“Farq him,” she growled under her breath. “Let that son of an Ogre die for all I care.”
But she didn’t slow down.
From the monitor ahead, the holographic image of Grubnash gestured frantically, beckoning her forward with growing urgency. Sirens pulsed in jagged waves, their resonance filling the massive room. Alongside the cacophonous oscillations, uneven tremors vibrated underfoot—each one underscoring the ship’s deteriorating condition. The deck shuddered beneath her, and Glix felt it—whatever was happening out there, it was getting worse.
She didn’t fully understand the language the ship used—it was far removed from the limited common tongue she knew—so there was no way to decipher exactly what was happening. But she didn’t need to. The meaning was clear in the way the lights had shifted to urgent crimson, in the alarms blaring overhead, and in Hoshi’s panicked tone. She understood enough: if she didn’t get Raknak out now, either he—or all of them—were going to die.
As she closed the final stretch, a panel at about shoulder height popped open. At the same moment, the Grubnash hologram shifted—from a flat projection to a more fully three-dimensional form. This version of the elder Goblin condensed into something sharper, fuller, and strangely solid. It had mass, or at least the illusion of it, glowing faintly as if made of hardened light. It stepped forward and pointed urgently to the open panel before her.
Glix hesitated, her eyes locking onto the newly formed Goblin figure. He stood about a head shorter than she was, his proportions compact but detailed—the image eerily lifelike for something made of light. The clarity and realism of his shape made her mind wobble between disbelief and wonder. It was too magical, too solid to be just an illusion. She didn’t have a proper word for it—image was the closest she could manage. The word hologram hadn’t yet made itself at home in her vocabulary.
Grubnash’s small hand pointed again, this time more insistently, at the now fully open panel. Inside, Glix saw a glassy surface similar to the wall displays she’d worked with—though this one was much smaller. Beneath it, a small metal wheel jutted slightly from the shadowed gray interior.
Glix stepped up to the dome, and the AI spoke urgently, “Place your hand on the panel. There will be several questions you must answer ‘yes’ to. Then you can access the Core chamber and retrieve Raknak.”
Uncertain what the questions would entail—or how they would appear—Glix hesitated. The ship had only just begun revealing its mysteries to her, and while much of it was overwhelming, nothing had yet felt overtly threatening. Hoshi seemed intent on keeping them alive, even if that intent was rooted in self-preservation.
She had no reason to believe this moment would be any different. So, firming her resolve, she placed her hand on the smooth, cold panel—hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst.
Her palm pressed against the glassy surface, and she waited for the image of Grubnash to respond, anticipating the AI’s questions. She hoped they would be spoken aloud—she was far more a hands-on learner and less comfortable with written language. Still, she wasn’t entirely sure what these questions would be—or why they needed to be asked at all.
But instead of the AI’s display changing or its metallic voice posing questions aloud, something entirely incomprehensible occurred.
Words appeared—not on the display, nor in any physical space, but directly inside her head. A strange window appeared in her vision; it floated without attachment, softly glowing lines and words hovering before her in midair.
Glix had never experienced anything like this. Her world had always been one of hands-on, external interaction. She tinkered, used her hands, took things apart. Her experience was mechanical, tactile—less about words or books, more about instinct and feel. Her mind was quick to pick up on ideas and principles, but not in a way she could easily explain with language.
She’d heard stories of telepathy and psionics before, but the concept of manipulating a person’s mind had always felt deeply off-putting. So when the words suddenly appeared in her mind’s eye, she recoiled in alarm, instinctively yanking her hand away from the small panel and momentarily forgetting the AI’s instructions.
So startled by the mental intrusion, she hadn’t even registered what the prompt had said. And the moment her hand left the panel, the window vanished.
Hoshi’s voice rang out, more forceful than before. “Keep your hand on the panel! You must select Chief Engineer if you truly want the position and wish to save your friend.”
