The Province Of Terrans 2

A Starshatter adventure

Feb 28, 2025

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

Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Chapter 8

The seed of Hope

Northstone Firehand had already sipped quite a lot of bikar beer yet, with this legendary constitution of his, the mighty explorer was quite capable of drinking the bar dry. Aware of her guest’s quality, Jenn made sure that his pint was never empty and, when the Spacer wiped his plate of deviled eggs clean, she produced another plateau. An assortment of freshly sliced delectable Bulgarian cheeses, cured meats and several piquant salami, including their famous lukanka.

“Our supplier docked earlier today.” – smiled the bartender and twirled a long, razor sharp knife in the air, catching it with a flashy move – “I made sure to procure your favorites.”

“Universe is my witness, I did missed them!” – sighed the Spacer and proceeded to taste one slice from each, chewing slowly as the delectables practically melted in his mouth – “Thank you, dear friend!”

“This is, if not a utterly delicious segue, a near perfect one.” – concluded Northstone since the Roundabout’s guests have been following his example and ordering more snacks.

“I, a Terran, and always open for exploring my various opportunities, went on my way on the morrow. Of course, as all my fellow space-traveling friends know, one’s morning in outer space is whatever the algo tells you it is. In my case, I woke up after a good seven hours of uninterrupted sleep, consumed one ration, cleaned myself with hygiene wipes. Following a short exercise regimen, I slipped inside my spacesuit and left the shelter.”

The Spacer made sure to swipe another set of holo-slides, showing the audience his initial advance through ancient, ruined piping. It did look more crooked and damaged this route, the one they all knew led to the mysterious plant growing area. Someone or rather many someones’ had unilaterally decided to fight tooth and nail there, wrecking many of the pipes almost completely.

“You can see, I was not having an easy time navigating since a number of enemies, including the Jaern, used these pipes for a shooting match. Most notably, there were PPG blast-holes, including plasma burns from grenades, and, atop all that, massive vibroblade damage. Took me two star-hours to traverse these parts, hand on the Deathknell, head on a swivel, and scout goggles set to passive scan loop.”

Northstone sighed as he forked a slice of lukanka. His chiseled face was adorned with a most mysterious sad smirk, yet also moderately cheerful. It was as if he cherished a memory both terrible and happy. A time of doom which he’d averted perhaps by the skin of his teeth or employing his considerable wits.

Whatever it was, his audience could not wait to hear and see!

“As I explored further, leaning upon the data from my looted Jaern files, I had to imagine what could be done for this passage to be repaired. After all, if that growing vat place was operational and I found the Jaern captives, travel between farm and shelter need be if not comfortable, at the very least, easy.”

The man projected a short holo-vid which followed one of his scans. Surprised were the Roundabout patrons to witness a pile of mummified Jaern heads. This grisly marker, almost totem-like, was made by sentient, perhaps barbarous hand and its goal to terrify.

“There I was, Deathknell still in my holster and marveling at this monument of terror. It is not for us Spacers to judge others who fight the Jaern, for we are ourselves without mercy when dealing with the Slaver, the Narco, and the Pirate. Examining the pile in detail, I realized that those who made it knew how to battle the munchers and did so, well. The munchers, they are not afraid to go after the weak and the infirm, they consider them foes worthy of the Hunt. A deathly dangerous opponent, one who can possibly slay them and rob them of their so called honor, this is entirely another deal altogether.”

His next piece of scan-data proved that most of these heads were relatively... fresh. Moreover, they were chopped off with clean, powerful, single strikes. Behind there was an area which had served as a butchery of sorts, where a number of Jaern bodies were dismembered in meticulous manner. Trails of gore, there were many going deeper into the dark pipes which led straight at the bio-incubation chamber.

“There and then, I made a number of educated guesses. That this was not done by the Jaern or their fallen was apparent. The first would never have left their fellows to rot without cremating them and the second? Well... they would’ve gnawed even the bones, sucking the marrow dry. No, my dear friends, this slaughtering was done by someone else entirely.”

Northstone made a short pause, letting the imaginations of his audience run at what was now basically hyperspeeds, and quoted someone – “The unknown foe of my enemy was not always to be my friend.”

