---
He didn’t need to answer the call to know they had company. Dommik just needed to look outside the bridge’s window to see the giant white ship. It looked like a droplet of rain, a thin yet curved bullet that peaked at the end into a series of needles where the thrusters and warp drives were stored. It had a smoky quality to it, a very alien look. The sides jutted out like a serrated knife, a puffer fish’s spikes just waiting to spear an unassuming vessel in its wake.
He knew those spikes. He knew they were made with Pyzian metal and what that metal could do. He had it inside him. It could puncture the soul from a being, or the lifeblood of nearby flyer. The spikes ejected outward like a spring and stabbed everything it came in contact with. Only to retreat and do it again.
Only one type of Trentian captained aPiercer Battleship.A Space Lord hailed him.
Dommik sighed and sat down, answering the chime.
“This is theSpider,answering, Captained by Dommik, myself, a Cyborg in service to the Earthian Planetary Exploration Division. We have business to take care of within the Trentian sectors.”
“Dommik,” an alien hissed low through the channel. “Dommik. Why do you have hundreds of lifeforms on our radar, inside your ship, if you only have business here? Dommik.” It slithered strong and hateful through his speaker system. A hidden curse to his name.
Names were important to the aliens, just like women were, and flesh. He knew what he was dealing with but Kat would be nothing but gold to a dragon.
“I apologize, who am I speaking to?”
Laughter, merciless laughter answered. Dommik counted the guns he had within reach arm’s reach in his head.
“A Space Lord, Cyborg, A Lord to your created existence, bright within Xanteaus’s eyes. But if you must, must know a name to continue this intrigue, it is thus: Markoss, Lord of Light’s Reach. Answer me NOW,” his voice went from a hissing whisper to a bomb readying to ignite.
“I have cargo, recovered for the EPED, creatures from other worlds to study and plants to examine. All in the name of expansion and safety for both our peoples and the hybrids we create,” Dommik leaned back, hoping he had a fiber of charm in his body.
Charm, hah.
“Cyborgs don’t create life, Dommik, they take it. Where has your council sent you and what for?”
“The mission is classified,” he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.
“Can you classify death?”
“Of course.”
“Shall I speak the ritual of the unhonored before we immobilize you and take you in?”
“Do you really, really want to fire on a Cyborg, Space Lord? Because that wouldn’t go well for you. Even if you take down my ship, it won’t hurt me. I’ll survive out in space and cling to you like a shadow, weigh you down with overrides and webs until you go crazy with trying to get rid of a bug that Just Won’t Die.”
“Ah there are the threats I am used too from your kind, so much bark, so much bite!” he chuckled with glee. “I am not trying to start a war. I am offering death. Unless you would take another route with me? How about an inspection and allowance to move on through my jurisdiction? What brings you to our space anyway wired-being?”
Dommik answered this time. “I’ve been sent by the EPED to procure an O'lia flower to catalog its...mythical capabilities. Xan’Mara is my destination.”
“Is that so? I can tell you all about the flower right now, Cyborg,” the alien said with a taunt.
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough, Alien, our scientists want one on hand.”
“That flower. That flower will not live within captivity, It will not follow your orders, it will never survive a trip to…” the alien spat it out, “Earth.”
Dommik sat back and leaned his heavy frame into the back of his chair.What if I procure the flower and it’s dead on delivery? I’ll bring the seeds.
“That’s not a problem for me.”
The Space Lord silenced the line with a static fizzle.
“You can take one.”
“One flower?”
“No seeds.”
