In the cold vacuum of space, a massive black-and-gold spaceship cruised toward the star stream designated Omegaron. From the outside, it appeared deceptively small large enough to hold only a handful of crewmates. Yet, within its sleek frame, the ship's interior was vast enough to accommodate a hundred.
But even with all that space inside, someone chose to walk outside as the ship drifted silently toward its destination.
"Raymond! For the last time, get back on the ship!" Tom's voice echoed through the comm system, sharp with frustration. From my position outside, I glanced through the window at him sitting in the control room, gesturing wildly.
"As I said, I'm testing my new suit," I replied, overriding the ship's comm security through Wally, who currently was the suit. "I'll be back before we reach the planet."
The new upgrade I had installed in Wally, allowed me to walk in open space by magnetizing the molecular fragments around my boots, creating a thin platform of condensed space dust beneath each step. It was something like a localized gravitational field which only affected my surroundings.
We were being dispatched to the planet Omega-3, with a few other D rank crewmates who would assist us through this journey till we reach the planet and come back to pick us up when we are done.
But I could guess why despite having so much company, Tommy was feeling restless inside the ship... All of our crewmates were alien, and the only humanoid ones were the cacti people who managed the kitchen.
So, of course, you can guess what would happen if you leave a racist, amongst a bunch of aliens. I could just hear him struggling to suppress his urge to rip them apart.
"Sir, we're preparing for a space-leap. Please return to the ship," the captain spoke through the comms.
He was a Crabomilus, a species that had evolved from primitive shellfish into massive, highly intelligent crab-like organisms, their round bodies encased in layered nautilus-shell armor that shimmered with mineral sheen.
"Alright," I replied, and turned back toward the airlock.
The quarantined door slid open, and I stepped inside. It sealed shut behind me with a hydraulic hiss. A cascade of sterilizing fluid rained down in fine needles of mist, scrubbing every trace of space dust off my suit. Then, a burst of warm, pressurized air blasted over me, evaporating the liquid instantly and leaving the suit clean and dry within seconds.
As I stepped through the doors into the hallway, I found Tommy pacing anxiously. He stopped every few seconds, staring toward the control room like a dog expecting a thunderclap.
"Are the planets we're being dispatched to… full of aliens as well?" Tommy muttered under his breath, voice tight with tension.
"Dude. Relax." I placed a hand on his shoulder; he nearly jumped. "The military is mostly humans."
"That's… good to hear." He exhaled, shoulders dropping slightly.
We continued into the control room. The captain glanced at us, gave a curt nod, then reached into a sealed glass housing and pulled down a reinforced lever.
"Brace for impact," he warned.
The lights dimmed. A low hum resonated through the floor, vibrating up from the ship's core. A heartbeat later, the universe outside seemed to bend.
Stars smeared into white ribbons as if someone stretched reality itself with their bare hands and our ship snapped forward into hyperspeed. We felt a crushing density in the chest, like invisible pressure folding around the bones.
Time felt thinner. Sound became muted. For a brief instant, everything was motion and yet perfectly still.
Within minutes, a desolate brown planet filled our view, its surface pocked with enormous black craters, as if someone had burned the entire world again and again until nothing remained but char and scars.
"My god… humans live here?" Tommy whispered, stunned. "How long has this war been going on?"
"Approximately six hundred years," the captain answered. "The planet was originally ruled by dragons, not high-ranked dragons, mind you, but it was peaceful before the heretics arrived. We re-established contact with the survivors about a century ago."
"Then why are we only helping them now?" I asked, mentally calculating the time gap.
"Well," the captain said, clicking his mandibles thoughtfully, "you might not realize this since you're from a Training Planet, far away from the frontlines… but high-rank individuals like you are unbelievably rare out here. Most people die before they can even reach C-rank. Anyone who reaches B-rank is considered blessed by fate itself. And anyone above that level is either a heretic… or backed by a spiritual god."
"What about the Emperor? Doesn't he help anyone reach higher ranks?" Tommy asked as we crossed into the planet's gravity well.
The captain went silent.
Not the thoughtful kind of silence, but the frightened kind. His mandibles twitched, and he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the scorched planet below.
"…We have arrived."
The ship descended slowly and settled onto a crude landing zone little more than a rough circle of mud that someone had scraped and packed into shape.
Tommy and I exchanged a glance. We both wanted to push further but the captain's sudden refusal to speak made one thing clear, asking more questions would only get us stonewalled. For now, we had to leave it alone.
The landing ramp opened with a metallic groan, letting in the harsh air of the world outside.
Waiting for us at the bottom was a single soldier in a dark green uniform and a sealed gas mask. He stood stiffly and saluted the moment we stepped out.
But something felt wrong about the soldier.
He was smaller than we expected, almost childlike in proportion, and after everything we'd heard from the captain, we had anticipated someone… older.
"I'm sorry that only I was able to greet you, sirs," a low, muffled voice came from behind the gas mask. He lowered his hand from the salute. "All the other fresh meat couldn't make it."
"Fresh meat?" Tommy echoed, just as the spaceship behind us lifted off and disappeared into the sky.
"The fresh meat that were sent to receive you were killed on the way," the soldier repeated calmly, as if it were normal.
"What…?" Tommy stared at him, confused and horrified.
"How old are you, exactly?" I asked.
"I passed the age of servitude this month," the soldier said.
"No, I mean your age in Training Planet terms," I clarified.
"We don't really count years here. The General does that for us," he replied. "But from what I've heard… the age of servitude in a Training Planet is equivalent to ten."
We both almost instinctively took a step back in disbelief.
How many things have I sealed in my memories? I thought as I looked at the child.
"You… what is your name, kid?" I asked, stepping closer.
"Name? Oh right!" The voice behind the gas mask sounded small. "General gave me the designation T-3. He said you'd prefer a designation as a name."
"…Where is your General?" Tommy demanded, fists clenching until the skin split and bled along his knuckles.
"At the camp," T-3 answered. "But to get there fast we have to cross a heretic campsite. That's where the other —"
T-3 stopped as Tommy cut him off.
"Okay. Just… stop using that term," Tommy snapped, swallowing another curse. "Don't call them 'fresh meat.' Use something else. I don't know... anything else!"
"I don't know any other terms," T-3 said simply.
"Call them soldiers, then." I put my hand lightly on the boy's armored shoulder; he gave a brief, uncertain nod. "And when we reach the enemy camp, stay behind us. We'll handle the fighting."