OUTER SPACE > Solar System

S.O.S. [Daglobster] [M]

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DragonSong:
Ala'oran ships were a miracle of living technology. Like the species that created them, the ships were every so slightly telepathic, and learned their pilots' thoughts and impulses like an old friend would. Almost every surface of the control panel was touch-sensitive, meaning that just a few taps could set coordinates, adjust life support settings, and send a ripple of color through the biotech-luminescent outer hull all at once.

Even the smaller, personal transport crafts were really quite magnificent: Maya's in particular was quite lovely, if she did say so herself, sort of oblong in general shape but with flexible, finned wings and a curved little snub nose so the general shape of it was oddly reminiscent of a manta ray. A flying, bio-luminescent manta ray.

She always seemed to get dozens of questions about her ship pretty much everywhere she put in to port. She'd grown quite proud of it with each new explanation she had to give, and sometimes she thought that when she passed a hand over the touch-panel she could feel a happy little hum in response to the presence of her mind brushing against the ship's internal hardware.

But unfortunately, it needed fuel just like any other ship.

Fuel that she'd been forced to burn in a desperate chase from some unmarked ship--probably pirates, which she'd never had to deal with before and hoped she never would again.

The young spacer frowned as she pressed her palm lightly onto the touch-pad directly in front of the pilot's chair, getting a feel for how much fuel they had left.

Not a lot.

Okay. How close was the nearest planet? Or even a small station, anywhere she could refuel?

...Too far.

Fuck. Maya usually wasn't much for actual words, but she'd learned that one pretty early in her travels and had found it to be quite versatile. Fuck fuck FUCK!

Her ship buzzed and whined, a pulse of blueish green light flashing from bow to stern. The elegant wings rippled through the void, automatically curving them back around a few clicks as her telepathic control shorted and jumped around, confusing the navigation system.

A soft ding and a flickering yellow light above the viewing panel caught her attention. Her eyes widened as she realized the ship had set off its distress signal on its own. She hadn't even realized she was thinking about doing that.

A tiny, relieved smile curved at her lips and she patted the control panel lightly, sending a pulse of gratitude and what she hoped was reassurance from her thoughts.

Okay. This would be okay. They just had to be picked up before their fuel was burned out completely and her life support systems shut off. In about...

Six hours.

This was fine.

Daglobster:
“No, you listen to me,” Elaros snarled into his communicator. He was leaning forwards over his desk, hands planted on the wood as he looked out of his office’s window and into the nebula that the Anastasia was cruising through. Nothing cut through space quite like a Drakkonan starliner and despite her size she made blockade runner ships look clunky by comparison.

“I needed those Vellamite gems three cycles ago. The last time I bought from you, I needed them plasma treated and they came brittle, for goodness’ sake. If you’re not going to deliver correctly on time, I’ll find someone else. You’ve got...”

He looked down at his watch.

“Sixteen standard hours to make me change my mind. No excuses, no brittle Vellamite.”

He hung up, and sighed as he watched the red and green swirls of star-stuff zoom by. And here he was, thinking he could enjoy a quick skip across uncharted space to hop between two trafficked routes, take in a view and smoked a fat one as the stars passed by...

But now his mood was soured. He looked up at the cieling.

“Ana, is the pool heated right now?”

“The pool is three degrees below your preferred temperature, Master Elaros,” said an attractive sounding voice, the ship’s on-board voice interface.

“Start heating it for use in an hour, he said, dropping onto his armchair behind his desk and opening a small drawer that had a jar of perfectly rolled cigarette joints and pulled one out.

“And send for a lighter, would you?”


Four hours later...

Elaros floated on his back, awestruck by the view through the pool chamber’s cieling window. His pool was probably big enough to hold sporting events in, if not for its circular shape. He was watching the stars zoom by during their FTL jump to the next waypoint. The ship came to a slow stop as it entered their next stop’s gravity well and Elaros only smiled as it made him jostle about on the water’s surface.

The speaker in the room buzzed and a growling, deeper-voiced drakkonan addressed Elaros. “Master, this is your captain. There is an active distress pulse in the system we’re approaching.”

Elaros frowned, and turned about in the water so he could swim to the pool’s edge and prop up on his elbows and forearms. “Sensors?”

“One ship. We can’t get an exact fix, our sensors are having a tough time picking through a static cloud around it,” came the captain’s voice. Elaros was quiet, and then spoke.

“Take us in right over them, keep the shockdrive jumpers active, in case we need them.”

And so, as they slowed down from hyperspeed Maya would he greeted with the sight of a ship the size of a military corvette come zooming into the system faster than the eye could see only to delicately slow down and stop until they were separated by a half-mile of empty space.

DragonSong:
Maya jolted in surprise as the massive ship suddenly filled the viewing panel, and with how closely she was tied to the ship telepathically her poor machine did too, jerking backwards a few dozen yards in a series of short, sharp hops.

But surprise quickly gave way to swamping relief, and Maya lunged forward to flick her comms system on, eyes darting to the fuel readout as she did.

Less than an hour left. Literally in the final hour her rescue appeared.

Of course, that was assuming the strange ship actually helped her. She didn't recognize the make or model of it, but she had to believe it was official in some capacity. No pirates or black market smugglers could afford to use a ship that big--of course, she didn't think most governments in the solar systems would bother with one so extravagant.

