The Slug Invasion

by Matthew Pelly

  Chapter 6 - We leave again

  The Human

  "Make it two million!" shouted Matthew, slamming his fist down on the table.

  "I... I don't understand", stuttered the poor human negotiator.

  I didn't blame him, they were supposed to be trading some kind of Slug special blanket for human bionic eyes (or something like that); apparently there was some Slug condition which made it difficult for a small amount of them to focus their sight, and these eyes would help. As for me, I had no idea how they could have trouble focusing when they had no eyes, but I felt it wasn't my place to bring this up just now.

  "Pay no mind to him", Frank interrupted, jostling Matthew aside with his shoulder. "He's meant to be working with Phill and Boy."

  "I was bored!" he complained.

  Ignoring him, Frank went on to the negotiator, "We propose ten blankets for ten pairs of eyes; that should be a sufficient amount."

  Speaking in an aside to me, Matthew said, "In case you didn't know, the two parties are not actually trading to use these items for themselves. They only need a 'sufficient amount' to learn how the technology works and replicate it."

  "I knew that", I said back, although in truth I'd been trying to imagine how it would work having the entire Slug population with this focusing condition taking turns sharing just ten pairs of eyes.

  The negotiator bargained, "Ten blankets for twenty eyes? That doesn't sound like a mutually beneficial arrangement."

  "We give you enough blankets for ten humans", Carmen, who was also there, explained. "And you give us enough eyes for ten Slugs. That is a mutually beneficial arrangement."

  "Let's get out of here", Matt complained, and dragged me with him. Which was a shame, because I wanted to see how the negotiator would get out of that one.

  As we left, I pulled out yet another tissue and tortured it by blowing my nose. Somewhere along the way, I'd managed to contract a deadly strain of the common cold. Well, perhaps it wasn't deadly, but it sure felt like it was doing its utmost to kill me. I was wearing a lot more clothes than usual, a scarf, and had taken a lot more medicine than seemed healthy for me (courtesy of the government - see, they could be cool sometimes), but if it was doing anything I couldn't tell.

  We began walking through Parliament House, Matt leading the way. I had no idea where he was going, but it wasn't like I knew how to find my way around the labyrinth; you know, they say that democracies take ages to come up with decisions, but based on my experience, it probably had more to do with the people getting lost around the government official houses, trying to find their way to meetings.

  It had been about a week and a half now since we came back to Earth; even though I was back here again, I still wasn't keeping track of the days. I was going to leave again shortly, so there just seemed no point to it. At least, I was going to leave after I had survived my terminal illness.

  Carmen and Frank assured us that everything important had been traded, and that they were just trading petty things now until everyone was ready. Petty things like bionic eyes. Rosetta had told us yesterday that the starcruisers were all fitted with every weapon we'd squeezed out of the humans, and were ready to go at any time. The only thing left was the location of the Archives; Boy told me they know where it is, the only part left is how to get there (unfortunately, it turned out that you can't just type in a destination to a spacecraft, and it would automatically find its way there for you).

  So instead of helping Boy and Phill decipher this crucial piece of information, Matthew got 'bored' and decided to gatecrash our negotiations. Which, in a way, was good for me; I didn't want to infect anybody else, and it wasn't like Matt could catch my cold.

  "So where are we going?" I asked.

  "I don't know, I'm following you", he said.

  "No, I'm following you!"

  "OK, so we're walking side-by-side, yet following each other, with no idea of exactly where we're going?"

  "That's how it seems."

  He chuckled. "I wonder what Phill would say about this?"

  " 'Organics. What did you expect?' ", I tried to answer with a smirk. Unfortunately, I just ended up coughing.

  He grinned at me, and we kept walking.

  After a bit of nothing productive happening, I asked, "Tell me something."

  "Something. Yes, I know what you meant. What do you want to be told?"

  "How do Slugs see without eyes?"

  "Ah", Matt said. "I should've seen this coming, it was only a matter of time. Actually, there are a bunch of fundamental Slug things that you've never thought to ask me that really ought to be answered."

  "Like what?" I remembered that I'd told myself to ask about their purple obsession (but never did), and something about slime, but that was it.

  "Not telling. Now, about the eyes." He paused, thinking. "You've noticed that normal Slugs have just holes in their heads for eyes?"

  "Yes. They don't have eyeballs."

  "No, they don't", he agreed. "That's because we don't need them; any Slug that has eyes, like me, uses them only for cosmetic purposes, to look like a human.

  "Now, the function of the human eye is to convert light, and colours, into an electrical signal that your brain can interpret. This means that there is all kinds of things that can go wrong between your eye and your brain; that's why there are so many sight-related problems in humans, such as so many people needing glasses, tunnel vision, colour-blindness, and so on.

  "So, the evolutionary essence of the Slugs, genius that it is, decided to skip this entire process. Basically, our brains can directly interpret light and colour for themselves; we don't need eyes to convert it first. Our brains are normally bonded directly to our slime, but it doesn't have to be connected all the way around. So to see, our eye holes just funnel this light straight to our brains, and we can see, which was what we wanted to do in the first place. And that, my friend, equals awesome."

  "Wow", I said.

  "Well, that's not entirely accurate", he went on. "You see, our brain itself can't interpret light waves; it's not that cool, I suppose." He started thinking hard, and seemed unable to express something - I could tell because of what he said next. "Umm. Ahhh. I don't know how to express this... Look, our brain isn't the same as yours, as far as I know your brain, at least. The actual surface of our brain plays a major role in our body's functions. In this case, there is a specific spot on our brain's surface that is the light-interpretation section. So we need to funnel the light into this specific area; we can't just put it anywhere and be able to see."

  I sneezed again. "Hold on a sec", I said after I'd recovered. "Rosetta told me that your brains are shaped like pancakes, and can be rolled up into a cone. So that means, if you roll it up, that light-sensitive bit you're talking about will be inside the roll, and you won't be able to see."

  "You'd be right", Matthew told me, "if you weren't wrong. As I'm sure you can understand, brains are quite wrinkly. Our brains have certain creases in them that gives them a disposition to roll up a certain way. Once rolled up like this, the light-sensitive surface section, and all the other sense's sections, are on the outside of the roll. All we have to do is roll it in the right direction, and it will settle into the optimal shape. This is true for a couple of shapes that we can use the surrounding slime to manipulate our brains into, such as cones and balls."

  "Ah", I said. "That's better. Although, it still is quite freaky. Does that mean you can have ten eye holes then, facing all around you?"

