By Rachel Hylan

Jemma’s heart was pounding. What had possessed her to climb on that spaceship with Eion in the first place was beyond her. Actually, it wasn’t really beyond her per se. It may, or may not, have something to do with his charismatic nature and deep blue eyes…

“We’ll get him back,” Natalia whispered from behind Jemma, a plasma blaster in her hand. Natalia’s girlfriend, Imani, followed closely behind, also equipped with a plasma blaster.

“We don’t even know what we’re facing,” Jemma insisted. Her heart continued to hammer, especially as she realized the only weapon she had at her disposal was the dagger Eion had asked her to hold on to while he went to “scope the area.” 

That had been nearly twelve hours ago.

This wasn’t meant to be an overly hard mission. The Diplomatic Intergalactic Federation of Peace and Prosperity (D.I.F.P.P.) had sent a small team to meet with the inhabitants of a planet known as Planet 27 Elm r. The Federation had attempted to make contact with Planet 27 Elm r, but it didn’t appear to have advanced enough technology to allow contact to be made. So, the D.I.F.P.P. sent in a strike team.

Natalia Rodriguez, Imani Thomas, and Eion Radcliffe were part of a Special Forces Unit within D.I.F.P.P., all experienced in the various fields of combat and intergalactic travel. Jemma MacQuoid, in comparison, was far from experienced. Jemma was a computer programmer for the D.I.F.P.P., fluent in thousands of coding languages but inexperienced in the field.

Nevertheless, with a little urging on Eion’s part, Jemma found herself on this mission.

Jemma and Eion had known each other since they were teenagers, having gone to the D.I.F.P.P.’s University together. Eion, despite being a field agent, was a masterful computer engineer, hence the reason the two knew each other.

Now, Jemma found herself treading carefully on an unknown exoplanet located in the far reaches of space. The brilliant purple sky was slightly hazed due to the amount of nitrogen dioxide in the air. The ground was pillowy, and Jemma’s feet sunk slightly into it as she walked forward. Tall, towering, plantlike figures surrounded the three women. Despite their plantlike appearance, the figures were bare of life of any sort.

“We’re facing the unknown,” Imani responded, snapping Jemma’s attention back to the task at hand. “That’s what we signed up for.”

Jemma didn’t dare retort that she’d signed up for nothing of the sort. She was slightly afraid of Imani. It wasn’t that Imani was mean, but the fact that Imani was so stoic around allies and aggressive around enemies. Natalia, in comparison, was a formidable opponent in a fight, but she was a friendly person off of the battlefield. Both Natalia and Imani had been in Jemma’s class at the University, hence the reason she was familiar with their fighting skills.

Jemma’s DN-Arm Band buzzed, causing Jemma’s hazel eyes to fall down to her wrist. Like most humans, Jemma disapproved of the required wristbands all humans had to wear. It allowed the D.I.F.P.P. to monitor one’s activity, disguised under numerous health benefits. Despite Jemma’s programming skills, the DN-Arm Bands were impossible to hack into.

“Can’t you shut that thing off?” Imani grumbled.

“No!” Jemma protested. “Knowing my heart rate is very important!”

“I’m sure it is,” Natalia replied gently. “But in a battle, your heart rate will always be spiking. So, these kinds of notifications will get you killed.”

Sighing, Jemma pressed the silver top of the DN-Arm Band to shut off the notifications. She winced slightly as the needles from the armband that pierced her wrist sunk deeper into her flesh. Yet another downfall of the D.I.F.P.P.’s favorite piece of technology. 

Screaming filled Jemma’s ears, causing her heart rate to spike once again. Had she left her notifications on, her DN-Arm Band would have been beeping uncontrollably. 

The culmination of 18 years of work, the catalyst or destroyer of her hopes and dreams, the great and sole decider in Div’s fate… was sitting in a small white envelope on her desk. Small and unassuming- one could have mistaken it for junk mail had it not been for the holographic stamp on the back of the letter. The United Space Exploration and Research Station seal sparkled proudly on the white background, filling Div with both excitement and dread. 

