Navik

“What are you?” His voice was strained, eyes trained on a small creature, tumbling through space a few spans in front of him. Its distress signal played aloud in the bridge — words garbled and unfamiliar but the plea in them obvious.

Navik tapped a few buttons with a practice claw, zooming in and running a diagnostic. No biological identifiers, no citizenship ID. Oxygen reserves dwindling fast.

“Translate,” he commanded. His ship had an older model operator, but he preferred to think of it as reliable.

A brief delay, then, "Error. Unknown language index."

Navik's eyes narrowed, the thin inner membrane constricting in annoyance. He didn’t recognize the alien tech, and the way the ship fractured under the null ray certainly seemed primitive... but no language index? At all?

After some time trying to parse the data in front of him, he was forced to confront that, in all likelihood, he’d found himself in a first-contact situation. Still, it was difficult to believe. The Solar Accord governed all known galaxies, reaching an unimaginable distance in every direction. Been that way since before the Accordant War. He couldn't imagine... even way out here... Navik stopped and scrubbed his face.

Itemized protocol swirled in his mind, protocol he knew he’d already broken.

"Scan the ship for data," he ordered, keeping his tone level even though there was no one here to alarm, and watched as text he didn’t recognize began to scroll across the bottom of his screen.

"Initiate download?" The computer prompted.

Navik hesitated. "How long will it take?" His little spaced creature didn’t have much time left.

"Approximately twelve hours, galactic standard time," came the prim answer. Or, at least it sounded prim for a computer.

"Do it. Prioritize language files," he said, idly flicking through the data as it came through. Maps, technical diagrams, strange hieroglyphs that he couldn’t read but were some rudimentary writing. He paused on what appeared to be a list, each line of alien text accompanied by a matching image. A roster, of sorts, and these must be their designations. Navik zoomed in on one picture, and his quills quivered against his scalp.

It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Well, that wasn’t entirely true — it had four limbs, like him, and appeared bipedal. Its head sported a shock of brown fur, but the rest of its pink (pink!) flesh was uncovered. He scrolled to the next image, showing much the same creature but with black hair. A third, and this one had a more familiar dark complexion but the same delicate appearance.

Fifteen images later, and he’d deduced that the creatures on this ship were some sort of primitive species, in the infancy of their space age. Certainly not members of the Solar Accord. He would recognize them. They were uncontacted.

That settled it.

He needed to report in, send the coordinates of the attack. He’d been tracking this flagship, the Laughing Pulsar, for nearly a solar cycle. His unit had intel on their smuggling, but they needed hard evidence to make an arrest in free space territory.

Then the Laughing Pulsar decided to initiate first contact with a new alien species.

Navik groaned low in his chest. This was just perfect. Exactly what he hoped to do with his day, nay, the next cycle with all the paperwork that would be involved in this mess. Quickly, he composed a message to his commanding officer, enclosing the coordinates and a brief video of the attack. He kept his distance, but the Solar Accord techs would be able to enhance the quality and confirm the ship.

He knew he should call it in with a vid-call, but as his eyes slid to the creature, now thrashing in space, he also knew that he wouldn’t do that.

The creature spiraled away from him, limbs flailing. A garbled static burst across the comms — its desperate cries lost to the void. Navik slammed his fist on the console in frustration. It wasn’t giving him enough time to make a decision. It was going to asphyxiate in its panic.

"Hold on." He growled. "I'm coming." The engines flared as he pushed the ship to maximum thrust.

Whatever this thing was, he found it and it belonged to him. No Accordant geneticist would get their greedy hands on it until he said so.

Engaging the forward thrusters, he crept toward the creature. It was a distance away yet, but he didn’t want to accidentally ram it.

“Download status update.”

The console rattled off several figures and he frowned — he’d barely scratched the surface, but this creature was running out of time.

“Is there enough to create a language index?”

A pause, and then the computer replied, “Affirmative. Accuracy guaranteed up to thirty percent.”

Navik sighed, then brought up the recording. “That’s fine. Translate this record.”

Processing took so long that he almost barked out another command. He considered himself a patient man but something about this creature, still thrashing in its strange suit, set his nerves on edge. Finally, text pulled up on the screen in front of him.

Designation Lucy cereal grain. I am a mechanical unit aboard the Golden Pioneer, en route to Colony HD 85512 B. Encounter with hostility. Unknown circumstances in the cosmos. Time remains short, potential to diminish. Seeking communication... appeal, entity, appeal, respond.