  "No", he sighed. "You're really trying to make what I intended to be a simple explanation into a complicated one." He took a breath. "All right. We actually have two brain surface sections for sight, although they're right next to each other. Each one serves as one of our 'mind's eye' kind of thing. So, we can only have one eye hole attached to each section; if we had more than one, that would just confuse us. Imagine if the sight from just one of your eyes was split into two different viewpoints."

  I tried to imagine that. "It see
ms very disorientating."

  "Exactly", he said. "And no one likes being disorientated. Or is it disoriented? Whatever. So, we can only have one eye hole connected to each of these surface sections, conveniently giving us depth perception. Quite nifty, huh?"

  "I guess so", I guessed. "What's with the focusing problem then?"

  "Oh, that's actually a problem with the brain and its interpretation of light. If we can focus the light in a specific way before it reaches the brain - put the mechanical eye inside the eye hole - that should hopefully fix the problem."

  "Sounds good", I replied. And then I sneezed again. "Dammit, why am I so sick!?"

  He laughed at me. "You've been away from Earth for several months. Your immune system got weakened by the lack of exposure, so, when you got back, you got sick."

  "Well", I sniffled. "That sucks. Why didn't you get sick from Slug illnesses when you went back to Slugenis?"

  "Easy", he shrugged. "I made sure that my immune system was kept up to scratch. It's pretty simply, actually; you just need to make sure that your antibodies - well, our Slug equivalent of antibodies - stay in good supply."

  Oh. That made total sense. He simply made sure that his immune system stayed strong. By thinking really hard.

  "Say", I asked, inspired by the lack of boundaries for what the Slug mind can achieve, "can you do that ten eye hole thing?"

  "What, you think I've spent the last twenty years attempting all manner of strange things that no Slug has ever attempted before? Come on." I'll take that as a 'yes'; from what I'd seen of normal Slugs, Matthew had attempted a great number of strange things that no Slug had ever attempted before.

  So then, that was one topic down. I still had a few others, but I knew that if I asked now, I wouldn't remember any of it. Such as Slug antibodies. You had to learn these things in small batches, you see, not all at once, otherwise it all just goes over your head.

  The Cyborg

  Boy and I had just finished analysing both the location, and optimal route to, PD-0034:N, the Cyborg Archives. Matthew was meant to be helping us, by his own orders that he distributed, but he had recently denounced our task for lack of 'entertainment' and left the room, no doubt seeking Ethan.

  "Our assignment is complete", I communicated to Boy.

  "Yes it is", he agreed. "No thanks to Matthew."

  I chuckled, the universal Human sign of agreed humour.

  It was at that moment that the door to our small meeting room burst open, and Matthew fell in. "Huh", he said as he got up off the floor. "I guess it wasn't locked."

  "What made you think it was?" asked Ethan in a voice that hinted at his current illness, stepping in behind him.

  "You never know, with that Phil and Boy", Matt replied.

  "We're right here", Boy informed them, although they doubtless already knew that.

  "Hey Boy. Hey Phil." This came from Ethan. If the purpose of the greeting was a sign of welcome, it was Ethan coming into our area, and we should therefore be welcoming him. If the purpose of the greeting was a sign of recognition, both Matthew and Boy had already told Ethan we were here, so recognition had occurred before his statement. I concluded, then, that Ethan's 'hey' was not required for this particular situation.

  "How are things going here?" asked Matt.

  "We just finished, actually", Boy told him. "We've managed to convert Phil's coordinates into something that our ships can follow."

  "Excellent", said Matthew.

  "What are the Archive's coordinates?" asked Ethan.

  This was the second time the Human had asked this question, and the answer had not changed. However, he had perhaps forgotten, so I answered him again, "PD-0034:N." An expression of annoyance was displayed on his face, but it surely wasn't me who'd provoked it; I'd been the one to answer his question.

  "So, we are ready to go then", Matthew said to us.

  "Not quite", I interjected. "I have a proposition first."

  "This doesn't sound good", said Matt.

  This comment did not bode well for my plan, but Ethan seemed genuinely interested. "What is your proposition? And don't even think about saying PD-0034:N!"

  Why would I give that as the answer to his question? If it did not answer what he asked me, then he needn't worry that I might answer with it.

  Regardless, I began to explain my alteration to Matthew's initial plan, devoting most of my processes to attempt to sound persuasive. "At the moment, the plan is to arrive at the Cyborg Archives, destroy any opposition we encounter there, and then attack the planet enough to destroy as much data stored there as we can. Is this correct?"

  "Yep", answered Matt.

  I went on. "I propose a different mission. Due to our trading with Earth, we now have access to extensive weaponry and technology that the Cyborgs don't, meaning that we will have a major advantage over them. In theory, this means we should defeat them at the Archives with minimal losses.

  "Instead of then proceeding to try and destroy all of the data contained within the Archives, I propose that we first land on the planet, and allow me to access the Archives first. This way, I can save anything important there, and relay it all back to you. It is highly likely that the planet contains some vital information that will be indispensable to the Slugs and the Humans, and will be irrecoverable if we don't attempt my plan."

  A time period of approximately 4 seconds passed before I perceived a reaction from my listeners; Matthew scratched his head, Ethan looked confused, and Boy looked away with the expression of thought on his face.

  Soon, Matt said, "This will probably make our mission much more dangerous than it was before."

  "Perhaps", I replied. "According to this plan, however, we will have defeated any Cyborg opposition before we actually land on the world. Any further resistance will be ground Cyborg units. Not only will there be a minimal amount of these, but we will have at least a star cruiser full of Slugs with us, assuming another ship lands with us. This is the optimal course of action."

  After another short period of time, Matthew said, "Alright then, I'm cool with that. Is everyone else cool with that?"

  "I agree with Phil", Boy stated. "If there is something in there, something important that concerns us, we should find out what it is before we destroy it."

  "What is your opinion, Ethan?" I asked him.

  "Uhh... I don't know. I suppose I won't be coming with you on this trip?"

  "Damn straight you won't", Matt told him. "You can stay on the ship this time. We won't be gone long anyways."

  "Okay", the Human answered. "How long will it take to copy all of the information?"

  "Copy all of the information?" I asked him, astounded. I had previously explained to him the vastness of the Archives, so how could he ask this question? I deduced that he assumed our technology to be far in excess of his own race's; although that was true, it was not to the extent that he was implying.

