Against the Humans - a tribute to the classic D&D adventure "The Steading of the Hill Giant Chief"

The raiders standing before Nosnra Rockthrower were an intimidating bunch. They were tall, even for hill giants.  Armed to the teeth, and beyond -- to their eyebrows, even. Their muscles rippled under the fur of their bearskin armor.  Their eyes glistened with malice. They were the fiercest warriors in the clan.  And possibly the dumbest. 

“Bargan Treesplitter.”

“Yes, my Chieftain!”

“How many clubs do you carry?”

“Three, my Chieftain.”

“And how many axes?”

“Four, my Chieftain.”

“And how many large sacks?”

“Uh … sacks, my Chieftain?”

Nosnra sighed.  “Do I understand you carry no large sacs?”

“Umm … no, my Chieftain.” Bargan blushed.  

Nosnra frowned and looked away. A blushing hill giant was an unsightly thing.

“How do you propose to bring back any goats, or barley, or wheat, if you don’t have any large sacks?” Nosnra said.

“Yes . . .  yes, Chieftain.  You are right.  Bargan is forever shamed.”  The hill giant hung his head, hiding his eyes from Nosnra.

“Well, you don’t have to get so dramatic.  Just grab a couple before you leave.  That goes for the rest of you as well.”  

Nosnra sighed again.  The raiders might be good fighters, but there was going to be no promoting anyone out of this bunch. Simply put, they were not management material.  No initiative, no drive, no proactiveness.  There was nothing he could do about that, though. On the bright side, if there were no promotions, there wouldn't have to be any raises, either.  

He was sending the raiding party to attack a human settlement about twelve leagues out. The small village included a mill and a storage depot that should be full of grain. If things went well, they would bring back a rich haul.

The boys looked determined. That, at least, was a good thing, Nosnra thought. The fate of the clan may well rest on their shoulders. Nosnra was not a giant given to hyperbole. Things were indeed dire for the Hillbreaker Clan, the way this ranging was going.

Oh, things began well enough.  Their masters had sent them to this countryside four months earlier, with orders to plunder and pillage and to give no quarter. They had quickly set up a strong wooden steading and set to raiding the surrounding areas. The pickings were easy and the human settlements were wealthy. They brought back plenty of livestock and even gold from local merchant warehouses and petty lords.

But then, about two months ago, things started to go terribly wrong. The ruling nobles, conscious of their reputations -- and the harm to their tax base -- had begun reinforcing the defenses and doubling the garrisons of all the settlements in the area. The hill giant raiding parties took heavy casualties, where once they had been untouchable. They brought home fewer livestock and gold. The troops' morale began to drop, along with their income. With winter coming on, Nosnra had doubts about whether the steading could make it through to spring. 

Then there was the issue of the party of adventures that had been harassing the stronghold for the last few days. They were sneaking in and out like mice – hell, they were about the same size as mice, more or less. They were taking treasure and murdering good, upright, hard-working hill giants every time. He'd sent out search parties to track them down, to no avail. It seemed they had some sort a base camp in a hidden cave nearby that was well nigh impossible to find. The humans would disappear, take a long rest, and be back to plague him the next day.

These were problems for the whole clan, but Nosnra problems of his own, as well.  First was that offhand remark about their ogre scouts needing to bathe more often that had landed him in sensitivity training last month. Then there was the meeting with the dark elves from corporate he had just returned from. That asshole Jarl Grugnur had poked fun at his recent dip in income, right in front of the little pointy-ears.   He had even had the gall to suggest that the hill giants needed a new chief appointed.

That blue-skinned, frost-breathed jack-ass! The nerve of that guy. It was so easy for him – him and his oversized smurfs, hiding thousands of miles away in their glacial rift. Let's see them work their butts off on the front lines like the hill giants did!  It was enough to make Nosnra want to throw a rock. Well, maybe he would, later. First he had to send his raiders on their way.

"Good luck, Warriors. Remember the goat contest is still on -- most goats brought back gets that all expenses paid trip to the Amedio peninsula -- start thinking about who you want to take along with you to enjoy margaritas on the beach. Grognok, you're still in first place but Cragbag is gaining fast. This is your chance to build a lead going into winter," he said to his raiders. With that, he dismissed them and started the hike back to the steading.

