【☆】 S P A C E . A U 【☆】

A lone figure stands in front of the window, pale body cast by the light of the neon below. Milky white eyes follow the ant-like movement of the people and vehicles below while clean, unblemished hands clasp each other behind the smooth curvature of an stiff back. Lines like crevices in rock trace symmetrical patterns down the length of the face, cutting it into neat linear planes. They continue down the chin, the neck, to disappear behind the thick material of a crisp white tunic and pants. The whole figure seems almost sculpted, movements elegant and unhurried. He knows his place in this world, had carved it from his surroundings through power and cunning. He knows where he stands.


'The top,'  he thinks, gaze shifting past the people.


The city stretches out below him, a crystalline grid of sharply designed architecture. All designed for him, by him. He had uprooted the old growth when their company had first moved in under the guise of community outreach branded as an improvement project for the more financially hit districts. Oh, his company had certainly rebuilt them better, but the increase in value was too much for some of the original occupants to afford. 'An unfortunate oversight,' he muses absently. There had been other opportunities for the poor souls though, chances for work within the company, housing and food provided onsite. He smiles as he thinks back to those early days. His first employees from this planet still held a special place in his heart. They had been so eager, so trusting… so… fragile.


He's almost sure one of the more interesting specimens is still preserved in the vaults. 'Sentimentality,' he sighs as he shakes his head, 'my greatest weakness.'


“Reports.” he intones aloud with a wave of his hand to the handful of androids gathered behind him. It was unfortunately, time for him to be bothered by the instant chattering of his many branches and divisions. Redundant as it may be, he had to at least sit through the insipid droning of a cascade of similar reports. It was the same formula each time; he would have chosen an industry, and a few months later it was made his. Total and complete monopoly. Really, he had no idea what people could get so fussy about; their products were obviously better, their methods sound. Quality of life had improved tenfold. If consumers had to pay a little extra, well, it was worth it.

A click of metal against metal signals that the first of many has come forward; the metallic pitched voice informs him of the latest in their medical sector. There’s nothing new there for him to really take note of. The medical sector had been the first of their many victories. It had been and still is his pride and joy, the one sector he tends to personally oversee. There were just so many… promising developments emerging. Not to mention his own more personal projects. Those he kept close to himself, only for his eyes. With matters of such delicacy and secrecy, he just couldn’t trust any of his other employees with the matter.

He turns as the android finishes his report and motions with one pale hand for the next to come forward. Milky white eyes track the machine as it gives its own stock standard report. With the next and every one after, it's the same. Complete industry takeover. Insignificant competition. Record profit. The same reports, each with their own small variations tailored to the industry. Developments, change in personal, the usual day to day maintenance that he couldn’t be bothered with. Each of them gives the report, each of them turns to leave once finished and dismissed. He turns again, the pale matte white of his own body casting little reflection in the ambient fluorescent light of the room.

“The last of you. Forward.” The sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could get back to his own projects. The final android steps forward as smoothly as the rest. Its feet gently click against the smooth polished white of the metal floor, the sound softly echoing in the now quiet space of his office. Slowly, it blinks once before beginning to speak.
“Sir.” It begins. His eyes close as he listens. “Reports in our industry indicate a less than average intake of total industry business.”


Alex’s eyes snap open, milky white trained on the cold blue glow of his own androids. “What sector.” he demands.


“Deep space travel and delivery.” it answers back, monotone and emotionless. Alex lets it continue on even as he feels his ire rise, staticky in his own head. “Our production is greater than our closest competitor, and yet the consumer overwhelmingly prefers our direct opposition.”

“Show me.” his voice is low and cold in the bright lights of the room. The android nods, dipping its head low before raising it once more. The room comes alive, pictures and statuses and numbers of what they had gathered thus far flickering into the near empty white room. Images float in perfect stasis in the air around them, transparent and yet wholly real. Closest to him, Alex watches the image of one of their cargo ships turn on an invisible axis in front of him, the miniscule crew that is in charge of piloting the massive thing displayed to the side. Crisp, sharp steps carry him to the center where the massive image of their main ship spins slowly. It’s bigger than anything he’s seen besides possibly a warship, and this was supposed to be what? Some sort of garage? Eyes narrow as he inspects the small crew that supposedly runs maintenance off to the side, their names and the readings they had managed to obtain listed below their images.

