---Leviathan Power---
I awake to a rainbow of iridescent feathers clouding my vision.
I pull my head out from under Qorak’s wing and hop down from our perch.
“Computer, repeat?” I ask, blearily.
The computer answers in an uncharacteristically urgent tone “I say again, 37 separate messages detailing various disperate descriptions of a, hitherto, undetermined emergency have been logged within the last [66 minutes]. All attempts to identify the source and nature of the emergency and resolve it, without crew intervention, have failed. Most appropriate course of action determined to be: raise the Captain and advise her to gather Security Officers and the Engineering Lead to seek out the source and nature of the emergency and attempt to resolve it.”
My stomach drops.
I turn to Qorak, his face a mask of dread and his beautiful plumage wilting too, momentarily seeming almost as drab as my coat of matte grey, white and black.
I run to him and throw my wings around him and in as soothing a voice as I can manage, while conveying the urgency, I say “Seal the door when I’m gone, do not open it under any circumstances for anyone but me, even if I’m taken hostage and they threaten to kill me, that door stays shut. Do you understand me?”
Stammering, he says “B-but-I-you-but-if-th-they…”
I snap “Do you UNDERSTAND ME?!”
He slumps “Yes, my okla…”
I tenderly tap the side of my beak against his and, looking down into his eyes, I say “Thank you, sweetfruit…”
As I leave he calls out, desperately “Come back to me, Tcakqaal… don’t allow our daughter to grow up never having met her mother!”
Without turning I answer “I don’t intend to!”
---some [minutes] later---
*plap* *plap* *plap* *plap**plap**plap* *plap* *plap* *plap* *plap**plap**plap*
“So, what do the reports say?” asks Engineering Lead Kwijj, against the steady pitterpatter of her twelve, gel coated manipular-perambulatory tentacles on the Bridge Deck Corridor.
Jogging beside her, I answer “The…*huff*…common theme is that…*huff*…they describe being… *gah*…woken by…*huff**huff*…a ‘terrifying noise’…could you slow down?!”
Her single eye wheels down to mine without her forward momentum breaking. “I’m sorry, Captain. It really sounds like we don’t have time! None of the Triple Ms responded to com pings?”
“Yes, I couldn’t…*huff*…get my CSS, SO…*huff*…or ASO to respond…nor anyone else in Triple M! …*huff*…no one on Decks…*huff*…4 or 6 was…*huff*…brave enough to…*huff*…venture out…*huff*…to make contact!…...*huff*…It’s possible…*huff*…whatever this threat is…*huff*…they’re already casualties!”
Kwijj’s skin flashes through puce, magenta and orange which her translator renders as a pathetic squeal. Seeming to steel herself, she asks “Nature?”
“Some reports…*huff*…speculate pirates…*huff*…some…*huff*…hyperdrive malfunction…*huff*…one…*huff*…vengeful warrior ghosts! …*huff*…Obviously…*huff*…you’re here…*huff*…in case it’s…*huff*…an engineering problem…*huff*…I don’t expect you…*huff*…to fight pirates…*huff*…or exorcise spirits!” being [1.3 metres] and [2.5kgs], of mostly bone and feather, really has it’s disadvantages, keeping stride with [3.8m] dodecapods being one!
Reaching the door of the Starboard Stairwell I burst through, not waiting for it to fully slide open. I can hear a distant but intense noise in the distance down below me but am not able to see over the safety rail. Irritated, I hop atop it and perch, looking down.
That terrible caterwauling is coming from down there somewhere.
Looking over the railing, through her goggle-aquarespirator, Kwijj asks “Any ideas? Can you identify it?”
“No…it’s…I…” I freeze. That’s… no… they wouldn’t!
“[Motherfucking DragonForce]!?” I shriek, in a mangled approximation of the English loanwords.
“What?” Kwijj asks, clearly alarmed.
I gratefully com Qorak “Qorak, my love. It was a false alarm. Don’t worry, I’ll be back a little later after I’ve sorted it out.”
