Memory transcription subject: Onso, Yotul Technical Specialist
Date [standardized human time]: March 9, 2137
Our vessel was in dire need of repairs, after the high-octane firefight that took place inside of our walls. The Kolshians had been rebuffed in most of their boarding attempts, with the Terrans’ superior reflexes and wits providing a massive advantage. However, the enemy had been able to take the bridge on two of our ships, but the UN captains triggered the self-destruct before they could assume control. The primates were defiant to their last breaths, willing to sacrifice themselves to a fiery end if it meant that the bastards couldn’t get their tentacles on our gadgetry. I liked to think that I had a great deal of courage, but I wasn’t certain I could’ve set off the detonation sequence without hesitation, knowing I was still aboard. Human bravery never failed to impress me.
Tyler had embraced me in the tightest hug I’d ever received from him, after the ordeal Samantha and I went through. Despite the fact that the intruders had been cleared from our vessel, my exchange partner had been hovering at my side as much as possible. He didn’t make a single jibe about my prior controller-smashing episodes during our gaming sessions; though he’d never get overtly weepy, I was touched to see how terrified he was by the prospect of losing me. I deigned to stick by my brother-in-arms, so we could protect each other going forward. As we docked with a mobile repair gantry that had warped in, I was excited to tour the latest developments in the maintenance department.
This entire construct was a novel idea; it allowed ship touchups to be expedited! The bridge would be back in tiptop shape in no time, and I imagined they’d place a permanent seal in the microscopic hull gap I’d patched while we were out. I’d love to pick a Terran engineer’s brain, comparing their knowledge to my own and exchanging opinions on the latest technologies. Likely, the rest of our warship’s crew would’ve found the repair gabbing boring; I almost felt a little bad for Tyler tagging along on my sightseeing expedition. However, I imagined he’d be more miserable worrying about a repeat of the boarding incident than listening to me spew facts like a geyser.
“We need to have a talk, Onso,” Tyler grumbled, as we descended down the exit ramp into the station’s walkway. “There’s some rumors about you causing trouble on the ship.”
I perked my ears up, widening my eyes to look innocent. “For the Kolshians?”
“That look right there is exactly the problem. Sam told me you’ve been doin’ the begging shit to get folks to do stuff for ya. She’s right that you need to knock it off.”
“Ooh, a scolding from my commanding officer. Worried I’ll turn it on you? You know, I would, if you could cook anything other than instant ramen. Sovlin told me all about your unimpressive efforts.”
“I know you think it’s fun and games, but listen here. It’s kinda funny, but Onso, you want everyone to treat you equal. That particular stunt is gonna have folks treating you like their fucking pet, and I don’t see you in the same light as my dog Zeus. You don’t wanna align yourself with animal behavior, right? Guy who’s sharp as a whip shouldn’t be seen as anything below that.”
“Aw c’mon. Maybe I’m sacrificing a little dignity, but a so-called ‘cuteness overload’ gets humans to do stuff I don’t wanna do.”
“We already see Yotul as cute by default…I just never told you ‘cause I didn’t wanna insult you. I’d be pissed if someone pinched my cheeks and was like, ‘Aw, you cutie pie.’”
I swiveled to face the human, grabbing his cheeks as his blue eyes widened with indignation. “Aw, you cutie pie! Who’s a precious human—”
Tyler reached out with a hand, yanking on my tail. The Terran tugged with enough force that I yelped and leapt backward; several human crew that passed us openly turned their heads to gawk at the scene. My exchange partner dusted his hands off, a satisfied smirk on his face. I growled at him, and he beckoned with an open palm for the, “Come at me” gesture. I considered launching myself at him, hindlegs first, but that might be taking the playfighting a bit too far. With reluctance, my posture shifted to something meeker, and I fell back in at his side.
Tyler might be bigger, but I could spar with him. It’d be funny to plant him on his ass with a dropkick; deep down, I genuinely want to try that on a human.
“You’re actually the worst. You’re damn lucky we’re bros, and I think you’re cute,” the blond human chuckled. “So, as I was saying, if you want to take advantage of our affectionate nature, you can just ask us to do whatever it is you want like a person. We’ll probably still do it, man. In my case, I’d be there if you asked me to ‘cause I’m your friend. Since you’re my friend, don’t you dare play games with me, you hear?”
I stuck my snout up high in the air, closing my eyes. “No promises. Or is that an order, sir?”
“Oh, fuck you. I’m serious, dude.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got the message loud and clear.”
“Good, because there’s more important matters at hand. Sovlin’s cooked up a new name for you, and I swear, the ‘primitive’ shit is definitely about getting around the jar to spite me at this point. I’m so tempted to tattle on him to his shrink.”
