A Grave of Pykes

[Cul Laaster]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Looking up from a sea on a planet, one can see a sky of stars so far in the dark, black canvas, but not the way they can be seen when in between them. In space, in a starship, the stars are still so far, but suddenly so close.

They surround the vessel, the hull, the windows, that black fog and those white dots, glittering as flakes of gold. Treasure, it was promised to someone once, a long time ago, on a planet all but forgotten about by others.

Obah Diah, that is where a Pyke is from. That is where the heart of his family beats. House Laaster, it is his, they are his, that Pyke’s, but he is caught in the web of stars so high in the sky. His homeworld is out of his reach, beyond the viewport, into the void, but a Pyke ever remembers his very legacy.

Family, it means everything. Heritage and ancestors, paragons of bygone eons and eras. The Laasters, they were never rulers, began as bankers, became Pykes unafraid to fight. A Pyke was no Hutt. He could sit behind a desk then get up and get his hands dirty on the front lines no matter the enemy.

Cul, son of Kar, sees those moments as he gazes into space. No helmet, his royal violet eyes are all but black in the dark; night-king purple. There is violence behind them, controlled, like a snake before it breaks its poise and strikes with poison.

Toward an asteroid, his vessel is approaching. A light freighter, the Old Cry, from whose cockpit gazes a Pyke. The location dead ahead matches his coordinates. The Velusia system was his destination; that’s where his leads had taken him.

An asteroid drifts along…a lonely rock…lost…time and space like a snake…like a Pyke…
Engines burn, his ship turns, swerving in between smaller rocks at the flanks.
No wings, the freighter glides in a line as the asteroid reorients itself into view for violet eyes that shine true.

And who are you, O boastful mountain?
To stand in the way of a beating heart?
My bones are water against your rock.
Within your crevices erupts a fountain.

There you are…
A roar in his heart.
A Pyke can be stoic.
In the silence, he opens.
No need to hide expressions.
The Pyke breathes in deeply.
Out again, steering his ship.
All the while, lips are spreading.
Baring teeth, the Pyke is smiling.

He had lost contact but prowled the vicinity.
Fangs, sharp as a shark are this Pyke’s teeth.
Finally… You were lost…but I have found you.
Old Cry is quiet in the night while it moves.

Her captain and pilot brings the freighter closer.
The asteroid is oblivious to this one other guest.
Beneath the freighter is another ship, the frigate.
Black as the sky, no markings, but has an owner.

At least, it did, and a Pyke is here to find out if it no longer does.
In the Core Worlds, in the Velusia system, Cul Laaster has come.
After searching deep he has found his quarry, intel proving true.
In an asteroid belt, beyond Velusia, Sixmoon and Sevenmoon.

The Black Kite is nestled upon the rock, as silent as dead air.
Above it, a Pyke looms in his ship, shining light, yellow glare.
A frigate so shy, hiding in a cave, but little wonder as to why.
Those cannon hits. Took a toll but an intact hull. Thinks a Pyke.

He recognizes this ship as he takes his own ship in beside it.
The Black Kite is a mercenary ship quite like the Lonely Cub.
Cul left that corvette and the Lonely Cubs with Tysjor Maspat.
Cul’s alone on this one. Hands on controls and his ship lands.

Grey helmet, golden plate, over a green head and big purple eyes.
Masking his face, letting him breathe, the helm has a violet visor.
Suited up to brave the expanse, his world suddenly grows darker.
All right, Black Kite, it's time for this Pyke to find out why you died.

 

[Cul Laaster]

Spoiler: Music OOC

In the bridge extended between both ships, Cul Laaster maneuvered from his to the other.
If that one was attacked by another then it showed signs of it amid a silent, lifeless position.
There was no reception, no door opening, so Cul placed a small charge and he breached.
The door jolted open, but from the void of space came more darkness on the Pyke’s face.

The derelict ship was cast in black, no lights on the Black Kite, which was a telling sign.
Her captain was a mercenary, Vor Akrim, a Pyke with more serving him; a bit of an ally.
A pirate to some, a privateer to others, with a proposition that Cul could not quite resist.
Vor had a score for him, a pirate needing a distributor, would wait for him. But not like this.

Zero G, but a Pyke still moves his feet, being carried across the floor by mag boots amid the debris.
Floating crates, trays and plates, drifting gracefully in the hallways, along with the silence of a black sea.
Outer space was quiet, much like the inside of this frigate, as dark as the outside night, lit by Laaster’s light.
His headlamps shone beside handheld flashlight, shining it across the walls as he moved, looking left and right.

The next corridor was the same as the last but ended in a closed door. Cul’s light lingered over it, boots clicking on the floor.
He felt more like an outsider than before, given his magnetic person glued him in amid the hovering trinkets within this tomb.
No sound of life, soul in sight, welcoming ceremony or mercenary to receive this Pyke. Of the others, evidently they are no more.
Vor Akrim, captain of the ship, would not leave the Black Kite in this condition unless he was dead. Taken, perhaps, or marooned.

Cul reached the door, tried the switch, it did nothing, as predicted. A spark might have jogged it.
No matter, the Pyke wasn’t empty-handed. Nearby was a plasma cutter that fit akin to a blaster.
It filled his grip and he went to work the next moment, burning a new way in from top to bottom.
That job finished, he touched the corridor’s door and pushed in, and it began to float backwards.

And there’s my answer. The door pushed further into other loose objects, some of which were dead.
Floating weightlessly, slowly turning, trapped in a spin, were bodies, and their faces were frozen.
Cul did not delay as he moved along, past blasters and corpses in his way while observing them.
It was indeed a grave of Pykes. He didn't know the crew of the ship but there a number floated.

