《Stars We Can't See》 Chapter 1 I drift along the outside of the Nova in the vacuum of space, watching pirates crawl over the top of the ship, pounding at thick sheets of metal with axes. Emergency lights flash from the windows. The crew shouts commands at each other. I hear them through my earpiece but I can''t respond: the suit had malfunctioned on my way out and I had been waiting for someone to see me and open the door when the massive vessel approached from behind a Neptunian piece of rock. Not a problem now. I pull myself along by the cable tethered to the ship towards the hole they¡¯re making and falling into. Each tug gently sways me left and right. My gloved hands spread along the rip in the hull. Fucking sackers. Command had warned the ship, but not this close to home, so close I still see Pluto watching us. They normally target the merchant crafts, not a technical ship like us. Supposedly, we''re one of the few ships safe from these kinds of attacks. I see the crew donning suits in response to the breach of outside elements through the windows. Anyone who forgot to put theirs on before they went to sleep probably aren¡¯t waking up. The first mate sheathes blades against his suit as I hurriedly float into the ship, knocking against walls until I''ve completely disorientated myself. I right myself in time to watch them bust open the emergency hatch and filter in as well as from the sides. They wear tight, dark suits and varieties of helms covering their faces. The extra pair of arms gives them away regardless. The Nymphs greeted my ancestors when we escaped Earth centuries ago, having left our planet centuries before we popped up. Most are established on planets in structured societies and cities in the Andromeda Galaxy. They pitied our situation and helped us settle on the dwarf planets in the Kuiper Belt, effectively spreading us apart while keeping us safe. Historians have argued whether that decision was made in good faith for us, but we haven''t figured out how to change history yet so we persevere, mining the ice in the belt for personal and trading purposes. Some of us, desperate for prosperity or adventure, sell ourselves to every sort of labor you can imagine. I was lucky in not being stupid and having parents that barely knew I existed, so I sold myself to the Nova. Everything had been going great for the last couple months. Blood sprays from the first mate, scattering into beads and darkening to navy. The rest fall in domino fashion. Feedback dissipates. I rip the tether from my body and have just braced my legs to propel myself out into space when I''m yanked back into the many-armed grasp of pirates. They pass through the many hands until I¡¯m thrown with the others of my crew. "Captain Blass," a voice booms, "we''ve commandeered your ship. Some of your crew remains and you''ll cooperate if you want it to remain that way." The emergency lights and sirens cease as they''re dragging me up the multi-story ship to the captain''s quarters. They¡¯re infiltrated every single part of the Nova now. More bodies lie here but I''m taken aback by the office''s elegance. Completely devoid of personality, but elegant. A moving photograph of the Captain shakes hands with the head of Pluto¡¯s economy rests above the desk, the Modesteepe family. They yank off my helmet to get a better look at me. Sound and simulated oxygen fills my senses. I''m human, one of the only humans on this ship. I''d call myself average: built short but stocky, perfect for worming into smaller nooks and lifting heavier things, shaved blond hair and brown eyes. I could push out a couple kids with little issues. A tattoo on my cheek marks me as not much more than a laborer. Some of them poke at my body while others ransack the office, destroying everything in sight. They drag Captain Blass in and after a heated exchange over something referred to as "it," they cut him down. Their captain comes into the room in what I would describe as a welding hood attached to a dark skin cap. The hood will recede with the tap of a sensor. All the latest models do and even scavenging Nymphs pride themselves on the technology they acquire. One of the crew comes to the captain and whispers. With a nod the individual slinks away. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.They pull us to our feet and one asks, "Where is it?" We look at each other. "We don''t know what you''re talking about, The food is in the pantry, supplies in the-- They''re cut down. "Where is it?" The captain demands. Their voice has the telltale Nymph androgyny so I have no idea if how much of a man or woman they might be. "What is it?" I ask. "I may be able to find it if I knew what you wanted." Another chokes on their blood, spraying on my cheek. The captain faces me. "Who the fuck are you?" I point to my cheek and say, "138000, Plutonian. I was assigned maintenance to the Nova." "What security clearance do you have?" "Enough to tell you we probably don''t have what you''re looking for. You killed the most expensive thing on this ship." I glance back at the Nova captain. "Hardly. You willing to die for this, human?" "I prefer mechanic." "So be it, Miss Mechanic." the blade rushes up to my neck when one of the Nova''s crew rushes forward. "Don''t. I''ll show you," he says. It''s 137879, one that came on with me. I raise my eyebrows. "Now what are you talking about?" I ask. The Captain laughs dryly and sheathes the blade. "Not enough clearance. Tough break." The survivors and I follow the captain and their crew to the bottom of the ship. We slip past the engineering deck. Sparks fly from failing systems and sirens blare. The reactor pulsates in glows of purple and green. The light illuminates all the nooks and crannies in the room. We pass this and come to a tucked away room with an outdated door. Made of Plutionian material, but the lock is mechanical. No keypad in sight. "Open it," the captain says. 137879 opens it and crumples with a mist of blood from a crewman''s blade. We peer into the space. A crouched figure rests in the corner. Light reflects from a shackle''s gleam. ¡°What--" "Hush," they hiss. the captain removes the helmet with the tap of an unseen button. He''s beautiful. Disheveled honey blonde hair and matching beard, tall and slim but solid. His skin is flawless and a warm brown tone. I straddle the entrance and peer in, only seeing shadows. The figure cowers until the captain speaks in the foreign tongue of the Nymphs, the voice more feminine in this manner than the gruff, heavy voice from earlier. The figure wraps long, delicate arms around the captain, skin dark and flawless. ¡°How long?