2. Tyrxie

Chapter 2

Tyrxie

Arrival

W iping my forehead with the back of my hand causes me to recoil as I’ve just smudged myself with thick greasy oil and void knows what else.

Lovely.

I’m elbow deep in the guts of my adopted home, the intrepid floating bucket of bolts and patched arcweave which has the misfortune of being attached to a hyperdrive engine.

The Mutalisk’s Hammer.

A horrible name. Like comparing an Elerium core engine to a hypospanner, or znat to a Glaseroid or well... A run-down jumped-up transport vessel to a mutalisk, a terror of space travel.

“The repairs go well? Yes?” Job, or maybe it is Mod’s, voice startles me, causing me to thumb the familiar and comforting knife that never leaves my side. One of many.

I’ll never be without one again.

It must be Job, repeating his favorite word “Yes.” It’s hard to tell the two Glaseroids apart. They are twins, but they claim to have two hundred and twenty-five identical siblings. Glaseroids are an egg lying species so it’s possible they speak the truth.

“You’re the engineer, Job!” I protest as I wave my wrist console around to provide light in this cramped, dark tunnel nestled beneath a gangway, deep in the bowels of the ship. I struggle to remove a panel, revealing polysynth boards. “It should be you jammed down here.”

Job remains unfazed. “My antennae get stuck,” he complains in his usual quick and high-pitched tone. I’m not convinced Glaseroids have empathy. “You almost as small. You repair. Yes?”

Is ‘no’ an option? Silly question. The answer is obvious. I’m the lowest-ranking and least experienced crew member aboard Mutalisk’s Hammer. They officially designated me as part of the maintenance crew, which translates to doing all the shit jobs that no one else wants to do.

I squeeze further into the opened-panel, struggling not to choke on the dust which carpets the small enclosure. Examining the polysynth boards is awkward as my hands and head are restricted in this tight space.

At least Job stayed onboard with me. The rest of the crew almost tripped over themselves in their haste to explore this planet, Klendathor. I know next to nothing about it other than giant, aggressive warrior males inhabit it. That was enough information for me to stay far away.

I’m safe here, plenty of places to hide.

Unlike that night two years ago. Even now the memory causes me to shudder with rapid breaths. I was in my bunk on this very ship, awoken by rough hands and hungering animistic growls, grasping and tearing at my clothes. I screamed and screamed, but no one came. Only when I clawed and sunk my teeth into the attacker’s hands with a desperate, terrible fury did they relent which allowed me to escape and hide for days in the cargo hold.

Which one of these bastards was it?

I’ll never know, but I’ve made damn sure they all know I sleep with knives and I’ll cut any attacker who tries again. Everything was tolerable when I was younger until my body changed. I grew taller, developed these... breasts, and my hips widened. Not to mention the periodic bleeding that’s hard to conceal. It felt like it happened overnight, as the males began to look at me with hungry eyes. All because of some stupid lumpy bits—a curse that still haunts me.

Better to remain unseen.

“Polysynth boards aren’t supposed to melt, right?” I inquire as I run my hand over the fused and twisted circuits. “Ouch!” Scolding pain burns my finger. “Voiding thing!” I shout, sucking my now swollen, red fingertip.

“No, very bad. You remove and bring me? Yes?” Job demands, ignoring the fact the board just scorched me.

I take out my hypodriver, set it to the broad mode, then wedge it into the baseboard which attaches it to the larger components. I’m sure this violates every safety regulation, but that’s never stopped us before.

Click,

The polysynth board flies out under my straining to land amidst the dust. With my thermal dampener rag, I grasp it by its corner like it’s a poisonous creature. I squirm back through the narrow tunnel like a bug through soil towards Job. His spindly limbs reach down through the grating, taking the item for inspection.

Maybe it was Job who attacked me?

I just about make out Job standing over me through the slits above as he places three of his limbs to his flat head. “Hmm.” in turns the item over with his other hand, peering through his magnifying goggles. “Repairable. Yes!” he exclaims, reaching for one of his tools at his belt.

But Glaseroids are a small species. My attacker was stronger and bigger than me. At least it felt like that when I pushed against their iron grip and thick hands. Job and Mod are even smaller and frailer than me, a...

Whatever I am.

No one can or will tell me what species I am. Not my crew, not the aliens aboard stations and not the species on other planets. It’s like some cruel joke everyone is in on and I’m the punchline.

