Sal awoke with a heavy gasp. With a retch, he turned to his side and emptied the contents of his lungs onto the grill below him in the glass tank. Snapping his gaze side to side, he was back on Starheart, no sign of the impossible landscape or the bright light present. Coughing, gagging, he fought to ignore the pounding in his head and clambered to his knees. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he gave one final retch and crawled out of the tank. Sliding to the floor, he found himself weak and disoriented. No hand was grabbing his own.
It was only when someone gripped his shoulder that he focused once more.
“Wow, two lie-ins in a single day! You ok, Sal? You look like you went through five jumps at once,” Abel said. Hesitantly, Sal took Abel’s forearm and lurched himself to his feet. To his surprise, almost everyone else had already left the green liquid and was in the process of dressing themselves. Stannock, Marcus and Xin looked mildly unwell, as expected of any S-Jump, but no worse for wear. Dusty, in sharp contrast, was smiling brightly, his eyes full of excitement. He still needed to clean off some green goo off his small whisp of a beard, however.
Sal turned his attention back to his friend. “Just a rough one this time. Saw some weird things. Did you get anything like that?”
Abel frowned and shook his head. “Seeing things? You sure you didn’t take any fuzz before the jump? You know that stuff’s bad for you?” Abel laughed when Sal scowled at him.
“Like hell I’d touch that stuff. You see me take a puff of that, you better slap some sense into me,” Sal said. “So, about your ‘planet from the porthole’ prediction, any sign of it yet?”
“Nah man. I wish we had windows in here. Would make for a nice view when breaking the surface!”
The phrase Abel used was an apt one, often used in reference to the sensation of surviving an S-Jump; the rush of air and raw sensitivity of the skin after moving dozens of light years was a powerful one. Thinking back on the vision he had, he wondered if his brain had constructed the illusion based on the term, circling around his mind as the jump came to a close. A thought for another time though, as Sal was still dripping gunk and standing in his underwear. As Sal and his team got dressed, the lighting in the hallway flashed red in warning for a split second before returning to normal. Everyone in the room looked around confused, searching for some clarification. The nearest officer, a portly man, shrugged as he looked for answers himself.
Stannock said, “What the hell? Did someone bump the alert button on the bridge? I always knew those rude pigs on the upper decks never had as much delicacy with their instruments as us.” Stannock half-chuckled to himself, though a pang of worry underlined is voice.
Sal paused for a moment before zipping up his jacket and giving a single command. “The viewing lounge isn’t too far. Let’s see what’s going on.”
Gathering his team, they slowly plodded towards the local observation spot. It was built with a wide window, allowing one to engage in a staring contest with the expanses of space. His stride was meant to be steadfast, but the S-Warp had numbed his muscles, and it closer to a stumble. Ignoring Xin’s laughter, he made his way to the lounge.
Through the reinforced transparent window, the six of them stood and scanned the dark for signs of interest. The first thing that caught their eye was the abreast structure of Ruby Eye, coloured in the bright insignia of Henry and Huell Incorporated. Sighing, Sal could see she had made the jump as well. From this view, it granted them a view of how large the colony ships truly were from the outside. Four kilometres long, the surface of the ship danced with orange and red lightning, its Scar Field active. When fully powered, the field was designed to protect the craft from attack by creating a shield that would instigate a localized Schrodinger Jump for any projectiles about to contact the surface of the craft. The offending matter would be transported from one part of the shield to another, redirecting the shot away.
It was standard practice to make S-Jumps with a Scar Field active, as the easiest time to attack any vessel would be when the crew was disoriented. With their companion ship confirmed, they continued to look outwards. A single, yellow-orange star sat in the centre of the system, its harsh glow tempered by the window. Far in the distance, but still visible via magnification using a connected terminal wired to the window, was a brown, blemished planet, its surface lined with cracks and ravines visible from space. Not exactly the ocean planet Abel had hoped for, but Sal looked on the bright side. Many of the planets used for mining within the CCH didn’t exactly look appealing from hundreds of thousands of kilometres away but still brought in insane amounts of revenue to the market. A life of wealth on an otherwise unattractive planet was more than fine in Sal’s books.
Whilst the rest of the team seemed to sigh with relief at knowing that the recon team hadn’t screwed up badly enough to make up another non-existent planet, something else caught Sal’s eye. Though astronomy skills were far from his forte, even he noticed there was an issue. From what he knew, H&H’s initial scan drones were usually placed in orbit around their targeted star, close to any likely planetary trajectories, which matched their current position. At their current location, they had a good view of the side of the planet facing the star and no other debris fields were mentioned in the briefing notes for the system.
So, Sal couldn’t help but wonder why ahead of both Starheart and Ruby Eye, off to one side of the planet, a large section of the typically twinkling background of space was absent of all dots of light. Whilst considering the possibility of some strange lack of stars in that direction, a far more fitting explanation struck him.
Something was blocking them from view. Ships. Huge ships. Not only a lot of vessels but plenty of this unknown fleet were close enough to their position to obstruct a large region of space.
“Look sharp, I don’t think we’re alone in the system.” Sal stated as calmy as he could manage when he pointed out the odd black patch ahead.
Taking a moment to understand what he saw, Marcus spoke, “Fuck. Fuck, its them, isn’t it? Heaven’s Doctrine. They got Lighthouse, and now they going to get us.” Anger swelled in the younger engineer’s throat.
