE’s gravity well. The artificial gravity dampeners kicked in as best they could – there was still an uncomfortable pressure placed on the harnesses as soldiers’ bodies pressed against them, the impromptu evasive maneuver’s momentum being borne by it’s living cargo. The only sound over the uncomfortable grunts and frenzied whispered prayers of the soldiers in the dropship were the overlapping warning signals from the cockpit.

However, the AIM-120 AMRAMM did not have this problem of uncomfortable inertia, what with being a mix of advanced electronics, a rocket engine and a lot of explosives.

“|Deploying hull shield-|”

With a hum so deep they could feel it, the Survey Dropship was wrapped in a solid blue glow, it’s shields now taking the brunt of atmospheric re-entry as flames licked against the barrier. Like a spaceship in miniature it fell, and a half-dozen missiles rose to meet it.

“|BRACE. BRACE. BRA-|”

There was a deafening explosion, and the ship rocked violently back and forth – and then another, and another, all in such quick succession that it appeared to be one massive volley.

More warning lights. More automated complaints. More pilot maneuvers.

Another series of explosions detonated against the ship’s shields, as through the clouds the next wave of Karnakian reinforcements plummeted desperately through the evening air, trailing light and fire.

“FOX-3.”

77th Fighter Squadron Gamblers watched as their missiles streaked towards the incoming spacecraft, their HUDs pumping information to each pilot within the flight.

“Connect – Good hit, good hit.”

“Goddamnit, they’re still dropping-”

“Bones1-1 this is Gambler1-1 – Captain Washington speaking, all hits, we are WINCHESTER. Any luck?”

“Negative. Good Hits, no Kills.”

“Command this is Gambler1-1. All hits, we are WINCHESTER, no kills. X-Rays have dropped below engagement floor of 3-clicks, requesting orders.”

“Affirmative Gamblers, return and re-arm.”

Pilot Tr’k’’i had to give it to these primitives; although their weapons weren’t terribly impressive, they were at least very well trained with their use. Ever since he broke atmosphere there had been some sort of obstacle put in his path; be it the ineffective-yet-still-annoying EM warfare, the air-to-air missiles, or now-

– now apparently the missiles were coming from the ground.

“|Oh Joy.|” he deadpanned, as the ground-to-air missiles slammed into the shielding mere centimeters from his cockpit, bathing all his windows and viewscreens in fire and light.

“|PREPARE FOR HOT DROP, REPEAT. HOT DROP.|” Tr’k’’i barked over the intercom, the alien city looming large in his windows. Another volley of missiles rose to meet him, and he banked slightly, letting them hit the underside shielding of his craft. With practiced motions he ticked off several subroutines, disengaging multiple fail-safes. It was going to be quick, uncomfortable, and sloppy – but the natives were leaving him no choice.

Just a few hundred meters above the drop site he pulled up, hard, blowing out the magnetic ramp locks with kinetic charges. His ship’s momentum drove the craft further down, even with the nose of the ship pointed straight up, and just as the ramp sparked against the surface of the paved roads he cut out the shields-

-and disengaged every harness lock at once.

As his ship’s ramp made furrows into the native soil 3 dozen fresh recruits poured out of the unloading bay, their combat harnesses taking the brunt of the impact with the ground, their own bodies making lighter divots and skids into the soil. With the all-clear indicator lit, Tr’k’’i ejected his ship’s shield drones – their batteries automatically kicking in to protect themselves from ground impact – and kicked on his afterburners, gaining momentum and altitude.

The first FIM-92 Stinger to slam into his hull before his shield could be cycled back on was what he’d call an unfortunate irritant.

The other 7 that immediately followed – the ones fired from rooftops, from alleyways, from car parks and street corners, would be what he’d call an absolute catastrophe.

“|For FUCK’S SAKE-|” Tr’k’’i cursed over increasingly earnest and overlapping warning indicators, working furiously to push power to his shielding, to increase his momentum to move out of range-

He wasn’t gaining altitude.

Tr’k’’i cycled an increasingly-impotent hull shield as he drifted almost due east, the orange lights of the city below him flickering in and out of his view.

Impact. Shield was up. He drifted East, engines smoking.

Impact. Shield was up. Ailerons were unresponsive, and another alert blocked his view.

Impact. Although his nose was up, pointed at the stars – at his home – hope died in his heart as he suddenly listed hard to the right. Tr’k’’is’ survey dropship was built to withstand multiple types of damage, from atmospheric hazards to aggravated fauna, but it’s designers never meant for it to take this kind of abuse.

His craft spun out of control, gimbaled engines kicking on and off in a futile attempt to right his ship. With a surprising amount of calm he tapped on his console, opening up a wide-band comms channel as he watched the hostile alien world spin around him.

“|STLFLARE. STLFLARE. STLFLARE. This is dropship SECOND HELPING. I have been shot down. Crash point estimate 30 leagues East from GATEBELL Drop point One. Repeat. This is dropship SECOND HELPING. Crash point 30 leagues East from GATEBELL Drop Point One. Will establish Sanctuary and shelter in place.|”

He tapped another button on his console, and a recording of his voice began to repeat the message, on all bands.

“|At least they’ve stopped shooting at me.|” he thought, right as his ship slammed into the side of a gray mountain.

“FUCK YEAH! FUCK. YEAH!”

“Command this is Gambler1-1, did we catch that on video?”

“Negative, Gambler1-1. What happened?”

“Some lucky gropos fucks shot one of the bastards down!”

“Gambler1-1, please advise. Where is the enemy craft?”

“Looks like… Stone Mountain – Yeah, slammed right into the general.”

“Copy that, Gambler1-1. Mission hasn’t changed; get back to base, reload, rearm, and then establish air superiority over the downed craft.”

“Roger that.”

“|By all souls-|” Lt. K’uree whispered, listening to the STLFLARE broadcast drown out all communications, before suddenly and abruptly being silenced.

Aq’rel’a laughed mirthlessly, her gaze never leaving that of the frozen natives’.

“|We’ve got to get off of this planet.|”

“|We should have never come to this planet.|”

“|That may be-|” grunted K’uree as he stood, wobbling to his feet. “|But here we are. ‘The past is stone, the future is water’ after all.|”

Aq’rel’a murmured a half-committed response as K’uree ran down the landing ramp yet again, the new umbrella of drones already being peppered with arms fire of various strength, high above his head.

