Precious Cargo by intergalelactic

Humans shrunken to near microscopic size must somehow gain the attention of the alien courier delivering them to a new planet. Rated: 🔴 - Sexual Themes and Violence | Reviews: 2 | Table of Contents
M/m M/f M/? Sci-Fi Adventure Tiny Civilization Unaware Worship Shrink Butt Mouth Play Trans Fantasy Biology Vore Boy Pussy Crush

Embarkation Day

Word Count: 5890
Added: 03/20/2025
Updated: 04/05/2025

Humans could not survive lightspeed travel.

This was the unfortunate truth, the shatterer of dreams. It didn’t matter how much money was thrown at the problem, or how many calculations were made, or research done, it didn’t change the fact that every human that has volunteered to attempt a space warp would end up dead on arrival. It was a bitter pill to swallow, especially in the face of first contact with alien species that could survive it. There was an entire intergalactic world out there, and it was just rotten luck that humanity would be barred from it.

Or, so it would have been, if humans weren’t so damn stubborn. They would take to the stars, but not as their stellar comrades could. Their method would take time, lots of time, and an unfathomable amount of trust in one of the most sacred constitutions of any species, in any world: the postal service.

While they hadn’t mastered warp technology, humans had perfected the art of size augmentation. Shrinking thousands of tons of cargo to the size of an apple was an innovation just as important as the wheel, and the best part? Anything could be shrunk and regrown with little adverse effects. Living beings were no exception, and it was with this in mind that humans found their own path to the far stars.

Shrinking thousands of humans, putting them into cryosleep, and handing them off to a courier for the years-long journey through the galaxy to their intended destination sounded like madness on paper, but was surprisingly effective in practice, especially given the humans’ choice in deliverer.

The Thuvon were some of the most well-respected people in the galaxy. Their race could live for hundreds of years, thousands if they’re lucky enough to not to get killed first. Their longevity had given them a reputation for being some of the best of the best at their chosen professions, having had such an extended amount of time to perfect their craft. They were good, they were dependable, and worth every credit spent for their services.

Thuvonian couriers had been the go-to for years for precious cargo that, like humans, could not properly survive a trip at lightspeed. They didn’t mind the extended trips, and they got the job done right. Hiring them en masse for the transport of humans to other worlds was a no-brainer. The trips were planned years in advance, preparing every passenger for travel to the planet they’d want to go to. It was a meticulous, involved process for everyone involved–but the results were worth it.

Aesa Ucari was, relatively speaking, a younger Thuvonian. Just shy of his hundredth birthday, he was still considered green in the gills by his fellows, but nevertheless he had become readily respected in his field for his swift, undamaged deliveries and charming demeanor. Hauling humans was something he had considered doing for ages–he found them to be a fascinating species. They were these frail little things that lived and died in the blink of an eye–more so than any other race he’d ever encountered–and yet had the determination and gumption to make their way through the cosmos regardless.

It was inspiring. He’d decided long ago that he wanted to help them with this endeavor.

This would be his first delivery of human cargo after several years of study and preparation. Turns out, it’s a lot more involved than just making sure he got them all from Point A to Point B–he had to pay a hefty fee to get his ship remodeled to accommodate his future passengers and their critical life support. Even if they would only take up about as much space as a medium sized box, his ship had to supply enough power to maintain the cryosleep and life support functions of several thousand people for years.

It was a lot, and the hit to his supply of credits was painful, but it’d be worth it in the end. After all, he’d make it up and then some after this first delivery.

Not that the money was important.

…Well, it was. But so was helping the humans.

This load of humans wouldn’t be heading too far from their home planet, in fact, the planet they know as Proxima Centauri b is the closest to their own solar system. It was one of the first planets they visited and colonized, and a popular destination for those looking to leave Earth without going unreasonably far. Sort of a…trial run, for humans to experience interstellar travel, and a test for couriers like Aesa to see if they can truly handle the pressure of so many lives in their hands.

Though ships bearing human cargo couldn’t go to warp speed, advancements in under-lightspeed travel had advanced enough to the point where a journey that should have taken 60,000 years was reduced down to 10. A sizable cut, but still highly unfortunate when in comparison to the literal half-minute it normally takes to get from Earth to Centauri b at maximum warp.

For Aesa, 10 years would be nothing. A pebble on the pathway of his life. For these humans, it’d feel like a blip, but they’d wake up to both a different world and different circumstances back home. They would need to catch up on everything they’d missed, or anyone they’d lost. It was an enormous undertaking and a massive sacrifice, all to do something that most others can do without thinking. It was difficult not to have a sense of admiration for them, and even harder to not want to be a part of such an important change in their lives.

He only hoped he could do right by them.



The newest batch of shrunken humans awoke from anesthesia aboard the Introductory Wing of their Containment Unit, helped up by permanently shrunken medics and given a quick physical assessment to ensure the shrinking hadn’t adversely affected them–nausea was one of the most commonly reported symptoms, but easily treated with medication. There were no windows in the I.W., nothing to suggest that they were anywhere else than a large sterile looking room with about a thousand people. A conscious choice, so as not to overwhelm any passengers and prevent a wave of hysteria from passing through such a large number of people.

None of them felt any different than they had before.

“You know how big a person’s supposed to look to us right now? A whole fuckin’ mile tall!” One particularly jittery person muttered nervously to his friend, who rolled their eyes.

“Yeah man, we all read the same pamphlet.”

“But there just ain’t no way. Ain’t no way they’re that big. If they were we’d be–”

“Specks.” His friend finished for him.

“Specks. Right. But we aren’t specks. We aren’t. We are not.” The jittery man finished, with a certainty like he was trying to convince himself.

After ensuring those that needed any medical care were appropriately treated, the passengers were allowed to leave the I.W., herded towards the Atrium of their Containment Unit.

From the outside, a standard Containment Unit resembled a small metallic rectangular object–about the size of a rather thick, stocky book. They were designed to slot neatly together into the idiotically redundantly named Containment Unit Containment Unit, or the CUCU.
Without knowing any better, one would think they are looking at a particularly ugly looking portable aircon–or a miniature server unit.

For the shrunken passengers, this would be their home for the next 10 years. Economy class Containment Units such as the ones being transported now were all built with the exact same specifications. The insides were white and clinical–the sort of bland minimalism that those with proper taste centuries prior would be severely disappointed to know still persisted well into the space age. A place that was too clean, too perfect.

The Atrium was a (relatively) large, open area, with a high domed ceiling and the frontmost walls dominated by view-windows projecting a forested backdrop in place of the actual view outside. As the passengers slowly filed into the space, quickly turning it rather claustrophobic as more and more empty room was taken up by bodies. CUs at this price point being made the way they are, they were particularly Spartan in nature. No extra room where it wasn’t needed, no luxuries that weren’t essential.

At an elevated podium stood Helena Rotolo, the Director of Containment Unit Operations. She was a clean cut, well put-together woman. The wrinkles by her eyes and greying hair at her temples at first glance seemed to accurately convey her age–unless you asked her how old she was, and she’d cheerfully say she was at least 263 by her count. The wonders of constant cryostasis.

