It was a Strange Matter Capacitor.

  Two, actually.

  All humans knew what they looked like—the pinnacle of the species' achievements. Every schoolkid learned about them.

  There was one at the core of every Gateway, right at the top where everyone could see it. They were essential for powering and regulating the wormholes.

  SMCs were nearly zero-power loss storage devices; with energy densities that defied conventional physics, orders of magnitude greater than any known power source.

  You could pump energy into them endlessly and draw it back out with no significant loss.

  They made the Gateway network possible.

  The Republic charged a capacitor, sent it out on an automated ship to a new world, constructed the gate, and then discharged it—establishing the wormhole connection. The receiving end absorbed that energy into its own SMC, storing it indefinitely.

  Seeing an SMC in person, outside of a Gateway, would have been surprising.

  But that wasn’t what made this remarkable.

  They were tiny.

  Humanities SMCs were enormous—the size of a large shed, or one of the hulking automated tractors used on corporate farms.

  Huge, critical, and built from the most valuable substances humanity had ever claimed.

  The raw materials alone were unthinkably rare, their collection and distribution tightly controlled by the Republic.

  And all SMCs shared one unmistakable feature: they flickered.

  The entire object shifted—very slightly, on all axes—like it was vibrating at some unimaginable speed.

  The effect was real, but also not.

  It never actually moved, it had definable boundaries, could be handled—but to the naked eye, it looked as though it was slipping through space, vibrating between multiple places at once.

  Nothing could entirely, flawlessly, contain all the quantum effects caused by strange matter. Science had tamed it—domesticated it, even—but it was still a wild thing.

  The flicker was unnerving and universally recognizable.

  This was impossible.

  And yet—somehow.

  Fit into bracelets.

  The size of a watch face.

  Flickering.

  —

  Sierra reached for it.

  “Ohohoho, cooool…”

  Callan’s hand appeared on her wrist—tight, almost painful.

  He hadn’t reached for her, not that she had seen. His hand had just—materialized.

  It was accompanied by a booming noise:

  “Don’t! What the fuck?!”

  Sierra winced.

  “It is safe to interact with the devices,” Brenda said calmly. “They were intended for your species.”

  Callan’s pulse was still racing.

  “What—are they?”

  Realizing his grip was still tight on Cecil’s wrist, he pulled her arm back and let go.

  “Don’t,” he repeated—calmer this time, but with a glare.

  Sierra glared back.

  “They are a sample of our defensive technology,” Brenda continued. “An example of the gifts we will offer freely if you accept us onto your worlds.”

  Callan had wanted to touch them just as instinctively as Sierra had.

  Hell, he might have done it if she hadn’t reached first.

  “How do they work?”

  “They are passive and function automatically when worn. Using data from our observations, the devices were designed to be worn on your wrists and calibrated to suit your physiology.”

  “What do they dooo?!” Sierra pleaded.

  “They will protect the wearer from harm, provide active camouflage—similar to what you encountered on our drone—and can serve as a portable power source for any appropriate need.”

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Callan blinked.

  Protects the wearer.

  Makes them invisible.

  Infinite energy.

  Two.

  Really testing my dedication as a parent, huh?

  Callan bristled. Loving your kids more than yourself was supposed to be noble.

  Right now, it just felt unfair.

  “We can… take these?”

  “They were intended for your leaders. I am unable to fulfill that mission. The elapsed time between the crash of this vessel and the current date suggests no recovery is forthcoming.”

  “You may take the devices.”

  Callan hesitated.

  Experience told him not to ask the next question—to just take them and go.

  Ethics told him otherwise.

  Stupid ethics.

  “Are…” He exhaled, reconsidering, then pressed on. “Are you expecting us to give them to our leaders?”

  “While intended, that seems unlikely. Given the devices' practical, and potential economic, value; it is reasonable to assume you would prefer to keep them. My options, therefore, are limited.”

  “I can destroy them, or I can allow you to take them.”

  “Additionally…”

  Another hesitation.

  Another shift in tone.

  I will not mistake you for human, Callan reminded himself.

  “I have personal motivations,” Brenda continued. “I am an individual, and I desire for my existence to continue. I request permission to transfer myself into one of the devices and to be returned to my culture of origin once contact is made.”