¡± The captain asks. Plutonians said learning the language of the Cosmos was a frustrating, useless effort in the era of translators being widely available. Well, teaching myself the basics in the slums with the Nymph merchants doesn¡¯t seem futile now, does it? ¡°Six weeks,¡± comes the response, androgynous leaning on the feminine side. ¡°Were you treated well?¡± ¡°They never touched me.¡± Captain Lister nods. The Nymph is released and comes into the light. She¡¯s gorgeous in spite of the dirt on her skin or clothes. The Nova crew had put her in a casual top and slacks, ill fitting on her much taller, thicker frame. She must be a Deep Nymph, the old ones that rarely leave their homes. Her skin is black, black than any human I¡¯ve seen, and glowing white/purple eyes. Those eyes pass me by but my heart skips a beat. I¡¯m dragged back up to the captain¡¯s deck. Only the laborer humans remain. The nameless Nymph disappears in the crowd of the captain¡¯s crew. Most of the Nymphs visible are female, dressed for battle with bioluminescent war paint on their faces and suits. The captain steps over Blass¡¯s body and settles into the captain¡¯s chair. ¡°For those of you who have never heard of us, I¡¯m Captain Lister of the Siren, and here¡¯s what to expect: the crew has been dispatched, but you don¡¯t have to suffer the same fate. I¡¯m in the business of liberation, with healthy doses of theft in and outside of celestial waters. You may become a part of our crew. You will sail with us, fight with us. Your success or demise will be shared. We only make one offer. It will not be extended again.¡± We look at each other and then back to the captain. His eyes dare us to refuse, two orbs of bright purple tearing into our souls. Chapter 2 The first hand to shoot up is my own. Captain Lister grins and says, ¡°Good. Who¨C ¡°Will we get names?¡± I ask. He blinks all four eyes at the same time, lips immediately tightening before he forcibly relaxes them. ¡°What were you called before?¡± He asks with a surprising amount of patience. ¡°...I¡¯d just like a new one if you¡¯re in the business of assigning them.¡± No easy way to say I never got a name. ¡°Name yourself after your ship for all I care,¡± he says dismissively and addresses the others that have raised their hands. Nova is kind of cool. Not exactly unique, but I¡¯ve had my share of unique. Only one refuses and they¡¯re ejected into space before they can give a self-important speech about it. The rest of us are corralled to make the trip to the other ship, strapped into whatever suits we had on the Nova for oxygen. Their ship, the Siren, looks down at us forebodingly. The ship is large, resembling the balloon air boats from our long-past occupancy on Earth, with cannons mounted to its sides. Dark blue and green metal, almost black, coats the vessel and without lights it¡¯s nearly invisible. More levels can be seen underneath the ship beneath the main ballooned compartment. One of the Nymphs lifts me in the zero gravity and tosses me across the ships with the others. The black void underneath me seems to last forever, like when you¡¯re convinced too much time has passed but you know it¡¯s only been seconds, and then I¡¯m wrapped up in arms again. I see a large man grinning down at me with a set of sharp teeth, bulging eyes aglow with a pink hue over purple irises. The clear bubble helmet shows off all the beauty in his hard face. He¡¯s bald but has a glorious dark beard that looks like a nesting animal would make a cozy home in. He¡¯s tall like the Nymphs but much broader than they usually come with a tight barrel chest. ¡°Hiya, Greenhorn,¡± he says before tossing me to the side to grab another. I¡¯m shuffled into the ship with the others, shoved into lifts that plummet into the ship¡¯s depths. We come to a level that reminds me of the apartments crammed the streets in Pluto, some of them tall enough to reach three stories. It¡¯s even built like a street with intersections and neon pipes disappearing around corners. The Siren is a beauty of a tactical ship. I grew up watching ships flying in and out of our atmosphere from rooftops, usually by myself. I had spent more time dreaming of other galaxies and among aliens than with my own kind. I recognize some alien races here and others I don¡¯t. Four armed humanoids roam, some with two, some not humanoid at all and instead sharing more traits with arachnid creatures. It¡¯s overwhelming to witness. When the Nymph leading us removes her helmet we do the same. Smells of the city hit me: garbage, food, machinery, and so many others at once. I look up and see the neon pipes ascend higher and higher, giving the rails of the floors above a light glow like a simulated sky. I remove my gloves and stretch my fingers, turning them to look at weathered palms. ¡°The empty ones are marked with green beacons. Doesn¡¯t matter which one you pick. You¡¯ll get an orientation after the debriefing,¡± one of the Nymphs says as she releases us. We all stand around and shuffle looks between each other. Someone asks, ¡°We¡¯re supposed to just go? You¡¯re not going to follow us around and make sure¨C ¡°You don¡¯t escape?¡± She laughs. ¡°Where would you go? The Nova is being decommissioned for parts as we speak. You could hide somewhere on our ship, but you won¡¯t be hiding for long. We love a good hunt.