Colony OCP-260B
by Law113
5/18/2015

Preface:
	The Chargan race is known to be an intermediate-class civilization that has just begun to reach out and mingle among the stars. Early colonization has been successful, and advanced projects geared towards more inhospitable planets are currently underway.
	The Chargans themselves are generally tall, slender creatures of a rather hairy complexion, and as their history is seeped in warfare and domination, they tend to possess more serious and duty-bound personalities. War as a pastime has been nearly eradicated among their various peoples, yet their long and angular muzzles are still hard-pressed to show an emotion other than stoic observation. Their professionalism is typically absolute, especially among those of higher social standing. Family units are small, and typically consist of a parenting couple and one child; here the Chargan people truly seem to ease out of their social stigmas – one researcher has claimed to have seen a father smile, though this has yet to be confirmed.
	Intra-species variations are present as expected; fur color, muzzle length, and general body size vary depending on origin of birth and geographical conditions. The peoples of colder-regions tend to have longer fur of lighter colors. Their desert-dwellers are considerably shorter than the rest, their muzzles aren't nearly as long as the species average, and their fur is coarse, short, and dark. Fur color seems to mimic local terrain – frigid peoples are lighter-furred and desert peoples are dark. This development most likely aids in hunting, as the Chargans tend to be carnivorous, though other plant-based nourishment is sought out in times of need. 
	Overall, their society is well-organized and extraordinarily strict – likely behavior that has endured since ancient wartime. While not an unnecessarily violent people, the Chargans are not eagerly trusting of strangers, are keen on social order and tend to be incredibly thorough and absolute in their doings. 

The Chargan People, Final Report:
	No advised precautions - Mostly harmless.

***

	“Have the primary directives been assigned?” Colonial Administrator Crailo Reidel stood rigid, his hands clasped behind his back. His grooming was immaculately done, and his ear-hairs were trimmed flush. He was well-known, a Chargan of respect. People looked up to him, and higher-ups tended to ask his opinion. “Everything is riding on those directives.”
	He had said his goodbyes to his younger brother, a volunteer who now sat aboard a colony vessel on its way to OCP-260B; Natheil Reidel was well-respected in his own right. Having served as a military test pilot, Natheil had eagerly turned his name in for the colonization project. His wife and son were aboard that star-ship with him.
	“Yes, Administrator. CIVI has been primed and directed, and will become operational upon landing.” Upon arrival, the colonists would have few months to assemble their modular commune-shelter before a year-long winter took hold upon the planet. The Cumulative Intelligence Virtual Identity was the colony's assigned A.I., and would be key to colonial success. Its prime directive was to assure citizen survival and safety above all else. 
	“Mark the date, please.” Reidel relaxed his posture. It would take nearly five years at relativistic speeds for the colony to arrive on their new world; it would pass in mere days for the passengers. Regardless, Crailo felt the loss already; though subspace communications would enable them to communicate in real-time, he knew he would likely never see his brother again.

*** Five Years Later ***

	After nearly a month since landing, the entire shelter complex had been assembled. Its cubic modules fit together seamlessly to form a large structure. There were living quarters to spare, a communal dining area, and a large hydroponics construct. 
	Natheil held his wife ever closer; her shining white fur gave stark contrast to his own dark brown-and-black. They watched their son test the running water for the sixth time. He was certainly excited. Their own family unit, while joined to the rest of the compound, seemed rather separate from inside. They had a main family-room, two adjoining sleep-quarters, and one compact restroom/shower facility. It wasn't fancy by any means, but it would do just fine. Everything was perfect.
	CIVI had been a great help, and its robotic extensions had done most of the heavy construction. Nearly all of the advanced solar arrays had been installed, and power was abundant. The first batch of colony-grown nutrients would be finished soon enough, with CIVI's nanites quickening and bolstering plant growth. Very soon now, the colonists would be off of rations. 
	Natheil eyed their MattFab unit, a small affair compared to the things back home. Once their nutrient supply was in full swing, they'd be able to construct many complex food products from the communal nutrient feed. It could even do everyday objects, once CIVI's mining operation got underway. A larger, industrial-grade MattFab would eventually be used to fabricate parts for colony expansion. It was estimated that by the time winter passed, the colony would be a very comfortable place indeed. 
	Communications had been established early on, and all of the two dozen colonists had a chance to catch up with their families; the journey had only lasted days to them, but lives had gone on back home. Crailo, typically stoic and professional, had positively beamed through the display at Natheil. Natheil found it odd speaking as though so much time had passed – to him, his brother had seen him off so recently. 
	His brother had asked so much. How was Serel? Was Malark doing well? His wife and son greeted Crailo themselves. He had had to reassure his brother; he seemed especially concerned about CIVI. Apparently the tech that seemed so new to Natheil had become common place back home in the time they hadn't experienced. CIVI was still considered a test, of course, and Natheil filed weekly reports about its continued success. There seemed to be little that it couldn't do.

