"Admiral," Umi says, "The last Kraktol visitor has taken a physical, and I have finished tallying all of their results."

José Rodriguez, the last living Terran, sits up on his bunk and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. In less than two seconds, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet.

"What time is it?"

"The time is 7:36 AM, according to the standard Terran time measurement system."

"Alright. Let me get my brain going first. Tell the Kraktol to assemble in the holodeck in two hours."

"Yes, Admiral. Would you like to review their results?"

José shakes his head. "Nah. I'll worry about that later. I'm gonna get some chow to start the day right."

With three days having passed since the Kraktol went off to the medical bay to obtain their bodily statistics, José hasn't spent that time idly. The Terran drops to the floor and performs one hundred pushups, then showers, deep-cleans his teeth, and trims his hair. He pauses for a moment to gaze at his reflection before nodding. "Not bad."

He leaves his room in the Admiral Quarters, stepping outside to find a half-dozen or so Kessu also getting ready for the day.

"Mraww! Great Precursor! Did you have a good night's rest?" A female Kessu asks.

"I certainly did, Tomoko. They've been getting easier as time passes."

"That's good to hear!"

José continues walking. He exits the Officer Quarters and arrives at the Bridge, where he finds Megla and Soren milling about, tapping on terminal screens while compiling information onto their datapads.

"Admiral!" Megla says, smiling when she sees him. "You're awake. Did Umi tell you?"

"About the Kraktol finishing their scans?" José asks. "She did."

Megla nods. "Good. I'll have today's maintenance results ready for you soon."

"That's what I like to hear," José replies. He waves 'hello' to Soren and has a quick chit-chat with her, too, then leaves and heads off to the Mess Hall.

The Admiral arrives inside the Mess Hall, where he finds the fat chonker kitten, Skippy, waiting at the back of the line. The kitten looks up at him and waves. "Oh, it's you! Heyo, Mister Precursor. Did you hear about Lele's father, Ruuki? The Machine God says he'll be all healed up within a couple of weeks! He'll be ready to walk soon!"

José pats the kitten's head, making Skippy's tail flick around happily. "I'll pay Nyoor's son a visit when he's up and at 'em. Thanks for the heads-up, kiddo."

Seeing the Terran at the end of the line, all of the Kessu quickly step aside and gesture toward the front, but José shakes his head. "I may be the Admiral, but you are all just as valuable of crew as me. I won't cut in line just because of my position."

"Mraww, such a kind-hearted Precursor!" Several Kessu chitter. "I wish I could meet others of the Admiral's species. I bet they were all awesome, just like him."

"Quiet. Don't talk about the other Precursors so flippantly. It's still a sore spot for the Admiral."

"Oops... sorry."

José's expression doesn't change, but his eyes flicker for a moment as he tries not to listen to the cafeteria's idle gossip.

Several minutes later, José walks away with a plate of rib-eye steak and a piping hot bowl of stew. He plunks down at the nearest table, one where two of the newcomer Kraktol intermix with three Kessu. To José's surprise, the Kraktol speak normally with the Kessu, without the faintest hint of hostility.

"Graugh! Is that true?" One of the Kraktol asks, directing his question to Rags. "You used those Thunder Gloves to slap the head off a Disperra? Those Buzor are some of the scariest ones."

Rags grins, trying not to look too smug. "Well, it was mostly the gloves that made me so strong. The Great Precursor's weapons are all super awesome. I felt like a badass."

"You're not bad, kid," The Kraktol says, lightly smacking the kitten's back. "When I was just a fresh spawn, I'd have wet myself, facing a Disperra alone. That takes guts!"

José smiles while listening to their conversation. He pulls a chunk of his steak apart, salivating as it practically melts in his mouth.

"How about you, Admiral?" The other Kraktol asks. "Have you got any war stories?"

The Terran nods while smacking his lips. "Do I? You don't know the half of it. Where should I start? There was this time I got captured by a group known as the Third Hand. They put me in a maximum security prison and threw away the key. I ended up stuck in there for hundreds of years, but eventually, my patience won out..."