Dorknut, his lieutenant, fell into step beside him. "Walk and talk, Dorknut, I don't have time for a formal status report today. Dealing with that polar-bear fucking Grugnuk has given me a massive headache and all I want I want to do is lie down for a nap."

Dorknut was as dumb as the rest of them, but he had earned respect due to both his ability to lift astoundingly heavy rocks and to eat astoundingly large amounts of food. Luckily his duties did not require him to do much in the way of independent thinking.

The lieutenant’s report was mostly the usual stuff -- the adventurers' cave had still not been found, the supplies of throwing boulders was getting low, and the group of escaped Orc slaves hiding out in the caverns underneath the steading was still causing trouble. 

“They broke into the kitchen workroom and made off with most of our cheese wheels and about a hundred pounds of smoked meats, my Chieftan,” Dorknut said.

“What? The maple smoked hams?” Nosnra said.  

“Aye, Chieftan.”

Nosnra's growl was half despair and half rage.  Had these orc rebels no shame?  Stealing his hams ... hams that were looted, fair and square, by honest hill giant raiders and prepared according to his mother’s recipe? This was an affront to traditional hill giant values.  

“Also, Chieftan, we questioned the one we captured last week,” Dorknut said. “He admitted that the orcs have been helping those adventurers.”

Nosnra frowned.  “Well, that clinches it. We’re going to have to do something about those orcs.”  The question was, how?  They certainly didn’t have enough money to pay exterminators. That meant he would have to send warriors down into the caves, warriors he couldn’t spare. “How did this all start, anyway? Orcs never give any trouble.”

“The prisoner said that about a month ago, an interdimensional rift opened in their barracks and a tome felt through.  Some of them started reading it, and next thing you know they were advocating for a classless society of evil beings.  They claim the plunder from killing and enslaving humans and elves should be shared equally by all.”

Nosnra snorted. “Ridiculous. What tome was this that they got a hold of?”

“He said it was ‘The Computist’s Many Pestos’ – some kind of cookbook for mathematicians, apparently.”

“What?”

“I might be getting that wrong … only took a year of high school Orcish …”

“Huh. I should like to question this prisoner myself.”

“Sorry, my Chieftan. The torturer broke him.  You know those orcs are almost as fragile as humans …”

By this time they had reached the front door of the steading.  “Fine, fine,” Nosnra said. “Go review our defenses.  I need to go lie down, this headache is killing me.”

As Nosnra walked to his room, he spotted some of the hill giant children down the hall. Usually the young ones were boisterous, all rough-housing and yelling, but today they seemed strangely subdued. Probably up to no good. Nosnra got the sense that their clothes seemed just a little bit too large for them, like they were all wearing a larger sibling's clothes.  For some reason, he thought of the tall-tale that drow wizard had told him, about dressing up a pack of racoons in a robe and fooling a band of human soldiers into thinking it was the King of Nyrond. Not that there was likely any truth to it.  Dark elves were known to be prodigious bullshitters.

Nosnra shrugged.  "My eyesight is getting worse every day," he muttered to himself. "Might be time to get fitted for glasses.”

He opened the door to his room, half expecting to be set upon by the adventurers. At this point he was almost too tired to care. He would even welcome it, if they cast a sleep spell first. He hung his bearskin tunic on a peg on the wall and collapsed into his cot. Soon, he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

He was awakened a few hours later by an insistent pounding on the door.

"Keep your tree club in yer pants, I'm coming, just a minute," Nosnra said.

He hastily pulled on his tunic and strapped on his belt of pony leather. He blinked a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes and drew himself upright to look his most chief-like. Never does to let the troops see you in disarray, he thought. He yanked the door open to reveal an alarmed Dorknut standing in the hallway, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

"Dorknut - for Grolantor's sake, pull yourself together. Are you a giant or a goblin? Speak - what's the problem?"

The lieutenant’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed.  "It's -- it's those adventurers again, my chieftain. They -- they've killed Handsome Grark.  And six of his lady and gentlemen companions."

Nosnra's jaw went slack.  "What do you mean?  How did that happen?"

