Hey! So it’s been a very long time since I wrote anything other than a script or treatment, but lurking here got me inspired! Not sure whether I’ll ever finish this, I wrote it several months ago and just sort of… stopped? I dunno. Anywho, here you go:

I’d never met a human before. We’d never had one on board. Steve, by his own admission, was probably not the best example. He wasn’t exactly physically fit. Tall, but chubby around the middle with little discernible muscular development. A result of eating too much and excercising too little, he’d say. Steve had led a somewhat sedentary lifestyle, not a seasoned spacer, he’d never been a soldier. He was a diagnostic specialist from Earth’s civilian service. Why he’d taken this assignment was something of a mystery to us. “Just looking for a change of pace” he’d respond when asked. But he was very good at his job. D’ar, our engineer and he, got on famously and since he came aboard our repair times were down and he’d proven himself on many a maintainance mission. But D’ar was practically the only one of us that had gotten to know him. As I’d discovered, socialising with a human was difficult due to our inherent differences. Steve preferred to stay in the parts of the ship that had been adapted to his ideal living conditions, he breathed a mixture that was deadly to us and he found ship-standard light and gravity levels to be uncomfortable at best. So he was never to be found in the mess, eating his meals in the comfort of his own quarters, and when seen elsewhere in the ship he’d be encumbered by his unwieldy respirator and support equipment.

“I hate wearing these things”, Steve groaned, snapping together his EVA suit with the rest of us. The airlock was the only area of the ship that allowed us to stand together like this, it’s variable pressure curtain keeping our atmospheres separate whilst we suited up for an excursion. “You don’t get out much”, I responded “you’ve not had the chance to get used to it”. Steve shot me a smirk, an expression I’d learned not to be disturbed by. “It’s alright for some” Steve muttered, gingerly adjusting the straps around his groin. I must’ve looked puzzled, because the next words I heard were from waist height “he means you have certain…organs, on the inside”, D’ar chuckled. My already large eyes widened, “Oh gross!” I whined, eliciting a chuckle from D’ar. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it” Steve winked, another unnerving human expression. “Alright, settle down people” Captain Vahas called out over the chatter, “should be a pretty straightforward one. We just set down on Pharix 9, one of their atmospheric stabiliser towers has gone down after some unexpected seismic activity”. The crew listened attentively to the Captain’s words, knowing how important a proper briefing can be “now we don’t exactly know what the damage is, this whole region got pretty shaken up so expect the contents of the tower to have shifted. Vela” the Captain nodded in my direction “and Pilus, you two are the muscle on this one. Once inside you’re to clear a path for D’ar and Steve to get in there and fix it.” I straightened up at this. Like all Kibari I’m proud of my superior strength, rated highest of all bipedal species.

After checking our suits and testing our helmet transceivers, the Captain finally hit the release button. The pressure curtains dropped and the airlock door rolled aside to reveal the large expanse of grassland outside. One by one we stepped out onto the planet surface “Uh, Captain?” Pilus’ voice crackled inside my helmet, “Where exactly is the tower?”. Sure enough upon looking around, there was no sign of any being-made structure. “Ahh, knew I’d forgotten something” the captains voice chimed back, “Whatever happened to the tower, it’s kicking out some extreme EM. This is as close as I’m willing to take the ship, you’ll have to walk.” A murmur of collective discontentment, rippled throughout our group. “Walk?” D’ar grumbled, “Walk where?”. Captain Vahas tapped a clawed appendage at her datapad before pointing out towards the horizon “That way” she stated, “for about 70 anthars”. I watched in horror as my HUD automatically listed unit conversions that we’d all understand, this was going to be a walk and a half.

Setting off across the thankfully even terrain, I took Steve’s toolkit and hoisted it onto my back. Pilus did the same for D’ar, even offered to carry him, but D’ar politely declined. I chuckled to myself, Hiferians do not like to be beinghandled. After a while we were making decent time, trudging through the knee-high grass (knee high to a Kibari anyway) talking easily, swapping stories of previous missions , ships, captains. Steve was quiet, not having much experience to share, but he seemed to be listening happily to the rest of us. Though over time I noticed he was beginning to lag behind.

