Chapter Text
“You got any fours?”
“Go fish.”
…is what Purple would have heard, had the cameras been able to record audio. They watched Green huff and paw at the deck with about as much enthusiasm for the game as Purple had for watching it. Though they did note with some amusement that Cyan was very clearly winning.
It was a remarkably lazy afternoon (if you could call it that, with being on a spaceship and all). Most of the crew was either already finishing up their last tasks, or winding down for the evening with the odd few games they had on board– as Black, Green and Cyan were doing. A few clicks through the cameras showed their captain, Red, shamelessly destroying their resident doctor at a video game on the cockpit monitor (one of the few things Dr. Blue was bad at, though they enjoyed the hanging out more than the activity itself), their live-in HR rep Orange sitting alone in the Storage Bay cooing lovingly at their cargo (as usual), and the remaining three crewmates crowded in the Medical Bay, with Brown and Yellow fondly entertaining Lime’s vitriolic rant about the medical equipment they were trying fix (which they rarely had to do, with Blue taking such good care of it).
With everyone accounted for, the camera clicked back to the cafeteria where Black must have instructed Green to take one of their cards just then, because the intern’s body tore in twain and sent their sharp, barbed tongue straight through the middle of an innocent four of clubs before reeling it back in, card and all.
“HGJ– STOP DOING THAT!” The geologist reprimanded, which Purple actually heard that time, because their voice echoed faintly through the vents. The security guard couldn’t help but snort.
…okay, pause.
Yes, anyone else witnessing the last three seconds would have sounded some kind of alarm. An understandable reaction, very fair. It would have been the right thing to do, according to protocol. Fortunately, the situation aboard the Skeld was far from a textbook scenario, and had been for the past several months. Merely giggling at Black’s misfortune was the standard reaction now.
The MIRA captain’s handbook states in bold, occasionally red letters the following phrase: Aliens are real, and they like to kill. This is a bold faced lie.
Are aliens real? Yes. They have two of them. Green and Orange are lovely company.
Do they like to kill? No. They can– they have– but they don’t like to. Frankly, before their skin got stolen, the non-alien Orange was insufferable and nobody was particularly dismayed to find out they had been replaced. Their Orange was a sweetheart, and only occasionally rattled off corporate propaganda as a compulsion.
Green was…less excusable, with their body-snatch of an innocent fresh-off-the-slate intern, but like…nobody knew them. They never got to. Green was somewhat ashamed of this fact.
The only real, graphic murder on board was a VIP ride-along that nobody asked for, but had to put up with for a few hours anyway.
Sure, the initial panic shook them up a fair bit, but it has all been resolved since. Their local mimics were quick to explain their purpose once they realised the crew may be receptive to it. No further lives were lost, and everyone gained an – in some cases more – seething hatred for their overlord employers for using alien eggs as charcoal.
The aforementioned eggs (once dubbed “Ore+”) were their cargo, which they were supposed to transport to Industria for processing. That mission very quickly died, and after a unanimous crew vote, their course was re-charted for the impostor homeworld Polus. This extended their voyage significantly due to the amount of detours around MIRA colonies they had to make, which was starting to become a supply concern.
What was Purple even watching for then? The simple answer is that they didn’t have to watch at all. They just enjoyed checking up on the crew when they were scattered like this.
A deep, sentimental part of them wanted to join Red and Blue in their gaming, but their relationship with the captain was still…complicated. It wasn’t made any better by the revelation of just how corrupt their already very obviously corrupt bosses were. They were getting better! But they couldn’t take up a controller together just yet.
Keeping Orange company was the next best thing.
Noise droned back into the air as Purple left the sound-proofed sanctity of the security office. The reactor’s steady purr was a boon from the universe considering how far beyond its expiry date it was.
The melody of a sunny children’s song beamed down the hallway as they approached Storage, though not sung in any language Purple understood. Their smile came unbidden as they rounded the corner.
Orange, cradling one batch of geode-like eggs in their lap and a few more in a pair of tentacles curled on the floor beside them, was singing their unhatched niblings a song they probably couldn’t hear. They always tried to hold as many as they could at once, but there were just so, so many. Leaning back on one of the larger crates had to do.
Purple did not greet their crewmate out loud– you don’t just interrupt a sproutling’s lullaby. They simply sat down beside Orange, and worldlessly accepted the pair of eggs they were offered to hold. They each fit snugly in their palms, and were thus very easy to nestle against their collared shirt.
The song finished shortly, which was a tragedy no matter how average Orange’s singing was.