Maintenance Crew Profiles :

There’s no more than a handful of them keeping this city sized ship running well enough to turn a larger profit than his own businesses in the sector. They couldn’t possibly.

“The owner.” He orders the android again with a snap of his fingers, and the robot motions to the other side of the transparent image of the ship. There, displayed in near full size, is a humanoid figure. Alex considers the design in the same cold way he does his subjects. Harsh, dark metal plating that overlaps near seamlessly, joints and hydraulics all positioned on the exterior, all pointing to some interior structure. There was something organic at the core, he was sure of it.

Two fingers wave in front of him and the image enlarges. Clinical eyes run the length of the figure. There, behind what had to be the helm, an opening to allow a set of large curved horns through. On first glance, he had assumed them part of the design with how flush the plating was to the base. ‘Effortless integration’, he thinks to himself. It’s a strange mix of intrigue and annoyance that propels him further. Thick corded hair piles out from around the horns, real. It’s hidden well among a band of large cords. Green ringed eyes well hidden behind a dark visor, real. It’s all an organic push and pull from what lies beneath to the heavy metal plating enhancing and protecting the form. ‘Curious design’, he muses. It's a particularly… focused design, certainly not made for the general manual labor of what he refuses to believe is a garage. His eyes track seams in the plating, mapping them over his own knowledge. There’s a vague note made mentally: what species could be hiding underneath? Whatever the armor was made of, it had blocked any sort of readings on the thing. He had no idea of an age, a species, a height, weight, anything. Alex huffs an annoyed sigh.


He’d just have to peel the thing open to find out.


A flick of his hand dismisses the image. It flickers as the image snaps back to full resolution, the whole of it falling back into orbit with the others surrounding the central ship. “And you’re saying that this,” he motions to the transparent display around him. “Operation is enough to disrupt our dealings within the deep space transport and delivery industry.”

“Quite.” The android responds. Only its head moves to follow his movements. “We simply cannot compete with the quality being outputted by our competitors. The engineering is on a scale and of a complexity that our research and development hasn’t been able to replicate.”

“And yet I’ve hired them to replicate it.” Alex hums as he passes yet another ship. This one is smaller, more lithe. Sleeker lines catch his attention, as do the two profiles that supposedly pilot it. One is a rather normal looking thing, closer to standard Terran than anything else. The markings were a bit peculiar, but humans were rather fond of anything that they could call their own. Something to separate them from the crowd. He would know; they were a particularly rich market for their surgical and cosmetic branch. The other, a little more interesting. Basiliscus didn’t usually tend to leave their home worlds, preferring the intense heat of their deserts. And yet here one was, long fingers pressed to the on-ship mic it wore around its neck, sharp teeth pulled into a smile below its flat, ridged nose, and antenna pulled up in a happy and alert position. These two supposedly were in charge of this entire cargo ship.


Laughable.


How were they being outpaced by such a minuscule threat?


“Broadcast note to the deep space travel and delivery branch. ” he starts, not turning to the android behind him. A whirring noise is his only indication that the machine has heard and obeyed. “I have received the quarterly report on the status of your branch and its accomplishments. I would like to congratulate all of you on the progress we have made together, and look forward to a bright future. This industry is one that I feel is in need of improvements, improvements that we are in the best position to make.” His tone is mechanically chipper, a facade of the quintessential businessman. This is the benevolent figure featured on billboards and quietly convincing every citizen of his concern for their well being.  

“That being said,” he continues. One hand rises, that earlier static in his head building to an almost fever pitch. “Do better.” His fingers curl, the android crumples, and the transmission is cut violently short. His head turns, milky white eyes peering emotionless at the crushed metal android on the floor. Pity. He’d rather liked that one’s design.


Eyes flick back to the images still floating in front of him, flitting from the two sunny faces in front of him and back to the imposing figure at the center clad in black metal. All he needed was to get the two of them in the same room.


He was sure he could work out a deal.




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“Nah dude, last diner we passed was like…” The man next to him tries to argue.


“Was like thirty minutes ago, but it wasn’t the GOOD diner.” Thin reptilian lips turn down in a pout. Bright orange curls fluff up and out as the head they’re attached to sinks petulantly into the com system perched around its neck. “The good diner serves a vegetarian option and has the nice waitress who’s not stingy with the hot sauce.” He dips further into the plush seat slowly taking on grooves from time spent in it. Long, talon tipped feet slap against the open dash, scattering empty chip bags from stops maybe a month past.