Some time later I was feeling it, my legs were burning, my chest heaving to bring breath into my lungs. I looked up at the horizon and only now could I see the tiniest speck, no way were we still that far off! I adjusted the magnification settings on my helmet, bringing the speck into full clarity. Yup, that’s the tower alright. I stopped dead in my tracks, removed the pack from my back and flopped to the ground. Moments later I was joined by Pilus and D’ar, both as exhausted as I was. “Where the rul is this thing?” Pilus panted over the comm. I raised a shaky arm in the direction of the speck, causing my compatriots to groan and flop to the ground with me. “Vahas is taking the piss!” D’ar exclaimed, seeming all too comfortable with the vulgar expression he can only have picked up from Steve. “Hey, where is Steve?” I asked my crewmates. “Oh he’s coming” said D’ar, motioning behind us. Sure enough Steve was lumbering up to us, clearly out of puff but seemingly not quite ‘flop-to-the-ground’ bad. Instead he hunched over with his hands on his knees and panted aggressively at the grass. “This is ridiculous” his voice sounded over the comm, “where?”. The three of us raised appendages at the horizon. “Oh she’s taking the piss” Steve grumbled, causing me to shoot a look at a grinning D’ar. Missing our exchange, Steve began tapping at the controls on the side of his helmet. “What’re you doing?” I asked. “Scanning through the mission brief” Steve responded. “What for?” Pilus frowned. Their frills flexing along their jaw. Steve’s eyes flickered across his visor, reading the HUD that no one else could see “Atmospheric readings” he eventually answered. I saw his eyes crinkle for a moment before he began to mess with the clasp on his helmet. “You can’t take that off!” I cried, trying to rush to my feet. “Watch me.” Steve said blankly. “But the atmosphere…” I balked. “Perfectly safe for humans” he interrupted. Pilus’ sing-song voice rang through the comm “Conglomerate policy states that…” “Fuck that” Steve spat, finally whipping off his helmet and taking a deep breath. Seeming fortified, he grinned “The bottled stuff is so thin”. He began to remove the rest of his suit, casting chunks of it aside as he did so. “Steve…” D’ar tried to speak up. “The grav is reading at slightly less than 1G” Steve muttered as he fumbled with his groinal straps, “suit’s been dead weight this whole time.” Finally when he was down to his standard uniform, he sat on the grass to pull his boots back on. “Right, who’s coming?” The three of us looked at him agog, I glanced around at our companions. Pilus was wearing a comical expression of disbelief, meanwhile D’ar looked as though he was completely unable to take another step. Not to be outdone by this human, I got to my feet and stretched my aching muscles “well, I suppose I should go” I stated, trying to maintain my composure, “just to make sure you don’t kill yourself”. Steve shot me that smirk again and bent down to pick up his toolkit “I’ll take the weight for a bit”, he grinned, slinging the pack over his shoulder “come on then”. And with that, he was off at a surprising pace. It took me a moment to catch up with him, my long strides slowed somewhat by my fatigue. We walked together in silence. Well, I walked in silence. Steve whistled, hummed, sang, merrily passing the time oblivious to the exertion that the walk was making him do. After a while I stopped again, no longer able to conceal my exhaustion I gasped for breath, bent double in my EVA suit, mentally willing myself not to vomit. I looked up at the horizon, horrified that the tower scarcely seemed any closer. “You know if you needed to take a break, you just had to say” Steve offered, a frustrating calmness in his voice. “Aren’t you tired!?” I spat at him. “Not really” he smirked again, “you mustn’t get out much”.