As soon as the team all understood what they saw, the warning lights flashed on once more, and this time they continued their pulsing. Sirens wailed as speakers crackled to life all around them.
“Attention crew. This is not a drill. All personnel make your way to combat stations. This is not a drill. Unidentified crafts have been detected. Move quickly and calmly. Report to your supervising officer or manager when next available. This is not a drill.”
Sal nodded to his team and broke into a run. He paced himself to move as fast as possible whilst giving Xin time to barely keep up with her limp.
“Sal. Sal, this is really happening, isn’t it?” Xin’s voice was riddled with fear. “It’s going to happen again. We’re going to die. I’m going to die.”
Sal looked at her leg, a reminder of her last mission as a fighter pilot. He knew that her comical, uncaring exterior was tough, but when life or death was on the line, that façade cracked.
Sal spoke decisively. “No, we’re not. I’m going to make certain of that. No matter what.”
He moved through his team as they ran to the engineering bay closest to one of the central utility junctions. Elijah would be ready; the old man had always planned for situations like this. The last training drills had pushed even Sal to his limits, and that felt like preparation enough. Running next to Stannock and Marcus, he couldn’t help but see the burning glare the latter made, focused on nothing in particular as they ran. In the drills, Marcus had always acted calm and steady when under pressure. But when Doctrine could actually be involved? Sal wasn’t sure.
Sal’s mind raced through the possibilities. First, the worst – it could be a Doctrine clan, one of the ones known for human experimentation or mass execution. Even more terrible, it could be Paradise, the indoctrinated army that opposed the Jade Emperor in their pointless Eternal War over a dead planet. Though little information reached the population of Collective Corporations of Humanity about the nightmarish existence for those on a Paradise settlement, what did make it through was grim. The vast majority of the population had been slowly made docile and pliable through generational brain degradation, with many being nothing more than lobotomized puppets, and those useful as cannon fodder lacking empathy or other such human qualities. In the eyes of the authoritarian hellscape, any outsiders not born into Paradise were the enemy. The best one could hope for when captured would be death or being turned into horrific exhibitions of their victory. At least, the rumours said so.
On the other hand, it could be one of the more merciful clans. Hell, some of them regularly did business with H&H on the down low. Perhaps this unknown fleet just wanted a cut of the mission profits? Better yet, it could even be another corporation. Having GaltCorp stepping on their toes would make things difficult, but it could even prove to be an opportunity if H&H chickened out this far in. Many corporations would shell out a fortune to hire new crew for a ship or fleet so far from civilisation. Yet, despite all of these thoughts, Sal had a gut feeling that he was somehow wrong about all of these predictions. A buzz in his brain told him that the unexpected was coming.
Stannock broke his concentration with chatter. “So Sal, if things do go badly, I just wanted to say something. Get it off my chest, you know?”
“Sure Stan, anything you need.” Sal listened carefully. Was the grey-skinned man finally being sincere? Would his outer shell of egoism break under such circumstances?
Stannock hesitated for a moment, focused on running, before he turned towards his superior. “Your goatee sucks. You really should have listened to my advice. It would have really given it a nice gloss. Same for that mop you call a head of hair.” A nervous smile breached his lips.
Sal was unamused. Surging around a corner, the Torchers rushed into a meeting room. Next to a command console, and surrounded by other deck officers was Elijah, prosthetic arm whirring on the computer’s keyboard with lightning speed.
“No, I damn well heard you,” The deck manager shouted down the comm-device. “How the hell didn’t we see this coming? What do you mean there was no S-Warp signature from the probes? Look, I don’t care how, just match up the schematics to something, we need to know what we’re up against. If it’s a frigate or cruiser fleet, we won’t have time to make the proper defensive measures if you keep pissing about!”
Turning towards the squad, he sighed. “Thank God you lot are here. Things are real dicey at the moment, so get suited up and ready by Wing D. I hope we don’t need them but keep your tool kits and especially your welders on hand until this alarm ends. If we get some serious firepower coming down on us, we’ll need you lot to start repairing immediately.” Turning his attention to Sal, Elijah passed him a small silver chip that the engineer slotted into his comm-device. “I’ll patch you into the officer communications temporarily. I probably shouldn’t, but I need more than these stuck-up pencil pushers to figure out what’s going on,” Elijah continued, gesturing towards some offended looking command officers.
The Torchers gave a salute before rushing out of the hall. After minutes of pushing past panicking workers and soldiers, conflicting orders humming through Sal’s earpiece, they reached the suiting station along Wing D’s outer bulkheads. All along the wall were escape shuttles, and next to each door was a series of lockers. The voidsuits for EVA engineering work were less bulky than those used in the past, when space travel was in its infancy. They would still work in a vacuum for a couple hours at least, depending on air intake. Slipping into the grey and gold ensemble, they sealed the helmets shut and prepared their compressed air tanks for breathing, should the worst arise.
Welding torch in hand, Sal leaned against the window and stared at the smudged patch of space where the unknown ships lurked, not far off. Without any scanners on hand, he had no way of knowing the size or number of vessels that potentially were lining up shots every second that passed. Sal slid up the volume on his in-ear transmitter to listen to the cacophony of orders and confirmations coming down the line. Distantly, he heard the voices of Captain Althor and Analyst Titus arguing.
