Amye snatches the scanning pad.
Kill him.
“Humid,” Joe notes.
Beads of water form on the walls not covered by the sludge.
Steam hisses, condensing on the cocoon.
Feed him to it.
“Doug, if a monster pops out of that shell, I’m feeding you to it first.” She draws her blaster.
Fuzz circles behind Hauser as he raises his Tibbar killing round-filled weapon.
Outer layers of the green silk melt and drip to the floor. When the shell cracks, Amye jumps. She disguises her startle by stepping back, slapping Doug’s chest with his scanner.
The divot splinters into a chasm of green smoke. Humanoid fingers, each with an extra knuckle, fish out.
“Should we help it?” Doug inquires.
Kill it.
“Egg-birthed creatures must escape on their own in order to be strong enough to survive.”
“It’s not being born,” Joe says.
Amye observes how he keeps one of his four arms in position to draw his short sword.
The hands push against the walls of the cracking shell. The hollow walls fall away, and a mucus-soaked male stands to his stature of five feet.
Amye didn’t expect to encounter an alien species she was familiar with. Despite this one having familiar pointed ears protruding through his flaxen hair, he is unlike any she’s ever encountered. The humanoid has a feminine quality about him. A delicate repose nature with a lower protuberance proves he’s a male.
“He will have to speak in order for the universal translator to decipher his vocabulary.” Doug waves his hand, signaling for Hauser to lower his weapon.
The bounty hunter’s reluctance reflects in Amye’s eyes as she holsters her weapon.
Kill it.
“I don’t know if any of these scans mean he awoke healthy.” Doug taps the scanning pad.
The being rubs its throat.
The gel substance drips away from his skin.
Low-level power hums throughout lamps as the heat evaporates the moist substance. As the man’s skin dries, wings unfurl from his back. The lavish colors and span flutter like a butterfly.
“Shouldn’t we do something for him?” Hauser asks.
“I’m too afraid…Any assistance might induce harm. We know nothing of his anatomy or technology.” Amye knows for sure now she’s never encountered such a species and would bet neither has Australia.
The heating lamps dry the sludge until it cracks. Amye shifts her feet to prevent being concreted in.
As he rubs his throat, a fluttery, higher tone rolls from his tongue. After seconds of undecipherable chatter, he points to the wall next to the control panel.
Hauser smashes the dried membrane with his truncheon. Green shards rain on the floor, revealing a handle. He flips open the latch with one of the truncheon forks. Hermetically sealed pouches of cloth rest inside.
Amye snags one, tossing it to the alien.
He nods in appreciation. Tearing open the bag, he towel dries the remaining moisture on his skin, not bothering to secure the towel around himself in a modest display. Within the larger bag is a second sealed pouch, which he pushes the contents of into his mouth. The squealing chitter raises to a less ear-splintering level.
“How long?” Amye asks.
Doug understands the question. “If it’s an entirely unknown language to the translator system…he’ll have to keep talking for a root vocabulary to construct.”
“How do we encourage him to keep talking?”
“Why would he even stand here before us strangers gawking at him?” Hauser flips his truncheon closed, slipping the cylinder into its hidden security pocket.
“I don’t know what else to try.” Amye shrugs quizzically.
The alien steps from the half-melted pod. His canter reveals strong entropy in his legs. Waving a hand, he invites them to follow. Power whirls to life as he steps from the end of the chamber. The lights flicker to reveal thousands of horizontal and vertical rows of the green pods.
“They must have evacuated the entire planet,” Doug guesses.
“Evacuated over a colony ship?” Amye considers.
“The technological discrepancy feels rushed, not planned,” Doug says.
“I thought Scott was our engineer.”
“I’m not limited to the radio,” Doug snaps.
Kill him. Flip his body over the railing. The splatter at the bottom will be squeegeed up.
Amye’s palm claps Doug’s shoulder. He butts against the rail from the impact.
“How long would you keep talking if your positions were reversed?”
“We’re armed. I’d keep chatting until I could get away,” Doug says.
“You would,” Amye snaps.
“I would be concerned about who we were and why we were on my ship—what we wanted and how to kill us to protect my people.” Hauser fastens the securing strap to keep his weapon in its holster.
“Do you not have any smerth’n light in your life, girl?”
“I don’t see you having much going for you, Doug.”
“I don’t fester in my own self-loathing over events I had no control of.” Doug stands up to Amye’s constant bullying.
“Did you download psychosis into your brain? You simple-minded git.”
“I know you don’t like me. But you’ve not been the same since the crash,” Doug says.
Kill him.
“Reynard being taken by the Sandmen was beyond all our control.”
Kill him.
“If he’s not on Guil III and we didn’t help these people, would you feel bad about it?” Doug asks.
One hand. Your right hand fits around his narrow throat.
“Consider Reynard. He wants to assist people. Liberate the oppressed,” Doug says.
“Shut up, Doug, before I strangle you.” Amye marches from his side. “Do you understand us yet?”
The winged alien gazes quizzically.
“Some of my words are translating. You need to speak more.” Amye nods at Hauser. “Contact the Dragon. We should have Australia actually make the first contact. She’s, like, trained in five hundred languages.”
Hauser slips from the chamber.
“You have to keep speaking,” Irritated, Amye never shifts her tone from anger.
His words finally come across Amye’s ears, “I am Elmar.”
“Your ship’s mass interfered with our navigation. We thought it was derelict.”
“Do you have intentions?” Elmar asks.
Joe towers over the man. “To assist you and leave.”
“Kindness must be repaid.”
THE SLEEVELESS PORTION of the uniform jumpsuit cuts across Scott’s deltoid. The muscle under his skin bulges with each twist and pull of