Rotolo, along with several other Directors traveling along this journey in their own CUs, had been one of the first volunteers of the interstellar travel program. Her life consisted of brief periods of downtime on new worlds, and several years spent in cryosleep–her line of work wasn’t meant for people with ties to hold them down. It was for the free spirited types, the ones with nothing left for them. Director Rotolo was of the latter.

She had no one, and didn’t need anyone. She just wanted to see the distant stars and pave the way for others to do so too.

“Are we all settled?” The Director asked into her microphone, projecting her voice across the entire Atrium. The various words from the audience that had risen into a cacophony quickly quieted down as each passenger turned their attention to Rotolo. One could cut the atmosphere with a knife, but what they’d find inside was a mixed bag–apprehension, anxiety, and excitement all in one fun package.

“Good.” Rotolo said, putting on her best smile. “Welcome, all of you, to Containment Unit #92081! I am your Director of Operations, Helena Rotolo–but you can call me Helena, Helly, Hell’s Bells…Just make sure you call me, haha!”

The silence in the room was now more awkward than anything. Rotolo faked clearing her throat, a disappointed smile on her face. Nobody ever laughs at that…

“Our journey is sure to be underway soon, but before it is, there’s the matter of our orientation to get through–”

Quiet groans and sighs. The Director nodded, sympathetic and understanding.

“Yes, even space travel makes you do boring stuff like this. I’ll try to make it brief for all of our sakes.”

Rotolo tapped at the smart device strapped to her wrist, muscle memory taking over as she pulled up the details of their expedition onto the view-window. The forest was replaced now by a projected map of their route, as well as the estimated date of arrival. Beside it was a picture of their “captain”, as it were–the courier hired to deliver them to their destination.

“We will be leaving from Earth’s Satellite Station 4B-O6, and arriving at Centaur 8–our approved dock orbiting Proxima Centauri b in approximately…Oh, isn’t that fun? The total travel time is only about 9.9 years instead of 10.2! We’re already ahead of schedule.”

Another tap at her wrist. Their courier’s complete profile was brought onto the screen, now.

“I’d like you all to meet Aesa Ucari, our ‘captain”. Regulations say that I must remind you all, once again, that this is Mr. Ucari’s first time participating in the relocation program. It is why the ticket cost was so low, and why you all had mountains and mountains of paperwork to sign prior to boarding.”

Waivers, of course. Many, many, many waivers.

“Rest assured, he has been properly trained in accordance with the company’s standards, and as is custom for first time transports, senior Directors such as myself have been assigned to this journey in case he has any need of our expertise along the way. You’re all in good hands.”

The passengers did, indeed, know what they had signed up for. Still, all the reassurances in the world couldn’t make the scenario of a first-time delivery of living human cargo any less nerve-wracking.

Another tap at her wrist. Ucari’s profile and the map faded as the view-windows finally showed the outside world.

“As you can see, we were placed into Mr. Ucari’s ship while you all were asleep–so be grateful that you didn’t feel all the bumps getting here!”

The outside was not a cargo hold. By interstellar law, CUCUs needed to be stored near the cockpit of a long-haul vessel for easy access in the case of an emergency.

Before them was a warm, comfortable looking living area. String lights dangled the ceiling, and Ucari seemed to have a distinct fondness for pillows and blankets. A fixed table sat pressed up against another view-window, this one projecting the ship’s view of the stars outside. The cockpit was out of sight, but nearby, if the instrument lights flashing in the far distance were any indicator. Anyone doubting how small they’d become had no room to stand on anymore–the view-windows, while not true windows, showed exactly the true scale of their diminishment.

“We have all been reduced to approximately 86 times below your previous size. In Old Earth Metric–I know we’ve still got some stubborn ones who still use it–that’d be just under two millimeters tall. Our size comes with many benefits, namely, the ease of travel. You’ll also find that, at this size, recovering from extended cryostasis is much easier. However, there are some drawbacks.”

Tap. Overlaying the view-window’s image of the room was a list of bullet points, each describing the various logistical nightmares that come with being a literal speck.

“First and foremost, we now experience what is known as ‘time dilation’. Essentially, due to the gravitational differences between us and the rest of the world, time runs much faster on our end. Those of a normal size will appear to move slowly, like…how a giant creature moves in childrens’ cartoons.”

The Director paused briefly, allowing the room to take in her words and read from the view-window. She could already see how utterly bored and fed up many people were becoming.

“Second, I must debunk a common rumor. No, just because we are much smaller now, does not mean that our bodies are more durable. Please keep this in mind before you go rough-housing before bed!”

A single, awkward cough penetrated the Atrium, echoing against the high ceiling.

“Lastly, we receive soundwaves differently–if a normal sized person were to talk to us, it’d end up just being this loud, low roar to our ears. Likewise, they wouldn’t be able to hear us either. Our voices would be far too high to be understood. Though…Here’s a fun fact for you! There have been rare instances of races with better ears being able to hear us, such as a Thuvonian like our good courier!”

Rotolo chuckled a bit, chewing on the mental image of Ucari’s pointed ears twitching as he struggled to hear her.

“Of course, we’d never have to test that out for ourselves. Our communication systems effortlessly bridge the gap between us, and allow us to talk to one another without struggle. Our view-windows, in fact, will compensate for time dilation by speeding up the view outside. Like so…”

She pressed a button into her earpiece, hearing it whir to life.  It automatically pinged Ucari, signalling that it would be time for his arrival. It seemed that she was the lucky last Director to ping him, because right after she did so, he responded back with confirmation that he was ready to move.

A shadow of a man flickered in the distance across the view-window, and the list that was displayed there vanished as the ground around them shook. It wasn’t too terrible–nothing to knock anyone off their feet.

“You don’t need to worry about being jostled too much. The CUCU has excellent stabilization features as well.” The Director assured them all, as the rhythmic thuds grew a touch stronger as a visage of a man finally came into view.

The courier was a grand sight to behold. Thuvonians were already impressively tall, being about three heads larger on average than the common man, but at the size of a speck? It was hard to believe he wasn’t some kind of deity. His otherworldly, alien looks didn’t help the matter either–his skin was a vibrant red, marked by dark stripes around his bare shoulders that were the color of fresh, thick blood. His navy blue hair framed his face in thick locs, while his long tufted tail swished eagerly behind him. Curious, wide eyes gazed down at his cargo–eyes without pupil or iris, the sclera filled entirely silver-white and iridescent. His nose was feline in nature, and the fangs visible through his wide smile accentuated the connection.

He was so big that many people struggled to understand what they were looking at. The CUCU only came up to his waist, and so several passengers had to strain their necks to properly see all of him–a problem which did not last very long.

Several gasps erupted through the atrium as the Thuvon bent low, coming so close to the view-windows that he blocked out all the light from the outside. Containment Unit #92081 got an up-close and personal view of his gigantic, sky-spanning lips as he began to speak to them.


“I know that your Directors have already told you who I am, but I’d rather do my own introduction. My name is Aesa! You all will be my first transportation of human cargo. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you!”


