Tera Galactus Chapter 3

Mu and Hoftis could still smell the battle on their clothes as they wandered the streets of New Dantham. It was unlikely for word to have traveled to this town faster than they had, yet each civilians’ eyes felt like they measuring the weight of the duo's sins. They were deserters now. Mu looked up at Hoftis to see how he was holding up. The Thraxian medic was in bad shape. Medics are expected to see their fair share of death but what happened back there wasn’t something he wished upon his worst enemies. Hoftis was slender for a Thraxian. His scales were not as rigid as most of the others Mu had seen and his under skin seemed to have a more rubbery-gel texture to it. His legs were by far his most impressive feature, densely packed with muscle and long enough to produce a mean stride. Throughout Mu’s examination of his new partner, he had noticed his body twitching an inordinate amount. As his eyes made their way back up to the Thraxian’s face, he noticed that Hoftis was struggling to keep his wits.

The man was too stressed to continue walking and they both needed to calm their nerves a bit.

“You drink?” Mu asked.

“Not usually, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” Mu said after a deep sigh. “We’re not Federation anymore.”

Hoftis let his body slouch a bit. “Very true…Mu.”

The words came out like sludge pushing through a sanitation filter, but this couldn’t be helped. The academy wasn’t kind to those who broke protocol, especially if they weren’t human.

“We’ll work on it,” Mu said as he pointed down the street. “Looks like we can get something to drink over there.”

-

The only thing Rabbie could focus on was how much he wanted to eat that guy. He had only walked into the bar minutes ago with that oddly shaped Thraxian, but Rabbie knew he would taste divine. Federation commanding officers lived lives of peak decadence, so surely they must taste like what they eat, or at least that’s what Rabbie thought. He had never actually eaten an officer, but his imagination seemed qualified enough to fill in the gaps. The dirt and blood on him might detract from the overall flavor but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Well, it would have been if Sinclair didn’t have the barrel of his sniper buried in his side.

“We agreed no eating important people, remember what happened last time?” Sinclair hissed.

Rabbie looked offended.

“How dare you. I wasn’t thinking of something so barbaric.”

“You have ignored my last three questions because you can’t look away from the guy. Plus, you’re drooling,” Sinclair said. “Give him a break, looks like he’s had a rough day.”

Sinclair may have chastised Rabbie for staring at the officer but it’s not like he could pull his eyes away from the pair either. The officer was way too high-ranking to be trudging through a shit hole like this. He had sandy blond, seemingly well-kept hair, and was still passively adjusting his uniform to remove the wrinkles as best he could. He wasn’t too tall when compared to the Thraxian at his side, but his face did scream ‘Hi I’m conventionally attractive’. Another important detail about the pair is how low a profile they were trying to keep. Any other Federation soldier would have ruined the mood immediately upon entry, yet they were somehow able to make it to the bar counter without being noticed.

“I just wanna talk to them,” Darve said as he pried himself from the booth.

“Rabbie wait the bartender sa-” Sinclair tried to warn him of something, but he was already halfway through the crowd.

-

It had been a weird night at the Madhouse so far, and it didn’t seem like that was going to change any time soon. Chal had been in a grumpy mood since he opened for the day and took it out on SandFang’s drink. The Cyphrus Slam was supposed to be 1-part Vortra juice 3-parts the strongest intoxicant in stock and a side of guara berries. Instead Chal gave SandFang a glass of water, some kind of decaying fruit, and told him to shut the fuck up. SandFang’s tab was too high to nitpick, so he got cozy in his usual seat and nibbled on the edible parts of his fruit.

Late in the evening, a human carrying a large rifle and a lizardman that looked way too small and smooth to be a Thraxian entered the bar. The creature had all the characteristics of a Thraxian in the same way a caricature drawing does but was very clearly not a Thraxian. They walked straight to the counter and tried ordering drinks. The man was cool and collected, ordering something simple and sliding the mons required across the counter. The…creature on the other hand, decided he was drinking by the barrel and stepped behind the bar to taste test every keg. Chal tried to fight him off, but he looked like a child punching a pillow. SandFang considered his options if the thing did eat Chal on the spot. He probably could have grabbed a couple of top-shelf bottles before retainers showed up to pacify the area. Luckily for everyone present, the overgrown lizard listened to reason from his friend and backed away from the bar. Chal was beyond worked up and said that if he came back to the counter, he was a dead man.

