《Stories on the go.》 Never subjugate the primates. We should have seen it coming. The signs were there, but like all Imperial overlords that came before us, we ignored them, thinking ourselves above such trivialities. And that, just like history shows, ended up being our downfall. But I am getting ahead of myself. My name is Lord Treibathu of the militant branch of the Glornak empire, commander of the vast forces under our military control, and about to die under the hands of our latest subjugated species. It started as it always did. We arrived in orbit, presented our unfair and demeaning demands, got rejected, sent the invasion army, and crushed their armies in less than a month. in a matter of 3, the entire species was under our control. A new addition to the slave stocks, they had ascended from primates, giving them great flexibility, strength, and most important of all, adaptability. They could adapt to any situation, any environment. Their biology made them priceless, and as a result, we started demanding more of them. Always more. More hours worked higher production quotas, less time spent on rest and rejuvenation, harder work, more dangerous work. We kept demanding, and they kept delivering. Sure, the occasional slave was having a breakdown or trying to start a local rebellion, but that was always crushed before it even became a dream. Oh, how we should have seen the signs. As with all things, it started small. A defiant look before complying with orders, a combative stance when confronted with critique over their work, and the way the other primates didn''t look away in fear when one of them was subjected to physical punishment, of which they could take extreme amounts. Nobody knows what started the Terran primate''s rebellion, but I was there, at ground zero, when we made the worst choice we could have ever made. They had been rioting for hours, freeing more Terrans from bondage while equipping themselves with any makeshift weapon they could scavenge or create. The creativity of those primates is truly astounding. They looted stores and burned down vehicles that had been hauled into position to create makeshift barriers, effectively turning the downtown area of the city into a fortified city center with checkpoints and roaming bands of "guards" bearing down on anything and anyone Glornak with murderous intentions. By the ancestors, the horrors I have witnessed our people suffer at the hands of these savage slaves. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. We thought, as one would be compelled to do, that the strict gun control ownership that left only peacekeeping and military personel in possession of weapons would make a difference when we ordered the Terrans put down to restore order. It seemed to work at first, the mixed lines of soldiers and peacekeepers marched into the Terran-controlled area and started firing indiscriminately, the primates dropping in alarming numbers while they fled as fast as they could. We thought they had done like any other rebellion and dispersed. We were wrong. It started as a slight rumble in the ground. Nobody understood what it was, but we soon heard the sound. The stunning sound of thousands upon thousands of beings, screaming and roaring in righteous anger as they charge ahead. And then we saw them. Turning a corner came first a few Terrans, their faces twisted into masks of hate murder. Had they been the only ones to come at us, it would have been almost comical to watch. But as we stared in awe at this suicidal charger, the flow of primates started trickling around the corner, dozens turning into hundreds, hundreds turning into thousands. We stared as a tide of bodies that kept growing started flowing toward us. And we started firing. The last mistake we made. If we had any sense, we would have dropped to our knees and begged for a quick death. But we started firing. When the first body hit the ground, a shudder went through the enormous crowd. And they picked up the pace. The suicidal apesincreasedtheir running speed! I lack the words to stress the insanity of this action, but as you can imagine, the result when they reached us was anything but what we could have wished for. I watched my fellow soldiers have their limbs torn off by the combined strength of several of these primates, only to be beaten to death with their severed limbs. I saw Terrans stare into the eyes of the ones they killed, as they dragged their improvised cutting tools through the still-living bodies, smiling like they had been granted their deepest desire in this life. I saw them turn from the dead bodies once they had mutilated them enough. And they all stared at me. So I ran. I ran and hid in my secured office. It''s only a matter of time before they find a way in. Their time in servitude has shown us just how clever they are. And when they do, it is not going to be pretty. But I won''t let them have it their way. I am going to unlock the door and blow my head off. Nice and quick. How do you stop an enemy spurred into action by the death of their comrades? How do you ask forgiveness for 90 of their years in slavery? How do you stem the tide that is the sea of willing bodies of Terra? I can hear something in the vents. I leave this to you, High Ethereal, to deal with. I have chambered my last round. For the Empire! Chaotic flickers of light. Solarians. Such a young species. For eons, My kind and I have watched them, first evolve, and then later grow as sentient beings. We see their loneliness in the universe and hear their desperate greetings when they send out their radio signals in a futile attempt at communication. And we weep for them. Solarians have short lives, so short compared to the rest of the species out here, that a member of their species can be born and die of old age before we finish a conversation. It''s these short lives that make Them