The province of Terrans

A Starshatter adventure

Fellow Terrans, our brand new, Substack exclusive vote your own adventure story is finally here! Every Sci-Friday you will enjoy another chapter and guide the protagonist. Each chapter will sport three distinct options to chose from; thus you, the reader, can cast a vote and direct the story.

The glorious end of this life-saving adventure depends on you!

With one week between the chapters, there is more than enough time for you to make your decision. Share the story with your friends on Substack, see if they support your choice or vote a different way.

Those who like can discuss the protagonist’s options and I promise to answer your questions concerting Terran culture, philosophy, and worldbuilding to the best of my ability!

If you like what you read, consider grabbing any of my published works.

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Index: Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

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Chapter 1

Property

Atop a picturesque hill, surrounded by lush fields of green and yellow, stood a small settlement. An assortment of scruffy prefab dome-homes, many of which were just as old as the hill, made up about half of this village. The rest were unique family homes, each lovingly built from chiseled stone and/or wood. However, no matter the construction materials, all of these cozy adobes had the aura of impending growth. It was clear as day to anyone with a living soul; the sentients who constructed them intended to live out the rest of their star-days here.

So much love was infused into everything they built, that even their main road was laid with great dedication to quality. Row upon row of interlocked derelict starship bulkheads ensured that they and their children's children would travel this road for generations. Clean drains and a line of self-powered lamp posts added an extra layer of coziness to the already significant travelers' comfort.

Alone in all its metallic glory, the country road happily welcomed a living soul.

The muscular frame of a uniform-clad man moved with a brisk pace. Light, sturdy armor-plates augmented this uniform, protecting him from beam and blade. Even the cape he wore offered some type of protection, though it fluttered upon the wind as if a mundane, yet beauteous piece of clothing. Those knowledgeable of Terran lingo and the dialect of this star sector, Fringe Speak, could read the metallic name tag on his lapel which said:

“Morale Officer Vinson”

His tall boots clinked with each determined step he made towards the village. To ensure efficient stomping of Slavers, Narcos, and Pirates, Morale Officer issue footwear was fitted with sturdy soles cast from pure megasteel. Green eyes partially hidden by his elaborate peaked cap, he fixed it after a gust of cool wind caressed his well-trimmed black beard. By force of habit, his fingers tapped the handmade Morale Officer shield which adorned the cap.

The aroma of cooked food and freshly brewed mead made his mouth water.

As he walked, his gloved hands rested on his comfortable belt. From time to time his fingers casually played with the grav-drive controls, yet never actually activating the nifty device. He had way too much fun walking and besides, flying even short distances in this planet's anomalous gravity would quickly eat the belt's energy reserves.

Chiseled face adorned with a half-grin, he straightened his armored uniform and pulled the rifle sling. Those who cast their gaze upon his tall stature need not know that he carried a heavy assault railgun rifle on his back. At least from a distance, his beautiful cape would hide the devastating weapon. Ironically, the Shield Held By Many Arms which was emblazoned upon said cape gently fluttered center straight over the gun.

His gloved hand floated over the laser handgun holstered on his right hip. The village street was surprisingly empty, nearby homes silent as tombs, and there were a couple of items rolling on the ground. He carefully inspected a brand new remote controlled toy truck. Still warm to the touch, the tiny machine's Tesla engine proved that kids were playing outside a few minutes ago.

Just to be on the safe side the Morale Officer sent a link, warning the fellow Terran who called him here that something was afoot. Pistol unholstered and safety lever off, he made a quick sweep with its integrated scanner. Though most of his peers usually operated their hand scanners as they were, his was installed atop the laser gun and doubled as a holo-scope.

With a sigh of relief, he noticed that most of the villagers had retreated and locked themselves inside their basements. However, there was a single family, one that owned a small tavern nearby, who were unable to do so. Cornered by three armed sentients in lightly armored pirate spacesuits, a man and a woman lie on the floor clutching their newborn babe. Scanner rays recalibrated as he rapidly closed the distance, Vinson was able to not only see inside, but hear, voices buzzing from the earpieces of his peaked cap.

“Slaves, you made not one, but three mistakes.” - Said the bulkiest pirate, and nonchalantly waved his curved vibroblade in the air.

Vinson's left hand reached to his left hip where his own vibroblade was sheathed; a straight, wide-bladed shortsword of Italian make. If the tough guy charged him by use of his spacesuit's integrated engines, he either had to shoot him first or engage in melee. Which meant, of course, that the other two would have time to fire their beamguns.

“First, property is not allowed to leave its designated area of occupancy. Fugitives are punished by flaying as a warning to all other slaves.”