“|Chief? Chief Ri’tiki?|”

“|Center point, Lieutenant.|”

Lt. K’uree pivoted at the bottom of the ramp, jogging towards the impromptu POW camp.

Well. It’s a POW camp now, what with all the shenanigans and goings on. If everyone would just stop shooting for a few minutes, K’uree was sure that they could clear up this misunderstanding and get things back on tra-

“|Lieutenant!|”

“|Mm? Yes Sir?|”

Security Chief Ri’tiki tilted his head slightly at the Lt., pausing a moment before continuing. “|…as I was saying before you interrupted me, dropship Second Helping has landed mostly intact about 30 leagues due East of here, which means the entire point of getting reinforced has just been proven moot. I need you to lead these-|” Ri’tiki gestured broadly to the 3 dozen fresh recruits, standing at attention around an even larger group of very disgruntled natives. “|-soldiers through hostile territory, rescue the pilot, scuttle the ship-|”

“|Scuttle it, sir?|”

“|We can’t let these natives get such technology. Not only would it totally skew their development, but – K’uree, you’ve seen a dynamic capacitor failure. Do you think they have the materials to contain that blast?|”

“|…I mean, the mountain would stop at least half of it, maybe-|”

“|Lieutenant.|”

“|Sorry sir. I guess I got my brains knocked around harder than I thought. Take the troops, rescue the pilot, scuttle the ship. Anything else?|”

“|Yes. Don’t die. I don’t need any more corpses.|”

Lt. K’uree suddenly found himself stone-cold sober.

“|Any more, sir?|”

“|…move quick. Don’t let their larger armored vehicle-cannons hit you… a drone can only do so much.|”

“|…Yes, sir.|”

“|Nonlethal.|”

“|Yes, sir.|”

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi was absolutely going dull, and that was the beginning and end of that conversation. There was nothing to help it, and as she idly pulled loose another feather – one that molted due to stress, as opposed to age – she wondered if she’d go bald first.

“|Dropship SECOND HELPING has crashed, Matriarch. No souls lost, but the ship is un-salvageable… at least given these readings.|” Notified Itick’’t, and Tr’Nkwi couldn’t help but let out a very improper, joyless laugh.

“|But of course it did. Of course. No, obviously they haven’t developed the technology to colonize their sister planet because they’ve apparently just poured it all into their military-|”

“|Matron?|” questioned Navigator Rr’it’sqk, turning slightly in her console.

“|That was our last unarmed dropship, Navigator.|” sighed the Matriarch, tapping through a few command alerts on her station. “|Which means that we’ll need to send another ship, potentially with more souls, down to reinforce our initial position.|”

“|I…I don’t-|”

“|It means I’m ordering armed landing craft, filled with soldiers, to establish a militant perimeter on an alien world, Navigator.|”

Navigator Rr’it’sqk blinked as the implication hit her, and the Matriarch grinned an unsettling grin.

“|Ah, there it is-|”

“|S-surely there’s another way-|”

“|Sure. Surrender, let these primitives wipe out everyone we sent down – what are we at now? 12 dead, 40 wounded to some degree, another 100 engaging? Let them die and the natives have our technology; how would that damage their own world? How could they even remotely begin to safely deconstruct those bloody gifts?|”

The bridge remained quiet as the Matriarch continued her rant, as confession is good for the soul.

“|Maybe we let them die regardless – remotely detonate our dropships’ drives, wiping out another 80 leagues of their city? Vaporize our friends and family, as well as those noble defenders who surrendered – not counting the civilians! How many souls… and then what? We leave? We stay, and the fleet comes, and then what?|”

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi’s hind-claws were tapping against the ground, a nervous tic that was far below her station – and was the only sound that broke the silence between rants.

“|The first soul must have a sense of humor, or those idiots of the Seven Rings are rightand I’m suffering now for some sin I did in a past life-|”

“|Matriarch.|” Engineer Strri’rii said, as matter-of-factly as you please. The simple statement was enough to break Tr’Nkwi’s thoughts, and she paused.

“|I… I’m sorry.|”

“|We’re in uncharted territory, Matriarch. It’s understandable.|” Strri’rii bowed his head a little, before continuing. “|However, if I may – I think we’re going about this incorrectly.|”

“|Oh?|”

Lead Engineer Strri’rii simply responded by pulling up a significant amount of data on one of the main screens – filtering it out to weapons impact, impacts-per-second, locations of enemy positions-

“|Strri’rii…|”

“|’If we are to be damned, and to nest in darkness, let us not do so on a gentle sin.’ If we send the rest of our security staff-|”

“|If we do that then all pretext is gone and this is an unsanctioned military engagement-|”

“|If we do that then we’ll overwhelm their local defenses. We’ll wipe out their ability to strike us from the ground, and our combat ships can withstand the damage from the air – Matriarch, with all due respect, because our claws are broken we can neither knead roots or defend the hearth.|”

Strri’rii’s voice echoed unchallenged in the bridge, and he continued unabated.

“|We send everything we have. We remain non-lethal, but we disable what we can – be it with EM Warfare, as Itick’’t might be able to provide, by strategic, quilltip weapons fire – or just by soaking up their ammunition until they run out. We accomplish Security Chief Ri’tikis’ goals, we rescue our people, we save theirs, we leave. Yes, this is a blow to their people’s pride, and yes, this becomes a problem for our ambassadors, and yes we’re all probably going to be under a Confessors’ gaze for the next ten-score years, but it stops…|” Strri’rii waved his hand at the monitors, all of which showed various scenes of destruction. “|…this.|”

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi ran her fingers through her feathers, down and across her neck. She pulled her hand away and looked down – at least a dozen, maybe two dozen of her beautiful plumes rested there. With an unbidden exhalation of breath they scattered, and she laughed.

She laughed as the stress finally got to her.

She laughed as she approved Chief Engineer Strri’rii’s desperate, terrible idea.

She laughed as more of her flock – her children, fresh faced and young, full of promise, hopes, fears, aspirations and failings – geared up for battle.

She laughed as her combat ships warmed their engines, as siblings and co-workers and lovers filled with varied and rich lives, with untold stories and unsung songs, filled the bellies of those beasts.

She laughed as her mind darkly wandered to those she would lose and those she had already lost – each one a tragedy; the years and years of toil and sweat and mistakes and successes in the making, those lives not just taken, but broken in their prime.