“Hi Purple~” They belatedly greeted with such a bright smile, Purple momentarily mistook them for the sun. “Is it dinner time already?”
“Ah, no.” Purple waved the suggestion away, keeping the gesture brief to not compromise their hold on the eggs too much. “In fact Yellow said we might start skipping dinner tonight.”
They were already skipping breakfasts. Orange’s expression fell.
“Mmm…” They curled around the eggs in their lap in a self-soothing motion.
“Hey, no.” Purple shifted their assigned babies into a nearby box to freely scratch at the frizzy fur on Orange’s head. “I know what that noise means! Nobody will starve! We will find somewhere to restock soon. It's not your fault and we voted knowing the risks.”
They already had this conversation with both Orange and Green before, several times- it’s lost its emotionally compromising impact by now. Instead, Orange pushed up into their hand like a pleased catmate, visor narrowing in contentment.
“You guys worry enough for the kiddies, we can't have you worrying about us, too.”
“But we care about you all too…” Orange purred quietly.
Gosh. Goodness gracious. Stars preserve their soul– Purple did a spectacular job at reacting normally to that.
They were making a right mess of the impostor’s fuzzy cheeks when the intercom crackled on.
“Proximity warning.”
Across the ship, crewmates and otherwise looked to the ceiling in unison as if it had a face it spoke to them with. In the cockpit, a riveting game of Maroon-Cart was abruptly replaced with a bright red dialogue bearing the same text.
“Proximity warning.” It repeated when nothing was done. Orange anxiously began shuffling the eggs back under a tarp.
“It’s okay, It’s okay!” Purple tried to smile, though they cast a sidelong glance at the massive (and badly patched) hole marring the hull to their right. “That warning doesn’t mean anything for us yet.”
It wasn’t even a feature of the ship until recently, when the fresh rush of mutiny incentivised Lime to vivisect the main console. They certainly could have used it when White steered them straight into an asteroid field that one time. The proximity warning, as of right now, just meant they were approaching something that was still very far away, but was uncomfortably close to their determined course.
Beans and furniture alike slid forward an inch as the Skeld - by Red’s input - gently slowed down a gear or so. The warning silenced, but likely wasn’t gone from the screens yet.
“Let’s go check with cap, yeah? See what that was?” Purple offered, and Orange allowed their curiosity to acquiesce– though only after checking no eggs were dislodged.
Turns out, everyone had the exact same idea. Inquisitive crewmates huddled in the hallway in front of Navigation, muttering guesses and theories amongst themselves. Inside, Red and Blue were very invested in the equipment readings.
“Red?” Purple called over a few heads, “Everything okay in there?”
“Uhhhh yeah? Yeah, I think so!” The captain replied over their shoulder unconvincingly.
“You think so?” Black echoed, taking the words right from everyone's mouths.
“There is nothing to worry about.” Blue's buttery voice assured. Everyone was, predictably, immediately at attention. “The system has detected a high-speed object in our path, and some minor course adjustments had to be made to compensate. Our captain has everything under control. We will have no collisions today.”
Every tense muscle in the hallway relaxed. Ever the contrarian, Red seemed to stiffen as they noticed something specific.
“No, actually, you can worry a little bit.” Said the captain, immediately undoing Blue's crowd control. “It's uhh. Hm.”
Red did not sound like they liked what they saw.
“What. Don't leave us hanging like that, finish the sentence!” Yellow demanded, voice thin.
“What is it.” Brown added.
Red looked to be chewing on the inside of their cheek as they glared at the monitor.
“...’s a ship.”
Oh.
Oh no.
“I knew it!” Lime exclaimed with the sort of devastation one may have for the announcement of judgement day– which this very well may be. “Those MIRA bastards have eyes and ears all over this death-trap of a ship! They know of our dissent and have come to bring us to some twisted justice!”
Cyan hummed discontentedly as they got to work on gently prying Lime’s balled fists from their grimy fur.
“I dunno, I'm not really feeling the impending doom vibes here…” They observed scientifically, “Are we sure it's a bad ship?”
“I think running into any ship is bad for us right now…” Green cringed, tugging at the neck of their hoodie.
“Yeah no, spaceships aren't charted to fly anywhere near each other.” Red muttered, grip firm on the steering. “If they notice us, they'll definitely know we aren't supposed to be here…”
“And they'll ask HQ about it.” Purple finished the thought.
This is…not great. Catastrophic, actually.
