Space and time were torn as a hole opened in the outskirts of an insignificant red dwarf’s even less significant solar system.

Shortly thereafter, a battered and burning Dralurian frigate literally cartwheeled into the system, leaving glowing spirals of plasma and debris as it helplessly tumbled into realspace.

If the crew wasn’t preoccupied with other matters, they would have found it quite pretty.

“Damage report!” the eight-limbed long-haired tarantula, desperately clinging to the captain’s chair with all of its numerous hands shouted.

“Inertial dampeners offline!” a bridge officer yelled as he sprawled spread eagle against one of the walls.

“That part I know!” the captain shouted. “What about the rest?”

“Multiple breaches on all decks! Atmospheric integrity lost over thirty percent of the ship! Engines offline! Weapons offline! Shields offline! Reactor offline! Artificial gravity offline! Life support… huh… Life support is pretty good, actually.”

“Thank the furry muff for small favors,” the captain said as two of his legs lost their purchase and flailed wildly for a few moments before grabbing the railing… which promptly snapped off.

“Son of a worm!” he shouted as he gripped the piece of metal, afraid to let go and send it careening around the badly damaged bridge.

The infernal spinning started to slow… then stopped.

“Engineering here,” a weary and pained voice transmitted. “We got the spinning to stop.”

“Thank you for the report, engineering. I wouldn’t have known otherwise,” the captain snarked as the voice over the comm chuckled and then coughed painfully. “What I don’t know is how.”

“I could spend fifteen duras telling you, or I could, oh, I don’t know… try to keep us from blowing up.”

(Incidentally, this actually was Dralurian’s version of military bearing. They aren’t the most formal of species.)

“I appreciate your priorities… whoever you are… Are you in charge? Please don’t tell me you’re in charge.”

“Okay, I’m not in charge… Buuuut I am the highest ranking individual left mobile… barely.”

“Muff! Is the chief engineer dead?”

“You want the good news or the bad news?”

“I need some good news.”

“He’s not dead.”

“And the bad news?”

“What’s left of him is in a med pod.”

“Pecker warts!”

“Heh. That was the last thing he said, too!”

The captain chuckled. That was one of the Engineer’s favorite curses.

“So… Who are you, again?”

“Petty Officer Kurggh.”

“Well, Chief Engineer, how bad is it?”

“In one word,” Petty Officer Kurggh said, “we’re muffed.”

“In multiple words?”

“The reactor is toast. We’re running on batteries, and we’ve lost the starboard bank. The main thrusters took a direct hit. The shield circuitry is crinkle. The only weapon we have left is strongly worded language and… um… Oh! We’ve also lost data, so we don’t know how bad it is everywhere else. I’ve sent most of who’s left to damage control because there isn’t pee we can do here.”

“Worms.”

“Well put, Captain. Worms.”

“What about the hyperdrive?”

“That actually works… but…”

“Without the reactor, it’s useless.”

“Yep.”

“How long will the batteries last?”

“At our current load, four days.”

“Bugger.”

“If we shed everything but life support and seal off most of the ship, we can maybe get a week.”

“Unbugger. We just might have a chance, then,” the captain said cheerfully. “Do what you can down there, and I will contact you once we know what to unplug.”

“You got it, Cap.”

“It could be worse,” the captain said to nobody in particular. “Now, if we can get in touch with the fleet, we…”

He didn’t even have to look at the communications officer.

“We’ve lost the hyperspace transmitter, haven’t we?”

“A torrent bolt went clean through it, sir.”

“Of course, it did.”

“What do we do, sir?”

“We try to live until we can’t. First, we get this ship as stable as we can, and then… Well… Hmm… Muffed if I know. I guess we’ll put all of our sphincters together and see if we can squeeze out a…”

“Captain!” the sensor operator cried. “We have contact! There is an unknown vessel in the inner asteroid belt.”

“We have sensors?” the captain asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Yes, Sir!”

“The muff could spare a drip for us, then.” the captain chuckled. “Maybe it’s a friendly, or at least a neutral. Computer!”

“Yeah?”

“On the off chance it’s Zantian, come up with the absolute worst, most vile thing you can about the ship, the crew, the captain, and their dry spurt of a primarch. At least we will be able to hurt their feelings.”

“On it!”

The captain jump-floated over to the sensor operator.

“Is it Zantian?”

