Screeeeeeeech

Thump

Thump

Thump

THUD.

“Transmission requested from Deployment Center 574”

“Request Denied.”

“Permissions Override; Incoming Transmission”

Between bits of static and across cracked glass, a glaring man with buzzed black hair and long, pointed ears appeared. “What the hell were you thinking, Mig?” He hissed with a sharp gestured toward her.

Mig rolled her eyes at the screen. “I'm thinking that wasn't a very enjoyable joy ride,” she countered with a grin. She shifted, intending to sit up (though, after tumbling so many times, she wasn't quite sure where 'up' was), but ended up groaning and laying back as her ribs protested. Her hand shot to her side and pressed on them; they felt like they were going to fall out. One or two of them were probably broken.

The image on the screen fluttered black as the man's ears dropped. The anger on his face was quickly replaced by panic and fear. “Mig, you're bleeding. You're bleeding a lot.”

“It's fine, Nikk,” she waved him off as she pulled her hand from her side to look at the blood coating it. “It's just going to be another really cool scar.”

“Mig.” Nikk's glare had come back, but it was nowhere near as threatening now that he knew she was hurt. “This is serious. You need to get to a doctor.”

“I am a doctor,” she answered through a groan as she pulled herself into a sitting position. “Ship, end transmission.”

“Ending Transmission”

“Permissions Override” Nikk shouted and his fingers flew to the keyboard in front of him so he could punch in his code.

“Permissions Override, Accepted”

Nikk hunched over his keyboard and continued typing as Mig fiddled with the door of her ship. It looked like she was upside down and the metal was crushed in ever so slightly; she'd need a little force to get out. She rammed her shoulder against the door. “Ahh ouch,” she hissed as she either found or created a few new bruises.

“Stop that,” Nikk demanded. “I'm locking on to your ICs; I'll get you out when I get there.”

“You're coming to get me?” She asked, sounding like a child lost in a grocery store. “How long until my coordinates load?”

“Another 2 or 3 minutes; your positioning unit is pretty badly damaged so I've got to bypass it's satellite procedure to-” He stopped mid sentence as he saw Mig perch on the passenger seat, shoulder turned toward the dented door. “What are you doing?”

“What angle do you think I need to lunge at to get maximum force without hitting my head on the ceiling- excuse me- the floor of this ship?” She held up a hand and counted on her fingers some imaginary number.

“I just told you that I would get you out when I got there.” Nikk said with disbelief as he momentarily stopped typing.

“I know; that's why I'm leaving before you get here.” She answered, grinning. Now, instead of sounding like a lost child, she sounded like a masterful child abductor. And she was about to abduct herself in the way she tensed and leaned back was any indication.

“Mig, no! You're bleeding, you're probably concussed; you need to stay still and rest. Mig, Listen to me-” Nikk yelled, fingers tapping against the keyboard twice as fast as before. “Stop- Don't you d-” She sprang forward and slammed her shoulder into the door. She vaguely heard Nikk let out a frustrated screech as the door gave way beneath her and she tumbled out of the ship.

Her first thought: “Success.” Her first words: “Mother Fucker!”

She had skidded across the hot, dry dirt of whatever planet she was on and was lying face down at the edge of a cliff. “Oh Vivish, I'm so lucky,” she murmured to herself and she rolled onto her back. Her hand moved to her ribs again. The blood had clotted off while in the ship, but the ungraceful acrobatics required for her great escape had traumatized it again. New blood seeped out of the wound around dirt and other debris.

She wanted to lay there for a few minutes and orient herself, but she knew Nikk would be on his way soon. She climbed to her feet with a few groans and swears. She could hear Nikk yelling (and even swearing at her, which would be hilarious to anyone who knew him) as she walked back to the ship and grabbed the first aid kit from under (or rather, above) the driver's seat.

She found a path about a half-mile from the ship and started down in as she popped open the first aid kit. Even though it belonged to an extremely advanced military base, it had some very primitive supplies. Half of the stuff in the box wouldn't work on silicon-based life forms, but luckily she was (mostly) carbon-based.

