Things That Go Fizz In The Night [Char]

[EmperorMyric]

Looking at the data pad Gel'varuk scrolled through the manifest of goods being transferred over. Guns, amo, explosive, and assorted chemicals, what ever that meant. Looking over at the dozens of cargo crates being loaded into his ship Gel'varuk nodded.

"It looks like everything is in order, payment will be wired to your account upon our arrival at The Harbor." Gel'varuk handed the data pad over to the human smuggler. Turning around he clapped to grab the attention of his crew, "All right men, get the goods loaded up and we can get on our way!" Cheers rang out from the crowd as they returned back to loading.

Walking over to a crate, Gel'varuk cracked it open and revealed its contents. Capitol CFA-45C's lay fresh and unused. Picking one of the small human rifles, Gel'varuk racked the bolt and selected fire. Pulling the trigger a soft ping sounded as the action worked. Satisfied the Zentheran placed the gun back in it crate and sent it on its way. A large pallet was pushed into the ship with a Hyperion MBT strapped down to it. All markings denoting the nation that had previously owned it having been nano-scrubbed off, and given a new coat of grey paint.

Their last batch of weapons to be brought back as a lost unit of Capitol gear and equipment. On board it would join the rest of the surplus APP gear they had acquired on this trip. Walking down the long hangar bay full of weapons Gel’varuk remembered the last time he had seen such scale of weaponry. A time before having been outcasted as a Ver’taka, a time before he commanded a ship ferrying xeno weapons to other xenos. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he ran a hand down the side of a Spathi SSA fighter-bomber.

“All goods accounted for and stowed away Shipmaster.” The quartermaster, an older fellow reported as he handed Gel’varuk the final manifest.

“It seems we have a full ship old man.” Gel’varuk pocketed the data pad and began walking out of the cargo hold.

“Yes indeed Shipmaster, and we will see a fine cut from these trinkets.” The old man said as he rasped a hand against a large shipping container labeled grain.

“Indeed we shall, come, let us celebrate with the crew to our future pay.” Laughing the two Zentherans left the cargo hold, plunging the room into silence.

The ship rattled and shook as lift off thrusters roared to life. With strained effort the large cargo ship took from the ground and into the night sky. Upon leaving the atmosphere the main engines kicked on propelling the ship out of the planets gravity well. Song and drink spread through the ship as the Ver’taka Trev smugglers began their premature celebration. They did not have to worry about running the ship as once it had left the gravity well the navigators turned the controls over to the onboard AI.

The ships AI had seen many of such parties since it was installed in the cargo ship. Every time it wished the large lizards would some how drink less, but every time without fail they would drink more. Sighing the AI plot the route back to Pulau Kesengsaraan and charged the jump drives. In a flash of light the ship jumped on one of its many plotted jumps.



When at last the group began their merriments in the other room, the bleak and cramped environment of the cargo hold was interrupted. There was a click, and a hiss. The canister of what was meant to be RCS propellant whispered with the noise of sliding fluids and smooth surfaces.

A singular white surface slid to the top of the slick, murky-grey material, shining in the darkness. The dark center of the wide, pale gel expanded in diameter like a sinkhole, smooth and sudden. It seemed to scan the room for a spell longer, eying the various items around it with silent, unreadable intent.

Then, the canister's lid quietly tapped against the floor.

The murky fingers around it stretched toward the rim of the container, their clear membrane-skin gripping it testily. Then came more blobs and folds of squashed body, pulsating and heaving as its hydraulic engine resumed nominal operations. The thing ended up in a crouch against the floor, silently gazing around it to get a better look of the area in the shadow of its crate. Its gaze turned upward, processing for a moment.

A hand reached out against the wall nearest to it. The thing's body changed colors in a moving, foaming flash of chemical residue; leaving behind only a single dark orb of RCS propellant fluid surrounded by the chemical amber of insulating resin. It pulled its hand for a moment, testing to see if it stuck, and then reached up the other upon confirmation.

The stowaway crawled up the wall like a distorted, humanoid Chameleon; with thick thighs and an ample lower body pushing up against a stretching back and extending arms. It flowed along the ceiling in much the same sidewinding, elastic manner, before reaching one of the air-filters.

The thing silently plucked up a silver spike from within the depths of its body, pressed the tip to the edge of the filter, and made not a single motion when it punched through the fabric and metal.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Once the filter had been slipped away, the stowaway squeezed into the vent; attempting to locate more of the ship covertly by spying through other filters in much a similar manner.

The movement alarm from the cargo hold alerted the ships AI. Taking control of the various cameras in the hold the AI found the movement in question. It found the creature? Drone? Thing, to be a curious sight. It watched as the Sodalyte crawled along the walls and towards the vent. Appearing before the captain the AI was rudely interrupted as he swiped away at the holographic image.

"ISH THE SHIP... Is he hip on fire?" He slurred. Empty bottles of whiskey lay across the floor and another joined it as a crew mate lazily tossed it onto the deck.

"No sir, however-" The AI was once again rudely interrupted as the captain swatted at it.

"Shen buzz off! I haf to beat HIM!" Gel'varuk jabbed finger at the quartermaster. The man sat composed on the opposite end of the table. Several bottles lay behind him, many more than the captain, and a half drunk bottle sat in front of him.

"I see, very well then Ship Master, if you need anything simply call me." Flickering away the AI turned back to the video feed of the cargo hold to find the creature missing. A large hole had been carved into the vent grate and the unknown entity was missing. Quickly flicking through the all the ships cameras the AI found no sight of the entity.

Panicking only slightly the AI sent out an alert to the ship cleaning bots. It tasked them with looking out for the creature and to report back if spotted. Feeling accomplished with its measures, and the captain's nonchalant attitude, the AI turned away and focused back on navigating the ship through the Meridian.

Happosei Tekitaiteki-7780 (or rather, ‘Tekitai’, should she have had any friends or even acquaintances to call her as such) was on-edge. This was admittedly the first small-ish ship she’d been forced to hide on, and so far she felt that she wasn’t doing a very good job of things.

The Sodalyte silently pulled the mouth on her small, snout-like nose-jawline into a frown.

It wasn’t, albeit, for a lack of trying.

So far, she’d done relatively well doing the same job over and over again. Sneak onto a large ship, slip out of a container, hide in the nearest maintenance areas, and begin planting audiovisual recorders for the days-if-not-weeks long journey to Umi-knows-where as part of her cultural research mission. Whereas other Sodalytes had been chosen for their amiability, their acting skill, their persuasion, or their social know-how, ‘Teki had been chosen for one very good, and very simple reason.

She peered through a filter with her large, eye-like optical vacuoles, squinting in derision as a cleaning unit passed by below.

Tekitai was something of an antisocial, paranoid freakazoid: The perfect candidate for an overcareful saboteur, by her Nami-Type administrator's judgement. After all, she was short, angry, tetchy, an obsessive eavesdropper, eager to hide herself away from all contact for months at a time, and generally something of an unhappy little bitch who wasn’t good for much else.

Her paranoia, however, contributed to her rampant anxiety as she squeezed along the shafts like some fluid-caterpillar. The little Sodalyte drone then blinked at a particular noise, listening close.
[05:45]

{The conversational chatter,} she thought, {of those disgusting multicell amalgams.}

After a few minutes of squeezing around the air-vents, the drone found her face squashed into the surface of a corner duct looking out into the hall. Swathed and contorted in her dark space, Tekitai was rather pleased to think of herself as some crafty predator. The one in control of the situation, even - although this was more likely to be one of her more megalomaniacal delusions.

She snapped from a composition of pale-yellow resin to one of dark, murky RCS fluid with a fizz and flush of chemicals, quietly readying one of her hairpin-like proboscis weapons in the cavity of her mouth, should someone investigate.

For now, the Sodalyte set to working on a device within the depths of her body. She pulled oxygen from the air with her membrane's osmosis, and dreged up metal from the vent siding with her caustic fluid. This was a strange process, albleit, for a simple reason: to gain enough raw material to make a small recording unit, complete with optics and enough fluid volume to store about a week’s worth of data. In the meanwhile, she watched, listened, and waited; storing the merrymaking - no, surely it was some horrible plotting’s - data within the forming organelle.

This was going to be good.

Zentherans laugh, cheered, and sang old war songs. Cheep booze sloshed around and was spilled onto the deck. Cleaning bots scurried to wipe away the mess before it could form a sticky mess. They also had to doge the drunken sways of the massive lizards above them as some attempted to dance.

One such bot was a new addition to the crew, an air purification bot. Freshly opened from the factory, it was designed to move into areas of low air quality and filter the air. However its Zentheran owners had modified it to burn incense and spices native to the Zentheran home world. It was not programed to care about its change in directives, or who the foreign aliens were in this galaxy. It did how ever care about the odd lack of moving air in the room.

Deep rooted programing kicked in and it moved to investigate. Moving around the room it tested the air flow of all the vents in the room. All were good, until one was not, very little air was passing through the vent, and what was passing through was unfiltered.

“This is bot CSD-46789562. Blockage detected in ventilation shaft 36 on deck 15.” The bot reported. Satisfied it had fulfilled its base programming it traveled back to a corner of the room and began puffing out spiced smoke.

The Ships AI had almost forgotten about the odd intruder. But if what the cleaning bot reported was accurate, they had found it. Quickly the AI dispatched service bots to the connecting ventilation shafts. The small RC-car like bots rolled around on six wheels and were covered in tools and manipulator arms. Entering into ventilation shafts they began rolling down towards the supposed blockage.

Tekitaiteki sneered from within the wall as she completed the listening device, deciding to stay for just a bit longer. {Code,} she thought, totally oblivious to the situation. {Those disgusting Xenos must be using music as a code to signal attacks! Or maybe secret informant! Or even-} and at this, she almost squealed, {Maybe they’re saboteurs too!?}

Teki was so lost in trying to ‘decipher’ their music that she barely noticed the cleaning machine roll up to her vent, much less leave it. She was, however, snapped out of her stupor by the machine’s words.

She frantically ran them through a translator, squinted as her body read off the chemical string of words, and then felt her cheek spots blanch.