José continues talking, regaling the youngster Kraktol and Kessu with tales of his life. They, in turn, listen with awe-filled eyes, finding his stories almost a bit too unbelievable.

"Just you and Nick, alone, against a hundred guys? How could you possibly survive?" The first Kraktol asks.

"It wasn't that hard," José answers, as he slurps up the last bit of stew. "Ramma's Chosen weren't like most other militaries. Just one of us could fight a hundred men easily. Honestly, looking back, I feel a little bit bad for those guys. Of course, they were slavers, so they had my wrath coming."

"Slavers?" The Kraktol asks. "What do you mean?"

"You know," José replies. "They captured other humans and enslaved them. Made them work in mines, or... other unsavory acts."

"Ohh, I get it," The Kraktol nods. "That makes sense. Graugh! No Kraktol would ever enslave another Kraktol. Only other worthless species, like the Dakku, or the Avaru, or the Kess-"

The Kraktol pauses mid-sentence and glances at Skippy, then coughs.

"Err, well, not the Kessu, of course. Please accept my apologies. Graugh! I spoke without thinking."

José doesn't reply for several seconds. Eventually, he places his bowl down and stares at the Kraktol. "Slavery is an act of evil. It does not matter who you enslave, nor for what reason. Only if someone commits an equally reprehensible act can slavery be considered righteous, and only if used as a means of rehabilitation or retribution. Even then, I would argue it still is not the action a morally upright person should take. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some things that require my attention. Make sure you're ready to meet up at the holodeck at the appropriate time."

The Kraktol lowers his head. "Graugh. Yes, Admiral."

When José leaves, the two Kraktol stay quiet for a minute, before the second one clears his throat. "Graugh! It seems the Admiral does not look favorably upon slavery. Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know," Rags replies. "But the Admiral is the smartest person I've ever met. He definitely has a good reason."

"Best not to question him," The first Kraktol replies. "Let's go, then. I want to be the first to arrive at the holodeck."

"Graugh! A sound plan."

Both Kraktol get up from their seats and leave their dishes behind. Once they depart, a holographic crew-member materializes to clean up after them and the Admiral's messes.

.......................................

José spends another hour traversing the Bloodbearer. He checks the Titan Bay, the shuttles, and several other areas, making sure there aren't any problems that require his attention. Eventually, he heads toward the Holodeck with a bit of pep in his step.

"Umi. Transmit me the scan results for Drall's crew."

"Yes, Admiral."

Dozens of graphs and numbers appear in José's vision. He continues walking, all while a virtual workspace opens before him, allowing him to manipulate the results to his liking.

"Oh, how interesting..." José mutters. "It seems Sapphire has nearly identical Body and Brain Stats as Megla. I didn't expect that. And this crew-member, Bantu? His brain stats aren't too far behind Soren. A ten point one in Memory? Soren scored twelve point three, so that's quite good. Ooh, but his comprehension is a staggering fifteen! Soren's was only nine point four. Seems this Bantu fellow would make for a good addition to the engineering team, but I'll have to test his practical knowledge later."

The Admiral continues scrolling through the results for several minutes until he arrives at the Holodeck's doors. Even so, with nine hundred and fifty Kraktol on the list, José doesn't make it through half of their names before he waves his hand and closes the virtual workspace.

"Umi. Enable a statistical display for all of the Kraktol. I want to see their stats floating above their heads."

"Orders acknowledged, Admiral."

Without another word, José steps into the Holodeck. As the doors open, he quickly sweeps his gaze around, discovering that the holodeck has been configured, perhaps by Soren, to resemble an ancient-looking stone arena, one with spectator seats configured with plenty of leg and tail room, where the Kraktol can fight in pairs on the main stage, or sit down and wait their turn in the audience.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

A comfortable warmth fills the air. In the center of the arena, Soren and Megla stand with their backs together, both watching as half a dozen pairs of Kraktol fight one another, using Terran melee weaponry to trade blows. Swords, maces, staffs, and other similar primitive weapons clumsily bat against each other, while José's first and second-in-command fire off suggestions to the new recruits.