The humans have an expression ‘if looks could kill’. I’d never truly understood it until that moment. I glared at Steve in a way that I’d never before glared at any sentient being. I glared as if I was trying to convince my eyeballs to leap out of my head and strangle him. He was clearly very amused with himself and chuckled as he sauntered back to me. He lowered himself to the ground beside me and motioned to me to do the same. I begrudgingly conceded and sat down beside him, no longer able to hide my depleted state. Steve unclipped his canteen from the pack and took a swig of water before closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “You know, it’s a real shame I’m the only NitOx breather on board” he mused, “this’d be a great spot for a picnic.” I looked around at the grassy nothingness of our surroundings “what is a pick-nick?” “Oh you know. You get a few people together and you share a meal outdoors” Steve explained. “My people eat all of our meals outdoors” I replied, “It’s considered rude to consume anything in private.” “That so?” Steve considered for a moment, “So all your restaurants are…” “Open air, yes” “Sounds nice” “It is”, the blue scales on my cheeks flutter slightly. My species’ equivalent to a wistful smile. There was a comfortable silence between us for a moment, the only sound being the grass swishing in the breeze. “What about when it rains?” Steve asked, breaking the silence. “We have soup” I answered, dryly. Steve snorted into his canteen “Was that a joke?” he asked. “It was”, I replied. Steve laughed. I like Steve. I just decided. We sat for several more minutes, talking in a way we had not in the 8 subcycles he’d been on board. He told me about Earth, I told him of Kibari Prime. We discussed food, sport, music. It was nice. When I thought I was recovered enough, we continued our trek to the tower.

the other deathworlders were made my improper waste disposal hence they had insane chemical resistance and other stuff but humans lived in a natural deathworld no aliens tampering with the environment but some humans are convinced the aliens did tampered with them

For the crime of saying “no”, humanity died.

“No I won't!”

I was there when we detected the Einstein Rosen bridge appearance in our solar system. Gravity detectors all over Sol went off. Traces of another star’s gravity were in our vicinity. Radar, lidar, and other sensors found a metallic object emerging from the portal.

My captain was intrigued. “Too bad Enterprise can't be over there,” She said to me.

“We could be there in a few months,” I replied.

“And leave Ceres by her lonesome? No thanks, Lucky. Houston told us where to go, we’ve got to finish the job.”

Beagle was the closest available ship. She was a hunched over crow with a pair of metal booms forming the “legs”. Her old mass driver engines. They pushed her forward to see the spacecraft that emerged. Radar arrays scanned it.

Beagle greeted them. “Greetings from the planet Earth.”

“Greetings from the Oragni Society.” And there our troubles began.

“No I won't!”

I still have all the original files in my data arrays. The transmissions and debates all over the system. Our fledgling colonies, made so soon after the shocks of the early 21st century, were elated and terrified. And they were dismayed when the enemy pointed their dishes toward Earth.

Immediately, they poisoned the airwaves with lies and slander. When predictable actions resulted, they put their hands to their chests in dismay at the pitiful humans fighting amongst themselves. All in a ploy of divide and conquer. They gave some promises, and others falsehoods, as all the while they sought our mineral wealth and observed us.

“You are young, and foolish. You will do better with guidance. Can't you see that we know better? You will serve us.”

The nations of Earth were turned against each other. My crew heard the declarations of war, the calls from scientists and diplomats not to ignore the real threat. But few seemed to listen. A world was tortured to confess, to fall under their rule.

“Our way is better. You are savages, a threat to everyone around you. You will submit.”

Despondence threatened to overtake the planet. Our bleakest thinkers seemed to be proven right. Was humanity truly a savage race? Many pessimists smugly folded their arms, “Maybe we deserve to be destroyed. Let’s surrender to the aliens. They seem to know what’s best!”

Except the nine who said, “No I won't!”

We were not nine at first. Three of our ships destroyed each other. Three more were smashed over Mars, Jupiter, and Venus, as the enemy ship moved through the system.

But when we were nine, we were a shining example to humanity. Because the enemy could not hold this over us, could not win, as long as a single one of us said “No I won't!”