One voice cut through, a younger sounding female officer. “I’m sorry sir but look at the scans! They can’t be clan-made or CCH. The material doesn’t match up at all, and the engine signature is completely off the charts, no clue what sort of fusion engine they must be using.” Sal cringed, feeling unnerved. What the hell were these ships, and why was everyone so confused? Surely, a basic scan would tell them who they were up against? Wanting to focus on something certain, persistent, he gazed towards Ruby Eye, off to the side from the Wing D portholes. Like most colony ships, it was focused on size and bulk, meant to carry as many people and supplies as possible for new colonies. Their cargo holds could hold an obscene amount of materials and equipment that would make most station’s storage look pitiful by comparison.
Looking across its magnificent hull, he saw H&H’s stark logo of purple and gold around the paired letters of the corporation’s name. Heavy duty railcannons stood, twitching between distant, unknown targets in the void. Apparently, those in the bridge of Ruby Eye couldn’t decide which one to target first. Though the S-Drive was well and truly buried near the fore end, beneath the command bridge, the standard electricity-providing fusion engine was located near the rear. It was rare for in-system burns to be required for a ship this size, usually only for docking or colonization, but the back engines still flared with blue energy, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
And then, the ship split in two.
Sal didn’t register the remnants of Ruby Eye slowly drifting away from one another for a few seconds, an orange glow rippling through the area that must have once been a recreation deck, wild flames licking at vacuum before snuffing out. Silently, its once beautiful form had been snapped open in an instant. Sal watched, jaw agape, as his mind refused to register the sight before him.
It was Xin screaming that drew him into the present. Everyone around the hallway who saw the horrific sight hollered and rushed about. Claxons rang out, and the voices in his ear became frantic. Damn it, what the fuck was happening? Most shots from ship weaponry would be difficult to discern in space even with scanners, let alone the naked eye, but Sal thought that at least some signs of projectile would be visible after it struck Ruby Eye. Unless…
Elijah’s voice cut through the noise and slammed his thoughts to a halt. Privately contacting him, the manager growled. “Sal, where are you? Things are looking bad here.”
“I’m at Wing D, suited and ready to go.” Sal replied, keeping his tone steady.
“Alright look- shut the hell up, I’m trying to talk here you moron!” Elijah shouted away from the call before returning back to Sal. “Forget repairing the ship, you need to head to the escape shuttles. Command wants everyone off the ship ASAP.”
“Off the ship? What the hell for, sir? Aren’t we going to get picked off by whatever the hell is out there?”
Elijah was silent for a moment. Then, he spoke – slowly and deliberately. “Command thinks we have a better chance out there than staying on Starheart. That’s their official assessment of the situation.”
What? What sort of sense was that? Did the leadership think that offering prisoners was better than letting everyone die on the ship? Sal couldn’t wrap his head around it. Nonetheless, he confirmed the order and turned to the team.
“We’re getting on one of the shuttles. Now. We’ll aim for the planet,” The team looked at him, unsure but nodding slowly. As Sal unlocked the door to the nearest escape Thimble-class shuttle, as alarms wailed and people bolted all around his team, he looked once more at Ruby Eye. Another tear had formed, this time near the front end, below where the command deck would have been. Notably, the well protected plating around the S-Drive’s core seemed to hold together. Another ripple of orange flames radiated from the origin site, twisting across the ship’s surface as the Scar Field surrounding the craft collapsed and shattered.
Slamming in the access codes faster, Sal had the door open, revealing the small interior of a white ship, barely the size of a passenger cabin. Six chairs, three a side, lined the walls with harnesses ready to lock in place. The team swarmed in and prepared for launch, with Sal typing in the planet’s coordinates frantically. As he did, the delayed warning and sirens of Starheart cried out for evacuation. The stampede of footsteps roared around the team as other ships began to fill with fleeing crew members.
Dusty spoke up, “S-Sal… are we going to die?”
“No. Trust me.” Sal wasn’t certain, far from it, but he would do everything he could to protect his team – that he was certain of. His hand hovered over the control panel, watching the front facing screen that displayed a camera view of the outside. Eventually, a green light code was sent across the comms network, and Sal slammed the ‘enter’ key. The door hissed and locks were engaged as the harnesses seized up, fixing the passengers in place. Sal had just gotten in his seat when the straps secured him. With the wild drumming of his heart still hammering his ears, he felt the shuttle jolt as it disconnected from the colony ship. A moment’s pause passed before the ion engines fired, blasting the craft into the dark abyss beyond.
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Operating Unit 28100-G9 stared into the stars. They had always longed to see what was out there, beyond the hive worlds of the Out-Han. Though their time in the universe had been but a blip compared to their fellow Cambiar, G9 had hoped it would be in their life, during their adventures, that they would finally come across something… other. That they would be the one to fulfil the Out-Han’s purpose. And yet, before their eyes, hope was dying. In the shape of twisted metal and crushed machinery, one of the two ships that had entered their system from nowhere, so unexpectedly, was now fading into the dark. This was not what 28100-G9 had planned or hoped for.
This would not be acceptable.
The Out-Han’s 62nd Outer Fleet had come to this system, detecting non-Cambiar signals, and now had the chance to make contact with something beyond their imagination. Something that would fulfil their purpose.
Turning to their fellow caste-member, G9 asked a simple question, voice monotone and whispery.
“Urgent priority request. Caste-kin, are you aware of the nearest calculation terminal?”
“Urgent response. Terminal 7192 is approximately 300 steps away, near grafting station 1221.”
