well yall seemed to like the last one of these, so
Inconveniently, our pilot was dead.
They had evidently decided to stage a coup, but those they had tried to recruit had remained loyal and had sent word to the captain. The pilot had been dealt with in a swift and humane manner, and, as follows, we were in need of a new one. We were happy to be contacted by a trustworthy proxy who claimed to have a prospective candidate willing to discuss fees. The use of a proxy was standard practice - no self-respecting captain or crewmaster would want to taint their hiring decisions with appearance-based bias. In our business, all that mattered was the ability to do the job you were assigned to do.
When we arrived at the proxy office, electronically-disguised narration began to play, describing the pilot’s impressive skills in a standard hiring pitch. Clips of their performance in various simulators began playing on the walls around us, edited so it appeared that the buttons depressed themselves and the digital displays reacted to invisible taps of the screen. Even the captain had to admit their performance was impressive, the pilot’s actions happening in such rapid succession that none of us could register them all.
We had agreed eagerly to begin the probationary period after confirming he was proficient in our ship’s controls. Percentage of earnings had been negotiated, room and board had been confirmed, and everything was in order; however, the pilot had added a stipulation to their contract. They demanded that their hatchling be allowed to travel on the ship as well, and that we guarantee no harm would come to them.
It was a bizarre request. What being would allow a hatchling to even enter such a dangerous environment as a lawless vessel, let alone reside on one for months or years at a time? Perhaps they were of a species that simply cared less for their hatchlings. Still, there was a guarantee that the hatchling would not interfere in any region of importance, and so we agreed and awaited the pilot’s arrival at our dock.
None of us knew what to expect. He was relatively tall for a male human, with long, yellowish headfur that he had tied with wire at a point on the back of his head. We all had heard the stories, of course. But humans were uncommon in this sector of the galaxy, far as it was from their home world, so we had little reliable knowledge of them. We had encountered them before, of course, but usually as enemies; we all knew of their extraordinary constitution and agility, their bodies and instincts adapted to survive on the death world they called home. Humans were diverse and strange; the only thing a human was guaranteed to have in common with another was their deadly biology and versatility. Only a select few species could reliably defend against a human trained in combat.
As was discussed, he had brought his hatchling with him. The hatchling was female, standing a little over half the pilot’s height. She displayed a similarly colored yellowish headfur, but hers was left loose and spilled over her shoulders. Both were armed; the pilot had a photon blaster in a holster tied just above his lower limb connection point, and the hatchling carried a nonlethal disabling pistol - sized for her small hands, no less - near the joint of one of her utility limbs. The pilot stood over her protectively, rubbing his hand over her headfur and speaking something in one of the several human languages.
We were unsure what to think. We had never seen a human hatchling before. Would she be a threat? Did human hatchlings know not to obey their predatory instincts?
They both greeted us (the hatchling at the pilot’s prompting), and during their introduction to the ship, they were polite, if casual. The hatchling spoke in uncomfortable bursts of sound, making us uneasy even as she told us simple things: that she was only ten planetary revolutions old, or that her preferred creatures were Tarnolds, or that she was wearing her favorite shirt today. She kept baring her teeth as she looked around at the mechanics, making high-frequency noises that were almost out of the range of our atmospheric disturbance sensors. The pilot explained quickly that humans usually bare their teeth as a sign of happiness, and that she didn’t mean anything else by the action. Still, it was unnerving, as she looked aggressively at everything around her. Several of us kept an eye on her disabling gun, on which she had scribbled strange, colorful shapes - some sort of human code?
Finally, we arrived on the bridge. The pilot stood on the steering platform, adjusting the virtual display until it fit his size and height. He nodded, glancing over the displays and hovering his slender appendages over the buttons. The hatchling looked over his shoulder and frowned, pointing at one of the displays and saying something in their human language. The pilot made some kind of loud, repeating noise in response, then lifted his shoulders in an odd motion as he replied in the same tongue. We would have guessed it had been a reprimand - what else would require a series of loud noises, after all? - but the hatchling bared her teeth and continued looking over the bridge in a way that was almost intelligent. She couldn’t possibly have understood any of it, though - there were far too many controls for a young hatchling of any species to learn so quickly.
“Where to?” the pilot asked.
