Rory Bishop wasn’t supposed to be on that ship.

Earth was described as a planet “not yet ready for first contact”. It was in the baby steps of interstellar travel, still not quite unified or advanced enough to consider joining the Universal Coalition. But there was a war on, and neutral, uncontacted territory could only be more dangerous. And people were curious about it, alone in its corner of the universe, but so loud it might as well have colonized the whole system.

The first time Rory got abducted by aliens, it went about the way she might’ve expected. She was out at a house party in the middle of nowhere, invited by a friend of a friend to the outskirts of her sleepy hometown. A few hours in, she’d grabbed a drink and escaped out back, wandering into the woods that weren’t quite anyone’s property.

Eventually, she stumbled into a clearing, tipsy and a little lost. That’s when she saw the spaceship.

The sleek, triangular black mass looked like it could’ve been pulled straight from a nineties sci-fi cartoon. She stopped at the treeline for a moment and just gaped, wondering briefly if the punch had been spiked with something far worse than cheap tequila.

But even she couldn’t have dreamed up the aliens; and truly, there was no other word for them. They stood—if you could call balancing on six writhing tentacles standing—at around eight feet tall, with heavy circular shoulders and thick, almost expressionless helmets covering what she could only guess were their faces. They seemed to be packing up, dragging similarly styled crates up instead of the massive ship, chittering to one another in what must’ve been their language. Some were holding guns, following the others with heavy postures and careful sweeps of their helmeted heads.

And that’s when she saw June.

It almost made less sense than the spaceship. Her older sister was supposed to be back at the party. She was supposed to be doing a keg stand or shotgunning a beer, charming the room with her wild grin and easy hands. Rory was the one who left parties early, who preferred sober debates over drunk camaraderie that could only last till morning. Was June looking for her? Rory pictured her wandering the woods half wasted, just so she could coax her back to what was supposed to be her graduation party, her last night in that godforsaken place.

But there she was, shuffled along into the ship with a gun to her head, hands shaking where they were cuffed behind her back. Rory remembered screaming, running forwards on stumbling legs. She remembered bolts of red shooting into the air around her, tentacles wrapping tight around her arms, then her mouth. She remembered June, turning back with wide, terrified eyes. And then nothing.

Her consciousness bled in and out for a while after that. There were snatches of screaming, her wrists chafing under metal cuffs, and the odd sensation of something being clipped tight to her earlobe. As her senses slowly came back to her in pieces, she’d later realize the odd clicking noises and near inhuman sounding voices hovering above her had shifted into something more recognizable.

“You need to start calling me Rory.”

A teenaged June blinked down at her then ten year old sister, scratching at her newly buzzed scalp. “Rory?”

“I don’t wanna be Aurora,” the girl bluntly replied, the stubborn set of her mouth contrasted by the way she fidgeted with a loose thread on her jeans. “I hate the way people say it, like I’m some frail, prissy princess. So I’m gonna be Rory instead.”

They searched each other’s expressions for a moment, burning green against flinty gray, before June started to smile, reaching out to ruffle her dark hair. “Okay then. Rory it is.”

“Aurora Bishop? Can you hear me?”

“It’s Rory,” she blurted out, a habit stubborn enough to slip through even the migraine. “God, my head, christ.”

A laugh sounded from above, and something that felt like a hand pushed back her sweaty bangs, handing her a metal bottle. She chugged half of it before the room stopped spinning. And then, for not the first time and certainly not the last, she screamed.

M’Iddaren Drano-Vervi was the closest to what Rory expected from a real life alien. Crab like, with four legs and surprisingly delicate pincers, eyestalks, and a yellow-green exoskeleton covered by what looked like an honest to god lab coat. Once she’d calmed her down, it was a little hard not to start hysterically laughing instead from the sheer insanity of it all.

Apparently, M’Iddaren’s crew had rescued her from a massive cargo ship, where an illegal species trade was taking place. They couldn’t take her home, worried about alerting the planet of their existence, so she was stuck on their ship until they could find the safest way to transport her back. She got really lucky, it seemed; the alien had a fascination with humans already, and had programmed their translators—the weird ear clips—with English on a curious whim.

But Rory didn’t want to go back. Not alone.

“Were there really no other humans on the ship?” she messed with the sleeves of her jumpsuit, made of an odd, stretchy black fabric that felt more durable than it should’ve been. “Just me?”