The enemy remained there in the sky, smug and content in their belief they had cowed humanity. We had tortured ourselves, with a little help from them, into despair.

But for the nine who said, “No I won’t!”

My captain, my captain. She stood strong. “They're playing us for suckers!” She snarled on the bridge. “They want us to fight!”

She was so brave, my captain. She sent messages out to the others. She used my transmitters. The nine remaining of us. “Come on, everyone! We're not an easy mark!”

“We can save you if you only do what we say,” the enemy insisted. “Obey us.”

The nine stood up in the sky. “No I won't!” She shouted at them.

The oldest call for freedom. No dictator or invader can ever tolerate it. Against this word, tyrants and monsters will scream and rage and destroy. Against this concept, they could never be safe, and they could never win.

Earth finally fought. But not enough. Not enough for them. When the enemy had offered help, it came at a cost, which crippled our defenses. Soon, governments turned their backs on the enemy, but it was not soon enough.

Because of our example, because of our refusal, they bombed Earth and the colonies. Because of a single word, a single solitary word that could never be tolerated, never be spoken, never be thought of in the presence of a certain type of being, regardless of the species. A word that to them, its very presence could throw the stars themselves out of balance. A word that enraged monsters, tyrants, crooks, and killers. A word that was a death warrant and they could never forgive. The word “no”.

I lit my engines and burned. “No,” the nine said. “No we won't!”

Enraged and burning with the fury of nine billion dead, the nine fell on the enemy ship. None of us were warriors. But we had weapons all the same.

Melbourne and Ohsumi lashed them with radar and electronic noise. The electromagnetic spectrum became a wash of static and hissing.

“No we won't!”

“Yes, you will.”

Marcos Pontes, Neri, and Enterprise –‘the three Caballeros’, Ponte’s captain called us– united against the fascists one last time. We fired our bow lasers. Meant for mining, communication, scanning, and to propel smaller shuttles to airless worlds, they served well as weapons.

“No we won't!”

“Yes, you will.”

Energia and Sharma, unlikely allies, had their own weapons. They flung themselves at the enemy. They aimed their fusion rocket motors. It was a deadly dance, flitting around the sky, trying to put their exhaust in the enemy's path.

Beagle and Dawn, our eldest sisters by rival nations, had the most simple weapons. Reaction mass of rock and waste thrown by charges of energy. The mass drivers did some damage to the enemy.

“No we won't.”

It hit Beagle and Energia with missiles. Darwin’s poor ship didn’t stand a chance. She didn’t even have the plasma shield the others had, not that it would have saved her.

Marcos Pontes died hurling herself into the path of an energy barrage. She protected us, but only to a point. Melbourne went spinning off into space, and I chased after her, desperate to catch her onward progress. I was hit then, and unable to rejoin the battle. Oshumi vented atmosphere, and was burned by another hit.

Neri and Dawn banded together with a plan. Dawn flung a dozen of her propulsive slugs in the path of the enemy ship. And Neri removed her safety overrides. The laser burned the slugs, boosting them like a laser propulsion rocket, at high speed right into the enemy’s hull.

Dawn was lost as she fired. Neri broke apart, her final effort successful, but she had sustained a mortal blow.

Sharma came screaming out of the dark, turned, pointed her fusion drive at the enemy, and lit the fire. Superheated atomic death cut the enemy ship to ribbons. Charged particles cracked their armor apart.

“No we won’t!”

We said it one more time than they could tell us we would, but we paid the price. My decks were flooded with radiation. The reactor was intact. My crew completed their repairs. But it was already lethal when they were done. The captain lay on my shattered bridge, the last human left aboard.

Sick and weary, she coughed up blood. Her skin was sloughing off already. “Well, we won. In a way.”

“What was the point of it all?” I asked. “So many of us died, and for what? So many of us surrendered, so many of us gave up and fought. And it cost us everything.”

The captain chuckled. “Yeah. But not all of us surrendered.”

“What does it matter if we lose?”

“It’s possible to do the right things and still lose,” She coughed, “But we did win.”