Ultimately it didn't matter. That ship was her only hope.

Comms up and running, the ala'ora twisted her chair to the holographic screen that flared to life and held two fingers against the panel that activated the connection until she saw the link flash green at the bottom of her screen. Alright, they were connected; she could really only hope someone over there was actually watching and would tune in to the call.

With another Ala'oran vessel she could have simply sent a thought recording for communication. Most other species in the galaxy probably would have transmitted a video call. Since she didn't exactly have either of those options, she had to settle for smiling and waving at the screen, but sending her message in simple text scrolling along the bottom of the video.

Eyes on the screen, she started typing quickly, fingers flying over the keyboard: Ship stalled. Running out of fuel. Less than an hour of life support left. Please help.

Even as she typed she continued watching the screen, desperately hoping that someone would pick up the call. For now, it was on a loop, until someone on the other ship accepted the connection.

Daglobster:
"We're here, Master Elaros," came the captain's voice again, and by that point Elaros had already put a silky, bearsloth fur bathrobe on and grabbed his joint and his drink before making his way over to the ship's bridge, putting his small, circular sunglasses back on. Ugh, as if the day couldn't get any longer...

He stepped into the central elevator and rose up to the ship's bridge on deck #1 of twenty-five, and stepped out onto a bustling bridge. It had two tiers, with the captain's chair, navigation, and sensors station above while a pair of squat stairways led down to the stations in charge of communications, engines, weaponry/shields, and system overview. All the crew wore matching green shirts and jumpsuit pants that stayed tight and covered everything except the neck and left space for the tail.

They'd come out of FTL at a level angle with Maya's ship, and he walked to the edge of the bridge so he could peer out over to the other vessel. He squinted his eyes. Was that a ship? The angles reminded him of a dolphin or some other streamlined sea-creature but the shine of the metal was undeniable.

What a curious vessel...

"No other ships, not even traces. I think it's real beacon," was announced from the sensors station, and the captain nodded. Elaros' captain was a aged, red-scaled Low Drakkon by the name of Ferdix, and while it was uncommon for one of his station and breeding to command such a large and important vessel, Elaros hired on merit and nothing else.

As he walked back up the stairs, Captain Ferdix was already watching her distress message. Elaros came and leaned in to see as well, placing an arm on the head of Ferdix's seat.

"No fuel? Easy," Elaros said, and before Ferdix could tell him something important Elaros was patting him on the shoulder.

"Use the umbilical and give that cute alien girl all the fuel she needs, I'm sure her whole ship can fit in one of our two fuel tanks," he said, and as he walked away, grinning to himself and fishing his plasma lighter out of his bathrobe's pocket Ferdix cleared his throat. Elaros stopped.

"The umbilical's still damaged from yesterday, Master Elaros," Ferdix said. Elaros nodded. Yes, of course it wasn't fixed yet. One measly little rogue asteroid...

"Well then what are you waiting for? Put her through," he said, and he started lighting his joint and walking back towards Ferdix.

Ferdix nodded. "You heard him. Comms, open a channel. Just my screen, please."

And just like that, they were patching through to her screen. She'd get a lovely view of Captain Ferdix trying his best to look all military and professional in his seat while Elaros was leaning in from the side, looked like a Net-Celeb straight off the cover of a magazine. He puffed some smoke out of his nostrils, joint held in his teeth and drink set down on Ferdix's console. 

As a High Drakkon, he stood at around six-foot-six, roughly two feet taller than Ferdix and with a wider, more muscled and human-like build, whereas Ferdix had a more reptilian curve to his spine and thinner, less impressive jaws and teeth. It was like the difference between a gecko and a komodo dragon, although they were both covered in dragon-like scales, with Elaros' being more pronounced.

They both had a rather pronounced reptilian accent, but Elaros' Common was much better.

"Hello hello, are you recieving, stranger?" Elaros said, and he waved a clawed hand. Then, Ferdix spoke up.

"You're in contact with the DVS Anastasia and we hear your situation." he started.

"Are your engines functional?"

DragonSong:
[Just an FYI, if it's of interest, if you've ever seen "The Abyss", the alien ships in that are roughly what I'm basing Ala'oran tech on ^.^]


The roughly three minutes that it took for her message to be patched through felt like an eternity. Maya worried at her lower lip, the delicate points of her sharp canines dangerously close to pricking the skin and drawing blood.

Then the screen flashed, beeped, and the view of her own message changed to an image of two...two creatures, she assumed officials on the massive ship, though she'd never seen one of their species before. The smaller one held himself quite professionally, but the larger seemed almost surprisingly at ease, relaxed.

Not quite sure whose cue she should take, Maya glanced between the two of them, then settled for reaching up to brush a handful of powder blue braids back behind one ear and sitting up a little straighter as she reached out to type again.

Engines functional. All systems operational, but running on residual fuel.

She flicked her eyes up to the screen again, hoping they could read the near desperation in her face. It was so odd not to be able to communicate through touch--she had no idea what they might be thinking, how they might be reacting to her.

I can pay for a refuel, or even a tow to the nearest station. She didn't have much in the way of money, but she was sure she could figure something out.

Please. Her eyes flicked to the systems' readout, then back to the video screen. My life support is down to twenty minutes.

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