{Am I about to get captured?}

The Sodalyte went wide-eyed, clutching tight toward herself at the noise of the machines coming toward her. {Claws and blades,} she realized with a silent, building horror. {How else would they remove air obstructions? I’m a fool! I can’t attack from both sides, and they’re coming fast - I don’t have time to prime a more dangerous mix! I’m stuck in this idiotic little shaft with nowhere to go and nothingIcandoifIdoanythingI’llexposemyseldohgodohfuckohpleaselordno-}

The Sodalyte panicked, starting to burble faintly as she muttered escape or suicide plans to herself in her native language, and then realized something.

{If I can escape after I’m captured, then maybe I can continue the mission.}

She blinked a few times, rolling the idea through her head. {If I die now, I fail forever. But - but if I live to tell the tale, then…!}

Her eyes darted back into focus against the vent.

{Umi, give me strength.}

. . .

A noise like a sledgehammer crushing aluminum cans rang out once with a metallic crunch. The noise repeated itself again, over and over and over to a rapid beat. It was annoying. Concerning, even.

What was more worrying, however, was where it was coming from.

A spike of gleaming fluid chrome slammed through the room’s vent covering in the corner. It flashed back into the darkness, seemed to tense up, and then slammed again in the span of a bare few seconds. It looked like something was trying to take out the fastening points on the grille and throw it off the wall from the inside-out: but what the fuck could be doing that from inside the vent? Was one of the maintenance robots malfunctioning? Or…

Come to think of it, what had the AI been trying to say earlier that was so bloody important?

A crew member, one of the newest, stood up and began regaling a tale from his time as a soldier. Men laughed at the drunken slurring of dumb activities he got up to.



“And then! And then, the commander bursts into the room and- BANG! Turning to look at the ventilation shaft the Zentherans waited and watched the vent. Another bang reverberated around the room causing them to jump from their seats. Forgotten were stories and songs of old, something was in the vent, and it wanted out.

Hard years of combat experience and training kicked in and they drew their weapons. Clearing the table they flipped it over on its side and took cover behind it. Looking over they kept watch over the vent as the banging got louder and more desperate. A flash of liquid caught their eyes and they readied their weapons. The vent was bending and groaning as whatever was inside attempted to get out.

Hissing, Gel’varuk turned to rest behind the table and slammed his fist on the deck in a rhythm. Knowing the cue, the ships AI appeared before the captain.

“You have some explaining wire ball!” Gel’varuk spat. The AI simply stared back emotionlessly.

“You ordered me to only disturb you if the ship was on fire.” The AI responded nonchalantly. Moving closer Gel’varuk glared at the insufferable computer.

“And yet you simply followed the orders of a drunk man?!” Gel’varuk hissed through gritted teeth. Ever since his first interaction with AI’s Gel’varuk could never stand them. They were too trusting, too smart, and too logical. This was yet another incident to justify his detest for the machines.

“On the first day of your assignment to this ship, you ordered me to follow all orders you give.” Gel’varuk was almost taken aback. Had the stupid machine sassed him? Or rather was it his intoxicated state making him more irritable than normal. The constant, high speed pounding was not helping.

“OH FOR THE LOVE OF SHA-KE!” Bolting up Gel’varuk aimed his best with his pistol and fired wildly in the direction of the vent. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

The vent crashed onto the floor with a noise like a broken drumset collapsing. For a moment, it almost looked like the vent was filled with a fluid swimming with two eyes, two cheeks, and a mouth, all distended and misshapen.

Then the mass practically exploded out of the opening, collapsing onto the floor in a groaning, burbling mess of what looked like the iridescent, rum-black sheen of RCS fluid.

Overall, as the thing slowly got onto its elbows, it was surprisingly… humanoid.

The thing from the vents was four feet tall and vaguely (if exaggeratedly) feminine in shape. Its general frame was human, with narrow shoulders, thin arms, and a risen chest contrasted by wide hips, thick thighs, and long legs.

When it blinked and rolled its head up, the thing’s face almost seemed to be ripped straight from an exaggerated anime. Its big, white eyes, short nose-snout, and bright-red cheek spots were framed by a messy wave of gel-hair the same color as its ‘body’ trailing down to the shoulders. Two suspiciously familiar metal objects almost like massive chopsticks were threaded through the back, framing its head with a metal ‘X’.

The thing burbled incomprehensibly in an unhappy voice for a moment, blinked, and then jammed a hand through the side of its head. Its black form-fitting goo spacesuit gleamed and stretched to fit the movement, silver pauldrons and thigh-guards wobbling as it did so.

It then cleared its throat, bubbles rising under its clear skin, and spoke with raised hands in a kneel.

“…Take me,” it hesitantly muttered, “to your leader.”

Everyone tensed and aimed their firearms at the Sodalyte. Seeing they didn’t have any visible weapons they relaxed slightly. Gel’varuk moved out and around from the table and walked up to the alien. Towering over the odd creature he knelt down to eye level.

“I am the Shipmaster. Your Zentheran is… passible, for a humanoid.” Up close the Sodalyte could well see the odd action of the Zentheran jaw. His lower jaw was separated like a snake, without the skin in between, and moved rhythmically to form words.

“How did you get aboard my ship, what is your objective here, and where are you from?” Gel’varuk asked, to emphasis he laid the gun on his knee aimed towards the miniature alien. Seeing that nothing had happened the other soldiers moved out from behind their modified cover an began murmuring amongst themselves about the creature that had burst into their room.

”Zentheran”, it grumbled to itself, frowning. ”Got it. Jotting that down for later…”

Even kneeling, Gel’varuk found himself well over a head and shoulders above the creature, even as it stood up. The tiny xenos winced, took a breath…

…And leveled its gaze at the Shipmaster.

“My name is Happosei Tekitaiteki-7780,” it began, practically spitting its words with a nervous, uncomfortable hesitation. “My mission is to perform general research on the languages, cultures, weapons, technologies, and species of galactic trade routes by hitchhiking.”

The thing paused, looking down, and grit its teeth. “The only information I am willing to give about my origins is… that I am not a foreign agent. By… your understanding. While I may work for an interstellar organization, I am not in any way affiliated with a group that you would be familiar with.”

It paused awkwardly for a minute or so, glancing around the room and bristling visibly. Thick bubbles rose in the thing’s body like a soda’s carbonation, and it flicked its gaze back up to the Shipmaster, round eyebrows furrowed.

“…I have… never made it through an interrogation this far with alternate constructs. What happens now?”

“Now?” Gel’varuk asked as he leaned in closer, tilting his head so a beady yellow eye stared at Happosei. “Now we party!” Holstering his pistol Gel’varuk stood up and held his arms out to the rest of his crew.

“My friends, we have a guest who wants to know more about our culture! Let us show them a first class experience!” The Zentherans cheered and righted the tables and chairs in the room. Fresh beers were poured and fresh food was handed out. 



“Come, come, we will show you what Zentheran culture is all about!” Moving forward Gel’varuk lightly pushed Happosei with his tail towards the table.

Tekitai stared at the Zentherans in bewilderment at the uproar, grunting in surprise when it was shoved forwards. The little creature shot a foul look to the shipmaster, clambering up onto the tall Zentheran seat with a good deal of difficulty.

It then found itself at their height while standing on the chair, and leant on the back, clearly displeased already by the arrangement. The Happosei winced at the noise, body visibly quivering as a cheer rang out, and gripped a tin of alcohol hesitantly. It peered into the fluid, clearly confused, and took a full-body whiff.

”WHAT,” Tekitai shouted over the noise, ”IS THIS!?”

A few days had passed. The cargo ship had stopped here and there at pre-decided stops and topped off its Ancerium fuel. Currently they were on a reactor stop above a gas giant. Moving down into the upper atmosphere the cargo ship began letting out a fuel drogue. The two kilometer long tube reached down into Helium 3 rich atmosphere and began syphoning up the precious fuel.

The crew was focused and sharp, a complete turn around from the previous few nights of partying and foolishness. Gel’varuk looked out the bridge windows as clouds raced pass. Looking down at a display Gel’varuk kept a stern eye on the altitude meter while the AI’s avatar sat opposite overlooking countless fuel and engine displays.

“I don’t need to remind you, but remember to stay sharp men, while the Wire Ball is in control of most of this, we need to keep on guard incase it fails.” Gel’varuk didn’t look at his crew, rather at the many displays before him showing key systems of the ship.

“Need I remind you Shipmaster, that this is our two-hundredth and forty-third refueling flight. Not one of them has gone wrong and I am confident this one will go without fail as well.” The AI said confidently.

“Not that I don’t trust you, its that I nearly died doing a maneuver on my dads ship.” Gel’varuk shivered at the memory of the old rust bucket beginning to list into the atmosphere of a particularly large gas giant.

Over the course of the days, Tekitai had come to understand a great many things; most of which she found exceedingly unpleasant.

To start, she hadn’t known what a bathroom was until one of the men asked her why she never used the thing - and indeed, she had referred to herself as ‘her’ right off the bat, cluing them in. Upon inquiry of the thing’s purpose, the drone - her species’ name was apparently a closely kept secret - had demonstrated the dandruff-esque glitter that occasionally fell from her skin.

From that point on, she had regrettably been forced to sleep above a cleaning robot.

While Tekitaiteki had proven utterly useless with mechanisms and machinery to the point of being dense and obtuse, she had served as the ship’s antisocial drink dispenser with a begrudging attitude. It wasn’t just that she was convenient and could store and record the drinks for later retrieval in her strange little internal bubbles. It wasn’t that she was constantly moping around the ship, looking for some way to be useful. It was that, for all intents and purposes, the stuff seemed to come from nothing but the food they gave her.

It was honestly remarkable.

Over the course of the days, there had been an exchange of sorts. Someone tried to teach her how to use a screen, and she’d stared at it like it was magic. Someone tried to tell her to swab the deck, and it ended up so thoroughly sanitized that the ship’s AI had difficulty processing the entire area. It was as if the little creature was formed entirely from paradoxes, and now, standing before the shipmaster, another reared its ugly head.

