It is treated as a fact that the fate of the Batract is the best example of what can happen if you aggravate the humans—and with them, the Aligned Worlds—too much. But that is not entirely correct.

  There was a spacefaring empire long after the Independence Wars that managed to enrage humanity far more than the Independence Wars did. We do not know what they did. We don’t know their name. We don’t know anything about them, because humanity decided to wipe out even their memory.

  That is the ultimate domination humanity is capable of, and something you should remember before attacking the Aligned Worlds recklessly.

  Excerpt from Alliances of the Milky Way, Part I – The Aligned Worlds

  Author unknown. Publication date unknown.

  Captain Gerber mustered the small Glider that sat before him and the Admiral in Gerber's small Office. His name was Fluffy IronBallz, and he claimed to be able to ‘Hack’ Batract brains.

  Whatever that means.

  ‘Y’all must know, Batract isn’t their name. They’re simply the Hyphae. The hosts—well, the stinking, not really rotting corpses they use—those were the Batract. The Hyphae stole their name like they stole their corpses, and everything else.’

  The Glider sipped his Irish coffee. Given his weight, he had to be drunk as hell, but there was no sign of it.

  ‘The lizard guys found our world—I don’t know how long ago. They were quite nice, at least that’s what the memories say.’

  Gerber made sure the Glider’s words were recorded. This was gold. The Gliders had some kind of collective mind, as Jane—Dr. Nesbitt had put it. They seemed to have some access to their ancestors' memories. So this was as close as they could come to actual historical data.

  The small mammal continued, ‘Then it all went tits up. They discovered the fungus on a planet—or maybe a ship, who knows. Shortly after, the fungus had taken over their bodies. And a short time later, it had taken over their empire.’

  IronBallz cleaned the hairs around his muzzle, a habit that reminded Captain Gerber more of his sister’s pet rat than of an intelligent being. Don’t be a racist because of his form… wait, wouldn’t that make me a speciesist or something like that?

  ‘The fungus intelligence is different. We Gliders can feel? See? We tap into their network on some lower level. Where Gliders have memories and shared feelings, the Hyphae only have urges. They want to grow and consume. They are old—like, ancient. Older than our sun was.’

  IronBallz looked the two officers in the eyes. He shared a feeling that Gerber could only describe as primeval, dark, and alien.

  The Admiral beside him shook his head. “Thanks for that—now my nightmares will finally come with the right emotions.”

  Gerber shared the feeling.

  ‘No shit. Try living with that crap blasting into your head all your life, then come back to me.’ The elder Glider laughed, releasing a series of faint beeping tones.

  ‘There was another urge they had, but even the Hyphae could not remember what it was. So they ignored it and began conquering new planets. At some point, they began using the now-dead hosts as agents. The Hyphae have no imagination; they can only copy what they learned from their hosts.’

  “That’s why their tactic in taking the system was brilliant—until the point where they had to adapt to our actions. Then their behavior became robotic and easily predictable.” The Admiral added.

  ‘Yeah. They learn by absorbing their hosts' memories. They can control some species to a certain extent, but only if they are dead. Now here comes the important part for you guys.’ The Glider took another big sip and cleaned his muzzle again.

  ‘The bigger the Hyphae colony, the smarter they are. If they take a new host, they’re as stupid as a cow on rollerblades. It takes the colony some time to get a personality. Until then, they are nameless and can only perform simple actions. That’s when I can hack their orders from the great fat fungus.’

  “Nameless. I heard the integration officers call some of their adjutants that way.” Gerber finally understood. Their prisoner was a nameless. He had a function but no self-awareness behind it.

  ‘Bingo, smartass. Now I’m gonna go into a drunken coma, and when I wake up, we’re gonna crack that stinking zombie wide open, okay?’ With those words, the Glider slid down from the cup, belched, and started to snore.

  The two officers let the Glider sleep and left the office after ordering Lyra to keep an eye on the elder one.