The true volume of his voice couldn’t reach them inside their Containment Unit, just as Director Rotollo had explained, but being so close caused the entire structure to reverberate. Passengers clung to each other, many backed away from the viewing windows as far as they could, as a primal instinct to run from this gigantic, monstrous thing took over their brains. They were all reminded of how truly, utterly diminutive they had become–so small that soundwaves could shake their whole world, so small that advanced audio-mixing technology was the only thing allowing them to understand the towering behemoth outside their enclosure.

Some wondered what it would be like to be outside the CUCU. To stand before him and truly grasp his enormity, to actually hear the slow, bassy rumble of a voice now operating on time and physics they no longer shared with him. Would the gentle swishing of his tail be a hurricane? Would his footsteps be earthquakes of an unfathomable magnitude? The stray thought filled most, very reasonably so, with dread…others? A burning desire they knew they could not quench.

The entire journey, they would remain separated from the “real” world inside their CU, asleep and unaware of the wider world.

And that was for the better.

“Most of you are nervous. I understand how you feel. I was scared, too, the first time I left home…But I promise you, if you put your trust in me, I will not fail you. When you wake, you will be in a new world. Isn’t that so exciting?”


The more Aesa talked, the more he put the frightened humans at ease. He had a very gentle way of speaking–not condescending, but kind. Genuinely kind. Believing he was true to his word was as easy as breathing. They weren’t merely cargo to him, they were people about to start a brand new chapter of their lives. The fear and anxiety began to quell in the atrium, but for many, even knowing he was not a threat still did not stop the hairs on the back of their neck from raising when they saw the glint of sharp fangs–each one larger than a building–in his mouth when he smiled.

“There’s just a little bit left to get sorted out and then we’ll be under way. You all sit tight, alright?”


Aesa stood back up straight, his close visage moving back from view before as he pressed down onto the button in the earpiece he wore. Though the sound was now cut off, the faint rumble felt throughout the CU and the moving of lips miles away meant it was obvious there was a conversation taking place without them.

The Director clapped her hands, gaining the attention of the room once more.

“Well! He seems nice, yeah? Enthusiastic and personable, that’s exactly how we want our first-time flyers to be! Coincidentally, we’ll be wrapping up here ourselves. By law, all Containment Units must undergo a safety briefing before cryosleep–so to help with that, the company’s whipped up a little video–”

A collective groan from the audience briefly cut her off. It was at this point that the passengers’ general attitude had begun to grate on Rotolo.

“...Look, I get it, we all hate the video. But I need to play it so we can get a move on, capisce? It won’t kill you.”

She tapped once more at her wrist, dimming the lights in the Atrium as the ancient, poorly acted, cheesy video extolling the virtues of proper safety procedures began to play.



Aesa watched his tablet with rapt attention as the very last of the CUs confirmed that the human passengers had successfully gone into cryosleep. It was finally time to go. His hearts beat excitedly in his chest, a smile stretching across his face as he began to finalize the coordinates into his ship’s STRNAV. Very rarely did people travel the galaxy this way of their own volition, like the pioneers of old. No warp, no lightspeed, just the endless stars and the passage of time. Already his mind was swimming with all the sights he’d see and people he’d meet–and chuckling to himself about his own giddiness.

It takes a special kind of person to get excited about what kind of refueling stations he’ll be able to visit on a route as uneventful as this one.

His ship, the Tyuveti, was named after his favorite blooming tree from his homeworld. It was his pride and joy, even if it hadn’t been the newest, or most functioning vessel when he’d acquired it. But after cycle after endless cycle replacing nearly every broken or busted part, he had turned what many considered a write-off into something truly spectacular. Were he interested in star races, he could probably knock even ships fresh off the line right out of the water.

This place was his home. Something beloved and private…which he now shared with over twelve thousand miniature souls.

Biting gently at his bottom lip, he rose from the pilot’s seat, walking cautiously to the CUCU sitting peacefully on his shelf in the living area. Though he knew they were all fast asleep in stasis now, he couldn’t help but tread lightly around them. They were just so…fragile. So small. The literal definition of precious cargo. Aesa knelt down in front of the CUCU, running a clawed hand lightly over the surface of it, feeling the ridges and itty bitty indents of the individual CUs under his fingertips. A fond look softened his gaze, and he let out a little sigh.

“Sleep well, everyone. We’ll be there before you know it.”

He whispered to no one and everyone.

Aesa turned, walking back to his seat, hands gripping the throttle as he engaged the engines and finally brought the Tyuveti out of its docking port and onto its 10…or rather, 9.9 year journey.




Helena Rotolo was damn good at her job.

That was an immutable fact. She’d been there at the beginning of this program, and at the rate her constant stints in cryosleep are going, she’ll probably be there at the end of it too. She’d been through more changes in leadership than she could count, had guided over a half a million humans to their new homes, and in her spare time educated herself on the newest standards and practices the company had devised during her time in stasis.

She was the best of the best. Everyone who knew her could attest to this.

And being the best is why she failed.

The Director lay in her cryo pod, shifting around, getting comfortable in the cramped space. She had just activated the cryostasis of all of her passengers and crew, and now it would finally be her turn to shut her eyes and enter the familiar, comforting, dreamless sleep that stasis provided. She smiled contentedly to herself, and pressed down on the activation button–

…

…

…


There was nothing.

There was usually nothing after she did this, but it was the nothing of blacked out unconsciousness. Not nothing happening sort of nothing.

Puzzled, her head cocked a bit to the side. Maybe she hadn’t pressed hard enough? She was getting far to used to the touchscreens. Snorting to herself, Rotolo jammed her finger on the button, once again bracing for that comforting rest and…

Still nothing.

Right, okay, I’ll just go wake up maintenance and they can take a look at it. She thought, only for her thoughts to be interrupted by the trilling of her communications device going off. Her caller? The Head of Maintenance.

…What was his name again? She went through so many crews, it was hard to keep track.

“Director, we’ve got a problem. The cryopods, they’re…”

“Not working?” She heaved a heavy, annoyed sigh.

“You already got the complaints, huh?”

“Something like that.” Rotolo muttered. “Tell the crew to start getting the passengers out of the pods and back into the Atrium. You go figure out what the hell is wrong with them while I do damage control.”

In the Atrium, Rotolo was immediately accosted by the annoyed and frightened voices of a thousand passengers. What was going on? Why weren’t they frozen? Had something gone wrong? It was overstimulating, and everyone talking over each other was not helping. She could feel a headache pounding in the back of her head, ready to turn into a full on migraine when this all blew over. Still, she put on her best reassuring smile, and got up to her podium to get the attention of her passengers.

“Everyone? Hello? Please, if we could all calm down…We are having some technical difficulties with the cryostasis system, but I assure you, I’ve got our best and brightest working on them at this time. While we wait, I invite you to help yourselves to whatever you’d like in the Mess Hall–”

Instead of feeling weary relief at her words, the crowd erupted again.

“WE PAID GOOD MONEY TO BE HERE!” One yelled over the din.