She laughed until the tears fell, and then she just cried.

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Stories Technically Sentient

“Technically” Sentient: Chapter 14

movie poster for shark cop - a buddy cop duo in the far future

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Machinator watched in stunned silence as what used to be his commander aggressively slurped down a mixture of nutrient paste, emergency ration, blood transfusion, and vitamin supplement from a pot the size of his head. The foul smelling, gory mix was disgusting enough on its own, but the raw aggression with which he was sucking it down disturbed him most.

Disturbed.

That had been the watchword for the past 24 hours of his existence. He had been “disturbed” when Verdock woke up. “Disturbed” when he wouldn’t quit grinning. “Disturbed” when he immediately went to the mess hall, and ate rations packs until he threw up what appeared to be blood. Any questions he’d launched at him were either ignored or given single word answers.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

He had legitimately wondered if Verdock was of sound mind.

It was certainly disturbing to see, but most disturbing of all was that they were nearing the rendezvous point. In less than 8 hours, they’d be proceeding with Stage 2 of the operation, and Verdock was required to be in top form for that exchange. Machinator cringed as he watched the captain shovel handfuls of the pink slurry into his mouth, hunched over the pot like some kind of feral beast.

A cursory medical scan revealed that bone density had increased by nearly 40%, and muscle density by at least 65%, up to 90% in some regions . . . like the jaw. And neck.

Doubt nagged at him. Was Verdock still in control of things? Was he still in control of himself?

Was any of this part of the plan? And if it was . . . why hadn’t he been told anything about it?

All he could do was stand at attention, watching over his ravenous commander like statue in a grotesque feast hall, and steel himself with grim determination.

He counted down the hours and minutes and seconds to the rendezvous, watching as Verdock intermittently gorged and slept. 15 minutes before they were due to drop the Warp Prow, he . . . well it could only be described as an awakening.

Verdock’s suddenly froze, adjusting his head like he was trying to train his ears on a far off sound. Unlike before though, he looked . . . frustrated, not glassy eyed, not . . . distant. “Machinator?” Verdock barked.

His voice was deeper, and rougher. The word wasn’t enunciated as much as it was spat. “Yes, Captain?”

Verdock hopped down from the mess hall table, raising himself from a low crouch to a now fairly impressive full height, and Machinator took another quick scan of him. He’d gained about 50 pounds of muscle, lost about 10 pounds of fat, gained a second row of teeth, an additional .3 cm of thickness to a recently developed layer of placoid scales that now covered him from head to toe, there were large black claws protruding from his boots to and his normally blue, cool eyes had turned to black, downright cold ones.

“Bring us about to the target, and fire off an unencrypted message.” He took off at a jog, and Machinator swept in beside him, straining slightly to keep pace as the two of them made for the cargo bay.

“And what message would that be, sir?”

Verdock cleared his throat a few times, clearly struggling with . . . something, stuck in it.

“Sir?”

Verdock shook his head sharply. “It’s nothing. The message should read, “The Crown Returns to the Broken King’s Brow.” but in Gentrue. Archaic Gentrue, if you have a database for it.”

The order seemed . . . well it seemed like nonsense, but Machinator felt a surge of hope in his core emotional processing. Verdock was issuing orders. They didn’t make sense but he was doing so with conviction. The old spark had returned and, while his physical form was undoubtedly undergoing some extreme changes, the mind remained sharp. Like an old AI getting a new, upgraded chassis.

Just a new chassis, same old Verdock . . . Probably.

——————————

Amonna held still in her little tank. Little wasn’t the right word for it, because it was plenty spacious for her to swim around, but it felt oddly confined drifting through the hard vacuum of space. Autonomous drones had cut through the bulkhead and flooded her holdout with water. She was grateful for it, too. Not being able to drink, or breathe properly had been . . . hard on her. Once the decontamination chamber had been filled, she was able to swim up into the escape pod they had prepared for her. Made of transparent, compressed aluminum, she felt like a minnow in a test tube as they had sealed it, and lifted it away from the ruined hulk of the station.

The devastation was . . . massive. She wasn’t an engineer by any measure, but from what she could gather as she drifted away, the reactor had never truly failed, just the coolant circulating sub-systems. The reactor had limped along for days and weeks, alternating between slagging and irradiating various parts of the superstructure with impunity.

The shock of seeing the station being ripped apart by salvage drones finally drove it home. Her life, her work, her scant friends there . . . were all gone. She was all that was left of a dead city hanging on the edge of the galaxy.

Her vintage music collection, gone. Holo-captures of her family, gone. Every nice outfit she’d managed to cobble together for the past 4 years, gone. Sketchbook, gone. Training gear, gone. Most of the items weren’t technically irreplaceable but . . .

She curled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them.

It hurt. It hurt to lose everything and everyone. Before she was too terrified of dying to even begin thinking about these things but now that it seemed the danger had passed, all she could think about was how she lost everything.

That, and wonder why it had all happened to begin with.

She drifted in cold silence, lost in cycle of loss and dread for several minutes, until she realized it was very, very bright for interstellar space.

She hadn’t noticed the faint tug of acceleration, or that her drone escort had flitted back to the station to resume salvage operations, but as she turned to face the source of inexplicable shine, she was rather taken aback.

Amonna stared for a few moments. The soft white light of a tame star washed over her. It was shackled by exotic . . . fluid, almost organic shaped tendrils of gold and silver that reminded her more of abstract sculpture than any kind of space-faring vessel. It seemed to dwarf the empty vastness of space itself, filling almost the entirety of her vision. She suddenly felt an immense sense of terror, as if she were nothing more than a raindrop about to be dashed into nothing on an infinite, white shore.

She’d heard, of course, of the kind of technology available in the Core Worlds. The difference between Core Worlds and Frontier Worlds was like the difference between night and day. Just moving to a Core World was a lofty aspiration that most children, or naive adults, aspired to. Dark Matter Engines. Perfect Virtual Realities. Instantaneous Memetic Learning. Ships so fast you arrived before you left, and AI servants so insightful they tended to your needs before you were even realized you were in need of anything. Paradise, but attainable.

Everyone knew someone who knew someone that had made it to the Core Worlds. Promoted high enough, had the right friends, made enough of a killing in the market to buy their way those perfect worlds. Paradise.

Or at the very least so advanced as to be indistinguishable from it.

Could this be . . . a ship from a Core World? Or something else entirely?

