Futuristic Stories of the Cosmic Deep

[egglover]

Before we left to explore the unknown cosmic deep there were once many adventures to be had in our own Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies. These are the short tales of our characters.​

 

[Lord Saethos]

Entry Log
Subject:
NERAEIS

Prologue​

The Avian Expedition, an endeavor so ambitious, so grand, in both scope and intent, was an event that drew the eyes of nearly the whole known universe to Yal Yuan. All sentient species were represented among the crew members, making it an event that almost certainly no one would allow themselves to miss.

With something so monumental to bear witness to, the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies were far too preoccupied to take notice of much of anything else that could be occurring.

There was the sound of a ‘thwack’, followed by several gentle thuds as a glistening white ball landed across the vibrant green surface of a vast grassy lawn. The ball, despite the owner’s best attempt, had failed to so far reach the hole he’d been aiming for.

Five human men sat at an elegant table, decorated in a fine breakfast feast, accompanied by coffee and tea. The sixth man let his golf club fall to the grass as he returned to his companions, all partially shaded from the early morning Okanagan sun.

“The fleet should be arriving any day now.” One muttered pensively as he fidgeted with his thumbs. “We really are doing this, huh?”

Another blew out a haze of cigar smoke before chuckling. Despite the many ways one could imbibe nicotine these days, cigars failed to go out of fashion, especially among the rich (who could pay for the sort of product with a much lower capacity of killing them early). “The investors, government, the public… At the end of the day, none of them will really care, you know that? They might feign moral outrage, but I’ve yet to meet a single Earthling, or even Colonist, who whinges about the Neraeans, who’s actually BEEN to the planet.”

The smoker grumbled out another laugh. “Bunch of self-righteous hypocrites who want all the nice things they enjoy, but don’t want to get their hands bloody acquiring it.”

A slight cough came from the fidgeting man. “Yeah, well, there aren’t many Earthlings or Colonists who throw their support behind wiping out an entire group of people.”

Another man, who’d been gorging himself on a steak and eggs, shrugged. “Not many, but there’s a couple at least. Hence the selected crew for this op.”

The fidgeting man seemed displeased by the answer, but was soon distracted by a holoprojection that was presenting on the Avian Expedition’s launch. It was a rather remarkable feat, flying into Megalomorchen as they were. Admittedly, he did feel somewhat humbled by it.

“Well, we better hope they aren’t delayed then, cause it looks like the Expedition is going off without a hitch. Hard to say how big of a window we have before people start paying attention to other things again.”

A hand fell on his shoulder by the steak-and-eggs eating man. “You need to relax. The Neraeans are running out of resources and manpower. They’ve been pulling back from the asteroids like they’re about to totally abandon them, and their comms tech is about as useful as smoke signals in space. No one is going to ever know what happened. And the shareholders? They just want this over with.”

The golfer yawned as he picked up a piece of toast and took a few bites. “It’s a disease, Neraeis is full of them. Or a virus? Whatever, doesn’t matter. No one will be surprised. Besides, they’ve had this coming for 300 years.”

The smoker clapped his hands and cheered. “Here here! They should have shoved off long ago, gone and homesteaded some barren moon or something.”

Steak-and-egg eater snickered. “Probably would have died there too.”

The golfer shrugged. “I honestly don’t really care, I just want this done so we can go back to playing golf. Whatever bonuses we’re getting, it’s not going to make any of you any better at it.”

Another man who’d been quietly sitting there sipping a coffee cleared his throat. “You know, we could go further with this than just Neraeis. The M.I.C. doesn’t go and hand out weapons of mass destruction to the mining sector just for fun. We play our cards right… Maybe Neraeis is the first of many.”

The smoker grinned. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, but you’re not wrong. There’s a lot of untapped resource potential out there, trapped in alien territory. Maybe one day we’ll- Oh, well that’s just great!”