Clearly relieved he says “By Akaros, that eases my mind. So, I can open the…”
“No you cannot open the door! I told you not to open the door for anyone but me! Didn’t I!? What if I were being held at gunpoint right now!?” I snap.
“But, if…”
“But nothing! Open the door only when you can see it’s me and I’m alone!”
“OK, I’ll see you later… assuming you’re not at gunpoint, right now.” I chitter at that.
“Try to get back to sleep, for the time being, sweetfruit.”
Shutting off my holopad I address Kwijj “Stand down, Kwijj. Your expertise is not required in this matter.”
Kwijj looks more lost than ever “Captain… what is it? Did you say [Parental-copulating Leviathan Power]? What’s the [Leviathan] powering? And why does that require it to copulate a parent?!”
Not answering, I say “Return to your habtank Kwijj and try to get some rest, you’ll only slow me down from here.”
Hesitantly, she asks “What are you going to do?”
Cocksure, I say “Me? Why, I’m going to crash a deathworlder party!”
Kwijj’s whole body pales “You’re a braver woman than I, Captain!”
Wordlessly, I tumble backward over the railing and perform a tight roll, in air, to right myself. I dive down [50 metres] and out [20] from my start point, spreading out my wings at the last possible moment to arrest my momentum, alighting on the balcony of what was formerly known as Starboard Dorm, Deck 5.
As I stride beneath it I glance up at the handpainted sign that reads ‘MUNDUS MINIMUS MORTIS’, painted in red [1 metre] tall letters of a long dead Terran language which now serves as a linguistic adstratum for most of the Terran cultures. MacLeod’s addition ‘*TELLUSCULUS MORTIS’ is written in [5cm] black lettering in a corner. That sign was an addition of the first seven diurnals (or ‘week’) after the Terran hiring. This deck is now known as ‘Triple M’ and its inhabitants the ‘Triple Ms’, there goes my orderly numbering system! ‘…3, 4, MMM, 6…’
I enter the dorm hall and the sound is deafening. It’s so loud I can’t really discern a direction but, from intuition, I head to the Commonroom.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The tempo is so high and the instruments so coordinated that, if Terrans did not exist, I would say it could only have been constructed on a computer, never played naturally.
This is music so intense that, if Terrans did not exist, I would say no being could have survived feeling the emotions necessary to write it.
This is music so ferocious that, if Terrans did not exist, it could only be the defiant knell of warriors who knew they were moments from martyrdom in a blaze of glory.
But, for Terrans, it’s just ‘Tuesday’!
As the Commonroom door slides open I am hit with a wall of sound, seeming nearly strong enough to knock me over.
fff♫SO FAR AWAY WE WAIT FOR THE DA-iii-AAY
FOR THE LIGHT SOURCE SO WASTED AND GONE
WE FEEL THE PAIN OF A LIFETIME LOST IN A THOUSAND DAYS
THROUGH THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES WE CARRY ON♫fff
CSS Victor 'Cuddles' Taylor is standing flanked by SO Brunhilda 'Samus' Arran and ASO Tuun 'Elf' screaming into microphones, gesticulating wildly with their five spare hands, faces screwed. Backed by the distinctly unmusical yowling of Fluffy in addition to a pair of speakers, taller than I am, combining their amplified voices with a furious backing track.
Commissary Krish 'Cookie' Dhawan, Engineer Jennie 'Mouse' MacLeod, Researcher Msia 'Mage' Zunberi and Arran’s ‘samoyed-huskie mix’ canine, Sam are sat spectating on a giant couch.
They’re so enraptured that Zunberi is the only one to notice me standing there, glaring at the scene. Trepidatiously, he fumbles for the control panel and shuts off the cacophony.
The other Triple Ms are each perplexed for [1.5 seconds] before they notice me standing, scowling.
