When the Jahren captain of the shipping freighter awoke, he would not know that his crew would be dead within the hour. He had fallen asleep an hour prior, as the ride to Sky City was without incident. His First Officer shook him awake from his pleasant dream, and looking at his face was all the captain needed to know about the situation. The captain sprung into action, and ordered everyone to evacuate to the emergency pods. As soon as he did, the ship rocked, and everyone fell to the floor. They were being boarded.
The deafening emergency alarms blared in all the halls. Everyone was running to make their escape. But the captain stood alone at his post, making sure the ship would not break apart during the chaos. Even though the ship was in the middle of space, excessive vibrations could lead to the gravity engine turning off, and then all would be lost. His mind rushed to his daughter as his hands rested upon the controls.
She would be at school playing with her friends, not knowing the danger that her father was in. How he wished he could be with her again. Her short nubby little horns, large eyes, and playful dance. One time she got hold of some color sticks. Her small little hands drew him and herself on the walls. He was angry at the time, but he would give it all to go back to be with her. The job was a dud from the start.
He should have listened to the sinking feeling of his gut as they briefed him on the route. A straight path through pirate-controlled space. He had heard and seen the results of what the pirates did in Sector 7. Empty ships and body bags. He brought up his concerns to his superiors, and they reassured him that there was a truce, a peace agreement between the Pirate Lord and the Sedan of Sector 7 herself that there was going to be no problem. That was a lie. Like a fool, he submitted to their reassurances.
The command deck overlooked a large portion of the cargo bay where the crew was running towards the exits. Compared to the cargo, the crew were the size of ants. They made their way through the cargo maze structure before finally arriving at the exits. But as one entered the exit, they stopped, before falling to the ground. The other crew ignored their fallen comrade and ran over him before they all turned back to run in the other direction. The captain was at first confused before realization set in. Several red laser shots shot into the cargo hold, hitting several victims in the back. The pirates had boarded.
From the exits, slender mantis creatures emerged. The earthy tones of their exoskeleton matched well with the shadows of the ship. If they were standing, their horns would scrape the ceiling. As a result, they took a different approach. Crawling on the walls like spiders, they hid in the darkness and leapt onto unsuspecting victims, sinking their venomous fangs into the flesh. For those who did have weapons, even if the shots did land, the pure instinctual drive to hunt would outweigh any pain the monsters would feel. Once the creatures made their kill, they would tear the victim apart. Blue blood painted the walls. The creatures began to devour both the living and the dead. The young and the old. For the Cymin species, no one was safe.
The captain was not safe either. Despite placing all the furniture to blockade the command’s deck door, a growing sense of dread began to consume him. Seeing his friends, his comrades, one by one fall to the pirates, his whole body began to shake. He did not want to die. He felt the small laser pistol on his belt, relieved that it was still there. His fingers began to pull at the scales on his face until blood dribbled, his attempt to calm his nerves. He hid underneath one of the desks. His breathing was labored despite all of his attempts to keep himself quiet. The only hope he had was his knowledge. He knew that the pirates attack fast and leave just as quickly. If they don’t enter the command deck, maybe he will have a chance at living. But the scratching at the door told him otherwise.
At first, it was subtle, but then it grew louder until it filled the room with a loud screeching noise of claws dragging against metal. The door burst open, his wall of defense was no match against the strength of the monsters, and the furniture flew across the room. The captain cried out, moving away from being crushed by the falling objects. As the dust settled, standing in the doorway was the Cymins. Their eyes locked onto him.
His hands shook as he held his pistol, aiming at the intruders. His hands were weak from fear. Yet, he could not bring himself to fire his weapon. The monsters were just standing there, observing him. The captain’s mouth was dry, as he tried to catch his breath. He did not understand why they were waiting. But he was going to take any opportunity he was given. He cried out. “I am the captain of this ship. You have broken every treaty in Sector 6. Leave!”
He could feel his heart pumping, as he could barely articulate what came out of his mouth. Their horns scrapped the ceiling as they towered over the captain. He could see the venom dripping from their fangs. Their claws twitched with anticipation. They were still hungry for fresh meat. But as if on command, each one slowly retreated into the hallway, into the darkness.