By being incredibly late to their delivery, they were currently assumed MIA. Space travel is dangerous after all, it's pretty safe to declare a late ship lost.
They were looking at that assumption being correctly updated to fugitives at large.
“Okay, so go around them–” Orange tried, jabbing a finger towards the screen. “Do a sharp right and we'll circle back to our path later!”
“I am turning.” Red grit back. “I have to do it very stickin’ slowly, or we risk the crates tipping over!”
Orange eeped in alarm at that, and glanced down the hallway as if expecting a geode to roll by.
“But! But! We should be okay!” Red attempted to diffuse. “We just gotta clench a little.”
“What they mean,” Blue smoothly interjected, “Is that if our ship had no way to sense them this early before Lime’s brilliant contribution, they likely don't either. It will be uncomfortable, but we should be able to slip by undetected.”
The crew tentatively relaxed.
“So basically we're home free?” Tried Yellow.
“For now, yeah! We have to start getting used to situations like this sooner or later anyway.” Red chuckled, and Purple only just noticed that they were actually very, very slowly turning the steering this whole time.
“Phew!” Purple swiped at their forehead.
“Incoming radio transmission.”
“Houghh!!! Not phew!”
Panic descended hard and fast, comparable to the time they collectively witnessed White's head shoot off their body in the middle of a pizza party. Even Blue seemed somewhat distressed, which did not help.
“I thought the Comms were down!” Black had the awareness to shout over the clamouring crew.
“Purple had me fix them three weeks ago!” Lime yelled back, pointing an accusatory finger at the pale security guard.
“We need some way to contact the Polus landing site eventually! I was trying to be proactive!”
“It doesn't matter, guys!” Red’s voice had climbed a few octaves. “They’d still have noticed us without our Comms, we just wouldn't have known!”
The faint idea that it's actually a good thing they do know calmed the atmosphere a little bit. Everyone's fur stood on end.
“W-What do we do now?” Cyan trembled.
“Well… it's radio, which is weird, but great for us. No picture.” The captain muttered between pants now that the ambient volume allowed it, “It's not a direct line, just a message. There shouldn't be any harm in listening to it. I think.”
“You think??”
“I need to stop saying that.”
Red waved the crew in, who all hesitated before stepping into the cockpit. It was a tight fit with the ten of them, but not unmanageable.
With a nod from the captain, Blue took the honour of playing the message. The radio came on with a brief burst of static.
“This is Captain Sh'Mye of the pioneer exploration vessel Sylvestra-2. Unknown spacecraft, please be advised, our vessels are currently on a collision course.”
The transmitting voice had the uncanny artificial quality of some kind of text to speech program. There was a faint conversation spoken in an entirely different language in the background.
“We noticed you have made an adjustment of five degrees starboard. You could intercept us directly. The Sylvestra is unable to aid with our own manoeuvre at this time. Increase your tilt to thirty degrees port immediately. Over.”
That is too large of a turn for them to safely make.
“Port? Starboard??” Orange parroted the unknown words with mild hysteria.
“We're going right, they need us to go left.” Blue explained as they tapped a thumb and forefinger together in well masked agitation. “They must be coming at an angle.”
“Can’t we just go up or down?” Yellow suggested, wringing their hands.
“We don't know if their angle is perpendicular to us or not!” The beans felt the slightest shift as Red steered them sluggishly in the other direction. “I can't make a thirty degree turn in time…”
“Orange and I can go hold the eggs!” Green raised a hand. “We can unfold to cushion them. You can turn quicker that way, right?”
“Yes, and launch you both into the hole in our hull that's plugged by RUBBER BALLS, GREEN!” The captain bristled in distress, shooting a quick glare back. “It's bad enough we have to endanger the eggs, I'm not endangering you! The best I can do is keep slowing us down and hope for the best.”
“We should let them know that too.” Brown pointed out the window, where they could now see the minutely growing white dot that was the Sylvestra-2.
There was visual now. Surely they won't recognise the Skeld…right?
“Blue. Open a line.” Red swallowed their nerves and nodded towards a specific spot on the console. “It's the black button there. The uh, second one.”
The doctor quickly pressed the button, rewarding them with a click and a white LED light. Red took a shaky breath.
“This is Captain–”
“Don't introduce yourself, idiot!” Purple whisper yelled.
“–Ffff, unknown spacecraft here! Hi. We can't do that.” They started, audibly stressed. “Any sharp left turns we make risk further damaging our hull and exposing us to space. It already has a hole in it. We would like to not die, thanks. We're slowing down as much as we can, but that’s about all we can do. Are you guys able to do anything?”
