Ancient Astronauts

No More Killing

"Lower your weapons!" Hans ordered.

The army had driven the Kobolds from Second Chance. The survivors were bunched up downstream of the town with the Volba River at their backs. They were locked in a standoff with the gray clad human soldiers. Admiral Kepler was speaking into a microphone calling for surrender and threatening complete destruction, but broke off as Hans' order split the night.

Hans' eyes moved across the remaining kobolds. There looked to be less than four hundred at the river. Adults at the back of the group were busy ferrying children across the river in easy strokes, their long, webbed tails serving as rapid propulsion systems. They hid their offspring in the woods before going back for more.

Admiral Kepler gave Hans a startled look, "Sir, as soon as the C14's rescued the young kobolds a group of adults fell on our bots and tore them apart. They kept fighting despite multiple offers to cease hostilities. We should–"

"What?" Hans growled, cutting the admiral off, "Destroy them? The children too? They're frightened, Admiral."

Snatching the microphone from the admiral's hand, Hans clambered up on one of the tanks with some difficulty, "It's over," he spoke firmly into the microphone, "James Martin and his pack of freaks are dead!" The four kobolds from the basement walked up and stood at the base of the tank, claws sheathed, lending credence to his words. "It's over," Hans repeated.

There was no triumph in his words. There was no triumph to be had. The pale light of the rising sun washed over the world, illuminating a river running red and blue with blood and bodies.

"Then it iss over," a familiar hiss issued from the center of the group by the river. The kobolds parted and two large adults came forward carrying a third between them.

Hans stumbled climbing down from the tank. One of the kobolds turned quickly and caught him, lowering him gently to the ground. The human soldiers, who had raised their weapons a few inches, relaxed their grips.

"Thank you...um?"

"Zilor," the kobold replied.

"Thank you, Zilor," Hans said. The interaction felt strange to Hans, but it was also calculated to ease his men. Mindless monsters didn't have names, at least not ones they could speak themselves.

Moving forward alone toward the kobolds, Hans named another, loud enough for his men to hear, "Saldarix, it is good to see you still breathing."

"I will never breathe the same again, thankss to you–"

Hans paused. It was hard to discern hostility because of Saldarix's accent.

"But our children will...also thankss to you," Saldarix finished.

Hans wasn't sure what to do so he just gave a small respectful bow. Saldarix cocked his head to the side and fixed Hans with a strange look from a large yellow eye, "We cannot sstay here."

"No," Hans shook his head, "You cannot stay. Not after last night. I understand what happened, and," here he turned and waved someone else forward, "and Ahriman understands, but I doubt the people will."

It was Saldarix's turn to give a small bow. It was not directed at Hans, but at the darkly complected man standing beside him, "You know hiss name iss not, Ahriman?"

Hans held up a hand forestalling him, "His name is his business. Figuring out a way for us to live in peace is mine."

"Very well," Saldarix answered slowly, his breathing labored.

"But first, we need to get you to a hospital. I doubt those bullets will pop out on their own."

"How much do you know," Saldarix hacked a cough, "About our anatomy?"

"Not much, but I'm sure we have a veterinarian around here somewhere with knowledge of suborder Sauri." Hans bit his tongue. Veterinarians took care of livestock, pets, and sometimes wild animals. He held his breath and hoped the kobolds would not be insulted.

"Tactlesss az alwayss," Saldarix responded, "Ssome thingss don't change."

"Some things do. When was the last time a human offered you medical aid? You and your people?"

"Never," Saldarix responded, "Very well, take uss to your...veterinarian."

"When you're feeling better, we'll discuss how to live together on the same planet."

Saldarix eyed him up and down slowly, noting his tattered shirt, the dry blood on his knuckles and face, and the leftward tilt of his drumlike chest compensating for broken ribs, "Ssspeak for yoursself. Our bodies will heal in daysss."

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Three thousand colonists were slain that night, along with close to a thousand kobolds, some of whom were children caught in the crossfire during the drive to the river. Many protests were held on Main Street baying for blood in the days following the massacre.

Thousands of voices cried out for vengeance, and the military carefully made sure to hide the remaining five thousand kobolds in the vast, uncolonized forests around the town. Even so, word quickly got out that wounded kobolds were being treated on the top floor of the hospital, and Hans was forced to send peacekeepers to guard the facility.

This action led to further outrage.

Hans thought he'd have to give up his role as governor after the Sleepless Night as the tragedy was underwhelmingly called by the stupefied population. However, between his address the following day and the ongoing support from Shooby and the respected sage, Ahriman, the people gradually accepted what happened. No mention was made of vampires or anything like that, but they gently reminded the people that they'd been warned to expect the possibility of sentient life on the distant planet.

In the coming months the colony grieved the horrendous loss of their loved ones and slowly tempers began to fade. Hypotheses and theories continued to fly every which way, but even these began to settle down.

In the end, they mostly all accepted the narrative that they'd been attacked by a sentient native race who believed the colonists were invaders, and that they were saved by the rapid and effective actions of their temporary dictator. And so, within three months of landing on a new world, history had repeated itself; the people had accepted a comfortable lie.

Many even compared it to the Columbian Exchange and new groups advocating for "Native Rights" sprang up in the town, eventually merging into the Native Kobold Advocacy Group (NKAG).

The prevailing question on everyone's mind was, "What will the governor do now to make sure this never happens again?"