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"I see... So you've already been in two battles. I guess we truly are at war... Perhaps I should reenlist?" Mr. Graeme said, nodding as Michael finished his long story.

"Mom would kill you herself if you did, pops." Michael returned. "You've already been nerve-flashed once before... Another one, and you'll be under permanently, and I don't think you want to do that to mom. Besides, they need more marines, not mech pilots." Michael finished sternly, making sure to get his point across.

Mr. Graeme nodded but remained firm in thought, not wavering under Michael's gaze. "I may not be able to pilot anymore, but I can still teach and train the next generation, my dear spawn unit."

Ankiah's face lit up at the sound of mechs, and she stood excitedly as she scooched closer to the elder Graeme. "What kind of Mech did you pilot?! And what's a flash?"

"Ah-ha, interested in this old man, are you? Such a shame that a lovely woman already owns me. NOW THEN! Come, sit as I regale you of my achievements as a NeuroMech pilot." Mr. Graeme said, allowing a grin slid across his face as he remembered his days in the navy.

"It's a giant robot they plug your brain into, it's dangerous as hell, and only crazy people do it," Michael stated, trying to steer Ankiah away from the subject.

"Not entirely my bio-creation. And I remember you applying to be one and failing. But that's neither here nor there. A NeuroMech is, as Michael stated. A large robot, typically around twenty to thirty meters high. They require immense self-discipline and body control." Mr. Graeme stated proudly, shooting a grin to Michael, who had an awkward face on.

Ankiah's face lit up at the thought of a giant combat robot and inched even closer to Mr. Graeme. "I want one! where do I sign up!"

"Sadly, my feminine furry unit. I wouldn't count on being able to pilot one... As much as I don't want to stroke my offspring's ego. He is one of the best fighter pilots in the navy, and still, he wasn't compatible with the system. It takes a special kind of internal wiring to pilot a mech; otherwise, they become clunky and useless. You'd be better off with a fighter craft."

"Hey! I was seventy-three percent compatible, not my fault they only accept eighty-nine and up!" Michael complained, shooting his father an amused look.

Ankiah looked at Michael in shock, then back to his father, appreciating the information she was receiving. "So they only take the best of the best of the best? Were you a better pilot than Michael?"

Mr. Graeme leaned onto his knees and looked Ankiah directly in her eyes, enjoying the wonder and interest she was giving his favoured subject. "Oh, hell no. My son would kick my ass in a dog fight if it came to it. The thing is, with a Mech, you need a brain and nervous system that's naturally compatible with the interface; otherwise, it's just a pile of junk. You see, the Mech connects directly into your brain and nerves. You basically become the Mech. So it takes a rare breed of person to pilot one effectively. And before you ask, no. They have not found a way to alter our bodies to be compatible yet. It needs to be caught at a very young age, so it grows naturally. Any alterations screw things up, and they're not quite sure why yet."

"You also require a different type of training. Ranged combat, close-quarters combat, athletics and various body control exercises. He is also glossing over the fact that if your Mech gets damaged in the wrong way, it runs the risk of flashing the pilot, frying the nervous system and possibly killing the pilot."

"Ohh... That sucks." Ankiah replied, not sure what to think of Mechs anymore.

Mrs. Grame broke the awkward silence as she finally walked into the room, laughing with Srettia as the two seemingly finishing up their long chat.

"Hello, my leaky boy. I've heard such fun tales of your exploits. You've been quite busy." Mrs. Graeme said, sitting next to Michael and pulling Srettia down with her.

"Ahh crap!" Michael replied. looking over to Srettia, who had a giant smile on her face. "You throwing me under the bus?"

"I did no such thing..... Spud.." Srettia replied with a giggle.

"Ohh, is Michael leaking in other people's dwellings again? I thought we put a stop to that many moons ago." Mr. Graeme replied with a laugh.

Michael signed and palmed his face, eliciting a laugh from Ankiah while her mind ran the gamut of what exactly they could be referring to.

"Do not worry, partner. I will never spill your secrets."

"Thanks, Jack, at least you have my back," Michael replied, taking a large swig of his beer.

"Alright, enough complaining, my leaky son. You've picked a good woman to share your life with. You did mama proud." Mrs. Graeme replied, patting her son's knee.

Michael was about to open his mouth when his mother violently swung around and pointed her finger into his father's face, a scowl suddenly appearing. "And don't think I didn't hear what you said about being a pilot again. I refuse to see you bedridden with your brain scrambled like that again!"

Mr. Graeme attempted to open his mouth before a look of rage quickly silenced him.

Satisfied that her point was made. Mrs. Graeme calmly stood, pulling Srettia to her feet as she did. "Now. I will be taking Srettia to the farmers market to get fresh ingredients for tonight's dinner, as I will not insult our guests with fabricated nonsense. "She said, looking to Ankiah with a gentle face while waving her hand. "Come! Join us. I'm sure the men are boring you to tears."

