The training camp for new recruits is in another state where a different language dominates the streets. The journey there felt like an adventure—exotic for someone like me, though probably just another trip for the richer kids. The area itself is fascinating, its culture and surroundings so different from my hometown, offering something new at every turn. But the camp? It’s the opposite. A bland, standardized military setup, identical to bases anywhere in the world. Functional, impersonal. Here, everything is done in English, though you sometimes catch recruits from the same countries slipping into their native languages during casual conversations.
It doesn’t take long to notice how hard the training is for most of the recruits—especially the wealthier ones. Cold showers, stiff beds, and the same plain breakfast every morning seem like punishment to them. But for me, it’s just life. At home, we say comfort is a luxury, not a necessity. There’s no point complaining about what you can’t change. You get on with it, and that’s what I do. While others struggle, I focus on the work. It’s what I’ve always done.
“Eric, you’re the only one in this sorry squad who understood how to approach a Meseteem! Well done, boy,” the captain shouts in my face before turning to the other trainees, who stand as still as I do.
“But the rest of you will be in serious trouble!”
She pauses. Some of us wonder what the punishment will be, but she continues,
“It’s not about cleaning toilets again, you idiots! It’s about your lives! If you don’t have a deep understanding of Meseteem anatomy, you won’t stand a chance in one-on-one combat with them!”
Anatomy, my ass. While she keeps scolding the others, I think about the anatomy papers they gave us. As a biology student, I quickly noticed that the diagrams of their skeletons and muscles are just reconstructions of what we *think* they look like. It’s a mix of Homo sapiens, felidae, and canis lupus. And yet, they managed to depict their hind paws in such a way that you can’t tell if they’re more like dogs or cats. Honestly, these diagrams show that they haven’t vivisected even one of these creatures.
And that worries me. If we’re winning, why haven’t we captured a single one, dead or alive? Are they highly toxic? Do they carry viruses our containment suits can’t block? What’s the issue?
Maybe they’re toxic because, in old medieval tales, the devil or demons appeared with the smell of sulfur. Maybe that was just another interpretation of something we couldn’t understand—something the Meseteem might have caused. Maybe.
But it’s all speculation. The truth is, we have no idea. And the longer I train in this camp, the more I worry that combat against them won’t be as easy as I once believed.
So far, humans have only attacked the Meseteem homeworld with atomic weapons because every other strategy is too difficult. We accept that we’re contaminating their planet so that neither they nor we can live on it for the next 2,000 years. But that doesn’t matter. For us, complete extinction of the Meses is the only way to secure our planet against their invasion.
Throughout human history, the Meses have rarely made an appearance, their interactions limited to strange, mind-bending encounters that inspired old tales about demons. But they never attempted a full-scale invasion. The reason is straightforward: they had no immunity to our terrestrial viruses. Lacking the necessary defenses, their ventures to Earth were limited to a few reckless individuals. It’s likely that some of them turned ill shortly after contact, a natural barrier that kept their presence minimal for centuries.
But now, they’re close to becoming fully immune. Once they manage that, they will invade Earth. And that’s why we need to act quickly, no matter what.
So, I’m trying to be the best at fighting. It’s my only chance of making it back to Mom safely. Week after week, I train hard under the captain’s strict instructions. She’s tough on us—because she’s trying to help us survive.
Occasionally, in my limited free time, I call Mom. It’s not fun. I can’t share anything about the training, so I stick to the made-up stories about my "lab" work. It feels strained, but hearing her voice, steady and slightly reassured, gives me a small sense of comfort. It reminds me why I’m here—why I’m pushing through all of this. I’m doing it for a better future, for both of us, for our little family.
##
After a month of training, our preparation time is almost over, and my roommates and I get the last Saturday off to visit the local pubs. Kaz, my female colleague who sleeps in the bunk below me, and William, the guy next to us, join me at a small Irish-style tavern, packed with wooden furniture, nostalgic decorations, and gossiping guests holding onto their Irish beer, whiskey, or whatever else they’re drinking. Kaz orders a tequila, ignoring the Irish vibe completely, William gets a dark malty beer, and I opt for a blonde ale with a slightly rusty, hand-brewed flavor. We toast and relax in our chairs. It’s our last night on our home planet before we head to the distant world that houses those demon-like creatures—the Nemesis of our free world.
