'Suggestion:' the Mixcycli data buddy says. 'Brace for impact.'

We're trapped in an armoured suit, bunched up in the helmet, squished between the face of its recently-deceased occupant and the hard external visor.

There isn't much to brace against.

We curl our arms around the head of the dead creature and hope for the best.

The suit itself floats high above the oceans of Earth. Bright blueness fills our vision, slowly rotating. An incandescent streak cuts through the blue, spinning and spitting sparks and vapour – the Mixcycli ship called the Shaxixith'th – burning up as it enters the atmosphere.

A sudden jolt sends the suit spinning and a hazy horizon shears into view, revealing just how thin that atmosphere actually is. There comes a second jolt, and out of the visor we see a pair of segmented, shining, prehensile tethers. They have the suit in their grip and grow taut as we watch. When there's no more slack a mighty wrench comes, and we start to move. Earth slips further out of view, and above us we see a sleek starship.

Its edges are indistinct, and it seems to avoid reflecting the glow from the planet beneath. Hiding, but not prey. Everything about it seems predatory – it's even shaped a little like a shark – if that shark had a second head where its tail should be, upturned and facing backwards. And instead of a single large dorsal fin, it has four such fins, spaced evenly around its body. One of these is shattered and bent close to the body of the vessel, and the hull alongside it is buckled and caved-in. We guess this is where it was rammed by the stricken Shaxixith'th.

The tethers pull us towards a thin diagonal gash that looks like a lone gill beside the nearer of its heads.

They draw us inside a wide space studded with dim orange lights, and the aperture closes behind us, cutting out the blue glow of the planet. Ahead is a chamber ringed in yellow, and the tethers pull us towards this. A smaller set of appendages extend and take us from clutches of the larger tethers, drawing us into the chamber. Then the inner hull seals, and lights flash, and the silence of space becomes a hiss that grows in volume in time with the return of weight to our body, and to that of our makeshift life raft.

'Information: Environmental pressure increasing,' the Mix data buddy in our coils says. 'Speculation: Pressure will stabilise at approximately [one-point-one-six] Earth...'

'Quiet,' we tell it. 'These are the creatures who attacked your ship and killed your crew. Don't let them hear you.'

It falls silent and we wonder if that's because it agrees with us, or just because we gave told it to. The creatures – Ghutarn – who attacked the Mixcycli ship aren't going to be happy when they discover that the crew member they think they're rescuing is a cold corpse. And they'll be even less so when they find us inside its armour.

The longer we can stay hidden, the longer we might survive the Ghutarn. To that end we slither down from the helmet and squeeze ourselves behind the small of the deceased occupant's back. We extend two arms – Sneaky and Cheeky – down the suit's left leg, and two – Pokey and Chokey – down the right. Mighty goes into the right arm, and Stealy into the left, still holding the data buddy. Fighty and Feely head up into the helmet, and together we find we have a fair degree of control over the suit’s movements.

The sound of an inner portal opening reaches us, then we hear footsteps as two figures – we think – rush in. Mighty raises the suit's arm and uses it to wave, while Stealy pushes the left arm against the ground, forcing the top half of the suit upward so it looks like the occupant is trying to sit up. Fighty and Feely turn the head in the direction of the newcomers.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

We would make a good wounded biped, we decide.

'Are you wounded, soldier?' someone asks. We understand the words, but they are not the same language as the Mixcycli speak. Fighty and Feely move the head in a left-right motion.

'We'll get you to the medical bay in a moment. The commander will see you first.'

Footsteps sound as they step forward, and the other speaks. 'Can you stand?'

Our rear arms push and surge in unison while those at our fore rock the suit's centre of mass forward, causing the suit to rise to it's feet. It must look awkward and unnatural but that turns out to be a good thing, for the creatures before us mistake it as symptoms of their compatriot's wounds and hurry forward to support us on each side.

They begin to escort us through the door and into the ship beyond. We walk the legs of the suit in step with them, wishing we could see our surroundings, but squashed as we are behind the dead creature's back everything is dark.

We hear a few more doors open and close, and then our escorts come to a halt.

A silence follows, and we're not sure what to do. Are we standing before someone? The commander, maybe? Are we supposed to perform some kind of gesture of submission or deference?

It might give us away if we make a submissive pose but there is nobody before us, so instead we relax our hind arms and let the suit's legs lose rigidity. We fall, caught just above the floor by our escorts.

'Commander,' the creature on our left says. 'I think he is badly hurt. He should receive medical attention immediately.'

Slow footsteps sound, heavier than those of our escorts.

'Soldier,' a deeper voice says. 'Did you complete the secondary objective? Do you have the data dump from their biological experiments?'

We guess the voice is talking to our dead companion in the suit. Fighty and Feely wiggle the helmet, hoping we’re indicating the negative.

Another footstep. Close. 'I can't hear you, soldier.'

Rather than risk talking, we play dead, relaxing all our arms at once.

After a moment the commander speaks again. 'Remove his helmet.'

The suit rocks as our escorts shift their grip, and Fighty and Feely pull down into the torso of the suit. A faint light spills in as the helmet is removed, and we taste fresh air with a hint of smoke in it.

'Sir. He looks terrible.'

The commander makes a grunting noise. 'All right, take him to medical. Tell Kykok to mark him fully.'

'Yes, Commander,' our escorts grunt in unison. They adjust their grip on the suit, turn about and carry us off, slumped between them.

After the sound of two doors closing, and a left and a right turn, one of them speaks.

'Do you think it's fair that he has to wear the marks for the failure of everyone else on that boarding party?'

'Of course it’s fair. None of the others survived,' its companion responds, as we come to a horizontal halt, but begin accelerating vertically.

'But the data was only a secondary objective. They achieved the primary.'

'No. We achieved the primary when we fired on their ship. Yes, the purpose of the boarding party was to get the data, but with the primary fulfilled, the secondary becomes the primary. And that, they failed.'

'But that will take him to eight marks in total. That's a lot. He'll never mate again.' The vertical motion stops, and our escorts resume walking.

'Then he should not have survived.'

'But we need him. We've lost most of the crew. And anyway, I'm not sure it's fair...'

'Then you should not have joined the navy.'

'I'm beginning to wish I ha-'

'Finish that sentence and you will find yourself with a second mark, soldier.'

'I wasn't going to say what you thought I was going to say.'

'I am sure you weren't.'

Another door hisses open, and a third voice speaks.

'Get him on the table, quickly.'

They do something to the back of the armour and the weight distribution changes. We realise they are removing parts of the suit.

'The commander wants him fully marked. Failure to achieve objective.'

'How many went aboard?' the new voice asks. 'Six? Very well.'

The suit is lifted and set down on a horizontal surface.

'Looks like you'll miss Ghagha with us tonight, Kykok.'

'Hmm. No, I will be able to play as usual.'

'You won't be caring for him?'

'No. He is dead.'

A brief silence follows.

'Well, at least he doesn't have to wear those marks.'

The creatures around us laugh, and then footsteps recede. 'See you later then, Kykok.'

'Wait...'

'What?'

'Why would the commander think he needs marking?'

'Because the boarding party failed their...'

'But he is dead,' Kykok interrupts.

'He wasn't a minute ago. I'll tell the commander he didn't make it.'

'No. This soldier has been dead for some time. He died before he re-entered this ship.'