Hiromaxiu Xanderospexus's Story

“Damn,” he said softly as he floated around the ship.

He enjoyed traveling, but mostly he just flew to different planets; however, he had decided to take a ship to Terra this once, just to conserve his own energy. As he floated there, he couldn’t help but notice the variety of races within the ship, there were even half breeds which he frowned upon. He had no clue how different races mated with one another, nor did he want to find out, but the thought simply made him sick to his stomach. He floated away from those types of aliens and made his way over to a few purebloods, at least he could relate to them more.

Silence filtered into his ear holes, but it wasn’t to last. Talking sprung up between several occupants and the sound made him grouchy. He enjoyed silence, but a lot of noise caused him to be a bit irritable and the first thing he did was snap at the nearest alien, threatening to zap the poor alien if he didn’t move away from him. He turned his attention back to the encyclopedia of advanced races and species and continued reading, but the noise level was still growing and the turbulence was making it hard to concentrate. Cursing, the Derospex floated back to his quarters and lay upon the interesting looking device known as a “bed”. He closed his ocular holes and proceeded to allow himself sleep.

Later

The tiny cat sized alien awoke, finding himself surrounded by wreckage. His vision was blurry and the only thing he remembered was awakening from his slumber earlier and having his head knocked hard against the wall. Grunting, he lifted himself off the ground and placed a tendril against his head, rubbing the spot that hit the hard metal of the ship. He was suffering from what the humans called a “headache” and it was growing in intensity.

“What the hell happened?” He asked out loud, but mostly to himself as he attempted to piece together the cause of the crash landing.

Looking around he noticed other bodies scattered about, while some still managed to cling to the destroyed hull of the ship. He didn’t know if they were dead or simply knocked unconscious, but they weren’t moving. The Derospex’s vision slowly stabilized as he floated there, gathering his bearings before attempting to move in any direction. When he was able to focus and take in his surroundings, he was utterly shocked by what he saw. His beautiful blue color was a beacon for predators on this dismal planet. He noticed movement from others who had been thrown out of the ship upon impact and noticed an odd creature, one that had nudged one of the unconscious beings only for the unconscious being to slowly awaken. Derospex found this display rather interesting and floated over to each and every body checking to make sure if they were alive or dead. Sadly, most were dead and the only ones alive were those who had begun to awaken from the wreckage.

“It seems we are the only survivors,” Xander spoke his voice quite melodic, “does anyone have a plan on escaping this dismal planet?”

Krill jumped, scrambling back a little at the voice of the creature in front of him. At least it was alive, he thought. Right? "Krill," the little camrong trilled happily, scooting back up to the creature, though not as close as he had been to it before. "Here." That was all the question answering he was ready to do at that moment, his long limbs folding up under him so his elbows touched his knees and his chin rest in his hands. His smile was wide, but thin vertically, and bared no teeth. "Move? Help?" The purred questions were more requests than offers, though he did try not to make it seem so. In reality, he just wanted everyone to be safe from whatever further danger he knew would be on its way. He'd been stuck on the maze long enough to know that peace was a gift rarely given.

A bark had him jumping again, startled maybe a bit too easily in his anxious state, considering he had heard the sounds of movement before and knew that if something was going to eat him, he was unlikely to get a warning first. "Oh," he whimpered, his stretchy smile turning down into a pout as he turned toward the sound. He couldn't see where the sounds were coming from, but he could tell that there were multiple beings moving about over there, and he wasn't sure how safe they were. Then again, he wasn't sure how safe this being in front of him was, either. Suspicious eyes turned back to the creature in front of him, and the contrast of white against black suddenly hit. "Oh, no," he whimpered again, the noise coming out more like chirps than words. There was no way they would remain unseen by any potential predators. If the giant mechanic wreck wasn't enough of a beacon, the bright creature in front of him would catch something's eye in no time. There was no escaping danger on the surface. "Move? Help?" the camrong offered again, "Hide?" With the last question, he began rubbing the black powder over the foreign creature, with hopes of a make shift camouflage. Not everyone could shift appearance according to their surroundings like he could, after all.