“I’m sure I’ll love this. What’s the name? Train lover? Barbarian? Ralchi forbid, taushana?”
“That last one didn’t translate.”
“It’s, um…a slur toward Rinsians. It means shit-sniffing island savage, thereabouts. Thysunites can’t stand that we’re isolated from their ‘culture.’ Don’t you ever use that word toward me.”
“Oh. That kind of name. Got it. Lips are zipped. Sovlin is unaware of that word, I reckon. He’s taken to calling you an a-ta-vist. I fucking hate saying that.”
“So Sovlin just changed how he calls me a primitive? That’s not so bad. It’s almost a term of endearment. He can’t admit the Yotul who was born without electricity is brighter than him.”
“I really don’t get that, Onso. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t imagine growing up without electricity or running water. I dunno if I’d even make it; Yotul were damn tough. From where you started, to how quick you learned everything about an interstellar society? It shows you got a good head screwed on your shoulders.”
“Thanks, I guess. You’d make it, if it was all you knew. You can’t think ‘the best there is’ is rough.”
“That checks out. Can’t miss what you don’t got.”
After jawing off along the way, I spotted a hangar bay where a group of Terrans were clustered around a computer screen, talking animatedly about something. This could be an unparalleled opportunity to discuss my passion with people who shared it, and wouldn’t look down on me for being too “primitive” to be considered an academic equal. My tail wagged with happiness, and I bounded away from Tyler without a moment’s notice. The blond human sighed with resignation, before trudging after me.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
A Terran engineer’s head snapped up, and a toothy grin took over his face. “How’s it going? Hey, you’re the Yotul that took out a dozen Kolshians with fire foam, aren’t you? We watched the footage earlier today—you’re a badass. What can we do for you?”
“I’d be happy to talk about anything tech-related, if you have time,” I replied.
“Then you should check out the feeds we’re looking at now. We just launched the biggest fucking cyberattack the Feds have ever seen. Word is, this is Zhao’s sideshow to keep Feddie minions from running to Aafa’s aid. Look and see.”
Interest showed in Tyler’s gaze; we both coveted news about the war from other fronts. I’d done some light reading on the humans’ forays into digital attacks during the Satellite Wars, but the Treaty of Shanghai put restrictions on cyberwarfare due to its astounding consequences. Under the present circumstances, I didn’t imagine the United Nations was applying the letter of their internal laws to obstinate Federation powers. This could be a unique opportunity to parse why the late 21st century skirmish was so devastating to Earth’s largest countries. I joined the crowd of Terrans, following their directional eyes.
The total pandemonium depicted on screen, filmed from hundreds of worlds, was jaw-dropping. Without dropping a single bomb, or even positioning a single ship in orbit, the humans had brought entire societies to a standstill; it looked as though the Federation worlds were on the brink of anarchy. Riots occurred in the streets, despite the supposed certainty that prey weren’t capable of such behavior. I knew from the lessons of the Grain Wars on Leirn that when food was scarce or other basic needs were denied, civilization could break down in a matter of days. What digital assault could have harvested these results?
I don’t see a direct correlation between a loss of internet service or a computer network, and blood in the streets. Perhaps the news anchor’s commentary will explain.
Detail by detail, the affected technology and its ramifications were expounded upon over our airwaves. Malware had been placed into the power grids of every Federation-allied entity, resulting in mass blackouts; unless the citizens were remotely located and sustained their facilities on independent power sources, this had a variety of rippling effects. In regions tormented by bitter winters, this left homes in near-freezing temperatures, needing to run appliances off limited backup energy stashes…for those who had any. Affluent neighborhoods were best prepared to weather the storm, while others had to cultivate fires or head out to shelters for refuge. Hospitals running on minimum power were struggling to fuel their machinery, spawning desperate pleas to military hospital ships to take on patients.
The most dire impact of all was the fact that, without refrigeration, entire food stores spoiled; to confound this problem, the humans had also taken out the water mains with their invisible software. Lacking both of the essential building blocks for life, civilians attempted to complete transactions to purchase the remaining supplies at stores. However, the banking system had also been the target of hacking operations. The Terrans drained every credit from each account, and targeted backup servers as well. Without funding to buy food, and with their livelihoods vanished, protestors marched down to their governments’ doorsteps. Many states instituted rations and handouts from what was left of the supply chain, but shelves still ran bare as everyone rushed for morsels of food.
“It’s everything,” I breathed. “An entire society brought to its knees by the things they took for granted, and depended on electronics to fuel. Bet they wish they had primitive systems now.”