He was left scratching his quills — thirty percent accuracy may have been aspirational. He replayed the message aloud, listening to the soft intonation, the labored breathing, and the choked cries. Her audible fear, because somehow this creature felt female, washed over him. Almost without realizing it, he urged the ship forward more quickly and tried not to think too deeply about why.

The Accordant protocols were crystal clear. This rescue — no, interference — unthinkable. His mind clicked through the possible outcomes (each more severe than the last) and their likelihood (all but certain). Dismissal from service, official charges, perhaps even imprisonment. Treason, that’s what this was. The repercussions would be severe. And yet...

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

And yet, he couldn't help himself.

“Lucy,” Navik growled, turning the name over on his tongue.

His tail thrashed anxiously behind him as he initiated the space retrieval sequence. The ship swerved to match the trajectory of the spinning creature. Her oxygen levels were dropping rapidly now, faster than they should. He had to time this just right.

“Prepare the auxiliary docking bay for decompression,” he ordered. A soft chirp confirmed the command.

Closer now, he could make out her wide, terrified eyes through the transparent helm atop her head. Strange, to not see any protective spines or natural plating on her soft flesh, but she looked the same as the other creatures from the roster.

“Channel open for communication,” the computer informed him.

Navik toggled the transmit switch. “Lucy. My designation is,” he paused, and decided to leave off his Accordant title, “Navik. I am an Accordant officer. You are in danger. I am initiating rescue protocols.” His voice came out harsher than he intended in his urgency.

For a moment, there was only silence over the static-laced channel. Then, impossibly, she spoke. Her voice, that same, soft cadence, washed over him. “W-who... what...” she gasped, her words fragmented between labored breaths.

“Calm,” Navik soothed. “I have scanned your life signals, and your oxygen depletion is critical. Cooperate, and survive.”

She was still panting, so he repeated her unusual name a few more times along with the soft shh-shh of a mother to a kit. That seemed to catch her attention. Her head twisted in her strange suit as she looked for him, but his spectral blend was still engaged. Not for long, he thought with a grimace as he eyed the Laughing Pulsar not yet far enough away from them.

His docking doors slid open as the spectral blend shimmered and dissipated. Navik nudged the ship closer. Almost there. Just a little longer...

A proximity alarm blared through the bridge and a warning flashed across his screens. The Laughing Pulsar had detected them.

“Recommend immediate course correction, projectile imminent—”

“Belay that!” He snapped. With a deft twist of the thrust controls, Navik lurched the ship to the side and out of harm's way and scooped the creature into the docking bay in one delicate move. A scarlet null ray shot by them, setting off a fresh alarm, at the same time as he heard a thump indicating the docking bay had pressurized. Time to go check on his new charge—

“Shields damaged.”

Navik scowled and increased their speed. A quick scan showed him the Laughing Pulsar had given chase, because of course they had. Cursing, he banked hard but it wasn’t enough. A barrage of null rays flew by, and the ship shuddered under multiple impacts.

“Damage report!” He barked, even as warnings flooded his screens in flashing crimson slashes — not good.

“Shields at twenty percent. Hull breach in the cargo hold. Engine core destabilizing.” The electronic voice rattled off the litany dispassionately.

He slammed his fist down on the console and barred his teeth. Fuck! He told the commander he needed a skirmisher, the credit-counting piss-licker. And now that the pirates knew he was here, and likely what he had on board, they wouldn’t let up until they saw him blown to bits.

Mind racing, Navik quickly calculated trajectories. He checked his fuel reserves and cursed again. Only one option left now — risky, but their best chance.

“Plot an emergency jump. Nearest habitable planet.”

“Warning. Thruster instability detected. Estimated failure rate of jump attempt: sixty-three percent.”

Those odds weren’t good. But they were better than the zero percent chance if he fought and the jump would keep the pirates guessing, even if they didn’t get far.

“Acknowledged. Do it.” Navik gritted out and flicked the controls to autopilot.

There was only one more thing left for him to do. He raced down to the docking bay where his creature waited, leaping down the hatch instead of bothering with the ladders. He landed on all fours with a satisfying crunch, claws scraping the metal floor.

