4.0 KiB
| title | created | updated | public | syndicated |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 00077 | Tue, 18 Jul 2023 17:50:29 -0600 | Tue, 18 Jul 2023 17:50:29 -0600 | yes | yes |
00077
Alex stands in the airlock watching the woman retreat. He briefly gestures to the crew to hold their position while he grips his weapon. "I'll be just a moment everyone. You know what to do"
Alex steps into the ship and begins to follow the woman. "Ma'am, what happened here exactly. And how can we help your grand daughter once we've reached Lua? We're happy to take her and assist, but we must know how we can do that. I'd also like to file a report about the attack you suffered, even if you think you're a forgone conclusion we can help others. And admittedly, I'm no doctor, but are you certain there's nothing that can be done about this splitting sickness?"
A faint static on the radio "Boss, don't forget the cookies."
Alex sighs heavily, "my second in command would like to know if you have any cookies as well. He's convinced helping little old ladies in space somehow nets you home baked cookies."
~
Inky gives the crew a quick sidelong glance, then shrugs internally and hops lightly onto the derelict ship after Master Alex. They follow behind at a short clip, half-registering the captain's voice in conversation with the old lady and hiding a smile at the mention of cookies over the radio. Angry agents or not, at least someone has got their priorities straight.
From their position behind and to one side of the captain, they surreptitiously run a scan on the woman for further injuries with a portable infrared sensor, with particular attention to the crack at her scalp. They listen to the old lady's breathing, as well as for any sounds aboard the ship while the instrument takes measurements of vital signs under the woman's skin, including temperature, oxygen levels and presence of scar tissue.
The old woman slowly shuffles away, back out to the battle-torn main deck, clicking and muttering to herself. "There is a grain that grows in the dusty red soil of Lua," she explains. "Its fruit can be processed and ground into a paste that hopefully will halt and even reverse my granddaughter's mysterious ailment."
As she talks, Inky surreptitiously runs a scan on the woman for further injuries. She is wasting away, suffering from advanced stages of Splitting Sickness. Her organs have begun to turn to pulp and are rapidly failing. Her swollen heart beats irregularly. A thick puckered seam runs along its length, threatening to burst at any moment. It will be the end of her if the crack in her skull doesn't split open first.
"It's genetic. Her sickness, I mean. At least, it's hereditary. That is, her mother died of it. Poor thing." She babbles away as she pokes at the rubble on the deck with shaky hands. "I keep her asleep in the suspension unit so it doesn't advance any further."
"Ha! Here we are," she rasps, a lopsided grin scattered across her broken face. She jerkily hauls a metallic cube from behind a pile of rubble out onto the deck. She opens a panel on its side and pulls out a tray of slightly undercooked cookies. A solar oven. "Here you go, dearie." The tray trembles in her grasp as she holds it out to you.
You hear gunfire coming from your own ship. You spin around to look. Marvelo has fired two signal flares up and away from the ship. The arc of the flares draw your eyes to the Tears of Selene in the distance.
The carcass of an enormous space whale drifts forward from the asteroid field. It's a gruesome ship. A starsail cobbled together from the bones of dead space whales, sloppily painted with faded, patchy red and white stripes. Scrap and salvage and odd rusted pieces of metal adorn its sides along with humanoid and bestial remains.
"Oh no," croaks the old woman. "Oh no, they're back. No no no no no."
WHAT DO YOU DO