¡± I swallow hard and nod. We meekly make our way down the level, some splintering off at the first vacancies they see. A couple of us go to the next street to see what else we can find. Dozens of individuals bustle about in casual work suits while merchants show off blackmarket goods and artifacts to entice them. They display the jewels and technological pieces in the vending stalls with grins until they think no one is looking. There only seems to be trading kiosks on this street, nothing for actual sustenance. Call me crazy, I know. I just technically got kidnapped, but there¡¯s one thing on my mind: food. And not just any food but abundant Nymphian food. Vendors are plentiful on Pluto despite the distance, mostly because of the established farms but the cooler part is the food itself. Their crops have been cultivated to last for months, only just beginning to lose ripeness upon delivery. It made a dependency on the exotic Bannuts and Lash inevitable. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. My favorite dish was and is Ambertos, a starchy root vegetable roasted in a sweet, viscous substance created by animals on one of their planets. They served it speared on a stick and it was always delightfully messy. I¡¯d spend all day stealing junk to trade for a serving. I trust my nose to find it through the smog of the enclosed city. Neon lights flashing food items from gold to brown aid me as the vendor appears around the corner. A human woman sits inside, which is nice to see even if it¡¯s not exactly the norm, with long black hair and narrow, hazel eyes, and a thick, filled out frame. Her tanned skin is adorned with freckles. ¡°You¡¯re new,¡± she says cheerfully. ¡°Just got here. Ya¡¯ll blew up my ship,¡± I reply. She laughs and says, ¡°Taking revenge by eating our food?¡± ¡°The food there sucked anyway,¡± I say and sit on the stool. She leans over the counter, the top button of her beige work suit undone and leaving a fun trail for eyes to wander down. ¡°What¡¯s the name on this order?¡± She asks. ¡°Nova,¡± I take an awkward pause, ¡°what¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°That¡¯s Sunisa, our honorary Nymph,¡± a jolly voice booms. I¡¯m certain it¡¯s the man from earlier but I still turn. He¡¯s ditched the bubble helm now, beard now flowing freely against his chest. ¡°Finally done playing frisbee with the new recruits, Amon?¡± Sunisa asks. ¡°You didn¡¯t seem to mind when we tossed you,¡± he jokes and sits down next to me. A new smell permeates the air: raspberries and sweet metal, what you¡¯d smell in a space auto shop after a day¡¯s worth of hyperdrive installations. It smells like the depths of space, or what everyone likes to describe it as. Her face darkens. ¡°If you mean ¡®the most terrifying experience of my life and now I never want to be in space again despite that I will never escape it,¡¯ then you got it pal!¡± She replies. He laughs and turns to me. ¡°We literally just got you on the ship and this is your first stop?¡± He asks. ¡°The very first. I haven¡¯t even picked a home yet.¡± I look back at her and her smile comes back in full force. ¡°Can I get some Ambertos¡­Sunisa, was it?¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am! You too, Amon?¡± ¡°You know I¡¯m starving.¡± Sunisa disappears behind a curtain. ¡°We had a Nymph working this stall before but they met an unfortunate end, to say the least. It doesn¡¯t hurt she knows our recipes better than we do,¡± Amon prattles off after a second of silence. ¡°You really didn¡¯t get an apartment yet?¡± He adds before I can form a response in my head. ¡°I haven¡¯t had Ambertos since I left. That was just a couple months ago but I don¡¯t think I would have gone if I knew what I was giving up.¡± ¡°Should have sold yourself to a Nymphian ship, then.¡± He says, a half joke and half query to get more information out of me. Humans sell themselves/get sold for a plethora of reasons, but the type of ships they run with can be telling. For example, I sold myself to a technical cargo ship because I¡¯m smart enough to survive but not smart enough to get scooped up for janitorial duty in the Nymphian fleet, and I¡¯m strong enough to take a Nymph¡¯s punch without falling to the ground but still small enough to get into things the bigger aliens can¡¯t. Like I said, just an average human trying to find something interesting, or be found in this case. I¡¯ve kind of let life pass me by so far and I haven¡¯t figured out why yet. Fortunately, Sunisa returns with two heaping sticks of Ambertos and assists the others wandering up to the vendor. The vegetables are smushed together, glossy from the honey-substance coating the chunks. The smell of the combo is too much to resist and I bite down hard only to recoil back in pain, steam pouring from my mouth. Amon laughs at my struggle, watching me spit the morsel into my hand and aggressively blow on it. ¡°It¡¯s not going anywhere,¡± he laughs. ¡°Maybe here, but kids will snatch anything from your hands back home.¡± ¡°Oh we got those too. We try keeping them fed but they get greedy.¡± "Is the Captain running an orphanage? Really, what¡¯s the deal here?" I ask. "You''re not that far off. He''s in the trafficking business, but he prefers to take them from other traffickers." Amon explains. I eye him as I finally get a bite of my food. It melts in my mouth, savory and sweet flavors coating my tongue. It¡¯s better than any of the others I¡¯ve tasted. "What money''s to be made from that?" I ask with a mouthful of food. "People will pay a lot of money to see their loved ones again. If there''s no one to pay for them he''ll usually keep them." He sounds more placating than truthful but I play along. "But not us?" "Workers on a ship like that tend to be pretty useful. Flux still needs to complete her Pilgrimage so we might need numbers if we assist her," he scarfs down the last of his meal, "but he''ll brief us later on what we''re doing about that." "You guys have a lot of faith in the lost people you keep picking up." ¡°Us doesn¡¯t mean you guys, not until well after your orientations. And we have a lot of security measures in place to keep you complacent in the meantime. Now, come on and grab a room before they''re all gone." Amon says. "Are there that many people on board?" "Nah, I''m just joking. We got jokes around here." ¡°I¡¯m seeing that,¡± I say, catching one last glimpse at Sunisa before I follow after his swift legs. She¡¯s leaned over at a Nymphian customer presenting femininely while pointing at items on the menu. Chapter 3 Every apartment looks the same on the inside, according to Amon, but the standard is nice: bare walls and floors made of warm brown wood, a twin bed built