The Province Of Terrans

A Starshatter adventure

(Art source unknown)

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Sci-Friday is here, my Terrans!

This is the last episode of this tale. Yet, do not despair my friends for I have another one under construction. The hero is one of Vinson’s three friends, mainly Northstone Firehand, a Spacer of great skill, an explorer of deep space and gunslinger extraordinaire! The new story will start January of 2025.

Enjoy this chapter and keep voting, my friends. As you see I have written a number of Tanka for Terran-Tuesday. The more and longer your comments, the more ammunition I have for said poem.

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 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

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Chapter 15

To kill a leech

A foggy morn crawled all over the hastily dug pirate entrenchments. Mud, a good one foot deep made them lug rocks, broken trees, pretty much any piece of debris small enough that could fit at the bottom of their trench. Their improvised pillboxes, plasma welded by men and women who otherwise were good at fixing starships, they were all crooked. Rainwater seeped with literal impunity through uneven welds and the gaps in between what was left of Captain Zhur’s unfortunate dropships.

In their desperate effort to shield themselves from strife, the pirates have forged yet another layer of hell.

Lieutenant Pews canted his head under the chameleo-cloak pointing this and that to Vinson – “My nuts! Just look how they’ve messed up their fortifications.”

“Yeah, I’d use that word loosely, Sir.” – whispered sergeant Blam, as he was carefully plotting out their sneak attack on his PDA – “Ten year old Terrans can do better.”

“Granted,” – replied the Morale Officer and motioned towards the glittering silhouette of the enemy starship up in close orbit – “the pirates would’ve done considerably better... in space.”

“That’s why we build specialist exosuits for our star marines, Sir.” – said Pews as he pointed a couple of pirates who slowly moved through the mud in their hulkish spacesuits.

“Our boys will show them pirateses whats what.” – grinned the sergeant nudging confused Noln, whose eyes darted between the three Terrans.

“See Noln,” – and Vinson showed the man a holo-slide of himself together with a squad of just as, if not more hulkish Terran marines – “the Minarchy’s star marines are perhaps the best there is.”

Clad in armored, yet still somehow nimble-looking spacesuits, the Terrans stood at attention, great swords, warhammers, axes, and halberds in hand. The barrels of their integrated ranged weaponry stuck from shoulder plates and forearms. Truly, in the eyes of Noln, those men appeared to be armed up to their faceplates and beyond.

“We’ve been told scary stories about the Clanners all our childhoods. Sky stealers, we called them.” – he said, looking at the navy-blue painted Terran marine armor, ever growing hope in his eyes – “They were a terror which could strike from the dark between the stars at any moment, and vanish anyone they wanted.”

“Is this how you ended up in the involuntary farming business community?” – inquired Pews, who had little to no time to ask any of the militiamen their pasts.

A shadow crossed the Lothorian’s face and, eyes tracking the moving pirates, he said – “Last survivor of my plague-ridden village, I was sold off to some pirate clan by our ‘noble lords’. When I awoke, it may have been under a different sun, yet the toil was just as grueling.”

“Noln, Terran star marines are the Minarchy’s Angels of Life.” – Vinson spoke, addressing the dark shadows crawling over Noln’s face – “Theirs is but one purpose.”

“What would that be, Sir?” – The Lothorian’s almond-shaped eyes focused on Vinson’s face and the sad shadow looming over his spirit recoiled before the Terran’s smile.

With the same, wholesome to behold grin, the Morale Officer answered – “To destroy the world of slavers.”

“Us Terrans,” – and Vinson placed his hand on Noln’s shoulder – “we don’t run from the boogeyman.”

“We kills it!” – squeaked Blam.

“Yis, and then we counts it!” – snickered Pews.

A close copy of the Terran smirk blossomed over Noln’s face.

They watched in silence as the clanner patrol entered one of their pillboxes, immediately replaced by two of their comrades. The four Terrans waited out five long star-minutes until their pirate opponents lumbered away, heads on a swivel and beamguns ready to fire at anything even remotely suspicious.

The patrol gone, Noln whispered twirling an air mustache – “My story is not unique, though the end of it, quite fortunate.”

“George did them good, I hear.” – the Morale Officer said with a grin.

“I will never forget how this early morning camp guards began exploding one after the other! It all happened so fast, I only realized we were free while flying in space on a stolen Gahen Inc. transport shuttle.”

The two hamsters grinned at each other as they completed their holo-mapping of the enemy positions. Makeshift or not, artillery was dangerous and the pirates better not get lucky right before the end. The sergeant’s paws danced over a keyboard only he could see through his armored faceplate, punching in the last calculations.