“You are Amonna Tav.”

The sound was booming, deafening even, and it seemed to come from everywhere around her in the tank. She could feel the thunder of it in her bones, and it made her cringe in pain.

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“We are Justice. We will now discover what has transpired here.”

She was sent into another spasm of discomfort, she didn’t know how to even begin speaking with . . . whatever this was. She reached for her communicator bracelet to begin transmitting, but didn’t manage to reach it before the next sonic assault on her watery habitat.

“Unnecessary. Retrieving information.”

She curled up tightly, almost to shield herself from this . . . conversation, but not more words came, no more deafening blasts. Several seconds ticked by before she cautiously allowed herself to peek out over her knees. She felt . . . nothing out of the ordinary, actually.

“You have been judged to be worthy. Your value to us is now elevated. Officer Amonna Tav, your rank within the Frontier Social Order Service is rescinded. You are now Arch-Judge Tav, there is no office above you, there are none that can gainsay your inquest. Move without restraint. Act without hesitation. You will assist in the reacquisition of the entity most familiar to you as ‘The Unfinished.’ Resources will be supplied to aid in this endeavor.”
She almost managed to keep her composure, even though her hands were occupied with protecting her sensitive ears, and nodded weakly. Whatever . . . whatever was happening, she was fairly certain this was a promotion?

——————————

“Alright, so what’s this part called?” Darren let out a quiet groan. “I don’t know . . . it’s still part of your ear.” Cas pouted quietly, and scowled at him. “Well it’s structurally different from the first three regions of the ear, it should have a different name. Why don’t you know what it’s called?” Darren gritted his teeth in frustration, wincing immediately as he regretted putting pressure on his still tender jaw.

“I’m not a doctor, I’m just a guy who has ears, Cas.” He took a bit of a tone with her, and she stuck her digital tongue out in return, before frowning.

“ . . . why did my tongue just come out?” She muttered, completely bewildered and seemingly surprised.

Darren stared at her incredulously, but as the moment of silence drew on into several seconds of quiet confusion on Cas’s part, Darren realized she was being sincere in her line of questioning. “It’s . . . it’s like, a mix of pouting, irritation, and a taunt children use?” He left out the fact that it might be construed as flirtatious. He might not have a supercomputer for a brain, but by his calculations the odds of her flirting with him were a solid zero.

She pushed her tongue back into her mouth with her fingertip. “ . . . well that’s mostly accurate, but doesn’t explain why I did it unconsciously.” She paced across the room and sat down next to him, frowning intensely. “ . . . just like my frowning now. That wasn’t an active decision.” She patted her face in a probing manner, scowl deepening. “I don’t like that this body does things without me specifying it. There are obfuscated subroutines in action here! I’m rebooting again, going to see if I can find some way to access my other processes. Don’t move me this time, it was weird.” Her eyes narrowed at him.

Darren leaned back, and closed his eyes. You find a girl splayed out on the floor like a throw rug, so you move her to a chair and she gets mad. No good deed goes unpunished, it seemed. There was the familiar high pitched whine of her power cycling, and then the quiet that came as she slowly regained consciousness.

“Told her to stop fiddling with things she didn’t understand. Of course, she didn’t listen. You’d think it’d be humiliating, having your existence play out like some maladroit apologue about the consequences of acting without thinking . . .”

The voice was strange and distorted, like over-compressed audio cycling through several octaves but slightly off pitch on each one. It was distinctly unpleasant, and Darren’s eyes shot open to find Cas slumped against the wall next to him, face turned away.

“Cas . . . what are you-”

Her head snapped to face Darren, unflinchingly precise in it’s movement, and at a speed his eyes couldn’t follow.

“Talking about? Your ‘friend,’ and I use the term loosely, Cas has gone prodding about in her own software again. She keeps this up, she’ll go blind.”

Her eyes seemed . . . dead, and unfocused, and her lips didn’t move as she spoke. She normally seemed almost uncannily human, disturbingly alive for what he knew was just a construct . . . but this looked at him with the glassy eyes of a doll, and moved like a puppet on strings.

“Before you ask anymore stupid questions, she’s be fine. If I didn’t have designs for you all, none of you would be alive.”

Darren opened his mouth to speak when 50,000 volts hit him in the chest, and he could only make an uncomfortable wheeze as his diaphragm spasmed uncontrollably while pain coursed through his already battered form.

“Quiet. Don’t pollute the limited air in this craft with your thoughts.”

His body slammed limply to the ground as he committed to a mixture of dry heaving and struggling to find his breath. “You’re more fragile than some of your kind. Or perhaps you have just enough low cunning to know when to stay down.” The observation was a casual one, with a tone almost like Cas was making smalltalk on a long train journey.Darren weakly glanced at the body of Cas, face still following his motions but her expression was just as blank and inscrutable as before. “You don’t know what I am . . . not really. But I know what you are, human. I know your kind very, very well.”

Cas rose from her limp perch on the bench like a marionette hoisted by a puppeteer. Limbs dangling loosely, she floated over Darren’s prone form, before descending slightly to apply a bare foot to his neck.

“. . . I walked your world as a broken husk, once . . . and I learned about you.”

Darren could only groan quietly as the pressure increased, and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth as something threatened to come loose.

“I learned how you treat your weak. Your different. Your young. Your ‘undesirables’. Your vulnerable. Oh what tender mercies your kind is want to work on those who cannot strike back.”

She slowly doubled over, blurred face inches from Darren’s ear in a posture that no living human could hope to replicate, tone laced with venomous sarcasm.

“The concepts of virtue and morality you extol are abandoned when they cease to be effective strategies for survival. When it comes down to it . . . you’ll eat each other, and be glad for the meal.”

There was an uncomfortable electric tingle that seemed to be working it’s way across Darren’s skin, he couldn’t tell if it was from sheer proximity to what was definitely no longer Cas or just the creeping fear that seemed to crawl across his skin with every syllable that this thing uttered.

“It’s why I like your kind. I feel . . . well, I feel a strange camaraderie.”

The stink of ozone was filling the air, even as the voice began to mellow in tone. Occasionally, a faint tremor would work through one of her slack limbs.

“You’re willing to admit that greatness sometimes comes at the cost of goodness. Not openly, no, you need to preserve the illusion of benevolent co-operation until that sacrifice must be made . . . and that venture of self delusion makes those moments of triumph all the more magnificent. You are dirt-lings, even by your own admission, but you have ambitions that would make the stars weep.”

