Mana Pool Snippets - The Job

Part 1

Did you know that the Kytalthan, the living water sprites of Kyta who volunteered in the drought effort on Vi recently, were the last species to participate in First Contact rituals?

No? Look it up. If however you lived over seven hundred years ago, in person or livestream, call me. I need interviews.

I was making history a month ago. History I tell you.

I have been an investigative reporter for most of my life, but I never imagined that I'd be staring at the planet from the way station's common room. This was not the usual simple story for the RNN; corporation corruption, mob scandals, military conspiracy, or drug lords of the slums of the Republic. This was history.

Real. Honest. History. The kind of history that puts the Republic itself against the cliff's edge. The last time that happened were the Goomash Raids, but that was a small scratch compared to this open, infected wound of a problem.

"What am I doing here?" I whispered.

"You say something, Zimmi?" Ketho asked and I jumped in my seat.

"Oh, uh, nothing. Talking to myself." I laughed but my nervousness made me squeak. "Smooth," I whispered again.

In the window, was Terra Firma, the Red-Flagged homeworld of humans, a world under the Primitive Culture Protection Act. One of those planets, but this is the planet. They weaponized nuclear technology and turn blood-thirsty when seen by ones not their kind. Soulless, genocidal monsters.

The way station that two Royal Navy guards and I rode in quaked for a second, metal grinded against metal. I yelled and gripped onto something hard. Over Terran Firma, a Royal Navy battlecruiser passed over us as the tow cable retracted back into the hull.

The lead guard Ketho, coughed and I got my attention. My hand grasped the Dunac rifle-woman's arm in a vice, by the look of her half-closed eyes, the female cyborg wasn't amused.

"My bad," I said smiling and letting go, "not used to traveling outside Creos or Zimana."

She scuffed and said, "Pansy," right in my face.

I looked back at the battlecruiser, the ship aimed six massive plasma cannons from under its hull down at the planet. "What the?" Three more battle cruisers were behind the first in similar battle-ready actions. Enough fire power like that could decimate a small city. For Terra Firma's reputation, safety and security was important, there was no sense of questioning it. "Wait a second," I said blinking, noticing several gold objects descending from out in the dark space. I unbuckled myself from my seat and leaned my face centimeters from the glass.

"Your eyes ain't tricking you, Zimmi," Ketho said.

Are you kidding me? Gold spires were stationed at high orbit.

"Are those...Titan Spires?" I asked.

"The very same," Ketho answered.

"But...surely, that much fire power? Is that a little excessive from the Royal Navy?" My throat felt dry all of a sudden. "I don't know if I can do this with those spires over my head. I don't want to end up like compost for human feasts."

No response came from Ketho, her hard eyes staring out at the spires. The second guard, a young Creosain boy named Tigap, fresh from training, appeared the same as me, save for his head quills rubbing each other in nervousness. Since entering Slipspace, he had played with a ring on the floor using one of his three legs, never talking. Why had Denverbay sent a fresh recruit and a seasoned warrior with me?

Titan Spires were meant to level a playing field.—one spires, not several. When it comes to the Primitive Culture Protection Act, and Red Flagged planets, serious precautions were never ignored; the proof was Terra Firma, sitting surrounded by the Galactic Council's collective might.