“Response accepted. Many favours, caste-kin,” G9 thanked their comrade, and quickly skittered towards the target station. If they had time, G9 would be able to calculate the likely landing zone for the fleeing craft. Should they impact Fifth Spoke, G9 would be able to be the first to meet the… others.
Others. The idea was strange. Feet clacking along the pitch-black tunnels of the vessel, G9 wondered what these others would be like. Would they even be corporeal? Some members of schism-factions believed in things not of this world and held great faith in their existence. Such ideas were rarer for members of The Cycle of Outstretched Hands, and G9 was far more focused on what could possibly be in this world, not the next. Corporeal or not, their people would come to know what there was beyond the Cambiar.
Rasping out a hiss of joy, G9 found the terminal was free. Many other ships of the Out-Han fleet were rallying to intercept the fleeing craft that had veered off towards empty space or the distant planet that scans had shown would be unsuitable for only the most adapted Cambiar, but thankfully the Fifth Spoke’s crew were more focused on preparing to receive the ships that were already careening towards its outer hull. Perhaps these others did not have capable steering mechanisms, though their ability to appear from nothingness would seem to contradict this line of thought. Being able to emerge with no sign of entrance showed great technological potential, but perhaps this feat was their only strength?
It mattered not. Any meeting with a being considered ‘other’ would be a success. The terminal’s screen spat out a mass of calculations and variables, eventually focusing on one of many smaller-sized craft heading their way. Thankfully, it was calculated to impact an area only five sub-sections away. G9 had to be there once it made contact. After all, they had spent all of their, admittedly short, life waiting for this. Moving with great speed, the thunderous tone of the outer epidermis of Fifth Spoke twisting open to safely accept the craft thrummed through G9. Time was running out. Pumping excessive energy into their locomotive limbs, G9 induced the quickest genetic adaption they could think of to increase their speed. At this distance, and with such little time left, the action was pointless but G9 could not tame their excitement. A nearby thump indicated the arrival of the expected craft.
Teeth snapping with anticipation, G9 found the spot. As the calculation terminal predicted, the fleeing craft had been safely intercepted by the ship’s outer layers and was now laid to rest halfway through the dark hallway. Moisture in the air condensed on the surface of the stark, white ship, its structure formed from smooth, manufactured layers of metal. It contrasted harshly against the dark-green currents of Fifth Spoke, its shape odd and unnatural as light poured out through its transparent windows.
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And yet, despite how strange and potentially dangerous these new arrivals were, G9 continued snapping their jaw in expectancy. The odd and unnatural was what they were looking for, hoping for. Unfortunately, the moment of glory would have to be shared with other Cambiar. A few other fellow Uvolos and an Onusian worker stood by as well, checking over the strange ship. Ignoring them, G9 would have their moment. The side of the craft hissed and tore away, leaving an opening formed with perfect straight edges. The mist that filled Fifth Spoke spilled into the other’s craft.
It was G9’s time to shine.
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Sal was having a rough day and having his escape shuttle crash land into something was not helping. Even with the harness holding him in place, the force of the impact shook his brain inside his skull. Blinking focus back into his eyes, he looked around the craft and saw his bedraggled team. Most of them looked like he felt. Based on the travel time, their journey had been was cut far too short for them to have landed on the cratered, brown planet that had loomed ahead of Starheart, which left only one possibility.
They had crash landed into one of the unknown ships. Conscripted into a boarding party was not on Sal’s ‘to do’ list this morning, but sometimes life gives you lemons. Slowly, he unstrapped the harness and lifted the crash bar from his torso. Upon closer inspection of the command console, he could see that the steering mechanism for the shuttle had failed due to the firmware for the operating system being out of date. Goddamn Windows 63.
With a groan he straightened his back and addressed the others, “Everyone ok? Nothing broken or fallen off?”
Stannock moaned loudly. “My god, my neck will be giving me grief for days now.”
Sal considered his bitchiness a sign that he wasn’t hurt too badly. Xin and Abel helped get Dusty to his feet, knees shaking violently. Marcus unstrapped himself, and stood up, calmly looking around. He appeared to be scanning for any signs of Doctrine insignia out of the camera and was left wanting.
“Sal, where are we? Did Starheart get attacked too?” Dusty whimpered.
As far as Sal remembered, Starheart remained intact during their rough trip through the void. Every second that passed could change that possibility, however. After checking his suit, he glanced at the screen before standing dead still. The view from the camera was blurry, one of the main cameras shattered from being rammed through a bulkhead, but he could see strange walls through their lens. The surface of the structure was a dark colour, almost as if it had been formed from solid oil. The walls were covered in bulges and strange vein-like protrusions that ran from floor to ceiling. They throbbed slowly. No lights, electric or otherwise, were visible, and a thick mist filled the bottom half of the view.
What the hell sort of ship were they on?
Carefully, not wanting to give too much away, he asked Marcus whilst gesturing at the screen, “Does that look familiar to any ship interior you’ve seen?”
Sal hoped to god that it was not of Lengti design, though some horrific mix of biological and structural would fit their aesthetic perfectly.
Instead, smothering Sal’s fears, Marcus shook his head. “No clue Sal. Not Lengti at least. Maybe someone corporate but I doubt anyone like GaltCorp or Tripwire would waste the effort on interior design like that.”
