Ambassador Gosh't

Chronicles of Xanctu

May 15, 2025

“Fucking stink”, muttered one of the troopers”. “Remember it..”, another responded. Gosh’t ignored them, his midbrain focussed on the portents of the recent agreement with Grakkus. Bracing for zero-G, he engaged his headgear, which rapidly adjusted to the rapidly decompressing airlock. Gosh’t shifted his large, scaly bulk and hitched his weapon belt in frustration. His stubby wings rustled dryly beneath the smoothness of his cape in the zero-G. The troopers gave him as much space as they could. He was as well known for outbursts of spontaneous rage, as well as generosity. The lock completed its cycle and the opposing lock door opened.

Gosh’t lead the crawl up the narrow emergency personnel tube to the shuttle. The others followed at paced intervals. When the last of them had entered the swaying umbilical, the hatch hissed shut behind them. Driven by their movement, the tube undulated slowly in the void, its narrow twisting innards swaying unsteadily with their heavy movements as they shuffled in single file along the attractor strip to the shuttle’s hatch. The shuttle’s lock cycled and the inner door opened. Gosh’t shrugged down his headgear. The familiar smell of the small shuttle was a relief after the perfumed stench of Grakkus’s orbital.

There were audible scraping noises as the umbilical retracted, then a clank as it stowed. Immediately, the interior of the shuttle lit yellow. He nodded. Thirty gaeons to combat propulsion. Moving with the agile dexterity of a veteran spacer, Gosh’t launched himself towards his couch behind the pilot. He was webbed in and braced for propulsion before the last of the troopers cleared the hatch. Starbuoy was soon dust, but he’d met the crew of Grakkus’s weapon and had gained understanding of the kind of warriors Grakkus would send on a suicide mission. If the weapon could trigger a star, it would be Terrakia, not Pterryx, that burned. Failure of the plan would mean an end to Grakkus. Regretfully, he had not ended Grakkus’s life on his ceremonial blade when he’d had the chance.

Although Grakkus had engineered the destruction of Nexus, he respected Grakkus, not because he was the so-called Orange Emperor of Imperion, but because he'd been the first leader to copy the 'Tactics of Terror', which the Uxot had used successfully during the Great War, twelve thousand solars ago. He allowed some of the tension he'd accumulated to dissipate. War would come soon enough.

The icon relevant for a tight hull displayed on the command console of the shuttle craft. The Pterryxi pilot moved his gloved talon over the orange lights. There was an audible clank as the shuttle's hook lost its grip and retracted. Blue lights came up on the console. The pilot rolled the craft and engaged propulsion, conscious of Gosh’t’s hard scrutiny. The last of the armour was not quick enough to get couched and had to endure collision with the rear bulkhead, along with the silent contempt of the others.

Gosh’t ignored the distraction, but his left brain stored a reminder to confiscate the troopers next hard earned privilege. He hissed in frustration, the acceleration making it a struggle to adjust the communication cowl. Wisely, the troopers made no comment. No one had beaten Gosh't in single combat - yet. He got the cowl adjusted and hailed the waiting starship.

“Prepare ship for immediate translation to Pterryx. Jump as soon as we’re aboard.”

Continue reading 'Chronicles of Xanctu' here

#afrofuturism #afrofuturistic #ancient mysteries #future #fantasy #myth #science fiction #sci-fi #speculative fiction #SpaceOpera

African Space Opera - Afro SciFi & Cyberpunk

Discussion about this post