Operation Parasite

An alarm blasted from the speaker installed in the ceiling, and Oort woke with a fright.

“OFFICER OORT,” the speaker said, “YOUR IMMEDIATE PRESENCE IS REQUIRED IN THE CAPTAIN’S OFFICE,”

Oort groaned. The window shade automatically opened, flooding Oort’s cabin with sunlight. The entirety of Oort’s species, the Palfragorians, lived in an enormous fleet of multipurpose spacecrafts, all of which were suspended in a low level orbit 400 000 feet above Palfragore, their home planet. The surface of the planet had been shrouded in thick yellow clouds for several years, with the only visible activity being brilliant flashes of purple lightning, some of which were visible from the fleet. This climate was a result of a dwindling magnetosphere. Palfragore, once lush with forests, oceans and life, was now a toxic drop, hanging pointlessly in space.

     The Palfragorians had been in orbit above the planet for so long that a new generation, one who had never stepped foot on their home, had been born. Every few weeks there were rumours of a report being published that would detail when they could return to the planet’s surface, but so far none had emerged.

     Oort rubbed a crusty discharge from his third eye with a tentacle.

     “OFFICER OORT,” the speaker barked again, “YOUR IMMEDIATE PRESENCE IS REQUIRED IN THE CAPTAIN’S OFFICE,”

     Oort threw off his covers, quickly washed the gas vents on his back, dressed himself and exited his cabin.

 

     “Officer Oort is it?” the captain asked.

     Oort replied: “Yes sir,”

     “And you’re rather highly decorated,” the captain said, “For an officer, at least,”

     “Yes sir,”

     “Although not recently,”

     Oort paused. Why were they still talking about it? “No, not recently,”

     “General Gappoag suspended you from duty due to an incident between you and his daughter,” the captain said.

     “Yes,” Oort replied, “I was suspended, punished, and subsequent psychological evaluation signified that my actions were a result of separation from Palfragore. A report was filed, sir,”

     “I know,” the captain said, producing the report from a desk drawer and laying it before him, “This is exactly why you’re here in my office. I know how you’re feeling, soldier. We’ve been up in orbit for years now, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to get back down there,”

     He paused for a moment, allowing Oort to appreciate the fact that the captain was making an attempt to empathize.

     “General Gappoag is a great Palfragorian. He is harsh, but he is fair. He believes you’ve been punished enough and he’s ready to have you back in his service. In fact, he’s specifically requested that you take part in a new, top secret mission named Operation Teapot,”

     “A new mission?” Oort echoed, “Sir, does this mean the rumours will finally be validated? Is there a mission to evaluate whether the surface of Palfragore is fit for repopulation?”

     The captain winced at Oort’s question

     “I’m sorry to have misled you, this mission is not an opportunity for you to touch down on the surface. That mission has already been conducted. In secret, of course. The report has been filed,”

     A pause.

     “Sir, I hope it is not beyond my station to enquire as to the findings of the mission?”

     “An understanding must come between us, Officer 6856. The information that I’m about to impart to you is extremely confidential. If you release this information you will be court marshalled and executed,”

     Ugh. Threats of execution. It was too early for threats of execution.

     “I understand,” Oort replied.

     “Palfragore is desolate,” the captain explained, “The surface, and indeed the interior, has been made sterile by the solar radiation. Repopulation is impossible,”

     The captain allowed Oort a moment to absorb this information, before he continued: “As you are well aware, our species is unable to thrive in these spacecrafts. You are evidence of what happens to a Palfragorian trapped in space, tortured by the distance between him and his beloved planet. In a military sense Palfragore has always been a weak planet. We have no bargaining power, we have nothing of value. We cannot displace another population through strength. All we have is our intellect, our logic, and our resilience. If our species is to survive, we must adapt to this new way of life,”

     He motioned his tentacle around the office, and then gave a nod, indicating the conclusion of his speech. Again, he allowed Oort a moment to bask in the gravity of the situation.

     I’m very good at dramatic pauses, the captain thought, better keep this one going for a little bit longer to make it seem more dramatic.

     “Operation Teapot is this,” the captain finally continued, “Dozens of officers will be covertly dispatched to neighbouring systems and observe how they governed, gathering any information relevant to how our race can adapt to live in orbit. Obviously the information about Palfragore would have a catastrophic effect on morale, so Operation Teapot is, as I mentioned, top secret,”

     The captain gave Oort a look that served to remind him of the ever present threat of execution.