Sal went to scratch his chin, only for his voidsuit helmet to block his approach. Grunting and clicking his tongue with irritation, he picked up his welder and checked the argon tank. Filled, he hoped that it would provide him a modicum of defence, emotionally, if not physically. With everyone standing anxiously, Sal made the first move.
“Stay here,” he ordered, priming his welder. “I’m going to check it out. Keep the welders on hand. I’ll give you a sign if it’s clear.”
A few keystrokes on the console later, and the starboard hatch swung open, allowing a light mist to fill the interior. Cautiously, taking small steps, he vacated the craft, eyes darting around the darkness. Considering the environment, Sal checked the air he was breathing was coming from his tank, and not whatever the hell the inhabitants of the craft were inhaling. Confirming he was still breathing regular air, he inspected his helmet’s data readout. The unknown mixture filling the ship was slightly lower pressure than Starheart’s, and the temperature was low enough to chill a man. Stepping back and forth, he found the gravity on the ship was lower than that of a regular g, but enough to pose little issue in the short term. Before he even had a chance to examine the strange hallway he found himself in, the sound of clacking footfalls approached him. Adrenaline surging his body, he reached up and engaged his helmet mounted light to see who or what was closing in on him. Part of him almost wished not to, to stay in ignorant bliss about what fiend or marauder would potentially bring his death.
Instead, bathed in white light, something wholly unfamiliar stood before him.
The figure was slightly shorter, coming up to his shoulders. Standing atop of four, thin legs connected at a waist, was a figure, bone white in colour. Smooth skin enveloped most of its surface, with a long, rounded tail snaking along the ground behind it. Above the tail and legs, he found a pair of limbs jutting from the sides of a torso, lightly hunched. Mounted atop the body sat an elongated head, though there was no signs of ears, nose or mouth. Instead, a clear dome covered the frontal upper section, behind which a cluster of dozens of marble-sized black orbs stared back, twisting and pulsing as it observed him. Trailing from the back of the head were a number of small, thin tendrils streaming from the skin, lightly waving in the air. As he thought he had taken the entirety of the being in, from a previously invisible seam a mouth swung open. Wide and filled with hundreds of sharp, triangular teeth, the black insides contrasted against its pale outer layers. Projecting from the back of its cavity were four pink tentacles, each flared as they reached their tips. Upon closer inspection, the larger, central organ had the three smaller ones connected to it, their openings flaring open and closed. It wore no clothes and had no apparent accessories or objects not part of its biology. As far as Sal could make out, it was sexless. That was, unless, those oral tentacles were going to start doing something obscene.
A second or two passed as Sal’s mind attempted to figure out what the hell he was looking at. It was non-human. That was for certain. An experiment by Paradise? No, he figured would have made some perfect artificial being. Something geometric, smooth and unblemished. A clan experiment? Though there were rumours that the Emperor’s Dragon Guard were enhanced in some way, this thing was far too strange to have once been a human.
No, this was an alien.
“Holy fucking shit,” Xin mumbled behind him.
Turning in a flash, he saw his team all leaning out of the doorway to stare at the thing before him, eyes wide with shock. He grimaced and snapped back to the creature. It had moved a step closer and was extending an arm. Tipped with three, sharp digits on the top and two smaller fingers lower on each side of the hand, it seemed to beckon him closer. A raw, primal part of him wanted to set the welder on this thing, with it baring its sharklike maw and pulsating tentacles, and burn it to hell. A more rational part of his mind, somewhat acting out of fear, felt that attacking this thing would not be the best idea.
Instead, he also moved closer, hoping his team would at least try to treat his eulogy with some dignity should the beast decide to impale him. Approaching until he was less than a few steps away, he looked closer. Standing this close, harsh light beaming from his helmet, he saw the small black orbs seem to shrink and shy away from the luminescence. Slowly, he reached up and adjusted the light to dim it, quickly finding the creature relaxing. Still, its razor filled mouth still hung agape, and he was beginning to regret his decision to approach, when a soft hissing sound emanated from within. Seeing the flexing tips of the three smaller organs, he figured the sound originated there. It was only after hearing the tone rise and fall, moving from a hiss, to a whisper, to a clear, breathy voice that Sal realized it was trying to communicate.
Either that or it was eyeing him up for dinner.
Just as he reached out his hand, the strange noises were punctuated by a series of sudden snaps of its jaw, the movement consistent and in a rhythm. He recoiled back for a moment, and the creature recognised his apprehension. It ceased its snapping and instead stretched its own clawed hand out further.
After a few heartbeats, he made the move and touched his finger to the creature’s own. Tilting his head as they made contact, it had apparently decided not to immediately impale him. Huh, that wasn’t so bad.
Glancing up, however, he saw the corridor behind the creature had filled with more, almost identical, aliens standing hidden in the dark. Trailing into the blackness and out of the range of his flashlight, he counted tens, maybe hundreds of them. Unsure where to go from his current position, Sal stepped back, seeking some support from his team. When he bumped into Abel, he realized they had all stepped out of the shuttle.
Flicking his gaze back to the encroaching army of smaller monsters, Sal set out a plan. “Ok, we’re going to stick together and get away from these things. If these things want to get into the shuttle, I don’t think a simple door is going to stop them, so it’s best we move. They don’t seem hostile, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ll watch out backs, Abel will lead us forward. Stay calm, move steadily and don’t freak out.” He looked at Xin with the last instruction.
