Tag: They are Smol

Categories
They are Smol Stories

They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Chapter 11

[wp-night-mode-button style="1"]

High Earth Orbit, +55 minutes

Aboard The Void’s Edge

“?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~?”

“|Well it still doesn’t look calm – or happy.|”

U’iki’ri sighed, tail drooping to rest against the deck plating. Everything – and he meant everything was going legs-up out there. When he called in for a simple sitrep and his next round of orders, he was sent to the wrong department, then put on hold. When he called again he finally got to the right person – or at least, the right officer level – but they just shrugged and told him to wait it out. So they pulled what bits of their station they could find into a stable orbit, lashed the rest into a big bundle and stuck it behind their own ship, and parked.

Seeing this did nothing to mollify their guests.

The first 30 minutes were the worst; as soon as the infiltration squad released the suited-up locals they began bouncing around, latching onto his fireteam, trying to stab them or wrestle weapons from them or puncture their suit or press all the buttons they could find – or any other number of mischievous things. When they realized their attacks were ineffective, they tried to run – and run was such a generous term – only to realize, hey. You’re on a different ship and doors don’t work for you.

So then they attacked again. That lasted another 5 or so minutes until, U’iki’ri assumed, they tired themselves out. Now they had lowered themselves onto the deck – one was sprawled out with all it’s limbs against the floor, and the other had squatted down and was just watching.

“|Do we want to try to open the hatch again, sir?|”

U’iki’ri gave a full-body shrug, not breaking eyes with the helmeted “eye” of the squatting alien. “|Honestly, why not? Surely they can’t have anything else to throw at us.|”

With a nod the technician scooted around the crude emergency life-pod and began to unscrew the hatch, swinging it slowly open-

“?AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-?”

And with that came a torrent of what looked like personal effects, some cabling, a few cushions, writing utensils and a boot. The Technician, to his credit, just gently swept the bric-a-brac over to the side, creating a neat little pile. The screaming stopped once he left the visual range of the open hatch, and for a brief moment U’iki’ri dared to let himself hope that they could make some progress. He cleared his throat and thumbed on his external speakers.

“|H-|”

“?AAAAA?”

“|. . . .|”

“|He-|”

There was an unceremonious thump as what looked like an article of clothing – possibly a boot – was tossed haphazardly and unceremoniously out of the open hatch. U’iki’ri stared at it, and then looked back at the squatting alien space explorer on-deck, locking eyes with the single black helmeted “eye” again.

The alien seemed to somehow squat deeper.

“|Don’t you judge me.|”

Kunshan, China +35 minutes

-+-

The explosion ripped through the industrial city, followed by another and another. The shock wave of the first blast – a petrochemical plant – was enough to flatten the warehouses directly next to the factory, blow buildings off of their foundations within that same block, and shatter windows a couple kilometers away. The frequency of the following explosions eventually drove the citizens numb, huddling behind vehicles or makeshift barricades – anything to lessen the punch of the blast wave, the deafening ringing in their ears.

Lucky children coughed dust. Most coughed rust.

Streams – some natural, most now man-made – formed in the city, pooling and pouring a sickly concoction that never quite caught the light right, that stank of industry and heat and blood, that caught fire when it finally oozed down to the sparking, fallen electrical poles.

Those that weren’t lucky to die in the blast soon found their homes, what lives they had, engulfed in a chemical fire.

The fire spread; emergency services weren’t exactly quick at the best of times, and seeing as how it’s just personal belongings and not industry being destroyed – and given the current state of affairs – well. The fire spread.

The fire kicked off another few rounds of explosions, and the people gave up hope.

Then the Karnakian Drop Pods landed in a completely unrelated city.

Tokyo, Japan. +35 Minutes

-+-

“?移動してください?
“?Please Move.?”

“|Alright, let’s hold here.|”

Krrroioi checked his sight lines – a long passage to his right and to the left was kept clear, meaning they could escape underground if necessary. Urr’gra and Ikir’rei were keeping an eye on the stairs to the upper and lower levels, respectively, so if they met resistance they ha-

“?移動してください?”
“?PLEASE MOVE.?”

Krrroioi looked down at the little-insistent-innocent alien, who did not meet his gaze but defiantly stood before him. His translator had not been updated with anything even remotely rudimentary, so he was not only unable to ascertain what the smaller being wanted, but he couldn’t even tell him to escape like the rest of his kin so he’d be safer.

