We Need a Deathworlder!

The domed station-sized craft arises through the planet’s atmosphere with far more ease than the ocean’s depths and establishes itself in orbit amongst the reserve Cali fleets. However it’s clear many either many are not privy to this turn of events, or Admiral Chucknuq’s words have been effective in their passionate call to do what is right.

Scattering, various vessels and ships that are of a lesser status than ‘Flagship’ flee from this new entry onto the field of battle. A few of them seemingly accepting orders swiftly decide to turn back to rejoin the reserve fleets, but those committing to their desertion continue forth to put space between themselves and the titanic arrival.

Unfortunately, they are all soon engaged by a concerning number of Terran-make warships that flood out of the station like wasps from a nest.

“It seems the majority are still willing to stand against us… and that thing is completely made of that shell that was over the Cali admiral's ship…” Sreiak utters.

“Most with any command in this unprecedented fleet are no doubt specifically selected by the military brass and admiralty based on loyalty above all else.” Chucknuq agrees as his black eyes observe the gold and pearl station, “And unfortunately, without direct confirmation of the King’s death our current leverage of their home may act more as a motivation to defy us than a reason to drop their banners and fight the Terran terrorist allies.”

“If we received such evidence though… are we certain it will make a difference by this point?” Sreiak asks as she motions for the fleets under her command to update their formations to a more defensive priority.

“The royal family was purged, yes, but at the order and behest of the King and his military leaders, not the people. The Cali may be constantly criticized for their old method of government emphasis on ’Royal rule’, but they have thrived under it with a near spotless record and deeply respected reputation. Until recently of course. Some say a ruthless or power hungry dictator was an inevitability, regardless of how long the Cali’s noble history has been maintained, and they were right, such is an undeniable weakness of an old-style government. However in all fairness, no other species is truly without their own questionable or horrific leadership in their own histories. As amusing as it may be for me to say as a Tromple, I don’t believe many other governments have a firm leg to stand on in their concerns. Haahaheh… heh… hmm…” the man trailed off in thought for a moment, “What’s undeniable, is that it was Chakalata’Thatch’s ancestors that affirmed peace and prosperity to the many, many Cali generations. They were great diplomats, leaders, explorers, minds, and spirits… that is something the Cali people know all too well and have actively held the royal family in that high leading position because of it. It is majorly their belief that their mother moon herself blessed the first Queen and her legacy carries through her direct descendants. I’m uncertain if I can believe that on a spiritual level, however the results speak for themselves do they not? Why fix what’s already thriving? Not only until someone not of the bloodline stole the throne did the Cali people fall from their grace. Now, with Chak and Brom still alive and fighting, once the one sitting upon the throne is shown to be no more… I know the Cali’s grace will pull through. You’ve seen what Chak’s speech managed to do in the very capital of her people. Other species may place their honor and duty in a mere chain of command, but most will answer to the highest voice of them all. Their Queen.”

“Then I suppose… there's little else we can count on.” Sreiak says as she observes the remaining enemy fleet with their new gigantic unknown ally, “Even with our bolstered numbers, claiming a victory in this battle will be a fool’s expectation.”

Chucknuq nods.

“Indeed. But like bravery, sometimes in this life it is worth acting on foolishness.” he replies.

“When playing with hatchlings maybe…” Sreiak counters in a light chuckle.

Chucknuq’s gaze lands squarely on the station with an intense resolution.

“Or when protecting them.” he says softly in a promise to a certain absent someone, “Damn the odds…”

-

Kole peers into the empty gym for only a moment, not remaining for more than a few moments as his beasts pick up the scent of his targets and insist on continuing on.

The infiltration agent failed worse than he had expected. Yet another delay when time is already in short supply.

The wings of his purple colored beasts flap in excitement as their certainty in the scent becomes overwhelming.

“Taaarget! Tarrrrget!” one ‘speaks’ up to him as its thrum vibrated its chest cavity.

Meeting the domesticated creature’s disturbingly intelligent gaze of golden irises, red scleras and sharp black cat-like pupils… the man resists the urge to shiver in discomfort.