"Yipe!" Krill shrieked, noticing the bright blue creature floating their way. "Oh," his voice trembled. The little camrong curled in on himself, practically disappearing into the landscape with his black hide, though all seven of his eyes still moved about rapidly. "No," he nearly whispered in response to the inquiries of the floating creature, and he supposed, in response to the thoughts of the creature lying before them. He pointed one shaky finger toward the nearest hole in the ground, the other up to the flaming sky. "The only way up is down, in is the only way out..." It occurred to him what came of the man he met the last time something like this happened, and his eyes squeezed shut all at once. "No!" He shook his head, denying any further request of escape. "Move? Hide? Help?" the little camrong offered once more, his lips twisting into a squiggly position that was beyond strange, even for him, before he turned away from the foreign creatures. After one more pleading look, he took off toward the other sounds and only hoped that someone on the other side of the wreckage was able enough to survive.

Thank you, Cheyiin. The mode of address, he had not heard in person before, and Al’s usually grey-hued skin flushed an interesting maroon color, the unfortunate Kva’miri color of somewhat-pleased embarrassment. If he’d had any doubts that the pale feminine creature was an Estray, they were decidedly banished by this.

The fact that he was addressed telepathically put him at ease, and his skin faded slowly to a cloudy mix of cream and foggy grey-blue. Of course, T’fira. It was an old word, once used for all younger siblings or members of the Kva’miri people, but one that had been reappropriated to refer almost exclusively to the Estray. His kind did not often meddle in the affairs of other species, preferring to watch and learn, but there had been a few occasions in their eons-long history when they’d made an exception.

Though Al had not been alive for it, he was aware that the most recent of these interferences was on behalf of this people, who while promising in the areas of individual skill and group culture, lacked the resources necessary to protect themselves from many dangers of a changing and increasingly-hostile environment. Voting that losing their potential was a risk that outweighed the need to be impartial, the Kva’miri had landed on Elmala, bringing with them the rudiments of their technology and knowledge of how to put it to use.

The records taken on the Estray beyond that encounter were absolutely fascinating, and he had read a number of them before his exile. He had expected to meet a few, of course, but not necessarily in circumstances such as these.

Which led him back to his present predicament. Glancing around, he noted that a few more stragglers had started to move, bringing them to about six or seven in total. Not many, for an entire passenger ship, but more fortunate than it would have been had none survived at all. At the Estray’s assurance that she could walk, he stepped back, allowing her room to do so free of impediment.

He glanced at the sentient canine (and something about that still nagged him, as though he were forgetting something important), and then at the Estray, who was regarding one of the others with a peculiar look. Not terribly skilled with reading the emotions of other species, Al wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but… he shifted his focus, studying the landscape around him more intently. There was something so almost-familiar about it, like a half-remembered dream. It must have been something he’d read, but the Kva’miri were quite clear in their writings most of the time, vagueness and artistry reserved for poetry and song rather than chronicles.

The only way out, is in. The line came to him in a flash of memory, and he unconsciously projected it to all of the people around him, his mental tone as clinical as ever, but with an underlying solemnity. That was what he was trying so hard to remember, but… what exactly did it mean?

So having thought, he touched two fingers to his lips and narrowed his eyes slightly. A minute shake of his head, and he lowered his hand. His colors shifted again, moving more quickly over the surface of his skin, now a dull orange. Striding over to what seemed the largest group of the others, he looked around. These were… a Kafkan Minotaur, a Galapa, and a Derospex, if he was not mistaken. The other, even he did not recognize, which led him to believe that it was probably native to this equally-obscure place. Whatever it was, he was able to pick up on the distressed tone of its words, and tried not to flinch at the high pitch of its voice. Voices were still difficult for him to tolerate, and for whatever reason, this went doubly for the shrill ones.

Still, the implications of what was going on, hastily patched together in his mind, were more important than the method of delivery, and he pushed his discomfort aside. What do you fear, little one? he asked it, again projecting enough so that everyone present would understand the question, so that when the answer came, it would be properly in context for all of them and not solely himself.

Illogical under these circumstances, the trapped Galapa vacantly mused how sanitary his surroundings were, or if he'd contracted something in the milliseconds of contact shared between his bared abdomen and the scrambling critter. His pupiless eyes, tapetum lucidum to be scientifically correct, were unclear, unfocused and fervidly half-shuttered against the insatiable urge to close them and drift off to sleep. This, in itself, would have been the most health-hazardous decision. Also, irrefutably stupid. The planet's atmosphere was questionable, albeit breathable. His lungs – despite being crafted for underwater ventures and humid elements – were not wheezing out of his chest cavity like a pricked balloon. Expanding in nominally efficient inhalations. Though, there was a grating tightness that spread outwards, inflicting an uncomfortable sensation through his throat. He wasn't suffocating. Nothing was internally rupturing from what he could tell. A flash of irritation swept through him before he was able to squash it down, tightly, in a nearly-mechanical fashion: asthma. Or, the Galapa equivalent in the sense of weakened lungs placed gently, softly in the confines of a box to keep it from withering up and dying when exposed to dry climates. Angry little lung spasms. Mighty little throat closing. Asthmatic gills flaring uselessly, willing: aqua pura, rainwater, pure liquid hydrogen.