M’Iddaren awkwardly shifted from leg to leg, and Rory got the oddest sensation that she’d be biting her lip if she had any. She tapped a pad built into the silver wall, which seemed to buzz with a strange sounding static, before pulling up a few files. “No, I’m afraid not. And most of the records we could find on their ship were scrubbed or corrupted in some way.”

The decision was surprisingly easy to make; there was no point in an Earth without June in it. “Okay. So, I’m staying until you can help me find my sister, who was kidnapped with me.”

The crab creature blinked down at her, baffled. “I-I’m not sure—”

“Not up for debate,” Rory replied, using the voice that always got June to back away from fights or finally work on homework. “I’m staying.”’

The wall buzzed again, but this time, even she could tell the sound it was attempting was laughter. She bit back another scream as a voice followed, clearly amused. “I like her. And she might as well, ‘Ren, we can’t exactly send her back.”

A small smile broke through her glare as she nodded at the screen, curious about the man behind it. M’Idarren’s head darted between the two, claws twisting around each other pitifully, before she sighed. “We’ll need to ask the rest of the crew. We have other missions, and as much as I’d rather have you as a guest, the others won’t tolerate you here unless you work for it in some way.”

“Deal,” Rory broke into a full on grin, reaching out a hand that the alien delightedly shook. Terror still burned in the back of her throat, a thousand questions woefully unanswered and herself woefully unprepared. But she had a plan now, and maybe even a team.

And if Rory was anything, she was mind-bendingly stubborn.

The other members of the crew, named Axane Noda and Stilio Basc, were less enthused about the idea. But with enough pleading, bargaining, and some very convincing help from the ship’s AI, D13J🜩64N—because there was no man behind the screen, he simply was the screen—they caved on the promise of extra help around the cabin. They were, apparently, a secret black ops team for a multi system government organization called the Coalition. Their team was the only one of its kind, with three species that usually never interacted playing to their absolute strengths. Most of their jobs involved doing things the Coalition could not; like rescuing stray humans, for instance. Once again, her luck was starting to seem far too good to be true, to the point where she only got more jumpy, expecting the universal to try and return to karmic equilibrium once more.

Rory thanked every god she had for the computer science courses she’d taken on a whim, quickly learning the basics with M’Idarren as a guide. The two became fast friends, even as lacking in social skills as the crab proved to be. As they continued to work together, she was even kind enough to give the human access to her notes; just quick little explanations of all the species on the ship, and any they might encounter on our way to home base. They were thorough, and a little weirdly adorable; like she was excited about every little encounter.

Carciquax

  • We have four legs, spread out from the four corners of the lower abdomen, and two arms with pincers on the ends.
  • Rory, our designated human, has said that I have a similarity to her earthen “crabs”. How fascinating!
  • My world is highly diverse, with a strong focus on specialization and education. We are born with one clan name, and then choose another based on our specialization. I was born with Drano, and went into Vervi; my specialization is xenobiology.
  • However, one personal failing of our species is the rampant xenophobia that we’ve unfortunately cultivated.
  • Most of my peers consider their work to be above the matters of the universe, and focus only on our own species. I left the planet Brach-Thor for that express purpose; I believe we have been limiting ourselves for far too long.

Rory had never had a friend who was interested in her, who liked the same things she did. It was always just her and June, and June liked science about as much as she liked the idea of drinking lead. It was…nice.

Basc

  • Stilio is a member of a nomadic species known as the Basc.
  • They are four armed, two legged reptilians with long tails, and are incredibly dextrous, known for traveling for the specific purpose of performance.
  • Stilio himself was in a troupe when we met, performing daring acts of near impossible skill which has made him both a fantastic negotiator and a brilliant spy.
  • I have never known him to misread someone; he’s dedicated full cycles of his life to the art of studying people.

The group at large had been wary about taking Rory on missions. It was fair, she supposed; she was new, and hadn’t exactly had experience exploring deep space. But the lack of trust, which often felt like a lack of respect, was really starting to grate at her nerves.

Eventually, they caved, sending her down with the lizard man Stilio to scavenge for some provisions on a deserted forest planet. It was meant to be easy, routine even. And, of course, that’s when her absurd luck finally began to waver. There was an energy field in the area they planned to touch down in, strong and unexpected enough to completely short out the pod. They crashed moments later with minimal injuries, but no way of contacting the rest of the crew. Stilio had already begun rationing out their food packets. He didn’t seem particularly optimistic.

