I hate the cold. I mean, my body does not have the ability to regulate heat like warm-blooded endotherms, and my genetics did not take into account that I would one day join the Imperial Army and get my tail frozen off on some pathetic rock too small to even be called a planet in the middle of some backward galaxy. I hate the cold.

“Join the Army,” they say, “see the universe and explore new star systems,” they say. What a bunch of crap! What they really meant to say was, “sign your life away on a thirty-year contract. Undergo grueling physical training that was borderline torture, and visit a frozen lump of galactic shit where you may die, because we did not consider that your species would not survive in ridiculously below zero degrees.” Fuck! I hate the cold.

So, here I am lying on my stomach on ice covered with ice and surrounded by, guess what? Ice. I’m in antiquated combat gear where the life support system is read through a freaking gauge. Not a digital display on my helmet, but a circle in a glass case with an arrow pointing at a number to inform me how much power my suit had before it shuts down and my blood freezes, my scales burst apart, and I die in crystalline agony.

Why? You may wonder. Well, because I have the esteemed honor to announce that I am a part of the elite Forward Orbital Recon Force, Huzzah! FORF for short. My mom would have been proud if she cared about the Imperium. However, they did enslave my ancestors so many centuries ago, and she is still a little sore about that. Technically, they first freed my ancestors from slavery from our larger and more vicious cousins, the VeraTax, only to then quasi-enslave us afterward through discrimination and by treating us like second-class citizens. Needless to say, we have a complicated history with the human species.

We are known as the Velocra after Earth Prime’s prehistoric Velociraptor because of our similar appearance. Let me highlight two key differences between us and the “dinosaur” version. One, we have a much larger brain. Despite what humans may think, our brain capacity is at the “human” level. I like to think greater. And two, we have workable thumbs, like humans, and can use tools though we lack the pinky finger and struggle with human-designed instruments like the damn buttons on my torturous combat suite. My snout itched, and I couldn’t scratch it for the life of me. Even a human-designed antiquated combat suite for Velocra sucked ass.

There was a static buzz within my helmet, followed by a hiss and a click. Then I heard Tool, my squad mate, ask, “Sam is the objective in sight?”

Want to know another thing I hate about these antiquated suits? I had to actually push down on a button next to my ear on my helmet before being able to communicate with my team. I mean, what the hell? There are teenagers with personal communication devices that only require a thought, and boom, they can send digital images and voice communication to their BFFs in another solar system!

Buzz hiss click, “that is negative on the visual of the objective,” I answered.

Another buzz hiss and a click, “my balls are literally freezing off here. Can you get off your ass and complete your one function here, Sam?” Rickard asked.

I would call him “reject,” but that would be an insult to “rejects.” Besides, I have nothing against “rejects.”

“What balls?” I asked.

This elicited a chuckle from a squad mate, which was odd because they actually clicked on their helmet piece to chuckle and then unclicked.

“The balls I put in your sister’s mouth,” Rickard retorted.

This was followed by silence. I think Rickard forgot that I was not of the same species. Yup, wait for it.

“That’s fucking gross, Rickard,” squad mate Jimmy said.

“I didn’t know you were into beastality,” another retort from squad mate Diaz, which was immediately followed by an “uh, no offense to your sister, Sam.”

This was hilarious. I don’t even have a sister.

After a pause as his poorly developed brain processed what was going on, Rickard shouted, “Fuck you, maggots!”

“If we all don’t stop wasting time, I swear I will force my balls into everyone’s mouths, and I don’t care what species you are,” growled Lieutenant Grimes.

This silenced all of us. My knowledge of human anatomy was pretty limited. Still, I was pretty sure Grimes’s gender did not have balls, but maybe she was an exception. I didn’t want to point that out because she would stick her balls down my throat.

“My sensors indicate that we are in the green and undetected,” Tool finally said.

Our mission was to approach and make a visual of a secure facility. We orbital dropped a few kilometers away from the objective and needed to literally crawl through frozen ice to search out the facility. The reason for crawling was for us to avoid detection from the enormous amount of sensor arrays in the vicinity. We have been at this for days, which was normal for a FORF operation.