“|I’m- I’m sorry-|” Krrroioi said through public speakers, causing the being to jump in place. “|But this is the most defensible position for us right now. You must go to you-|”

“移動してください。 私は仕事に遅刻したことがないので、今から始めたくはありません。”
“?Please move. I have never been late for work, and I don’t want to start now.?”

Krrroioi grumbled, making a point to rear back and look over and around his living roadblock. “|What’s the chatter?|”

“|Nothing useful-|” Urr’gra chirped, poking her head around the corner. “|-Maybe they’ll have some sort of language package in the next few hours. Until then, same orders before planetfall.|”

“|A few hours?-|”

“?移動してください?”
“?PLEASE MOVE“?

“|Yeah, apparently there’s hundreds of languages, not counting dialects. That’s not taking into account picking which of our languages will have the auspicious honor of being the first to-|”

“移動してください。 私は私の子供たちが私を知らないほど家族の時間を犠牲にしました。 これで私が残したのはこれだけです。 遅くしないでください。”
“?Please move. I have sacrificed so much family time that my children don’t know me, and my wife hasn’t touched me in 10 years. This is all I have left. Please don’t make me late.?”

Krrroioi sighed yet again. Apparently body language did not translate across species. With a practiced, delicate movement (after the commnet was spammed with “DEAR GODSOUL WHAT” and “HIT IT WITH STASIS WE CAN FIX IT” a couple dozen times) he gently lowered his head, pressing it against –

– the alien raised it’s bag and pressed back.

Krrroioi gently extended his neck, and the alien lowered his body, lower limbs scrabbling for purchase against the tiled ground as they fought the strangest engagement of Krrroioi’s life. This continued in agonizing slow motion for a few moments before there was a rumble – something big and fast was coming. Krrroioi tensed up, his HUD beginning to stream information about theoretical densities, speed, location-

Krrroioi stood up and turned to face this new threat, the sudden lack of pressure causing the local alien to stumble forward. The two of them looked at each other – one tensed for battle, the other adjusting it’s clothing – as the train finally pulled into the station, gliding effortlessly to a stop right on time and right on place.

“|. . .oh.|”

“?馬鹿。?”
“?Idiot.?”

The first few trains after the salary man pried open the doors and stepped on, refused to take new passengers. Word had apparently gotten out about the aliens sitting in the station, and for public safety’s sake the conductors would just skip that exit and move onto the next one.

This lasted, as I said, for just a few trains, as there are few things that can get in between a Japanese salary man and the crushing debt of guilt and feelings of obligation he has to provide for his family by sacrificing his life at the company which owns him. Eventually people started to politely but pointedly pry open train doors, and at that point the conductors just shrugged, locked their compartments, and let nature take it’s course.

And seeing as how the aliens didn’t stand in the middle of thoroughfares, didn’t take hostages – didn’t really do much but stand and look around awkwardly, a few calls were made on their behalf. For as you know, if you’re not Japanese then you’re a 外人 – a Gaijin, and well. You can’t really be expected to function properly in society to begin with. It’s not your fault, you’re just, yanno. Not Japanese.

And so with much bowing, the transferal of pamphlets and the waving of white-gloved hands, the first (and only) intergalactic tour of the Tokyo Transit System began.

Literally anywhere in Brazil, +60 Minutes

-+-

“Você veio! Oh graças a Deus, alguém finalmente veio!”
“?You came! Oh thank God, someone finally came!?”

Bristol, England, UK. +1H 15M

-+-

“I’m not sure I like this.”

Susan peered over her book, looking at her partner-in-crime (but mostly fellow bridge player) Caroline, as the two enjoyed afternoon tea on the outside patio of their local cafe. The weather was just nice enough to allow it, and Susan was quite tired of living indoors for so long that she just had to get out and get some fresh air. The fact that there was a minor invasion going on had absolutely nothing to do with her decision, and would absolutely not impact it in any way, shape or form.

As far as Susan was concerned, the aliens must have had the same idea, because the weather was just right.

“Oh stop it. I for one quite like these new Bobbies – you know I heard the Davis’ boy ran at ‘em with a bayonet? And they just confiscated it right there! Faster than you could blink, they say!”

