PoV: Stewie

  Honestly, I didn’t care that Laz was a brain inside a machine or that he’d been “lying by omission,” as Lynn liked to put it. To me, he was still Laz. He was the same Laz who had welcomed Mira and me aboard, the same Laz who gave us safety when nobody else would. If anything, knowing the truth just made me feel bad for him. It seemed like a pretty lonely way to exist.

  We all knew Laz didn’t want us going on this mission, his anxiety practically radiated through the comms. I also could tell he was jealous as he couldn’t exactly tag along, and the Lazarus itself wasn't going anywhere. So it was time for Chunkyboy to save the day, and that meant installing the warp drive. And since it was my job, I had no choice but to swallow my fear and get it done.

  Surprisingly, having T’lish around while I worked helped ease my nerves. She didn’t bark orders or hover over me impatiently; she just calmly pointed out errors in her quiet, straightforward way. No judgment, no impatience it was way better than my old bosses. It didn't take long before the engine came to life, the warp core glowing softly with stable energy. I stepped back, feeling quietly proud of myself.

  Still, I wasn’t quite sure why all five of us had to go on this trip. Kel and Lynn refused outright to stay behind, and Mira had given me a look that said leaving her alone on the ship wasn't even an option. Kel and Lynn clearly had some kind of issue with Laz and Laia since the truth came out, though to me it all seemed a bit silly. I'd grown up around humans who were worse than scum. After surviving New Horizon, I'd developed a pretty reliable radar for dangerous people, and Laz definitely wasn't dangerous.

  Laia, though, She was dangerous. But her motivations were simple, even predictable. She was all about Laz, obsessively loyal to him. Do right by Laz, and you were safe; cross him, and I didn't doubt she'd tear you apart without blinking. The rest of us probably didn’t even register on her radar unless we directly impacted Laz.

  Lynn, of course, didn’t share my assessment. She’d spent the entire first half of the flight to this system ranting about how unsettling Laia was, complaining about secrets and hidden agendas. But Kel, calm as ever, had pointed out something that stuck with me: we couldn't really judge Laia by human standards. Who knew how strange an AI could become after existing for countless years? I was willing to cut her a little slack. She had done right by me, so I wouldn’t do wrong by her.

  I shook my head, pushing aside the distracting thoughts. Right now, I needed to focus. The plan was straightforward enough, if a bit unsettling: T’lish would present the four of us as experimental test subjects, a "battle boon" gifted to her ship commander. It sounded risky, but T’lish assured us it would make perfect sense to the Kall-e.

  I'd nervously asked her if they wouldn't find it suspicious that she’d arrived on a human-built ship.

  T’lish shook her head slowly, her voice quiet and resigned. "They will not question it. I am lower caste, undeserving of the honor of travelling aboard a true Kall-e vessel."

  Something in the quiet resignation behind her eyes tugged at me. Mira noticed it too, exchanging a worried glance with me. Neither of us knew what to say or do to comfort the poor lizard lady.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Turns out T’lish was right about how her people would react. When she explained our situation to the Kall-e station’s comms officer, who was a towering, vibrantly-colored male whose scales shimmered like polished metal. He barely hid his contempt, casting disdainful looks her way as if her very presence offended him. He directed our ship to dock, speaking curtly, practically spitting the instructions.

  To sell the story, we had reluctantly agreed to wear shock collars. Real ones, unfortunately, it was not exactly the kind of trust exercise I was excited about. T’lish had warned us earlier that the head guard would test at least one collar to ensure it wasn’t fake, though she didn’t know who’d get unlucky.

  Naturally, it was me.

  As soon as we stepped onto the Kall-e ship, a huge armored guard singled me out instantly. He didn’t hesitate, his clawed thumb pressing the remote with cold efficiency. Pain seared my neck, slicing through every nerve like hot wires beneath my skin, but I clenched my jaw and forced myself not to react, not a single twitch. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Through my blurred vision, I saw him grin, bearing rows of sharp teeth.

  “Younger ones always give the best reactions,” he growled in amusement. Without hesitation, he hit the button again.

  This time the pain nearly brought me to my knees, my muscles twitching against my will, stars flashing behind my eyes. I fought desperately to keep silent, grinding my teeth until my jaw ached. Just when I thought he’d go a third round, T’lish’s soft voice spoke sharply from behind.

  “Do not damage my war boon,” she snapped, with more strength than anyone had heard from her in our short time together.

  The guard spun around, his expression instantly darkening. Without hesitation, he swung a heavy hand, slapping her across the face so hard it echoed through the hall. T’lish stumbled back, her grey skin flushing darker in shame and pain.

  “Watch your tone, colorless,” the guard sneered, eyes narrowed in open disgust.

  We fell into silence as we were marched deeper into the ship. My neck burned, my heart pounded, but I forced myself to focus, searching desperately for distractions. As we passed through corridors bustling with Kall-e, I started noticing patterns. Others carried the same tattoo as T’lish, marking them as lower caste, yet none of them seemed to receive the harsh treatment she'd endured. It didn’t add up, not at first. Every other Kall-e we passed displayed vivid scales in brilliant reds, blues, or greens. T’lish alone was pale and grey.

  Colorless, they'd called her. My gut tightened at the realisation. It was her lack of color, not just her caste, that marked her as an outcast. Maybe her ship was just looking for an excuse to get rid of her.

  We passed another heavy door, heavily guarded by a squad in heavy armor, weapons ready. I couldn’t help myself as I glanced at T’lish and whispered, “What’s in there?”

  She hesitated, eyes looking nervously toward the door, then quickly away. “Cure research,” she replied quietly.

  I frowned, not understanding what she meant, but noticed Kel and Lynn exchanging a tense, uneasy glance. They clearly knew something I didn’t. The puzzle was missing a piece, and it irked me that no one ever really explained it.

  Finally, we arrived at a small laboratory tucked deep within the ship, empty and sterile, with only a single name etched neatly onto the door: T’lish. She paused briefly, running a clawed finger gently over her nameplate, her eyes softening with bittersweet nostalgia.

  “This was my lab,” she said softly, barely louder than a whisper, “before my captain took me aboard his ship.”

  For the first time since we’d met her, T’lish looked genuinely sad—not just resigned or cautious, but deeply, quietly heartbroken. I glanced toward Mira, hoping she might have some idea of how to comfort our strange new friend. But Mira’s expression was just as lost as mine.