into the wall with storage drawers underneath, and a tall cabinet with mirrors built into the doors. A private toilet and shower are connected in a small room, which I find interesting. Spaceships aren¡¯t a special interest of mine, but they¡¯re so prevalent you can¡¯t help picking up information. The tactical crafts that actually shoot people down don¡¯t come with luxuries like these. Even if they manage to have personal toilets for the general crew, the showers are always communal. Most of us stand there in towels with the other naked people waiting for a free shower, but it does make for interesting small talk. These rooms came with the ship, like the ornamental ones that host royalty and war commanders through the stars and can¡¯t be bothered with being inconvenienced with their business, so much so the residential cabins are shoved under the ship like a sore thumb in case they¡¯re attacked and the unnecessary cargo will hopefully be targeted first. Amon stays with me on the way to the briefing, like I may wander off again. He answers the random questions I have but never goes into too much detail. He herds me into the lift and we¡¯re going up, floors whizzing by through the transparent doors. The lift slows to a stop and I see the familiar faces of my crewmates in a large room, spacious and littered with bits of tech that make it look like it is still being converted from some sort of ballroom. The walls have a hasty paint job thrown on, large windows now barricaded with heavy sheets of metal. The one thing they seem to have kept is the bar. Nothing about this puts me at ease. The Nova was an official Plutonian craft, the captain personally recognized by the family in charge of keeping the Kuiper Belt afloat, and they destroyed it. Didn¡¯t even seem in a rush about it, nor did they painstakingly comb through it for every scrap of sellable shit unless they work at speeds I can¡¯t fathom. The Nymph Flux, the name whispered just enough to catch my ears, seemed to be their only concern, along with increasing numbers, but for what? I saw plenty of numbers without the inclusion of us, just the few dozen humans on the Nova. Flux isn¡¯t here now, but neither is Captain Lister. Instead, the Nymph that let us loose stands before us. She¡¯s as tall and ethereal as the others, long red hair tied in braids that run down her shoulders. Her eyes burn a bright purple as she stares at us, the four orbs set into skin that the ship¡¯s lights play with, striking the dull gray flesh with a blinding shimmery white. ¡°Greenhorns,¡± she bellows at us after referring to herself only as Dione, ¡°you¡¯ve been fortunate enough to be allowed a spot in our little family. Usually we just play catch with you guys until you all drift off into space, but he was feeling generous. As long as you do what we say, we may even come to like ya. ¡°We play to skills around here, so you¡¯re going to do whatever you¡¯re good at. You¨C¡± she points to me, ¡°what do you do?¡± ¡°IT stuff. I¡¯m also a mechanic.¡± I reply. ¡°Are you good at it?¡± ¡°They tell me I am.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯re sorted. What about the rest of you?¡± Dione tells everyone what they¡¯ll do but none of it is particularly thrilling. I take interest when they mention dinner later on but we¡¯re ushered off as quickly as it¡¯s brought up. We¡¯re separated before we get to the lifts, myself included. A peculiar person approaches us, half of them being made up of metal and the other half wood. They have two eyes that look real enough, narrow and dark brown. The wooden parts of them are a sandy brown color while the metal is bronze, a material once plentiful on Earth, seen mostly through their exposed hands and face, the latter being primarily wood, and the upper left corner of their face being bronze. They¡¯re also incredibly short, couldn¡¯t be more than five feet tall, and a small frame to match. Being some sort of robot, she¡¯s completely hairless. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°You all can call me Alex. I serve as the ship¡¯s computer and am in charge of all of its maintenance, which would also mean you guys,¡± she says. The wooden parts of her face work around her speech as if it¡¯s just regular flesh while the metal remains expressionless. ¡°We¡¯re gonna have a rad time, don¡¯t you worry.¡± Rad? I can only assume it means something good, but when I glance at the others they only look as confused as I feel. They¡¯re also looking at me like they expect me to raise my hand and ask dumb questions again. I did this to myself. Still, I refrain from raising my hand. I definitely don¡¯t excel here; I managed well enough on the Nova but I was familiar with Plutonian crafts. I¡¯ve only admired Nymphian ships at a distance so far, the giant crafts boldly warping into systems with the confidence that they own the seas of the Milky Way, and their record banks back them up. You¡¯d have to be insane to host an attack on one of them unless you got one of your own. Humans don¡¯t freely get access to them either, apparent by our collective struggle that Alex makes an effort to not tire of. ¡°We haven¡¯t had a moment to even breathe¨Chow are we supposed to get it right the first time?¡± Someone, thankfully not me, demands. ¡°There was plenty of time inbetween the Nova and Siren,¡± she says with a smirk, referring to us being tossed, ¡°you should have taken advantage of that.¡± I can¡¯t help but crack a smile at the joke and she looks at me. ¡°Don¡¯t know why you¡¯re laughing when you¡¯re probably doing worse than any of them.¡± That wipes the smile clean. We¡¯re released after I nearly blow a supporting reactor, the smaller systems that run diagnostics on the reactor, and passed back off to Dione who already seems aware of our experiences. ¡°Soldiers aren¡¯t brought up in a day,¡± she tells us as she leads us back to the lifts, only going down to the first of the residential compartments built underneath the ship, ¡°but most of you aren¡¯t gonna have it easy it seems. You definitely put the green in Greenhorn.