(Memory Transcript of Lytalk Kirvus)

(Language and all measurements have been converted for the reader’s benefit)

I stretch in my office-nest as my last patient walked out the hatch and into the building at large, a Cantor, they were diagnosed with depression some time ago and as a result of being an employee of the Dual Galactic-Republic I was obliged to help them. As I always did after finishing up with a patient, I thought about what motivated me to become a therapist. My species, the Quenti were by nature more empathetic than the majority of species in the republic. This inspired me as a moltling, I always thought that since I could understand others so well I should use the trait that I was born with to help others who were going through a tough time. Of course, as with most careers there are different routes you can go down, when I decided to become a therapist, I was presented with two options but could only choose one. The first option was to go into the private sector and work for the public at large. However, there was a big problem with going down that road, the pay. Although it is a noble career the pay is abysmal, just barely enough to support a person, if they are smart. Even if it allowed me to help more people, I felt that I couldn’t help others if I couldn’t even help myself. That left me with the second option, becoming a therapist for the government departments’ staff. The pay is much better but still not exactly glamorous. However, it is enough to allow me to live a comfortable life.

My roaming thoughts are interrupted by the harsh mechanical sound of my secretary’s voice sounding over the intercom. “Doctor Kirvus your next patient is ready for you”, I take a moment to collect myself before replying, “of course Vactloo, please send them in”. The hidden speaker buzzes with static for but a moment before the voice of my assistant’s translator implant voiced through it, “Understood Doctor Kirvus, I will send the patient’s details to your info-pad". I hated that Vactloo always acted so formal and used that ridiculous title. In the creators’ name, I have known the molluscoid for nearly my entire mature life up to this point, yet the thing still insisted on their characteristically ridged formality. But the title, that is always what irks me the most when we speak. It is true that I am a doctor as I did get a doctorate in phycology when I was completing the career preparation stage of my education. However, I do not perform surgery on people and save their lives, I don’t prescribe medications to ease their pain. All I do is listen to people's problems and see if there is a way to take a burden off of their minds.

Before I get lost in the blackhole of my own thoughts again I check my info-pad to see what my next patient will be like. My eyes lit up when I realised that my next patient was going to be a Marweer. I had never interacted with their species before as the reptiles' minds were more disposed towards logic than emotion, as such I had never had one as a patient before. While my mind lit up with joy at the thought of the new experience a small corner of my consciousness wondered what had happened to make such a cold and logical being seek therapy? The only other thing the pad stated besides their name, which was Markkon and a few other standard details was [Problem: Observation Trauma].

With that my patient entered the room, they were very tall almost brushing the ceiling at 187cm tall and had a glassy look in all four of their slitted orange eyes. They sat down heavily in the couch opposite my desk causing it to buckle slightly and emit a pained groan. Seeing that I was not going to be able to leave starting the conversation to him I decided to get the first words in, “Hello Markkon my name is Lytalk Kirvus, would you please tell me about yourself”, the glassiness in his eyes seemed to disappear at those words for only a moment before returning swiftly. This alone told me a lot about why the reptile was in my company, it told me that whatever was causing this so-called observation trauma was deeply ingrained in his life. Markkon finally decided on that moment to speak, “I am a console operator in the advanced communications suite on Observation Station for Galactic colonisation 225 or O.S.G.C-225”. That is a good start, perhaps this observation Trauma was cause by something they experienced on the station. “Tell me about your work on the station”, if I am right, I can use this as a path to learning about Markkon’s trauma without having it make him feel even more terrified. “My job on the station was to monitor the subject galaxy for any forms of advanced communications equipment I was working on a ten-year deployment to the station and only got back in the last few weeks. That was good he didn’t seem to upset about talking about his work, so it is not the source of his trauma, perhaps if I get him to talk about it more it will leave him more relaxed and able to talk more freely of his thoughts when that inevitable moment came. “Did you notice anything on your sensors?” I asked in my most calming voice. A barked laugh came in reply, “of course not they were clear as they always are but...”, the glassiness that had disappeared at the start of our conversation about his work returned. This makes it so obvious; the trauma is not directly linked with his work, but it still has a relation to it. Eager for more details I press further. “But what?” “One of the crew members on the primitive communication suite’s sensors were going wild”. Impossible I thought, life doesn’t exist outside of our home galaxy of Axumus and only existed in Schedal because we colonised it. That said everyone knew the purpose of the observation stations, they were set up to survey possible galaxies for colonisation since our own were going to start becoming overpopulated within the next two or three centuries. Markkon continued to speak before I could even get another word in. “Her sensors were picking up primitive ftl communications equipment all across the galaxy, unlike our own galaxy only one sentient species evolved in the one we were observing and despite fairly primitive technology rapidly occupied their entire galaxy due to a lack of competition”, I will admit I was surprised to hear him say that in such a dejected tone, surely this was cause for grate celebration, the species of our home galaxy were no longer alone in this cold and empty universe. “I’m guessing something went wrong”. Another barked laugh, this one laced with pain, “It most certainly did go wrong, a year after our arrival a civil war broke out between the inner and outer colonies after a loyalist military police force with itchy trigger fingers shot up a crowd of civilians protesting for greater rights being afforded to the outer colonies. The war was a lot like the war of the warlord at first except the rebels were people who genuinely believed in their cause instead of slaves being used to fight an insane Vellokkc’s war. Then it all changed... A rebel admiral in year four of my deployment got frustrated when a heavily defended loyalist world was unable to be captured by his forces. He saw that there was no tactical significance to the planet, and he cracked it. Fifteen billion civilians and twenty-seven million military personnel dead in an instant! And all we could do is watch!! It became a war of extinction overnight!!! The number of combatants went from the hundreds of billions to 5 quadrillion within the year!!!! Planets with no tactical significance were cracked without a second thought, casualties rose into the hundreds of trillions!!!!”

