---Reunion---
---Emiko’s perspective---
The limp form of the galaxies new most formidable land predator dangles from the bottom of the Swift Claw as she is lowered into an upturned escape pod, salved and sealed burn marks on her left forearm and back.
The fact that Graom-Wakhkortan exoskeleton apparently has better plasmablade resistance than durasteel was a shock to everyone!
I know, once that fact comes to light back home, the Vrakhand are going to be inundated with requests (from both the Terran and GU militaries) to allow themselves to be studied!
If that quality could be reverse engineered, it could be the basis of an entirely new generation of battle armour… which I’m not entirely sure is a good thing!
Of course, if we need to fight another War, I’d obviously prefer to have the better armour than not.
The only concern is… how much more likely does us having it make another War?
Well… no use worrying about that now, is there… Tomorrow’s winds will blow tomorrow.
Sknz’h and Thaïs have had an absolute field day with this animal!
The two of them ascertained that she was a ‘she’, she was a pregnant she, that her ancestors and the Vrakhand’s diverged around 8 million years ago, that she comes no where near the threshold for sapience and that (absent a community to rely on) the enormous collection of fauna bound up in silk sacs in her lair were intended as a larder to support her children, after they were done eating her.
It’s a good thing too… Hopes were so low for the Twigg being returned alive that Victor’s initial plan was to use explosives to kill this thing (which certainly would have meant the six survivors becoming collateral damage!)
Unfortunately, it was too late to save three of the ones we pulled out. They had already succumbed to the venom.
At least their bodies could be returned to their loved ones…
The Zunberis and Felicity are, right now, looking into the possibility of relocating the animal to an offshore island.
The Vrakhand don’t sail far out of sight of the coasts, so there are islands unknown to and unsettled by them.
Obviously, it would be a terrible idea to move her to an island where her offspring would become an invasive species but, if they can find one that already has a population of them and is estimated to be able to support more, we can transfer her larder there and it will spare us the need to take her offworld.
I would not be happy with sharing a ship with this thing, let alone bringing her into any gardenworld system!
The idea of some customs agent ignoring our warnings and unstasising her to inspect her doesn’t bear thinking about!
Thanks to the actions of a certain young hunter, the suppression squad made it through almost entirely unscathed!
Thran caught a partial dose of its venom but her metabolism has already almost completely burned it off.
Xon has her chest in a cast for some broken ribs until we can regain access to the ship’s regen tube.
The worst casualty was Victor…
Initially, the suspended animation that the full dose of venom he took in the neck plunged him into even caused his suit’s vital monitors to report him as deceased!
Mercifully, the doctors determined him to still be barely alive…
They actually had to fab up a dialysis machine to clean the toxin out of his blood. Ancient technology, unnecessary even before we gained access to regen, but, they assure me, the best tool for the job in this case.
He’s yet to regain consciousness.
Steve is some distance away from me, playing his didgeridoo (or ‘ngatu’, or ‘pampu’, as he says his Warlpiri grandfather would have called it) his face pained.
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He seems to be having a mild crisis of faith right now.
Irwinist philosophy very firmly holds that how cute or friendly an animal is ought to have no bearing on how worthy it is of conservation and respect.
It is a religion mainly popular among the rougher, country boys of the respective outbacks of Australia and New Australia, so its practitioners don’t tend to be as precious about animals as conservationists from more urban environments do.
They will happily jump on the backs of the galaxy’s most dangerous animals and wrestle them into submission…
But still…
Having come face to face with such a monstrous creature, having seen how effortlessly it overcame two of the most formidable Humans he’s ever likely to meet (and a trained soldier, not to minimise Xon)… I think it’s shaken him.
He’s blaming himself and our pointing out that those Twigg are only alive because of him doesn’t seem to matter.
I might gently suggest a session with Marc or Alchyinad if this persists…
Just as I’m thinking that, Lhamo’s shuttle appears, setting down beside the Swift Claw on the patch that has become our informal landing pad.
At the same time, the embassy’s door opens and a group of six gaunt looking Twigg appear, dressed in clean, freshly forged clothes.
The shuttle’s ramp lowers and a voice cries “Mirt!!!”
