Work Text:
The universe breathes.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Life.
Death.
Rebirth.
Before something there must come nothing. And before nothing, there must be something.
The Malaigaw were a species that just so happened to exist. They held no more or less purpose than any of the other creatures who had been so brave as to live. They were generally small, with smooth dolphin-like skin that came in a wide range of blues and greens. Their hair lacked pigment, and was mostly for decoration, but they were said to have eyes like a warm cup of tea or crystalized honey, and voices that could move mountains.
Most Malaigaw believed that before the “Big Bang” there existed beings of pure infinity. Gods of everything and all. And that it was their death that brought about the void necessary to create reality. That the “Big Bang” was more of an insemination for the birth of a new god, and existence was just part of the gestation period. To them, the more you could experience, the more you could will yourself to be, the closer you were to the gods. It was this belief that brought rise to the “Divine Journey”, a path of life one may choose to take as a means to fill their cup of life to the very brim.
The Malaigaw were also known for their kind and peaceful disposition. To be visited by one was said to be an omen of good tidings. Most of them were selfless, having been taught from birth that material things held little value in the face of knowledge and wisdom, and that the individual thrived when serving the community. They had built up such a reputation for themselves that Known Reality Law had given those on the “Divine Journey” a sort of religious exemption from the usual transport laws.
And yet, many choose not to go on The Divine Journey, some because they are unable, but most because their love and connection to each other is so strong that being apart for long makes the soul wither and rot.
+++
Quitain sat alone on the floor of the room he’d been instructed to take. Legs crossed, eyes closed, hands resting together, even breaths. Consciously trying to interpret the visual information from his eye tattoo millions of miles away. His ink was never meant to be stretched this far, and the connection was so thin, but it had been made very clear he had little other choice. So concentrate, concentrate, and concentrate again, more and more and more, day after day after da-
There was breathing in his ear.
“So are you gonna teach me today?” Snickered the voice of an ashy haired Klykolian. He’d been named ke’yithyldykayn but was more commonly known as Keith, and more accurately known as Dick. He was part of Mark’s personal squad, formally he held the position of infiltration and stealth, informally he held the position of hazing new recruits, and seemed dead set on pestering Quiatain. Not that the others were any different in that regard.
Quitain slipped his mask back over his mouth and signed, [No,]. Keith pointedly looked away from his hands and cupped a hand over his own docked ear.
“You need to speak up Til’Teckt! Use your big boy voice!” He grinned and snickered at his own joke. Quitain kept his gaze forward and his breath even. The soldiers were all determined to get him to speak, but only Kyle and Mark could handle his voice, the rest of them didn’t deserve it.
A battle of silence was held for a moment -a battle Quitain never lost- before Keith relented and rolled his eyes. “Jeez, so young and already so grouchy! Come on peepaw, it’s chow time!” He bodily hauled Quitain to his feet like one might do to a child having a tantrum. His hands were cold around Quitains arm but not tight, and Quitain yanked his appendage back.
Still he followed obediently.
The ship that had been appointed to the search party was large but modest, with nothing but the most barebone features required for function. Quitains bare feet padded across the hard unforgiving metal floor, while Keith’s boots clicked a-rhythmically as he skipped along with the kind of energy usually found in the mentally ill. They walked to an old industrial door with its fair share of dents and gouges in it, it was audaciously large and probably heavier than it needed to be, but it served its purpose. Keith stood grinning behind Quitain, he got some sort of sick kick out of watching Quitain have to put effort into a door everyone else could open one handed.
Quitain rolled every eye on his body, reaching up for the handle and putting his whole body weight into opening the door.
The mess hall was… well, appropriately named. Klykolians had a plethora of weird possessive rituals around food so there was never any food debris going to waste, but they also had such a high constitution that muck and grime posed no threat of germs. They were also not known for their culinary expertise, and ate most everything raw, albeit well seasoned.
There was no food bar or server, instead everyone had a locker-like mini fridge, what was in it was yours and if you ran out you starved. Everyone was expected to be smart and ration their food appropriately.