“I just want a vegetable that’s like, not fried.” Bony fingers grab for a stray chip bag to toss behind them. His wide eyes follow where it flutters and lands in a pile of similar bags and debris. “Maybe we should clean this place out too. I feel like Sam’s gonna wanna, i dunno, check and see that we’re not abusing this beautiful baby.”

He turns back towards the front, fingers now idly playing with the controls. A flip of the switch turns the heated element in his seat on, and he sighs as he leans back and basks in it. It was a relatively routine run to a pretty common client on the very edges of known space. Some sort of giant library with real paper books all tucked away nice and neat in stacks and clusters too tall and too vast to really get a good sense on. He remembers the first time they had been reluctantly invited in, Steve had nearly tripped over himself looking up towards where a ceiling probably was. The aquatic looking steward looked annoyed, but that might have been because he had not so smoothly run into a pile of books while he was busy looking up. He’d apologized profusely, sure, but that hadn’t stopped the fishy lady from glaring at him.


He grabs for a loose packet of what was once some sort of baked good; it's mostly crumbs now. “Seriously dude, next food stop, I’m sweeping.”


It was already bad enough that Sam had somehow seen fit to give them the sleekest ship he had. The thing could hardly be counted as a cargo ship anymore with what the man (Steve presumes he’s a man. He’s never seen him without the armor, but Sam’s never corrected him so….) had done to her. Steve had run diagnostics in the space of the more boring stretches of runs on the ship; he couldn’t even begin to dissect half of what was going on underneath the dark polished metal. He knew enough to get them out of some tight spots, improvised the rest, and judging by the fact that they weren’t dead it seemed to be working. This was wayyyyy past what he had gleaned from his dad and the piles of broken ships that tended to end up in the desert. This was like, three levels out of his league, mind boggling in how everything somehow fit together and fit together so RIGHT. They had to be the only express ship this side of charted space to pull this run in less than a week.


It was a challenge, sure, but Steve had never thought of it as an unwelcome one.


He had notes tucked away in damn near every compartment on his side of the ship, would pester Sam for any details when they were back home, hovered like a damn fly whenever the man was working. And right now, on this long stretch of nothing happening save for streaks of stars as they flew past, it seemed like the perfect time to try and make some sense of his latest scribblings. Fingertips reach for the datapad smushed between the chair and the door and he settles it right below his sternum. One pair of arms holds it up and acts as a stand, the other flicks a pen out of a hidden compartment and begins tapping away on the surface. There’s a quiet moment filled with only the gentile click of plastic against glass before Steve speaks again.


“Do you think they know e-mail’s still a thing?” he says absently to his companion currently piloting the plane. The pen traces a line on screen; slowly a schematic begins to form. “Like, i get it. Letters are ‘romantic’ and whatever and its not like i don’t enjoy this route. But like. Email’s a thing.”

“PFFFFFT. Dude, come on, lets be REAL-”

Before he could finish his statement, wiry arms yanked a lever, in turn causing the rest of the ship to hum and vibrate beneath them like a purr. They were looking to get this delivery out on time, and if they were planning to stop for non-fried veggies, they were going to have to go double time. It was odd- as much variety across the stars, finding a fast veggie place was near impossible, even on this long-ass route. Fingers crisscrossed with scars dance from the shift and back to the thrusters, leeching back before slowly sliding forward, acceleration following just as slowly. It was a smooth transition of speed. of course. Lips twitched to a lopsided smile, looking ahead before switching back to the dash, to the navigator, and back to his friend. He leaned forward, appreciating the rough ridges entwining on his green skin, the flat nose, the permanent wide-eyed expression of wonder/fear/excitement. He loved those amber eyes, loved how he could tell exactly what his friend was feeling while looking at them. No one had ever matched Jake in intensity until Steve came along. The day they got paired was written up as one of the bests of his life.

“They’re ANCIENT. Like, super-duper old. Like older than my parents old.”