  I explained, "The Cyborg Archives contain every sensory input ever stored by every Cyborg that has ever existed. It requires an entire planet to physically store all of this data; we could not copy it within any reasonable time, and we have nowhere to copy it to. All I can do is read it, and store any information I deem important in my local memory. Due to its size, I will only be able to browse a relatively minor section of the entire database."

  "Oh", Ethan simply replied, just after violently blowing a portion of mucus out of his nose. I couldn't determine any kind of biological purpose for this function; if he needed to remove foreign particles, as Pauline had previously explained, then he would've sneezed. All this seemed to do was make suffering an illness unpleasant in addition to potentially life-threatening.

  "Well, with that cleared up", said Boy, "let's go and tell the others. We're pretty much ready to leave now, so there's no sense staying here any longer." He looked at Ethan. "Unless you want to."

  "Nah, I'm fine", the Human said. "Let's roll!" He coughed soon after.

  "Hey, that's my line!", complained Matthew in
dignantly.

  "And I just stole it!" said Ethan smugly, as he turned to leave the room.

  Ignoring the fact that a line of speech cannot be stolen, as it remains with the creator after the supposed theft, the fact that someone else used a phrase Matthew commonly used shouldn't incite him; indeed, he should be glad that his expression had implanted itself firmly enough in Ethan's memory to cause him to repeat it.

  However, the complications of organics had never ceased to escape both myself and reason, and this occurrence was no exception.

  The Slug

  'We're off to see the PDN, the wonderful PDN of them all!', I called as we strolled throughout Parliament House - just in case anybody wanted to know.

  'It's PD-0034:N', corrected Phill.

  'Ahh, Phill', I told him smoothly, 'it's now down as PDN. And that's all there is to it.'

  'There's actually more to it', he retorted, 'such as its correct designation.'

  I didn't respond to that, chiefly because Ethan butt in with, 'So, what is PDN's coordinates then?'

  'PD-0034:N', responded Phill wearily.

  Ethan complained with the impatience of sickness, 'PDN, PD-0034:N, whatever. But will you just tell me what the planet's coordinates are?'

  'PD-0034:N', replied Phill.

  As much as the interchange amused me, I decided I'd better put Ethan out of his misery - the misery of not knowing something. 'Ethan', I began, 'the Cyborg naming system is also a coordinate system. So the planet's coordinates in Cyborg terminology is the same as its name.'

  'Ahhh', he answered. 'See, why couldn't you just say that, Phill?' He sniffled. I'd done my best to help him out, but... damn, the Human cold seemed like a nasty piece of work. Well, from the sufferer's point of view. I'm sure the cold itself is quite proud of its work and how miserable it's capable of making its subjects. In that case, good on em.

  The Cyborg didn't respond, so Ethan continued, 'How many different combinations of that naming system could you get? Surely there are a lot more planets than that?'

  Of course, the computer in a metal body couldn't resist answering a mathematical question. 'There are actually approximately three-point-one-nine quadrillion combinations possible, also referred to as three-point-one-nine times ten to the power of fifteen. However, the same system is used to classify several major categories that the Cyborgs have identified.'

  'Three point...' spluttered Ethan, snorting in the process. 'I don't understand', he confessed after a few seconds, 'do you really need three quadrillion combinations?'. In truth, I didn't really get it either, but I didn't want him to know that. I had to keep up the illusion of all-knowing alien, after all.

  'We're still some distance off the ship', put in Boy. 'Why don't you explain it to us now, Phill?'

  Phill looked around us; there was a group of Humans following us from behind, which was expected, of course. It appeared that perhaps Phill didn't really want to reveal Cyborg information to them, as if they'd steal alien technology and try to recreate it themselves or something. As if Humans would ever do that.

  Either way, he made his choice when he said, 'Very well. Everything in the Cyborg empire...'

  'No way, the Slugs are an Empire', I interrupted. 'Get your own word.'

  'As you wish', he continued. 'Everything in our world has been split into many different major categories. Our classifications for each of these things, therefore, begin with the designation of that category. For example, all Cyborg mobile units begin with a "C". Hence, my previous designation of CY-4384:G. All planets begin with a "P", hence the Cyborg Archive's designation of PD-0034:N.'

  'Alright then', Ethan asked - or, began to ask, seeing as how he hadn't actually asked it yet - 'what do the rest of the letters and numbers mean? And I'm sure that you couldn't fit three quadrillion different combinations in that code.'

  Phill actually sighed. 'It's three-point-one-nine quadrillion. Which would you like me address first? The meaning of the remaining characters in the classification code, or how such a small amount of combinations fit into such a limiting format?'

  'The second one', I said. It seemed pretty interesting, and I sure didn't know how it worked.

  'Would you like a simplified version or the entire reason?'

  'The whole thing', said Boy. 'Might as well get the whole story.' I didn't say anything, which might have been a bit mysterious, but it was actually because I agreed with Boy.

  'Very well', said Phill, and then he continued on. With both his story and his walking. Which we were all doing. The walking part, that is.

  'The actual Cyborg classification is more complex than I have indicated so far', Phill explained. 'It consists of two characters, followed by four, followed by one. I have deemed to convert these first two and last characters into letters, and the inner four into numbers. However, the real classification is much larger than this. The first character has a limit, not of twenty-six, but of fifty-one; the second has a maximum value of twenty-four; the inner four characters can greatly surpass ten, and reach the level of two hundred and sixty-seven each; and the last character has no theoretical limit, but commonly increases only up to five hundred and thirteen. This means that the real system can actually reach a total approximate number of unique codes of three-point-one-nine quadrillion.'

  'Why did you turn them into letters and numbers for us then?', asked Ethan. Always wanting to learn more, that one. Although, he was the only Human I knew like that because he was the only Human I knew whose job wasn't to learn from other life forms. Meaning that the only other Human I knew was Pauline.

  'To aid in your understanding', Phill went on. 'It would be difficult for a Human, or any organic used to the system utilised in this country, to comprehend such a vast system. My conversion aids in the cognition and retention of the concept. In fact, my old designation is not CY-4384:G; that is just the actual code translated into your numbers and letters.'

  'Cognition', I asked incredulously. 'Really? Why would you use that word?'

  Ignoring me, Ethan said loudly, 'Hold on a sec! Matthew was the one who told me that you were CY-4384:G. So that means you converted the code while you were still trapped in that cave!' He sneezed, and pulled another tissue out of his infinite supply to blow his nose. I didn't ask where he was putting them when he was done.