“A bayonet. You sure it wasn’t a butterknife again?” Caroline said flatly, snapping her biscuit on her plate. “Because we are talking about the same little Tim Davis – the one with the unfortunate head and the missing-”

“Yes, yes! He was so angry, they say! Bellowed somethin’ about not letting nobody near his skunk, whatever that means-”

“And this ‘they’ says… A bayonet, from world war one, I assume, to those things–” Caroline dipped her head to the left where one of those things, in question, was standing right on the street corner, looking quite uncomfortable as more and more people deposited hatchets, knives, gardening trowels, forks, spoons, electrical cabling, tape, VHS cassettes, various hard candies and other dangerous equipment at it’s feet. The other police officers milling about around him gave him a sort of legitimacy, and the local MP had already begun ordering banners hung for an impromptu “bin the blade” initiative/drive.

“Yes, indeed. Thank Goodness we’re getting those dangerous things off of the street.”

Caroline met eyes with the helmeted alien as it made a (what she assumed to be) plaintive gesture of “please stop giving me sacrifices this is really uncomfortable”. She shrugged and smiled into her tea.

“Yes. Those things sure seem deadly.”

Somewhere outside Oulu, Finland. +1H, 30M

-+-

“|This, is -|” Ra’gri panted hard, resting against one of the towering flora of the planet. “|-Absolutely, insane.|”

“|Look, I don’t know, I just don’t know-|” Re’tji sputtered, his head on a swivel as he looked around the frozen terrain. “|I just, I just hear and then-|”

“?En menetä.?”
“?I won’t miss.?”

The duo jumped and spun on their heels, being rewarded with the dual crack of a long rifle firing from somewhere, the bullets slamming into the shield matrix of their helmets, blossoming their vision in vivid blues and piercing whites. Then-

Nothing.

“|Why. Why can’t we see them-|”

“|Idon’tknowIdon’tknow-|”

“?Olet kaneja ennen minua.?”
“?You are rabbits before me.?”

“|Please, we mean you no ha-|” Ra’gri began, before another two-round burst of rifle fire from somewhere slammed into the side of his head, his shield matrix again saving him from the concussive strike.

“?Saanko myös lihaa, ihmettelen??”
“?Will I taste your flesh, I wonder??”

Ra’gri tensed for the shots, but they never came. Re’tji just shuddered, his helmet forcefully and rapidly switching through the entire visible EM spectrum, head still on a swivel, and still unable to see where his attackers lay.

“|I don’t like this at all, I really don’t, I’m ok if we can fight back but to just sit here and die-|” moaned Re’tji, claws working over themselves in a nervous tic. “|It’s just shots, constantly, out of nowhere, and then a voice-”

“|Listen, calm down.|” Ra’gri reached forward, tapping his helmeted head against his teammates. “|Our translator packages should be updated soon…ish. Just… let’s just keep moving. At some point they’re going to have to tire out, and we can keep moving – regroup with the rest. Lose our tail, take a breather. Good?|”

“|Y-yeah.|”

“|Come on now. You good?|”

“|Yeah. Just. I really let my guard down and-|”

“|I know, but let’s just go.|”

“|Y-yeah.|” Re’tji nodded. “|Yeah. It’ll get better once we regroup.|”

And as the two of them began to run towards the Russian border, the snowbank laughed and took a Pervitin tablet.

Twitter
Categories
Stories They are Smol

They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Chapter 10

[wp-night-mode-button style="1"]

High and Low Earth Orbit, Contact +0 Minutes

“|We are riding HARD and FAST. SCR’s ignored, time to planetcrest 30 seconds-|”

“|Torpedoes in launch tubes, blasting covers in 10-|”

“|Check gimbals before atmosphere-|”

“|Rough-shocking to binary planet, codename GRAVESTONE-|”

“|Micromissiles launched; non-friendly IFF debris clearing-|”

“|Interplanetary signalling outpost detected, kinetic docking in 15 seconds-|”

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions stood and watched, arms crossed in thought, as his Armada moved. Dropships sped towards the colony world, squads grouping in twos, threes, tens and twenties – Interceptors and Missile barges popped afterburners to gain enough momentum to slingshot around the planet, ready to bring hell to whatever fleet was besieging The Three Stones on the other side, and his tertiary command ship?

With zero physical momentum it generated enough power via it’s powercore to temporarily and physically bridge the gulf of space, the relativistic energy tsunami – and the blinding light – the only indicator that it had moved from within his fleet to this planets’ only satellite.

“|What dumb, broken-clutch bastards.|” mused Qoili’’e, standing in awe at the sheer amount of weaponry being brought to bear against this new aggressor species.