Blaster burns. Shot in head. Shot in chest. Hollow eyes stared Cul down with a wide open mouth.
A dark liquid was crusted on the figure’s lips, likely blood. I won’t get anything out of these ones.
None of them were in much of a position to tell him anything; exactly when they died or how.
Raided? Mutiny, maybe? He navigated toward the end of the tomb's corridor. From dust to dust.

The bridge would be his best bet, if not to restore power then to at least get a clearer answer.
Captain Akrim would have sought to make a last stand there, whatever happened on his ship.
Ahead of him was the door to the bridge. On one side, empty bulkhead. A woman on the other.
Cul pulled her away as she joined the grave. Wall panel, a small spark brightening Cul's vision.

Let’s see. He pressed a button. The door began to open. No gravity didn’t always mean no energy.
Power was clearly dying in this ship too, however, with the bridge swallowed in darkness before him.
Consoles were black, a number of viewscreens with smashed glass, and still more bodies within.
The Pyke’s boots clicked onward, illuminating the corpses, a few gathering toward the higher ceiling.

This does bring back memories. He remembered a ship not so different that the Lonely Cubs left adrift.
It was a reminder by his mercenaries to any passing pirates that the Pykes were not to be trifled with.
This is different. It was as if the whole ship had gone insane. He looked the other way. A river of blood.
It levitated in a messy stream, as if spattered against a wall, but was bubbled as lack of gravity does.

Curious. Not so much the blood as the knife sticking out of the man’s chest, and the hand that held it.
The pair of mercs were tethered together, wandering where they died, never to again reach the floor.
-BANG!- The Pyke’s lights shifted into the distance, hanging over a door at the corner, as he listened.
-BANG!- The noise wasn’t just coming from the captain’s ready room, but on the door. What’s this?

Cul filled his free hand with the handle of a blaster.
In pitch black save for his lights guiding him closer.
No more sound from the door, and no sign of motion.
Unyielding to emotion, he pressed a button. It opened.

 

[Cul Laaster]

Spoiler: Music OOC

The captain’s ready room. It’s the personal office for the captain of the ship, in other words.
Adjoined to and accessed from the bridge, and the corvette had one, the Black Kite, in turn.
It was in such a compartment that the commanding officer conducted administrative work.
With no interference from bridge operations, albeit with instant access in the event of crisis.

It is in this private chamber that the captain could get away, escape, for private discussion.
To send and receive classified communications. Cul Laaster should know. He had his own.
That was the keyword: Had. The Lonely Cub was back in Tysjor Maspat’s hands, so known.
It served his purpose. The Lion of Laaster was on different business; on a covert mission.

He pressed a button. The door opened. An answer to his question. Yet he had many of them.
Such as what the hell was on the other side of the door banging at it? It’s introduced just then.
However, rather than an attacker coming at him, the figure jerked backward and landed, sitting.
What have we here? Cul Laaster entered, a finger on trigger, blaster raised, but he stood, staring.

That individual before him, what was once one person, was now some sorry excuse for a being.
Living, if not quite. Amid a pallid countenance, once vibrant, the Pyke was more grey than green.
Either complexion was normal for the Pykes, but Cul remembered this one’s to be only the latter.
He looked sickly. Deathly. Or dead already. Expressionless, Cul moved past the entrance. Closer.

The other Pyke lifted his head, his eyes, once magenta, now blood red. He opened broken lips.
Spoke only silence. “What happened to you, old friend?” Not that they were ever friends, that is.
“You look like someone erupted from the grave.” His listener held out a hand. Feebly. “What is it?”
Cul tilted his head, observing a pathetic fallacy. “What happened to you and your ship, Vor Akrim?”

 

[Cul Laaster]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Vor Akrim. Captain of the Black Kite. A privateer ship. They were often even feared by pirates.
He had captained a crew of Pykes and the Pykes meant serious business to begin with. Dreaded.
Some said a Hutt would kill you and your family if you crossed it. For a Pyke, not much different.
Except the Pyke would kill you, your family and your friends. This Pyke should know. Laaster did.

Vor Akrim was another caliber. Another occupation. They’d worked together. What happened?
There was no answer to Cul’s question. Behind the visor of Vor’s helmet was a visage so broken.
As far as he could make out through the transparisteel that is. How long has it been, my old friend?
They'd crossed paths in their travels. Had done business. However, they were never really friends.

“Can you even hear me?” Oh, poor Vor. You have become some shell of yourself. Who emptied you?
“Who, or what, did this to your ship? What party is responsible for annihilating your entire crew?”
Still no answer. Cul could hear everything at this moment including silence. The door was closed.
Silence could be as loud as speech. Death could be loud or quiet. Is he alive or dead? He was alone.

That much is something that Cul knows at least. Before he opened the door, Vor was by himself.
“Are you poisoned? Were you injected with something? Were your crewmen?” What kind of hell?
The punishment wasn't important. Whatever agony or misery had happened didn’t matter anyway.
Cul Laaster just needed to know the cause of the chaos. A ship like this didn't simply vanish. “Hey.”

Nothing. Vor, or whatever this husk was, simply lifted its head, looked up, and lifted both hands.
“Sorry. I am not here to dance.” I am getting nowhere with this one. I must analyze what is behind.
No atmosphere in this ship meant that removing Vor’s helmet would suffocate him. Eh. Doubt that.
He was probably already gone to begin with. Just gazing at me like some idiot. Vor blinked his eyes.

Oh? Movement? Life? His lips moved too. “Are you trying to speak?”
Then, finally, Vor Akrim, what was left of him, actually began to stand.
Ever vigilant wherever he is, Cul kept his blaster trained, stepped back.
That prompted Vor to take a step closer, hold out his hands. “J-Join me…”