The purpose of FORF was to go deep into enemy territory and avoid detection. Survive for days behind enemy lines without supply drops. Locate important objectives and send coordinates via secured laser transmission to the Base Ships. We are trained to infiltrate, destroy, or disrupt critical targets and escape unnoticed. Though historically, most FORF units infiltrated and destroyed vital targets but rarely escaped. I don’t think my squad mates knew that. Many of them didn’t read as much as I did. The key requirements for a good FORF soldier were strength, determination, and sheer ignorance. Or, in my case, to be a part of a discriminated species.

The Imperium’s hold over the planets was tentative at best, though it worked to create the illusion of strength. Centuries ago, there was one massive Empire. Power struggles, civil wars, and cessions had caused the Empire to break apart into kingdoms, free planets, and mini-empires that were lost in past glories. Many star systems slipped back decades, even centuries, in terms of technology. As much as I can complain about the Imperium with its corruption and layers of bureaucracies, I do see that it has moved many planets forward to a brighter future. I believe that with as much cynicism as I can.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Our Imperial Government is under threat from the Galactic Federation, which is the last remnant of the Old Empire. The Galactic Federation is seeking to reclaim advanced technology hidden among the ruins of past civilizations and lost through the eons. Their goal is to use it to turn the tide of war against the Imperium. Our covert operations task force discovered a hidden research facility in the northern region on this lump of miserable ice, and our mission was to locate and destroy it.

“Any visuals yet, Sam?” Tool asked.

Tool was our information and communications guy. He could program a virus to corrupt a military computer system using a Sheet Computer and make millions in a software company. Why was he in FORF? That was a mystery to us.

“That is a negative,” I responded.

My role in Forward Orbital Recon Force was recon. I know it was redundant. The reason was because my species had a stronger sense of smell, we could naturally detect heat signatures via a nerve cluster in our snouts, and we could move faster due to our dense leg muscles. My combat suit was designed to enhance our advantages. However, we were not fully warm-blooded, and my whole faster movement thing was utterly negated in frozen temperatures. I don’t think the top Brass thought about that. So, here I was, trudging at a god-awful slow pace because my metabolism had nearly stopped. Through my helmet filters, the air had a metallic tang in its smell, mixed with citric. I figured it was due to frozen acids in the atmosphere. In truth, all I saw around me was hazy white, encased in white, with some shades of more white and Grey. Wait a minute, Grey? Oh shit, well, I guess I did see our objective.

With all my eight frozen fingers, I clumsily aimed my rifle at the blockish building about fifty meters in front of me. The insulated gloves attached to my entire combat suite made it challenging to hold the scope steady. The scope connected to the smart chips on the visor of my helmet with a click, and I could look through it and confirm that there was, indeed, a building in front of me. I toggled the infrared laser to target the object and uploaded its location to Tool’s computers.

“Information received. Processing it now,” Tool said.

“About time,” complained Rickard.

“Objective confirmed, coordinates and information sent to all of you,” Tool said after a few moments.

The Sheet Computer that was rolled up and stored in the armor under my right forearm buzzed, and I detached and unrolled it. With a lock, the digital screen flashed on. Modern combat armor had all the computer systems embedded inside with a direct feed to the soldier’s brain. They could access data with a thought, and it appeared in front of their eyes on their Heads Up Display. Tool tells us that the reason for our antique gear was that it was not susceptible to enemy viral attacks. There were malware programs that could literally shut down the life support of the modern combat suit. The TCG-15 battle armor we are wearing was old and could not be hacked because it was not directly interfaced. The Sheet Computer was the only component connected and could be discarded if compromised by the enemy.

In a large-scale battle, modern infantry units battled each other both physically with guns and explosions and digitally with computer viral attacks and defenses. Since FORF units operated alone, it was necessary that we had as little technology and power output as possible in order to avoid detection and viral system attacks.

