Eye in the Sky [Part I]

“…Brothers and sisters, don’t let the iron fist of the Primus cloud the sun in your heart! Channeling is a right and the Atmoscreens we’ve been told is for our protection is nothing but a method to further regulate our Eidos given right. We’ve been coddled in the darkness for too long and now they want to block out the stars and the sun with their atmospheric screens. How will we ever look out to the skies and know that what we’re looking at is real? The Primus has one goal and that is to turn every one of us on this planet into their lab rats. What have we left when they have stripped us of everything that makes us human? They treat us more like the dolls they’ve employed to wipe their asses than the people we really are! Stand up with me to overturn the silent tyranny that is the Primus. Wait no longer to take control over your life, the moment is now!”

Yi Fisto thrust his hand in the air, signaling the close of his speech. A rolling cheer danced through the crowd on the ground level before chilling as it rose to the cold stares from balconies higher up. The madness of the government provoked the vengeance of the protesting sea. The Primus stood, a single puppet representative looming over the crowd with a smirk of power. He was nothing but a pawn receiving the brunt of the hate from the protestors as the members of the Primus sat unrevealed at a safe distance. It was a rare occurrence that the Primus attends a protest rally, but impending riots had shaken the city’s confidence in their leadership and this just wouldn’t do.

But no rebuttle was given, no utterance of a defense. “Your words have been noted Yi Fisto, your input is oh so valuable to The Primus”. The response was sugar sweet, like a candy that went bitter in your mouth the more you sucked on it. Fisto forced his mouth into a twisted grimace. It was all he could muster after such a soft condescending pat on the head.

Another speaker rose from their seat as the deflated Fisto ducked out from the balcony, though the night was just beginning for them.

“Are we ready?”

A quick nod and the group was off, circling around the arena along the walkways until they reached the main entrance. Fisto exchanged nods with six of the guards standing by the exits and then turned to enter the arena on the ground level platforms, weaving deep into the crowd. His companions branched off from his wake and little went noticed as they slowly positioned themselves along the edges around him in a circle.
The air above the crowd opened up and an explosion of light bathed the alarmed crowd, sending everyone running in different directions as they screamed. A loud crack whipped through the air as sniper shots were taken and smoke filled the air. Out of the beam of light came a kanaaji ship and a jolt of electricity that paralyzed the building’s electrical systems.

Fisto, the sniper Cithe, and a group of men stormed against the fleeing crowds to reach the ship and boarded it quickly. The ship rose with incredibly speed through the hollow arena and flew right into the fragile frame of the Primus balcony. Though when they raced out of the ship the large conference room was empty and the transport that had docked in the back of the complex was also gone. Were the Primus there at all? It was all beginning to smell a bit too much like a set up. As the chaos continued below with Militari trying to calm the people when all the doors had been melted shut with thermals, the Kanaaji sniper and Fisto’s team stood frustrated above. They paced, arguing over whether the information source was valid when a door swung open.

There stood Traax, who had leaked the false information into the protestor’s circle and deliberately orchestrated a way to corner her former beloved. Her eyes lit with fire from the crash, burning with a desire that might turn him to ash if he isn’t careful.

OOC:

"You should have checked the fucking source."

Cithe placed a hand on his companion's shoulder but he shrugged it off angrily.

"There was no way to make certain, Ryzer. We all knew this could end badly if not terribly. And by the looks of it, I'd say it could end up a tad worse."

"Enough with your japes, Sal'ranis, we could end up fighting a wave of Militari dogs, and for what? Some broken buildings and a scared crowd? Pitiful." Ryzer cast him a venemous glare, which Cithe returned with an angry clench of his jaw.

Another companion nudged him with his elbow, gesturing behind him with a jerk of his chin. Cithe eased up enough to turn his gaze toward the source of the sudden lull in their dispute.

"...Traax?"

Not only was he surprised, but his fingers instinctively clutched the handle of his weapon, a gesture that allowed him to prepare for the inevitable onslought of insults likely to spew from her mouth. He was unsure what to feel, seeing her here. Angry that she cornered him like a wounded rat, or relieved that they might just have a way out of this fucking hellhole.

I'm so out of touch, I didn't even feel her coming... The thought nagged at him.

"What do you want?" He snapped, eyeing the shadowy crevices of the walls in case six hulking kanaaji lumbered out of them with brandished guns. "Why are you here? Have the Flotilla already decided to wage war on Roshoq itself?"