“ARE WE GOING TO GET REIMBURSED FOR THIS!?” Another shouted.

“CUT THE BULLSHIT!” Screamed several more, in some variation or another.

Not the reaction Rotolo had been expecting, but not an entirely unreasonable one. She sighed through her teeth, allowing everyone to properly vent their myriad frustrations to her as she settled herself again. She was trying not to let the circumstances get to her, but it was hard not to when she’d had such a long string of successes beforehand. Realistically, she knew that sooner or later she’d have to run into trouble…but she wanted nothing more for “later” to never come. This would be, for her, an annoying mark on her ledger.

“...I know you’re all frustrated.” Director Rotolo began, gripping the sides of her podium a little too tightly. “Believe me, I am too. This is…unprofessional on our parts, and I apologize sincerely. But hollering and screaming won’t fix the problem any faster. Please, I invite anyone with questions or concerns about reimbursement to seek out the nearest Passenger Experience Representative–or come to me personally, and I’ll answer whatever you like. Just give us all a little bit more of your patience.”

That seemed to do the trick. There was still grumbling throughout the Atrium, but nobody was hurling obscenities at her anymore–though, she realized with a slight grimace that many of them were probably stalking off to go scream some more at her poor crew. Rotolo made a mental note to ask the company to give them a bonus when this was all said and done. She went to intercept the ones who seemed the most vocal, or the most argumentative, and had managed to do some proper clean up work on passenger relations by the toll of the next hour.

What a shame it was that all of it was going to go down the drain.

Her Head of Maintenance had reached out again, beckoning her and the rest of her senior staff to the meager thing she called an office. Once there, the room felt grim and heavy. Maintenance’s shoulders were slumped, while everyone else avoided looking her in the eyes. After a beat of uncomfortable silence, Rotolo finally spoke up.

“...You can give me the bad news, everyone. If the cryo is shot, I can make the call to Ucari to turn us back around to port. Nobody will be happy, and that poor kid’s gonna have to wait for his next shot at this, but–”

“We can’t get in contact with him.” Maintenance interrupted. Ulys, she remembered faintly. His name was Greg Ulys.

Rotolo’s jaw clenched.

“What do you mean we can’t contact him?” She asked tersely, eyes burning a hole into Ulys.

“We can’t contact anyone, Director. Not him, not corporate, not even our fucking neighbors. Whole system got bricked. That's why the cryo isn’t working, either.” Ulys explained, fists clenched at his side.

Her headache had definitely progressed into the migraine stage at this point. Rotolo stalked to her desk, sitting down to open up the comms for herself–to her horror, all it showed was a blank screen. No access points, not even the emergency button did anything. She forced herself to push down her panic, and focus on solutions. She needed more information.

“Do you know what caused this?” The Director asked, forcing an evenness to her tone.

Ulys shrugged, and it was at this point he too started to avoid her gaze. He chewed on his words for what seemed like years, like he was trying to word his sentence as delicately as possible–it annoyed Rotolo. She didn’t need delicate right now.

“...No, but pulling up the printed error logs shows when it all shut down. It was just a minute after, uh…When you gave Ucari the all-clear that we were all successfully in cryo, Director.”

The silence was deafening. Heavy enough to start choking her. She filled the empty air with the nervous tapping of one of her feet, but did not respond. She simply stared, as if she didn’t understand.

“But we were never put into stasis, is the thing. We got in, they scanned our vitals, but poof. Nothin’.”

The Director’s steely gaze flickered to every one of her senior staff, unwilling to buckle under the weight of their quiet scrutiny.

“So my question is this: why’d Ucari get the all-clear if we weren’t all-clear, ma’am?”

Rotolo exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to stop the swirling rampaging thoughts in her mind. She knew why he got the all-clear, everyone in the room knew why, but saying it outloud would ruin everything she’d built for herself. She’d gotten complacent in the routine, expecting the same outcome as every other embarkation. Orientation, safety video, quick snack break, tell everyone to get in the pods, all-clear once they’re asleep, and go to sleep herself. It’d been the same for years–centuries, even!

Why would it have changed?

Why should it have mattered if she gave the all-clear before anyone had even entered their pods?

It wasn’t supposed to be any different.

Part of her wanted to burst into panicked tears, but she knew she couldn’t show a shred of weakness now. Because of her, they were stuck in a faulty CU with no comms–which would have been manageable if their cryo worked. Without it? They were now in a scenario that no Director had ever faced, the sort of thing she’d only taken tests on and read theorized solutions for.

The CU had enough rations within it to last them a year, maybe more if they were careful, definitely less now that she’d stupidly invited all her passengers to go and help themselves to some food. Without a working computer system outside of the most basic of functions, many things that would have made the CU a more comfortable living space were now completely broken and unusable. The view-window wouldn’t even be able to project anything except what was going on outside their enclosure.

They could try and bring the computers back online and working, or jerry-rig the cryo to work without it, both of which seemed hopeless…But these solutions definitely were better than the few alternatives Rotolo had left.

If they failed…

She swallowed a heavy lump in her throat. At this time, she couldn’t think of what they’d need to do if they failed.

“I didn’t activate the all-clear.” Director Rotolo lied through her teeth, putting just the right amount of offended venom into her words and fixating her gaze solely on Ulys. “I’ve been at this longer than everyone here. I did not give Ucari the all-clear. Do you understand? It must have tripped when everything else broke.”

She couldn’t convince them, she knew that. But it didn’t matter. A confession was career suicide, but being a victim of circumstance? Overcoming impossible odds? Any jury that looked at her case after this would be on her side, plain and simple.

Rotolo rose from her desk, brushing past her staff as she went to the door. She turned her head back to face them, lips pursed into a thin line.

“I want you to see if there’s anything you can do–and I mean anything you can do to get those damn cryopods working, and if you can’t, try and reboot the system. Everyone else, go to your departments. Inform them of the situation. I’m going to go handle the passengers…They need to know what’s happening.”

She stalked off, clenching her fists to keep them from shaking as she returned to the Atrium. The atmosphere here had calmed down by leaps and bounds, ending up as more of a fun get-together to bemoan the “annoying” delay. An uncomfortable weight settled in the Director’s chest as she thought about what would be best to tell them. How to break the news of what actual, serious danger they may all very well be in.

Before her, the view-window projected the cheerful face of their pilot, completely oblivious to the dire plight of some of his cargo. He was sitting in front of the CUCU, head resting against his folded forearms as his tail swished slowly behind him in content. He couldn’t see them, as the view-windows only worked one-way, but looking at his calm but focused expression gave Rotolo the impression that he was not unlike some sort of watchful God looking after them.

…Or perhaps someone watching over their pet ants.

The CU rumbled as Aesa opened his mouth wide to emit a roar of a yawn that, while they were unable to hear, managed to shake the little humans right to the bone.

Rotolo felt her hands go clammy as she gazed up at him. She hadn’t felt this fear in so long, not since the first time she’d been shrunk. He existed as something far greater than the passengers and crew of the CU combined, than the entire population of the CUCU for that matter. A force of nature, with their fate resting in his hands, able to snuff their pathetic existences out without a single thought.

