“AVI! Plot a course for the Roilla System!” Castor orders into his comm. His heavy boot steps echoing quite loudly within the interior of the briefing room. The heads of their respective portions of the ship began their slow seating arrangements as each pair filled each other in on non-mission details.

His eyes survey the room before him, noting the odd characters filling the in the space within the eight chairs seated around the lighted table. The crew could be cut neatly in two. Where one side held the quiet rumblings of the veteran staff, the other held the boisterous speech of the younger Spacer staff.

The Spacers, even as odd as they might have seemed to the normal crew, had sent their respective ‘leaders’ to listen in for them, inevitably ensuring they have a voice present in briefing. But even that didn’t seem to concern the assembled officers who were already present when the Spacers arrived.

Before long, Castor coughs lightly, to which the ensemble of voices quiet down.

“I know there have been rumors about what we have been tasked with.”

Silence answered his statement, as if wishing for him to continue.

“However, not all of the details you heard were true. Three hours ago, a survey team sent a coded message to Alliance Command from the edges of Wild Space. The code in question requested assistance to transport an Artefact back to Terra. Command, in all its lovely wisdom, thought it would be a good idea to send a transport that came heavily armed and armored if a worst-case scenario happened to take effect. Now that you all know what to expect, thoughts and concerns are appreciated.”

Before he could continue, a hand shot up from one of the few Spacers in attendance.

“Just to clarify, what is Wild Space?” the greenhorn officer asked to the chuckles and rolled eyes of the senior staff.

“Wild Space is the 90% of space within the Neos Galaxy that hasn’t been explored. There have been expansion efforts Right now, all of known inhabited space, notably the boonies and the outer edges of the arms, have been settled by all known Council Species.”

Pulling up a map from the holo-cam in the middle of the table, he takes out a galaxy map and outlines the edges of Wild Space. Everything from the galactic center outward was spread over in a green film, covering the majority, leaving only a tiny ring around the outside free. A number hovered over both the covered and uncovered portions of the map.

1 million parsecs in diameter for the covered portion, 50,000 parsecs on each end for the uncovered. Seeing how the rest of the galaxy was practically open, as the known races skirted the outside parts of the arms, the Spacers grew to understand just how much of Neos they had to explore.

“Any more questions?”

None of the Spacers made a move, except for Dee.

“What is the nature of the Artefact that we are transporting?” she rasps.

“Classified.” Castor states, a quite surprising remark due to his normal behavior towards such matters. Before anything else could happen, everyone within the room felt a slight tremor run through the ship.

“-All hands, brace yourselves-” a cold voice calls through the intercom, “-activating Valkyrie drive-”

With the final statement came the subtle shift of physics around the room. A lurching of motion, everyone within the room who hadn’t done as requested had tumbled to the floor. Most of those being the Spacers seeing as they were unfamiliar with the feeling.

“-FTL achieved. Next real-space transition in 17 hours 20 minutes-”

“You heard AVI. You have the next 5 hours to brief your teams on the files I am sending each of you. The rest will be to get the ship ready for the acquisition of the Artefact. Dismissed.” Castor watches as everyone files out of the room. He reaches up to his face, brushing fingers against the bulky cyberware that fitted his eye with a dark red glow.

So young, he thought watching the Spacers file out of the conference chamber, so young to be taking on the universe.

“-Captain, a word-” AVI says, his emotionless voice reverberating around the room as the last of the officers’ leaves. Castor stands still for a moment before sliding out one of the chairs at the table.

He struggles to place himself within it. When he finally does, a large groan escapes his lips. The kind that happens when one is too tired to do much of anything in their reclining age. The holoprojector from before alights itself to reveal a figure on the table. Not quite sitting, and not quite standing. Its actions were more akin to a lazy child.

“-Captain, you have yet to select a candidate for your First Officer-”

Castor sits in his chair with pensive thoughts rolling through his mind. It was a simple enough statement, yet to the Captain it was anything but simple.

“I know AVI. I know.” Castor huffs. AVI had brought up the one subject that he absolutely abhorred.

“-Sir it would be prudent to have a First Officer should your condition act up again-”

Castor looks at the table, noting the child-like appearance of his ship’s A.I. He had always known his condition would act up at some time in his future. Having combination of a genetic defect and an old wound did nothing to help him in his situation.