  There was a pause, before Phill replied, 'Indeed.'

  Now, onto important matters; this I hadn't considered before. So Phill had changed his designation before I released him from where I'd imprisoned him. To make it easier for me to understand his "name". Interesting. That either means that, like me, he had somewhat lost his mind on this planet, or he didn't hate me. Interesting indeed.

  Boy asked, 'If your actual designation's individual numbers exceed the number nine, then why is the total still four numbers? Wouldn't that particular number have become nine-one and therefore added another digit?'

  'That would have been the best solution', Phill continued on with his explanation. 'However, I wished to keep the classification system consistent as two letters, four numbers, one letter. So I decided to simply reset the character back to its original point. Although this would duplicate code, I doubted that any of you would ever face this conflict; there are simply too many Cyborgs, planets, and other categories, which causes a very low probability of you ever coming across any two with the same converted designation.'

  We all walked silently for a few minutes, absorbing all of this. Soon, we emerged into the main foyer of Parliament House, only to meet a swarm of reporters; it would annoy me, if I wasn't used to it - and, if I didn't enjoy the attention.

  'No comment!', I called out, even though no one had asked me anything yet. Despite this, they all broke out into a frenzy of questions. It seemed that the Human media just couldn't get enough of news about aliens. Oh well.

  We pushed through the crowd, trying to fight our way out of the House, whilst simultaneously trying to avoid getting poked in the eye with a microphone. Not that it would hurt any of us
but Ethan.

  When we were finally outside, we made our way to where all of the Slug ships had landed. Although it was still noisy, we could now hear each other again. Ethan continued his interrogation with, 'So, what do the rest of the characters mean?'

  Phill answered, 'The second letter is a subcategory of the major category; the "Y" in my name signifies that I am a standard combat pilot unit.'

  'I thought that all Cyborgs were combat units?' asked Ethan.

  'They are', answered Phill. When Ethan gave no response, the Cyborg keep going. 'The four inner numbers are simple counters, labelled in order of construction, or, in the case of planets, in order of designation. Finally, the last letter is a batch number. I was built in the "G" batch of units.'

  'So', I decided to contribute to the discussion, 'assuming that the characters are normal numbers and letters, you are a "C" for Cyborg mobile unit, subcategory "Y" for standard combat pilot, and you're the four thousand, three hundred and eighty-fourth unit produced in the "G" batch?'

  'Correct', said Phill.

  'And PDN', went on Ethan, 'is a "P" for planet, subcategory "D" for some reason, and is the thirty-fourth planet designated in the "N" batch?'

  'Partially correct', said Phill. 'The "N" batch number is slightly different depending on the major category; we cannot classify planets by batches of designations, for instance. In addition, the planet's name is not PDN.'

  'Close enough', said Boy. 'But we're at the ship now, so we can continue this another time.'

  'An excellent notion, my fair Boy', I said. 'Let us now descend into the bowels of this here scout ship, and... and do stuff, in its bowels.'

  Quite rudely ignoring me, Phill looked around behind him. 'I'll be in there shortly', he said. 'Goodbye, for the time being.'

  He walked off, and Ethan gave a dejected, 'Cya...'

  We stood there for a few seconds, watching Phill walking towards the group of Humans that had been following us. Well, most of them, since several had not ventured into Slug territory. Hah. Slug territory on Earth.

  'In we go then', said Boy, and Ethan took a long glance up at the sky before the three of us turned towards the scout ship and started to get in.

  The Human

  We emerged into the now-familiar curved walls of the Slug scout ship. "This place again", I commented, sniffling. "Is this the same ship we arrived in?" I caught sight of my portable toilet against the wall. Ugh.

  "The very same", Matt smiled. "I quite like this good-old ship now. And Phill, don't you say anything about sentimental attachments to objects!" He looked around. "Oh. He's gone. As in, gone from this ship, not gone from this world."

  "That he is", Boy said. "When shall we begin to leave?"

  "I'll send a message to the other ships to get ready", Matthew said, sitting himself down on one of the dishes. "And we'll do the same.

  "Although", he amended thoughtfully, as he carefully repositioned his butt onto the spike poking out of the dish he was seated in, "before we go, I might invite Pauline to check out in here first. She's never seen it, after all."

  "No, she hasn't", I said, thinking back.

  "Well then, incoming invite", said Matt, springing up and heading for the door. "To her, that is."

  "Weren't you supposed to send a message to the other ships?" I asked. Surely it couldn't have been sent already?

  "Already have", he replied. Surely it could have been sent already. "You two can chill in here for a while. Although, it's not particularly cold today, so you can lukewarm in here instead."

  And with that, he left. Boy and I just stood around awkwardly.

  "Sooo..." I said mindlessly.

  "Tell me more about humans", Boy butted in. "There is still a lot I don't know. And a lot I don't want to know."

  I had flashbacks of his reaction to the human reproductive system, but managed to convince myself that I was right and he wasn't. "Alright then, what do you want me to explain?"

  He considered. "Firstly, Matthew has explained to you several times the functions of our slime. Or, most of its functions." There was more? Great. But Boy went on, "However, he has never explained to us Slugs what your equivalent blood is for. He said that it is constantly pumped around your body by an organ called a 'heart', but he didn't elaborate on its purpose."

  I thought for a bit. "Well, the main purpose of blood is to transport oxygen around our bodies, which is why its red, although I'm pretty sure it carries around other important stuff too. As well as viruses and diseases, which isn't entirely helpful."

  Boy stared at me. "Are you trying to say that your life depends on whether or not a stream of liquid can reach every single part of your body before it suffocates?"

  "Well, yeah", I said. Suddenly feeling the need to protect the philosophy of my anatomy, I added, "It's pretty reliable though."

  "When all is working well", Boy counteracted. "So this is why Matthew told me that a human's heart is a vital weak point separate from the brain. That makes two places where you can potentially die." Hah! There was a lot more than two, but I wasn't going to tell him that right now.

  Boy wasn't finished, however. "No wonder your bodies are so fragile! What if one of your blood transportation vessels" - I inferred that he meant to say 'veins' and 'arteries' - "becomes blocked or clogged? You simply die from lack of oxygen?"

  "No", I said, getting louder. "We have an operation to remove the blockage. All of this is very unlikely though. Our systems work for the majority of the time."

  "But they must only fail once to end your life. What purpose does a death due to an overly intricate organic system serve? Our way, that of absorbing oxygen through our slime cells, is much better and less likely to cause complications. Not to mention, as you said, that having a constantly physically moving stream throughout your body makes it easier for harmful organisms to travel!"

