Hyperspace, coordinates ******/******/******
June 28th, 666 GE
Entering the lounge, Twiglet did her best to look like a harmless tourist. She cautiously glanced around, then ambled toward the bar with an awkward air.
Raising one hand, she signaled the bartender.
“Makeshi juice — and a deck of cards, please,” she said brightly.
With a drink in one hand and a sealed deck in the other, she made her way to a quiet corner table, choosing the spot farthest from the other patrons.
She spread the cards before her and began fiddling with a solitaire game, trying to appear lost in thought.
Just a few minutes passed before a shadow fell across the table. Twiglet looked up, startled — only to be met by a smiling human face. She fought the rising instinct to panic, but the man’s tone was disarmingly casual.
“Hey there! Name’s Arto Wol, from Muliphen IV. Are you here alone, mate?”
Twiglet unrolled her tongue and offered a friendly smile.
“Hello to you, too! I’m Twiglet Skunks — and just for the record, I’m a lady.”
“Oh! My apologies!”
“No worries. I don’t know much about humans either.” She tilted her head. “So… what can I do for you?”
“Well, I hope I’m not interrupting, but my mates and I—” he gestured toward a nearby table, “—we were hoping to play a round of kryple. Trouble is, we’re one player short…”
“…and you’re inviting me to join you? How thoughtful! What was the name of the game again?”
Wol hesitated, slightly thrown off. “Uh… kryple.”
“I’d love to play! Thanks so much for the invitation.”
Twiglet cheerfully gathered her cards and followed him to the other table.
She slid into the only empty chair and, without appearing to, quickly assessed her fellow players.
Besides Wol, there was a female jellyfish from Spica V, her translucent body barely visible through a custom-built dampsuit. The third player was more mysterious — entirely cloaked, face hidden beneath a deep hood, hands gloved.
Twiglet flashed her most innocent smile.
“So,” she said, with wide-eyed enthusiasm, “how do you play… krapfen?”
Hyperspace, coordinates ******/******/******
June 28th, 666 GE
Kyle had spent the last couple of days avoiding his guest.
Not an easy feat aboard a ship as cramped as the Aranui. To make things worse, only one of the bathrooms was functional, so he’d developed the habit of sleeping in and hiding out in the engine room for most of the day.
On the evening of the third day, he was hunched over a faulty switch panel, trying to coax it back to life.
Perched nearby on a tangle of pipes and cabling, Wolfram glared at him with unmistakable feline disdain. Occasionally, the cat would pause to gnaw at an imaginary flea, as if to emphasize his disapproval.
“So, what’s with that look?” Kyle muttered.
Wolfram responded by lazily licking his paw, as if Kyle wasn’t even worth the energy of a proper reply.
“Don’t give me that. I know what you’re thinking. That computer shaped like a woman — you think I like her, don’t you?”
“Miaoouu.”
Wolfram narrowed his one good eye and returned to grooming himself, smug as ever.
“Well, I’m not falling for it. Not this time. They’re always sweet at first — kind, polite. But give it a few days, and suddenly they need a life, or meaning, or certainty. And somehow it’s your fault for not giving it to them.”
“Meowrrr.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m no saint either.”
He thought of Weema catching him that one time — with the girl from Zubelnagubi.
“To hell with women. Come on, Wolfie. Let’s get some dinner.”
Hyperspace, coordinates ******/******/******
June 28th, 666 GE
“I’ve got three of those ugly faces with the crown,” Twiglet announced, fanning her cards, “and three number ones.”
Arto Wol grinned and exchanged a wink with his companions.
“That’s Triple Zaphir!” exclaimed the hooded player, his voice filtered through a metallic translator. His name was Sjaak.
“Oh? And that’s good, right?” Twiglet asked, feigning innocence.
Arto leaned in with a chuckle. “Good? It’s the best! That means you win — again, dear lady!”
“Wow!” Twiglet beamed. “So far, I must have won… what, about a hundred credits? Please, correct me if I’m wrong.”
“Exactly!” Wol confirmed, sliding a neat stack of chips toward her. “Not bad for someone who claimed not to know the rules half an hour ago.”
“If she keeps this up, she’s going to clean us out,” grumbled Sjaak.
“Glooorgl!” added the jellyfish, her suit bubbling in apparent agreement.
“Please, let’s keep playing!” Twiglet chirped. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun!”
“I’m all for it,” Wol said, leaning back in his chair. “But maybe it’s time we raise the stakes. That’ll really spice things up.”
Twiglet hesitated, just for a moment.
“Mmm… alright. Is fifty credits good with you?”
Hyperspace, coordinates ******/******/******
June 28th, 666 GE
Kyle sighed as he stared into the pantry. Empty. He’d forgotten to stock up before leaving Dabih Major.
“Down there, on the left — there’s a Food-o-matic cartridge.”
Shirl was leaning against the doorframe.
“It’s useless,” Kyle grumbled. “The machine only brews some kind of disgusting coffee. Total wreck.”
He started rummaging through the cupboards.
“Is anything working in this place?” Shirl asked.
“Sorry, honey, I didn’t invite you on board. Or are you volunteering a couple of your circuits to repair the Foodspitter?”
She fell silent and turned to go.
“Where are you going? Wait a second, damn it!” Kyle snapped. “Do you women always have to be so— I mean, couldn’t whoever made you have at least—”
He kept talking while digging through shelves, until he finally surfaced with a dusty, vacuum-sealed pack of biscuits that probably dated back to the ship’s construction.
“Aha!” he declared.
To his surprise, Shirl hadn’t left. She was sitting at the table now, silently watching him.
Kyle opened a can of food for Wolfram, who slunk into the room.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” he said, pouring himself a bitter cup of coffee. “Want some?”
“No, thanks. Then I can’t sleep.”
He glanced at her, genuinely curious. She looked different — less polished somehow. Sad, maybe. Even her glow seemed dimmer.
“Who’s the kid?” she asked, suddenly.
“Huh? What kid?”
Then he saw what she meant: a small holo-photo peeking out from a cluttered shelf. A tanned boy with a broad smile stood atop a heap of strange animals.
“Oh, that? That’s me. Must’ve been… twelve standard years old.”
He took a slow sip of coffee.
“Back then, I was a moshaawk hunter. First job I ever had.”
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