Pausing to scent the air, the pungent, foreign scent of the alien creature filled his nostrils. He spotted her — Lucy — huddled in a corner, encased in a bulbous suit.

Her flat, pink face stared back at him through the transparent headgear. Her eyes, an uncanny blue against a flat white orb, stared vacantly and her mouth was pale and pinched. She didn’t appear to be breathing.

Navik narrowed his eyes. He didn’t think she had taken off her suit to breathe, which meant she was still bleeding oxygen. Was this creature determined to die?

He crept forward slowly, still on all fours, and flattened his quills in what he hoped came across as small and non-threatening.

He toggled on the translator. "Greetings, Lucy. I am Navik. It is time you remove your helm." His voice rasped, impatient even to his ears.

She didn't respond.

He tried again, recalling the garbled translation from earlier. "Lucy Cereal-Grain. Safe now. Must breathe." Navik mimed breathing, opening his mouth and sucking in great lung-fulls.

Her mouth moved, baring tiny white pegs within (creator, were those her teeth?) and meaningless noise came out.

Tail flicking in agitation, he switched tactics and lunged. She flinched away from him and her two short legs scrabbled on the polished metal floor. He didn’t let her retreat, though, instead touching a button on the front of her suit. A hiss, and then the front folded down. Her foreign scent grew stronger, laced with fear.

“Operator. Translate to,” Navik gestured wordlessly at the creature, who flailed weakly, then finished lamely, “whatever this is.” An affirmative chirp indicated he could start speaking. “Your oxygen is low. You must remove your helm.”

The computer spat back nonsense in her tongue. The creature — Lucy, he reminded himself again — tilted her head, and for the first time, he saw comprehension flit across her features. If there had been any doubt left in his mind over whether or not this was, in fact, a person, that would have settled it.

Then, a small, booted foot bounced off his plated chest piece. Navik locked eyes with her. Slowly, he shook his head in a universal ‘no’. Her eyes, impossibly, widened.

She stilled, watching him warily. Moving slowly, he reached for her, mindful to keep his claws curled into his palm. She tensed but didn't resist as he used his knuckles to remove her spherical headgear.

Up close, her soft, scaleless skin bristled with billions of tiny hairs. Feelers, perhaps? For a moment, the urgency of their situation left him and he was lost in the strangeness of it. Of her. Navik leaned in, his eyes drifting to the hollow of her throat which bobbed as she took a deep, shuddering breath —

And used her newfound breath to scream directly into his face.

With effort, he swallowed the growl building in his chest. Instead, Navik scooped the small creature up. Her eyes widened and locked on his face while she babbled incoherently. He ignored her, tucking her into his chest — even as she strained away from him — and bounding for the bridge. When he vaulted up the ladder, she let out a small whimper and closed her eyes.

Navik worried she had feinted, but a new warning alarm pulled his attention away from her.

Overhead, the computer repeated the warning chime and intoned. “Engines at twelve percent. Hyperdrive nonfunctional.”

Cursing, he barreled through the bridge doors and strapped his creature into the vacant navigator’s seat. They were too large, but he pulled them as tight as they would go and hoped it was enough.

A gut-wrenching lurch told him a projectile had made contact, and he swore. Alarms blared anew as Navik dragged himself over to the controls. He glanced at his screen, seeing warnings flash by more quickly than he could read them.

“Orbital decay imminent. Recommend immediate evacuation.”

“No!” Navik bared his teeth helplessly at the console. “Divert all nonessential power to the stabilizers. Glide descent, manual controls.”

There was an agreeable chirp, then, “Impact with terrestrial body in approximately—”

"Off!" He snapped as they plunged into the atmosphere.

The hull burned white-hot. The ship vibrated in the searing air and the acrid stench of molten metal filled his nose. Through building flames, Navik spied a craggy terrain before the viewport was completely engulfed.

He secured his own restraints and activated the emergency inertial dampeners — then he sent a final prayer to the creator, if she could even hear him out in the outer rings of settled space.

“Brace yourself,” Navik said to the creature, sparing a glance back to see her eyes on him, wide and terrified. Something in him twinged at the sight of her fear, but he quickly squashed it down. Now was not the time.

The ship clipped the rocky peaks of mountains and a plume of orange silt rock covered the viewport. His head slammed into the console despite his restraints, his vision going white, then black. The screeching tear of metal on stone filled his ears until, abruptly, it was silent.