He knows they are not ‘sapient’ like himself or their true masters… but they are eerily close to it. The ability to achieve speech in a way like a parrot or corvid certainly doesn’t help in the paranoia in wondering if they’re a subspecies of Manarian that secretly shares their intellect.

Though he sorts it out in his mind, reminding himself that these were not quite the equivalent of ‘dogs’ to the Manarian’s. These were more like… domesticated orangutans or chimpanzees. Though something tells him these ‘Manar’ are more related to their masters than the other great apes are to humans, but that’s the only comparison he can most accurately surmise.

“Track.” he grants before the Manar pull the hip-leashes taut and lead him away from the gym entrance and deeper into the colony.

These animals are much lighter than they appear, but damn they still have impressive strength. If it wasn’t for his power armor, Kole has little doubt they’d be dragging him across the floor to get to their directed prey.

-

“Chak, you need to get up, little one.” a mature woman’s voice chirps softly.

The Princess stirs in her personal fabulous bed fabrics, waking up almost immediately. However she’s uncharacteristically exhausted.

“My queen and mother?” she asks in a voice that takes great effort to produce, “What do I owe for this wonderful surprise visit?” she chuckles.

Her glowing and bleary eyes look up at a blurry woman sitting on her just as blurry bedside. Behind her beloved mother she can see daylight rays being granted entrance through an open window by swaying curtains influenced by a gentle wind.

She can smell the fresh air of Sind’montass and palace stone. There’s the sound of morning grono beetles buzzing near and away from the window, no doubt on their way to snack upon various pollen and dew of the palace gardens.

“You owe nothing, little one, I always have time for my children.” the blur of the woman replies sweetly.

“Oh… Am I late for something? Apologies, mother, I… I feel…” Chak begins to say, but her mother kindly interjects.

“Tired? Yes, well you’ve been quite busy as of late haven’t you? It only makes sense. Just be grateful you won’t ever have to be producing so many children. I adore each and every one of you, but it’s a tough job.” her mother giggles.

Chak tries to lift her lower arms up to wipe her unclearing sight, but the weight of the blanket is too much to do so. Attempting to do the same with her stronger upper limbs she meets the same result.

“Mother… I think I may be ill…” she admits, not even able to move her legs.

“Oh… yes, I’m sorry little one… but that’s indeed the case.” the older woman says before Chak feels a warm -almost too warm- hand holds the side of her face.

Despite the closer proximity to her eyes, the hand remains blurry.

“That’s odd… Has a doctor seen me?” the princess inquires.

The Queen shakes her head slowly.

“A doctor isn’t coming where you are, little one.” she informs, “You know that.”

Chak’s hearts already start to race in concern before she’s hit with a deafening silence as the world outside the window hushes completely. The wind carrying the curtains also disappears in that moment, like everything outside this room is ‘shut off’ in an instant.

Feeling an internal twisting, Chak closes her eyes tightly before she nods in understanding.

“I remember… is… is this real? I know it’s not, but…” she starts to cry with graying eyes, “Is it?”

“You’ll know that answer soon enough.” her ‘mother’ informs, “But regardless, you need to get up. A Queen can’t afford to rest when her people are in need of her service.”

Chak tries to move her limbs again, but it’s of no use.

“I can’t… Mother, I can’t… I’m sorry… Even now I don’t want to be Queen. As much as I admired you… I don’t wish to follow your example.” she finds herself saying.

“Chakalata’Thatch…” her mother lightly scolds as she leans her face down close, this time however there’s clarity.

Just her face sharpens, revealing the beautiful aged Cali woman Chak looked up to all of her life. Even though they both had very different ideas of what the royal family should be, never once did they argue on such matters.

They always understood each other and in this vision there’s that very understanding in the Queen’s eyes.

