“Fleet Lord, please take your time. You will be disoriented and your balance may suffer until your body has had time to adjust.” The scrawny cryo tech warned Skald has he rose from his chamber. He was naked but tattoos covered most of his grey skin, nearly acting as clothing to cover him.


    “It is not my first time.” He replied curtly. His voice struggled with the short sentence.


    “Yes, I’m sorry. Allow me to get you some water.” The tech said and excused himself to allow the Fleet Lord to gather himself.


    “Where is my hand. Send him.”


    “Yes, right away Fleet Lord.”


    As soon as the tech had left his office, Fleet Lord Skald allowed his pain to show. His muscles were stiff, his throat was dry, and there was a fog inside of his head that clouded every thought. He felt as if he was still in a dream but the pain was real enough that it couldn’t be. Sharlah were not meant to dream while in cryo sleep but he had. He dreamed of his failures. He dreamed of the civil war and the famine that followed.


    The Milky Way galaxy had been home to the Sharlah for millennia but as the inferior species who also inhabited it began achieving space flight, they no longer tolerated the actions of the Sharlah. As much as it pained him to admit, the alliance that had formed as a result of their shared fear had actually presented a military threat to his people.


    Factions developed within the Sharlah central government. Some calling for full scale war against the newly developed galactic council, others advising peace and coexistence. Years of hearings had bore little results that were in favor of the Sharlah way of life. The council was not ready or able to commit a genocide that would have sent them all back to the stone age, win or lose, so had decided that any species who had not yet developed sub light travel would not be under alliance protection.


    As a carnivorous species, The Sharlah could harvest these beings to feed their people and take what they wanted from their planets. A compromise. With careful planning and responsible harvest, this arrangement had worked for over five hundred years. The Milky Way galaxy was teeming with life and most of it could be classified as fauna. Animal life. Boring. Devoid of the glory of conquest.


    The Harvesters, a massive prison vessel used to collect and hold the creatures would arrive in orbit and cull every herd worth it’s weight in meat. It was a logistics operation, not a conquest. The warriors had become farmers to appease their enemies. The thought disgusted Skald. His ancestors had thrown down their weapons and bowed to the rest of the galaxy as if their way of life was somehow unacceptable in their modern times.


    The food supply may have been sustainable for the Sharlah, but the way of life was not. They were warriors. They were dominant. It was in their genes. The galaxy belonged to them and the primitive space faring species only existed because the Sharlah allowed it. This is why his father, his clan, had attacked the planet called Earth.


    The beings who lived there, humans they were called, had only just left their solar system. In the time between when the wormhole capable drones had found their ball of mud and his clan''s arrival in orbit, they had developed into a spacefaring species and had even somehow left the orbit of their world.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    His father had broken the Treaty of Coexistence when he invaded but it was a glorious and bloody victory. It had awakened in the Sharlah a feeling that they had not enjoyed in generations. Conquest. Victory. Blood and smoke and screams. This was their way. The humans were property, not galactic neighbors meant to be protected and allowed to continually advance into their space age.


    The actions of his father had sparked outrage among the reformers, the weak, the coexistent. When he showed up to his trial holding a human female on a leash, his conviction was sealed. Skald’s father was a martyr. A harbinger of the old ways and the spark that ignited a civil war among the clans. It raged for decades with little to no interference from the council.


    The savages were taking themselves out as far as they were concerned. When the killing had finally come to a close, very few clans were intact and the farming operations were no longer running. Victorious Sharlah were forced to feed on the bodies of the dead and captured due to the fact that their ships could not yet use wormholes but instead relied on a series of worlds to use as fueling stations for both ships and supplies.


    Skald’s exploration fleet into the andromeda galaxy included entire prison and breeding ships dedicated to farming the descendants of the weak Sharlah as well as humans to sustain his crews on their voyage. After the supply chain breakdown over 130 years ago, little was known about Earth or the Sharlah of his clan who were stationed on it. Likely they were awaiting the end of the war and for operations to resume. This was not his concern. A fresh start and galactic dominance was in order.


    “Fleet Lord, it is good to see you again. Are you well?” Hand Vigas greeted him as he entered the Fleet Lord’s quarters.


    “I am well Vigas. What is the current situation? How long have we been in cryo?”


    “One hundred and twenty three home years Fleet Lord. The original crew is much older now, elderly, but very few have died. Our officers are being brought out of cryo sleep and replacements for the old and dead will be trained. The drones were correct, the target world is a human colony, though little else is known.”


    “A human colony? Seeded before the invasion?”


    “Likely yes, or during. Colony is likely the wrong word but we are unsure of their tech level. I believe they had help from the council races, it is the only way that they could exist here.”


    The hand seemed nervous about that. Humans were not sitting members of the galactic council, they were thought of as primitive and volatile. Constantly warring among themselves. They had not yet been contacted by another race for fear that it would plunge their religious society into chaos.


    The council had no reason to help them set up a beta colony in the Andromeda galaxy, that was curious, but Skald’s gamble had payed off. He had followed the reports of activity from his Andromeda scout drones and he had found them. With Earth fallen, they would be cut off. An isolated farm and a jumping off point to expand into Andromeda where the Milky Way species had no authority.


    “This is wonderful news Vigas. How far out are we?” Skald asked as he stood and stretched his toned muscles.


    “A month at least, Fleet Lord, I was unsure if we should wake you yet but decided that we should, so that you could guide the fleet on approach.”


    “Thank you Vigas, your sound decision making has brought you to the Andromeda Galaxy and glory will follow.” Skald said, pulling the head of his second in command close to his own, and then began to don his jet black armor and his crimson helm. The only one of it’s kind in the entire fleet. “Tens of thousands of Sharlah will feast on this ball of mud and the hairless primates who think it belongs to them.”


    “Shall I bring you a human?” Vigas asked, hissing with delight through his razor edged teeth.


    “Do any of the reformers remain?”


    “Yes Fleet Lord, but their populations have dropped, as we cannot feed them well enough. The humans can eat fruits and vegetables.”


    “This was expected. Bring me one.”