She used an alcohol swap to clean out the cut and then tossed it aside as she took out a needle and surgical thread. She scoffed at it as she tried to get the thread through the eye. There were machines that could be placed over a cut and it would force the skin back together and reattach it at the seams, but of course she got stuck with driving a steel rod through tender flesh and yanking them together. The skin wasn't reattached, but barely touching once she finished suturing the gash. She sprayed an accelerate on the wound and dropped her shirt and the first aid kit to the side as she reached the bottom of the path.

In a few hours, the accelerate would have the wound closed up and starting to scab, if not scar. It bought her time to find a doctor and make sure there wasn't any internal bleeding. Her abdomen wasn't swollen or tender so it was unlikely, but she'd rather check up on the unlikely than wind up dead. There was a fork at the end of the path. There was a sign pointing down each road that split the path, but she couldn't read the language they were written in. However, at the very bottom, the distance was written in Interstellar units, which should could read.

She took the longer route, hoping that Nikk would think that she wasn't stupid enough to delay seeing a doctor just to get away from him. He had such high expectations of her. “Bon voyage,” she smiled as she started down the road.

About two hours later, she stood at the edge of a small town. Most houses looked to be made of mud-bricks and the few that weren't seemed to be made of plaster. As she walked through the dirt streets, she heard the chatter of a few local residents. It was definitely not a language she spoke, so she could only hope that she could find someone who spoke either her own language (which was unlikely) or the Interstellar language (which she, herself, was very bad at.)

There was a market square at the center of the town; she walked up to the first vendor she saw and tried her luck with her own language. “Hello? I'm looking for a doctor.” The alien behind the booth scrunched his eyebrows together and replied with a thick slur of words she couldn't understand. Mig shook her head “Ou est,” she tried the interstellar language, but the alien just frowned even more. Great, he didn't speak Interstellar, either. He pointed at a booth across the way and mumbled something out. “Thank you,” she replied and headed to where he had pointed.

The alien at the booth she arrived at didn't even seem to have a mouth. She tried her luck, anyway. “Bonjour,” She said tentatively.

A gaping hole formed at the bottom of the alien's face and what sounded like a thousand buzzing bees emerged and nearly swallowed his reply, “Comment allez-vous, Mademoiselle?” Good, it spoke Interstellar.

“Ou est-” She stopped, realizing she had no idea what the word was in Interstellar. “A doctor?” she ended in her own language. The alien shook its head and the hole in its face closed up. “Parlez-vous Andron?” She tried, hoping that maybe this alien at least knew a little broken Andron.

The hole reappeared and the buzzing came out again, “Non. Parler a Sam.” The alien pointed toward a door at the other side of the square. Mig thanked it and went across the lot, already expecting to fail. She knocked on the door and waited a moment. When a human woman opened the door, Mig knew that she was probably in the right place-- the interstellar language had come from Earth, so she must know it.

Of course, Mig still wouldn't know how to ask her in Interstellar. So, she cut to the chase and prayed that the woman could speak Mig's language. “Parlez-vous Andron?”

“Fluently,” the woman replied. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, thank Vivish,” Mig cheered. “I mean, yes, sorry. My ship crash landed here and I need a doctor to make sure I'm not bleeding internally.” She explained, grinning in triumph.

“Right, come inside.” The woman said and moved into the house, leaving the door open for Mig. The Andron shut the door behind her before finding a comfy spot on the couch in the living room and watching her host lean over what appeared to be an old rotary phone from Earth. Mig wondered how it would even work with the comm lines that were, surely, running across the planet (if this planet didn't have comm lines then Mig needed out immediately because there would be no way they could help her since that most-likely meant they were still using tools that could harm the parts of her that weren't carbon-based.

The woman rambled something into the phone and then hung up before turning to Mig. “I called a Taxi so they could take us into the city. Who am I going to have to put in the transport log when it gets here?”

“Matt Talren.” Mig answered readily.

“I'm Sam,” the woman replied, though she did look suspicious of Mig's pseudonym. “Talren isn't a very Andron name.

“My mom's half Nolraz,” the Andron tossed off, receiving a snort from the woman.