Div’s lifelong goal was to serve as a captain in the USERS control team. When she was little, she’d watch the Station’s live stream with her parents, witnessing the discovery of planets and alien life as it happened, following the expeditions of the human explorers, and listening to the commands of the Teraphol commanders. While her classmates idolized the explorers, the ones doing the legwork, and praised their bravery and sacrifice, Div had always favored the commanders. The commanders were the ones orchestrating the entirety of the explorations; it was their quick thinking that determined the success of the mission. They developed all of the techniques and technologies the explorers used, and Div wanted to be just like them. 

With bated breath and unsteady hands, Div ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter. Scanning over its contents, she felt her heart plummet. The first paper displayed her scores on the written and multiple-choice aptitude tests. While her score was the highest for human applicants, it fell below average compared to Teraphol scores. While it was to be expected, it was nonetheless disheartening. Div had studied relentlessly for this test, loading herself down with college classes and researching study guides. However, the resources available to her were designed for humans trying to pass the exploration division requirements- some sections of the test were wholly left out, such as subjects only present in Teraphol curriculums. Ever since the USERS was established, Teraphols had been the sole species in command, and humans had been the sole species in exploration. It made sense; Teraphol society was structured solely for the pursuit of knowledge. Every single Teraphol had made a significant contribution to their favorite field of study; a low-performing Teraphol would be a prodigy in human society. They were the best choice for command. Humans were more durable, especially after the development of nano-enhancements. They were able to explore foreign worlds, adapt to extreme temperatures, and overcome foreign diseases. The nano-bots in their systems took care of any damage or ailment their natural processes couldn’t. They were the best choice for command. Still, Div had been holding out hope that she would be the one to break the trend, the first human commander in all of history.

Flipping to the next page, Div read her official results.

Application to Command team: Denied

Application to Exploration team: Accepted.

Report to the United Space Exploration Research Station in three days for your fitness and practical test.

Experiment :001
Bad Boy visionaries.

A man is standing away a good measure of distance away from a household in the southern valley.
Blistering hot with the sky cloudless instead is comforted by the aurora of stars of different colors sparkling
in the sky. The ambiance proposes that the popular theory of the universe is much larger than us has been
true all along. This man is wearing multiple layers of clothing, a jagged and rough black coat that waves
down toward the back of his knees. The jacket is filled with an assortment of stickers and meaningless
symbols. His pants are skin tight with high as hell boots that reach just below his knees. His shirts are an
assortment of the darkest colors imaginable to make even your most gothic kid cringe at the sight of it. His
sunglasses are by definition, in laymen’s terms “Raw as hell.” Some might even say, they are “banging” and
even “going hard”. Real men call glasses like these bad-boy visionaries. He begins to stop staring like a
Pop tart and wipe the dust (It is actually dander, an audacious amount as a matter of fact.) off of his hat hat-
a hat that would convince you that he has traveled to our time from the past where his military exploits are
quite popular in Africa. He stops staring at the house and makes his steps toward its door. Each step is more
tempting to yell out fireball answers.
He makes his final steps towards the door of the house, it’s wooden carved disgusting termite-infested
the wooden exterior would convince young timothy down the lane that NFTs are a worthy investment. With a
slight inch of saliva drenching down his lip, he puts a hand toward gold and turn the knob, and opens the door
of the house. Inside exists nothing but a single Futon, a dirty disgusting coke-stained futon. But that fails to
be the main attraction of this house. In this house 4 figures are visible. On top of the mattress with X’s on
his hands and knuckles written and tattered with by a marker to spell out the words “drug free.” He has a
top hat and black hair with red highlights just barely at the edge of his hair. Despite how incredibly handsome
this individual sounds, the most notable aspect of him are his 3 fingers and the fact he is a stick. Like a
stick. He is a literal stick figure.