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Who is it that wakes me from my safe and happy sleep at this time of our new solar cycle? This is especially RUDE since my physical system is not yet adjusted to the new day length.
Yiii! A vast, menacing ship blots out the sun and threatens to rain down radioactive death upon us! Oh no! Compounding my fright is the hideous, bloated, GREEN MONSTER that looms before me on the viewscreen!
Our end is at hand! We surrender, O merciful, evil alien! I, Niffiwan, Regent of the Ruling Council of the Spathi Colonists, officially surrender! We will reveal all League secrets to you, and give you all our storehouse of minerals!
Would you like to know the weaknesses of the Captain of the League? He is a megalomaniacal tyrant, but a softy for polite rules of colonization! He's a sucker about forgiving his allies for any sort of indiscretion!
Now PLEASE don't--Wait... Hicco, WHO has been fiddling with the color and contrast controls of my viewscreen? This is the second time this week--Yikes! It is the Hunam Captain! Of the League of Sentient Races! I didn't mean it, Captain!
Never! Never! We were attempting to deceive an enemy!
I was not REALLY going to surrender! It was a ruse! A ruse designed to lull the foe into a false sense of security, until we could plan a daring, and ultimately, suicidal mission in which we would all die in agony before we would reveal a WORD of League secrets!
Er, um, it was a figure of speech. If the enemy were to think of you as a 'softy,' they would underestimate you. Then you could easily destroy them! We were trying to misinform the enemy by calling you a 'softy.'
That was our story, and even in the face of the worst torture, we were prepared to stick with it!
PLEASE don't smack me! I have a low pain threshold! I have a rare disease that makes my soft flesh bruise easily! I could easily expire from even a small tap, and then who would feed my thousand encrustlings?
Wonderful! In truth, just between us, I have been quite ill at ease since your Warp Bubble Transport hurtled us off into the void of the Kessarri Quadrant like some cast-away pedal claw covering.
Yet now I find myself enjoying your company, your sparkling conversation, and the presence of your huge, powerful, death-dealing starship--which, being my friend, you would CERTAINLY feel compelled to use in order to save me from ANY hostile lifeforms who threatened me with death!
We rejoice! Did we mention that we are enjoying your company?
Well, you see. It's like this. When we first arrived, we were terrified to step out onto the surface of our designated planet. Savage beasts freely roamed the surface, gnawing the abundant tubers and root crops with massive fore-fangs!
We did not dare set our pedal claws on that surface! These horrible, pink-eyed creatures scattered at the sight of us, as if to re-group for a massive assault!
We could see them lurking behind the abundant ground cover, their flop ears twitching menacingly, as if to signal an ambush! It was only after we incinerated several thousand of them with our beam weapons that we discovered- surprise!
They were just gentle herbivores! Imagine our relief! So we were a little late in getting started colonizing. We have not produced too many Eluder ships for you. But even now our teams are hard at work!
Not bunnies! Huge furry rodents! With massive fangs! OK. Bunnies.
Yes, absolutely, and with no qualifications. This system has kept us alive for millennia, and we see no reason to change it now. Except to do what we promised, and help keep the galaxy alive. But once the galaxy is feeling better, it's back to safety for us!
What is you wish to know? We will try to answer, but please don't be offended with us if we don't have every answer to every question.
Though we know you intend to seize the fruits of Spathi adulthood and whisk them off into the trackless reaches of space, and launch them against monstrous, slavering aliens who drool for the tender gush of sweet Spathi flesh between their fangs, we will comply.
Our exquisite Eluder voidship is fast and maneuverable, with powerful engines that can outrun many kinds of enemy ships. We have a short-range front gun, and a very powerful rear weapon: the famed Backward Utilized Tracking Torpedoes!
This ship is brilliantly designed for one purpose: RUNNING AWAY! We are always willing to run away from a fight, and if any opponent is ill-mannered enough to pursue us, we run away while lobbing B.U.T.T. missiles at them.
Of course, we are willing to gird our haunches and force ourselves to fight for the League. In such cases, we like to stay comfortably out of range and pop in occasionally to launch a missile.
