In which the writter tries to keep the story a lighthearted drama.


    Alistair woke to the beeping and humming sounds of medical machines. It was a familiar feeling and yet something was different. The space around him felt different, the bed in which he laid was different, the smells were-wait. There was an oxygen mask strapped to his muzzle, isolating his nose, and he could feel a snug sensation embracing his torso as he breathed slowly. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet and he already knew this was not the same hospital in which The Doctor and the nurses would treat him, and something told him he was not there for normal reasons.


    “I had a brush with Death.” He thought after a second, opening his eyes and staring into the beyond in silence. “And It beckoned.”


    He was no stranger to near-death experiences because of his habit of taking physical exercises to the extreme, but this time was different. This time, the Grim Reaper had taken something from him to let him go. But what was it?


    Alistair kept staring in silence at existence itself, unmoving in his bed, breathing deep. There was some fear in his soul, but more than that, there was the acknolwedgement of his mortality and the humble tranquility that comes with it. “Live as you are.” He thought, now aware of his surroundings as his eyes traced the clean utilitarian (yet non-human in design) ceiling of the dimlitted room.


    He begun to recollect his memories in search of what was taken, but he couldn’t pinpoint it yet. He remembered some of his childhood on Earth, his parents, some of his past friends, the moment his father’s coffin was brought home from space, when his mother died; even some of the boring and depressing times when he used to work in a warehouse on some space colony. But nothing felt out of place.


    In all those memories he felt the same, a Dorarizin going through (human) life, and he knew that was right. Which made his memories of the experiment a bit funny, since the scientists treated him like a regular human at first and then like the 8ft tall werewolf he was. “Oh, right. It was all about letting me train my natural abilities.” He thought, closing his eyes as he remembered the following years of constant tests and exercises, and the strange memory issues he had during that lapse (a fact that made him doubt himself for a moment, but his body knew he was a space wolf, and that was that). Then, he remembered his soul brothers, and realized he had to check on them and make sure they were also alive.


    Alistair reopened his eyes, took another deep breath, then pulled himself forward to sit in his bed, body feeling groggy but rested.


    A silent alarm went off.


    He took another moment to check his surroundings. The room was bigger than he thought, with multiple beds installed in a row, all of which could be secluded as their own “private room” as evidenced by the presence of another Dorarizin sleeping on the far left corner, their silhouette visible through closed screens. In principle it was no different than a human hospital, but the “cave-like” design of its walls and “waterfall” screens spoke of xeno sensibilities (Dorarizin, in this case), with the machinery showing a lot of doodads you wouldn’t need for humans, like a fur brusher. “I’ll brush my fur later…” He thought as he carefully removed the oxygen mask from his muzzle to take in the local smells at last: Clean, safe, often visited by the same wolves (the medics), and many chemicals present within the machinery. Nothing out of the expected ordinary.


    He glanced at his feet and begun to test their response alongside his claws, moving slowly inwards limb from limb as he commanded his body to “wake up”. He had already noticed the life vest he was wearing (which was that snug feeling constraining his chest), and he was fiddling with it to take it off before he was interrupted by the sound of a door mechanism. GROOSH.


    Alistair turned his attention to the room’s entrance and saw a grey-furred nurse approaching him, their expression initially of concern then a mix of anxiety and elation.


    “[Mr. [Kibbles], no, no.]” Said the nurse, gesturing a claw in that universal “settle down” sign while the other claw held a tablet. “[Don’t touch your vest, you still need it.]”


    Alistair stopped himself as the wolf nurse immediately invaded his personal space to check on him, first order of business being a thorough sniffing, which he knew by experience should never be interrupted (his muzzle still stings from past “shush” slaps). Instead, he sniffed in turn, taking in the most basic information about this new person he just met. “Female. Older than me. Healthy. Single. Overworked. Carries traces of another wolf, a raptor, a snake, some meat leftovers…” The quantity of information shared through smell alone could be daunting, even if we only took into account the smells he could identify.


    “[Thank the Ancestors, your body is recovering successfully.]” Said the nurse after a moment, tail wagging once to let her scent carry her relief. “[Do you still feel sluggish, Mr. [Kibbles]?]” She looked intently at him.


    “(A bit.)” Ninjutsued Alistair in sign language. “(Where am I?)”


    “[You are in the Dorarizin room of the ship’s hospital. Would you like some water?]” She turned to reach a cup and a water jug resting on a service tray beside the bed, preparing them.


    Alistair downed the drink in one go. “(Where are my brothers?)” Ninjutsued with one claw afterwards.


    “[They are in their respective rooms. More water?]”


    “(Yes, please.)” He handed the cup. “(Are they alright?)”


    “[Yes. They are still recovering, but don’t worry, they’ll be fine.]”


    Alistair downed the second drink, handed the cup back once again, then proceeded to leave the bed before being stopped by the (not-at-all surprised) nurse. “[Now, now. I know you want to see them, but you have not been discharged yet.]” Said the nurse with her claw on his chest.


    “(I must see them. Please.)” He tried to push his way but her claw felt stronger than steel.