‘Friend’ was a bit of a stretch when it came to Raknak, Glix thought—but she understood the urgency. Gritting her teeth, she forced down her revulsion and placed her hand back on the glass panel. Her ankle throbbed with renewed pain, a sharp reminder that time was running out and giving her something to focus on other than the strange mental manipulation she was going to have to bear.
Once again, she laid her hand against the small screen, and the prompt instantly reappeared in her mind. She mentally winced but kept her hand pressed firmly against the cold, smooth panel beneath her palm. This time, a faint voice—unheard by her ears yet echoing clearly inside her head—accompanied the window.
It spoke rapidly, far faster than anyone could physically articulate, yet Glix understood every word. It narrated exactly what she was seeing, speaking each word verbatim as it appeared before her eyes. But more than that, the voice didn’t just recite—it translated. Defined. Each word carried meaning, slotted directly into her mind as though preloaded with understanding. Words she’d never seen or heard before took shape, their purpose instantly clear.
Proper identification required to access the Dark-Matter Cyclotron Core. [ERROR: No personnel on file.]
Would you like to register as one of the following?
- Chief Engineer
- Engineer (Lv. 1)
- Engineer (Lv. 2-5)
- Entry Level Engineer
Glix marveled at the speed and precision of the interaction. The information streamed into her mind so smoothly it was almost beautiful. But now wasn’t the time for fascination.
She understood the urgency and selected Chief Engineer from the prompt, confirming with a sharp, focused ‘yes.’
Instantly, a new question replaced the first—the words arriving in her mind almost before she could register them.
Chief Engineer
In order to be recognized as Chief Engineer, the following must be completed:
- Bio-scan
- Training module
- Functionality test
Do you wish to initiate bio-scan?
Glix understood what a bio-scan was—at least in a way her mind could grasp. To her, it was like the ship taking a picture of her body, inside and out. She didn’t know what the scan would be looking for, or how it would take the picture, but it didn’t sound too bad. So she chose yes, just as Hoshi had instructed earlier.
Before she could even think beyond her decision, a pulse of energy surged from the panel into her hand. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it definitely wasn’t pleasant. It felt like hot liquid—just below the point of burning—rushing through her. The sensation spread quickly, coursing through her entire body.
Then came the vibration.
It was as if the universe itself were shaking at an incomprehensible speed—so fast that, if she hadn’t been paying attention, she might have thought nothing was happening at all.
And finally, her mind went still. Thought became impossible. She couldn’t interpret what she was seeing or hearing. Everything was there, but she couldn’t understand any of it. Time felt stretched, endless… and yet, internally, her heart beat only once.
Then it was over.
She snapped back to the present, reeling from the strange and overwhelming sensation of what had just happened.
It took her a moment to recover from the scan. Her hand was still pressed against the panel, now feeling strangely bonded to it—as if held in place by some invisible adhesive.
The words in her vision changed. A line was struck through Bio-scan, and a new prompt appeared, asking if she was ready to begin the Training Module. Before Glix could even consider selecting ‘yes,’ the words vanished, replaced by a small voice—so sudden she wasn’t sure if it came from the speaker or echoed inside her head.
“We don’t have time for that,” it said quickly.
Her vision abruptly shifted. A new window, darker and more angular than before, replaced the last. Images began to flash within it—rapid, erratic, and nearly impossible to process. A voice accompanied them, speaking at a dizzying pace. This time, there were no neatly embedded translations, no calmly explained definitions—just a rush of disconnected phrases and flashes of meaning.
A word would stick to an image. Another to a graph. A phrase—junction repeater—would float up before vanishing in a blur of flickering color. Another: failover node. conduit relay. Terms and phrases catching within her mind. Her brain clutched at fragments as if trying to catch falling leaves in a storm.
In the whirlwind of information, one phrase stuck: "failover node." She didn't know why, but she understood it—knew where it was, what it connected to, and how it rerouted systems during a power fault. That piece locked into place like a gear clicking in a larger machine.
Then everything continued, a blurred maelstrom.
