Chapter 4

“Put that down!” Carl said. “How did ya’ll even open my locker, it’s locked.”

Balyn hung its head when Carl snatched the book out of its hands, Lambert grinning as it seemed to be pulling off an alien version of puppy-eyes. After overcoming their initial wariness of the corvette, the aliens were keen on putting their claws on anything they could find, Mezul’s crew and even a few new aliens sticking their beaks into anything that wasn’t bolted down, which soon became a mess when they figured out how to work basic locks and even keypads.

“What was your password?” Lambert asked, watching from the doorway of the gunner station. “One two three four?”

“Doesn’t matter what it was,” Carl said. “these guys are snoopin’ where they shouldn’t be snoopin’.”

“At least they know what no means,” Lambert said. The Balokarid’s vocabularies were expanding with each passing minute, Carl doing most of the heavy lifting as he scolded the curious aliens when they took a specific interest in his section of the ship. Call him crazy, but Lambert suspected they were picking up on the subtle social cues he and Carl gave off to help overcome the language barrier.

“Not as much as they should,” Carl replied. “How’d they even guess my code?”

“Numbers and math are a universal language,” Alice said over the intercom. “as I have stated previously. They need only see you enter the code once, and they can reciprocate it perfectly. Fascinating creatures...”

Lambert watched as Ruvaara tried to squeeze itself into Carl’s chair, chittering in agitation at the obviously underproportioned furniture. He felt someone tap on his shoulder, the man turning around to look. Unlike the others, Mezul was sticking by his side rather than exploring, raising its shoulders and arms in a shrug that had become its way of asking him a question.

“Hey Mezul, what is it?”

“Mezul, Ruvaara, Balokarid. Balokar. Human...” Mezul mumbled, struggling to find the words. “Human, Humanarid? Humanar?”

“You want to know where I’m from?” he asked, the alien angling its beak so that both of its unblinking eyes faced him. “I’m from ... well, humans are from Earth.”

“Earth,” it repeated. “Earth what?”

“What’s Earth, you mean?”

“What’s Earth?”

“Earth is a planet. I could show you a picture or something, hang on.”

He fumbled through his pocket for his phone, tapping into the onboard systems to bring up some images. He showed it to the alien.

“Here, check it out,” he said, swiping at the screen as Mezul bent its head forwards to look. The first photo was of Earth from afar, the blue oceans and green landmasses sticking out against the blackness of space. “That’s Earth, and this one here’s a forest.”

Mezul was amazed, its beak right up against the screen as its eyes tracked the images. There was one of a coastal city, and a panorama of a lake that bordered the beginning of a desert.

“Earth ... all?” Mezul asked, blinking at him.

“All of these pics are from Earth, yeah. What about you, Mezul?

Where are you from?”

The alien paused, eyes flicking around as it tried to think of a response. “Mezul ... Mezul Dur’shala.”

“Oh, you’re from Dur’shala?” he asked, Mezul nodding in affirmative. “What’s it like?”

The alien didn’t appear to have photos, its eyes widening as it came up with an idea. It rubbed at its exposed forearm with a talon, a thick layer of the dust Lambert had seen earlier coming with it. The alien rubbed the stuff between its fingers, making sure Lambert was watching closely.

“Dur’shala,” it said, motioning at the dust. It then took his phone and swiped to the panorama, pointing at the sandy banks on the far side of the image.

“So your planet is sandy?” he asked. “Or mostly desert? Must be if it’s getting caught in your feathers so much.”

“All, Dur’shala,” Mezul said, pointing at its companions.

“You’re all from there, okay. So why are you here, and not there?”

“All ... Dur’shala ... human,” Mezul said. “Put that down.”

When it saw Lambert wasn’t understanding, it huffed like it was annoyed, looking around for a moment before continuing. “Human, these guys are snoopin’ where they shouldn’t be snoopin’. Why are you here?”

Lambert shrugged apologetically. “You guys invited us aboard, remember?”

The alien chirped in a way that came off as frustrated, seeing that whatever it was saying wasn’t making sense, its feathers flattening against its long skull.

The alien broke the silence by clicking its beak to get his attention. “Lambert cockpit come.”

“You wanna go to the cockpit? Sure.”