Vinson took the arty target data Blam swiped him and inputted it in the looted merc grenade launcher, helping Noln do the same.

“Sir, old George is gonna be fine... right?” – mumbled the Lothorian as the four crawled forward into their firing position.

They carefully aimed the looted launchers using their holo-scopes, waiting as the weapons made final adjustments to the plasma munitions. Vinson stole a look back at their escape vehicle. George’s Enfield was parked at the beginning of that overgrown forest path, turned the other way, ready for what could be a dangerous ride.

“Fan is keeping him stable.” – Vinson replied as he readied himself to give the firing command – “I am sure that our marines’ Corpsmen will bring the oldster into cigar smoking shape in no time.”

“Sir, he may have suffered some neurological damage.” – mumbled Pews as he stabilized the overly big for his small paws grenade launcher with a pair of jury-rigged folding legs.

“You are not a medic, Lieutenant. How the heck did you know that?” – inquired the Morale Officer and immediately closed his yapper, yet the damage was done.

“Why, Elizabeth told me, of course!” – came a confident answer.

Noln nearly lost his aim as he was looking at the hamster when this one stated this, and with a calm smirk at that – “The rifle t-told you?”

“She is a goodun gun this Elizabeth, yes she is.” – Sergeant Blam nodded in full agreement with his commander.

“I thought this was just a joke!” – said stunned Noln with a slightly elevated voice.

Blam gave him quite the serious look, which for a Terran hamster was rare an act, and spoke with an even voice – “Lad, we never quip when it comes to guns.”

“When my kin uplifted them, we dared not fiddle with their genome.” – said the calm Vinson when wide-eyed Noln turned his way – “Think of it as yet another one of the mysterious secrets of this Universe.”

“Hamsmagick!” – snickered Pews and patted his looted grenade launcher – “My missus back at the home hollow will absolutely love that.”

“Humaniya munmaniya!” – Blam exclaimed, his faceplate open and the most hilarious grimace Noln had ever seen on his snout.

With a cautious smirk, Noln said – “I am somewhat unaccustomed to smiling, being a Lothorian and all, but this deserves a grin.”

“Join us for more smile-intensifying advice-” – began Lieutenant Pews with fake seriousness in his voice.

“as we deliver wholesome plasmatic doom to an assorted gaggle of baddies.” – and Sergeant Blam completed the joke.

The four then lay motionless, diligent and with smiles on their faces, while the pirate patrol stomped past on their second round. They need not be telepathic to witness their enemy’s weariness. Though aided by their exoskeletons, the Clanners moved with notable sluggishness, betraying both physical and mental fatigue.

In complete silence, grenade launchers aimed, the Terrans waited as the two pirates squished their way through the mud and vanished in the gradually dispersing morning fog.

“Dash the second we lob our ‘nades.” – advised Blam, fixing his shades before he closed shut the faceplate – “The cute an da cuddleh’ don’t haff to look-see them ‘splosions.”

Vinson took a breath, steadied his hands, and counted down – “In three, two, one... fire!”

They pushed the firing buttons in complete unison, leaping up on their feet almost immediately. Four whistling pops, followed by earsplitting, mud-splattering explosions when the hissing blobs of plasma expanded, made their presence known. Though the nearly vanished, sparse fog helped conceal their movements for a couple of seconds, every still breathing Clanner and the wretched ghosts of their dead comrades soon saw them running.

Particle-beams bit their footsteps with an angry, flesh-seeking hiss. However, the Terrans could hear the enemy chasing behind them on foot curse loudly since their ammunition was scarce. Neither did the Clanners leap through the chill morning air, for the tanks of their mighty spacesuits were void.

Nevertheless, danger still haunted them. Vinson’s head was nearly shaved cleanly off his shoulders, as one overcharged beam hissed, singing his neck. He screamed in pain and stumbled, yet the two hamsters grabbed him before he fell. Thanks to their exoskeletons, they put him on the motorcycle, while Noln injected the Morale Officer with one of the medi-packs they looted from the mercs.

“War Liar, your hide is mine!” – grumbled Captain Zhur’s voice and he sounded way too close for comfort.

Holding the handlebar with one hand and his slowly healing neck with his other, the Terran started the Enfield. Vinson fought the regeneration pain and accelerated the second his crew was on the bike. Shadowy, bent and dented armored silhouettes closed in all around, yet they were too tired to catch them. Rumbling and roaring, the motorcycle sped down a narrow forest path, which the Morale Officer managed to follow despite the wound.