“Like all mothers before me, as Queen of the Cali people, I guided my way until my time ran out. Now you, as Queen, blessed by our Mother moon, must do it your way. No one, and I mean no one has a directive over your choices as the Cali’s guidance. Even if I were to detest it, it’s no longer my responsibility. You are the voice of our people now, you are the future until you no longer hold the title of ‘Queen’. Do you understand?”

“I… I plan on handing the crown over to Brom once we agree on reformations on our traditions… I’ll be the last queen of our line, how is that-” Chak’s voice gives out as though she completely ran out of air and can’t replenish it.

“Brom is my son, just as much as you are my daughter. He will carry the torch with the Mother moon’s blessing, I am certain. But maintaining ‘our bloodline’ is only second to our duty of providing preservation and prosperity to our people. Do that above all, little one.”

Starting to feel as though she’s beginning to suffocate, Chak nods aggressively.

“Now, get up. For our people, our family and your family.” Queen Friggata’motaas says in sincere farewell, before offering a wholehearted wink.

…

Chak gasps within a blurry darkness with subtle lights and sounds, yet no oxygen finds its way into her system.

Her head aches almost as terribly as the side of her exposed face. Once the loving embrace of her mother’s hand is now searing hot component of some fashion. Peeling her burned chitin away from it, she smells it and can only hope the looks don’t match how it feels.

All around her pressed tightly are hot walls that thankfully her suit managed to protect her from. She’d be completely boxed in if not for the opening above her.

The memories come back to her as to how she ended up in this tightly cramped position. In her flight she managed to finally find some sort of mechanical maintenance shaft. Though it was a complete dead end, so she slipped down in one of the many tremendously narrow slots where the floor met the wall.

It had taken several attempts to squeeze down in here, and thanks to what Simone affectionately calls her ‘juicy hips’ she had to raise a leg completely upward. Effectively she’s performing jigsaw splits up against what’s basically cooking her alive. Well, mostly cooking her head, as with no angling her helmet kept catching at the top of the slot.

She managed to twist and mangle her form to get down, but her helmet refused to comply. So she removed it and not wanting to leave any evidence for her pursuers to find, she tossed it behind in what looked like moving pistons. She remembers it being crushed and scuffed away to somewhere out of sight.

She doesn’t know how long she has been wedged in this position, but clearly she passed out at some point and sank almost completely down to the slightly narrower bottom. Her chest is locked in place via compression and trying to inhale again proves that no air will be accepted.

Escaping those who chased her was one fate temporarily averted, seeing they didn’t discover and pick her out to devour, but to die by suffocation after everything she’s done to survive isn’t ideal either. Granted, it’s probably more peaceful than being ripped apart while alive and witnessing her body be eaten, but there’s no way she’ll choose to perish here.

Not wanting to exert too much energy for whatever oxygen remained in her system, she starts to slowly tug, twist and push parts of her body to determine what she has to work with.

Unfortunately, there’s not much. Her lower limbs are able to squirm above and below her, and her dangling leg has full reign below.

Suppressing panic, her hoof kicks against something below her.

“Kre’nae!” she thinks as she recalls dropping her pulse rifle down first.

With calm determination she maneuvers the rifle and her hoof so that the stock of weapon stands upright. Then, using it as a step Chak pushes down upon it. Augmented by her power armor she applies enough force to hear sharp scraping sounds before she shifts upwards in a sudden jerk.

Immediately her insides begin to burn and mind spins as she takes shallow but life-saving gasps of air. She very nearly passes out again as the resurgence of fresh oxygen floods her brain matter, but hangs on long enough for it to pass as she simultaneously keeps her steady balance on her weapon.

Suffocation avoided… now what?

Looking up, Chak determines there’s at least two or so standard meters before she has any chance of getting out.

With the slight added maneuverability, the Cali attempts to use her arms to climb upwards. She manages about an inch, proving the idea is viable, but realizes she’ll be abandoning her best method of self defense as her hoof now barely touches the upright rifle.

Sliding back down that precious inch she clutches on the sides of the stock between her cloven hoof like the weirdest Terran crane machine and locks her power armor below her ankle to ensure it won’t easily drop.

