SCBM
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🕑 Added 2023-01-22 07:19:37 +0000 UTCHow many words should I update on the next post? Yes. Here's the next 4617 words.
I'm approaching the end of the project, a few more scenes to go, then I'll start editing and stuff. Next line picks up from where the last excerpt left off:
Unlike their alien counterparts, the humans walked after Red on their magnetic boots, pacing through the gathered crowd that hung above and around them. He could hear Carl chuckling when he looked up to see one of the big aliens floating right above them, its elongated helmet cocked to one side as it scrutinised them.
Lambert recognised the alien that had demonstrated how to use the handheld mathematic device, sticking close by his side as he followed behind Red. Was this the pilot of the ship they’d followed, or was it some sort of technician or gunner, like Carl was?
“Wonder what he thought of us tailin’ him a few hours ago,” Carl wondered, as he too stared at the alien. “You reckon it thought about shootin’ us out of the void?”
“They can’t be so gun-ho. We’re aliens, not everything has to begin with conflict.”
“It did with them and the UEC,” Carl reminded him.
“Fair point. We need to find out why the Confederates were after them. Hope they’ve got breathable air somewhere on this ship, or this will be a very short diplomatic visit.”
Red brought them along to the far wall of the hangar, where a circular hatchway opened up in the shape of an iris, leading into a small chamber beyond. The alien from the ship, and a few others followed them inside, while the majority of the crowd gathered around the hatch. The humans exchanged a glance, and then the hatch began to close, sealing them in with the group of tall creatures. Lambert didn’t expect the aliens to be hostile, but being in such a cramped space with the giants was still unnerving.
Something beneath his boots shifted, Lambert’s heart racing when his external microphones picked up a sound, the mechanical hiss of valves turning and gas seeping becoming more and more audible. Carl beat him to the punch when he said: “This is an airlock. I think they breathe air just like us.”
“I’m picking up a mix of nitrogen and oxygen,” Lambert confirmed, checking the screen built into the back of his glove, the readouts calibrating.
After a pause, the far side of the chamber opened up, revealing a tight corridor leading away from the airlock. Strips of blue fluorescents illuminated a circular stretch of alloy, the upper corners of the ceiling concave rather than meeting at a point, making the passage appear more like a tunnel.
After stepping – and floating – out of the airlock, the alien from the ship tapped Red on the shoulder, the two aliens bobbing their heads at one another. When they appeared finished, the former turned to Lambert, raising its hands towards its helmet. It flicked a pair of switches beneath where its chin would be on a human, then twisted the front half of its helmet like it was popping off the lid on a bottle.
There was the sound of escaping air as the alien slid its helmet forward, gradually revealing a thick quill of bright azure feathers that topped its head. The headdress sloped down towards a face that narrowed into a short beak that kind of reminded Lambert of a pterodactyl. Most of its features were covered in long feathers, the black plumes tipped with soft blues that seemed to sparkle in the light.
Its beak was covered in white scales, so smooth it almost looked like skin, two slits on the end if its muzzle flaring as it breathed in. From beneath these it opened up its beak, revealing a maw that was lined with rows of small teeth.
Its eyes were a striking shade of gold, the pupils dilating as it met Lambert’s gaze. Clearly the creature recognised him, its intelligent eyes locking onto his even despite his opaque visor. It held up its detached helmet, then gestured at him with it.
“You want me to take this off?” he asked, his hands moving to his helmet.
“Detecting no unorthodox chemicals in your immediate area,” Alice said. “They may breathe just as we do, but I would advise caution, sir.”
Lambert unfastened the seals round his neck, and after a quick, loud burst of escaping air, he lifted the bulky helmet off, exposing his face to the cool air of the ship, and the gathered aliens, who watched with wide eyes as he soon revealed himself to them. He wondered what their expressions meant, the aliens chatting among themselves like schoolkids gossiping about a colleague, Lambert’s nose wrinkling at the coppery scent of the air.