In this situation, the chances of people picking locks and breaking into others food supplies seemed high, but astoundingly it was more the opposite.
One thing that Quitain had learned very quickly was that Mark had created the strangest group of klykolians to date. While most klykolians fell into the lone wolf stereotype, the soldiers were forced to act like a pack, and one of the ways Mark ingrained this into them was to share food.
The mess hall was buzzing with a low noise, newer low level recruits -who had mostly been brought on as ship maintenance and for general training purposes- sat scattered about the tables, clearly struggling to share but still trying. Debates were had over the value of one single leaf to a nibble of meat, and nothing more than a bite was ever traded.
Quitain slipped past the masses to his locker. They’d purposefully given him a top shelf one, as he was the shortest person on the ship, but luckily he could make a quick hop on his bow staff to reach it. With nothing to cook the meat provided, his meal rations were just nuts, leaves, vegetables and bread. He gathered a very modest amount on his plate and braced himself as he walked back to his assigned table.
Mark sat at the head of a large teardrop shaped table, in a comfortable but still simple chair, he ate his meat conservatively but chugged water like he’d been in the desert his whole life. The rest of his personal crew sat comfortable around the circular part of the table, equal to each other but not to Mark. Unlike the newer soldiers, they shared without blinking. Spices, meat, vegetables and bread were all shared without a direct trade, trusting that the favor would be returned later.
Quitain was also, unfortunately, included in this.
“No meat again? Ridiculous, how do you expect to meet your quota for protein intake?” Jim chastised disingenuously. He was the only klykolian with glasses, and given how their species was about disabilities, he’d probably made them himself. “Here,” a raw piece of poultry was dropped on top of Quitain’s shitty excuse for a salad, the juice seeping into the leaves.
“Jim, you’re being too nice!” A woman named Trent, with messy twin brains and an eye patch joined in on the fun. “You’re hardly anything more than twigs yerself!” She snickered and slapped a piece of her bovine on Luke’s plate.
“Oh if you’re eating the Gricktn you should try it with this seasoning,” Keith sprinkled spice on Quitain’s plate that would burn his mouth for days if he ate it. Quitain just sipped his water and let it happen. This was what happened everyday after all, he’d only put food on his plate as bait for their mischief, he’d eat in secret later. Still, he was losing a lot of weight to these hijinks.
“Assholes, all of you,” Charlie sneared. His brassy yellow copper hair was well managed but he still hadn’t had access to bleach in a while, and his dark roots were poking through. “You know he can’t eat any of that stuff,” Charlie picked a leaf with his bare unwashed hands and dunked it in Quitain’s water glass, a snide grin on his face.
Quitain breathed. Even this had value.
Mark paid no attention to the spectacle. Most days he put as much effort as he could into acknowledging Quitain as little as possible. He cut a piece of his bovine, and passed it to Charlie as it was his day. Mark kept a rotating schedule of who he gave food to so he could ensure he got to everyone equally. Charlie accepted graciously but wordlessly and wrapped the meat in a spice covered leaf before taking the bite.
Eventually the fun in tormenting Quitain wore thin, and everyone went back to their own meals and their own chatter, while Quitain was left to sip his dirty leaf water and practice his breathing.
Inhale 1 2 3, exhale 1 2 3 4 5. Focusing on the expansion of his chest and stomach, feeling the way even this sweaty air fueled his body.
“First time off planet and it’s to play fetch with some psycho Lili,” Keith complained.
“I can’t imagine knowing your siblings,” Trent made a disgusted face, “it defies the laws of nature,”
“Our laws of nature perhaps,” Charlie noted.
Inhale 1 2 3, exhale 1 2 3 4-
“But the Malaigaw crave familial bonds, isn’t that right Quitain?”
Quitains ears pinned back despite himself.
Charlie continued. “All familial bonds, be they blood or ink, but siblings bonds are extra special aren’t they? I read in the intergalactic Beastieairy that your people suffer from a bit of a um, fertility problem,”
It doesn’t matter. Don’t respond. Don’t give them what they want. Inhale 1 2 3, exhale 1-
“HAHAH,” Keith burst out laughing. “What a lame reason to go extinct! Sorry my species died out cause our fuck sauce was too weak!”
