Ever have one of those times where you feel that everything is just right with the world? Relaxed and comfortable, with everything ticking along without a problem? Where there’s no worry or stress?

Well, this isn’t one of those times for me. And I sorely wish it was. Damnit.

So, to start with, I got everything set up. Solar panels hidden on the mountainside, railgun turret placed outside my cave-y home, and little drones running about doing what drones will do. Good stuff, all of that. Even when the suns went down I have more than enough power stored in my batteries to keep up with the demands.

A night of sleep really did wonders for my mood too.

Then it all went to hell. It was like someone had kicked over a damned hornets nest. Dozens of butt ugly green men running around like chickens with their heads cut off stormed into my valley. Or rather ran, jumped, and started tossing over rocks. Searching for something, obviously.

Searching for what, I haven’t got a clue. At the same time my first look at the ‘natives’ isn’t all that impressive. Most of them are less than five feet tall and very langy. Like their arms and legs are too damned long for the shapes of their bodies. Most of them are almost bent over onto all fours, for fucks sake!

And they are definitely primitives. Wearing hides and shit. All with cliche bone or tooth ornaments to boot. Hold clubs of bone or wood. Ugh. Worst of all is that I cannot understand a damned thing they are saying. They almost howl or bark at each other.

Still, at least there wasn’t anything for them to find. I’d already moved the parts of the launch pod into my cave, so only some burn marks on the ground show where I’d made my original landing. It doesn’t stop them from getting entirely too close to my cave for comfort though.

This is where I’m torn though. I could use my turret and blow them away one by one from a distance, but that’d clue everyone and gods know what onto my location. Or I could continue watching and actually learn something. Decisions, decisions… Ugh.

Boosting the power to my sensor array, I mark each of the little green natives as potential targets and sit about watching them. They don’t seem to be interested in the valley itself, and don’t even bother trying to climb up the mountains. But grouped up in teams of three or four, they are definitely looking for something. Just wish I knew what. All I can do is wait though.

At least all I was doing was waiting, because something entirely unexpected pops up. Unexpected because the distance is quite far, and it actually pings on my radar, which makes me flinch. The flood of relief that comes over me though is an entirely secondary effect.

That ping was from a comm unit, the sort worn by every human born in the last hundred years or so. So damned common that they are utterly cheap and even kids can get one. I don’t think anyone has used the old fashioned cellphones in a long time in comparison.

Which means it’s a survivor. The original AI, and later I, had predicted that the chances of a survivor of the Clarke’s crash was on the low side. Very low. With only four living through whatever tore the Clarke to pieces, everything pointed toward the already injured not surviving the landing. Yet here one is, and I’m ecstatic. Haha.

Okay, so maybe I can deal with being lonely, but I can’t deal with being bored! Holy shit. If I hadn’t learned to go sleep or into Standby mode I’d have likely gone insane already. At least being a human means you can get up and move, but I’m stuck here on my figurative ass. Ugh. So the thought of having some company really lifts my mood.

Targeting my focus toward the comm ping, I boost my sensor array higher than I have before. The range is really crazy, some 14 miles or so, which takes me to 47% on the sensors. Almost hitting the half-powered mark. And before any of you start nagging, it’s because the sensors get less return the further the distance. It isn’t as simple as a linear curve.

That said, the connection is finicky as all hell. Trying to get a signal through is like cutting through rock with nothing but a butter knife. I suspect the comm unit is damaged, although I cannot be sure.

“Aah..! Finally! This is Lieutenant Arlae Kristoph of the U.T.M. Clarke. Please respond!” A decidedly female voice echoes out into my head, and I almost feel like weeping. Doesn’t matter I don’t recognize who it is, just hearing from someone else is so damned nice.

Pulling up the Clarke’s personnel database gives me a quick answer though. Lt. Kristoph is a communications specialist. She worked on the bridge as part of the command staff. Not really my thing there, so you’ll excuse me for that. The crew was a mix of U.T.M. military types and us scientists, technicians, and engineers from Research and Exploration. We didn’t tend to mix much.

That said, now I have another problem. I’m not sure I can respond properly. I mean, I sound normal in my newly electronic head, right? But trying to put it to sound out loud is totally something different. Shit. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so self-conscious.