The team huddled up and moved away from the extraterrestrial crowd. Seeing the growing distance, the aliens picked up their pace, following behind. Sal increased the pressure on his welder as the alien army matched their every step. Eventually, the team rounded a corner before being met with a four-way junction. Abel directed them towards a sloping path, heading up at a gradient.
Footsteps quiet against the strange green-black surface, Stannock spoke up. “So, ladies, do we have a long-term plan? I don’t think wandering around the ship until we drop from exhaustion is a great idea. Forget death, I need my beauty sleep!” His effeminate tone unintendedly made the current circumstances a little less terrifying. Not by much, but it calmed Sal a fraction hearing his dandy crewmate’s poncy voice.
“There must be other shuttles that have been picked up, either on this ship or the others,” Sal said. “With how many pods were launched, we have a good chance of meeting up with at least someone from Starheart… or Ruby Eye.”
Sal didn’t recall seeing any escaping survivors from the wrecked craft but hoped that at least some got out. Part of him wanted to think on the future and of what would happen next. Would H&H arrive soon to sort this whole mess out? What would happen to Sal? Meeting aliens would surely be something he could put on his resume should the expedition for a colony fall apart. Wait a second, what was he thinking? He was on a goddamn alien ship, the first contact with intelligent alien life, and he was still considering where his next paycheck would come from?
Xin noticed him subtly shaking his head to himself over her shoulder. “You ok Sal? Feeling alright?”
“Just fine, thanks. You know, just getting used to staring down a horde of aliens. How’s the leg?” They had pushed her hard back on Starheart to get to the escape pods.
“It’s… ok. I’ll live.” Her tone indicated some pain.
Sal appraised her and nodded. He intended to keep a slower pace, but was unsure if the aliens would be so merciful. Turning, he checked to see the mass of creatures hadn’t approached too close. The one he had touched earlier was near the front of the group, and seemed to have inclined its head forward to listen in to his private conversation. He scowled at the thing before continuing.
“Anything ahead of us?” Sal queried.
“No, it’s still too dark,” Xin replied. “Sal… do you think we are going to die here? I mean, you saw Ruby Eye, if they can blow up colony ships like that, what chance does Titanlock have?”
“We can worry about Titanlock and the CCH later. For now, just watch out for us.” Truthfully, the image of the colossal vessel being split carved a dark pit of fear in Sal’s heart, but immediate survival came first. A jolt ran through the group and Sal was gripped by terror. Everyone attempted to see what had happened.
Marcus was knocked over on his side whilst a stockier brown alien, not part of the crowd, lay next to him. Judging by the wires and cords attached to its oddly shaped limbs and head, it was working on some device connected to the wall. A blue screen, filled with undecipherable and rapidly moving images was affixed to the surface of the hallway. Based on the size of the passageway, which had narrowed as the team had moved through the strange ship, Marcus had knocked into the creature, hidden in shadow.
“Get off of me you fucking monster!” Marcus growled, lifting his welder as he stumbled to his feet. Dusty quickly moved to grab his slightly older crewmate.
“Marcus, don’t! Hold on!” Dusty’s voice was strained, desperate.
The alien tottered back to its feet, adjusted some of the numerous flesh-like cables that ran along his body before even noticing the taller humans. Stepping back to the machine, it looked them up and down before using one of the tools affixed to its limbs to work on the terminal. Sal turned back to the group behind them, and thankfully they had stopped to watch the situation instead of encroaching closer. The Torchers collected themselves, checked Marcus’ voidsuit, and moved on.
“I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home. Can we pick up the pace? Please?” Marcus sounded like a wire about to snap, his earlier anger giving way to terror.
Abel met Sal’s eyes and nodded. The sextet moved faster, Dusty supporting Xin. Though they were in the same situation as five minutes before, the tension felt raised from their new pace, and Sal’s breathing fogged up his helmet. The behaviour of the gathering behind them hadn’t changed, still keeping distance but matching pace. Seeing a small army of unknown beings now marching behind them with some swiftness was putting Sal on edge.
Up and up, the team moved, making turns left and right. As they went on, it felt like less corridors had multiple paths. Sal’s fears that the ship was somehow alive or changing shape were not diminished when they saw a single doorway, metal and silver, at the end of a noticeably narrow corridor. Unlike anywhere else in the ship, he saw an artificial light, seemingly of human make, standing beyond the entranceway. It was the same sort that larger escape craft had as part of their emergency supplies, being powered by a single integrated hydrogen cell.
The team’s movement had become a near-sprint, and Sal no longer looked behind them. The sight of some apparent human evidence was enough to give them a second wind. Ice filling their veins, they burst through the doorway into a wide gathering hall, artificial lights planted haphazardly around the floor. Amongst the sporadic groups of aliens in the new room stood other members of Starheart, mostly engineers from the same evacuation area as them, confused and on edge. Panting and sweating, the Torchers got a few looks from around the room. Everyone else was seemingly unharmed, and relatively non-plussed compared to the sweating, gasping group. Xin let out a weak cheer as they ventured into the room. Unlike the other hallways and corridors so far, this room had flat, metallic surfaces, chrome in colour. The contrast of the plating to the seemingly alive walls from before struck Salvador as bizarre.