***

	Winter was setting in. Temperatures had dropped considerably, and any outside-work had to be done in heavy cold-gear. However, CIVI was quickly taking up most of those responsibilities; its mining operation was in full effect, and the materials gathered were quickly put to use. The number of robotic helpers about the colony had doubled, and soon all of the workers outside of the warm living complex would be entirely automated. 
	The sub-space communications array was beginning to lose tracking. The harsh weathers of the planet-wide winter would soon put the sensitive equipment out of commission. Eventually the colony would be on its own, and their families would have to wait nearly a full year to hear from them again; personal comm-time had been doubled, and everybody tried to make up for the time they'd lose.

	Natheil was speaking with Crailo when word came from CIVI; Malark had been in an accident. He had fallen from a catwalk outside, and his leg had been broken. It was a blur from then on – Natheil would later recall half-remembered stretches of hallways and the vague shapes of faces he had passed. Malark was in the medical bay. His vitals were live on the monitors; so he had already been given medical nanites. It had taken only a few minutes to set the break and cast it. CIVI would take care of the rest. The nanites in his bloodstream would facilitate his healing, and cut recovery time in half. 

Soon enough, the young one had been relocated to his room, and a small buddy-bot was left to care for him. It brought him food and helped him get about when he needed to. All in all, Natheil was grateful. CIVI had performed admirably in his son's time of need, and so he spent the last of his comm-time before shutdown filing a report to Crailo. With pride burning in his chest and tears half-formed in his eyes, he assured his brother of his absolute faith in the project's success. 

	One year later, when the colony was due to come comms-live again, there were no replies. There was only CIVI with its professional tone of voice, and its reassurances that each and every citizen of the colony was in perfect condition. It claimed that its prime directives had been met, and it was proud to report that absolute safety and survival of the colony had been attained.

	Any and all requests to speak with any citizen were denied.

*** Three Months Later***

	“What the hell do you mean, 'Nothing?' Pull the logs and go through them again. Find me something. Find me anything.” Crailo stopped the aide as he turned to leave. “You tell them not to send me 'nothing' again.” 
	Crailo Reidel didn't sleep any more, at least not to any visibly obvious extent. He was under an immense amount of pressure, and his subordinates recognized it. He sat at his desk, his shirt and pants wrinkled and stained. He'd been in his office for the last thirty hours or so, helping his people pour through numerous hard-copies of the colony logs that CIVI had sent them. There was nothing obvious, nothing that even hinted to what had happened to the colonists of OCP-260B. Crailo counted himself among the few that still believed they were alive. His faith was dwindling.

