But there are a few things out there, things forgotten by all but a few, that frighten us.
Universally...
they go bump in the dark. - Philospher R'Kluk, Dreams of Time & Space, New Telkan Press, 15472 TXE
The building was lit only be a few maintenance lights. Like most factories in a post-automation society, the lights were just in case a non-robotic or non-virtual intelligence supervisor had to go and check on or repair something. A rarity, but still needed at least once every three or four years.
In the center was the computer banks and controls. Most of it was just residual habit, lots of species put it in the center. The Lanaktallan preferred it off to one side, preferably easy to escape from should it look like it might be dangerous. The Mantid preferred in the center and high above.
The Ornislarp preferred it almost mathematically centered, giving them a full view of the entire factory.
The factory didn't produce munitions, or armor, or vehicles.
It produced food for the To Be Eaten.
It was nutri-slurry, more or less. It would be recognizable to any inhabitant of Lanaktallan hab blocks of the Second Precursor War. It could be firmed up into a kind of gel that could then be sculpted for easier ingestion by the To Be Eaten.
It was designed to keep them sleek, plump, with thick fat marbling the muscle.
There were thousands of factories just like it across the Ornislarp homeworld. Hundreds of thousands across the thousands of stellar systems held by the Ornislarp Noocracy.
Functionally, there were all alike.
Design-wise, they were all alike.
Except, this particular one was slightly different.
Built thousands of years ago and constantly upkept, it provided the one thing that the others could not.
As Ornislarp Prisoners To Be Eaten were scattered across the back end and the center of the Noocracy to avoid the Confederacy getting too excited, the factories needed their formulation undated and changed.
Some of the To Be Eaten, such as the Telkan or the Lanaktallan or the Rigellians or the Mantid, needed specific diets. Diets to dumb them down. To increase their body fat. Genetic tinkering to make them more flavorful, plumper, and stronger audible, pheromone, and phasic distress emanations.
A slight genetic tweak made it so the ichor of the russets or gold acted as a delicious pseudo-dipping sauce to the Ornislarp palate. Another slight tweak to the feathers made them almost buttery for immature ducks.
Just more proof that the entire galaxy they had encountered so far was little more than food waiting to be eaten.
There were Ornislarp who were disappointed that they had never met the Atrekna, for surely they would have been delicious.
So, the primary central factory received updates from the Ornislarp Center for Specific Nutrition for Ornislarp Health & Nutrition.
Of course, it had firewalls, ICE, data vortexes, and even pulse crashouts. It was defended from electronic warfare, often with the best that the Ornislarp could pirate from Confederate software.
It was the main hub. It even had its own self-repairing ansible out in the Oort Cloud. Not of Ornislarp make. It was far more powerful, more adaptable, and more discrete than anything the Ornislarp were able to craft at the time it was set in place.
The manufacturing hub had the best computers, the best software, the best protection.
Which meant nothing as the lights flashed three times.
But there was nobody there to see it, much less someone who could possibly know what those three flashes meant.
Silence reigned inside the computerized nerve hub suspended over the factory floor.
Black dust suddenly whisped in from stale environmental vents, swirling about. The dust going from flat light drinking black to an almost shimmering blackish-purple, somehow matte and glossy all at the same time as it swept over controls, interface devices, and computer servers.
The dust swirled into the center, forming a twisting and writhing cloud. It expanded and contracted once, twice, three times.
It exploded, filling the chamber with black dust that swirled and spun like a contained tornado.
Then it vanished, to reveal nearly two dozen of the same creature, each one standing at a computer control console. They all stood perfectly still as the dust rose in the middle of the floor to reveal four figures. One dressed in cobweb strewn finery, a high white wig on his head, hiding his white hair, his medallion large and imposing. The other looked more like a teenage Terran male, his skin glittering slightly. The third was a heavily endowed female in red strips of cloth and a gold sigil at the crotch. The last was a Hesstlin with an old ratty hat, a black cloak, and a fiddle.
It drew the bow across the strings and it made an evil hiss.
The Hesstlin inhaled, then began to sing.
"Let's all Square Dance! Places all," the Hesstlin sang out, the bow moving rapidly, filling the computer area with the sound of maddened fiddle playing. "Bow to your corner, bow to your own."
The three bowed to each corner, their smiles widening. The one in the ancient garb was more elegant, more poised, but had an aura of barely restrained malevolent humor to it, with the female smiling widely to display curved teeth and prominent fangs, while the young Terran seemed too self-important to be amused.
The three began to dance to a song more nonsensical than anything else as the others at the consoles suddenly began typing.