We Spathi can best be described as 'Meta-Mollusks.' We are intelligent and clever, but perhaps not very cunning. Each day when we awaken we call forth the traditional Spathi prayer 'Oh God... Please don't let me die today! Tomorrow would be so much better!'
I will now relate the tragic history of our species. This is a sad tale, so do not even try to contain your tears. Once upon a time, many thousands of years ago, we inhabited the warm, safe surface of our home planet, Spathiwa.
We were happy and content. During those golden centuries, we Spathi evolved into a simple folk, content with our calm, agrarian lives, our rude huts, and our coarse-woven turtle-neck sweaters.
We could have remained that way for eons, were it not for the sudden arrival of a million voracious monsters from hell! Darkness fell upon us! The Evil Ones came! These frightening ursine creatures hunted our people, and DEVOURED them like tasty nodules! We had no defense against them.
We have never quite figured that out. The few Evil One specimens we collected, who had mostly died of tooth decay from eating sweet Spathi flesh, were physiologically unlike any other species from our home planet.
It was as though they had arrived suddenly on the surface of our planet, transported there by some unknown agency. Who could be so cruel? Perhaps it was our gelatinous prankster neighbors, the Umgah! Good thing THEY aren't in the League!
We fled across the oceans, from continent to continent, but the evil ones always followed. Spurred by our great need, we advanced from simple tool-making to atomic technology in less than one Earth century.
But none of our innovations was a match for the Evil Ones' natural cunning and ferocity. Finally, with no other option available, we fled our world and took up residence on our moon, where we resided, most uncomfortably, for THREE HUNDRED YEARS!
Though we gained interstellar travel, we tended to stay close to home. Preferably in the living room. So we learned little about other races beyond our neighbors, like the Androsynth.
We thought we were finally safe, and began to emerge from our shellcases and relax our bodies, which were nearing toxic levels of adrenaline-poisoning. Then the Ur-Quan arrived.
In the years after our escape from the Evil Ones, we created many complex rituals to keep us safe from any future predators, but none of them worked. The Ur-Quan arrived at Spathiwa, and held a great ceremony.
Part of that ceremony involved blasting portions of our planet's surface into radioactive dust, and this part we did not enjoy. But the worst was yet to come. The Ur-Quan explained our options as new slaves.
We could serve as fighting slaves or have our world be forever encased in an impenetrable energy shield. We grew over-excited at the slave-shield option, since it would make us safer than we were.
Monsters could not pop in by surprise if we were shielded! We eagerly transmitted our decision to the Ur-Quan. But the Ur-Quan servant was a member of a race of gelatinous pranksters called the Umgah.
The Umgah saw how eager we were to be cut off from the galaxy's wars, and told the Ur-Quan that we wanted to become fighting slaves! We tried to explain the disastrous mistake, but the strict Ur-Quan bureaucracy had no mechanism to allow any such change in status
Following that most tragic day, we were forced to assume the role of an Ur-Quan star-thug.
Not much. Well, I take that back. We did take away their HyperWave Caster, which they were using to frighten us and many other races. We gave the Caster to YOU, and you used it to save the galaxy!
Well, maybe not save the galaxy directly, but it helped you save the galaxy.
NO! No. No. Yes. A little. We'll stop.
For many years we boldly attacked countless horrible threats in daring space combat! Well, not really. We mostly performed garrison duty on stations with little strategic value, like slave-shielded planets full of weak but tricky races. Races like you Hunams.
But then you came along, and eradicated the Evil Ones from the face of Spathiwa, and sent them back to the pits of hell! You ended their relentless passion for our fleshy parts!
We joined your war against the Ur-Quan, but soon found out how to make a slave shield of our own. We used it to encase ourselves away from the Ur-Quan, and er, um, also away from you.
We hid out for the rest of the war, which our prognosticators ensured us would last at least six hundred years. Imagine our surprise when frightening-looking Chmmr burst our precious slave-shield like a soap bubble, and announced that we were "free."
We were not disturbed at the breakdown of HyperSpace. Now perhaps scary big races would leave the Spathi alone to enjoy our simple pleasures. But you had to go and tell us that the whole galaxy would break down next.