The scenes moved too fast—panels sliding open and shut, strange devices snapping into place and disconnecting, wires shifting in kaleidoscopic flashes. Somewhere in it all, she knew she was being taught something. But the how and what were buried beneath the storm of noise and speed.
She glimpsed networks of conduits, pulsating cores, and tangled systems, but struggled to understand how they functioned or fit together. Each image came with rapid-fire explanations, the voice rattling off procedures and protocols so quickly it turned into meaningless static. Everything moved too fast to follow—too fast to absorb—leaving her more overwhelmed than informed.
Then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the window vanished.
In its place, a single word appeared, large and glowing in her vision:
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
FUNCTIONALITY TEST
Once again, before she could grasp what was happening or even consider choosing ‘yes,’ the words vanished. This time, instead of a window filled with rushing images, paragraphs, equations, and diagrams emerged.
The text scrolled methodically, each entry marked with a small set of circular symbols along the edge. As one of the circles lit up, the words would shift down to reveal the next section.
Complex equations flashed by, their intricate symbols and numbers forming patterns she couldn’t decipher. Then small pictures began to appear, each accompanied by several smaller images below the main one. With every illuminated circle, a new question unfolded.
Diagrams and charts followed, showing components and systems with lines and arrows mapping out their connections and functions. Glix wasn’t sure what questions were being asked, but it was clear the AI was answering them on her behalf, allowing the test to continue uninterrupted.
The constant stream of shifting data and imagery overwhelmed her, leaving her dazed and struggling to keep up with the flood of information. She began to understand that mastering this knowledge was essential for anyone claiming the title of Chief Engineer. The sheer scope of it was staggering, and seeing it fly by so quickly left her deeply unsettled.
Then, after processing what would have taken an ordinary person hours—if not days—the script stopped abruptly. But her vision didn’t clear.
Instead, a small explosion of colored lights burst forth at the center of her sight, accompanied by a short and lively musical flourish, the brightness momentarily blinding her.
When the light faded, a single phrase floated in her mind’s eye, brightly highlighted and unmistakable.
Congratulations! You scored: - 100%
Glix stood, bewildered by what had just transpired. Her mind spun, and the disorientation spilled into her limbs. Feeling herself begin to sway backward, she braced for a fall—only for her unoccupied hand to instinctively grasp the small wheel just beneath the glass panel. Her other hand slipped free, falling limply to her side.
The cold metal beneath her fingers grounded her, helping to clear her thoughts.
“Turn the knob and the door will open. Raknak is on the other side,” the still three-dimensional image of Grubnash instructed, urgency—and a hint of annoyance—coloring his voice.
Blinking several times to steady herself, Glix twisted the wheel. A faint hiss whispered into the air as a previously unnoticed door beside the panel jolted outward, then slid smoothly aside, revealing a dull gray room beyond.
Her hand remained on the wheel as she leaned forward, eyes narrowing, peering into the space ahead.
Before she could step away—or even call for Raknak to come out—an acrid odor slammed into her. It was semi-sweet, but harshly acidic, with a pungency she recognized instantly.
“Raknak! Did you Farqing piss yourself?” she shouted, disgust and exasperation layered into every word.
There was a beat of embarrassed silence.
Before Raknak could sputter a reply, Hoshi’s metallic voice cut through the air. “Raknak, if you do not exit the chamber immediately, you will be disintegrated. You have five seconds.”
The tone wasn’t emotional. It wasn’t meant to frighten or encourage—it simply stated a fact. But the calmness of it made the warning even more chilling.
Wrinkling her nose at the stench, Glix used the brief window to crane her neck and peer into the room. Five seconds wasn’t much, but she took in all that she could.
Inside, a curved tunnel with slick gray walls stretched ahead before bending slightly out of sight. As Glix studied the metallic surface, she noticed small grooves beginning to open along the corridor in a spiraling pattern. Tarnished patches marred the walls—likely the reason Raknak had been sent in there to begin with: to make repairs.