“|Maybe.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ said, watching as over the planet superimposed geometries of fire began to coat it in a dangerous orange. “|But our plan is simple. Gut the enemy fleet, confound their planetary defenses – when they surrender we hold them hostage to negotiate with their core worlds.|”

“|Still, sir. To fire on children-|”

“|This is why we never underestimate an unknown en-|”

“|Planetary Blindside on screen, Sir!|” interrupted their EM Lord, Uri’krei, as all available eyes turned to the expected carnage of The Three Stones, floating listlessly in space, being picked apart like carrion on the plains-

… like being picked apart…. By the enemy fleet…

“|Where are they?!-|”

“|Dumping Torpedoes, Tiq-fly formation-|”

“|No, seriously, radiation scans are negati-|”

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ growled, beginning to roll his shoulders slightly in an involuntary threat display. “|Can we not see them?! Were they boarded to preserve the ship, reverse-engineer our technology?|”

“|Wide-Broadcast urgent message from The Three Stones-|”

“|ON SCREEN, IMMEDIATELY.|” Roared the High Lord Inquisitor-Commander, and before his order was finished Matriarch Tr’Nkwi appeared on-screen, feathers torn from her face and neck.

“|GIVE US A SI-|”

“|YOU MUST STOP!|” She cried, hands outstretched in a wretched plea, her ripped and molted feathers falling like a waterfall from her open palms. “|PLEASE! IT’S A HOMEWORLD-|”

“|What?!|” cried EM Lord Uri’krei, as for the first time in his 700 year career he stopped paying attention to his job.

“|Wh-what?!|” Stuttered Qoili’’e, the self-righteous wrath burning in his chest quickly turning into an icy pit.

“|WHAT.|” Responded High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions Armada, as with righteous fury that same Armada suddenly found itself without purpose, missile ships and EM destroyers and carrier nests and graviton lances all paused, their momentum carrying themselves forward with no purpose any longer.

“|CONTACT.|” Responded the kinetic interceptor operator, as their ship slammed into the ISS, a thousand hooks grappling and fusing the fledgling station to the war transport.

“|SHIT.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions groaned, as his eyes tracked to the War Theater screen. “|N-NONLETHAL! NONLETHAL! RETURN ALL OPERATORS AND SHIPS, STAND DOWN! I REPEAT, STAND DOWN-|”

L.E.O. +5 minutes

+-+

“|PLEASE! IT’S A HOMEWORLD-|”

“|I’m sorry, what the fuck?|” SACRAMENT said, interrupting the wide-field broadcast. “|Did she just say-|”

“|NONLETHAL! RETURN ALL OPERATORS AND SHIPS, STAND DOWN! I REPEAT, STAND DOWN!|”

“|Well.|” PREACHER laughed out, shaking her head. “|Usually everything turns to shit once we land.|”

“|Souls damn them, how does he expect us to do that? These things are a one-way flight!|”

“|Just… when we land, just do nothing.|” APOSTLE absent-mindedly ordered, tapping into his chain of command to get actual, real updates as to what’s going on. “|Non-lethal is sanctioned, but we’re not to fire … we’re not to fire even if fired upon.|”

“|That’s a new one.|”

“|…joy. I guess I’ll learn how to best farm alien space crops after all.|”

Silence gave way to static and then to a gentle rumbling fire as the planet’s atmosphere began to violently cradle the special operations soldiers, armed to the teeth and utterly impotent.

ISS +5 Minutes

+-+

The station shook – violently. Enough so that the windows’ view spun wildly, a sound like a thousand rocks slamming into the outer plates of the capsules rippling up and down the ISS.

“No, seriously what even is that alarm and why is it going off-”

“Look. You get in Soyuz, leave. Vladimir and I, we stay in suits, we fight.”

“With what?” Michael said, waving his hand around his mostly-suited up cosmonaut colleague. “Firstly, there’s no way we could’ve known that this would happen – I still think you’re crazy for trying to stay! We’ve been up here for two years and the most dangerous thing I’ve seen on this station is a fucking scalpel-”

Wordlessly Pitor Melnik reached over Michael’s head and opened an extra-large “oxygen” tank within the Soyuz capsule. Within it were completely disassembled weapons parts and a significant amount of loose ammo.

“…I have many questions-”

“да. However, these wait for later. You must go, and go now – let one of us survive.”

“Pitor-”

“нет. Do not try to change my mind. I die not for glory, but f-”

“-why is there a straw in the ethanol tank?”

The Astronaut and The Cosmonaut looked at each other, silently. Pitor slowly reached up and grabbed the hatch, and wordlessly closed it, cycling the airlock. He paused by the hatch for but a moment, before beginning to assemble the weapon before him – much as he did during his training days, the familiar movements quickly executed through muscle memory.