Finally, SandFang was able to steal a drink from the sloshed patron to his right. Shortly after he began the process of getting tipsy for the night, two Federation fellas walked in. One officer, one medic, both looking battered to shit. It was clear they were having a rough day, but SandFang knew he could figure out more than that. The medic’s pack sunk at the top meaning some of the supplies were gone. The officer had removed the ranking insignia from his sleeve which was a fairly useful clue. Unless it was ripped off in battle we might have some deserters in our midst. There was only one way to find out.

“You boys look like you’ve had a rough day, could I buy you a drink,” SandFang said as he sauntered over to the duo.

“No, we’ll be fine,” Mu said without making eye contact.

And just like that SandFang had cracked the puzzle.

“Nonsense, from one derelict soul to another let’s share a toast. Chal, could you get my friends over here your finest!” SandFang said while waving down the barkeep.

The two looked at SandFang as if he had just announced their execution date.

“Look there’s no need to cause trouble, what do you want mons? A drink? Name it and leave us alone.” Mu snapped.

SandFang cracked a wicked smile. “I don’t need anything from you guys, just looking for some interesting conversation. This place can get dreadfully boring when you see the same faces day in and day out.”

Mu studied the features of the man threatening to expose their treachery to the world. His hair was mostly silvery gray but aside from that nothing about him portrayed the telltale signs of old age. He wore glasses and stroked a poorly groomed goatee of the same greying silver as his head. Expensive glasses sat neatly on his face and a spike of rotosage dangled loosely from his mouth. The worn leather coat hanging from his shoulders made him look greasier by the second but the expression on his face was one of genuine kindness.

The two remained on guard but accepted their drinks from Chal. SandFang settled in to begin working his magic but noticed something lumbering through his peripheral vision.

Rabbie had shoved his way through the crowd and was now looming over Mu, mouth slightly agape.

“Please do not think I want to eat you.”

This did next to nothing to ease the group’s tension upon his arrival. Mu began breathing heavier as Hoftis and SandFang began reaching for their side arms.

“You know, I wasn’t pondering the idea of being eaten until right this very moment so thank you for that,” Mu said, attempting to casually take a sip from his drink. SandFang observed how much of a monumental failure the sip was while Hoftis looked for a rag to clean up the mess.

Before Rabbie could continue this riveting conversation, Chal interrupted him with three heavy bangs of his fist against the bar.

“I told you if you come back over here tonight you are a dead man. WHOEVER KILLS THIS FREAK GETS FREE DRINKS FOR THE REST OF THE CYCLE.”

“Well, that seems a bit excessive. All I did was--” before Rabbie could finish the sentence, a kinetic round had already been fired at his back. Alas, the miniature scales on the beast's back were so hard that the bullet ricocheted off him and hit a nearby patron in the jaw. All hell broke loose at that point as a majority of the bar proceeded to tackle Rabbie to the floor and wail on him. As Rabbie descended into the man-made abyss, Sinclair snuck into Rabbie’s former position at the bar. Before addressing the group, Sinclair turned back toward the puddle of fists and said, “no murder,” to Rabbie. A muffled ‘aw’ was heard in response.

“Good evening gentlemen, I apologize for my associate here. Could I buy you a drink?”

“What is wrong with you people? What do you want from us?” Mu said.

“A pardon would be nice,” Sinclair said.

SandFang pointed at Sinclair. “This guy gets it.”

“Good luck getting a pardon from deserters,” Hoftis said. Mu quickly punched his arm.

“Dude.”

“What? They already knew.”

“I had literally no idea,” Sinclair said.

“I was only about 40% sure,” SandFang said.

“Well, there’s no need to dwell on that fact. The bottom line is we’re all in the same situation,” Hoftis said. “By the way should we help your friend down there?”

“Nah he can figure it out. The Zan-Thuul are a resilient species. Genetic makeup straight out of the primordial soup.”

The four look at each other and chuckle. Hoftis returns his attention to Rabbie but stopped short at the entrance. At the door, a squad of local Federation retainers pushed through the throng of fighting. They didn’t seem to move with any particular purpose as they eventually made their way to the four at the bar.

“What seems to be the problem he---” The retainer could barely get the words out before four pistols were drawn and pointed at him.