I followed the Cop Officer, or whatever, through the hallway. “So what was a girl like you doing in an alleyway like that anyway?” he asked, “Strawberries like you usually at least have a pimp to beat up the strays. One like you, we’d usually find your body washed up someplace, not wandering in gangland looking for a new John.”

I shrugged, most of what he’d said went right over my head. “I am still confused about that myself. I have been informed numerous times that I do not fit the physical profile typical for workers in the location I was injured. Perhaps you police officers will be able to shed some light on that?”

He chuckled, “That depends. How do you run your scam? How much do you charge an hour? If you are still running it, perhaps you’d offer freebies for good cops that can help you out when you wind up in lockup?”

“I don’t know what freebies means. But if a good police officer attempted to assist me if I was unable to move, I would certainly be grateful. Is being in lockup a common physical condition in your experience?”

He nodded that unpleasant smile back on his face. “Very common where your type is concerned. You really, really want someone on your side when it happens, you know? And a freebie is a free service, your merchandise, you know?”

“I am not sure what you mean by my type. Do females often experience lockup? Is there some sort of medication or technique to prevent it, or is it part of the pregnancy thing? If so, I don’t believe I am currently at risk.”

I sighed, “And I do not understand merchandise on a personal level. I understand trade, where one society offers extra resources in exchange for extra resources that they may desire from another society, or even complex trade, where several transfers may take place to ensure each society receives what they need, but what do you mean?”

He slowed a little, “You know, what you sell, a piece of ass.”

I stopped and looked at him in shock. I was very nearly overwhelmed. He was asking me to sell him a piece of an equine? Then again, perhaps I misunderstood. Perhaps he wasn’t asking me to commit violence.

He raised an eyebrow, and I stammered, “I am sorry… I do not possess any livestock to trade to you. I wouldn’t damage them to provide pieces to you even if I had unless you are being euphemistic?” I offered hopefully.

He chuckled a little, “Yes, I was being euphemistic. You know, a piece of your ass? A poke and tickle to keep you out of jail? If you don’t have a pimp, there’s no one to pay your bail if you get caught. Just a little of the pussy you are selling and you should be good for a while.”

I was trying to understand what he was saying, but nearly every word seemed to be laced with euphemism and innuendo. I suppose that a tickle makes sense, it could oblige the physical closeness, but… the rest I didn’t understand. I had no interest in any poke involving his ovipositor, not to mention I doubted that the offspring would be particularly useful since he seemed… crude.”

“Are you asking me to allow you to breed with me?” I asked, wondering if I got the gist.

He chuckled, “Close enough. And in exchange, I make sure that your job goes down without too many hiccups.”

I stared at him, “I am confused. What do you think my job is?”

He laughed, “Durr. Call girl, Whore, Prostitute, what’s that word, courtesan?”

Each of the words, as they were defined filled me with more horror. “Wait. Do you think I allow men to breed with me for… favors? I don’t understand. I mean, talented offspring are valuable for status, but You can have all the eggs you could desire to fertilize. Why would you offer anything in...trade? And why would someone accept? I don’t understand at all.”

He growled at me, “Seriously, you are going to play that ‘any girl you want’ shit with me? Do I look like a guy that bangs supermodels? Fuck. If it weren’t for whores like you I’d never get any play.”

I was weirdly emotional, almost ready to cry, and I had no idea why. “I am not a whore, I don’t even really understand what that word means, but I know it's an insult. I am not legally mature yet, I am seventeen, and breeding would be illegal. I don’t wish to be punished. I am also Virgo Intacta, according to Nurse Nancy, which makes me ineligible to do so.”

His expression suddenly changed from snide self-possession to worry. “Oh shit girl, don’t cry I didn’t… are you from one of them hippy Jesus freak communes out in Utah or Pennsylvania? Like Amish? I heard they grew ‘em pretty but I had no idea. Hey, come with me. The captain wants to get some stuff sorted out, but I didn’t know. I mean, you look like… anyway, come with me.”

He started hurrying away and I followed, confused. I had no idea why my empathy suddenly flared like that. I sort of felt sorry for him. He didn’t look particularly healthy, and if he truly had to exchange favors simply to fulfill his male imperative to fertilize, his life must be terribly unpleasant and maybe emotionally bereft. No one wanted their life purpose to be denied, it was… uncivilized.

Eventually, we arrived outside of the hospital. I was less looking forward to meeting the leadership at this point than I was to finding the local dispensary since an unpleasant sensation in my gut started to demand my attention and tell me I needed sustenance.

“Excuse me,” I stated as we stepped out of the hospital doors, “Officer, is there a nearby dispensary?”

“Beale.” he said, “Officer Beale. Why do you need some kind of medicine? There’s a pharmacy here at the hospital.”

I shook my head, “No, I am feeling hungry and it is getting somewhat painful. I don’t have a family, so I wondered if there was a public dispensary where I could claim sustenance?”

He shook his head, “There’s a hospital cafeteria where you can grab some food. But I need to take you downtown. Mind grabbing some vending machine trash at the station?”

“I am supposed to eat trash?”