"Widen your stance!" Megla shouts. "Anticipate your opponent's strike."

"Your reaction time is too slow," Soren says, speaking to a different group. "In a real fight, your opponent would club your head and beat you senseless."

José strolls through the narrow gap between two sets of arena seats, drawing dozens of eyeballs in his direction.

"Admiral on deck!" A nearby Kraktol shouts. José turns his head to see who spoke.

"Lord Drall? Is that you?" José asks, as he stifles a shit-eating grin. "What happened? You look like you tripped down a flight of stairs... several times in a row."

The leader of the Kraktol, Lord Drall, stands not far from José. Several black and blue marks line his yellow scales, revealing the result of his fight with the Terran Admiral three days prior, after José challenged him. Even with José's weakened body following his cloning and resurrection, he still defeated the Kraktol general without any trouble.

Drall raises his head defiantly. "Graugh! There is no shame in admitting defeat to a superior fighter, Admiral Rodriguez. You beat me, and so I must work harder to catch up to you. That is the Kraktol way."

"Well said," José laughs. He walks over and slaps Drall's back, making the Kraktol wince. "Oops! Sorry, I didn't realize you were still sore."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Drall complains. "Graugh... your fists fell upon me like a rain of meteors. I tried blocking, but you just kept pummeling my poor, innocent arms. What did they ever do to deserve such treatment?"

"They got in my way," José chuckles. "Now, enough chit-chat. We've got a lot of work to do, separating the wheat from the chaff. Since your soldiers have all completed their scans- oh?"

José pauses to look above Drall's head, where his physical and mental fitness results hover.

"Daaamn, Drall. Not bad."

The Kraktol blinks in confusion. "Graugh? Admiral?"

"Oh, it's just... your physical fitness results are quite good. Your body is significantly stronger than Megla's, though you're not quite as mentally adept as Soren."

Drall rubs his claws together. "Graugh! That is to be expected. I am one of the strongest Kraktol, after all. Orgon was a rare and exceptional fighter who stood above me, but few others exist of his caliber."

"Mmm..." José grunts. "Umi rated your strength at sixteen point five. I don't know what Orgon's ratings were, but I do know you're several tiers above Megla."

"And yet I still lost to you..." Drall muses.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, José leaves Drall to head toward the arena's center. Before he makes it to Soren and Megla, both of them turn to look at him in unison.

"Admiral." Soren nods. "Everyone is here."

"You came a little later than expected," Megla says, "so we took the liberty to start drilling our kin. I hope you don't mind."

"Nope. That's excellent proactivity from both of you," José says, squeezing Megla and Soren's shoulders. "I'll take it from here. You two can go and take a seat."

"Yes, Admiral," Both Kraktol reply in unison.

After they leave, José turns to face the audience. With more than nine hundred Kraktol seated in the auditorium, only a few dozen spar in the middle of the arena. José opens his mouth to speak, only to feel a sense of danger behind him. He whirls around just in time to see a flash of blue and green charging at him from behind.

"Darling!" Sapphire cries. She grabs onto José's arm and nearly knocks him over, making the Terran frown. "It's been so long since we last spoke! I was starting to feel lovesick from missing you!"

"We spoke in the Mess Hall yesterday," José grouches, as he tries to shake Sapphire off his arm. "Confound you, woman. Must you be so clingy?"

"Of course!" Sapphire chirps. "Kyargh! If some lesser female gets to you first, it will be my eternal shame!"

José rolls his eyes. "Suit yourself. Oh! Actually, since you're here, Sapphire, I guess that makes you my first volunteer!"

A deliciously wicked smile spreads across José's face, making Sapphire turn pale. "V-volunteer? Of course, darling... anything for you!"

"Excellent! Excellent!" José laughs. "You can be the first competitor in today's tournament!"

Sapphire cocks her head. "Turn-a-mint?"

