Chris pauses – my words hitting home.
I continue: “See how calm those Aurelians down there are? Working on that Reaver? They’re not even worried about us – and probably with good reason.” I nod at the pistol Chris is clutching – it would look like a child’s toy in the enormous mitt of an Aurelian. “None of us is getting off this ship with a weapon.”
Chris’s eyes narrow. He really doesn’t like being told what to do, even when he knows it’s right. He’s just lucky his other qualities have so far compensated for his rebellious nature – but that might change today.
I have no intention of getting killed or raped because Chris can’t follow a Gods-damned order – and I can practically see the wheels in his head turning as he figures whether pride or survival should take precedence. The fate of my crew is hanging in the balance.
After a moment’s thought, Chris snarls – but reluctantly puts the gun back, just like I’d prayed he would. Thankfully, he knows the ship is only as strong as it’s chain of command – and if he stands up to me now, before we’ve even landed on the deck, he’ll be fracturing that chain; turning this from a team effort into a free for all.
We have to do this as a team. It’s the only chance we’ll get – and every team needs a leader. In this instance, that’s me. The six souls who crew the Wayward Scythe are my responsibility – from Theme, the green recruit, to the grizzled veterans like Chris and Sawoot.
Now that debate is over, I turn back to the controls. I press the responder again. There must be a captain on this ship, and I need to find out what he wants from us. Perhaps we’re lucky, and we got brought on board for some benevolent reason – like protection from those Toad ships that had been pursuing us.
However, there’s no answer through the comms-link.
Inwardly, this waiting game is grating on my nerves. Outwardly, I’m stoic. Calm, cool, and patient – those are the traits I project, all for the benefit of the men and women under my command.
“There! Look!”
Sawoot points through the screen again.
Up above us, a set of doors on the upper level of the loading bay slide open. A lone Aurelian saunters through. That makes four of them – the three working on the Reavers, and this new arrival.
It’s unusual - their species normally operate in threes. They do everything in threes – from fighting to fucking. Sawoot jokes that Aurelians even go to the bathroom in a trio.
So, what’s this loner doing up there?
My mind races. Maybe he lost his battle-brothers in combat – in the endless war the Aurelian Empire seems to be waging against the Scorp, or during a space battle against pirates or insurgents.
That would make sense – this massive warship is pockmarked and pitted from las-blasts and explosions. I’d got a good look at a legion of old wounds burned into the hull while the Wayward Scythe was being sucked into the loading bay by the tractor beam. These guys have obviously seen a lot of combat.
The lone Aurelian strides down the stairs, walking with a swagger that puts me on edge. I can see even from here that this towering alien has a massive ego and a chip on his shoulder.
He’s clad in light power armor – a customized ensemble unlike the more utilitarian armor that Aurelians typically wear into combat. In fact, this set of armor looks like it was designed more to show off the Aurelian’s impressive biceps than actually protect him – although the hilt of the Orb-Sword hanging at his hip is probably all the protection he needs.
Instead of a helmet and visor to keep his head and face protected, as most Aurelians wear when they go up against Scorp or pirates, this warrior is bare-headed – with a full scalp of wavy, brown hair falling lazily down to his chin.
This stranger’s got better hair than Sawoot or I do – like a damned shampoo commercial from the holo-vids. Irrationally, that just makes me more annoyed at him.
The lone figure strides towards the Wayward Scythe as our ship is gently lowered to the deck. By the way he walks, and from that ostentatious outfit, I assume this stranger is the captain of whatever vessel kidnapped us.
The Aurelian Captain eventually comes to a halt twenty feet in front of our ship. We can see him clearly through the view screen – his hands behind his back, and his massive chest puffed outward.
Cocky bastard.
I glance down at the controls. If I diverted power to weapons, we could burn that marble-white, handsome face clean off the Aurelian’s skull before he could even react.
He must realize that too – but he stands there fearlessly. I assume he knows that killing him would be suicide. His death would guarantee our own – or worse.
Making the stranger’s arrogance even more infuriating, the Aurelian reaches one hand from behind his back and gestures to us through our cockpit screen. He doesn’t even give us the courtesy of opening a comms-link. He merely curls his long fingers towards us, motioning us to leave the ship.
“Is this guy for real?”
Sawoot’s words have lost the edge of terror that had filled all our voices during that breakneck escape from the Toads. Now, she’s looking down at this towering, haughty alien as if…
…well, as if he’s a completely different species.
For a second, I ponder our options. That’s all it takes to realize we don’t have any.
“Everyone out!” I bark, pressing the button to open the hatch.
I go through it first, descending onto the metal loading deck. I’m the Captain of this vessel – even if the crew of the Wayward Scythe number only six – so it’s my responsibility to face our captor.
I lead the crew from our ship – my head held high, and my