I’m different.

Captain Kaanus claimed he rescued me from some slavers during a daring boarding operation, where he and the crew liberated the captives. I was the youngest and strangest of the bunch, with no parents, so he took me in and raised me on this ship ever since I was the height of his knee. I used to trust Kaanus; he’s the closest thing I have to a family. But then he became increasingly possessive and aggressive toward me.

“Done,” Job declares, as showers of sparks snap with a buzzing sound while he puts his engineering tool away. “Here, you put back. Yes?” I reach up, squeezing my fingers through the grate to clutch the repaired polysynth board.

I tsk, looking at the object. “Job, this is still melted!” I protest, running my hand over the twisted and discolored board.

“It works, you see. Yes?” Job assures, wavering his six skittering arm limbs and gesturing towards the ship’s panel.

I turn around with much difficulty, almost squashed in this compact space. “No wonder things keep breaking around here,” I grumble under my breath.

Job must have heard me as he responds. “Resources very scare,” he calls out after me as I continue to crawl on my belly towards the open panel. “You speak to Captain. You convince him to buy new parts. Yes?”

New ship more like.

I scoff at his words. There seems to be a misunderstanding among the crew that our Captain has a soft spot for me... Maybe he does, but then why am I crawling on my belly through a disgusting old gangway tunnel then?

He won’t let me leave.

I recall asking the large Argorian Captain for leave so I could search for my species, unsure if my unknown people even have a home planet or if there are any others like me. He had scared me then, not for the first time. His scaled face twisted with rage, accusing me of being ungrateful, screaming that he should have sold me off instead. The shock of his outburst sent me running with tears in my eyes, and even now it twists my stomach in knots.

Better not to ask.

But I can’t stop thinking about it. Is there a home for me among the stars? Away from all this grime, filth, dangerous journeys, and desperate battles? Somewhere safe. I close my eyes, almost picturing a bright warm sun overhead and fresh non-recycled air through my black hair, the sound of animals rather than the low dim of a shaky engine, lush vegetation and clean water over rolling hills...

“You expired? Yes?” Job interrupts my pleasant thoughts, as I can just make out the low tapping of his impatient foot-like appendage on the gangway. I sigh, as I place the polysynth board with steady hands back into its slot, bracing for it to burn my fingers again.

Click,

Did it work? I peek open an eye, seeing no change or sizzling fingers, surprised at the result. Turning again, I make the agonizing crawl through the tunnel back to Job. The blue glow of Job’s wrist console highlights his flat, narrow features. “Excellent, APRS functional,” he says with a hint of satisfaction. “Faster next time. Yes?” He scolds.

I’d like to see him move faster through here! Our entry into Klendathor damaged the Atmospheric Pressure Resistant System, or APRS. Job made the terrifying statement that if the APRS had given out a few seconds earlier, we would have all been cooked to cinders. But now we can rest easy knowing that a half melted polysynth board stands between us and a fiery death.

Maybe it’d be a mercy?

Crawling to the open grate, I extend a grimy hand towards Job, hoping for his help to pull me back up onto the gangway. He scoffs, his beady bug eyes narrowing. “Much work to be done. Yes?” he mutters before scurrying off toward the engineering quarters, grumbling about, “dirty mammaloid hands.”

Gazing at my hands covered up to the elbow in dirty grime and dust, it’s hard to blame the Glaseroid. With a resigned sigh, I make my way towards the crew quarters, eager to scrub off this filth that clings to me with a stubbornness like it’s part of me.

I am filthy.

The heavy hydraulic hissing of the docking hatch catches my attention. The other crew members must be returning. I hasten my steps, hoping to finish my shower before any can find me, naked and vulnerable. They should be busy loading the cargo hold for trade.

I must be quick. I jog into the crew quarters as the gray arcweave door whizzes open at my approach. My heart pounds in my chest as my trembling hands pull off my heavy, reinforced boots. Almost stumbling in my hurry, I hop through the cramped room full of bunks with floor littered with discarded clothing and other random junk. Adding my boots to the cluttered collection.

I move towards the narrow white door nestled in the back. It opens at my approach, revealing a tiny room with an adjustable toilet, mirror and many shower nozzles embedded into the polished arcweave walls. Not for the first time, I wonder how someone like Quad, with his bulk or the towering Triandale can fit here comfortably.