"Well, Grark was having one of his crazy parties --"

"The kind you usually don't get invited to."

"Erm, yes my Chieftan.  Well the adventures burst into the room, spells and swords blazing.  None of our people had a shred of clothes on, let alone armor or weapons.  They didn't stand a chance."

"Hrmmm," Nosnra replied, stroking his beard thoughtfully. They had killed his direwolf keeper. These adventurers really were going too far.  Sure, the other dead giants were a tragedy too.  But Grark's death was a tragedy and a staffing nightmare.

Dorknut sobbed. A huge globule of snot dripped from his nose - he tried without success to snort it back in, and it splattered on the stone floor and onto Nosnra's toes. "They came into the dormitory and slaughtered all the younglings,” he said. “One of the maids said they were sneaking around disguised in the younglings clothes!" 

Nosnra's eyes went wide at this. The bastards! How dare they! They were were really going way too far.

But Dorknut was not done, "They rampaged through the ogre quarters and linked up with some of the Orc rebels. The ogre survivors said they went down into the lower level. My lord - the treasure stash may be at risk!"

Yeah, sure … the treasure stash, Nosnra thought. Not like I've been able to get to it since some wise ass had the idea to plop a bunch of rabid manticores in front of it. Not too worried they're going to get to that.

But there was something in the lower level he was worried they might get too, and that did worry him. He had received a supply of very fine Drow dark wine that he kept hidden down there. He could not bear the thought of those filthy thieves running off with any of it.

"Wait here, Dorknut, I'm going to deal with these vermin personally.” He went to his secret armory and grabbed his enchanted oaken shield. He sorted through his spears until he found his enchanted javelins of lightning.  A gift from an ex-girlfriend, a storm giant.  Nosnra smiled at the thought of her.  He had always been a leg man -- err, leg giant -- and storm giant legs went on for miles ... 

He wondered what had become of that storm giantess.  She had gone for a walk on the glacial rift and never come back.  'Ghosting' him, as the young giants said these days.  Why had she not come back?  Hopefully she hadn't taken up with that icicle-dick Grugnur.

Now he was ready. He went bounding down the stairs, with Dorknut following -- not too closely -- behind. 

Nosnra detested going into the tunnels. Between the stench of the ogres, surprise attacks from the Orc rebels, and the occasional carrion crawler in your shoe, he found it particularly unpleasant. But he was ready to teach these adventurers a lesson.

He entered the large marshaling chamber. A warm glow from regularly spaced torches in sconces along the wall lit the room. The scene that greeted him was straight out of a copper-piece horror story.  

A dozen dead bugbears were strewn about, killed in an incredible variety of ways. Some were burnt by fire or lightning. Others frozen, with rime still clinging to their fur. One unlucky fellow was crushed by strangling vines that had miraculously risen up from the flagstone floor. Many were killed the old-fashioned way, hacked to pieces by swords, or with their heads or chests crushed by a war hammer. 

Most disturbing of all, the old deformed hill giant they simply called "the Keeper" lay in a corner, while the carnivorous apes he kept as pets were feeding on his remains. He always said he'd given an arm and a leg for them, now he’d given them a liver and a spleen as well, thought Nosnra. 

These adventurers had really gone way, way too far.  He would deal with them, but first he'd have to do something about the apes. Sure, it was amusing to watch them tear human captives apart, but he couldn't very well have a pair of crazed chimps running around the tunnels down here, eating the faces off any orc slave that was unlucky enough to come too close. A couple of well-aimed javelin throws, the crackle of lightning, and there was little left of the apes but two piles of smoking fur.

Now, it was time to get his revenge on the humans.  Weren’t they basically hairless chimps, anyway?  "Which way do you think they went, Dorknut?"

His lieutenant, unnerved by the carnage in the room, took an inordinately long time to answer. Finally, he replied, "I dunno Chief. Looks like most of the fighting happened in the south side of the room, maybe they went down through the bugbear quarters."

That would make sense, if they planned to meet up with the Orc rebels holed up in the natural caverns to the southeast. "Stay here, I need to go check on a matter of special interest. Yell an alarm if you see them," Nosnra said as he grabbed a torch from the wall. 

