7. Xandor

Chapter 7

Xandor

Tool for the job

T he tiny human female dashes away, leaving me wide eyed and shocked. Her straight, shoulder length black hair bounces with each tiny footstep, making almost no noise. “She’s even smaller than Rocks,” I whisper, glancing at the pistol I took from her. The weapon is minuscule in my hand as I inspect it before tucking it into my belt. It’s amusing she thought something as pathetic as this could stop me.

With a sigh, I march towards the mess hall, my mind full of questions and plagued by boredom. Only our first day on the Mutalisk’s Hammer and already I can’t wait to leave. The tight and restricting confines of the rooms and corridors are maddening, and the ship is so tiny I must have explored every room a dozen times by now. It was this boredom that prompted me to search for the mysterious remaining crew member, Tyrxie. But I never imagined I’d find a human.

Like a fun game of sorts, it didn’t take me long to figure out she uses the gaps beneath the gangways to travel unseen. A few grates loose here, some bolts missing there and fingerprints smudging dirt painted a picture that was easy to follow, except for the reason. That was until I saw her soft pale, bruised face, with the sad green eyes. The poor female is full of fear at the obvious mistreatment she is suffering.

My heavy boots echo through the corridor as I near the mess hall. Examining my hand, I notice a tiny slice along my skin where the feisty little human cut me. A touch more strength and she would have broken the skin. While I have sympathy for the girl, her volatile nature is also a danger, especially in a ship such as this. All it takes is one unstable person at the bridge controls to vent us all into space. Even my Klendathian strength wouldn’t save me.

The mess hall whizzes open to reveal Noroth and Logarn seated at the tiny metal tables and chairs eating from polymer bowls. The absence of the crew members is becoming apparent, because no matter what room we enter, it soon becomes just us. “You get the sense we’re not welcome?” I ask the pair.

Logarn remains silent as he eats his paste like food with a steady rhythm. Noroth grunts, “Not me. That female's eyes follow me,” he responds, as he turns over a spoon that’s much too small, full of gray mush with a look of contempt etched on his face.

“Who? Tyrxie?” I inquire, wondering if Noroth had also been hunting her.

“No, the Jungarian,” he answers, before shoveling a spoonful of paste into his mouth, his expression turning sour. “They feed us shite!” he splutters, slapping his hands on the table, almost rocking it sideways. “Going from the finest meat in the universe to this crap.”

“It can’t be that bad,” I protest as I take a spoonful of the runny, lumpy glop and shoving it into my mouth. A sour burst of soggy soil-like taste assaults my senses as I struggle not to splutter the way Noroth had. “Tastes like how the mold in my kitchen smells,” I shudder, tossing the spoon back into the bowl as if it’s a vipertail.

A moment of silence occurs except for the slurping sounds from Logarn. Noroth and I exchange a look before we both turn to stare at him, disbelief painted on our expressions. “How can you eat this stuff?”

Logarn’s eyes switch between us as he continues, undeterred. “Adequate nutrition,” he states his voice monotone, as he devours more of the horrible stuff.

“Adequate nutrition is the Scythian jelled rations, but this stuff,” I gesture to Logarns bowl. “Is an offense to the Gods.” I shake my head. Two weeks of this gruel. Why didn’t I bring more supplies? Although, If I my memory serves, the cargo hold contained crates full of borack meat. For five hundred thousand credits, the Captain might not miss a few...

The mess hall door slides open, interrupting my delicious plotting. A Glaseroids stands frozen, his eyes darting around with frantic motion, his goggles twitch below his antennae. “Giant mammaloids. Very bad. Yes?” He turns, with limbs flailing.

“Mod, is it?” I ask, shooting my hand to grasp his fragile exoskeleton shoulder before he can scurry off.

“I’m Job. Yes?” he corrects, as I usher the tiny Glaseroid who is half my height back into the mess hall.

“Yes, you are my little friend,” I confirm as I place him on a seat at our table. He shudders and squirms the closer he gets to Noroth, who peers at him like he’s the one responsible for his disgusting food. “Here, eat your fill,” I offer, sliding Noroth’s bowl of slop toward him.