A man named Gil stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. "Cithe, incapacitate her and be done with it. Traax'sol is your father's pet. She'll report back to them, tell them where you are, where we are, you can't trust her."

"Shut up. I'll hear what she has to say." He answered bitterly. But the kanaaji never took his eyes off her, nor did his hand ease from the trigger. Instead, he waited.

“Sally,” the interloper purred, ignoring her betrothed’s obnoxious and easily duped companions. Her hood was thrown back, and slashes of insidious color stretched from temple to smirking mouth. Smooth plates of verdant green made the dark accentuations pop with insolence. With one three-fingered hand holding the door open, Traax leaned against the opposite jamb. Altruist armor, even with the chameleon function disabled as it was currently, was easily identifiable by the austere and cutting-edge stealth design. High rank, so tactfully expounded upon by the flesh-sack touching Cithe’s arm, was indicated by a hand print painted on her forehead. Every group had a different design, for Altruists it was the hand of power. The higher the rank, the higher the hand. Sal, too, had once boasted the Empress’s silver touch.

She toyed with her hood, eyeing Sal’s gun, as though debating whether pulling up the tactical interface was going to be necessary after all.

“I’m here for you.”

Pushing off the door, she swayed forward. Agitation, simmering for now, waited in the recesses of opalescent eyes. Fingers brushing across the slinky armor of her quadriceps, she released, under the guise of natural motion, a set of tracking spiders. The clever little machines stayed out of sight and slowly picked their way toward resistance members. Gil already had one from previous information swaps. And as useful as he’d been, dumb as he was, with the unexpected emotional response to seeing Sal again, she wanted to waste him for what he’d said. Displacement, probably. The closer Sal had gotten, the sweeter his electric signature sang along hungry receptors. With each reverberation, old anger rekindled.

“It’s just me. The Flottila wages war on other fronts, this one is between you and I,” she murmured, barely stifling a snarl. His gun touched her chest, scraping, and she reached up to nudge it aside. Finally, her dismissive gaze swept across Sal’s companions. “It’s time you return to better company. This riffraff led you straight into a trap.”

Cithe's lips twitched in annoyance. He felt no sincere animosity towards her, nor did he have any desire to harm her, but he could feel the vibrations of his comrades. Their electric pulses quickened in agitation, just as his did, when the familiar signature of an onslought of humans rapidly approached them.

There was no time, but here she was.

"I think you've forgotten what I told you on the fleet, Traax. I won't be returning to you, my father nor the Empress until this idiotic war is done with." Gil moved uneasily beside him as she approached, but his callous gaze remained. I warned you to stay away, why won't you listen? He wanted to scream, but he held his tongue, forcing the battered emotions back into the depths of his heart.

"This riffraff was your doing, wasn't it?" He snapped, "You knew we'd be here, you knew this would happen. You sold us out."

"Cithe." Ryzer growled.

He didn't need to hear the impending stampede to know. His skin prickled from the accumulated signatures that coursed through the air. With an angry shake of his head, he pushed past Traax and gestured toward the ship. "We need to get the fuck out of here. Now."

The others clamored aboard while their Wayfarer prepped their destination.Cithe glanced back toward his former lover as the door began to seal, betrayed by heartache.

"Not this day, Traax'sol." Was all he said, as they were parted once again.

Traax watched the door seal shut on Sal’ranis’ ugly human mug, pettily pleased by the turmoil in his parting gaze. Agitated by the strength of the approaching mob, even their electrical signatures stank of skin sludge, the Altruist tugged on the operations hood and almost had her face taken off by a sleek vessel erupting over the balcony from the arena below. Sal’s ship barely had time to clear the space.

“You are not in position, Traax’sol,” a suave, modulated voice chided in her ear, as though it was the burden of bystanders to avoid thirty ton space ships zipping around willy nilly. “And you have not operated according to plan, Traax’sol.”

His emphasis on her formal name didn’t go unnoticed.

PAO closed the hatch on his boss’s tail feathers and pulled them from view of the converging forces, deftly maneuvering the covert ship through blind spots in the Roshoq military’s net. The plan had never been to capture Sal. Of course, it hadn’t been to allow escape either.

“They’re prepping to open a gate.”

“Give me access to our tracking spiders,” she hissed at the jaunty little prolate spheroid docked into the helm. “Hurry, before they go through.” The little devices would do no good if they were taken out of range.