“Why,” she began, frowning at one of the displays, “are we traveling into a gravity well without a surface? Shouldn’t a refueling unit be sought out near an oceanic world, or-“ She squinted. “-Or an asteroid field? What possible use is one of these hellscapes to you?”

Not taking his eyes off the console as Gel’varuk answered Tekitai’s answer. “Because Teki, we need Helium Three gas to fuel our reactors. We do not have the facilities to break down such elements from rock or water, fresh gas from a gas giant is a better solution.” Gel’varuk looked over the ship diagrams showing a rainbow of temperature gradients across the hull.

“Also, normally there would be a refueling dock, or a dedicated starship for this operation. But since we are a lone ship operating on a less than amicable mission, we can not afford to be slowed down with such a ship. A station would also make our routes easier to track, leaving it to the Runner gives us freedom to fuel wherever we want and keep our tracks hidden." Gel'varuk answered. Looking over at the fuel level they were beginning to reach a half tank. "Don't worry, we are nearly finished." As if on cue, the ship rattled and shook as a gust of wind struck the ship.

“Helium Three…” The drone turned back toward the shipmaster with a barely sheathed curiosity, pulling forth a strange glob from her body and then prodding it; filling the thing with a myriad of colors.

“I suspected that you didn’t have a similar method of chemical conversion, but this is… difficult for me to understand. The covert operations, the lack of stations, the tracks covered - those make sense to me. I’ve come to understand that, at least. But the actual nature of the logistics…”

She faltered as the wind rocked them.

“…My people have never really dealt with resources in that manner,” she lamely finished, stuffing the glob into her mouth as yet another one of the bubbles now filling her body.

“Yes well Teki, we cannot produce chemicals as easily as you do. We require machines that take up space and takes up precious power. Logistics is sadly a thing we must endure. I myself never could understand logistics either, but I’ve seen what ignoring it can do to armies.” Gel’varuk glanced back to the fuel screen and ‘smiled’. “Alright it looks like we can get out of here boys.”

The air of tension lifted as the crew sighed and subsequently gave a cheer. Slowly the sound of the refueling drogue being wound up could be faintly heard. The orange and blue clouds below started to grow smaller as the cargo ship began lifting out of the atmosphere.

“Another successful refueling operation Shipmaster.” The AI beamed. Gel’varuk rubbed his temple as he pushed the console of displays out of the way. Looking out to the stars and dull red star at the center of the system he let out an explosive sigh.

“That should hold us off till we reach Paradise.” Gel’varuk thought out loud. Gel’varuk found the human name for the planet a garbled and unintelligible mess. The Zentheran name was much better and reflected the Zentheran attitude towards the lovely planet.

“Paradise.” Tekitai rolled the word around behind her teeth a few times, cheek spots dimming slightly with concentration. She then turned back to Gel’varuk, mouth pursed to the side.

“Why would you call it that, out of curiosity?”

She shrugged, adjusting the baggy shirt she’d been given and looking off to the cheering crew. “Thus far, your species seems to have been very literal with its naming conventions. Is it some kind of garden world? Or, is it a more relative paradise, such as a trading port…?”

She begrudgingly poured a celebratory drink for one of the more rowdy voidsmen, talking over her shoulder as she did so. “I apologize if the question seems… strange. It’s just…”

She sighed.

“So much about this ship alone is so… different from home that it’s difficult to even remember what home is like. I knew hitchhiking would take me on this path, but…”

She scrabbled up onto one of the chairs and leant on the console, leaning her gooey cheek on one fist as she read the data idly. “…How was I supposed to even imagine a place like this? Not just seeing it from the outside. Being part of it. It’s… incredibly difficult to describe. But, in a weird way…”

The drone chuckled, adjusting her gelatinous, curled hair. “I’m kind of… enjoying this? There’s something freeing about this that’s just… impossible to translate into my language or yours.”

ABOARD THE BEJEWELLED HAND

Captain Daidouji Kiyomasa grinned as he triple-checked the readout. The cargo ship had finally finished fuelling up and was about to leave atmosphere, the perfect time to strike. Their victims would be wallowing in the gravatic shadow of the planet, and had kindly loaded its fuel tanks full to save him the bother.

His craft was a 1200 metre Tanto class destroyer, one of the older models that had seen service with the Jade Empire of Ingen. The class had been in service for decades, first laid down prior to the coronation of Jade Empress Takara many years ago. It had since been rendered obsolete for the gigantic clashes of nations, but auctioned off it was still a sleek and powerful vessel more than capable of menacing international trade lanes and preying on the unfortunate and unwary.

Kiyomasa was a ronin, a reject of Ingenious society, and indeed he had been outcast pirate for so long that the Curse Of Light, which had turned the Ingenious into the yokari spirit-demons they were today, had passed him by and left him unaffected. Only a small number of his crew were yokari, the rest human like himself or else a collection of other alien races the ship had picked up on its many years of piracy.

Kiyomasa prided himself on the length of that career. Most ships were sunk after a few voyages, either surprised by furious would-be-victims, caught by the vengeful navies of nearby nations, or else simply tossed about on the winds of fortune, but through cautious and prudent leadership he had kept the Bejewelled Hand safe throughout countless captures and raids.

This was another textbook raid, an isolated cargo ship that, judging by its need to refuel from a raw gas giant, was probably not entirely legitimate itself. Out in this remote, unnamed system, ready for the taking.

His ship thundered forwards, systems waking up as its fusion torch drive drove the blade-like prow onwards through the darkness, towards their target...

“We call it Paradise due to the weather and climate, it is very similar to our home planet. Warm, humid, and full of sun!” Gel’varuk listed off, bridge crew called out in agreement. Turning to look at their uninvited guest Gel’varuk could only reminisce.



“I understand all too well. I used to serve my nations military, as did most of my crew. However! We were cast aside, labeled dishonorable Ver’taka!” Standing up he pumped a fist into the air. Jeers and grumbles spread amongst the crew as they remembered their own experiences. “But once we were picked up by Dem’vaul we realized we had been subjugated!” Holding out his hands he looked over his crew as he spun slowly in place.

“But this! This is the freedom we were given, the freedom we were denied!” Cheers once again rang out amongst the crew and Gel’varuk beamed. Bending down to eye level with Tekitai, Gel’varuk flashed maneful ‘smile’. “That is the feeling you have, freedom.” Standing back up he looked out once more into the void of space.

“Navigator! Get us out of here and back on track!” Gel’varuk said as he jabbed a finger towards the stars.

Only to be interrupted by the incoming warning. Yellow lights flashed as the view screen above the windows showed the outline and trajectory of an incoming ship. Gel’varuk recognized that silhouette, a Tanto class destroyer. Several times he had gone on missions to bring them back for sale. But this time he didn’t feel like they were coming to buy from the food cart.

“Shields!” Gel’varuk ordered as he sat back down into his seat and folded the display screen back in. Shield technology was still fairly new to the Zentherans, and he was sure the military hard liners would have disparaged such technology. Gel’varuk however saw the tactical use in them, and the ‘strategic’ use. That being the ability to survive a killing blow so they could escape with their precious cargo.

Pressing an icon on his display the ship was plunged into a blood red glow. Armored panels slid over the exposed windows and screens moved down to replace them. A diagram of the cargo ship showed shield strength as well as the dozen or so point defense guns that now peppered the hull.

“I want us out of here!” The simple command was all the pilot needed. Taking the analog sticks the Pilot shoved them forward.

“HOLD ONTO SOMETHING!” the pilot called out. A rumbling bellowed from deep within the ship as sublight thrusters burned hard. The inertial dampers of the ship began working overdrive as they had to counter act the gravity of the Gas Giant, and now the thrust of the engines. Gel’varuk held onto an armrest and began breathing heavily as he could feel his organs getting pressed into his back. The last time he had experienced such feelings was years ago in basic dropship training.

Tekitaiteki rubbed her rounded chin, mulling over the Shipmaster’s words for a moment. Freedom. It was a word that didn’t translate into her language naturally - something clunky, and difficult to manage. The meaning evaded her translator like a fly flitting around a swatting fan, and she opened her mouth; about to inquire further.

Then, she was brought to attention by the lights. Instantly, the drone seemed to perk up, body settling into a ready stance. The strange metal ‘chopsticks’ in her hair slipped into her membrane as it began audibly rumbling with carbonation, her chest rising and falling in powerful strokes. Tekitai noted the crew bracing themselves and popped an orb into her hand, swallowing it shortly after. Her body flashed a dark color, a foam racing up the membrane and converting the current amber brew of her alcohol to the sticky pale-yellow of fluid resin. The drone lifted a foot experimentally, making sure it was stuck to the floor, and raised her voice.

”WHAT-”

Then, the Gs hit.

Any normal organism should have, for all intents and purposes, had every bone in its body shattered and each of its organs ruptured due to Tekitai’s current position. After all, she was fastened by nothing but her feet through her suit’s chrome boots, leaving her in a precarious stance. Yet, as the ship began making its tight maneuvers, her body stretched and bent to the whims of inertia. And then, astonishingly enough, she started pulling herself back into a standing position.

The Sodalyte made a burbled grunt, settling back into a standing posture, and snapped to meet Gel’varuk’s gaze.

”WHAT’S HAPPENING,” she demanded, straining to be heard over the noise. ”AND HOW CAN I HELP PREVENT IT!?”

"They're running," reported the first mate diffidently, almost immediately gratified as the captain snarled out his predictable response.

"Give them the barrage guns. See if we can't slow them down a tad."

As the ship arced towards the Zentherans, the four big plasma cannons along the deck of the ship oriented and began firing, sending ruby red blasts of energy screaming across the darkness. At this range they were unlikely to land a dangerous hit, but they would rattle their victims and with any luck start breaking things.

"Open a hail." he added after the first volley was away. Audio-only, as Kiyomasa had found that the more uncertainty involved the more afraid prospective prisoners would be, he spoke in harsh tones.