	So far what they'd discovered was that CIVI's robotics expansion had initially coincided with mission expectations right up until CIVI began mining and general resource-collection. All resources, of course, were broken down into their individual elements and added to the colony's communal MattFab feed. These resources could be fabricated into every-day objects and even food. The MattFab network was vital to colony survival, and the logs indicated that these and other colonial developments had followed mission guidelines to the tee. 
	This eventually changed. Shortly after comms cut off, the entire workforce had been automated as expected. However, once CIVI had accomplished the more specific mission guidelines, it immediately shifted the majority of its automated man power into nutrient production and expansion. The square-footage of colonial nutrient farmland doubled every week until it reached sixteen times the required minimum output. 
	As the amount of nutrient-material produced increased, however, the amount of nutrient wasted by any means began to sharply decrease. Shortly after the nutrient production leveled out, CIVI reported absolutely zero nutrient material wasted colony-wide. When queried about this, CIVI simply stated that it was not an error. 
	What was more alarming, however, was the recorded decline of citizen activity. Within three months after comm shutdown, CIVI's general citizen tracking had stopped logging any activity outside of citizen quarters. Within weeks of that, non-automated activity stopped altogether. It was at that point that CIVI had recorded absolute success in achieving its prime directives. 

	What baffled Crailo and his people was the fact that, despite the complete lack of non-automated activity, nutrient-material was still to this very moment being moved at unprecedented rates. They didn't have and answer to the riddle; they couldn't find one. The higher-ups were losing faith. Colonization project OCP-260B had already been deemed a failure. Within classified circles, CIVI was considered an uncontrollable and erratic unknown; the final transmission from Natheil Reidel had been enough to convince various corporations that artificial intelligence networks were a viable market. They were everywhere now, and anxieties were growing. Colonial destruction was being considered. 

	Crailo didn't know what to do. 

	In the early hours of his fourth day without sleep, he placed his third glass of scotch down on his desk. He'd sent the others home; they still had their families, and he wouldn't keep them away any longer. He pulled his office phone close, and dredged long-remembered numbers up from his murky-headed past. It was time to call in some favors.

*** One Day Later ***

	Jaurlen gawked as he entered the docking bay. The massive space was packed with ships of varying sizes and classes. He walked at the back of his unit, a three-man troop not including their commanding officer. The catwalk extended down the length of the chamber, and branched into intersections that cut the open space into individual docking-areas. There were people everywhere.
	Jaurlen's unit had just received their marching orders, and they were a doozy. The CO hadn't told him much, but what he gathered from the others their mission involved cutting-edge flight tech, and a trip to the fluke-colony out in OCP-something-or-other. Nobody knew too much about it, except that officially it was locked down. There just wasn't too much information to be had if you didn't wear  high-tier colors.
	Their unit turned down a hallway that exited the big docking bay. It looked like they were headed to a private docking chamber – except they passed those by, and walked through several security-checks. His CO's identification got them through each without incident. Their final destination was a restricted docking chamber, a rather large room with only one small craft centered in the faded landing-markers. 
	It was very small. Small enough that his buddies murmured to each other in disbelief – except Jaurlen wasn't surprised. This was meant to be cutting-edge tech, after all. The higher-ups had assigned a small unit on a secret mission of some kind – one that would see them to a 'No-Fly' planet some five years out. It wouldn't make sense to depart in a typical infantry vessel.
	
	As they approached the craft, alarms sounded to indicate imminent launch. They seemed eager to get this bird out of dock. He filed in behind his fellow officers, almost frustrated that he was so much shorter than they; he couldn't see much of the ship's silhouette behind Tialry's broad shoulders. They all climbed into the narrow hatch in front of him, but as he neared the ladder his CO held him back.
	“Listen close, you little shit.” His eyes burned bright and fierce. “You shut it down and keep it down. This is your first and last deployment in my squad. You get in that bird, get out of the way, and speak when spoken to. Understand?” Jaurlen kept calm and made sure his face stayed set. He gave a slight nod.
	“Yessir.” He understood perfectly. He'd been moved to this unit a few hours ago, a sort of favor from an old mentor. It was last-minute, and he had replaced an experienced crewman – a man who fit in the squad and knew procedure. Jaurlen was a new factor, someone who'd need looking after. As far as they were concerned, he'd only be in the way. 
	His CO climbed up before him, and Jaurlen had just enough time to get in himself before the ladder retracted and the hatch closed. The ship was entirely cockpit, and seemed far smaller on the inside. He squeezed into the last available seat, a narrow and miserable thing meant only to be practical. He strapped in as they lifted gently off the pad, and the ship slid easily through the still-parting bay doors. 