“If I take that lie as truth, I'm not sure if I'd like to know how a Nolraz mated with an Andron, or if I'd like to catalog it as something to never, ever think about again.”

“Well, if you ever get curious, I'm sure the Internet has your answer, somewhere.” Mig answered, smiling. If she used her real name, it would be all too easy for Nikk to track her down. Plus, she liked being someone else ever once in a while.

The ride to the city was nearly an hour long. It was spent mainly in silence, despite Mig's attempts to make conversation. “So,” she tried again, “What planet are we on, anyway?”

“We're not on a planet,” Sam answered with a small smile. “We're on Pandora.”

“Saturn's moon?” Mig raised an eyebrow. “This doesn't look like a moon. I know, I've been on a few.”

Sam shook her head, “You should have tried traveling less and studying more. Pandora was knocked out of Saturn's orbit nearly ten years ago and has been colonized as part of Mars, now.”

“Wow, how did that even happen?” Mig asked, only slightly curious.

Sam shrugged, “Do you really want to know?”

“Not at all,” Mig answered with a grinned, “But it's better than sitting here listening to Jaba up front sing. He is singing, right? It kind of sounds like he's dying to me, but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt.” The driver slammed on the breaks, sending Mig flailing up against the divider that separated the large back seat from the tiny front seat. “Vivi; were inertia dampeners not invented yet when they made this car? Take a joke, Jabby.”

Sam, who had caught herself on the fall bar located above the window, snickered at Mig. “Either way, we're at the city. There's a clinic where they can see you over there. “

“Are you not coming with me? What if I need a translator?” Mig whined as she sat back up and opened the door. “Also, all I've got is card; would you mind footing the bill? I promise I can pay you back.”

“You said you crash landed, right?” Sam answered, immediately.

Mig understand the connection, but answered anyway, “Yea, up on the Mountain, like 10 miles away from your town.”

“I'll come with you if you take me with you when you leave.” Sam answered with confidence and tact that betrayed the fact that she'd been planning this.

It made Mig suspicious and she thought about arguing back momentarily. She met Sam's eyed and nodded. “Fine, deal. Let's go. If I'm bleeding out, I'll be dead soon.”

“You walked at least 15 miles and endured at least two hours after that; you're not bleeding out.” Sam said matter-of-factly as she got out of the car and led Mig to the clinic.

“Could be a slow leak,” Mig answered with a shrug. The other woman rolled her eyes.

The clinic was small, but busy. Mig got taken back nearly immediately, though, once she told them that she might have head trauma. Or, rather, once Sam told them since, once again, a language barrier presented itself. “So, why do you know this language, anyway? I get Interstellar, but I always heard that humans were pretty dense when it came to foreign languages.” The Andron asked as she divested herself of what was left of her clothes and slipped into the opaque, plastic dress the hospital had offered her.

“I'm not human,” Sam answered as she looked pointedly away from where Mig was changing. A nurse came in and had a short conversation with Sam before leaving again. “She says the doctor will be here in just a moment, but that it's going to be about ten or fifteen minutes before they're able to scan you.”

Mig hopped on the cot and kicked her feet as she huffed. “Come on, I could be dying here and it's gonna be ten or fifteen minutes?” Mig scoffed, her long ears folding themselves down in annoyance as she pouted. Sam shrugged, letting her know that there was nothing she could do. Mig huffed, but then her ears perked up sharply. “Actually, this could be perfect. Wait here.”

Mig hopped down from the bed and went to the door. She opened it up and peaked outside cautiously. “Where are you going?” Sam demanded, standing just behind the door. Mig ignored her and slipped out into the empty hallway, eyes set on the glass door a few doors down where she could see tall filing cabinets. The few nurses who were around were running back and forth catering to both patients and doctors alike. No one noticed her approach the door and jiggle the handle. It was locked.

The Andron cursed and made her way up the hallway, past her own room and toward the nurses station. A few nurses stood around, holding files or taking calls. Mig knew there was no way that she would get past them unnoticed, so she stopped and darted a glance back at her door, where Sam was peeking out at her, looking both furious and concerned. Mig needed to either turn back now or make up a good plan quickly. She sighed and then put on her best 'nervous' face and walked up to a nurse sitting down with a pile of papers.