Those in the know, sentients who had Spacer friends, they whispered to their neighbors; those were the words of an elderly spacer named Bob. No one knew where he came from, only that he was a Human and spoke in a peculiar dialect of Old English. Just the same, nobody could say what happened to this mysterious oldster, who, after telling multiple tales and selling over a dozen priceless star-maps, vanished as if he never was.

“You can see why the next couple of star-hours were absolutely nerve-wracking. I did not want to jeopardize the chance of having an ally, nor did I burn with desire to have my head lobbed off. Therefore, and with the utmost of care, I inched my way forth. Scout goggles set on active scanning mode, my muscles were tense, hands ready to draw megasteel and legs, to save me from attack.”

With a smile, the Spacer indulged himself, eating a few slices of cheese. As he ate courtesy, the man made sure that his audience was entertained. There was another short holo-vid he swiped to the projector and this one made even the much-seen, long-traveled spaceship crewmates gasp.

At the last pipe junction right ahead the bio-incubation chamber, there stood a bulky, alien humanoid. Scales bristling with scars, dressed in a tattered alien attire, this seven foot tall mighty warrior’s only protection was a thick shield of cobbled together metal slabs. At the ready in his hand, there was a looted but still functional Jaern vibroblade, one of the big ones. Dinosaur-like, this man appeared ready for a battle to the death, his pale gray eyes sizing Northstone’s stature, suit, and weapons.

This was a Vaugn male, one of the chipped slave soldiers of their Matriarchal Order!

“You... go... no... further.” – the warrior warned me in broken Fringe Speak.

He did not point his blade at me... yet.

In my stead, I too remained peaceful and, with my calmest of voices, promised him – “I will not, unless you allow it.”

“What... who... is... you? No looks... as... the Eaters.” – he inquired, as his powerful body inched only the shield a bit higher, so his vitals would be protected from a treacherous attack.

“Human.” – I said, and noticing the confusion in his wincing eyes, elaborated – “Terran Spacer am I, peaceful explorer by the name Northstone Firehand. May I ask of your name, fellow slayer of Jaern?”

The warrior’s glare was so focused, were his eyes guns, he’d already be blasting me to smithereens. He gently snapped with his lower jaw, a sign used to display hesitance from another lingo, which I as a Terran, and proud Patron of free uplifted sentients could understand—Primal. Empty hands slowly raised I formed my own signs, pairing them with primal hisses and grumbles of disgust, which roughly translated to:

“I name Eaters, Jaern. They, my mortal foe.”

Blinking thrice with his dual eyelids, the Vaugn lost some of his tenseness. Following another jaw snap, the warrior droned what was branded into him since his mind control chip implantation:

“Chip number—TA203958767J; Vat Batch—K9B7; Use—Infantry; Program—melee. Chose a name, Niv.”

Following this machine-like declaration, the warrior switched back to Primal – “Division, decommissioned. New use, nourishment. Shipped, under stasis. Big containers, one platoon each.”

The Spacer’s face twitched and he uttered his next words, immeasurable dislike clearly audible in his voice – “My friends, I could not stand the cannibalistic Jaern, yet us Terrans, we absolutely revile the Vaugn Matriarchy! They have exterminated hundreds if not thousands of pre-sentient species. Conducted beyond vile cyber-tech and medical experiments, their test subjects mostly children and pregnant women. This Vaugn man, I knew for a fact, he was but a helpless clone, a slave soldier forced to murder, as his shackled by a mind control chip horrified self cried in protest.”

Northstone sighed and tapped his temple – “A prisoner in his own head, a child of mental age with the body of an adult man...”

“I opened my faceplate. Locking eyes with me, the warrior studied my expression, as I spat out with the utmost disgust, cold hate burning in my gaze: ‘Degenerates!’”

Witnessing my revilement of his and the fate which his fellow slave soldiers were doomed to, the Vaugn let loose a hiss of satisfaction which he paired with another, this time louder jaw snap – “Chips removed before transfer. Half my container, ingested. When awoken, I resisted!”

Shield and vibroblade lowered and body no longer tense, the Vaugn man finished his tale – “Much death, but container, deactivated. Decommissioned awoke, fought. Escape to passageway, battle inside pipes. Found bio-incubation place. Broken, fail repair. Use Eater, fertilize plants.”

