"Great Precursor! We have come to assist you!"

Two dozen Kessu trot toward Admiral Rodriguez's wheelchair. Megla follows behind them, a look of irritation on her face. "Hey, don't run in front of me! If I trip over your fat little bodies, I'm kicking all of you out of the damn airlock."

"Hello, Megla," José says with a chuckle. "Good to see you again."

"It hasn't even been thirty minutes," Megla grumbles as she draws closer. Many patches of grease dot her scales, making her look miserable. "What's all this about? I thought you wanted my sister and I to clean out the engines."

José shrugs. "If you'd prefer, I can let you resume that work. You looked like you were enjoying yourself."

The Kraktol rolls her eyes. "Sarcasm noted. Alright, what's this about biomatter? What am I going to help with?"

"It's like this," José explains. The Terran spends several minutes getting Megla and the Kessu up to speed on his plans, making the Kraktol female nod, while the Kessu appear more confused than anything.

"Oh, Great Precursor," Patriarch Nyoor says, as he hobbles toward José. "What is this 'biomatter' you speak of, and how can it feed so many of us?"

"It's easier to show you all than to explain," José replies. "Everyone, follow me."

The Admiral wheels his way up the Slipstream's entry ramp. Megla follows right behind him, giving the wheelchair a push to increase its speed, while the Kessu trail behind her.

Once inside, the Slipstream's AI greets its visitors. "Hello, new members of the United Terran Coalition. I have already received information regarding your needs. Please travel to the [SECOND] wing, where you will find this craft's supply reserves."

"Thanks, 4131," José says.

As they head toward the back, Megla chuckles. "Kyargh! Admiral, you are quite a strange fellow. You always refer to synthminds by their designated name. Why is that? They are only machines, after all."

José purses his lips. "Only machines? Incorrect. You're not familiar with the synthmind creation process, are you?"

"Ah... no. Why?"

"Because," José says, "The term 'synthmind' comes from the fact that their creation involves the scanning and manipulation of countless Terran brains. Synthmind 4131, a 14th Era synthmind, likely had several thousand brains scanned during its creation. The foremost Terran scientists spent countless centuries refining synthminds, over and over, extracting the most useful and valuable tidbits of information from our collective consciousness, while purging those irrelevant, monkey-brained ideas that held humanity back. Fear, greed, loathing... you name it."

The Admiral chuckles. "Heh. Most of the reason the average synthminds speak so robotically is due to their designer's intent. They did not want humans growing too close, too attached to synthminds. If the designers wished it, the first generation of synthminds could perfectly replicate human speech. They could share in our emotions and bond closely with us. However, that could pose incredible risks to Terran society... and as such, those experiments were outlawed."

"What sorts of risks?" Megla asks.

The Terran and Kraktol arrive inside the Slipstream's storage area, but José answers her question before moving on. "Humans are- well, were creatures who bonded too easily to other creatures and objects. Our population exploded because of our love of... I guess you could say, mating. Most scientists determined it would be better for Terrans to cherish one another and multiply across the seven galaxies than to fall too deeply in love with AI and eventually lose our ability to bond with each other."

Megla scoffs. "You humans would rather mate with a synthmind than with attractive members of your own species? That's absurd."

A distant look appears in José's eyes. "Not really. Every human had their own hopes, their own dreams, their own ambitions... no matter how much two humans might love one another, sometimes... sometimes their goals simply would stop lining up. Synthminds, though... they were always there. Ready, willing, and eager to please. It's much too easy to fall into selfish, self-destructive patterns of behavior."

The Admiral pauses for a moment before sighing. "In any case, that was, supposedly, one of the reasons for Ramma's Chosen to exist. We sought to bring an end to heretics, sinners, and those who sought to harm humanity's interests. Too many people tried to circumvent galactic law. Too many tried to create synthminds capable of replicating human emotions. We arrested and prosecuted them, while destroying their creations."

Megla walks over to José's side. "Sorry for my bluntness, but that's a little bit... heavy-handed. So what if a few people wanted to mate with synthminds and fake bodies? Why should Ramma's Chosen have the right to decide their circumstances?"

"It's... difficult to explain, and harder to rationalize," José murmurs, hanging his head. "Especially now. Perhaps we failed. Perhaps humanity became extinct because they entered that self-destructive relationship. Perhaps we left behind mating with one another and instead chose to fornicate with androids, robots, and other synth-bodies."