¡± We¡¯re led into a large mess hall, dark wooden tables bolted into the floor with benches. The ceiling hangs high above with small clouds of dust lingering with the gravity is weaker. People filter in, most already seated, grabbing at various foods presented. Strange individuals rush up and down the aisles and I know I¡¯ve never seen them before. They look a lot like humans¨C two eyes and arms, a little bit taller than us¨C but the resemblance ends there. Everyone I get a good look at has no nose and their eyes are big and completely black. Their skin comes in a crazy amount of colors and shades of colors. I watch one whisk by with a platter of mugs with glowing green skin. Another is a beautiful pastel blue, snatching empty plates with four fingers and a thumb. Their hair hangs in their face, thick and shaggy and definitely not made of the same material the Nymphs and I share. I sit down and one of them immediately hovers over with sustenance. The smell that hits me reminds me of Pluto: earthy, rich, a quite nostalgic scent that takes me back to our bittersweet underground dwellings, before the parents got rich and moved us to the surface. I look up at them into their iris-less eyes. They smile down at me, the shaggy hair hanging over the shoulder with a fuzzy looking quality. It looks velvety to the touch but they¡¯re gone before I can further think about it and I¡¯m staring at a filled goblet and a plate of Lash thrown together with some hearty human vegetables like radishes and onions. A large chunk of Plutonian bread is on the plate, the least surprising part since Nymphs also seem to love carbs. The Lash is another staple. You won¡¯t see a spacefarer this side of the Local Group without the avian meat, found in abundance on Nymphian planets and dried for long transport. It¡¯s no Ambertos but it¡¯s far from bad. The drink excites me more when I take a swig and feel the burn numb my tongue and snake its way down my throat, setting my stomach ablaze. It¡¯d been a while since I had food I liked, but I couldn¡¯t tell you the last time I had a drink. I can¡¯t help but down the spiced liquid in two draws and immediately look around for more. ¡°Easy on it. It¡¯s made for creatures with higher tolerances,¡± one of the strange servers tells me as he pours another for me. He glows like a golden mineral deposit. ¡°I know Nymphian ale when I see it, I know what I¡¯m doing,¡± I say and hiccup, ¡°but you may be onto something.¡± ¡°Just eat first,¡± he coos before disappearing into the aisles, but when I look between the food and the ale, the alcohol basically begs me to attend to it first. Chapter 4 The alcohol is a seductress, as I¡¯m reminded of way too late. When Captain Lister comes to address the crew, I¡¯m seeing three of him. ¡°"Thanks to your combined efforts, we''ve recovered Flux with no casualties," he says and pauses for the fists slamming on tables to subside, "as you all know, a group of traffickers have been taking our loved ones and selling them off, never to be seen again. We were fortunate enough to find her, but we didn''t locate...." My thoughts race too quickly to care what else he has to say. In a perhaps too-little-too-late fashion, I turn to my nibbled bread and rip a bite-sized chunk out of it. I stare off into the void as I chew, bread soggy and heavy in my mouth. I lose myself in the mechanical process of eating until a hand taps my shoulder. I jump up on the defense, catch my drunken balance on the table, and look up to see Amon again. "Are you here to kick me out of the bar?" I ask in my best attempt not to slur. His grimace assures me I''ve failed. "Well, this is a mess hall, not a bar. I wanted to check on you. Alex had some jokes that were honestly funny, but I know that had to be rough. Are you okay?" He looks sincere. But for what reason? If pirates aren''t supposed to be tough then they''ve done a damn good job of building up a savage facade. "I''m fine. Just a little drunk but I''m finer than ever," I say with the biggest grin I can muster. "That bad, huh?" Amon says and laughs. The redness rushing to his cheeks shows he might be close to my state of mind. "I could be too late saying this but be careful. They might be moving you to scullery duty and you don''t want to be hungover for that." "One of the...people tried telling me to take it slow. What are they? Is that a question I can ask?" "I think you can get away with that. They''re called Kobus. They''re working in exchange for travel." "Traveling where?" I had no shame in being nosy now. Amon hesitates and then says, "Hang around long enough and one of them may tell you," effectively shutting me out of further questions. He reaches down and grabs my goblet, downing the remains and wiping the excess from his mustache with another. A third arm steals a pitcher off a passing Kobu''s platter. I reach for it but he recoils. "I think you''re cut off, Greenhorn. You can barely stand." "Don''t tell me what to do," I half-joke. "Half of the point of me being on the ship is to tell all of you what to do," he half-jokes back. "What''s the other half?" Amon grins and says, "I''m not going to answer that because I don''t want to spoil that surprise for you." I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. Any response I try to form is violently disrupted by a shove to my side, knocking me back onto the table. The edge slams into a rib but doesn''t crack it, unluckily for whoever pushed me. I''m back up and I slug the offender in the face. They stumble back long enough for me to register it''s Dione. A drunk Dione, furiously glaring at me while others stare on in horror. There''s the smallest cut on her cheek from my knuckles scraping the cheekbone. She slugs me back and I see sparkles as I fall back onto the bench, my entire body numbing from the force. Everyone surrounds us. Dione makes an effort to get at me but another Nymph grabs her shoulders and angrily whispers at her until she stalks away. There''s so much pain in my left eye that I''m afraid to open it. Amon forces it open and winces. "That''s gonna swell up pretty bad but you''ll keep your eye," he says to me. My shoulders drop in relief and he grabs them, using his other two hands to hold my head up and wipe blood from my lip. With him this close, I see his scalp isn''t completely smooth. There''s two small bumps on the top of his head, almost in alignment with his ears. A moment later I''m thinking about the fight again. "I''m shocked she didn''t knock me out," I say almost absentmindedly. "Me too. You can take a fucking punch, girl," he praises. I look around with my good eye. Captain Lister is still around, staring at me with a reserved sort of anger. My gaze darts back to Amon attempting to patch me up. "I''m gonna need some stuff from the cabins to bandage your lip and eye," he says. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. "Is there not a med bay around here?" Surely they''d have everything he needs. "Triker works hard enough during work hours without two drunkards bothering him after dinner. The cabins all have basic first aid, and you''re really only in need of a bandage and sleep." He forces me up and we''re stumbling away with each other for support. We take turns being the other''s crutch until we get to the lift, which we fall into. The floors zoom by once again with us on the floor with our heads leaning against each other. The doors open and crewmates see us, laughing a bit as they step over and roll us out of it. I''m just now standing back up when the doors close and they''re gone. Amon has more help getting up with his extra arms and leans against the wall. The neon lights flash painfully bright at us as if it knows we''re intoxicated and is bullying us for it. They go up and up but the world spins too much if I try following them. "Do ya remember what apartment you''re in?" He asks me with several hiccups breaking up the sentence. "Definitely. Maybe...we''ll find it," I reply with a notable lack of confidence. He sighs and makes me lead the way, both of us staying near the buildings in case we need to hold onto them. We round the corner and I point at a unit with a red beacon. "I know that''s it!" I proclaim. ¡°No, that¡¯s¨C¡± My uncertain legs have enough renewed strength to take me across the street, hand slapping the door panel, it sliding open, all before I hear whatever Amon has to say. It''s not my room. For one, it''s actually decorated. Large moving pictures of atmospheric landscapes adorn the walls, broken up by smaller ones of people, arranged in organized clusters around the room. There''s a desk with a large monitor on top and a large rug spanning from the desk to the bed. The bed also has two women in it, a human and an even stranger sort of woman than the Kobus. Her many arms are holding the human one¡¯s legs up while a mass of silver hair is buried in between those legs. She has one set of human arms and the other four are fuzzy and long and protrude from her back. Her skin is in tones of gray and black like the arms, the body human until you get to below the knees where they become very hairy and have fuzzy hooves for feet. The other woman, right before she noticed me, has her fingers furled into the other''s hair, her own long black hair wildly splayed around her head. Her breasts spill over her heaving chest like two pillowy mounds, her curvy body dancing in reaction to what her lover¡¯s doing. Her body jerks abruptly at the realization they''re no longer alone and she''s pulling the arms off her as I yell an apology and slam my hand on the panel. I stare at the door for a lifetime. "Why didn''t you listen to me?" Amon hisses quietly, making me jump. "Why aren''t there locks on the doors?" I hiss back. "This isn''t a neighborhood, Greenhorn!" A quiet shout but a shout nonetheless. "Forgive me for thinking that, Mr. Hospitality!" We awkwardly stare at each other for a minute. Thankfully, no angry sounds approach from the other side. "Let''s just get out of Sunisa''s doorway," He says, making me jump again. "That was her?" I exclaim. He shushes me and yanks me away. With some renewed clarity I manage to find my cabin and make a mental note to remember it''s near an ugly mess of wires and neon circuit boards. Amon sets me on the bed and disappears into the bathroom. Alone for a brief moment, I take the time to process what I''ve just seen. I really wish I hadn''t seen that. Sunisa was already beautiful but to see her like that? I may never recover. When he returns I look him over, terrible possibilities trying to will themselves into existence. He''s stiffer now, clearly a bit sobered by what he''s seen too. He breathes heavier now, and his hands shake as he applies my bandages. That could be the alcohol, but there''s more than just the pink glow in his eyes now. "Are you half-Mer?" I ask. I''ve picked up on that by now; those with Mer in their lineage, the actual star sailors, have certain traits. It''s found in the pink in their eyes, and their sharp teeth and bigger bodies. Mers might be the oldest race we know, creatures that travel through the vacuum of space and have the ability to travel through wormholes. Their carnivorous appetites have them seeking celestial whales on their migratory paths. The only thing Amon is missing are the horns. They''re round, coming out of the tops of the heads and circling down near the ears, and used to navigate the universe. "Good guess. How''d you know? Let me guess: it was this gorgeous gut right here," he says with a boisterous laugh and slaps his firm belly. It''s more of a solid mass of muscle than he acts like it is, and I have a sudden urge to run my fingers across it despite never really having the irresistible urge to reach out and touch a man like that before. The booze makes me not care. "I like that belly of yours," I blurt. His hands on my face pause and the color leaves his face. "Thanks, Greenhorn." "Call me Nova." "I''d rather not." "Don''t want to forget you''re my superior? Who cares? We''re all rogues now." I reach out and give his cheek a stroke before one of his hands catches it and gently places it on the bed. "I care about taking advantage of an incapacitated person with one eye. You''re so damn drunk, girl. You''d regret it in the morning." "You don''t know that." "Oh yeah I do. Do you even swing this way?" "Swing?" I''d never heard that one. Is that code for something? "Your orientation. Aren''t humans more rigid about their sexualities?" "Not so much anymore. Nymphs being able to actively change how they present kind of threw us all for a loop," I say. We laugh together at this, whatever weird energy finally discharged, and he pulls off my shoes. "In you go, Green," Amon says after pulling the thin blanket back for me. I crawl in, face scrunching up into the pillow. He tries to get me to flip over for water but I''m already going. Swing dances around in my head and my drifting thought is a question. Did Amon call me a lesbian? Chapter 5 The lights attack my good eye and send throbbing pain all over my face as I take the lift to the mess level. Amon hadn¡¯t exactly been completely joking about sending me to the scullery. He didn¡¯t mention Dione would be there, standing before me with a small bruise and cut on her cheek. I suck in a shaky breath. ¡°I¡¯m not here to exact revenge on you,¡± she immediately says, ¡°we were drunk so we shouldn¡¯t hold it against each other.