There's a deep silence on the other end.
“...is it working–”
“I'm sure I pressed the button you indicated, captain–”
“...That works fine. It will be close, but we should be able to avoid collision if you continue turning.” The crew flinched as Captain Sh'Mye’s semi-robotic voice filled the room again. “Are you unable to roll your ship? By angling your vessel, you could exchange the sideways force for a downwards one.”
“We don’t have roll thrusters.” Red deadpanned in return.
“...Why not?”
“Because SOMEONE let a CIVILIAN drive the ship into an ASTEROID.” Black explained unnecessarily loudly.
“SO not the time, Black!”
“I see. Your hull integrity must be severely compromised if entire thrusters have ceased function. We may be able to aid with that.” The bickering quickly ceased.
The offer should have been relieving. It wasn't.
It was bait.
“No thank you!” Red rejected with faux cheer, “There's nothing you could do about a total breach. It's fine, we can get it fixed when we get to P…Point B.” (Purple mimed choking something in the air.)
“We can. If only you share with us the model of your ship, we could see if our supplies are compatible. Fortunately, spare hull panels tend to be universal.”
This weirdo thinks they're slick. They weren't going to fall for it.
“That's not…you don't gotta worry about us, fellow captain, it's no biggie! Plus, while we appreciate the good will, we know MIRA doesn't stock hull repair supplies on the ships. Again, we'll get it fixed when we land.”
The pearly white blur of the Sylvestra slipped from the view of the windows and disappeared behind the right wall. Their manoeuvre was safely executed.
“There! Should be clear now, so–”
“Mira?” The word came out oddly, pronounced with the personal inflection of a foreign accent that assumed it was someone's name and not a brand. “Do we know any councillors named Mira?”
The other captain's voice turns faint. One of their subordinates was rattling off something using words with entirely too many consonants.
“Um.”
“Unknown spacecraft, what species do you belong to?” They asked abruptly.
…That had to be a trick. The crew glanced uncertainly at their impostor crewmates. Orange nervously took a hold of Green’s hand. They squeezed back.
“That's a weird question!” Red laughed awkwardly. “We're crewmates, just like you! No aliens here. The crew's all clear and all very alive and accounted for!”
“Oh my god…” Even Cyan clocked that one to be entirely too suspicious.
There was a staticy mutter that sounded suspiciously like an ‘oh dear’. Red was beginning to sweat, sticking their fur uncomfortably against their face.
“You have my formal apologies, captain. We did not think we would encounter a first contact opportunity this soon in our voyage.” Sh'Mye said earnestly. They could almost imagine them placing a hand over their heart as they did. “It explains why the design of your vessel is so unfamiliar.”
“What. What are they talking about?” Red wasn't even sure who said that, because their own thoughts echoed it exactly.
“Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Uomah Sh'Mye, Lieutenant Colonel of the Intergalactic Commission's astronautical taskforce, and captain of the Sylvestra-2.” Lime immediately started bristling. The others decided to take it as an omen. “Our current mission is to explore this- and adjacent astronomical sectors, and expand our knowledge of the planets and possible life therein. Please reconsider our offer to help. We would be honoured to formally meet you.”
Silence. If this was a trap, it was a painfully obvious one– so much so that it made itself more believable in the process.
While their crew was absorbing the possibility of a first (second) contact, the captain allowed their common sense to dig through their own haze. With a click, they switched on the Skeld’s back facing cameras to steal a clearer glance at the Sylvestra.
The image flickered onto the screen without fanfare. A careful roll of a scroll wheel zoomed into the pristine hull of a massive ship. The lavender flame of their thrusters threw the camera out of focus slightly, but they could still see the odd, rounded, foreign design of the larger vessel. Upon its starboard side, there were designs– no, letters– of a writing system none of them had seen before.
An alien ship.
“...Lemme…hold a meeting, real quick.”
And the line closed.
-
“How exciting!” Cheered her navigation specialist in Common. “Who would have thought we'd run into members of another space faring civilization this soon! We barely left our maps!”
“The chances of encountering another ship in this close proximity are infinitely slim. We are very lucky.” Sh'Mye agreed with a placid nod.
“Do you think they will agree?” Asked her co-pilot, idly twirling a stylus between xer three fingers.
They sounded somewhat shaken before the transmission ended. She couldn't blame them for that. Judging from their reaction to her questions, their species had been entirely isolated before this.