“I… Um… I don’t think so, Captain.”

“Clench! With analytical skills like yours, you should have gone into intelligence,” the captain snarked. “Any idea what it is?”

“I have absolutely no idea, sir. It doesn’t match anything on record. It is very irregular, made of multiple alloys including bits of… rock… Oh no… Captain! It’s… It’s…”

“Humans…” the captain moaned. “Oh, holy muff,” he sang, “why must you always fuuuck us…”

“It’s a human hive! A big one!” the sensor operator wailed.

The captain clenched his butthole in annoyance. Humans. Why did it have to be humans?

***

Humans were the worst! They were the first sapient race classified as an invasive species, and they earned that honor.

It was the Illun’s fault, the muff lice.

The Illun were just another petty empire, just like every other petty empire on the peripheries of Galactic civilization. The lice would single out weaker, backward little races, usually before they even reached the stars themselves, and just roll over the poor little guys taking their system’s resources and usually needlessly enslaving them.

I mean, seriously, who needs slaves when a couple of dozen guys can run an entire mining facility or manufacturing complex? And the only reason we have a couple of dozen guys is because we get lonely. The Gaial only have two people doing the same thing, and they intentionally never see each other.

Then again, if I was a Gaial, I wouldn’t want to be around them either.

Anyway, the Illun found the human’s homeworld and thought they hit the cosmic jackpot. Their world was lush and fertile, and the humans were just advanced enough to be useful but not so advanced that they stood a hope in hell…

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

And there were billions of them, an unprecedented number, an endless source of slave labor. The humans bred faster than they could harvest them.

And that was the first warning sign or should have been.

Of course, we and all of the other civilized races condemned them for the conquest of Earth, just like we always do, but nobody was going to go to war over some little wad of dirt and its little savages in the corner of nowhere just like we always didn’t go to war over some little wad of dirt and its little savages.

We all would shake our fists and talk about doing something, but we all knew we wouldn’t… so we didn’t.

Asssight being what it is, we should have known something like the humans would happen sooner or later. Just about every advanced race had case after case of someone digging up the wrong plant on the wrong island or just having to have that shiny bright slaa because it was just soooo cute (and we all know how THAT turned out).

So we all, blinded with complacency, let the Illun open up the biggest “wet market” in galactic history… Earth.

At first, things went great for the Illun. Humans were exactly what they appeared to be, an endless supply of slaves. Soon, every Illun household had at least one of them. They even started exporting them across the galaxy. The humans were fantastic laborers and servants, smart, capable, and, most of all, delighted to serve.

It turns out that as despotic as we thought the Illun to be and as deplorable the conditions in which we thought their humans were kept, things were so much worse on Earth that humans fought to be the next “unfortunate victim.”

That should have been another warning sign.

The thing about humans, or any living creature, sapient or not, is that some are going to get loose. Either they get lost, or they get abandoned, or they just decide that they don’t particularly feel like being livestock anymore.

So, it was with some humans. The thing is, it only took some humans. They were every bit as smart and capable as it said on the shipping container. They were able to learn and learn quickly. The collars got hotwired. Trackers got removed…

…Ships got stolen…

Again, it wasn’t all humans. It wasn’t a revolt or anything.

It was humans just being… humans.

Another thing humans do is breed. Each human pair can just squirt brood out of their muffs (if they even have muffs) like nobody’s business. I mean, every standard business annum, a human can have a kid…, and they often do. At first, this was only considered a good thing…

…but it should have been a BIG warning sign.

Of course, these feral humans went back to their homeworld… and got more humans.

Did I mention that there were billions of the muff munchers? Yeah. That is what we call in Galactic Common an “oopsie.”

They never attacked the Illum. They would have lost. Then again, they didn’t have to. One thing about space is that it is big, really, really big. It’s the perfect environment for pests. An infinity of dark corners in which they can creep…

…and breed.

It was about then that the problems started. Humans learned our technology but didn’t have anywhere to make it. For a lot of races, that would have been the beginning and end of it, but a lot of races aren’t humans.

They wanted our tech. They needed our tech. But they didn’t have our tech.

We, however, did. For the feral humans, the solution was obvious.

Did you know that two hundred years ago, there was a galaxy-wide network of portal gates, stable wormholes through which sublight ships could effortlessly traverse the stars cheaply and efficiently, moving freight and conducting commerce?