“There is no one that I can depend upon to take over the Eudora. None that I know is worthy of the throne.”

“- . . . -”

“If there had been someone from—”

“-Accessing latest crew physiology reports… -” AVI states.

“What are you—”

“-Done. Extrapolating aptitude scores… I have found 2 officers who reach your specifications. -”

“Hold on now AVI,” Castor grimaces, “Don’t start finding—”

“- Tactical Officer Arika Caro and Mercenary Squad Commander–”

“Damnit AVI, frakin’ shut it!” Castor yells, his voice straining as he nearly jumps out of the chair at the holographic child. Silence reigns as the last of his words dissipate into the surroundings.

“Ju-just hold on now…” he pleads, “don’t be so hasty to replace me.”

The child turns to sit on the table. Looking straight into Castor’s eyes, it could see that it had made a mistake in forcing the issue.

“I will hold off on this for now, Captain. But sooner or later you will need to have a First Officer. As such, you have until we reach the contact point with the survey team to choose a suitable First Officer. If not…” AVI slows as a twitch flickers across the man’s face, “…I will be forced to enact Starship Code 12.37.5.”

Pale resignation emanates from the old man. Defeat hung on his shoulders like a slab of meat hung out to dry at a butcher shop.

“You may think this unfair, but at this point it isn’t fair to the crew as well as to my coding. I and the crew require your confirmation of a replacement should you become discharged from the line of duty. As such, I will send you the dossiers on both candidates I believe will be an effective First Officer.” AVI states before blinking out from the table.

Castor sits still. His overly bulky frame from his overused cybernetics painting a vivid picture of a relic past its prime. His eye searches the table, flitting around as if desperately wishing for a reprieve from this situation. An uncomfortable silence drew out the air. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to an hour. All the while, all he could do was try to figure a way out of this. A way that he could still serve the Eudora in the capacity that he had been given from its predecessor.

-She’s a lively one to be sure. Just make sure you keep AVI happy, and everything will be fine. Take care of her for me Lieutenant - that was what his Captain had said before he had passed in the medical ward. The words playing over and over within his mind like an old commcorder stuck at the end of a track.

The fact that he now realized that he needed to be prepared to say something similar to someone else, turned his gut. All he could really do, was prepare them for their inevitable take over. The thought that he had to, wasn’t something he was prepared for. Resigning himself he stands up and grips the table in anger. A single moment before he was forced to go back to work.

“(sigh) Frak it.” He mutters and hobbles out the door.

If there was a word for the feeling that Siha felt, the closest she could call it would be terror. Not fear, nor horror. Plain and brutal terror. It was something that all living beings had to contend with at least one in their lifetimes. It was a reduction of the mental faculties to the point that the senses are overloaded as blinding paranoia force feeds the brain information she didn’t need.

Primal instinct had taken over. Hence the reason for her scrambling to the source of water she had smelt earlier before the winds sudden change in direction. Apparently, this was an area that constantly changed when it came to the energies and winds of nature. As such, she knew everything within a leagues distance around her.

She dashed forward, heedless of the consequences of the Soft Skins’ pursuit. Doubtless they were searching for her with their many vile magiks. All reason had fled her mind as she ran. Even the subtle thoughts of her mother’s last words were but a backdrop within the animalistic tendencies of her mind.

She continued her escape, paying little to no mind to the inconsequential bits of information such as the differing scents of odd flora and fauna past her by. She could feel the Soft Skins’ steadily gaining on her as she flew through the underbrush.

“Flesh release” she says desperately, knowing full well that if she were to have any hope of escaping, she would need to change into her sacred form in order to give her a much needed edge.

Her physical form fades away into traces of light, leaving a faint spectral form in its place. The subtle fluctuations of her spectral form quickly took over the shape of a small pup. The energy, not quite coalescing into the aspect that she inhabited, flew over the brush.

Where once she would bound forward at a healthy sprint, despite her age, now she felt like the Aamai warriors of her people. Bouncing off the massive trees around her, she rocketed toward the body of water that she had sensed earlier.

Shouts of alarm and the shrieks of magiks echoed behind her as she flew through the forest. Despite the increased speed of her sacred form, it made it fairly easy to track her. It wouldn’t be hard to follow her given the flashy nature of such a racial trait.