  "It... It's really not that bad", I tried to persuade him. "It's normal to have blood on Earth. Pretty much every animal here does."

  Boy was about to say something back, but before he could, I quickly asked, "Now it's your turn. Now, I've heard that for a normal Slug to shift their slime, it can take several minutes to perform, and that only Matthew can do it so fast."

  "Correct", Boy said, although he was still giving me slightly disgusted looks about how my body works. Like it was my fault, or something.

  "So then", I continued, "how is it that normal Slugs, including you, Rosetta, Carmen and Frank, move about at about the same speed as I can walk. If you can only move by shifting slime, then it should take you forever to get around."

  Boy considered this for a bit, and before he could respond, Rosetta stepped into the ship.

  "Hey", I said, trying my hardest to stop my eyes from leaking tears due to my illness. The problem was, they didn't seem to want to listen to such a stupid thing as the brain that controlled them.

  "Hello", she responded. "I received a message from Matthew that we were getting ready to leave."

  "Yep", I told her. "He's just off to invite Pauline to check out our ship, since she's never seen inside it."

  "Excellent", Rosetta said, "she should have a look at it. We've already had countless other humans we don't know poring over its design, since we had bargained it away." She sat down on one of the dishes near the front. "I will attempt to communicate with Frank and Carmen now", she said, and turned away.

  "Try and walk on your hands", Boy suddenly told me.

  Seriously? "Umm", I said, rather dumbly. "I can't."

  "But there are some who can?" he persisted.

  "Yeah, I guess. Circus performers or something."

  "Slug shifting works the same way", he began. Oh, so it was relevant then. And here I thought it was just some random Slug thing.

  Boy continued, "It's all a matter of what you're used to, and of how simple the morphing is. You can't walk on your hands because you've never done it before. Yet it is possible for you to do it skilfully. For us, Slugs have been physically travelling our wh
ole lives, and travelling involves just fluctuating movements of a relatively flat bottom layer of slime, so it stands to reason that we get quite good at doing it. In fact, it took myself, Frank, Carmen, Rosetta, William and Jason several days of practice before we could walk on just these two extremities of slime." I gathered that he meant 'legs' by that.

  "However", he went on, "a Slug cannot dynamically shift in ways it has had no practice at before, much the same way that you cannot suddenly begin to walk on your hands. This is where Matthew is the exception; he can shift any part of his slime, in complex formations, almost effortlessly. Such a feat usually takes a normal Slug great concentration, not only to perform the action, but to hold it for any length of time. I don't think you fully understand what an amazing thing it is that Matt can keep his body in such a near-perfect imitation of a human body without the use of any mental blocks."

  "Ah", I said. "I suppose that that makes sense. Although, I can't see how hard it would be to do the stuff that Matthew does if you can already walk about so easily."

  "I can't see how hard it would be for you to walk on your hands", Rosetta added from her seat. So, she was listening then. Since the fact that she heard our conversation was not really relevant to anything, I decided to stop thinking about it.

  "Plus, all Slug forms are held by mental blocks", Boy added. "We Slugs would be in grave danger without them."

  "What did you do before them?" I asked.

  "I don't know", he answered. "As Matthew said, we do not keep any extensive records of our past; only our memories serve that purpose."

  "Huh", I said to myself. There's one example that, I don't know, writing down stuff that happens would've come in handy.

  At that moment, both Frank and Carmen entered the ship together.

  "Hey guys", I said. "Ready to take off?"

  "Yes", answered Frank. "Everything is prepared. We are waiting only for Phill and Matthew, and then we can rejoin the starcruisers and be on our way to the Cyborg Archives."

  The Cyborg

  "Greetings again", I greeted the same Human female I had spoken to previously.

  She turned away from the group of Humans she was conversing with. "Hello", she said. Looking at the others, she added, "This is the one I was telling you about."

  A few of them gave me a wary, guarded look, but none moved away. That was good.

  "Greetings all", I amended. "It is my pleasure to meet you." Obviously one could not gain pleasure simply by meeting another, but this was an accepted Human convention, and I sought to emulate it.

  None responded, but they continued to stare at me. I needed to quickly gain the trust and respect of all of them; if I could do it for the woman, I could surely do it for a group.

  "I imagine you may contain many questions that you wish to ask me", I told them. "I would be happy to oblige."

  Still no one said a thing. After approximately 3 seconds of this unfortunate silence, the female spoke up. "So you're a machine are you?"

  "Yes", I replied. "Matthew calls my race Cyborgs."

  "And you are fully self-aware, as you told me last time?"

  If I was fully self-aware the last time we spoke, then I was fully self-aware now. However, this did not seem an appropriate observation to bring up, so I answered simply with, "Yes."

  Another member of the group spoke up for the first time; his curiosity seemed to finally overcome his misguided fear of me. "We know that most of the Slugs are deaf and do not usually speak", he began. "Is the same true of your race - of the Cyborgs?"

  "He works in the communications department", the female explained to me; she seemed to be under the impression that a perfectly logical and reasonable question required justification.

  "Yes and no", I began my explanation. "Normal Cyborgs do not normally communicate using physical sound waves - we usually rely on radio signals to interact amongst ourselves. We do have a sense of hearing, but it is quite different to your own ear systems, and not as sensitive."

  "Are you dangerous?" asked another female quickly, obviously frightened. It almost seemed that she was attempting to hide behind another member of the group.

  I fully turned to her, and willed the configuration of my facial features surrounding my eyes to convey a message of reassurance and gentleness. "I am no threat to any Human", I said firmly, neglecting to accurately and fully answer her question regarding how dangerous I was. Feeling I had to further reiterate this point, I continued, "I am on both your and the Slugs' sides. If my own kind were to capture me, I would be destroyed. You have nothing to fear from me nor from any of my friends."

  The first woman, the one whom I had already conversed with, said in a low voice, "Don't worry. I trust you. And I'll make sure that everybody else does, too. I work for a government editorial, you know."

  She will make sure everybody trusts me? Via her work in a government editorial? I diverted most of my processes to analyse what I had inadvertently done.

  I considered;

  It appeared that this Human that I had barely spent any time speaking with already completely trusted me. It also appeared that she held a position of some authority within the Human governance system, or at least in their communications to the general public.

  Therefore, I had accidently gained the trust of an influential member of the Human race, one who could feasibly spread the word about my good nature and positive intentions regarding their species.