Nobody knows who built them, but everybody knows what happened to them. You guessed it. Humans. The muff biters stripped them. Tore them apart for the tech. Most of them are now gone, the remaining few zealously guarded by very expensive guard ships.

The same thing happened to any unmanned space asset. The humans needed some parts. They got some parts. They didn’t care if they just broke a trans spatial data conduit, wrecking banking in half a dozen systems.

Why should they? It wasn’t like they were using them. It wasn’t like their paycheck just got stuck in limbo for a licking lunar.

Oh, remember when I said that you could run an entire mining facility with just a couple of people? That was past tense. Now, you have to guard them. Just a couple of people could only watch helplessly as dozens… sometimes hundreds of humans just walked in and helped themselves. Automated shipping? Not anymore. Humans. And every formerly unmanned ship became just one more vector for infection.

Oh, infections. We can’t forget about those. Everywhere humans went, so did their muff-blistered planet. Rats, ants, cockroaches, of course, cats. Oh, they are nice enough curled up in your fur, but let those mufflehumpers get loose on your world, and you will NOT have a good time.

And they aren't the worst thing to come from Earth, not by a long shot. Even humans themselves pale in comparison to the new horror consuming the galaxy… nematodes.

The captain winced as he remembered the pooneedle epidemic that ravaged his homeworld when he was a kid. Worms! (literally) That was awful.

His pucker still had scars.

Oh, humans are fine with most nematodes. They are absolutely riddled with them. But let one human turd land on your world’s fertile soil, and you are well and truly muffed.

I could go on.

The dark irony of it all is that for the Illum. Their “jackpot” was their ruin. Humans were their property.

Therefore, legally speaking, every credit of damage inflicted by humans or anything from Earth was their responsibility.

While the developed races of the Galaxy might not go to war over some backwater and some savages, they will go to war to collect trillions upon trillions upon trillions of credits in judgments before someone else does.

The Illum aren’t extinct, but they will be impoverished for the next ten thousand years as they labor to pay off the entire galaxy.

Some believe that the humans did this on purpose, that they knew that they couldn’t defeat the Illum normally, so they unleashed the most horrific weapon in galactic history, themselves, and the rest of their scabby planet.

Deathworlds were a “thing” and had been for a long time. However, Earth was the first verminworld. It’s like their Great Muff decided to see exactly how stinky it could become. And let me tell you, that thing reeks.

***

The captain was wrenched from his thoughts concerning those reekers by the sensor operator yelling.

“Hyperspace! We have incoming! I think it’s them!”

Moments later a huge wad of derelict ships, chunks of orbital stations… asteroids… and muff knows what else appeared before them.

It was huge.

“Oh, sweet muff,” the sensor operator gasped.

“How does it even stay together?” the tactical officer asked in astonishment.

“Who knows,” the captain replied. “Human engineering is as pestilent as they are. It’s not like anyone has dared to go into one of those to find out.”

The captain paused and rubbed his hind legs together pensively.

“Do you detect any plutonium on board?”

The sensor operator started to reply but didn’t have to. His face already did.

“How much?” the captain asked.

“Over six-hundred point sources,” the sensor operator replied aghast.

“They do love their plutonium,” the captain chuckled. “Who knew banging rocks together would be so effective?”

“Are they going to attack?” someone asked, more than a little terrified.

“No,” the captain replied grimly, “They never attack in this situation. Why would they? All they have to do is wait. It’s what they do. They just float around someone like a flock of kair until the lights go out. Nobody is coming. And if the muff winks at us and someone does, they will just jump away. There’s a whole war that they can scavenge.”

“I hate them so much!” the tactical officer exclaimed. “Soulless monsters!”

***

In the command center of the human city-state, The Rock, the hatch opened.

“Attention on deck!” a burly woman bellowed.

“As you were,” a middle-aged man said, reaching down to pet one of the dogs who trotted up for head pats. “What’s on the menu for today?”

“It’s the Whiteblush, Admiral,” a young man replied, “a Dralurian Velan class frigate. Probably from that big battle twenty light years away.”

“Dralurians,” Admiral Clark said as he idly picked up a chicken and stroked it. “They’re the tarantula-looking dudes who worship pussies, right?”

“That would be them,” the young man replied. “The Great Muff, to be exact.”