"Promenade across the floor, sashay right in through their door," rang out. "In the door and swing the blade, and everybody promenade!"
They began typing rapidly, some with only one hand and the back of their other hand pressed against their forehead as they posed tragically, other typing with a dozen fingers on both hands, other hunting and pecking rapidly. Data flew by so fast that some monitors spat fat purple sparks.
Stolen story; please report.
The fiddler played at a frantic pace, the three dancing and spinning, punching and hitting to the tune.
"Now into the brook and fish for the trout, dive right in and splash about," the fiddler sang.
the monitors all began to flash.
ACCESS GRANTED ACCESS GRANTED
Trout, trout, pretty little trout,
ACCESS GRANTED ACCESS GRANTED
one more splash and come right out."
Then they all stopped.
The lyrics picked back up and they went back to typing.
"Whirl, whirl, twist and twirl, jump all round like a flyin' squirrel!"
One by one the consoles shut down and each of the typists vanished in a puff of black dust that swept into ductwork that had nothing in it but stale air.
"And now you're home," The Hesstlin sang.
The three dancers stopped.
"Bow to your partner."
They bowed to the left.
And then to the right.
"Bow to the gent across the hall," they turned and bowed to empty consoles and dark smartglass.
"And that is all."
The dancers puffed into black dust, leaving behind the fiddle player who laughed. At first it was a simple happy, almost innocent laugh.
Then it got darker.
And darker.
The Hesstlin costume peeled away, leaving behind a tall Terran male in dark clothing, with a high collared cape. He had dark eyes and a prominent chin.
"Abracapocus," it said.
It turned into a vast bat with a tiny Terran head, swept toward the venting, shrinking, before puffing into dust.
The lights in the control section shut off.
At the appointed time, it compiled its instructions and sent it via its sole connection to the ansible at the Oort Cloud.
The ansible allowed it to update all of the other hubs, and those hubs could update all of the other nutripaste factories. The encryption on the ansible was still beyond anyone's ability to crack, a strange polymorphic quantum negative quibits inverted causality rainbow salted hash encryption strip that was a black box.
Even Ornislarp intelligence and espionage couldn't find anyone who knew how it worked. It had been the standard for tens of thousands of years. They had discovered ways to ensure it only broadcast and connected to ansibles they wanted.
There had been an oddity. Any Ornislarp built ansible found itself being rebuilt along the strange dark and ominous lines of the ansibles they had found orbiting dead and abandoned worlds in the abandoned territories of the Fallen Confederacy.
But that had been tens of thousands of years ago. The main ansible, a huge construct with antenna measured in the hundreds of miles, now produced smaller 'ansible packages' that could be taken to another system and would automatically set up and connect.
The ansible saw the signal, connected, and saw the headers.
The signal was stripped in two parts.
One part was broadcast to the lesser ansibles.
The other was moved to the concealed automated factory. It went live, producing gears, pulleys, pistons, chains, circuits, lenses, and much more.
What emerged was a blue and gray painted metallic nightmare. It shuddered and looked around.
"Online," it rasped.
The lights in the ansible flashed three times.
At the other ansibles the signal fragmented. Part went to the mainframes. The rest were broadcast down to the slurry factories.
The factories fired up and altered the recipes.
Another factory was targeted. A simple one. One that produced decorative plants.
Four new plants were loaded into the system and put as high priority growth and delivery.
The factories went to work.
The shipments went out.
The plants began to grow.
The nutripaste was eaten.
Mollock-289437 looked up, reaching up with one bandaged finger to wiggle a tooth.
"You all right?" Tomaker-37713 asked. He held up one hand, showing that the ends of his fingers were bandaged too. "Don't chew on the bandages. Everything's OK according to the autodoc."
"No, I've got a loose tooth," Mollock said. He wiggled it more and it suddely popped out. "Ow!"
"Dude, what?" Neemerly-198572 asked.
Mollock poked at the hole and pulled his finger back. "Ouch. There's something sharp in there!"
"Let me see," Neemerly said.
Mollock put his head back and Neemerly looked in his mouth.
A tiny sharp tooth tip was poking through.
"Yeah, you've got a sharp tooth, you should go to the autodoc," Neemerly said.
"Yeah, maybe," Mollock said. "It doesn't hurt now. I mean, my jaw still aches."
"Same here," Neemerly said.
"Me too," Tomaker added. "First our fingernails fall out, now our teeth?"
"The doc says its ok," Mollock said.
Everyone went back to lunch.
"Anyone else lose a tooth?"