He wandered off a bit later, giving her a sharp glare with ice blue eyes as he made her promise to stay put and not touch anything. He clearly didn’t think she’d be much use; ordinarily, she wouldn’t be. But Rory had stayed up far too late watching The Discovery Channel for most of her childhood and far too short adult life. She’d also been camping with her sister a million times.

By the time Stilio got back, she had a fire going and a shoddy, but doable attempt at tents pitched. He stopped most of his grumbling after that.

“Are all humans this…” he trailed off, waving his shish kebab in the air, their newly stocked provisions tucked neatly off to one side.

“Resourceful and talented?” she hummed, feigning smugness to hide the irritation at being underestimated yet again. “Nah, you just got lucky.”

He gave her what could only be described as a flat look, scaly lips turned up ever so slightly at the corners. “…bizarre.”

She fell into a hunch, poking at the coals to try and avoid his scrutiny. “…depends on who you ask. But yeah. Probably.”

“Huh,” he stared at her for a long moment, and she held it, feeling a bit like this was some sort of test. Whatever he saw in her expression, it made his thick shoulders loosen. “Tell me more.”

The rest of the group found them laughing together, coals nearly burned down to nothing, as they swapped stories about siblings and clutch mates, Stilio notably avoiding the subject of his flirty, on and off again relationship with Djinn. They started sending her on a lot more missions after that.

D13J🜩64N, or “Djinn”

  • D13J🜩64N, unfortunately, falls out of my jurisdiction.
  • I am a biologist at heart, and he is an AI, and is therefore notably non organic. He was created by our sponsor, The Avrenim, as a gift to us, so we wouldn’t have to worry about the day to day slog of running a ship on top of our other duties.
  • My coworkers believe he may be lacking in that department, but I have found enjoyment in his company. Even when I am quite confused by it.
  • He has also decided to switch to speaking completely in English since Rory joined us, and she’s teaching him jokes and turns of phrase faster than I can learn to translate them.
  • Rory has taken to calling him “Djinn” after a human folktale of sorts. She says it’s because he “talks in riddles and grants wishes with consequences”. He seems to love the comparison, even if I don’t entirely understand what she means.

If M’Iddaren was her first friend, Djinn was by far her best. For a living robot with no body, he had more personality than anyone she’d met in space. He teased her mercilessly, pranked her even more than the other crew members, challenged her to games and tests of will whenever she stood still for too long. And, most importantly, he didn’t baby her. He trusted her to get the job done. He felt the most like her, in the crew: the most wild, the most stubborn…the most human. He reminded her of June, honestly; if she didn’t have a savior complex, that is.

But nothing could’ve prepared her for his creator.

Numinium

  • A nearly entirely cybernetic race, housing only the barest hint of organic matter within their metallic bodies.
  • They are the most technologically advanced species in known history, with quite an ethereal quality to them, at the risk of sounding biased.
  • Their physical forms are incredibly small and malleable, similar to Earth’s “jellyfish”, according to Rory.
  • The Avrenim, whom we report directly to, is a member of this species.
  • Rory thinks of them as “angelic, but in a creepy way”. I am not familiar with the term, as I’m still rusty on the ins and outs of human religious practices, but I think she means well.

The Avrenim, while alien in body, felt most foreign in mind of anyone Rory had encountered. Meeting them felt like what might occur between the meeting of a child and an ant; vague curiosity, perhaps a bit of meddling, before moving on to far larger, more complicated things. They were, in every sense, beyond her.

A little while into their stay on Numin, Rory accidentally overheard a conversation between them and Djinn. They hovered just outside of the atrium doorway, ears straining.

“I’m not seeing what the problem is,” he deflected, buzzing through the pad he’d been transferred into for their stay.

“Then let me put it in simple terms,” they replied, floaty voice cutting like steel. “She isn’t as strong as Axane, as smart as M’Iddaren, or as charismatic as Stilio. So why, my dear creation, should I let you continue having her on your ship?”

Rory held her breath for a moment, fear and indignation battling in her chest as the silence dragged on. They were right; of course they were right. But she couldn’t just stop, and Djinn needed to say something, god, please—

“It’s because of her instincts.”

They tilted their cybernetic head, seeming surprised and amused. “That word sounds human. What does it mean?”

“It means that nine times out of ten, Rory is right,” he argued, staticy tone taking on the edge of a snarl. “She’s logical, quick thinking, brilliant in a crisis. She’s been with us for two full cycles, and she’s already saved the crew, all on her own, twice.”