“Lack of preparation on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine,” the AI replied serenely. “I’m busy, if you didn’t notice your plan collapsing around us.” The military now had nothing in its grasp to appease its desire for justice. The agile ship weaved through false atmosphere, popping up behind Sal’s ship to follow through his Wayfarer’s gate. They’d have to be right on the other ship’s tail, but it was possible.

Traax rolled her eyes and settled into the co-pilots seat, routing control of the spiders from her armor to ship’s resources. Despite his acerbic words, the screen in front of her came to life with requested schematics. Repurposing the one Gil had been wearing took only seconds and the little fella found a discrete path into a wiring conduit. With utmost care, it spliced into ship’s power and found the best signals to piggy back off of. With its increased strength and mask, the others would use this to report in. As long as there was something available to receive the information. Who knew what system the malcontents were planning on fleeing to should Traax fail in pursuit.

“You deviated from our agreed course of action, Traax’sol,” PAO pointed out, again, to his companion’s irritation. “What is the new plan?”

“We follow.”

“Why did you not use him as planned? In the end he would not have objected.”

“Don’t you have flying to do?" she snapped and turned to monitoring any pursuit by Roshoq forces. "Make sure we pull through their gate with them.”

The Higby wasn’t equipped for heavy direct confrontation, and its defenses were minimal. Confident in PAO’s piloting and the vessel’s maneuverability, eyes glazed over the glowing display. The bastard would have been relatively safe and immobile rotting in jail while she used him as a bargaining chip. It would have been kept quiet, but Sal’s father wouldn’t let any son of his be subjected to alien justice. And that would have given Traax the ability to curb Kanaaji aggression, at least in a small way. A very small way.

But, there in the conference room.

I won't be returning to you, my father nor the Empress until this idiotic war is done with.

He wanted no part of the conflict, of the battle to moderate Kanaaji methods. The true fight was within the Flotilla. He just wanted to play soldier boy in the petty disputes of other species. He was running. A coward hanging out with riffraff that slathered at the slightest hint of bloodletting. What was he thinking, anyway? Attacking the Primus and throwing the world into mayhem. He might as well have patted the Empress on the back and handed her their resources on a platter.

She couldn’t, in good conscience, allow him to be so useless.

“Don’t lose that ship.”

Thermalists disguised as guards had melted the metal exit doors, creating a widespread panic so thick the Militari had difficulty breaching the flood to get to the action up above. It wasn’t long however until Militari soldiers pounded their way to the top, much faster than what they had anticipated.

“You’ve got dogs coming your way Cithe, time to jet,” came a Vigilante voice on the com device. Time was ticking. Cithe pursed his lips as he made final eye contact with his chaser, to which she frowned with determined eyes. She would never stop hunting him they both knew that, but whether it was for revenge or love was not clear anymore. What would she really do once she caught him? He was not about to stick around to find that out, and with that he swung himself into the ship, slamming the door behind him.

The Vigilante ship screeched as it thumped out of the wreckage of the balcony, spilling debris over the crowd below. A spider like vehicle crunched its way through the steel plating of the wall, opening a space for a torrent of soldiers to pass into the open balcony, guns blazing. Getting out by the plates on their backs seemed to come with the Vigilante territory and before anyone knew it the ship was turned around and shot through the way portal like a hummingbird. The Higby maneuvered itself until it was nose to tail with the other ship and as a result picked up on the drift and vanished with a crack of thunder.

The portal closed and the air was left thin and quiet aside for the scampering of the little too late squads. Even though it had bought them some time, the doors were opened and the floor that had been filled with citizens was now swarmed with black suited ops teams.

Fisto had long left the building with the other wayfarers except for one who was captured by the Militari. He was immediately taken for interrogation, and when Fisto realized that his friend had not returned he only hoped the poor bugger wouldn’t submit to questioning.


“I want you to find him.” Thrasir pushed a picture of Cithe across the table, lifting his eyebrows as he looked into Lex’s unrelenting grimace. “Its’ very important you bring him alive, and don’t let him speak to you, he may be a lizard but he has human lip service. Here is the key, you need to follow him but stay at enough of a distance to find out what rock these lizards are hiding under. Report to me when you find this out and after I’ve received that information your next task is to bring him in. This should be a breeze for a soldier of your caliber.”

Thrasir circled his desk like a long venomous snake, locking Lex dead in the eyes. “Now there’s another matter to discuss before I send you off. Word has reached me that a rebel group of channelers has been arrested, one of them being Saria.” Thrasir paused to soak in the satisfaction that even something as disturbing as that did not make Lex even flinch. She was truly broken into her role, the perfect tool.