     Oort looked out through the captain’s porthole at Palfragore. The clouds, undisturbed by lightning, looked as though there were soft enough to sleep on, although they were in fact mostly composed of sulphuric acid vapour. Oort would never again see the surface of his planet, but he would at least stand tall and do his duty as a loyal Palfragorian. Oort swelled with pride.

     “Sir, where will I be dispatched?” Oort asked.

     “Earth,” the captain replied.

     All Oort’s pride vanished instantly. He shifted in his chair awkwardly, unsure whether the captain was about to laugh. Surely the captain would throw himself back and roar with glee, and then reassure Oort it was all a big joke and they’d all be back on Palfragore within a month.

     “We’re going to be observing the governing systems of Earth?” Oort asked.

     “Well, you are. It’s a very special job, just for you,”

     “But why Earth?”

     “General Gappoag has ordered a survey of the governing bodies of every system we have on file. That includes Earth,”

     “And General Gappoag specifically requested that I observe Earth?” Oort asked.

     “Yes, yes he did soldier,”

     Two words floated across Oort’s mind. They were: “that” and “b*****d”.

     It was clear that General Gappoag had not quite forgiven Oort for liaising with his daughter, and this was just one more way that he was going to get his petty revenge.

     To an average Earthling, Oort’s annoyance may be bewildering, but to any Palfragorian it was very relatable. Transmissions from Earth, made from humans searching for alien life, had been received on Palfragore years earlier. A number of humans had beamed out transmissions, expressing their desire to communicate with ‘alien life forms’. Earth was investigated after these transmissions were received, and Palfragore had even gone so far as to abduct several humans for study. Unfortunately, every Palfragorian scientist had become so irritated with each specimen that they had carelessly blasted them back to their planet in the cheapest ships they could find, not really paying attention as to whether the ships actually landed back on Earth, or Venus, or Mars, or the Sun.

     Palfragore, as well as every other local system (all of whom also conducted their own research), had decided to ignore Earth, treating it like an annoying child that one wishes would just shut up and continue with its colouring in.

     The effect Earth had on the culture of the local systems was astounding. Entertainers and comedians from Palfragore had become rich and famous on their Earth-material, and interplanetary tensions had often been relaxed after a good old-fashioned jab at Earth culture. So great was the obsession of Earth mocking that eventually all Earth jokes became tired and clichéd, and only the most unimaginative Palfragorian comedians relied on such an easy target for their material. Eventually the subject trickled down to be used exclusively by attention-seeking schoolyard bullies, who would often taunt their unfazed victims with jokes such as “Your mother is so dumb she makes an Earthling look smart!”

     Earth became nothing more than a vaguely amusing but mostly annoying celestial neighbour, and one which no other planet returned contact with. In actuality, a lot of Palfragorians considered their planet’s attitude towards Earth as rather mean. Many grew to pity Earth, but not enough to actually say ‘hello’ back.

     “Sir,” Oort began, “I was under the impression that Palfragore already has a surveillance officer stationed on Earth. Why do we need to send another?”

     “Ah, yes,” the captain replied, “You’re referring to Officer Kolgarf, or Mr Ned Edwards, as he is known on Earth. In truth, Officer Kolgarf has not produced reports of sufficient quality, or as is often the case, has not produced anything. This discrepancy was only realised when General Gappoag conceived Operation Teapot. Despite his responsibilities, we do not consider Kolgarf to be a reliably authority on the planet. I suppose too much time spent on Earth tends to make one act like an Earthling,”

     The captain grinned to himself and Oort forced a chuckle at the joke.

     “Indeed sir,” Oort said, “Indeed,”

 

     Oort had been given hardly any time to prepare for Operation Teapot. He had barely time to make offense gestures towards framed pictures of General Gappoag before he was being strapped into his spacecraft. The ship was barely bigger than Oort himself, but had a most amazing function: the ship would morph into whatever shape or object that would most fit into a particular environment.

     “You’ll be placed in the middle of an Earth forest, not far from a nearby settlement,” the captain told Oort through the ship’s communication system. A photograph of the forest appeared on a monitor before Oort, and he remarked to himself how beautiful it looked. Perhaps his time on Earth wouldn’t be so bad after all.