“This is R&E Engineering Specialist Alfred Homis. I have your comm on sensors.” I finally just go ahead and do it, although what comes out in rather flat. Most people sound the same way they think they do unless they have hearing problems, but in this case my voice really was monotone. Ugh.

“Oh, thank God! I’ve been running from the green things ever since the Clarke crash landed. I’ve been heading toward the last known location of the AI Pod that was dropped from orbit. What is your position?” Huh, I guess this is one of the less stuck-up military officers. She sounds totally relieved though, given the almost sobbing I hear in her voice. I can sympathize.

“I’m at the location of the AI Pod. Sadly you’re running late to the party. The green… natives are already here, scouring the valley. I’m bunkered up in a cave. What’s the situation with the Clarke? Any other survivors? I’ve been out here for days without contact.” My reply really gets to the point, cause I’m in desperate need of information right now.

“The Clarke is gone. Scattered over at least fifty miles along an impact crater. Me and Captain Kritz made it to an escape pod before it came apart, but we were both injured then banged up even worse on landing. The Captain… didn’t make it.” I can hear her taking a deep breath over the radio. At least I didn’t have to live to see through that. In fact, I didn’t survive the crash at all.

“The crash site was overrun by the natives within hours. I got patched up with the nano-meds in the escape pod, but I’m running low on power cells for my laser pistol. I managed to find a gulley to hide out in, but otherwise it is all shrub grass plains out here. And… and I think I may be going crazy…” Yeah, real good time to break down, honey. But at least this proves that I’m not the only one seeing shit.

“Ah, the User Profile stuff? Got the same going on here, so I doubt you’re crazy. Really seems like a game to me, but that’s just my engineering degree talking.” I try to lighten the humor, I really do. But humor has never been my strong suite. Damnit. I end up clearing my figurative throat before continuing.

“We were pulled into a parallel universe due to a hole that formed in Hyperspace. The AI Pod managed to download the Clarke’s logs before the ship hit the atmosphere. I’ve managed to rig together a railgun turret, but otherwise I don’t have any other defenses or weaponry. Sensors are showing 52 natives within the valley I’m in. Probably came looking for the AI Pod, if they’ve already scavenged up the Clarke’s wreckage.”

Yes, I’m dumping a lot of information onto the poor Lt., but I really need her to get herself together. I’m in a pickle, and could use the backup regardless. That, and I’d really like to keep her alive. If nothing else than as a conversation partner. Even an AI needs a friend, alright?!

“Got it. I’ve already received your directional ping. I’ll head your direction now.” The Lt. replied quietly after a few moments. I’m not even going to bother trying to analyze how she must be feeling. We can deal with that later.

“Ah, your comm unit is damaged, right? Let me write up a bypass so I can give you a map.” I hurriedly stop her from doing anything stupid and concentrate on the connection between me and her comm unit. Transmitting audio to it is simple, but it doesn’t have the bandwidth to provide the map I’ve generated to her.

It takes me a couple of minutes to find the damage in the comm by remote, and then about ten minutes to write up a bypass program for it. It’s a juryrigged thing, but it definitely helps clear up the radio signal, securing more bandwidth. Then just another minute or two is needed to download the high resolution topography and radar map to her.

I have it set to automatically update every two minutes. Any more and I’ll have to use more power to keep the connection going constantly. Thankfully as she closes in the power requirements will drop.

“Got it, thank you.” The reply comes shortly, followed by a startled gasp. “This map is incredibly detailed! Wow.”

Heh heh. Of course it is. I haven’t been running my sensor array for nothing, you know! That said, just the topography of the mountains surrounding the valley are varied in details. The valley itself is long and hilly, littered with rocks of all shapes and sizes. If I had to guess, it was once the home of a glacier that melted away long ago.

“It was compiled by the AI Pod over these last few days. Follow the route I’m sending to your comm. It’ll guide you around the scouting natives. Try to stay out of sight. I’ll back you up if you run into trouble, but the range of the railgun is limited to below 2000 feet. Good luck.”

“Roger that,” was her only reply.

There isn’t much else I can do, sadly. I’m not even going to risk sending my drones out, and she’s far outside of my range anyway. The Scout Drone just has enough battery life to get to her, but not return. Ugh. This whole thing is going to take hours.

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Mundane Universe;

New York City, Earth;

Monday 27th, March, 2247;

09:45 UTC.