The alien from the ship seemed more braver than the others, leaning down so that its eyes were level with his. Lambert held his ground, matching its curious gaze as it ogled over his nose, chin and neck like it had never seen a human before. Which it probably hadn’t.
“I, uh, thank you for inviting me aboard your ship,” he said, leaning away a little when the alien leered closer.
He felt relieved when the pilot backed off, opening its mouth and saying something in its own native tongue. It seemed to speak using a blend of what might be words space out through clicks, the sound produced when it snapped its beak together. Lambert liked to imagine it was welcoming him aboard.
“Good, they communicate through sound,” Alice noted.
“So how do we get started with these guys?” Carl asked, turning to one of the other aliens that had decided to remove its helmet. Unlike the first, this one had mostly red feathers, its beak and the scales around its eyes a more darker colour. “Anyone here speak a language other than English?”
“I am equipped to translate all known human languages,” Alice said. “Since you two cannot rely on programming, you should start by introducing simple concepts. Perhaps your names, for starters.”
Red gestured for them to follow, leading them off to the left side of the corridor, where the frame of a hatch irised open. The room inside was about ten meters wide and just as long, the space occupied by a couple of pairs of rectangular slabs with what looked like harnesses draped over them, surrounded by silver cabinets built into the recesses along the walls. The lights in here were paler in colour, whitewashing the room in their soft glow.
“This is either an infirmary or a torture chamber,” Carl said. “I don’t like the look of those straps on the beds there.”
“They don’t look like they’ve got magnetic boots yet, remember,” Lambert said. “They’ve probably got straps in every room to secure things down.”
The humans walked in, the aliens floating in after. Only Red, the alien with the blue feathers, and one other alien stayed with them, the rest remaining outside after Red flicked its beak at them, probably concluding the humans didn’t like to be crowded.
He and Carl leaned against one of the nearby slabs, the pair watching as Red removed its helmet after a pause. Its feathers were a beige in colour with grey highlights, its beak so white it appeared to be made of bone, Lambert remarking in how broad their colour palette was.
His eyes were drawn to the end of Red’s beak, were a nasty scar ran from the curved end to just beneath its eye, a bit of the iris distorted and bloodshot. This one had definitely seen some action.
For a few, long moments the two species stared each other down. The aliens didn’t seem to know what to do, glancing between each other as they chatted in their foreign language.
“Alright,” Lambert began, taking the initiative. “My name is Lambert, and this is Carl.” He pointed at his companion.
“We come in peace,” Carl said, Lambert nudging him with an elbow annoyedly.
The aliens exchanged another glance that came off as confused, Lambert sighing as he scratched his hair.
“Lambert,” he repeated, a hand on his chest punctuating his statement. “Lam-bert.”
“Car-el,” his friend added. “That’s us. What’s ya’ll names?”
The aliens huddled together, mumbling something while the blue one glanced at Lambert. After their discussion, the one he called Red pointed a claw at Carl, opening its mouth and saying: “Car-el?”
It’s voice was oddly musical, Lambert blinking when it mimicked Carl’s southern accent to a fault, its voice lilting with each syllable.
It then turned, its claw moving to the other human. “Lam-bert?” it asked, the man nodding vigorously.
“Yes, that’s right,” Lambert said.
The alien tapped at its breast, the claws clicking on its spacesuit as it said: “Sha-ra-la.”
The other alien mimicked the gesture. “Me-zul,” it said, pointing at itself.
“So you’re Mezul, and you’re Shaliyya?” Lambert said, pointing between the two. The pair of aliens nodded, surprising him. They caught on to the meaning of a nod very quickly.
“Balokarid,” the one called Shaliyya said, pointing at itself, then to its companion. “Bal-o-kar-id.”
“Balokarid,” the other one, Mezul said, looking to Lambert as if it was now his turn.
“Is that what they’re called?” Carl asked. “Balokarids?” When he repeated the word, the one called Shaliyya nodded again.
“We’re humans,” Lambert explained, saying the word nice and slow.