     “Officer Kolgarf will meet you there,” the captain continued, “Remember, Operation Teapot is to remain completely confidential, even to Kolgarf. Any breach of information will not be tolerated,”

     “I understand,” Oort replied.

     At that moment, another Palfragorian entered the departure terminal. It was General Gappoag.

     “Just wanted to see you off, boy,” Gappoag said, “Your participation in this mission is certainly appreciated, and I know it’ll do us a lot of good,”

     General Gappoag suppressed a chuckle.

     “Good luck, Officer Oort,” the captain said as he initiated the ship’s count down sequence.

     Those b******s, Oort thought. I hope you both get sucked out into deep space through a pinhole.

     The count down reached zero.

     Both Oort and the ship were disintegrated into billions upon billions of subatomic particles, all of which were shoved into billions upon billions of subatomic wormholes, and then reintegrated 17.8 light years away on Planet Earth.

 

     Upon reintegration, subjects often experience a blinding light and high pitched squeal that dulls only after twenty or so minutes. Once this phenomenon passed, the subject was exactly the same as before. Once the light had dimmed, however, Oort found himself in a confusing situation.

     He had expected the ship to land in a forest, and therefore take the shape of a tree, or a babbling brook, or one of Earth’s more pleasant objects.

     Instead, he found himself sitting in a shabby office on a creaky chair, behind a tatty desk and facing a poster of an Earth-cat hanging onto a wire.

     Another incredible piece of Palfragorian technology: a device implanted in Oort’s brain tuned into Earth language, so he was able to read, write and understand local dialects, which was rather convenient.

     The Earth-cat poster had the words Hang in there, kitty! printed on it.

     In addition to the ship morphing into its new shape, Oort’s body had also morphed. He looked down with his two human eyes through his human glasses down at his human hands, his human arms and his human body.

     Oort stood out from his chair, took a moment to balance himself, and walked over to a dirty mirror in the corner to inspect his human form. While he looked human, technically, it all seemed a bit off.

     On his home planet, Oort had been known for being rather handsome by Palfragorian standards, and was therefore rather unhappy with his human appearance. In comparison to all the humans he had seen on the transmissions sent from Earth, Oort looked rather fat, and after taking quickly measurements of the asymmetry of his face, he concluded also rather ugly. His human form wore black trousers, black shoes, a short sleeved collared shirt which hugged his chubby physique and a tie that was ugly by any standard, Palfragorian or Earthling. A brown moustache lined his upper lip and he had a nametag pinned to his shirt which said: BOB THOMPSON.

     He decided to explore the ship’s new form. The corridor outside his tiny office smelled overwhelmingly of sodium chloride and various forms of saturated fat. Oort searched for the source of the stench and came out into an open area where a young human male, dressed in a purple work suit, was punching numbers into a machine. The open area was filled with bright purple tables and chairs, and the furthest wall was made of glass.

     “Hello?” Oort said to the young human male, “Can you hear me?”

     “Hi,” the young human male replied in a drone, “what sort of Happy Fun Time Meal would you like today?”

     “Excuse me? Are you selling food?” Oort asked.

     “Happy Fun Time Burgers are the most fun you’ll ever have,” the young human male continued, “They’ll put a smile on your dial,”

     At no point did the young human male look Oort in the eye, alter the tone in his voice or stop punching in numbers. Oort realised he was a part of the ship’s new form; not capable of thought, merely one part of the entire illusion. The young human male’s name badge read: CHAD.

     An enormous middle-aged human woman entered the ship through the glass doors at the front. Oort was taken by surprise, and about to demand that she leave the ship, but Chad immediately spoke.

     “Hi, what sort of Happy Fun Time Meal would you life today?” he asked the woman. The woman placed her order and Chad took her money. Moments later Chad had prepared the woman her Happy Fun Time Meal, and she left the ship with a giddy excitement. Oort watched her leave, and remarked to himself that her size was incredible. She would have to consume incredible amounts of food in order to maintain it.

     Moments later, another human appeared. This time, it was a male, roughly the same size as Oort. He had bleached white hair, styled into spikes, a mass of gold chains around his neck and wore a shining red tracksuit.

     Chad immediately began reciting his sales pitch, but the new arrival ignored him and made directly for Oort. He extended his hand to Oort, and said: “Good morning! Sorry I’m late! My name is Ned Edwards, although you probably know me better as Officer Kolgarf,”

 

     Oort stood out in the street, looking at his ship. It had taken the form of what Kolgarf had called a “fast food” restaurant.