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I could sense that I was losing him, and the glassiness was returning to his eyes, I admit that I was more than a little disturbed by the story he was telling but my patients mental health had to come first while I was in the office, I must intervene! “Woah, slow down”, I stated. The Marweer immediately ceased his panicked rambling and started to breathe heavily as the fear and trauma once again started to leave his eyes.

“Allright I'm going to ask you about some of the fighting Markkon, you don’t have to go into the big picture, just tell me about a small portion of it, perhaps focus on a single planet, can you do that?” The lizard stared at me, “Yeah, I can do that”, he panted. “There was this one planet they nicknamed Somme, there were trenches and bunkers and defensive emplacements along the entire muddy surface of the planet, all the plant and animal life long dead from the never-ending artillery and nuclear strikes. The soldiers were forced to always wear gasmasks and radiation suits under the armour when outside their bunkers since the air was so thick with radiation and poison gas".

“And the battles?” I asked nervously. “They charged across the wasteland towards the enemy trenches, all the while firing what our military escort called “fully automatic rpg’s”, they exploded into a rain of blood and limbs and entrails whenever a shot landed leaving a carpet of desiccated corpses for their allies to wade through. Once they got closer the defensive lasers opened up cutting the advancing soldiers in half at the waist and leaving them a crawling torso on the ground, screaming in anger, fear and pain. There was one combatant we paid close attention to, a child, no older than sixteen years. He managed to sneak into the enemy trenches and slaughter dozens of grunts and commanders, using their corpses all the while to shield himself from enemy fire. When the child finally died, he was standing on a small hill of bodies, before he died, he detonated a portable nuke setting off an explosion that punched a hole in the enemy lines and eventually led to the loyalists conquering the planet”.

“What about their living conditions?”, I interjected eager to escape the topic of child soldiers. “When outside of their bunkers they were almost as likely to die of disease or hunger as to an enemy combatant. Fresh rations and equipment were so scarce that the commanding officers of both sides used the corpses of allies and enemies alike as rations and recycled the gear of the fallen to equip each recruit or existing combatant. While in the bunkers however, they had at least the basics of comfort, clean beds and proper rations. This even, was not without its cost. Each time they returned from deployment on the surface a sample of their DNA was taken so even if they died, they could be cloned and continue to fight on so that their genes could never know peace”.

It was a disturbing thought to be sure, dying only to be reborn as a clone of your original self and being forced to go and die again, over and over, until the conflict ended.

Before I could ask another question, the timer rang. I looked at my patient before I spoke, he looked less shell shocked than before. “Unfortunately, Markkon that’s all we have time for this week, I expect you to be here at the same time next week”. He nodded and got up heading towards the door, but just before he reached it, I blurted out, “The aliens, what are they called?” He looked over his broad shoulders and simply stated “Humans”, in a deadpan tone before leaving the room.

After he left, I decided that given all I had heard today I deserved a few drinks tonight.

Go check out imperium of man 40k amv-seven nation army by future royalty on YouTube I think the video and the song go great with the story. (credit to ?Alpharius? I didn’t make the video)