“Human Lambert,” it said. “Human Carl.”
“I suppose that’s as good a start as any,” Lambert said.
“Start as any,” Mezul repeated. “Human Lambert.”
“Did it just copy you?” Carl asked. “Looks like I wasn’t far off when I called ourselves parrots earlier. I didn’t think we was actually helpin’ out space-birds.”
Lambert grinned when Shaliyya cocked its head at Carl, like a curious…. well, bird would. The one called Mezul floated in next to him, close enough that Lambert had to lean out of the way of its beak, the alien looking down its length to stare fixedly at him.
It’s diamond-shaped pupils narrowed down to vertical slits, the creature shifting its focus to his cheeks, then neck. When it raised a hand as if to touch him, he gently held up an arm to stop it.
“What are you doing?” he asked, eyebrows raised when it grabbed hold of his hand, turning it over as it studied his digits with a strong grip. Unlike him, the alien had only four fingers, perhaps that was the reason of its fascination.
“That’s my hand,” he said.
“Hand,” it repeated, Lambert marveling at hearing the word copied so well. It gave each of his fingers a little bend, then pressed its palm into his own, holding their hands up to compare its much larger hand to his own. Lambert let it manipulate him, Carl chuckling as he watched from the side.
“You want me to take it off?” Lambert asked noting that it was moving its attention to his suit cuffs. Perhaps it wanted to check out his anatomy. Or maybe how his flightsuit worked.
“Human Lambert hand,” it said, then nodded.
“I guess you know what yes means. Suppose it couldn’t hurt…”
He fiddled with the cuffs, the glove popping off with a hiss, the sound startling the alien as it’s feathery headdress flinched. When his hand came free, his skin pricking with the cool air, the alien leaned in, seemingly fascinated by how he looked.
It traced a vein just visible on the top of his hand with a claw, the nylon fabric dragging against his skin as it moved down to the wrist, where the suit covered his arm.
“What about you, Mezul?” he asked, the alien looking up at him. “Uh, Mezul hand?”
“Mezul hand,” it said, then brough its attention to its forearm. With one arm, it started flicking off a series of clamps, removing pieces of its suit bracer until the top of its limb was free of armour, simply letting the loose pieces float in the air beside it. Its arm was covered in a form fitting sleeve of white material, the limb lither than what its large suit led him to believe. Was the suit built intentionally to make them look larger, or was it just another example of their primitive design plans?
Mezul rolled the sleeve up from its wrist, the fabric peeling away to expose another rolling wave of plush, blue-tipped feathers like those on its head, the dark, cerulean quills catching the light as they danced in the microgravity. The coat ended at the top of its hand, where fine, black scales covered its fingers, its claws shining like glass when it gave them a little flex.
It held up its arm, gesturing between its exposed limb and his own.
“Yeah, I don’t have feathers,” Lambert said.
“Feathers?” it asked. Lambert went to touch its arm, then hesitated. Would it get offended if he invaded its personal space? He remembered how curious it had been about his suit. Maybe Mezul wouldn’t mind if he returned the gesture.
He reached out and pointed at its feathery arm, the plumes brushing his fingers when he got close. They were so soft he hardly felt their texture, Lambert barely thinking as he sank his fingers into the plush. Their feeling reminded him a lot of the first time he had pet a rabbit, the plumage was silky smooth, ticking his skin as they wrapped between his digits almost like they were alive, Mezul cocking its head and chittering something as it let him touch its arm.
“The human urge to pet anything never ceases to amaze me,” Alice commented.
“Feathers,” Lambert said, pointing at the plumage.
“Lambert feathers,” it said.
“No, I don’t have feathers, see?” He lifted his arm up. “I’ve got skin.”
“Skin.” It reached out and brushed its fingers over his hand, much less tentative than the human, giving his limb a good once-over. “I’ve got skin.”
“No no, you’ve got feathers. I’ve got skin.”
“I’ve got feathers. Lambert got skin.”