     “The files on Palfragore say that this exact area is in the middle of a forest. I thought it was supposed to be beautiful,” Oort said.

     “Ah, yes,” Kolgarf said nervously, “I’ve been snowed under here, just haven’t had the time to update them. The forest was taken out years ago. This area has been developed,”

     Oort wasn’t inclined to believe Kolgarf had been snowed under, as Palfragore hadn’t received any contact from him for almost two Earth years. The street was bleak and dusty, lined with boarded up shops, rubbish and the occasional waddling fat human.

     “But, as you can see, your ship has taken a form seamless to its surroundings,” Kolgarf pointed out, “Now, as to your mission…”

     “Yes, I was told you were going to prepare me with access to high level government departments,”

     Kolgarf gave a quick reactive chuckle.

     “Yes, the communication from Palfragore asked me to do that,” he said, “I’ve, uh, gained access to a government department,”

     “A high level department?”

     “In a manner of speaking,” Kolgarf said, “I was confused as to the purpose of your mission, however,”

     “That information is classified, Officer Kolgarf. My superiors were quite liberal with threats of execution should any information be leaked. That should give you some idea,”

     “Of course, I didn’t mean to overstep my mark,” Kolgarf said, nervously fiddling with one of his many gold chains, “I did want to ask something else. When I came to Earth, Palfragore was experiencing, er, climate issues. Have they been resolved?”

     Oort took a moment, and then responded in a deliberately vague manner.

“Conditions are stable,”

 

The next day, Oort took a train into the centre of the settlement to the government department. Kolgarf had used his diplomatic connections on Earth to secure Oort a position as an administration assistant in the Department Of General Affairs. Oort presumed Kolgarf had chosen this department because it was representative of the Earth government system.

His office in the Department of General Affairs was similar to his office in his ship, although it was a cubical rather than a separate room.

When Oort had asked his supervisor what his main duties were as an administration assistant, his supervisor replied with: “Completion of various administrative tasks that aid with the day to day operations of the Department of General Affairs”.

Oort found this particularly vague, but did not speak his mind about it.

On Palfragore, it was almost unheard of for a junior officer to contradict the orders of a superior. While this sounds as though Palfragore was run as a rather brutal hierarchy system, it was not. A superior was a superior on Palfragore because they were the most experienced, the most forward thinking and the most intelligent of the group. Therefore, any contradiction was usually wasted, because the superiors were rarely wrong in their decisions. If a junior had developed an idea that was genuinely clever, he or she was promoted to the supervisor and the old supervisor was demoted. There was never any bad blood between new and old supervisors, because it was universally acknowledged that rank reflected merit, and bruised egos were never a problem.

Oort assumed this to be the case on Earth as well, so he remained quiet and became determined to impress his superior. True, he resented being sent to Earth, but he might as well make the most of it.

In the late afternoon, however, Oort came across something particularly egregious. For Oort to procure a supply of paperclips (for argument’s sake), he would have to visit another floor in his building and retrieve a form. That form would need to be signed by his superior, and then taken back to where it had been procured. Then, the form would be processed, which may take over two hours. Then, and only then, could the Stationary Officer make the trip down to Oort’s floor to open the supply cupboard and deliver the paperclips.

Oort had first noticed this peculiar system when he saw a colleague staring blankly at his cubical wall for over 25 minutes.

“Excuse me,” Oort said, “can I help you? Are you having trouble with some sort of intellectual problem?”

“Huh?” the man grunted, “Oh, no. Just waiting on authorisation for more staples,”

The man sat at his desk for three hours, waiting for staples. He could only resume his work once he had his staples, apparently, so the complicated stationary requisition procedure was therefore costing the Department of General Affairs a great deal in manpower.

Oort analysed the situation from every conceivable angle. Was there some reason this procedure was beneficial? Was it a small cog which seemed out of place on its own, but was in fact an essential part in some large, fantastically efficient machine?

He could see no way in which this procedure was so, so after intense deliberation, he plucked up the courage and detailed his opinions about the policy to his superior.

In truth, Oort expected his superior to smile and simply explain why the stationary requisition procedure was in fact efficient, and Oort had merely been too narrow minded in his assessment. Yes, on Palfragore Earth did have a reputation of being slightly thick, but they had successfully set foot on their moon. Their entertainment transmissions seemed vapid and moronic, but it was only entertainment, and at least they had they had mastered broadcasting it. That had to count for something!

