LF Friends, Will Travel

Michael was a Ritilian, a bipedal Lizard-like species standing around 4ft tall and covered with a pattern of green and blue iridescent scales. The third to hatch from a bundle of five, the name was chosen because his mother liked the sound of the Terran word. Michael. Exotic and exciting, the syllables whispered the chaos and insanity of the Terrans themselves. It meant “Leader of angels”, a religious entity that seeked out evil and destroyed it where it was found.

Which was all rather ironic and lost on Michael, since the name did not match his personality. No, the Ritilian liked order, liked building things and putting them together. Contrary to his chaotic Terran name, he went into the ordered studies of Maths, Science and then eventually Engineering.

He was smart. Not a genius: he wasn’t good enough to get a place on a Scythen research vessel, god knows Michael had tried. But he was reliable, decent, and hard working. Someone you could have a good intelligent conversation with, but wasn’t going to revolutionise every field of study he touched.

Michael worked on the “Curious Hatchling”, a research vessel focused mainly on the study of black holes. His job was to make sure that all the “move the ship forwards” parts carried on doing that, and didn’t turn into “explode the ship into a fine mist” parts. He was good at it, quietly decent at his job, enjoying his time he spent year after year with the rest of the crew.

Sometimes he did wish there was a bit more excitement though. Sure, he’d carved out his own piece of the galaxy, had a mate back at home and was overall a happy person. But the days turned to weeks turned to months, and compared to the exciting stories he read as a child of the galactic community, it was all a bit… mundane.

Somewhere a god called Murphy laughed its evil laugh.

Today was a standard day, it was maintenance day. It was always maintenance day. Very rarely on a spaceship did big interesting things happen, instead lots of small boring things needed to be done, which if not done in a timely manner turned into big scary dangerous things. Today was lubricants, opening up various pieces of machinery and making sure the various fluids and oils that ensured the piece of metal didn’t grind to a halt or burst into flames were all topped up.

It was boring, monotonous work, as Michael couldn’t help but let his mind wander as he lay there, crouched in a awkward position on the bridge of the ship; slowly dismantling and then checking the machine in front of him. This current trip would be over in a few weeks, then he’d get to see Ravoon.

The one negative of travelling the stars was being away from her for so long. He’d have to look into getting a more stable job, one that didn't end with him flying across the galaxy. Wasn’t as exciting, but then again his scales weren’t as soft as they used to be, everyone eventually needed to settle down.

The power plant was always hiring, wasn’t it?

“What in the five streams is a Raha ship doing out here?”

Michael was ripped out of his thoughts of future futures as the captain spoke. He couldn’t really see him, stuck with his head under a mass of hydraulics and machinery, but he could still hear the sound of the kindly figure.

“I’m not sure sir, they seem to be dead in the water though. Leaking Warp plasma all over the place. It’s a miracle they haven’t already exploded.”

The second voice was the head of navigation and communications. Michael never really interacted much with her, but still could recognize her voice.

“Any response to our hail?”

“None, but communications are all scrambled due to a local solar storm, flares are messing with anything stronger than a flashlight. Probably what caused their trouble.”

There was a pause, Michael could imagine the captain thinking for a moment before responding.

“Law of safe harbour applies. We can ask them what they are doing this deep into Terran Alliance space after they’re not likely to imminently explode.”

There was one constant among almost all sapients, no matter what alliance or species you hailed from, there was a near universal fear of dying slowly in the vast emptiness of space. Even before anyone made it to space every culture had its own version. The Terrans had maritime law, the Raha had the law of the desert plains.

The accepted agreement was no matter who you were, even if the guy on the other end was your hated enemy, if you found someone stranded in the depths of space you offered assistance. Nobody wanted to slowly starve on a ship with no engines.

Michael inwardly gave a groan. That would probably be his job, to see what damage the flares had done to the Raha ship. Just what he needed, to spend some time with the creepy insect slaving assholes.

Almost on cue his personal GalNet connector lit up with a request to make his way to the docking bay. Slowly the Ritilian put away his tools and returned the device he was working on to functioning order. He was in no hurry to get to where he needed to go, instead choosing to amble along at a leisurely pace, his thoughts wandering once again to his off shore leave.

He was looking forward to seeing Ravoon again, it had been too long this time. The way her eyes sparkled in that unique way when she told a joke, that special way her tail flicked when she got flustered. It really was time to settle down, wasn’t it?

The sound of screams brought Michael out of his thoughts with a jolt. He stopped still as confusion wracked through his brain. It echoed through the halls: screams of pain, plasma bolts, and three bangs as loud as thunder as he stood there in confusion.

Then another crew member rounded the corner in front of him, the Ritilian scrambling and running past him with a wild fear in his eyes. Michael stared dumbfounded until the further sounds of footsteps signified a larger group of crew members heading in his direction.

This group however was chased by barrages of plasma bolts zooming from an unknown origin, the shots streaking after the fleeing Ritilians. He watched one hit a straggler in the back, the unfortunate researcher collapsing to the ground, unmoving.

It was then that Michael decided it was a good idea to start running as well.

—---------------

“Code red, we are under attack by the Raha, I repeat we are under- AGHHH”

The voice over the PA was cut off with a scream of pain and the sound of gunfire. Alarms blared through the ship as chaos and panic reigned. There were plans for pirates and plans for other emergencies, but no plan for a literal battalion of Raha boarding the ship and indiscriminately killing anyone they found. Some tried to fight back, others tried to surrender. Most tried to bunker down, only to find their doors ripped open with plasma torches and door jams. All of them only found a grisly end to barrages of plasma weaponry.

