Incursion Protocol

Xoldu 4 looked a lot like Earth. Even though, in my personal perception, it had only been a few weeks since I left home, a deep pang of homesickness tugged at my chest as I gazed down at the planet. The sensor data was sparse, and the Dulox logs weren’t much help either, just basic information about the system’s layout and the planet’s name.

Xoldu 4 was mostly water, with chains of islands scattered across its surface. The Dulox logs labeled it as an "Archipelago-type" world, and it fit the description perfectly. Vast stretches of ocean sprawled out below, dotted with meandering strings of green and brown islands. From a distance, it looked like an idyllic spot to sip mai tais and wiggle your pincers in the sand. Er, toes. I shook my head, still shaking off the aftereffects of being trapped in a Dulox body. Maybe it was also the near-instant fluency I’d gained in their language that had me mixing up words.

I stared at a swarm of Dulox ships buzzing around one specific point in orbit, wondering why they were all so focused there. And then it hit me… Xoldu? No. No way. I scrolled back to the starmap, feeling the dread creeping in. I hoped to all that was good in the universe that my theory was wrong.

It wasn’t.

They had named all the systems in their control using anagrams of Dulox. The unimaginative crescent-headed bastards didn’t even bother being creative. How lazy!

I commanded the Strommäsk Test Vehicle to edge closer, pointing my weak scanners toward the focal point that had the Dulox so captivated. As the data trickled in, it became clear: they were centered around a massive structure in geostationary orbit. A pale-yellow stream of energy pulsed down through the atmosphere, ending on a branch of one of the largest island chains below.

Bad news? The Dulox had a habit of infesting any interesting or strategic locations in their systems. Good news? This place seemed relatively free of Dulox, except for whatever was going on at that orbital structure. Ships came and went regularly, their vectors suggesting most were heading toward what I suspected was the Dulox homeworld. Some kind of mining operation? Maybe. There had to be something unique to this planet, something they couldn’t just pull from the asteroid belts scattered throughout their territory.

Keeping a safe distance to avoid detection, I piloted my ship to the far side of the planet and began my descent into the atmosphere. Might as well check it out while I’m here. If I couldn’t find the alien equivalent of a Mai Tai, at least I’d figure out what they were up to.

I double-checked the ship’s status displays before making my descent. The Strommäsk Test Vehicle wasn’t exactly designed for constant atmospheric in-and-outs. Humanity just didn’t have the tech to hop between planets like in the random sci-fi movies. Whatever the System had done to modify the Strommäsk engine had beefed it up enough to let me travel between star systems, my speed indicator spinning off the charts as I zipped around with what passed for FTL under The System’s rules.

That being said, I wasn’t entirely sure I was achieving faster-than-light travel, despite hopping between systems. It felt more like The System, or whatever was monitoring me, was aware of my intent to travel between the stars and was consolidating the trip into a more manageable experience.

If I ever ran into someone who didn’t try to kill me on sight, I’d have to ask them what the deal was.

The planet was stunning. Whatever tectonic forces had shaped the islands had done so with an artistry that was almost impossible to believe. The chains spiraled out gracefully across the aquamarine-tinged oceans, with massive coral reefs stretching between the islands like nature’s own bridges. Even the Dulox presence hadn’t completely ruined it, at least not yet. A tangled web of metallic structure sprawled between the island chains, converging somewhere off in the distance, vanishing toward the horizon where the Dulox had built the structure on the other side of the planet.

I brought the ship in closer and found a landing spot on a medium-sized island chain. A twisted knot of metallic structure ran right through it. As I touched down, the maneuvering jets sprayed fine sand into the air, scattering it in a wide arc. From my perch in the pilot’s chair, I could see the metallic structure up close, it was some kind of conveyor system, ferrying massive, granite-like blocks toward an unknown destination.

The tech behind the conveyor system was an odd mix of high-tech and low-tech, much like the mining station I’d been on earlier. It was as if someone had handed a Renaissance-era inventor the blueprint for a modern engine but didn’t bother explaining the proper way to build it. So, weeks later, you’d come back to find a functioning engine… slotted into something that looks like a Model-T. Primitive, but functional.

That’s exactly what I was looking at: the conveyor system was a marvel of ingenuity, but its implementation? Crude.

I made my way to the airlock, helmet tucked under my arm, striking what I imagined was a heroic pose. It would've been more convincing if my suit wasn’t, at this point, more patchwork than anything resembling actual space armor. Without much fanfare, I hopped down onto the surface. Humans had landed on other worlds before, so I wasn’t breaking any new ground here. I guess if you added ‘first human’ and ‘in another dimension’ to every action, I’d have a longer achievement list than anyone in history. But honestly, it felt like cheating. First human to pick his nose in another dimension. First human to choke on his own spit and cough for five minutes in another dimension. Loses its charm real fast.

Although, "first human to catch a seashell arrow to the thigh and tumble face-first into the sand in another dimension" did make the list.

