The'San's Story

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.”

After the expedition to the captain's cabin failed miserably, The'San recounted his options. Either he'd go back and find another way or he'd call for help from here. But he was so far from them-- and a plexiglass surface separated them-- he could scream all day and not be heard. In any case, Kafkan Minotaurs never did scream much. "The prey would run away otherwise," he said to himself before turning away.

He noticed a instrument on the table. Captain's manual it was, a book reader of sorts, covered with goo, or blood. He picked it and cleaned it with whatever clean cloth he found, that didn't belong to him. And boy, was there such a shortage of clean cloth. Finally he had to use the his own cloth, slightly angering him. What was he even going through the book for anyways? The ship was down and out and ready to explode and he was, in most likeliness, going down, or rather up, with with. But why should? He wasn't the captain. He looked at the captain. "Useless piece of trash," he said.

He rummaged around for a while. There was really nothing here. A few batteries, a torch ( broken if you are wondering), and some other stuff that The'San did not recognize. For the second time he felt like calling someone, or rather something, as a useless piece of trash. He read a few pages of the electric-book and closed it when he realized he wasn't in the right frame to read super advanced Common. After taking all the batteries, one in total, that weren't destroyed, he started moving. The corridor where he had woken up after the crash had only one other door, the Lieutenant's office. But before he went inside he decided to go back to the place where he had turned back from.

The three minutes it took him to reach, he had spent hoping that the impassable mess hadn't really existed and that he would be able to pass with no problem. Alas! It was still there and actually looked more menacing. The entire corridor had crumpled on itself, onto a singularity. Sharp metal protruded from the mess, and it looked like a bunch tiny-people were pointing spears at him. But unlike the tiny-people's spears, these would kill with no trouble. A wire hung near the metal and sparks occasionally flew between it and the metal. Somewhere, there was still a working generator. And that meant one crucial thing. No, not that he could possibly repair this ship. It meant that the ship will explode in all likeliness if they didn't shutdown all the systems. The'San would love to be a gazillion miles away, on Earth solving a crisis, when they tried that.

He stood now before the door of the room the lieutenant had been given. The Only way out, is in, he thought and walked inside. The room was, barely illuminated by the little light that the light-machines in the corridor provided. He walked inside and by the grace of whatever devil had decided to make his life miserable that day, he stepped on some goo, most likely blood. Of course, there'd be blood. What he didn't understand was why he was the only one breathing on the ship ( as far as he knew). What had saved him? Maybe he had a guardian angel? Or maybe the devil wanted to play with a little longer. His ribs did hurt a bit, now that he thought about it. His head too ached, but that did not stop him from getting exceedingly happy when he saw a way out.

It was small and dirty, and dangerous, but he had to do it. All that clear enough path had given him a tunnel of twisted metal. He wadded through it.

---

The first breath of the air of the surface of the planet would have been wasted in laughing, if Kafkan Minotaurs could laugh. In reality, they too have "We are safe" expressions but that involved his tentacles, which worked as sensors. He had once heard that people on a small island on Earth loved tentacles. Maybe after solving a crisis, he'd go and enjoy some time there?

Before him stood a great cave. And survivors, too. He saw a Galappa, a Durospex and a- a something. For the most part, it was humanoid. However, its skin was a lot smoother, and it seemed to have some kind of camouflage, possibly natural. It was also much smaller than the average human, in both height and weight, but had longer arms, legs, fingers, and necks. Its ears did not poke out separately from its heads like those of human's, but rather appeared as small bumps on the sides of its head with holes in the center. What an weird creature it was. He stepped towards it.