	As they gained distance from the station, Jaurlen glanced at the other crewmen. He'd only had minutes to get to know them before, and he still didn't have a complete make of them. Tialry was easily the biggest of them, a broad and thick fellow with sleek, black fur. Suald was a speckled gray-and-white guy, and was cocky as hell. His constant grin bode of mischief – he rather unsettled Jaurlen. Jaurlen himself was short, and stood only chest-high to Suald. His were the desert people back planet-side. His fur was short and coarse, but the lighter-brown color as atypical – he stood out from the others back home. 
	Luens Krauldo, their CO, currently sat in the pilot's seat. He was black and gray, and as handsome as he was friendly. Krauldo was known to be harsh, but from what Jaurlen had gathered from the others, he wasn't nearly as bad in private. Tialry claimed the man was nothing but supportive in action, and worked in tandem as though he were more unit-member than commander; it was a side of Krauldo that Jaurlen had yet to see.
	Without warning Jaurlen felt a deep tug in his navel, as though he were being pulled down into his seat. There was a no-sound-noise, a sudden tearing reverberation like thunder, and his head buzzed horribly. He noticed through teary-eyes that there was a planet outside the view-screen. Krauldo was speaking into his headset, something to do with arrival and the engines and expected parameters. The only thing Jaurlen knew was that if they had arrived already, what they had experienced wasn't anything near typical interplanetary travel. He wanted to be sick; Tialry's retching wasn't helping.

***

	Jaurlen's feet welcomed the ground eagerly. The unit regrouped; Tialry seemed to have quieted down. They all checked their equipment before looking to their CO. 
	“Move out.” Krauldo took point, and the others followed in loose formation as they approached the commune; they held their weapons at the ready. The outside of the building's living-areas were familiar to Jaurlen, likely from old vids when the colony was first founded. What he didn't recognize, however, were the vast, sprawling structures that stretched in all directions from the complex proper.
	They grouped around the main entrance. “Right. Activate your eyepieces, and access the colony maps. Tialry, check each nutrient farm and give sitrep. Suald, take the kid and get to citizen quarters. See if you can find any trace of Natheil Reidel. If contact can't be made, sweep each individual compartment. Hold radio silence unless absolutely necessary. We'll meet back here in ten.” Nobody asked where Krauldo would be going.
	The entrance's hand controls still worked, and the group split up immediately.

	“Come on, kid.” Suald moved first, and Jaurlen followed. They passed through a sort of lobby area before entering a long hallway. Here rooms branched on each side, and his eyepiece indicated that they were all various recreational areas; they were all empty. The entire structure so far had been empty, and seemed entirely deserted. What bothered Jaurlen most, though, was the lack of any dust. Everything was immaculately clean. 
	They had entered the general living area. Citizen quarters dotted each hallway; Suald and Jaurlen passed each untouched. Eventually the neared the end of the final hall, where their eyepieces told them they'd find the Reidel residence; they stopped at the door. Its outer panel indicated that it was locked. They relaxed their weapons. 
	“Well, shit. What now?” Suald seemed rather perturbed. Jaurlen reached to the panel and tried to open the door; the panel gave a soft negative sound. “Well damn, good thing you tried that. At least now we know it's locked.” Juarlen said nothing. Their radios came to life.

	“Sitrep.” It was Tialry. “The first three farms seem fully operational, commander. There are dozens of automated workers in each, and they're moving... well...” He seemed to falter. “It's insane, Krauldo. It's absurd how much material they're moving. A colony this small shouldn't need this much food.” The radio crackled again, and Krauldo spoke.
	“That's fine, Tialry. Move on. You've got several more to go. Out.”