There was a pause, as if his programming gave him a moment for a breath he didn’t need, before he finished, going softer than she’d ever heard him sound. “We barely talked before she showed up. Now we finally feel like a team.”

There was another pause, much longer this time, before they finally responded, equally subdued. “Very well.”

Rory and the Avrenim didn’t meet again until they were about to leave the planet. They stared down at her, something heavy behind their otherworldly indifference. “You’re the first human to join the galactic battlefield, Rory Bishop. I am fascinated to see what you’ll become.”

Sullator

  • A clone race, outlawed by the Coalition at large
  • They are bred for war, grown to maturity in a matter of weeks before being sent into battle
  • Their DNA sequence is a carefully guarded secret, but most biologists like myself speculate that they are a mix of multiple races, some sentient and some less so.
  • They also appear to be based on the initial species of the planet Slate, which no longer exist due to this kind of selective breeding.
  • Ergo, they are separated into two classes; malker and sullator, creator and creation.
  • Axane Noda, our weapons specialist, has avoided my attempts at discovering what her base species is. Rory has suggested that she is very similar to the earthen species known as “cats”; more research will be needed to test this theory.

“Uh…Axane?”

She uncoiled from the table she was working at, combing thick, fur-like auburn hair from her eyes as she growled, “What do you want, Bishop?”

Rory fought not to fidget, hands clasped awkwardly behind her back as she surveyed the last crew member she had yet to befriend. “M’Idarren said you were the weapons specialist. Could you show me how to use the guns you’ve got?”

She blinked down at the human with yellow slitted eyes. “You’re kidding.”

Rory’s smile went taut at the edges. “I’m really not.”

She grunted hopping off the desk to circle her, snarling as she gestured, “You’re not exactly built for combat. No exoskeleton, no claws, flat teeth; you couldn’t even take M’Iddaren, and she has the combat skills of a wet blanket.” With every belittling comparison, Rory’s jaw clenched together and tighter, rage beginning to writhe in her gut.

June’s chipped green eyes were sharper than usual, like the broken glass bottles that littered the junkyards they definitely shouldn’t have been playing in. It was there she taught Rory how to aim, shotgun pilfered from their stepdad’s safe and pointed at a few haphazardly set up tin cans.

She definitely wasn’t old enough to use it, but June insisted. “It’s a big, bad world out there, Rory. I don’t want it to ever get close enough to touch you.”

Rory groaned, flicking the safety on with aching fingers. “Can’t you just teach me how to fight? I know you know how, I saw you knock Max on his ass before school last week.”

June gave her a smile that was all teeth, bitter and nonnegotiable. “Maybe I don’t want you to be like me.”

She dragged in a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she focused the anger, eyes opening to meet the surprise within Axane’s. “We have guns on Earth. And I know how to use them. So teach me, or next time we almost die, I’ll have no idea how to defend myself.” She cocked an eyebrow, challenging. “Do you want me to stay useless?”

They held gazes for a moment, and Rory had to fight down a blush at the feline’s intense scrutiny. Then, her lips twitched, as she turned away towards the armory. “Alright then. I’ll get you set up.”

As Axane taught her the ins and outs of laser guns, she tried not to think of the strong body behind her, the inhumanly hot breath at her ear. That didn’t stop her dreaming about them, though.

She still thought of June every moment, terror only growing as what passed for days on the ship kept moving with no leads. But she thought about the crew just as much, slipping neatly into her life as if the ragtag group of aliens had always been there. They soothed her in ways her sister never had, and she couldn’t help the relief it gave her. Or the guilt that followed soon after.

She chopped her hair just above her shoulders, tying it back more often than not; a far cry from the raven princess curls her mother had adored. She tried not to wonder if she’d recognize her sister after all these months alone in space. She tried not to wonder if her sister would recognize her.

The aliens, the only ones that still felt that way, were in front of Rory again for the first time since Earth. Her crew had tracked down a lead, after cycles of searching. Information about her sister was on that ship, and by god, she was going to get it. She could hear their condescending insults this time, their horrific threats, but they fell on deaf ears. She raised her gun, aiming it with more ease than she felt.

It took far less effort than it should’ve to pull the trigger.

Rory wasn’t supposed to be the fighter, between her and June. She wasn’t supposed to thrive in space, she wasn’t supposed to be there at all. She should’ve been happy with her feet firmly on the ground. But no matter how badly her sister had tried to protect her, she wasn’t here to deny the truth. Maybe all this was just so the universe could give them the right roles.

It’s time for me to save you, June. And god, I hope you can accept that.