He wasn’t sure if it actually knew what it was saying, but Lambert was impressed all the same at its speech. He wondered if Mezul was a male or female, if the aliens even recognised those genders.
When he let it go, a bit of iridescence on his fingers caught his eye. The tips of his fingers were covered in what looked like glitter, not quite coming off when he tried to rub it away on his thigh. Was it dust? Mezul was covered in the stuff when he looked closely, giving the alien a very sparkly appearance if he looked hard enough.
The voice of the ship’s computer came through a little speaker built into the inner collar of Lambert’s suit, the human tilting his mouth closer to the microphone there.
“Sir, I’ve got a situation here.”
“What is it? Is the ship alright?”
“Yes. The aliens seemed to have closed the hangar doors and oxygen levels are rising, but some of the more curious ones are approaching the hull. One has even tapped a fist against the ramp, which I opted to close.”
“We better make sure they don’t go try and pry her open,” Carl suggested. “Plus I’m hungry.”
“We’re interacting with aliens and you’re thinking about food?” Lambert asked.
“That’s the first thing these birds should know about us. Call it a lesson in human priorities.”
“I suppose we just go then,” Lambert said, leaning off the table, Mezul cocking its head at him. “We need to go back to our ship,” he said, then felt a little silly thinking that it understood any of that. “Ship,” he said, trying to mime how they’d copied each other’s wing salute’s earlier.
“Ship,” Mezul said. “What is it?”
“Reckon it’s speakin’, or just copyin’?” Carl asked.
“I don’t know. Let’s just walk back, see if they understand.”
They moved past the one called Shaliyya, the aliens not trying to stop them. Lambert gestured for the aliens to follow. The birds shared a few exchanged chirps, then followed after them, soon catching on and leading them back to the airlock.
3
Unlike before, the airlock’s double doors were open, the expanse of the hangar and its ships visible from the corridor. It seemed the aliens, no, the Balokarid’s weren’t planning on using the hanger anymore if they were pressurizing the space. Weren’t the aliens on call after just being attacked? Maybe this was a way of keeping the humans inside. Lambert couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t exactly ask.
His boots locked and unlocked with each step he took, feeling the many eyes of the aliens falling over him as he stepped into the hangar. Most of the aliens had gone back to their duties, pushing oversized bits of machinery to their ships, performing maintenance of some kind, but a good many still turned their heads as the humans passed, Mezul and Shaliyya and a few other aliens keeping close.
“Check it out,” Carl said, nudging Lambert. “Looks like Shaliyya’s brought some backup.”
At Shaliyya’s side, one of the unnamed aliens stood by their flank, an opaque visor fixed on the two humans. This one carried some kind of artifact in its hands, its design long and blocky, the alien holding it one-handed by its side. More orange bands of light ran along its short barrel, the alien’s finger resting near a suspiciously looking trigger guard. Whether it fired conventional bullets or laser beams, it wasn’t quite clear.
“Personal bodyguard, looks like,” Lambert said. “Shaliyya might be important. Maybe it’s the leader of this fleet?”
“You reckon?” Carl asked. “Guess it’s the only one that- aw hell.”
Lambert followed his gaze, seeing he was looking at their corvette. The spaceship was surrounded by a pack of aliens, their beaks turned up as they examined its sloped hull. Just then one of the more adventurous aliens rapped a fist against the cargo ramp, the resulting thuds echoing across the hangar.
“I would appreciate some assistance here, humans,” Alice said.
“Get your claws off of her,” Carl snapped, his boots whirring as he jogged over the deck. Whether he was talking about Alice or the ship wasn’t very clear.
“Calm down,” Lambert said, catching up and stopping his crewmate with a quick tug on the shoulder. “We can’t antagonize these guys. What do you think yelling at them is gonna solve? They’re all a foot taller than us.”
“Who do they think they are? We’re not pokin’ around their ships, how’s that fair?”
“All you’ll do is ruin their impression of us. The Hub doesn’t need more enemies right now.”