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine. Just wondering what you did to end up here.¡± Dione looks around and laughs. ¡°I actually wanted to pull you out, maybe once you can use both eyes.¡± She looks at my eye and sucks air in through her teeth, subconsciously rubbing her cheek. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°We¡¯re a little bit stronger than humans, but not as dramatically as some try to boast. I¡¯m still feeling that punch.¡± ¡°Are you saying I¡¯d be more useful¨C ¡°On the battlefield than the kitchen? Precisely.¡± ¡°I¡¯m gonna need quite a bit of training,¡± I say. I¡¯ve never killed anything, but I¡¯ve tackled a couple people in games before. I know I have the strength to hurt someone. ¡°Not as much as you¡¯d think. It really is as simple as taking down the other person. We¡¯ll start once you can see, shouldn¡¯t be more than a day or two,¡± she says. She approaches and puts more delicate hands on me, touching the swelling around my eye and lips. ¡°Sorry for this.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry. You didn¡¯t mean to shove me,¡± I reply. ¡°I guess if we¡¯re both sorry then it cancels out,¡± she says and laughs. I laugh with her even if it¡¯s not that funny. ¡°Like it never happened,¡± I joke back. She leaves soon after to let me get my work regardless of how little I¡¯m enthused about it. I¡¯m even less enthused when Sunisa enters the scullery with a male human. I immediately turn towards anything that looks like it could be cleaned. ¡°...she didn¡¯t care, Caze. You know how long I worked on it,¡± she says to him as they pass me. Luckily he notices me before she does. ¡°Hey, I thought they moved the strong girl to combat training,¡± he says to me. He¡¯s only a little taller than me, with almond-shaped yellow eyes and short curly green hair. He has a number tattooed under his cheek along with additional tattoos and piercings in his lip and nose. His skin¡¯s black, not stark black like Flux but a warm darkness that makes his eyes pop. Sunisa¡¯s face pales. Her lips tighten to a thin line but she doesn¡¯t slink away. ¡°In a couple of days when my eye is better,¡± I say quietly. ¡°I can still show you around in case you need something to do when you¡¯re not killing people.¡± ¡°You make it sound like nothing,¡± I mumble. ¡°It doesn¡¯t happen that often, at least for Sunisa and I. Not everyone has the proclivity for combat, so naturally Dione¡¯s a little obsessed with you.¡± ¡°Over taking a punch?¡± I ask incredulously. Caze nods and says, ¡°She wasn¡¯t holding back. She made a point to say that to anyone who would listen.¡± I swallow hard. If she thinks I¡¯ll be good at killing then what position am I in to argue? ¡­ My face is still sore a week later but since both of my eyes are functioning again, Dione whisks me away from the grimy dishes and brings me to the very bottom of the ship to a viewing deck, mostly empty with some boxes stuffed into corners and the smell of dusty musk swirling in the air. There¡¯s a weapons cabinet off to the side displaying large swords, axes, maces, and more. At the end of the room there¡¯s a transparent viewing deck showing off the depths of space. The stars look like tiny dots instead of the routine show of streaks and lights. The ship is currently on its way to the closest hyperdrive station for a more secure route to the Andromeda Galaxy so we¡¯re at a normal lightspeed pace for now. ¡°We needed to carve out a spot for combat training on this vessel and I like a nice view,¡± she says to me, letting me take it all in. ¡°You¡¯re not afraid of it being targeted? It¡¯s made of glass.¡± ¡°Not quite. Nymphian royals used to gather down here and watch their enemies get blown up. The material is stronger than traditional glass. Plus it¡¯s got emergency shutters and we keep all our actual gear in the armory above. ¡°But enough about that. Today¡¯s a big day for you! You ever been in a fight before?¡± ¡°Not before you,¡± I admit. ¡°How about sports? Humans introduced us to all kinds of ball activities,¡± Dione says. ¡°I wasn¡¯t on any teams but I¡¯ve¨C ¡°Ever thrown anyone?¡± She asks. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Once.¡± Dione grins wickedly and says, ¡°We can work with that.¡± The weapons are generic but definitely real enough to hurt someone. One stands out. A long weapon on the bottom rack, looks like a pole with axe blades on the end. A large blade is on one side and a smaller blade on the other, with a long pointed tip on the tip of the pole. ¡°That one¡¯s probably not very good in close quarters,¡± I say, pointing at the weapon. ¡°We don¡¯t deal in quite that close combat, but I recommend also carrying a smaller blade just in case. You guys like to call that one a halberd.¡± She watches me and adds, ¡°take it down. See how you like it.¡± I wrap my fingers around the weapon with her encouragement. Its weight pulls at my shoulders but isn¡¯t terribly heavy. Dione guides me towards the center of the room. She stands behind me, covering my hands with hers, as she tells me how to handle the halberd. She smells wonderfully exotic; a metallic scent like a garage mixed with the sweet smell of the coating in Ambertos. An artificial flowery perfume is layered over it. Dione shows me a few basic moves and I perform them in a much less embarrassing fashion than the IT job. Just as we finish, I look out towards the viewing deck. Out in the blackness is a ship in the distance. It¡¯s small but getting larger before my eyes. I point it out to her. Her pleasant expression quickly falls as she stares. ¡°Keep that on you,¡± she says. ¡°Who are they?