The unidentifiable creature – who'd introduced itself as Krill – remained justifiably unidentified. When questioning it's origins, the Galapa had literally meant it's species, it's gender identification, it's peculiar racial background and it's taxonomic ranking dependant on the planet's racial classification. Regardless, he'd mutely acquiesced that it's non de plume response would have to do. The nameless one was trilling happily, scooting along on long limbs. It's smooth skin seemed illogical in such harsh climates. Wouldn't it benefit in developing reptilian scales or a hardened shell? Evolution seemed backwards on this planet – biological organization and inherited characteristics dependant on terrain was necessary for survival. “Evidently. Krill – that is your name, yes?” His voice was clipped, monotone, nearly programmed. His face was scarred, riddled with old cuts, each with it's own story. He shifted a little, throwing one lanky arm over the back of the scrap-metal-things draped over his lower legs, blinking those dark eyes at Krill and giving a short nod. It's toothless mouth gaped soundlessly, stretched wide in a nonsensical smile – flexibility was admirable. Then, it offered it's assistance. The Galapa nodded curtly and, with Krill's helping hands, so willing, so astonishingly harmless, moved the remaining sheets of metal from his legs and offered it's slender shoulder to support his weight while he rocked himself back on his heels.

“Gratitude. You have my thanks.” The Galapa acknowledge.. His hands, like his speech, were very quick. Three-pronged fingertips probed the shallow wounds punctured across his biceps, softly, gently. Small lacerations. Hardly notable. For such a large scale crash, the Galapa hadn't sustained any extraordinary wounds – nor was he in any need of medical attention. He couldn't say that much for everyone else who'd been aboard the vessel. Only a quick glance about the wreckage – with it's metal fragments forming barbaric pillars of melted morsels and incinerated niceties – was needed to glimpse the various limbs strewn about the dusky terrain like discharged dummies. Nothing could be done. His responsibilities concerning the ships landing were permanently terminated. His survivability was important to carry out his research – such things were far too crucial to allow himself to simply die. Becoming an insects next meal while he decomposed: an insignificant end. His finned ears flattened against his skull – had he heard a bark? Of the canine variety, to be sure. His au courant companion did not seem so thrilled to hear the anonymous canine's baying. Perhaps, a little bit apprehensive, which could indicate parochial predators much larger than Krill's species. He needed to be cautious. The Galapa's dynamic colours would not fare him well in such circumstances: not at all. Double-lidded palpebra's blinked like the shutters of a camera, considering.

Then, Krill's hands deftly scooped clumps of the black powder and began patting the substance across the majority of his exposed arms and chest. Luckily, the Galapa's fitted pants were unscathed. His gills, unintentionally, flared and puffed black clouds from below his neckline before neatly folding back against the folds of his long neck. He clucked appreciatively, bobbing his head forward. Tribunal kindness arose uncertainties. What would Krill gain in helping him? He followed Krill's gave towards the clearing – and the subject of his distress – and curled his lips back across his canines before settling into a calculating frown. Species: Derospex. Omnivores. Intelligence uncanny – would certainly be useful to form an allegiance person. “Finding a new means of transportation: imperative.” His eyes shuttered closed, as if collecting his thoughts within the open folds of his palms, then focused on the wreckage. It reflected in the blacks of his expanded iris. “Excessive damage, I'm afraid. Impossible to rebuild our ship.” The Galapa's forehead crinkled inwards at Krill's curtailed enquiries. He seemed to grow more anxious – as if remaining still decreased their chances of survival. His mouth worked silently, then moved to respond. Before any words could form, Krill's squiggled form bunched and pounced forward in the opposite direction. Towards the faint sounds of scrapping metal and laboured breaths.

The only way up is down, in is the only way out...

Perhaps, this was a flowery puzzle. He could not say for sure. The Galapa's eyes tore away from Krill's retreating form before he finally grunted and heaved himself back onto his feet. “Wish this was under better circumstances. Voalkath'Lonlael Reust – commonly referred to as Guppy. Was the ship's engineer.” He introduced, then added, curtly, “No longer.” This, followed by a crooked smile, ended his meagre introduction before he swept his hand forward, indicating the direction Krill had gone. “Seems we are not alone.”