“Bathroom?” She said, sounding urgent as she waddled foot to foot. The nurse looked up and sighed. She stood up, grabbed all the folders she had and turned to grab a key off a nearby shelf before making the universal sign for 'follow me' to Mig. The bathroom was a few doors down from the filing office; Mig nodded her thanks and ducked into the restroom. She waited a few moments before coming out and looking down the hall. The door to the filing room was ajar. Mig walked as quickly and quietly as possible and ducked inside of it.

The nurse who Mig had tricked was still inside of the room, but it was large enough and had so many filing cabinets that it was easy to hide as she searched for the files she needed. The doctors had to write in Interstellar Language so that the files were transferable between planets and solar systems. Mig wasn't versed enough to do a comprehensive reading, but she could recognize the words Silicon-based Mastectomy since it was a procedure that she had undergone four years prior. It was most common in Andron and Andron hybrids. She opened a few files until she finally saw someone her sex and around her age. She memorized as much as she could under the patient history tab (and she had always had a ridiculous eidetic memory) and then carefully put the file down and ducked back out of the room.

“What the hell was that?” Sam asked once Mig was back in the patient room and sitting comfortably on the cot.

“Shush, you sound like Nikk,” she answered with a wave of her hand.

“Who's Nikk?” Sam asked incredulously and sat forward on her chair. She looked like she was going to start yelling, but the doctor walked in before she could say anything. The doctor left and a heavy silence descended on them. Thirty minutes later, they were standing outside the clinic. Mig had no internal bleeds; the doctor fixed up all of her cuts (most of them made cool scars) and popped her shoulder back into its socket (she hadn't even realized anything was wrong; he said she was in shock.) She felt decidedly worse now and made a note to never go to a clinic again.

“Do you still want to go on an interstellar adventure with me?” Mig asked with a smile that could rival the cheshire cat's grin.

Sam sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Will it involve anything dangerous or illegal?”

Mig shrugged, “Nothing more so than we've already done.”

Sam nodded slowly, “Fine, yes.”

“You're crazy,” Mig laughed and ran a hand through her short, dark hair. “I'd thought that breaking into medical records would definitely fix your will to travel with me.”

“Was that what this was all about? You could have just told me 'No' after we left.” Sam placed her hands on her ridiculously curvy hips and rolled her eyes.

“That's not all it was about.” Mig said as they hopped onto a hover bus, considered it would be quicker to teleport to where Mig had crashed than to take another Taxi. “You were right; Talren isn't a very Andron name. But Endric is. Call me Mig Endric.”

“Is that your real name?” Sam wearily asked.

“No.” Mig replied and shrugged. “But I'll answer to it.”

Sam let out a frustrated sigh and leaned against the window. “Do I get to know where we're going?”

Mig shook her head, “I would, but I'm not sure yet, either.

“Do I get to know who you are? Besides your not-name, I mean.” She asked, still weary and not expecting a serious answer.

“Like what I do for work and such?” Mig sounded confused by it; she never really understood why anyone cared about such mundane stuff, anyway. Sam nodded. Mig looked bewildered for a moment and then shrugged. “I'm actually just a very boring person. I'm an interstellar publisher looking for books to market on Andron. I accidentally flew into an asteroid belt-- I was never good at flying. And thus, I landed here.”

Sam took a good, long, hard look at Mig and shook her head. “That's not true.”

Mig shrugged, “It could be.”

“But it's not.” Sam countered and shook her head.

Mig chuckled and they both retreated into silence except for a few questions about how to get back to the crash site. When they were in sight of the ship, though, same found a lot to say. “Is that a military ship?” She looked at Mig with wide eyes. “What were you doing driving a military ship?”

A few soldiers circled around the side of the ship and paused at its door. Mig grabbed Sam by the arm and pulled her behind the unruly brush surrounding the path. “Shut up.”

“No, this is serious; who are those people?” Sam whispered as they squatted in the brush, carefully peaking out at the people poking and prodding the ship.