"Listen closely, you. We'll overtake you soon enough, and you don't want us to get any closer whilst these guns are still hot, so I suggest you come to and wait for us to board. You do that, and we'll just take whatever's in your hold and turn you loose. You make us sweat for it, mind...." he said, letting silence hang for a few moments, "I'll turn every one of you inside out and piss on your guts. Think hard on your decisions."

Other pirates adopted a cheery, blithe manner intended to scare their targets through an impressive insouciance, but Kiyomasa thought that was a mistake because it convinced the listener that their tormentors were reasonable, sane people who could be bargained with. He personally had always found that raw threats, unbridled and unhinged, worked best at crushing any hint of resistance.

Staring back at Tekitai, Gel’varuk had a flash of irritation, then it turned to endearment. He took for granted that most of his crew was used to such maneuvers.

“We… are conducting an… emergency burn…” Gel’varuk strained to speak as his lungs were being compressed into his throat. “To escape the planet’s… gravity well… and get to jump altitude!” He explained. Nodding down to a display, a diagram of the ship showed a trajectory to a point above the Gas Giant.

“Sir, we have… incoming!” A cry rang out. Glancing up to the main view screen he could see the incoming bolts of plasma. Before he could give an order to brace one of the bolts struck the shields. Power surged and fuses burst sending sparks flying out of overhead panels and from consoles. A groaning whine from deep within the ship sent a chill up Gel’varuk’s spine. The thrusters had gone silent.

Breathing became easier, and the black haze that had been filling his vision was dissipating. Panicking slightly he looked over the diagram of the ship. They hadn’t taken any damage, but the surge of power blew fuses and power conduits throughout the ship.

“FUCK!” Gel’varuk slammed a fist on an armrest and jammed the ships intercom button. “Repair teams, get those engines back online!” He roared. A glance at the altitude display showed the ship would enter an elliptical orbit at their current rate. They still had shields, but several of the EW and countermeasures systems were taken out by the power surge. When he got back to Pulau Kesengarasaan, Gel’varuk was going to strangle the dock master.

“Shipmaster, the Pirates are hailing us, shall I open the channel?” Turning to face the comms officer he pointed before freezing.

“Yes, open it.” Gel’varuk finally decided. Listening he felt a ‘smile’ creeping up his neck. They wanted his cargo, 50 billion credits worth of military hardware. Gel’varuk wasn’t ready to part with even a single one.

“I have thought very hard o’ terrifying and merciful Pirate Captain!” Gel’varuk began dramatically. “And I have decided to decline your offer. You see I simply can not part with my cargo, it is very precious and my boss would have your heads if you managed to steal a single crate!” He warned. The crew laughed and jeered at the Pirate crew on the other end of the line.
“I can tell by your attack on our ship you are unaware of who we are. I hope this is the last mistake you make on this day. I ask that you turn your ship around and we can forget this incident ever happened.” Gel’varuk offered. Deep down the warrior spirit of his species ached. He wanted them to leave, but his soul wanted them to come and fight. Muting his end Gel’varuk turned around to the crew and pressed the intercom button.

“All crew, don armor and prepare for boarders, we have some wannabe Pirates that want to play dress up!” Gel’varuk ordered. Men raced out their bunks and into the armory. Suiting up they donned light navy power armor suits and grabbed SGK-24M2S’. Getting to ready positions they loaded their rifles and began praying. On the bridge Gel’varuk walked over to a row of lockers and pulled out a full power armor suit. Custom markings covered the suit and a red half cape draped over his left arm. On the cape were the markings of the Ver’taka Trev. Pulling out a full SGK-24M2 he pressed the release and the barrel slid forward.

Walking back to his chair he looked over the people and knelt to one knee. The rest of the bridge crew followed suit and bowed their heads.

“Oh glorious and beautiful Sha-kea, we pray that you bless our weapons with your light. We pray that you grant us your shield in battle. We pray to the Harbor Master that he may guide the dead down to the arms of the gods.” Gel’varuk chanted, his voice deep and raspy.

“And may the pure soul be unbound from time!” The Crew responded. In sync the crew slammed the butt of their guns on the deck three times. Standing up Gel’varuk opened his helmet and pressed the unmute button.

“Attention Pirate ship. This is your final warning to turn your ship around.” Gel’varuk warned. Cutting the channel he pressed the close button and the helmet slammed closed.

Escaping the well? Tekitai narrowed her gaze at the diagram, nodding. Right. So these vessels at least operated under similar principles of warfare. The objective was to enter an environment where one was substantially more mobile than the other; albeit at colossal distanc-

What the FUCK was that!? The drone unstuck her arms, listening to Gel’varuk’s obscenities and processing the situation. {So their systems are just as vulnerable to shockwaves and extra forces as they are,} she realized, her cheek-spots paling to a dull salmon blush. {This engagement is substantially more dangerous than I realized, even with this ‘shield’ technology.}

The drone slinked out of the sightline of the commlink when it began, intently examining the attackers. {Yet more unfamiliar races,} she thought, feeling somewhat disquieted as she stayed put when the smugglers moved to their armories. {When I get back to the Umi, this report is going to be astounding…}

Then, she noted their state of dress and the orders, processing the words silently. {Boarding action?} As Gel’varuk made his chants and preparations, the short, almost amoebic being slinked off toward one of the refrigerators near the bridge. When she returned at the end of the ritual preparations, she seemed fairly relaxed; holding a can of Zentheran fruit juice in one hand.

“Sir.” The drone gave a strange salute, tapping her left hand to her head in a straight pointing gesture with only the index and middle finger extended. “If it is not too much to request, I would like to assist in defending against the boarding action.”

Tekitai then cracked open the can, downing the entire thing, and tossed the refuse into a recycler. As she continued, she wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her suit. “With all due respect, if the enemy is fielding armor similar to yours, I will likely have an extremely high rate of success defeating them using guerilla tactics. I could potentially assist in the assault by crawling through maintenance shafts and responding to radio signals to ambush where-needed.”

Her body crackled, fizzing upward again with the full cherry-red of a particularly sticky and citrusy fruit-juice. “Assuming their suits are unsuited for direct chemical assault and melee piercing implements, I should be able to take out small-to-medium squads using pneumatic explosives and hit-and-run tactics. I may also employ misting weapons, although all of these tactics could cause moderate to severe corrosion of the environment.”

Tekitai blinked, looked downward, and rubbed the back of her head. Her spots flushed red and then spilled slightly out into her membrane, allowing for an expression of genuine embarrassment. “...I… apologize for the rant, Sir.” She lamely finished, looking at her boots. “I just want to assist in any way I can: even if it sounds unlikely. I will admit that I have not demonstrated the full combative capabilities of my construction, however…”

She clenched her fist and looked up to the Zentheran shipmaster, clenching her fists. “...I am also asking you to trust me in this assault.”

Looking down at Tekitai, Gel’varuk let out a hearty laugh. Bending down he placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded. “Very well my friend. Do as you see fit, and here take this.” Reaching to his belt he produced a knife. The weapon was practically a short sword to the smaller Sodalyte. “This blade has been sharpened down to the atom and is made of a super strong alloy. It’ll cut through metal like paper, use it to kill those who board my ship.”

Turning to his chair he pulled a small tablet from a side slot and hovered it next to the AI. The AI hovered a hand over the tablet and flickered. Passing the tablet to Tekitai he turned it on. A diagram of the ship appeared with tubes and pathways outlined through the ship. “This is a comprehensive map of all the air ducts and engineering tunnels aboard the ship. Use it to plan your routes through the ship.

The drone took up the blade cautiously, testing its weight, and nodded once; creating a vacuole and sheathing the thing upon her back using the bubble like a strap. Tekitai took a cursory glance over the tablet, her demeanor hardening, and then flashed a glance back up to Gel'varuk.

"Not a man in my way will be left standing, Sir." She made that strange two-finger-pointer salute again, tapping her hand to her head, and then straightened her back. The little drone about-faced, marching a few paces out of the room...

...And then began muttering to herself quietly, poking at the tablet and rapidly making drawings and diagrams across its surface. That girl was a confusing one, to say the least.

Kiyomasa was faintly annoyed, but he knew he would probably be full of bravado in the same position. He watched as the stricken ship grew larger in his viewport, the Bejewelled Hand hammering occasional shots into the hull to keep its crew busy. His railguns, more precise than the barrage lasers, opened up at this range, picking specific targets as the pirates began to pick away at defenses and engines, as well as hitting previously damaged areas to exacerbate the Zentherans' problems and prevent them from repairing the damage.

He opened his comms again. "That's unfortunate. I am going to dismantle your ship until it comes apart and everything inside is exposed to the vacuum of space. I figure your cargo will survive. I doubt you will."

The cargo ship shook and metal creaked as the railgun slugs slammed into the shields. Gel’varuk gritted his teeth as he held onto his chair. Systems were going down all over the ship and it was looking dicy. Then the Pirates hailed them again. Anger flooded his mind and he wished he had a warship at his command.

“This is the captain, I’d advise you didn’t blow this ship up. Our cargo is… sensitive to the vacuum of space.” Looking around he sighed and hoped the Pirates would take the bait. “We will surrender our ship and hand it over to you. This cargo has proven to be more trouble than it’s worth.” Gel’varuk lied. The only sensitive cargo onboard was food stuffs and alcohol, but that was merely a drop in the bucket compared to the military hardware they had stowed aboard. He prayed that the Pirates would act on their greed and lazy nature and take the bait, leading them aboard the cargo ship.

There was silence for a moment, and then Kiyomasa's voice came back, his tone patronising.

"That's more like it. You'll send one crew member to your port hangar and let us in. First sign of resistance, we start killing, and don't think I won't have your ship sunk if it comes to it."

