"Rocks?" Acting Primarch Vrond quirked an ear as he sipped his klef.

"Rocks," Ambassador Vlen confirmed.

"You can't be serious." Vrond watched the alien fleet drift over to join his forces on the view screen. The Chamber of the Primarch had mostly been abandoned, Vrond refused to run away. If his world was to end, then Vrond would be ended with it. He would die as he had lived, on his feet with a cup of klef in his hand.

"I am quite serious," Vlen assured him. "They throw rocks."

The Acting Primarch squinted three of his eyes as he examined the fleet. Primitive designs. The human ships were (barely) capable of FTL, but they still used chemical propulsion to move within the system. They lacked the telltale shimmer of shielding systems, and Vrond strongly suspected they had nothing resembling inertial dampeners or artificial gravity. "Why would you even ask such a primitive species for help?"

"We asked everyone for help," said Vlen. "The humans were the only ones who said yes."

"The more foolish, they," Vrond mused. The Kilgan had warned the other species not to interfere. They had declared that any who aided Vrond's people would be destroyed alongside them. The Kilgan had given a similar warning when they invaded the Asirv. Vrond sincerely wished his predecessor had heeded it. "What do they hope to get out of it?"

"They are a relatively new species." Vlen sipped his klef. "Only achieved FTL within the last decade. They are very eager for an exchange of technologies."

"Of course they are," Vrond snorted. "Their idea of planetary defense is throwing rocks at people."

"As I said, they're fairly new." Vlen pointed out. "And their home system is devoid of the materials we use to power most of our technology. Basic elements, only."

Vrond shifted two of his feet as he glared at the viewscreen. The Kllgan had arrived. "I suppose that explains why such a primitive species hasn't been snapped up, yet." He took another sip of his klef. "They have nothing worth taking." Vrond was beginning to see why the humans were willing to risk destruction. They desperately needed better materials. Worse, they were alone. Without strong allies and a significant upgrade in technology, they would be easy prey for whatever species bothered to snatch them up. The Fwellan Primarchy was one of the most advanced and powerful species in the Galaxy. They were everything the humans could hope for. Or at least they had been, before Vrond's predecessor pissed off the Kilgan.

The previous Primarch had killed himself once he realized the gravity of his mistake, and good riddance. The Galaxy was a harsh place, and soft hearted fools had no business being in charge. Still, a part of Vrond wished the cowardly fool hadn't done it. If Vrond hadn't had to take his place, he could be sipping klef in some far away ship instead of waiting in his office to die.

"It's not as bad as all that," said Vlen. "They may be lacking materials, but the Dirtlings have made fine use of what they have."

The Acting Primarch quirked a dubious ear at his old friend. "Dirtlings?"

"Oh, ah." Ambassador Vlen ran a hand over his ears. "Their home planet. They named it Dirt."

For a brief moment, Vrond seriously considered strangling his oldest friend. "They named their homeworld Dirt. Dirt." Disdain dripped from his voice. "And they plan to assault the most powerful military force in galactic history by throwing rocks at it?" A powerful need to shout seized the Acting Primarch. He resisted, sipping his klef until he could regain his composure. He continued, "Why did you even bring these people?"

"No one else would come."

Vrond simmered silently as he watched the Kilgan approach. The Kilgan had always been powerful, but the Fwellen Primarchy had considered themselves their equals until a few years ago. The Kilgan had changed that with the unveiling of their Dreadship. The Dreadship was massive, nearly seven times larger than Vrond's homeworld. Such was its power that the millions of Kilgan warships housed within were basically superfluous. Vrond didn't know how long it had taken the Kilgan to construct the thing. Decades, at least. He did know that the combined might of the entire Fwellen Armada would barely be worth its notice.

Not that he had the entire Fwellen Armada. Only a few million ships, a third of the forces he had left, had been stationed at the homeworld. The rest were guarding his people. Every ship the Fwellen could scrape together had been stuffed with as many of his people as they could hold. Vrond would die if he must. The Primarchy would die if it must. His people must live on.

Vlen could sense his despondence. "I know how it sounds. The Dirtlings don't seem like much. But they are very good at throwing rocks." He saw Vrond's expression and quickly continued, "They have been doing it for their entire history."

Vrond didn't even bother to respond, choosing instead to have another cup of klef. Vlen kept talking. "At first, they used rocks to ward off predators. They learned to use sharp rocks to hunt. They learned to use plant matter and sinew to throw rocks farther. They used rocks to fight each other, and started wearing rocks to protect them from other rocks."