“She is likely to be shipped to Endrata by the Militari, unless I intervene. If you decide to betray your orders for a better offer, there is little hope of getting Saria back. Just saying.” His mouth curled into something between a smile and a growl. “That is all. Get out of my face and get to work.” He waved his hand in her direction, shooing her away like a pesky fly.

Her head pounded. Thrasir. Every time she saw that fat bureaucrat her trigger finger itched. One in the head. That was all it took. Half her vision was clouded in red, violence, sheer and utter hatred painted in raw emotion. The willpower it took not to act was insurmountable. So she sat. And she listened. His voice was grating, his gait was sickening, the way he spoke made Lex want to rip out his tongue. Not now.

Not yet.

She was quiet. Instead of questions she scooped up the image of Cithe and suppressed a smirk. Her countenance was solid and steady, unrelenting and stoic to the highest intent. Stupid lizard. After all this time he was still managing to show up on the wrong radars. Lex slipped the holovid between her cleavage and turned her gaze back to Thrasir - he liked it when she did that, she knew, even now he licked those disgusting, thin lips. Still silent. Still complacent.

He continued speaking. Something about a threat. Saria? The pounding dimmed. The red faded and a clarity of thought overtook her. It did not matter that Saria hated her, Lex would never let her sister be held on Endrata. Perhaps better than anyone, Lex knew what they did to channelers there.

Lex stood when Thrasir finished. No words. No gestures. He believed her conditioning was still intact, that she was still his dog to command and obey. That meant he also believed her incapable of killing him. Not yet. Without further adieu the woman slipped out of the office and back into the streets of the city.

It was always dark here. Covered by the towering, massive political buildings, the lower sections of populace were left to fend on their own. It was dirty here. Low class, everyone knew to keep to themselves. She passed the bums and the poor, the desperate and destitute, all of them clinging to what technology they could get a hold of. Old, run-down buildings decorated the path to the inner docks, the streets were lined with vacancies and business of ill-repute. The Primus cared little for the dealings of the under city.

The Space Bitch was untouched. Of course it was, who wanted something as ugly as her? Lex grunted as she boarded, pausing only to gaze at the statis pod within the cargo bay of her vessel.

"Time to pay up, lizard."

Cosmic turbulence kicked the Higby out into open space as the whizz of light that surrounded the ship before bled away into darkness upon their slowing. For a moment when they looked beyond the nose of the ship, all was black. The Higby swiveled around like a curious skull, poking into the recesses of space with its eyes to find that worm of a Kanaaji that continues to deny Traax and all that she stands for. Sal’s ship wasn’t in sight. Damnit, and just when she thought she was hot on his trail.

Beyond her reach, Traax saw distant flashes of light and what looked like a large space station – at least that’s what it seemed from this distance. Her eyes drifted down to the monitor in her hand and she smiled. He was there. Right smack dab in the middle of whatever was going on down there. But was following him a good idea? She tapped her fingers on the monitor in decision.


“FUCK Me!!!” Screams exploded throughout the cabin as the portal opened up in the middle of a space battle. Chunks of dilapidated metal showered the ship as they swerved to avoid several near collisions. Everywhere they looked a skirmish was going on. They danced around each other with firefly fervor, spinning and spitting with all they had.

Ryzer yanked on the controls, trying to steer the ship through the gate to hell. Alarming bleeps and bloops tugged at their nerves as they dove behind a larger vessel and paid for it with an onslaught of lasers – one slicing through the hull of the ship like it was butter. Emergency functions of the ship let loose as the ship careened in a spiral to the right.

The base they had come to call a temporary home in the Caesid system was under massive attack. It had been run by rebel Roshoqans, though the Vigilantes were closed tied to their activity. They had plans to return there to review the next stage in their mission but they watched as the glue that was holding their rebellion together eventually fall away like a statue of dust, pieces drifting into the battle field. Friends, allies, loved ones.

“What the fuck is going on?! I thought this base was safe.” Ryzer’s hands shook as he fought to control the ship. They all shared an uneasy shiver and nothing was going their way lately. It seemed their fox hole was full of spies. Not knowing who was friend or foe was devastating. All of a sudden what they thought was the foundation of their fight against oppression, was crumbling beneath their feet. Something had to be done.

As the station diffused along the landscape, the glowing surface of a small planet came into view. If they could just land..