Emboldened by her efforts to survive, Chak dedicates her focus to the upward shuffling. Although the scraping of her armor is louder than she would like, the ambient sounds of this room are loud enough to probably hide it.

Inch by inch, the climb thankfully gets easier and quieter as the space slightly opens. IN fact by the first meter mark she’s making several inches at a time. Her upward leg thigh and back make a good pressure brake to keep her from sliding back down and losing progress.

Scoot by scoot, she creeps her way up until her eyes finally start to see over the edge. Taking her time now, she observes the area. At first she sees nothing, but freezes up as she sees an armed Terran walking along the other wall peering down in the slots.

“Pretty sure the crabs would have found the Cali in here… She probably just juked them before reaching this point.” he mumbles aloud.

Chak’s eyes fiercely look around for more foes that may be present.

“I know, I know… Hate to be the one sent here to check though.” the same man says, revealing he’s on comms and likely alone.

With every slot, his plasma rifle gets a look before his eyes do. And before Chak and think to rush out to possible catch him off guard he makes it to the end of the wall and moves to the corresponding corner to sweep her side. Stepping out of her line of sight, but gets closer in steps Chak tries to maneuver her leg grasping her rifle to bring it up within reach of one of her lower arms.

But she can’t.

There’s no room for her knee to bend enough to lift or space to use the length of the weapon and rotate the rifle to point upwards.

Hearing the Terran step closer and closer she figures three possible options; drop back down to the bottom and try arranging the weapon with the floor as a factor, unlock her hoof and try shimmying the weapon up as fast as she can with little upwards grab-tosses, or rush up and out to hopefully catch the man by surprise. Though every option had tremendous risks. Getting stuck again, being an easy beetle in a barrel, dropping her weapon, or just getting shot while sprawling out as an easy target.

Deciding that as long as she’s not shot in the head, her armor may save her from a direct plasma shot. Or at the very least keep her alive long enough to dispatch this enemy and limb away injured.

She’ll go up and out. It’s her best chance.

Scooting, her hoof aiming up just about crests the edge of the slot. Maybe she can give one last shove up, hook her leg to the floor and drag the rest of herself out.

Just before she commits, there’s a crackle sound that meets one of the man’s steps.

“Oh shit…” he says, “I found a small chunk of something… shiiiit… Yeah, it matches the color of the Cali’s gear. I don’t see much else, but it looks like she tried her luck getting through the piston things. If she somehow survived that she’d likely been baked and ground into paste in the mechanical weapon discharge crap.” he adds, sounding an almost pity tone, “Yeah, that’s an engineer's problem to clear out later. Think it’s safe to say she’s done-zo…. Yeah, on my way back now. Not spending any more time in the fuck’n crab-zone.”

Chak nearly has a panic attack as the man crossed right in front of her in a bit of a hurry. Seeming to be too lazy or eager to leave to scan through the entire wall of floor slots.

She considers waiting, but instead commits to her intended maneuver. Although it’s awkward and uncomfortable, she manages to drag herself out without making too much sound.

Though she spends no time celebrating her freedom before reclaiming her rifle and taking aim at the Terran as he nears the maintenance door.

With a squeeze of the trigger, a concussive shot collides right in the back of his head. His helmet dents inwards as the rest of his head hammers forward against the door in a thrash. He crumbles down, but still makes stunned pained movements after fully collapsing.

Rushing up, Chak yanks him further from the door and stomps her powered hoof down on the man’s less protected neck. She feels things crunch and the man’s eyes go ghoulishly wide. His mouth opens, but no sound or air either enters or escapes.

Quickly, the Cali kicks the plasma rifle away from his grasp and slams her closed fist down at the man’s neck. However, instead of merely punching, a golden crystal wrist-blade emerges and sinks deep into fabric armor and flesh.

She pants in shock at her victory, watching the life leave the Terran’s wide fearful eyes.

Simone’s self defense lessons have proven to be just as effective in the ‘attack’ department.

Wanting to stagger back to collect herself, instead she forces herself to pat down the corpse for anything useful. Though the only things she finds of note to take are his comm device, plasma rifle and a strange golden bracelet device.