Mig shrugged and pointed at them, “Well that one's Bob, and that one's Joe, and that one's Gort-” Sam pinned the Andron with an icy glare. “Well, you asked. It's not like I actually know who they are. Do I look like I'm a soldier?”

Sam eased back a little, “I guess not. That still doesn't explain your ship though.”

“I stole it.” Mig waved her hand at the admission. “Looked like fun. Obviously, I didn't think I was going to crash land it and they were going to bring in the calvary.”

“So, what? Are we going to steal it again to get off planet?” Sam asked, seeming disbelieving of the idea.

Mig nodded as a toothy grin overtook her face. “That was the plan. I'm really digging this 'we' stuff, too, by the way.”

Sam scoffed, but Mig quickly shushed her as a tall man (ranked as a Senior Master Sergeant, if Mig was reading the embellishments on his uniform correctly) rounded the side of the ship with a familiar Pilot First Class in tow. “You Lost her?” The Sergeant asked, loud enough for everyone around them to hear and harsh enough that Mig flinched.

“Sir, it was just a test run. I didn't know that she would go AWOL,” Nikk answered back; his hands twitching like he wanted to talk with them and further emphasize his point, but his military stance didn't allow that much freedom.

Smack

Mig visibly recoiled as the Sergeant's hand came down hard across Nikk's face. The older man seemed to be seething as he spoke to the pilot, “Do not lie to me. Do you think I'm so stupid that I haven't checked the flight logs. It was your ship, she was your charge, and you know her history. No test flights were cleared, especially not for unranked pilots.” He turned sharply and started to leave, but stopped and looked over his shoulder to deliver one more reprimand, “And do not call her AWOL. She's not a soldier anymore.”

“Alright,” Mig said as she turned to Sam and shook off the encounter she'd just seen. “Once this side is clear, we're going to make a break for it. I'll need you to go first so you can slide into the passenger seat and I'll go second so I can fly it, okay?”

Sam looked unsure, “Do you think that it will be able to stand space flight as banged up as it is? I mean, if there's a crack in the hull we could very well suffocate as soon as we leave the atmosphere.”

Mig shook her head, “If there's any kind of flight-limiting damage, we'll know before we leave the atmosphere. I won't risk our lives; I'm not that stupid.”

“Somehow,” Sam started dryly, “I don't think that's true.”

Mig shrugged, “Well, I wouldn't risk your life.” The other woman looked dubious and Mig shook her head. “Just trust me.” She looked back to the ship in front of her; the coast was clear. “Trust me,” she repeated, “And go, run now.”

Sam hesitated a moment then took off. The ship was sitting right-side up and the pilot's door was propped open. Mig took off a few seconds after Sam, giving the other woman enough time to hop into the ship and slide over to the passenger seat. During the few seconds, though, they had been noticed. As Mig sprinted, she had to dodge and jump over obstacles and people as they tried to slow her down and catch her. She dove into the pit of the ship and pulled the door closed behind her. She locked the ship down with the press of a button and started flipping switches as pilots pounded on the doors and shouted their access codes one over another, trying to ground her before she could take off.

She was skilled, though, and had every button flipped and turned and ready for take-off just seconds after she'd locked down the ship. “Going up,” she said and pulled back on the yoke.

The ship rattled and creaked as it lifted from the ground. Eight different emergency lights lit up at once as soon as she hit 500 feet above the ground. “Nope,” she said as she turned off the pinging noises, “We're definitely not making it out of the atmosphere in this ship.” She grimaced as she turned the yoke sharply and the ship followed suit, bumping them to the side; the inertia dampeners were either off or non-functioning. This was going to be so much fun. “But we can make it opposite of planet side, and hopefully before they deploy chaser cruisers.”

“Chaser cruisers?” Sam's eyebrows shot up as they took off suddenly, the force pushing her back against her seat.

“Yea,” Mig answered. “They're these super fast hybrid ships for chasing renegades. They're pretty cool, but we're fucked if they tail us.”

“Renegades?” Sam cursed.