The creaking old warship came about on the cargo ship's port flank. Kiyomasa met with the rest of his crew in the main hangar, leaving a half-dozen skeleton crew to keep an eye on the Bejewelled Hand. As he buckled his gunbelt he took in the assembled boarding party. There were perhaps sixty of them, far fewer than the ancient ship had originally required but thanks to some jerry-rigged automations they had cut the staffing requirements down. That and the fact that unlike a regular warship, they didn't bother with all the tedious human resources and stiff bureaucracy. All they needed was a captain, first mate, engineer, doctor and cook. Everyone else could make do, and the ramshackle approach reflected itself in his men. A sorry bunch, he thought to himself. About half were from the Jade Empire, the outcasts and criminals that had found themselves on the outskirts of Jade society and had opted to leave it all together. The rest were aliens from a dozen different species, more lost souls that had been picked up one way or another. They had no uniform and carried whatever weapons they felt like, and no real discipline. He knew that some pirate ships ran themselves almost like a private army, but he relied on his callous reputation and speed with a pistol to keep the others in line.

He bellowed at them to get moving and the boarding party squeezed into a pair of older Soyokaze-class shuttles, taking off and jetting the short distance into the hangar of the cargo ship where they piled out in a raucous mass, Kiyomasa pushing to the front and looking for the one crew member that was supposed to meet them there

Tekitai had been listening over the comms, staring intently at her tablet as she made her way down the annals of the ship. While the pirates had been busy filing into ships, she had positioned herself within a vent near the cargo door, looking outward. And when the men had stepped from their ship and into the hangar, the Sodalyte had taken the opportunity, slipping silently through the newly-uncovered hole and stashing herself under a nook of one of the shuttles.

Now, nestled in the darkness, the hidden drone waited to see what would happen. Frankly, she was surprised to find herself armed at all; let alone armed to the teeth. Considering the number of enemies, she knew that taking them on herself would be suicide. And considering their captain’s issued statements, she could only assume that he had some manner of dead-man’s contingency to sink the ship, should he go down.

Thus, when she typed a question to Gel’varuk on her screen, she did her best to keep it brief and inconspicuous.

[Tekitai here, Gel. Listen: do you think I should transfer this week, or should I just wait until something else happens with the account? I don’t want to waste these credits. I guess I could move to an off-star account too, but I don’t know if that would do me any good.]


Hopefully, he got the message. {Attack, wait until they attack, or board their shuttles?} The drone knew that her private comms probably weren’t the pirates’ main concern, but she wanted to remain cautious just in case.

The aging quartermaster walked up to the Pirates as they walked out of their shuttle. Looking down at the humans a deep rooted hate for aliens gnawed at his mind. It was all Imperial Propaganda he told himself as he bowed to the Pirates.

“I must welcome you aboard our ship gentlemen. I am the quartermaster of this ship, if you’ll follow me I will lead you to the bridge.” The man motioned to the only visible door in the dimly lit and packed cargo hold. Crates and boxes lay neatly stacked and tied down to the deck. Labeling on the crates listed foods, raw goods, and bulk materials. Behind the larger crates Ex Zentheran Soldiers lay in waiting. Wrist pads showing video feeds from micro cameras hidden around the room.

On the bridge Gel’varuk read Tekitai’s message. Raising an eyebrow at the shorthand nickname the Zentheran chuckled at the rest of the message. Looking up at the view screen showing the cargo hold packed with sixty men. He had forty aboard his ship, but he liked those odds. Zentherans, he knew, were stronger, and faster than humans and human-like species. They also had the advantage of powered armor and sitting on a near limitless supply of weapons. While his superiors would be irritated him with using goods that hadn’t been sold, Gel’varuk imagined they would make an exception in this case.

[Teki. Wait till something happens with the account. Better to see how the bank reacts to the market then to jump the gun and loose everything.]

Kiyomasa's men spread out behind him, rooting around the hold, though they had not brought tools to pry open sealed crates, an oversight which he registered faintly as he watched a pair of his Zetyans tugged at a crate angrily, trying to break the seal.

"Fucking whore box open dgdsdfagadsg," grunted one, his speech dissolving into a series of frustrated squeals and grunts.

"Uh, captain...." said the ship's cook, a hulking Zentheran of normally few words, but it was too late.

Kiyomasa was already raising a pistol, his draw as smooth as silk and practiced to perfection. He squeezed the trigger, putting a heavy .45 bullet right between the old man's eyes. There was a resounding bang and then the thud of the hulking body hitting the floor.

"That's for making me waste more railgun rounds on you. Any more trouble and I'll do the same to the rest of you." he announced loudly, assuming that the Zentherans had cameras in the hangar bay.

The cook swore volubly. "That was a stupid idea captain," he said, gesturing to the banner of the Ver'taka Trev that hung near one door.

Kiyomasa vaguely recognised it, but hadn't had much dealings with the Zentheran crime syndicate - indeed, he barely even knew much of the cook's past. He shrugged, making a face at the cook, surprised at such timidity from a crew member who was usually up for anything, risks be damned.

Tekitai didn't gasp at the death of the quartermaster. She didn't rush out, screaming and trying to take on the horde of pirates. She didn't move - she didn't flinch.

All the same, she felt a tiny hole pock itself in the depths of her heart when she saw that old man's body crash to the floor like some great, toppled statue. Being familiar with the notion of death was not the same as witnessing it firsthand; and she found the logical part of her brain in silent disapproval of the quiet, trembling horror her emotions yielded.

The drone drew up a bubble from her mouth noiselessly and slinked toward one of her shuttle's landing legs, sticking it to the mechanism and carbonating the red fluid with air. As she rapidly repeated the process for the rest of its legs by stretching her limbs, Tekitai used her left hand to type out a new message on the keypad.

[Change of plans, Gel. I think I'm going to put a stop-loss order on these ones. It's your call on if I should sell the rest or leave them until the lines dip below the atmosphere.]


The meaning of this one was less directly clear, but the gist was present. {I'm trapping their shuttles in some manner so that they'll take damage when they leave the cargo bay's atmosphere. Tell me if I should make a direct attack.}

With that finished, Tekitaiteki slipped through the gap between two of the shuttles in a thin, crimson flash. Her body squashed down, and she prepared to repeat the same process on the second one, already forming vacuoles within her body.

The gunshot rang out and the collective breath of all Zentherans who witnessed it was suddenly sucked out of their throats. Gel’varuk’s knees nearly buckled and he had to place a hand on his chair to keep himself upright. He’d known the old man for years. He knew the old man was alone in the universe. Rage bubbled up in his heart and years of propaganda began drumming in his mind.

“Fucking Xenos filth!” Gel’varuk regained his strength and stormed off the bridge, armored boots banging against the deck. In the cargo hold the Zentheran forces paused and watched the pirates mull around the cargo hold. A Zetyan walked near a crate and began trying at the seal. The Zentheran hiding behind it asked for confirmation to move and received an affirmative. Bursting up and with assistance of the suit the Zentheran shot a burst of rounds into larger alien. The defining bark of the SGK-24 filled the cargo hold and gave the signal to the rest.

Two dozen Zentherans popped up from their hiding places, gun barrels glinting in the dim lighting. Gunfire erupted as rifle and machine gun fire was let loose. Two Zentherans popped up from a box and began setting up an SGH-13 machine gun.

Gel’varuk saw the notification icon in his hud and eye clicked to open it. Reading the message he snarled and quickly typed out a simple message on his wrist pad.

I want them dead.


Message sent he looked up to the corridor he was marching down. Sounds of the fire fight growing louder as he walked. Men followed behind and the sounds of guns sliding into place mixed with the clacking of power armored boots on the metal deck.

A half-dozen pirates were cut down instantly, caught unawares by the full bore assault rifles which hit them. One of the Zetyans was first to fall, his comrade shrieking incoherently and springing at the Zentheran with a knife even as bullets ripped the first Zetyan to pieces.

"Attack!" bellowed Kiyomasa, knowing that the only real way out of an ambush was forwards. The ambushers were either side of them, and whilst there was probably more danger ahead, sitting in a crossfire was a losing proposition. He led his crew, those that would listen, towards the hangar exit, snapping off accurate shots with his pistol at anyone who looked like they might get in his way.

His crew were less accurate, hammering wild shots with their SMGs, pistols and shotguns - at least the latter required little accuracy to be effective in such tight quarters. Some ignored him, however, either cowering and seeking cover or else attacking their ambushers directly. The cook hefted a fully-auto shotgun, made light by his huge frame, and dumped a magazine of blistering flechette rounds at his two fellow Zentherans as they tried to set up their SGH-13.

Kiyomasa crashed into the wall of the corridor beyond the hangar, ducking instinctively into a doorway as he tried to make sense of the situation. He could hear armoured footsteps ringing off to one direction, but for now the corridor was empty other than perhaps two dozen pirates who had made it out with him. The rest were either dead, dying, or else still fighting for their lives back in the hangar.

"Fucking piss!" he yelled in frustration. "This way, let's go! We'll find something important and destroy it, that should throw them off balance" he announced, gesturing away from Gel'varuk's approaching party. The pirates began to rush down the corridor, always a few stopping behind doorways and obstructions to cover the others as they moved deeper into the ship, searching for engines, crew quarters, cargo, the bridge, anything...

It is highly unlikely that there will be any corpses left to bury.


As the firefight began, Tekitai finished her ‘stop-loss’ orders with a rapid series of dashes and movements. Satisfied at the trapped shuttles, she listened to the steps and shouts of the pirates with her entire body, feeling their reverberations through the atmosphere.

They were going to be easier to track than she’d anticipated.

. . .

As Kiyomasa turned a corner down the halls, there was a bang of tortured metal and a series of screams. The cries of agony became desperate in a matter of seconds, starting to burble almost like the men out of sight were being drowned.

There should have been two dozen footsteps. But once the noises had finished with a sound like sizzling bacon, only the putrid smells of acerbic fruit juice and meat wafted through the airways.

The sight behind them was a massacre too terrible to stomach. CW//Body horror, gore, and disturbing imagery.

By a headcount, six men had vanished into chemical disgust that laid behind their group. A red fog of sorts swirled in the hall behind them, strong with the stench of sugar and acid. The smell of flesh and blood of a fair few varieties mixed with the acrid odor in a disgusting miasma, barely indicative of the sight beyond.