Lambert hoped mentioning their home would get through to Carl. They were both cut from the same revolutionary cloth, after all. After a moment his friend huffed impatiently, removing Lambert’s hand from him.
“I ain’t no ambassador, man,” Carl relented.
“Like it or not, we are now,” Lambert replied.
Noticing their distress, Shaliyya floated ahead of the humans, chirping loudly at the group of aliens gathered about the corvette. They turned, lowering their heads as if afraid of meeting their gaze, pushing off the nearby deck to float away from the human craft.
With the pack dispersed, Shaliyya turned, bowing to the humans in a way that said you are welcome, Carl reaching up and giving it a pat on the arm.
“This one’s alright,” he said. “Thanks for that, Shaliyya.”
The alien looked at the place Carl had touched it, tilting its head at the humans as they passed it.
With the ramp cleared, Alice remotely lowered the hydraulic couplings, the rear of the corvette opening like a mouth and exposing the bay inside.
As Carl moved inside, Lambert noticed Mezul sticking close to his side, the man watching as the alien flipped over in the zero-g environment. From his perspective, its legs hung above it as it positioned its head near the floor, Lambert watching with a bewildered expression as its beak inched towards his feet.
The eye on this side of its face looked up at him, the arrangement of blue feathers surrounding its eye reminding him of warpaint. The alien gestured towards his feet, then the floor. It used the deck as leverage to flip itself upright again, giving one of its legs a flex before looking to him for a response.
“You’re wondering how I’m walking around?” he asked, the alien cocking its head at him.
“You reckon?” it said, its neck bobbing with each syllable. Lambert tried not to look too shocked, realising it probably didn’t really know what it was saying. It was still a little uncanny, however.
“These are magnetic boots,” he explained, lifting a foot and making a show of gesturing at the electronics wrapping over the base. “I’d be floating around like you if not for these. Look.”
He clicked the button on the side of one boot, then another, making sure Mezul saw what he was doing. Once the boots were turned off, he floated there alongside the alien, the bird’s eyes lighting up as it ogled him and his strange equipment.
“Your new friend probably thinks you’re Einstein,” Carl said, watching from the top of the ramp. “
“We’ve got plenty of other stuff inside,” Lambert said, flicking his boots back on and landing on the deck with a thunk. “Want to come have a look, Mezul?”
“You wanna give it a run of the ship?” Carl asked. “Or uh, a float of the ship? That really a good idea?”
“Maybe it’ll let us take a look at their gear after,” Lambert suggested.
“Hmm. Now that sounds good to me,” Carl said.
Lambert moved up the ramp, turning around and gesturing for Mezul to follow. The alien hung there, unsure of itself as it glanced between him and Shaliyya, the two exchanging a few chirped words.
“It’s alright,” Lambert said, trying to sound as reassuring as he could, even if it all felt a bit strange, this big alien nervous about approaching his ship. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Mezul appeared to make up its mind, pushing off the deck with its long legs, Lambert blinking when it reached out and seized his hand. He had to bring his other arm forward to halt its momentum, grabbing at its wide hips to steady it.
The alien turned its gaze down on him, the hundreds of azure feathers making up its headdress bristling as its eyes darted between him and his hand.
“Sorry,” he said, taking it by the hand as he turned around, its large, clawed grip tightening over his digits as he moved up the ramp and to the stairs, where an amused Carl stood watching from the top.
“He seems keen on you, Cap,” Carl said, reaching out to catch the tossed helmet Lambert sent his way.
“Go reload the guns while I show it around.”
“Better you than me to babysit,” he replied, moving out of the way as Lambert led the alien up to the main deck.
“This is our corvette,” Lambert said, waving at everything with a wide spread of his arms. “Corvette. Can you say that?”
“Corvette,” Mezul said, adding a little whistle right after the word. “Lambert corvette.”
“You got it,” he said with a nod. It almost felt like he was teaching a parrot to speak, but he had to remind himself this was a sentient creature, like him, its eyes wide with curiosity as it drifted into the doorway where Carl had gone.