  “Sir, this explains so much about Batract behavior; this alone is an intelligence gold mine.” Gerber rubbed his eyes — the day had already been long, Davies was still in a coma, and he was exhausted. There was still an incoming fleet with uncertain intentions.

  The Admiral had his hand on Gerber’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Captain, you’re tired. Go to bed. This is an order. Go to Dr. Nesbitt and let her prescribe something to help you sleep. I need you at your best tomorrow.”

  Gerber exhaled, conceding the point. The Admiral was right. The coming days would be exhausting, and he had to sleep.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  —————

  Karrn paced up and down the observation room overlooking the isolation chamber. Everything moved too slowly—a fleet from Burrow was approaching, the system defenses were still not ready, and this Glider, IronBallz or whatever his name was, sat there staring at the Batract for over an hour.

  The fact that Karrn couldn’t hear him was even more infuriating. The implant used by the humans had not been tested with Shraphen, so Healer Jane didn’t allow Karrn to use one. She wanted to run simulations first.

  “Lyra, can’t you act as translator? I feel left out,” Karrn asked, his tail whipping in irritation.

  No, Pack Leader. The Glider’s communication is EM-based, but I can’t interpret the signals—yet. Lyra’s voice came from every direction again, and Karrn’s ears flicked in annoyance. He was certain she had done it just to amuse herself.

  Gerber turned to Karrn. “IronBallz says you’re distracting him and asks if you could please stop walking up and down.”

  Looking at the uncomfortable chairs—unlike the ones in the CIC and the chow hall, these were not adapted for beings with tails—he decided to leave the observation room. “Call me if something happens.”

  Stupid Gliders and their stupid communication. His tail flicked, and the people in the gangway pressed themselves against the walls as he stormed toward the CIC.

  Entering the CIC, his mood shifted immediately. Rish was back from the surface, now wearing the badge of a Pack Leader herself. “Pack Leader Rish, defender of Taishon Tar—so good to see you back here.”

  His tail wagged, as did Rish’s. “High Leader Karrn, it’s good to be back. The governor sent me to discuss the Alliance contract with the Admiral. Pack Leader Shruf is also here, but he doesn’t seem to enjoy space travel.” She nodded toward the restroom doors, where a white-nosed Shruf had just exited.

  The visibly nauseous Shruf stepped in front of Karrn and lowered his head. “High Pack Leader, it is an honor to meet you in person, finally.”

  Karrn had to hide his amusement. A short while ago, the Intelligence Pack Leader had been ordering him around—now he looked ready to crawl up his behind.

  Before he could answer, Admiral Browner—followed by his shadow, Airman Simmons—entered the CIC. “Karrn, good that you’re here. I was about to send for you.” He pointed toward the small conference room at the back of the control center.

  “Please follow me.”

  Taking a seat at the wooden table, Airman Simmons closed the doors to the CIC, shutting out the constant noise the brain of the human fleet produced.

  Shruf scanned the room as if it were a trap. Karrn almost felt sorry for the Pack Leader. His job was to see conspiracies everywhere. That had to be exhausting.

  “Honored guests, I have been informed that the governor of Taishon Tar has decided to sign an Alliance Contract. We’re here to discuss the matters of the agreement informally before final negotiations are held at the colony.”

  Karrn was impressed; that decision came quickly. But given the threat from the Batract—and the Batract-loyal troops on Burrow—it was a natural conclusion. Still...

  Shruf made a gesture to speak. “Admiral, it is my understanding that you would sign such a contract on behalf of your government, but that your government could decide not to ratify it. Is that correct?”

  The Admiral cleared his throat; even Karrn was interested in the answer. “Yes, that is technically correct. But we were sent here to seek an alliance in the first place, so the chance that the agreement will not be ratified is negligible. In any case, any fortifications and installations built during the time from our signing until we get word back from Earth will be given to the people of Taishon Tar if our government decides not to ratify. This is a core clause of the contract.”

