“Look, if you’re all gonna go on about how the humans are gonna kill us all, I’m gonna have to stop you. They only live less than a hundred years, they still use projectile weaponry in infantry combat, and they’re squishy pink blobs. “Earth”, as they call their origin world, isn’t a deathworld like some people claim, it’s a perfectly normal ecosystem like the ones we’re from. As long as you don’t let them overwhelm you, you should be fine.”

​

These words of the Legion Commander echoed through the mind of Legionnaire Mertinlai, as the grav-carrier zoomed along the paved road for the Human’s primitive ground cars. As a Van-Zengrenadi, his tall and thin body did not adapt well to the slightly higher gravity of the human’s world, and the pressure change was giving him a slight headache. He drummed his manipulator appendages on his plasma disruptor as he looked to the faces of his Cohort, who were all either looking out the window at the passing countryside, cleaning their weapons, or reading a glyph-slate.

​

“So,” He said, breaching the silence as others looked over to him. “Have any of you guys seen a Human?”

​

Everyone but their cohort leader gave a waggle of their fingers, no, they hadn’t, but the Cohort Leader continued reading his glyph-slate, which appeared to be the latest news from Zengre-Prime.

​

“What about you, honorable Cohort Leader?”

​

Everyone looked up to the Cohort Leader as he exhaled from his face gills, not even looking up. “Yes, I’ve seen them. They’re the same sacks of flesh as all the other races. What did you expect?”

​

“Are the rumors true?”

​

The Cohort Leader looked up. “No, they’re not monsters, no, they don’t have tentacles, although some of their more, er, exotic materials show that they quite like the idea of them, no, they don’t have super strength. They are quite crafty-” And that was all he managed to say before the grav-carrier did a sick jump off an earthen ramp that was covered by a human chameleon net and crashed onto the ground. Thankfully, the grav-carrier was designed to be prepared for this, and the only thing that was damaged was the hover system.

​

“By the Smokehouse of Souls!” Cried the Cohort Leader, “Was anyone hurt?”

​

“Negative, Sir, we’re all fine.” Replied Second Legionnaire Naitin, “Although some of us are feeling a little sick.” Mertinlai felt quite unwell, and finally gave in and purged his digestive system as the Legionnaire across from him also did so.. The hatch separating the drivers from the soldiers inside opened, and the two drivers came out, arguing over who’s fault it was that they crashed, and how the other should have seen the massive lump in the road despite the chameleon net on it.

​

“Let’s leave these two to their lover’s quarrel.” Said the Cohort Leader as he headed for the back of the carrier, prying the doors open and walking out into the light of the yellow sun. His mouth formed a U as he looked at the trap the humans has set some way down the road.

​

“See, what I tell you?” As the rest of the Cohort climbed out to join him and squint into the sun in order to look at the trap. “Crafty little buggers, eh?”

​

Mertinlai was not feeling well enough yet to complement the enemy on their ambushing skills, but he figured that fresh air would do him some good. Second Legionnaire Naitin stepped off the road to look at the condition of the grav-car, and as he did, fell backwards, right into a slit trench.

​

Naitin got up to find a metal pipe being stuck against his face lengthwise, and somebody saying something in Zengrenadi: “Don’t move if you like having a head, xeno.” He looked up at the user of the pipe. It was a pink sack of flesh with a baggy grey uniform, a flak jacket and an ill-fitting steel helmet on.

​

“Oh. Oohhh nooo.” There was a click and the barrel of the rifle was pushed against his head. “Don’t speak, either.” Naitin looked over to the other inhabitants of the trench. Many of the humans seemed to have complexions other than pink,actually; some had a darker tone, and others had a more yellowish skin. They all seemed pretty harmless as far as alien races went. One of them hefted up a long tube with a missile warhead sticking out the end and took aim at the grav carrier. Naitin gulped.

​

Mertinlai was feeling pretty good now, the air had done him some good, although the oxygen in it did give it a bit of a bitter taste. He helped to fix the hover engines with the rest of the cohort, and while everyone else looked around for where Naitin went, he headed around back with the Cohort Leader to check on the drivers, who were currently engaged in a kissing session.

​

“I was kidding about the lover’s quarrel.” He said. He looked over to Mertinlai. “I was kidding, right?”

​

Mertinlai would’ve answered that the answer was evidently not, seeing as, but he didn’t get the chance to, because right about then an RPG hit the carrier and destroyed it, killing the drivers, throwing Mertinlai back from the blast, and knocking out the Cohort Leader. As he slowly lost consciousness, Mertinlai heard a few sharp cracks as Cohortmates fell to the ground.

​

Sergeant Terry Rollerface smiled as his troops gathered up all the surviving xenos; their squad lead and two others. The Cohort Leader slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Terry, then at the burning remains of the Grav Carrier, as the one that had fallen into the trench like the idiot xeno it was tried to jostle the other one awake. Along the road, some of the human’s ground cars trundled along. How hopeless this war against the Van-Zengrenadi was, if this was the extent of their technology. The Cohort Leader looked back over to Terry, and said: “You know, Human, you’re going to lose the war. We have technology, numbers, a galaxy spanning millions of light years, and what do you have? A primitive way to put a piece of metal into somebody's neck. You're all nothing but a bunch of self-aggrandizing sacks of pink flesh."

​

Terry just grinned at the Xeno, giving him a pink sack of flesh smile. "You mad, brother?"