He turned down the passageway to the north. The reason he was a successful hill giant chief was because he knew how to keep his priorities straight. Always keep in mind what is most important. And at this moment, the most important thing was to make sure his wine stash was undisturbed. If nothing else, he did not intend to let those thieves get a hold of his booze. 

He opened the door to the storeroom slowly, ready for anything. Nothing jumped out and attacked him, no lightning bolts shot at his face. Phew. Better yet, everything looked intact. The light from his torch glistened temptingly on the undisturbed copper banding of the casks. 

"Might as well have a fortifying drink," he said to himself. He grabbed the nearest cask, unplugged the bunghole, and drank deeply. The Drow wine tasted every bit as magnificent as he remembered, fruity but not overly sweet, bringing a warming sensation to his body and a rosy glow to his cheeks. He stayed and finished off the cask, then crushed it to splinters with a growl.

"Adventurers, Chief Nosnra comes for you! Prepare for your doom!" he yelled down the passageway. Then, less aggressively, "Dorknut! Have you seen anything.?"

There was no reply. Uh-oh, thought Nosnra. He pelted down the hall back to the marshaling chamber.

He saw Dorknut's body crumpled on the ground. Gronlantor, these humans are nothing but a gang of murder hobos. The stout giant bore garrote marks at his neck and stab wounds on his back. Great, they have a thief with them. No wonder I didn't hear him yell an alarm. That backstab multiplier is an unfair mechanic, they should really get rid of it ...

These humans had really gone way, way, way too far. He supposed he had better check on the treasure stash, after all. He doubted they would have any chance of getting past the rabid manticores, but this group had proved pretty resourceful.

Nosnra searched the west wall of the marshaling room until he saw the off-color brick  he was looking for. He gave it a push, felt it sink into the wall and give a satisfying click as it triggered the secret door mechanism. A section of the wall slid to the side, allowing him to enter the secret passageway. He moved down to the opposite end and looked through the spy holes to check on the manticore room.

To his surprise, the party of adventurers was already there. More surprisingly, the bodies of the four manticore guardians were scattered around the room, quite dead. The adventurers themselves appeared only slightly worse for the wear: manticore spikes protruded from the shield of a warrior with an elaborate mustache, and from the leather armor of the lanky thief. He watched a human female dressed in chain mail cast a spell as she laid her hands on an elf who held a bow. A ragged bite mark on his arm instantly healed with only a trace of a scar.

Well, thought Nosnra, it seems a change in strategy is in order.

He pushed the trigger on the wall opening another secret door, thinking as he did that the party must have come through this very same passageway to get in to this room so fast – truly, they seemed unstoppable. Not even the most clever hidden passageways got in their way.

Nosnra straightened his back, trying to appear as regal as he could. He entered the room with a smile, clapping loudly. 

"Impressive. Very impressive. I must admit I underestimated you, but you have defeated my most powerful forces, so it seems time that I submitted."

A dark hair human female wearing dark robes looked at him skeptically and spoke. "And who might you be, that we should care if you submit to us?"

"I am Nosnra Rockthrower, Chief of this clan and leader of this steading. And as the leader, I will surrender our treasure to you and withdraw my troops from the area. All attacks on these lands will end. But all this on the condition that you leave the rest of us unharmed and free to leave.”

The adventurers huddled up and discussed this in harsh whispers, ocassionally pointing at him and at each other. Finally, the mustachioed warrior turned back to him and said, "Very well, Nosering, we accept your surrender. Take us to your treasure.  And mind you – if you try any tricks, it won’t go well for you."

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, man-thing.  Come, follow me.”

The hill giant chief led them to the next room. He pressed a button on the wall, and a spike trap opened on the floor. "You'll want to step over that," he said.

He showed them the chests full of coins and gems. The adventures oohed and aahed appreciatively. He neglected to show them the magical items hidden by the illusion in the southwest corner of the room. He could sell those for a tidy sum later - that money would be useful.

"There's also a magical warhammer in the weapons room upstairs you might be interested in." Nosnra gave them his most charming smile, baring his sharpened, yellow teeth.

The fighter spoke again, "Very well giant, you have kept your end of the bargain. You may prepare your troops to leave here."