"You'll see!" José whistles mischievously. He turns to face the audience once again.

"Everyone! Thank you for coming. All of you know by now what our mission is and why you're here," José begins. "We have a terrifying enemy we must defeat. So long as you help me, you will earn my gratitude. I never give out my assistance for free, and neither will I ask for yours at no cost. Your leader, the great Lord Drall, has worked out several conditions beneficial to the Kraktol Empire."

José spends several minutes explaining to the audience their mission, the roles they'll play, and his concept for training all of them.

"Does anyone here know what a tournament is?" José asks.

The audience-members shake their heads.

"Simply put," he explains, "it is a competition to determine who among you are the strongest. However, this mission requires not only strength, but intelligence as well. Therefore, I will be testing all of you several times over the next two weeks to determine who should lead and who should follow. Disregard any of your previous achievements, any of your military titles, and any other notions of prestige you might have. Before me, all of them are meaningless. I defeated your leader, Lord Drall, in hand to hand combat. That means I can break any one of you without exerting much effort. Give me lip, and I'll give you the boot. Understood?"

The audience nods in unison. "Yes, Admiral!"

"Great! You're quick learners! I respect that. Now, all of you, line up according to the scores Umi gave you on your physical exams. First group, those with the highest scores, line up to my right. Second, third, fourth, and fifth groups, line up in order to the first group's right."

The Kraktol immediately stand up and fall into position, shuffling themselves around until they form five neat and tidy columns. Sapphire leaves José's side, while Soren and Megla remain seated, exempt from the tournament's rankings. José sweeps his eyes from left to right, barely glancing at the wall of numbers hovering over the heads of every Kraktol present. When his gaze reaches the first row, he flinches in surprise.

"Kisa?"

Standing in first position, to the Admiral's amazement, is Kisa Kindris, daughter of the Thülvik, Loreen Kindris. José's eyes bug out as he stares at the numbers over her head.

The Terran mutters under his breath. "What in the Divine Emperor's name? Are... are those numbers for real?"

Kisa's preliminary results rock his world.

Visual rating: 1.12. Olfactory rating: 1.4. Auditory rating: 1.05. Gustation rating: 3.5. Somatosensory rating: 2.2. Vestibular rating: 0.7. Proprioceptive rating: 0.7.

Strength: 25.6. Grip: 17.5. Agility: 12.0. Memory: 7.0. Comprehension: 4.0. Endurance: 25.5. Stamina: 20.4.

The Kraktol watch silently as the Admiral seemingly stares into empty space above the first group's heads, making them wonder what has happened to him. It takes a full thirty seconds before José blinks wearily and regains his composure.

"Kisa Kindris. You... you scored first place on the physical parameter test," José says, looking Kisa dead in the eye. "Have you engaged in combat before?"

Kisa's black and yellow scales flush with color. She lowers her head meekly. "N-no, Admiral, sir. I, um... I did work out regularly according to my moth- ah, I mean the Thülvik's requirements."

"I see. Your excellent genes must be why you... never mind. Well, needless to say, I'll be relying on you and the others in the First Group during this operation."

The Admiral clears his throat. "Alright! Moving on. You all will likely feel a range of emotions regarding your placements! These groups are, as of now, only a way to group you by your relative strengths. Statistically speaking, the mightiest Kraktol should have ended up in the First Group, while the weakest should have ended up in the Fifth Group, but I expect these rankings to change drastically during the course of this tournament. For anyone who ends up moving down a rank, I hope you will feel great shame in knowing a weaker Kraktol defeated you. Work harder, and you will redeem yourselves! And for anyone who moves up to a higher-rated group, you should feel nothing but pride! What makes a warrior legendary is not their body or their innate gifts, but how they use them in battle!"

José begins pacing up and down the columns, casually inspecting the Kraktol's numbers as he looks at them. It doesn't take long for him to get a general idea of how their average and extreme stats will pan out.

