A Routine Investigation...

My name is ...

Let me start again. You wouldn't be able to pronounce it with only one tongue and no innate autotuning vocal chords anyway.

I am a visitor from Takis. A short while ago, as time is measured in space, we noticed that a small world orbiting a G-class yellow star had been targeted by aliens. Specifically, a uniquely engineered specimen derived from the species Hamsterus Giganticus was sent to this world. There is only one known species that uses Hamsterus in such a fashion - we do not speak their name here, as their spy network is even more extensive than we had originally imagined... but I get ahead of myself. Suffice it to say, the world was targeted, and my people dispatched a probe to observe.

We have dispatched many such probes in the past. Sadly this ... empire ... is somewhat aggressive and have targeted many worlds. Most worlds, even if eventually able to eliminate Hamsterus, are so devastated by the conflict that they are unable to resist further intrusions. Many worlds are entirely pacified by Hamsterus, leaving no signs of native life at all.

This world, however, was different. This world had apparently managed to rebuild a technologically sophisticated society on the ashes of the old, and even demonstrated limited knowledge of zero point energy manipulation that is beyond Takisian understanding; crudely put, they had limited "magical" capabilities. As our own world's defences against Hamsterus, while deemed sufficient, were nonetheless demonstrably inferior to what these "Sims" had developed, it was decided to send a small scout ship to make peaceful contact with the Sims with the intention of opening up technological and cultural exchange.

I was the captain of the ship, Baby, especially grown for this mission. Her tachyon FTL drive was one of the fastest we had ever observed, and she was eager and willing to perform the mission we had for her. My crew were chosen from the finest diplomats, scientists, and artists our highly advanced civilisation had to offer. We had great expectations for the mission.

We were less tight lipped than perhaps we should have been. Our enemies learned of our mission - we do not know how. I should say, I do not know how - as you will see. The vast distances between our worlds meant that even with Baby's FTL drive it would still take perhaps a century to reach the Sim's world, and so the crew were rostered in cold sleep.

It was about a week ago that my turn to watch and make whatever course corrections were needed arrived. I woke to find Baby screaming in pain, my crew missing - presumably spaced - and the FTL drive hopelessly damaged beyond repair. But though the situation was dire, my initial reaction was still of cautious optimism. The star charts we possessed showed a nearby M-class world with a highly technological society. I managed to treat enough of Baby's wounds and one last push from the FTL drive to crash land on this world, peopled by beings not greatly dissimilar to Takisians in form and even genetically similar enough to produce viable offspring.

But it became immediately apparent our charts were out of date. Baby was targeted by surface to space missiles upon emergence from warp, and in her weakened state could not evade or jam the devices. I managed to eject in an escape pod and watched my faithful ship die.

I landed in a world that had obviously recently been the subject of some form of catastrophe. Military thugs took me into custody and performed various experiments on me, but I managed to convince them that I was merely a mutant - my skin colour and genetic aberrations a result of the radioactive decay that my escape pods Geiger counter had suggested was dangerously high, but theoretically survivable. Given my age and my obvious intelligence they immediately drafted me into the efforts to restore their society; I was assigned a plot of land near a contaminated body of water, and sent to their boot camp university - the last of its kind.

When they found me I was upset, crying about how long it would take to get home without my tachyon drive. This is what they called me - Tachyon - and they called the kick start program the "Wild Cards". So I shall call myself Tachyon Wildcard, as these "humans" do. It is my fervent hope that I can construct some sort of FTL communication device to beam this journal to Takis, or failing this, that Baby remains alive, in orbit, and able to receive the radio communications I am already able to send. With luck, this journal will be short, and my return journey swift.