The province of Terrans

A Starshatter adventure

Greetings my Terrans!

Today is Sci-Friday and you all know what this means! In honor of all who voted and drove The Province Of Terrans forward, I give you all one bonus chapter! Since you made the choice and risked taking the pirate space shuttle down, our adventure is now steered into one of few, unique directions.

What exactly is the awesomeness you made possible? How will this choice of yours change Vinson’s, George’s, and the villagers’ fate? Read and find out for yourself!

For those of you new to VYOA, this is a story of interactive nature, where you, the reader, choose one of three paths standing before the main character. Your vote is the guiding force of this adventure!

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. Voting cycle will end each Thursday so I may have enough time to complete the chapter.

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 buying any of my published works.

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Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 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 5

Implements of peace

The Enfield came to a screeching halt and Vinson dismounted it, patting off the pollen stuck to his uniform. This was where the village road ended and 'twas a large, flat rocky area. Holding substantial clay and iron deposits, this tiny hill had been fully excavated. Transformed into building material for homes and storages, it was now the colony's designated landing zone and where Vinson arrived via a drop pod.

Compared with the beauty of the village, here, one could only marvel at chiseled rock and empty fuel tanks. Scorched by plasma engines and clawed by landing gear, the mega concrete platform sported a kind-of dull, brownish color. Everything around it was void of vegetation since this area was closer to a series of sand-filled craters. Black, the exo-material was once part of a comet which dotted the surface with massive chunks of ice.

George, the original owner of this planetoid had paid for its Terraforming a couple decades ago, meaning to move here with his grandkids after he retired from Sirius's Colonial Militia. The CM paid well, and those who fought in dangerous assignments always got their fair share of the battlefield salvage. Somewhat of a cozy, albeit isolated retreat for his family and himself in his old age; at least that was what the oldster told Vinson.

The old man left the sidecar, looked around and stretched his legs before he addressed the Morale Officer with a raised eyebrow:

“Lad, where be that cargo pod or yours?”

“Hidden in that small crater over there.” – Vinson said with a smirk – “Why, you didn't expect me to just leave it out here on the landing pad for the pirates to plunder, did you?”

Following one long look at his motorcycle's integrated scanner, George blinked a few times, prompting another reply from Vinson:

“Stealth composites.”

He motioned the villagers to follow him. Standing on the edge of said crater, they were finally able to spot said cargo pod when Vinson removed part of the adaptive cammo netting that concealed it. This was a blocky multiple use vehicle, deployable by ship from orbit or like in this case, via a one way hyperspace crutch. Shaped like a tiny arrowhead, the passenger and control section was at the pod's bulbous nose.

Plasma engines were ingeniously placed in two swivel mounts, one the vehicle's port and one on its starboard side, thus enabling quick acceleration and/or deceleration. Multiple maneuvering thrusters dotted the entire modular hull, which looked rather thin. There was no other protection, no heavy armor or energy shielding, the pod's stealthy hull was its only form of defense.

Vinson opened the pod with a coded command from his PDA, as George walked to it. He patted the hull with his wrinkled hand, tracing odd dints and long scratches. Battle scars from multiple deployments, these proved that this vehicle had survived many a drop. On the starboard side, near the pod's aft, the oldster saw part of an emblem.

“Who gave ye that pod?!” – He grumbled as he twirled his mustache, one hand patting the hull.

The Morale Officer said nothing.

He produced a vacfoam rug from the Enfield's sidecar and wiped the carbon scoring and space dust from the pod's hull. As he worked, the entire emblem was revealed in all its colorful glory. While George stood next to Vinson with a smirk of nearly the same size and intensity, the yellow-eyed Lothorian looked confused. There, on the old, repaired many a time hull, he saw the skull of some unknown beast. Burning blue flames in its eye sockets and temple perforated by a long, vicious to behold dagger, there were words around it he could not read.

“What does that mean?” – He asked, pointing at the intricate letters.

“The top one reads 'Ghost Wolf Brigade' and the bottom is their motto which reads 'None shall escape us'.” – Vinson answered and George nodded approvingly – “In exchange for that pod, I promised to join them at a future date. When they needed a Morale Officer, of course.”