He shook his head, “No, I mean we have like donuts and coffee and snack machines at the station. That should settle you out for a bit, and it's only like 15 minutes or so.” He waved at one of the other officers. Because this officer seemed to have breasts like mine and was smaller than several of other others, I assumed that she was a female, perhaps the captain he spoke of?

“Hey Martin, this is the one Captain Braxton wants downtown. Tracy something. I can’t leave, I have OT to run leather on the place and I don’t want to risk them not seeing me, considering that there are like three other guys that would kill to pick up this shift. Can you run her downtown? Your call, your collar, your case, whatever. She ain’t a perp, though.”

The woman, I assumed, who had skin even darker than officer Nichols, nodded, “I got it, Beale.” she walked around to the side of one of those blue and white vehicles and opened a door. “Get on in.”

I nodded, the inside of the vehicle did not smell very good, but I slid into the seat, tucking my legs. When she closed the door, I was worried for a moment when I realized that it was designed to only open from the outside. This must be a safety feature, to prevent someone from opening the door while the vehicle was in motion, but I felt unsafe so I quickly repaired it to open from both sides.

There was a sort of metallic net in between the place where the driver would sit and where I was sitting, unlike the ambulance where the driver could easily move into the back. I was a little confused by the arrangement, so I asked. “Why is there a net between the front seat and the back seat?”

She turned a little bit as she started the car, “So when I have a perp back there they can’t get to me until I am ready to get them out. I’ve had lots of meatheads that think they can tackle a little cop like me when I am taking them downtown. It's a lot harder to wrestle a perp when you’re doing 50.”

“What’s a perp?” I asked.

She chuckled, “You are definitely from out of town. A perp is short for a perpetrator. Someone that’s caught committing a crime. We chuck ‘em in the back when we catch them. All police cars are like this.”

I thought about this for a few minutes. Finally, I asked, “So the police department is not for cleanliness and maintenance?”

Officer Martin, I assumed, or perhaps that was her first name? Shook her head and chuckled. “We try to clean up the streets, but it's crooks, thugs, hookers, dealers, and gangsters we clean up. We aren’t street sweepers.”

As each term was defined in my head, I became silent and lost in thought. What was wrong with these people? Were they people? Animals that robbed and murdered each other, were worse than predators, predators at least ate their prey. I should be utterly insane right now at the mere concept, maybe I was. Suddenly Beale’s offer became clear. He thought I was a hooker, and expected me to wind up in the back of one of these cars. He would make sure I left without incident if I granted him permission to breed. He must have been truly desperate to fertilize if he would willingly violate the laws and mores of society, and in fact, could be considered corrupt for doing so as an instrument of its enforcement.

How could anyone capable of speech and rational thought even consider these things? And if a group was entrusted with the responsibility of preventing such abuses, how could they possibly corrupt, or even neglect, that responsibility? It just didn’t make sense.

The system was very truthful when it said that these creatures were capable of fighting the invaders. Maybe not technologically yet, but certainly, from a personality viewpoint, they would even fight their own kind, invaders shouldn’t offer them the slightest hesitation.

Would it be right to offer them the Game of War? Could they use it ethically? They had been on the list of races expected to destroy themselves before ever achieving civilization. Would the game encourage that? Or prevent it? Would they become just another invader race?

Would it give them an outlet for their aggression? According to the game files, there were thousands of worlds where… more courageous races than mine could go to advance themselves. Hell-worlds ripe for taming or exploitation that were so dangerous that even the solar systems or subdimensions they were located in were ringed by defenses and warnings against entry.

Even the name of the game was something that a truly civilized race would never approve of. The Game of War. It screamed violence, and it was known that some races, long ago, had intentionally extinguished themselves, their entire race, just because they learned of its existence.

I wished there was some great sage on this world that could tell me what to do. I wasn’t cut out for leadership, and this decision was too much for me. Would trying to protect future victims only result in an even worse plague?

When we stopped finally, in a lot crowded with more of these blue and white vehicles, I still hadn’t made my decision on whom to share the game with. It would have been utterly logical to do so with the local authorities, except Officer Beale’s obvious corruption made such an option less logical.

I slipped out of the back when Officer Martin started unfastening her belt. The back of the car had no belt, which strongly suggested that the safety of those riding in the cage was not a priority. I resolved, if at all possible, not to ride in such danger again. I waited for her to exit the vehicle as I had done, and she looked at me in surprise, “How did you get out of the back?”

I shrugged. I was starting to love this particular gesture. It implied noncommittal acknowledgment, without affirmative or negative response. “I opened the door and stood up,” I replied, to her odd look. She shrugged in response. It was almost as good as a minor empathic bond. We were both communicating empathy without the need for information sharing.

I followed while she moved towards another building, much smaller than the Hospital. It was made out of the red bricks similar to where I had first found myself, and I marveled at the sheer labor that must have been required to construct such an edifice. Humans had truly devoted craftsmen, although I was slightly concerned that they had used so much of their planet’s surface. Everywhere I looked there was emptiness, with almost none of the constant hustle and bustle of a nest and little if any construction sensibly below ground. Were they not concerned about ecological alterations?