Lambert followed after, the wide room before them filled in with countertops and cabinets, sealed with electronic locks so as to prevent their contents from spilling out during missions. A bolted down table and a few pairs of chairs sat between the sink and the door, giving off the appearance that someone had just plucked out a section of a living room and set it down between all the storage units.
“This is our living quarters, slash kitchen,” Lambert said. “Sometimes when we’re out on a long mission we need a place to sit back, watch some old movies or something.”
Mezul took an immediate interest to the television mounted next to the table, tapping at the glass with a claw.
“You know he ain’t gonna understand a word you’re saying,” Carl noted. He was by the refrigerator, his hands delving into one of the cold drawers.
“I know,” Lambert replied. “But it’s pretty good at mimicry, and it knows how to associate words with objects. I wonder if it has implants like us, helping it understand, or if it’s just pure brainpower.”
“Einstein kitchen,” Mezul said, drifting over to the table.
“I’m bettin’ it has implants,” Carl chuckled. “Here, wanna protein bar? We got apple, chocolate, and… damn I hope this is real beef.”
“Chocolate,” Lambert said, catching the wrapper Carl chucked. He chewed away as he watched Mezul explore, the big alien looking and touching anything it found interesting. It flipped at the toaster levers, flicked the outlet switches, occasionally talking in its own language as it marveled. Soon it caught his attention with a wave.
“What is it?” he asked. Mezul motioned at the four seats present, then pointed at the pair of humans, swapping its attention back and forth as the gears in Lambert’s head turned.
“I think it’s wonderin’ where the rest of the crew are,” Carl said. “Four seats, two dudes.”
“We’re a bit understaffed,” Lambert explained, the alien watching him. “The Hub’s got a real lack of both ships and the people to fly them, so they have to send out half-crewed teams.”
Mezul’s expression let him know most of that went right over its head, Lambert sighing as he tried to think of a way to explain, but just couldn’t.
“Don’t forget me,” Alice said through his suit.
“I doubt I’ll be able to explain what you are to it,” Lambert said, the alien looking around to see who he was talking to. “Let’s just get on with the tour.”
“Be back in a bit,” Carl said when the three of them moved out into the main hall. Carl went back down to the cargo bay, while Lambert led Mezul down to the cockpit, the hatchway opening when they got close.
“This where I sit,” he said, gesturing at the seat and dash, the equipment lit up by the hanger lights outside. “The cockpit.”
“Cockpit,” Mezul chirped. “Corvette cockpit.”
“You got it,” he said. “Hey, what are you doing?”
Mezul eased itself down into the seat, Lambert seeing that the tail-like, metal sheathes sprouting from its rump were getting in the way, the alien chirping in annoyance at the undersized chair. It opted to rest on the very edge of the seat, suspiciously aware to keep its long arms away from the control sticks, its knees tucked up towards its chest so its long legs didn’t kick at the dashboard.
Even sitting, its head still reached Lambert’s chest, the man standing beside it as he shrugged to himself. He gestured to the glass canopy, and the alien attack ship just visible off to the side of the view. “I control the corvette from here. Remember when your ship came right up to ours?”
“Ghosha,” Mezul said, giving the stick on the right a gentle prod. The ship’s drives were offline, but the whir of mechanics imbedded in the walls still sounded off.
“Ghosha?” he asked. “What’s that mean?”
Mezul pointed at him. “Ghosha Lambert. Corvette cockpit, ghosha.” It motioned at the seat, then him. “Lambert ghosha!”
“I’m ghosha?” he asked as he pointed at himself, the alien nodding in a way that made it seem like they were almost talking. “Ghosha, and cockpit… Does ghosha mean… pilot? Hey, I think I learned my first Balokarid word.”
“You got it,” Mezul said. “You ghosha, Mezul ghosha.”
“You’re a pilot too?” he asked. “So you were flying that ship around?”