  Have I perhaps began the process of crafting a positive image for myself, simply because this one particular Human happened to wander into the same room as I did? Were all of my plans, all of my careful scrutinisation of Human behaviours, all overridden by this chance coincidence, this one random encounter?

  It appeared so. This brought a thought to me: when it came to Human nature, and the process of influencing their attitudes, their irrationality and illogicality negates the benefits of any plans or analytical approach. The previous events illustrated this; my careful strategy of how the gain the Humans' trust yielded no discernible benefit, and yet the simple act of talking to one of them, for such a short period of time, gained her confidence in my character. Had I more time here, I need only converse with as many Humans as possible, with no thought as to what I was trying to convince them of, and that would eventuate with the accomplishment of my goals.

  "I would greatly appreciate that", I told her, and I was aware that my voice contained the signs of gratefulness, despite little intention on my part to do this.

  Before she could reply, a familiar voice called out, "Yo, Phil!"

  I looked behind the female, and she turned around also, to see both Matthew and Pauline approaching us. "That's the senior advisor!" she said under her breath. I refrained from attempting to consider why she would speak under her breath - either she wanted us to hear it, so she should speak it with a normal volume, or she didn't want us to hear it, so she should not speak it at all.

  "Hello Pauline", I said as they got nearer. "It is nice to see you again."

  "Likewise, Phil", she said.

  "Aha", my female said. "So your name is Phil, then."

  "The creature you just called Phil", responded Matt, "goes by many names. And by many, I mean 2."

  "What do you mean?" asked the woman.

  Pauline answered for her. "Phil is the name that we have picked for him. His official Cyborg name, however, is CY-4384:G." It was a compliment to me that she still knew my previous classification.

  "Well, it's more complicated than that", corrected Matthew, obviously hinting to my explanation about my simplified Cyborg designations. "But yeah, he has 2 names. Which do you prefer, by the way?" he asked of me.

  I gave the truth. "My preference has no bearing on the matter. I am Phil now, and CY-4384:G is no more than an old designation."

  "Alrighty then", the Slug said, after a brief pause of time. "Well, we're going back to the ship, to show Pauline around. You coming?"

  "No, we're not finished talking yet", my female quickly said.


  "That appears to be the case", I agreed with her. "I shall come aboard later."

  "Have fun", Matt smiled as he walked towards the scout ship. Pauline gave me a long look, before she followed him, but I could not discern its purpose.

  "Now, where were we?" asked the female. I turned to her, and saw that the rest of her group looked upon me eagerly, and no longer appeared as frightened of me as they originally had.

  Yes, a small conversation was all that it took. I would make sure to give them more than that before I left.

  The Slug

  'I'm back!' I called out as the inner door of the scout ship opened. Pauline and I stooped through the opening and emerged inside to see Boy, Ethan, Carmen, Frank and Rosetta already there.

  'Hey Pauline', Ethan said, looking just as sick as always. Always being the past day or two. So not always. Just recently.

  'What, no hello to me?' I asked, feigning insult.

  'No, hello to you too', he quickly amended. Hah - gets him every time.

  'Wow', Pauline muttered, looking about herself. 'Why is this ship so round?'

  'It's cause it spins about while we're flying', I explained. 'So the centrifugal forces push us against the side of the ship.'

  'Ah, I see', she said. 'That makes sense.'

  'Indeed it does', commented Boy.

  'Ethan', Pauline said sympathetically. 'You're still sick?' Indeed he was; luckily for him and his shortsightedness, I'd brought a large supply of tissues with us. That should last a while.

  'Unfortunately', he replied darkly, as if he wanted to strangle his cold with his bare hands. 'That's what I get for wanting to check out my old school.' I wished I could've gone with him, but, alas, I had other stuff to do. Quite important stuff, which justified my not going. But, if all went according to plan, I'd be back here soon. I'd see it then. Well, I'd see it then if all went according to plan. Which it totally would.

  'Wait, check this out', Ethan said to Pauline. He pointed towards one of the dishes. 'Believe it or not, these are actually Slug seats.' He coughed.

  'Really?' asked Pauline. 'You sit in those?'

  'Yeah', I said. 'Look, Rosetta is in one right now.'

  Inspecting the spike that each dish contained, the biologist asked, 'What is this for?'

  'It is a communication device', Boy explained. Well, not really, it was actually used to convert and transport the electrical output from our brains, but I would let that fly. Or perhaps I'd let it slide. Or let it slide down a ramp and fly off the edge. Doesn't really matter.

  'I see', she said. 'And you insert this into your slime?'

  'Yep', I said.

  'Doesn't it hurt?' she asked.

  'Exactly!' exclaimed Ethan, which caused a fit of coughing. He managed to get out, 'They must have super pain tolerance or something.'

  'Actually, no', I said. Thinking about how often Ethan complained about this, I made a decision. 'Alright, I've had my fun, it's time to explain it.' I walked over to Boy, and touched him. 'Hit me.'

  'I don't think he has any cards - ', Ethan tried to say, but before he could finish, Boy delivered a great blow to my midsection.

  'Ah!' let out Pauline. I gathered that it must have been unexpected. Because if it wasn't, she wouldn't have yelled out, "Ah!"

  I stood up and faced them, not showing any sign of physical pain, although I was feeling Slug pain. I sure didn't like it, but it was worth it to astound the two Humans yet again.

  'And that doesn't hurt either?' asked Ethan.

  Mentally preparing myself to astonish him, I began. 'No. But yes. How can something be no and yes at the same time, are you thinking right now? Well, even if you're not, I'm going to answer it anyway. I do feel pain, but not the kind of pain that you're thinking of. Slugs don't actually feel physical pain the way that animals on Earth do. You know, I was kinda born on a different planet, and went through an entirely different evolutionary process. In case you forgot or something.

  'Anyway, my body decided to not be mean with its dishing out of pain. You see, pain is simply a signal that something is wrong, a biological warning light; it's brought to your attention, and it hurts to make you do something about it. Now, Slug pain feels quite different to what I've gathered your pain feels like; obviously, I can't know myself, because I can't feel it.'

  I stopped to take a breath, then went on. 'Our pain feels like an... an uncomfortableness. Like our bodies are in an awkward position, or twisted at an odd angle. It just feels unnatural, like it isn't normal, and we aren't meant to be this way. It is quite unpleasant, but it doesn't actually hurt, so we can deal with any amount of it really.

