Paraplegic Cuntboys

Jacob Malordi straightened his posture as the alien approached, doing his best not to stare—though that was easier said than done.

“Hello, my name’s Jacob Malordi from Coloniel, Tennessee. Nice to meet you!” he said, extending a hand toward the towering figure before him. Up close, she was huge—nearly eight feet tall, her pale pink amphibious skin catching the light in a way that made her seem almost luminous.

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Her presence was overwhelming, but not in a frightening way. If anything, she felt… warm. Inviting.

“I’m excited to contribute my skills to this new endeavor and can’t wait to get to know you and the crew!” he added quickly, hoping his enthusiasm didn’t come off as nerves.

As she bent down to meet him, Jacob noticed the six frilled gills along her neck flare open, sunlight dappling through the translucent membranes in a way that stole his breath for a second. Beautiful. Very alien. Very real.

“Greetings,” she replied, her voice smooth and resonant. “My name is Vicorna Aheevorna. It is a pleasure not only to make contact with your people and planet, but also to welcome you and your crewmates as ambassadors of the human race.”

Her hand engulfed his when she shook it—careful, gentle despite her size. Then, to his surprise, she lifted his hand and mimed a kiss against his knuckles. Jacob’s eyes widened before he could stop himself, heat creeping up his face.

“Though the journey ahead may be long,” she continued with a wide, warm smile, “I look forward to the knowledge and customs we will learn from one another.”

Jacob swallowed, smiling back just as brightly.

Yeah. This was going to be one hell of a journey.

…that was six months ago.

Six months ago, Jacob had been eager—excited, curious, able-bodied. Ready to learn everything he could about the galaxy, its peoples, and their fully constructed homeworld: the Nucleus.

Then the accident happened.

Even now, no one could say exactly who—or what—was to blame.

Was it the hairline fracture in the air-seal lock, overlooked during routine inspection? Corvix’s calculations on the meteor shower’s arrival window? Jacob’s own figures, entered too hastily? But Corvix had double-checked his schematics. Perhaps it was Commander Junho’s decision to send the humans outside for a field exercise. Or Commander Void’s signature approving it as a “manageable risk”—nothing out of the ordinary for a mechanical endeavor of that scale.

No one could have predicted the meteor shower would arrive forty-six cycles early.

No one could have predicted the airlock—already strained—would crack further under pressure, packed tight with both alien and human bodies in the narrow space between the ship and open vacuum. And no one could have predicted the moment it finally gave way—ripping open with a sound Jacob would later dream about for months.

The breach flung them into the ether.

With the meteor shower incoming… well. Carnage followed.

Jacob remembered the crack. The violent rupture. The sensation of being torn away as the ship fought desperately to maneuver through the cascading storm of rock and debris.

After that—nothing.

Half the aliens were maimed or destroyed. Limbs, tails, and claws severed in the chaos. But that was nothing compared to what happened to the humans.

Smaller. Softer.

They never stood a chance.

Even with their safety hooks anchoring them to the ship, their bodies were torn and crushed as debris tore through the void. Survival became a matter of sheer, brutal luck.

Jacob’s first memory afterward was waking in the med bay.

Bright lights. A hollow, floating numbness.

Dr. Phllium hovered nearby while Vicorna stood at his side. The sentient plant-like doctor maintained a tightly controlled composure, but Vicorna did not fare as well. Her eyes shone, her gills trembling as she fought the instinct to pull him into a protective embrace. A fat droplet of saline gathered at the corner of her eye and fell, splashing softly against Jacob’s cheek.

That was when he knew.

Despite the loss of his lower legs.

Despite the loss of three fingers on his right hand.

Despite the loss of everything else that made him feel whole.

He was one of the lucky ones.

Two humans hadn’t made it back to the living.