"Our use of this technology predates the so called 'Founding of Sentient Rights' and "Twelve Basic Rights" as well as "The Declaration of Individuality" Documents and the "Right to Be Forgotten" that you have been using as an excuse to shed the blood that you are drowning the Orion-Cygnus Galactic Arm Spur with.
"We will not submit our way of life to yours.
"We will not lay down our weapons.
"We will not disarm.
"We will not submit our genecode, the most basic of all that makes a person unique, to 'binding' in the name of other being's safety.
"If you want us.
"Come get us.
"There is enough blood for all of our hands." - Steel Cauldron Assemblage rebuttal of Fourth Reformation demands, prior to the founding of the Confederacy. - Not for Public Distribution. No-XenoCom.
"Every government has hands covered in blood. Every inch of ground, every stellar system, is soaked in blood. It drips from hands of smiling beings, fills up the print left behind boots that have marched through time.
"We all know this. It is an ugly fact of existence. We all ignore it, knowing that it is a universal constant, and all pretend that our hands, our graspers, our bladearms, our claws, and our footsteps, are clean.
"The primates of TerraSol's Third Stratocracy, however, admit it. To their people. To each other. To beings like us.
"Even to themselves.
"My fellow Skencavax, my fellow plutocrats, do not vote in support of this war declaration. If you do, you will be signing in blood.
"And the primates, they will be glad to countersign in everyone's blood." - K'z'rtuk, Skencavax Plutocrat of the Nineteenth Holy Singularity Sector of the Skencavax Unified Stellar States.
"Doki?" - The Crimson Joan of the Red Claw Neko-Marines, transmitted to the Atrekna on Hesstla, Third Hesstlan Conflict.
Max glanced at one of his monitors as both the probe arrays reached the planets and did a high speed burn around each planet. They were moving fast enough that they were able to cross the planet in thirty minutes. Each missile had contained twelve scanner sats, throwing them out at different angles to maximize coverage in as little time as possible.
One planet had what looked like Planetary Defense mobilizing across the entire planet. There were ground assets, aerospace assets, sats being launched from four sites, and what appeared to be wet-navy assets steaming from a large facility.
Max turned to the other planet and wanted to groan out loud, but instead turned his attention back to counting down.
Eight unwounded of the huge shelled creatures were breaking off from the tightly clustered group.
The spreading debris from the five crystalline warships that had taken the phasic inversion charge had obviously forced the Atrekna to realize that if they just clustered together and waited he'd rip them apart nibble by nibble.
His sensors saw the thick chronotron haze in front of two of the huge creature's armored eyestalks, saw phasic energy gather at their 'mouths' and grinned.
He waited until there was a flare of phasic energy, kicked the 'pedal' that only existed in his mind, his foot stomping on the footplate, and the macro kicked in.
His ship spewed out chronotron dazzlers, strobing flashbangs, phasic buzzsaws, a C+d drone, and a single C+ round fired a split second before the engines turned him into a streak, following the C+ round. The drone streaked into hyperspace, emulating his ship's wounded signature, and reappeared eight light seconds away.
The C+ round exited hyperspace near the far planet and exploded into a .45 seconds fireworks show of chronotrons and phasic particles.
The Happy Trader dropped into the middle of the firework show with a roar of "NEVER FEAR, MAX IS STILL HERE!" as the ship dropped the almost catastrophic energy from the crash translation.
The two huge shelled creatures realized that they had spit at nothing but an echo run by a drone. The phasic energy twisted with chronotrons lanced across fifty-two light seconds to explode on a drone, which soared out of the blast, blackened and dented, but still intact.
It played an insulting tune via phasic surges at the same time as it projected a hologram thickened with phasic energy nearly a kilometer high of a cartoon female lemur that wiggled her fingers next to her ears as she leaned forward and stuck out her tongue.
While the image had no cultural reference to the Atrekna they were intelligent enough to know when they had been insulted.
It infuriated the Young Ones, who tried to order the massive genesis warships to chase the Inheritor ship. They were infuriated to the point that it took more than a little effort by the Ancient Ones and Old Ones to keep the battle plan they were forming together instead of allowing the Young Ones to disrupt the plan even further.
Max knew none of this, arcing tight against the planet, as close as he dared, even though the wisps of atmosphere buffeted his ship like hammer blows.
He checked the card up his sleeve, winced at the readout, then looked at the planet.
If they had planetary defense, it was obviously so well hidden that not even the Atrekna would find it when they took over the planet.
The readout on the card was bad.
PRIMARY CRITICAL SYSTEMS: 19%
SECONDARY CRITICAL SYSTEMS: 8%
MASS RESERVES: 11%
OPERATIONAL SYSTEMS: 12.5%
COMBAT CAPABILITY: 9%
EMERGENCY DEPLOYMENT ONLY
Max gritted his teeth and grabbed the decorated lever. He watched the readout and when the tone sounded he yanked on a lever that only existed in his mind, his forearm bunching as he pulled on the grab bars at the side of his cradle.
