Negari Aeythi is considered by many to be the most mature boy in his unit. To say that this is an achievement is really to over-estimate the abilities of the others, though, who more closely resemble a pack of feral dire-wolves than a cohesive Ghnootu fighting squad. This is unsurprising. Born out of a need to train a new set of srike-gunts (a direct result of heavy losses from a failed attempt to capture and hack a TC war-bot in a nearby system) a new batch of younglings have been scraped together and thrown into basic training. Young, inexperienced and, in some cases, just plain scared, the new recruits seem to be learning the ropes slower than any that they have had before.

‘Cadet Aeythi, how can I help you?’ The sergeant looks down on the boy with the contempt that only a father could muster and smiles thinly.

‘Sir. I wanted to let you know that there has been movement spotted in the Eastern trees by the high-high division, Sir. But they don’t know what it is. Sir.’

‘Have the high-highs linked to the other units to establish positions?’

‘Aye Sir. All are accounted for. Sir. Downtime just like us. Sir.’

‘Relax boy, you don’t have to ‘sir’ me with every damn breath – every other breath will do. It’s probably just a herd of animals passing through. Migration patterns or something similar. Nothing to worry about.’

‘Yessir. But si… Erm… But they report no heat signatures on the thermal-radars nor any obvious source for the movement. Si… The trees on that flank appear to be moving of their own accord, almost as if there’s some kind of wind. Sir.’

‘Wind, eh? We haven’t had something like that on Alww Eitbhe for quite some time. Not since the solar flares of 54.32.1. Any sightings or reports from other units?’

‘Nosir.’

‘Alright, wait here boy. My gut tells me that it’s nothing, or we would have sensed it by now, but let me check with the scriers and we’ll see if they can explain it.’

With that the sergeant rises to his feet and stalks off towards the com-tent, leaving Aeythi standing alone – uncomfortably – awaiting his return. After about five minutes or so he shifts stiffly, wondering if he’s ever going to get the chance to move again. His ocular ridges sting under the intense heat of the sun, and all three legs were feeling the burn of a particularly intense workout from the night before. Another five minutes passes with no word coming from the com-tent and no sign of the sergeant. This worries Aeythi, who has only ever had conversations of about sixty seconds or less with his commanding officer. The idea that something might take more than a brief exchange suggests to him that something might be wrong – perhaps worse than he had originally believed.  

Meanwhile the other boys, noticing his absence, come to find him and promptly start to make fun of him. Aeythi’s dedication to orders and ambitious dreams of rising through the ranks is stark contrast to the rest of his unit. Most of them want to have fun, with pranking each other being their main pastime. A few of the more rowdy boys take the opportunity of training to hone their fighting skills and practice on the weaker recruits. What none of them are willing to admit is that the rigid rules and restrictions that are placed upon them have had a positive effect.

Five more minutes have passed and still no sign of the sergeant. By this point his absence has been noticed, and Aeythi’s continued attentive stance becomes increasingly a marker of concern.

‘Have you tried calling to him?’

‘Yes, Btontu, I have had a complete conversation with him while I stand here rooted to the spot. He sends his regards and asks you to make sure the safety catch is on your weapon – just so that you don’t shoot yourself. I’m less bothered!’

‘Well fuck you very much dude!’

‘You’re welcome, anytime.’

‘What I meant was, have you asked anyone to go find out what’s happening?’

‘No. I thought about it, but I doubt anyone would be brave enough to risk it. I mean, would you?’ Aeythi fixes his brother-friend with a meaningful stare.  

‘I guess not,’ Btontu says with a sheepish grimace, ‘Remember what happened to Mnentor last month when he asked to go to the toilet?’

‘Gods yeah, he was unable to shit properly for a week!’

The boys laugh at this shared memory of their companion’s embarrassment, but underneath the mirth lies a strong desire not to end up in the same position. It is a bad day to annoy the sergeant.

‘In all seriousness though,’ Btontu sighs, ‘I’m beginning to get a bit worried now. You don’t think that there’s something wrong, do you? That we’ll actually have to fight something?’ As he talked, he gently shifted from foot to foot in agitation.

‘If we do then we will do our duty, I guess. I don’t think it will be an issue though. The sergeant’s gut said it was probably fine. Plus, there hasn’t been a TC raid in months.’

‘Well they’re in peace talks or something aren’t they?’

‘Think so. Not that that will make any difference.’

‘I’ve always wanted to go to a peace talk. I’d put a doo-doo fruit under each delegate’s seat and see what happened. See if I couldn’t start a massive argument and derail the whole proceedings.’