Up through the valley, thick, dark storm clouds began to be pushed through by a southern wind heading north. Based on what they saw coming down on the rocky, tree speckled mountains surrounding them, it was going to be a heavy downpour.

The golfer groaned. “We left Vancouver for THAT reason! I swear if they don’t discount this, I’m feeding a pint of that disease to the next caddy I see.”

The sixth man, who’d been watching the holoprojection the whole time, quietly muttered to the group; “What kind of resources do you think they’ve got on Yal Yuan?”

To be Continued...​

 

[druidquest]

Log Entry:
Blood at Sea
Loading file....​

Chaos danced in the skies above Le Shiloah. Zumolkan dreadnaughts - Rat Kings the humans called them - blockaded the planet, dropships bombarding the narrow isthmuses which formed the world’s landmass. Deep beneath the waves of Le Shiloah’s endless seas, Ulsorrel of the Jagged Fangs waited in restless anticipation for his platoon to join the battle above. He gripped the graceful tendrils of his skimmer tightly, waiting for the order which would see them all into the storm above.

His skimmer and hundreds of others like it, each bearing a knight of its own, clung fast to the back of a great leviathan, resembling from a distance a mane of loose, jagged scales rising around the beast’s neck. Ulsorrel cast his glance sideways, to his battle brother Fellu, who met his eyes and responded with a confident pump of his arm. The long spinal ridge on Fellu’s neck flashed a display of vibrant colors at him, full of excitement and vigor. Ulsorrel’s responded in kind, flashing his rows of sharp, daggerlike teeth for good measure.

There was a pulse from somewhere deep below them, and the two warriors snapped to attention as the leviathan started to move, rising, rising, rising ever upward toward the surface, picking up more and more speed as it went until it broke through the water into open air, shooting ever higher like some great, serpentine missile. Ulsorrel’s voice was joined by a chorus of others in a great battlecry, his skimmer releasing her grip on the leviathan and its fins stirring into motion, as adept at carrying through the sky as the water. Ulsorrel managed to catch sight of the leviathan’s great jaws slamming down on a Zumolkan dropship before his skimmer carried him further away and the explosion of the vehicle was lost in the chaos of battle.

Ulsorrel flew through the skies of Le Shiloah, using the creature’s tendrils to direct his skimmer like the Zumolkans directed their machines. The skimmer flexed the muscles of her underbelly, firing a biomechanical beam cannon at any Zumolkan fighter ships which came too close as they made their way toward their target - the Gremigoli, the Zumolkan capital ship they were using to form a beachfront and direct their ground forces. Ulsorrel readied his lance, and with the flick of a button the weapon whirred to life, the monowire filament on its blade beginning to spin faster and faster until it became invisible. The pair ducked under another dropship, and Ulsorrel raised the lance skyward as he did so, slicing cleanly through the bottom of the ship and leaving it to explode behind him as sparks from the compromised hull ignited the fuel lines.

A great cannonball of a Zumolkan mech shot through the air beside him, nearly carrying him and his skimmer in its wake. He saw its impact on the bitch, leaving a crater in the sand as it bounced and turned back upright, hatches on its back opening to release dozens of Zumolkan warriors carried aloft by powered flight suits. The sky was becoming filled with the tiny primate aliens, buzzing in swarms like so many insects as they harried his brethren. Several took potshots at him, aiming not for Ulsorrel himself but his mount. Ulsorrel fired back with his wrist-mounted blaster, verbally commanding the beast to take evasive action.

Ulsorrel saw many of his fellow knights fall from the sky as the Zumolkans slew their skimmers. He urged his own to fly faster, faster to break free from the cloud of harriers. He looked behind him to see a Zumolkan drop from the sky and land on his skimmer’s tail, flipping its rifle onto its back and drawing a vibroknife from its hip. Ulsorrel twisted around in his saddle, swiping at the intruder to try and knock it off. The alien ducked under his hand, wrapping its legs around the skimmer’s tail and letting itself fall so it hung upside down from Ulsorrel’s mount. He heard the skimmer let out a cry of pain, and Ulsorrel bent over to hold on as she began to thrash around in midair, abandoning flight in her panic. The Zumolkan dropped and flew up past him, making a rude gesture and chittering something at him in its abrasive language.