The evening wears on, Kaz switches to beer, and the alcohol starts clouding our minds. That’s when William gets the wild idea of a threesome. “Who knows?” he says, “maybe it’s our last chance to have sex.”
I laugh loudly, but Kaz narrows her eyes slyly and says,
“Why not?”
She’s got a point. We’ve got nothing to lose, and even if we survive the ambush, it’ll be another adventurous memory. So, since we all like the idea, the night continues in a hotel room, as suggested.
That night turns out as good as it can get. I’ve had sex before, even had a few short-term relationships, but nothing ever lasted. Why? Well, I don’t have the money to go to pubs all the time. These days, guys aren’t expected to buy girls drinks all the time, but my problem is, I can’t even afford to buy myself a drink most of the time. Sure, there’s always the option of going on a picnic or taking a walk, but the trouble is, I don’t fit in with people in my neighborhood. I talk about books, science, and how little money I have at the end of the week. Not exactly thrilling conversation. In the end, being poor and boring isn’t exactly a hot combination.
With the training camp, though, my status has shifted slightly. Now, I’m the guy who fights well and knows where and how to kick a Meses’ ass—at least, in theory—and that somehow makes me more attractive. Still, with Kaz and William, I’m glad it’s just a casual threesome on our last night before departure. No commitments, just fun among friends. And that’s exactly what I needed.
##
The next morning, we set out for the nearest major military spaceport, a full day’s journey from our training camp. Our transport is a utilitarian train, part of a railway system built specifically for the military, shuttling recruits and equipment to various stations. The ride is uneventful, the train cutting through an uninspiring, flat landscape that stretches endlessly under a pale, washed-out sky.
By mid-afternoon, we reach the port—a sprawling, imposing facility that bristles with activity. Towering hangars and maintenance bays surround the station’s core, and as the train slows, we catch glimpses of combat spaceships. I count at least twenty, their metallic hulls gleaming under harsh floodlights. Not all are designed to carry passengers; some are colossal bombers, hulking machines likely destined to turn the Meseteem world into a barren wasteland.
The scale of the base is overwhelming, and a deep unease knots in my stomach. It feels like stepping into a living nightmare, one where there’s no relief, no waking up. This isn’t a bad dream—it’s the cold, unflinching reality we’re all wide awake in. And there’s no way out of it.
Preparations for the next day’s departure are like an endless maze, expertly managed by several logistics officers. We’re assigned to our vessel and given instructions on how to use everything. After hours of exhausting briefings, we finally take our places, and the launch begins. I always imagined it would be more spectacular, more exciting, but when we take off, I feel nothing. We’re just flying toward an uncertain future, and all I can think about is how it’s the first of the month, the day when my salary is automatically transferred to Mom’s account. Not that she’ll spend it, but I hope it gives her some comfort, knowing that we’re on solid financial ground. That’s what matters—being safe.
The journey to the other solar system is relatively quick compared to ancient space travel. It only takes us a month to cover 4.3 light-years, thanks to the Riess-Borise space-bending effect, which was discovered long after the first theories about time, space, and mass emerged. But with this advancement came new worries. The better we got at covering vast distances, the more aware we became of the Meses’ existence. Maybe we discovered this just in time, before they could attack us in larger numbers.
The month on the spaceship isn’t worth mentioning. Sure, you could tell a story about how a bunch of soldiers survive crammed in a tin can, but I don’t think it’d warm anyone’s heart. Everything is cramped and claustrophobic. Cabin fever sets in quickly, and some people get really aggressive. Me? I start feeling sick and get lost in weird fantasies. When that happens, I’m at least smart enough to stay quiet and still, wait for it to pass after a few days, and then get back to my routine. It works. Well, for me, at least.