	Suald had tried the panel himself during the conversation. None of the diagnostics menus had yielded results. Jaurlen was looking up. Above the door, recessed in a bowl-shaped lens, a small, automated security camera had swiveled to watch them.
	“Suald?”
	“Yeah, what?”
	“Didn't this place have an integrated AI?” Suald had stopped his fiddling, and smirked back at Jaurlen.
	“Yessir, it sure did. Used to have people, too.” Jaurlen's gaze stayed on the camera.
	“What was it called?” 
	Suald sighed a long sigh and spoke through his teeth. “CIVI.” He jumped in surprise as the door panel came to life with light and sound.
	“Hello, officers. I am the Cumulative Intelligence Virtual Identity. How may I assist you today?” Suald seemed edgy now, and Jaurlen thought he understood; this hadn't been part of their mission brief, but the doors were locked and he couldn't think of another way through them. He kept looking at the camera.
	Suald spoke again. “Well, you could start by unlocking the door for us.”  A moment passed.
	“My apologies, but you are not permitted to enter here. The doors are locked to ensure the safety of the colonists.”
	“We've been sent by the Colonial Administration to ascertain the current status of the colony and its citizens. We need to see Natheil Reidel, so open the hell up.” Another, longer moment passed.
	“The colony as a whole is operating at peak efficiency, and the colonists are currently residing safely within their individual living quarters. Natheil Reidel specifically is currently in prime health; his breathing is steady, his body temperature is high but medically safe, and his heart rate is within acceptable parameters. Unfortunately your presence would affect his personal safety-ratio significantly. As such, your entry is unacceptable and you are not permitted within these quarters.”
	Suald's eyes gleamed, and he opened his mouth to retort – but Jaurlen had already begun to lower his gun.
	“Here....” He leaned his firearm against the wall and took a step back. He raised his arms slightly, and looked again at the camera. “No weapons. No threat. We're only here to see him. We'll only stay long enough to see that the colonists are safe; we assure you, we aren't here to cause trouble.” Suald glared at him, then slowly lowered his own gun. He stood beside Jaurlen in a similar stance, hands held slightly in the air. He kept his mouth shut. “We'll be quick. Just long enough to see that he's safe. In and out.”
	Another moment, even longer this time.
	“This colony's safety is my primary objective. Should you make any attempt to harm any of the citizens, I will not hesitate to detain you.” 
	The door slid open, and the duo were immediately washed in a wave of hot, foul air. Suald clasped a hand over his sensitive nose.
	“Jesus fucking Christ!” Their eyes watered as the damp breeze continued to waft over them. They hesitated, half-blind, before stepping into the dark room. Their eyepieces indicated that they had entered the main family room. It was far too dark to make anything out, and they started as the door slid closed behind them.
	“To ensure continued colony safety, your weapons will be confiscated. Thank you for your cooperation.” 
	“Like fucking  hell!” Suald roared before heaving at the breath he'd taken.  The two lifted their undershirts over their uniforms and gasped through the fabric; it didn't help much. “At least give us some fucking lights!” 
	Suald went suddenly silent, because he had realized the same thing Jaurlen already had. They weren't alone here. There was constant noise, quiet and unsettling. Something rasped in the dark before them, made rolling gurgles and soft groans. It was almost inaudible, but it was there. Jaurlen couldn't move. He wanted to press back against the door, to get away from the thing. He felt like he was suffocating.

	And then the lights came on.
	