I fold my wings behind my back (a distinctly unnatural posture, for me) and begin pacing while keeping my gaze fixed on the crowd of them.
After a full [15 seconds] of silence Taylor starts “Cap, I…” but my wing shoots up with a single claw extended, indicating that the silence is to continue.
A few more [seconds] pass before I deem them all sufficiently cowed.
I stroll over to the panel by the door. On it, there is a grey switch beside a white dial.
Experimentally, I flick the switch from the ‘Off’ position to the ‘On’ position and all ambient noise from beyond the room ceases. Back to the ‘Off’ and the low ambient thrum, of a ship in warp, is back. One more flick and it’s gone.
I turn to them and say “Your privacy field appears to be functional… just not enabled! Yet I can see from the compromise of brightness and dimness, to suit both brightworlders and mirkworlders, that someone here knows this panel exists!”
More pacing, more silence.
I flick my crown plume and affect a Terran sigh.
Massaging my temples with my wingclaws I ask “While I am extremely glad you’re all alive and not slaughtered by pirates, ripped into atoms by warp malfunction or possessed by the spirits of vengeful warriors, as the reports I was receiving would have had me believe… while my hearts sing that I get to go back to my mate, alive, and show him it was a false alarm… I can’t help but feel a little [fucking] livid that this whole mass panic could have been avoided with the flick of a switch! And why by the Titan, by the Pygmy, by the Watcher and by the Orchardist did none of you answer your damn coms?!”
At this Sam bounds forward but, thankfully, is well trained enough to know that I will die if he runs into me at that speed so stops short, and starts frantically sniffing my front with an apologetic demeanour.
“Captain bird mummy! Not angry being! Please! Please! Please! We is happy time being! Sorrysorrysorry! Not meaning to upsetting you being! Not be angry! Not be cross!” Sam yaps.
Translators really don’t work well on near-sapients.
Despite my not being a Terran, this cuteness offensive is working.
I bend down to look Sam in the eye “‘Captain bird mummy’ isn’t angry with you Sam. You and Fluffy have done nothing wrong…” I glance at Fluffy “…this time.”
“Why don’t you and Fluffy go to bed? I’m sure you’re tired.”
Sam hangs his head, dejectedly and leaves the room, shortly followed by Fluffy. I’m very grateful Taylor is resistant to the idea of getting her a translator, I shudder to think what she’d say.
I point to the three standing deathworlders and snap my beak “Sit down!” gesturing to the couch. They swiftly comply.
Pacing again I ask “So? No communicators?! You what, left your holos in your rooms?! A ‘no phones party’?! What if there had been a real emergency?! If we’d been boarded?! If we had needed our brave knights in shining armour to come and slay some Terran dragons and they were too busy [karaoke]ing to notice!? This is the fourth incident, of its kind, in the two Subcycles since I hired you!!! Requisitions Officer Hamtonio still hasn’t mentally recovered from his detainment and copious licking after the Fluffy Containment Breach of diurnal 15! What were you thinking! I’m not your mother! I don’t want to have to police when you go to bed but Akaros knows I’m not going to let you keep the whole ship up with you! I don’t want to have to install a surveillance camera in this room! I don’t want to check that every emergency isn’t just Terrans being Terrans! And another thing…!”
---much later---
“NOW I’M THROUGH WITH YOU, YOU MAY GO!” I roar
The doleful Terrans file from the room.
“Except you, Mr. Taylor. You stay.” he looks surprised. Everyone else also looks curious but still file out.
Once the room is clear I climb up and nestle into the ‘loveseat’ and gesture across the ‘coffee table’ for him to sit back down on the sofa.
He hesitates before asking “Can I offer you a nightcap, Cap?”
It takes a moment before my translator can make ‘nightcap’ sensical to me and when it does I am about to refuse out of reflex, then I reconsider. “Sure, I’m off duty tomorrow, I guess I can relax a bit. I trust you know how to mix a drink that won’t kill me…?”
He smiles “One moment, Cap!”