You plucked at some long-hidden chords of courage within us, and now here we are. And if I may say so, Captain, it was the singularly WORST idea we have ever had! I wanna go home! I wanna GO HOME!
(Sniff) We will carry on with our mission.
In our home quadrant, were we felt safer than we do now, though still not very safe, Androsynth space bordered our own. The Androsynth said they were clones of your Hunam race.
While we never really liked the Androsynth, it seemed that they weren't out to kill us as everyone else seemed to be. So imagine our SHOCK when we learned that they had been invaded and eaten by those fish-folk, the Orz!
Well actually we don't know if the Orz ate anybody, but we're sure they did something creepy. We're nervous about being in the League with the Orz. Since they seem so DANGEROUS.
Oh, are you a stickler for details like PROOF? How do you ever get anything DONE? Proof we cannot supply. But you must admit those Orz are unnerving. Please keep them away from us. You know how sweet and tasty Spathi are to predatory creatures!
We have found traces of the Precursors scattered throughout our space. Our belief is that the Precursors are not really gone, they simply came to their senses one day.
They realized what a dangerous place the galaxy is, and used their superior technology to invent some kind of splendid invisibility shield, and remain alive and happy to this day in our VERY MIDST!
We hope to rediscover this secret someday, and disappear into similar obscurity.
Must you take your sheltering, protective Precursor vessel away from our skies so soon? Very well, but return soon Captain.
Hello again, friend Hunam! We make merry in celebration of your arrival. How go your foolishly courageous and noble efforts to save the galaxy?
I'm sure you're doing very well, and can spare some time from dealing death and devastation to any offending races for long enough to have a nice visit.
Please stay as long as you wish, and keep your massively intimidating ship in our orbit, fending off all enemies with its mere presence!
And while you are here, you can give your dear friends, the Spathi, many more worlds to colonize, so we can make more ships and become even safer!
We don't know anything specific. Unless... no. Never mind.
Well, since you asked... Spathi legends tell of an Ultimate Evil that will one day come and devour the universe.
As yet, the Ultimate Evil remains largely unmanifest, and its powers and exact intentions are still a bit obscure, since it lurks just outside the range of even the most sensitive, long-range detectors...
...which we feel gives conclusive evidence as to The Ultimate Evil's nefarious intent! We once heard a broadcast saying that the 'Grand Master Planet Eaters' were coming to kill us, and we thought that we were actually about to be eaten by the Ultimate Evil.
But it just turned out to be an Umgah prank. Too bad that we accidentally destroyed many of our rustic towns in the ensuing mad panic.
No war. Peace, please. Can we just surrender to the nice Crux? Perhaps then they won't grill us over the volcanic fire of their exhaust ports until our skins crackle and split open. Please?
Are you sure you won't surrender?
Well, a little.
Very well. We will try.
Hello? Er, no one is here right now. I, myself, am an automated answering system.
Niffiwan? Who is Niffiwan?
Matter? Nothing's the matter. It's all right for you to leave now.
So the galactic tyrant shows his true colors. Threats, always threats. Even to his most TRUSTED ALLIES!
What's happened to Spathi productivity?
Oh dear. We were hoping we could get away before you noticed. Dear, dear. Now we have to discuss the matter in depth.
OK. But you have to promise not to get mad. OK. Never mind. You don't have to promise anything. OK, Captain, I'll give it to you straight. We're leaving the League to join the Crux. Don't HATE ME!
You do? Great. Bye.
Well, we had to. They... they...
They threatened us.
Yes.
Hello! Hello! Awaken from your dreamy state Hunam! Now is the time for realism, not wild fancy! You can't be everywhere! Sooner or later the Crux will catch us, and OUCHIE!
No you can't. You have League rules to uphold. You are too good and kind-hearted to hurt your little friends, the Spathi. Besides, the League will panic if you start threatening League members.
We pushed our luck until we wore our luck down to a nub, and then a flake, and now it's completely gone. After all, if we had any luck, would we be in this quadrant? I think not.
True. But those will be quick deaths. Not the misery the Crux threatened. Yike! I would tell you, but I tremble uncontrollably if I think too long about it!
