Why Humans Make Bad Pets!

I’m a military genius

“Three and a half ricatos (7 months)!” Strrk shouted, “It took you guys that long to find a cure‽”

Fttfk couldn’t resist such an opportunity, especially since it was Strrk. “Actually, we figured out a cure a couple of rictos (4 days) after you were put in cryo-stasis but it was so nice without your constant mindless yakking that we only just now decided that it would have been immoral to keep you frozen any longer, despite our desires.” Strrk whipped around, staring at Fttfk with wide, hurt eyes. Fttfk could hardly contain his laughter

+*The moron actually believes me!*+

“Shut up Fttfk.” Snapped Xkkrk. “Of course we didn’t leave you in there for the fun of it, Strrk. Fttfk was taken out a mere ric (30 minutes) ago.” Strrk, oddly enough, was correct in one respect. Three and a half ricatos (7 months) was a ridiculous amount of time to spend on a cure for a single disease, especially with the equipment of a category 10 medical station at one’s disposal. It made more sense when she reminded herself that it had not actually been just one disease. The crew had in fact displayed the symptoms of five different contagions, and that wasn’t mentioning the dormant antigens which had been discovered upon a more thorough examination of the first crewmembers thought to have been cured. Such “sleeper” diseases had numbered in the dozens, and taken the longest to completely eradicate.

To ensure that absolutely nothing harmful remained, the entire station and the cargo ship had undergone a full sanitation. In total, the time required to undo what Cqcq’trtr had unwittingly managed in a mere rictos (2 days) had required a full three and half ricatos (7 months). In that entire time, Xkkrk had not contracted a single disease, purely out of good luck it seemed. That only meant she had had to bide her time through the entire ordeal with nothing to distract her from her anger.

Even now, after time had quenched the initial inferno, it still flared to life every time her eyes lit upon Dr. Triv. That lying, manipulative, two faced, Corti bastard! He had been able to communicate with Cqcq’trtr and had intentionally remained silent regarding his ability so that he would have no inconvenient moral or legal obstacles while studying Cqcq’trtr’s physiology without his consent. Worse yet, she had caught him. She’d heard Cqcq’trtr speaking intelligible clicks, seen him speaking to Dr. Triv, and the Corti scum had the nerve to tell her that she had been imagining things! Of course the surveillance footage from that room just happened to have been corrupted.

Worse yet, Dr. Triv had somehow convinced Cqcq’trtr of some Robalin resurgence, sending him off to who knew where, never to be seen or heard from again. Of course, the Corti had shown her the surveillance records which appeared rather convincing, but she didn’t intend to trust this wart of a creature any farther than she could throw him. Admittedly, given the doctors stature and her current feelings toward him, that distance might be somewhat greater than she would have anticipated, if she had a mind to find out. She still hadn’t decided whether or not she did. Strrk had to choose that very moment to speak. He always seemed to have the worst timing with the worst questions.

“Hey, where’s Cqcq’trtr? He’s the one who put me in here, the least he could have done was be here to apologize, or I guess in his case look sorry.”

“He left.” Xkkrk whispered. She didn’t really believe Cqcq’trtr had been fooled by the Corti. He had been intelligent – she still hated how long it had taken her to realize – but more surprisingly, he had truly cared for her and the rest of the crew. She suspected he had left in an effort protect the crew, not realizing his worlds deadly microbes had been contained. What confirmed this theory in her mind was the vial of blood he had left. He hadn’t been willing to give so much as a drop to anyone during his entire stay, but when he had known he was leaving, he had left the key to creating the cure.

She knew in her mind Cqcq’trtr was most likely dead, either from starvation or some twisted ploy, but despite her cynicism she still hoped that wherever Cqcq’trtr was, he was safe and happy.

Lieutenant Colonel Blatvec ducked. The anti-tank kinetic-pulse narrowly missed his head, flashing by close enough to ruffle the fur on his head and back. It was a good thing he had, too. He didn’t think his personal shield would be able to take another shot. His momentary union with the ground gave his mind a few precious moments to consider the battle around him. It wasn’t good. He’d never seen a fight with so many vehicles, and that was saying something, coming from him. He was one of the most experienced of the 74th, and had been to hell and back several times. Now, hell apparently had tiers, and he was several levels lower than he’d ever been before.

Major Cliip slid down the short declivity next to where Blatvec was taking a momentary rest. “We can’t stay here long sir,” he panted, “The moment they decide they don’t want to bother trying to shoot us out of cover they’re going to point the nearest tank squad in our direction, and I don’t think the guys can take on another one.” Blatvec snorted humorlessly. Another tank squadron. Before today his squad had only ever taken on two or three tanks at a time. It spoke to the superb skill of his men that they had managed to defeat such odds with only minor casualties, but now they had far out-stripped any previous record they may have set. Today they’d managed to survive not one, nor two, but three attacks by full tank squadrons, and miraculously emerged alive and victorious.

Well, a few of them were alive. Casualties had never been so heavy, but neither had the odds been so heavily against them. The 74th may have contained the finest soldier in the Dominion, and his men arguably the greatest among them, but when the enemy has as many armored squadrons as the 74th did of infantry, there was little they could do, finest soldiers of not. If the heads hadn’t had the foresight to send the 32nd and 13th armored divisions to provide support, this battle would have already been over.

