Smoke trailed out from
the male’s lips as he looked towards the arching skyline over his head. All around him, he could see a swarm of ships
streaking just above the tree-lines.
Looking in the mirror, he admired his new face slightly, it was a strong
face one with a broad jawline, high cheek bones, bright blue eyes and a sharp
nose. Breathing through his nose was
still taking some getting used to, but Alexander would only chuckle as he ran
his fingers through the now long brown hair that managed to curl about his
skull and reach down to his neck.
“What’s our ETA,
Royce?”
Alexander’s usual Scottish
accent rang weakly today, it was hard to talk when he was still healing. Most of his body had been ravaged by the ice
wastes of Waquil and what the environment hadn’t destroyed, the wild-life
had. One of his arms had to be replaced
with a mechanical counter-part which to the doctor’s credit looked almost human
if not for the chrome finish. Bringing
two of those metallic fingers up to pluck away his cigarette Alexander looked
back over the tree-line before he heard Royce respond.
“Ten minutes give or
take. All this green makes me feel
uneasy, I’m too used to seeing nothing but white.” Royce had been on Waquil with Alexander, the
pair had been a part of the only ten people that had survived being stranded on
the planet after the plant went up in smoke.
Royce was still shaken about it and would likely be experiencing PTSD by
the weeks end. Sad, especially
considering that Royce was a Cu’Halian.
Cu’Halians used to be
seen as noble warriors and far-famed guards of unshakable loyalty until the Yor’zvin
collective nearly wiped the race into extinction. They have since repopulated; however, the Cu’Halian
race never recovered their old monikers.
Seen now as dregs and second best when it came the Yor’zvin, the race
slunk back to its homeworld in shame.
The puns and jokes still ring out, mostly because of their canine like
appearance.
Royce himself was a
taller creature, roughly six foot six and covered in short black fur that
marked the brown patch around his face making him appear like the poster child
of the Doberman breed of dog. His ears
always standing tall and at attention, giving him an Anubian like appearance to
coincide with his narrow muzzle. He lost a lot more than I did on Waquil. Alexander had to remind himself before taking
another drag on his cigarette and deciding that he would do his best to be
there for his friend.
Meanwhile, Royce kept
two hands flat on the steering console, another firmly gripping the gear shift
and the last one clutching the hand break as if his life depended on it. Tall,
muscular and fit with an additional pair of arms, how in the world did the Yor’zvin
ever manage to bring down this race?
Alexander asked himself quietly, though couldn’t find an answer.
There were a lot of
questions that the universe had thrown at him that he didn’t have an answer
for. Standing up, Alexander found
himself staring back down again, the tree-line was fading and twisting into
solid grass land as the cruiser sped towards its destination. The city-center of the planet Jun, Alexander
had been repaired and given a month of rest after his incident before shipping
out of the galaxy cluster to the adjacent one.
Apparently the mining corporation had decided it was time to branch out
a little bit and go into foresting as well.
Alexander was to take up a new station on Jun and see that it ran at
optimal efficiency.
I shouldn’t complain, work is work.
Alexander told himself, wanting more than anything to be hunting down
the bastards that did this to him; however, with no leads, he knew that he’d be
better off just getting to work. When
the shuttle landed, Alexander and Royce both stepped out of the sleek black
cruiser before the auto-pilot made it shot back towards orbit once again.
“So, what should we do
first Alex,” Royce questioned knowing that Alexander was one his superior
officer and secondly his only means of emotional support here for now. Alexander only drew in another drag before
dropping his now finished cigarette and stamping it out.
“I don’t know about
you, but I want something to eat.”