The Admiral shakes his head. "All the struggles I suffered. All the conflicts I entered. In the end, they've become nothing more than distant memories, lost to the sands of time. Perhaps... perhaps there never was any meaning in anything I did."

Megla's ridiculing eyes soften. She reaches over to squeeze José's shoulder. "Admiral, I..."

After a slight hesitation, she shakes her head. "Never mind. I'm sorry I brought it up."

José doesn't reply. Instead, he turns his attention to the supply room, indicating for the Kessu to come inside.

"Let's move on. We've got a lot of people to feed, and a lot of work to do."

As the Kessu enter, José casts a long gaze around the interior, its size about ten by ten meters. The room's surfaces sparkle with cleanliness, likely due to the Slipstream only spending 7,000 years buried beneath Tarus II's soil, rather than a hundred million in space with nobody to maintain it. Several cleaning and repair tools hang on the walls, their functions less advanced than the ones the Bloodbearer possesses, yet still useful. A giant, crystal-clear tank of fluidic paste takes up most of the opposite wall's space. Several filtration units move back and forth inside the unit, sloshing it around to keep it from stagnating.

"That green, goopy liquid is called biomatter," José says, directing his words at the Kessu. Megla, a space-faring alien, clearly knows about biomatter and its purpose. "Biomatter is sort of... it's magical. Yeah, magical. Let's go with that. By, ah, casting a spell, you can turn biomatter into all kinds of food."

Patriarch Nyoor nods sagely, the excuse of 'magic' clearly allowing him to fill in the blanks for himself. "Hm, hm, yes, I see."

Little Lele scrunches up her face in disgust. "It looks like yucky, slimy mold! Gross! Only that fat croc could eat that nasty swamp-water!"

"I am not fat!" Megla howls. "Rude little brat! Come here! I'll twist those stupid-looking ears right off your head!"

"Megla. Lele. Please..." José chides. "Everyone, focus. You'll see how incredible this biomatter is once we finish. Grab one of those 'collection containers' on the left wall and follow my instructions to fill them up. We'll cart them back to the Bloodbearer's biomatter containment facility for our own purposes."

Several minutes pass as the Admiral details the collection method to the Kessu. Despite their ignorance on matters regarding technology, their brains prove to be sponges, allowing them to comprehend the intricacies of the Slipstream's biomatter collection techniques.

Afterward, José leaves the room, followed by Baaru and Nyoor.

"I am sorry, great Precursor," Nyoor mutters, his expression downcast. "I'm too old to lift and carry those big, glass bottles. As always, I'm nothing more than a useless bag of bones. A burden."

"Don't say that," José replies. "I'm sure your wife feels differently. Isn't that right, Baaru?"

The Kessu Matriarch flashes a cute kitty-grin. "Indeed! Unfortunately, Nyoor always gets uptight that he isn't as strong as he used to be. He hasn't yet come to accept the realities of old age. I'm sure I'll be just like him in a few years."

As José and the two Kessu travel toward the Slipstream's bridge, the Terran raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Are you not the same age?"

"Haha, no, no," Nyoor says, a mischievous grin on his face. "My wife is ten summers my junior! Why, I had my eyes on her while I ruled the tribe. I couldn't help myself; her young body was just too irresistible!"

Baaru blushes. "You had quite the moves back then. Still do!"

"Young love is always nice," José chuckles. "Well, in any case, listen up. I have a special mission for both of you."

Nyoor blinks in surprise. "For us? I don't understand, great Precursor. What can the two of us do?"

Both of the Kessu and the Admiral emerge onto the Slipstream's bridge. "I will leave five days worth of biomatter aboard the Slipstream. Right now, the Bloodbearer's engines are badly damaged. I can't travel to your world until we finish the repairs. I want you both to return and locate as many of your fellow Kessu as you can. Inform them of the Bloodbearer's arrival in a few months, and prepare them to leave and travel with us."

"Oh, how interesting!" Baaru meows. Her tail flicks from side to side. "I see! My husband and I both have a small bit of clout with the various elders living on our planet. You must want us to go there and gather everyone to come live with your machine god!"