If they couldn’t repair anything, their survival would depend on leaving the CU and by some absolute miracle getting the attention of someone–something –a mile tall that couldn’t even hear them, nor could they understand.

She tried to keep from shivering. She fought back the sting of tears in her eyes and fully turned away from the crowd so they wouldn’t see her face. Rotolo continued to stare, wide-eyed, at the man that may be their downfall or their savior and allowed her composure to slip, just for one moment.

“Fuck.”


Alpha/Beta

Word Count: 5847
Added: 03/22/2025
Updated: 04/05/2025

Director Rotolo looked and felt like she’d been run over by a truck. Once again, she found herself in her office, nursing a cup of woefully weak coffee as she did her best to unwind from the chaos of the evening. Her whole body wouldn’t stop shaking, each beat of her heart felt hollow and dull, and instead of getting any more work done she’d resigned herself to staring blankly at the door of her office–ready to throw a mask on and perk right on up should anyone come across her in this sorry state.

To say her passengers were unhappy about the situation would be the understatement of the century. Never in all her years had she faced such vicious backlash–and she couldn’t even find it in her to get upset right back at them for it. Every one of them were exhausted and fed up already, and finding out that the CU was facing a catastrophic failure of its two most critical systems had been the final straw on the camel herd’s back. There was screaming, hysterical sobs, doomsayers announcing to anyone that would listen that they’d be dead within the week.

It was so bad that for the first time in her career, she had to ask security to step in and quell what was quickly forming into a small-scale riot. For the moment, excessive force wasn’t needed, which was good for everyone. Rotolo didn’t want her passengers getting hurt from their own stupidity, and she just as equally didn’t want her security team busting up their weapon supply this early on.

More bad news would need to be shared. To her crew, to her passengers, to everyone aboard. After a sleepless night, Ulys had come to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do. Their software had completely locked them out, leaving them entirely cut-off from the rest of the world communications-wise. The cryopods, too, were completely unusable–they couldn’t even be turned on manually, one by one. And the kicker? It was all because of the company.

Only an official member of Internal Software Diagnostics could access the faulty system and hard reboot it…which was not a crew member deemed essential to have aboard an Economy class CU–the official reasoning was that the process was so streamlined and consistent that they didn’t need one, which was just another way to say “we are spending too many credits on this, let’s get rid of it”.

The only way to get in touch with anyone from ISD was through the comms–a revelation that almost made Rotolo put her head straight through the crummy synthmetal of her desk.

Cryo, too, was a victim of relentless corporate interference. If the internal workings of the cryopods detected any external interference (such as, say, trying to manually engage or disengage the cryostasis function), it shuts itself down for the standard Galactic Day of 28 hours. At least a third of their pods were now busy taking a nap after Ulys and his team fruitlessly tried to brute-force them to work.

As if all that wasn’t bad enough, they couldn’t even get into another CU for help. CUs could only be opened and closed by their respective Directors, which again, was made impossible due to the inability to send any sort of emergency signal out. It was like the company had thought of every possible emergency except for this one.

While trying not to lose her damn mind more than she already had, Rotolo began to make note of everything she would need to file a proper complaint to the company about the sorry state of the CU’s failsafes–or rather, the lack of them.

She wanted nothing more than to sit in her office, away from the noise and the pressure of all eyes looking to her for answers. Here, she could pretend that none of this ever happened. Maybe if she pulled out a datapad and started writing a damning future testimony against corporate for their meddling, she could instead pretend she was doing the same boring paperwork as always before an embarkation.

But she wasn’t doing paperwork. She couldn’t even waste her time on a testimony right now, not when time was of the essence.

They only had enough supplies to last them a year–and by year, that meant a year on their scale. All of their rations would theoretically run out just before their journey had reached the half-year mark in true-time. The CU had no greenhouse, no replication units–the only upside is that they’d always have fresh air, and if used properly their waste filtration would ensure they’d never go thirsty. But food? Medicine? That’d all be gone.

If they didn’t make contact with the outside world, they’d starve.

But leaving the CU was assuredly a death sentence in of itself. They were not so small that the human eye (or in this case, inhuman) could not pick them up, but they could be easily overlooked. A stray bit of dirt, a bug, a crumb…to someone not looking close enough, a diminished human would easily look the same as all three and discarded without a second thought. A breeze could throw them around the room, every footstep from their gigantic pilot would knock them off balance.

How could they possibly get within Ucari’s line of sight? Or, barring that, would they be able to risk the slim hope that his enhanced Thuvonian hearing would be able to hear their pathetic little voices screaming to be saved?

The CU had a few final Hail Marys built-in for emergencies that took place outside, such as if the CUCU were damaged beyond repair or if it were stolen by pirates…or if their assigned courier had “gone postal”, as it had been described in her training sessions. These were all last resort options, of course. Only to be employed if Rotolo had no other choice, and the knowledge of which only privy to her, her senior staff, and anyone smart enough to read the fine print of the waivers they signed (so…nobody else.)

First to consider was a Black Hole Event. In the books this was defined as a scenario in which “death was more preferable to one’s current circumstances”. Such as, for example, being sucked into the gravity well of a Black Hole, knowing full-well that it would be better to die now rather than suffer the agonizing death caused by spaghettification. If conditions in the CU were that terrible, that hopeless, she’d call it a BHE and proceed forward. The gas needed to humanely and mercifully euthanize herself, her crew, and her passengers was manually activated–no computer interference (or lack thereof, rather) would stop it.

Then, there was the Supernova, which was non-applicable to their situation. If the safety of the entire CUCU was at risk by an outsider threat then they could deploy the Supernova and destroy themselves and their assailants in one fell swoop. Some questioned the existence of the Supernova–to which the higher ups reasoned that it would be better to make sure the CUCU didn’t end up in the wrong hands by blowing the thing up to Kingdom Come.

It was, after all, proprietary technology.

Shortly before she had sequestered herself in her office–well, the reason she had done so in the first place was that Ulys had informed her that the White Dwarf Protocol could still be enacted. Rotolo had quickly made him stop talking, pushing it far out of her mind, suppressing the disgusted shiver down her spine at the thought of it.

Not that. It would never come to that. She didn’t even want to think about it.

Shaking her head to banish the thought for good and clear her mind, she knew what her next move had to be. No more sitting in the dark, no more theoretical testimonies she may never be able to present, and certainly no more hemming and hawing. She had work to do.

Director Rotolo activated her communicator and called for her Head of Security, Commander Cassius Volgis.

“Get me your most able-bodied team and send them to meet me at the Hatch. Make sure to get them their cams, too.”

“You decided we’re gonna start sending folks outside?” Volgis asked, though they hardly sounded surprised.

Rotolo slumped in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose tightly.

“It’s the only option we have.”