“I would not be surprised if they didn't. We will be exiting radio range soon, so if they never reply, we will just have to accept that they chose not to risk it.”
Not like they could turn around to catch up with them, with the console out of commission.
“How is the repair of the navigation system coming along, Marva?”
The six legged creature sitting in the corner of the cockpit fiddling with a wire panel twitched their long ears in her direction.
“My part in the electrical system is just about finished. They said they were ‘working on it’.” She didn't need to ask who They were, with there being only two engineers on board. Marva was one. The other…
“Tell them to work on it faster. We will fly by our target star if we don't start the deceleration sequence soon.”
“It would be done already if you let me do everything.” Marva huffed, ears flattening against their feathered skull. “That idiot has the attention span of a meadow glider.”
Sh'Mye…did not argue with that.
“Not to mention the extra hours you just tacked onto our workload by offering to patch that ship.” They continued, slamming the panel closed. “Depending on how bad it is, if they take it, we will be WAY off schedule.”
“We're in the first month of a five year expedition, Marva. If we have anything, it's time.” The co-pilot rolled xer many eyes simultaneously.
“Nobody asked your opinion, Skrill.”
“I don't need your permission to give it.”
“Please grow up, both of you.” The captain sighed, turning back to the window ahead. “I could make do without this mission imploding due to infighting before we ever step foot on uncharted soil.”
The navigator, whose name was a series of clicks and whirrs most of the crew's anatomy was incapable of producing and was thus nicknamed Kiko instead, swung his scaly tail back and forth in the accommodating hole on the back of his chair.
“Why didn't you start a video transmission, captain?” He complained unprompted. “I'm stuck wondering what they look like. One of them was named Black, right? Do you think they all name themselves after colours, or just that one?”
“Irrelevant if we never hear from them again.” Skrill noted.
“But if this sector is made up of their colonies, we will not have to wonder for long.” Sh'Mye hummed, privately hoping the damaged ship would turn around. Her long talons quietly clicked the seconds out of the inert console.
Conversation lulled after that. The Sylvestra slowly crawled out of transmission range, the plans to prepare a welcoming party were reluctantly shelved, and the hour hand ticked ever closer to lunchtime.
“Well that was an eventful morning!” Kiko stretched and stood from his seat, only to drop down on all fours immediately after. “Do we know what's on the menu today?”
“Earth cuisine.” Skrill threw dispassionately. “Of the Italian variety, I believe.”
“Oh joy.” Kiko's infectious mood dampened. “How many of the ingredients are poisonous this time?”
“You know very well the inspection team wouldn't let anything dangerous through.” The captain sighed again. “They’re mild irritants at best.”
“Uh-huh, in our food.”
“Cultural exchange.” She countered. “I seem to recall you withdrawing from my own home specialty as well.”
“Yeah, because it looked like me-”
“Incoming radio transmission.”
“Wu-huh?” Marva, dozing in the corner, startled awake.
“They came back!” Kiko cheered, scampering up behind the captain and shooting onto his hind legs, propping the front ones on her back.
“Shhh.” Sh'Mye held up a claw, fired up her translator again, and accepted the call.
“...(Muttering)...okay, okay– Ahem! This is Captain Red of the Skeld. We accept your invitation. What do you need us to do?”
“They do name themselves after colours…” the navigator whispered. Skrill reached over to clamp a hand around his snout.
Sh'Mye hid her amusement well.
“We are glad to hear from you, captain.” She said, undeniably pleased. “If you could grant us a few minutes to engage our airlock converter system, you will be able to connect to us directly with further instruction.”
Most Commission ships had a universal airlock size nowadays, but they still had a system in place for docking older models.
“We don't have an airlock.” Captain Red replied.
“That's not good.” Noted Marva, lowering the communication tablet they were about to use for alerting the docking staff.
“Is your airlock damaged as well?” She furrowed her three brows in concern.
“No, like… there isn't one. Best we got is a trash chute.”
Who designed that ship!?
“How do you do hull repairs???” The engineer hobbled over and shrilled into the translator microphone.
“We don't! Tampering with any and all components of the ship is against MIRA policy!” Came a cheerful voice that was clearly not Captain Red's.
“That…is fine. That is alright, captain, we can work with this. Can't we, Marva?”
“I mean…yeah. Yeah, there's one way.”
“Set it up. Captain Red, how many are aboard your ship?”
“There's ten of us.” There was a murmur of some additional information from other crew members. “But if we have to board yours, two of us will stay behind.”
“That is fair. Now, you will need to adjust your velocity to ours. Align your ship against our underside.”