  'For example, right now I feel like my stomach area is all compacted and distorted, due to the slightly damaged slime cells. As I said, however, it doesn't hurt me. I don't like the feeling, and I want to make it go away, but it will never make me cry out and I can deal with it quite easily, for as long as I need to.'

  'Aha!' exclaimed Ethan. 'So that's why you can stick those spikes on your hands and up your...' A look of revelation came over him, which almost made him look not sick. 'And that's why when you got stabbed with a massive sword, it didn't even appear to hurt you! And the same when you got shot!'

  'Exactly', I said. 'It felt exactly like how you imagine it would - a long metal shaft thrust through my body, and a small metallic object carving a path through me - except it didn't hurt, it was only uncomfortable. This feeling is quite annoying, of course, but when in a dire state, it can easily be ignored until you have the time or resources to deal with the issue.'

  'I wish we could be like that', Ethan said, half to himself. I didn't blame him; from all that I've heard of Human pain, it was extremely unpleasant, to the point of making one not only scream in agony, but potentially pass out from the sheer torment of it. I wondered what that would feel like, and if I'd be good at tolerating it. Probably; I was awesome at pretty much everything else, so I didn't see why I wouldn't be awesome at that too.

  Pauline said, 'So, when Rosetta was gravely injured, she wasn't dying from pain?'

  Now this was a touchy subject. From my various contacts with Rosetta after the incident, she was glad that she had continued to live, so that was a one-up for me, but I still tried to avoid bringing it up.

  Rosetta answered for Pauline. 'It wasn't the same dying from pain that you're thinking of. Although my brain was somewhat damaged, that was a recoverable injury; it was the extensive infliction on my slime that was the cause of the problem. When enough of a Slug's body is severely damaged, as mine was, the brain tends to give up on life and tries to shut down slime functions.'

  'It must be an evolutionary thing', added Boy, 'for back when injuries such as that would mean certain death, before our modern techniques.'

  Rosetta continued, 'Perhaps. Regardless of its origin, our mind thinks we are going to die, and gives up on struggling to live. This can be overcome, but it takes willpower to do it. Unfortunately, our culture and emphasis on gaining Honour works against this willpower, and thus against our lives.'

  'That's... that's just retarded', Ethan said, flabbergasted. Now that is a funny word. He went on, 'You're saying that the only way for you to die from injuries is if you're unable to prevent your brain from killing yourself?'

  'From slime injuries, yeah', I said. 'Can't really help a brain injury.' Although he made no mention of the atrocious part that Slug Honour plays in the process, I knew he must be thinking it. I wouldn't fault him for thinking that that was retarded too.

  'Quite interesting', Pauline commented, trying to pull the subject away from that topic. 'It is amazing what different paths of evolution an alien race makes compared to our own.'

  'What, you thought I'd look exactly Human, but with a different hairstyle?' I joked.

  'That's what some of their entertainment shows seem to indicate', said Frank.

  'Obviously, they are highly inaccurate and biased', said Boy.

  I added, 'And, they're on a budget. You know, the who
le currency thing.'

  'I remember', Frank said.

  'What currency thing?' asked Pauline.

  'Gee, Pauline', said Ethan. 'You're really behind on the times. The Slugs don't have a currency or money system. Everything there is distributed for free by the government.'

  Pauline nodded after a moment. 'This doesn't surprise me, given all I've learned of the Slugs' collectivist culture. Such a system would never work here.' Yes, collectivist to the point that an individual life is deemed totally irrelevant compared to the overall Empire's welfare. And I would curse the day if the Humans' overall culture ever eroded to the point that it ended up like us, so thank God that would never work on Earth. As much as some people hated the capitalist, greedy Human lifestyle, there were other systems out there that are far worse.

  After a short pause, Rosetta, the only one of us connected via a seat, said, 'The other ships are beginning to take off. We really must be going now.'

  'Of course', Pauline said, and proceeded to hug each of us in turn again. Even Rosetta, who was sitting down. 'So this is definitely the last time we'll ever see each other.'

  'I'm afraid so', Boy told her. 'I would like to state, on behalf of all the Slugs, that we are extremely glad of your presence, and we will miss you dearly.'

  'On behalf of the Human, too', added Ethan. He sneezed. 'And I'm sure the Cyborg as well.'

  Pauline gave us a teary final farewell. It was quite emotional and all, and I was sad to see her for the last time, but we couldn't stay here forever, nor could we take her with us. She would still have the group of Slugs we left behind, anyway.

  'Goodbye, Pauline', I said. 'May the force be with you. Cause it's already with me, and I don't want to hog it or anything.'

  She gave a laugh, and stooped out of the door of the ship, making her way back towards her planet.

  There was a respectful silence as we watched her go, and then stared at the closed door that she left from. After a while, Ethan broke it with, 'Now, where is that bloody Phill?'

  The Human

  After waiting another minute or two (punctuated by sudden sneezes and bouts of coughing), Rosetta said, "Phill's here", and the door opened. Did Phill open the door, or did she from her seat? Oh well, I don't suppose it really mattered.

  "I have returned", the Cyborg said as he entered the ship. "I also gave my final farewell to Pauline, as she passed by me on my way here."

  "Yeah, we've all said goodbye now", I said. I wondered if Pauline hugged him again. I wish I'd seen it, just to see the awkward look on his face. If awkward was a look.

  "How about that woman you were talking to, eh?" asked Matt with a mischievous look on his face. When Phill took more than half a second to respond, he quickly prompted with, "Eh?"

  "What about her?" asked Phill.

  Matthew turned to me. "Our little Phill has found himself a lady friend." He laughed. "Did you give your 'final farewell' to her too?" He raised his eyebrows twice in quick succession, in a suggestive way.

  Wait, what? Phill has found a... 'lady-friend'? I seriously hope that Matt wasn't implying what I think he was implying. Otherwise, someone might just have to make a movie on it.

  "I'm not sure what you're referring to", said Phill, unfazed by the attempted humiliation by the Slug. "I shall assume, however, you are referring to the female human I was conversing with just previously. To answer your question, yes, I gave her a final farewell."

  Matt laughed loudly, and I looked over and saw Boy shaking his head in amusement (so much for him being a Slug). "It's time to..." Rosetta started to say, but I assumed that she meant to say leave. I assumed this because the thing that cut her off was a very loud roaring sound coming from somewhere nearby that sounded quite distinctively like a spaceship taking off.

  We all quickly assumed our usual spots (Boy coming over to help tie me down at the wall), before our ship too started to rumble.