He wasn’t quite sure how old his employer was. Sam was… a mystery wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in grease and wires and some near-indestructible alloy. But their client? Oh, yeah. Old. As old as one can be without all those cosmetic enhancements that everyone past 30 received. His mother once told him that, long ago, age was something to be revered and celebrated. Now, you walked any street in any major city across the universe, and it seemed everyone stopped aging. Jake didn’t see the appeal- his skin was already so fucked, that any sort of ‘nip and tuck’ would look incredibly idiotic. It would pull the puffy scars back, probably rip them open and make new ones.

Ick.

“And you saw what he lives in- books. Paper. Leather-frickin-covers. Sam’s gotta know that the way to this dude’s heart is through good old fashioned ink and pen. Besides-”

Jake couldn’t help but lean over to his buddy’s seat, his wide eyes stretching, his grin growing to something downright devious. It stretched across his features, the symbols etched in stretching with him.

“Those letters probably got some raunchy, dirty birdy smut. Like reaaaaal nasty shit. And they don’t want their emails to be hacked and then pushed everywhere. Imagine the scandal!”

Laughter rang through the small space, bouncing off the windshield and probably all the way back to their bunks. Jake’s laugh did that- it brought levity and light all around as the air pushed out of his lungs with a pleasant squeeze. He followed the laughter back into his seat, his eyes shifting back to the window, to the navigator, and to the interface. All levels appeared normal, they had fuel for days yet, and they were settling in for a pretty smooth ride. He placed his hands on the yoke, but the touch was feather-light as he pulled them slightly to the right, deftly avoiding some piece of space junk. Some sort of satellite or pieces of a busted up ship. No, it was definitely a busted piece of a ship. LISS-572 blaster cannon, he was sure of it. He could tell from the singed off wires that it hadn’t been a fatalistic hit. Unless whoever lost it had been in some kind of dog fight. A smirk played upon his lips once more as they passed the piece, wishing whatever it was attached to was still lazily zipping across the stars. He had to identify those pieces of shit all the time back at school. Whether it was a LISS-572, a LID-783, whatever. He could identify most ships on the market, as most ships were built by the same company that owned the academy.

Jake would have graduated top of his class if he hadn’t dropped out. He might not have been a genius, but he was everything that they loved in a pilot- quick on his feet, ready to adapt to any situation, eager to learn. For a Terran, he was rather durable too. They saw him survive many failed tests with barely a scratch. He was well on his way to be the best pilot that ever came out of the academy, probably being a part of some squadron with other hotshots. Hell, Jake knew that they had pretty much had a guaranteed spot on one of the elite teams. Unfortunately, it was not in the cards.

He didn’t speak of it often- maybe after a little drink, or close to none sleep. And it was always in pieces. A test flight, but something went wrong. Something was in the way. Someone. And it might have been a group of innocents, or perhaps part of the test. But they were in the way, and Jake dodged them, but lost cargo in the shift. He was able to retrieve it, but in consequence of his final score. But that didn’t matter! He had saved people, real lives! Who cares if he was 15 seconds late to land!

But that’s all they cared about- speed and numbers. Not about the people in the ships or on a collision course. So Jake left. Opted out of the system, found a dumpy little speeder, and made his way in the universe. Planet after planet, quadrant after quadrant. He made money doing what he could, but it was never enough. Fuel costed some serious credits, as did food. He used a lot of both, which people had a hard time believing due to his slender frame and little busted up speeder. He was damned lucky Sam found him or else he might’ve crawled back to the piss-poor farm planet he came from.

Food.

Oh right.

“Look, dude. When we are on our way back, we can stop at the good diner with the good waitress and the good veggies and all the rest of the goodies your little heart desires. Hell, they got the best french fries with that ‘cosmic sauce’ that really just tastes like mayo mixed with ketchup and those green egg things from that one planet? What’s it called? GudRem-5? Unimportant, but anyways. the best I’ll be able to do right now is some fuel-up station some forty-five away. But until then- here”

Long arms reached left, pulling up an intact bag of some sort of Veggie Chip. Not even stale or crumbled up. Jake was the type of friend who always had a stash of something to keep his friends happy. For his buds at the academy, it was smuggled-in booze. For Sam’s crew, it was trinkets and ship from worlds over. And for Steve, it was anything that resembled a vegetable and an extra heat lamp and blanket. With a gentle toss, one less bag was surrounding his seat. Maybe Steve was right, he thought, as he absently kicked the crinkly snack cake wrappers and takeout boxes. They trailed from here to the bunk to the kitchenette, and Jake was sure he saw some Cheezy Blaster bags in the bathroom last time he was in there. To be fair, they spent so much time in the ship at this point, the motivation to keep it clean was dwindling.