He needed to make sure he was safe. Their movements were imperceptible to his ears. He hoped that they were gone from outside the command door, but that required him to check. His legs trembled with each step, he closed the distance with the door. His mind played games on him with any slight noise. Little by little, he peeked his head past the door frame and into the hallway, waiting for the claws of the Cymins to reach out and crush his skull. No one was there.
The captain sputtered out a breath that he held in. His eyes were wet from the stress. And he mumbled out a soft cry. He lowered his pistol to rest on his lap. He was alive. Afraid but alive. He did not know how many others were still hiding on the ship. Once he was sure that the pirates have left, he would make sure to check on the survivors and help organize the injured. But knowing Cymins, he would be certain that there would not be many. The door had many grooves from where the Cymins peeled out the metal to force themselves in. Now, with no way to block the door anymore, the captain simply hid underneath the control panels, focusing only on his breathing. But then footsteps from far in the hall were approaching his quarters. A possible survivor, maybe they had returned. The captain stood up and hope filled his mind.
A tall moth-like creature entered the command deck. It had soft ivory-white fur, feather-like antennae, and deep-sea eyes. It stood nearly twice the captain’s height, its wings draped like a cape around its body. Its antennae waved, smelling the air. It even seemed to glow in the dimly lit room. The captain had never seen a more beautiful Muscan. He did not know he had a Muscan crew member amongst them. He would have remembered if he did. The captain began to worry as he noticed the rifle the Muscan was carrying. It was a TC-37 rifle, an old model from the late Harmonian Empire, the ones that only Cymins and Celestians could carry. Potentially was dropped by a Cymin and the Muscan picked it up to protect himself. But no fool would even attempt to try to steal from a Cymin. That would be begging for death.
“I am Desniir Ashum, the captain of my Cymin crew. As one captain to another. Your crew were quite tenacious. Luckily, we made easy work of them.” The Muscan said. All hope vanished in the captain. For a non-Cymin to be a leader of bloodthirsty Cymins, could only mean calamity.
“What do you want?” The captain asked. He gripped the pistol on his lap. It was the only comfort he had. He could kill the pirate, but he knew that would mean certain death. His question was only meant to stall. They both knew the answer already. The pirates wanted the cargo. What the ship held was not much, vehicles, furniture, and lots and lots of food. It was all types except for one important item. A container for the Sedan of Sector 7 herself. It was deep in the bowels of the ship, hidden away. He did not know what was in the container, but it was the only bargaining chip he had. THe captain doubted that the Muscan captain knew, and if he played his cards right, then he could get out of this predicament alive.
“What kind of question is that?” The Muscan laughed. With one hand, the Muscan picked up the captain by his collar. The captain's legs shook as he tried to reach the ground with his feet. “You know better than to ask silly little questions like those. I want your ship. Not so much your crew. They won’t do it in their current state. But I need to know why you thought taking your ship through my territory was a good idea. You seem like a smart Jahren. Tell me.”
The captain muttered a few incoherent words. But the pirate was patient. Its antenna hovered barely over the thick green scales on Jahren's forehead, as if to help the captain think.
“I can not say, they told me to go here. It was not my intention. My superiors wanted to give her a package, but she wanted to arrive faster.”
“Who?” The Muscan pressed.
“Havana Lu.”
With those words, the captain was flung into the air. His back crashed into the glass window. Air tore from his lungs as his head began to throb. His vision was blurry, but He felt the unmistakable pressure from the barrel of a rifle against his head. The captain was weak and powerless.
“What are you transporting?” Demanded the Muscan.
“It’s highly valuable, she wanted it at Sky City today. If you let me go, I can tell you where it is.”
The Muscan’s antenna waved, as the captain felt the barrel press deeper into his head. The Muscan whispered his next words,
“You're better off dead than going to her empty-handed.”
“I have a daughter!” The captain cried out. His hands grabbed the pirate's fur in desperation. The captain looked up to the eyes of the Muscan, hoping for some mercy. But all he received back was a blank stare of apathy.
