Darju cursed at the juicer as she was again sprayed in the thick, gloopy juice of the hejry berries.
“Darju. What is wrong?” Cylion called from the front of the cantina.
“This juicer. I am covered in hejry berries again,” Darju replied.
“Did you put the lid on properly?”
“Of course, like I have every time, and it is always these berries that it seems to break with. I would not mind if it were loity or detry berries but why always hejry? The juice sticks to everything. It took me three yhuse to clean my scales last time,” Darju grumbled.
“I have never had an issue with it,” Cylion replied.
“Well, I have every time with these horrible berries,” she replied, wiping the thick sticky juice from her face. She poured the juice into the glass and walked to the serving hatch, angrily slamming it on the counter.
Several patrons turned and looked at her, which made her feel even worse now as they saw the state of her face, covered in the vibrant violet juice. Some of them began to laugh.
“Grrrr,” she growled as she stomped away from the hatch.
She looked at the berries that sat on the counter and around the splattered kitchen and again cursed at them before picking up the cyclonic broom and began sucking up the disaster. The one bonus was the broom. It was amazing at cleaning and would identify and disassemble waste only. She had never seen a contraption like it until she started working at the cantina. She had tried it on her scales, but it would not clean from living tissue, unfortunately.
It took her almost a yhuse to finish cleaning the kitchen alongside the other orders that filtered through. Even though the juicer had put her in a bad mood again, she loved the job. She had only been working there for seven cinteps, but every day she was getting to meet new people and learning more about the vast universe she had always been secluded from. The stories some patrons told her not only amazed her but also scared her. She began to think her shedding might have started due to one of these tales.
She had forgotten that from the age of eighteen PT, her shedding cycle would begin, and it had taken her by complete surprise two cinteps ago when it had started because she was currently shedding, which could last up to three cinteps she had to remain in the kitchen area. She had initially thought this request strange from Flurew, but she did not want to worry the customers due to her changing appearance. Some of the regulars had noticed and asked how she was, to which she had given snappy replies. It was not as though her scales fell off because they did not. She needed to remove them as they became loose.
Flurew had been understanding, though and had comforted her and spoken to one of her Apelore doctor friends who had confirmed that it was the shedding cycle when Lyzord were the most fertile. Darju had been astonished at the information, especially as she had never even considered finding a mate or ever would if she had her way. It did not matter whether she wanted a mate, as it happened until they reached late-middle age, which for a Lyzord could be anything from 50PT plus.
With her cycle, she could hopefully get rid of the remains of the hejry berries from her scales without having to spend yhuse wiping every single scale down. Not that she did not enjoy bathing because she did; it just would not come off without serious claw picking. She went through to the staff bathroom and looked at the reflection monitor. Looking back at her was the same face as always, but she could see the discolouration on her scales. She hoped that the doctor was right and it would finish tomorrow. She picked at a loose scale on her neck, and it broke away with a bit of persistence to show a beautifully bright green scale underneath.
“Darju. Are you alright in there?” Cylion called from outside the door.
“Yes. Sorry. Coming.” Darju replied as she dropped her scale into the reclaimer and returned to the kitchen.
“Time to close up for the day,” Cylion said, smiling at her.
Cylion was a Catlop. Part feline, part humanoid. She was a beautiful creature and had the prettiest coloured fur that Darju had ever seen. It was a smokey grey colour but had an almost pearlescent hue and seemed to shimmer. Her eyes entranced you with one being a smokey blue. Darju had felt quite overwhelmed when she first met her, but Cylion had made her feel at ease and welcome in the cantina. Darju was still staying with Flurew, and she had left it as an open-ended agreement until Darju felt ready to step out on her own if she ever did.
“Hopefully, your shedding will end tomorrow,” Cylion said to her as they stacked the stools in the seating area. Now the cantina was closed for the day.
“I hope so. I have had such a bad temper since it started.” Darju replied.
“Welcome to womanhood,” Cylion replied in her purring voice.
It took them another yhuse to finish cleaning up. Usually, due to the amount of Apelore hair, they had to cyclonic broom. The Apelore shed daily, and Darju was glad she only shed her scales every ninety cintep from the doctor's reckoning. She could not imagine shedding every day. Flurew was always using the cyclonic broom at the house. Before arriving at the spaceport, she had only used brooms to sweep the cavern of dust.
Darju had started to go out for walks in the evening, and as the second sun began to set, she wished Cylion a goodnight and started towards the hangars. Over the past few nights, it had become her go-to spot as she would watch the starships that came and went being worked on. She had never realised that the spaceport was so busy, having only ever seen the occasional craft over the valley. The spaceport's wealth came from a rich Juty vein that ran about two miles underground, providing most of its income. Juty was a semiprecious metallic substance in a liquid form and used in spaceship manufacturing. Its structure allowed it to be used for specific functions where harder metals would fail.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The starships amazed her with their various shapes, sizes, and designs. Some were large freight carriers, others were much smaller and agile-looking craft, and she had also seen a couple of the Apelore’s defence force, Lortrans. They were her favourite by far. They were long, sleek, needle-shaped craft with small dual fins, and Darju knew they had some severe firepower through the laser-optical fusion generators that powered them. It was an Apelore design, and apparently, many races tried to persuade them into sharing its secrets, which they never had.
