Page 22 of Uncovered By the Alien Commander
“Hail, brothers,” I announce as the door swooshes closed behind me. I observe the gray metal walls, undersized cot and oppressive low ceiling, which I would swear shrinks with each passing minute.
Noroth leaps to his feet, thumping his fist to his chest and bowing deep. “Hail, Xandor, Slayer of Mutalisks,” he declares, his voice stern. Logarn follows suit, performing the Klendathian salute with none of the emotion shown by Noroth.
“You honor me,” I reply, scratching the back of my neck. “But it was the Glaseroids toxin that slew the monster.”
“Nonsense!” Noroth bellows with a meaty slap to my back. “You survived to deliver it and earned much honor. Gods, how I wish I could have fought the void-born alongside you, but I was puking my guts out with the disgusting sight of that Glaseroids meal.” He nods again, a chuckle escaping his lips, a broad smile on his face, yet I cannot share in his jubilation.
“I almost puked myself, spitting in the eye of the revolting mass of void filth. What of the human Tyrxie?” I ask, my gaze darting between the pair, eager for any hint of information or news.
“Tyrxie?” Noroth scrunches his face, exchanging a look with Logarn, whose expression is passive and unreadable as usual. “Don’t think I’ve even led eyes on that one. Should we watch her?”
“No, no,” I reply, as my voice trails off, an unsettling sensation washes over me at his words.Why did I ask about her? What’s happening to me?With a determined effort, I tear my thoughts away from the strange human back to more pressing matters. “Do you know where Job or Mod are? I must retrieve my war gear. Knowing Glaseroids, they’re probably in the process of selling it,” I say, my face laced with contempt.
Noroth’s face turns more serious, while Logarn remains motionless, like an eerie statue. “Your warvisor too?” Noroth asks, shaking his head. “Last I saw the tiny Glaseroid with the goggles, he was at the cargo hold making repairs.” He points toward the door, and I nod, grateful for the lead.
“Let’s pay our little friend a visit,” I say, marching out of the room towards the cargo hold. “It’s a bit chilly without my war gear,” I add, our heavy footsteps echoing through the cramped corridors. As I look at the gaps beneath the gangway, I wonder if Tyrxie is hiding and watching us even now.
The potent scent of burning plasma and melted arcweave assail my senses as we draw closer to our destination. The Mutalisk attack did sufficient damage to the ship, so stubborn and deep it clung to our hull. It’s either impressive repairs or foolhardy recklessness that the ship is already roaring back to hyperspeed.
The cargo hold door appears before us along with the buzzing and snapping sound of repairs. This is where we’ll find the little engineer and, with any luck, maybe even Tyrxie...
Entering the vast metal room reveals a contrast. On one side an organized array of boxes and crates with smooth even surfaces, the other total chaos with trade goods and wooden crates smashed and strewn around. Even the very floor and walls are covered in deep gorges and tears.
The bulky green simpleton with the four arms is singing to himself something about “bashing” as he stacks and organizes goods from one side to the other. While hidden in the corner is the Glaseroid engineer, hefting an oversized bolt gun that appears huge in his fragile hands. “Ah, there you are, my little spindly friend!” I shout, to be heard over the noise as I throw open my arms, attempting to appear friendly.
My attempt fails yet again, as the Glaseroid almost leaps with surprise, his arms flailing and antennae twirling. “I almost boltfoot to hull! Seems Job is very popular today. Yes?” he shouts, a strange sound from one with such a fast and high-pitched voice.
He turns with anger until the realization dawns, his antennae droop, his bolt gun falls to his side and narrow beady eyes widen. “Oh, giant mammaloids!” His gaze darts to the exit, and for a moment, I fear he might flee. “You scare me. Yes?”
“You frighten easily. I only came to ask you a question,” I say, maintaining a smile and pleasant demeanor. Job relaxes at my words. Gods only knows what fate he thought I was here to deliver upon him. “Do you have my war gear? I hope you do because if not, I’m honor bound to hunt and kill whoever took it.” I hold his gaze with piercing eyes, watching for any hint of betrayal or deceit. “Which would be a shame, as I’m growing fond of some of you.”
The little Glaseroid shows no heightened fear at my words, a positive sign, for his sake. “Yes, yes, your war gear back in lab.” He kicks a spindly foot-like limb at the misaligned repairs he’s started. “I’m busy, but once I finish here, I fix your armor. Yes?”
“You have my—” I begin.
“I bash you!” The Barlyxian interrupts, leaping beside the four of us with a broad smile covering his face. “I’m best basher now, and you cheated last time,” he accuses, stalking closer and peering up at me, that simple grin etched on his features.
I smile at his approach, ignoring his insult to my honor, because it’s clear he lacks the wit to know better. “Arms, was it? I’m all bashed out.” I clutch my injured ribs for emphasis. “We’ll spar in the future.”When I’m long gone in Nebia.
“I’m Quad,” the bulky Barlyxian corrects, before hanging his head, his joy now evaporated. “No one wants to bash,” he says with a gloomy attitude. Then his face lights up again as he looks to Logarn. “What about you?” He asks, knocking and pumping his fists together.
Logarn gives no response, as his cold brown eyes follow Quad unblinking. “I wouldn’t recommend that unless you want your innards becoming your outards,” I interject with haste. If Logarn lost control, they’d be cleaning this cargo hold of Quad’s guts for the rest of the journey.
“Pfft! You all afraid!” Quad spits, forcing me to sidestep nimbly to evade his barrage of sputum. He flexes his meaty hands that are wrapped in cloth, gazing up at us as if he’s just beaten us all in single combat.
“Gods, I can’t listen to his bleating any longer. I’ll spar with him,” Noroth bristles with an impatient tone. “Although this contest dishonors me,” he says, already flexing and stretching his thick limbs and shoulders.
Quad doubles over in excitement. “A good bash at last!” he bellows out with his deep voice. Then squares up to Noroth, who stands half a head taller, broader, and more muscular.
I chuckle at the prospect of such a mismatched contest. “Go easy on him,” I say, glancing at Noroth, who nods before cracking his knuckles.
“I’m the best basher now. You see!” Quad roars as he throws two wild hooking punches from his left, prompting me and Logarn to jump out of the way to give them space. The effort irks my injury, causing me to grimace.
Noroth too leaps out of the way with a surprising speed given his hulking size. “You’re a dirty fighter, little Quad,” Noroth whistles through his flattened nose. “I wasn’t ready,” he smirks.
“I was ready!” Quad counters before charging headfirst towards Noroth, showing no hint of technique or even basic regard for his own safety. Noroth sidesteps out of the way and slaps his opponent on his back with a resounding smack. But that’s the least of Quad’s problems as his charge carries him crashing into crates and barrels.
“You don’t smash cargo hold after me repairing? Yes?” Job shouts, barely audible over the ensuing chaos.