First Contact

The past is not only always with us but it's in the future actively screwing it up. - Tek'Nayn, Treana'ad Philosopher

Future you is talking shit about you.

Jokes on them, I'm going to ruin their life! - Terran Meme

Council World had the best of everything. Beaches, mountain resorts, parks, theaters, even gyms. The Council Gym in the Unified Council Building was one of the best in the system. Well, the best according to the Lanaktallan.

It didn't have free weights. It didn't have full eVR exercise systems. No massages. No steam room. No hot baths. No exercise machines.

But it did have lovely cultivated galloping lawns.

And that made it the best.

The gym at the back of the building was considered the most terrible gym in the Council Senate Building. It had weight machines. Free weights. Exercise machines. Impact training bags.

It was fit solely for security guards.

Which is why, since the Terran Confederacy arrived, it was usually the most populated.

Today, the gym was deserted except for a handful. Of the handful, only three were there to work out. A Puntimat, a Tukna'rn.

And something else.

The Puntimat was sweating, struggling to pull their own unsupported weight high enough to lift their chin above the bar, using only their arm, shoulder, and chest muscles. It was a female, dripping in sweat, wearing only a skimpy exercise outfit that revealed more than modesty clothing.

The Tukna'rn was in front of a heavy punching bag. His feet were planted on the floor like two bridge supports. He swung his large fists, pounding the bag, stopping its momentum toward him and sending it swinging backwards. Each impact of the hard fists puffed silicate particles from the bag. The Tukna'rn grunted with every punch, blackish oily sweat covering its face.

Against the wall were a half dozen security guards. All of them in full powered assist body armor with reflex triggers on their weapons, which were high velocity slug throwers loaded with flechette rounds.

They were watching the third being.

It was one of the Mad Lemurs of Terra. Scarring on the chest, one cybernetic eye, access ports along the temple, cyberware down the spine and cyberports on the arms, chest, legs. Three burning red LED's on a piece of hardware at the base of the skull.

The security team weren't worried because it was a Mad Lemur of Terra.

It was what was inside the cloned off body.

The body had been custom grown for a researcher to examine certain artifacts. It was genetically identical to a Pre-Glassing Terran. The body had been captured by the Atrekna and, during imprisonment, suffered a hard blow to the SUDS with an electric prod.

When the body woke up, something else named Carter had been inside the body.

Much to the Atrekna's dismay.

Now, months later, Carter was in the gym.

The guards were there to ensure that Carter didn't go, to quote Dreams, ape-shit full blown crazy.

The guards were staring at the Terran, nervously shifting inside their armor, as the Terran performed strange exercises.

The Terran was currently inverted, using its hands as feet, its feet pointing at the ceiling, moving around on its hands. It was currently standing behind the Tukna'rn, watching the Tukna'rn physically strike at the bag.

"Feet planted. You are rooted in the towel. You are as immovable as the mountains themselves. As the water flows down the mountains, force and precision flow from your body to your fists," the Terran was saying. "Keep up the punishment. Strike hard with every strike. Hold nothing back."

The Terran moved to beside the Tukna'rn, still walking on its hands.

"Do not hold back your best attack, move in with overwhelming force. Shockanawe straight out the gate. Destroy your first target with overwhelming force so that the enemy's comrades know what is about to happen to them," the Terran said.

It lifted one arm up, balancing on one hand. It slowly drew its fingers in until it was somehow balancing on the fingertips of one hand.

"The towel supports you. The winds of the mountains give you breath. You are rooted in the towel. Keep striking," the Terran said. It flexed its elbow until its nose touched the floor.

With one sharp exhale and a convulsive movement the Terran threw itself into the air by just its fingertips, rolling and landing on its feet and immediately executing lightning fast kicks and punches, ending with it standing in what the guards had come to know as one of the many ready positions.

"Keep it up, On-Track, ol' buddy," the Terran said.

It moved over and stopped in front of the guards. It stared into the face plate for a long moment.

"Telkan. Brown eyes. Slight stripe of darker brown above one eye. Nostrils and pupils dilated. Whiskers rigid," the Terran said. It shook its head. "Don't be frightened. Fear is the mind killer and a mind stunned by fear can only react, it cannot predict nor act under its own volition," the Terran said. "Any competent enemy will force you to react to the initial attack in such a way that the followup attacks will inflict the maximum damage."

The Telkan guard inside the armor said nothing, just wondered how the Terran had seen through the opaque faceplate.

The Terran moved away, heading for where the low-rez projector 2.5D tri-vee was located at the side of the gym. The Terran grabbed a towel and scrubbed its close cut hair that was short enough that the showed the cyberware access ports were not going to be interfered with by a stray strand of hair.