"There is no shame in lacking strength. There is only shame in failing to better yourselves; to empower yourselves! A warrior's goal is not to seek perfection, for that is an impossibility! Instead, you must focus on steadily improving yourselves, day by day. If you become weaker tomorrow than you are today, then that is shameful! If you instead become stronger, then that is glorious! There is no in-between! A static warrior is one who has given up on life."

José stops in between the second and third column of Kraktol to look at Sapphire, smack in the middle of the third group. She smiles at him and waves, but he doesn't reciprocate.

"Sapphire," José says. "You claimed you would make me your mate, yet look at this result! You stand within the center of the central column. In terms of the Kraktol present, you are the most average of average. Do you think yourself worthy of being my mate with such a low status?"

Sapphire's scales lose some of their coloration. She lowers her head and sighs. "N-no, darling..."

"Hmph!" José snorts. "I do not permit you to call me 'Darling' any longer! I am your Admiral! If you want a chance with me, then I suppose you'll have to prove yourself in this tournament! So long as you enter into the First Group, I may consider your advances."

The Admiral immediately continues walking, while Sapphire raises her head. "Really, darling? Do you mean that?"

"That's Admiral to you!" José replies.

"Yes, darling! Whatever you say!"

José continues walking, but his face droops from exhaustion.

"How am I supposed to get across to her that I'm not interested... ugh..."

Just before José reaches the end of the third column, a nearby Kraktol pipes up. "Admiral! I'll definitely enter the First Group! Just you wait and-"

"Silence!" José barks. He turns to fire off a stink-eye at the Kraktol who spoke. "You are now a temporary member of the Terran Military Corps! When you stand at attention, you do not speak unless your superior officer asks you a question."

The Kraktol nods, then quickly straightens his posture. "Yes, Admiral."

"Good! Now that I've explained my goals to you all, let us continue with the rules for this tournament!"

Over the next twenty minutes, José paces up and down each column several times while all of the Kraktol stand at attention and listen to him silently. He outlines the tournament's guidelines, the loser and winner brackets, the rules for advancement, and so on.

At one point, Admiral Rodriguez stops at the end of the fifth row, where he finds a scrawny little male Kraktol, someone with numbers so pitiful that even one of the stronger Kessu could slap and bully him around if they wanted.

"You there. What is your name?"

The Kraktol glances at José, and his knees start to tremble. "I-it's Grundle, sir."

"Grundle? What kind of sorry-ass name is that?!" José yells. "Listen up, kid. You are the weakest, most pathetic Kraktol here. I don't even know how a sad sack like you ended up among so many fine, proud specimens. But I have good news! You can't possibly go any lower in the ranks, whelp! I expect to see you rise several positions by the time this tournament concludes. With hard work and discipline, even a loser like you can make it into the First Group. That's how incredible Terran training is! Do you understand me?"

Grundle nods nervously. "Y-yes, Admiral..."

"I can't hear you!"

"Yes, Admiral! Sir!"

José smiles. He smacks the kid's back and continues walking behind the Kraktol's ranks.

"Truth is, one of you has to be the worst. One of you has to be the best. If Grundle here does indeed make it out of last place, someone else will take his spot. That result will be sad, but expected. If you do find yourself in last place, but your combat prowess has also increased, then at the very least, you won't have wasted my time. Do I make myself clear?!"

"Yes, Admiral!" All nine hundred and fifty Kraktol shout.

"Fantastic. Well, what are we waiting for? Megla! Soren! Let the tournament begin!"

The hangar erupts in cheers, and everyone disperses, running back to their seats to eagerly await and see who will start the tournament. Minutes later, a holographic board appears, with a spiderweb of competitors all swirling inward until they reach a central position at the center of the web.

José looks at the starting entrants and sighs.

"Umi. Didn't I tell you to make the entrant's positions random?"

"Affirmative. I followed your orders, Admiral," Umi replies.

"Yeah. Sure you did."

The Admiral plunks down on a seat at the corner of the ring and cracks his neck.

"Here comes two weeks of fun, fun, fun."