The Striders came to the negotiations and chose violence.

It wasn’t a big room, made less so by the legions of ambassadors, assistants, and the few shrimp-like Krill that had worked their way through their holes to do their unstoppable maintenance. The center table was a massive disk capable of displaying any information worth knowing and quite a few bits that weren’t. It was blank now, used only as a desk in which a crescent of human planetary governors could rest their elbows and make relaxed small talk as they waited for the new species from the Outworlds. 

There would be an entreaty and it would get denied and they would return to their penthouses to grow fatter, ushering in nothing but the next generation of vices. Tradition led to efficiency and efficiency demanded naught but the same. 

Non-humans were shunted into small niches saving those that could be pushed into subservience like the Krill scurrying into the wall panels to fix wiring and small circuits.

A door opposite slid open into the wall and just for a moment the contrasting light source revealed the glass wall bisecting the room. Protection, of course, along with the unassuming vents in the ceiling and the drains in the floor. On the inside it was a room of discussion, but this was not a room shared by equals.

Three Striders entered and the conversations drained away slowly only on account that they looked nothing like the alien species they were purported to be.

They were human, that much was certain, or used to be at any rate. Crude wiring ran along their bodies, diving through flesh at random points only to emerge elsewhere in a color coordinated bundle. Soft spots were covered in plated metal and common failure points replaced by machined alternatives leaving chromed knees and raised metal spines. Shield cages protruded as small bumps on their temples.

The Governors smiled behind their hands at such crude upgrades, mentally checking on their own micro-controllers and nanobot numbers. There was no need to marr the body here, if a spine was in danger of breaking, it would be encased, bullets and lasers would be caught or deflected. No need for such obvious shield apparati. Most of these outworlders would rely on evolution and selective breeding to bridge the gap of space travel, it seemed these Striders simply could not wait.

“You’re late,” Opened the delegation from Sun, though they were no such thing, “The committee has no choice but to shelve the issue of admission for the required century.”

The Governor from Centari smiled at that, knowing that the Sun had an appointment at the range, assuming it would be a standard day off as all admission committees were.

The Strider in front cocked its head then, when nothing happened, clenched its teeth.

Each Governor felt a crude worm of wireless communication crawl through their skulls and reluctantly accepted it into their communications module.

The Strider spoke in a discordant cacophony, like their concept of music had been warped over the millenia and there was nothing left but the crashing of plate metal and the sizzle of plasma welding.

We are Striders, this is the seventh inquiry into material entry bartering. There will not be an eighth. 

The Sun delegate snapped his fingers for dramatic effect while transferring the transmission into the built in speakers and jettisoning the wireless worm from his mind. The voice became audible and the rest of the governors followed suit, shoving the communication from their mind as easily as their maid took out the trash.

“This is the first such inquiry before the council,” Stated Governor Centari blandly, for he too had an appointment and wanted to have time to visit the Sauna before. “We must deliberate, perhaps we can schedule you in for the turn of the century, only 70 years or so.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

This is unacceptable, in seventy years, I, along with most of my generation will be dead.

“Then,” Governor Sun said mildly, “You should reevaluate whether or not your species is even worthy in the first place. Good day”

The committee stood and walked to the door, Sun was the first there, but frowned as it would not retract. He mentally told it to open then waved at the sensor when that didn’t work, making bigger and bigger gestures. He stopped just short of jumping up and down and turned to the Krill standing there. The small creature stared back at him with its black, beady eyes. 

“Well?” He said in a raised voice, “Fix it”

The Krill tapped its front two legs together then crawled up the wall and slid behind an open panel that it bolted after itself.

There was a popping noise and the governors swivelled to find the lead Strider cracking its neck. It rolled its shoulders then stepped forward and struck the glass divider with a bang of metal on glass. The strider examined the wall, and, finding no mark along its surface, shrugged, then exploded.

The entire room pitched with the force of the blast. Half the assembly was knocked off its feet where nanobots encased heads, spines, and wrists to protect them from damage. The surviving two Striders simply bent their knees and absorbed the shockwave.

A single crack glinted among the black ash staining the glass.

The Governor from Sun threw himself to his feet and against the door, pounding on it with fists that got covered with nanobots whenever they contacted.

Still the door did not move.

The two Striders bowed to the Krill on their side before hurling themselves at the crack, pounding at it with metal knuckles, growing it slowly with determination.

Several governors and aids ran to the panels on the walls, but were drawn short by the technical jargon displayed there. They shouted at the panels and instructed them to open with their wireless communications, but nothing happened. They were frozen in the moment, unable to internalize the fact that for all their exalted position and societal importance, they contributed nothing to that which humanity benefitted from. By personal contribution, they were no more technically advanced than the mice beneath their feet.

The wall crashed in and suddenly the striders were through, seizing the nearest person and crushing their windpipe in one mailed hand. Nanobots broke out on the surface and the Strider grimaced, increasing the pressure but to no avail. Frustrated, it hurled the aide into the wall then threw a bolt of lightning from one fist into his chest. Again the nanobots blocked the impact then the energy, channeling it into a ground and away from vital organs. 

The Strider looked saddened, the first emotion they had displayed until this point. It looked at the other who nodded in unspoken agreement. With such permission, it too detonated.

The room shook again, throwing all human life to its corners, but this time no nanobots sprang to their defense. The short range EMP of the explosion frying them through their shielding. The last Strider went along with them, solid metal mitigating at least some of the damage done by the force.

Sirens sounded through the halls outside as smoke poured out of the monitors and access panels in a choking black cloud.

The last Strider stood, slowly forcing the motors and metal on its joints to move, vestigial muscles pushing through the stall torque and grinding against ruined tolerances. It would never recover full function of its body, living a half-life from that point forward.

Still, it crossed the remaining distance to where Governor Sun lay, his neck bent at an odd angle, eyes still rolling in their sockets. His body was as broken as his enhancements and he felt all of it. The spinal nerve blocks and painkillers were locked deep inside the frozen corpses of the nanobots.

The Strider tried to reach out a worm of thought then remembered that there was no transmitter left to project and Sun had no receiver to listen. Choking slightly, it opened its mouth and forced the remainder of its vocal cords to its will.

“Our begging went unanswered and our overtures were scorned,” it said in a gurgling voice, barely audible through the ringing in Sun’s ears. It lifted its metal boot and placed it on his throat.

“You forget that your sins are weathered for only as long as the scorned do not outnumber your own.”

And with a final pressure on Sun’s neck, it smothered the old and stepped into the dawn of a new age.