“Shadows And Daggers; Chronicles Of The Auresten”

Human Edition, Volume 3

Chapter 26: Twilight Of The Katneral.

Editor’s forward:

After much deliberation, it was determined that the best way to present these events is from warlord Dijjak’s perspective.  While this makes some things more difficult to explain without breaking the narrative, we feel it makes for a much more intriguing read.

Since this is known to typically be the first – and often only – chapter of these entire chronicles that a given human will actually read, I will clarify here that “Human Edition” means that translations have been made with specifically human concepts in mind, and extra information has also been added.  Both of these were done to enhance comprehension and to hopefully free up our customer service department from answering the same questions all day, every day.

Also, since you probably skipped the introduction to these chronicles (and you won’t stop calling us about this), I’ll tell you here that we know what these individuals said and did (and to an extent, what they thought) because we’re the auresten; we see everything.  If you’re still confused about the depth of our intel, read the introduction.

Seriously, stop pestering us with the same stupid questions or we’re changing our contact info again.

Warlord Dijjak, head of the most powerful clan of the katneral race, slowly paced the bridge of his flagship, the Hooded Claw, eagerly anticipating their imminent arrival in the Sol system.  His armored uniform was polished, pristinely bloodied, and a perfect match for the jackal-like features of his species.

Like every other member of the katneral raiding forces – and doubly so for those in his present armada – he had had quite enough of the humans’ constant interference, and his force of nearly a thousand ships had been assembled from the majority of the clans to go to Earth itself and put a stop to it.  It was a nigh-unthinkable act of military cooperation between the endlessly-feuding clans, one that Dijjak never expected to see, let alone command, but the humans had been royally pissing everyone off for decades and had finally gone too far, so here he was.

He intended to enjoy every minute of it while it lasted; he was fully aware that as soon as their task was technically complete, things would almost instantly get stupidly backstabby.

“Drinks are going to be named after this raid.  Really sweet ones that smell like a crying baby ferrshen and leave a fizz on your tongue and a ring in your ears for hours … to say nothing of the stain all over your mouth.”

His comment accomplished its three purposes; it got a chuckle out of his bridge crew, it reminded them that listening to him might actually be advantageous, and it got him and his crew drooling slightly.  They considered that last point to be an effective addition to any threatening visage, especially when playing the part of the raiding horde of savage, blood-thirsty pirates.

After all, they were trying to look like professionals (the footage was expected to be a popular item), and that demands consistency.

Not that they confused consistency with quality, mind you.  Ask any katneral, and they would agree that humans were certainly consistent; they were consistently bloody annoying, always getting in the way of perfectly legitimate raids on lesser beings!  They apparently either didn’t understand or didn’t care that it was considered, at best, atrociously rude to deny strong individuals their right to exploit weaker ones in any way they wanted.

As far as the katneral were concerned, if you don’t like being raided, then don’t be weak.  Why the rest of the galaxy couldn’t get on the same page was, frankly, beyond them.

Thankfully for these pirates, humans also consistently built ships that were largely inferior in combat, with their speed (both in and out of FTL) being their only advantage, indeed the only reason they were not obliterated in every battle.  That speed made them eternally frustrating to engage while they were on the offensive, especially since harassment as a military tactic had been an entirely new concept for the katneral; it had hit their war machine like a sandstorm in a field of thumbtacks.  That advantage, however, all but evaporated when the humans were put on the defensive.

With that likely in his mind, Dijjak noticed with obvious satisfaction that they had arrived at their destination.  Moving front and center on the bridge to give himself a completely unobstructed view forward of the ship, he struck a commanding pose as they dropped out of FTL and …

… and was more than a little surprised to see, not merely a scant few attempts at proper patrols, but instead a substantial human fleet holding position at just over double their effective weapons’ range.  What’s more, they were almost perfectly positioned to intercept his armada on their way to Earth.

Well, it was substantial in number, anyway, at roughly five hundred ships; they were still outnumbered two-to-one – and utterly outclassed – by his forces.

Dijjak had almost no time to ponder this, though; less than a second after arriving, his entire viewscreen was suddenly hijacked by an elderly man reading off a clipboard who immediately took the initiative with his delightful Irish lilt:

“Warlord Dijjak, aboard the Hooded Claw, of the Doonen Mirsh clan … vermin.”  With that, he checked something off on his clipboard.

Forcing himself to maintain a guise of a calm and confident lethargy, Dijjak began sauntering back to his command podium near the back of the bridge, giving his confused and now horrified comms officer Nerlin a look that canceled ALL of her off-duty plans for the foreseeable future.

Meanwhile, the human continued, “Warlord Pokesh, aboard the Primal Lunge, of the Leiman Bern clan … verminnn … ”  Check.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Warlord Meshel, aboard the Dawn Hunter, of the Borten Hin clan … verm- oh, my, absolute filth!”  Check.

“Annnnnd … warlord Soonarin, aboard the Vengeful Talon, of the Ignalis clan … yes, vermin.”  Check.

And just like that, this stranger had named and insulted the four primary commanders present along with their ships and clan names as if he had personally invited them for that exact purpose.

With a cheerfulness and enthusiasm that would have been the envy of any junior ambassador, the human stated, “I’m so glad you’re all finally here!  I am Admiral Tychus McAllister of the E.S.F. Blue Polaris, commanding the 5th Expeditionary Forces of the Mediterranean-Atlantic Coalition of Europe.”

After an exaggeratedly-graceful bow, he continued very contentedly, “Welcome to Sol!  Now, be good sports, bugger off like the bad jokes that you are, and stop preventing the light from our star from doing something more … productive than announcing your hideous, waste-of-space ships, hm?”