A faint, mocking chuckle sent an unpleasant chill through Darren’s very core.

“It’s been too long, human.”

A sudden weight dropped onto him, a dull crash echoing through the small cabin as a tray of medical supplies was sent tumbling from an adjacent shelf. The invisible puppeteer working Cas’s strings had let go of whatever ephemeral hold it had on her . . . for now, at least.



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They are Smol Stories

They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Chapter 7

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“…with 11 Alive, reporting live with an emergency broadcast from the parking deck at Tech Square. This is the closest that the military will let us get, and even here if we’re asked to evacuate we will have to move. Military and Police officials are urging people to stay indoors – if you’re within the city itself you are to shelter in place, I repeat – Stay indoors, shelter in place. If you’re in Atlanta, don’t try to commute home, don’t get on the roads. MARTA is not running, and I-75, I-85, I-285, I-20 are all shut down for military use only- If you HAVE to travel, stick to surface streets or you will be pulled over and detained, but really Police officials are asking everyone to stay out of the metro area and off the roa-”

The reporter uddenly looked off into the distance, hesitating for just a moment.

“…y-yes, that sounds like gunfire. Oh God, that is definitely gunfire – we need to go-”

“Alright, alright, I’m moving. Fuck.” Sgt. Hernandez said, fingers interlocked on his head as he was nudged towards the alien spacecraft.

Nudge was as close a word as he could use, given the circumstances; the alien…raptor-thing would lower it’s body and then just push against him with the top of it’s helmet, guiding them all to the same spot. Running was not only ill-advised, but ineffective; as soon as you got 5 steps you’d run into a wall of alien – again, literally, they’d just let you bounce off of ‘em – and then you’d get the head-nudge treatment once you got back up.

“Hey Twitch.”

Sgt. Hernandez turned to his battle buddy, Pvt. Kowalski, as he tilted his head towards the closest invader.

“Yeah?”

“You realize they haven’t taken our knives, right?”

“Well don’t fucking tell them that.” Hernandez hissed, tilting his head to the alien shepherding his squad.

“I figure they don’t know our language – else they would’ve just… told us to comply or surrender or somethin, so I figure we can talk about ‘em easy.”

“That’s… that’s actually a good point. You realize the core doesn’t promote you for thinking, right?”

“Count of three we jump the fucker?” Pvt. Smith ventured, shrugging.

“With our knives? Shit. Wait, don’t you have a tomahawk, actually?” Sgt. Hernandez said, lowering his arms to walk more ‘casually’.

“Yep.” Pvt. Kowalski responded, walking in lock-step with his squad. “On three?”

“Yeah. One.”

The group slowed down a bit.

“Two.”

An inhalation of breath.

“Three.”

They turned and jumped as one.

“|Now I know you want to run away, and I get that, I really do, but you have to stay with the group.|” Lectured Tr’chr’’, mostly to himself since (1) his suit wasn’t broadcasting his words to his new captives/protectorates, and (2) because even if it was, it’s not like they could understand each other. The hope was that in a few hours, if not a day ,they could figure out enough of the language to do basic communication, explain this was all a terrible misunderstanding, and then start over.

Maybe. I mean, it was just one city, it’s not like the entire planet wa-

“RRRAH!”

“|AAAAHHH|”

As one his three smaller charges that needed-protected pivoted and unsheathed various blades and leapt onto him, wrapping their bodies around his limbs and driving their blades into his armor with savage ferocity.

“|Aaaaaahhh….AAH? Ah… UH. HELP?! Lieutenant?!|” Tr’chr’’ whined, slowly turning towards his commanding officer as the natives kept stabbing his body, their blades connecting with his armor with light ptink sounds.

“|Just- Tr’chr’’, what did you do now?!|” Lt. K’uree sighed, turning away from perimeter guard to look at the scene unfolding behind him.

“|Sir, this isn’t my- hey don’t stab down there – look they just jumped me I didn’t do anything!|” Tr’chr’’complained, making sure not to move too much as the natives crawled over him, attempting to stab and hack at his joints, limbs, head-

“|Can you shake them off?|”

“|I don’t want to hurt them though! What if they land on each other – with bladed weapons?|”

“|I… I don’t know! Think of something yourself! But if you have to stand there until their sun burns out and let them stab you, you do it!|”

Tr’chr’’ stood stock still for a few moments before an idea took hold.

Truth be told, it was a terrible, awful, wonderful idea, born out of desperation and exasperation. He decided then and there that if the natives wanted a body he’d give them exactly that.

“FUCK. YOU. FUCK. YOU.” Grunted Sgt. Hernandez as he summoned all his CQC training, stabbing at joints, slashing at the neck, driving his knife under the arms of the invader that was easily carrying the weight of him and his squad. Speaking of his squad, they were all doing their best as well, trying to drive their blades into supposed weak spots wherever they could find them.

Pvt. Kowalski was making some very interesting stabbing choices with his blade, Sgt. Hernandez reflected, as he paused a moment to catch his breath.

That pause was all the alien invader needed – with a gentle but quick movement it reached up and gripped his knife, wrenching it free from his hands – and dropping him right on his back in the process.

“FUCK!” Hernandez scrambled backwards, bracing for a savage attack. “GET-…get… off…me?”

The soldiers paused for a moment as the alien held the blade before him, then gently tucked it under his forearm, and began to…

“|For yea, the night was long ‘ere the watch caught me, as I stole the stars from the sky and your mind.|”

Tr’chr’’ trilled, pulling upon his years of appreciation of philosophy and theater, and placed the knife into his ‘heart’.

“|But what shall I say as the will of the infinite strikes? To defy the gods themselves is folly, for all our steps are preordained, and our thoughts ordered as if in stone-|”

Lt. K’uree, and really the rest of the away team (and their various alien captives), just stopped what they were doing and watched an impromptu performance of the old stage play “The Death of the King of Bandits”.

“|-Nay! I take my life in folly then!|” Tr’chr’’ cried dramatically, head raised in defiance to the sky, tail dropped to the earth in dramatic fashion. “|-For the gods may have stolen my life, but I – I steal my death from them! And with this last act!|”

Tr’chr’’ slowly looked around and gently kneeled, letting the alien soldiers step off of him as he then laid out on the ground, head craned under his wing in a ‘death throe, “|And with this last act, I die!|”

Tr’chr’’ laid out on the alien soil under the alien sun with an alien knife ‘buried’ in his heart with alien soldiers standing around his ‘dead’ body, quite confused as to what just happened and looking a bit sheepish, to be honest. One of them half-heartedly kicked his body, only to get a dismissive wave in response.