    “[I cannot let you go until The Doctor sees you. Please understand.]”


    Alistair wanted to argue but his rationale kicked in, telling him that 1) he didn’t know how to get to his brothers, so trying to do so in a rush would get him lost, 2) he wasn’t sure if he could even walk, let alone dodge the medical staff that would obviously try to get him back, and 3) the medical staff had always been kind and honest with him, so their brothers must be in good hands right now, no?


    Besides, the nurse is kinda cute, why give her trouble-wait. What?


    Alistair froze in shock as he gazed upon the nurse’s deep blue eyes and realized his subconscious wasn’t all “oh, what a fluffy (scary) werewolf” like other times he met a Dorarizin, but rather “wow, she’s a pretty fluffy (scary) werewolf, maybe we could…”.


    “[Mr. [Kibbles], are you feeling unwell?]” Said the nurse upon noticing his shift in mood.


    “(I’m fine.)” Ninjutsued him after a moment, mind going blank as he returned to lay on his bed and contemplate the ceiling once more, somehow feeling more conscious of his lower body than before. “(I’ll just wait for The Doctor. Thank you.)”


    The nurse wasn’t convinced for a second, but he didn’t look nor smell unwell (quite the contrary), so there was nothing she could do besides waiting too.


    And wait they did.


    Meanwhile, in the hall of misery…


    Captain Arasha’Ssabi was in her private quarters trying to master the art of warmcuddle cooking, and endeavour that was not at all easy. For one, she didn’t know a damn thing about warmcuddle cooking, second, she didn’t know a damn thing about warmcuddle food in general, and third, she was trying to get answers from 5nek forums in the GalNet.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    “[[Arykins]]” Said her bestest raptor friend, Kr’Re’Ki, without looking up from her own little project on the other side of the room. “[The oven is smoking again.]”


    “<No, no!>” The lime-green Jornissian stopped reading the exotic food forums to rush open the little oven in her kitchen. “<Ugh, may Sarn-who-feeds-the-gods forgive me…> But her failure was beyond salvation, as evident by the smoke coming out of whatever she was trying to cook in there.


    Arasha’Ssabi sighed, hood droopy in frustration as she took out the burnt thing and put it on the counter filled with random kitchen utensils and miscellaneous food ingredients (all of them definitively not warmcuddle in origin). She took a moment to evaluate her new failure, resting her claws at the edge of the counter to support her torso and closing her eyes with another sigh. “<I just don’t get it.>” Said after a moment, staring at the counter. “<What am I doing wrong? The most voted post says this is the best alternative to that warmcuddle soful- soflee? saflafle?>”


    “[“Suffering”?]” Said Kr’Re’Ki without looking, comfortable on her beanbag coop as she kept on working on some kind of textile craft.


    “<Yes, suffering.>” Said Arykins dejected, unable to say soufflé. She begun gathering random materials for the next try, but it was clear her discouragement was getting too much after one too many fails (and a handful of fire-hazard warnings).


    “[Stop forcing yourself.]” Kr’Re’Ki finally looked up from her work, concerned for her friend. “[It doesn’t have to be something unique.]”


    “<But it’s something they want.>” The young snake girl once again took to 5nek to read the recipe for a Jornissian-style soufflé.


    “[Doesn’t mean it’s the best sorry-gift you can give them.]”


    “<Easy for you to say.>” Arykins gave her friend the stink eyes. “<You are almost done with your gifts and they look good.>” She focused on the handmade ornamented ponchos that laid on the floor beside Kr’Re’Ki’s coop and the unfinished one in her claws (which was meant for a Jornissian, thereby longer and thicker).


    “[But they are not something they want, just something they could use.]” The sky-blue Karnakian gave her a non-plussed look with her four eyes.


    Arykins closed her eyes to avert her gaze, lowering her head in frustration. She was right, she knew.


    “[Why don’t you try making something that would also make you happy?]” Said Kr’Re’Ki with sincere concern. “[Yes, we messed up, but that doesn’t mean we have to live in pity, you know?]”


    “<But this does make me happy.> Cried Arykins with clear unhappy energy, surrounded by the mess of a kitchen consequence of her struggle to learn a dish that cannot be learned in a couple of days if your research was faulty from the start.


    Kr’Re’Ki stopped her craft and just stared with unfiltered “are you fucking kidding me” energy, making her friend lean back, avert her gaze again, and rub her arm in nervousness as her hood flickered. “[Girl, don’t try to pluck my feathers.]”


    “<Ugh, fine…>” The Jornissian finally relented, turning towards a kitchen pantry with zero enthusiasm and dropping her impossible quest in favor of a canned drink to regain some sense in her life. PWEESH Went the sweet goodness. And Arykins downed the drink in one go to stave off her current frustration, gasping in relief before nonchalantly throwing the can on the recycle bin.


    Kr’Re’Ki whistled a brief cheerful tune in amicable victory, getting back to her work.


    Silence befell the room as Arasha’Ssabi begrudgingly turned off her mini oven, took another drink from her pantry, then slithered across the room to pick up a mobile heatpad to coil down next to her friend. PWEESH


    “<…How long do you figure we got before they question our report?>” Said Arykins after another zip, staring at nothing in particular.