Maybe it was one of them.

I struggle to peel off my dirty, once-white shirt, as it clings to my skin with dampness and grunge. Next, I remove my simple brown trousers. They drop with a heavy thud ladened with many pockets full of rags, hypodriver, hypospanner, knives and other tools needed for the jobs I get assigned.

Thumbing my large knife handle, I feel the reassuring weight of my pistol that rests in my belt holster. A pang of anxiety tightens my chest as I unbuckle and set it aside. I feel more exposed without my weapons than I do without my clothes. Staring at my reflection in the dirty mirror, I strip off my black underpants, greeted by pale white skin denied any sunlight, marred with dirt. Untidy hair as dark as the void of space frames, green eyes lost and afraid. I poke at my exposed ribs, and the fleshy breasts that draw so much unwanted attention, feeling the stiff pink nipples that are hard to hide.

Horrible.

I activate the shower, and I brace myself for the powerful jet’s blast. The familiar gritty substance scours my skin with an abrasive chemical concoction. It’s not pleasant, but it is effective. I rub the tiny particles into my body, watching it cleanse me of the crusted grime and dirt. Water is a scarce resource on the Mutalisk’s Hammer. Some more advanced vessels can fabricate such luxuries, but not this pile of rickety bolts.

I can count on one hand the number of water showers I’ve had, each one a blissful memory of warm, soothing waters flowing through my hair and against my skin with a unique softness. Maybe at the next safe station or planet, I can sneak off to find one. The thought brings a smile to my lips.

I wonder if my home planet has water showers?

Just at the edge of my awareness, I hear... the crew quarter doors whizzing open. It’s hard to tell over the blasting jets of the shower, but my instinct tells me someone’s coming. My hands tremble as my breathing becomes erratic. I’m too exposed here, nowhere to hide! I reach for my black holster with unsteady and frantic hands.

The white shower door slides open, revealing Hyanxa, the Captain’s second-in-command. Despite the sudden intrusion, my shoulders loosen, knowing it’s not a male who has come with their powerful hands and predatory, greedy eyes. But her usual disdain in her golden eyes soon twists into something far more sinister.

Hatred.

It steals my breath. “Found you!” Hyanxa roars, her long-muzzled snarl twisting around the deep scar on her right cheek. She strides toward me, towering almost a head taller.

I squirm into the corner, holding my holster in front like a feeble shield, unsure of what has triggered her anger.

“You little cunt!” Her scream is deafening as her hand crashes across my face so hard it rings my ears and blurs my vision.

Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. Trapped .

“Hyanxa, I didn’t do anything, please!” I beg. Already feeling the stinging, throbbing ache of her slap.

“Didn’t do anything! I see the way you look at Kaanus,” she snarls, revealing sharp fangs, shaking with fury and adrenaline. “I won’t let you take him from me! You understand, little slave whore?” Her sharp nail digs into my ribs, causing me to flinch with pain.

I try to push past her, my eyes already streaming tears, revealing my fear and terror. Her short brown furred hand shoves me with force into the corner, jolting my head. I grasp for the knife in my holster, knowing that hurting her will result in getting kicked off the ship or worse, but hoping it will frighten her.

“Go on, try it,” Hyanxa taunts, her fangs glinting in the dim light. “I want you to,” she smirks, a cruel twist on her muzzled face. I lower my holster with downcast eyes, defeated, knowing I’m powerless to stop her. “That’s what I thought, you little znat cunt.”

She straightens, brushing a lazy hand through her long red hair as her golden eyes sweep over my body. “If I catch you so much as looking at Kaanus again.” Her hand shoots out, pinching my nipple with cruel precision, making me yelp in pain. “I’ll have you sold off to the cheapest pleasure house in Terminus Exile Station. They’ll line up to take turns breeding you for a few credits a go. You might even enjoy it, being a dirty whore,” she smiles, a sadistic gleam in her eyes, as she twists my nipple hard and sharp. I scream, the agony piercing my mind forcing me to my knees.

“Remember what I said,” Hyanxa warns, her voice now calm. She stalks out of the shower room, leaving me crumpled and broken, my shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I did nothing, I did nothing! Why does she hate me?

I am a stupid little cunt. Why did I risk the shower? I should have known better!