“What trip do you think this is? With the letters? They’ve been going at it for a while now.” Jake settled back into his seat, looking out at the mass expanse of the space. A long finger reached and pressed one of the screens before him, before swiping left. Past the fuel gauge, past the system operations, to something much more important. A couple quick taps and gestures, and from the head of his seat began to pump out some soft music. It was one of those fun, old school rock songs with a hoppy beat and some silly lyrics about ‘takin’ a rocket to the stars in your eyes babyyyyyyy’. HE nodded his head along, drumming his fingers to the tune, mouthing the words with a smile.

“You think that fish-girl knows anything about it? We could ask her.”

His face scrunches up in a mix of disgust and poorly held back laughter. "Dude, come on! Dont make me think about that!" His mouth gives up its noble attempt to keep the laughter at bay and lets a few giggles slip loose. "He isnt sending anything -" long thin fingers break briefly from the tablet to add air quotes "-'dirty birdy'."

Steve listens to Jake go on about the diner they'd hit on the way back, quietly pleased and still giggling to himself. A small smile pulls across his face as he continues to bask in the pleasant warmth of the chairs and poke at the screen. He doesnt need to look up to hear the series of clicks as Jake messes with the sound system he'd been intent on being put into the ship. A moment later, his suspicions are confirmed as some older Terren song comes pouring from the speakers. It was... palatable. Palatable in the way certain things are after you've grown accustomed to their constant presence. What had Jake said once? And acquired taste? Whatever it was, Steve knew he had different favorites than what was playing now, but he wasnt about to stop the man.

"I'm not sure." He starts to answer Jake's latest question. "I mean, I could pull up the logs and see, but i wanna say.. " he trails off, thinking. "Well it's been a little over a year, at least. I'm not sure offhand how many letters that works out to, or even if they were sending them before us." He huffs as he taps the screen in front of him with a soft little smack.

"Fishy lady would probably know." He hums as he tucks his tablet to his side to grab for and pull open the bag of chips Jake had tossed his way. Really was nice of him to keep extra snacks on board. These were some of the good ones too: dried beans, dusted with some strange spicy powder that half reminded him of his own home planet. "I mean, shes been with the old book dude for forever, right? That's assuming she'll tell us anything though, or that the old dude even tells her anything in the first place!" He pouts around a bean. "Sam doesn't tell us anything."

“I didn’t even think about if she would even tell us.” Jake snorted, his hands tapping to the beat on the yoke. “She doesn’t share much. Besides, you know, judgemental glares.”

He turned once again to his companion, screwing up his face to twist and contrast to a mask of shrill contempt. Hre gave an embittered sigh and crossed his arms, giving that trademark glare. He blew out another sigh before uttering in the lilting accent and clinical imitation of the fish-woman in question. “I must ask you to put that book down. It is an ANTIQUE! What would Master McKay say about this! Please, avoid BREATHING on the books. The moisture from your breath will corrode the fine paper 0.0001% quicker than normal. If you do not comply, I will have to ask for you to stand outside!"

Jake blew out another string of laughter, turning back to his view of the cosmos as the song petered out with a warbled croon. He enjoyed this part of life- the constant travel made him focus on the here and now, on his best bud and the job they had been set out to do. Who cares if he was some intergalactic letter carrier. The pay was good, the company was better!

“We should ask her when we get there. I bet she knows all KIND of dirt on the man-” Jake was suddenly cut off when he spied something on the navigation screen. Another ship. Which was odd, because this route was NEVER used by any other commercial delivery crew. His long fingers tapped and clicked as his brow furrowed. It wasn't only strange, it was downright worrying! He turned the volume down on the new song, some techno-pop thing that he added to the lineup to appease his bud next to him.

“Dude, you seeing this?”

“Uh, yeah dude, I’m seeing that.”

Steve leans forward towards the display, wide eyes blinking at the little symbol slowly moving across the screen. “That looks like another ship.” Stating the obvious but yeah, it was weird. Weird to see another ship out here with theirs, weird that whoever they are hasn’t attempted to contact them yet despite their own sensors probably also picking up their ship. They weren’t even on the recognized trade route. They were just kinda… going. Going where? Who knew.