Job’s beady eyes dart between me and the food as I sit facing him in an undersized chair. “Most... Gracious. Yes?” he retrieves a metal canister from his jacket, and I watch in disgust as he pours some squirming larva creatures into the bowl. “Mod harvests these. Most delicious. You try? Yes?” he offers to Logarn.

The blond-haired youngster reaches with a spoon until I clutch his arm. “Don’t eat that, Logarn,” I say, my voice stern. Job shrugs his shoulders before tucking into his writhing meal, the plump wriggling white creatures disappearing down his mouth opening.

Noroth rises as if prodded by a spear, his face a little pale. “I’m going for a piss.” The broad barrel of muscle exits the room with haste. I suppress a laugh watching the indomitable Klendathian struggling with some bugs, some bigger than others...

“Job, tell me about Tyrxie,” I question, curious to learn more about the human and what has befallen her.

Job’s antennae rotate on his head, the implications unclear. Voiding Glaseroids. “Tyrxie, female mammaloid, fleshy bits, sneaky, slow maintenance. Yes?” he returns to his food once again, as if his answer is enough.

“How long has she been a member of the crew?” I ask, keeping my voice steady. Is it possible the human was snatched from Earth after Krogoth’s proclamation, but the Captain held on to her?

“Fourteen years, three months, and five days. Yes?” job responds, his slurping punctuates his answer. How is this possible? No species had shown any interest in Earth or humans until Astraxius’ discovery.

Scratching my head, Job chimes in. “You seek mate? Yes?” his bug-like eyes study me as he continues. “Captain, sell her, yes?”

“No,” I respond without hesitation.

“Mammaloid mating behavior strange. Yes?” Job offers, as he leans forward as if he’s studying me under a lens.

She’s been on this ship since early childhood. How did she get here?... Unless. “Does Captain Kaanus engage in slaving?” I ask, my voice cool. It’s not unheard of for desperate mercs to shame themselves, turning to slavery, snatching primitive species from their homes.

Job flinches back at my question, his antennae and arm limbs becoming animated. “I here after Tyrxie. No slaving. Yes?” he explains, as I let out a frustrated sigh. Job either doesn’t know or won’t say.

Leaning back in my polymer chair, it bends and creaks under my weight. “Who’s been attacking her? She claimed she bumped her head while helping you,” I inquire, glaring at Job, searching for any hint of deception.

“She unswollen during work. But she often swollen. Yes?” Job continues slurping from his unappetizing bowl, before adding, “Mod, treat her. Why you care?”

Why do I care? Is it because she’s a human? Her life is harsh and full of pain, true, but the universe can be merciless and such tales are not uncommon. Did I endeavor to discover the history behind every one before? No, but why does her situation stir something within me now? Is it mere curiosity, or is it basic lust that drives me? Yet I do not feel its savage pull.

It must be the boredom.

The sound of a warning alarm interrupts my thoughts, screeching throughout the ship. Job almost leaps out of his seat, spilling his meal, as I tap Logarn, a signal to follow me. Wasting no time, we march towards the bridge. Hardening my mind, I flex my fingers, extending my claws, ready to strike.

A thud echoes behind us, followed by the ship tilting to one side, forcing me to place a steadying hand against the metal corridor. Someone’s attacking the ship, but I can’t hear any energy weapons, a relieving thought. The Mutalisk’s Hammer vibrates, followed by the rhythmic rattle of heavy weapons fire. Are pirates attacking us?

The bridge door slides open, revealing Kaanus seated on the captain’s chair navigating the ship with frantic movements, his female Hyanxa screaming instructions over the screeching warning sirens. The Gorglaxian Triandale hand’s move in a flurry over the holographic weapons systems, his tentacles fluttering of their own accord.

Another thud rocks the ship, shaking the floor beneath our feet. Hyanxa yells as the impact throws her to the ground with a crash. Triandale clutches onto his terminal for support. “What’s the situation?” I demand, standing firm. My eyes are drawn to the dazzling central control projection, which fills me with a sense of urgency. Shimmering in tiny blue, it shows our ship being chased by the squirming mass of sinewy tendrils and writhing limbs,

“Seems the Mutalisk wants his cock back,” I jest, but my voice hasn’t a drop of humor. This situation is dangerous. Grave, in fact. A Mutalisk, a colossal monstrosity which lurks amidst swirling clouds of interstellar dust and the shimmering tapestry of stars, awaits victims for its insatiable hunger. This close to one, we have no hope of escaping.

