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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/BrodogIsMyName on 2024-06-16 14:00:28+00:00.

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Thoroughly advised and edited by /u/WaveOfWire

FAL—Light automatic rifle. A ‘firearm’ chambered in seven-point-six-two ‘NATO.’ Twenty-round magazines, and a selector on the side allowing three modes of operation; ‘safety’—its use stressed by the star-sent—’semi-automatic’ for precision shots, and ‘fully-automatic’ for hordes of abhorrent creatures.

It was no sword, nor a bow. It was entirely foreign, a machination borne of steel, wood, and the genius of the Creator. Each component had its purpose, all working in harmony to allow a mere Malkrin to wield the power of a star-sent.

Peaceful white clouds wandered above the idyllic blue sky. The serene breeze was cold, its low whispers marred by the frequent cracks of gunshots and the uncommon explosive. Several Malkrin were stood at the range, testing their new firearms and armor while led by the wisdom of Cera and Akula.

But the yellow-skinned guardswoman was not.

She was blessed with the staff of the Creator, given the task to learn of her weapon fully. Others were told to begin their training by familiarizing themselves with its purpose: to kill. Great paladin Shar’khee had other ideas for her learning, however.

The guardswoman fit the final pieces of the firearm together, testing the bolt once before putting the weapon back on the wooden table in presentation. She had already disassembled and reassembled it dozens of times, her digits sore from the practiced motions.

“Again,” the paladin tersely ordered, all four arms crossed over her chest as she judged the exhausted female’s abilities.

The guardswoman briefly looked up at the row of other Malkrin, silently wishing to join them.

Shar’khee noticed, growling through closed teeth. *“Do not focus on the others. They will not be given your training. They shall only be taught how to ‘use’ the weapon. You shall be raised to **master** it.”*

The yellow-skinned female understood. Everything had been for her training. She was to be the pupil of the star-sent’s guardian. It was necessary. She joined the paladin in each morning’s exercises—physical and mental—she practiced her spear trusts for hours, and she memorized each and every aspect of the abhorrent, going so far as to ask the Creator himself about his experiences with them.

So, piecing the weapon she would use to defend the settlement would be the least she could do to familiarize herself with it. There would still be time for other training before she set out. That much was certain.

= = = = =

Four fifty-caliber turrets were activated—one by the fire pit, one out front of the workshop, another by the new barracks, and the fourth where the beach met rolling grass. Each was more than capable of differentiating friend from foe, and could dish out enough heat to ensure entire swarms would fall before it ran out of munitions.

Eight armed and heavily armored Malkrin who had the strength to rival entire transport ‘mechs stood at the ready. All of them were currently being prepared to suffer the worst of the spider-crabs, learning the ins and outs of their weapons—spears, axes, firearms, grenades, and a singular recoilless rifle—as well as acclimating to the thick slabs of metal layered atop their massive forms. They could handle the weight, but they weren’t expected to have it on at all times. It was more or less just to get them ready for the blood-moon and expeditions into the unknown.

That’s everything Harrison had been doing for the past few weeks, anyway. Every facet of his efforts had been to procure resources and use them to further their group of survivors, but even now, he couldn’t help but wonder if even this was enough.

What if the swarms simply never stopped growing in size? What if there were worse bugs than the colossi? What about creatures like that pink flesh monster in the agricultural center? And the anomalies… Would armor even be enough to protect against those? There could be some even worse than those he had already encountered. Hell, he was stranded here because of an invisible electric anomaly that none of the ship’s sensors could detect.

“This planet is a fucking hellhole,” he mumbled to himself, hauling the last hunk of ore into the alloy separator. Its warmth would have been nice if he wasn’t already overheating. Beads of sweat trickled over his brows and into his eyes, irritating them greatly. He would have loved to wipe it off… if his hands and forearms weren’t already covered in dirt, soot, and every trace element he could think of.

He needed a Goddamn shower.

So, that’s exactly what he did… after recycling some byproducts of the machines, ensuring the factory lines were running properly, and going over what needed to be done before tomorrow one last time. He returned to the barracks and grabbed another pair of clothes—a black t-shirt and cargo pants, as always. Surprisingly, there wasn’t anyone in the showers yet. The gray fisher twins—or any of the Malkrin, for that matter—loved the hot water with a passion, so having them all open was a bit unique. The water heater alone was probably draining a good chunk of their batteries. Thank God he was constantly increasing their power production with wind turbines and solar cells.

He set his clothing and equipment down on the bench opposite the rows of showers, a loud clunk coming from the overbearing weight of the chest rig and all the equipment strapped, tied, or nestled into it. He started to take his shirt off, mentally preparing himself for the pain of sweat-drenched cloth pulling against all his bruises and cuts, wincing with clenched teeth as some of the scabs on his back were ripped off.

“Ffffffffffffuck,” he hissed.

His aggravated sigh echoed in the tiled room, his still-stinging body forced to shamble into the shower that would most assuredly exacerbate the pain. Wound-mending medicine could come later.

The hot water was nice… for a few seconds. It passed through his hair and down his neck, though it quickly burned throughout his back and arms. It made washing himself all the more difficult, hindering the attempt to cleanse himself of every speck of earth. Time eventually dulled the short pangs, allowing him to finish and dry himself.

He reached up to where he laid his new pair of clothes atop the curtain, only for his palms to be met with warm metal. Damnit. He opened the cloth doorway, spotting his bundle of fabrics on the bench outside. Guess he forgot them after that moment of pain.

The biting aura of the outside world enveloped him, its grasp barely conquered when he finally slipped into his boxers and pants, his shirt unfortunately having to be left off until he got to the med ba—

Thunk.

Something clattered against the ground across the room. He looked over at the bath… where Tracy was standing in the glass doorway… half-dressed, like him. Her data pad had skid across the floor, settling in the middle of the room. Her gaze locked with his before briefly flicking downward to his chest several times, her face changing hue, highlighting her widened eyes.

He quickly turned away and coughed into his fist, tucking his towel under his arm to make it seem like he hadn’t been so caught off guard. “Hey, uh… Sorry. I… didn’t know you were in here.”

The technician practically squeaked, her surprised expression growing tenfold as if she wasn’t expecting him to speak at all. “Well… I was just getting dressed and, uh… uhm, you… I didn’t see anything.”

He sighed and deflated somewhat. Tracy did much the same, but failed to take her gaze off him, instead slowly going through a number of emotions after the initial shock, finally landing on whatever that devious smirk meant. Only then did it hit him: was she only wearing a bra and boxers? It wasn’t that different from her tank top, but it certainly gave him the opportunity to see her slim physique, the colony-training program and her trade specialty having given her… well, he wasn’t going to lie. She certainly had a lot going for her.

“Again, sorry,” the engineer reiterated, holding a palm up apologetically, grabbing the rest of his things and walking away toward the exit.

“Hey!” she called out. “Where are ya goin’? What about your shirt?”

He glanced back, pointing a thumb over his shoulder and toward his cut-up back. “I gotta get some wound-mending cream for this before that.”

Her eyes scanned his open skin, a bit of her smile contorting, but that didn’t take away the scheming look. “Soooo… do you want help?”

“Tracy…” he responded flatly. “These are practically open wounds.”

“Yeah, gross, but do you want help?” she insisted, a frown on her face. “Are you even able to reach the middle of your back with those delts, dude?”

“Uh…” He scratched at the back of his neck, considering her offer. It was technically possible to reach, but it was a bit difficult. “I mean, if you really want to help. There’s no obligation.”

The devious grin returned. “Of course I do. Are you just nervous about having a cute girl touch your back?”

His eyes fell into an incredulous squint, mouth slightly agape in similar confusion. “I… No?”

She put her hands on her hips in a very self-assured gesture. “Then be grateful, dork. Lemme go get the medicine. You stay put, mister.”

The woman lightly jogged past him, walking out of the showering section of the bathroom without giving him a chance to argue,…

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