Pirra gripped the restraint strap tightly. “All packaged and ready to go!” she shouted.
It wasn’t necessary; each member of the Response Unit had already clicked in that they were locked in for launch. But it was tradition, at least for them, that the second-in-command shout out all confirmations.
The rest of the crew completed their traditional slogan;
“And ship us off to hell!”
Their commanding officer, Iago Caraval, grinned. “Hold on tight, kids!”
The ship accelerated; she heard whoops from the team, but she kept silent and merely felt the glee rise up as the ship began to accelerate.
The launch tubes of the Craton were perfect for accelerating either massive kinetic slugs . . . or a shuttle in an emergency. Just at a less break-neck speed.
She’d heard of humans who passed out from such high-speed launches. It was an alien concept to her; while a human’s distant ancestors had been tree-clinging creatures, hers had been flying animals that dove head-first into water to catch swimming prey. They could take high-G maneuvers and laugh it off.
Their ship shot into the black. Suddenly seeing stars in all directions could be disorienting to humans, another factor that didn’t bother her. They had never lost the parts of their brains that let them think easily in three-dimensions.
Her green feathers bristled. “We have a lock on the Hev ship,” she commented.
“Course is set,” Caraval said. “All right, everyone, briefing is now – that Hev ship might have touched the Leviathan in zerospace. That means full-level safety standards are in effect. Touch nothing without confirming it’s safe.”
All humor was gone; in their line of work, they all knew the hazards of interacting with anything altered by a Leviathan. Even coming too close to one could make metal run like water, crawl like a living thing, or simply evaporate into gas. And the effect could even spread to other things. As little as observing something altered could be unhealthy.
“Do the Hev even know that the Craton is here?” someone asked.
“No. We believe all equipment is down aboard their ship, and we were never within their visual range. Even if they had a window and someone looked out, they wouldn’t have seen us.”
“All their power? Every single reactor?” Pirra asked.
“That’s right,” Caraval said grimly.
It was unheard of – ships had multiple reactors, and even if those went off, such things as computer systems required such minuscule power compared to propulsion that even some emergency generators should have been able to keep something on.
“If that’s the case, then their translators aren’t going to be working,” someone realized.
Pirra let her crest fall in embarrassment. It was a mistake that was too late to rectify. They were running silent from the Craton, barring an emergency. Couldn’t know what might irritate the Leviathan.
“Our translators will let us understand them,” someone else pointed out.
“Yes, but we need them to understand us. Does anyone here speak Hev?” Caraval asked.
There was a silence. No one had thought of that; they’d been launched too quick, and personal translators were typically a given. Pirra couldn’t recall a single time that everyone on a ship had their personal systems fail.
It was going to be a big problem if they couldn’t assure they Hev they were there to help . . .
“I speak a little,” Pirra ventured.
“How little?” the Lt. Commander asked. His look of surprise was typically human, far different from her kind, but she had learned to recognize it. She was weird that way, actually learning another species’s language and mannerisms.
“A few basic phrases regarding haggling,” she replied.
“That will have to do,” Caraval said, with an exasperated sigh.
Other Terrestrial 