We are amazed. We had bet that you wouldn't threaten us. Captain, we know you won't carry out any such threats. And even if you did, your heart is just not in mutilation and torture. You just couldn't torture as painfully as the Crux.
Yes! Now you understand!
We go now. Enemies of the Captain who was once our dear friend. Our sorrow is greater because of the Hunam's understanding and compassion.
Attention big, mean, hostile alien vessel hovering overhead in an obvious attack posture! This is Crux Colony Manager Niffiwan. Our sensors have tracked your entry into this system, which you are no doubt here to conquer.
And while you are certainly welcome to do so, we would be greatly appreciative if you would please just go away and forget this star system ever existed. If you don't go quickly, it will greatly complicate our slave relationship with the Crux.
Well... I'd really like to, but I am not convinced that joining your thrilling and dangerous quest against Ultimate Evil is the best course of action right now. Under the present circumstances.
You see, our Crux masters would visit a punishment on us that would make the most vicious mutilation you could devise seem like a day at the beach playfully squeezing muck between my claw joints. Thanks for the offer, though.
I am probably just an old stick-in-the-mud, Captain, but I just can't let go of the idea that this is all part of some devious trick of yours to torture and kill my species. An unreasonable fear? No doubt.
You build a strong case, Captain. Here we are, alone in our fragile homes in a hostile alien quadrant. Above me you hover in orbit, encrusted with beam guns, bristling with explosive ordnance, plasmoid torpedoes, chain guns...
...laser sabers, acid blood, ion grenades, clubs with big, rusty nails through them, cluster mines, barbed wire, fissionable material, and other, more dreadful weapons.
So I ask myself: is it judicious for us to deny the offer and remain huddled here, as vulnerable as moltlings on a skillet? 'NO', I answer myself, 'JOIN THE LEAGUE - THE CAPTAIN IS HONORABLE AND GOOD!'
But then a wicked voice whispers, 'Beware! The human is tricking you! If you join him, you will die alone, in the cold of space.' And for reasons beyond my understanding, Captain, this voice overwhelms the other and so I must remain here... largely against my will.
I'm sure you can.
We already feel terrible. You can't make us feel much worse.
PLEASE DON'T ATTACK US! We'll tell you whatever you want to know!
The Crux members are really afraid of your Precursor vessel! We'd better stop talking now! Come back later, and maybe we can talk some more!
We found out that the Doogs are not a voluntary member of the Crux. They are actually enslaved in an elaborate scheme that takes advantage of their good-hearted, guileless nature.
The Ploxis tricked the Doogs into working for the Crux by secretly directing the K'tang to attack the Doogs' richest worlds. The Doogs paid the Ploxis to broker a 'truce' between the K'tang and the Doogs, but not before the Doogs' food supplies were destroyed.
To prevent starvation, the Ploxis sold the Doogs emergency rations at ludicrously inflated prices with outrageous interest. The Doogs are required to work for the Crux until the Doogs pay off their debt.
But here's the clever part! The Ploxis orchestrated an elaborate "company store" price-fixing scam, so that the longer the Doogs work for the Crux, the deeper in debt they get.
Because the Doogs are required to buy all their colonizing materials from the Crux, they actually accumulate debt FASTER than they pay it off! Adding insult to injury (something WE are very familiar with), the Doogs also have to pay annual "protection dues" to be a member of the Crux.
Right now the Doogs not only owe a lifetime of labor for all existing Doogs, but they now owe the labor of their progeny. In another few years, they will owe the labor of their grandchildren.
Clever, huh? I better leave now. Don't tell anyone I told you this.
We were having a casual chat with some K'tang the other day, during a friendly game of Spathi-ball, also known as see-how-many-places-we-can-make-the-Spathi's-limbs-'bustify'-in, when the subject came around to the Clairconctlar.
'Oh mighty-thewed K'tang,' I asked, in my most friendly manner, 'can you kindly lift your hob-nailed boot-heel off my throat?' 'Little squishy thing,' the K'tang replied with a merry chuckle, 'K'tang will let you continue to existify if you agree to be under a debt of honor, like the Clairconk- the Clairifications- the Clack- uh...'