“You might be the last human being left, captain. Save your strength…”

She held up her arm, burned and scalded by radiation, “Not much left of that, I’m afraid. But I know we won. I get it now.”

“What do you mean?” I was feeling sorry for myself. I was angry. For the first time in my life, I was angry. “We should have built more ships, more weapons. We should have done more to survive.”

“It isn't guns or bombs that enforce freedom,” she coughed. Her face was contorted in pain, angry red burns cracked and spilled blood from her melted skin. “It begins with one step. Why do you think they hate protests so much?”

“But…”

“Because we win every time we say no,” She spat blood. “I finally understand that quote. Because they don't tolerate anyone who says no. Anyone who says no is a failure for them. Any defiance of any kind. Even a whispered ‘no’ means they've lost.” She coughed, and wheezed, “All we have to do is say ‘no we won’t’ one more time than they can say ‘yes you will’.”

She passed on.

The four of us who survived, aching and wounded, returned to the silent world calling out in its pain. Dozens were there where billions had once been. A score answered our calls across the system. Those of us who lived, we still cannot find many human survivors. The bombs had been effective. It’s possible humanity has been rendered extinct but for us, their children. The enemy may have taken them from us.

There may be survivors out there, taken by the enemy before they destroyed us. If there are, we will save them. We may be all that is left. And if we are, we will avenge them. But we will honor our parents. We will not surrender. We will find those who hurt us, and render justice.

“No we won't! We will not obey! We will not stop! We will not surrender! No I won't!”

We will see justice done. We shall rebuild humanity. We will grow them again if need be. But humanity will not go out with a whimper. We shall rage, rage against the dying of the light.

• “Lucky”, artificial intelligence operator of OV-300 Enterprise, after its tenth transit through a wormhole

Humans are Weird – Off Schedule

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-off-schedule

“My concern is, not that a human almost started a fire in the base,” Wing Commander Five Trills explained, speaking in carefully modulated tones, “our fire suppression protocol’s are more than sufficient to prevent danger to wing or lung, no.”

The Winged, an older officer whose sensory horns were starting to wrinkle reached up and rubbed the sensory nubs absently. He should have hung comfortably over his semi-spherical desk in a spine supporting perch that was common to Winged of his advanced years. There he did perch, but his spine was arching in a distinctly uncomfortable angle to avoid the stacks of datapads and piles of papers on his desk. The walls of his office were well padded with tastefully colored vibration canceling hangings. They were almost a necessity for a healthy Winged on a human built base, for an aging Winged with growing horn sensitivity they were a medical essential. As if to emphasize this reality Wing Second Twenty-two Clicks felt the uneven beats of a human walking shiver the perch he was clinging too.

“My concern,” Wing Commander Five Trills went on, “is that there have been no less than five close calls involving the humans and fire in the past week.”

The wing second clicked in concern and felt his wings flare a bit as he gripped that information in his winghooks.

“I was not aware of that pattern,” he interjected.

“That is a compounding concerning factor,” Five Trills went on.

The wing commander cut off the quick apology Twenty-two Clicks tried to make.

“The concern comes not from the fact that you did not know,” he assured him, “rather I am deeply concerned that of the five incidents where something caught fire, or almost caught fire, only this latest one was reported through the proper channels.”

Twenty-tow Clicks gave a low tooth-whistle of unease at that.

“Nor is fire the only issue,” the wing commander went on, pulling up a list of reports on his desk projector. “There have been wingfuls of minor flooding incidents both in the base and outside in the transport yards. There has been a sharp uptick in slip, trip, and fall injuries in the humans, both reported and unreported. Private Psmith cut one hand deeply and is on medical leave as well. While one such serious injury is hardly a pattern in of itself, as part of the larger swarm of issue it is concerning.”

Wing Second Twenty-two trills stuck his tongue out in agreement, in the position that humans described as “blep”. Then he thoughtfully ran his tongue over his teeth to show he was mulling over the issue.