Suddenly a jumble of words broke through the chaos of the cabin, “Hail, you are under the jurisdiction of Roshoqan Law to surrender your vessel. I repeat, you are in Roshoqan Territory. Turn off your engines and stand by for surrender.”

Ryzer swallowed and looked to Sal. “What now?”

The ship screeched and jerked as it jumped through the waypoint and into a battlefield. Cithe had been heading towards the cockpit, passing by wary crewmates rummaging through spare packs in their quarters, clapping them on the shoulder for silent moral support, but their gazes betrayed their anxiety. They were scared, and so was he.

He heard Ryzer before he approached, then the shreak of the hull as it caved under a barrage of lasers. They're tearing my ship apart.

"Someone close that fucking breach, now." He growled. Two men nodded and fled, while Cithe turned to address the armada of warships surrounding them in an inky black void.

"The rest of the Vigilantes must have fled by now. There's no point in fighting five to one, we don't have the manpower for this kind of shit." Cithe rubbed his temple with two clawed fingers. He felt his head pounding, and the emergency sirens blaring into his ears did nothing to ease the tension.

"We have rats. More rats than we realized," He spat, glaring into the blooming mists of red and orange, the drifting debris that peppered the space field. He glanced toward a kanaaji standing beside him, "Teil, how long until you can prep another gate?"

"Too long. Not enough time."

His jaw clenched. This wasn't supposed to happen. I'm too trustworthy, too complacent. It'll be the downfall of us all.

A loud explosion erupted from the back, sending men scattering. Cithe glanced toward the monitors, even as the computer began to wail the inevitable power shortage of the engines. Fucked, in the middle of Roshoqan territory. With a growl, he pushed Ryzer aside and pressed the intercom button, "Put out the fire, stabilize the core engine room, stat."

That was when the exernal message seeped through, forcing a hush among the crew. Cithe gazed idly into the carnage, brow furrowed.

"We surrender."

His words fell like bricks from his tongue. It hurt to say it, but he needed his men to have a fighting chance, and if that meant submitting to questioning and detainment, then he was willing to consider it. He glanced toward Ryzer, lips curling into a sad smile.

"We surrender, and hope to the gods that they're willing to compromise."

“Awesome sauce.” Sibilant curse coiled through the silent cockpit. The little ship smoothed out, skittering over Waypoint wash as its two occupants realized their quarry had vanished once more. Traax prodded at her display, tearing through sensor data for a trail of some sort. Electroreceptors hummed as she opened herself up to the pulses of the ship, opalescent eyes scouring dark displays concomitantly.

“Bingo,” interrupted PAO’s silky triumph.

“What did you just say?”

“Bingo.”

“What’s that? Where? I’m not picking anything up.”

“Unsurprising.”

“What? Is it dangerous?”

“Ignorance often is, Traax’sol, but not in this case.”

“What are you talking about?!”

“Return query. How have you not noticed the explosions yet?”

“Oh. I see.” Traax rested her chin in an open palm, claws dragging over the indigo slash descending from temple to smiling mouth. Nails rasped in the dark. “Which one is the bingo?” Debris undulated in thick waves around the distant station, destructive warships tearing it and its occupants to pieces with negligent ease. Explosions and death made clear logistical comprehension of the situation hazy. Anxiety crept up the back of her neck, gills flared.

“Sal’s ship is taking damage. Roshoqan Militari has outgunned the station. Plotting course for retreat,” PAO said.

The AI interface made operation silent, save for when he opened his big trap, and for long moments a steady cadence of indecision tapped through the cozy space.

“Orders, Traax?”

“This bingo, is there a logistic use for it?”

“Indeed, Traax’sol, I’ve employed it quite strenuously for cognitive confusion and distraction.”

Traax paused and glanced over to the jaunty little prolate spheroid, frowning. Little bastard.

“Get closer and avoid detection, let’s see if we can’t get lucky.”

“’Getting lucky’ is not a tactical course of action, Traax’sol.”

“I want Sal, PAO; let’s go get him. Tactically, use the ship’s resources to sneak closer, engage your prudence programming, and make sure no one knows we’re here until we can make a logical move to grab Sally.”

“Your plan seems vague.”

“Damnit, PAO! I’m not the fucking pilot, here!”

This faint interior lighting dimmed for a moment, and Traax got the distinct sense that her AI had just sighed. Sighing, when precious moments were flittering away. Some people.