The only way that she knew to combat this was to undergo the Rite of Rage. Having no pack or tribe to call her own, stunted any chance of this happening.

The shrieking of the Soft Skins vile magiks as they made their way closer unnerved what little of her mind was still hopeful for escape. She could hear them gaining on her despite the speed with which she flew. Each of the throaty growls the magiks made edged a sort of feeling of being hunted by the Thunder Warriors of legend.

Each one loud in the extreme as they crashed through the underbrush. They made no attempt to silence their efforts; and why should they? The Soft Skins weren’t in the habit of taking care of the nature around them. Only getting what they want and getting it quickly was all they cared about.

Despite all this, the wind had changed once again, leaving her with a new scent as it was carried from the water’s edge. Two Soft Skins were running next to the water’s edge. Except that was what she thought at first as the fatigue started slowing her down.

There was one Soft Skin who she could smell as being an elderly man despite his obvious reeking of other pungent smells. The other… she wasn’t so sure of. His scent was different than most, like it was mixed with the magiks that Soft Skins usually employed. But it wasn’t a subtle mix either. It was like someone had taken the time to forcibly meld the two together and hope for the best.

The fatigue of the constant running for the past few days had started to overwhelm her. The fact that she had to make use of her sacred form in the physical realm did little to alleviate it, if not make it worse.

I just need to make it to the water’s edge, then I’ll be fine. She thought as she sped toward it before slowing down to test the wind again. The elder Soft Skin had sped ahead of the weird one, while the weird one had started making his way toward her.

No, no, no, no, no! Mer’s icy bollocks, are they part of the raiders?

There was little she could do. Her best and only option was to overpower the weird Soft Skin coming her way to make it to the water; provided that she could cover the last hundred meter stretch between the two.

Suddenly, she is hit from behind! A shot of pure energy boiled through her sacred form, forcing her to change back to her physical form; knocking her down from her perch amidst the trees into the earth. Hard.

“There ya are young’un,” she hears a Soft skin growl behind her as soon as she makes the effort to get back to her feet.

Scrambling to turn around, she is met with a swift kick to the face, throwing her onto her back.

“Ya really shoulda spent more time thinkin bout how yous gonna get away if ya were gonna run.” The Soft Skin said before another kick slams into her side. One after the other, the blows rained onto her tiny frame.

Blinking through the painful tears, she looked up to see the Soft Skin bearing down on her.

“Now Ima have to teach ya a lesson lest I get put out by da boys.” The Soft Skin states, his scraggly face twisting into a horrible grin. “To add to that, the Boss has a policy of executing the shipment if even one slave attempts ta escape. Less chance of the Alliance find’n out about us.”

She could smell the gathering sweat of the Soft Skins as they closed in on her with their shrieking magiks. All that ended once she felt the first kick into her ribs. Each hit carried with it an electrical sting.

Over and over and over. She gritted her fangs as she bared with the pain. One by one she could feel her small frame breaking underneath the assault on her already fatigued and tattered body. Flesh was torn. Bone was broken. Yet the only thing that she could feel as she bit back the pain was that of failure and despair.

She had failed. The hope that she had feebly carried in order to reach another of her kind had started to fade as she felt that she was going to die. Despair was something that she had grown accustomed to ever since the initial rounding of her tribe.

Seconds of beating had turned to minutes. She knew full well that the Soft Skins that had been chasing her would start surrounding her in mere moments cutting off all access routes. That didn’t even preclude whether she could escape from the Soft Skin beating her.

Before any other thoughts had crossed her mind, the blows had stopped raining down on her. The sting of the lighter hits was the only thing that she could feel at the moment. The shock sustained on her body threatened to make her pass out despite the lack of blows coming her way.

Sniffing the air, she found both nostrils caked in slowly congealing blood. Despite this, she noticed the Soft Skin from before had been killed. A pallid pall of death seeping from the forest behind and before her. She knew not how this came to be, and that frightened her. She knew of nothing that killed that fast, none that she had heard about anyway.

She tried opening her eyes, but found that she couldn’t. The energy of running had long since been depleted. The beating had stolen what little vitality she had left. She had no options other than to lay there. Yet there was a single sentence that seemed to give her hope.

“If you are still conscious give me a sign.”