by James Martin
The name comes from its lineage. There was a Station I and II and III and so forth, blown up during various wars and domestic feuds. The cheshirs held the obscene record for most stations obliterated: six.
These stations continued to be constructed not just because of their promotion of illegal activity and nasty whims, but The Station inhabits space perfectly nestled between major quadrants of the galaxy and provides the most convenient and nonpartisan area for the exchanging of goods—incomprehensible before it was built and yet utterly irremovable now. It is described as the heart of the galaxy. They say the being who owns it makes the same GDP of a sector of the galaxy.
Astraos stepped off the royal courier ship, ‘borrowed,’ well, ‘stolen.’ He needed it to get to Station XI then use it to barter with a kaledio named Yezkal for a cloaked ship that would get him to Earth.
Right as he stepped on to the dock, a holographic screen displayed in front, barring his exit.
Locks engaging. . .
The blue ship’s engines, wings, and cockpit were restrained by metal clamps, instantly.
Patron must pay twenty-five credits in order to enter Station XI.
Astraos scratched his head. “Right. Right.” He touched his hand on the screen:
Processing. . .
Payment accepted. Thank you, Prince Astraos of the cheshir. Please see a concierge at the end of the docks for any assistance you may require. Please refrain from murdering, kidnapping, and harassing a Station XI employee, such lewd acts will be punished by death under the Advanced Species Neutral Zone Galactic Act. And remember, here on Station XI, your every whim can be fulfilled.
The light blue screen disappeared and the force field that encompassed Docking Station 1578-A-SEC38-QDC powered down. Astraos thought, that’ll be the last thing I can pay for, ever. My father will be able to track that transaction. Luckily, I won’t be on The Station for long.
Astraos stepped into the unimaginable.
He grinned broadly, inhaling the balmy pleasant air. How peculiar. . . The smell reminded him of the famous hunting ground on Chesh, The Wilds of Halibar, in fact, it was that exact smell. The legendary grounds housed the meanest, most vicious, cunning, massive creatures, and at the heart, lived the emperor of them all, the hakliar. The scent and association of the name brought him back to his first hakliar kill.
Cutting through The Wilds, snaking into the heart of the jungle-esque environment, the razeut, ‘the distinguished party,’ had been comprised of twenty members when they entered The Wilds and by the time they arrived at a hakliar’s lair, they were down to five.
He took another deep breath. Ah. . . came from his mouth, he saw the fight. The hakliar’s scaly metallic skin bathing in the red mother star. The long skeleton of a yegar (a ferocious animal said to be only below the hakliar in terms of danger) exuding out of the lair.
An arachnid species, the hakliar stood thirty feet high with a metal alloy body that was composed of two elements unique to the hakliar, creating an exoskeleton that was almost impenetrable. The metal, also being incredibly light, made the arachnid super agile and quick. There was no creature that could kill it—animals triple its size were made into pin cushions.
The arms raised and Astraos knew what the attack must be but could not issue a warning in time to his party. Two of the five were caught in the crossfire, wailing and screaming as death reigned in and the acid ate through their skulls.
Astraos rolled to the side, only to be met with a ferocious attack from its legs each metal alloy tip saturated in a venom that could kill with a touch. He blocked and stepped back. He had lost track of the others and hoped they had dispersed, keeping themselves safe and watching from a distance.
Another inhale inside The Station and Astraos fast forwarded to the end. The beast attacked with five simultaneous strikes, trying to exploit a weakness. He saw an opening, the mouth ready to spew another batch of acid. As the acid gushed out barely missing him, he slid underneath the hakliar, launching his blades and puncturing through its mouth and up the brain.
One cheshir from the distinguished party remained. “I have witnessed.”
Astraos had a wicked grin as stood on top of the hakliar and howled as the mother star set in the distance.
He shook the memories away. Wow, how can something bring me back in such a way? He took out his Informer, placed it on his temple, pressing it as he did so and the lens engaged. He sniffed and reading his thoughts, the Informer injected the following text into his brain:
The air on Station XI is a nanotech enhanced environment. Upon arrival on Station XI, the dock station’s holographic display and payment screen acts as a monetary device and an environmental calculator.
When a species imprint is read, the most suitable breathing environment is developed based on that species body chemistry and defined receptors. The environmental deductions are calculated using a precise algorithm as the computer processes payment. The force field melts away and is enveloped around the being to replicate the most favorable and optimal breathing experience. It has been described as the best breathing apparatus on the market for intermingling of species without hefty masks or voice distortions.
“Got it. Fancy air.”
Astraos turned to the right on the small platform that jutted from the docking area to his particular docking station. He saw cold, dark space with a nebula in the distance and a panorama of stars. His feet precariously close to the edge of what they called, The Plank. He perceived the temptation that must run across the minds of the hopeless:
Statistically, the most suicides in the galaxy occur off the various Planks on Station XI. Each docking station’s platform has shielding up to the end of the platform. Once you take a step off the platform, the shielding evaporates and space takes hold, flinging one out into the abyss.
Astraos closed one eye and pinched a star. What seemed to be a random thought came to mind: So inconsequential and yet stars can perish with the force of a single person’s declaration, Fire!