Quitain closed most of his eyes, but his ears gave him away. A green tint over took his visible skin as his ears flicked angrily.
“They are an affront to evolution itself,” Jim chimed in vainly.
“To be fair, so are we,” Keith laughed. “Just in the opposite direction,”
“A species that refuses to cull their weak is as stupid as they are disposable,” Jim continued.
The glass in Quitains hand shattered.
Great, now he was wet, pissed and sporting a cut on his hand.
“Holy shit! Til’Teckt has some grip strength in those soft hands after all!” Trent shouted.
He didn’t have to sit here. He didn’t have to take this. Mandated escorts be damned, he was going back to his quarters. Quitain stood abruptly, and marched away. The general buzz of the mess hall quieted in the face of his chair’s sudden screeching, millions of arrows pointed at him, or rather at the back of his cloak as he grabbed at the heavy door.
Charlie hummed inquisitively, his drink clicking against the table. “The kind of race that can’t even find their worth rotting next to the dung in the compost,” he spat.
Quitain froze.
The audience of assholes ooh-ed and snickered at the disgustingly racist comment. Tremors shook the floors and wall subtly, but only for a moment.
Charlie picked up his glass and rolled his eyes. “Hm. Figured you’d have nothing to sa-“ a large navy blue hand knocked his ass clean out of his chair.
Quitain’s cloak fluttered with how quickly his tattoo had shot across the room, giving a brief glance at the ink writhing in agitation all over his torso. Several soldiers jumped up and slashed at the offensive appendage but each slice passed through it like ink, and after a moment Quitain reeled it back on his own, the tattoo disappearing under his cloak as quickly as it had appeared.
Bare feet took their stance, and his bow staff pointed defiantly at Charlie.
Charlie stood, and looked at Mark.
Mark took the last bite of his meal.
“Finish what you started,”
Immediately meal time was put on hold. The screeching of tables and chairs battered against the metal walls and floor, as every lower level soldier buzzed with the excitement of getting to see a fight.
Fights were easily one of the most common forms of entertainment on a ship that had been cursed with a wild goose chase for decades. They’d been goading Quitain into fighting since he’d arrived, always assuming he was a coward for choosing peace. But he’d watched all of them. Knives, nails, claws, explosives. They all had their own specialty, and their own personal range of powers. Charlie for all intents and purposes didn’t have powers, even if he did he either refused to use them or was alarmingly good at hiding them. He stuck to his knife and hit quick. His fights rarely lasted long.
Quitain unclasped his cloak and let it drape over his shoulders. Charlie pulled out his dagger but otherwise stood perfectly still, part of this was still a test to see if the weak little Malaigaw would stoop so low as to fight. He wouldn’t move until Quitain did.
Inhale 1 2 3, Exhale 1 2 3 4 5.
Tattooed hands erupted from under the fabric, launching him into the air. His cloak came down first, ripped from his shoulders as he spun around the other, encasing him in darkness before swinging his staff like a baseball bat at his head. Charlie's stance faltered again and again as Quitain struck him with the flat of his palms for the precious seconds he had while the cape trapped the others arms. Tattooed hands planted on the ground and both little bare feet shot into their opponents chest knocking him across the floor.
Charlie used the movement of the fall to unwrap and cut himself out from his impromptu bindings, the moment his feet hit the floor he was rocketing back towards Quitain. Tattooed eyes shot past him, a diversion he picked up on well enough, slashing at them would only prevent him from closing the gap, and as it was Quitain had the advantage at long range.
Tattooed hands shot towards, attempting to pin him to the ground, but he expertly evaded each hit, gliding past them as they dented the floor behind him.
Within range, he tried to drive his knife into lithe blue skin, only to be blocked pass after pass by the shitty bo staff. He dropped low, striking Quitain in the side of his knee moments before a hand of ink pinned him to the floor and the wooden staff attempted to concuss him again. His ears rang as he pushed through the hand like thick water, catching the next swing of the saff. His grip was too strong for Quitain to pull it back but the little shit just jumped on top of the suspended staff and used the momentum along with an extra push from his magic hands to swing over and around until his feet hit the ground and he was using Charlie like a hammer.