The Terran tapped the power on the Tri-Vee and it buzzed for a second before coming on.

"EARTHLING VESSELS IN HIGH ORBIT AS EARTHLING DIPLOMATIC TEAM NEGOTIATES WITH SURRENDER COUNCIL!" the chyron proclaimed.

There was a 320p shot of the gray ships in orbit, hanging there silently in the blackness, lit by the floodlights mounted on their hulls.

The Telkan guard saw the Terran take a step back.

The Terran moved toward the Treana'ad officer.

"I need to speak to whoever is in charge," the Terran said in the clicks and pops of Treana'ad battle speech. It glanced back at the screen then back at the Treana'ad officer.

"Right fucking now."

-----

Deus silently moved through the database, his signature muted and spoofed to look like he was a simple file CRC checker that was used to spot any data corruption.

He watched as an opalescent spider moved into the datastore. It stopped at the junction of the datalines, shivered, and shattered into hundreds, thousands of smaller copies. As the smaller spiders moved toward the data they got slowly bigger.

Deus knew self-downloading and patching code when he saw it.

He also knew what was going on.

The spiders were cataloguing everything. Mapping the system architecture, cataloguing the data rather than examining the data, checking bandwidth, memory storage, and data access speeds and storage capacity.

Deus had the same ability. Rather than the spiders, he preferred snakes. Tiny snakes that slithered through the databases and computer systems, indexing everything about the system.

The spiders finished quickly, then moved into the center, pilling onto one another. There was faint sparkles as repeated code was discarded and swept up by garbage collection.

In the end only two spiders remained. One had a large 'bag' on its back. The other was identical to the one that had first come into the datastore.

Deus watched as the one with the bag scurried back the way it had come in. The other spider moved down the only dataline that led out of the datastore.

After a few moments a tiny spider, with only the most barebone instruction set, returned, peering around with large eyes. After a quick look around, its eyes got smaller and it turned around and vanished.

Deus knew the spider was looking for any temporarily hidden files or code that had returned when the larger spider had left.

Having watched the spiders, Deus knew they were looking for something.

There was no reason to map the architecture and index the data unless the data was going to be searched.

The problem, as far as Deus could see, is he had no clue what they were searching for.

Only that the spiders were moving deeper into the Council data stores.

Into databases that were tens of millions of years old. Data that was so old that it was copied over and over until it was glassy and smooth. The base-four system that the Lanaktallan used was easily enough to adapt to. A single small code app made translation easy.

Deus looked up.

Thousands, millions, billions of computer systems sparkled in the 'sky' as data communication flowed steadily between trillions of devices.

Deus carefully moved into the next database, following the spider.

He held still as a tiny spider examined him. He made sure his spoofed headers were sticky enough to prevent the spider from lifting it and looking underneath. His surface code was blocky and clumsy base-4 rather than the elegant binary he was composed of. The spider sampled, found that he was an error checker that examined deep storage databases after activity was detected in the database, and moved on.

Deus ran an 'error check' on the spider and found that it had a 'shell' of base-4 over the complex binary.

The spider ignored him.

Whatever the Earthlings were looking for, they weren't looking in modern systems. They were looking in recent databases.

They were going deep.

Archives tens of millions of years old were being indexed and catalogued.

Probably for the first time in tens of millions of years.

Deus waited until the big eyed spiderling came back and looked around, making sure he looked like he was doing error checking on ancient data, then drifted after it.

The spiders didn't react to him once they scanned his header, saw that he was the same error checker that kept following them due to the fact they were causing activity in deep storage archives.

One of the spiders flashed, squirting code for attention at Deus.

Deus moved over and used his camouflage to scan the database.

Cascading error. Nothing he couldn't repair with just the camouflage programming. No need to engage any of his advanced systems or his AI routines. The Lanaktallan error checking program he was covered with was perfectly capable of the job.

The Lanaktallan were just as skilled at automation as the Mantid, and he had spent decades drifting through Mantid systems as the battles raged on across the surface of the planet.

Deus stood there, repairing the errors to the file headers. Once they were fixed he drifted away.

The spider examined, indexed, and catalogued the data, then moved away.

They were after something.

Deus was sure of it.

-----

Dreams looked over the file for the fourth time.

A Terran archeologist had gotten permission to utilize a Pre-Glassing genome to create a body that would allow him to examine some old relics. He had moved to the Lanaktallan Core Systems in order to use the FTL communications array to report his findings, request more funding, and some assistance. The Terran had then boarded a passenger liner to go back and examine the relics further.

The passenger liner had been intercepted by the Atrekna and captured with all hands.

The Terran had sustained a direct blow to the SUDS and to the base of the brain.

Somehow, for some reason, the SUDS array had hot loaded the recording of a Pre-Glassing, well, to be honest, a Glassing record into the body.