“Is he gone?”

“Yes.”

“You think we have a chance?” Vladimir said as he affixed his helmet, the kalishnakov rifle floating awkwardly between them.

“Ба́бушка на́двое сказа́ла.”

Vladimir laughed as his friend finished up, tucking spare magazines and rounds into pouches never meant for them.

“Без му́ки нет нау́ки!” he responded, as Pitor shook his head. “But personally, I don’t want to learn too muc-”

“?’T’tRRGAA’’RAGH!?”

“|Excuse me, but there seems to b-|”

“За тобой!” Yelled Pitor as he raised his rifle, Vladimir thinking quickly and kicking off a wall to float down a separate corridor as Pitor let fly a few desperate rounds into this black thing that just stuck it’s head through an entrance hall.

“?Ii’’r’RGH, RAA’’G”R-?”

“|Listen, we’re sorry, but depre-|”

“умри ты сукин сын!” Bellowed Vladimir as he finally caught his weapon, pressing his back against a bulkhead as he began to focus fire. Light danced off the alien in geometric shapes, and it seemed to shudder – or perhaps, sigh.

U’iki’ri sighed and pulled his head out of the quite-cramped hallway, doing his best not to also drag out too much of the extra cabling that circulated the life support of this primitive space station, turning to his colleagues. When his interceptor ship slammed into this… construct he marveled. First, at how such incredibly delicate designs could survive in the hard vacuum of space, and secondly that his own ship didn’t keep just plowing through what was left of the station and go right to planetfall.

As soon as their pilot killed momentum, everyone got to work doing the best repair job they could – hell, fully half of them were spreading a quick-expanding foam between the ship and the black void of space, doing their best to keep as much atmosphere locked in, while the other half were performing a time-critical EVA mission to… well.

Collect the rest of the primitives’ space station.

This left U’iki’ri, as the highest ranking officer, in the very unenviable position of “negotiator”. However, no matter how gentle his voice or how sweet his song, every time he spoke the aliens tensed up, crouched – which was an interesting tactic in a place with no gravity, and fired their weapons at him. At this rate, they were putting more holes in their own station than in him – speaking of.

“|I am getting nowhere with these small ones. How goes the repairs?|” U’iki’ri said, ducking his head under the wing of his craft, his boots now stamping on the crackling temporary foam floor.

“|Best case, Sir? 10 minutes. We sliced their station in half, so both sides are venting atmosphere at a ridiculous rate – the EVA team has capped the other side, and a barge is coming in to stabilize their orbit, but-|”

“|Ah, there it is.|”

The private dipped his hips a bit in embarassment, patting the alien “wall”. “|This one is not only unstable, but breaking apart. EVA crew already picked up what looks like an escape pod, so if they’re evacuating…|”

U’iki’ri sighed. “|Well, I can’t damn near fit through this little hole-|”

“|Honestly, Sir? Might be better to make your own.|”

U’iki’ri tapped his helmet. “|Did you hear that, EVA? My suit should’ve tagged the two locals-|”

“|Aye, sir. Opening this can now.|”

There was the sound of muffled screaming, the whoosh of oxygen, and the rapport of firearms.

High Atmosphere, Earth. +10 Minutes

-+-

They fell everywhere the light touched, and those that didn’t skipped across the atmosphere to land where the single sun didn’t shine.

Pods burned through atmosphere, a twisted mockery of a shooting star, automated hard-coded defense systems kicking in – scrambling EM transmissions not tagged as friendly, deploying chaff and decoy missiles, sending suicide shield drones to blossom their defense as they fell, screaming from the heavens. The AI of each pod – programmed before, during and after launch – knew where to drop them, and did so with terrifying efficiency as the clouds burned away, and it’s optics scanned the horizon.

They fell on bridges and in car parks.

They fell on roads and power substations.

They fell on broad intersections and in abandoned alleyways.

They fell in playgrounds and dogparks, in greenways and overpasses, in apartment complexes and promenades.

They fell, and they thanked every ancestor, spirit and deity, that the hastily-reprogrammed AI hit nothing of importance. Their pods neglected to fire the anti-personnel grenades, forgot to launch the thermal netting, and refused to dislodge their EMP worms. Instead, with just a mild flair for the dramatic, the bolts that held the drop pod door shut blew open, and thousands of heads poked out of the safety of their one-use ships.