“This is TCN’s Ashley Gilman, live outside of the Directorate Senate. Just fifteen minutes ago the Senate issued orders for a military buildup in response to the Breachers’ aggression. The devastation caused by the Breachers at the Xtrik Core world of Uthreni in the Kretrix System has shocked and appalled everyone who has seen it.”

Speaking in front of a hovering camera sphere was a young blonde woman. Voted as one of the most famous and well-known news reporters within the Directorate, Ashley Gilman was also known as the Terran Central News’ darling star. If for no other reason than her grandfather had brought the news agency into the modern times after buying out the then-defunct CNN over a hundred years ago.

Not even the Directorate Senate was able to scare her off from poking her nose into stories that came into the public eye. So most of them didn’t even try. Which is why she’s standing right in front of the Senate building, actually past the soldiers keeping the mass of panicked people away.

“Confirmed reports from the planet's’ surface have catalogued the absolute destruction caused by the Breacher in orbit around Uthreni. Beings that can only be described as ‘Monsters’ out of myth and legend have also been sited on the planet, even as survivors are trying to evac as fast as possible. On the other hand the Xtrik Core has already started assembling a blockade outside of the radiation wave expanding from the Breach, detaining any and all space traffic that has been exposed...”

Nearly seven trillion people are tuned in to watch the live broadcast by TCN. Not just in the Directorate either. Yet everyone almost jumped out of their seat when the broadcast was cut off, only to be replaced by an older looking man in a suit sitting in front of a desk.

“I apologize for the interruption, and to our lovely Miss Gilman, but we have a breaking news story here at TCN.” The man clears his throat, obviously a little uncomfortable. Although no one could figure out why yet.

“The first evacuees from the Xretrik System have passed through screening and quarantine. According to the medical experts, the evacuees are suffering from nothing more than stress, with no other medical issues to be found outside of known problems. However, their exposure to the unknown radiation has caused some changes to both the biology and psychology of the people in question.”

The reporter is obviously reading off a script, but his words are kept at a calm and collected pace and tone. Which is probably why he was stuck with the reporting job to begin with. News of biological attacks and outbreaks almost always cause a stir or a panic.

“We have Doctor Vetri Klikka here to report his team's finding, beamed to us directly from Xtrikian space. Doctor, if you please.”

The scene changes to that of a laboratory, familiar with its pale white-washed walls and tiled ceiling. The only difference is the curves and sharp angles of the walls and furniture. Standing in front of the camera though is a person whose body is covered in shiny armor-like plates that grind against each other with a soft, almost chime-like sound.

The Xtrik was was a man, due to the lack of antennae from his head, but sporting a long segmented shell upon his back, which is mostly covered over by a wide white lab coat. His face almost looks human, except for the tiny scale-like plates that make it up and the two jutting mandibles from his lower jaw. Besides that though his eyes are a startling green color, dotted with only a black pupil and no irises.

“Thank you.” The Xtrik, Doctor Vetri Klikka says after a moment, his voice almost inhumanly sharp, but still perfectly understandable in English. “First, the radiation we’ve found can be considered benign. It causes no rapid mutation, cellular decay, or any of the other biological hazards we associate with high-energy radiations. Those questions can finally be put to rest.”

The good Doctor cannot help clicking his mandibles together, which for a Xtrikian is a sign of amusement and relief. Aggression or anger on the other hand would be to spread his mandibles wide apart, as if to bite someone. It doesn’t usually inspire confidence in a terran audience, though.

“That said, the radiation has transgenic properties my team are still currently seeking to unlock. It does not obey the laws of physics in the same way other radiations do. It also moves faster than the speed of light within the universe, which has stumped our Physicists. It also bypasses energy shields, which are used to protect against radiation, along with most types of military-grade shielding. Even lead, the most commonly used insulating material against radiation, does not stop it.”

The Doctor takes a breath, his green eyes unusually bright. Any scientist would be happy to study such an unusual enigma, regardless of species. That sort of fanaticism can be seen by all watching.

“Anyone exposed to the radiation however develops a physiological incongruity. From a scientific standpoint, it is an impossible thing. Yet every single patient we have tested has responded the same to it. Thus we believe that some overarching sentience is responsible for both the Breach and the radiation…”

At this point the Doctor has lost some of his enthusiasm, and actually seems a bit embarrassed. The grating cough that comes from his throat definitely mirrors his human counterparts in that way.