The lack of constant crowding and construction that was restricted to the two-dimensional layer of their planet’s surface had to mean that their population was incredibly small. Yes, their world was much larger than my home, but they couldn’t have possibly had more than a few tens of billions of individuals even with the extra room. It almost felt lonely, especially for creatures that seemed as devoted to personal contact as these.

My people. My home. My world. I reminded myself of these facts as we entered the building. I lived here now, and I was a human. Their welfare was my welfare, and I had to keep reminding myself that neither I nor they, were alien to each other.

In the back of my mind, I felt the Game of War system stir. Occasionally, when there was a great goal, some individuals received personalized message requests to accomplish certain tasks to assist their species' survival. I had never received one myself before, but on The Highest Nest, it was not terribly uncommon for commanders or riders to receive such goals. That was one of the main reasons why The Game of War was tolerated even among those who could not handle combat.

Completing the tasks often offered great rewards, including improved rank growth personally as well as treasures such as unexplored technologies, locations containing rich asteroids or pocket dimensions, and rarely unlocking new paths or talents for either the individual or our species. It was rumored that the telepresence that had elevated F’lok’nyran to one of the most advanced species in the Alliance was once a reward for completing such a quest.

Officer Martin invited me to take a seat while she allowed the captain to know I was available, and I excitedly focused on the message.

Quest alert!

You have been offered the individual quest-Recruitment!

You have deduced that your new species, Humans, have several problems that are threatening their survival as a species. While their destruction is by no means assured, ecological, resource, biological, radiological, and stagnation threats present a very likely hazard for total species extinction.

With your understanding of the hazards of stagnation due to personal experience, you are aware that total extinction threats exist.

While universal morality and responsibility are obvious, individual species ethics vary widely by biological necessity and environmental factors. Use your best judgment in selecting these individuals to help prevent your new race’s destruction.

Warning: This world’s existence is now public domain knowledge in the Game of War. This world is considered very high resource, both in biological, psychological, and mineral resources. If recruitment is delayed, hostile entities may choose to seize this world and species before it is prepared to defend itself.

Recruit 4 individuals to join The Game of War.

Rewards: Dimensional Mathematics for Dummies. Rank advancement.

Well, it looked like the game had definitely adapted to this world. I suppose it labeled F’lok’nyran destruction as stagnation because we had not been even remotely expansionistic, not even with the much safer dimensional resettlement. It was a sobering thought.

Ecological was fairly obvious, although resource collapse was a little more complicated. Generally, it meant a collapse in infrastructure and the means to produce critical supplies such as food or the means to keep civilization at a high technological level. While this did not usually mean complete species destruction, it often set them so far back that they might spend millions of years trying to regain their former heights, which opened up a world to the threat of other extinction events that a higher level could have prevented.

I almost sobbed. Like a cometary strike. If it had been only one and had not been directed as a weapon, there would have been a warning and many options for deflecting its path. We had done it before, at least 3 times. And if we had not been paranoid about the risk to the point of refusing to leave our world, my species would still exist. But it was too late for that.

Biological and radiological destruction I didn’t understand, though. Both implied some sort of natural disaster. Radiological could be caused by… solar activity maybe? Perhaps this world’s star was unstable, and soon might decay, meaning sheer survival demanded expansion to other worlds. Biological means that some kind of disease might ravage them.

The F’lok’nyran had been very careful about disease, although in general, they couldn’t survive in the boron soup of our homeworld if they hadn’t evolved there. There were a few microorganisms we were familiar with, but our simple bodies were not particularly vulnerable, and only a very few rare incurable microparasites were any kind of a threat. The Nests were almost sterile, or else our comfortably compacted populations could have been wiped out overnight.

That was one of the reasons we had been so paranoid. Few worlds were made of a comfortable composition, and we didn’t really have any way of fighting off foreign microorganisms. While our technology was highly advanced, with great strides in soul sciences, sorcery, automation, and data manipulation, our medical sciences were not advanced, simply because we did not need much.

Our greatest achievement was empathic resonance. We were everyone’s friends until we met someone who wasn’t friendly. Our minor trade was mostly in organic molecules, and our progression was via drone harvesting and the few things we requested in return. Except we hadn’t been progressing as a species, not really, as was evidenced by the stagnation tag.

By human standards, we were the relative who always showed up at family get-togethers, that everyone liked but no one really knows, and whose passing would evoke a few sympathetic responses but no great drive to find out how or why they stopped showing up.

I couldn’t let that happen here. The social problems were real, but I had high hopes this captain, as an obvious leader, was the ethical and moral anchor for the common police officers. That sort of pattern, with a leader surrounded by drones, was not an uncommon one and was one my prior species exercised as well. If not for my low empathy and the invasion, I would have likely been content in a low-responsibility position and allowed my seniors to make virtually all of my decisions untroubled by such responsibility. Could she be my first recruit?

He. I was forced to amend, yet again. This automatic assumption of female authority had to stop. I was led into his office, where another large human, with the earmarks of a male despite lacking the facial hair badge, sat. My empathy implied that he was tremendously displeased about something, but when he motioned to a chair and I carefully sat, his demeanor changed and his eyes were riveted to me.