The six bodies laid upon the floor in the unmoving fog. Their fat broiled and crackled in the vapor, and their flesh sloughed through their sagging, drooling clothes and armor like wax under flame. The eyes in their sockets had already been reduced to an indiscriminate jelly in the off-brown pool of slurry, and even their bones seemed to be sweating as they became grotesquely visible from the overbearing red wafting in the air.

The only evidence of the perpetrator that remained was a fallen vent cover and a noise whispering through the ducts. An alien, skin-crawling noise that chilled the bones and tightened the muscles.

It was the sound of something that went fizz in the night.

The Zentherans who survived the initial fire fight ducked as the explosions went off. At the sounds of screams the defenders poked up from their hiding spots to notice the many dead and dying pirates. The haze of red hung near the deck, suit warnings listed off organic matter and smoke that was being filtered out. Collecting what ammo they could, one Zentheran slunk over to the SGH-13 and attached the ammo box to his back. Slinging the massive gun he racked the charging handle and flipped the electronic firing mechanism. Jumping up he pulled the trigger and let out a fury of bullets. The remaining defenders reloaded their guns and joined in.

The rest of the crew stayed hidden in rooms and side corridors. When pirates passed by they’d open fire or jump out slashing with massive swords. Gel’varuk paid no head to the others as they fought, he had one mission, to kill their leader. A pack of six Zentherans, all he knew from his time in the military walked behind him. Varying weapons amongst the crew ranged from solid shot to masers.

Turning a corner a human bumped into the towering Zentheran. Swiftly Gel’varuk snatched the human up with one hand by the throat. Turning the human’s head with his thumb he inspected the alien. The human thrashed and clawed at his armored hand. The man’s face was turning red with a tinge of blue starting to creep in. Eye clicking to open his helmets face plates he glared into the human’s eyes.

“Your kind was always a weak, how we lost to you will always be a mystery.” He mused in english. Raising his rifle he fired a burst into the human’s chest. Tossing him aside, Gel’varuk closed his face plate and continued his search. The sound of many light foot falls were picked up by his helmets audio sensors. Pressing to open button on a door he spotted the Pirate captain and his entourage.

“YOU XENOS PIRATE FILTH!” Gel’varuk roared as he began running down the hallway armored boots banging on the deck. As he ran Gel’varuk drew his sword, a wicked five foot long blade that at first glance would have looked ceremonial.wicked five foot long blade that at first glance would have looked ceremonial.

In the hangar, the firefight raged brutally, gunfights at almost point-blank range reaping a horrible and rapid toll of bodies as shotguns and pistols barked out wildly against the Zentheran rifles, but the pirates held out until the cook, bellowing in anger, was shredded by a volley of gunfire that hurled him to the deck.

That broke the willpower of the surviving pirates, less than a dozen, who hurled down their weapons and threw up their hands, yelling that they surrendered. A handful of humans, a battered-looking Praetorian and a pair of Furrelians were all that remained, the hangar littered with corpses and expended shells.

In the corridors, Kiyomasa swore to himself. How had this gone so badly? His pirates were not the most professional fighting force; truth be told if you could carry a gun and were willing to pull the trigger you were good enough for his crew, but still! And what the hell was happening with the vents? Something hideous had happened, half a dozen of his men boiled alive in some kind of chemical leak - how were these lizards so well-equipped when their ship was a piece of shit that randomly melted people?!

Zentherans kept springing out at them, snatching one or two away before ducking back into cover or else being blasted back. To be losing to maniacs with swords was even more bizarre. Another giant Zentheran burst from a doorway to his left but before he could react, a Celvian crewmate, tiny in comparison, blasted the attacker's knees away with a shotgun, toppling the huge alien. Acting out of reflex, Kiyomasa put a bullet into the man's skull before he could even scream in pain, but then they both turned as a roar echoed down the corridor.

A big Zentheran was charging at them wielding some kind of giant sword. It was almost ludicrous, but Kiyomasa heard his surviving crew scatter behind him. The Celvian dove into the open doorway, leaving Kiyomasa alone. With a snarl he raised his pistol, backpedalling as he snapped shots at their heads

[The following three deaths are written with the express permission of the characters' owner. Censored content contains mentions of gore, brutality, violence, and bloodshed. Viewer discretion advised].

Three of Kiyomasa's scattered men remained in a group, dashing away down one of the broader of the Zentheran cargo-hauler's hallways. Their echoing footsteps and ragged, terrified breaths whisked them along the ship at breakneck speeds; but all that noise and clatter hindered them, too.

It made them much, much easier to track.

When the group halted at a T-junction, heaving and trying to catch their breaths, so too did their follower halt to prepare an assault. She 'inhaled' through her membrane, drawing up air and pressure in preparation of an assault. It was going to be fast, and ugly, and messy; but she didn't see any other way to carry her mission out.

The drone prepared one of her fluid-spears over the vent, feeling it go steel-hard with tension. Her body shifted in preparation, different segments rolling over one another in the tiny space.

One breath.

Two breaths.



The vent covering exploded downward, narrowly missing one of the men who leapt backward in horror at the sudden noise. He yelled, thrusting a finger upward, and then promptly found himself being straddled by something.

The Furrelian man's comrades were treated to the sight of a short humanoid - barely four feet tall - now sat atop his shoulders, with her thick thighs wrapped around his head and neck. They had a moment to process her clear membrane, cherry- (or perhaps blood-red) skin, curly hair, and the black form-fitting suit that covered her from collarbone to heel.

Then Tekitaiteki opened her mouth and grit the 'teeth' that formed within as the pressure stored in her legs was released in an explosive burst. The Furrelian's head became a fountain of crushed bone and gore spraying in front of her face. She whipped what looked like a hand in a heavy silver glove out as she did so, cupping the fingers and twisting her wrist. When one man's face was turned into chunky salsa, his comrade's was blasted by a stream of cherry-red fluid even as he was drawing his gun.

One fell to the floor in a gory heap, and the other staggered, his cranium melting from the top down from the fluid drenching his hair and skin. The last man - yet another human - screamed in horror as he pulled the trigger on his gun; aiming to blow clean through the creature's head.

Bullets passed clean through one side and out the other, leaving spurting double puncture-wounds in her cranium as she whipped toward him. The human could barely think - barely do anything but fire and scream as he saw a glimpse of silver between her fingers.

The magazine's last bullet and his breath were released by a gasp when he felt something cold and gooey puncture his body armor with a thunk and enter his diaphragm. He shakily dropped his rifle, clicked the safety of his pistol, and feebly put two more bullets into the thing's head as she dispassionately frowned.

"You should've aimed lower."

Then, he felt his body being crumpled from the inside out. The pirate's last moments were spent staring into that blood-soaked, hole-pocked thing's face. Another thunk took him from the side, and he tried to breathe in; but he felt air being sucked faster than he could have ever taken it through his body.

When the man's shriveled, emptied husk laid next to the two pools of mashed sludge that remained of his bones, blood, and organs, the drone wiped her face in disgust. Tekitai flipped out her pad, stepping away from the three corpses and typing.

Shipmaster, where else am I needed?

Seeing the Pirate Captain draw his weapon, Gel’varuk ducked down for a tackle. Hearing the gunshots go off he crouched even lower and planted his tail on the ground. With an explosive burst of Power assisted strength he jumped forward, aiming for the man’s midsection. So focused on his target, he blanked the message icon in his upper right HUD.

In the hangar the Zentheran gangsters came out from their hiding spots and moved to encircle the pirates. Keeping their guns aimed at the helpless prisoners they kicked their weapons away.

“On… your… kneeeeess!” One of the Zentherans hissed in english. To emphasize his point he placed a hand on a human’s shoulder and forced them down. One of the Zentherans moved around and started collecting weapons. Two more moved over to the cook and knelt onto one knee in a praying position. Finishing they lifted their fellow man and carried him out of the cargo hold.

As Tekitai focused on her pad, a shambling figure sprang at her from a recess in the corridor. It was a Lumpen, a hideously deformed human that was a product of the sprawling underbelly of the Third Coronan Republic. Furious at the butchery inflicted on his crewmates, who he viewed as responsible for his escape from the endless hell of Coronan lower-class life, his crooked fingers reached out, trying to wrap themselves around Tekitai's wrists, whilst his other hand thrust a grenade at her face.

She caught a glimpse of the crazed Lumpen visage, bumpy and blotchy with a shattered graveyard of teeth drawn in a rictus grin, as he yelled a single phrase. "Bye bye!" he said excitedly, flicking away the pin...


Elsewhere, the captain was swept off his feet, his pistol clattering to the floor as the breath was knocked from him, leaving him incapable of reacting

The Sodalyte’s wrists squashed under the horrifically deformed man’s grasp, but it was like trying to manhandle a balloon animal. His fingers almost seemed to close too far, kept in place by the bunched fluid around them rather than any friction against her body.

The Sodalyte glared at the grenade, watched the pin fly, and put two-and-two together.

Her lips pursed into something halfway between a pog and a kiss. For a moment, there was a sort of awkward silence between the two as the explosive ticked toward doom and the man’s captive fizzed and bubbled.

Then a hose of cherry-red acid ripped from her pursed mouth, with the drone trying to aim the stream at the grenade. With luck, she’d acted fast enough to melt the thing down and avoid any nasty injuries. Ironically, her concern wasn’t the shockwave of the blast. If the thing was incendiary, she was probably done-for.

Towering over the alien captain, Gel’varuk turned his blade in his hand and drove it down. The precision sharp edge cut through skin and bone and bit down into the deck. Leaning in he commanded the helmet to open up. Yellow eyes stared down into the Ingen pirate and he gave a low hiss.

“I told you that attacking my ship would be the last mistake you made.” Leaning in even closer he chuckled, the sound rumbling from within his chest. “I hope your journey into the afterlife is restless.” Standing up he pulled the sword from the now lifeless captain and swung the blade in a practiced arc. Blood was slung from the blade and in the same motion Gel’varuk flourished the sword before sheathing it back in its scabbard. Reaching down he picked up Kiyomasa and began carrying him towards the cargo room the pirates had come aboard in.

Looking over at the blinking icon he finally took a moment to read Teki’s message.

I apologies for not answering, I have killed the Pirate Captain, continue with removing the Pirates.


