Tempyurt2

It has been said that humans do not possess a second of beauty. This is not to diminish the vast aesthetic architecture on Earth. Beauty in this sense refers to beauty in the freezing void of space. Spacers from all species take much pride in the appearance of their starships, their frigates, their fighters - all except humans.

The Korvans of the Raundeen system model their longships after the seafaring vessels of their ancestors. All chrome and titanium, stretching kilometers long, armed with six Terimus Shipyards engines arranged in a semicircle. Built for speed, constantly pushing a race that thrived on being the fastest predator on the plains to be just a *little* faster. Korvan sailors made it a hobby to buzz slower ships for the sheer thrill of being the fastest thing in a hundred light-years — their favorite target, of course, being the (word for slow) human frigates.

The Bistin were an insectoid race, and their massive space stations showed it. The revolving Goliath Station had all the grace and order of a beehive. Repetitive geometric shapes, hexagons stacked on one another as far as the eye could see, dim yellow lights illuminating the superstructure. The station was modular, able to freely eject and attach entire wings at a moments notice. Efficiency was of utmost importance to the wasp-like drones, and that philosophy covered everything from the operation of their hives to conducting trade on their crowded stations. You don't get to be the wealthiest species in the Orion Arm by sitting on your haunches — which is why they had a particular distaste for the incorrigibly inefficient humans, who seemed perfectly content with admiring other species ships and wares.

The Garshûta could care less about the petty rivalry between the organics. The machine race placed its faith in numbers and computations, and its interest in its neighbors was limited to how much of what they could offer for how much. But, even though it would never admit it to itself, whatever part of Garshûta could be referred to as human enjoyed organizing its drone patrols and remote convoys to overshadow the human ships. The sleek carbon-fiber and silicon Predators and shimmering Stalkers were impressive — even more impressive when placed next to the ugly, boxy corvettes hailing from Terra Firma.

And because of this, all other species in the Orion Arm had collectively decided that humans simply did not *understand* that space was a beautiful thing, and necessitated equally beautiful travelers. And how could the humans respond, with their gunmetal gray ships placed next to such technological innovations? The only response was an old human proverb - "beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

But the only thing in the eyes of the crowds at Goliath Station was fear, as they watched the massive wormhole expel an army of white-and-gold fighters. Fast as pinpricks, they were upon the station before it even realized it was under attack. Explosions tore across the face of the station, shattering observation wings and killing hundreds in seconds. Unsurprisingly, the Garshûta were the first to react. The Predators had begun simultaneously returning fire and scanning thr newcomers for recognizability. Both of these processes were suddenly halted by the EMP mines the Invaders had planted. The Predators' stealth shields dropped, revealing their attempt to flank the enemy. It would be a short time before Garshûta deployed responses - more than enough time pick the station clean.

By the time the Invader ships began circling the station, then Bistin had all but abandoned ship. There would be other stations and other opportunities. This plan would have been foolproof had the attackers not targeted the face of the station containing the escape pods. The pods' inhabitants looked on in despair as more explosions marred their once-beautiful station. The Korvans were mounting a half-hearted defense, but it was hopeless against the superior armor and weaponry. Their speed didn't much matter when they would be cut up if they tried to run.

The beauty of humanity is not found in the curvatures of starships, or the design of their dicking stations. It is not found in the circuit boards of their technology or the mixture of metals used in construction. The beauty of humanity is found in the corona of a nuclear warhead imploding against the hull of an unidentified warship. It's found in the piercing scream of 600 rounds per minute of searing hot plasma cutting through swarms of fighters, slicing them to ribbons. It's found in the moment that a corvette unlocks its weapon arrays and spreads its wings, showing off the gargantuan array of weaponry tacked to the underside of the ship.

It's found in the pirouette of a clunky, boxy ship as it rockets through the remains of a fleet of hundreds of fighters, and slams into the scorched, flaming hull of a destroyer, still only half protruding from a wormhole. The grace of its engines as they roar to overdrive, lighting up the void with a second sun, forcing all observers to look away. The massive amounts of power it takes for a corvette to push a starship a hundred times larger than itself back, back through whatever hell it escaped from. With one last pulse of the engines strong enough to force all observers to look away, the tiny human corvette disappeared through the rip in space, which healed moments after. The only evidence of the encounter were the shredded remains of the fighters, now forming a ring around the station. No one would believe the survivors, of course, and their newfound appreciation for human beauty. But that was fine. Beauty is, after all, in the eye of the beholder.

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