****
The freight captain's body lay on the ground bleeding out, while Desniir cursed himself for stalling. He should not have frozen when the captain cried out, but something within him made him stop. It was not pity, it was more of a calling to the desires he once had. He wanted it to last, But the moment was gone and all that was left was emptiness. The dead captain seemed to be at peace now with the rest of his crew. But they would not receive a proper burial.
Desniir could not see the Cymins, but he could feel their movement, as the air was rife with their faint citrus scent. Their aroma was a relief from the musky stench of fear in the command deck.
Desniir explored the bowels of the cargo ship. The shipment was stacked like skyscrapers. The supposed Havana’s cargo was there somewhere. Maybe he should have let the captain live a little longer to tell him where it was. But he did not have to search for the prize alone.
“Why are you all hiding like scared nymphs? Come on out here!” Desniir called out. From the shadows emerged the victorious hunters. Their trophies resting within their stomachs. They stumbled towards their captain, the long period of starvation before today made them forget what it was like to be full.
“There is a treasure here for the Sedan of this sector. Go find it.”
The Cymins gave an affirmative click of their jaws before scattering. But one stood their ground. It was half the height of the others, their exoskeleton was a blooming flower. Their features were soft with bright amber eyes. The Cymin nymph appeared adorable to most, but an absolute displeasure for the Muscan. He should not have made the half-hearted comment about them being scared nymphs.
“What are you doing? You want another punishment from the Lord Awa?”
“Atta, I don’t care what she says. Awa has no business in knowing my plans.”
Atta once again went on her little rants about how irresponsible he was. He was a captain, that survival was key. One more mistake and he would doom the crew. Desniir wanted to close his ears. She was small, and yet she was by far the most annoying Cymin he had ever met. It did not help that her voice sounded dispassionate and monotonous, a far too common trait for the Cymins. She, unlike the many other Cymin’s, loved to ask him questions, especially about his decisions. But she was the only one of the Cymin’s that preferred to be near him., and it resulted in her being the only candidate to be his first officer. But with her terrible trait, Desniir wondered if it really was worth it having her around. If he let her, she would rant at him until he died.
“I get it, Atta no need to keep talking. The ship still needs to be dismantled, you can lecture me later.”
Atta shut up, but her stiff posture told him that the conversation was not over. But Desniir wanted to find the Havana’s package, and not even Atta was going to stop him. Desniir spent his time climbing up to each cargo and breaking it open, only to find junk. After several disappointing containers, Desniir began to wonder if the captain had been lying to him. It would not be the first time that had happened. The fear of death causes all kinds of strange behaviors.
Desniir was suspicious of the captain’s insistence that the Havana's package was valuable. He doubted that Havana Lu herself would ever be so foolish to send valuable items through the pirate territory unless she wanted the captain and his crew dead. However, if that were the case, Desniir would not put it past her.
“Captain. We found it.”
Desniir flinched. He turned to see a brown Cymin peeking his head into the container. The Cymin had snuck upon him while he was in thought.
“How certain are you? Are you confident that you did not mistake it for a case of sweet-sickle fruit?”
The Cymin stared back, aggravated that their judgment was questioned. Desniir found it aggravating that he did not find his sarcasm humorous. Living amongst the Cymin was both freeing and inhibiting. On the one hand, they did not care he was a Muscan. He had already proven himself. But on the other, their inter-species sociability was severely lacking. At the very least, the Cymins did not care about his taste in fashion, and he was free to do what he pleased. But it was difficult for Desniir to communicate with them. His jokes never landed.
The Cymin had led him to the side of the cargo hold, where a group of Cymins had gathered, all seemingly transfixed at a small entrance. There seemed to be an invisible force field as the Cymins kept their distance away from the door. Even the Cymin that led their captain stopped short of the entrance.
“What are you waiting for?” Desniir asked. The Cymin stared back at him once again, perplexed. Desniir gripped his rifle tighter. Desniir learned quickly that the only way to motivate Cymins was through food or threats of death, and the Cymins were already full.
