Krill's Story

Krill blinked, but only bothered to open one of his smallest eyes, all the way on the left. "Hmm?" he trilled, his voice coming out in bubbles. If not for the creatures he'd encountered in his time here, he'd have gone back to sleep in a second- but he'd learned by now that even the tiniest noise could mean danger. The rumble coming from so far above was definitely more than a little racket, and as it grew louder, the little camrong begun to stir. His hands and feet pushed against the ground rapidly, his bum scooching back in a clumsy attempt at retreating further into his cave. A whimper escaped his mouth, lips rippling. When the crash burst violently through the air, his arms flailed, hands clamping down over his ears to try to protect them. His eyes squeezed shut and his jaw tensed. If anyone was out there, he had no doubt in his mind that they could hear his body rattling around, he was shaking so hard. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes, one by one, and slowly let down his hands, shifting out of the fetal position. "Hmm?" he trilled once more, crawling carefully toward the entrance of his cave. He peeked around to find an oddly familiar sight: a crashed machine. It seemed like an aircraft, but bigger than the last one he'd seen, foreign. It'd been a while.

A loud, alarmed series of chirps came from a spot deep in his throat, as his eyes fixed on another, smaller thing: a figure, that seemed to be alive. There were a lot of them, he thought, now that he was looking more at the ground than the machine, and there was no way they weren't hurt. "Oh," he whimpered, worry making an obvious appearance in his quiet voice. He took a step forward, then two steps back. The flesh of his forehead curved down, the worry coming out in his eyes as well as his tone as he whipped his head from side to side. What danger could be lurking out there for him today? It was always something new in this place, another thing to send him running and screaming back to his cave. He wanted to just stay there today, deep in his safe haven to treasure the fact that his shelter hadn't yet been destroyed, though it had been his home for so long. That was something so rare on this planet he'd found: safety. At the same time, he couldn't let himself; not with those figures, those bodies scattered around so helplessly. That was it, then? He had to help. Determination filled his eyes, but he still backed up. What could he do to help them? It's not as if any of them could run, and that was practically all he'd ever done. Running was the reason he was still alive.

It'd have to do this time, too, because before he could convince himself otherwise, he was sprinting on all fours toward the wreckage, tail waving behind him. It didn't take him long, his legs so fast even for a naturally agile camrong, but once he got there his determination was already wavering. What if they weren't as helpless as they looked? What if they were just a new danger? Another whimper sent him over the edge. Why was he always such a coward?! Oh, right, because it kept him alive. "Too bad," he murmured to himself, the words coming out in clicks and warbles. Slowly he made his way around the wrecked machinery, and peeked around at the bodies, all bent in ways that must be more than uncomfortable. "Oh, no..." He held his bottom teeth between his gums, then darted out to the body nearest to him. His eyes widened, and his body curled up next to it, whatever it was, his tail flicking about nervously. "Hmm?" he questioned, sound bubbling out as he scooted closer, then nudged the body with his knee. His head tilted to the side, twitchy nature beginning to show as he grew more and more nervous.

The flickering of the sky caught his eye as it always did, and he once again wondered how it managed to look like that- like someone had gone and lit the clouds on fire. Sometimes something like wet soot would rain down, hot then cold, cold then hot, and give the illusion even more evidence. A sigh came out like bubbles as he looked back down at the figure, nudging again, this time with his head. His toes curled into the black powder that covered this area of the surface, and his hands rested on his knees. "Wake up..." His whisper was hopeful, urgent, and he fought the urge to flee even harder every second he sat there, waiting for the bodies to stir. When he glanced around, he was happy to find no more than he would during an hour of calm- the land bare, empty except for the large holes that led to lower levels, and the occasional rock, some containing secret caves like the one he found refuge in. That refuge was so appealing, the holes so foreboding he found himself looking between them and the bodies like he wasn't sure which one needed more attention. That observation might even have been true.