I could do that, thought Nosnra, but that would cut into my getaway time. What I'm more likely to do is grab a cask of the drow wine and the magic items I didn't show in this room and start heading south. I think it's about time a spent some time on the beach in the Amedio peninsula myself -- the goat contest is pretty much off now.

"One last thing - take a look at this map," Nosnra said as he opened up a barrel in the corner of the room. "If you want to know who's the mastermind behind this invasion, there's a certain asshole frost giant Jarl holed up in a glacial rift north of here. You'll want to take him out, to make sure he doesn't send some other clan to take our place."

He smiled again, thinking of Grugnur's face when he heard that humans were in his stronghold, slaughtering his troops.

"And this magic chain will transport you there instantly, if you twist it like so and step in one of the loops." 

Have fun with that, Grugnur, Nosnra thought.

Rogue One Review and "the gritty reboot"

I had very high hopes for Rogue One, and, overall, I was not disappointed. No, it is not a perfect movie, but it did what I wanted it to do: it took the Star Wars narrative in a new, grittier direction.

Now, the Star Wars properties have explored these types of new directions for years: from the extended universe novels, to video games, to the cartoon series, we've seen how vast the Star Wars universe is and how many different types of stories could be set in it.  I think for me this led to a gnawing sense of disappointment after watching episode VII, which for all its strengths, felt like it mostly stuck to the safe, worn path of the previous stories.  Even when it wasn't directly retreading prior plot points, it echoed some similar themes and tropes: hero with mysterious origins, conflicted father/son relationships, etc.

Now, in recents years, a cottage industry has popped up around the idea of the "gritty reboot" of a beloved comic and toy franchise from the 80's.  Maybe Christopher Nolan and "the Dark Knight" are to blame.  But it did seem that the market was flooded with them to the point of absurdity (I wouldn't be surprised if the gritty reboot version of Calvin and Hobbes had been an actual real thing on some Hollywood producer's desk at some point).

Well, for my money, Rogue One did gritty right.  Maybe it's the fact that the prior Star Wars movies, and the original trilogy in particular, was so thoroughly epic, mythic, high mimetic, that the franchise was crying out for a treatment in a low mimemtic mode, something through the eyes of everyday citizens and members of the rebellion.

Like I said earlier, it's not perfect. Act 1 in particular, has its problems -- both in narrative, which felt choppy as we jumped quickly through time and space to introduce the major players, and in plotting, with the obvious question of why Galen doesn't send the Death Star plans out with the pilot, rather just giving the information of where they can be found.

These issues are easily forgiven and forgotten by the time the action gets rolling in Act 2.  We seen Jyn as grown up and fiercely independent, maybe a little too dangerous and edgy for the comfort of the rebel alliance leaders.  The Alliance feels a little more fleshed out and real, too, compared to the original trilogy.  It truly is an alliance of disparate rebellion factions, with deferring ideals, goals, and limits as too how far they will go to defy the Empire.  We meet Saw Gerrera, who has to be one of the most intriguing characters in the series.  He's painted as an extremist, and we see his crew  in action, springing a trap on a group of Imperial troopers in Jedha.  Obvious parallels to present day conflicts there.

The action moves quickly to the third act, where we get too see some great sci-fi action as Jyn's crew struggles to complete their mission and the rebel forces show up to lend their support.  The ending was very surprising for a Star Wars and Disney property, a really bold move that earned a lot of respect from me (I'm a sucker for movies that avoid the typical Hollywood happy ending).

So now to address some of the criticisms of the film I have seen on line:

I wasn't attached to the main characters: It's true that once the action gets going, we don't get as much time to learn about Jyn and Cassian.  And that's too bad, because I found them both really intriguing.  Jyn had much more of an edge than Rey in episode VII, and made for a far more interesting "strong female lead" character.  Cassian was amazing, I loved the way this supposed "good guy" could turn around and do the most cold-blooded things in the name of the rebellion.  So I thought the main characters were great, and this wasn't at all an issue for me.

The CGI of characters from the original trilogy was bad: I'm scratching my head at people saying this. I thought it was pretty amazing.