Indeed, at the very first bend he nearly crashed into a gnarled tree, yet with Noln’s hand on the handlebar, completed the turn.

“Not today, dear Captain!” – Vinson shouted at the top of his lungs when they picked up speed and gained safe distance.

As the Enfield’s engine grumbled deeper and deeper into the thick, stumpy forest, a scream full of impotent rage echoed behind...

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Three star-days passed, yet the pirates did not leave.

Particle-beams sliced through the atmo in their dozens, a constant barrage of red death. Rock turned into blackened glass, terraformed trees became charred dust, yet there was no tangible result to be seen. One shuttle carrying three men and one woman vanished into the gloomy depths of a nearby wormhole, though the rest of the pirates stubbornly persisted.

The Universe did not care at all if those in command were conquered by irrational thoughts or their egos suffered no defeat. The passage of time was absolute and events set in motion, bound to occur.

On the fifth star-day, when a swift Terran starcraft slipped out of Hyperspace and maneuvered into boarding range, the Clan starship’s main cannons happened to be overheated. Since one of the men who escaped was the ship’s Taz’aran gunnery officer, his replacement committed a most grievous error. Near continuous orbital fire, which tasked the ship’s main heatsink way beyond its limits. Thus, unable to return fire, the pirates were forced to accept a vicious clash for hull supremacy, when their quite apt attempt at evasion maneuver failed.

Shields breached by focused laser fire, a full squadron of heavily-armed Terran dropships overwhelmed the pirate point defense. Landing atop their hull, a platoon of star marines blasted said defensive turrets and, ripping their way straight through the airlocks, boarded PCS Wyrmblade.

Those pirates who have been placed in medical stasis pods due to their heavy wounds, never awoke. Their crewmates still capable of waging space warfare did so, and to the best of their ability. Vibroblades, boarding axes, maces cracking with high voltage, and powerful beamguns of all calibers were put into vicious, desperate action. Portable shield emitters blocked all core passageways, armored bulkheads were closed shut, and swift ambush parties hungry for Terr’aan blood roamed behind every corner.

It was not nearly enough.

With practiced brutality and peerless skill earned by many decades of constant battle, the Terran star marines proceeded to slaughter everyone on board. Cleaving through armor, flesh, and bone, their two-handed vibro weapons made short work of this otherwise vicious enemy. Of masterwork craft, integrated Terran laser and railgun weaponry reigned supreme over the Clan’s famed olden beamguns. In the span of mere star-minutes, the hallways of PCS Wyrmblade became painted in her once mighty star warriors’ guts.

It wasn’t the crew of some tiny cargo ship or the helpless passengers of a cruise liner who faced the pirates this time. Terran star marines were forged to hunt Clanners first and foremost. Among the many oppressive enemies of the Minarchy, marines despised these parasites upon the space lines the most. Not only did their once huge armada invade Earth in the past, butchered hundreds of millions and kidnapped even more, pirates kept preying upon Humanity and its allies still.

Death was the only solution to such a mortal bane.

Now a Terran prize, the corpse-ridden PCS Wyrmblade received a change of sensor transponders. In but a few minutes she shed her old skin, so to speak, and became reborn as the newest acquisition of the Minarchy’s Colonial Navy. With a skeleton crew on board and two squads of marines guarding the pirate captives in stasis, newly-christened CNS Retribution slipped into hyperspace.

The sleeping pirates would one day awake in the “tender” arms of Terran lawmen, the I-Sec, or even worse, they’d be telepathically interrogated by the Psy-Corps. Minds brutalized for any, even the tiniest shred of information which could save a life, the Clanners would suffer an end most fitting. Kicking and squealing, they’d be shoved in the nearest fusion reactor or be transformed into compost to fertilize a colonist’s next crop...

*\*/*

Captain Zhur and those who remained on the surface knew their fate was sealed. Terran space marines descended down through the atmo in their terrifying to behold dropships. Merciless, the Humans would simply snipe them dead one after another, never leaving their starcraft.

And why wouldn’t they? In their magboots, the Clanners would do exactly the same.

Thus, when Zhur’s comms buzzed and the voice of that annoying Human motorcycle boomed in his ears, the pirate captain smiled. In but a star-minute he could see the filthy Terr’aan walk calm and tall towards him. The clunky machine stood parked behind him, his colorful cape swirling in the wind and vibro-sword in hand.

“I need not remind you of my promise.” – said the War Liar.