“Fine, I know you don’t like playing things by ear, and, frankly, neither do I. But Sally is right there and I think he needs to be right here,” Traax explained with faux serenity, gesturing first at the mess he’d gotten himself in and then the nice, comfy, peaceful seat next to her.

“If by ‘here’ you mean our brig.”

“What ever!” the Altruist snapped, power surging through the little ship as her anger spiked and the vessel absorbed excess. Thinking the argument settled, she lifted her monitor once more in preparation of infiltrating the battlefield. With all the debris, it shouldn’t be hard to hide, and even should someone detect them, the Higby was more than outfitted for evasive maneuvers.

“We could just let the Roshoqans have him as originally planned.”

Her head snapped back up, eyes rolling behind the smooth armor protecting the hood’s holo displays. PAO was saved verbal abuse by confirmation that the Higby drifted forward toward the outskirts of the skirmish.

“Selfish bastard, couldn’t just come with me, noooo, had to tout his ideals around, fly willy nilly right into a fucking armada,” she snarked under her breath. The words had hardly vanished into the dark before her head snapped back up again. Speaking of flying willy nilly into an armada. “Wait, PAO, you’re right. Redirect all tracking spiders to converge on Sal. If the bastard doesn’t get himself killed, what’s a little longer to wait?”

“Should I maintain distance from the battle?” PAO sounded relieved. Traax debated a moment. Mostly just to annoy the snarky little bot.

“No.” The AI might have growled, Traax wasn’t quite sure what exactly the synthetic noise it emitted was. And it made her smile. “Hide us for now.”

What had just happened? They fled the attack in the Seratone only to fall into the hands of the Militari. Again. They felt helpless and trapped, though one thing clawed at Cithe's brain, something that just didn't sit right.

A yanking sensation pulled the ship into an ascension towards the belly of the transport vessel. And in the distance a light show of pretty explosions displayed themselves at the request of the small ships that remained fighting - though they seemed to die out slowly as the last breaths of battle sighed over the landscape.

Ryzer extended a scope down from the ceiling and pressed his face into it. "I don't recognize these smaller ships, but those larger ones are definitely Militari grade. Don't they have channelers to chase? What are they doing blowing up a tiny rebel base? This all seems very odd."

A loud clunk told them the vessel had settled in, and a growl from the engines vibrated their entire cabin - they were already moving.

"Stay in your ship until we have landed." Scratchy instructions spat from the comm.

Landing where? Must be the Endrata moon Yuris, unless they were referring to the dilapitated space station that now floated like a corpse in the stratosphere. All urges to walk outside the ship were repressed, too much was uncertain about the Militari. They were unpredictable and dangerous at best. But from what they could see, the interior was a dark warehouse filled with crates.

Their bumpy landing brought both ships down to the ground and shortly after, a greeting party revealed themselves on the steel grey platform. Bright lights filled the deep space, crawling into every corner the darkness had claimed during their descent. 30 armed men formed a straight line behind someone who looked like their leader - a stalky human male with a dark green pilot suit on.

The Vigilantes crept from their ship and stood a healthy distance between their ship and the group of men. Thing was, he didn't really look Militari.

"Identify yourselves and your purpose in this sector" the man barked at them, his echoed voice framing the hollow air around them.



As the Higby cautiously circled to the right around the fleeting chaos, a pair of small ships careened in their direction.

"Incoming" cooed PAO as he attempted to maneuver the ship out of danger. But the ships flew in and out of tandem until they kicked off of each other like disenchanted children. Broken ship guts sprayed the Higby, puncturing holes into the hull and smashing one of the engines. They tumbled awkwardly from the impact and spiraled down towards Yuris. They burned through the atmosphere, smoking billowing from the Higby's bowels as the ship's emergency mechanisms kicked into gear and wailed in warning - as if crash landing was not enough of an indication.

They descended on a diagonal and say below them a stream of what looked to be a colony running parallel to a long river. Landing straight into the sandy rock might kill on impact, though the river was such a tight squeeze and nothing could tell them how deep the river was. Only clever piloting would get them down safely.




Lex knew Cithe's ship by now. They had had enough run-ins that he was quickly becoming familiar territory. What perplexed Lex was the fact that she had not killed him yet. It was indeed a rarity for her to let anyone of such little importance to her go. Still it seemed that he was being kept alive for one reason or another of which she didn't bother questioning. If the pay at the end of the day was handsome enough, then it was well worth all these hold offs.

She followed the signal to the battle, though by the time she arrived much of the fighting had ceased and only a graveyard remained.