He felt the package drop and hoped its systems were in good enough shape to get it down as intact as possible.
Good luck, guys, Max thought to himself as he oriented on the crystalline fortress ships and locked them up with targeting, the C+ cannons loading. Hopefully that piece of salvage will work.
Behind him the chunk of salvage, wrapped in ablative reentry armor, arced into the atmosphere and began to leave a black and white cloud of burnt armor, heading for a large open area in the middle of the protocontinent.
The computer systems onboard the piece of salvage were damaged, the electronic equivalent of a concussion and a brain bleed, but they examined the map loaded in, checked the inertia tracker, and adjusted the landing point.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Now it would land near the ocean.
The computer systems stroked out, rebooted, and chuckled to itself as the chunk of salvage plunged along its new course.
Victory or death, either was fine.
-----
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd looked up with a smile as Naktrix approached, a maid following carrying a picnic basket, another maid carrying a bucket with a bottle of wine in ice, and a butler carrying a set of eight crystal wine flutes.
"Ah, there you are," Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd smiled. She held out her hand and Naktrix put the thick leather gunbelt into her hand. She buckled it on then admired the buckle. It was enameled to look like a warsteel hoofshoe with an atomic blast in the open area inside the hoofshoe arc. She checked the pistol, admiring the black warsteel casing again. She looked up and smiled. "It is indeed a fine weapon."
"Yes, milady," Naktrix said. He watched as the maids and butlers set up a folding table, two folding chairs, and then laid out the white and red checkered tablecloth before setting out the meal.
When Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd held out her hand again, Naktrix put the heavy box in her hand. Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd sat down at the table and put the box in front of her. She pushed three thumbs against the pads and the locks clicked open.
She lifted the lid and smiled, giving a long slow exhale of pleasure.
What she lifted out was a round crystal, with small Lanaktallan handprints on it and a faint glow from inside. Written in Unified Standard on the side was "Happy Birthday Momma!" in seven distinctly different handwriting. She tapped the orb and it sang the lively birthday tune and seven different immature Lanaktallan voices all called out "Happy Birthday, Mommy!"
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd stared at the orb for a long moment, accepting the glass of wine. She leaned back in the comfortable folding sling, resting her back against the padded backrest, sipped at her wine, and stared at the swirling vapors inside the glowing orb. Still images of immature Lanaktallan rose to the surface and sunk back down as she stared.
The leader of the lemurs came up and stood, waiting, legs together, feet forty-five degrees apart, shoulders back, spine stiff, arms held tight at their sides, thumbs along the side of their fists and their curled fingers touching the hem of their pants. They stared off into the distance, their face serious beneath the helmet.
A long moment moved past, during which Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd nodded to herself, staring at the orb with her front facing eyes, the others closed, as she sipped her way through two flutes of wine. Finally she looked up, blinking, and reached forward to close the box.
"My, thinking in such a manner is indeed an exertion," she exclaimed, smiling. She motioned to the lemur. "Please, commander, sit."
"Aye!" the lemur said, saluting. It sat down and smiled as a flute of wine was poured for it.
"I have been engaging in something my son Bee-Bee calls 'non-linear thinking and abstract pattern recognition', which apparently was, at one time, an esoteric discipline for my people," Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd said.
The lemur babbled and the translator clicked. After a moment the translator on the table spoke.
"The most rewards come from the most difficult endeavors and efforts," the translator said.
"I'm glad you believe so," Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd said. She waved at the surroundings. "Can you defend this planet, this system, from the foul Atrekna?"
Again, more babbling.
"It is a warrior's honor to defend those who cannot defend themselves with sharpened bladearms and keen wits. It will be the honor of Lady Kay-Dee Anne's Guard to defend this world, this system, from oppression," the device clicked. "It appears the Chalice has fallen. Might I know your name, your title, so that my troops can call out your name as they fight?"
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd smiled. "I am called Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd, of the Ya'ahd Clan."
The lemur smiled, showing all the teeth.
"We are the ones in service of the Farm Yard, who all will buy their own part of the farm with blood and honor, one way or another," the lemur said. "Victory or death, either is fine."
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd nodded slowly. "Please. Defend these people. Save them. I ask you."
The lemur stood up, saluting. "In your name, Lady Ya'ahd." She touched her headset. "Redesignate: Lady Kay-Dee Anne's Guard to Farm Yard Guard."
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd smiled as the lemur walked away and the sound of shouting could be heard, growing louder each second.
Naktrix looked at Shakras.
Naktrix wondered if he looked just as sick as the Shavashan as the shouting became legible.
"FARM YARD! FARM YARD! ONE LIFE ONE PLOT!"
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd smiled and opened the box. For a long moment she stared, hearing the voices of her many children in their childhood, her eyes slightly unfocused, as she stared. Finally, she closed the box.
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd set down her communicator, took a moment to make sure her mane and her jewelry and her jaunty hat were immaculate, doublechecked her sash and made sure her gunbelt buckle was visible, then settled down.