“Huh.” Steve huffs, confused. His thoughts shift from Jake’s suggestion of dirt on the old man as well as the much more palatable electronic music filtering out from the radio. Not that he didn’t want to hear about his employer’s… strangely sweet love life with the stuck up book keeper they traveled to on the regular. Can’t even judge the man(?) all that much for it either, what with the current state of his own romances. It had been a long minute since he had resigned himself to the fact the the man sitting next to him was less than interested in anything more than friendship with him. Which was fine. Really. He liked being friends with Jake, it’s just that now, well… He’d have to start all over getting to know someone knew which honestly? Was just too much trouble and too time consuming for the schedule he had now.


But all of that doesn’t matter. There’s a puzzle here, a positive conundrum! His woes can wait.


“Do you wanna hail them?” he says, voice a touch too excited for the possibility of meeting the strange beings responsible for the strange anomaly. It seemed like a good idea anyway, what with the way they seemed to just be drifting along. Maybe they needed help? They had the time, they were ahead of schedule; he looks towards Jake, waiting for the man’s decision.

“Oh HELLS yeah, I wanna hail it!” Long, scarred fingers swiftly move to a switch that would get them off course. But, in the final millisecond, before the flip could be completed, Jake did something he rarely did. He hesitated.

The gruff disappointment of their employer and the urgency of the delivery was made known to them. And They couldn’t just STOP to gawk at the new ship and whoever would be on it. Although- he had to admit that he was excited by the thought of meeting someone new. Jake loved his little hobbled together found family back at base, loved his best bud, but they rarely were in contact with other pilots and engineers. He hummed, turning his gaze to Steve once again.

“What do you think? Because I don’t want the old man to flay our asses again for getting distracted… However-”

Jake’s eyes flick to the ceiling, as if lost in thought (although, that was just as rare as his impulse control), stroking his chin in thought. A wicked smile began to play on his lips as his hand went back to flick the switch.

“We didn’t stop for food before we left. This could just be our… rest stop break. You know how important it is to take a rest stop! Very, very important! And it’s not like we’re gonna be late for delivery or anything.”

And with a flick of his finger, they began to slow down. With another flurry of fingers, Jake adjusted the direction to the ship across the way, and with another couple tippity taps of screens and buttons, he tried to open communication with the other ship. He had to admit, he wondered what they would find. Who they would find! It was just a little spice to the same meal that was this delivery route. He found himself bouncing in his seat, the grin on his face growing.

“I put your helmet in your bunk, FYI. It got a little dirty, but I shined it for you, bud.” Just a little thanks for all the shit that Steve did, Jake thought with a quick head shake. He wasn’t sure why Steve was so attached to the thing- all glowy and showy. He said something about a band that used to wear them, one of those avant-garde techno dudes that had made the beep-boop song that was pumping through the speaker now.

“You idiot, we’ve already established that ain’t what make it go!”


“An y’all think I know how t’drive a thrice damned ship? If y’know the controls so well, why ain’t you drive, huh?” Silver ringed eyes set against black glare at the other occupant inside their small, stolen ship. Both occupants were large, larger than most and with a bulk to match. Tufted ears not unlike a deer pulled back in annoyance as the second occupant pushes aside the first with little effort. The first’s own down covered body was covered in fading vegetation; what had been growing before they began their trip has slowly begun to be replaced by species that thrive in the low light and dry, stale air of the ship’s cabin.

“Maybe i fuckin will. Look, y’all got us way off the dots!” she points to the display in front where the path they had had been laid out in a nice dotted line. “Now I ain’t know where the fuck we at!”

“Y’ain’t know in the first place, since when has your ass been t’ space?”

Their arguing devolves into spat curses and claws tearing at hair; the larger woman hauls the male straight out of his chair and slams him against the display, while the male gives as good as hes given, biting into her arm with a set of sharp teeth. Their fight is only interrupted by a steady beeping from behind the one pressed against the display. Both stare wide eyed at the softly blinking display.

“Y’all know what that is?” She asks him, to which he huffs.

“Sis, I been on a ship f’ less than a week, I ain’t know shit.”