“Second,” - the pirate gave his fellow a sign, and this one violently ripped the babe from her mother's bosom - “property is not allowed to procreate.”

The child grabber smirked as he held the babe with one hand, and a heavy beam pistol with the other. Said pistol appeared augmented; its elongated heatsink providing the shooter with the ability to safely fire overcharged beams. Vinson had a novel wrist-mounted shield projector, yet he wasn't at all convinced that this one could fully withstand such a beam from point-blank range.

“Don't hurt her!” - wailed the terrified mother and reached for her child.

“Unhand my daughter, you filth!” - Grumbled the father and rose up fists clenched, only to get pistol-whipped back to the floor by the third pirate.

This one was a she and armed with a light snub beamgun, Taz’aran issue. Capable of auto-fire, it could turn the unfortunate couple and their babe into chunks of smoldering flesh at the push of a button.

“And third...” - the sword-wielding pirate made a short pause ogling the babe's beautiful young mother before he continued - “you committed an act of rebellion against your owners by allying yourself with outlaws.”

“Yes, and you will tell us where are them Terr'aans or I may just drop this thing!” - the third pirate laughed as he changed his grip, grabbing the babe by her leg.

“We know nothing,” - wept her mother - “p-please, let my baby go!”

“And even if we did...” - said the father with a low, angry voice and threw his wife a sad look.

As the pirates laughed she gazed at her hands, which Vinson's scanner showed signs of extensive torture, followed by expensive nano-reconstruction and gene-grafts. Her face stiffened, terror was swiftly replaced by anger, and the sword-wielding pirate grimaced when she stammered:

“We c-can tell you n-nothing about n-no Terr'aans!”

“You stupid things can't seem to understand.” - snarled the bulky pirate and cleaved the bar of their establishment in two with his sword.

Triggered by the damage, an automatic system unleashed a small cloud of vac-foam. Such safety measures were often put there just in case someone's spacesuit exoskeleton malfunctioned. In mere star-seconds, a small area around the ruined bar became covered in tall, fluffy foam. If the baby was somehow to fall there instead on the hard wooden floor, she would suffer no harm.

“Squeal or...” - snarled the child snatcher and dangled the crying baby before her parents' eyes.

The Morale Officer lent against the tavern and had already decided against his initial thought to overload the laser and shoot through the walls. Pirate spacesuits had better armorplating than most and the three would survive his attack. Using his heavy railgun rifle was even worse an idea. As they bore through the walls, its super high velocity, armor piercing slugs would shower the unprotected civilians with deadly shrapnel.

He hadn't the luxury of endless time. Besides, a Morale Officer acted swiftly and without hesitation, especially when lives were at stake. The way he looked at the problem, he had three options:

(One) His scanner revealed that the small tavern had a back door. Designed to accommodate produce delivery, it was adjacent to the venue's walk-in stasis cooler and its small kitchen. If he used it, Vinson could easily flank the baby snatching pirate, and save the child. The Morale Officer would use his grav-belt to quickly and best of all, silently float into attack position. However, the greatest part of this approach was the follow-up flying charge. This move would place an energy shield between the family and the pirate beamguns. Therefore, a huge grin on his honest face, he activated the grav-belt and unsheathed his armor-cleaving sword mid-flight.

(Two) The straightforward approach would be to trust his aim and breach the tavern using the main entrance, laser pistol firing. His integrated scanner provided him with a significant advantage in accuracy. From point-blank range and unobstructed by cover, he would first make sure the babe was safe. By cleaving the bar in two now there was a nice bed of vac-foam around it, and if a certain child-dangling scoundrel's leg was to be lasered, the child would experience a soft landing. Of course, the Morale Officer would have to shoot the snub beamgun armed pirate next, or risk her blasting the family to pieces. Which meant that the bulky sword-wielding ruffian would charge straight at him, engines glowing.

(Three) Vinson was a Terran and these reprobates were apparently looking for his kin. Moreso, he was a Morale Officer and had command of the Terran Word. Though space pirates were a knavish adversary and not to be underestimated, they absolutely reviled Humanity and its allies. Vinson was trained how to be the perfect focus for his enemy's attention. His organization's chief mandate was to save lives and it was far better that he took a beam to his armored chest, instead of an innocent baby. This day, the Terran Morale Officer Handbook would be his weapon! He would confuse and mayhap frighten the pirates a bit, all to keep them occupied for a star-minute or two, until the man he sent a warning link had them in his crosshairs...

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Dear reader, please post your pick in the comments below, and elaborate upon why you think our protagonist should do so.