    “[A month, maybe.]” Said Kr’Re’Ki without a second thought. “[If they see it from the angle we want them to see.]”


    There was a pause for thought.


    The incident with the Potatoes couldn’t be hidden from the higher-ups as every emergency had to be informed to them, no matter how small (and abandoned crewmates in derelict stations were not a small emergency). Luckily for the crew, the fact the Bean Squad had made their rescue under the pretense of training allowed Captain Arasha’Ssabi and the Elite Four of Starbinder to spin the lie that it was all part of an exercise. Unluckily for the crew, there were so many holes in said story, that it was only a matter of time before somebody took a second look and realized the truth, at which point they were fucked.


    “Unless…” The Captain thought, taking a zip from her drink. “We can convince the Potatoes to back our story.”


    Convince.


    The word alone made her shudder with guilt as it made her feel like a manipulative villain, even though she was just trying to save everyone’s hide, including the Potatoes.


    “None of this was supposed to happen in the first place.” She frowned to herself, resting her torso on her coiled tail and putting the near-empty drink on the floor, emotionally exhausted.


    Sure, she didn’t like Research Station #DX192 despite being built by warmcuddles, as it was brittle, poorly designed for Jornissians (or any specie, for that matter) and seemingly possessed by a chaos spirit; but, she did her best to keep it in good condition for the sake of her mission. And sure, she didn’t get the best first impression from the Potatoes because of their nakedness, lack of social tact, and strange warmcuddle antics; but, from the start she had tried to keep them alive out of social duty, until that changed to a conflictive mix of genuine appreciation for their strangeness (and nakedness) and a sincere desire to teach them how to be “proper” citizens of the Galactic Alliance (and in the case of a particular Potato, how to be an exemplary Jornissian).


    At no point did she ever want things to go wrong, but they did, oh how they did. And now she was in a race against time trying to find a reasonable justification for all the mistakes she and her crew committed. And the only way to reach said goal was to have the Potatoes vouch for them, so they could prove there was no malice involved and things happened because chaos lives here. And to do that, she needed to appeal to them in such a way they would finally trust her, which is why she had been trying to learn how to cook a warmcuddle soufflé, thinking food could break the barrier between them at last. But it was all a delusion, she knew.


    Arasha’Ssabi sighed in defeat.


    The silence of the room fell heavier than usual, and she was going to continue moping in her misery, had Kr’Re’Ki not stretched her winged arm to gently pat her on her head, reminding Arykins that she was not alone in her struggle.


    The two exchanged soft smiles of acknowledgement and understanding.


    “<…What do you think I should try making?>” Said Arykins after a while.


    “[What’s your favorite dish?]” Said Kr’Re’Ki, returning to work with both claws.


    “<Well…>” She looked up in thought. “<I always loved Auntie Nsevs’ ?a@yq? Stew.> And referenced a dish made with an animal akin to a space rat.


    “[Then, make that.]” Kr’Re’Ki smiled.


    “<But it’s a Jornissian dish. How do I know they’ll like it?>”


    “[How do you know they’ll like the suffering pastry instead?]”


    Arykins opened her mouth, raising her claw to argue back, but she quickly realized Kr’Re’Ki had a point and lowered her claw, frowning.


    “[So what do you prefer…]” Said the sky-blue raptorgirl, diligently focused on both her work and her friend. “[Making something that you know you like and it’s a part of you? Or making something you don’t know that could take years to even make?]”


    There was a pause, the right choice evident for both.


    Then, Arykins playfully bumped her friend with her fist. “<By Sotek-who-circles-the-world, how do you keep leading me like that?>”


    “[I’m your mission control, girl~]” Kr’Re’Ki grinned like a fool, puffing her feathers in smugness and suddenly gesturing at her friend. “[Your life’s in my little claws~]”


    And the two laughed, one like a kookaburra doing a mixtape, and the other like a teapot imitating a machine gun, both releasing the frustration and negativity that had been plaguing their minds recently.


    There was a pause for breath.


    “<…Thanks, Kerykins>” Said Arykins with a relieved smile, picking up her drink from the floor. “<I really needed that.>” Then, she took a final sip from it, crushing the can afterwards with a noisy CRUNCH.


    “[Anytime.]” Said Kerykins returning to work on her Jornissian poncho yet again.


    BEEP BEEP Message on inbox.


    “[Oh?]” The sky-blue raptor abruptly stopped her project, catching the attention of her lime-green snake girlfriend.


    “<What’s the matter?>” Arasha’Ssabi put on her professionalism at the sight of Kr’Re’Ki’s serious expression.


    The Karnakian put her project on hold and stood up from her beanbag coop, prompting the Captain to follow suit. “[A message from Doc.]” Said Kr’Re’Ki, looking intently at her friend. “[[Alistair Potato Kibbles] is awake.]”


    There was a brief pause to let reality sink in.


    Then, both Captain Arasha’Ssabi and Head of Communications Kr’Re’Ki rushed out to visit the first conscious Potato.