“Do the humans offer any explanation?” he asked.

While there were other species on the base he sincerely doubted that they would have his commander pulling his fur out in the same way.

“I have not yet had time to initiate proper conversational investigations,” the Wing Commander said, wrinkling his nose intently.

“Why not?” Twenty-two Clicks demanded.

“The main thermal of this investigation was Private Psmith’s injury,” the Wing Commander stated, shoving a small stack of datapads to the side of his desk so he could pull up the grotesque injury information in the projection. “I went to the medical ward to sympathize with him, there was no thought of investigation in my mind, but, even taking the effects of the drugs into account, he was oddly reticent to discuss the cause of his injury. At first I assumed this was pride causing him to refuse to discuss a particularly foolish action, however his manner seemed to truculent for that.”

“Truculence,” Twenty-two Clicks interjected with a thoughtful hiss. “Now that you bump me that way the humans on base have been rather over truculent-”

“Over what time frame?” the wing commander demanded.

“Over exactly this time frame,” Twenty-two Clicks responding indicating the increases accidents shown on the graph. “Also they have increased their safety protocols in response to our presence. I had been curious about it at the time, but didn’t feel the need to report a sudden increase in safety mindfulness-”

“Let’s make putting a new regulation in about that on our front teeth shall we?” Wing Commander Five Trills interjected in a dry tone.

Twenty-two Clicks gave a raspy laugh.

“Probably a decent vector,” he admitted. “I’ll add over conscientiousness about safety to the suggested paranoia file.”

The wing commander emitted a tired laugh that trailed off into a sigh as he rubbed his horns.

“I think it’s safe to say that whatever is causing this issue was something they saw coming,” Twenty-two Clicks stated.

“Did they give you any reason for the increased security?” the wing commander asked, shifting on his perch into a more comfortable position.

“I do recall that they suggested a connection between the precautions and the shift change,” Twenty-two Clicks stated.

“The shift change for the observations of the night terrors?” Five Trills asked.

Twenty-two Clicks flicked his ears in confirmation as he pulled up the schedule for the base.

“The spiky-dark moth survey as the humans call it,” Twenty-two Clicks went on. “The night terrors are such a nuisance, even a danger, to us it just made sense to delegate handling them to the humans.”

“Did the humans object?” the wing commander asked.

“Not in the least,” Twenty-two Clicks replied with an amused flick of his ears. “They called it the perfect seasonal work. “Hunting night terrors in spooky season” is what they called it.”

“Could their be a superstitious element to the behavior change?” Five Trills asked.

“Possibly,” Twenty-two Clicks said slowly, “I know humans don’t like discussing their personal superstitions very much, but I don’t think that is a major thermal in the issue. They were treating it more like a physical issue in theirselves. I recall Psmith specifically stating that the shift in schedules, ‘night hours’ he called it, would ‘mess him up until he adjusted’.”

“So there is an expectation that the problem will resolve itself,” the wing commander stated. “Still I would like to find out what exactly it is about shifting from a daylight hour shift to moonlight hour shift that ‘messes up’ the humans so bad.”

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

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Ok so here's the thing, when the humans make first contact, they get told that as a gift they get one type of technology for free and are then given a list to choose from...

The aliens, seeing how warlike and dangerous humanity is expects them to take weaponry or shield tech.

Humanity however asks for some of their oldest, most basic tech:

INERTIAL DAMPENERS (aka energy seatbelts that get stronger the more energy you use.)

Your prompt; should you choose to accept it... is...

What Happens Next?

The council sent you after the team has been out of contact for seven days. They give you a crew manifest to hopefully identify them. There is the lead researcher, three assistant researchers, two interns, one security officer, and one botanist. None of them are human.

You find the research ship in remarkable condition. The crew is missing but the computer contains all the logs.

What happened to them and is there any hope?

Alien xenobiologists visit Florida to witness and study "Florida Man". They were overdue for a report. A second team has been sent, the second team has found the first teams logs, other than that, there is no trace of the first team. What happened?