Then, as she watched, small metal fins began to unfurl from those grooves, giving the impression that the entire tunnel was preparing to spin.
A cold realization gripped her.
‘What if this thing activates before he gets out?’
Her knowledge of the ship was still shaky at best, but Hoshi’s warning, the urgency to retrieve Raknak, and the lingering effects of the gravitational disturbance she’d just experienced all pointed to one conclusion: the ship was about to initiate something. And if Raknak was still inside when it happened...
Whatever this system was meant to do, it was getting ready. She had seconds—maybe less.
There was no time left to hesitate.
Raknak was deliberately taking his time answering Glix’s shout, letting her savor the full force of the masculine aroma he was now thoroughly soaked in. He hadn’t pissed himself—he’d just happened to be post-stream when the ship decided to turn sideways. That wasn’t his fault. And honestly? Sliding around afterward had been really fun. The liquid had made everything even slipperier.
Then the AI had said something about five seconds or… disintegration?
‘What was that word? What did it mean?’ he asked himself.
An image flashed through his mind—him standing in a colorless void before suddenly crumbling into dust, drifting away like ashes on the wind, powerless to stop it. He didn’t know where the image came from, but if that was even remotely possible, then yeah, it was definitely time to move.
He sat upright and twisted around, bracing his hands against the bottom of the tubular corridor to push himself up—but his palms slid out from under him. He face-planted with a squelch, right back into the puddle he was lying in.
The bonk on his head wasn’t so bad, but wasting one of the few precious seconds he had left? That stung.
He tried again, this time setting his hands more securely, stabilizing himself despite the lingering slickness.
As he pushed up, small cracks opened in the metal beneath him, and the rest of his urine quickly drained away.
He was counting down in his head—the AI’s warning had rattled him more than he liked to admit. His mental tally was already down to three.
Once his arms were set, he brought up his feet, kicking twice as they slid along the still-slick metal. The first kick skated forward, finding no purchase. On the second, his foot struck something new—a small fin or blade rising from the grooves just now opening along the walls and floor. It provided a burst of traction and allowed him to begin moving forward.
For a heartbeat, Raknak was fascinated. He nearly paused to watch as the strange spiraling design took shape—small fin-like ridges rapidly rising from the metal in a synchronized pattern—but then his mental countdown hit two. Urgency shoved aside wonder, and he pushed off with renewed effort.
With a lurch, he launched himself forward. Fortunately, the open door was only a few strides away.
His first step landed cleanly.
The second step—his left foot—landed squarely atop one of the currently emerging floor fins.
Goblin feet were tough, thick-skinned from years of trudging through caves and climbing jagged stone. Normally, something like this would be nothing.
But he was still soaked from his impromptu urine bath, and the sharp little surface had no grip. Instead of supporting his weight, the fin let his foot slide forward like it had been greased—turning this step into a full-body slip.
Luckily, the misstep didn’t kill the momentum he’d managed to build. Still slick with aromatic moistness, Raknak tumbled forward, skidding through the last few feet of the chamber until the raised sill at the bottom of the doorway finally halted him. The upper half of his body spilled out past the threshold, but his legs remained trapped inside.
Grunting, he clawed for purchase, trying to haul himself fully out of the tube. His feet kicked behind him, scrabbling for grip—but each push met only wet metal. No traction. No leverage.
The number one echoed through his mind.
Glix watched with a mix of exasperation and disbelief as Raknak hurled himself through the doorway—only to get stuck. His torso cleared the threshold, but his hips caught hard on the raised sill, leaving him flailing like an overturned beetle. His claws scrabbled uselessly against the smooth floor, his soaked legs kicking wildly, sending streaks of urine back into the core room like a pair of grotesque sprinklers.
With a sigh that carried more irritation than concern, Glix dropped to her knees, knowing her ankle wouldn’t support her own weight, let alone his.