They were losing altitude fast, and Ulsorrel could see the surface of the water rushing up to meet them. He took hold of the skimmer’s tendrils, trying to reassert control and guide it back skyward, but to no avail. He hissed deep in his throat; the skimmer was lost, and he had no choice but to abandon it. He leapt from her back, letting her hit the water first and break surface tension before he joined her beneath the waves. He left her body as it sank deeper into the sea - she hadn’t survived the impact, he didn’t need to check - and made his way toward the nearest strand.

He was a fast swimmer, all Posonid were, and he deftly evaded falling debris as he moved toward the beach. He breached the surface where the shelf sat close enough to the surface for him to stand, pausing only momentarily to take in the sight of the skies above him. The monkeys had made a hell of his paradise, and he felt burning rage rise in his chest as he saw them slay his kin and defile his home. He turned his attention back toward the beach; the carapaced Brachyuran tribe of Posonids had set up a defensive line on the ground, the larger ones taking a leadership role in the back line while their smaller kin were forced to meet the Zumolkans on the front line. A handful of Gulu Brulshiya seemed to have survived the assault thus far as well, serving as the Posonids’ living artillery with their shoulder mounted cannons.

Ulsorrel stalked up to them with his lance resting on his chest, a few of the Brachyurans turning to face him as he approached. “Sir!” one greeted, pounding one large claw against her bare chest. “I saw you go down,” she continued, inviting him to duck behind a defensive fortification as the Zumolkans rained another artillery strike on their position. “Are you hurt?”

Ulsorrel ignored the question. “We’re pushing forward.”

“Sir?”

“We’re pushing forward.” He stepped around the fortification, walking past the Brachyurans and Gulu Brulshiya to meet his enemy directly. The Posonids had held Le Shiloah for 500 years. They would not lose it now.

Ulsorrel joined the smaller Brachyurans of the vanguard, striding alongside them into the thick of the frontline. His lance swung in a wide arc, announcing his arrival to the Zumolkan ground forces by sweeping it through three soldiers encased in power armor the size of a human. He started running, the blade of his lance tracing a line in the sand behind him before he leapt into the air, his lance coming up in a crescent before his jammed it down into the chassis of a Zumolkan mech, wiggling the handle to ensure the blade found its pilot. The mech toppled backward, and Ulsorrel’s head snapped out at one of the Harriers as it flew past, catching its small body in his jaws. He dropped it in two pieces.

Ulsorrel rolled as the mech completed its fall, coming up with his lance swinging downward to catch an armored Zumolkan soldier which had come to meet him. The Zumolkan caught the blade of his lance with its energy sword, and the two clashed back and forth in a duel for several swings before Ulsorrel used the staff of his lance to sweep the mechanical legs of the Zumolkan’s powered suit out from under it, finishing off by stabbing the blade down into the cockpit in the armor’s chest.

Ulsorrel released a roar deep in his throat which rippled out across the water, his voice being joined by another, and another, and another, until his battlecry seemed to echo across the entire battlefield. Ulsorrel’s arm lashed out at a harrier as it flew past him, gripping its head tight in one large hand until its struggling stopped. He dropped the alien to the ground and continued on. Le Shiloah was a Posonid world, and the Posonids would not let it fall to any opportunistic scavenger or ambitious upstart. He would not let it fall.

He was running again, his lance swinging out to remove anyone that got in his way. He jumped to the side to avoid an artillery blast which glassed the sand he had been standing on a moment before, and his eyes flew up to see a Zumolkan mech hovering over him, its sights locked on his form. He took potshots at it with his wrist blaster, running again to avoid its fire. It was relentless, chasing after him almost as if his head were a special reward it could claim. Ulsorrel slid behind the shattered husk of a Zumolkan dropship, using it as cover against the mech’s artillery. Ulsorrel hissed in frustration, casting around for anything he could use to his advantage.