She releases him and together they stare at the display, still beeping and blinking for a reason utterly unknown to them. They’d stolen this ship only recently; it was frankly a miracle they had been able to get it off the ground, let alone pilot it for as long as they had. Secretly, they both laid awake at night wondering how to land the damn thing whenever they got somewhere worth being, though that was a problem for the future.

“Should i… press it? Y’think that’d do anythin’?”

He shrugs. “I ‘sume so. Most these buttons do somethin’, at least.”


With one clawed finger, the woman presses the slowly blinking button. They both startle slightly at the greeting that fils the ship then, some bright chipper voice asking them where they from and how they doin’. The two look at each other, both very confused.


“Is tha’ the ship?” he whispers to her. She shrugs, eyes wide.

“I ain’t know who y’all are,” she shouts to the empty air. “But y’better show y’allself.

Jake frowned at the gruff voices coming in from the com. While he knew not EVERYONE piloting a ship came from the same background as him, he knew that it was etiquette to say your name, your model, and in most cases, your employer. Or the state of business. Or even a hello.

He let out a small hrmph as his fingers flew to the display and began to allow a video transmission. On the navigation screen, the ship was finally coming into view and holy shit it was FUCKED. The shell was dented and busted, bumpy in areas that had high-velocity contact. There was a gash, where the metal actually PEELED away to reveal the mechanics underneath. The thing was stationary, still. Wasn’t making any movement whatsoever. Which was odd because, you know. It was a ship. They were meant to move.

“Gimme a second, gimme a second” Jake called out, as his fingers finally hit the right flashing lights in the right order, and he suddenly saw who he was talking to. Or, at least, sort of.

Their cockpit was dark, but he saw the glowing eyes. And the bulkiness! They were big bastards, with enough grit to make Jake’s stomach flip flop for only a moment. He also noticed the fuzzy plants hanging off one, and the other’s fuzzy pointed ears. And the sharp teeth, he thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be a great idea to board.

“Jake and Steve coming in. Do you guys need help? You look a little stuck.”

But Jake’s eyes caught something strange. A logo, one that was plastered to the farthest edges of the galaxy, was slowly becoming visible right behind the group. He nearly kicked himself for not noticing the model of the ship- he had flown many in his time in school. Of course, the thing had been maimed beyond recognition. He sent a silent prayer, hoping these two found it and were not employed by their competitor.

“Jake and Steve coming in. Do you guys need help? You look a little stuck.”


“The fuck’s a Jakeansteve?” Agnes grumbles below her breath. “That one of the bastard’s?”


“Coul’ ask.” grey eyes peer further at the panel in front of them. There’s too many fucking buttons on the damn thing, he isn’t made for space travel in any sort of capacity. To be honest, he was really out of his depth up in this death machine they had stolen. The air was too stale, the whole thing a little too cold and empty for his tastes. Hell, even the plants that had been all tucked away safe in the thick fur of his shoulders and arms had wilted and sloughed off early in their journey only to be replaced with something smaller and stranger that preferred this horrible new climate. He wilts slightly as he thinks of the lost plants; he’d loved those large flowers and shrubs.


One last bit of their home Lawrence had taken from them.


Agnes’s grumbling pulls him from his thoughts. “I ain’t jus’ gonna ask it if it one’a Lawrence’s? What if it is, huh? We fucked, idiot.” Her thick palm swats at him; Tobi rolls with the blow.

“Well, ain’t like i know, asshole. Like i fuckin’ said, been in space like a week. I ain’t know jack, don’ know why you keep askin’ me like i do. What I do know is this.” One large hand comes up and begins ticking off points on sharply clawed fingers. “One. We stuck. Two. I ain’t know shit about these sorta deathtraps and neither do you. Three. Either we die bein’ stubborn or we ask for help. And four?” he lets his hands drop, shakes his shoulders out in a sort of shrug as his silver ringed eyes flare bright. “If they ain’t help, we jus’ kill em’ and steal their ship, same as last ones. Yeah?”

His sister next to him huffs out a long breath. “Fine. ‘Spose that’s fine.”


Her own eyes focus on the still running video link between the ships. “Jakeansteve? We coul’ use some help, if you offerin’.”