Vrond remained silent, sipping his klef.

"As their technology grew, they threw rocks harder and faster." Vlen waved three of his hands around as he spoke, warming to the subject. "They started making better rocks to throw. Steel rocks. Incendiary rocks. Rocks that explode. When they achieved space flight, they found ways to throw rocks in the vacuum."

Irritation poked its way through the Acting Primarch's stoic silence. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand," said the Ambassador. "The Dirtlings love their rocks. They have a very special relationship. And they are quite good at throwing them."

"How nice for them," Vrond glared back at the viewscreen. "By the by, shouldn't there be more of them? I only see a few hundred Dirtlings approaching the Dreadship."

"There are more," said the Ambassador. "That's just an expeditionary force. Most of the Dirtlings are in the asteroid belt."

Vrond quirked an ear. "What for?"

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"Their leader said something about..." Vlen trailed off. He seemed to wilt a little as he continued, "Expanding her rock collection."

Vrond burbled a sigh. "Of course she did."

The Dreadship reached the Fwellen Armada a minute later. The defenders fired the opening salvo, unleashing the full might of the Primarchy in a torrent of plasma and antimatter. Well. The third of what he had left did, anyway. The Dreadship seemed not to notice, continuing its slow, steady approach.

Vrond had seen this play out a dozen times. He had hoped his generals would be able to come up with a better strategy, but in his hearts he knew it was not to be. Plasma slowed as it reached for the Dreadship. Streams of antimatter reversed their course. The Kilgan had built the Dreadship out of the densest materials they could find. Its gravity was an order of magnitude greater than in his home world's. That gravity had been reversed. Plasma was just superheated matter, and it lacked the kinetic force necessary to overcome such a strong gravitational push. Antimatter was effected in much the same way. The Armada was forced to maneuver as their weapons were repelled back towards them. His ships would need to get much closer before they could so much as singe the Dreadship's shields. Pure energy weapons were unaffected, but lasers and other pure energy weapons would be useless until the shields were brought down. If they even could be.

The Dreadship waited for them. The moment the first of Vrond's fleet struggled through the gravity and struck the giant ship's shields, it fired back. Millions upon millions of weapons discharged, shredding the Armada. Those few ships that survived turned back, having barely scratched the shields of that Kilgan monstrosity.

The Dirtling fleet had not moved with the Armada. They were still intact. They were throwing rocks.

"The Dirtlings don't need to get closer," Vlen told him. "Their rocks move quickly enough to overcome the gravity."

"Indeed." Vrond sipped his klef. "They don't seem to be doing much, though." Stopping fast moving objects was the most basic function of a shield. Vrond doubted a normal warship would be bothered much by Dirtling rocks, and the Dreadship would be thousands of times more protected. For its part, the Kilgan vessel took notice enough to send a few million lances of plasma at the humans. The humans had sufficient distance to move out of the way. A few seconds later, their ships began to melt and explode. Apparently, they had no protection against directed energy attacks. A few million lasers made short work of them.

"So much for the Dirtlings." Vrond shook his head. He walked over to his desk and lifted the glass over the console he'd had installed. On the console was a button that would trigger a device. The device would trigger a chain reaction that would cause the sun to go nova. Vrond hoped the nova would happen fast enough to catch the Kilgan and destroy the Dreadship, but deep in his hearts he doubted that it would.

"Wait, old friend." Vlen placed a hand over Vrond's before he could press the button. Normally, such an impropriety would incense the Acting Primarch, but Vlen was his oldest friend, and it was the end of the world. He withdrew his hand and regarded the Ambassador, ears tilted in a question.

"That was just the expeditionary force," the Ambassador explained. "The real attack starts now." He pointed at the viewscreen.

Movement. Very fast. From the asteroid belt. The Dreadship was at the edge of the solar system. For the objects to approach so quickly, they must be moving at a fraction of the speed of light. A large fraction. Maybe as high as ten percent. Vrond squinted at the screen, trying to make out the shape of the objects.

They were rocks.

Some of the rocks were only a few kilometers around. Several of them outsized his planet's moons. A wild hope pulled the Acting Primarch away from his console. He ambled closer to the viewscreen.

"I said it before," Vlen said over his klef. "The Dirtlings are good at throwing rocks."