One Staff Sergeant Eric Carter, formerly of the Earth Defense Force, Third Republic Combined Military Forces Army. Formerly part of Delta Company, 19th Infantry Battalion, 8th Infantry Division. A trained and experienced cybernetic, bioware, phasic combat implant augmented infantryman.

Dreams used her authority to remove the redaction and examined specific parts of the file.

The Confederacy had no records prior to the Glassing. At least, not personnel files of active duty combat troops killed when the Glassing happened.

Records like that would have been in deep archive on Terra itself.

And Terra was still in The Bag.

SSG Carter had been upgraded and modified since he had escaped Atrekna imprisonment. There were annotations that the technical specifications for part of the amplifiction system had been provided by the BOLOs.

Additional data told Dreams that the Terran had gone to grey market chop shops and basically chose a wish list of advanced combat mods.

The list made Dreams shudder.

Since the Confederate Military had no actual authority or need for a Glassing Era human, he had been sent to the nearest civilian authority.

Which had been Dreams and the diplomatic team.

That was just over a month ago.

He had an appointment to see her in three weeks. The appointment had kept being pushed back due to one emergency after another, but the Terran had handled it with good grace, content to exercise and go on sight seeing trips on the Council World.

Always accompanied by the Puntimat and Tukna'rn that had escaped the Atrekna with him.

Shaking her head, Dreams closed the file and her system shredded it and locked the file in her database behind security. She looked over at the Mosizlak and Speaks, who were watching the video feed from the reception foyer.

"What's he doing?" Dreams asked, moving over to where they were.

"Waving his arms, pacing back and forth, and talking rapidly," Speaks said.

"He looks like he's taken a massive dose of stims," the Mosizlak said.

On the screen, the Tukna'rn was sitting in the chair, staring at the human as the human moved back and forth, waving his arms, talking rapidly. The Puntimat was fidgeting in her chair, watching with bright eyes.

The two non-Terrans had an amber glow in their eyes.

"Can you understand what he's saying?" Dreams asked.

Speaks and the Mosizlak both shook their heads.

"No," Speaks said. "He's speaking archiac Hamburgerese, and not the kind you learn in school. It's full of slang, acronyms, and chunks of metaphors."

"They understand it," Dreams said, pointing at the two non-humans.

Speaks nodded. "Yeah. And that bothers me."

"They escaped confinement after the Atrekna captured them," Dreams said. "They've been together since before the shade attack."

"I'm going to stay in here with you, Madame Diplomat," the Mosizlak said quietly.

"Do you think he'd attack me?" Dreams asked.

The Mosizlak shook his head. "No. It might calm him down to see another Terran."

Dreams nodded, moving over to her favorite sitting rock and settling down. She turned on the heavy duty phasic shielding and psionic buffers and watched as 117 and Speaks did the same.

She tapped the button and the secretary let the Terran in.

The Puntimat and the Tukna'rn stayed in the reception room.

The first thing Dreams noticed was how the Terran seemed to fill the doorway. Almost like it flexed away from him. The Terran stopped, looking around quickly, then squinted and looked again, his sight passing over the two hidden warborgs, who were camouflaged to look like Pacific Northwest Sasquatch, then darted around the holographic scenery.

"Olympic National Rainforest," the Terran said. "Mid-summer," he glanced up. "Pacific Northwest ringed tree octopus. Two warborgs, advanced combat models," he looked around some more. "Green servitor technician, black battle servitor, gold servitor - function unknown," he squinted at Mosizlak. "Human with extensive body mods."

Dreams could see the high levels of phasic energy running through the Terran's body. She shuddered at the memory of the Speaker she had accompanied to the first meeting and how its phasic energy had peaked right before it had gone crazy and the diplomatic mission had almost failed.

Now she knew that the Speaker had gone crazy due to the genetic memories flooding it.

"Welcome," Dreams said gently, speaking clearly to help the translator. "You said this is urgent and relates to the ships currently in orbit?"

The Terran nodded. He squinted again and moved through the room, finally sitting down a slight distance from Dreams.

She noticed that he was out of reach of her if she suddenly jumped at him, and she was out of reach if he suddenly lunged at her.

"Yeah, sister," he said. He rotated his hands by twisting his wrists several times, lifted his knee up and down rapidly by flexing his ankle. "You've got a problem if those things are really in orbit."

Dreams simply nodded, ignoring the way the Terran's phasic power flowed and rippled.

"They are. We only know them as Earthlings. They appear rarely, and usually they only silently watch. When they engage in warfare, they use overwhelming firepower," she said. She lifted her antenna. "Do you have knowledge of them?"

The human laughed, standing up suddenly.