"Raknak, you stinky, stupid—" she muttered, grabbing one of his thick arms and bracing herself.
She pulled hard. The stubborn Goblin was heavier than he looked, and the door’s lip dug into his gut like it didn’t want to let him go.
"Of course, you get stuck," she hissed through gritted teeth.
Beside her, Raknak’s eyes were wide, his expression pure animal panic. He kicked and clawed, scrambling forward in sheer desperation. There was no coordination to his movements—just wild, terrified thrashing.
"Why do I have to save you, Farquing—" Glix grunted, muscles straining.
She could feel the seconds slipping away. If they didn’t get clear of the chamber now, there wouldn’t be anything left to save.
“Time is up,” Hoshi’s metallic voice announced, the image of Grubnash now wearing a dour expression.
“Come on, you big Ogre!” Glix growled, shifting her grip and bracing one foot against the doorway. She pulled harder this time, knowing full well the ship wasn’t going to wait for Raknak to calm down and wiggle free.
His body shifted. She felt the snag at the threshold give way—his hips finally sliding over the sill.
Then the door began to close.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Glix hissed, yanking with everything she had left.
She wasn’t exactly Raknak’s biggest fan, but that didn’t matter. There were only six Goblins here. Him, her, and the others… they might be the last of their clan. And the thought of losing even one more—especially like this—sent a bolt of resolve through her.
Her mind worked differently than most Goblins, and she knew it. Always methodical—almost detached—especially in moments of crisis. While others panicked, she saw patterns. While others froze, she found function. The AI’s countdown wasn’t fear—it was a cold, ticking clock that only sharpened her focus.
But the door was relentless.
Her stomach clenched, but her hands didn’t stop. Not yet.
Its mechanism hummed with indifference—ignoring her effort, ignoring Raknak’s bulk, ignoring everything but its command to close. Metal met flesh with a sickening, muffled crunch—a sound she felt in her hands more than she heard in her ears.
Glix’s eyes went wide as the thin metallic door slid shut with mechanical precision, not pausing or even hesitating as it severed Raknak’s lower legs.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then came the blood.
It sprayed in sharp bursts from the sudden stumps below his knees, splattering across the smooth floor and her already filthy arms. Raknak didn’t scream so much as choke—a wet, guttural sound that spilled from his mouth as his eyes bulged, then rolled back. His body jerked once. Then went limp.
Glix clutched his arm, frozen—her mind a sudden battlefield between calculation and horror.
The sound of the door locking into place echoed in the chamber like a final judgment.
Glix stared at Raknak’s mangled legs. Blood pooled around the stumps—hot, thick, and pulsing with every beat of his heart.
His scream faded, unconsciousness stealing the pain from his face—but not from hers.
She didn’t flinch.
She didn’t let herself.
The ship still trembled beneath her, a deep, uneven thrum reverberating through the floor from whatever threat they faced. She knew the stakes were high—something dangerous loomed outside—and the ship was doing what it needed to survive.
It wasn’t malice. Just necessity.
But that was hard to accept right now, not with Raknak lying at her feet, dying.
Across from her, on the other side of his wide, limp form, the image of Grubnash stood watching. Not the flat monitor version, but the solid, full-body projection that had guided her here. It didn’t wear a look of triumph. Nor cold calculation. Its expression was a strange blend of sadness, concern, and something like confusion… but also, resolve. It had done what needed doing.
“I had to act,” Hoshi said. The voice was flat—but under it, something trembled. Regret?
Glix didn’t have time to analyze. She inhaled through her nose, forcing her thoughts to clear. Her hands were already moving.
She couldn’t dwell on the pain, or the loss. Not yet.
She had a problem. And needed a solution.
He was bleeding too much. She had to stop it.
"Focus, Glix. Think and do," she whispered. Her voice trembled slightly, the overstimulation pressing against the edge of her control.
All she could do now was stop the bleeding—and hope someone, maybe Daegnon… maybe even the human—could keep him alive long enough to matter.