On the final day of our tin-can journey, the atmosphere shifts from restrained boredom to nervous anticipation. Soon enough, we receive our first mission brief: we’re to attack a single Meseteem ship transporting Meses from their moon’s mines to their homeworld. It’s supposed to be a good chance to capture some samples. As the briefings continue, we learn that some of the Meses on the ship might be sick, making them easier targets to capture alive.
“Oh, great—Meses with viruses,” I mutter under my breath during the briefing.
My companions subtly nod in agreement. It may sound like an easy mission, but it could turn out to be tricky.
We return to our sleeping pods and get geared up for the attack on the Meseteem ship. Our job as soldiers is to infiltrate the enemy vessel through a transfer tunnel once it’s been hijacked. Step by step, we proceed, preparing ourselves until we’re ready in the transfer compartments to be pushed through the connecting tube that was forced onto the Meseteem ship. The rumbling and tiny jolts give us a sense of the battle happening in space as we squeeze through the breach. Electric sparks flash randomly, the effects of the Meses’ weapons against the first wave of soldiers invading their ship.
Finally, it’s my turn. Cold sweat prickles my skin as I crawl through the tunnel, being stuffed in my thick spacesuit. Will they kill me the moment I step inside their ship? I stumble through the final opening, land on something soft beneath me, and realize that I’m crawling over the dead bodies of my comrades.
The room is empty of enemies—no Meses in sight. I hear the sounds of battle coming from a nearby corridor. Steadying myself and securing my footing, I remove my visor and breathe in the air of the ship. Viruses, germs, toxic fumes—nobody cares. Our oxygen supply won’t last long anyway, so there’s no time to worry. I wait for two more soldiers to come through the hole. We need to regroup before advancing as a team.
Once we’re a group of three, we start moving forward, step by step, using the hand signals we were trained to use, securing each other’s backs. Not bad. We’ve learned something. We’re doing it. Slowly.
The corridor is well-lit, with a surprisingly welcoming atmosphere—warm lighting and bright, inviting surfaces. The friendly aesthetic feels unsettling, considering the deadly situation we’re in. The hallway bends sharply to the right, so we can’t see what’s around the corner. One of the male soldiers signals that he and I should take the lead and secure the turn.
Suddenly, we hear a shuffling sound coming from the blind spot. Flashes flicker, and the heavy thudding of a large Meses approaching echoes down the corridor. My comrade’s face twists in terror, then quickly turns into a determined snarl.
“Meses incoming! Get ready, we need to attack immediately!”
With that, he leaps forward, positioning himself in the corridor to face the creature and shoot. I try to shout, “Stop! Don’t!” but it’s too late. The words catch in my throat, and I don’t want to give away our position. Idiot! He revealed himself too soon! That’s not how you fight a Meses!
In the next instant, I watch in horror as his head is severed from his body by a massive kick from the Meses’ paw. My other companion jumps forward to shoot the creature, but she, too, attacks too soon. She’s shot dead by the Meses, just like that.
I remain hidden, undetected, crouching behind a small edge in the corridor. Surprise is our only advantage against a Meses, and I know that. That’s exactly what I’m preparing for.
The Meses steps on my fallen comrade’s body, making sure she’s dead. I see its muscular back, covered in tight, strong gear, with impressive hair resting on its shoulders. My breath catches, and I tense, ready to shoot.
Everything happens fast, but my mind breaks it down into slow-motion fragments.
Me, ready to fire. The Meses realizing its mistake. It turns its face toward me—looking directly at me. Such a look! A human look! It’s humanoid, yes, but this one is more than just human. It’s fully, utterly human! Staring at me with a mix of surprise, confusion, and interest!
I freeze. That moment of hesitation costs me nanoseconds. How could I be so stupid? Move, move, man! But I can’t. The face looking back at me is that of a young, athletic woman. She sees my shock and knows I’m too stunned to pull the trigger. Her expression changes suddenly, and she strikes me with her weapon.
Everything goes black. My last thought is:
“Dead because dumb.”