Dreams heard the high capacity capacitors charge inside the warborgs armor and knew they had readied their weapons.

The Terran began moving back and forth. Long steps, his hands staring to move. His words almost tumbled over one another and the translator struggled to keep up.

"Everyone knows about them, sister," the Terran said. "Even though they left before I was born, everyone learned about them in school. How they were built to be our first 'fuck you' to the universe, proof we weren't going to just lay there and take it while the universe fucked us like a two-nickle whore."

Dreams suddenly realized that the Terran's attitude wasn't agitation brought on by the Earthlings, but that agitation was his normal state of being.

"Almost fifteen years of frantic building," he said. "The lunar shipyards went from a small affair to huge sprawling affairs. The Trans-Plutonian Spaceyards and the United Western Starship Cartel went from nothing to massive affairs," the Terran stopped in place.

"We all learned about it in school," he said.

Dreams saw one of his forearm muscles twitch through a micro-seizure.

"That big ass ship came in from outside the solar system. Everyone saying it was nothing, just a comet or an asteroid, claiming that the radio and other emmissions were just conspiracy theory," the Terran said. He spread his hands out. "Aliens," he said in a strange tone of voice. He laughed and shook his head. "Only, that ship was alien. A big ass warship that had shown up to kick the shit out of us before we were barely outside of Earth."

Dreams knew when not to interrupt someone.

"We killed the big fucker. Hell, I remember taking virtual tours of the hull. Damn thing was bigger than [Ozland] and thick as hell. Like eight hundred miles thick. We beat the shit out of it though. Killed it and all of its little butt buddies it kept spawning," the Terran laughed. "We knew about Hellspace and Jumpspace, though."

He laughed again, a tight, brittle sound.

"A Precursor Autonomous War Machine," Dreams said, to fill in the sudden silence.

The Terran nodded. "Yeah, yeah, sister, it was. I've looked at the data. Curious, you know? Wanted to know more about it. It was a big deal when I was a kid. It was proof we weren't alone to the poor fuckers who were alive when it attacked," he punched an open palm with a closed fist and sparks popped free, floating for a moment toward the ground before going out.

Bright purple sparks.

"We found the Rigellians right after. Then the Pubvians. Then the T-Bugs. Then you," he said. He started walking back and forth again. "Fixed the lizard ladies' planet. Fought the Puffies. Fought the T-bugs, all before I was born," he said. He laughed. "Your people adopted battle. Adopted war. I was born into it. Shaped into it. Molded by it."

He stopped suddenly. "I never knew peace, not even as a man."

Dreams just nodded.

The human erupted into motion again, taking two quick steps, the second one crossing the stream, before he spun in place and retraced his steps.

"But that big fucker. That's what caused it. I learned about it in school," the Terran said. He stopped, moving over to the rock and sitting back down. "Fifteen years of frantic, half-panicked buildup. The first time the nations of Earth worked together without any of the normal bullshit. Oh, sure, the last five years there was all kinds of stupid shit added on by the politicians and the culture social philosophers, but for the majority of the project, everyone worked together."

The Terran looked up at Mister Rings, then back at Dreams.

"The debris showed huge spaces where prisoners had been dissected, experimented on. The big bastard killed every living thing inside of it once it couldn't win the fight, but we found the evidence anyway," he shook his head. "Lots of survival horror video games spawned from what we found inside that big son of a bitch."

He looked down, rubbing his toes into the 'dirt' of the hologram.

"Fifteen years after the big torturing murdering genociding motherfucker got publicly and roughly sodomized via Earth style surprise buttsex, the fleet was done and launched. See, we weren't going to lay back and think of [Bongistan], we were going to go out there and stomp a mudhole in someone else's ass. Gonna have a full blown down home curb stomping on their turf, see how much they liked having us show up," the Terran said. "The fleet was our message to the universe that we were perfectly willing to raw dog face fuck anyone who even thought about stepping up in our faces. As heavily armed as we could make it, armored like a nun's panties, with enough troops to personally stomp on every skull we had to. The fleet was our response to that big metal motherfucker. We made sure there was no data to lead back to us. It was to never come back. It had everything. Colonists. Fabricators. Nanoforges. Creation Engines. Cloning Banks. Genomic seed banks."

"That fleet had everything we needed to fuck whoever made that big metal bastard straight in whatever orifice they used for a poop chute, and if they didn't have one, it was heavily armed enough to tear them a new one and introduce them to surprise sexy time like they tried to do with us," the Terran said.

He went still, his eyes burning red. Perfectly still. For a moment he didn't even breathe.

"We launched a fleet to ensure that even if we were wiped out by someone else, we could jump out of the grave and crush the skulls of them, their families, everyone they knew, and everyone that those people knew," he said.

He pointed up.

"That fleet."