He turned back and headed into Docking Area 1500s, Section A, Sector 38, Quadrant C. It was a sea of humanoid beings, bustling to one end and the other. Right as he stepped into the ocean of appendages, a reptilian species that he had never seen bumped into him. Astraos’s reaction could be characterized as tame for a cheshir. He merely cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me?”
The reptilian humanoid hissed back under its hood, the only feature that Astraos could discern was its long reptilian snout and jade green scales.
Astraos was immediately recognized by his amethyst eyes that inhabited few races, but best known as a key characteristic of the cheshirs. As if realizing the trouble a-brewing, the crowd made a berth around the two, but otherwise continued on with their inherent destinations, undisturbed.
The Informer implanted more information:
Slyther - A race of reptilian beings evolved from the harsh environment of Slyitch A. They are aggressive in nature and said to be behind only the infamous cheshirs. It is advised to be heavily armed when dealing with one.
Their currency is believed to be based on a favor system where an ancient coin is traded and can be used to move up the societal hierarchy. A slyther must be careful not to use them all or run the risk of having no value and losing everything.
Nothing else is known about them, they are a private species that does not allow other species on their planets. Slythers who have tried to inform others about their species have been assassinated before divulging much.
Astraos laughed to himself. That’s ironic.
The slyther presumed he was insulted further by this sudden gibe of laughter. When he panned his vision around to see an audience—albeit one that paid no attention to them—he was solidified in his resolve. He snatched his dual hooked blades from his sides and rushed the perceived heckling adversary.
Astraos saw this coming and chuckled some more with his shoulders visibly lifting up-and-down to the growing ire of the slyther as he closed the gap.<
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The slyther attacked with lightning speed, slashing for Astraos’s belly with both blades. Astraos nimbly scooted his body back and slammed the slyther’s wrists with his fists. This dislodged the weapons from the slyther’s hands and his face contorted in pain, accompanied by a screech.
Before another second transpired, Astraos head-butted the creature and jabbed him in the throat. The slyther fell to his knees, gasping for breath.
Astraos kneeled before the slyther and picked up his weapons by their handles. They were serrated with a visible coating on the blades, a nasty poison he presumed:
The slyther’s poison is made from the glands of the jiacko, native to Slyitch A. It is one of the deadliest poisons in the galaxy. Any cut, will suffice in killing most species.
Astraos clicked his Informer off. That’s enough learning for me.
He set them back down. “Wicked blades.”
The slyther gathered himself and hissed back. “I, J’kao, have been defeated by a warrior my superior. End me.”
“Eh?”
J’kao hissed again. “Honor me, warrior.”
“Misunderstanding. Don’t worry about it. My species gets a bad rap too.”
J’kao seemed to grin with a dash of uncertainty and confusion, or what could be gathered as such from a reptilian creature whose gestures went unnoticed by most. He grabbed his blades back. “You will not honor me?”
“I honor you by telling you to get back to living and be polite when you bump into someone.”
“I am indebted to you.”
Astraos paused. Indebted? That could be useful. “Do you know a kaledio named Yezkal?”
J’kao shook his head. “I do not. But I do know where to get such information.”
“Oh?”
“Follow me.”
J’kao started leading Astraos. The stream of people on the dock station enclosed around them, looking to add them to the moving mass that never seemed to change. Astraos followed without another thought.
Astraos found that J’kao’s way of navigating was to shove through. He thought about commenting on it, but no one seemed bothered by it, so he chose not to. The whole prior issue had gone over the slythar’s head.
He trailed behind slightly, looking at the metallic hall in awe. The ceiling was covered in advertisements. They would zoom in and display a more in-depth holographic ad if you stared at one too long. Astraos was the next ad's victim:
Hello, Astraos! Have you ever wondered what a planet of beautiful females or males who desired to explore and satisfy your every sexual fantasy would be like? Your answer is here, Lipeldax. From the creators of Trepalden and Xinobanch, comes the best psychedelic drug to hit the market. Lipeldax works with nanotechnology to produce unique and vivid sexual visions with every species tested.
Warning: Lipeldax has been known to produce suicidal thoughts and depression in users after the effects have passed. Taking Lipeldax does not improve your sexual libido or prowess. Please use caution when using Lipeldax and take in a controlled, safe environment. Users have been known to be taken advantage of while in a state known as flux. While in flux, you will have no control over your bodily functions.
Lipeldax! Because if you are not exploring your every sexual desire, than you are not doing it right.
Astraos gawked as the advertisement disappeared back into the ceiling.
J’kao looked back and tilted his head. “Have you never been to The Station, warrior?”