“You know, you don't make a very good parrot,” Mig said playfully. Sam looked either furious or sick; Mig was in the middle of deciding which it was when the transmissions screen suddenly cut on.

“Mig,” It was Nikk, but he wasn't alone. The Sergeant's hand rested on the Andron's shoulder, though the rest of him was out of the shot. “You need to come back, now.”

Mig laughed and Nikk's ears flattened down against his head. He looked worried- good. “No, not really. I think I need to get away and that's why I'm on a ship going the opposite direction of you.”

“You can't run away forever,” Nikk was pleading. The hand on his shoulder squeezed hard. He winced and composed himself. When he spoke again, he sounded stern and angry. “Come back, or else well-”

Mig cut him off with a barking laugh. “Or else what? You'll ground me?” She snickered at her own pun for a moment. “Look, I know you're about to launch the chasers, so let's get this done quickly so I don't have to evade while distracted.” She smiled sweetly, one hand on the yoke and the other on the keyboard next to it. “If I come back, then it's going to be because we're leaving together and not because I'm going to stay.” She shrugged, “And you're not ready to leave, yet; so, therefore, I'm not coming back.” She typed quickly on the keyboard and the screen cut to black again.

“I have no idea what's going on.” Sam stated matter-of-factly and pressed her palms to her face.

“You could always ask,” Mig suggested with a smile. “If you're wondering how I overrode their permissions, I didn't. I just jammed it by putting in one of my own. No my own, but one of the ones I heard shouted while we were taking off.”

“No, that wasn't-” Sam slowly took her palms from her face and shook her head. She let out a sigh. “If I tried asking, I don't think I'd get a straight answer. I'm not even really sure why I'm still here; I think I just signed up for a lot more than I anticipated and I think my companion is a lunatic.”

“I'll have you know,” Mig started, her ears pointing straight up in the air, much like a snooty person's nose would do. “I am actually brilliant; there are no loons here.” After a pause, she added: “Except for you, because I really don't know why you're still here, either.”

Sam shrugged and pulled her long hair over her shoulder. “Well,” she started, then trailed off as she picked up a strand of hair and distractedly started to play with it. “I guess I just realize that you're my only way off that stupid moon.”

“Too poor for an interstellar flight?” Mig asked curiously as she took the ship higher into cloud cover. The clouds were a dark gray against the sky and had no chance, she knew, of being natural; she wondered what they had done to this place to get it ready for colonization.

Sam shrugged, “I wouldn't be able to get one even if I had the money; I don't have a white card. I don't even have papers.”

“Oh, wow,” Mig frowned, her ears drooping in empathy. “So you're an illegal in the worst kind of way. How have you made it this long without papers?”

“Small towns don't ask too many questions after you've been there a while.” Sam smiled and one strange of hair over another.

“Heads up-” Mig said and pressed down hard on the yoke. The ship nosedived out of the clouds; inertia shoved Mig and Sam against their seats.

“What are you doing?!” Sam screeched as the ground rapidly approached.

“Cruisers popped up on the radar. I'm not getting caught.” She pulled up sharply on the yoke and turned it fast. The sudden change in direction slung them both to the side. “Hope you've got your seat belt on; this is going to be a bumpy ride.”

“There aren't any seat belts!” Sam answered, trying to find purchase on the door or the console without hitting any buttons. She could see on the radar where two green blips pinged just behind them.

“Well, yeah. Scout ships don't need to make great escapes, especially in anti-gravity.” Mig chuckled and swerved to the side, through a rock formation that barely had enough room for the ship. Sam cringed at the sound of the metal hull scraping against the rock.

“Going up!” Mig warned just a moment before the ship jumped over skyscraper; Sam could recognize the city as it receded below them. “Back down!” and suddenly they were diving down, past the ground and into a chasm. Sam clutched the console as she felt her body leave the seat. The blips on the radar were falling behind and fading. “Wow, they need better training,” Mig hummed as she noticed their evasions working. “Now, get ready for the crash landing,” the Andron warned as they approached a dense forest.

“Crash landing?” Sam asked, unsurprised and nearly unfazed.