Ankiah poped to her feet excitedly and walked towards the door. "You bet I'll go. You Terrans have shopping down to a science. I bet this will be a great time!"

Michael rose to his feet and walked over to a bag he had brought in while the ladies talked in the kitchen, digging a bit before fishing out the item of interest. Michael then tossed the fabric to Srettia, who fumbled to catch it as it wrapped around her face. "Don't forget your thermal cloak. Might get chilly."

Srettia nodded and snuggled into her cloak, earning an approving nod from his mother as she opened the door. It was then the happy face she wore turned into a scowl at the sight of the unwelcome guest standing in her way.

"I would recommend against going to the market, Mrs. Graeme." A familiar female stated.

"Bugger off ya spook! I won't let some service agent tell me what to do. Besides, are you trying to tell me you can mess with my fabricator, preventing me from printing my surprise... But can't protect us at a safe market? I don't think so. Now get out of my way so I can go shopping with my girls!" Mrs. Graeme demanded, pushing past the agent standing at the door.

"That's a fight you're not going to win, miss agent." Mr. Graeme shouted from the living room, eliciting a sigh from the stunned woman standing on the porch.

"Your mother is very strong-willed."

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"Ohhhhhhh, Look at all the stalls!! What's that!?" Ankiah asked, running to the nearest stall as the crowd stood in awe of the new visitors.

"Welcome, Miss diplomat Ankiah! It's an honour!" The burly man said, showing off his big smile. "And what a good eye you have. This right here is the good stuff... A special family recipe passed down for over a thousand years."

Ankiah eyed the odd coloured lumps curiously and returned to the man's gaze as Srettia, and their guide finally caught up. "Okay, but what is it?"

"This, my dear, is made with real Earth ingredients from around the world, forged in a real brick oven for just the right am-"

"Oh, shut up, Ted, and tell her what it is." Mrs. Graeme spat.

"Linda! I knew you would be showing up when your son stopped by. Always trying to cook with the real stuff when he's around, aren't ya?" The man said. "And a welcome to you too, Mrs. Ambassador Srettia."

Linda scowled at the man and picked up his product. " You aren't trying to pass off fabricator goods as real stuff again, are you?"

"That was one time and only because my supplier buggered me on the cocoa beans, gimme a break on that already, will ya?." Ted pleaded.

Srettia looked at the brick with confusion. "Why are there so many colours?"

"It's fudge, missy! The greatest treat on Earth!" Ted exclaimed, garnering an eye from the pie vendor a few stalls down. "Go ahead, pick any you want! It's on the house! I'll be able to brag for years that the first aliens on Earth tried my fudge."

Linda fought to keep the smile off her face as she witnessed the other vendors overhear the conversation and eagerly begin putting their best products on display. "Well, girls. grab the ones you want, and let's head to the next stall, shall we?" She said, holding back her laughter as her dastardly plan slowly fell into place.

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Admiral Miles stood beside the gathered professionals, most of which had studied this particular subject quite intensively before its unfortunate accident. "So, you're saying this one is friendly? Sorry but I find that hard to believe." He stated, looking at the sleeping alien.

"Of course, Admiral. But as you can see from the video. As long as we're not hostile to it, neither will it be to us... It even waved at a few marines as it walked by." Dr. Edmon stated, waving his hand at the replays on the monitor.

"I see. It's a shame they're so violent that my first reaction is to doubt your assessment. My apologies, doctor." Admiral Miles turned to leave the room and walked a bit down the hall before turning to the door of a new cabin.

Hitting the open switch, he came face to face with a rather striking image of a glowing Terran. To be honest, she was quite beautiful. " Hello, Ceinsiltey. Are you well?"

Ceinsiltey Let out a melody of well-being and turned its body to Admiral Miles. "I'm well, thank you. Your people have been very kind to me."

Admiral Miles nodded and sat next to Ceinsiltey, noticing it had been watching Terran media again. "I must ask you for a favour. We have what we think is... A friendly Briolb. You're free to turn down my request, but I would like to know if you would be willing to translate for us?"

"There is nothing to translate. We are food. You are slaves. That is all they see. You are nothing but another labourer in their eyes." Ceinsiltey replied, letting out a low chime of sorrow.

"Yes. But how did they get this way? They're no smarter than a small child. Heck, even most children are more intelligent than the wisest we've come across. How are they in space if they can't even figure out their lasers wouldn't even cook a hotdog." Admiral Miles replied, attempting to convince Ceinsiltey to help.

Ceinsiltey sang of understanding and rose from its chair, stretching its body midair before placing its feet back on the ground. "I will assist you. But you will promise me to kill it if it is harmful."