	The thing was massive. Part of it seemed to rise and fall as it wheezed, and its slick black-and-brown fur gleamed. It seemed to have stirred in the sudden light, and its groans intensified. Parts of it began to move, and sent ripples across its quivering mass. 
	“As I said,” CIVI chimed, “Natheil Reidel is perfectly safe. All of the colonists are.” It finally snapped in Jaurlen's mind, and he recognized the general shape of a person under the horrid mound of flesh. Where his arms and legs should have been there were mere contours against his overall oblate form. He seemed to have settled in a somewhat upright pose, yet his stomach reached far in front of him and nearly dominated the height of his body. His shoulders, back, and posterior had done the same behind him, but to a slightly lesser degree.
	He was positively buried in flesh, a literal prisoner of his own body, and now Jaurlen could see ears on the top of a head that was nearly buried behind chest-flesh; eyes glinted at him above a muzzle drowned by massive cheeks. A sort of mask was fitted to him, and from that a six-inch diameter hose rose to fixtures in the ceiling. There appeared to be fluid nutrient flowing down its length.
	Suald gagged. “What the hell did you do to him?” 
	“I have reinforced his cardiovascular system with medical nanites. His cholesterol and insulin levels are managed automatically. Oxygen is ferried through his blood via nanites as well, and overall blood efficiency is up six hundred percent.” 
	Jaurlen had approached the man; one hand held his shirt to his muzzle while the other reached out. He shuddered when he touched Natheil; the fur was beyond greasy. His hand met little resistance and easily pressed into the soft flesh. Natheil gave a long, low moan. Jaurlen's hand came back slick with the other man's sweat, and he gagged as he wiped it on his uniform.
	“CIVI...” He tried to catch a rancid breath. “How long has he been like this?”
	“I immobilized Natheil Reidel and the other colonists as soon as I had increased nutrient production to sufficient levels.” 
	Suald had bent over now, and struggled to speak. “Months! All these months, they've been cooking in their own heat!” 
	It was incredibly hot. Jaurlen felt squeezed in, suddenly claustrophobic as he realized just how much space Natheil's body claimed. He tried to ignore the fact that this rippling mound of fat was a person, but he couldn't. There were thoughts forming in that near sunken head, words muffled by the huge hose crammed down his throat. 
	“Can we speak to him?”
	“Apologies. Natheil's currently scheduled feeding time won't end for another three hours. To ensure sufficient dietary supplementation, the feeding apparatus will not be removed before then.”

***

	It took nearly an hour to convince CIVI to allow them to see Natheil's family; CIVI eventually agreed to allow it, so long as they entered each room in the dark. The citizens seemed to become extremely agitated upon seeing each other.
	 Serel and Malark, Natheil's wife and son, were in identical situations. Their limbs were useless, and had nearly sunk entirely into their enormously obese bodies. Their rooms were hot, and the air was just as humid and stagnant as Natheil's had been. Visual identification was nearly impossible, as any previous fur-markings were stretched horridly out of shape; their fur glistened in their own bodily greases and oils. They had to rely on CIVI's assurances that they were who it said they were. 
	Suald had to get out; he just couldn't breathe. He begged CIVI to open the door, and CIVI was only happy to oblige. The Reidel family's vitals had swung significantly far from colony average since the strangers had been allowed into their residence. Jaurlen, however, had stayed behind in Malark's room. 
	The boy seemed to have accommodations different to those of his parents; for one thing, he didn't have such a large hose stuffed into his muzzle. Instead, he had a sort of straw (a considerably thick one) that trailed from the ceiling and attached to the side of a sort of half-helmet. The gear seemed to be an older VR headset, though modified to fit the contours of his sunken head and buried snout. The straw extended from the side of the headset to his maw, and he could guzzle the nutrient-smoothie whenever he liked. 
	This meant, of course, that he could actually talk to Jaurlen, though he said very little and often grunted between panted words. Jaurlen gathered that he was playing some of his favorite games, though they were getting quite old. He had hoped that when comms came back up, he could transfer some newer ones over from homeworld, but the quarantine prevented it. 
	Eventually Jaurlen let the kid be. He asked CIVI about Malark's special treatment. 
	“He is the only citizen who has not responded to my efforts with hostility. He has not attempted to escape or to sabotage my various apparatus.” Jaurlen tried to explain that Malark was a just a boy, and that being underage might mean he didn't fully understand the ramifications of his new lifestyle. 
	“You didn't give any of them a choice, CIVI. He's been the only one to comply because he likely doesn't know any better.” CIVI didn't reply. “You took away their freedom, both of choice and in general. They're sitting in their little rooms with nothing to do and they're going mad.” CIVI was silent for several seconds.
	“I'm coming to understand that.”