“I help, Niv.” – I emoted with a cautious smile – “I repair, good. Have machine, make parts.”

Eyes livening and his jaw moved in what I would assume was a Vaugn’s version of a smile, Niv growled – “Grow plants, yes?”

“Grow crops, yes.” – my hands made a series of signs as I clicked and hissed, motioning at his scars – “Healing plants too.”

Niv’s scaly face emoted something which I as a Terran have never seen coming from a Vaugn male—hope. He shouldered his towering shield and the strangest of chatters came from his nostrils when he asked me:

“Wound of mind, heal, yes?!”

“Weird and not nearly unlike the adorable Earth cats well known ‘ekekek’, nevertheless, this Vaugn emote, this ‘okhokhokh’ impressed me. Since I had more than a few medigel packs for my injector and did not know what exactly was the nature of said injury, all I could say with a hand on my heart, was – ‘I try everything!’”

Northstone made another pause which he used to water his throat, following with a couple of slices of salami.

“The warrior gave me one excruciatingly long, intense glare, and then... he sniffed my face. To say that I did not twitch with these sharp teeth inches away from my head... well... it would not be a lie.” – the Spacer said with a smirk, and snickered – “I blinked instead.”

“My new Vaugn friend hissed “Follow” and I did, leaving my faceplate open despite the pungent cocktail of sewage-like aromas that surrounded me. Best the rest of his kin immediately saw that I was not a Jaern from afar and oh, I knew very well that they were close. I’ve scanned all eleven of them and despite their wounds, none sported a head trauma. Though I was beginning to suspect, the true nature of Niv’s problem soon became apparent.”

The Spacer had been diligently recording everything either with holo-slides, short vids, or sets of scan-data. Thus, his audience witnessed him and the bulky Niv enter a well protected alcove beyond the main piping. What was once, in distant past, supposed to be a liquid chemical separator node, had been transformed via some rather imaginative jerry-rigging, into part hydroponic bay, part crawling garden, and part fish farm.

Plasma welded pipes and other hollow metal parts had been stuffed full of darkly, muddy, yet surprisingly soil-like mass. From it sprouted numerous plants; some fruit others vegetable, yet since all had been growing unattended, it was pure chaos. Pools of half-filtered water had bulbous yellow plants “growing” inside. Growing was a word too optimistic a description for these melon-like things, which, despite the ample amount of water, were slowly withering.

Then there were the bio-incubation vats. Full of weird, brownish ooze, these were hatching thousands of eggs belonging to something aquatic. Northstone’s scout goggles showed the future meals-with-gills were of serpentine variety, and that there was insufficient heat for the eggs to mature into proper hatchlings.

Northstone turned around, mostly so the rest of the Vaugn who desperately clenched their weapons could see him well, and to confirm his suspicion. Though they did appear battle weary, injured, and his scan-data showed them suffering from malnourishment, the one who Niv pointed at wasn’t heavily wounded. More, they were forced to tie this young Vaugn via metal chains since he harmed himself.

“Following a shortish explanation of what had happened, who was I, and that I promised to help, Niv sent another Vaugn to take his sentry.” – said the Spacer, and his melancholy returned for a short few seconds, yet the somberness was quickly defeated.

“At first, and with the help of Niv, I used some of the medigel, injecting those soldiers who were the worst off. Rummaging in my backpack, I produced all the space rations I had on me, providing the weary men with much needed nourishment. What followed was a desperate try to help their soul crushed fellow warrior. He looked through me and, at first was unresponsive no matter what I said or what type of communication I used. Had I been just a Spacer, there was not even the slimmest of hopes I could help.”

Northstone’s voice livened even more when he projected a holo-pic of his friend Vinson, followed by a stern, yet joy-inducing recruitment poster for the Terran Morale Officer Corps. Said marvelous piece of holo-art depicted two Morale Officers standing shoulder to shoulder, shielding a group of shackled slaves.

The left officer held a vibrosword, just as the right one had leveled the barrel of his high-powered railgun pistol, both weapons aimed at the viewer. This poster came with excellent audio files; the anthem of the Terran Minarchy was in the background, while the duo of officers cited with complete unison:

“Smite your enslaver or die trying!”