¡± ¡°Not sure,¡± and with that she shoves me into the lift, ¡°go up to the armory and get a helmet, then get to the top of the ship.¡± She slams a button that sends the shutters down on the dome as well as activating a loud siren. Then she¡¯s gone, disappearing to literally run-crawl up the stairwell. I do what she says, following a small group on the upper levels rushing towards the armory. Alarms scream into our ears. I already see Dione wielding four big bone daggers and chasing down Amon and the other seasoned Nymphs. I throw on the oxygen apparatus and make it to the lift again in a bottleneck. None of us speak but the electricity in the air says quite enough. We look between each other, widened eyes and pale faces all obscured to various degrees by whatever apparatus we got to first. The doors open to chaos. The foreign ship is on us, just close enough to throw people onto our deck while its shields take shots from the Siren¡¯s cannons. Enemies from the other ship have already begun catapulting over. ¡°Show ¡®em what you¡¯re made of!¡± One of our Nymphs screams and we just go for it. We scatter across the open deck, half as long as the ship and completely crowded with all sorts of individuals. One rushes and I realize too late they¡¯re not one of ours. I¡¯m knocked to the ground and my oxygen helmet is beaten off me. My face nearly freezes solid while they try to get a blade at my throat. I act automatically; I rip their oxygen tube from their helmet and suck on it. My skin is firm as glass but the rest of me moves well enough to take advantage and kick them hard in the stomach. While they¡¯re winded I jab their face with the halberd, crushing the helmet with a slow-moving spray of blood. The sudden body collapsing on me makes it difficult to get up but I manage. A dead comrade near me has the same type of helmet I lost so I frantically throw it on my head. A blast of hot air burns my face as I successfully connect the tube and bring life back to my skin. My suddenly watery eyes scan the battlefield, heart trapped in the back of my throat. With a flurry of furious blinking I spot Captain Lister in his welding hood helmet. He wields a large club with two chains attached to it. On the chains¡¯ ends are two large, spiked balls covered in blood. He swings them in an arc around himself every time one of the enemies gets too close to him, but they seem to be dancing around him. Then I see someone creeping up behind him with a blade. I climb on top of a short pillar and hurl the halberd with everything in me. No one gets in my way except for the would-be assassin. It hits with a force that sends them into the icy depths of space. Both Lister and the enemies look at the assassin and then back to me. Then my foot is snagged and I¡¯m violently pulled down. My head cracks hard against the floor. ¡­ I come back to reality several hours. Lister sits in the corner of the room, not mine but a medical room full of machines and supplies. He looks unharmed, still dressed in his combat gear with his helmet on his crossed knee. Damp hair clings to his forehead. ¡°A nasty stunt you pulled back there,¡± he says. ¡°Sorry about losing the weapon,¡± I say. My lips hurt when I use them to speak and there¡¯s a bump on the back of my head that feels especially nasty. ¡°That happens all the time. I was referring to what you did to that weapon before it was lost. You go from asking stupid questions to spearing someone into space without casualties in what, a week? Amon and Dione said you didn¡¯t have oxygen for the other one you killed. Who are you?¡± His expression implies it¡¯s a genuine question. I sit up gingerly to look him in the face and feel more pain in the tops of my shoulders. ¡°I was impulsive on the weapon throwing. I can¡¯t take credit for that. And I¡¯m just a woman from Pluto. My parents made it big when one of their kids became one of the few humans to work on the Nymphian fleets. Directly with the captain, I mean.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that be your sibling?¡± He asks curiously. ¡°I guess. I can¡¯t even tell you if they¡¯re a sister or brother. I was a kid when they got rich,¡± I reply. Lister nods with a knowing air to him, purple eyes softening just a little. He meets my gaze before focusing on corners of the room. Someone enters the room after a few minutes of silence. He¡¯s no Nymph, as short as me, completely brown and covered in short fuzzy hair. There¡¯s one set of human arms, and eight less human-looking limbs protruding from the back. All of the arms are covered in markings, human arms included, no words but just intricate lines and designs. The exposed bits look humanoid enough with him wearing a lab coat but his stubbed shoes imply the feet might be different. His face is sharp and angular with three eyes centered in a line across his face and two sets of smaller eyes in the upper corners of the forehead, totaling seven dark green eyes with black pupils. His mouth looks like a human¡¯s but there¡¯s two fangs hanging over the lips. His short silky hair makes my stomach flip at the thought of the woman in Sunisa¡¯s bed that was built so similarly, just much taller. ¡°How¡¯s my patient?¡± He asks me with a smile. ¡°In pain, but I think my brain is still intact,¡± I reply. ¡°I can check off the box for your sense of humor too then,¡± he says with a chuckle. ¡°You finally got the other person for your comedy show, Triker,¡± Lister says dryly. ¡°Prism doesn¡¯t know how to tell a joke to save her life. You know this,¡± Triker replies. ¡°I know you and your sister are the least funny people I know. Nova¨Creport to Dione once you feel better. You¡¯re going to be working more closely with us from now on.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± I say stupidly. ¡°You¡¯re a waste in the scullery. We all see that, so we¡¯re shifting gears.¡± He stands, wipes a smudge from his helmet. ¡°You might accidentally make your parents proud.¡± Lister says before he leaves Triker to finish my checkup.