The shuttle touched down on the sandy outskirts of the settlement, the sound of its engines cutting through the eerie quiet. Above, the sky was an unnatural shade of darkened turquoise, streaked with faint lightning cracks as Caldris loomed ever closer. The ground beneath them trembled, a faint warning of the chaos to come.
RG marched out first, datapad in hand, scanning the area with theatrical intensity. Zog followed, his jacket slightly askew as he adjusted it for the hundredth time, circuits buzzing with the weight of the mission. Clorita trailed behind, her sharp eyes scanning the gathering crowd of locals for any signs of panic—or resistance.
The Aqualinians emerged from the shadows, their shimmering fur glowing faintly in the dim light. Their bioluminescent patterns seemed to ripple with the tension in the air. A leader stepped forward, gripping a trident-like staff carved with intricate designs that caught the flickering light. His gaze was steady, his posture calm despite the looming disaster.
“You’ve come to save us?” the leader asked, his voice deep and measured.
“That’s the plan,” Zog replied, stepping forward with a nod. He adjusted his jacket again, willing his nerves to settle. “We’ve got space on our ship, but it will be tight. We’ll need your cooperation.”
Clorita nudged RG forward. “And our chef here has a few… requests.”
RG swept into a dramatic bow, his metallic frame gleaming. “Greetings! I require immediate access to your finest kelp farms and aqua berry groves. And if you have seafoam vinegar, it would be most appreciated.”
The leader blinked, his whiskers twitching in bafflement. “Seafoam vinegar? You’ve come to rescue us… and shop?”
Clorita muttered softly. “Told you it was a bad idea.”
Zog quickly stepped in. “RG means that we’ll do our best to accommodate your needs. But we’ll also need help gathering supplies to make this evacuation work.”
The leader studied him and nodded slowly. “If it ensures our survival, we will provide whatever you need.”
RG’s eyes sparkled at the agreement, his tone shifting to near-reverence. “One more thing, if I may…”
Clorita groaned. “Here we go.”
“Fresh fish!” RG declared, his metallic hands clasped in a gesture of exaggerated gratitude. “The lifeblood of any respectable aquatic cuisine! Your finest catches—preferably within the last twelve hours—would elevate this operation to artistry rarely achieved beyond the culinary cosmos.”
The leader tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Fresh fish?”
“Indeed! Something rich in umami, with firm flesh and a slight brininess. Perhaps Aqualian reef snapper? Or its local equivalent?”
Zog rubbed his forehead. “RG, we’re here to save lives, not cater a galactic seafood gala.”
The leader conferred briefly with his companions before responding. “Our fishing fleet has been grounded due to the disaster, but we will check the storage caves for what remains.”
RG bowed deeply, his theatrical tone softening. “Your generosity will not be forgotten. These fish are more than ingredients—they are a legacy.”
An hour later, crates of shimmering, silver-scaled fish were carried forward by Aqualinian fishermen. The fish glowed faintly, their scales reflecting the dim light like liquid jewels. RG inspected the haul with the precision of a jeweller appraising rare gems.
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Clorita crossed her arms. “Happy now, maestro?”
RG lifted one fish, turning it slowly as though basking in its majesty. “Delighted! This—this is perfection. A promise of culinary nirvana.”
Zog sighed. “If it feeds everyone, fine. Can we focus on evacuating now?”
RG waved a dismissive hand. “Of course, Captain. But never underestimate the morale boost of a well-prepared meal.”
One of the fishermen hesitated, stepping forward. “These fish have fed our people for generations. Make sure they are remembered.”
RG’s tone softened. “I promise they will be honoured.” He bowed deeply, clutching the fish as though it were sacred.
The shoreline erupted into controlled chaos. Shuttles hummed and buzzed, ferrying refugees and supplies back to the Duj. The ground trembled more violently now, cracks splitting the sand as tidal waves roared in the distance.
In the refugee quarters, a mother held her child tightly, her bioluminescent fur dimming. The child’s wide eyes reflected Caldris's distant glow. “Mama, will our home come back?”
The mother’s voice trembled, but her words were steady. “No, my love. But it will become part of the stars.”
On the shore, Zog directed the evacuation alongside Mariq. The Aqualinian leader stood tall, his trident in hand. Despite the chaos, his presence exuded calm.
“We need to move faster,” Zog urged. “BOB says we have minutes, not hours.”
Mariq’s gaze was fixed on the horizon. “I am the captain of this planet, Zog. A captain leaves last. That is the way.”
Zog opened his mouth to argue but stopped, recognising the same unyielding resolve he saw in himself. He nodded. “Fine. But no heroics. The last shuttle leaves with both of us aboard. Agreed?”
Mariq inclined his head. “Agreed.”
The final shuttle roared to life as the ground beneath it began to collapse. Zog and Mariq climbed aboard, the wind whipping around them. Mariq bent down, scooping a jar of sand from the beach. “The ocean carried us, fed us, made us. This will not disappear—not while we remember.”
On the Duj, the crew worked frantically. HALAT moved among the refugees, her calm voice cutting through the rising panic. “Stay seated. Brace yourselves. The ship is holding.”
Clorita shouted over the chaos, her voice sharp. “Move it! We’re out of time!”
The Duj’s engines roared, straining against the gravitational pull. Through the viewport, the crew watched as Caldris collided with Aqualia in a blinding display of fire and destruction. The shockwave struck the ship, tilting the deck violently.
“BOB, now!” Zog shouted, gripping the console.
The Duj surged forward, narrowly escaping the blast zone. As the vibrations subsided, silence filled the ship.
Mariq stood at the viewport, clutching his jar of sand. His voice was barely audible. “Aqualia is gone.”
Zog placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “But your people survived. That’s what matters.”
The crew stared at the distant glow of the wreckage for a long moment.
The Duj sailed on, carrying the survivors—and the legacy of Aqualia—toward an uncertain future.
As the Duj sailed on through the void, silence lingered on the bridge. The remnants of Aqualia and Caldris glimmered faintly in the distance, a glowing testament to the fragility of life.
Mariq stood at the viewport, his hands cradling the jar of sand like a sacred relic. His eyes reflected both grief and determination. “Aqualia’s spirit will endure,” he murmured, his voice quiet but resolute. “We will endure.”
Zog stood beside him, the weight of responsibility still heavy on his shoulders. “And we’ll help you,” he said, his tone steady. “Whatever it takes.”
Mariq inclined his head slightly, his glowing patterns flickering softly. “Thank you, Captain. Your kindness will not be forgotten.” For the first time since the collision, there was a faint note of hope in his voice.
Across the bridge, Clorita leaned against her console, her sharp gaze shifting between the viewport and Zog. “Well,” she quipped, breaking the tension just enough to let the air in, “that was close.”
Zog exhaled, the smallest of smiles flickering across his face before fading back into weariness. “Too close,” he agreed, settling into his chair. For a long moment, he simply stared out at the empty void ahead, the hum of the engines the only sound.
On the lower decks, the Aqualinian refugees huddled together, their bioluminescent fur dimmed but still faintly glowing in the darkened quarters. A mother whispered to her child, her voice steady despite her tears. “We will build again, little one,” she said softly. “We will find a new home.”