Instead, Oort’s supervisor gave him a beady, suspicious eye, as though he were a highly dangerous troublemaker. He attemped to justify the stationary requisition procedure, but came off as something of a bumbling fool, so he transferred Oort out of the office to somewhere Oort was “better suited”.

Thoroughly confused, Oort found himself in an office labelled: Department Of General Affairs Christmas Party Organisational Committee.

The DGACPOC was chaired by a ghastly woman named Janice Butrow. She looked as though her skeleton had been assembled from several different ones of varying sizes and had then been sewn up tight using old leather in place of skin. The other members of DGACPOC looked like points on a spectrum between Janice and Kolgarf.

“Joining the Department of General Affairs Christmas Party Organisational Committee is mister…” Janice said at Oort’s first meeting. She flicked through his file, which lay open in front of her, “Mister Bob Thompson. Bob comes from a logical background and he’s going to be helping to organise the Christmas party. He is very experienced.”

Oort swelled with pride. He was certainly experienced. He had been the brain behind many military operations in his time, and certainly knew a thing or two about logical thinking. He said hello to everyone and the meeting began.

Soon, Oort was once again confused. The committee spent hours debating seemingly pointless topics back and forth without any apparent purpose. Still burnt from his reassignment to the committee, Oort decided not to question the way in which the committee was run.

After a long meeting where absolutely nothing was decided, where no progress was made (Janice had described it as a ‘good meeting’), Oort went back to his ship.

 

The ship was doing tremendous business, and the line for burgers went out the doors. The ship had generated four more Chads in order to keep up with the demand. Families of happy humans surrounded every table, all eating their enormous burgers with enormous grins.

Oort, however, was unable to bask in the Happy Fun Time Burgers customer’s chipper attitudes. He locked himself in his office and asked himself, determined to make sense of Earth.

 

Oort’s job at the Department of General Affairs was entirely consumed by his position on the Christmas Party Organisational Committee. He spent his days silently questioning the logic of the department, always wondering how anything ever got done. When a decision was made, it inevitably made little to no sense, but the committee rarely realised this, or if they did, gave little thought to it.

After what had seemed like an infinite amount of wasted minutes and countless inane decisions, Oort was finally compelled to once again go against his superiors.

“Then it’s decided,” Janice said, “there will be no dance floor, no disc jockey, no alcohol and no gift giving at this year’s Christmas party,”

The committee, barely awake, nodded.

“Excuse me, Janice,” Oort said.

“Yes Bob?”

“I have a query as to why none of those things will be allowed at the party,”

“Well, there are a number of reasons. Dance floors, music and alcohol encourage erratic movement. We aren’t covered in our insurance for erratic movement related injuries,”

“I see. And what about gift giving?” Oort asked.

“Due to the variable nature of gift giving, morale can be adversely affected. Take for instance, if I give you a very nice gift, and then I give someone else a very bad gift. The person receiving the very bad gift will have resentment towards you, and then that affects working relationships. Morale will suffer,”

“The solution to affecting morale is to remove dancing and gift giving?”

“Yes,” Janice concluded, “A healthy, efficient working environment must be maintained,”

Oort thought it odd that Janice was so concerned with maintaining an efficient work environment, but he pretended to be convinced.

That night, he devoted his hours to making sense of Janice’s solution. He could not.

He looked back at the Earth cat poster.

Hang in there, kitty!

Oort had begun to develop a hatred of animals that gave out unsolicited advice from a position of naivety.

 

He returned to the committee the following day with the following definition of the word ‘party’:

A social gathering of invited guests, typically involving eating, drinking, and entertainment.

Oort also took the liberty of preparing a definition for entertainment:

The action of providing or being provided with amusement or enjoyment.

Oort argued that dancing qualified as entertainment, and consumption of alcohol was covered in the definition of ‘party’ by the word ‘drinking’, and that the association of such an event with Christmas would surely be a splendid time to give gifts.

Oort knew he was taking a bold chance with defying Janice, and she did not respond well. When he presented the argument that if dancing, alcohol and gift giving were banned, the Christmas Party Organisational Committee would be redundant, because they would not be technically organising a party, Janice gave a curt smile and thanked Oort for his time.