She hoped she could get a trip on one of the ships one day. Watching them blast off into the star-filled sky in the evenings made her heart skip a beat with excitement. She leaned against the outer barrier when a friendly voice called over.
“Darju. This is the fourth time in as many days.” Gretu said, smiling at her. Gretu was one of the Apelore security at the hangars.
“Hi Gretu. I just wish I could fly in one of them.” Darju replied, looking at the sleek craft in one of the hangars. It was shaped like a teardrop and looked fast. “Whose is that one?” she asked, pointing to it.
“Oh, you don’t know?” he replied.
“Know what?” Darju asked quizzically.
“That is Cylion’s brothers.”
“What? No way!”
“Yeah, he calls every cycle to see Cylion for a cintep.”
“I wish I had known. I would have loved to have gotten to see onboard.”
“Well, he normally leaves mid-first sun to head back to Werthij. I am sure if you are here tomorrow morning, he will show you around it.”
“Do you really think he would?”
“I am sure he would. You work with his sister,” he replied, chuckling.
Darju almost jumped with excitement at seeing inside the vessel. She then remembered that she had promised Flurew that she would open up in the morning. She hissed in annoyance.
“You ok?” Gretu asked, frowning.
“Yes. Sorry, I remembered I promised Flurew I would open tomorrow.”
“Ah. That is a shame. Anyway, you can arrange something for the next cycle.”
Darju thought a cycle was too long to wait to see inside the vessel. It looked even faster than the Lortrans without the guns. “Anyway, I better get home. Flurew was going to help me peel tonight,” she replied.
“Oh. I can’t wait to see the new you tomorrow.” Gretu replied, smiling again.
“Night,” she replied as she headed back to Flurew’s. She wanted to see inside the ship, but Flurew had been so kind to her since she arrived that she could not let her down. She sulked on her way home, wishing to be amongst the stars.
—
Dralcor woke in his cradle. The cradle was the ship's piloting suite. Their nano suits gave them the ability to control the Royal Interceptors through feeling and thought alone. There was no switch flicking, dial turning or screen hammering as many of the older technology spaceships used.
He was cruising between wormhole 89YJ-4376 and wormhole 23T9-H754. H754 was the last wormhole before he would reach the Quilrew Sector. The ship travelled at a steady speed of one light year per yhuse. It could cover a parsec every three and a quarter yhuse at cruising speed. If he pushed it and ignored the obligatory safety features, he knew they could reach cruising speeds of almost two light years per yhuse. At speeds like that, though, you were taking serious risks. Several of his kind over the PTs had lost their exceptionally long lives by being frivolous with travel. Travelling at those speeds was exhilarating, but a piece of space dust catching the ship at the wrong angle could hurtle you off course faster than you could blink.
He had gone into extended sleep since he had taken off. The AI piloted the ship for him once he had imprinted his thought pattern into the nanocomputer network. He had brought six sentinels with him, and three other craft were in the wing with the same. Wherever this being was, they needed to find them and secure the artefact. He should arrive in the Quilrew sector in under three cinteps and hoped the search would be easy. The memory had originally been stolen at one of the starports on the southern side of Jutinial IV. Jutinial planets were so named due to the Juty that they provided, and even though this planet was in one of the remote sectors, the income it provided the Royal Throne was significant.
All planets paid taxes, after all. They were not concerned about earning sheks as a race as they already had every advancement and everything they ever needed due to their level of technology and obvious age bonuses. They claimed taxes to fund the wars. What most races did not know is that the majority of the ongoing large-scale universal conflicts were pre-empted. Yes, they had the occasional spat which erupted between neighbouring planets or systems. Still, these were usually minor infractions that could be dealt with by sending a fleet of sentinels to restore order. They had always enlisted sub-races that would perform subterfuge for them across other planets.
The Battle Royale, which Placetius had originated, could only continue its quartly airing with the investment into the subterfuge network. They made more royalties from the quartly battles than most prime homeworlds in a cycle. It was only the richer worlds that could even compare; none were anywhere near as wealthy as Treglacoric.
He looked at his messages and saw a secure receipt from Joliteo. He brought up the cypher key and imprinted it, releasing the message. Joliteo's voice came through his nanofeed. “Dralcor. Please report your initial findings on arrival at the Quilrew Sector. I expect updates every cintep.”
He thought a quick reply, and the message appeared on his screen. “I will inform you when I land and then update every cintep. Dralcor.” He re-encrypted the message with the individual cypher key and then submitted it. He had a second message waiting for him on the secure receipt. ‘Two so soon’, he thought, following the same process to release the message. This time, the voice of his nanofeed was that of Klotus, the Palace AI. “Communication Request 23865 - Council Members. All Council Members are cordially invited to attend the Palace at 9 yhuse on the 345th cintep of 57915PT for a briefing of the next Progression Phase.”
‘Progression Phase, what on Treglacloric did that mean?’ There were no current phases for any recent delivery schedules. Everything was working as expected, and he was unaware of updates. Being one of the most senior in the Palace, he knew everything that was occurring at all times. “Oh, no.” he said aloud, “He cannot be that stupid, can he?” If he had done what he believed he had, and looking at the date now, the meeting would have already occurred; he was unsure what he might return to.