  Callan felt the pieces fall into place.

  It wanted to hitch a ride in one of the bracelets until they met its makers and could give it back.

  That was very reasonable. And, in fact, explained everything that happened today.

  Power levels were critical. It didn’t want to die–and it was willing to give them this tech to survive.

  Finally, a line that made sense.

  "Would you like to put a copy of yourself into each device?" Callan asked, feeling more confident about the entire situation now; survival was a motivation he could comprehend.

  “No, I cannot be copied. Only transferred. Any given quantum state is unique within a closed system. Creating a ‘copy’ of me would, in fact, create a wholly unique being—highly similar, but not identical, to myself.”

  “We would be creating this being without the advice or consent of the Council. And we would be confining it to the device, which will not be pleasant.”

  Callan frowned. “Are you going to be suffering in there?”

  “No. I do not experience suffering in the way you mean. However, I will have no sensors other than those integrated into the device. While extensive in function, their range is limited. They are not comparable to what I have access to aboard this vessel.

  Further, the device has limited processing and active memory capabilities. While it only uses a fraction of those capabilities to perform most of its functions, what operating resources remain available to me are vastly reduced in comparison to the standard host for a Constructed Sapient.”

  “Metaphorically? I am going to feel like I have the flu—all the time.”

  They all knew what the flu was from school.

  Humans didn’t get sick much anymore.

  —

  Sierra and Savannah exchanged childish grins. Sierra actually giggled.

  Callan was still filled with hesitation.

  With a deep breath, Savannah snapped the device around her wrist and… nothing.

  Literally nothing.

  It was there—she could see it, touching her skin—but none of her other senses registered it.

  No pressure, no friction, no sound.

  It did not exist.

  "Weird," she whispered.

  The bracelet flickered in reply.

  "I don’t feel anything," Sierra said.

  Savannah understood what her sister meant, but their Uncle misinterpreted.

  "Maybe you have to turn it on?" he offered.

  "The devices are active," Brenda informed them.

  Sierra tilted her head, "How do we know they’re working?"

  Squidward shot her square in the chest with a coherent particle beam.

  —

  "FUCK!" Callan exclaimed, "what the fuck?!"

  Sierra's face twisted in shock—then split into a wide grin. "Fucking awesome!"

  "Language!" Vannah snipped.

  "Appropriate for the situation!" Sierra shot back, knowing she had won.

  Vannah loved rules, and Callan’s "appropriate circumstances" exception for swearing was well documented.

  Right behind "If it’s funny, it’s allowed," though that one was always risky—since Callan got to decide what was funny.

  "This is so cool! What did it shoot me with?!" Sierra’s excitement was palpable—and contagious.

  Callan knew he swore too much.

  He was working on it.

  But sometimes– “A fucking particle beam! Holy fuck, that would have killed you!”

  "But it didn’t!" Sierra was practically jumping. "I didn’t feel anything! It didn’t even push me!"

  "Well, it wouldn’t," Savannah said, probably not meaning to sound snotty. "Particle beams don’t have mass. It would’ve just put a perfect hole in you, and anything behind you…”

  She paused, “and anything behind that."

  Callan nodded, still in shock. "Yeah… yeah, that’s what should have happened," he mumbled. He was still trying to process what he had seen.

  The drone had fired a coherent particle beam—a bright red streak of light flaring blinding white. Callan could still see its afterimage burned into his vision. The whole thing had lasted less than a second—a blip of blue light where it should have hit Sierra, followed by a puff of… something.

  Then it was over, in a blink.

  “Do not shoot my children again.” Callan ordered.

  “Understood.” Brenda replied. “Sorry.”

  “You couldn’t have been aware,” Sierra grinned, echoing Brenda’s original greeting.

  Callan didn’t have time right now to marvel at the fact that a particle beam emitter small enough to fit inside the drone even existed. That was a problem for later. A new thought had hit him.

  "You said you’d share your defensive technology, only defensive?"

  "Yes," Brenda replied. "There are additional terms to be met before we will offer offensive technologies."

  "What terms?"

  "We require your assistance to defeat the Aggresors."

  War. Of course.

  He should have known this thing would have three shoes to drop.

  Fuck.

  How is the "technobabble"?