“Can do.”
-
“I’m up.” Said Green’s voice on the radio.
The way was, it turns out, rather…DIY.
The Sylvestra’s airlock was, for lack of a better word, tied to their back door. Several rolls of greenhouse foil were fashioned into a long tube and affixed to the Skeld's hull with the strongest adhesive the aliens had access to. On the inside of the tunnel, a row of handholds carved out of plastic tupperware were attached in a similar manner. The entire contraption was pressurised, and miraculously didn't explode in doing so.
It was ridiculous. It was idiotic and dangerous and ingenious at once.
These people were insane, basically.
Lime lingered in the hangar, eyeing the precarious children’s aircastle setup that separated them from the freezing vacuum of space. Green had already climbed ahead, and it seemed to be holding so far. The others were getting ready to follow.
“Are you certain you wouldn’t rather stay back with Orange and Black, Lime?” Blue laid a hand on their shoulder, audibly concerned. They knew them too well. “I cannot imagine meeting another alien race would be good for your blood pressure.”
Lime grumbled and reached back to shove their armada of repurposed spritz bottles further down the gullet of their unzipped backpack.
“That broody pumpkin hardly needs Black’s help babysitting, nevermind mine. I’m of more use up there.” Their voice lowered to a conspiratorial mutter, glaring at the sliver of white they saw of the Sylvestra’s engine from where they stood. “Someone’s gotta protect yous from their brainwashing tricks.”
Accepting their paranoia readily, the doctor smiled and fixed the askew bandana on Lime’s head.
“And we thank you for your service.”
Lime huffed and bounced on their heels three times to hype themself up before giving Blue a firm pat on the backpack.
“If that thing implodes while I'm heading up, I trust you to keep the electric candle I glued to the lip of the reactor console alive.” They declared, ready to ascend. “It melts down if it goes out.”
“I will protect it with my life.” Blue promised in good humour, though their worry about such a possibility was clear. They didn’t seem to trust the arts and crafts project outside any more than Lime did.
With that, the engineer grabbed Blue’s face, briefly bonked their foreheads together, and hopped through the open door before they could change their mind.
The sudden weightlessness was frightening. Having stepped away from the grounded haven of the Skeld’s gravity generator, Lime barreled diagonally upwards with the leftover force of their jump and knocked visor-first into one of the container-turned-handholds. Shaking their head against the resulting tinnitus, they scrambled to take a proper hold before they drifted away again.
Now, Lime was not someone who was particularly thrill seeking. Thrill seemed to find them no problem, whether they liked it or not. But even they had to admit the few gentle pushes they needed to propel themself up to the airlock in what was basically untethered flight, was almost fun. Green was waiting for them with an outstretched hand to pull them in proper.
The mimic checked them over for any potential frostbite before handing them the radio.
“I’m up.” They reported.
Lime and Green sat by the gaping hole of the open hatch, taking turns helping up the arriving crewmates one by one. All the while, Lime’s heckles remained eternally risen from the eyes digging into the back of their head through the tinted glass of the window. Their hosts kept the door leading to the rest of the ship locked.
The migration eventually ended with Cyan. The eight beans stood snug in the narrow-yet-tall chamber of the Sylvestra’s airlock, only slightly flinching when the hatch closed by itself. At the front of their group, flanked by Green and Purple, Red stood straighter when the entrance finally unlatched. Lime held their breath.
In the doorway, dressed in a flawless white-purple uniform with likewise posture, stood a tall three-eyed creature. Tan fur, long claws and wicked horns, staring down at them with deceptively kind golden eyes.
“Welcome aboard the Sylvestra-2.” They greeted, but the words did not match the movement of their mouth. The robotic quality remained. “I am Captain Sh'Mye. It is a pleasure to properly meet you.”
They offered a deadly hand for their captain to shake, and Lime had to force themself not to hiss. They could be civil. This was fine. If this alien was a threat, Green would get to them first anyway.
Red gulped and shook the offered hand without incident.
“Happy to be here! Heh…heh.”
Sh'Mye only smiled. Two sharp fangs poked over their bottom lip.
“Come in!” They gestured. “Would you like to join us for lunch?”
“Uh, I mean…it would have been dinner time for us anyway…guys?” Red looked back at the collective. Said collective hesitated, but offered nervous nods nonetheless.
Sooner than they wanted, Lime found themself moving with the group to step inside the strange ship.
This could not end well in any scenario whatsoever.
Edit: Art of the Sylvestra pilot team!