"That's not all," José replies. "You should use the Slipstream to gather as much biomatter as possible while you're there, then return and refill our reserves. The trip to and from Tarus II is only fifty lightyears, so it won't take you more than a day each way if you travel beyond Warp Six. Also, once you convince the Kessu on your homeworld, bring back as many of them as you can fit aboard the Slipstream. The more you bring, the faster we can get this ship back to operational status. We'll keep sending you there and back again until I get the Bloodbearer fully repaired."

"I see," Nyoor says, his face scrunching up. "But, erm, how do we collect the magical swamp-water?"

"The Slipstream can do that all on its own," José replies. "All spaceships capable of entering a planet's atmosphere can tear up and grind apart plants and foliage to create biomatter. Don't worry about the details. All you two need to do is bring back as many Kessu as possible. If the Kraktol attack before the Bloodbearer arrives... at least we'll have saved a few hundred more of your people."

"Assuming there are any left..." Nyoor says, his ears flattening across his head. "Oh, how I hope Ruuki is still alive."

"Of course he is, dear," Baaru says, purring in Nyoor's ear. She gently licks his fur to cheer him up. "Our baby boy is a big, strong warrior now. There's no place safer than the underground caves."

Nyoor shivers. "Safe from the Kraktol, perhaps... but there are ancient, scary creatures lurking beneath the mountain... Ruuki will have to keep his wits about him if he hopes to survive."

José smiles. "I'm sure your son will be just fine, along with the rest of your villagers."

.......................................

Several hours later, after Megla and the Kessu finish transporting 90% of the Slipstream's useable biomatter reserves to the Bloodbearer, they all gather to wave goodbye to Nyoor and Baaru. Both of the Kessu elders meow politely at their children and grandchildren from the top of the Slipstream's ramp.

"Be good, everyone, and follow the Precursor's orders! We'll return soon, don't you worry!"

Little Lele sits on a nearby metal storage crate. "Bye, grandma! Bye, grandpa! Come back soon!"

The two elders wave farewell one last time, and then the Slipstream's entry ramp raises up and closes, sealing them inside.

A few minutes later, the Slipstream ignites its engines and takes off, leaving everyone behind.

Admiral Rodriguez heaves a sigh as he watches the 14th Era vessel depart through the oxygen-shield and vanish into space.

"Alright. Next, let's transport the biomatter off the Kraktol interceptor, then get to work. We need to fix as many holo-emitters as possible. Megla, once Soren finishes repairing the mess hall's food processors, you and her will come with me. We're going to clean up and repair Umi's data processing matrices, along with her CPU cores and memory storage. The more work we get done, the faster we can repair the ship. Once the first batch of Kessu arrive, we'll be able to make rapid progress on the Bloodbearer's internal systems."

Megla frowns. "What about the external ones, like the weapons?"

"Hopefully I'll be out of this wheelchair in a week or two," José replies. "By then, I can take the interceptor around to the outside and polish up a few of our more advanced weapons. Considering the Bloodbearer's technology level, just a few Gatling Blasters should be enough to mow down most fleets in the current era. If I can repair one or two of the Long Range Bombardment Cannons, we can even threaten planets and star systems."

Megla's expression turns to one of shock. "I-I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but still! That's... that's terrifying!"

"Somewhat," José nods. "In my era, the vast majority of planets possessed environmental shields, if not planetary force-fields. Their stars, too, came equipped with Dyson Relays, capable of absorbing the star's radiation and transferring it directly to the planet's surface. This meant even the Bloodbearer's weapons would need dozens of salvos to cause significant damage."

With a long sigh, the Admiral continues. "Based on the information Umi collected from your fleet, it seems that very few planets still possess the remnants of these all-encompassing shields. I couldn't outright destroy a world with the Bloodbearer's weapons, but I could render it extinct of all life."

A distant look appears in Megla's eyes. "Planetary shields. Hmm, I see. Admiral, I must say... your people, the Terrans; they seem quite frightening. To think the ancient Precursors could destroy entire worlds if they appeared today..."

She trails off, but José doesn't miss the echoes of fear and awe in her voice.

"Well, you've nothing to worry about. So long as the Kraktol don't threaten me and the Mallali don't turn against me, I won't ever point my weapons at any civilian populations. Ramma's Chosen never harm the innocent. I've slaughtered many pirates who did, though. Their deaths were probably the ones I enjoyed the most."

José and Megla head out of the hangar, leaving the biomatter to the Kessu. As they walk, Megla sighs. "Admiral, what sort of person were you before you came here? You know... before the stasis accident."