“The skull...” – Noln asked as he made a strange gesture.

“A wolf.” – George answered while he replied with another, similar motion – “It is a cunning predator, a canine from old Earth.”

“And this 'Ghost Wolf Brigade', they are helping us, yes?” – The Lothorian asked with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, marveling at the beautiful insignia.

“Not in person, but they've supplied the chameleo-cloaks.” – Vinson spoke loudly so that not only Noln could hear him, but all the men – “Your enemy cannot kill that what they do not see.”

“There is something else.” – continued the Morale Officer and pointed some of the crates – “It is customary for weapon shipments to come with spare parts and basic repair kits.”

Noln gave Vinson a look and this one added – “Once in a long while, even our reliable Terran-made armaments of peace need repair.”

“So the space brick is on loan, then?” – Coughed a question the oldster, while Noln directed his men to begin offloading equipment.

While the men secured everything on their vehicles with magnetic ropes and clamps, Vinson helped George inside the pod. The Morale Officer reached under the pilot's chair and grabbed the survival pack. He injected one of his wounds with the medispray stored there, and gave the small box to George.

The thermal blanket and one week worth of space rations would come in handy.

Vinson sat behind the command console and activated it, carefully punching three different codes. Once aglow, the holographic displays showed why he couldn't simply fly the pod closer to the village after the pirate's defeat. The Morale officer downloaded every terabit of scan-data on his PDA before he ordered the computer to display the craft's current stats.

“Fuel reserve at 0.42 units. Further maneuvers in this gravity – inadvisable. Please, contact the nearest supply unit!”

“These things,” – began George as he examined the data gathered by the pod's sensor package – “they be having rather ample fuel reserves, do they not?”

“My blood brother Northstone Firehand, he would've probably made planetfall with half a fuel tank to spare.” – Vinson answered, a snarky grin playing on his lips when he added – “You, however, commissioned a Morale Officer.”

“And I presume the surreptitious gentlemen stormtroopers would not find it risible if we chop their prized pod for parts?” – George chuckled as he exited the craft, Vinson deactivating its console with a single coded command before he followed him outside.

“No, they won't.” – sighed The Morale Officer as he held his side, the wound was still giving him trouble even after he injected himself with a medispray.

“We have to hide the pod inside that cave system of yours.” – Vinson said and nodded towards a nearby rocky mountain – “Our unwelcome guests will have a field day if they nab it.”

“We have a Danube eight wheeler with a crane, but the suspension is damaged.” – Noln spoke up and wiped his sweaty brow; his men had already unloaded all crates.

“I tried fixing 'er.” – George said as he scratched his beard – “One of them axles is cracked and me needs at least a day to nano-print a replacement.”

“Can't you just fly it into the caves?” – the Morale Officer asked Noln.

“We've got a small reserve of H2 fuel, but there are no pilots among us.” – said Noln with a grim smile on his face – “Our masters were not in the habit of providing workplace education.”

The Lothorian sighed, an angry shadow dancing across his visage, until he once more saw Vinson's serene smile.

“Terrans, however,” – The Morale Officer stated with a steely voice – “are very much in the habit of learning those who are free how to remain such!”

“Worry not friend,” – Vinson continued – “one day you and your descendants shall fly in their very own, armed to the bulkheads starships.”

Noln's men moved fast and they've even half-covered the pod with the cammo netting, just in case they needed to hide it fast. No longer slaves but free men, they worked with efficiency only those who had a future to live for did.

“Remember the pirate shuttle?” – Said Vinson, his gloved finger pointing back at the village where a black plume of smoke still danced upon the wind – “I think that we did win ourselves an advantage.”

“I'll say!” – the oldster exclaimed – “At the very least one, maybe even three full star-days... if Lady Luck favors us.”

“Which gives us more than enough time to fix your eight wheeler, at least. Enough to even...” – the Morale Officer made a short pause as he scratched his beard, one hand holding his peaked cap against another gust of wind.