“Ceasefire!” I roar over the cacophony of thuds, bangs, and siren blurring. “You’re only pissing it off.” Arc cannons could do some damage to a Mutalisk enough to deter it, but these rail guns and warheads will not penetrate its nightmarish fusion of tough hide and celestial elements.

“Do you propose we let it eat us?” Kaanus shouts, his voice laden with strain and panic, with his back still turned towards me. The sight of his plasma rifle draped over his chair gives me an idea.

“I will face it,” I declare, already, my adrenaline and Rush stoke and roar within me. “Open the docking hatch, deploy the docking fields, and give me your rifle.”

“What are you voiding, crazy?” Kaanus yells over the noise, his hands darting over the holographic controls as another crash and shudder reverberates throughout the ship.

An excellent question.

Not waiting for permission, I leap behind him, recovering his bulky plasma rifle with its nozzle glowing a soft blue haze. Turning to leave, I’m halted by the bridge door sliding open, revealing Job or is it Mod? “Void born. Very bad! No?” his arms and antenna waving in a blur of frantic motion. “I make toxin. No?” his spindly arm trembles as he reveals several vials of red liquid.

“Let me fetch the Venomizer,” Triandale offers with his agonizing slow speech.

“There isn’t time for this,” I protest, storming past the Glaseroid, starting my jog towards the other end of the ship, to face this grotesque, immense bulk of a nightmare that hungers for our flesh.

Another crash almost sends me wheeling backwards as the entire ship vibrates and shudders, the reinforced arcweave groaning under the immense pressure.

Logarn follows close behind, but the image of him charging off the docking hatch into the void of space with murderous glee prompts me to speak. “Logarn, you find Noroth and await further orders.” To my satisfaction, he nods in affirmation as he halts.

Close now, I can hear its slathering maw and whipping writhing limbs lash out against the hull. Equipping my warvisor and activating my arc shield and arc blaster gauntlets as my blood pumps through me like a molten river of boiling plasma. There’s no turning back, only death or glory awaits me now.

Emerging into the cargo hold to behold, the immense gaping slathering chasm filled with row upon row of razor-sharp teeth, each one as long as a spear, its crushing strength capable of rendering arcweave and shattering starships with ease. The docking hatch is open, revealing a precarious view of the void beyond, which looms behind the writing beast. Only the thin barrier of the atmospheric docking shield prevents me from being vented into the merciless vacuum of space.

Wasting no time, I blast bolts of super-heated plasma from my arc blaster and, in my left hand, a barrage from Kaanus’ plasma rifle. The bolts sizzle and distort the very air with the heat of a thousand suns as they crash and melt into the thick plates of chitinous armor that adorn its hide, that shimmers with an eerie iridescence.

The impossible monstrosity vomited from the void roars in pain, spraying drool from its vast maw that freezes into deadly daggers over the area. I dodge the supersonic projectiles leaping behind crates and barrels, that thud and splinter, absorbing the impacts. Despite its wounds, the gigantic creature still latches onto the back of our ship like a bloodsucking monster prepared to die rather than relinquish its victim. Even the immense docking hatch door provides only the merest glimpse of the totality of its colossal body.

The rending and crunching of metal echoes out as the void spawn digs deeper, its maw drawing closer. Leaping out from my cover, I unload another barrage of blue hot steaming death towards the writhing mass as only more molten pain will drive it back into the vacuum of space. The horror must process cunning, as it arrayed sinewy tendrils and twisting limbs within the confines of the cargo hold, whipping and lashing cracks with explosive force.

A thick cord of an iridescent limb hurtles towards me, and in an instant, I turn my arc shield to parry it. Yet still it crashes against me with such brutal strength. I’m propelled through the air, Kaanus’ rifle torn from my grasp. But even with my heart pounding and vision blurred, I unleash more plasma blasts from my arc blaster. The blue scorching balls of molten death bury deep inside its flesh, if flesh is what it processes.