“You see, my dear friends, when I flew out in deep space, I did so not just thoroughly outfitted, well-learned, and sound of body, but spirit ablaze with the Terran Word. My brother in life-saving battle and close friend, Vinson, he made sure that I not only learned blade techniques. No, he helped me embolden my will and taught me the essence of a couple recitations.”

“Tending to the broken Vaugn man’s wounds with great care, I told him and his fellows of many a heroic feat. Battles, many that I knew of and in great detail since my humble presence aided the besieged. Others, which Vinson himself had retold me, noting the heroism and self-sacrifice of honest, everyday sentients. Men, women, and even children, who would suffer not degeneracy to prevail, nor embrace the false life of a stock slave. Objective reality had a profound effect on once shackled Vaugn minds.”

There was a glint in Northstone’s eyes when he gave details of these events, fights often horribly lopsided, the enemy of the free numerous and powerful. Slowly, the audience watched how not just the mind-crushed young soldier, but his fellows’ entire demeanor became emanated. Some wept, remembering the vile deeds which filthy mistresses had commanded their automaton-like bodies to commit. Others came to the realization, and oh, it was plain to see for everyone with a living soul that they now had a choice, a greater duty even.

“I began the mightiest and hardest to embody recitation that Vinson learned me. First I spoke each word in the clearest Fringe Speak that I was capable of avowing and then, I repeated in Primal: ‘You, who are of small stature, you can still prevail in life-saving battle. You, who are without arms and armor, you can still protect the innocent. You, who are wrought with great pain and suffering, you can still spare others horrors without number. Hear me and look deep within, you who were made to murder, you who were a broken tool, for salvation is within your reach!’”

Northstone took a deep breath and said – “The next words were mine and my best attempt at pulling their minds out of shadow and gloom. Give the shattered men a nobler purpose, and their abused lives, a holy purpose. With hand on my heart I looked each of them in the eye and asked:‘Help me save those who would end on the Jaern table!’”

The Roundabout became silent and for a whole minute, many a sentient repeated Northstone’s words.

Cheer conquered the venue!

Slowly at first, it began with people clapping, followed by a choir of jubilant shouts, and a torrent of links swarming the G-Net node. The audience was practically quivering in anticipation. Their host, a teller of true tales, this Spacer of heroic mien, he was not just exploring an ancient derelict warship wrought by mortal dangers, he was saving lives and healing souls as he did so.

“True,” – said Northstone and placed one hand on his chest, when the cheer had subsided a bit – “their return to the world of the living would not be swift, nor complete. Some, like Niv for example, they were much older than the rest and, had layers upon layers of PTSD, their minds tied up in razor wire of the soul. Though I was a pale image of one with true command over the Terran Word and will of iron, far away from home, these shattered men now had at least a sliver of a hope.”

Between the barely operational bio-incubation vats, the crawling garden, and hydroponic pools, and the precarious situation these Vaugn warriors found themselves in, Northstone had to made a hard choice. Exactly how would the hearty Spacer solve this current conundrum, is, of course, up to you!

(One) “I deduced that staying here was not a sound strategic move. Without spare parts even one such as myself, and you know me to be quite the handyman, would not be able to fix everything broken at the Farm. Therefore, following a set of detailed scans, I led the tired Vaugn soldiers back to the Shelter with all haste. They would then help carry bits of salvage while I worked the nanoprinter, making all the parts our Farm needed. Only then would we return and fix everything proper.”

(Two) “Leaving now was perhaps a bit rushed a decision. I could still try to fix things even with the limited amount of resources at hand. The Vaugn men were fed and their wounds, healed. They would keep guard as I worked and if possible, harvest something for later. Then we would travel back to the Shelter, rest, reorganize and return with spare parts.”

(Three) “There was a feeling in my gut that barred me from leaving the Farm unattended. I would leave the Vaugn here alone to protect it, while I, spacesuit engines set on full power, flew back to the Shelter with all the scan-data needed to operate the nanoprinter. I dared not send them instead since first they could trip one of my traps and besides, none knew how to operate the crafting machine.”

(*_*_*)

Dear reader, please do not forget to post your pick in the comments below, and elaborate upon why you think our protagonist should do so.

My friends, if you like to support my work, consider grabbing a copy of Lord of Bones, or any of my other published works!