Krennic was not a compelling villain: Krennic is a ruthless careerist, opportunist, more driven by selfishness and thirst for glory than by pure malevolence.  I think his character points to the banality of evil, like he's the Eichmann of the Star Wars universe.  Different, for sure, from other main baddies we've seen, but certainly preferable to, say, having an angsty, patricidal teenager, at least in my book.

The Darth Vader scene at the end was gratuitous: the Darth Vader scene at the end was one of my favorite scenes in all of the franchise! Holy crap, it was like a horror movie - great in the overall characterization of Vader with regard to the overall series; I mean, the original trilogy only gave you the slightest glimpse as to why he was so feared.  And I would argue that the Death Star plans were the central point of the story, so it's entirely appropriate to keep following them on their way to Lelia's hands.

Looking back, I felt I've spent more time defending the movie than boosting it, so I'll leave you with this: I loved the film, it is fantastic, and you should go out and see it as soon as you can if you haven't already! May the Force be with you.

To trailer or not to trailer?

Does anybody else suffer from the same ambivalence that I do when it comes to trailers of a movie you are anticipating?
Case in point, I am super excited for Rogue One, the upcoming movie from the Star Wars franchise.  I couldn't help myself from watching all of the trailers as they were released on line.  And while they are all undoubtably cool, I can't help but think a little is lost when we see some of the best moments, and are let in on key plot points, before we walk into the theater.
I'm sure I will enjoy the movie regardless, but I wish I had the willpower to avoid looking at trailers!

Westworld Episode 7 random observations

A couple of things struck me as I watched Bernard's final "reveal" scene in the latest episode of Westworld.

When he's ordered to kill Theresa, he methodically takes off his sport coat.  Makes sense, you don't want to get it wrinkled.  But why take off the tie? Then he has to go through all the trouble of putting it back on.

And comes the question of methodology -- surely there are less messy ways than slamming her head against the wall.  Wouldn't a robot go with the cleanest and most efficient route?

Which brings us to -- why do Ford and Bernard turn their backs and leave her body in the corner?  Does Ford do this so often that he has a robot cleaning crew to come mop up after each one?

So I'll admit, I was surprised, though not shocked, if that makes sense.  Bernard has always been so methodical in words and actions that it was easy to see him in retrospect having been a robot all along.  I did notice at one point that his flashbacks had the same quality as those of the hosts, but I thought that was just a device to show how like them he was (exactly like them, apparently), or how much like humans they were.  I assume that his wife must be a host too, which implies she's kept at some other location just for the purpose of taking his phone calls.  Interesting ...

Book Review - Prince of Thorns by Mark Lawrence

Prince of Thorns tells the story of Prince Jorg Ancrath on his journey from the company of highwaymen he leads at the outset to assuming his rightful place as a noble and contender to reunite the Broken Empire.

The most interesting feature of this book, at the outset, is the unsavory nature of the protagonist who in the first few chapters alone commits multiple murders and rapes. As time goes on, we learn more about what is driving his immoral deeds, but it'd be a stretch to say he achieves any sort of Darth Vader-type redemptive arc.

The strongest features of this story are definitely the lively pace and vibrant writing - it is a really fun and quick read. Lawrence is very good at sketching out characters and locales so they are brought to life with just the right amount of details, and never feels heavy-handed as many authors tend to do when trying to present characters as imposing or bad-assed. The plot moves forward at a great pace and overall is very tight, excepting a detour into Gelleth which seems a bit extraneous but can be forgiven because it's such a cool episode. Probably the strongest justification for that detour is what it reveals about the setting - which was one of the things I really appreciated about the book; the backstory is very cool and novel.

I was amused to see several mentions of "playing a game of thrones." (Also at least one instance of the GRRM groaner "he was not wrong.") That said, at no point did I feel like I was reading someone trying to imitate Game of Thrones, Lawrence definitely has his own distinct style and feel, although Game of Thrones readers would probably enjoy it too. So, a great way to help fill the gap until the next SOIAF book comes out.

Original Fiction - The Listening Station

BZZZZZ

Sam Starling woke, once again, to the sound of Space Exploration Council’s most annoying alarm sound, scientifically tested to be unbearable to even the heaviest sleeper.  Not that this put Sam off at all – in fact he had the option to use a different alarm sound, but he chose to use this one. He shut to buzzer off and got out of his bed to start the day, as he had every day of the last 12 years.

