It happens when you least expect it. You're arguing with your Kismesis, searching for resources, maybe you're dying, maybe finally living. Whatever has preoccupied yout time, however, is dropped at the sight of it, a small metallic sphere hovering like one of Earth's hummingbirds in midair. The humming device is not unfamiliar to you. Any human would run upon seeing such an alien thing but, after all, you are an alien, and in The Imperial Condescention's navy, the drone-like communicators were one of the best ways to make sure your messages were delivered safely.
You're curious now. What's a Transfer Drone doing on this abandoned rock of a planet? You were all too sure the remnants of The Condesce's navy had retreated. Was it lost? A remnant of the war? Hesitantly, you push the circular access button in the center of the sphere, a far off hope in your head that maybe they were coming back to get you, or at least give you a reason they left. On queue, a light shaft projects from the eye in the robot drone and fans out to settle on your frozen face, a grid of white lines scanning the contours of your visage. This, too, is completely normal to you, and you can almost predict what the drone will do next. The grid on your skin disappears and a smaller projection scans your retinas for further verification that you are, in fact, you.
The machine spits out your name, caste, rank, age and, most mysteriously, the number zero, in a monotone voice as if to tell itself it was now okay to relay the message meant only for you. At least you think it's only for you until the drone pulls back and the light shaft morphs into a mountain of hair, glittering jewelry, and a glinting, dangerous smile. Your hair stands on end despite the many miles that must be between you and the Condesce. Instinctively, you cringe despite yourself and fall to one knee as her voice plays through a speaker in the Transfer Drone and the hologram's lips move along with it.Â
"Listen up, wrigglers 'cause I ain't got time for squiddin' around and stickin' here to sea the ofishal end of this war. Spendin' three and a half sweeps on this waste of time hasn't gotten us anyfin, so, bein' the genius I am, I've got a proposition for ya, buoys and gills. If you ever want to get off that waste of a planet, you better take this to heart. We aren't leavin' Earth without krillin' every glubbin' human living on it, but, like I just said, I ain't got time to do it the hard way and that's why you're here. You're gone get this job done. We know where you are on Earth, obviously, cause of this little drone. Ain't it cute? Anyway, you've got some cullin' to do, babes, so let's make this quick. Off ten humans and you're out of there. Boom. Bam. We've conquered Earth. You're back in the navy.Â
Perhaps you've gotten hooked on their pathetic race. Ho ho, I bet some of you have. Whale, let's up the ante. A little persuasion, shell we say? One a month. One measly little human a month. Do it, or be culled. Aren't I nice? No, I ain't. So I'm changing it up. Here's the reel deal: one a week. Sea, I'm dolphinitely not nice."
Someone mutters in the background and The Condesce whips her head to the side to face the protester. "I can do waterever I fuckin' like, basshole!" she growls to the off-camera voice, pointing her trident in the same direction. The hologram Empress slowly lowers the weapon and turns back to the camera, gesturing to the drone and flashing a wicked grin like nobody had interrupted her at all, "Sea, these drones ain't the normal kind. They'll run a harpoon through ya faster than fuckin' Troll Captain Ahab if you aren't up to quota, you cute lil cuttlefish. So take your opportunaty and join me back in space. Why go through all this trouble, you ask? A girl's gotta have fun somehow, amirite?"
A deadening silence fills the air as the hologram flicks off and the drone hums menacingly in the air, as if waiting for your answer. It's up to you, now. Will you heed the advice of your Empress and get the heck off this hunk of rock or find a loophole that'll keep you alive and free? Good luck to you and the humans; whatever your choice, you'll both need it. It's up to you at this point forward: ignore the message and fight what this drone has in store for you, or save yourself and do the Imperial Condescenion's bidding. Leave it to the Condesce to give you choices without really giving you a choice.