Jake really began to wonder how these two dudes made it this far out into deep space if they didn’t even know how to mute their comm. Like, they knew that he and Steve heard all of that, right? Talking about Lawrence, talking about how they might have been Lawrence’s. Which was ridiculous, their Lawrence ship was scrap compared to theirs. Couldn’t they see that? These dudes were fucked if they tried to do anything else in that ship. But, they were probably just… displaced people. Stole the ship from a raid, their planet was going to shit, and now they were out here, slowly suffocating in space. He’d seen it before- hell, he was 90% sure that's how the fish lady ended up at the old fart’s sanctuary. If Steve and Jake decided to just buzz on by, these two were dead in a week.

And they were asking for help.

He looked at Steve, his lip quirking up a tad to a side smile. This was interesting, this was something that delivery boys across the galaxies prayed for! An opportunity to side quest and break the monotony that comes with going back and forth from the same five locations.

“Alright. We’ll help you. Get your stuff, we’ll pull you in, and discard the ship. Thing looks like it’s gonna blow in a matter of minutes- : Lawrence doesn't really build for endurance. As long as you don’t mind coming on a Job with us.”Jake felt his engineer’s eyes stare into him. With a quick smack of a button, he turned and looked at Steve with that wild grin, muting himself to the newbies.

“Dude, it’s fine. They’ll stay in cargo, we drop off the goods, we’ll stop at that diner, drop them off, and make it back to Sam in record time. Dude will understand, probably thank us for it. Anyone getting fucked by Lawrence and getting helped like us? It’s gravy.”

“Dude, I don’t know.” Wide orange eyes look between him and the monitors of their ship. “Like, judging from just the video and what I know, like, barebones of that sorta Lawrence ship, they’re really big. Like. Jake. You sure?” His hands come up briefly. “Don’t get me wrong, I am all for sticking it to the man and saving people or whatever, but are you sure they’re gonna be good back there with all, you know, those goods?”

He really wasn’t adverse to saving them, really wasn’t! But one of them had to think about the practicalities of such things and if Jake wasn’t then he guessed the responsibility fell to him. It fell to him a lot in his travels with the man and while Jake usually managed to talk him into things and they usually ended up… alright, he wanted to at least communicate the point that whatever they were were large. And their cargo was fragile. Large and fragile didn’t usually mix well.


“I’m just saying, I think both the fishy lady and Lazarus would have our heads if those supplies came in anything less than pristine condition. And that’s without thinking of Sam!” He says with another glance at their screens. It was true they were ahead of schedule and would make good time regardless and these people probably did need help and something to eat, but... he bites his lip as he thinks it over.


*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧


“They gonna help. Get your shit.” Tobi huffs to his sister. She cuffs him lightly on the shoulder, though with her strength its enough to sway him to the side.

“Shit got. What they think we bringin’? Luggage?” Agnes snorts. “Hell, we lost shit over the course of this whole mess.” Grey eyes look pointedly towards Tobi’s bare shoulders; he tries not to look too upset.

“Well gather it anyway. We’re goin’ on a job apparently.” Tobi’s not entirely sure what this job was or what it entailed, but he was more than happy to leave this busted hunk for a better ride, hopefully somewhere more green. Somewhere that wasn’t all filtered, stale air and grey walls. A week in and he hated this pile of metal already.

“And I’m just saying-”

Jake’s grin grew a bit more as he started flicking switches and pressing buttons, getting ready for the giants to enter the cargo hold and join them on their delivery. He had to agree, they were large. Larger than Jake and Steve by a long shot, but they would fit comfortably with the delivery, with room to spare. More room than that crapmobile they were currently suttling around in.

“-they obviously are going to die out here if we don’t help them. We both know that no one really goes out this far. And those who do probably won’t take kindly to the obviously stolen merchandise. We’re their best shot. However-”

His flurry of motion stopped as he looked at his best bud, directly into those wide orange saucers. He took his hands from the console, and put it gently on his arm in a friendly grip, hopefully grounding the man from the worry of losing their gig or whatever was spinning in that brilliant brain of his. Jake’s smile turned from excited to kind and soft, regarding Steve as what he was- the most important person in his, albeit, short-lived life.

“Whatever you want, I’ll follow you. You call the shots on this one- we can circle back after we drop off, we can bring them, whatever you want. And if we do bring them in, I’ll tae the heat from everyone. You have full permission to throw me to the blame for any ill will. Besides-”

He nodded to the video screen, to the two would-be pilots, eyes twinkling “I feel like Lazarus would find them interesting.”