“What can we do with that time, laddie? Ye knows full well that we've got to be safe inside them reinforced caves before the pirates come. Only the daft would risk orbital bombardment.” – Said the oldster as he sat inside his sidecar.

“I gather you still have them old CM comm codes of yours?” – Asked Vinson as he once more grinned from ear to ear with gusto, for Noln's amazement.

Most common Lothorians never smiled themselves and if they saw grins, these were plastered all over the vile mugs of their masters and promised nothing good.

“But...” – George mumbled, confusion plastered all over his face – “I spent all me money!”

“Worry not, old friend.” – The Morale Officer said and mounted the motorcycle – “Believe me, something can and will be arranged for their services.”

“Plus,” – Vinson revved the Enfield – “you have me to negotiate.”

“Wait, sir, what are you even talking about and why... Why are you smiling like this?” – Asked the Lothorian as they prepared to leave the crater, their vehicles loaded full of crates and the pod fully hidden under the netting.

“Noln, as a Terran Morale Officer, it is my most joyous duty to enable the doom of those who prey upon the free and if they writhe in agony during their justly earned demise, all the better!”

“Lad,” – George addressed the Lothorian as he twirled his magnificent stache – “those people we intend on asking here, they be deadle beyond measure...”

Coming to a sudden realization, the Lothorian nodded and finally, there was a half-smile blossoming on his rugged face. Soon, the convoy was speeding back to the village, led by George's Enfield. The two Terrans exchanged more than a few words, while they decided who to call.

(One) “What 'bout them knavish hamsters, eh lad?” – proposed George, as Vinson made a turn, revving the bike as he did.

“I would say that two combat engineers from General Samuel's maintenance brigade would do wonders here. Especially with all that good salvage of ours, and the many crates full of hand grenades!”

“Them tiny feet of doom be great at fixing us some upgrades for our new guns, craft spare parts from battlefield salvage, and teaching the boys how to repair stuff.” – said the oldster and coughed again, despite the healing effects of his chewing gum.

“I dare say, they'll be able to craft us wondrous things from that pirate shuttle we shot down, mayhap even combat gadgets. They are really great when it comes to blowing up bigs stuff too!” – Vinson pointed out.

“Lad, you forget they are known to carry plasma guns, demolition packs, and a ton of power packs.” – George tried his last bit of convincing.

(Two) “The Clap brothers would love to help too.” – Grinning said Vinson as he took another turn, this time with even greater speed.

“And they be wanting a hefty chunk of our salvage! Not to mention them space bikars are utterly balmy. I've seen a holo-vid how one of them slapped a slaver to death.” – Protested the grandpa as he gestured someone being violently bashed.

Snickering, Vinson looked at him with tears in his eyes, making it obvious he'd watched the aforementioned holo-vid and multiple times at that.

“Crazy or not, like all space bikars, those two hate the Clanners in their guts. Plus, they are undisputed masters of vehicle modification and the best drivers on this part of Fringe Space.”

“We do have a few pickup trucks that could be made into technicals. Slap some armor on them, shooting a dozen pirates dead as we ride in style. I can't even imagine what they'll do with our big eight wheeler.” – the oldster mumbled, half-convinced – “These Clap brothers... they do own lots and lots of heavy guns!”

(Three) “A force recon sniper team.” – Vinson gently nudged the grandpa, when they were close to the village and slowing down – “I know three spec ops bunnies from Cav's veteran scout unit.”

“Ye, but they so... smol.” – said George and measured an imaginary human child with his wrinkled hands – “How much damage can them sneaky bunnies even do to a heavily-armored pirate?”

“Their sniper operates a railgun anti-materiel rifle, bunny size. He has two scouts acting as spotters and both are armed to their cuddly snouts. Cloaked mines, laser submachine guns, fast-flying hand grenades, vibroblades... you name it.” – The Morale Officer listed their capabilities and armaments as if he'd personally fought beside said bunnies.

When Vinson parked the Enfield, he added – “The three are experts when it comes to stealth and guerrilla tactics. Scouts are great at hacking too, and they carry a portable sensor array that can do all kinds of nasty.”

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