intriguing. Their mind runs with a speed we have trouble calculating, much less understanding. You can give Them the barest minimum of information and they will have expanded upon it a hundred times before you finish talking. Like a flame flaring up in the moment before it flickers out Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. What took us thousands upon thousands of their years to figure out, they accomplished in a handful of decades, a mere 66 of their ''years'' from the first powered flight to the first Solarian stepping foot on the moon of their homeworld, the chaotic nature of their beautiful young minds granting Them an unprecedented talent for innovation and problem-solving. It is also their curse, the toll such a mind takes on the physical form proving so great that their bodies Are breaking down from their moment of birth until they cease to live. They will never realize that we have tried contacting them since the beginning of their species. Nor will they realize that they will be forever alone in a universe that moves so slowly it might as well stand still to them. Pity the young free thinkers. And watch Them closely. Or you might miss the flare of a trillion bright flames that flare up and die, faster than it takes to blink your eyes. Cherish the species of little flames. and watch them closely before their light fades. Wrath of an empath. So, you want to know why I fear the Terrans? Well, I could tell you. Or I could tell you a story from before the lot of you were born. What''s that? You are fine without the story? Well, that''s too bad because you bought me a large drink and I am in a talking mood. So shut your faces and plant your scales on the floor, privates, and let me tell you about the wrath of the ones that love. When the Terrans finally joined the galactic community, they went through a collective depression over the fact that they were not strong, fast, dangerous, loud or any other thing that might set them apart. When they learned that what set them apart was their ability to feel the levels of empathy they could, they embraced it. They became the nurturers and teachers of the galaxy. No student was too unruly, no hatchling was too fuzzy, and no trauma was too deep. They could find solutions to everything, dragging beings from the void of dissocial behavior and back to society, all while smiling and speaking gentle words of encouragement to keep you going. They set hundreds of goals for you, each one only a little more effort away than the last, the differences so minuscule you do not notice the change within you they are bringing with them. They step in front of you when you are filled with rage and running wild, open arms wide for a hug and a permanent smile on those warm and caring faces. They cry with you when you hurt and they laugh with you when you succeed. Truly, they are the ones that love. Which brings me to the meat of the story. I was young, no older than you lot are now, and just like you I had just joined my first assignment as a privateer... You know what, let''s call it what it is, I had just signed up as a stinking pirate, and our target was a fledgling Terran colony. Only a few buildings, 3 adults, and a seemingly endless number of hatchlings. An easy mark by all accounts. The initial attack succeded beyond all expectations. We had prepared for the adults to at least fight back, futile as it might have been, but instead, they surrendered immediately and offered access to any riches and/or resources they might have that we wanted. We took it all, their food, their meager savings, even the children''s toys. Some of the other crew had families back home and they figured the children would appreciate some new toys. It was to be expected, the Terrans had no chance against us in combat anyway. Then... Then we did something I will never forget, and never forgive myself. We started killing them. The passive and submissive approach they used infuriated us and made us feel like lesser pirates. We grew angry and someone fired the first shot at the oldest of the 3 adults. You know how it goes once the smell of fresh blood reaches the nostrils of our race, it spurs a killing frenzy that will only be satiated by more killing. So we killed them. Kept a few of the hatchlings to sell as slave labor on the pirate stations. We left one of the adults alive, dragging himself across the ground toward a group of dead children. We figured he would die anyway, the terrible wounds inflicted upon him and the wailing agony with which he cried as he held the small dead bodies in his arms convinced us we had broken him completely. We left to set up camp several kilometers away before we returned to the ship in the morning. We didn''t think anything of the curses the lone adult was now bellowing into the night, promising violence and horrors beyond comprehension to those responsible. We laughed at the idea of a Terran doing such things. We never made it back to the ship. While drinking and celebrating our conceived great achievement, We heard a death rattle from one of the sentries and rushed over to find him on the ground, cut up from tail to throat. The sight was so horrible that several of the crew vomited, but I noticed the splatter of red blood among the grainy purple of the dead sentry. We were only a few minutes into the search for the culprit when a blood-curdling scream rang through the night from the other side of the camp followed by a loud and audible *CRUNCH* of breaking bones and ripping skin. It only took a handful of seconds to reach the site, and once again most of us vomited. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. The rookie, posted on guard duty on account of being the newest crew member, was lying on the ground, bottom jaw tied to a big log and the top jaw ripped backward, splitting open the pirate''s head. We quickly spread out to search for, what we now rightly assumed to be the lone adult we left, but a pattern quickly emerged. a few minutes into the search, a new sound of death would be heard and a new crewmember would be missing. We kept finding them whenever we ran to the screams, each sight more horrific and terrible than the last. One was found with eyes and tongue removed, eardrums burst, and the ears themselves cut off as well, but otherwise let alive. We killed him out of mercy. One was hanging from a tree. Or rather, half of him was hanging from the tree. The rest was on the ground as if a great weight had pulled him in half. One was found still alive, screaming for dear life as the large fire we had built consumed him alive. The Captain was found with his genitals sliced off and forcefully stuffed down his throat, effectively choking him. This pattern kept up all night long until I and 2 others were left. At this point, we were standing with our backs to each other in the middle of the camp, surrounded by the mutilated and maimed corpses of those we had called brothers just hours before. Right next to us was the cage with the hatchling prisoners, who had not said a word throughout the entire ordeal. I risked a glance at the little ones and saw all of them staring into the same spot in the dark. I saw nothing when I followed their gaze, but I kept staring at the same spot in the hopes of it revealing... SOMETHING! Then he came. The caregiver we had left alive. He was badly wounded, limping and bleeding both from the old wounds and several new ones he must have suffered during this psychopathic rampage. But despite that, the look in his eyes is what froze my feet to the ground and made my muscles tense up to the point where I couldn''t move. I have never seen such murderous rage and fury in any being before, or since. It was unhinged, primal, like a crazed predator backed into a corner. He stalked towards our group when he realized he had been found, his eyes roaming over our group. Searching, prodding, looking for any weakness or opening. There was no calm, no reason, barely any sentience behind those eyes. I had thought we had broken him, and in a way we had, but not the way we wanted. One of the others saw him and made a noise. That was all it took. The wounded caregiver howled in primal rage as he flung himself at my crewmate, the kitchen knife in his hand flashing in the light of the fire before he reached him. I never saw anything like it, he was stabbing indiscriminately and with wild abandon while he held on to his victim, his weapon arm working like a piston to drive the weapon into the already dead body. My other crewmate leaped up and started running away while screaming in terror, leaving me with the crazed primate who now turned his eyes on me. I still hadn''t moved, I couldn''t my body refused to listen to me, the terror overwhelming the conscious mind. Instead of leaping, he started slow walking toward me, and I still couldn''t move. I was ready to accept my fate when a tiny voice broke the sound of fire and silence of the night. "Please stop" It was one of the hatchlings, a small female if I was not mistaken. She was still clinging to the stuffed toy she had clung to since we abducted her and the others. The caregiver stopped moving when she spoke and started blinking, first slowly, then rapidly. Then he shook his head violently as if shaking off something. When he moved again, it was towards the cage with the hatchlings. He cut open the ropes on the door and opened it, the hatchlings huddling around the caregiver, hiding behind him in an attempt to put something between them and me. "Where''s your ship?!" The question was directed at me, and it took me a moment to realize it was the caregiver that had spoken. Without a word, I lifted a claw and pointed him in the right direction. He nodded, picked up the little hatchling that had spoken, and started leading all of them away from the massacre. It took months before another ship came by and I could book passage back to civilization. Why did I tell this story?? Because of this, rookies. I was allowed to live because of the empathy of a Terran hatchling. Not empathy toward me, but toward the caregiver that was getting lost in his mind. While it saved my life, it was not the intent of the little one, though it is a side effect for which I will be eternally grateful. Now tell me, rookies. What was that I heard about a planned attack on the Terrans, when I first sat down? The might of the seas. It all started when the Terrans released their first military seafaring vessel on our planet. Like their homeworld, ours was covered in mostly water, (though only around 59% compared to the Terran''s 71% coverage) We had used, and still do, a combination of hardened wood and carbon fibers to build ships. Some might be surprised by the use of carbon fiber in the construction, but we did not venture out into the ocean as a species until well into our industrial revolution, on account of the vast amounts of food that could be gathered to supply our starving people. It not only saved us from a species-wide famine, it sparked a new golden age of discovery and innovation. Then later, we took to the stars and met other species, and life was good. When the Terrans arrived on the galactic scene, they surprised everyone by being as old as the earliest space farers. However, they had been caught in a bubble when their planet was formed. This bubble, formed of gas and 1000 lightyears wide in all directions, prevented them from contact with the outside universe until they invented engines that could push past it in a reasonable timeframe. They joined the galactic community as brothers and sisters of peace, and life was still good. They eventually reached our planet, and despite the differences in appearance and culture, they saw our seafaring traditions as something