They stared at slack-jawed motorists and shoppers.

They stared at stuttering construction workers and terrified wildlife.

They stared at innocent citizens in the midst of their workday, and hoodlums, spray-painting graffiti.

They stared unflinching at hundreds of small animals, at aliens in the midst of play and life, of families enjoying their day together.

And then everyone they looked at started screaming.

The City of Sydney, Australia, Earth. +35 Minutes from Contact.

-+-

“FUCK’S SAKE-”

“STOP EYE-FUCKIN’ HIM AND SHOOT, YOU CUNTS!”

Qrr’iraa sighed and closed her eyes, counting to 10. She landed and evacuated her pod, making sure to shut everything down per surrender protocols, stowing her weapons, grenades and other armaments away in their respective cubbies and lockers, and then locking those down via a genetic code + congretory code. Now, only her and her CO could get to those weapons of war – she was, in effect, completely harmless.

The bullets ricocheting off of her suit’s microdrone shield lattice wouldn’t have led you to believe that, however.

“|By the First Light, do they have to keep doing this?|” Qrr’iraa murmured as a grenade indicator pinged on her HUD, the dropship deploying a drone no larger than the size of her fist to cup it in a purpose-built reinforced shield – a muffled thump shaking dust from the ground as the drone tanked the blast to float lazily up in the air once more.

“WHAT TH’ FUCK-”

“|Non-lethal, non-lethal.|” Qrr’iraa murmured to herself, slowly walking towards the still-aggressive locals. They were so tiny, yet fierce, and their souls just… glittered. Whether that was normal or because of the trauma she inadvertently inflicted, she couldn’t say. Sure, her ship kind of put a massive, uh, hole in their bridge, but that column stayed up! Mostly.

……The bridge was still standing, ok?

“|Non-lethal. Can I just… push them a little?|” Qrr’iraa thought, lowering her center of mass and closing the distance to the closest alien. “|I don’t want to hurt them too much, I just want to get back to the squad-|”

Qrr’iraa pushed, and stared incredulously as Corporal Walker was launched 15 feet backwards into a truck, rocking it with the impact of his body.

“|But how-|”

“WE’RE NOT HERE TO FUCK SPIDERS, SHOOT THE CUNT-”

Qrr’iraa stood there and took the new incoming fire as she watched the alien’s brain stutter, then dim…

…then brighten like a nova. His eyes opened with a cool fire, an intense glare that caused her more primal mind to stir.

“Crikey. That’s a trip.”

“John?! John, Goddamn, stay down you’re…you’re…”

John Walker stood up with unnatural ease, short shorts flowing in a breeze that seemed to only affect him. “What a beaut. I’ve never seen one in the wild, but you can tell she’s a sheila by her size-”

“What?”

“Oh! And she’s an adult! That’s why she wants to get back to her family group.” Everyone stood still as John moved forward, an otherworldly glow alight on his features. Everyone, that is, save for Qrr’iraa, who lowered her head to the ground, boots digging into the alien pavement.

“Now now, I’m not gonna ‘urt ya! I just wanna take a look at ya! You’re obviously at the top a’ your food chain, and this is a chance that comes along once in a lifetime!”

“Cpl. Walker? S-sir?”

“Ah! That cunt got put roit through the ringa! But he gave me a lil time just to take this animal down and away from our Human civilization – and back into the wild!” John triumphantly stated, arms and legs going akimbo to make himself seem larger to the now semi-feral alien.

“N-no.” Private Taylor said, his voice choking up slightly. “No. We lost you.”

Corporal Jake Walker – if he could still be called that – straightened up and turned to look at the kneeling private and smiled, face bright and shining, features seeming to change ever so slightly. “Nah, mate! I’m in the heart of every true-blue ‘Strayan who wants to protect nature an it’s amazing beauty! And this-” He motioned to the Karnakian, who was in the middle of a threat display that was fierce (but sadly covered by her suit). “-This is somethin’ I couldn’t pass up. Now excuse me while John and I become a sick cunt and rassle this lil lady sos we can get a look at her!”

And Steve did just that.

Twitter
Categories
They are Smol Stories

They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Chapter 9

[wp-night-mode-button style="1"]

“|-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.

Twitter
Categories
Stories They are Smol

They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Chapter 8

[wp-night-mode-button style="1"]

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.

Twitter
Categories
They are Smol Stories

They are Smol: The Invasion of Earth – Chapter 7

[wp-night-mode-button style="1"]

“…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.|”

Twitter