A thin stick man stood in the centre, defiant, as he was trying to talk to a particularly distinct pair of xenos. One of them would have forced Sal to look up to meet its eyes, and strangely seemed to mimic a commanding officer’s pose, arms behind its back and standing dead straight. Most of its skin was a light green hue but had splotches of red and orange over its shoulders and back, resembling epaulettes and a cape. Ringed on its head was a circle of obsidian black spikes, like some twisted form of crown. The other alien was speckled in yellow, limbs held straight. Looking down from a higher stature at the unsmiling man with its incredibly lanky frame, its rear head tendrils extended much longer than any others Sal had seen, almost touching the ground. They swayed anxiously, coiling and twisting around one another.
Turning his attention back to the intense man, Sal had only seen him through quarterly business reports and the occasional video announcement for some idiotic company policy. He did however instantly recognize him from the distinct clipped voice. This was Senior Performance Analyst Titus Fornax, the man who spoke before the Schrodinger Warp. He was a slim man, with a pair of golden rimmed glasses that highlighted the sharp edges of his face. Hands flexing within leather black gloves, he stared up at the shorter, but still tall, alien and spoke with a consistent and almost monotone voice.
“Yes, I am sure you don’t understand me right now, but you will later down the line. These men and women here are under my jurisdiction, so that means no killing, ok?” He seemed to mime out a chopping or stabbing motion with his arms before crossing them over his chest in defiance. “Got that? No killing?”
Evidently, the pair of aliens seemed confused and looked at one another. They paused for a moment before striding away, moving with grace.
Fingers on the bridge of his nose, Titus shook his head, before turning his attention to the newcomers. “Ah, finally. Glad to see some more people around here. It is good to see you, Mr Vigino.”
His unmoving deadpan stare and toneless voice gave the impression that this man ate a dry bowl of fibre-flakes each morning and was perfectly happy with that lifestyle. Despite his expressionless face, Sal saw his foot tapping away as he looked around at the various aliens. Notably, he was wearing a formal suit uniform, fitted to his slim stature, and lacked a voidsuit like everyone else in the room. Recognizing Sal’s concern at his lack of suitable attire, he gave a quiet hum in understanding.
“Ah, my suit. It unfortunately tore during my departure from the bridge. An accident it would seem. However, I have not yet suffered from exposure to their atmosphere. It is a bit cold, however.” Titus let the moment breathe. “So, how are we all doing, ‘Torchers’? Mr Garcia, how goes the shark tooth collection? You’ve made a good start I see. I wonder if these fine hosts of ours would be willing to add to it. Mr Finwe, I think you need a haircut. Not that I think H&H’s policy on suitable hairstyles is really that important right now, but it would help you see a bit better during your duties. Ms. Rouse, how goes the leg? I’ve heard prosthetics are getting rather cheap back on Titanlock, with the increasing number of injuries from the Eternal War and all. Mr Clarklin, how goes the memorabilia for ‘Chrome Mecha’? I’ve heard their latest model kits are quite pricy. Mr…. Stannock?” Titus listed through his freakish knowledge of most of the team but was stumped by Stannock’s lack of a surname. After the initial look of offense at the apparent lack of respect for the egotist, Stannock seemed proud that he had broken the officer’s annoying trivia streak.
“Sir, if I may, what the actual fuck is going on?” Marcus said, irritated. “Are we actually on an alien ship? Are we being held hostage? Why did they destroy Ruby Eye?”
Titus sighed and raised a hand to cease what was becoming an unconscious stream of questions that all parties likely had at that moment.
“I wish I could tell you more, but right now I am as lost as you. However, I would like to presume that we are not at immediate risk of death, unless I am misreading these creatures’ body language poorly. Which I may be, word of warning.” He adjusted his glasses, as if that would fix the issue. “For now, I do not think we are at liberty to deny them too much, unless you plan on using those welders. We should, however, remain cautious. I am not aware of the full circumstances of the situation. My understanding is that Starheart’s command crew were worried about the ship falling under the same attack as Ruby Eye and hoped we would make it to the planet for safety. Not that I agree with the decision, but that is for another time. I imagine you ran into the same lack of firmware updates we did?” He gave an uncaring shrug, glasses sliding down his nose slightly.
“Yes sir. Windows 63?” Sal said.
“Windows 63.” Titus shook his head, disappointed. “With regards to our sister craft, Ruby Eye, I have some reports that emergency bulkheads were partially functioning and that shuttles were observed leaving the less damaged decks. As for the cause…” He looked around the room, scrunching his nose up. “I need more information. For now, see what you can learn about our new friends, and stick with those you trust, understand?”
Sal was apprehensive but nodded anyway. Something in the officer’s tone made Sal wonder if he was referring to the aliens with his last line. His team moved away from the officer and made their way to one of the corners of the room. The creatures had intruded into the area, but in smaller numbers than Sal expected, which suited him fine. Some had formed a wall of observers just outside the door, almost afraid to enter. Still, some came closer than Sal was fully happy with but at least kept a few yards distance.
Addressing his team, Sal said, “So, this is first contact. I am wondering about all of your thoughts on the situation?”
“Well brother, I don’t know about you, but I am deciding between getting an autograph from them or seeing if I can pick one up.” Abel confidently stated. “I don’t know about you, but they’re small enough to not worry me too much.”
“Well of course your fine with it, Abel, you’re over seven feet tall. Most of these guys are close to eye level with me!” Xin covered up the wavering in her voice with a false joviality. She instinctively reached for her vapour cig, but found the voidsuit blocked her attempt. “Still though, if they don’t bite, I think they could be cute. Wonder what they’re saying though. Do you think they’re actually planning to attack us? Some sort of weird Doctrine-esque honour thing?”