The whirring hum of the ship's multi-core engines eased the Galapa's insufferable tension, unravelled the knots gathering along the thick cords of his neck and shoulders. Bruise-inflicting metal ridges rubbed against his hips and dug deep into Guppy's shoulder blades as he surveyed the myriad of flashing lights winking across his panel board, beckoning for his poised fingertips. Shortsightedly, the Galapa had noticed how barbaric the other crew members were aboard the flighty spacecraft and retired to the comforts of his technological panel. Those few stragglers who tended to their own positions offered few words aside from the occasional remark of how the ship was doing; cooling down systems, resetting worrisome databases and owlishly crunching numbers under bated breaths. He thoughtfully reminded himself that anything was better than the salacious, melodramatic demeanour his own people had recently adopted. Slowly, ponderously, Guppy moved away from the adjacent wall and meandered closer to the sanction of his squishy acceleration couch. His fingers traced the smooth surface of the display monitor, while his free hand rubbed the remaining aches from his neck. The ship rocked violently, pitching side to side and throwing him from his so-comfortably-standing-position onto the gridded deck plating.

Loud cries of surprise rang hollow in his ears; jostled items crashed past his now-jellied feet. His hands immediately shot forward and clung onto the monitor's swinging arms, successfully saving himself from slamming his face against the very panel he'd been admiring. The turbulence was uncharacteristic for such a fleet vessel. How badly were his legs trembling? He had enough sense to fling himself into his chair before he became another uselessly somersaulting crewman trying to find their sea-legs across the shaking decks. His fingers flew across the keyboard, recoding an override before the security system locked out their pristine eject pods. Bleeping red lights answered him, accompanied by thick luminescent letters announcing that the escape pods were no longer functioning. Bright enough not to be mistaken for anything else. Chaos surrounded him, in a matter of seconds, people running and screaming as consoles and overhead panels shook loose in the aftershocks of some kind of unknown blast or anomalies. He didn't what had hit them or why nothing seemed to be functioning properly, nor could he spare a thought to anything but his erratic tapping. The frantic timbre of his tapping fingers, a truly classical piece if it'd been played across the ivory keys of a piano, was only met with disappointing bleeps indicating that his efforts were futile. His mouth twisted into a desperate frown, eyes pinched closed. Automated warning systems droned overhead.

---

Slowly, he began to come to consciousness. It was an almost familiar feeling, the slow peeling away of darkness to reveal several shades of grey. Blotchy silhouettes and unidentified forms wavered like hazy mirages. The pain followed – sometimes it was a throbbing, sometimes aching, and sometimes a sharp, dizzying feeling that made him want to retch the remnants of his dinner. Or, how long had it been? Perhaps, there was nothing left to come up. This time it was just a dull ache that permeated his entire skull, compressing his mind until he felt as if he were suffocating. As if something were pressing down on his ribcage, pressing them down dangerously close to his straining lungs, those useless organs who couldn't seem to fill with enough oxygen. His puckered gills wheezed open like the unfurling of a birds' wet wings, then closed, then flared once more. What had happened? Where was he? Smoke writhes from heaping masses of crunched metal and, from what he can access between watery eyes, smouldering corpses. Delicate control panels and viewing screens had been shredded in the assault, leaving nothing behind but limp and sad wires with tiny buttons dangling from them like dislocated eyeballs. Perhaps, the remaining life was trickling up his spine and causing him to hallucinate. Was he even alive? His eyes fluttered closed with a weak, dejected sigh. His arms felt lifeless and his legs equally useless. Even moving his eyes was a constant struggle and he soon gave up on it all; what was the point? He wasn't even aware where any of the others were, if anyone had actually survive or if he alone remained.

It seemed like ages passed before his eyes unglued. Sleep would not come. The Galapa rolled onto his stomach with the aid of his sluggishly slow-moving arms and leaned his cheek against the rough terrain; with each laboured breath a huff of dirt spat up in a lazy haze. He imagined the sandstorms he'd experienced on Kashgosha. Regardless of his innate hatred for barren wastelands, it wasn't likely that he'd explore any more planets. How far had he been thrown from the wreckage? Obviously, because he hadn't been properly strapped in, he'd been thrown from Engineering room upon impact and landed amongst the graveyard of scraps and sticky gore. To his irritation, Guppy found it difficult to unwind himself from the foetal position. He remained motionless, accessing the situation. He could hear the irregular heartbeats ricocheting off his ribcage and pulsing through his prickling arms and legs; thrumming uncomfortably through his ears. Skittering footsteps rekindled another flavour of fear within him, though he still couldn't gather enough strength to push himself to his feet. Feeble excuses echoed internally; regarding him as a coward who couldn't even gather enough willpower to save himself from being eaten alive. Something bunched around his midsection, warm, soft, then twitched. Were his intestines writhing out? No, no, impossible. He would've been in indescribable pain.

