It's A Deadly Job, But Somebody's Gotta Do It

And the FEDs has a lot of enemies.

Not content with fighting amongst themselves, humans decided long ago to spread to the stars, where they succeeded in pissing off more than half the lifeforms they encountered. The Trellix, Saurions, Cichazazabaine-even the Empire of Nimh-have grudges against the FEDs. And they aren't the only species who'd enjoy seeing Earth and the FEDs spanked across the galaxy.

Even I have a better track record than that.

That list doesn't even include the splinter groups of humanity. The Cult of Timay, the League of Sentient Earth Rejects (LoSERs), the mysterious Genex, and various other religious and terrorist groups are also bent on overthrowing the FEDs.

In fact, the FEDs has been embroiled in one conflict after another for the last two hundred years (3). It was the military's job to protect the FEDs from its mistakes.

As High Command was fond of pointing out, the FEDs made a lot of mistakes.

Luckily, for both the FEDs and the Stellar Fleet, most of the species who hated us were pacifistic, or were pacifistic before meeting us. They just didn't have the finely honed killing instincts we humans gained during our long years trapped on Earth.

Also, with the exception of the HrmHrhin, the insect species of Hoxrel VII, none of our enemies reproduced as quickly as humanity. In recent years, we've been putting rabbits to shame.

That's what kept the FEDs alive. Those were the only advantages we had in the fierce competition for the Czalor system. And there was a lot of competition.

The crews of SO-3 and SO-4, along with the tattered remains of the Fourth Fleet, have been under attack almost continuously for the last two years. We've held our own, killed more of them than they've killed of us, but it's been costly.

Luckily, reinforcements are due to arrive any day now-fresh troops, fresh supplies, and most importantly, fresh food. Unfortunately, reinforcements have been due to arrive for nearly a year. Occasionally, a few recruits showed up in a transport, usually green rookies fresh from the academy. I haven't seen fresh supplies, or fresh food, in nearly nine months, though the last transport did leave several extra crates of food cubes.

The only thing which arrived with any regularity was the trix convoy. Every month, with exacting precision, over a hundred freighters novaed into space just outside the Czalor system. The Eighth Fleet, under the command of Fleet Admiral McGwire, accompanied them, their sole duty to protect the convoy from attack.

Occasionally, the admiral left behind a few extra men or even a crate or two of spare parts. He always promised to appeal to High Command, to tell them how essential it was to resupply the troops on SO-3 and SO-4. But either the admiral forgot his promises or High Command didn't listen to 'em. Either way, there weren't a lot of supplies headed our way.

The food cube finally dissolved, so, like a good little soldier, I swallowed it with a grimace. As was my custom, I squeezed my hands into fists to help diminish the taste, which crumpled the envelope. I cursed, loudly, as the gofer's visit came back to me.

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(3) For the purposes of this document, assume that all times and dates are given in SET (Standard Earth Time). Though accurate records of Commander Cougar's missions, not to mention his personal habits, have been lost, we believe he preferred to count the passage of time using the FEDs standard, rather than adjusting his clock with every transfer.