Gobs of sinewy iridescent hide sizzle and sloth off its body, pooling into steaming blue piles. Yet to my dismay the maw draws closer, the monster unstoppable. Its blow carries me crashing into the corner, a jarring impact that rips the air from my lungs, but amongst the writhing cracking chaos, a voice like a beautiful whisper catches my attention.

“Xandor.”

I must be passing onto the ancestors, for nothing so soft and delicate could exist here, in this chaotic nightmare made reality.

“Psst, Xandor,” the voice repeats, tinged with frustration.

Would the ancestors be so impatient?

Blinking to clear my vision that swims with bloodshot-induced floaters, a tiny pale hand reaches through a grate, beckoning like a spirit into the netherworld. Recovering my senses with rasping breaths, I crawl over, mindful of the writhing limbs that thrash and crash through the room in random, senseless directions.

Sad green eyes glint in the darkness, buried within the gangway near the entrance. “Tyrxie? What in the void are you doing here?” I shout over the banging and screeching siren that echoes throughout the ship.

“Here.” Tyrxie’s bruised face is wide eyed and full of fear, due to me or the Mutalisk I can only guess. She pushes against a grate, her tiny form straining until I assist, tearing it from its hinges. “Triandale and Mod made me bring this to you,” her voice trembles as she offers a black lightweight gun loaded with canisters of the vials the Glaseroid had displayed earlier.

Reaching for the weapon, Tyrxie recoils. “Gods, female, I’m trying to save you!” I shout, causing her to stiffen as if stuck before she nods her head with meekness, pushing the gun towards me. Grasping it, I wrap my hand around the undersized grip, fingering the trigger, ready to unleash... whatever this concoction is.

There’re only a few canisters, so I’ll have to ensure each shot counts. Bolstering myself, the Rush surges within me, the burning rage swirls and gathers around my eyes as the golden mist leaks from my warvisor. Time slows as my muscles swell and my focus increases as I prepare once more to confront this nightmare birthed from the void.

Dashing from my cover, the primitive intelligence of the insatiable hunger has prepared masses of boney limbs and wriggling tentacles that shoot towards me. But this time I’m ready, rushing sideways, just in time, avoiding a mass of iridescent death. But before I can straighten, more comes darting from either side, exploding behind as I roll under them.

Nearing the end of the cargo hold, before the atmospheric force field, the eyeless mass twists and turns, angling more of its cord-like appendages to impale me. Planting my feet, I aim my weapon towards the fleshiest area of the Mutalisk before taking a deep breath; I squeeze the trigger.

Click.

Squeezing again.

Click.

Before I can even curse at the traitorous weapon, a chitinous limb smashes into me, causing my arcweave armor to groan and creak under the titanic impact that crashes me into a wall. Pain lances through my body as the force whips my head back, leaving me almost unconscious. The familiar metallic taste of blood dots my tongue as I attempt to suck air through bruised ribs.

The voiding gun doesn’t work! In a panic, I wrestle a vial of the strange liquid from the canister, clutching it in my hand tight. But the cost is high as a writhing tentacle, with its length dotted with sharp bony protrusions, entraps me. It coils tighter and tighter, content to squeeze me to death, causing immense crushing pressure and making me yell out in pain as it forces my armor against me. With a desperate frenzy, I snarl, sinking my fangs into its celestial flesh, tearing chucks out of it.

Devoid of pain, the disgusting offense to nature continues unabated, crushing me as my vision grows darker, unable to breathe, my sinews and bones tremble. With the last of my might, the Rush at its zenith, I strain as my muscles bulge and ripple with teeth clenched; I roar in defiance, pushing and squirming with every drop of strength my ancestors have bestowed upon me.

A minuscule gap opens, a gift, a miracle. Without hesitation, I squeeze my hand through the opening to crush the vial of the strange red liquid into the Mutalisk’s bite wounds. Eliciting a horrific roar that shatters my senses as it writhes and thrashes, it’s obvious pain sweet music to my weary consciousness. Until it tosses me into a wall with incredible speed, like a spent bullet. My mind bursts with agony, my vision darkening.

An abyss of nothingness beckons.