Nodding, Admiral Miles held his hand out to lead Ceinsiltey out of the room and down the hall towards their subject of interest, pausing at the door once they arrived to allow it to gather its courage.

Upon entering, Ceinsiltey Let out a surprised chime as it noticed the Briolb, a small round one. A smart one... Why was it here? "This is no ordinary Briolb. It is what they call a smart one. They normally lock them up and force them to create new tools for their God, to my understanding."

Dr. Edmon smiled and wrote down the finding on his pad. "Interesting. Anything else you can tell us before we wake it?"

Nodding like a Terran, Ceinsiltey let out a song of enlightenment, continuing its observation. "It is large for a smart one. It could pass as a builder or guider."

Dr. Edmon eagerly wrote down Ceinsiltey's words and nodded to an assistant. "We will wake it now. Please let me know if you require anything."

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Wabs slowly opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was taking a nap. Why was he back in the uncomfortable comfortable bed? Wabs also had the dumb white sticky stuff on him again. Attempting to get up to remove the itchy white stuff, Wabs noticed he was tied down.

Panic hit Wabs. The kind of panic one gets when they miss the rocky land they were aiming at when jumping off their current land. The breathers had captured Wabs while he was napping. What a blunder.

Wabs didn't like being tied down. The last time Wabs was tied down, a female poked him with her finger. Wabs was upset she stopped at poking.

Deciding to take a closer look at the room, he noticed it was once again very clean and had lots of food lying around. Wabs wanted to eat the food. He was hungry. Sending out a call for help, Wabs was surprised when a voice returned his call.

"No one will come to help you, Briolb. Answer our questions, and we might feed you."

Wabs was confused. He understood the voice. But it was very not his own people's voice. "You can't trick me, imposter!" He replied.

"We are not trying to trick you. What is your name?"

Wabs was confused. The voice was talking his language but was very different. Why were they trying to trick Wabs? " You can't trick Wabs! You'll never know!"

"Alright, Wabs. Next question. Why didn't you attack the Terrans you've come across?"

Another blunder. Wabs was shocked! He now knew he had to think sneakily. These were obviously intelligent talkers. "Wabs would like food. The crispy brown ones! Then Wabs would like a house and a skyship and a female... Maybe two, please. Wabs will tell you then."

Admiral Miles turned to Dr. Edmon, who was laughing at Ceinsiltey's translation and issued a marine to print out some rusted iron for wabs.

Wabs watched as the very, very, very big breather walked in. It stopped for a moment to eye Wabs before proceeding to a stand. Wabs was astonished at what he saw. The breather seemed to push some thick breather food from its mouth and... "A great builder! Why do you have a god in such a small room?"

Admiral Miles looked at Ceinsiltey in confusion and then back to Wabs. "Did it call our fabricator a god?"

Dr. Edmon was furiously writing notes on his datapad and nodded in agreement. "I think it did. This is quite curious."

Wabs accepted the piece of food and merrily munched away at it, keeping a trained eye on the small God. Wabs thought it was weird. Did the breathers find a god too? It's so tiny, though. Why was there God in this room? Wabs understood immediately that his people really were the rulers of the sky if the breather god was so tiny.

"Explain. Why do you think our fabricator is a god?"

Wabs laughed. "You fools don't even know your God is a god. How silly."

Admiral Mieles groaned in frustration at the creature and looked to Ceinsiltey. "Are we sure this thing is what you call a smart one?"

Ceinsiltey sang in affirmation and placed its core back on the ground.

"Please elaborate on why you think our God is small?"

Wabs was confused... Briolb god was big. Their God was small. That was all there was to it. Maybe they didn't have to fight their God to prove their worth and don't understand its magnificence? "Briolb god is big as the hot circle the dumb zappy foods eat. Your God is puny. It's so small it can't even create sky boats like our God can."

Admiral miles slammed his hands on the counter and looked to Dr. Edmon for confirmation. "Is this Wabs trying to say the Briolb have a fabricator the size of a fucking star?"

Wabs finished his snack and looked to the big breather, then to the God. Then to the breather. Then started getting hungry. "Wabs wants more food."

"How did you come across your God?"

Wabs looked at the big breather, then down to his stomach. "It was just there. Jups, the explorer, found it while jumping from land to land, looking for new food places one day. It had weird skinny breathers trying to stop the Briolb from worshipping it. But they were easy to smash. The God now gives us stuff."

Admiral Miles turned to Ceinsiltey and extended it a hand. "I think that's good enough for now. Thank you for your help."

Ceinsiltey hummed in conformation and followed the Admiral out of the room. "Would it be acceptable if I return to my room?"

Admiral Miles smiled and nodded his head. "Of course. If you need anything, please feel free to contact me. I'll make sure you get it."

Watching as Ceinsiltey walked towards its room like a human, Eric let the anger simmering deep within him show on his face. "These fuckers should still be banging damn rocks together."

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