A tone on the comm beeped - a message from Thrashir. Her lip curled at the thought of him, as if in reaction to some putrid scent. The message read:

Don't screw this up.

He enjoyed tormenting her.

Lex steered the Space Bitch in the direction of the moon. What was he doing there she wondered. The ship landed on the outskirts of what looked to be a human settlement wrought with low and long buildings most of which were likely residential. A large construction site was located a good distance from the settlement. It looked the part of a manufacturing plant, but what could they possibly be building? None of these details mattered to Lex, her priority was finding lizard lips.

The blaze in the cargo hold had been eradicated, but the men had converged into the mess hall, still and quiet. The ship creaked under the strain of the ascent, jostling the loose cabinets to produce a cascade of spilled provisions.

Cithe slammed a fist into the metal wall, teeth clenched. Mighty fine mess you've gotten yourself into this time, Sal.

"They could be Roshoqan rebels for all I fucking know. I haven't kept track of the groups in this sector beyond where we were stationed. A different sect with different tactics, or they could be special forces. It doesn't matter, Ryzer, we're fucked as it is. The capitol ship is most likely too far for a transmission by this time. They won't be coming for us."

He approached the others waiting patiently in the mess hall, their gazes hard, their electric signatures singing anticipation, rage, fear. It smothered the air. Cithe offered them a wry grin, tapping his bracer.

"Slap on your human skins, men," He told them, "They might be less inclined to shoot us."

One by one they withdrew from the ship, eyeballing the armed forces barring their path. Cithe stood a few paces ahead, arms raised in a harmless gesture.

"We're refugees," He offered, scrutinizing the man draped in green, "We've been fleeing the Flotilla for some time now. We're not looking for trouble, only to pass through so we can carry on our way. You're welcome to inspect my ship, of course, should you feel inclined."

There was a pause. "What flavor of military are you fine gentleman?" He chanced.

Traax clenched down, tri claws digging into furiously blinking consol as the little ship spun like a psychopathic whirling dervish. Emergency signals blitzed along over-stimulated electroreceptors, the spy acting instinctively to bypass lost systems and return enough control of the plummeting vessel to mitigate future, splatterful damages. While she wasn’t completely sure what she was doing would work, nothing indicated she was making things worse. Though, not much could make smashing into a planet worse.

PAO beeped out a report as he attempted to use the moon’s gravity and thick atmosphere as advantageous forces to balance out the loss of an engine. She had no idea what exactly his spewing meant, but she saw the colony and the rock and the river. And the rock.

This is my last thought.

Suddenly, the little AI let out a wild holler, and the ship veered erratic like a bolt of lightning.

Why isn’t it better?

Sandy rock rushed up to meet them, the ship having lost little momentum as the friction of its Swiss cheese hull lit atmospheric particles ablaze.

I wonder if I’ll evaporate.

The Higby veered again, having come about to travel parallel to the water’s flow, and headed straight for the solid ground bordering the tight squeeze into the river. The moment of collision came, Traax’s heart pounding hard enough to shake the extracellular fluid of her eyeballs, and passed. The ship skidded above stone lip, the force if its near miss igniting an explosion of dust and small rocks, and dropped just far enough into the river gap to bounce off the far wall. Pinging back and forth, PAO whooping all the while, rock shattered and mingled with flaking hull, all of it stewing in thick smoke for a concoction of tasty destruction.

Traax wasn’t quite sure she believed him, but as the duo braced for watery impact, he insisted such maneuvers were absolutely vital to slowing decent enough to survive.

I haven’t been swimming in… Eerie stillness settled over the Kanaaji spy, fanciful visions of the cool, dark, wet homeworld romanticized and expanded to whisk her far from tracking and chasing, crashing and killing.

Impact was less than exciting, and as she watched liquid creep over the deck of the cockpit, she wondered if PAO was watertight.

“Hey! Traax’sol! Stop that!” A little five fingered hand exploded from the small prolate spheroid’s casing and nipped at her armor. All she’d been able to find was a collapsible cooler for snacks. So as he pushed against the soft sides and tried to deflect his body every time she tried to stuff him in, she became aware of the leftovers from lunch. She’d never finished her anchovy sandwich.

And who knew what there was to eat in this horrible little backwater colony. Tossing PAO over her shoulder, she made a grab for the meal. He splashed down and disappeared. Water coursed around her hips, of little concern for the gilled, suited Kanaaji, and she stuffed the sandwich away for later. PAO bobbed in the water, sputtering, of all things, as though he had lungs to inhale moisture into.