A lone security officer watched as the Hatch’s doors sealed tight and flush against the synthmetal of the CU, leaving him on the ledge that connected their vessel to the CUCU. He knew, from having seen one of these things at his normal scale, what they were meant to look like. A decently sized box, with inserts on its front-facing side that held the CUs inside like hard-drives. Right now, with the cold silvery walls surrounding him, it was difficult to contend that the same thing he had seen before–so ordinary, so unremarkable–was what he was standing on now.

The Director had decided that they needed to make contact, and the best of the best rounded up to do it. Per her orders, only one member of Security would be sent out at a time–to minimize potential casualties, and to ensure that the inside of the CU still had robust protection in case the passengers decided to step out of line.

A fine plan. All the officers had been trained in the event of an evacuation like this, and were the most well equipped (quite literally) to handle the environment outside the CU. They were all assigned a regulation standard set of protective gear to use, and provided a gravpack should they find themselves falling off of anything tall.

Selected specifically by Commander Volgis for this mission, he would be known as “Alpha”. According to them, it’d be easier for Director Rotolo to keep track of who was outside the CU if she knew them by an alphabetical signifier rather than their names–easier to call on a codename than trying to remember the names of so many people. It made sense. She was a busy woman, with more on her plate now than Alpha could ever possibly comprehend. Whatever he could do to minimize her stress, the better.

Before Alpha laid a no-man’s land. An endless expanse that was actually only the interior living space of a ship. Seeing it on a view-window could not in a million years accurately reflect the scale of it–how even a cup sitting on a table in the distance looked magnificent. Otherworldly. Dust reflected in the dim light like the stars projected from the outside, the string-lights above were like little suns dancing in the air.

“Wow…” Alpha breathed in awe. His earpiece rang, and he answered.

“How are you doing out there, Alpha?” The Director’s kind voice asked him. Alpha chuckled and shrugged.

“Oh, you know…it’s no big deal being out here. Haha.”

Rotolo didn’t laugh at his little joke, but her voice still retained a distinct sense of warmth. “That’s great. The camera’s connection is very strong, so you should be good to proceed with the mission at your discretion.”

Attached to his helmet was a camera, yet another thing that thankfully didn’t require the internal computing systems to be online. It was more of like a two-way radio, with an established connection to a tablet that now rested in the Director’s hands back in her office. It would give her, the Commander, and the rest of the senior staff a real-time feed of Alpha’s mission.

Which was good. He liked having company. He would have preferred the rest of his team be out here with him, but he understood why they couldn’t. This was for the best.

Far, far away, Alpha heard the sound of a door sliding open, magnified by a hundred. It was not unlike the great metal doors of a hangar, and soon, he heard the rumble. Rhythmic and precise–the sound of footsteps. Alpha perked up, running over to the ledge of the CUCU to strain his neck for any sign of movement. Before long, a great red mass known as Aesa Ucari reared his handsome head.

His body was bare save for a pair of tight black boxers at his waist. The Thuvon was broad shouldered, with thick arms, thicker legs, and a soft exposed belly.  His striped, crimson skin appeared slightly damp, and Alpha could spot the sparkle of water droplets shining in his hair as he came into the light. Aesa must have been taking a shower this whole time.

Alpha’s attention was soon caught by something else, and he let out a low whistle of appreciation.

“Damn Ucari! How d’you fit an ass that fat in the captain’s chair?” He quipped, unable to avert his gaze from the rather eye-catching behind as it quivered and shook like some sort of massive water balloon.

In his ear, Commander Volgis spoke up.

“Focus, Alpha. You’re not there to be a voyeur.”

“Sorry, sorry…”

Without the aid of a view-window to compensate for the time-dilation, the colossus appeared to move eerily slow. Each step of Aesa’s took almost three times as long to finish as one of Alpha’s would have, and yet covered more distance in that time than the shrunken man could hope to in a single day. Alpha realized that the way Aesa was going would take him right in front of the CUCU–and if the Thuvon might be able to hear him, this would be the best time to do it.

“Damn, and here I was thinking this was gonna be difficult…HEY! BIG GUY!”

Alpha began jumping up and down, waving his arms, doing anything to make his miniature form more visible for when Aesa heard his cries.

“LOOK DOWN HERE! DOWN HERE, PRETTYBOY! WE NEED YOU! GOT AN EMERGENCY! C’MON! I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!”

Hundreds of feet in the air, a pointed ear twitched towards him.

Aesa could have sworn he heard something.


He’d just gotten done with his shower, perfectly relaxed after washing away that awful sheen of ick that one gets from sitting in the pilot’s seat for too long. It’d been a perfect day–his passengers were secure, he was finally doing a job he’d been dreaming about for decades, and the best part? He was still going at a pace ahead of schedule. Aesa didn’t want to get his hopes up, but if things ran this smoothly for the whole trip? He could see a lot more orders headed his way in the future.

These pleasant thoughts about all his future endeavors were swiftly interrupted by a strange, high-pitched sound in his ears as he strode past the CUCU. He startled, definitely overreacting in hindsight, whipping around so fast that he felt his tail smack against the side of the little metal structure hard–which only served to freak him out some more, as his focus quickly became on making sure his cargo was still intact.

There was no way he’d hit it hard enough to damage it, but he did knock it so hard that it moved a few inches. A nasty pit of guilt welled up in his throat–even though all the passengers were asleep, he couldn’t help but feel awful for having jostled them so hard. Hopefully they didn’t feel it while they dreamed, and wouldn’t mind the mess he no-doubt caused on the inside when they woke up.

As he looked over the CUCU and returned it to its proper place, his ears twitched and turned incessantly, trying to find the source of the noise. It was driving him mad…until he realized what he was hearing, and almost smacked himself for not realizing it sooner. It definitely came from the very thing he was meticulously inspecting–a thing like that had to have so many little metaphorical bells and whistles in it, making…well, literal bells and whistles.

It’s way too early to get Spacer’s Paranoia, anyway. Aesa thought to himself with a roll of his eyes. Everything was fine, he was just…antsy. Who wouldn’t be?

He just needed to get to bed already.


Rotolo had no words.

One moment, she was watching the world through Alpha’s eyes as Ucari came into view. Her optimism had risen when the slow-moving colossus started to make his way past the CUCU, in perfect view of an infinitesimal man shouting up at him. And shout Alpha did, so loud and so hard that it peaked the microphone attached to him and no doubt ruined any chance of him speaking right for the next week.

An enormous, pointed ear flicked in Alpha’s direction. Everyone in the Director’s office let out a collective sigh of relief or clapped each other on the back–Ucari could hear them!

Rotolo herself exhaled an excited little laugh, taking a moment to bury her face in her hands. She could almost cry she was so happy.

Far away, Aesa’s eyes widened–what was that look on his face? Shock? His head began to turn fully in their direction, but his gaze was not on the CUCU–it was anywhere else, though it was hard to tell exactly where he was looking. His entire body, too, turned–and with it came a world-serpent sized tail, barreling right towards the CUCU.

They had all the time in the world to react, and yet no time at all. The Director fumbled for her earpiece, connecting into the P.A system just in time for a panicked shout.