  Shruf seemed satisfied with the explanation.

  Rish now spoke up. “On behalf of Governor Raakor, leader of Taishon Tar, we accept those terms. We welcome you and are prepared to accept the human race into our pack.”

  Karrn knew Rish—this wording had been given to her by the governor, and she had probably studied it for the entire flight from the planet.

  A communicator chirped. The Admiral looked annoyed. Then the ship’s lighting shifted to a red hue—Karrn knew something important had happened.

  “Lyra?” Browner was already standing, while Simmons began scanning the ship’s logs on his tablet.

  The VI’s voice emitted directly from the ceiling; Thirty ships just left Transit on the far side of the system. Their flight path was close to Marjan’s Star and was entirely hidden from our sensors.

  Karrn’s hand instinctively went to his new pistol in his holster.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” were the Admiral’s last words before he stormed into the already hectic CIC.

  Karrn couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction seeing Shruf on the verge of snapping. Now there’s no bunker to hide in for you.

  But then he remembered that the ships were still hours away from direct engagement—time enough for Shruf to crawl back to the planet and hide under a blanket.

  Karrn followed the Admiral. Browner went directly to the system overview projected by the central holo-display.

  In the background, officers reported the status of different ships and flight wings. The fleet was already in a defensive position around the planet since the first incoming ships had been detected.

  “We’re still waiting for sensor probe data—estimated ninety seconds remaining,” the sensor tech reported.

  If they took everything with them but left their sensor and probe systems in place, Karrn was sure—even though it was low-tech compared to anything the Shraphen had—it was ingenious. Every time he saw it working, he had to admire it anew.

  “Sir, we detected a small transit. Either they launched probes, or they sent out a message torpedo.”

  The Admiral turned to Karrn. “I assume the Shraphen use pigeons?”

  “Yes, Admiral, we do,” Fruug answered. “It is standard procedure to announce the entering of a system with message torpedoes, including one’s intentions.”

  Karrn’s tail twitched in a sign of thankful acknowledgment to Fruug. His experience as a Void Hunter had often helped Karrn understand space warfare, which was why he had made him part of his advisory staff—now that he was officially High Pack Leader.

  “Receiving telemetry, including visual data.”

  The screens flickered, and everyone stared at the images transferred from the spy satellite. Thirty ships in close formation. Their hulls were damaged and pocked with holes. The vessels had clearly taken severe damage but were unmistakably Shraphen in design.

  The bronze-colored hull plating shimmered, and the sleek, organic lines of a predator hunting down its prey filled Karrn’s heart with joy—unlike the many damaged sections of the ships. What happened to them?

  “Damage and residual radiation match Batract weapons fire,” the tech answered Karrn’s question unwittingly.

  The comm station suddenly showed activity. “Receiving transmission from a Shraphen message torpedo—it’s sending unencoded and on a wide band.”

  “On screen,” the Admiral ordered. In a faint echo, Karrn could actually hear the same command being given by Captain Carmichael on the adjacent bridge of the ship.

  He still found the arrangement confusing, but Browner had explained that this was called command by intent—an Admiral leads the fleet, not a single ship.

  The screen showed the bridge of a Shraphen battleship. The two-tiered command deck bore clear signs of damage. In the center stood a Shraphen in the uniform of a High Void Leader—similar in rank to an Admiral. Many of the crew showed signs of injuries that were hastily treated.

  ‘To the government of Taishon Tar, we seek refuge. The Batract on Burrow have betrayed our trust and are on an extinction campaign. Only the southern continent is safe for civilians, and even there, horrible abominations try to enter. Our fleets have been defeated. The last survivors are in transit here. We give our allegiance to the wise government of Taishon Tar—and a warning: the Batract are intent on wiping us out.’

  If you’ve made it through all 55k words so far, you either really like it — or you completely despise everything I’ve written. Either way, please leave a review or rating, and maybe add the story to your favorites or follow list. It really helps with visibility here!

  Klick ME!<