side project A

IN TRANSIT

I wipe the sweat off my brow and head to my room to change my shirt and have a snack. I glance at my wrist and type out a few commands to get some little drones to seal breaches and damage from the inside. The skittering of little metal legs in the ceiling gives me a solid confirmation, and with a satisfied sigh I dry off my sweaty hands and make my way to my bedroom for another delicious homemade sandwich. I'm pulling it out of the minifridge when I hear a loud bang from the cargo bay's direction followed by crackling gunfire. I glance at my wrist and pull up the feed from the cargo bay cameras but am only greeted with static. Damage from the fight or whatever's in there probably knocked them out.

I call up a little spherical defence drone to cover my back as I grab my rifle from its mount on the door. I finish buttoning up my double-breasted trench coat and head down the stairs to the cargo bay airlock. I raise my rifle and glance at my wrist to open the door. I enter as the last machine gun turret goes down. My eyes dart to the mangled turrets on the floor. They're all encased in some smooth cobalt coloured metal. Where the large box once stood is a thick parapet hastily thrown together out of the same metal. I approach slowly, gun trained on the centre of the parapet. I clear my throat and yell.

"Stand up and put your hands above your head. I won't hurt you if you cooperate." I naively expect whatever it is to know English or have a universal translator.

A metallic screech returned, followed by a small hand sticking up over the parapet and launching a stream of molten metal my way. I dive and roll out of the way as the being screeches again. I tap my left ear with my free hand to get my universal translator to find a solution.

"I said I won't hurt you." I yelled again before firing off some warning shots.

Another screech, another stream of molten metal, this time striking the drone hovering next to me. It goes down with a heavy thud, narrowly avoiding my shoulder. I hear a beep in my left ear and yell at the being again.

"Hey, do you understand me?"

It responds with a screech and my translator still fails to change it into anything legible. I rush out of the cargo bay, dodging several more streams of metal. Well almost. Some metal dripped onto my coat, scorching the material, and solidifying but thankfully not melting through. I slam the override button next to the door, forcing it shut and slamming down an armour plate for good measure. I run up to the cockpit and sit at the computer console set into the wall behind the pilot's seat. My fingers dance on the keyboard searching for any information on what the thing in my cargo bay could be. I would've jettisoned it by now into warp space, but the C-R pay out was too good to avoid. I was also perhaps an enemy of the Hexpriyans, didn't need any more. I look up several keywords: 'dark blue metal,' 'alien shooting metal out of hands,' 'screeching speech,' 'translator.' I have to go through over a dozen results, all the time hearing clangs and banging from the cargo bay down the hall. I end up on an obscure archaeology site offering a lengthy research paper on a race called the Zythan Nyoceni but most importantly, translator software.

I begin the download and drum my fingers as the data processes at a painfully slow pace. The clanging intensifies, and an alarm sounds across my ship. Imminent blast door failure. Fucking hell, process faster damn it! The loading bar trickles past fifty percent. I hear the cargo bay door hiss and groan while the clanging becomes louder and louder.

Sixty-two percent. I see the door glow red as it begins to heat.

Seventy-four percent. The door is now a bright yellow.

Eighty-nine percent. The door is glowing white and the hallway fills with the stench of vaporizing plastic and electrical components.

Ninety-six percent. The door bubbles and a dark blue palm pushes the molten metal aside and onto the floor. Incomplete translation will have to do.