I groaned, trying to roll onto my feet as pain shot through my leg, the strange, spiraling arrow shaft sticking out of my thigh like a very unwelcome souvenir. Gods, it hurt. And the mouthful of sand wasn’t helping.

I scrambled, trying to get back to my ship, but before I could even get close, a throng of creatures surrounded me. Spiraling shafts of their spears, tipped with sharp and serrated seashell heads, politely encouraged me to stay put. I froze and stared up at my attackers. They resembled humanoid geckos, tall, lithe, with skin shimmering in shades of green and blue. Their snouts were short and stubby, not quite like the geckos I knew from Earth, and their tails were barely there, vestigial stumps for some, while others had none at all.

What caught my attention, though, was their armor. Woven palm fronds, coral chestplates, and intricately etched designs adorned their bodies. It was island tribal gear but elevated, almost artistic. If I wasn’t bleeding out through a seashell in my thigh, I’d have taken even longer to appreciate the aesthetic.

Before I could say or do anything, another gecko pushed through the crowd, its spiraling coral headdress signaling some kind of authority. It gripped a spear tight in its hands, clearly ready to deal the finishing blow. But it stopped, scanning my face, taking in my features. Its gaze shifted to my ship and then up to the sky.

It gibbered something to the others, its voice sharp and guttural, the sounds animalistic and strange. The others responded in the same language, spears still pointed in my direction. Their conversation seemed tense, like they were debating what to do with me.

After a few more minutes of heated argument, they made their decision. They grabbed me, securing my limbs to prevent any resistance. Every jarring movement sent a wave of pain through my leg, the spiral shaft embedded in my thigh either sinking deeper into the wound or working its way out just enough to start the whole painful process over. If that was by design, it was cruel and brutally effective.

Right about now, swimming in pain and captured by strange, animalistic aliens, would’ve been the perfect time to pass out. I could already imagine waking up in a soft, warm bed, leg bandaged, my clothes neatly folded beside me. The chieftain’s daughter, shy but caring, surprised to see I had finally woken up, bouncing merrily to my bedside. Pure bliss.

Instead, I was dumped, unceremoniously, into a nearby bay. The cold shock of water hit me like a punch, salt flooding into my suit and stabbing daggers into the wound in my thigh. I flailed, trying to keep myself above water as my suit filled up. The taste of salt burned in my mouth, and I knew panicking wouldn’t help. Struggling against water was a fool’s errand, you either brute force your way through it or find a way to work with it.

I clawed my way, bulky spacesuit and all, up to the surface, sweet air pushing back the darkness that had begun creeping in at the edges of my vision.

"You fucking pricks," I cursed at the array of geckos who stood on the shore, dry and perfectly unbothered. I swiped at the water, sending an ineffective spray in their direction. They gibbered with laughter, short and airy, as they watched me struggle.

Suddenly, something wrapped around my leg. I kicked in panic, thrashing to swim away, but whatever it was had a grip like iron. I reached down to pry it off, but it was no use, I was stuck. My body no longer bobbed with the waves; instead, it felt like I was anchored to a solid rock. I squinted through the blue water and saw what had me: a piece of coral, rigid and branching, had shot out and coiled tightly around my leg.

The part that held me wrapped around the spiraling arrow shaft, the one embedded in my thigh. Slowly, I watched as the metallic blue hue of the shaft began to fade. Within moments, the color completely leeched away, and before my eyes, the arrow dissolved into nothing. As it did, the pain that had gripped my leg for what felt like an eternity began to fade too, leaving only the salted sting of the now clean wound behind.

The coral paused, almost like it was tasting the water, then uncoiled from my leg and slithered back to its brethren. I floated there for a moment, stunned, before dog-paddling back to shore. The geckos stood waiting for me, their posture now relaxed, their suspicion and aggression replaced with curiosity. They helped haul me onto the beach, where I collapsed onto the sand, chest heaving as I stared up at the cloudless sky.

The leader, its spiraling coral headdress casting shadows over me, loomed into my view. It gibbered something, pointing at my spacesuit and then at my leg. After a few more unintelligible words, it nodded, apparently satisfied, and disappeared from my sight. I rolled over onto my stomach, watching the whole troupe scamper off, leaving me sprawled in the sand.

One of the smaller geckos turned back and beckoned for me to follow, hurrying me along.

I sighed and dragged myself up, leaving a blood-tinged imprint in the wet sand. My waterlogged suit and the shifting sand made every step a battle as I stumbled after them.

"Fucking lizards," I muttered, frustration bubbling up. "What a welcome: 'Hey, nice to meet you, here’s an arrow and a swim. Now, follow us back to our primitive, backwater village.' Real fun."

I kept grumbling as we trudged across the island, following the aliens to wherever they were leading me. The chieftain’s daughter had better be super nice for me to put up with this kind of treatment. Only fair, right?