It followed him up the main corridor, the two returning to the pilot’s chair. It was already claustrophobic with all the equipment crammed around the chair, but it was worse with Mezul taking up what little space there was. His shoulder was rubbing up against their bicep, but if the alien was at all uncomfortable it didn’t show it.

“Picture,” Mezul said, motioning at the monitors.

“Which one?” he asked, the alien giving him a blank look. He decided to just flick through the recordings of the past couple of hours, Mezul nodding its head as if it was saying keep going. When the recording came to the point where Mezul’s ships were under fire, it gestured for him to stop.

It pointed one of its claws at the Raptors, the image flickering as the nebula’s energies continued to interfere, even inside the alien ship. “Human,” it said, then pointed to Lambert. “human.”

“Oh no, we’re different from them,” Lambert explained. “They’re human, sure, but those are the bad guys.”

“Bad guys,” Mezul repeated. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

Lambert tried not to recoil too much, feeling he was so close to having a full-blown conversation with this thing. “Those were humans, okay? But they weren’t with us. Obviously. They were with the UEC.

“Human yoo-ees-see? What that?”

“It’s like a ... I don’t know, a clan. They’ve got several planets under their thumb, and a lot of territory.”

“Territory,” Mezul said. “Human Lambert yoo-ees-see?”

He shook his head. “No. Well I was, but ... let’s just say no. My, uh, clan is the Hub.”

“Hub,” Mezul repeated. “What Hub?”

“It’s a group of humans, another clan, fighting the UEC. There’s a lot of politics, but in short, we’re not on good terms. We separated from them.”

“Where Hub-clan?” Mezul asked, its striking gaze falling on him. “Human Lambert ... Mezul Hub-clan.”

“You want to go there? Me too, but my corvette’s low on fuel, and I have to report back to the Gallipoli first, tell them all about you guys.”

Mezul’s eyes shifted from left to right, the human realising he’d thrown too many new words at it. “Let’s try this.” He switched the screen back to the skirmish, pausing the video when the camera was resting on the alien group of ships. “We’re on this one, right?” he said, pointing at one of the alien carriers. “What are they called?

What’s this whole fleet called?”

“Balokarid,” Mezul said.

“Yeah, I know, but what are these ships called? What’s your fleet called?”

Mezul squinted in thought, blinking once as it processed his question. “What fleet?”

“Look, one, two, three ships. That’s a fleet.” He pointed at them to drive home the point. “They’re all ships. What are they called?”

“All ships, called ... Kaalesh. Kaalesh clan.”

That was a new word, maybe he was getting through to it.

“Okay, Kaalesh clan. So who’s the leader of your clan?”

“Kaalesh all.”

“No, I mean,” he sighed, growing frustrated. “Who’s the ... the ghosha? Who’s the pilot of this fleet?”

“Kaalesh ghosha?” Mezul asked, Lambert nodding in reply. “Ghosha ... no. Shaliyya Kith. Kith, ghosha, Balokarid ... I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

So Shaliyya was like a pilot, or at least had more say in the fleet’s movements like he’d suspected? It was good enough for Lambert, the man waving for Mezul to join him as he left the cockpit. “Take me to Shaliyya, then.”

Once more they made their way through the hanger airlock, the sound of whirring engines and mechanical equipment filling the space as they went, the doors welcoming the pair as they stepped through into the corridor beyond. The ceiling was maybe three times as tall as Lambert was, wide enough to accommodate two or three Balokarids floating side by side, a lot less cramped than human ships were by far.

Mezul gripped the handholds built into the sides of the passage to move itself along, Lambert clunking along after it on his heavy boots. There were panels every he looked, probably designed so that the aliens could access the ship systems from as many places as possible. The passage split off in multiple directions after a quick walk, more narrow passes curving higher and deeper into the alien carrier. It was a stark change from the classical right angles of human architecture, more like ant tunnels than anything else.

Mezul took the pass on the right, Lambert following after. Now and then Balokarids would float along the other way, huge crates and other bulky equipment in their hands as they ferried themselves to other parts of the ship. They gawked behind their closed helmets at the human, some stopping to chat with Mezul, probably about why he was wondering around with it.

Some of the Balokarids had big packs strapped to their flanks, secured to their spacesuits by thick belts. Each pack was as tall as Lambert was, and easily heavy enough to give even the strongest humans pause, but the aliens showed no signs of fatigue in the microgravity. Lambert paused when he noticed a piece of metal sticking out of one of the flaps.