Few elements of society went untouched; the Terrans were ruthless in going after anything that was tapped into a network. Some military personnel had been tricked into downloading malicious files on their closed system ships, allowing the UN to trigger their self-destruct function from afar. The once-secret FTL comms infrastructure was taken out alongside civilian planetary broadcast systems, which meant the armed forces were left unable to transmit intel. The populace was, likewise, stripped of their ability to receive news, government instructions, or contact their relatives during this time of unrest. The pure genius of humanity’s ploy was undeniable. The Federation’s allies couldn’t come to Aafa’s assistance while there were problems at home, their vulnerable technology was untrustworthy, and communications would be cut off with their command and leadership.
Earth would be delusional to attempt to combat over 200 species at once. Now, whatever shadow fleet resources are amassed in the Kolshians’ systems have to fare for themselves. The Commonwealth might have to backpedal their other operations and defend their homeworld.
After seeing cyberwarfare in action, I could grasp why the Satellite Wars ravaged Earth’s industrialized nations, punishing them for every advancement they’d made in any field that revolved around technology. Civilians could be caught in the cross-fire, with every facet of their lives unraveling by the invisible hand of a digital threat. It was my new directive to bring this information back to Leirn, assuming humanity wasn’t already collaborating with the Yotul on cyberwarfare strategies and defenses. The Technocracy needed, first and foremost, to safeguard our fledgling systems and ships from such attacks. However, it would also be apt if us primitives uncovered ways to cripple the very advancements the Federation had lorded over our heads.
“Would ya look at that? We really fucking did it!” Tyler cheered. “I believe we can take Aafa, y’all, just like we took Talsk. This is it. Nikonus Junior, or whoever the fuck their new despot is, will be facing a war tribunal lickety-split.”
I swished my tail lazily. “I know what you said about not crossing lines. I’ll follow your orders, even if I do see them as soft. But I think the only way to be sure we’re rid of the Feddies is to wipe them out once and for all. There’s no benefits to keeping a source of such evil alive if we have the chance to cap the well.”
“Bah, we’re all tempted to wipe ‘em off the map or whatnot. But it’s a bad precedent for us to do that, and it ain’t gonna get the other Feddies to stand down. It won’t let us free Slanek or any civilians that’re under heel too—any kids who ain’t had nothin’ to do with this horseshit. No, we wanna end this war and keep it ended. It doesn’t end by following the same old cycle this whole galaxy’s been on.”
“They have to pay for what they’ve done, as a collective society! Respectfully, I don’t think it matters if there’s a precedent for washing our paws of a race that has genocided millions. Do you think it was justified to launch this cyberattack against these Federation subordinates?”
“Well, yeah. Sucks that civilians got wrapped up in it, but it’s an option that saves human lives and ships we don’t got enough of.”
“Doesn’t it save human lives to bomb Aafa, and not have to take it by foot?”
“In the short term. You’ll pay the blood price of the other Feddies fighting to the death. And you also show the rest of the SC races, including the Yotul, that we’re a buncha fuckin’ hypocrites. I’d like us to be the ones who show ‘em there can be something better. Heroes aren’t heroes on a part-time basis.”
“I want a peaceful life back on Leirn, helping rebuild my culture. I don’t need to be a hero.”
“Of course you don’t need to, buddy. You’ll do it because you don’t want the foundation of our peace to be built on sand. You’ll do it because you’ve seen that we’re different, and because, even if it’s just from a science point of view, you think life means something. We’ll do it for each other, ‘cause we owe it to ourselves and our friends to finish this with dignity.”
A Terran engineer whistled with appreciation. “That’s a hell of a speech. For what it’s worth, I agree with you. Killing a shit ton of people, or any form of mass punishment, has never fixed or helped anything. Always come back to bite you in the ass.”
I sighed. “Just out of curiosity…would the ‘puppy dog eyes’ help at all to win this debate?”
“No! Bad Yotul!” Tyler scolded, a disbelieving glint in his eyes. “You can’t beg the UN to let you murk some civvies.”
“Maybe not, but if a couple of antimatter bombs happened to fall into my control, it wouldn’t be their—”
“Clearly you’ve seen enough chaos and destruction in HD for one day. I’m taking you back to the ship. That is an order!”
I struck a pouting posture, while waving a farewell with my tail to the human engineers. This journey hadn’t morphed into the technical conversation I’d craved, but it had lent me insight into an entirely new field of study. I was determined to acquire knowledge on digital vulnerabilities, and tinker with how I could engineer safeguards into Leirn’s grid, in case we ever ended up on the wrong side of someone with cyberwarfare capabilities. With its present deployment against the Federation’s allies, our mission to Aafa suddenly seemed much more feasible. Once our warship was repaired and ready to return to action, it would be up to us to take down the Kolshians through any means necessary.
After everything I’d seen in the past few months, I believed that humanity had what it took to win this war.