“I need an answer, Cymin. Or else, I will have you go in first.”
“Captain. There is death here.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I do not know.”
Desniir laughed. The Cymins only a few moments ago had killed an entire commerce freighter, and they were afraid to go into a room. He alone was finding the humor.
“I will be going in. I expect at least two of you to follow me. Should be easy, right?”
Desniir threw the door open and the Cymins shuffled back. The air was stagnant, there was a strong aroma of oxidation. The lights flickered on, and in the back corner held Havana's gift.
A metallic egg. It was half of Desniir’s height locked within a clear box. It had ports and cut wires still attached. Unknown markings were etched on its surface. The black lacquer surface was partially peeled away to reveal the encroaching rust. The egg seemed to be a part of the innards of a machine that was torn away. But wherever it came from, it was ancient. Far older than the Harmony, or even the Golden Arch.
Behind him, two Cymins kept their distance as they watched their Captain work on the puzzle. If they were not anxious about the strange object, perhaps they would have helped their leader. But Desniir liked a challenge. Desniir felt the seams of the container. The surface was slick, his small claws skidded across the surface. There did not seem any clear way to open it, without shattering the surface. His antennae caressed the surface and felt slight vibrations. It was rhythmic, as if the egg were alive. He recognized the clear material as a soft glass.
Desniir took out his rifle and dismantled it. He took out the energy core and placed it on the seams. Without the coolant in the rifle, the energy core began to glow with heat. Luckily, Desniir’s fur protected him. The seams began to split apart from the exposure. Desniir worked on each seam until the box was pulled apart, exposing the egg.
The possibilities of what was inside were endless, and Desniir’s mind began to conjure wealth, or perhaps an ancient weapon. But Desniir knew it could not be more than that, as no rational leader would risk sending any precious item through pirate territory. Especially Havana Lu. Still, Desniir could not wait to desecrate the item. Maybe he would send it to the Havana, piece by piece. Broken and unusable. A lowly Muscan like him destroying what she wanted. It would not be much, but it would be satisfying.
As Desniir tried to move the egg out of the room, he could feel movement within. A liquid of some kind. Despite his best efforts, the egg would not budge. The Cymin’s fear seemed to have subsided as they came over and helped their Captain lift the egg from within the room to the outside. The group outside had doubled, all witnessing the spectacle. There was no clear way to open the egg. It was shut airtight.
But one of the Cymins that helped Desniir seemed to be as interested in opening the container as their captain. With their claws, they dug into the metal in a seam around the circumference. Once done, it dug its claws into the upper portion of the egg. With one large heave, it split. Black liquid poured out, viscous and opaque.
It pooled onto the floor. The Cymin who opened the lid collapsed, convulsing. The group decided it had enough entertainment and scattered before the liquid could reach their feet. Desniir dragged the fallen crew off to the side, careful to not touch the liquid that had splattered across their thorax. The odorless liquid was expanding across the floor, forming delicate patterns. Desniir was worried about the toxic fluid, but what concerned him more were the bubbles from the liquid that remained in the shell. The liquid was becoming more volatile with each passing second. The liquid burst and, within the waves was a human, his arms reaching out towards the sky.
Black sludge poured out of his mouth. The human gripped the edge of the machine. Naked, and shivering, his eyes darted around. The human had black matted hair, golden skin, and icy eyes. A distinctive scar ran down from his right eyebrow towards his chin. The human gagged as it tried to gulp air, but something obstructed his breathing. The human clawed his fingers into his throat and pulled the obstruction out. It was covered in sludge, but the human gripped the foreign object with all his strength.
Desniir aimed his rifle at the peculiar being. The human did not seem to notice the danger as he slid out of the container. The human struggled to both stand and breath. But it did not matter as it was slowly dragging itself towards its goal, the fallen Cymin. With shaking hands, The human wiped the liquid off the chest of the Cymin. In doing so, the Cymin awoke. The Cymin, as if it had awoken from a nightmare, cried out. Desniir did not have the chance to help the poor creature as it leapt up and ran away. The human collapsed to the floor, unconscious, at the Muscan’s feet.