“Of course,” Dijjak mused to himself as he reached his command podium, “why wouldn’t it be Mace?”  He, along with most of his fellow commanders, was quite familiar with THAT human faction in particular; they were notorious for so brutally scrambling ship sensors – if not frying them outright – that it often took hours to get them working again.  That kind of attack only worked at short range, though, so, given their distance and the veritable chasm between each force’s combat capacities, he was fully confident that this human fleet would NOT be reaching said range and was thus a tolerable threat, not requiring an immediate response.

Having waited until he could see that his counterpart was about to respond, Admiral McAllister pre-emptively interrupted him in an exceedingly patronizing tone, “Oh, and while you’re at it, please wipe your mouths; idiot meatheads look like you and we think they can do better, yeah?”  He looked off to the side for a moment, nodded, and then finished with, “And yes, we’re Mace; we know that a familiar face helps to ease introductions.”

He then just stood there, perfectly still and silent, his hands clasped behind his back, with a vigorously-enforced blank expression on his face, though some of his bridge staff were audibly laughing.

Mentally preparing himself to be cut off again, Dijjak replied, “Feeling proud of yoursel-?“

“Leave.”  That laughter was getting louder, and the expression became forcibly blanker.

“Well now, you th-“

“Yes, now would be good.”  In the background, the sensor tech spit his water at his screen.

“Wha-!”

“Boomy dust winkers!”  Now the chief gunnery officer did as well.

“… are you ill or som-?”

“It’s Australian for ‘cleaning the business end of an outhouse would be a better use of my tongue than talking to you, so kindly grace us with your absence.’”  Due to a temporary loss of motor control on the part of its occupant, the sensor tech seat was promptly unburdened.  Same went for the chief gunnery control chair.  Embarrassingly, this also applied to the science officer’s bladder.

Editor’s Note:

Due to a personal prank/vendetta on the part of one of our supervisors, we are not allowed to remove the comment about the science officer.  However, in compliance with certain inter-species treaties, said science officer will NEVER be named in this publication or by any member of our organization.

Stop.  Asking.

Dijjak was incensed at this pitiful human’s audacity, but quickly calmed himself, knowing that even a human fleet five times the size of Admiral McAllister’s force could not have stopped his armada, meaning that these would likely soon be the last words of a dead man.  Besides, one doesn’t become a katneral warlord without learning to not only deal with insults in a calm and patient manner, but to further use that outward serenity to accent the futility of said attacks.  Indeed, the more he allowed McAllister to push his bravado, the more glorious and drink-worthy his defeat would be for the warlord, so he opted to continued to endure the interspecies trash talk.

Regaining his composure, he smugly asked, “Are you finished with your empty barbs, or did you want to dig that hole a little deeper before we bury you in it?”

At this, Admiral McAllister visibly relaxed, smiled, and added yet another checkmark to his clipboard, “Oh, good, you’re not leaving.  Regulations dictate that when an enemy force remains beyond effective weapons range and does not engage, we must demand that you leave – and allow you to do so – at least three times before opening hostilities, but I was hopeful you would stay.”

“… so … you’re happy we’re still going to attack you?”

McAllister’s smile and enthusiasm were (at the time) bafflingly genuine, “Aye, that I am.  I’ve been waiting a long while for this.”

“Do all humans have so compelling a deathwish?”

“Deathwish?  Why?  Are you … planning to SING?!”  At this, the Admiral’s calm expression contorted into a facade of severe PTSD as he shouted to someone off to the side, “Comms, be ready to cut the transmission completely!  … No, don’t just mute the audio, cut the video too! … Aye, it’s THAT bad!”

Editor’s Note:

Contrary to popular belief, Admiral McAllister was not entirely kidding.

This human was almost amusingly witty, Dijjak would grant him that, but that wouldn’t save him.  “Joke and jab all you want, pathetic little koashen, but your Earth dies today.  While the legends of your species’ all-encompassing ignorance are evidently quite flattering, I’m sure you’re aware that your interference would be both futile and fatal for your entire fleet.  Of course, if you flee, we will eventually hunt you all down and kill you anyway.  So, what shall it be, admiral; stupidity and death now, or cowardice and death later?”

McAllister feigned contemplation for a moment, stroking his chin, “Well, when you word it that way … you brought the stupid … and we were already planning to annihilate you all, so … yeah, I think we’ll go with that first option.”

The warlord found no reason to mince words, “This from the leader of a mess of clawless, trifling wershen ships facing the most powerful fleet of the strongest race in the known galaxy, blissfully unaware of his imminent destruction and that of his entire race?  You don’t even have the sense to be afraid!”

McAllister’s tone and facial expression spoke amply of how profoundly unimpressed he was, “Oh, please!  I’ve eaten scarier things than you.  With a straw.”  He then added with a slight chuckle, “And then I went back for seconds!”

For his part, Dijjak’s disappointment was also evident as he sighed, mostly to himself, “And to think of the volume of resources these people have wasted getting this far.”  Then, louder, to the Admiral, “No, you will most certainly be fulfilling both terms yourselves.”

At that, Admiral McAllister’s face took on a more serious look, “Rest assured, you sadistic stain of mutt slobber, we would all fight and die without hesitation to defend Earth and everyone living there if necessary, and we are indeed prepared to do so alone if we have to, …”

At that moment, a large number of incoming FTL signals appeared on everyone’s sensors, and McAllister adopted an unsettling smirk.

“… but why should we have all the fun?”