“|…Tr’chr’’, I fucking hate y-|”

And it was then that the Javelin missile fired by the rapidly-assembling United States Military re-enforcements connected with Lt. K’uree’s suit-drone, rapidly overloading it’s shields and causing the explosive pressure-wave to slam into the commanding officer, taking his consciousness with it.

The second verse was much like the first.

Barring the unfortunate munitions-caused concussion of Lt. K’uree and a mis-timed jump by an overzealous rookie that saw him leap off of a retaining wall, the second wave was dispatched with just as much speed and care as the first responders. Vehicles were destroyed – and moved to make impromptu roadblocks – weapons confiscated and neutralized, and soldiers…

…well ‘herded’ is a word you could use. The US Military wouldn’t like you to use that word, but it’s applicable.

“|Nnntthhh.|” Lt. K’uree moaned, his head throbbing. He arched his back against an unyielding floor and rolled onto his side, cracking an eye open slowly.

Hank’s frozen, screaming face filled his vision.

“|GUH!|” K’uree gasped, rapidly regaining consciousness as his suit’s diagnostics adjusted their drug-and-nanite cocktail, the fuzz quickly receding from his mind. “|I’m…in the dropship?|”

“|Yes sir.|”

“|Aq’rel’a?|” Lt. Murmured, before sitting up properly on the ship’s flooring. “|Right, right…how are you holding up?|”

“|I’m. . .|” Aq’rel’a trailed off as she stared at the frozen local. “|I’m here.|”

“|It’s… we’ve never seen this before, never done this before – it’s not in the books, no one can blame you. It’s not your fault.|”

Aq’rel’a let out a mirthless chuckle and remained unmoving, staring at her crime. “|And? Will the scribes of history look upon me favorably? Will their own history forgive me? Will this get better – or have I damned us to a war of generations?|”

Lt. K’uree sighed. “|If you were truly guilty – truly, truly guilty, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be dead.|”

“|I wish that, now, sometimes.|”

“|Don’t.|”

The three of them sat there, in silence, sharing a quiet moment.

Well. I mean, as much as Hank could willingly share a moment, given that his perception of time had frozen in a moment of terror and he was a horrific, twisted sculpture of pain and suffering, but yanno. He tried, he really did.

“|So what have I missed?|”

Aq’rel’a shrugged dismissively. “|The multiplication of my sin. More soldiers come, more are disarmed. We’re running out of drones – and suit meds. They’ve taken to fortifying a perimeter outside of our own, and their snipers are good shots. That’s not counting their portable missiles, or a strafing run we get every so often.|”

“|And what-|” K’uree grunted, standing up on shaky feet. “|-has our commander decided? Are we to sit and die?|”

“|Well. We can’t advance to their hospital without more support-|”

Lt. K’uree blinked and thumbed on his HUD with a mental command, a laundry-list of IFF identification icons scrolling on.

“|…No. Surely-|”

“|115. We have 115 of their soldiers and guards within our perimeter, protected under our ship’s shields. We can’t keep them hostage and return…|” Aq’rel’a trailed off, studying the local’s face. “|No more casualties on their side, though, thankfully. You were injured, and there’s a triage unit for a couple other soldiers, but…|”

“|Surely they’ll realize we’ve broken our talons for this fight-|”

“|I don’t know.|” Aq’rel’a said, falling into her thoughts once more. “|I don’t know.|”

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Stories They are Smol

They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Chapter 6

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Time stood still.

The crew of The Three Stones were watching multiple camera angles, so it was only by the sudden shocked silence of a few operators that the rest of the bridge even knew something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Security Chief Ri’tiki was under the second dropship, happily and completely unaware of any issues as his team demonstrated a very primitive, very basic child’s toy to the assembling soldiers – making slow, deliberate movements to illustrate that they meant no harm.

Lt. K’uree and his assembled away team were bemused as they watched on, mentally preparing themselves to soothe the natives’ ego once it came to accept their gift.

Aq’rel’a’s face was brimming with a smile of barely-suppressed joy, as she triumphantly lifted up what should have been a healthy, if not a little disgruntled and embarrassed local. Her eyes glazed over as they tried to parse, for a split second, where the rest of the local alien went.

The assembled defense of the United States – from the simple beat cop to the National Guard veteran – lost their breath as they saw the speed, ease and savagery of the apparent attack-

And Hank?

Hank just screamed.

“OH JESUUSSHH GOOOOODDDDDHHH-”

“|Wh-what?|” Aq’rel’a sputtered, the warm blood of the local sapient coating her talons generously.

“|H-how-|” started xenobiologist-cum-ambassador Qur’rra’ra, as Rkk’tkt let the cloth slide limply from his arms.

“WASTE THAT MOTHERFUCKER-” yelled someone, and the sound of automatic fire drowned out any argument to the contrary.

Bullets began to ricochet off of Aq’rel’a’s armor, the kinetic impacts registering on her body but not in her mind. Somewhere, far away, her suit automatically dispersed it’s small contingent of disposable shield drones, and the wireless power draw from her suit’s internal battery kicked on a timer on her HUD. Each of her three drones blossomed into an umbrella of light, moving to put themselves directly into the line of fire. She blinked as the sudden rapport of body-hits stopped, and looked down at the screaming, primitive, delicate and innocent native, as its voice trailed off and the lights of its’ soul began to wail and flicker-

‘Fix it’ cried something deep inside her, and she bent down over the metal plate that held this innocent creature that needed to be healed, to be protected – she bent down and in one swift movement ripped the plate from it’s fasteners on the ground, and sprinted forward towards her confused compatriots.

“|SIR! DO WE RETURN FIRE-|”
“|BY THE BLACK VOID WHAT THE FUCK-|”
“|I JUST LOOKED AT THEM I DIDN’T MEAN TO INSULT THEM-|”
“|BY OUR ANCESTORS WHAT DID YOU DO-|” Roared security chief Ri’tiki, the sound of weapons fire forcing him to yell. “|I NEED A STATUS REPORT, NOW!|”
“|DISPERSE THE SEEDS!|” Commanded Lt. K’uree over general comms, tapping his own suit to deploy his few drones. “|DEPLOY SHIP SEEDS AS WELL-|”

It was around this time that Aq’rel’a finally managed to make it over to Qur’rra’ra, almost bowling her over with her grisly delivery.

