The room fell quiet, the weight of the decision pressing down on everyone. HALAT turned the hologram one last time, magnifying the barbed tail and its venom-laced fin.
“There is another possibility,” she said. “The venom in the tail fin could be weaponised against it. If harvested safely, it may be effective as a deterrent—or even a lethal countermeasure.”
Zog rubbed his neck. “Great. All we need is someone brave—or crazy—enough to milk a murder noodle.” Clorita shot him a look, one brow raised. “You volunteering?”
Mariq blinked, his expression unreadable. It seemed he might respond for a moment, but instead, he exhaled slowly. His fingers tightened slightly against the console before he returned his attention to the hologram, his focus locked on survival rather than humour.
Mariq’s voice was steady, but his gaze was firm. “If it means survival, my people will do what is necessary.”
Clorita sighed, standing up and stretching. “I don’t like it, but Spark’s right. They’ll need every advantage they can get if they have to stay. That thing isn’t just going to roll over and let them live here.”
Zog stared at the hologram, the shimmering scales of the Scytherax turning lazily in the air. Finally, he shook his head. “BOB, save the analysis. We’ll let Mariq’s people decide if they want to play predator versus prey. But if it were up to me, I’d find a planet where the locals don’t eat anything bigger than a fish.”
HALAT deactivated the hologram, her movements deliberate. “Preparedness is the key to survival, Captain. Even paradise comes with predators.” Zog’s processors adjusted, running a quick probability assessment as he crossed his arms, weighing her words.
Zog processed the thought internally and turned toward the viewport, where the planet below gleamed like an unspoken promise. Yet, a gnawing unease settled in his chest—he’d seen too many so-called paradise worlds turn into graves. Whether that promise held hope or danger was now in the hands of those brave enough to claim it.
Mariq turned away from the now-darkened hologram, his reflective eyes locking on Zog. His voice carried the weight of a leader forced to balance desperation with resolve. “Captain, how long are you prepared to orbit here?”
Zog tilted his head slightly, processing the request. “Depends. How long do you need?”
Mariq spread his webbed hands, his tone deliberate. "This planet… despite the Scytherax, despite whatever else may lurk in its waters or grasses, is too good to let pass." He had spent too many nights staring at the cold void, wondering if his people would ever find a proper home. Now that they were here, he couldn’t let fear steal their future. Its resources are abundant, its atmosphere pristine. My people have been adrift for too long. But,” he paused, glancing back at the console, “we need time to set up a camp, secure a perimeter, and prepare for the women and children to join us. If we descend recklessly, we risk losing everything.”
Clorita leaned against the console, arms crossed. She smirked slightly, tilting her head toward Zog as if waiting for his reaction. “You’re asking us to babysit while you play house on a planet with built-in death traps?”
Mariq’s gaze didn’t falter. He squared his shoulders, inhaling sharply. “I am asking you to give us a chance to claim a future for my people. Once the camp is secure, we will no longer need your protection. But without time to prepare, the risk is too great.”
Zog ran a diagnostic subroutine, and his processors cycled through possible outcomes—a 12% margin of error—too high for comfort. Unknown variables remained, and his calculations flagged an increased probability of unforeseen threats. The weight of the decision pressed down on him. “How long are we talking?”
“Two weeks,” Mariq said firmly. “That should be enough to construct defences and scout for other predators. After that, we’ll be able to stand on our own.”
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Zog frowned, hesitating for a fraction of a second as his processors weighed the risks. None of the probabilities were ideal, but waiting longer might be worse. Finally, he turned to Clorita and asked, “What do you think?”
Clorita tilted her head, considering. She drummed her fingers on the console, her eyes narrowing slightly as she shot a sceptical glance at Mariq. It was not the first time she’d heard desperate promises, and it wouldn’t be the last. Too many had gambled on hope before and lost. “Two weeks in orbit doesn’t sound too bad. It gives us time to run more scans, maybe even map out the planet. But if those murder noodles decide to attack en masse, we’re not exactly equipped for a rescue mission.”
