There once was a place of cold forbidding, a place man was never welcome to. It belonged to another race, one inimical to all man valued. As a result, it was a doomed place
I suppose the Bugs liked it. With two moons I suppose it could have been pretty, but after the war, not so much. We named it Klendathu. I don't know what the Bugs called it. I hope we've exterminated them. God knows they came close to exterminating us.
We have pickets all around the star, looking for communications drones or supply ships from their colonies. Every time one is found, it's origin is traced and we mount another extermination campaign. It's been three years since the last one. We've become very good at it.
Klendathu still orbits it's blue star, a sterile and mute witness to the First Interstellar War. As I look upon it's ruins, the cratered and slagged surface, poisoned for millenia - a stark statement to the stars, I brood, wondering if our contacts with others will always end thus.
I pray not.
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