A Zumolkan rifle, dropped by its fallen owner. He lunged for it, rolling to avoid another burst of fire once he grabbed it. Ulsorrel strafed around the pursuing mech, sprinting from one piece of shrapnel to another as cover while trying to get the rifle to work. How the hell did those monkeys design these things?! He tried hitting it; if all else fails, percussive maintenance could do the job. The rifle’s charge pack clicked back into place, and when Ulsorrel pulled the trigger again it released a stream of energy rounds into the sand.

He loved percussive maintenance.

Ulsorrel leapt out from cover, running back toward the shattered dropship while taking the mech in his sights. He fired as he strafed, seeing the rounds score the mech’s armor before he slid back behind cover. He heard an impact against the sand as the mech touched down, apparently abandoning its game as it grew tired of the chase. Ulsorrel smelled burning ozone, and an instant later a massive plasma blade thrust through the hull beside him. He dove out of the way, slinging the rifle across his back and snatching up his lance once more. If the monkey wanted a proper fight, he’d give it one.

Ulsorrel turned on his heel as he came out of the roll, keeping low to the ground with his lance in one hand, blade dragging across the sand. He circled the mech slowly, watching it turn to watch him with the plasma sword held casually in one mechanical fist. Ulsorrel heard a faint click, and an energy shield burst into being on the other arm, giving the mech the appearance of a RIndikan knight - albeit with a much bulkier, uglier body.

Ulsorrel charged, and the mech swung its blade at him from the side. He leaned back, allowing himself to fall and slide under its arm and come out behind the giant foe. He spun as he rose, allowing his lance to form a wide arc which cleaved through the back of the mech’s legs, cutting them out from underneath it and sending it toppling forward into the sand. Ulsorrel leapt up onto its back as the pilot tried to turn the mech over, using his lance to sever the machine’s arms and leave it lying with its face in the dirt. There was a hiss as the hatch opened on the front, pushing the mech onto its side and forcing Ulsorrel to leap off.

The Zumolkan pilot crawled out, firing a single shot from its miniscule pistol into Ulsorrel’s side. The tiny weapon scored the surface of his armor, but failed to penetrate deeper than that. Seeing this, the Zumolkan tossed it aside, drawing a curved energy blade from its back instead. That looked like a Rindikan knife - where the hell did this thing get that? Ulsorrel had heard of Zumolkans finding work as mercenaries between military campaigns, but seriously, who the hell was this guy?

“I am Zuzoxxyl,” The Zumolkan answered, seemingly reading Ulsorrel’s mind. And in his own language, no less. “There’s no sport in shooting fish from the sky, but you have spirit. I look forward to claiming your blade. Tell me your name, warrior.”

“Shut up, mammal,” Ulsorrel hissed, taking his lance in both hands.

Zuzoxxyl let out a disappointed sigh, then rushed him, leaping up to avoid the low sweep of his lance before using the haft as a springboard to jump at his face. Ulsorrel jumped to the side, swinging his lance through the air to swat her from the sky only to meet empty space. Ulsorrel swung down at where she landed, but Zuzoxxyl sidestepped his lance before hopping up onto the shaft, running up its length to strike at his face again. He was forced to drop it to avoid the blade of her knife, jumping back out of reach.

Ulsorrel leveled his wrist blaster at Zuzoxxyl, taking a pair of potshots at her before rolling to the side to avoid another slash of her knife. With space made between her and his lance again, he lunged for it, taking it in hand once more before using it to deflect another leaping slash from the Zumolkan bladehunter. Ulsorrel pushed her away, swinging his lance first to the side and then down; Zuzoxxyl jumped back from the first slash, then blocked then second with her knife.