“Stop being a baby,” she chided, realizing that she was actually standing on the bulkhead instead of the deck. Damn gravity. “Look what you did to my ship. You know how long I’ve had this thing? Two hundred years, buddy. TWO HUNDRED YEARS. We were united 164 years before you were even a twinkle in your programmer’s eye.”

“Traax, I appreciate your indignation, and my fantastic piloting aside, but perhaps we should plan for the inevitability of someone, perhaps someone we don’t want, finding us?”

“Oh.” The spy glanced around. Water churned everywhere and debris floated by. “Shut everything down. Let’s go for a swim, little buddy.”

Skin around the man’s eye crinkled as he gauged Cithe’s story. It was sweet and simple – they’re refugees. So why did it stunk like beached fish?

“You must not be from around here. Primus Rule states that foreign ships traveling outside of public pathways are to be flagged when roaming. Looking at your Betsy here I’d say you’re from Cerun. Anyone with business important enough to navigate a battle field is no refugee. That hole in your story makes me think you might have killed someone for this girl.” He looked blankly at them, betraying no emotion, not even that of aggression.

The soldiers around him stood as stone, relaxed but on alert all the same.

As he listened to Cithe’s reply he wagged his fingers which sent 4 of the soldiers into a frenzy checking the ship with scanners that bleeped noisily. When the scanners finished one exchanged a nod with his leader and then resumed his place in line with the others.

“You have one more chance to tell me what you’re really doing here before things get complicated.” His nostrils flared slightly as he spoke but still an air of calm emanated from him.






Lex needed to start looking around and the settlement was a good place to start. The place felt like a ghost town, with a lot of ghosts. The faces of the people seemed.. strange, though for Lex this went unnoticed. She was focused.

The place was so warm it was stifling, even in the dying red of the sun as it fell below the horizon line. At a safe distance she had watched the larger vessel scoop up lizard's ship and she had followed it to this pitiful excuse for a civilization. There were only so many rocks to over turn in search of her cold blooded friend, so which one was it.

Lex's throat grew particularly parched in the evening heat and she snaked her way into a hovel like pub. Any crack in the wall could be a place for a lizard to hide and from her previous history with him he seemed to always surface in scrubby places.




She didn't order a drink, such a thing was too risky. She instead slurped up the activity of those around, searching the faces for Cithe's familiar look. Too easy, he won't be out in a place like this. She almost got up to leave when a waiter walked casually by her table, picked up an unattended glass of something coloured orange and simultaneously placed a thin data pad face down. She did not look at her, or act as if Lex was there at all. In a matter of seconds she was gone and Lex left with a new puzzle piece.

"Meet in the ship yard at dawn" was all it read.

Cithe's brow furrowed vexingly. Stop questioning me you bastard, he wanted to say, but he kept his mouth sealed, awaiting the rest of the human commander's accusations.

"Why yes, we are, in fact, not from here. Did you guess that from the look of my ship?" A devious smirk crept on his lips, but the level of patience this man held eluded him. He needed to tread carefully.

With a look that feigned defeat, he addressed the leader, "Clearly we're outmatched, so here's the jist. We're smugglers, transporting medical goods to Thion for support against the invasion. This ship? Sure, I might not have gotten it legally but I didn't kill the poor sap over it. I try to avoid murder, it makes me seem a bit more trustworthy at the very least." He shrugged.

"Might be we got the goods on one of your moons, might also be that we got some of the shit in the cargo, but your ships blasted a hole in the hull and most like they're burned to a crisp. The fault is not ours."

He looked around warily, "Is that enough information for you, sir? Slap us on the wrist and write a permit if need be, but we'd like to be on our way."

The man continued..

"I don't buy a word of that bullcock you just tried to feed me, but so far you don't appear to be dangerous. You look to be a little more than just smugglers though" he purposefully delayed his words to test their patience, "you look like you can fight."

"No, you cannot go quite yet. I happen to be in need of hired muscle and you're going to assist me."

His eyebrows shot up and he grinned at them. "You can call me Hotep."

Silence filled the cargo hold, there was little that could be said or done for Cithe other than to find out what he meant by hired muscle.

"Come with me" he simply said, and led them out of the large ship door that leaned open behind them. The soldiers closed around them from all sides as they walked down the ramp and onto the dusty floor of Yuris.