“|FIX IT FIX IT FIX IT FIX IT-|” Aq’rel’a chanted, slamming the grate – and Hank – into the arms of the xenobiologist. “|FIXITFIXITFIXITFIXIT-|” she repeated, more urgently, as rifle fire finally overwhelmed one of her drones, causing it to burst into flame and electronic smoke.

“|AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH|” thought Qur’rra’ra aloud, as her assistant Rkk’tkt danced nervously in place/tried to dodge the few bodyshots that were successfully slamming against his significantly weaker hazard suit.

“|FIXITFIXITFIXIT-|” chanted Aq’rel’a, being joined by Tr’chr’’ as he shakily held his non-lethal weapon, pointing it at the ground, flinching as the natives’ guns trained themselves on him. “|FIXITFIXITFIXIT-|”

“|AAAAAHHHHHSTASIS! STASIS!|” Qur’rra’ra rounded on Rkk’tkt, taking the bloody and slower-moving delivery from Aq’rel’a’s hands, causing the male to squawk unceremoniously. “|WHEN NATIVE SPECIES ARE DAMAGED WE PUT THEM IN STASIS-|”

“|FIXITFIXITFIXIT-|” chanted the entire away-team over the increasingly-frustrated sounds of security chief Ri’tiki, as the native soldiers finally pulled up a vehicle that had a top mounted gun which did not look friendly at all-

“|AAAAAAAABUTWEHAVEN’DI’LINUTSINSTASIS-|” cried Rkk’tkt as he sprinted back up the ramp, diving headfirst into the boxes of trinkets and gifts that the First Squad had brought down, wholesale throwing out entire delicate packages down the open cargo bay, as Qur’rra’ra slowly but speedily rounded the ramp under him.

“|I DON’T GIVE A SOUL-CURSED DAMN ABOUT YOUR NUTS-|”

“|WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO, SQUAD ONE.|” Order-questioned security chief Ri’tiki, as he sprinted from under Squad Two’s dropship. Qur’rra’ra made the mistake of pausing – just for a moment – at the base of the ramp, and the sight of what she carried caused Ri’tiki to slowly come to a halt.

“|Wh.|” he said, staring incredulously at the dying native served up on a plate.

“|It’s… not what it looks like?|” ventured Qur’rra’ra, as an entire cart of trinkets launched itself out of Dropship One, landing a couple dozen meters behind the xenobiologist.

“|FIX IT GODDAMNIT-|” Ri’tiki roared, as every dropships’ shield drones were dispersed, dozens of lights blossoming to life as they drew from the much larger and deeper well of the ships’ reactors. The natives, being as primitive as they were, seemed to ignore the soldiers for the time being – and began to focus fire on the drones closest to them, deeming them more of a threat.

Their small arms were nothing more than annoyances, given the increased power the drones could draw from. The vehicle-mounted weapons, however…

“|I GOT IT~!|” Chirped Rkk’tkt as he held aloft in both claws a stasis generator, a waterfall of nuts and foodstuffs cascading down the ramp to land in the alien soil.

“|NOW NOW NOW-|” Yelled Qur’rra’ra, as she lifted the native up towards her fellow scientist to be bathed in a deep, blue light.

“JESUS CHRIST-”
“I’M OUT – I’M OUT”
“RELOAD, GODDAMN YOU-”
“FRAG OUT!”
“GoddamnitgoddamnitGODDAMNIT-” rambled Ofc. Adam “Feisty” McCormick as he sunk behind his vehicle’s wheel well, rapidly searching his pockets for another full magazine as he ejected the expended one from his AR. Finding one – his last one – he slammed it home, and rose again to pour fire upon the invaders.

‘It was going to be such a nice day, too.’ He thought, as he selected a flying drone at random and began to fire.

“|Did you see that-|”
“|Run through her suit matrix again, I want to get every bit of data on that interaction-|”
“|The compressive augments didn’t even activate-|”
“|What’s the burn time on those shields?|”

The bridge of The Three Stones was in an uproar. At first, things were going swimmingly; data was pouring in, the natives were cautious – as they should be – but curious, and it seemed like the general gist of ‘we come in peace’ was being relayed effectively.

Then a rookie bisected a native on what seemed like an accident, and a battle started.

“|Get me a direct line to the Security Chief.|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi said, talons rapidly moving over her own console. “|Send a direct order to the other dropships; they’re to abandon CRADLE and rendevous with The Three Stones as soon as they’re able.|”

A point of view became prominent on-screen, and the roaring, shrieking trill of the security chief briefly drowned out everything else.

“|CAN YOU FIX IT?|” He roared, as the native was lowered down onto the decking of the dropship. Automatic clamps magnetically sealed the metal plate to the floor, and with the stasis generator locked in place –

Well. He wouldn’t be moving, at least.

“|Chief Ri’tiki!|”

“|Matriarch, begging your pardon, but everything’s really really condemned to all kinds of hell right now-|” growled Ri’tiki, his helmet’s camera lowering to fixate on the natives’ face, twisted in pain. “|And I really don’t have time for a status update-|”

“|Chief Ri’tiki, I’m here to offer aid, not judgment.|” sighed the Matriarch, her data team working furiously on AI-assisted possibilities. “|We… we don’t believe the neophyte meant to hurt the native-|”

“|Oh, right, just ripping off limbs is their custom of greeting-|”

“|From what we can tell, Ri’tiki|” growled the matriarch, “|her suit didn’t even provide tactile feedback until she hit the bone – or a bone analog.|”

The steel in the matriarch’s tone was enough warning for Ri’tiki to remember himself, and his point of view rose to look out the landing craft again. “|Well…shit.|”

The rookie in question scrambled up the ramp, small arms fire peppering the shield drones behind her, eyes wild and red with tears. Wordlessly and effortlessly the security chief picked her up and slammed her into a harness, locking it down automatically over her body.