“Some of our younger doctors even compare it to a roleplaying game system as found in popular VR recreational games…”

Yes, definitely uncomfortable.

+|+|+

Lieutenant Arlae Kristoph is finally within a mile of me. She spent nearly four hours traversing thirteen or so miles to get to this point. Thirteen rocky, hilly, and mountainous miles around aggressive scouting natives. So I’d have to say that taking four hours is fast, for a human.

Still, I have not been idle during this time either. My resources took a hit, but I managed to pull together a second railgun turret and got it placed without attracting attention to myself. Not that even a landslide would attract attention at this time, but that’s beside the point.

In fact, I’ve come to the conclusion that the natives are insane. Tribal, vicious, and insane. Like, eatting each other insane. And once they started fighting, they didn’t bother to stop. Ugh.

Okay, let me rewind a little bit. Each of the ‘teams’, and I say that lightly, is made up of three or four members. Two or three weaker ones and then a boss, basically. A boss that doesn’t take disobedience or laziness lightly, for that matter.

And bosses who are antagonistic with each other. I really have no idea how the species gets anything done, because they’ll fight with each other constantly. One team got into the way of another and a fight broke out about an hour after I first got in contact with the Lt.

I got to watch it in all its primal glory, which was interesting in a very… clinical way. I’ve never been a blood and gore kind of guy myself. Probably why I never went into the military.

At the same time, I was able to use the chance to get some nice sensor readings. Radar and my other sensors are quite good at extrapolating data from living things, after all. The average muscle density of the natives, for example, are only about a third of that of adult Terrans. Their brain size is roughly eighth of that of a Terran.

They also bleed with red blood, although I really didn’t want to take a close look at it. I’ll actually need a sample to confirm that hemoglobin is the oxygen carrier though. Bah. All of this makes me sound like a damned biologist.

In any case, I can confirm that these natives are nasty, brutal, and primitive. They also carried bundles of the distant shrub grass with them, which they used to light fires after the fighting. At least they didn’t eat each other raw. Eww.

I don’t think I’ll ever get the image of one of them munching on the roasted arm of one of their fellows out of my memory. Ever. Still, they didn’t all eat meat. Many of them ate a type of roasted tuber, which is either like a potato or carrot. I cannot be sure. At least I now know that there are domesticable crops on this world, which is a useful bit of information.

I’m going to have someone around to feed here shortly, after all. Speaking of which, Lt. Kristoph is currently making her way around the northern side of the valley. I’ve kept her partially on the mountainside, so she can look down into the valley as she makes her way towards me.

We have been maintaining radio silence the last mile or so, because she has to speak out loud in order to transmit through her comm unit. She’s still wearing her shipboard work uniform, because the survival suit in her escape pod was torn up in the landing. So she’s missing any sort of wearable microphone. We don’t want to risk her voice drawing unwanted attention.

That said, we’d already discussed the plan, and I’m updating her comm regularly. We’ve decided to take out all of the natives with extreme prejudice. It makes me feel kind of bad, but there aren’t any other options. They don’t seem inclined to go the hell away on their own.

And from what I’ve heard from the Lt., they are even worse than just being cannibals. She’d watched them scouring through the wreckage of the Clarke and eating anything they could get their hands on. Including the dead bodies of our shipmates. Like vermin, ugh.

Now, I’ve never been xenophobic or discriminatory. I know the Directorates’ propaganda likes to push that forward as a means of inspiring patriotism and shit, but I was raised better than that. And the greater Engineering community cares little for what sort of fur, scales, or shells you have.

“Alfred, I’m in position.” A soft, whispered voice comes over the comm. It breaks me out of my guilt-ridden angst, and I almost want to sigh.

“Roger, five minutes.” Is my equally short reply. Five minutes until I shoot my first gun, aiming to take my first life. Shit, I’m nervous.

Those five minutes seem to go on forever, and also take no time at all. If I were still a human, I’d already be sweating bullets during the wait. But I’m not, and the cold hard data coming in from my tightly controlled sensor array helps push back the anxiety I feel.

While we were strictly limited in what weapons we uploaded into the schematics database, the actual software for using them were left untouched. A program used in about every military weapon system is quickly loaded up in my head, allowing me to designate targets.