I look to see a Twigg woman, perhaps 45 or so, her thick, curly hair a patchwork of green and grey, utterly sprinting toward the survivors.
A slim boy of maybe 20, his eyes hooded with heavy dark circles, his green skin mottled with patches of grey discolouration, sees her and grins “Hin!” his voice a rasp.
Before she impacts the boy I’m taking to be her son, her way is blocked by the legs and hand of a large Navajo man.
“Ma’am…” says Niyol, sternly “…you need to be gentle with him! He’s still frail, alright!”
“Yes, sure, sure!” says the woman, not looking at the doctor as she tries to get around him to her boy.
Rolling his eyes, Niyol steps out of the way and the woman throws herself at the convalescent (lighter than she would have, heavier than she should have!)
Pressing her body into his and wrapping him in her arms, she says “I was so worried about you, Mirt!”
Wearily, the boy smiles back “I’m fine, Hin… the healers say I’ll be as good as before soon…”
Tears spill from the older woman’s eyes along with blubbering sobs from her trembling lips.
I’m just smiling at the heartwarming mother-son reunion when the ‘mother’ extends her tongue and plants a sensuous lick across the ‘son’s’ lower face.
It seems I slightly misapprehended the relationship between these two(!)
A surprise… but I’m not one to judge…
Some young men are fans of older ladies.
From the way the pair start putting their hands on eachother though, I’m preparing to avert my gaze and pretend to be very interested in every direction except that one for the next few minutes when two hands grasp them by the scruffs of the neck, pulling them apart.
Seeming to have barely noticed the large man from whose hands they now dangle, the pair just desperately reach out for eachother, nearly a full metre between their fingertips.
“Absolutely not!” warns Niyol, addressing the woman “He needs rest, Ma’am! If he exerts himself, it will extend his recovery time and increase the risk of complications!”
“Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine! Just put us down!” begs the woman, her face still fixed on that of her young lover.
Drily, Niyol answers “Ma’am… you need to do a better job of convincing me that, if I release him, he’s going to be able to get the rest he needs at home… If not, he’s staying here until I judge him to be up to strenuous activity! Look me in the eyes and promise…” with the tone of an unimpressed schoolteacher.
Irritably, the woman turns her attention to the man holding her and her lover apart and says “I promise I’ll let him rest, greedy!” seeming to mean ‘greedy’ more in the sense of ‘spoilsport’ than anything else.
Niyol sighs “Fine… good enough…” placing down the pair who, based on the way they reembrace, I don’t for a moment think are going to actually keep to their promise for much longer than it takes them to get out of his eyeshot “…don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
As I chuckle at that I get a message ping on my holo.
I look down to check what it says… and start hurrying into the embassy, around the crowd of reunited Twigg.
I make my way through the halls, to the bedroom currently acting as an extension of the medical ward.
I stride inside and am immediately met with a pair of bloodshot, bright green eyes.
“Victor…” I smile, breathlessly “…you gave us all quite the scare!”
He smiles weakly back, giving his fiancée’s hand a squeeze, and rasps “Yeah… sorry to worry folk.”
“How are you feeling?” I ask, more earnestly.
He gives a feeble tilt of his head and answers “Like my chest’s been crushed, my neck’s been stabbed in two places, my blood’s been filled with poison and someone’s filled my mouth with a powerful bitterin’ agent(!)” with a chuckle.
“Well, I’m glad you’re awa-”
At that moment, a tan skinned, blue eyed, dirty blond haired man, holding a 1.2m long wooden tube bursts through the door, interrupting me.
He says nothing, only panting as he looks at the bedridden man.
“Steve… How’s it goin’, you daft cunt(?!)” grins Victor.
A smile slowly breaks over the New Australian’s lower face.
“Not too bad… you Pommie wanker(!)… How ’bout yourself?”
Coolly, Victor gestures to himself and answers “Been better, not gonna lie(!)… We got the animal, right?”
Swallowing a little and not meeting Victor’s gaze, Steve nods “Yeah, mate… yeah we did… Listen… I’m sor-”
Victor holds up a hand and interrupts “Don’t apologise… We’ll just say that my next hundred rounds are on you(!)… When we get off this planet… Sound good?”
With a half chuckle half sob, Steve answers “Yeah, mate… That’ll about square us…”