High Commodore K’forn, responsible for so many victories of the Inter-Universal Federation Agency, stands outside the holding area of a brave soldier assigned to… that goddamned wet rock. Barely a koin ago he had been one of the bravest up-and-coming recruits he met at a routine examination of the new trainees; he was certain that young Zodeel would do so many great things for the IUFA.
He now sits huddled in the corner of his cell, rocking back and forth and twitching.
“We can’t get anything out of him,” The medical officer at his side stated. “We’ve tried everything, and he never gives us anything coherent. In fact, no reactions at all. Except…”
K’forn turned to them as they trailed off. “Except?”
“…Whenever we serve him any protein rations, he just… screams. Actually, it’s any food with a red color, in general.”
Protein rations ARE red, but why would that scare him so badly?
“We were hoping,” the Medic continued demurely, “That perhaps - since he looked up to you so deeply - you might just be able to help?”
“…Open the door. I’ll speak to him.” Were he capable of such an inferior human expression, K’forn would have sighed. He’d dealt with recruits who had snapped before. He had experience.
After the keypad finished beeping and the pressure-locks opened, K’forn stepped in, going through the usual motions. He kneeled in front of the young recruit and attempted to get anything coherent out of him. Much to the relief of the medic, he actually looked up, seemingly recognizing his voice.
Then he asked what happened.
Zodeel spoke in hushed whispers, describing the incident. They were taking refuge in an abandoned livestock center, one with a bright red color (he choked the color out). There were still some of the “cows” there, but they were behind fences and seemingly paid them no mind. Zodeel’s squadron had an entirely new problem: They were running dangerously low on food rations. One of the more adventurous ones suggested that they eat one of the cows; he had seen the humans do it. Their human guide - an expert on the insectoid life forms of the planet, at the insistence of their Commanding Officer after the “Silkworm Incident” - suggested they cook it first, but they laughed; they didn’t have some weak stomach system, they could handle raw meat. Only Zodeel, treacherously suspicious of any unknown danger, decided to let his hunger gnaw at his stomach before he went along with his partners.
When he woke up the next night, it was as if all of his team had lost their mind. They threw themselves at the feet of the cows, trying to get them to devour them. No matter what he or the human guide did, they could not get them to stop, or eat, or do anything else at all. They only ceased during the day, squatting inside the barn as if hiding from the sunlight. The cows, herbivores, refused, but occasionally attacked and killed them. None of them lasted longer than half a koin.
He couldn’t forget their empty blank stares. He couldn’t forget the awful red color of that raw meat that they had eaten. He couldn’t forget how their black blood splashed across the open fields.
The last thing he remembered before becoming utterly incoherent was the human guide telling him what had happened.
“Liver fluke. Worm. Dicrocoelium dendriticum. They take over the minds of ants, and force them to get eaten by cows. They can only breed in their intestines.”
Once K’forn was finished evacuating his latest meal in the waste release facility, he returned to the Medic.
“From now on, none of the platoons are allowed to eat anything that comes from that planet unless it’s been burnt to a crisp and thoroughly liquefied.”
