A Plague of Stars

Part One

Slowly came the ships from Earth. They were hideous and they were slow. Each fleet crawled through space with such plodding fixation that those they encountered wondered at the leisurely pace of humanity. They speculated aimlessly towards what ends a race might suppose such time to squander. The desperate urgency that propelled each ship with such ponderous determination was never hinted in their sluggish advancement, but only in their unerring course, for once a vector was selected, human fleets rarely deterred from it. They were not explorers and they were not conquerors, these beings from earth. Minds that understood the concept sometimes compared them to missionaries, or pilgrams, for though their knowledge of the galaxy was almost unforgivably limited, they nevertheless were bent towards very specific destination.

Occasionally, their elected course brought them into the territories or interests of other star faring creatures. While many were content to ignore these brief and usually harmless intrusions, others elected to explore the human motivation, sending spies and scouts to watch over the movements of the fleets. Most were horrified when the nature of the ships' ambitions became clear. Some even elected to take personal responsibility for bringing the advance to a halt. A few succeeded. Most failed. The humans had sold speed for strength.

In time, news of the fleets began to pass from race to race. They were met with blockades, ambassadors, spies. Nothing seemed to deter them from their plotted course and, as time passed, more ships came from whatever system had spanned dread humanity. The new fleets that came grew more decadent in appearance with each passing wave. Some were little more than a weapon strapped to an engine with enough material wrapped around this union to suffer the stresses of acceleration. What little decoration the first fleets had borne gradually gave way to exposed machinery and frames of metal and synthetic fabrics. Even so, these fleets were ever the more zealous in their expidition and in time they were left fair alone to pursue their unholy tasks.

The Fleet of Methes' Intent, which was its flagship, hadn't encountered a hostile representation in the last two decades of their travels. They were one of the oldest, and had endured in one sense or another for over two generations. Along their chosen vector their reputation had spread until none dared confront them openly. Most entities or empires, seeing their own lying in the path of this merciless armada, despaired and simply abandoned the system in question rather than risk offending the human ships.

Long ago, the blockades and attacks had given way to fear and now, twenty years hence, none seemed to believe themselves capable of hindering the Fleet. Rarely, however, an entreaty came, a bitter plea strengthened by the proper etiquette which spread from star to star on the backs of warnings, another race begging that its interests be spared, another race that had found itself victim to humanity's need.

The signal reached the Methes' Intent before the approaching vessels were even detected. The entire crew was being brought to attention, even those sedated. Alarms sounded, alerting all that a contact situation had been discovered. People clambered and swam about singing orders among and directions back and forth to each other. The Appeal to Life, poorly translated from one tongue to another, sang haltingly through the halls.

Mines Beurescka Communer flinched whenever these signals bombardered the ship. Never minding that the speech had been mangled and the melody murdered as the core of the appeal had fled from the minds of one race to another. Beurescka's reactions were of caution and hatred, for he knew that the moments between the present and the inevitable performance of his least favorite task were few indeed.

Beurescka despised these creatures, these alien races that sued for mercy. Though it was his responsibility to endure their appeals, his heart suffered the purest loathing against them. His attitude was as that which a child, forced to suffer the worst of physical and mental abuses from two uncaring parents, might feel towards a younger sibling offered nothing but love and affection. They did not and could not comprehend the nightmares that had become commonplace to his people. Fate had blessed them with safety and innocence and, as he saw it, heir sheltered histories had left them weak. Beurescka despised that weakness, for it glared in contrast to the tragedy of Homo Sapiens.