“Well, someone must have licked her right,” the admiral said as he looked at the ship on the main display. “They are lucky to have made it this far. They call for help yet?”

“They can’t, Sir. Their transmitter is slag.”

“Convenient,” he said as he idly waved off a bee. “Have they figured out where the bees are coming from yet?”

“Not yet, sir. We think they have a hive in one of the ducts somewhere. They haven’t found it, though.”

“Can never have too many bees,” the admiral smiled.

He looked at the ship again.

“Is there anything left but scrap metal?”

“Spare parts, maybe.”

“How are we for parts?”

“Well stocked, sir. We have a surplus of everything. In fact, we almost have too much.”

“And it’s a while before the next gathering,” the admiral mused. “You know, I like pussy almost as much as those guys. Let’s do our good deed for the century, and we want them to win, anyhow. Hail them. It’s probably a waste of time, but what the hell.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

***

“Captain!” the communications officer cried. “We’re being hailed.”

“Well, this can’t be good,” the captain replied. “Computer, do you know how to properly insult a human?”

“I don’t know,” the computer replied, “Imply that it has bathed recently?”

“Well, work on it,” the captain replied. “If strong language is all we have, then it’s all we have.”

“I’ll check the archives,” the computer said, “But we know muff all about these worm-infested reeks.”

“Do what you can,” the captain replied and then groomed his fur. “Well, let’s not delay the inevitable. Put them on the main…”

He paused as he looked at the shattered holoscreen.

“Worm. Just send them to my tablet.”

Moments later, the captain recoiled at the horrific thing confronting him.

It had practically no limbs and was a furless fleshy thing, just like one of their nematodes… and that face. Muff. It made his fur stand on end.

“I am Admiral Clark, naval commander of The Rock,” the thing said. Oh muff, what was that wiggling hole in its face?

Was that its mouth?!?

“I am Captain Nee, captain of the Whiteblush,” he replied, trying to look at the thing in what he supposed were its eyes. Those had to be eyes, right?

“Looks like you are in a bit of a pickle,” the human said.

“If ‘a pickle’ means we are muffed, then yes. We are in a pickle. Are you calling to taunt us as you wait for our death? If so, um… You look especially clean? Perhaps you have washed yourself?”

The human bellowed, contorting the hole in its face, revealing a horrid wiggling thing inside his head. Was that a big worm?

Suddenly, a white bird? clumsily flapped across the screen. What the muff was that?!?

“Was that an attempt at an insult?”

“Did it work?”

“I am grievously wounded,” the human said between bellows. “I may never recover.”

It wasn’t an insult. Oh well. At least he tried.

“Anyhow,” the human said, “You want us to call somebody to come and pick you up?”

“What?”

“Look, your ship is nothing but scrap metal. We already have plenty,” the human replied, “and we are saving our cargo space for much tastier goodies from this war of yours. So, do you want us to send a message? You can relay your communications through our transmitter if you want.”

“You… you would do that?”

“Why not? We like you guys, and we have a score to settle with the Zantians. They used to keep humans and exterminated the lot. You winning makes this little bit of the galaxy nicer, and the Zantians get to see what extermination feels like. More alive Dralurians means more dead Zantians. That makes us happy.”

“That makes sense,” the captain replied. “But it would not work. Your transmitter isn’t Dralurian, and our encryption was in our transmitter and updated remotely. An open transmission won’t be believed.”

The human contorted his horrifyingly flexible mouth and bared its little nub-like teeth. Disgusting.

“We just happen to have a Dralurian transmitter with the current encryption.”

“Of course, you do.”

“You guys won, by the way.”

“Well, muff.”

“It was a trap. Your eighth fleet jumped in not too long after you got popped. It was NOT a good day for those assholes. They lost their entire force.”

The captain splayed his mouth in a delighted smile. The human recoiled slightly. Perhaps proper dental hygiene intimidated it?

“May the moist, sweet muff be praised!”

The human made a strange snerking noise.

“God, I like you weirdos.”

I have no idea what “wierdo” means appeared in script across his tablet.

“Then, I would be delighted if you would relay a message to our fleet headquarters concerning our plight.”

“Not a problem.”

The captain rubbed his rear legs appraisingly.

“Hey. You wouldn’t happen to have a Zantian communication device and its encryption protocols, would you?”

“I will send one right over,” the human said with another of those disgusting mouth flexes.