Astraos took a deep inhale. “No.” He felt like a backwater critter for this. It was true. He had been on a few adventures, but none involved a trip to Station XI. There was one opportunity with Captain Nathan. . . but he looked back at that memory, and nodded absently, a wise man, I could not have handled this. Just moving through the docking area, he saw exactly why his father, King Zolton, had decreed that no cheshir shall step foot on The Station unless they have pledged to serve as a warrior for a master who is not of cheshir descent—extremely rare (a handful of occurrences throughout history). This was a mine field for his species. A cheshir can hear more acutely than most species and to have one hear what others are saying, such as: “I could take him. He is merely tall not skilled.” “Look at the cheshir. . . Will he try to destroy this station too? What a prick.” “My friend said she once bedded a cheshir and he was not up to par.” “I heard the cheshirs are actually not that great at combat, everyone just thinks that.” “I bet he has a nice package.”
It was a recipe for mass destruction. Heavy stares were laced with malice from every which way and some even made gestures towards a weapon on their hip, or back or chest. Others consciously bumped into him, provoking him. . . almost. Any other cheshir would have ended the lives of these dishonorables.
He thought more of Nate and smiled. Astraos had the means to be different. He looked to others not as tools of a lesser power that must bend to his will but as individuals who had their own views of the universe. And together, they could form alliances, become friends even. . . interspecies families.
But this. . . this abomination was hard for him to swallow. This is madness.
Nate came roaring through his head, they believe, they are better than you. Who doesn’t think they’re better than someone else? Can you say your absolved of such a thought? Your species is driven by it. A true sentiment. Even more so given that cheshirs only reported to those above them which was proven by combat. And all other species, they were deemed beneath the lowest cheshir. Hairs prickled and tickled on his neck, he was fighting a piece of himself that craved to go on a rampage. Any other lone cheshir would’ve dipped in the well of madness and slaughtered everyone in the area.
J’kao interrupted the long silence of inner thought. “No one has seen a cheshir on The Station in some time.”
Astraos let it slip. “Most aren’t allowed.” Oops. Going to have to explain that, I guess.
“How come you are here?”
Astraos did a subtle look to each side. “Necessary.”
J’kao put his hand over the top of his head all the way down to his neck. A unique gesture to his species that preludes a duel because the other slyther is usually offended by the coming remark. Astraos missed the gesture entirely. “You do not act like any cheshir that has been described to me.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not alone.”
J’kao laughed which was an odd cross between a snort, a cough, and a pinch of maniacal. “Something tells me you are not like any other cheshir fighter, as well.”
“Don’t let a cheshir hear you say that.”
“Is it not true?”
“Whether true or not, they will take it as a personal attack on their honor and fighting abilities.”
“And you do not?”
Astraos shrugged. “I let my actions do the talking.”
J’kao nodded. “One more question.”
“Shoot.”
“I have heard legend of the hakliar that roams the Wilds of Halibar. Have you killed one?”
The Wilds of Halibar is not spoke of outside of Chesh unless you can claim a kill of a hakliar. Cheshirs do not embellish. It’s just not in their nature, so this question had more undertones than observed. Astraos did not have the time to inquire in depth, despite his wish to.
“There is more to you than a pair of serrated blades, J’kao.”
He did that unique laugh again. “Can you not answer?”
“I can. I have.” Astraos squinted his eyes. “Why?”
He hissed, eyes downcast. “Stories.”
“Care to elaborate?”
He snorted with eyes that challenged Astraos to pursue. “No.”
He did not. There was no need for another fight over nothing. “You can tell me some other time.”
J’kao did his laugh and pushed aside other patrons of the docking area with an added amount of glee and jolly for a very serious species. Astraos smiled behind. A galaxy filled with strange and different creatures, and I go and find the one that closely resemble
s my own.
J’kao stopped ahead of a wave transporter. “Tell the concierge you’re headed to Section D.”
“Section D?”
“It holds the Bar District. The concierge on the other side can direct you. I believe it is one of the doors to the right when you get off. You will find who you are looking for, I am sure. The bars are known for their criminal activity.”
“Ah. . .” Astraos said, “Thank you, J’kao.”
He bowed. It seemed sincere to Astraos. “My life is in your hands.”
“Not until the next time we cross paths.”
“I look forward to the day, warrior.”
“Astraos.”
He nodded. “Yes. Astraos. . .” He rummaged through a side pocket sewn into his belt. “Here.”
It was a reptilian face on a coin that easily could’ve been J’kao or not. “It is a sigil of my house. You may find it useful.”
Astraos smiled at the coin, remembering what the Informer said. “Thanks. . . I don’t have anything to offer.”
J’kao pounded his chest. “Not necessary, Astraos.” He told the concierge his destination and disappeared in a wave transporter.
Hmmm, Astraos thought. And they say you can’t be fast friends with someone who tries to kill you.
Astraos stepped to one of the many concierge desks.
“Where to?” said the humanoid with large flapping gills running down her neck. She did not even bother to look up, which benefited Astraos in regards to nerves. Nothing crawled and drummed his skin like an advanced species whose ancestors were directly from water-like environments, he normally would have clicked his Informer on—but the less he knew, the better.
“Section D.”
“Step inside. Have a nice stay.” All said while not looking up and steadily punching away at her keyboard.
He clicked his Informer on:
The wave transporter is the galaxy’s most efficient and instantaneous transporter. It operates by vibrating to a certain wavelength based on location within Station XI that the visitor wishes to visit and the location of that particular wave transporter.