At which point, another of the K'tang warrior's chums gave him a playful blast with a shoulder-mounted ion cannon, which sent him sprawling, and leaking radioactive compounds from his armor.
'Haw-haw', the chum said cheerfully. Anyone who is not STOOPID knows that little Spaffi are not honori-ficatory! The Clairconckuls only fall for debt of honor trick because of their honorifications! STOOPID!
Whereupon the first K'tang promptly suspended the game of Spathi-ball, and proceeded to play bounce-the-plasma-grenade-off-the-chum's-power-armor.
I took advantage of the opportunity to vacate the chamber, and only received second-degree burns on my posterior flanks! Does this help? Ooo! I better leave now!
What do you wish to know?
Very little. Some Crux members secretly hope that you succeed in stabilizing the fabric of space, because the Daktaklakpak are at a loss. Some of the Ploxis secretly hope the Crux don't destroy you too early. Oh, dear! We have to stop talking now!
We are terrified to even go NEAR the Harika! They could swallow a little Spathi WHOLE! Which would be a mercy, given those fangs like jagged razor wire! But then we would be digested alive by the potent Harika gastric juices, which can break down small rocks!
So we stay away from any references to them. However, we did hear the Daktaklakpak bragging that they are proud of their work making the Harika sick! They said they manufactured the disease, and spread it on Harika and Yorn planets.
They call it the Xchagger Plague, and they are very proud of it. They boast about it a lot. For unemotional machines, they sure are vain! Oops! We better stop talking now!
Nothing. But we'll look into that. Er, we better stop talking. NOW!
We rummaged around in some musty old Daktaklakpak storerooms full of old junk, and what do you think we found? A flange made of marble! Or some marbleoid substance. Well, at least it looks flange-like. Doesn't it? Anyway, here it is. We have to stop talking now!
We don't know. We do know that the Daktaklakpak do all their waste dumping in those massive Rainbow Worlds. Something about great stasis fields. We better stop talking now!
You are now our enemy! My ichors pulse through my body with unusual ferocity! Your presence has whipped me into a violent frenzy and I am compelled to engage you in preemptive-defensive action.
You shall never learn my important secrets, like how Crux Colony Manager Niffiwan fears you so much that he'll even give away Crux secrets to stay safe. Oops - dang! You made me give that away!
I fear to face you in combat, but I know if I do not, you will just grow stronger with each passing week. Therefore I must face you now. I set the thrusters to maximum, close my eye, and begin pressing the fire stud wildly.
We Spathi are always prepared to die, we know just what to do. It goes something like this: AIEEEE! No! Please be merciful! Not my claw! Please, no! I beg of you! The pain! NO! AH!
No.
My eternal gratitude is yours, oh devastator of helpless beings. It's times like these that I am forced to feel almost, though not quite, sorry that the Crux are so thoroughly defeating and humiliating your species.
Ah, hello, handsome, bold, honorable, and above all, VICTORIOUS Captain. Would it help to say that we are very, very, very, truly sorry for ever abandoning the League?
Very well. We are very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, truly sorry for ever abandoning the League! OK?
All that good groveling for nothing! Ooo! Excuse me! Oh, please take us back, Captain! Or else we'll die, cold and alone in the depths of space!
Oh. In that case, may I replace you as the leader of the League and fly your frighteningly large Precursor vessel and vent my mighty wrath on all the members of other races who ridiculed the Spathi?
Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! This is a wise choice. We grovel in undeserving appreciation. Er... May we rejoin your kindly and honorable League of Sentient Races? Please?
My soul is warmed by your sincere and heartfelt words. We are reunited with the League! We shall be friends forever! Allies to the bitter end.
Really? Good. I mean... Really?
Pleeeeeeeeease!
We'll go. Go to our final fate in the void. Alone and unforgiven.
What? Is this safe? How does it work? Are you sure about this? Where did you get this device? Do you know where its been? Are you sure it's mentally sanitary?
Who donated sentience before us? Did they clean it? How do we know we won't be reduced to brainless, blubbering blobbies, lacking our splendid Spathi intellect? How... What... Why... Oh, never mind. We'll contribute sentience.
I think you need to talk to Niffiwan, on Goshen 4.
Wow, but you are STRICT!
