Xaviers!

In one of several fine drinking establishments on the ship, the sharply dressed android tending bar busied himself cleaning a glass. He enjoyed watching people, cataloging their preferences and even perhaps living vicariously through them. He wasn't programmed to want things himself, but idly he wondered what having desires was like.

He wasn't programmed to wonder either.

Unlike the android barkeep who he'd made the acquaintance of, the lounge entertainment knew exactly what it was like to have desires, though the curiosity it took to wonder was a thing that had atrophied in him ages ago.

He was a fantastic faker though. Absolutely no one could tell it took four gin and tonics to get this carefree, as his fingers danced their way through someone else's song.

"Why do stars fall down from the sky
Every time you walk by?
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you
On the day that you were born the angels got together
And decided to create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue
That is why, all the cats in town
Follow you all around
Just like me, they long to be
Close to you"

When the song ended, the leonine alien nursing a drink at the bar applauded. As far as he knew, it was an original piece. Human pop culture wasn't part of his crash course in Federation history.

"Yes. Quite an accurate rendition. I estimate it pleases ancient history buffs," the android observed.

It started with a vibration barely sensed. There was a musical chime and ship's computer interrupted to announce, "Exiting hyperspace in ten min-min-min-"

The android stiffened and broke the glass he had been cleaning. The vibration began to sing throughout the structure of the ship.

"-min... five eight six six sixsixsix two thir-ten nine eiiiight."

The haywire system message abruptly cut out and all other sound was drowned out by the deafening screech of a tortured hull. All became a negative image rendered in crimson. And then...

... they slept

---

And they dreamed. They dreamed of loss and of trauma... and of terror. And, eventually, they woke. "

The musician woke not on stage but behind the bar, surrounded by broken bottles and the smell of liquor. The android stood there, unmoving.

The warrior woke in a heap against one wall as if thrown there.

Others woke in similar situations, either hiding or tossed aside. A few bodies weren't even moving.

But the ship had changed. The lounge was nearly deserted and the lights unusually dim, allowing the eerily luminous vein-like growths on the walls to bathe the room in pulses of light of a color hard definitively identify as blue. But perhaps more troubling was the distinct lack of the soft engine sounds that spacefaring folk were largely desensitized to.

Awaking behind a bar was not really all that unusual for Basil and at first, his instinct was the normal one for him:

Look for a bottle that hadn't been emptied or damaged yet. Once he'd found one, he stood up, surveying the scene around him for nothing much in particular.

"Well... someone cocked up." He observed, his eyes scanning about the mess trying to see if anyone survived this mess but himself.

Only a few were even present and, of those, two aren't waking. The cause wasn't readily obvious in the dim light but they seemed to be spattered with something dark.

Skandar groaned as he got to his feet, rubbing his head and muttering in his native tongue. It was likely none present understood it.

Basil didn't need to speculate what the 'dark liquid' was. He knew.


"Oi." He called out to the other humanoid shape.

"You leaking?"

The cat-like humanoid turned to face Basil, shaking his head.

"No. Are you?"

"No." he replied simply, moving towards the other person.

"We need to check these ones and then move on and see if we can find anyone else."

"Are you sure about that, songsmith? Nothing good is happening here," he asked, motioning to the growths on the walls. It clearly had him spooked. If Basil knew of his species, then the reason why was no mystery.

He didn't know a goddamn thing about interstellar species unless he'd had the pleasure of bedding one of them. But that kind of knowledge didn't exactly help him now.

"You want to hang around these things instead?"

After a pause, he answered, "No. No, I do not."

Without further word, he moved towards the nearest of the prone forms. His body language told Basil that the person was likely dead. He didn't kneel to check vitals. He muttered something in an alien tongue that sounded superstitious and fearful.

Basil also started searching for other survivors, prodding bodies lightly with the tip of his shiny shoes made out of some form of reptile skin to see if they would respond.

The body Basil prodded has several lacerations across the chest. Claw marks. A trail of blood marks a path from the door. Had she run in here with her last shred of strength or had her killer left, dripping blood from their (its?) claws. Or was the feline alien responsible?

The dead human at Skandar's feet is stuck in an expression of pain, foam on his lips. His exposed flesh is covered with small inflamed wounds as if he were attacked by insects.

"The strange vines appear to be the least of our problems," Skandar said as he listened for buzzing.

Basil was thinking a similar thing, but not about what Skandar found... but about what he was.

Someone tore a hole in this guy.

He played it cool.

"Oh?"

"This one looks to have been killed by bugs," he answered.

He had seen the results of an attack by Muto-engineered Hell Roaches and this reminded him of that. While it was different enough to convince him that those weren't the culprit, he still felt the icy claws of fear digging into his mind.

Basil too wasn't feeling entirely at ease with this situation, despite his outward calm.

Mainly, he suspected that the person in this very room with him was the culprit of all of this, and had somehow missed him hidden behind the bar.

"What do you recommend we do?" He asked, humouring him.

"We should do what you suggested and look for others, but also find something to defend ourselves with. The kitchen should have something."

"Sure mate.

You know where that is then?"

"That door by the bar I'm assuming," he answered, heading for it.

Basil followed along only because he didn't see an opening to ditch his cohort yet.

Inside the kitchen, the pair find no bodies or survivors. They do find a few heavy pans and a large knife. If Basil didn't act fast, Skandar would get the knife first. Though with the alien's musculature, he wouldn't necessarily be less of a threat with a blunt object.

Basil did, but he didn't immediately turn on the other creature.

He wasn't looking to kill anyone himself, just for some protection. He smoothly and causally slid the knife into his belt without making a scene.

Skandar hefted a large pan and casually tested it for balance.

"The name's Skandar, by the way."

"Spencer." He replied in half truth.

Skandar was pretty good at detecting when he made humans nervous, but he just chalked it up to their two species having been enemies not too long ago.

"Well then Spencer, I'll do my best to make sure we both get out of here in one piece," he said, not sure he could hold it together long enough to achieve such a thing. The war had scarred him so deeply he believed he'd never be that brave warrior ever again. He hoped he was wrong. Because he was going to need to be.

"Can't say the same for myself." He joked. " i wasn't bred for these sorts of situations.

But I shall do my best."

"That's all I can ask," he answered as he led the way back out of the kitchen.

Immediately they notice a change. The android is gone.