Outside the station, the battle lasted less than a second.
Armed to the teeth armada's from the most belligerent planets did not take the overt threat of destruction lightly.
They fully ignored the stations and military, promising to deal with us after, but sadly after would not come.
While not a weapon, the BIG FUCKING THING was well armed itself. I doubted even the combined military might of every system in the universe combined would even scratch an armor plate on this thing.
That was partially proven true, as ship after ship was not destroyed with lasers or ballistics, no, it was a targeted spatial attack that dismantled the very molecular structure of the ships. They just stopped existing in their current material form.
I could not later call it a bloodbath, as there was no blood shed.
Soon who ever wisely escaped would run back to tell the tale.
Only one race dominated sector, an entirely mechanized civilization, who in their very long existence suffered only one defeat, at the hands of a lost human female, stranded in their sector, she used her hair dryer and delivered an epic loss to them.
They did not know what the thing was, all they knew it could generate high levels of heat and they gave up, and called her a ride from the human station on the border of their sector.
The only loss.
And yet they entered the Epsilon sector like the Roman Legion of old, almost colliding with everything and everyone.
They received the message, and gleamed some data about the weapon it used, so after throwing some pawns at it, they now thought they had the perfect defense against it.
We, the soldiers, the representative, the scientists, Stan, and every other synthetics, stood watching the ensuing space battle with popcorn. Really.
The BIG FUCKING THING appeared motionless.
The pawns, now fitted with the counter to the devastating weapon. BFT let the little tiny ships fire on it. Nothing happened. The ships kept firing. Nothing happened.
But as if to say "That tickles" BFT released some form of cosmic gasses and radiation. Nothing threatening to us, as we were still far, far away. We could only see the ships through ultra long range sensors. Though the BIG FUCKING THING was visible to the naked eye even at this distance.
Once the BFT did its thing, it released a message.
"STOP ATTEMPTING TO ANNOY ME, FIND THE KEY OR ELSE. GOODBYE."
It was a pulse. An EMP now magnified to hyper lethal levels to machines by the gasses and radiation released. Two thirds of the massive fleet were rendered completely useless, and the mechanical crew killed. The last third was damaged, but managed to escape to a safe distance before they could jump back to their sector.
A call, of course was made to the Commonwealth from the Mechanized Empire to negotiate a possible deal to retrieve the dead ships, as not to leave them derelict.
Later I would be forced to order more synthetics and a bunch of work ships to move them out of the way to a save place where the Empire can collect them.
But for now, I led everyone to a meeting room.
The soldiers were there to protect my mission, while scientists wanted to study the thing, to make sure it truly intends to leave when it gets the key.
I knew the commander of the soldiers, as when I get my turn to take a vacation, I spend it handing out with him and his life mate drinking and getting into trouble.
Though his life mate can out drink us under the table. She is a real firecracker, in a small package.
What happened next would be a concert of grand stupidity.
The collective universe, had a rare gathering.
They all decided that in one month's time, IT would be unlocked.
IT was the scariest weapon the universe could muster to deal with threats from outside of normal space, our universe and existence.
It was a combination of warp generator, black hole and Dark matter compressor. When used right, any threat just stops existing.
To ensure no one race had the power to activate it, the activation codes were broken up, and given to every sentient race in the universe, by The Ancient Ones, a race that existed as the universe was formed.
And thus, not realizing what we are facing, the entire universe would rather kill itself off than to actually try and understand it and assist. Because IT if there is one tiny problem or misfire, will rip the universe apart.
All the while I had selected the humans to accompany me.
It took a week, but all the major players were on board the station, and at that time the human on Synthetic crime rate rose over 800%.
Most of it was thinly disguised "Accidents."
Synthetics have half the rights of humans, only missing the organic rights, like protection from SA, due to not being built with those parts or protections from assault or murder, as their is very little a human can physically do barehanded to damage a synth. They do not even bruise. So Accidents occur, because while not really possible unaided, it is possible if forced to.
Stan's buddies forced the issue too many times.
You see, more synthetics were brought in, three hundred in total, as a Synthetic Facility, and its own power station was installed. Now we can have an almost endless supply of the oh so useful and wonderful fuckers.
Now, every living being under my command had to have two synthetic assistants. Why in the holy fuck all of fucks did soldiers need a non combat Synthetic?