“Maybe I misjudged,” she remarked, holding his blade back with little effort. “Where’s the fire I saw earlier?”

”Shut up.”

Ulsorrel drew back his lance before going for another low slash; Zuzoxxyl leapt over it, going for his face again, only for Ulsorrel’s head to snap out with his long neck, his jaws finding one of her small legs before whipping her down into the sand. She rolled away from his downward slash, deflected another, then jumped away from another shot of his wrist blaster. Ulsorrel lunged after her, swinging his lance in wide, wild arcs, giving her no room to retaliate yet still not managing to land a solid hit. She caught his blade with hers on the last one, holding it back as it pressed it down on her with both hands, hissing deep in his throat.

“This is more like it,” Zuzoxxyl grunted, straining more than she had during the previous clash. Ulsorrel’s head snaked around to the side as his long neck extended, seeming as if he planned to bite at her while their blades were occupied. The hiss in his throat sharpened, his mouth beginning to part enough that his long, daggerlike teeth were visible inside his maw. There was a moment of tense silence between the two, and then-

A snap like a gunshot cracked through the air, and Ulsorrel recoiled, a long red line carved in his face. Through his one good eye, he saw the blade of his lance, where the monofilament wire had snapped and come free, whipping through the air and catching the side of his head. He threw the broken weapon to the side, glaring death at Zuzoxxyl.

Zuzoxxyl lifted her knife from the sand and returned it to its sheathe, then bent down once more to retrieve her severed hand. “A pity,” she sighed, looking the appendage over before tossing it away. “We’ll have to continue this another time then, my nameless friend.”

”Fuck you.”

She smiled, a low chuckle in her throat, then leapt into the air, catching the leg of a passing harrier before disappearing into the sky. Ulsorrel hissed low in his throat as he watched her go, then turned his attention back toward the Gremigoli. He still had his duty to attend to.

 

[Lord Saethos]

Entry Log
Subject:
NERAEIS

Prologue: Part 2​

"We may not all be the same, be we Deimosian, human, Zonkoian, or Craeden. But we've all been walking this path together, and now we take the mightiest step yet, all together."

As Eichkern's words faded from holoprojections across Neraeis, and other worlds able to receive the broadcast, his form was replaced shortly after with the form of a tall, shaven headed Deimosian woman.

Sister Akina Romveidt.

"There you have it siblings, and all peoples of the Galaxies. The finest that Neraeis has to offer, himself offering a hand outstretched in unity and in peace. Something every Deimosian, truthfully, can tell you as well. However..."

Her voice trailed off, eyes narrowing into a gaze that strayed just shy of a glare.

"Not all in the known universe desire peace and unity. Indeed, they work against it actively. We've been acutely aware of this for 300 years, wondering when it is that words like these, which have been echoed for Millennia, will truly be realized."

She placed a hand over her heart, offering a sympathetic smile. "Deimosians will, as always, work to build a universe in which we can be accepted. We hope the other peoples of the known universe will follow this example in kind. May we all be Touched by Strength."

Now her form faded from the holoprojections as well, and Sister Romveidt allowed herself a moment to exhale. She smiled contentedly as she made her way over to the balcony of her study. Black stone pillars ushered her out onto a wide platform of the same material, and similar aesthetic designs. Stretched out before her was a portion of the Capital City, and the craggy landscape beyond that, dark storm clouds looming everywhere, and a slow, rhythmic dance of lighting out in the fields, hills, cliffs, and crags beyond. Her red eyes slowly absorbed the sight, drinking in a view that, while not unique to Neraeis, was quintessentially Neraean in the hearts and minds of Deimosians.

There was a sound of footsteps behind her, followed by the thudding sound of a fist being pressed against one's chest in salute.

"Your excellency." Came a woman's voice.

Akina turned around and smiled warmly to the warrior who joined her. "Aleksia Lan Jaegherlin, I trust you had the chance to watch the broadcast?"