  I was near Matt, so, despite the noise, I just heard him cry out, "Goodbye cruel world! Don't worry, I'm not killing myself, I'm just leaving you. And yeah, sorry for calling you cruel. That was mean of me."

  At that, I felt our ship leave the ground. It was similar to that feeling you get just as an airplane takes off - although I'd only been in one plane, I assumed that they were all pretty similar. After the usual violent vibrating that meant we were plunging headfirst through several kilometres of air particles, the ride evened out until it got smooth. After another while of this, we'd officially exited the Earth's domain.

  I knew that the starcruisers were somewhere nearby, and that I'd only get a short time of altered gravity, so I said, "Someone untie me, quick!"

  "You know", Matthew said as he floated towards me. "One of these days, you're going to learn how to untie yourself." He paused. "Wow. I mean, untie your seatbelt, not yourself. That would just be disgusting." He paused a bit more. "Like, eww. Imagine actually untying yourself. Gross."

  "Yeah, I know", I replied. "But until then, you can untie me. I mean, my seatbelt."

  So I spent the next while doing my best to jump around in the gravity-free environment; I sure wasn't going to let a stupid cold stop me. I had no idea how astronauts got any work done in space, because flipping all over the place really never got old.

  Eventually, we reached where our starcruiser was... parked, because Matthew came up to tie me in again. "We're still in space", I complained. "What do I need this for?"

  "Oh, fine then", he said with a feigned short temper. "I'll just leave you like that, and if we miss our docking, you can go flying and splatter yourself wherever you hit." I shut up as he finished tying me down.

  A bit later (which I spent talking to Phill, which was just as unproductive as you're imagining), we were in the starcruiser.

  "Where exactly in the starcruiser are we?" I asked to our ship in general, rubbing my nose. "I didn't see any room when we were on it last to store any spaceships."

  Frank answered, "Large cargo, such as smaller ships, are stored in the forward end of the central cylinder."

  "Oh", I said dumbly. I would've liked a bit more explanation than that... but oh well.

  Another minute or two passed before Boy said, "And we're in." The double-door to the ship opened, showing us the much larger interior of the starcruiser's inner cylinder.

  "This place looks familiar", I said to myself as I waited to be untied again.

  "Obviously", commented Phill, but this was expected, I supposed.

  It wasn't long after that we all found ourselves inside the starcruiser - that is, inside the starcruiser, outside of the scout ship. The seven of us crowded around the large main view screen, looking at the displays, most of which I had no idea what they meant.

  Boy sat himself down on a seat, and, after a few moments, said, "Soon, the other ships will all be ready to leave. They are waiting for us to leave first."

  "Tell us when everyone's ready, then", said Matt thoughtfully.

  A moment of silence passed before I decided to break it. "Here we go to PDN then, Phill", I said. "Have you decided what you wish to do yet?"

  "I've decided to give up on trying to change your misrepresentation of its name", the Cyborg answered unhappily.

  "It's not my fault!" I protested. "Matt was the one who started it, and I got it from him."

  "It's not my fault either!" the Slug in question also protested. "The full name of the planet is so long and cumbersome - yes, a name can be cumbersome - and PDN is just such a natural thing to call it. I didn't even make it up, my tongue did."

  "You don't really have a tongue", Boy commented.

  At the same time, Phill input, "I highly doubt that your tongue, made of normal slime, gained a momentary sentience to develop a word on its own."

  "Ah, then you'd be surprised what tongues can do, if you give them half a chance", Matthew smirked. "Anyway, it's now called PDN, and unless you come up with a better name, it's not going to change."

  Phill just sighed to himself, and dropped the subject. When
it came to naming things, Matthew always had the last say, I guess. Lord knows I wouldn't have named a Cyborg, a robotic killing machine, 'Rabadootime'. Speaking of that, I asked, "Hey, do you reckon Rabadootime will be on PDN?"

  "No", answered Phill decisively, utterly destroying both my theory and my confidence to put forward my theories. "Rabadootime is the leader of a certain area, the area closest to Earth. PDN is far outside of that area. There will therefore be another Cyborg leader there."

  "How large is his rule?" asked Carmen.

  "What's his Cyborg name?" I asked, and then promptly sneezed. I don't know what the others thought, but it was getting really annoying for me.

  Phill answered Carmen first. "As I previously stated, Cyborg leaders do not rule, only lead. They therefore do not have a range of rule, only a range of area over which they lead." Was there really any difference? But Phill continued, "I also explained that leaders can guide over any amount of area. Rabadootime has a rather extensive area to lead over. The Cyborg presiding over PDN leads only for that planet, as it is an important location, and therefore has a specific leader dedicated to it." He looked at me. "I do not know its designation, but it will begin with 'CB', 'C' for ground Cyborg unit and 'B' for leader."

  "I suppose we'll have to think of a name for it", Boy said.

  "Yeah", Matthew agreed, "but I don't really know him yet. Wait till we meet him."

  "It", I corrected. "And did you ever meet Rabadootime before you named him?"

  "Wait", Carmen put in. "So this new leader is an it, but Rabadootime is a he?"

  "Yes, because we know Rabadootime", I lamely explained.

  "Whether or not one is aware of another's existence or personal attributes is independent of their gender designation", said Phill. Of course he would say something like that.

  "Organics", I said as way of explanation. "What do you expect?" This actually made Phill smile, which was a sure indication that I had won. Haha.

  "Anyway", Matt said. "I don't know for certain if I'd ever met Rabadootime, but I might've without knowing it. But I've never been to PDN, so I definitely haven't met this new one. Maybe I would've if he wasn't such a slob, and actually left his planet and got some sunlight for a change."

  Phill nearly stuttered, before complaining, "I refuse to point out the gross inaccuracy in that statement."

  We all laughed at this, including every Slug. Boy quickly stopped, however, and said, "All the starcruisers are ready. It's time to go."

  "And so we leave again", said Matt. "Alright, fire her up. Assuming, of course, that the ship is a female. The way I see it, not every ship can be a woman; there's got to be some guys out there, or how would they make more ships?"

  Phill gave no comment at this, but I did see him blatantly stare at Matthew with annoyance on his face. At least, his facial features gave the expression of annoyance. Or maybe even disbelief.

  The starcruiser started to give a slight vibration, meaning that it was just about to start accelerating away into deep space. I repositioned myself so that I would get a clearer view of the main view screen, or more specifically at the little map in the corner, and the little orange dot that had already started to crawl.