‘Or, you know, start a war…’

‘Nah. Wouldn’t come to that. Not over doo-doo berries. Maybe if I spiked their drinks or something, put lax-‘

‘SHH!’ Aeythi’s hand shoots out to cover Btontu’s mouth. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘Mhhmnfufudmmm?!?!’

‘Shut up’, he hisses, crouching down and pulling his friend down with him. ‘I just heard a rustling, whoosh sound, and if I didn’t know any better I would have said that it was coming from the com-tent. Something is very wrong.’

Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the atmosphere around the camp starts to change. Groups that were happily scuffling with each other break apart and settle down. Another gathering of whakko players wind up the last few shots before leaving the pitch without a thought of clearing up behind them. Rising from the mess-tent tables, food is abandoned and left for the flies. As one, the boys move closer together, uniting gradually into a single, crouching huddle and move towards Aeythi and Btontu.

In the midst of the throng Aeythi stands tall. The boys look to him for instruction – the bonds between them reverberating through the air, invisible but very real.

He has never felt more alone.

To the Ghnootu people of Alww Eitbhe, there is one overriding principle to which everyone is expected to contribute: family.

In any given circumstance, and for whatever reason, the needs of the family come first and foremost. Yet the family structures are unconventional, even for those in the Alw star system as a whole. The bonds that are shared between them are more than simply that of relative to relative, sibling to sibling, parent to child, friend to friend. An unyielding psychic link holds them like a steadfast chain, mooring them to the traditional ways that they had always known. Furthermore, as an ostensibly warrior culture, the bonds of military unity tend to override even those of blood relation. Private, unit specific, sub-links and channels tie them together in an intricate web of interconnected loyalty. It is unclear whether or not this connection is biological or sociological.

An interesting outcome of this is an almost complete and harmonious community responsibility. From the eldest sage or highest ranking ‘officer’ (for want of a better term) to the lowliest worker of the serf-caste, all are cared for and protected with the same reverence. Should tragedy befall one unit, others mourn the loss just as deeply. Somewhere through the tangled links and sub-links, each of them is somehow connected to the other.

From the perspective of a society, this has worked entirely to their advantage also. No other society is known to collaborate or work so harmoniously. Warfare is all but unknown, despite their warrior nature, and murder simply does not happen. Their population remains stable; each new birth linked directly to the death rate – with the exception of the occasional expansion or decline to suit the needs of the family as a whole.  Technological growth is fuelled not by a desire for one-upmanship or personal gain, but for how it helped to overcome a shared problem.

This, despite the ever-encroaching imperialism of the Technocracy Consortium.

The TC, as it is more often known (Total Cunts, colloquially) has been working on this sector of the galaxy for centuries now. Intrepid explorer-hives send tendrils creeping across SC112, searching out valuable assets while simultaneously marking pathways for demolition. War-bots scour the inhabited planets for any signs of resistance, while demo-lites disintegrate entire star systems for the sake of a few light-years off a journey.

All in complete ‘secrecy’ of course. Precisely why SC112 is so important has never been made clear – even to those who are executing the planetary executions. Their mission is ostensibly for the betterment of all. But, as is so often the case with the utopian wet dreams of capitalist franchises, the needs of the few, naturally, outweigh the needs of the many – quite the antithesis of the Ghnootu sense of mutuality.

Some believe that maybe there is some clandestine agency that sought to ensnare the sector in its evil clutches. Military minds wondered if it would somehow benefit the HUB campaign, but considering the dice of war were not rolling in their favour that seemed unlikely. Other, more cynical, voices argued that both of these ideas were giving a little bit too much credit to the TC’s abilities of foresight. Whatever the reason, the ultimate effect could not so much be described as chaos but as simply shoddy management strategy.

Oddly, the Ghnootu seem to be the only ones that have the wherewithal to notice all of this. When Explorer Hive Nnthintw arrived on their doorsteps demanding compliance, they simply responded with: ‘Eh… No?’ The captain of the hive was so baffled by this simple rejection that he had no other recourse but to admit defeat and let them get on with it. The paperwork was bad enough as it was without trying to report on the report of a report ad infinitum just to get the war-bots to maybe swing by on their way to something more important.

So it is that, despite the odds, the Ghnootu retain their independence without ever having had to fire a shot. The family structures remain in place and one way or another it seems that they will never merit enough of a concern for the TC top brass to bother with. All things continue in an apparent harmony that neither side wishes to question. Understandably.