“Beats me.” Marcus’s tone didn’t attempt to cover the animosity stirring beneath. “I don’t trust them. I think there’s something seriously fishy here. They take out Starheart and, what? They take us as slaves?”
“I get the impression that Titus isn’t convinced that these things split Ruby Eye apart,” Sal said. “And frankly, neither am I.” The team gave him a look, forcing him to explain. “I can’t confirm it, obviously, but I saw it happen. There wasn’t a railcannon shot, or a beam weapon like some clans use. It came from within the ship itself, I think. There were oxygen fires spreading for a moment. Maybe it was just a bad accident?”
The implication washed over the team, their faces turning crestfallen. The possibilities left were foul – either these aliens could strike so fast it was undetectable, somehow detonating a ship from its insides, or perhaps the ship had been badly run enough for it to explode after the S-Jump, or there were traitors lurking among the CCH crew.
As if to stir the team from these dark thoughts, Sal felt something poking him in the arm. Welder in hand, he twisted and saw a pale creature prodding him. Christ, did these things not know about personal space?! It was only when it stopped jabbing and instead outstretched a pointed hand, that he made the connection. Reaching forward, it tapped one of his digits with its own. This was the same one that he first met, only it had gotten more annoying. Withholding an exasperated groan, Sal leant forward to look at the creature before him.
The four zygodactyl claws that made up its feet clicked on the floor in rapid motion. Slowly its jaw swung open, unnervingly wide, before a stream of whispers rushed forth. Sal sighed, waiting for it to finished before he spoke back.
“Look, buddy. I don’t understand a word you are saying, but I am sure it is important. Let’s try using these, ok?” He said, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers back and forth. The alien mirrored his motion, excitedly waggling them. Standing straight he extended a finger, pointedly, before jabbing it into his chest.
“Sal. Salvador Vigino. Senior Engineer Supervisor of Henry and Huell Incorporated. Citizen of the Collective Corporations of Humanity.”
The creature tilted its head, as if trying to get a better angle on his finger. Repeating the motion a few times, he gave it time to reciprocate. In a flurry of motion, the creature twigged what he was doing, tail swinging wildly behind it. Motioning towards itself, it repeated a series of hisses. Well, that seemed to work, Sal thought. Unfortunately, he couldn’t speak hiss-ese, so that didn’t help things.
Seeing that this would take a while, Sal sat on the floor some distance from the team, the thick layering of the voidsuit making it uncomfortable. Part of him wanted to tear it off, but he would wait and see what happened to Titus before he made any extreme actions. With the alien sitting and crossing its four legs in a pose that would make any yoga instructor jealous, Sal was ready. Using the pointed tip of the welder, he drew out a few words and pictures. He had expected the floor to scratch like metal, since the grey shiny surface appeared to be steel, but instead it compressed and squelched when he put too much force on it. Was this the same material as the hallways, simply mimicking a different surface? Could he trust that anything on this ship to not be living and breathing?
Regardless, he was able to make some rough diagrams with lines and arrows, before voicing out a few of them.
“Human.” He pointed at the stick figure man and woman before gesturing to his team and the other bipeds in the room.
“Starheart. Ruby Eye.” He had drawn a dodgy diagram of an intact and shattered pair of colony ships. The alien seemed to focus on the broken ship for a long time.
Sighing, he vocalized the next drawing, his tone rich with embarrassment. “Torchers.” The drawing showed a group of six stick figures with exaggerated shapes for each of his friends. Abel would have been double Sal’s height were it to scale. For himself, he had drawn a circle beard and longer hair on the doodle to match his own. When he finished the drawing, he pointed to each member of the team and said their name. The alien focused hard for a long time, checking each of the figure’s characteristics before matching them to the real individual. After almost half a minute, it stared back at Sal, pointed and spoke two syllables.
“Sah-luh,” it hissed. He raised an eyebrow.
It repeated “Sal-luh.” Oh. It wasn’t meant to be two syllables. It was one.
Sal.
Goddamn, it had already said his name.
When the realization on his face was registered by the alien, it seemed to repeat his name a few times before choking out a series of sharp, undecipherable whispers. Acknowledgement, or perhaps amusement? Sal couldn’t help but smile.
“Aw look, Sal was nice to someone. All it took was them not being human!” Xin jibed from some distance away.
“Oh, fuck you,” Sal half-heartedly groaned back. He was meeting a goddamn alien, and she couldn’t help but rib him.
“Fah-khew.” The glaring alien repeated back.
Just as Sal was beginning to settle into a routine with his new companion, it was quickly interrupted as all the creatures froze and looked towards an opening that Sal knew for a fact wasn’t there a moment before. In strode the green-red alien, crowned in steely grey, escorted by a variety of the different types of aliens. Attached to the front of its neck was a shiny, metallic box, grated on the front surface. Wires seemed to loop around the creature’s neck and into the back of its head. The crowned leader of the group stepped forward, examining the room and taking in the atmosphere, before it inhaled.
“Highest priority. Purpose achievement. Greetings other beings. Starwalkers, please be calm. Welcome to our fleet-craft. We are the Cambiar of The Cycle of Outstretched Hands, and we shall make contact,” the tinny, synthetic voice rang out.
Somehow, they were talking English.