She reached out and punched in the comlink number of the System Director, formerly the System Grand Most High, and waited.
It rang repeatedly, then was automatically forwarded to a new number, the Assistant Director.
She sat, sipping wine from the flute, in the comfortable relaxation sling, as it kept cycling through numbers, until it finally just reached a public service VI.
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd shut off the comlink with an exasperated sigh. "WEll, I never," she said. She reached out and punched a new number.
The Lanaktallan who answered looked startled. "Who are you? How did you get this number?"
"I am Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd, functionary," she snapped, drawing herself up. "Why are you not at your post? The system is being invaded!"
"The system is lost. I seek cover with my family and advise you to do the same," the Lanaktallan said.
"I will do no such thing," Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd said. She put her hands on the table. "I will not cower in a wine cellar while monstrocities from beyond space and time run rampant through this planet's population, acting like a starving nupta lizard in an egg nursery!" she leaned foward. "Where is your honor?"
"To the Nine Hell's and the Forgotten Ones with honor! I want to live!" the Lanaktallan said. "If you think you can do something, you try to stop them! See if your precious honor stops them from sucking out your brain. I plan on living, honor or no!"
The channel went dead.
"I hope you live long indeed, disgraced one," Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd said softly.
She dialed back the Planetary Administration Virtual Intelligence.
"I'm sorry, but there is nobody to provide assistance at this time," the VI said.
"I am filing an emergency abandonment order for the planetary defense chain of command under the full authority of my Great Most High rank," she snapped. "Initiate."
There was a buzzing sound for almost a full minute. When the VI came back Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd smiled.
"Log in my person as Planetary Defense Most High," she said.
"Access Denied," the VI said.
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd sighed and looked at Naxtrik. "You did not see this," she said. She drew a small datawafer casing out of her satchel. It was entirely of warsteel and had a pink 'heart' icon, favored by lemur emojis and iconography. It said "I <3 Momma" on it.
She withdrew the wafer and slotted it into the communicator.
The VI fuzzed. After a moment, the VI cleared.
"How may I assist you today, Planetary Defense Great Grand Most High?" the VI asked.
"Can you read the military transponders near my position?" Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd asked.
"Yes, Most High," the VI said.
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd smiled. "Excellent. Assign all of them to planetary defense. Activate the Civil Defense plans, alert the people to shelter in basements, underground parking garages, and where they can. Instruct them to take Class-I food forges and/or nanoforges with them," she said.
"Yes, Most High," the VI said.
"Alert me if any significant changes occur," Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd said.
"Yes, Most High," the VI said.
Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd turned off the communicator and leaned back. She looked at Naxtrik and Shakras.
"I hope I can comport myself even a hundredth as well as my sons and daughters have during these exciting times," she said softly. She looked out where heavy cargo lifters were taking off, escorted by strikers and aerospace fighters. "Our lives are in the lemurs' hands."
Both just nodded.
-----
The salvage had hit hard. Real hard. It had not broken apart, but it had been a close thing.
Tiny nanobots went to work, scavenging parts to fix or replace more critical parts. They scavenged trace amounts of metals, plastics, thriving on the layer of pollution deep in the ground soil that had not been reclaimed by nature or cleaned up by industry.
The mass tanks, the two that survived, were nearly full, a blessing that the nanobots couldn't really conceive as they set about their thankless tasks with all the dutiful attention of the mechanical.
Finally a connection was made and power was restored to the inside of the salvage.
No screens or lights came on. No, those were secondary priority.
Debris was cleaned away, carried to the single still functioning grinder and dumped in to replenish the mass tanks.
The cloning bank had power, and where there was power and materials, anything could be repaired.
The clone took six tries, nearly eleven minutes, to run off.
Elapsed Time: 00:00:01:38:18.16
The cyberjack slammed into the base of the skull. Self tests were run.
They came back yellow and green.
Close enough.
A panel opened up and an extendable lattice moved toward the clone. At the end of it was a scuffed and dirty boot with a shining steel toe. There was a clicking noise as stripped gears pulled the boot back, putting tension on the worn springs.
The cyberjack gave a shock directly to the clone's brainstem.
The boot swung forward, kicking the clone in the chest, the steel toe giving off and electric shock.
The lattice collapsed back into the box, which was marked "Emergency emergency resuscitation" in fading red stencil.
The clone jerked, back arcing, and collapsed into the chair, breathing raggedly as the clone slumped over the desktop.
After a long moment the clone coughed and looked up.
"Situation report," the clone wheezed.
There was only the crackle of damaged electronics and the clicking and thumping of damaged mechanics.
Most in the clone's position would have despaired.
The primary construction facility was damaged.
The mass tanks only had 11%.
Over an hour and a half had passed.
The clone smiled.
"I live, I die, I live again," Command Jane Marcus Prastini smiled, cracking open a warm can of Countess Crey Fizzybrew.