Although she’s hesitant to take anything that may help track her, she’s also desperate for any edge she can claim in this absolute Klat-realm.

Fitting the bracelet on, she presses on the only thing that resembles an indicator. Jumping in surprise, a hardlight screen expands out from it revealing a three-dimensional map of the surrounding area and what must be markers of others wandering in floors above and below her.

“Oh stars… yes!” Chak nearly cries out.

Reaching out to the screen, she discovers she’s able to manipulate the map and ‘explore’ this terrifying place.

It’s massive. Almost twice the size of Kamoi station. There’s four other massive expanses of water-flooded chambers in addition to the one she passed by and from the nearly indistinguishable boards of markers she assumes that they are also filled with Malchite.

In her search, she finds something very promising. A communication systems room. Though from the looks of it, it’s likely meant for internal networks. But if it also has any broadcasting capability, she may be able to get a message out. A traceable message even.

Then she resents back to her precise location. She only sees one marker, so on a hunch she steps away from the man’s body to see that the marker remained precisely in place. Whatever they are tracking with -at least by this particular device’s parameters- must have been something worn or ‘chipped’ in the body, the latter making more sense for the Malchite.

Surely they would have ‘security cameras’ of some fashion in some areas then to track her with. On another hunch she plays with her new bracelet device, finding odd shapes floating in localized sections of the ship. She presses on one causing another smaller screen to appear. Surprising in the best way possible, Chak discovers it to be a menu that can view local security visuals. The visual ‘camera’ systems are automated, however there’s a manual override to look at anything in particular.

It may be suspicious to anyone else watching, but perhaps if she’s careful with the manual override she can prevent being directly spotted.

“Shouldn't have underestimated a Cali… you truly have given me great boons…” she whispers to herself.

Perhaps if they believe she’s dead she may have an even better chance to navigate this place. However…

She glances down at the dead body.

They’ll probably start to question why this poor fool isn’t moving and may resume a higher alert to search her out.

Full of successful hunches so far, she attempts one more and expands the map out as far as it can go.

Eventually she gets the visual of the entire station and to her shock she also sees visuals of nearby

Cali and Terran warships. A few were even in conflict with one another. Though she hits the limit and can’t get a clearer idea of what’s going on. Though she has a good guess.

“I’m at the battle over the Malchite homeworld… which means… Simone and and the FSA fleets should be coming if not already here…”

Her mission expands upon mere survival. She must make contact with someone and share all this data she has. Maybe even find a way to cripple this station’s offensive capabilities? Though that last thing may be out of her reach, being alone and all that. Still, she keeps the possibility open to attempt something if the opportunity presents itself.

Right now? She must first and foremost get to that communication room and make her broadcast.

-

“How long until you get here?” Simone asked through the Kwip-chap’s bridge comm.

“If I were to be reckless? I’d say under an hour, Mrs. Thatch. I must say, in all my existence I never thought I’d agree to such a… grand gesture.” the voice admits.

“Be twice as reckless then. You know the stakes, but thank you. I know this is a lot, coming at ya out of nowhere. But if you have any second thoughts, take a look at the data I sent you again as a sobering reminder. We don’t stop this here and now, we’re all fucked. All hands on deck shit.” the redhead says with a tired nod.

“I concur, trust me I’ve ‘ran the numbers’. Do you wish to know the odds of success?” the voice inquires.

Simone looks up at the now raging battles taking place around the Manarian station for the fate of the universe.

“Nah…” she utters before she reaches her new mechanical hand over to her side and picks up her repaired helmet before then fitting it on, “I hate spoilers.”

Her hands take on the Kwip-Chap controls as she aims her eyes directly at the station. Now there’s only time to wait, and after that, a big ‘fuck you’ to test fate itself.

“I’m on my way, hun. Just hold on a little bit longer.” she whispered before hearing a soldier load their weapon behind her.

One soldier, out of as many as could be crammed into this damn converted yacht.