I had to press the issue.
I ordered privacy, while on the horn with my higher ups. It seems the vacations were extended out of safety concerns. I told them the Synthetics were overkill. They told me that they did not send any
more Synthetics. I told them of the Synthetic infestation, and after a triple check of paperwork and orders, a crime had been discovered.
A low tier synthetic factory pulled some illegal strings, and decided to sneak their top of the line models into the crew to get the drop on any discoveries.
They were promptly fined, ordered to recover their remaining functional synthetics, cannot bill anyone for the damaged units, and were penalized with no government contracts for a full year.
Two sex filled, Stan annoying days later, two cargo ships, escorted by the Commonwealth Internal Security Force ships reached the station.
One to pick up the tras---Synthetics, and the other to deliver the order of supplies.
A special care package was among the supplies for me.
I did not lie when I told you all I was not a soldier by trade. But I was given the full basic training and Advanced Individual and Tactics, Survival, Escape and Team Training.
If I ever had planned to leave my annoying but nice paying job and join up with the Commonwealth Exploration Military (Basically regular Army but with extra steps.) I would hold a Sargent's rank.
So I know my way around many light, a few less medium, and fewer heavy weapons. My favorite is one I could not bring with me, as this is designated as a peaceful station, until it is not. And right now it is not, as it serves as one third of the tactical hub in the sector, the other two, of course are the two huge military satellite outposts, who now have to defer to me for instructions.
Since my team was killing time and releasing tension by checking their weapons, males and females of a few species acting like they were the classic bro grunts from era's past, complete with crotch grabbing, spitting, lewd and sexually harassing comments and jokes, substance abuse, and a true to life catfight between two female beastkin soldiers, who were sizing up and making speculations of the male's crotch sizes.
Me, I am not an archaic bro...when I am at work.
My package was up to date soldier's gear, sent to me by an old friend, who keeps getting into trouble. Cant say I served with him, but we trainees at the time would go drinking with the special ops units from time to time, and now my detective friend has given me a great load out.
My Little Fuck Everything and Everyone gun.
It looked like some sci fi fantasy weapon, but its secret is, it can shoot just about anything fed into it, and has ten modes of fire, a lock on scope, a barrel mounted shield generator, and a grenade launcher.
This weapon was shelved for being overkill, since even the hard core angry species is trying to change their image as no one wants to be the jerk on the block.
I was happy to have trained on it before it was mothballed.
This one was kitted out and upgraded to look like the gun from the universally loved game CastleDay, where players kill each other to be the last one standing.
It even has a holo projector, despite the tech been made obsolete by Hard light generators.
I did not care.
I walked into the group, in my full gear, put the cigar in my mouth and sat my big gun on my lap.
Stares of quiet awe and respect met my eyes.
And then a god damned virtual girl made flesh entered.
During the down time before the mission, the translator was heavily upgraded from our end and the best and brightest minds, and finally I can not just understand the words, but their intent and emotions behind them.
She was in a short as possible to retain the literal definition of a mini skirt, though under it was an armored thong made from an unknown weapon. Her tummy, deliciously flat, had a small shimmer of an energy field, that did not block the view.
Her top was an armored cut off in the same color of the skirt, she had tactical webbing in all the right places, which held weird ass knives and other future soldier stuff.
Her helmet retracted to show her face as she held what looked like an almost living weapon. It was curvy and beautiful and the big brother of the gun she pointed at me in the hangar.
She sat with me, because I was not leaving her hear in the synthetic hell.
Earlier I launched a probe, using the hyper space mass driver cannon.
It was like an FTL drive powered cannon, when something really needs to get somewhere quick.
The probe's trip was five minutes, and on the tenth minute it had scoped out what looked like an entry point.
This I was displaying to the team, giving last minute orders, while taking in suggestions.
I told everyone to start loading up on the transport, to keep all weapons turned off.
That caused the team to groan, even the peashooters the scientists had, they were reluctant to turn off.
"Minaera."
"Huh?"
"We have not told each other our names yet. Mine is Minaera."
"Oh, yeah. Mine is Clayton."
"Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise."
I was distracted for a second and she attacked me with a deep kiss and fumble for my crotch.
Unfortunately, the commander for the mission would be a few minutes late for departure........