Aleksia nodded, with a smile and slight grimace. "Yes Sister, and I can tell you now that Eichkern's not going to be happy with it." She chuckled slightly, more to alleviate her own anxiety than anything else.

Akina placed a hand on Aleksia's shoulder and continued offering that warm smile. "Fret not child, we all serve a greater purpose here. Eichkern may not appreciate it now, but one day he will understand, as we all inevitably do. Now, join me, please."

The two of them returned to the office, but only stayed a brief few moments before being ushered by guards to another portion of the Capital's Palace.

Where they eventually ended up in was a boardroom, located on the highest floor of the Palace's central tower. Above them was a glass dome through which the grey light of the outside poured in. In the center of the room was a long, rectangular conference table, a ring of black stone as the primary portion around the circumference of the table, with a thin, black steel lining within that, and finally a long strip of black, fossilized wood in the center.

Gathered in the room already were the members of the Supreme Military Council, as well as various religious figures, and members with private and public sector experience in economics, supply chains, and logistics.

Salutes were offered between all as Sister Romveidt. Once upon a time, this gesture might more generally be accepted as a sign of unity and equality, but there was an ever increasing sense of deference towards 'Her Excellency', Sister Romveidt. Traditionally, the leaders of the Deimosians had been strictly experienced in military affairs, perhaps picking up more political acumen during their tenure. Sister Romveidt, however, started within the faith itself. Military experience was something she had, but no more than the average Deimosian would.

Her growing rise to power was entirely unique from her predecessors. While not official yet, it would not be long before it was.

"Siblings, thank you for gathering. Tell me, what is the status of the current operations?"

Edgard Tong, a slender, bespectacled man with slicked back hair, was the first to approach as they all took their seats. "Sister, we've completed the dummy withdrawal of our forces and resources from the asteroids. As per your request, everything is running on the lowest power settings we can manage. Only necessities for the operation have been left in place."

Akina nodded appreciatively. "And the Special Forces?"

Jagvir Dass, a man in knight's armor, with a thick beard, and wearing a black turban, spoke next. "In place, and stocked with the necessary ammo and provisions to last several months, should the operation take longer than expected. They're ready for Commander Jaegherlin's arrival when she's ready."

Mayumi Zelinskar, a woman who was also bespectacled, with her hair slightly frizzy and a pencil tucked behind her ear, spoke up next. "We can also confirm their satellite equipment was able to broadcast pretty much the entire feigned retreat. No signs of their approaching fleet yet, but we've got forces in place to knock out their communications in a moment's notice. Last thing that satellite will see is a chunk of asteroid obliterating it." She smirked, somewhat pleased with herself.

Now, it was Aleksia who spoke up. "And we're certain the Earthlings will take the bait? I mean, we really have no way to confirm they'll send anyone, and there's no guarantee they'll be using any kind of secret weapons."

Before anyone could retort, Akina rose her hand. "Ease your concerns Sister. The Earthling's are an ambitious bunch. This moment will not be wasted for them, certainly not while the Avian Expedition is underway. What better way to launch an assault on us then when the eyes of the universe are turned away from us? And even should they only send a fleet, then fret not. We'll be acquiring new ships and materials at the very least if they do."

"But the calculations we've done make it seem highly unlikely they're going to bother with a full fleet." Edgard spoke up. "They've lost so much in these wasted endeavors. What we're offering them is the chance to have us served up on a platter. All Deimosians in one place, so they can try some sort of efficient, mass destruction technique to get rid of us while minimizing their losses as much as possible."

Jagvir sneered slightly as he pensively ran the back of his knuckles along his beard. "I do not like, nor endorse, using our people as a bait. But... The analysts are likely right. Small forces means small losses, big weapons mean big gains."

Sister Romveidt smiled and nodded as she pressed her hands against the table's surface. "This operation will be a success, but we must not lose sight of the seriousness of the position we put ourselves in. This is a much bigger gamble for us than for them, sitting cozily in their Earth palaces, far away from the dangers of the frontier. That, Aleksia, is why I need you up there with the Special Forces. If we succeed, if all goes as we've predicted, then we will entirely reverse the course of this 300 year long war."