He comes back with a rather expensive looking bottle of whisky, two glasses (one filled with icewater, one holding a frosty stone), a stirbar and a pipette.
Interested, I watch intently to see what his process is.
He takes the pipette and dips it into the bottle, before repeating once, dispensing [6ml] of whisky into the icewater and stirring it in. He places that glass in front of me. He then proceeds to pour a, frankly, ludicrous quantity of undiluted whisky into the other glass. He raises it and it takes me a moment before I figure out what’s expected.
I pick up my glass with my talons and gently *clink* it against his.
“To your health!” he toasts.
“To yours!” I answer.
I dip my beak into the mixture and tilt my head up to tip it down my throat. Even diluted, it tastes very strong to me.
Drink now in foot, we sit in silence for a long while.
Eventually, I start “Taylor, listen, I’m glad you’re doing so much better. Anyone can see you’re much happier now than you were before the Terran contingent arrived… it’s just… these sorts of antics are getting to be something of a drain. Emotionally and financially.”
Taken aback he asks “Financially?”
I chitter “Deathworld research is extremely lucrative, Taylor. That’s how I can afford to pay everyone so handsomely! You 1.7x standard, Ms. Arran 1.2x standard, Ms. Tuun 1.8x her asking price, haggled down from 1.9x… Even so, the money is not infinite and every time something like this happens I have to pay half the crew emotional damages!”
I pause here and then continue “If you start putting this ship in [the red], you’re going to make me choose between [booting] you and Fluffy off at the next port or letting you drag the ship down with you!”
I stare into his eyes, imploringly “Taylor, you are a dear friend and I owe you my life more times than I can count… but don’t make me choose between my loyalty to you and my ability to provide the livelihoods of 276 other crewmembers. OK?”
Looking more sober now than when his glass was full, he nods “Yeah, Cap. We understand eachother. I’ll reign it in. No more incidents. I’m sorry.”
I nod “Good!”
I think and then add “One more thing, Taylor…”
“Yes, Cap?”
“The next time you throw one of these little deathworlder [soirées] of yours… invite me…”
His eyebrows rise at that “You’re serious?”
I nod “Oh yes! Afterall, I have the ‘spirit of a deathworlder’ and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t look like fun… maybe with a little moderation of volume…”
He snickers at that.
“…and, of course, someone has to make sure that you activate the privacy field(!)” I smirk.
He winces “Sorry again.”
I wave “Wind under the wing, dear boy. No, ‘water under the bridge’, right?”
He nods.
I finish my whisky and am about to bid him goodnight when he says “Cap, wanna see somethin’ unforgettable before you go?”
I think, then nod.
“Ya have to be quiet though…”
I raise a browtuft, the alcohol haze setting in “Less of a problem for me than you, I’m sure, you great galumphing deathworlder!”
I was wrong, I thought I was quiet but in the deathly still of Triple M hall I can still hear the light *pit* *pit* *pit* of my feet on the deck, whereas he passes so silently that it’s as if he isn’t there. I would have thought this stealth impossible for a being more than 40 times my mass but, to Terrans, the impossible is barely an inconvenience!
He draws up to his and Fluffy’s room and the door slides open. I gasp!
Sound asleep, there are four Humans, a canine and a Don, all snuggling around a mirkbeast, also sound asleep.
“How…?” I whisper “…I thought Humans preferred to sleep solitarily or with a mate?!”
Taylor bends down and whispers in a voice so quiet that it’s almost impossible to consider that barely [an hour] ago he sung so loud he woke and terrified half the ship.
“Private bedrooms are a social construct originally intended to demonstrate wealth. It then spread mimetically so now we’ve forgotten that it was ever any other way. Don’t get me wrong… privacy is nice sometimes but this…” he gestures at the pile “…this is how Humans are meant to sleep!”
He then turns to me and whispers in the most serious voice I’ve ever heard him use “The Cuddle Puddle is justice!”