The Dreadship's reverse gravity could do little to soften the impact of an asteroid moving at such speeds. The first rock smashed against its shields, scattering fragments in all directions. Vrond doubted a standard warship would have survived such a blow. More rocks struck a fraction of a second later. Hundreds. Perhaps thousands. For the first time, the Kilgan Dreadship might be in danger.

The Dreadship began to move. A sphere larger than a world could not maneuver the way a normal ship could, but the Dirtlings were throwing from far away. The Kilgans would have to weather some hits, but once they were moving Vrond was sure they could avoid the worst of it.

The Dreadship moved out of the way of the rocks. The rocks moved back into the way of the Dreadship.

"How are they doing that?" Vrond wondered aloud.

"I told you," said Vlen. "The Dirtlings have a special relationship."

The answer, Vrond realized, was so simple he almost chuckled. The Dirtlings had attached engines to the rocks. Powerful engines, no doubt operated by remote control. The rocks continued to smash against the Dreadship's shields. The Dreadship began to launch its fleet.

Vrond's hearts sank. Even if the Dirtlings succeeded in destroying the Dreadship, the Kilgan fleet would be the end of them all. If Vrond had the entirety of his Armada still intact, he might have been able to make a fight of it, but his few remaining ships would easily be overwhelmed, and the human ships were basically helpless.

A rock the size of a moon punched through the Dreadship's shield. It plowed into the massive sphere. Such was the force of the impact that the entire Dreadship rocked back, a hole the size of a continent bored through its frame. The shields flicked out. The Kilgan fleet ceased its deployment. Several of the ships fell back down to the surface of the Kilgan sphere.

It took a moment for Vrond to realize what had happened. He stared in wonder as more rocks crashed into and through the Dreadship. The impact of that giant rock had caused a power fluctuation. The Kilgan had lost gravity control. Without it, the natural gravity of so much dense material had turned every Kilgan on board into a puddle. Vrond was willing to wager most of the warships hadn't been ready for the sudden shift, and their crews had been turned into smears as well. Only a few dozen ships managed to escape the Dreadship, and several of those were dashed to pieces amidst the storm of Dirtling rocks.

Vrond went back to his console. He opened a communications link with the remains of his Armada. "Attention. This is the Primarch. Jam all further communications and engage the remaining Kilgan. No survivors." He ended the transmission. Vrond was reasonably sure the Kilgan hadn't yet reported on the Dreadship's demise. He'd like to keep how it was done a secret if he could.

The remainder of the Fwellen Armada moved in. There were only a few hundred of them left, but that was more than enough to deal with a few dozen Kilgan warships. The Dirtlings had stopped launching asteroids almost immediately after the destruction of the Dreadship, but it was another forty minutes before the last rock hit the the thing. By that time the remaining Kilgans had been destroyed, and the Armada stopped jamming communications.

"What's the name of the lead Dirtling?" Vrond asked Vlen.

"Admiral Wells," Vlen answered.

The Acting Primarch hailed the leader of the Dirtlings. "Admiral Wells, this is Acting Primarch Vrond Velviloy. My compliments. Together we have won a great victory."

A face appeared on the viewscreen. A symmetrical, oval head. Only two eyes. Pale, devoid of fur except for a mane on the top. Vrond had met many species. Few were uglier than this, but none had filled Vrond with greater joy. He wondered if the Dirtling drank klef. Perhaps he would invite her to share a cup.

"Acting Primarch Vrond," the Dirtling could not bow in the Fwellen way, but she offered the closest gesture she could approximate. Her voice was far too high and musical to speak Vrond's language, but the console's translator conveyed meaning well enough. "Indeed we have. May it be the start of a beautiful friendship."

"I'm sure it will," Vrond replied. He sipped his klef. "The ambassador told me you and rocks have a special relationship."

The Admiral's face scrunched up. The translator told Vrond it meant the Dirtling was confused. "Give me excuse? I don't understand."

Hm. The Dirtlings were a new species. Maybe the translator hadn't worked out the kinks, yet. Vrond tried again. "I heard you were good at throwing rocks."

"Oh!" The Admiral's face unscrunched. "Yes." She bared her teeth in an aggressive display. "If throwing rocks doesn't solve your problem, you just need to throw bigger rocks." The translator informed Vrond that the aggressive display meant she was pleased. "That's how we do things on planet Dirt."