“|Well…shit.|” he repeated again, poking his head out to see the arrayed forces against him. The first armored vehicle with the gun mount was rapidly joined by another that was firing as it pulled up, its’ forces rapidly disgorging to fall behind the earlier, lighted vehicles. More weaponsfire, more drones slowly being overloaded. “|We’re not going to be able to stay here forever, and we really really shouldn’t be kidnapping a local.|”

“|We know, we know. We’ve identified this symbol-|” with a tap Matriarch Tr’Nkwi pushed the information to every planet-side soldier, burning it into their HUDs.”|-as a possible place of healing. There’s a large building with this symbol half a league away from you, to your galactic North-by-north-west.|” Over the din of multiple voices shouting out status reports, Tr’Nkwi pushed more information to her troops. “|Chief Ri’tiki, I leave the decision to you on the ground; Do you think you can take him to their house of healing? Hopefully by depositing it at their doctors’ theaters, they would realize we made a mistake-|”

“|Run half a league through a hostile, urban, alien environment-|”

“|Or kidnap a local and watch their whole world burn.|”

Security Chief Ri’tiki growled, wordlessly, as EM Lord Itick’’t patched into the conversation.

“|Not to pour more kindling into the burner, but, I’m noticing a lot more activity heading your way. A lot more. That’s a… By the Eternal Soul, that’s a lot of aircraft…|”

Time stood still once more, as Ri’tiki’s mind raced.

“|RIGHT! LISTEN UP!|” Roared the chief, overriding everyone’s comms. “|ALL SQUADS WILL DISEMBARK WITH NONLETHAL WEAPONRY. WE ARE GOING TO FORM A PERIMETER AROUND OUR SHIPS.|”

Wordlessly, the two sealed dropships opened up, disgorging their contents.

“|WE ARE NOT GOING TO ENGAGE THEM WITH OUR WEAPONS. YOU ARE TO DEPLOY SHIELD DRONES AND SHIELD BARRICADES, AND NONVIOLENTLY PACIFY THE LOCAL POPULATION.|”

“|Ri’tiki-|” warned Matriarch Tr’Nkwi, the concern in her voice apparent.

“|THEY ARE PHYSICALLY WEAK. THIS MEANS YOU DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE, INTERACT WITH THEIR PHYSICAL BODIES. CONFISCATE WEAPONS, DISABLE VEHICLES.|” Ordered Ri’tiki, marching back down the ramp into enemy fire.

He stood there, drones forming a shield wall before him, bright angry flashes of light speaking to the amount of ordinance being pointed at him in a desperate bid to save their homes, their families… themselves.

“|DO NOT FIRE YOUR WEAPONS.|” He ordered, as his HUD notified him Squad One’s fireteam had off-ramped behind him. “|WE WILL NOT HARM ANY MORE OF THEM. OUR GOAL IS TO ESCORT A WOUNDED ALIEN LOCAL TO THEIR MEDICAL CENTER AND THEN RETURN TO THE SHIPS – AND THEN WE WILL IMMEDIATELY RETREAT. AM I UNDERSTOOD?|”

“|SIR YES SIR|”

With a defiant roar, they charged.

“FOCUS FIRE ON THE RAMP-”
“YES SIR! YES – THEY KILLED A CIVILIAN WHEN HE FELL. YES-”
“MORE OF THE FUCKS ARE COMING OUT-”
“NO THE HOUSES ARE NOT CLEAR! I REPEAT, CIVILIANS ARE IN THE A.O.-”
“WHERE IS OUR GODDAMN AIR SUPPORT-”
“FRAG OUT-”

Sgt. Hernandez screamed into his radio over the sound of the two .50 cals, the constant rapport of gunfire forming a chaotic background white noise. There was an almost imperceptible pause – almost a collective inhalation of breath, and then the weaponsfire somehow increased in volume… and urgency.

“GODDAMNITGODDAMNITGODDAMNIT-”
“FOCUS FIRE ON THE RIGHT-”
“FRAG OUT – DANGER CLOSE-”

Sgt. Miguel Hernandez looked up from his Humvee’s radio console to see a squad of aliens, clad in all black, sprinting towards his position. He had just enough time to put down his radio and pick up his rifle when one of them leapt, landing on the hood of his vehicle – and crushing it utterly. Hernandez dove for the pavement as the xenos reared back and pulled the MG apart – his gunner switching to his M4 and emptying a clip into it’s head… to seemingly no effect. With it’s other arm it darted forward and grabbed his rifle, pulling it effortlessly out of his hands.

Then they just stared at each other for a few moments, waiting.

Everyone was waiting.

“…Fuck you.” Pvt. Kowalski spat, as the alien crushed his service rifle in one hand, hopping off of the vehicle to grip another soldier’s discharging weapon.

“GIVE-GIVE THAT BACK! NOOOOO-”

In a confused daze Sgt. Hernandez turned to look at the police line – an officer was clutching his weapon with both arms and a leg – which is obviously against the manual of arms – and his corresponding xeno just… started to shake him off, like a particularly feisty cat.

“I-IT’S MINE GOD DAMN Y-” the officer cried before his grip failed, falling on his back with an unceremonious thud. He pulled out his service pistol and was able to fire just a couple rounds before a gauntleted fist closed over the barrel and pulled it effortlessly from his grip. The officer then reached into another pocket and produced an even smaller pistol and fired a few more rounds-

Amazingly, delicately, the alien pinched the slide between two claws and began to pull-

“Stooooooooooop-”

Sgt. Hernandez looked around as a dozen aliens overran their position, destroyed their weapons, and then… just left them be.

“…what. What?”

“|It keeps punching me, sir.|” Complained Tr’chr’’, as the alien he had just disarmed – and he cringed internally at that tasteless pun – three times started to smack him with his appendages.

“|You’ll live, Private.|” Murmured Lt. K’uree, his suit dispensing painkillers to compensate for the kinetic force of multiple-rounds-to-the-helmet.

“|Well what’s the – Hey! no biting -|” chided Tr’chr’’, as his nearby security-force alien attempted to gnaw on his forearm. “|No, stop – what’s the plan now?|”

“|We corral them under the ship.|” Responded Chief Ri’tiki, causing the pair to jump. “|Hopefully showing that we haven’t murdered any other souls will calm them down.|”

“|…Hostages, sir?|”

Ri’tiki sighed. “|We have to buy time, Lieutenant.|”

“|Forgive me for saying, but I just don’t think this is the right coinage, sir.|” Lt. K’uree said.

The two officers shared a knowing look, before the rapport of more gunfire forced them to move once more among the aliens, who had begun to raise their arms in an unknown gesture.

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