We requested he fly us to Aetol - from this planet, it was a difficult yet short flight path through a dense debris belt made of asteroid-sized shards of glass that would be difficult for human radiation sensors to detect in deep space. It would allow us to gauge his skill with the ship’s sensors and controls, and Aetol was also a convenient place to refuel and restock on supplies that had run low.
The ship shot off into the atmosphere far too fast, though the pilot seemed to realize this and lessened his hold on the rocket controls. After a few minutes, the ship had stabilized considerably, and we were on a straight course to Aetol. The hatchling hung by the side of the pilot’s chair, watching her hatchmaker peck at the displays.
The debris belt would be approaching soon, and the ship’s radars had begun blinking green to indicate that there were obstacles ahead. The pilot seemingly ignored them, continuing on his course. We were concerned, of course, but we had seen what the pilot could do in the simulations. Perhaps he was only waiting to perform some sort of maneuver.
The glass asteroids approached rapidly, and we became more and more worried as the pilot made no move to alter the ship’s trajectory or speed. We were going to enter the debris belt much too fast. The hatchling still watched, but her facial muscles were contorting. The more cautious of us rushed to intervene, but the captain held out a limb to prevent them from acting. They wanted to see what the pilot was doing.
The blinking light became more and more insistent and our worry morphed to panic. There were twenty seconds to impact. Fifteen, ten…
The hatchling suddenly screeched and pointed at the blinking display, squeaking in their human tongue. The pilot’s eyes went wide.
The ship threw us to the left as the pilot yanked on the thruster control, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a four-hundred-ton lump of glass. As it was, a sharp scrape sounded from the hull, but there was no time for repairs. We had entered the debris belt at twice the maximum safe speed; now, we could only hope the pilot was as good as he had claimed.
Those of us that had declined the use of safety straps were now regretting their choice as the ship jerked and weaved through a thickening sea of glass. We all watched in awe as the pilot’s limbs flew, teeth gritted, gripping the controls. His limbs twitched as much as they swung, making minute adjustments to the ship’s trajectory in order to twist the ship between two colliding rocks or to send the ship’s nose upwards just as a rock flew in from the side. His glance flicked from the flashing display to the windshield and back again.
It was an enormous chunk of debris, twice the size of any other shard we’d encountered in the belt. The pilot inhaled. We saw little he could do - it was far too big to go over, and swerving the ship at this speed would only ensure our deaths as the momentum of the ship carried it forwards regardless of the direction of the thrust. There was no room to act. We cried out. The captain hung their head in disappointment. We braced for impact.
None came. Instead, everything went awash with light.
The photon cannons had been fired, vaporizing the glass in a hole just large enough for the ship to pass through. The ship narrowly avoided a collision and flew on, finally escaping the asteroid belt. But who had fired the cannons?
We looked across the bridge. To our astonishment, we saw the hatchling; one limb had tuned the cannon to maximum power, and the other now lifted off of the button to fire it. The hatchling bared her teeth, running to her hatchmaker and jumping into his lap while speaking rapidly in the human language.
The captain raged. What had the pilot been doing, they demanded. How irresponsible they’d been, and on their first mission besides! There was no possibility where he would continue to fly this ship! The hatchling’s facial orifice fell closed as she looked at the face of her hatchmaker, who’s facial muscles drooped. His head hung in a gesture of submission as he quietly said something none of us could hear.
The captain shook their limbs in shock, but the gesture fell as they spoke with a tone of awe. To our horror, they sent the pilot to their quarters while they would deliberate. The pilot complied, bringing his hatchling with him.
We clamored as the captain returned to us. What had he said to make them change their mind? Would he be staying? The captain indicated amusement as they repeated the information; the pilot had never known the controls of the ship. He had been planning to learn as they went, foolhardy human. Of course he hadn’t known which lights indicated danger, or how sensitive the thrusters were!
But, remarkably, we were alive, the captain noted. If the pilot had been able to get the ship through an asteroid belt at twice the safe speed on a ship he’d never flown, imagine what he would be able to do when he became experienced! Not to mention his hatchling, who had been fully conscious of the situation and taken action against it - an impressive feat for one so young. They shook their limbs again, this time in a gesture of decisiveness. The pilot would be staying, although they would be giving him more time to practice before his next run.
None of us were sure what to think, but the captain had decided, and none dared argue.