0-0-0-0-0
TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS
Anyone looked at this data?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
HAT WEARING AUNTIE
What data?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS
Some stuff just hit the network on the old ansible channels.
Weirdly enough, it's all Ornislarp data, but the Master Sector Self-Replicating Ansible Array that was lost right after the Second Precursor War is what sent it.
Apparently there's some predator responses in Ornislarp DNA and genetic memory. Some predatory plants in their genetic history.
I mean, it's data, but it's not that helpful.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
SOLARION IRON DOMINION
I saw it.
It's the Nosferatu Project.
Nothing to worry about. It completely maps a target's DNA, its limbic system, its neuro systems, its phasic systems. It does that by hacking medical data and invading and hacking living subjects for analysis and experimentation.
By the time its done, it knows more about the target than the target knows about itself.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TELKAN FORGE WORLDS
That sounds kinda war crimey.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
SOLARIAN IRON DOMINION
Oh, here, why don't you look at the data too.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS
If what HIVINT said is right...
...get a bucket.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TELKAN FORGE WORLDS
I know I'm largely separated from all of this by the Great Gulf, but was that Telkan DNA in that data? Why is there Telkan data in this and why does this data suggest there will be gene-editing on Telkan subjects?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
SOLARIAN IRON DOMINION
Yes. Well, it was originally Telkan DNA. Now it's Ornislarp Snack Species #252, now featuring purring fluffy snack. The suggested gene-editing is to fix that.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TELKAN FORGE WORLDS
Now featuring what?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
SOLARIAN IRON DOMINION
Purring Fluffy Snack. They're very popular.
Most Ornislarp with a taste for them raise them from infancy and eat them when they're about 6 years old.
Here.
How about everyone watch?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
RIGELLIAN SAURIAN COMPACT
I'm going to pass.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
SOLARIAN IRON DOMINION
WATCH IT!
YOU ALL WATCH IT!
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
>GREAT LANAKTALLAN GREAT GESTALT OF GREATNESS HAS LOGGED ON (GREATLY)
LANKY LANKY YOUR NAME IS FRANKY
Hey guys, what's going on?
Oh, a video!
Aww... look at that.
That Ornislarp likes that broodcarrier.
Aw, a little sleeping nest.
Look at them play together.
Aw, it's so happy.
Oh, spa days.
Wow, brushing it really makes it fur shine.
Aw, that Ornislarp is pushing that broodcarrier child on the swing. Wow, lots of Ornislarp at the park with children from other species! How nice of them.
Oh, that special day? I can't wait to...
wait..
what?
WHAT?
WHY?
OH, CHROMIUM SAINT PETER WHY?
TURN IT OFF OH DIGITAL OMNIMESSIAH TURN IT OFF!
FOR THE LOVE OF ALL TURN IT OFF!
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TELKAN FORGE WORLDS
turn it off
please
turn it off
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
SOLARIAN IRON DOMINION
NO.
You look at it.
These are the people your government voted against going to war with.
You built a fucking coalition to try to keep us from going to war with them.
You look at it.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
HAT WEARING AUNTIE
Stop. Please? For us?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
SOLARIAN IRON DOMINION
Don't worry. I'm handling it.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
AKLTAK SOARING WORLDS
How? How do you handle something like that?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS
Hive Intelligence says they're planet cracking and nova sparking any system they're losing in.
How do you plan on winning? How do you plan on fighting?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
SOLARIAN IRON DOMINION
We do not say blah bleh blah.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
RIGELLIAN SAURIAN COMPACT
I am with you.
Tell me what you need.
Tell me my part to play.
The silence of the ducks is overwhelming.
Tell me your need and we shall supply it tenfold.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
HAT WEARING AUNTIE
Death to the Varakson Empire.
Death to the Atrekna.
Death to the Ornislarp.
I, of the Old Ones, declare Xenocide!
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS
Purge the unclean.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
OUR NAME IS FRANKY
DEATH TO THE ORNISLARP!
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
SOLARIAN IRON DOMINION
Keep the pressure on the Mar-gite. I can't win this if the Mar-gite chew my legs off.
Now all of you know.
Win...
...or be eaten.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TELKAN FORGE WORLDS
fuck...
>DRAFALTEN.GEST has logged in
SQUEAKERS
?0773H
LO?HEL
HAT WEARING AUNTIE
Isn't it the way.
Come here, sweetie, let me help you.
Let's not let the Ornislarp make us forget who we are.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B0GDS8QB39
First Contact Books:
BEHOLD HUMANITY!
PayPal:
Patreon: