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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/StarboundHFY on 2024-09-28 03:16:48+00:00.

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Boot Camp Terra

By: Guardbrosky (Writer for Starbound)

Frairen’s feet were killing her. Her back hurt, her muscles hurt, hell even her ears hurt at this point. Her planetary military command had assured her that Human basic training would be a cake walk, and all she had to do was bring back their training secrets to strengthen their own military.

At this point, she was sure she had been set up.

Frairen sighed out painfully as she came down onto the ground, not even bothering to swish her tail out of the way as she sat. Beside her Zet’rin and Himmil were also crashing to the ground, though Himmil came face down into the grass, his Human rucksack wobbling on his soaking wet back and rifle clattering on the ground.

Frairen was one of the Yorpil, a semi-bestial race of aliens that hailed from Dagmar Prime. Her people were one of snout and paws, and the Humans kept calling her a ‘furry’ no matter how much she tried to get them not to. While her fur was a dull yellow, it was not uncommon on her planet, and she didn’t understand why the Humans kept snickering.

Zet’rin was a (Car-Lake)Karlaek, a lizard-like peoples that the Humans kept comparing to cobras. The little snakes and the Karlaeken peoples shared the broad hoods around their heads and the forked tongues, despite the fact they had legs and feet much like the Humans themselves.

Himmil was a Poit, a shorter, multi-colored race of peoples from Piliin IV. Despite being a slender, athletic race that held deeply colored, pupiless eyes, they had pointed ears and shared many features of the Humans as well. This lead to much teasing of Himmil from the other Human recruits; Depending on the day, he was either referred to Private Frodo, Honeythorn, Hermey, Drizzt, or ‘Private on the shelf’, whatever that meant.

There had been more names, but it appeared the other Humans felt a need to narrow them down. This kind of thing appeared common around Humans, and they made fun of themselves to a far sharper degree, as if they were taking it easy on these otherworldly races but still making sure they were included in this odd ritual.

Frairen looked around at all the other members of her people and the races from other planets, and frowned at how hard they were all flagging; They had all been sent down here to this forsaken wretch of a planet to try and pass Human ‘boot camp’, a trial that all new Human soldiers went through to weed out the weak from the strong. It would be their job to, after the end of the training, assimilate said training into the already anemic regimes of their own worlds, as Earth was outputting some of the toughest and deadliest fighters amongst the stars. Their training even made the Derimir pale in comparison, and they were an insectoid people who had scythes on a second pair of arms.

Were, being the key word. The Humans wiped out every hive they could find, and many were steadfast in the belief that the Derimir were extinct.

“Alright, my little star blossoms.” Their Human trainer called out, his brown campaign hat not even sweaty. “I’ll give you 10 minutes, then we get back on our ruck. You have to be in tip-top shape in order to pass muster you know!”

Frairen bared her teeth at the Human in a quiet, pained snarl, as did many of her fellow Yorpil. These were called ‘Drill Sergeants’, a particularly psychotic and sadistic flavor of Human that always made Himmil shudder with fear. They wore plain olive drab uniforms and a brown hat, called a ‘campaign hat’, and it sported a bright brass emblem on it to mark their status. They seemed to never break, never tire, and were some of the meanest bastards she had ever met in her life. Even the Karlaek balked and shrank away from their visage; One Karlaek had flared his hood at a Drill Sergeant, even baring his fangs, and the Human had beat the Karlaek within an inch of their life. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the Karlaek hadn’t tried to start the fight in the first place, trying to slash at the Human, but the statement was received loud and clear; Human Drill Sergeants were not to be trifled with.

Humans in general were an extremely tough and rugged people, being called ‘Iron Children’ by some of the other planets, while others had far more dire names for them. The Derimir were recorded to call the Humans Irekimil Matnikir, or ‘Red Blooded Wraiths’ in their own tongue, remarking on the Humans tendency to engage in melee willingly and rip the limbs from Derimir fighters.

That was why Frairen, despite the fact she wanted to howl and latch onto the Human’s throat with her teeth, looked away from the Human as he stalked down the road, looking over the Human recruits who stood by patiently, letting their off-world fellows rest in the grass.

“Let me see your feet, recruit.” Came a voice over Frairen’s shoulder, and her ears pinned back with fear; It was Drill Sergeant Marshall, a female Human that was far more vicious than her male counterparts.

A male Human recruit had cat-called her one morning after PT, and she had simpered at him, even making a flirty motion towards the man as she got close to him. Frairen had thought it was some kind of odd mating ritual, watching as she was chugging water, and what she did to that Human…

Well, the medics said they could grow them back, and they had been put on ice rather quickly. It was the screams that still haunted her more than the sight of those two bloody, ragged chunks of me-

“I said show me your feet, recruit.” Drill Sergeant Marshall said again, and Frairen obeyed, taking off her modified boots and pulling the cushion sock off of her pawed feet.

Drill Sergeant Marshall came around, tutting her tongue at Frairen as she knelt down and took the foot in her hand. “Your feet are too damn soft, same with the other Yorpil. I’m sure they’ll toughen up after a few more weeks of rucking. Eh, recruit?”

Drill Sergeant Marshall looked into Frairen’s pink eyes with those icey blue ones, her short cut blonde hair framing her face like the cheeks of a helmet. She seemed so small and pretty, despite what Frairen had seen her do. Most Human females were pretty, but there was a barely restrained savagery in those eyes, and it scared her.

Frairen wondered if she would tear off her foot if she was rude, so she instead dipped her head, keeping her voice low and turning her head to expose her neck. “Yes, Drill Sergeant…”

When the Human was safely away, Frairen bent her leg to get a good look at her foot. It was raw, and blistered, and she could see a few spots that were bleeding into her sock. She had always been proud of how tough her feet were, but it appeared the highly advanced footwear back on her planet were a crutch compared to a modified combat boot.

Were they… designed to cause pain?

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” Himmil muttered into the grass, still laying face down on the ground with his legs splayed out behind him. “My feet hurt. My body hurts. Everything hurts.”

Zet’rin hissed out in agreement, chugging water as fast as his mouth would allow before coughing a little, wiping at his chin with his sleeve. “It’sss amazing they can keep up this pace. They don’t even look tired.”

“We ran three miles this morning for PT.” Frairen sighed out, putting her sock back on as she watched Drill Sergeant Marshall trudge off to harass the other offworld recruits. “Then we had chow, and now we’re out here rucking like cavemen.”

Himmil thumped his head against the grass a few times, his rucksack wobbling on his back. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Eat. Out. Here.”

“They would make usss eat those nasssty rationsss out here again.” Zet’rin said with a frown. He enjoyed the chow hall and the food the Humans made, but their combat rations left a lot to be desired.

Frairen hung her head backwards, her long furry ears splaying out along her rucksack. “Oh mother, the combat rations. Did you know the one I had yesterday was made in 2071? 2071! That’s nearly a relic at this point. It belongs in a museum!”

Frairen, Zet’rin, and Himmil continued to bemoan their situation until they were all called back up onto their feet.

“Only six more miles to go my little alien minions! Come on now, up and at ‘em! My Humans are getting cold!” Drill Sergeant Killjoy called out, spitting out a stream of chew juice into the grass.

Frairen groaned as she stood, as did Zet’rin, and they both hauled Himmil back onto his feet, the five-foot-three Poit looking like he could die standing.

As they continued to trudge down the gravel road, Frairen looked over towards the Humans; They were walking along easily, even after all the miles they had already marched, and she noticed their rucksacks were larger than her own. She grimaced, baring one of her long canines, then looked back towards the long string of struggling offworlders ahead of them. If the other Humans had been veterans, or well within season, she would have been less frustrated with the experience. However the Humans next to her were pure civilian, fresh recruits that had simply been following the mandated workout regimes of the Human governments. She breathed in deep, smelling them all; She was surrounded by bakers, mechanics, teachers, artists, farmers, hunters, professional drivers that smelled of cleaner, leather w…

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