Charlie hit the ground and wasted no time launching himself from his hands to kick both feet into Quitain’s chest.
Quitain fumbled backwards onto his bad leg, accidentally creating the perfect opening for Charlie to jump and pin him.
Charlie's eyes ticked excitedly, blood pumped full of adrenaline. “If you wanna beg for your life now’s a good time,” He ripped Quitain’s mask off.
The Malaigaw snarled, his lips curling back and revealing his fangs as he growled and hissed. His voice, a nearly inaudible rumbling base, caused the entire ship to tremble, and a few soldiers to lose their lunch. Charlie went blue in the face but otherwise kept his stomach in place and watched as Quitain bit down on his lip in remorse. Green blood spilled from his lip as his teeth made a new scar. He knew better. He knew better than to let his rage take control of him and hurt bystanders.
Charlie looked on in delight at the passive little peacekeeper who’s golden eyes seemed to spit back at him like the sun.
Navy ink hit Charlie like a typhoon, knocking him off his prey and seeping into his eyes. He scrubbed furiously but it did nothing, movement was still visible but only in vague shapes. Quitain rushed him. A flurry of limbs Charlie couldn’t identify assaulted him. He backpedaled, trying to get his bearings and find an opening when, in an instant, his knife was knocked from his hand and pressed into his throat.
Just enough to bleed, barely enough to cut the muscle.
A moment was held, long enough for Charlie to process that if he was fighting a true enemy he would be dead, and then the ink cleared from his eyes. Quitain put his mask back on, and his tattoo’s slowed back down to a leisurely pace, as he realigned his breathing.
The mess hall was quiet. The usual eruption of laughter at the defeat of a comrade was put on hold.
“We aren’t stupid,” Mark’s voice cut through the silence. “Kyle and I wouldn’t hire someone that couldn’t hold their own,”
Quitain backed down and slammed the flat of the knife against Charlie’s chest. [Pacifism does not equal helplessness or weakness,] he signed, and marched over to his cape, it was ripped but still wearable.
Slowly the noise of chatter began to rise again as Quitain made his exit. Charlie watched him with an unreadable expression.
+++
That night Quitain dreamed of home. Dreamed of days long behind him, when he was still small and momma, poppa and babba would still bandage his cuts and hold him in their arms. Dreamt of his favorite bedtime story, Soil and Starfire.
The story told of a child named Aqui, whose people had been born from the soil, and lived and worked peacefully amongst the familiar, never daring to brave the unknown.
One day beings made of starfire fell from the sky. They insisted the soil had taken something from them and despite how the people begged to be left alone and swore they couldn’t have possibly taken anything, the star people tore up the soil in their hunt.
Seeing the devastation the star people brought, Aqui found the resolve to leave their roots and venture into space, trusting that if they could find the missing item the starfire would leave everyone alone.
Though their journey had begun out of desperation, as they ventured through the great beyond they found joy and wonder unlike anything they’d ever thought possible. So caught up in their rapture, Aqui almost didn’t notice when they stumbled upon the homeworld of the star people.
Cities and towns lay to waste, just like their own soil had been. But from underneath the rubble a voice called out.
A young prince named Queite, explained that he’d gotten lost one day and his family had accidentally buried him in their frantic search to find him.
The story ends on a good note, though Quitain had often fallen asleep before the end of the story, and it was meant to teach children to not be afraid to venture out and discover new things but also that the answers you seek might be right at home and to value your home.
He’d taken the story to heart. It filled him with inspiration and seemed to light a fire in him that nothing could put out.
The decision to take his Divine journey off-planet almost felt more like destine than it did and actual decision, but for years it remained the best choice that he’d ever made.
Still, he’d always return home. Sometimes just for fun and sometimes to help his family when they were blessed with a second child, but no matter the reason he always found time to go home.
That night Quitain dreamed of the home he’d been forced to leave behind, and all the trouble his stupid journey had brought to his family.