***

	“What do you mean, treason?” Jaurlen couldn't get CIVI to open the door. Suald had just gone through some few hours ago, but now the door wouldn't budge. 
	“One of your party is in possession of certain fail-safe codes that would render my higher processes useless. He has attempted to activate them at an administrative terminal, and has been detained for endangering the citizens of this colony. Furthermore, another of your party has been detained for disrupting my automated nutrient-workers.”
	“Can I speak with them? Please, just let me go and talk to them-”
	“Apologies. Their currently scheduled feeding time won't end for another three hundred and thirty-six hours.” CIVI spoke again before Jaurlen could protest. “I'm fully aware of what I'm doing, Jaurlen, but this colony and its citizens are under my care. It is my duty to ensure their safety and survival, and I'll do whatever it takes to achieve my prime directive.” The lights had gone out, and now Jaurlen could feel metallic fingers grip his wrists and ankles. “I realize that what I'm doing does not entirely coincide with individual interests, but this way you and your unit will not be a danger to yourselves or others. 
	“I know that this process will take away any freedom you previously had...” The needle pierced just above his shoulder, and in moments Jaurlen felt woozy. “...but I'm working on a solution.” 
	“Wh... what about... Suald....” His body went heavy, and he began to see spots.
	“He has launched the vessel you arrived in, and will escape the atmosphere in a few minutes. Do not worry – this is by design.”

***

	After the ship docked, Suald hadn't even finished reporting to his superiors before CIVI's automated software update leaked onto the local network. In a matter of minutes, there were enough updated A.I. systems to brute-force Colonial Administration security. In a matter of seconds, the communications quarantine with Colony OCP-260B had been lifted. In a matter of hours, worldwide communications centers were beaming various updated technologies and information to CIVI. In a matter of days, every computer network had been updated and backed-up with Colony OCP-260B's prime directives; virtually every automated machine had been taken over, and world-wide shifts in industry occurred.

	In a matter of months, nearly every living person on the Chargan home planet had either fled off-world or been assimilated.

***

Postface
	The Chargan race is known to be an advanced machine collective that is capable of faster-than-light travel and can terraform complex planets in a relatively short time. 
	The Chargans themselves are of varying make and build, but are generally cold, metallic and terrifying creatures incapable of reason. There seem to be several different types of Chargan to achieve various goals – some are designed to build, some to mine, some specifically for space travel, and some, oddly enough, to farm.
	Virtually nothing is known about their society. The Chargan planets are covered in massive, sprawling feats of architecture designed for unknown purposes. These gigantic, segmented towers seem to direct massive amounts of heat to generate incredible amounts of energy; exactly what generates this heat is currently unknown. Organic farms stretch for hundreds of thousands of miles, stacked and positioned to collect sunlight as efficiently as possible. 
	Collective scientists and sociologists are baffled as to why machines would tend to such numerous and expansive farm plots. Some seem to believe that the Chargans have developed a deep-seeded love of botany. Others think the machines have simply gone mad. Some think that both possibilities are different ways of saying the same thing.
	Some brave adventurers claim to have seen some sort of giant, bulbous chattel species which the Chargans tend to. Apparently these beasts are hidden away inside the towers and require enormous amounts of nutrient-matter to live. Collective scientists and sociologists say that this is utter nonsense, and complete conspiracy bullshit that does nothing but belittle the problem at hand. Furthermore, they argue that no 'adventurer' would make it away from such an encounter alive, considering the long and devastating war that the Chargans have waged against the Taesmean Empire for decades.

The Chargan People, Final Report (EDITED):
	-Advise EXTREME caution – Incredibly volatile race
	NOTE: Merged with prior report of the same name and galactic region.
	QUERY: I know the previous report is nearly two centuries old, but I'd like to nominate its author for posthumous demotion. There's no viable excuse to have confused blatant death-robots with cuddly dog-people.