Mayumi had pulled the pencil from behind her ear and was gently chewing on the end as she grinned widely. "Once Operation Talon concludes, we can begin.... The Romveidt Counteroffensive?" She grinned as her eyes darted between the other members of the council, searching for approval or disapproval in the naming convention.

The other members couldn't help but grin. Jagvir rapped his knuckle on the surface of the table. "I second that. The Romveidt Counteroffensive, that will be one for the history books."

Edgard nodded in approval. "It sounds marketable to me. Strikes pride and confidence into Deimosians, and fear into our enemies."

Akina said nothing for her part, she simply smiled appreciatively as the remainders of the council conferred the naming upon the operation that would succeed the current one.

Aleksia couldn't help but feel a swelling of pride within her. That sense that righteous justice was coming, and she would be part of carrying it out.

To Be Continued...​

 

[egglover]

Tales of Roscia II

Part I
Captain Falk and the Human Engineer ​

It had not been a good day for Sachin Falk. On their way back from Kolku Key his good ship, the Roscia, had been intercepted by pirates. Of course, intercepted was somewhat of an understatement, as they had only barely managed to crash land on to South Eeddin station for repairs. After the crew had clambered out of the wreckage the ship's Engineer, Scraxqyills, took one look at the carnage and shook his tiny Zumolkan head grievously. “It looks like we may need a Roscia II, Cap’n,” Scrax said, a fuzzy hand sympathetically placed on Sachin’s calf, “I’m good, but I ain’t THAT good.”

It was a telling sign to Captain Falk that his old friend was admitting to an engineering defeat, however the Craedenese man was notoriously stubborn and would do anything to avoid euthanizing his beloved ship. Thus here he sat, watching as some engineers of South Eeddin worked alongside Scrax to try and fix the mess. Every now and then the old Zumolkan would stop and scratch the fur on his head, but progress, even slow, was still being made. Every day that passed his ship was looking more ship-like than the last, so Captain Falk was feeling confident that they would work it out, for he couldn’t bear to think of a funeral for Roscia. After a slow week of being grounded, eventually Scrax approached him gingerly, his tiny hands nervously wringing an oily rag. Falk’s heart sank.

“Er, so, Cap’n,” the Zumolkan began, “We’ve fixed up most of it but the, ah, engine is provin’ difficult. See, it’s Sanmagelan made, and nottin’ but a Sanmagelan engine will do. But it’s an old engine, a vintage, ‘n they don’t really make those anymore. O’course I’ve kept it up to good nick since now but it’s really taken a beatin’ and, well, old Sanmagelan ships don’t do so well once the original engine has died. An old flaw of us Zumolkan’s, one we fixed years ago, but this is still a vintage ya see and - “

“You’re saying I need Roscia needs an upgrade? To a newer model? The whole ship?” Captain Falk interrupted.

Scrax’s mouth twisted, “Vintage ships, they’re reliable and strong, like they take a good beatin’ but once the engine is done the whole ship goes down with it. So yes, I’m sayin’ we need a new ship, Cap’n.”

Sachin sat down on a wooden crate beside them, his shoulders slumping, “It was that asteroid, wasn’t it? I was the one that told Ruu to fly us through that field. I thought our shields were strong enough to take a hit but…”

“It hit us right in the engine.”

The two winced, as if it were their private parts that had taken a beating and not the Roscia’s. This was more than disappointing. He knew that Roscia was an old model but he thought that he would have more time with it. Almost 70 years of flying together. The thought brought a tear to his golden, reptilian eye. After a moment's silence between them Sachin felt eyes burning into his being and glanced up toward the ship. A human girl stared back at him, hands on her hips, as if she had something to say. He frowned and Scrax followed his gaze toward her.