The algorithms then take into account the railguns’ specs, weather patterns, distance and other observable points. Firing vectors are assigned, and even the hilly terrain outside of my cave isn’t spared. Many of the vectors go right through the hills in order to reach the targets.

Targets, yeah. They’re just targets. Like in a game. Just targets to be killed. That thought does little to calm me down, but there’s nothing else to it. Breath, breath...

When the timer hits zero, the two turrets pop up from their boxes underground and fire together at nearly the same moment. The shots resound like a single crack of lightning, causing dust to erupt in a cloud around the two guns. In the distance the heads of two of the ‘bosses’ are blown off in a spray of blood and brain matter.

Fifteen seconds later, a second pair of shots are fired. Thankfully my sensors aren’t blocked by the dust cloud created from the near supersonic blast wave of the bullets, so those shots also score hits. Not one of them has survived yet.

The massed groups of natives however are utterly shocked. Grouped together around the bosses that actually seem to get along, there are several camps of them spread out around their cooking fires. Taking out the bosses of the group however suddenly sends them all into a frenzy.

A frenzy against each other, which is what we had planned. Not having found anything else in the valley, the only ones they could fight are each other. None of them are smart enough to care about the dust cloud in the distance.

Another fifteen seconds later, and the third round of shots fire out. This time one of the bullets passes through a hill, and punctures a hole through the rocky soil that sprays shrapnel in every direction. The bullet deforms though, and misses the target while killing one of the minions beside that boss. They don’t seem to notice though, as a grand melee has broken out.

Bone and wooden clubs and the occasional stone knife flash out in bloody glory amongst the groups. Some of the teams try to draw back together, but everyone is fighting everyone else amongst themselves. The six dead are soon joined by those killed by their own kind and another pair targeted by me.

I’ve already switched to targeting those who are trying to calm the groups down. At the same time I’m recording everything, including the gruntal shouts and barks they yell at each other. Trying to analyze the language is going to be a pain, but I have to start somewhere. That thought distracts me for a few seconds even as my railguns fire again.

In fact, I don’t have to watch at all. I could just let my program go about its business. Aaah, the option is really quite tempting, but I don’t do so. I need to see this to the end. No doubt I’ll have to fight even more later. I need to get used to this now.

More than fifty rounds of solid iron shells later, and it finally comes to an end. Every native that had come into the valley is dead or dying, and none of them are left standing at all. Sort of anticlimactic, although at the end there things got finicky.

Several of the teams tried to retreat, pulling outside of my shooting range. Nailing them from a distance became hard, given the shells vaporized after two thousand feet. Trying to kill someone with a hot cloud of gas is an exercise of extreme computing. I doubt even military sharpshooters could pull it off.

In fact even I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without using my Hyperfocus ability. The perception of slowing down time actually doesn’t affect my computing ability at all, giving me far longer to line up shots to take out the targets. Even then it did eat away a good sized chunk of my power supplies, which were already dented from the continuous use of my railguns.

Still, it really is a relief to be done with it all. And I don’t have to smell the bodies. Olfactory sensors were not part of the design plan for the AI Pod. Heh heh. One good thing to the outcome.

Afterwards comes the clean-up and examination of some of the bodies. I need much more information about the natives, so while I’m somewhat sickened at the idea of cutting them open, there aren’t any other ways to get a full picture of their biology. That, and tossing one of the corpses into my nano furnace will give me a full breakdown of what they are made of. At least I don’t have to taste them.

[User has killed 52 primitive goblinoids. User has indirectly caused the death of 37 goblinoids. User has gained 8.9 EXP points to spend. User’s ability Hyperfocus I has leveled to Hyperfocus II!]

Whoa, I haven’t had a message since I gained the Energy Domain ability. And never all at once outside of my User Profile. Still, looking at the numbers somehow takes away some of my uneasiness. Maybe it is because it really is too much like a game. As if that somehow makes killing 89 living beings any better.

The EXP points are new though, but I get interrupted before I can take a closer look at them.

“Wow! I just got EXP!” The woman’s voice comes over the comm, and I end up freezing for a moment. In all the fighting I’d forgotten about Lieutenant Arlae Kristoph. Which can be bad, because now I have to meet her. Shit…

“Uh, yeah. Come on down the mountainside. I’m sending you my location here.” I reply to her, while trying not to grimace. This is going to be interesting.