HALAT chimed in, her voice precise. “The Scytherax is a solitary predator. Its size and physiology make it unlikely to hunt in groups. However, prolonged observation of its habits is advised.”
“That’s reassuring,” Clorita said dryly.
Zog stared out at the serene planet below. From orbit, it looked perfect—like a beacon of hope in the vastness of space. Yet, his internal threat-assessment system flagged anomalies in the swirling storm below, calculating a 23% probability of unforeseen hazards—ranging from extreme electrical activity to atmospheric instability and potential unidentified lifeforms. Appearances were rarely what they seemed. Yet, near the twilight zone where day met night, an ominous storm swirled a dark blemish on the otherwise tranquil landscape. But he knew better than to trust appearances. “Fine,” he said finally. “Two weeks. We’ll stay in orbit, keep an eye on things, and help where we can. But after that, you’re on your own, Mariq. The Duj isn’t a hotel.”
Behind him, Clorita smirked. “Technically, it is.”
Zog shot her a look, but she continued unabashed. “Four thousand passengers, all the bells and whistles… you remember what it was designed for, don’t you? Minus the homicidal AI and the whole almost-getting-swallowed-by-a-black-hole bit.”
Zog shook his head, muttering. “It’s not a hotel now.”
Mariq, seemingly oblivious to the exchange, bowed his head slightly. His fingers curled into a firm fist at his side before he exhaled, steadying himself. "Thank you, Captain. You will not regret this."
Zog turned back to the viewport, his mechanical systems humming softly with tension. A quick internal diagnostic confirmed optimal function, but his predictive analysis flagged a rising uncertainty variable—too many unknowns and risks unaccounted for. His probability matrix recalibrated, adjusting course for potential complications. “I hope not,” he said quietly, the irony of Clorita’s words settling in. The Duj may have been built for luxury, but that life—and everyone who might have enjoyed it—was long gone.
Zog processed the thought internally and turned toward the viewport, gripping the edge of the console. “Hope not,” he said. “Because if we do, it won’t be Snakeface we’ll be worrying about—it’ll be me.”
The room fell quiet as the crew turned their attention back to the planet below. The following two weeks would determine whether the Aqualian people could make this paradise their home or if the cost of survival would prove too high.
The Aqualians wasted no time getting to work on the planet, their focus sharp as they began constructing the foundation of their new settlement. The rhythmic clatter of tools echoed through the clearing, accompanied by the rustling of plant fibres as they wove them into sturdy walls. The scent of damp earth and fresh-cut reeds mixed in the humid air, marking the beginning of their new home. Their webbed hands moved quickly, the rough texture of the plant fibres scratching against their fingers as they wove them into sturdy frames. The makeshift tools clinked softly against stone and wood, their rhythmic strikes blending with the distant murmur of flowing water as they set up basic shelters near the stream. Zog directed efforts to build a sturdy perimeter fence around the camp, his mechanical systems cycling steadily as he worked alongside them. His outer frame gleamed faintly under the sun, heat dispersing efficiently through his internal cooling units.
Clorita and HALAT patrolled the site's edges, their optics scanning the grass and treetops for anything unusual. HALAT’s sensors briefly flickered, detecting a faint energy fluctuation beyond their range. Clorita paused, eyes narrowing as if she had sensed something. A faint prickle crawled up the back of her neck, an instinctive response her circuits shouldn’t have been capable of. She checked her readings, but the anomaly was gone—if it had ever been there. Beside her, HALAT’s sensors flickered as she initiated a secondary scan, but the results came back inconclusive. Clorita walked with her blaster holstered but ready while HALAT moved silently, her sensors sweeping the area with mechanical precision.
“Anything out there?” Clorita asked, adjusting the grip on her weapon.
HALAT’s visual sensors flickered as she scanned the underbrush. “No immediate threats detected. Local fauna include small non-predatory mammals and avian species. Heat signatures consistent with ambient wildlife.”
“Good,” Clorita muttered, her voice low. “Let’s keep it that way.”