Eye clicking he sent the message and continued his march, power armor boots clanging against the deck.

The grenade was a crude plasma grenade, a hypercompressed cylinder surrounded by a thin layer of inert container-coolant. The pin had already begun venting the container field, but the hose of acid bit through but hand and grenade like boiling water through butter and it detonated in a burst of argent power, disintegrating the Lumpen's head immediately.

Captain Kiyomasa gasped as he died, saying nothing as he struggled to understand how things had gone so badly wrong.

The Celvian, Zentax, took his opportunity. Springing from the doorway he had hidden in, he drew all four of his handguns and opened fire, the two on the left firing at one of the armoured Zentherans whilst the two on the right thumped at Gel'varuk's exposed head. After the first burst of gunfire, the tiny arachnid scuttled away, diving down the corridor in an attempt to race back towards one of the hangar bays and commander a shuttle.

Tekitekaiteki had a short moment to contemplate the beautiful simplicity of the grenade's design. The smooth, unassuming cylinder of its hull. The few spare wires leading from canister to magnetic coil, and the tiny mechanical devices which dictated exactly when those wires would stop working.

She had very little to think with after that; because her body had been vaporized from the inseam upwards. The Sodalyte's arms flopped to the floor, steaming and broiling in their rapidly-shriveling membranes. In the same way, the fluid down to her hips broiled and frothed, warping the clear 'skin' which contained it in an almost sickening way. As the Lumpen's lifeless body collapsed to the floor, however, there was one key difference.

Tekitekai's didn't.

What remained of her suit was the black, gooey fabric wrapped around her thick legs and wide hips - with the two chrome armor segments over them still proudly gleaming. A Sodalyte's suit generally had a very simple set of purposes outside of the universal basic chemical protection, and all of them had another thing in common: They were trained not to like gaps.

As Tekitekai's disembodied lower half carefully toed around the hallway, the suit was irritated by the feeling of cauterized sensors and a ripped skin. The black fabric responded in a matter of seconds, furiously shedding the ashen layer and pooling itself over the gaping wound in the Sodalyte's body. Ostensibly, this was to prevent any extra fluid loss - but as far as the suit's pseudo-organic brain was concerned, things just hurt less this way. Thus, the Sodalyte drone's abdomen and legs were left to wander the hall for a few moments, bump into a wall, lose their balance, and fall onto the floor.

What was left of her intelligence curled into a fetal position in the vague hope that someone might come-by and.... ...Well, she wasn't exactly lucid enough to think past that point. So there she laid, shining in the electric lights of the ship and covered in the Lumpen's still-steaming gore.

Some spark of sapient intelligence found itself patronized by the situation, and quietly sulked off elsewhere within her mind.

Flinching at the movement Gel’varuk clicked to return his helmet. A shot impacted his on the inside and went on to brake the helmet. The contraption ground on broken gears and eventually locked up. Needles in the suit began injecting pain medication and alien nanites into the Zentheran’s blood stream. Slapping a free hand to his jaw he pulled his pistol out and attempted to fire off a few potshots. Falling to one knee he dropped Kiyomas’ body and worked at a panel on his leg.

With a soft hiss a small collection of tube shaped containers slid out. Grabbing one he shook it and pressed the end to his open wound. Pressing a button on the other end a nanite gel was ejected. The grey slimy foam crawled and changed to fit the bullet wound. His right mandible hun loosely, indication that the bone might be severed.

“Blsted sheno filh” Gel’varuk mumbled. Spitting out a clump of nanite gel and purple coagulated blood he turned to see his companion. He was doing much the same to a wound in his upper shoulder with another in his abdomen. Moving down the hall to one of the many first aid kits in the ship, Gel’varuk grabbed more gel and rushed over. Handing them over he placed a hadn’t on the crew member’s shoulder and nodded. The crewman nodded knowingly and Gel’varuk moved to pick up the Pirate Captain.

Three Zentherans heard the explosion and raced down a corridor to investigate who, or what was blowing things up on a starship. Turning they found the grizzly sight of what used to be a living creature. Lowering their rifles they moved forward squinting their noses at the smell of burning flesh, and something entirely new.

A squelch caused one of the Zentherans to look down to check if he had stepped in some organs. What he found caused him to jump and drop to his knees. Gently he placed his arms under what remained of Tekiteki and lifted her up. The three Zentherans looked to each other and nodded in an unspoken agreement. Turning they began running off to the kitchen.

The ship shuddered as the skeleton crew of the Bejewelled Hand disengaged, casting off in a hurry as they realised the scale of the disaster, abandoning what crewmates may or may not have survived.

Zentax, seeing the three hulking Zentherans thrown into confusion and bellows of pain by his sudden volley, was already gone by the time they had recovered. He slipped through the wreckage of the hangar and scuttled into one of the two shuttles whilst no-one was watching, goosing the engines without regard for safety as the shuttle suddenly hurled itself backwards, tumbling out of the hangar and into space where it too raced away.

One thing was certain in Zentax's mind. He was going to try and find work on solid ground for a while.

Meanwhile, Tekitekaiteki's legs were sort of half-consciously waving around in the arms of the Zentheran who'd burdened himself with them. They registered changes in heat, and lifted their chrome boots to them; feebly responding to outward stimuli. They shifted around in their carrier's grip, sort of awkwardly trying to scoot into a more natural 'seated' pose, but had difficulty keeping the remains of their abdomen upright. All the while, he could feel a kind of fluid 'breath' sloshing up and down them, however-weakly it indeed was. They were still slightly warm to the touch from the plasma-explosion, but they'd dispersed the heat within their plump thighs and smooth calves. As a result, it wasn't unlike trying to handle a rice-bag which had just been in the microwave.

Other than, well, the rice bag being a pair of dismembered legs attached to half a vaguely-melted stomach.

It would have already been grotesque if there were any gore accompanying it, but having known the strange stowaway for so long, there was something inherently disquieting about seeing her so... ....Dismantled. Indeed, there were few other words to describe it.

Walking into the medical bay of the freighter the group of three Zentherans found an empty bed amount the crowded room. Men were swiftly being treated for gunshot wounds, plasma burns, and various cuts. 

“Does anyone know how to heal her?” One the Zentheran asked. An older veteran, the ships doctor, waltzed over and bellowed a low hiss. Producing a tablet from his side he quickly scanned Tiki’s body before a small chirp sounded from the device.

“Go grab some water and food from the mess hall, and slowly, I mean slowly feed them to her. If you go too fast you’ll wash her away!” Huffing the doctor walked over to a soldier with several gunshot wounds in his arm. Nodding in understanding the three Zentherans raced out of the medical bay towards the mess hall.


Walking into the cargo bay which was the beginning for the conflict, Gel’varuk glared down at the assembled pirates. With a strained, but still powerful cast, he tossed the body of Captain Kiyomasa before his previous crew. Not feeling up to try and berate the alien pirates with his injured jaw, he settled for a mix between a hiss and a growl.

Turning from his prisoners Gel’varuk made his way to medical. The nanite gel helped stop the bleeding and aided in minor injuries, it was useless compared to real medical help. With his right mandible still hanging limp, he wondered if he would need to replace the limb altogether. A soft chuckle escaped his throat at the thought of such a sight.

Moving his wrist pad up Gel’varuk began typing commands out to the crew. Emergency lights turned off and the low rumble of air ventilation kicking out of combat mode permeated through the ship. A lot of work would need to be done to get his rust bucket moving, and flight control would need to be informed. Sighing Gel’varuk thought to all the paperwork he would need to file for this. He did not miss the days of filing paperwork for the empire, and the Ver’taka Trev was no slacker to paperwork.

<2 weeks later>

The Cargo ship exited hyperspace and the glowing orb of Paradise filled their view screens. Gel’varuk felt a wave of relief at seeing the new home planet. Once he got down to the surface he was going to request a 2 month vacation from smuggler runs. His now fixed jaw was still a little sore, but still the one he was born with. Older soldiers had said cybernetics would help get women, but he had never seen them draped with women like they claimed.

“This is Paradise flight command, Cargo Hauler 327A, welcome back to home sweet home.” The gruff voice of the flight command operator crackled from the speakers and a new wave of relief seemed to wash over not only Gel’varuk but the bridge crew. Two Dragon Tooth corvettes pulled up alongside the Cargo ship and escorted them to the planet.

Reaching orbit, the ships broke off to return to whatever mundane patrol they had previously been flying. The ship rattled and groaned in disapproval as they traveled through the atmosphere. Clouds broke and the image of the bustling star port came into view, numerous Cargo ships like theirs dotted the tarmac and flew through the sky. Aiming for an empty and semi-secluded landing spot the Pilot guided the massive beast with expert precision. The AI rattled off altitude readings with offers to guide the ship in herself mixed in. They were responded by the Pilot ignoring her and focusing on the blinking lights and paint bellow them.

With a soft clunk followed by more groaning the ship settled down onto its landing gear. The Pilot leaned back in his seat and let out an explosive sigh from deep within. Standing up Gel’varuk walked over and patted the Pilot on his shoulder.

“I’ll have to buy you a drink once I get done with the bosses.” Gel’varuk offered. The Pilot smiled and gave the Zentheran equivalent to a thumbs up. Walking to the crew access door Gel’varuk opened it up and was greeted by the sight of Hig’julet, the boss in charge of all smuggling operations. Along with several security officers and cargo inspectors.

“Shipmaster Gel’varuk! You are eleven days late and my ship is full of holes! Don’t tell me my cargo is also likely scrap metal now too!” The hard ass of a man barked. In response Gel’varuk slapped a hand on the cargo door release. With a hiss and loud clang, the massive doors along the length of the ship began to fold open. Ramps extended out and down allowing access to the cargo holds. Tanks, jets, helicopters, and crates of weapons glistened in the noon sun. A smile replaced the glare Hig’julet had worn and a jovial laugh erupted from him. Turning to the cargo inspectors her ushered them forward and they raced to inspect the valuable cargo.