“BRACE! BRACE! BR-”

The next thing she knew, there was a great bang. Everything that was not nailed down ended up getting launched to the side. Pens clattered to the ground, mementos flew off her desk and shattered upon impact. Rotolo’s head knocked into the wall, her tablet flying out of her hands. Groans bubbled up from her senior staff, but her priority was not on them now–it was on whatever was going on outside.

She scrambled towards the now-cracked tablet, trying to make sense of the feed coming through it. Alpha, it seemed, was tumbling down. Flailing against the air, the view from his camera was a blur. Volgis shook themselves out, running forward to rip the tablet out of her hands and get a look at what was going on. Rotolo just sat, heartbeat pounding in hear ears, as Volgis tried to contact their officer.

“Your pack, Alpha, USE THE DAMN GRAVPACK!” Volgis shouted into their earpiece.

Rotolo knew from her own brief time training with one just how finicky gravpacks could be. Yes, they’d slow your rate of descent, but it all depended on when you deployed them. In function, they were almost like…a parachute, she remembered. Wait too long, one becomes a splatter on the ground. Deploy too early, and the gravpack runs out of fuel and the fall begins again. She couldn’t imagine trying to appropriately judge the right time to activate one while flailing a thousand feet in the air…

From the tablet, a shaky, breathless shout of “Gravpack deployed!” could be heard. Rotolo rose from her feet, inching to Volgis’ side to watch as Alpha’s fall stabilized and he drifted gently down and down…until landing (rather roughly) onto the ship’s floor.

Which was a terrible, terrible place to be.

Alpha felt like he was going to throw up. His body still felt like it was falling, even though he knew he had landed firmly on the ground by the soreness in his legs. Sweat stung his eyes, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

It was a miracle to be alive after getting smacked–not even by the tail itself, he realized, but by the force of the impact itself. Just that was enough to send him flying.


From Alpha’s troublesome position on the ship’s floor, to get a glimpse of Aesa’s face now required that he crane his neck back as far as it could go–not that it helped any. From this great distance, the Thuvon’s upper body was a blurry silhouette, as if the universe was telling Alpha that he was no longer worthy of perceiving him. Beholding him was a privilege for people that weren’t smaller than ants.

Even so, taking him all in left Alpha breathless. His base, most primal of instincts, were giving mixed signals to his senses. There was no way that the thing he was looking at could have been a living, breathing creature. To Alpha’s frazzled mind, he was more like a mountain; a tidal wave in the shape of a person. A facsimile of someone like him and the true definition of something alien.

Alpha could hear Aesa move again before he saw it. The dull drone of metal creaking as an enormous weight shifted. He watched, sickeningly curious, as the Thuvon put all his weight onto his right leg in preparation to turn his body away from the shelf holding the CUCU. Alpha could see the shifting of the muscles in his round, sturdy thigh as they stiffened to accommodate the added pressure and the wobble of fat that would have gone unseen to normal-sized eyes as gravity took hold.

The enormous alien twisted toward Alpha, and with this simple act, everything changed. Shadows moved and shifted like Aesa was a celestial body blocking out a distant sun. As the metallic floor groaned some more under him, Aesa’s foot finally lifted from the ground, and Alpha’s ears popped uncomfortably from the sudden vacuum of pressure it caused. A single, thoughtless step did not bring a foot much higher than an inch, but from Alpha’s perspective? He may as well have been watching a rocket launch.

Aesa’s leg surged forward, and the extended time it took him to do so from the sheer difference of scale between him and the tiny officer made it look…graceful. Awesome. Elegant, in the same way watching an elephant would have been.

His mouth was agape, his heart pounded, Alpha couldn’t even hear the sound of Commander Volgis screaming for him to run over the incessant ringing in his ears.

The quake of Aesa’s foot connecting with the ground, having brought him that much closer to Alpha, pulled the shrunken man from his state of shock. It was a rattling that Alpha felt traveling through the metal ground and right towards him, with enough force to knock him to his knees. Falling down was bad enough, but being down only served to make more of his body have contact with the rumbling floor and discombobulate him further. It was the sort of shaking that left his heart leaping into his throat, his head pounding hard against the confines of his own skull, and all he thought to do in the moment is curl into a little ball and grasp his head in his hands in a meager attempt to make it all stop.

He was like a pill bug crawling into himself.

Again, the air shifted, moved once more by the sheer force of something so huge moving about. Instead of a pull that popped his ears, it was a push, a blast of power that sent Alpha hurtling. He felt like a cat toy being knocked around by intangible giant cat paws.

As he tumbled over and over on himself several yards away, he couldn’t stop the yelp of pain that shot through him as the protective padding he wore couldn’t stop the feeling of having his body slammed into the ground. All the air had gone from his lungs, and when he finally came to a stop there were stars in his eyes and a darkness to the edges of his vision–everything hurt. Everything hurt. Even sucking in a breath of air was so painful that he ended up choking on it, coughing up nothing but a dry throat and a bit of spittle.

All Aesa had done was take a single step–and even with how far it had launched Alpha away, the distance was negligible compared to how far the alien could move.

“Alpha!” He heard in his earpiece, so loud it stung his ears. “You need to get out of there, now!”

Shaking from the adrenaline, the aftershocks, and his own horror, Alpha did as he was told and rose to his feet…only to let out an agonizing scream as a lightning rod of pain shot up and down his calf. Had he broken it? Dislocated it? He didn’t have the time to tell, as Aesa’s other foot began to rise.

With the Thuvon closer than before, the suction force of displaced air as his leg rose was much stronger. So much so, in fact, that Alpha felt himself being pulled in. His boots skidded against the ground and as his injured leg buckled under his weight, he found himself on the floor again, sliding even closer to the gargantuan foot before him. It was exactly like being caught in a riptide, unable to fight against the current as it sucked him into his doom.

At this point, the gap between him and Aesa had closed to a point where looking up no longer afforded him a hazy look at a face in the heavens–only his towering legs and the soft pudginess of his belly that blocked out everything else. There would be no hope of making eye-contact with this unnatural, beastly thing in some far-flung hope for salvation–or perhaps it was him that was the one who was unnatural?

The only things meant to exist at this puny of a scale were bugs and dirt. Humans could only manage it by being safely entombed in synthmetal boxes and made unconscious.

What did that make him, then? What did that make all of them, in this warped world where bugs could survive but they could not?

Nothing, Alpha realized. It made them nothing.

Darkness fell over Alpha, and the sky was dominated by the red flesh of the bottom of Aesa’s foot.

“Alpha, you need to get up.” Ordered the staticky voice from his earpiece.

Lesser than bugs, to be discarded and forgotten because they dared to leave the confines of the one place that kept them safe.

“Get up.”

His blood wouldn’t even be visible against Aesa’s skin. There’d be no way the mountainous alien would even be able to tell he’d stepped on something.

“AJAX, GET UP NOW!”

His name. His real name. It felt weird to hear it, like it no longer belonged to him. It bounced around in his brain, the panicked desperate shriek of his commanding officer echoing over and over. It…stirred something in him. A desire, he realized, that fought against the creeping tendrils of despair that had begun to strangle him. He was not nothing. He was a person, and as much as his mind struggles to reconcile with it, he was the same as the gigantic man who loomed high above him.