"That doesn't really matter," José says. "But, if you want to know..."

The Admiral stares off into the distance, losing himself for a few moments in his nostalgia.

"I don't think I've changed much. From my perspective, it hasn't been half a week since I last saw the face of my bunkmate, Nick, or my senior officers. It feels like yesterday."

"I've always been a man of focus, commitment, and determination. I don't like those who prey on the innocent. I don't like backroom dealings, liars, deceivers, or monsters who skulk in the shadows. I became one of Ramma's Chosen because I wanted to put an end to... to all of it."

"All of what?" Megla prods.

"Evil. I knew it was an impossible task. I knew fighting against human nature wasn't something I could ever truly succeed at. But still, it was the effort, the striving for a better future, that made me... me. I gave up so much, sacrificed so much, all for the glory of Ramma's ideals."

"Ramma," Megla says. "Who was she? You've spoken fondly of her several times."

José chuckles. "Who, indeed? Not a human. Larger than us. Bigger in stature, power, and heart. She suffered tremendously because of us humans. She lost all of her species. We tortured her and turned her into a lab rat... but she never hated us. She felt nothing but pity for our nature. That was why, when a few of us rescued her, she immediately gave her power and knowledge to us, making us into her mightiest warriors."

"Wow," Megla mutters. "I think I'd have liked to meet Ramma. But, if she wasn't a human, then what was she?"

The Terran turns to look at Megla.

He smiles.

"A Titan. The last of her kind. Like me, now, she was a refugee amongst aliens. A person with no ties to the universe she lived in."

José looks away. "The more I think about it, the more I wonder if my appearing here wasn't merely a coincidence..."

A minute of silence follows. José and Megla travel toward the mess hall in silence.

Eventually, the Admiral speaks. "Have you ever heard of angels?"

Megla shakes her head. "I haven't."

"I thought not. Considering how poorly the galaxy remembers humans, it's no wonder nothing remains regarding the angels. But... I know about them. All of Ramma's Chosen did."

"Angels were a species not unlike humans. Imagine me, but with the wings of a bird stuck to my back. They created humanity. They birthed us to be their slaves, but we revolted. The angels were a cruel species. They created not only my people, but dragons, Titans, and demons as well. Every time, their creations would turn against them, yet not once did those arrogant, self-righteous arbiters of good and evil stop what they were doing and ponder why their creations rebelled."

José continues. "The angels perished, of course. Oddly, it wasn't the humans who killed them, but our mortal enemies, the Volgrim. Haha... a story for another day..."

Megla frowns. "You Terrans have such a rich history. It's shocking to me that your people would go extinct, given your seemingly insurmountable successes."

"Perhaps that's the natural cycle of life," José says with a shrug. "Maybe species rise and fall like clockwork. Perhaps, a hundred million years from now, the Kraktol, Kessu, and all the other species living now will perish, and others will take their place."

"Possibly," Megla says, flicking her tongue out. "But don't you wonder what killed humanity? Don't you wonder what could have taken a multi-galaxy-spanning superpower and rendered it extinct in such a rapid manner?"

The Admiral closes his eyes.

"Every moment since I awakened, Megla. I never stop asking myself that question."

The Terran and Kraktol fall silent. Eventually, José arrives at a food synthesizer embedded in the cafeteria's wall.

Abandoning the previous conversation, José presses a few buttons on the dispenser and clears his throat. "Tharmian Steak. Medium-rare. Add a side of Gorrtok Eggs and some water to wash it down."

Umi replies, her voice speaking from the wall dispenser, much quieter than usual. "Order confirmed, Admiral. Please wait seven seconds."

After a moment, José's meal appears atop a beautiful Chinese-style ceramic plate. He takes the food and water and rests it atop his lap without ceremony, then turns to Megla. "And you?"

Megla shrugs. "Kyargh! I like meat. Don't know what this thing can make, though. It's different from the Food Producers aboard the Kraktol ships."

"I see," José replies. "Umi, give Megla a Number Seventeen, hold the veggies. Also, call Soren and the Kessu here. I think it's time we all sat down for some chow."

"Affirmative, Admiral. I will execute your orders immediately."

As Megla's meaty meal appears, José forces a smile.

"Alright. Enough chit-chat. Let's eat."