Michael had spent his time running, desperately trying to make his way back to the bridge. Logically the most secure area of the ship would also be the safest. He was exhausted, his lungs burned and his legs ached, but he knew he couldn’t stop. The sound of insect legs and gunfire, the smell of plasma and burning flesh, those told him that slowing down for even a moment would be his death.

Michael's brain almost couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Just fifteen minutes ago he’d been day dreaming and just enjoying another uneventful day, fifteen minutes ago he’d just been thinking of finally seeing his mate again. How had everything turned to chaos so quickly?

Michael slammed into the door to the bridge as he rounded another corner through the corridors, desperately spending a few moments trying to get the thing open, before forlornly realising that the captain and whoever was still in there had already sealed it shut. He was most obviously trapped between this door and the incoming Raha.

No no no no no no no!

He could hear the sounds of fighting and shouting getting louder behind him, the only reason the Raha weren’t here already was their meticulous checking of every corner of the ship to ensure their slaughter was complete. Michael desperately looked around for a hiding place, anything, before spotting a possibility, a removable piece of the wall, used mainly for maintenance. Quickly the Ritilian ripped a tool off his belt, using it to removing the bolts that held the panel in place, before looking at the small gap in front of him.

Unlike what movies will tell you, ships do not have sprawling networks of maintenance tunnels for good guys to crawl around in. It would be a waste of space, something that’s ironically a bit of a premium on a spacecraft. But you still needed to have access to various machines in order to replace them. So most panels could be moved and provided you with enough room to get a good angle or two for tool usage on important machinery. This was one such space, allowing access to the fun little display screen that announced the room in front of them was the bridge.

He wouldn’t be able to bolt the panel behind him, and he would have to squeeze very tight and think very small thoughts, but it might be a place to hide.

It was better than nothing.

He squashed himself into the small space, painfully shoving his head into a strange position as he tried to slot the panel back in place behind him. It wouldn’t fit, his tail refused absolutely to fill the non existent space. He slammed it again, harder this time, painfully feeling the jolt go all the way up his spine. One more go as the noises of the approaching Raha got louder, this time he felt his tail painlessly detach with a feeling of relief. A evolutionary trait for a now extinct predator allowed him to click the panel back into place, leaving only a small piece of himself behind.

He literally couldn’t move an inch, and all he could see was a small portion of the hallway in front of him through one of the missing bolt holes; hopefully he was hidden, hopefully they wouldn't find his hastily created hiding place. Raha started to fill the hallway in front of him: ten, then twenty, then thirty. all heavily armed and less than a few inches away from the Ritilian hiding in the walls. Michael dared not to breathe, and tried to think silent thoughts.

The literal army in front of him seemed to be waiting for something, standing to attention and looking back the way they came. Eventually a final Raha made his way forwards, one that seemed to emanate authority and cruelty, one that held a large Terran kinetic weapon in one hand, a Raha covered in Ritilian blood.

“Oh bright one, we have cleared the rest of the vessel. Only the bridge remains.”

“Breach it.”

Michael was confused. The only way you could get through that door is if you had some serious equipment, salvage level plasma cutters and-

The smell of plasma filled the air, followed by the sounds of metal burning and screeching. Michael couldn’t see what was happening from his position, but he could hear it as loud as day.

Then came the gun fire and more screaming, more shouting, a cacophony of noise that Michael could only squeeze his eyes shut against to try and block out the sound. Eventually it quietened down again, only the sound of Raha footsteps along the spaceship’s floor.

“Why, why are you doing this. What do you want?”

It was the sound of the captain, a stilted and gurgling voice of a deathly injured Ritilian.

“We need your ship and your Terran Alliance security codes. Nothing more. You were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The loud bang of a kinetic weapon fired out once more, and then there was truly silence.

—-----------------------

It had been hours. Michael’s body ached as he literally couldn’t move around in the compartment he found himself in. He couldn't leave, as there was always a Raha on the bridge at all times, someone who would hear or see him leave this hiding place. The Ritilian didn’t have a plan, he didn’t have any way out, all he could do was lay there squashed in his current position and hope that something came up.

Please let me survive this, please let me see Ravoon again. I’ll never step foot on another spacecraft and I’ll get the most boring job imaginable.

Still he wasn’t sure how long he could physically last in this position, literally feet away from certain death

“Oh Bright one, we have detected the trail of “A Shining Star”, but it is not at our current destination.”

The discussion was happening in front of Michael, the Raha with the kinetic weapon that seemed to be the leader of this travesty was being spoken too by another Raha.

“Make no change, my source is never wrong.”

“But bright one, surely we should go after where we know for sure they are instead of chasing rumours?”

Michael couldn’t see the leader's reaction, could only hear the silent pause and then the response.

“Take half the forces and chase this lead. If Int’ch wills it then the glory will be yours. Now go and-”

Michael couldn’t see the Raha leader suddenly stop talking and bend down, suspiciously investigating the tail the Ritilian had left behind. He couldn’t see him studying the surroundings, noticing the bolts that had been left scattered on the floor. He did however feel the panel hiding him get wrenched away, the sudden release causing Michael to tumble to the ground

“Oh god please, don’t kill me!” The Ritilian pleaded as the Raha leader pointed the kinetic weapon directly at his head. There was almost a look of pity on the otherwise cruel insect features of his soon to be murderer.

“That’s unfortunate”

Michael was a Ritilian, the third to hatch from a bundle of five, his name was chosen because his mother liked the sound of the Terran name. The last thought he had was of his mate Ravoon and how he wanted to see her one last time.

Right before those thoughts were splattered across the wall behind him.