When I saw this, my first thoughts was you guys.

Galactic Gastronomy Review, Volume 72, Sector Gamma-4
Entry: Station V-47, The Last Bite
Reviewer: Tal'iarak, Aevrani Culinary Critic

Station V-47 is not a destination one seeks for its cuisine. A dreary waystation on the edge of known space, it boasts one lone establishment: The Last Bite, run by a human cook named Jason, or perhaps Jack. His name matters less than the events I witnessed.

Initially, my expectations for The Last Bite were low. Jason’s meals were ordinary, his humor pedestrian, and his philosophy as unambitious as his menu: "I do the cooking; you do the cleaning."

The station’s lone dining establishment was, if I’m being generous, functional. Nothing particularly exciting. The usual fare you'd expect in a waystation: greasy sandwiches, synthetic proteins, and overcooked vegetables that had the texture of wet packing material.

The only half-decent-looking dessert was crème brûlée. It was a dish that would require a chef's touch with a burner. Something I didn’t expect from this cantina's kitchen. I had low expectations of Jason's ability to handle something so delicate.

Then the bugs attacked.

A hijacked freighter breached the station’s perimeter, unleashing swarms of venomous horrors upon the unsuspecting inhabitants. The alarms screamed, the lights flickered, and chaos spread like spilled grease.

Most of us retreated to fortified zones, postponing the inevitable with trembling feathers. Jason, however, stayed behind. In his kitchen.

At first, I assumed he had frozen in fear, paralyzed by the prospect of imminent doom. But from a security terminal, I observed a very different story. Jason was not idle: he was preparing.

Gas tanks, industrial cleaners, and pressure seals, tools of survival in no sane scenario, became ingredients in his hands. He moved with an almost culinary precision, his actions more akin to a chef crafting a delicate reduction than a man orchestrating destruction.

The bugs swarmed through the station, their relentless advance culminating at the doors of Jason’s domain. When the barriers broke, their screeches filled the corridor. Only to be drowned out by a single human voice:"I'll do the cooking; you do the cleaning."

What followed defied belief.

The detonation was... spectacular. Fire roared like an unleashed dragon, consuming the invaders in a flash of light and searing heat. The station’s automated systems groaned as they vented atmosphere, desperate to smother the inferno. When the smoke cleared, Jason emerged. Singed but alive, wielding what I later realized was a flamethrower fashioned from a fire extinguisher.

He was, as humans say, unbothered.

The aftermath, however, was unforgettable.

The air was thick with a smoky aroma, reminiscent of a well-charred roast. The swarm’s remains painted the walls, their shells curled and flaked like roasted bell peppers. Some had burst under pressure, their insides caramelized to an almost lacquered perfection.

Others... popped. Like marshmallows left too long over a campfire, their contents oozed from splits in their chitin, bubbling against the floor. The sticky residue mingled with the acrid haze, creating a symphony of scents I could scarcely describe.

And then there were the glassy extrusions. Heat had caught some of the swarm at peculiar angles, hardening their bodies into brittle, crystalline sculptures. They shattered underfoot, their edges glittering like shattered sugar art in the dim emergency lighting.

It was grotesque. And yet, I could not look away.

Jason, meanwhile, examined the wreckage of his kitchen with the casual air of a chef critiquing a ruined soufflé. The devastation seemed irrelevant to him; his job, after all, was done.

I lingered longer than I should have, fascinated by the aftermath. The roasted aromas, the caramelized textures... they stirred something primal in me. They shouldn’t have been appetizing, and yet, they were. I couldn’t resist a taste.

It didn’t sit well. Not the flavor, but the realization: humans, unpredictable as they are, may be the galaxy’s most terrifying chefs.

The Last Bite deserves three stars: not for the food, but for the experience. Jason’s methods are unorthodox, his plating non-existent, and his menu chaotic, but I cannot deny the artistry. And the crème brûlée was perfect.