“Promise me, warrior to warrior,” – snarled the enraged clanner, when not one but two marine dropships boomed overhead him and his men – “that you’ll grant us the rite of honorable combat!”

His uniform pristine, the human gracefully floated over the foot deep basin of mud which a few days ago was Zhur’s improvised trench network.

“I, a Morale Officer, am bound by the Terran Word bounds to fight my enemy with honor.” – stated Vinson and his boots touched rocky ground, mere steps away from snarling under his faceplate Zhur.

“Marines, engage!” – the human ordered, wrist-mounted energy shield gleaming in the sun.

A happy roar came from the dropships.

It was as if the Terr’aans had been eagerly waiting for this!

The Clanner witnessed how what was left of his proud star warriors faced one marine each. Those without power packs clashed against them in a vicious melee. Others, still capable of unleashing lethal particle-beams, attempted to win in a brutal shootout. It did not take long and following a minute-long clash his warriors lay dead, their hewn, blasted to shreds corpses smoldering in the mud.

“You doomed them with your filthy lies!” – Zhur snarled, his vicious vibro-blade raised and overpowered beam pistol aimed at Vinson.

With an effortless, dance-like motion, the human advanced forth, his focused energy field vanishing after the particle-beam grazed it. Gloved hand a blur, the Terr’aan drew his laser pistol and before Zhur could fire his slowly cycling gun, shot it to pieces.

“But, dear Captain,” – Vinson laughed as he holstered his overheated pistol and made a probing sword strike which Zhur parried – “it was you who did so. Remember, you could’ve left days ago, and with your command intact nonetheless...”

“Your words are toxic!” – Zhur grumbled behind his faceplate and lunged into an attack of his own which the human dodged with his deft footwork.

“For you and your kind? Yes.” – the Terr’aan retorted and there was a vicious in its calmness smile blossoming on his face – “A life-saving truth to all brave souls who embrace it.”

The two exchanged a number of blows; a brutally swift, efficient combination of stabs, cuts, and swings, their vibro-blades buzzing through the air. A veteran of many boardings, Zhur was quick to see that even without an exoskeleton, his enemy had an edge. Gnashing with his sharp, metal teeth, the clanner realized that it was him who gave the filthy Terr’aan said advantage.

He was tired, hungry, and his otherwise viciously effective in battle, exoskeleton assisted spacesuit, damaged. Not a single droplet of fuel left in his engine tanks, Zhur could not employ the usual dazzling attacks either. Noetic mastery, indeed!

“The Terran Word only exacerbated what you always were,” – was the Human’s calm reply, as another torrent of attacks nearly overwhelmed Zhur’s defenses, a few of these carving mangled scars into his ruined spacesuit, before he uttered – “a leech.”

Eyes full of primal rage, a final insight came to the Clan star warrior.

This man, one who dared face him with mere words, and without having donned a proper armored spacesuit—he was not only his, but all Clanners’ death!

Tasked beyond what it could do in its damaged state, Zhur’s exoskeleton whined in protest and, with a heart-stopping clank, refused to obey.

With a motion too quick to block, shackled by his too heavy to easily move over-armored spacesuit, the pirate captain noticed a sudden change of perspective. As he fell, the numbness of brutal pain nearly overtook his mind and Zhur saw his severed sword-hand laying beside one of his still twitching legs.

The wide-bladed sword of Terr’aan-make rested upon Zhur’s neck and Vinson said – “Long since have you stolen air and taken up space.”

Then came black nothingness and eternal silence, for all sentients of Zhur’s degenerate vocation, they who swore their souls to Holy Darkness, the Universe Himself tore His gaze away from them. Together with his crewmates, with accordance to his demented beliefs, there the captain would linger in gloom until the very end of time.

But what of the militiamen, Noln, Fan, George, and their friends you ask?

Those with mortal wounds who lingered in medical stasis, were healed by star marine coremed. Although scarred for life, old George included, they all lived to see their children and grandchildren grow up healthy, strong, and free. With suborn tenacity they’d build their new homes right atop the gutted crater of what was once their old village. For the next few star-years they would grow in number and after a great many ex-slaves joined them, time came for Noln’s promise to be fulfilled.

Armed to the teeth, their ranks bolstered by many new recruits, the militia visited their old place of torment. Gahen Inc. suffered blow after blow, inflicted by stealthy soldiers forged in deadly battle and experienced in guerrilla warfare. True to his word, Morale Officer Vinson, Lieutenant Pews, and Sergeant Blam joined their ranks. Indeed, most glorious was the doom which they’d inflict upon these slaving Corpos.

Yet... this is a tale for another star-day.