Or, more accurately, the simulation of a day.  Here on the largest moon of XF-799524, natural day/night cycles had little meaning. The distance to the system’s star was so great that it was difficult to distinguish it from the background starry panorama of the galaxy.

Listening Station 64R, however, was an entirely self-contained ecosystem catering to the comfort of its sole occupant, Mr. Starling. This included simulating the day/night cycles he had become accustomed to during the 25 years he had spent on Earth.

Sam went to the kitchen and selected his breakfast from the interface menu.  8 seconds later he removed his plate of eggs and bacon and his cup of coffee from the food printing compartment.  He took these over to the breakfast table as he ran through his maintenance checklist for the day.

LS 64R was fashioned of modular components using cutting edge technology of the time. Nearly every function was, or could be, automated.  Sam suspected, correctly, that the only reason he was assigned any duties was to keep him from going insane.

12 years was a long time to be assigned to solitary confinement.

Sam came from humble beginnings, but despite that, he had always known that it was his destiny to be part of the space exploration effort. He certainly had the name for it. And the passion – he had written to the Council as a child and joined the Youth Space Exploration Club while in grade school. He was a good student, and knew he had what it took to one one day be an astronaut.  But life dealt him a different hand when his father died and his mother got sick. He was forced to quit school and take care of her. A formal education was not to be.

 Instead, he had gone the route of the autodictat, reading extensively all his life, all the while maintaining his love of space. When the Council had called for volunteers for the Listening Station Initiative, he had jumped at the chance.  And, since the educational requirements were far less stringent than most of the Council’s other programs, he had been accepted.

He’d breezed through the training, his natural intelligence and general enthusiasm for space exploration boosting him far ahead of his fellow volunteers. He set himself to his task with unabashed zeal, for if there was one thing that appealed to him most, it was the search for alien life.

That was the reason for the Listening Station Initiative – to set up posts in far reaches of the galaxy to better receive potential transmissions for non-Earth lifeforms.  It was a direct descendant of the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence program begun hundreds of years ago by the National air and Space Administration of the old United States. The Council leaders decided that more ears in more places would improve their chances of hearing something.  And, after perfecting (as far as such things can be perfected) the technology for creating small wormholes, it wasn’t long before they placed their portable habitats in multiple far-flung corners of the universe.

Sam wasn’t sure why the Listening Stations hadn't been completely automated –- sure, a human was still needed to look at potential positive readings and throw out the ones that were due to interference, but surely that could be done back at home.  More likely it had to do with cost of creating a wormhole to send data back -– best to do it only when absolutely necessary.

And so here he was, many light years from his home planet.  He didn’t have anyone back at home – no sweetheart, no real family, not close friends, not even a pet.  So it wasn’t like he was particularly longing to go home to be with anyone.  Besides, he had access to a vast library here, and he had made heavy use for it over the years.

In fact, it was during a fateful period seven years ago when he was deeply engrossed in the library’s collection of ancient histories that he came to a momentous decision.

He had been studying a legendary explorer by the name of Christopher Columbus. The short version of the story he had learned in school hailed Columbus as a courageous explorer who discovered a new continent, but it did not detail what happened later and how he treated the indigenous, less technologically advanced culture.  As Sam dug deeper, he saw the same pattern repeat itself, across multiple eras and locations, over and over again throughout humankind’s history.

Now, it may be that some alien intelligence has developed in a way that its nature is fundamentally different to humankinds, thought Sam, but there is no way to know before we encounter them.

And so it was that in the present day, Sam reviewed the incoming signal caught by the station’s sensitive equipment, a signal which could only be a transmission from some other intelligent lifeform, and marked it as interference. The log, which would be sent back to earth when he created a wormhole at the end of the month would be the same as it had been every day since he had arrived.

As it had been every day since he first encountered these transmissions five years ago -– no unusual activity recorded.

Many people would consider the lonely lifestyle that Sam chose to be a terrible onus to bear. But for Sam, it was a small sacrifice to make for the honor and privilege of protecting the human race – even if no one would ever know.