Even though he already knew the answer, Blatvec decided to ask Cliip, hoping his gut was wrong for the first time. “How are the 32nd and 13th holding up?”

Cliip grimaced, “Poorly, maybe even worse than us. At least we can dive into holes when it gets too hot. Those poor bastards are stuck in big hunks of metal with the colors of the Dominion painted all over their sides. They’re impossible to miss, even in this mess.” A coil-shot narrowly missed their position, it’s sickly red light replacing the ashen cast of the battlefield for a split second before it impacted a short distance to the left of their hiding place, turning a hill into a hole. Blatvec whipped his head around, searching for the source of the disturbance. A burning husk sat where a rover had once hovered. Just a shot fired in the brief moment before extinction.

Breathing a sigh of relief that they weren’t under attack just yet, Blatvec consulted his gut. It was the main reason he was still alive. He had a sense about the battlefield. He could feel when a turning point was at hand, even though nothing seemed to have changed. His ability had led his men out of more than one tough scrape, but now he felt the current situation was one even his gut couldn’t help him out of. It seemed to be sobbing in despair, which did nothing to bolster his flagging internal morale. It was only his internal morale which was affected, however. He never let his fear show on his face. That would have admitted true defeat. He had to help his men. He had to give them something to fight so that, when the time came, they could die like men, standing up, rather than frightened prey, hiding in their holes, hoping the predator wouldn’t find them.

Searching about the battlefield with his eyes, he calmly and calculatingly scanned for anything he could exploit, anything that would give him and his men more opportunities, if not for survival, then at least for a more meaningful death. It was as he looked that the predator decided to show up. It just wasn’t the predator he would have expected.

“Sir, get down!” Cliip shouted in warning, but he didn’t need it. He’d sensed the approaching danger, although, as always, he couldn’t explain how, especially through all the mayhem of the fighting around him. To his right a small group of enemy rovers were powering towards his position. Their trajectory suggested they had nearly come from behind his position.

+*Have we been beaten back so far already?*+

Shouldering his anti-tank pulse-guns with his first four arms and his Fusion spears in the other two, he prepared to engage the approaching onslaught. A figure on top of one of the rovers caught his eye at the last moment. Holding two fusion scythes and caterwauling like a [banshee], a small creature Blatvec had never seen before rode atop the foremost rover as though it were a steed, howling in a language that, for some reason, his translator didn’t understand. It was covered in blood from various species, completely obscuring the colors of allegiance on its harness. He was still staring at the odd little biped when the rovers whipped past their position without giving his squad a second glance. Cliip snapped him from his reverie.

“Are those drivers wearing some of our combat-harnesses?” Blatvec hadn’t even realized, so engrossed he had been with the odd spectacle above the hover-craft, but Cliip was right. Ensconced within the rovers as they were, it was impossible to see unless one was as close as he was, but Blatvec could clearly see the colors of the Dominion on the harnesses of the soldiers in the rovers. At first he was repulsed by such a sight. How could they? They were ignoring the rules of honorable combat! They were blatantly lying about their allegiance so as to avoid notice by the enemy! It was despicable, deplorable . . . ingenious! Even as he stared in shock the duplicitous convoy approached the position of the troops that were keeping his unit pinned down. Not a shot was fired upon them. After all, to the Celzi down the range, they were on the same team. Then their own team opened fire on them.

The first volley was devastating, each craft firing every cannon simultaneously, bathing the entrenchment in a deadly light. There wasn’t much left after that first volley, except a deeper hole. Blatvec knew he should feel outraged by the blatant disregard of the rules of honorable combat, but at the moment, the only one he was furious with was himself for allowing those idiotic “laws” to make him completely disregard such an plainly effective idea. Cursing himself for his slow wits, he turned to Cliip.

“I want you to find any in the area. Tell them to get into an enemy vehicle at all costs. We’re going to win this battle one way or the other; propriety can go bother dusty men from wars long over.”

“Wait, you want to emulate them?” cried Cliip, “They’re ignoring every principle of the very foundation of civilized war!”

“And they’re kicking some serious ass because of it,” retorted Blatvec, gesturing to the small group as it approached a squad of tanks from behind. They opened fire in much the same manner as they had against the enemy infantry entrenchment, to much the same effect. Any other Celzi units around them were embroiled in their own conflicts, and were far too busy to notice that a few of their number were acting in a decidedly unpatriotic manner.

His point proven, Blatvec returned his attention to Cliip, who appeared quite impressed despite himself. “And don’t start spouting that drivel about ‘civilized war’. If you can see what’s right in front of you and still talk such nonsense you’ve got s**t for brains. Now find anyone you can in the immediate area and tell them to h****k enemy vehicles at all costs. If they don’t they’ll die anyway.”

Turning his back on a spluttering Cliip, Blatvec dashed to the nearest hole which housed a cluster of his few remaining men. As a smile spread across his face, he realized just how much he had hated those imbecilic rules.