Naera

Sola glided smoothly past a binary pair of stars, blue and orange against the night with tendrils of plasma connecting the two like a cosmic yin-yang. It was beautiful, and normally the crew would have gathered to eat and talk in the observation deck for the time they were in the system. Now was not normal. Dustin half-heartedly gave the order for imaging to be taken on the off chance that in happier times someone might want to use it as the basis for a painting, but otherwise they just flew on with the natural marvel unacknowledged.

Their destination was a resupply and trading hub around two weeks travel away from the system they were currently in. The colony on Myrthoxis had apparently been one of the less frequent collaborative efforts, where ten or twelve different species had come together to establish a joint outpost. Dustin hadn’t had time to think when they were conducting their rescue mission, but the individuals they had recovered had a wild variety of different shapes. There were I’Adra, tall and four armed like the ones on the recordings of humanities first contact with alien life, the Myob - a squat, mushroom-like people, the Uor with their feathers and spines… the list continued.

As a result of the varied population, there was no one homeworld they could just deliver the survivors to. Instead, after a hasty discussion the decision had been reached to detour from their planned route back to Earth to visit the system of Rakhsport, which as well as being the commercial hub for the area was also a staging point for the council’s pirate hunters. As a result, there were a number of medical and transport vessels that could see their passengers safely returned to their species’ homeworlds.

The mood on board was grim as they flew onward. The gunnery crews had done well, and the medical team had performed miracles to save as many lives as they had; while there were a number of individuals now having to undergo additional treatment to regrow lost limbs, most would make a full physical recovery by the time they reached Rakhsport. The mental scars however would take much longer to heal; Trea’k was already working every hour she could to try and start that process for those that were capable of getting up and moving around.

Leaving the binary stars to continue in their graceful dance, Dustin left the bridge to go and seek out his counsellor. She’d sent him a brief message earlier that day requesting his presence for a follow-up with one of the survivors of the colony; in the three days that had passed since they’d jumped out of that system the Vex’ess had barely scraped the surface of those that would need help, so for her to arrange a follow-up so soon struck him as important.

Nodding to those of his crew he passed in the corridors on the way down to the counselling suite, he mulled over the response he’d gotten to a report he’d sent to the council. The reply had been clipped and brisk and basically told him to get on with his mission so that humanity could start to fulfil their obligations as proctors. Guessing that it’d been picked up by one of those species opposed to worrying about the threats in the darkness, he’d then sent copies directly to the more friendly governments as well.

The Vex’ess overqueen had replied almost immediately, with both sympathy for the colonists and a concern for Trea’k and Yril’k that was quite touching. Flass’s reply had come through an hour later, requesting any sensor logs on the larger craft for analysis - Dustin had Rye package everything they had up for the Rabyth leader on the grounds that too much data was better than too little. Emely’s aunt’s reply was incredibly short. “As per our agreement, Comms officers for all human ships. We will prepare suitable staff in advance.” Dustin was taking that to mean that she would be getting her people ready to crew warships, after doing a little reading between the lines.

Rounding the corner with his mind elsewhere, he didn’t see the woman in front of him until he walked into her. “Shit, sorry!” he said, looking down at the figure he’d just knocked to the floor and offering her a hand up. “Watch where yer walkin’, you great idiot.” Came the reply - although she did take the offered hand to help her scramble to her feet. At that point, the door next to them opened and Trea’k peered out. “Ah, captain! I see you have met Naera already. Please, both of you, do come in.”

As he followed her into the room, Dustin took a moment to examine the appearance of the woman he’d barged into - even as she was grumbling about humans being unable to look down to Trea’k. The word goblin kept coming into his mind as he looked at her; she was much shorter than him, which was probably why he hadn’t spotted her until it was too late. On top of that, her skin was a light green, while her hair - where it poked out from under the massive slouching hat she was wearing - was a pale silver. Not the grey or white of old age, but actual silver - it sparkled in the artificial light.

Trea’k had them both sit while she busied herself making drinks - mocha for Dustin, which he noted she’d taken the time to add cinnamon sprinkles on top. This was clearly important to her then; he’d briefly mentioned that he liked them as a treat to Meli once and now all his ladies knew about it and reserved it for special occasions. Naera meanwhile was handed a water which she sipped gently before setting on the side-table next to her. “So, Dustin. This is Naera. She is a Caenii; they’re a kind of botanical rather than biological sapient.” Trea’k explained.

Dustin nodded, sampling his own drink before replying. “That’d explain the green skin then, Chlorophyll, right?” Naera gave a nod of her own, adding “and you’re a human, which is why you’re all… pink and stuff. Can we get on with this please?” Trea’k sighed, folding and unfolding her arms before turning back to Dustin and continuing. “Naera made a request in her first therapy session. I felt it best that we discuss the matter after she had some time to think things over…” Then, she turned back to the Caenii woman and added “…I still believe it is not a healthy coping mechanism for your loss.”

Naera practically snarled at that point, mouth suddenly full of spikes. “I don’t care. They killed everyone I knew, and I want ****.” Dustin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The presence of teeth like needles in an otherwise quite attractive round face was causing bits of his brain to clash with itself; the fact that Naera was physically more or less a compressed version of Meli, putting the stacked in short-stack and had accentuated her snarl by leaning forward drawing attention to herself didn’t help matters either. Shelving “why is spiky-tooth girl hot” and other primitive-brain questions to be dealt with at a later date when he wasn’t actively helping assist with a counselling session, he shook his head.

“So what exactly do you want when you say ****? I’m not sure…” Naera cut him off. “I listened to your crew talk and I’m not stupid. You’re going to be hunting for the bastards that did this, and when you do I want in. Sign me up.” Dustin blinked. “Sorry, you listened to the crew…?” Trea’k interjected at that point. “Caenii have very good hearing and mimicry is part of their culture. I made the translation systems available to all the survivors, and it seems Naera repeated what she’d heard to get a picture of our ongoing mission.”

The green-skinned woman nodded firmly. “Yea. So, I said I wanted to join up to the counsellor lady, and she said I needed to speak to you so - c’mon, where do I sign?” Dustin shook his head. “We’ll be on a mission to see if the various strange things going on in the galaxy are connected, there’s no guarantee that the aliens that attacked your colony are involved. They might just be pirates who wanted to wipe out the evidence or…” Naera interrupted again. “Pirates? Bloody pirates? Pirates don’t hoover up half a city block, and I’ve never heard of pirates having a ship bigger than half the council military. Whatever the FUCK those things were, they were not pirates. And you know what, it doesn’t fucking matter, CAPTAIN.”

Her voice grew hoarse as she continued. “I hurt, and I want to make the bastards that did this hurt, but if I can’t I’ll settle for making the same sort of bastards hurt so it doesn’t matter in the end if it’s linked or not, any aliens that’ll attack systems like that will do. So sign me up. I’ll do pretty much any jobs you need on board. Ok, so I’m not combat trained and skipped half of science class when I was younger, but I’m a qualified chef and a ship this big must need someone to cook the meals. Or scrub the galley. Or carry stuff. Or…” her words were rapidly stumbling over one another, eyes flickering wildly around the room as she thought of other things to suggest she could do. Dustin was about to interject when the Caenii’s gaze fell on Trea’k’s chest and her eyes widened for a moment before the short-stack turned back to him. “If nothing else, maybe I could just help you?” She rambled, hands reaching for her top.