“While you were late and took damage to Ver’taka Trev property, you also valiantly defended said property and managed to keep it all. I will make sure Ven’huk hears of your bravery.” Gel’varuk bowed and wondered how such a message would be received by their leader. Rumors had spread of Ven’huk which painted him as everything from a devil, to a saint. Gel’varuk being a simple Shipmaster for a Cargo Smuggler had never meet the man, nor seen him. Perhaps a promotion was in store, or perhaps an early retirement to a beach side house filled with women and booze. Or perhaps he would be silently shifted around until he was in charge of a guard station in the outer edges of the Paradise system.

Footsteps echoed from behind the great Zentheran, pulling him back from the dreams and fables of mice and men. These weren't the footsteps of one of his own men, however - for they were too light and strangely muffled. Even before she snapped a salute and glared amiably at Gel'varuk, it was easy to tell who had come to greet him.

"Shipmaster," Happosei Tekitaiteki-7780 bluntly greeted. The comparatively-tiny amoeba relaxed her arm into a parade fold behind her narrow back and allowed the ghost of a smile to swirl upon one corner of her lips, bubbles rising through her fluid and the straight veil of hair trailing down to her waist. "I... came to ask you something. Are you busy?"

It had been quite a while since anyone had seen her walking around the ship's halls.

Over the course of those weeks from then 'til landing, the strange little drone had been performing something that could almost be called metamorphosis. Over time, more of her clear membrane had grown out in an eerie and lumpy film upon her bed in the medbay - and once that had finished, it had gradually filled with that same multi-liquid that filled the rest of her body. While most of her had been 'complete' for some time, it had taken an extra number of days for her eyes, cheek-spots, and teeth to form again - and the rest of her body had been occupied with cinching and warping itself into a more suitable format.

Somewhere along the line, she seemed to have woken up and discovered the uniform the crew had ended up fitting for her. It was admittedly too large for the little drone at the torso, but it fit her thick legs nicely - and it made her feel slightly more like part of the ship.

She stared at the cargo party, intrigued by the process they were undergoing, and seemed once again to have her large, cartoonish eyes alit with all sorts of questions and theories. Though the battle had ruined her body, it seemed most of her spirit was intact—although one had to wonder what had happened to her mind.

Shipmaster Gel’varuk turned to look down at the strange companion he had acquired. At first he was hesitant to trust the alien, but over time he stomped it down as old Imperial dogma bubbling up. Now he considered the rather odd alien at his side a sort of friend. A small chuckle sounded in his mind at the sight of the Sodalite in the baggy uniform. It reminded Gel’varuk of a child wearing their fathers clothes so that they may help.

The typically gruff Zentheran Shipmaster wouldn’t dare utter his thoughts, but he had been worried for Teki. He soon found himself amazed at the Sodalite’s natural healing abilities. If only his people were capable of such feats, there wouldn’t be need for the cybernetics he saw many veterans sporting. If only he could grasp those secrets.

“At the moment no, but I may soon be rather busier than I’d like to be. But never mind that, what is it you wish to ask Teki?” Gel’varuk asked, his mane flushed in a quizzical nature. The sounds of machinery starting up signaled the frantic unloading of the precious cargo they had fought to deliver. Large forklifts lifted armored cars and crates of weapons, wile grav-sleds carried out tanks and aircraft.

“What…” She tried at first, and then frowned subtly. The little Sodalyte straightened her collar, furrowed her eyebrows, and tried again—her cheek-spots slowly draining of their pink and becoming distressingly pale and transparent.

“Shipmaster, I was… hoping you could tell me something. I was trying to assess my situation when I woke up, and while the crew have helped fill some gaps in my memory, there is still something significant bothering me.” At last, her big eyes turned to meet Gel’varuk’s own. They weren’t appreciative as they’d been of late, or quizzical as always, or even as cold as she’d been on the day of that attack. Something lingered within them like dread—or, no, that was the wrong word.

Sickness? Fear?

“Why… did I come here?” She flicked her eyes down to the cargo bay’s proceedings again, something tense in her posture and voice. “Shipmaster—if I may be personal; Shipmaster Gel’Varuk—I don’t remember who I am. Or. No. Hm. I—“ She fiddled with the chrome ‘X’ of spikes stuck through her head, then snapped her fingers with a wet pop. “I don’t remember who I was before this voyage. I know what I am, but I don’t know why I came here, or what my purpose was, or - or who I was even loyal-to before I set foot on this ship. I-If I had told anyone about it, um. I’d… hoped I had at least told you, Shipmaster.”

You know, considering she’d had half of her body blown off, you’d think amnesia would be the least of her concerns.

The Zentheran Captain looked off into space and squinted his eyes, trying to remember if the alien had said anything. His quills shook slightly as he thought harder before a low hiss escaped his lips.

“I can’t say I remember, everything past the pirate battle was a blur of medical visits and cheep drink.” Gel’varuk answered. The reminder of the relatively cheep booze they’d stocked on the ship made his mouth dry up. He needed to visit a bar before he went out next. Turning back to Teki he knelt down to one knee to hopefully be at eye level, but still he towered over her. Placing a scaly hand on her shoulder he gave the Zentheran equivalent to a grin with a flush of his mane.

“If you seek to discover who you are and what your purpose is, then join my crew. No one would appose and while they might seem gruff and brutish, the crew has accepted you as one of them.” Gel’varuk bowed his head, closed his eyes, and placed his free hand over his heart. “I, Gel’varuk, Shipmaster of the Ver’taka Trev Syndicate, extend a hand to you to join my ship and my crew.” Raising his head slightly a pair of fiery orange eyes sought Teki’s answer. "Do you accept?" In the cargo hold crewmen slowed their work or stopped all together waiting to hear the Sodalyte’s answer.

Teki's big and analytical eyes broke off from Gel'varuk's gaze, looking somewhere beyond the floor at her feet. She was quiet for a moment, frowning subtly. Was it right to do this? To commit to a role she didn't even understand in a universe she had minimal memories of? Who had sent here to do this, and why?

Why...

Why did all of that seem so... insignificant?

"...Shipmaster Gel'varuk of the Ver'taka Trev Syndicate," the Sodalyte began, something shining in the midst of her big pupils and glowing in the spots of her cheeks, "I accept your offer." The drone pulled herself into a Zentheran salute, her voice and expression wobbling a little, and continued in spite of the brimming emotions.

"I, H-Happosei Tekitekaiteki, of forgotten station and loyalty, will gladly- g-gladly—" The Sodalyte blinked furiously, trying to control herself, and grit her expression. "Gladly. Accept."

She found herself hugging the great Zentheran after that, still unsure of what she was feeling or doing.

Gel’varuk’s smile widened and the large Zentheran wrapped a great arm around Teki. The assorted crew cheered and hissed in acceptance as tails slapped the deck of the cargo bay. Moving back slightly Gel’varuk reached into a pocket and pulled out a knife, though to Teki it might as well have been a short sword. The blade was some form of Damascus with waves of gray, white, and black. At the base of the blade the crest of the Ver’taka Trev syndicate was stamped in.

“By my honor, and my blade,” Gel’varuk laid the blade on her left shoulder before moving to her right, “I accept you, Happosei Tekitekaitkei, into the Ver’taka Trev, may your soul be freed from the responsibilities and burden of your past life.” Gel’varuk finished by taking the knife and flipping it so he held onto the blade so the handle faced Teki.

“If you wish, you may chose yourself a new name.” Gel’varuk offered. The ritual brought back memories. Images of a disgraced warrior stung at his heart and threatened to drag him back.

Teki stood statuesque as the flat of the blade pressed to her uniformed shoulders, though her cheek-spots blanched to a murky, clear color at its contact. She relaxed at the sight of the handle, though she frowned; thinking for a few seconds upon the shipmaster's offer.

When she took the blade in her hand, there was something eerily fanatical glimmering in the Sodalyte's big eyes. She raised it before her face, crossing them to stare at it, and murmured in a low voice.

"I am no longer Happosei Tekitekaiteki," she whispered, drawing its edge ritualistically across her forehead and opening a weeping gash. "My allegiance is to your honor, and my loyalty is to you and yours." She finished with a flourish, leaving a striking 'X' carved into her membrane. "I seal this allegiance with a name for my purpose; a name meaning 'vessel of violence,' a name meaning 'weapon'..."

She slid the knife's blade into the back of her hair, leaving only the hilt visible. She concentrated, bleeding heavily for a moment - but soon, the cuts began to fade. Little by little, she wove herself together around the cut and the blade; introducing it into her body's makeup in the same way that her old hair-spikes had seemed fused to her being.

"I will be Buki," she informed him, looking weary as the fanatical madness wore its course and the fatigue of her healing washed over her after so much injury before. "Ver'taka Trev... ...Buki..."

'Buki' stumbled, catching herself, and stared out at the cargo bay with a startled look.

What had possessed her to do that?

Gel’varuk was shocked by the sudden display at first, but quickly remembered who it was. Upon her declaration Gel’varuk let out a boisterous laugh and patter her head affectionately. Sweeping her up in a single swift movement the Zentheran placed Buki on his shoulder.

“Men!” He called out and those who were no watching before were surely now, “We now welcome Buki to the crew! Treat her well.” Cheers once again roared out in the humid air and various tools and implements were thrust up into the air. Carefully Gel’varuk set his new crew member down. He swept a hand to the open cargo door, and to the bustling cargo port, and to the vibrant sea town beyond.

“Welcome Buki, to the planet of Paradise!” A smile crossed his spines and his eyes glistened with pride. “A planet like no other, where the rules of normal society are but things of the past. A planet where people like us,” Gel’varuk emphasized with a thumb pointed at Buki, then pointed to himself, “Can live how we want, and seek what we want.” He stepped down the ramp a few paces before turning to face the Sodalyte.

“Come now Buki, let me show you your new home!” Gel’varuk had lost a friend on this trip, but the goddess Kira-lea had delivered him a new friend. Truly the twin goddesses were wise, and they would give their blessing to the old Quartermaster. For now though, his new friend needed to be shown true Zentheran Culture not confined to a starships cold bulkheads. First stop though was a bar, one with good quality whiskey.