The Director, the passengers, the mission…all of it no longer mattered. His priority became himself, to get out of this alive and make it back to the CU to regroup, recoup, and take a shot at this another day.

This is what it meant to be human, he realized. The audacity of their continued existence in the face of impossible odds! To survive even when all hope was lost! This is what they were known all throughout the galaxy for, and he would not be an exception to this rule.

His entire body felt as if it were set on fire and he was awash with nausea and dizziness…but still, he grit his teeth and fought through the pain. Ajax struggled to his feet, limping forward with all his might. His sky was dominated entirely by flesh, the grooves and canyons etched into the skin like angry storm clouds above. There was nothing but darkness all around him, save for the horizon, where light shone through like a beacon of hope.

That is where he needed to go. That is what would provide him salvation, not the man about to crush him underfoot.

The light grew bigger and bigger the closer he got, as if it were welcoming Ajax into its arms. The sky, too, gave way to once again reveal the far ceiling of the ship rather than the alien’s toes. Just a little further, just push a little harder–

Heavy wind lashed against him, displaced by the oppressive mound of flesh above, pushing him down to the ground once more–pinning him down. Ajax fell to his back, where the only thing he could see was the shape of a big toe as large as a stadium coming down upon him.

“No, no, no–”

His tired, battered body could no longer get him off the ground. Ajax, unable to think straight and working on pure instinct alone, was only able to start a pathetic backpedalling crawl away in vain. By now, he could feel the heat coming off of Aesa’s skin. The air grew thick with the smell of him, the familiar scent of a living body–sweet from his bodywash but marred by the salty tang of meat.

Realization that he had failed hit him hard and fast.

“Goddammit, no...Not like this!” Ajax could only sob, his eyes stinging, his breaths coming in short hysterical puffs.

The light had disappeared entirely. He began to beg.

“Please, no, I’m down here! I’M DOWN HERE! PLEASE, DON’T ST–”


The camera feed kept going. That was the worst part, Rotolo decided. Even after Alpha was dead and his vitals no longer registered, the camera kept going. Recording nothing more than the footsteps of the giant man outside, who had no idea of the life he’d just taken. Up and down, up and down, until Aesa crawled into his bunk and they were left in the dark under his blankets.

The company made the cameras strong enough to endure the force of several hundred thousand tons pressing down on it, but couldn’t figure out the same for armor. Like how a black box was made to survive an airplane crash–to bear witness to the tragedy: to give an explanation to insurers and lawyers and the families of the deceased as to what happened.

Rotolo cut the connection off, and placed the shattered tablet on her desk.

Once again, all the eyes of her senior staff fell upon her. Volgis, in particular, had a look in their eyes that could strip the paint off the walls.

The Director bit her lip so hard it broke the skin. There was a metallic taste on her tongue.

“I want medics down in the Atrium to assess if there are any injured, and treat them as necessary.” She finally said to her Chief Medical Officer. Rotolo’s voice was robotic. Seemingly devoid of feeling. “Use your supplies as sparingly as possible. We can’t afford to waste anything. If they ask about what happened, tell them the ship took an evasive maneuver that knocked us to the side.”

She turned to Ulys, whose eyes were far away and distant.

“You need to take your technicians around the CU and see if anything broke. I highly doubt it, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Ulys nodded, and was out the door with the rest of the staff, many of whom could ascertain what they needed to do or figured they would no longer be needed in the office–the Head of Maintenance looked like he wanted to say something before he vanished, but seemingly thought better of it. It could wait, whatever it was.

Finally, there was Volgis.

“...Commander, you will return to the Hatch and select the next officer to be sent outside. We won’t let this setback deter us.”

There was a moment there, a spark, a twitch on Volgis’ face that might have been construed as outrage. Their hands folded behind their back, and their voice had drastically changed from the booming roar it had been when they were barking orders to their normal, regulated, soft tone.

“Setback? Director, with all due respect, one of my officers has died. That’s more than a setback. You expect me to go down there and tell them their comrade is dead? And follow up that lovely conversation by ordering one of them to go out there and try to wake a sleeping giant?”

Rotolo stood her ground before them, gaze steady and level–they were built from different stuff, the two of them. Rotolo was a supposed people person, but didn’t have anyone to call her own. Volgis was…quiet. Gruff. But, and it was never more evident than it was now, they cared so very deeply for their officers.

The pained look in their eyes said everything their silence on the matter didn’t.

“I expect them, and you, to do what they’re paid to do. They know that this was a potentiality. They signed the forms. So, yes Commander, you will go down to the Hatch and select someone to be the next in line. If we’re lucky, Beta might just come back alive.”

Quiet fury boiled within Volgis. Rotolo could almost feel the heat of their anger radiating off them in steady waves, but they did not argue with her. Instead, they nodded, stomping to the door. After a beat, the Director found herself running after them, catching them by the arm–they whipped around so fast that they nearly bowled her over. She held her hands up in a gesture of peace, and exhaled a sigh before saying what she needed to.

“...I am sorry about what happened. We’ll be more careful this time–and…and we’ll have a memorial service. For Alpha–”

“Ajax. His name was Ajax Ward.” Volgis replied, venom oozing from their words.

“Ajax. Right. We’ll have a memorial service for Mr. Ward, and his family will receive adequate financial compensation when we arrive to Centuari b.”

The Commander only snorted, spitefully and fed up with her, and stalked out of the office. Rotolo thought she would at least be left alone in silence, but a quiet noise came from the broken tablet on her desk.

”No, no, no…”

Helena walked back to her desk, staring down at the splintered glass of the tablet. It was the moment just before Ucari’s foot came down. Ajax’s voice echoed through the room, burning into her skull and worming its way through her ears.

“No, no, no…”

Her breathing became shallow, her heart kept beating faster and faster.
”Not like this-” Ajax had said, so small and so pitiful, up at an uncaring God that could neither see nor hear him. The screen flickered, the cracks in the glass corrupting the image. The recording began to loop, replaying the same scene over…and over…and over again.

”I’m down here! I’M DOWN HERE! PLEASE DON’T STE-”

”PLEASE, DON’T STE-”

”PLEASE, DO-”

A scream of her own erupted from her throat as Helena took the tablet in her hands and smashed it against the corner of her desk as hard as she could. Pieces of broken glass flew across the already messy room. She hit it and hit it and hit it until there was nothing left in her hands but bits of plastic and metal connected pathetically by the frailest bits of wire. Her hands felt warm and slick, and it took her a second to realize that they were bleeding.

Blood on her hands. It was so stupid, it was so…on-the-nose. She let out a hysterical, pealing giggle from her now-sore throat, and laughed so hard it made her breathless.

Helena fell to her knees, and with nothing better to do until Volgis selected their Beta, she began picking the bits of glass out of her fingers.

Maybe, if she were lucky, that bottle of whiskey in her luggage hadn’t broken, just like everything else around her had.

Even though the tablet was broken to pieces, she swore she could still hear that damn kid’s voice calling out.