sPaCe WaRs

The Chendari ship reversed thrust and eased onto the ground. Most of their safe havens they held during the initial invasion had been lost and reclaimed by us. If they dared to land, they’d lose a ship before it penetrated the clouds. We took enough of their weapons to ensure that.

But this port was one of the few where they could land. Their soldiers held the island, and the collaborators were all too eager to trade with these Outworlders.

“Why do they do it?” the Lieutenant asked, her voice seething with anger as the words escaped her breath. Silence filled the team as they watched the gang of traitors march a group of humans from the building at the outskirts of the field through a chain link fence. Some soldiers in full gear were dotted along the way – you could always tell the Outworlders because they never took their helmets off. Men, women and children all marched two-by-two, hands cuffed in front of them and chained to each other.

The marching captives stopped 20 meters from the ship as the dock lowered and a group of Chendari came out. Tall and wispy, their long arms dangled toward their knees as they walked. They weren’t very sturdy, which made them really easy to break – if we ever came to close quarters combat. As it stands, they’ve learned to keep their distance and stay in their safe zones, trading energy and food with our traitors. Human flesh for a warm meal.

“I got it,” the Comms Sergeant said. His directional mic picked up the translation clearly, even though we were parked on a hill half a mile away. They patched the translation to our ear pieces.

“You’ve screened them, of course?” the Chendari commander asked.

“Of course,” the collaborator leader replied. “No toxins.”

“You said that last time, and the coastal city of Brizzax was destroyed due to your human filth.”

“Look, you can screen them yourself, but we’ve checked.” The man closest to him was in chains and his head lowered, clearly bruised. The collaborator slapped the man on the shoulder, which bore a symbol too small for us to see. “They’re strong,” he said “and they’ll do the hard labor.”

The Chendari commander paused, and even from this far out we could see the thoughts circling under his enclosed helmet. There was a reason three factions of Outworlders fought for human labor. We are strong, highly adaptable to any climate, heal quickly and can tolerate multiple variances in G. But our strengths hammer their weakness – because we adapt so quickly, we have a robust immune system. Even our children survive diseases that would kill any of the Outworlders. Lucky for us, they did.

They took us in a droves at first, exporting us for their mines and cane fields. We fought like hell for our survival. And every breath we expelled meant death for them. At first, they didn’t understand this. A dozen diseases crept into a dozen worlds. Plagues we’ve overcome years ago ran rampant through their populations. Smallpox, cholera, Bubonic, Typhus, Covid – all of it destroyed their people before they could adapt. Soon they were the ones wearing Bio-suits. Always helmeted, always breathing filtered air.

They never let us onto their inner worlds. Always on the colonies. Always in the production facilities, the weapons factories, the mines. The fools.

The collaborator broke the silence. “If you want to pass, that’s fine. There’s a Pentak ship arriving tomorrow at 0700, and they’re willing to take this lot, no questions asked.”

“Pentak?!” the Chendari snarled. He turned to one of his companions standing behind, who whispered so the collaborator couldn’t hear. But we could.

“If the Pentak are buying another lot of Terrans, would that go to the Megraz colony? We can’t let them complete their gas production on that giant.”

The Chendari commander turned back to the collaborator. “Deal.”

The humans were shuffled into the ship and sent into exile. Our diaspora now spanned one-hundred worlds. Our children, our brothers and sisters were tortured and tormented. But like every world before, all it takes is one leak. One broken air filter. One contaminated scrubber. And those Outworlders are replaced by our children’s children.

“They can’t conquer us,” I tell the Lieutenant. “They can’t occupy our world because our pestilence is strong. So they tried bombarding us from space, but we are like the sand in the sea.”

Their greed is their downfall.

“They need us,” I say. “And as long as we keep the Outworlders fighting each other, they will continue to bring us into their worlds and into their homes. Tell that to your commanders. Tell that Valdez and Comminsky and Cheng, and tell them it’s my honest assessment.”

“If we strike the final blow now,” I say “we lose contact with the strike teams you’ve embedded. We give all the factions time to adapt and develop vaccines. But if we wait – another year, maybe three – then we’ll be in key positions to overrun the Pentak shipyards on Nunki, the Chendari weapons facility on Pavo, the Sadir energy fields in Acamar.”

“Don’t destroy the collaborators yet. Their day will come and their heads will fall. But if we wait, we will repay blood for blood.”

“Your opinion is always respected, sir” the Lieutenant says. “I’ll forward your recommendations in my report. Thank you for showing us this, it makes logical sense. I hate it, but…”

“We sharpen our knives and wait,” I interrupted. “Our sacrifices will not be in vain.”

*****

THE END