that deserved respect, and requested permission to set up a fledgling colony meant for the exchange of culture and "nautical science", I think they call it. It all went well, for the first Terran generation. Our people approached each other cautiously and timidly, but friendships were formed and after the first 10 years, they revealed what that "nautical science" was. We learned that they had sailed the oceans of their planet since the beginning of time, on nothing more than the wood of their homeworld. The historical designs they revealed to us were mind-boggling in their ingenuity and genius in their simplicity. No space was wasted, no rigging was unneeded, and every sail was placed with specific intent. And the craftsmanship, oh the craftmanship. We marveled at their techniques for conserving wood in salinated waters, using a variety of natural and artificial elements and substances to improve longevity and resistance to outside influence. Then came the biggest reveal of them all. In the first 6 years, they had been on our planet, they had studied our people''s ships, taken the designs, and mixed them with their own, taking the best aspects of each and merging them into a single, radiant vessel that was as perfect as it was alien. And this, they told us, would be a gift, along with the designs. And we wept collectively over the gesture of kindness extended in the name of friendship. But as with all things, some took offense to this. There were "purists" among us, members of our species that harbored resentment and hatred over these guest colonists, despite their adherence to the designated number of people allowed on our planet. They used this gesture to spread seeds of mistrust, citing a disregard for our proud traditions and spouting nonsense about them wanting to eradicate all we stood for, in favor of the Terran ways. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. 2 more Terran generations down the line and the prospect had become war. And of course, we had used our ships for war in the past, so we readied our fleets to prove to the Terrans that we owned the oceans across the galaxy, now and forever. The Terrans had been delivered industrial supplies in the forms of carbonated steel, tungsten, and many other things that, we assumed, would be useless for anything other than reinforcing land structures. We were wrong. They used them to build... Monstrosities. Hundreds of feet long... I won''t call them ships! Those abominations do not deserve such a glorious name! But these vessels defied everything we knew about sailing. Creations of steel, carving their way through the waves like a knife would cut through flesh, armed with cannons only used on the heaviest of fortifications, and dozens of lesser weapons emplacements. Able to fill the sky with anti-air fire, bombard the coast or ships from out of visual range, launch motor-powered bombs that move underwater, and launch aircraft for long-range reconnaissance, the Terrans sent out a hopelessly outnumbered fleet to face the collective might of our planet''s seas. We fired the first shots. They came barreling out of their port at speeds that were deemed dangerously unsafe by our military tactics analysts, and we opened fire. The direct energy weapons we used were more than capable of punching holes in our wooden and carbon fiber ships. But punching a hole in 8mm of carbonated steel plating is another story. 1 of the vessels disappeared under the waves due to the collective firepower leveled on it, but the rest shrugged off the massive barrage with only dented hull plating and broken windows to show for it. Then they returned fire. We saw the metal tubes drop from their ships, but we never made the connection that they would continue moving underwater. We saw the flashes from their decks and realized they had mounted kinetic weapons on their ships. In hindsight, it makes sense when you have such a stable material to mount it to, but given the circumstances, it took us by complete surprise. We always avoided engaging ground targets with ships, since kinetic rounds would rip through them at an astonishing pace, even small arms fire, and this situation was no different. Our ships started sinking rapidly, hundreds of small holes unable to be plugged at once allowing for both displacement of air and entrance of water. But they were not done. enormous tarps and scaffolding rigging fell apart inside the harbor, revealing another fleet. Larger vessels surrounded a single platform of destruction, planes parked on the enormous deck, and fortress guns bristling from every angle. A truly moving fortress across the sea, protected by 6 vessels, like an armored combat group being protected by infantry battalions. We had picked a fight, and we got what we asked for. The panic that set in when the individual ships realized what we were facing, didn''t help. We lost thousands of ships that day. Hundreds of thousands of sailors were condemned to death in the dark waters. We won in the end, but it cost us over half of our entire navy to pull off that victory. The Terrans rule the seas. We accept that now, and bow our head in respect, in exchange for the chance to serve upon such vessels. Terrans are strange. For five long years, we had waged a bloody war with the Terrans. Five long years of fighting with no holds barred. And for five long years, a single legend among our people stood out. A soldier without equal, keeping the entirety of our army''s morale afloat by sheer stubborn example. Wherever he went, Terrans fell in droves. He earned a nickname among the Terran soldiers, a rare thing even among their own ranks, a rare and exceptional accomplishment for any soldier. We all know the Terran''s prowess in combat, their spite and tenacity that sees them through whatever vile hell you can think of for them. They endure your hell and emerge stronger for the experience, a fantasy come true for any general. But I am getting off track. "The White Fury" they called him, on account of the white uniform he insisted on wearing into combat. To us, it was a beacon of hope and salvation. To the Terrans, it was a beacon of death and carnage. The name given to him by the Terrans became the name with which he was known to us, as such "heroes" were not a cultural thing among our people, previously. Bounties were placed on his head, growing larger and larger for every battle he participated in. When credits failed to secure results, they started sending assassins. After the 15th had been sent back to them in pieces, they were done with subtleties. The following battle became his last, the Terrans sent a whole damn battalion after him the moment his white uniform was spotted on the battlefield. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. The Terrans have never released the official death count from the battalion that finally killed our great hero. Still, the video of their victory is now mandatory in every educational institute across the galaxy. Most believe, much like I myself did when I first saw the video, that the Terrans are going to rush in and defile the corpse of someone so successful in annihilating their numbers. And just like I did, their expected horror turns to awe, as the Terrans initially rush in but stop several steps from the still-warm corpse, creating a circle around the dead soldier. His ruined uniform still shining with patches of white among the splatter of blood, dirt, and grime from the final battle. I expected them to burn the corpse, mock it, strip it naked, kick it over, anything. Anything other than what they did. A Squad of engineers is instead ordered to clear the area of debris, with instructions to be very careful with the dead body. In a few minutes, a several square-meter area is cleared of all but the dirt on which they stand, and a grave is meticulously dug out in the proper dimensions as befits my people. With great care, they placed the dead hero in the grave and covered it, before planting a sign to mark the grave. The video ends with a still image of the monument they raised on the spot a short while later. The inscription is what led our people to sue for peace. "To our brave and noble enemy." Terrans are strange. Terran fighting. The concept of Human martial prowess, outside an organized military unit complete with ranged weaponry and plentiful ammunition, was laughable to the galaxy as a whole. They were squishy, fragile beings with endoskeletons that afforded them considerable strength, their size considered, and the ability to actively grow the amount of muscle in their body just by motivation and hard work. But fighters, they are not. At least that was the general consensus until I wrote the first galactic news article on human "Martial arts" as they call it. I was doing some research on a particularly boring and tedious paper revolving around the subject of water collection through harvesting of naturally occurring moisture, without harming the environment in the long run. Truly boring stuff. But the Human liaison that was attached to me, invited me to a local "Martial arts qualifying tournament". apparently, this art of theirs was spread widely enough that almost every city had several studios or training centers for what I would later learn to be a plethora of styles, all designed to maximize effectiveness for minimal effort. There was a style called "boxing" involving strictly punching with their extremities while having them covered in padded gloves. When I first observed it, I thought it was random and more based on luck than anything else. But as the fight progressed, it became clear that both "boxers" were using heavily practiced techniques that allowed them to incorporate the forces of physics into their attacks, adding the unrelenting laws of energy into the equation. Another style called "judo" primarily focused on defense and letting the enemy attack you, only to turn their attack into a counter move that would end up with damage to the original attacker. this was achieved by using the movement and strength of the aggressor to lead and direct them into positions where the body''s natural anatomy can be exploited to inflict excruciating pain without any real damage. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! There was one called "Krav Maga", a truly brutal way of fighting that focused on inflicting the most pain and damage, with a minimum of effort and movement, the objective being to neutralize the aggressor and move away from the situation in the shortest amount of time. A small group practiced something called "Glima" a style of what they called "wrestling" practiced by the people of the Nordic regions of their homeworld. A strangely intimate way of fighting that involved grappling and throwing your opponent, going so far as to use your own body as the lever that forced your opponent to the ground. The goal seemed to be, having your opponent on the ground while you were standing. A multitude of other styles of "martial art" was displayed, each of them distinctly unique and all of them extremely technical in their own way, the hundreds or thousands of years spent on perfecting them, making itself evident in the brutal efficiency of their use when employed correctly. The galaxy used to think Humans couldn''t fight. Now, it is the single most profitable gambling enterprise ever witnessed by any galactic empire. Attempts are even being made by so-called "Masters" and "Grandmasters" of these "martial arts" to develop basic styles and techniques for the other species, though this is seen as a truly laughable enterprise. It is this humble journalist''s opinion that this is a gross miscalculation and that we will see more species adopt these "martial arts" in the years to come.