“Oh, her,” the old man rolled his several eyes, “The hell does she want now.” Captain Falk cocked his head curiously. Scrax’s tiny head tipped back in frustration and he explained, “She thinks she can fix a newer model engine into it. I keep tellin’ her that it ain’t possible, that yeah it might work for a while but it’ll just kill the engine eventually. Makes the ship weaker if ya keep replacin’ the engine every few years.”

Sachin’s blue frills twitched slightly in delight, “But you could still make it work again?”

“In theory, sure, but say we make it fly again, in a few years it’ll just die and we’ll have to discuss puttin’ her down again,” the Zumolkan engineer shrugged, “Ain’t it best to do it now, Cap’n?”

“Absolutely not,” Captain Falk replied stubbornly, “In a year I’ll have been flying with Roscia for a whole 70 years. I want that on my record.”

He stood and smiled as Scrax glared at him. It was putting off the inevitable he knew, yet Sachin didn’t care, if he could keep flying on his ship for just a little longer that was all that mattered to him. He was a particularly sentimental Craedenese man. The tall, burly Captain sauntered toward the human woman. He knew he made a striking sight - blue and purple scales glinting in the station light, a gray coat with the starship Captain’s symbol, golden glowing eyes and sharp, white teeth that gleamed at her in a smile - yet she did not seem intimidated. Nervous, perhaps, due to his notoriety, but she stood up straight and tall and addressed him properly as he approached.

“Captain Falk,” she began, brown eyes darting between him and the grumpy Zumolkan beside him, “It’s an honor, sir.”

“Likewise,” his reptilian grin grew wider, “I hear you believe you can get my ship up and running again. What is your name and occupation, human?”

The girl was short for a human. She had dark hair, dark skin and big brown eyes that stared up at him with a sparkle of curiosity. It was obvious that she was young in human years, perhaps only 19 or 20, but she presented a tough exterior. She cleared her voice and spoke clearly, “My name is Tish Suleiman, sir. I am a junior engineer currently working on this station.”

Scrax snorted beside him. A junior engineer. It was clear that his friend had far more experience over her in this field, yet Sachin admired her ambition and determination. Additionally, he was fully aware that Scrax was a particularly pessimistic old man and didn’t like change. Perhaps it would be good to have someone to challenge his ideas every once in a while. Captain Falk nodded once, “Very well, Suleiman. If you can make my ship fly I will offer you a position as junior engineer on Roscia.”

Two years passed. Two. It was better than anyone had anticipated but finally, after two long years of Suleiman and Scrax bickering on his ship, Roscia puttered and breathed her last breath of life on the planet Varmasia. Ruu, the orange Kalkin pilot, glanced up at their Captain with a look of slimy disdain. Falk let out a sad sigh and met Scrax and Suleiman down in the belly of Roscia, arguing once again yet working together to try and get the engine to start. Eventually, after an hour of this, both Human and Zumolkan put down their tools and admitted defeat.

“It’s time to say goodbye, Cap’n.” Scrax stated gently. Tish glanced up at her Captain with a look of woe, “I’m sorry, sir. I thought we could save her.”

He took his scaly head and placed a hand on her shoulder, “No. You did better than I had expected. The prognosis you gave me was a year and instead we got two. I’m grateful.”

The three stood silent, together, in the lifeless body of Roscia I. On Varmasia the crew said their final farewell to a ship that had been their home for many, many years. Sachin Falk even weeped for his beloved ship, praying to the Craedenese goddess, Vhe’thu, that she would be respected in all living memory. It was an emotional day. After much deliberation they decided, together as a crew, to purchase a brand new ship and name it Roscia II. Though that time was a particularly difficult one for Captain Falk he later looked upon it fondly, especially once Scrax retired and handed his title of Chief Engineer down to Suleiman. She had proven herself worthy in the eyes of himself and, eventually, his grumpy Zumolkan friend. With the closing of one door opened another, and thus the adventures of Roscia continued on.