“But no,” she said, “Morale is far too important. Those activities will remain banned,”

 

Every night Oort gathered information to support his arguments. In doing so, he amassed a fantastic knowledge of Earth, and included every detail in his report.

Every day that Oort came to work, he presented a new argument to Janice, and each time she refuted it. The curious thing to Oort was that every rebuttal she gave was completely nonsensical, but no one else on the committee seemed to realise it.

In fact, Oort’s logical arguments made everyone on the committee increasingly worried about health and safety and the potential effects an accident could have on morale. Although Oort was not there to witness its implementation, a policy arose in the coming months that required every employee of the Department of General Affairs to wear head protection at all time.

The ban was enforced at the Christmas party, and everyone spent the three-hour function dressed in safety equipment, not speaking or moving in case a horrible accident happened. Janice Butrow was delighted to report that morale was not adversely affected, although this was because she could only measure morale in relative terms. If she had the ability to attain an absolute measurement, she would have seen that there was no drop in morale at the Christmas party because it was already at the lowest possible point.

By this point, however, Operation Teapot had finished, and Oort had returned to the fleet orbiting above Palfragore.

When Oort left Earth, Happy Fun Time Burgers was doing unprecedented business. To cope with demand for the burgers, the ship generated 25 more Chads and four extra storeys.

While Happy Fun Time Burgers grew, three local restaurants closed down. Oort only realised this after he left Earth, when he was writing his report on the planet, but he made sure to include it.

Once again both Oort and the ship were disintegrated into billions upon billions of subatomic particles, all of which were shoved into billions upon billions of subatomic wormholes, and then reintegrated 17.8 light years away in a low level orbit above Palfragore.

The hundreds of customers at Happy Fun Time Burgers fell to the ground once the ship had left. Their unfinished burgers had disintegrated along with the building, and every one of the formally happy humans began to cry pitifully. They vowed to sue Happy Fun Time Burgers, claiming intense psychological damage due to the disintegration of their meals.

 

Back in the Palfragorian fleet, spirits were not high. Operation Teapot had been a resounding failure, with every officer reporting that they could not come up with any way that the species could adapt to living in a low level orbit.

Spirits were so low, in fact, that General Gappoag begged Oort to tell him all about Earth. Oort did, and they all laughed hysterically, thankful for the distraction.

But then Oort had an idea:

“Earth presents to us an opportunity. They are easily led to nonsensical things with the slightest manipulation,” Oort said.

General Gappoag, who had finished wiping his eyes after laughing, gave him a quizzical look.

“What do you mean, Officer Oort?”

“I propose an invasion,”

The room went silent.

“We lack a strong enough military force for an invasion,” General Gappoag said, “Your own report details the weapons they possess. They’re far more powerful than Palfragore,”

“Yes, but as I mentioned, they are very susceptible to manipulation. I believe there is an opportunity for an invasion that requires barely any military strength,”

 

And so, in the following months, Oort became a highly respected officer and rose through the ranks of the Palfragorian government. His invasion plan, Operation Parasite, was very impressive. Although he felt a degree of pity for the humans, he knew that if Operation Parasite were not pursued, his own species would eventually die out, suspended in agony above their home.

Operation Parasite involved the creation of millions of coffee shops, all of which were planted in the major cities of Earth. These shops were staffed entirely by Chad-drones, and offered ‘great coffee for the modern human’ at cheap prices.

The coffee, which was laced with a dosage of nanobots, sold fantastically. The nanobots migrated through the human body, attached themselves to the brain of a human, dulling what little thought processes they had.

Soon, the entire population of Planet Earth was controlled by the nanobots, and they began to terraform the planet to make it more like Palfragore.

 

One Earth-year after the commencement of Operation Parasite, General Oort received word that the nanobots had prepared Earth (now renamed to New Palfragore) and the Palfragorian fleet could arrive at their convenience.

General Oort took once last look at his home planet and gave the order for the fleet to depart.

And so the entire fleet was disintegrated into billions upon billions of subatomic particles, all of which were shoved into billions upon billions of subatomic wormholes, and then reintegrated 17.8 light years away in a low level orbit above New Palfragore.

The fleet landed, undisguised, and when General Oort departed the ship a nanobot-controlled human approached him with an outstretched hand.

General Oort shook it with his tentacle, and the human said:

“I hope you like what we’ve done with the place. Sorry it took so long, but it was just so damned messy,”

Author's Note

Enjoy?