“Okay shit heads, I’ve uploaded your positions on the screen. This is how we will hit the base so we can go home early. Diaz, take Sam and Jimmy and circle from the east side. Take out any enemy from the flank. Rickard, you are to hold position and count to sixty before opening fire with that cannon of yours. Tool you are to stay back and provide intel. Flute and Johnson with me,” Grimes said.

Looking at my Sheet Computer, I saw the plans and my location in relation to my squad mates. During our approach, we maintained random positions in order to not be picked up by sensors, which recognized patterns. In the white frozen haze, we were unable to track each other’s location. Still, we have been training for many months, and we maintained our haphazard formation while traveling through frozen kilometers with zero visibility.

Now our computer systems were “live,” which meant that our communications would be picked up by enemy sensors. My Sheet Computer uploaded the locations of my squad mates to the inside of my visor, and I could see where they were through the thick white haze.

“Go, go, go!” Grimes ordered, and we moved.

I waited till Jimmy and Diaz caught up to my position and rose to run with them. Through the white haze, I made out movement and saw flashes as computerized turrets fired upon us. My limbs were frozen, and I moved sluggishly. I was too long in this weather and was serious that my species were not meant to be in the cold. I hear tell that the dinosaurs from Earth Prime became extinct due to an ice age. My body could not take any more.

“Sam, you need to move!” Jimmy said as he hustled in front of me.

I saw him and Diaz get smaller and smaller as I trudged through the frozen ice and snow after them. The building was to my right.

I heard the thunderous hum as Rickard fired his automatic cannon. I saw the flashes from his direction as his powerful weapon tore into the building. The turrets responded and swiveled toward Rickard and blasted away in his direction.

In front of me, Jimmy and Diaz dropped to the ground and fired their assault rifles. The turrets exploded in white fire. A few more automated turrets rose into view and spouted yellow goblets at us. I started to raise my rifle, but a thud followed by an explosion of yellow energy occurred next to me. Talk about bad luck. When standing, my head was only a meter above the ground, and I was a good size smaller than the average human. Fucking sniper turret got me.

“Sam’s down,” Diaz said.

He and Jimmy were only a few meters in front of me.

My helmet’s display alerted me to all types of problems. My armor was torn, and it was initiating the self-repair foam. There were also messages about “significant internal damage” to my body. Oh, and I was in a lot of pain, and I bet my energy gauge’s arrow was spinning toward the “your dead” symbol. I lay on my side and heard Rickard’s minigun tear into the building. I saw the shadowy figures of Grimes and her fire team make their way into the building. I heard shots fired from Diaz and Jimmy to my left as they took out turrets from the east flank.

“Fall back, the thermal bomb is set!” I heard Grimes shout over the comm.

I saw Grimes rushing from the building to Rickard’s position. There was a hiss as the air was superheated from the explosive device that Flute denoted from inside the building. It evaporated from the explosion. No debris. That’s the beauty of Flute’s skill with explosives and thermal bombs.

I heard the crunch of ice as Jimmy and Diaz walked over to me. Diaz reached down and looked at my Sheet Computer to see the type of injury I had sustained.

“I think I can treat this,” he said.

He took one course in Velocra anatomy and was always eager to test himself on me since I was the only Velocra in the entire platoon. Probably in the whole brigade.

“What?” Jimmy asked, his voice incredulous. “Diaz, it says significant internal damage. We need to get him to a med bay!”

“Hmm, maybe you are right. Sorry, Sam.”

What did I tell you? A good FORF soldier has a heavy dose of crazy shit stupid. I couldn’t move or think. My body’s metabolism must have slowed to a point where I was close to cationic. Weak, so weak, and groggy. I heard the crunch of boots and saw Diaz kneel down beside me. My body shook as he worked my combat suit.

“Uh, according to his life support system, Sam is also suffering from hypothermia,” Diaz said.

“Lizards suffer from hypothermia?” I heard Rickard ask.

What an idiot. I’m going to pass out now, and I would be very pissed if I died on this rock.