“What—” The Galapa's wheezing breaths hitched a few scales, then faltered completely. His intestines were not sloughing out of his stomach—no, not at all. There was something curled against his side; something humanoid with long arms and legs; something with a swishing tail and owlish eyes. It might've shocked him just as much as seeing the lifeblood drain out of him. Had he read about such a species? Such a perplexing thought at such an inappropriate time. He jerked his head and his long neck creaked ominously, gills flaring open. He swallowed, choked and sucked in three deep breaths, letting them out through his multiple nostrils. “Who are you? Where are we?” He croaked uncertainly, trying to regain himself. Appropriate questions would have been, “Are there any crew members left?” or “Am I alive? Is this a dream?” He simply didn't want to know. Whether or not he liked it or not; this was not, wherever this was, something he could control. He kept movement to a minimum, relaxed as much as his body will allow, in an attempt to conserve as much energy as possible. Not that he could truly escape if this unusual individual decided to plunge a blade clear through his belly. He'd certainly cause an unfortunate mess.

“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.

Shock stopped her tears when suddenly Lumi went from being totally alone to having a canine not only there, but bark at her as if he had something to say. Despite his jaw coming quite close to her in her helpless state, she was hardly afraid. Lumi reached out with her mind to try and connect with the creature only to find it was far too complex for her to establish an understanding, a fully sentient being. She wondered for a moment where they could have landed that had such creatures on its surface, but there were a number of explanations for this oddity, and it was possible he wasn’t native at all. Not that any of this mattered, as either way she was still stuck and he couldn't much help to fix that.

Just a moment later, Lumi froze upon hearing disembodied words float into her head, an offer of help attached to them. She remained as still as possible while the person carefully lifted the metal panel that was trapping her away, until finally, she was free. Immediately she brought the broken appendage close to her body, but other than that she didn’t move. She stared up at her savior, partially in awe and partially in confusion, until she remembered she still had tears on her face. Quickly, she wiped them away with her uninjured hand and shakily managed to stand on her own. Her head was pounding, filled with the pain and fear of the crash despite the fact that the pained ones were mostly all dead at this point and the living were moving past shock and onto confusion. The memory of the tragedy lingered.

Thank you Cheyiin Lumi thought, having no qualms about opening her mind to another. She had seen him during the flight, but hadn’t been sure if he was who she thought he was. Now, as she craned her neck up at him to make up for their outstanding height difference, she was sure. Cheyiin was the name her people had given his, a very long time ago when Estray weren’t nearly as developed as they are now. There were no other known species with such telepathic abilities, especially not ones who matched the description of their legends to thoroughly. The stories say it was the Cheyiin, the Knowing Ones, who gave them the tools they needed to begin an era of technology that lasted to today. Estray considered them to be the pinnacle of evolution, and the fact that she was not only meeting one, but being assisted by him, made Lumi almost forget her throbbing hand. I can walk on my own, she added, just so it didn’t seem like she was ignoring his query. She tried very hard to not stare at him too much.

Stepping off and away from the debris, Lumi took a pause from her disbelief to analyze where they had landed. Conclusion: she had no idea. Though there were bits and pieces of the terrain that hinted at one place or another, all together none of it quite fit. Wherever they were, she had the fear they weren’t going to find any species with enough technology to send out a call for help. She hoped she'd at least find something to treat her hand with.

The high pitched voice of a creature she had never seen before startled Lumi into turning around, where she realized several other survivors were awake and gathered. She sensed in him jumbling feelings, ones that all knotted together and were hard to pick out individually, but among them was definitely fear. It was a different fear from the others though. It wasn’t a fear of the unknown, an uncertain nervousness. Oh no, this was a fright that came from experience. This creature knew what was in store for them, and feared it. It didn’t bode well. She looked up at Cheyiin, hoping he would have a clearer understanding of what was going on. According to the stories, they lived forever and collected information on the entire universe. She wasn't sure how much was true and how much was stretched for the sake of story-telling, but considering where she was, a near-perfect being on her side couldn't hurt.

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.”