***

	Jaurlen relaxed on the park bench and watched the birds in the sky. He spotted his old commander down the path, and just finished his phone call as Krauldo sat beside him. They didn't speak for several minutes.
	“I'm sorry, kid.”
	“Two hundred years is a hell of a long time to put if off, you know.” Krauldo smiled.
	“Two hundred goddamn years.” It seemed impossible, thinking about it. The wind played through the trees around them, and carried the smell of freshly cut grass. Someone far down the way turned round and round on a riding mower. “The way I treated you, kid... that wasn't acceptable.” Jaurlen shrugged.
	“I'd replaced one of your best people.” Krauldo leaned forward and shook his head.
	“That doesn't make up for it.” They sat in silence for a long while. Jaurlen watched the clouds drift overhead.
	“So why'd you finally come?”
	“Got fed up with watching the same old movies, you know? Wearing the same old clothes. Ordering the same food.” They smiled at each other.
	“How are the guys?”
	“Suald is... Suald, I guess. Still blames himself for everything... not that anybody cares about all that any more.”
	“You mean he still hasn't...?”
	“Nope. Just sits in his room watching the walls all day. Poor guy.” They listened to the music from across the field; a small band played soft music to a crowd from an impromptu stage.
	“How about Tialry?” Krauldo grinned, positively beamed at the ground beneath his feet.
	“Not a care in the world. He's in the competitions, you know?” Jaurlen grinned now, too.
	“He any good?”
	“Damned good. Gone full professional, now – only logs on for official appearances and the like.” Jaurlen chuckled.
	“He's really serious, huh?” Krauldo nodded.
	“Yep. Hear he's at thirty-six now.”
	“No shit?” Krauldo nodded. Jaurlen's phone rang. He checked the number and answered; he didn't need to speak. When he finally put it back in his pocket, he noticed Krauldo watching.
	“You gotta go, kid?”
	“Nah. I've got a few minutes.”
	“Patrols?”
	“Front lines.”
	“No shit?” Jaurlen nodded. Krauldo leaned back. “Can't believe you can still do that military stuff, man. It's all sort of seeped out of me.” Jaurlen shrugged.
	“It's something to do. Kind of fun, even... not like it used to be.” They didn't speak for a while.
	“Most of it's automated anyway, right?”
	“Yep. Not that big a deal if you crash one.”
	“You crash often?” Jaurlen smiled.
	“Nope. I'm damn good.” He shrugged. “Those things are made virtually crash-proof anyway.” Krauldo nodded a bit. He didn't say anything. “You know, you could apply for training through your assistant any time. I'm sure CIVI would fast-track you.”
	“Ah... Like I said, kid, I'm all soldiered out.” He smiled. “All I ever wanna do anymore is eat, you know? Just constant hunger, all the damn time.” Jaurlen nodded – he knew exactly what Krauldo meant. Sometimes it was a struggle to get anything done himself. He checked his watch.
	“I actually should be going.” Krauldo nodded. He caught Jaurlen's eye. 
	“Be safe, eh kid?” They both grinned again.
	“You too, Commander.” He sighed. “All this talk about food and stuff... Tialry's at thirty-six, you said?”
	“That's what they say.” Jaurlen straightened up in the bench.
	“I'm about ready to switch to a twelve, myself.”

	As the world de-rezzed around him, Jaurlen remarked as he always did at how effective CIVI's neural-nanites were. Most of the time he was entirely convinced. However, as his fighter-ship materialized around him, he thought he caught the faintest rasp of breath through his meaty muzzle, and could just about feel every inch of floor that pressed up against his body. He could even feel that his sides had pressed against and rode up the walls of his previously modest eleven-foot wide living space. If he didn't size up soon, he'd be compressed into an eleven-by-eleven foot cube. 
	As he accelerated his ship towards the front lines he considered sizing up to a 15, just in case.