“Yea, the landing gear is a bit scuffed up, so,” Mig shrugged as they ducked into the trees. The blips on the radar were so far behind that they disappeared after just another hundred feet. “Brace yourself.” In all honesty, Mig tried to land as gently as she could. However, falling from twenty-thousand feat with no buffer is like being inside a trailer when a tornado picks it up and throws it halfway across town. There's a lot of tumbling, some skidding, and the stop is nearly as bad as the start. Everybody ends up sore, if they're even alive at the end. Luckily, Mig was skilled and no one died.

“I hate you,” Sam murmured as she pulled herself up out of the pilot-side door. The ship had flipped onto its side and rolled twice. Without inertia dampeners, that meant everything and everyone had flipped and rolled with it. Sam had managed to avoid bruises or broken bones by holding on to the bottom of her seat for dear life and keeping herself in one spot.

Mig, on the other hand, had a few new bruises, a sprained wrist, and had another gash in her side. This gash wasn't as deep, but it still hurt like crazy, especially since it criss-crossed over the delicate new skin coating the last gash. She had wondered what had done it the first time, now she could see that it was the sharp underside of the armrest by the door, and she made sure to kick it when she had gotten out of the ship. “Okay, so,” Mig started, though a hiss interrupted her as she tried to speak with her hands and her sprained wrist protested. She pulled her hand to her chest and held it there as she talked, lest she try and move it again. “Assuming that the cruisers didn't see us go down, we've got a couple hours. Let's assume they, did, though, in which case we've got about a half-hour.”

“If they're so fast, why is it a half-hour?” Sam said as she leaned up against a tree. Mig, herself, slid to the ground against the tree she leaned on. She didn't know how Sam was still standing, looking completely fine. The Andron's chest was heaving and she felt sore and tired; she didn't want to move from her spot, but she knew she needed to find cover in case the cruisers saw them.

“The cruisers are worth more than I am, and I'm a pretty expensive person. They're not gonna risk banging them around in trees.” Mig answered as though it were obvious. “So, I say, we get up and head that way.” She pointed in a vague direction. “If I've not gone completely topsy turvy, then there's a town on the other side of the forest; It's probably five or ten miles.”

Mig stood up and immediately felt woozy. She flicked her ears a couple times and blinked her eyes to orient herself, but still needed to find a tree to grab onto. Instead, she found Sam. Or, rather, Sam saw that Mig was going to break her nose trying to hug a tree and decided to step in and grab Mig. “Here, lean on me,” the other woman told her and pulled her so that they were side by side. “Are you okay? I swear if you die-”

“I'm not going to die,” Mig muttered, clearly embarrassed at having to hold on to Sam as they started to walk. “This is going to be too slow; they're going to catch up.”

“I could carry you,” Sam offered, not entirely sincere.

Mig's ears still popped up indignantly and her face colored darkly. “No way in hell.”

“We could find somewhere to rest, then. Nightfall is coming fairly soon.” Sam frowned, realizing how dangerous that would be; still, she figured that it had to be better than limping out in the open.

“No, we need to go on,” Mig protested. She opened her mouth to explain just how she could carry on and she was just a little tired when her vision faded black and she slumped.

When she woke back up, she was laying on a cold, hard floor in almost complete darkness; It was either a cave or a den. She looked across the cavernous space and saw a bright blue glow; she recognized it as the emergency light sticks that her ship carried. “How did you remember to grab those?” She grumbled and she slowly sat up.

It was hard to see anything but the glowing blue light as Sam moved closer. “You were already in poor shape when you found me; I figured a few more tosses and turns might do you in.”

“You thought I'd die?” Mig scoffed. “I'm Andron; I'm too strong to die; I'm flattered you worried though.”

“You're not Andron and I wasn't worried, I was prepared.” Sam said as she waved the stick in front of Mig's eyes. “Your cognitive function seems to be fine. You probably passed out from dehydration or exhaustion.”

“I think you may have missed the pointy ears and lilac skin; I'm definitely Andron.” Mig said with a shake of her head. The shake made her reel slightly, so she placed her hands behind her and leaned back; she looked casual, though she was really just prepping for a softer landing if she fainted again.

“No,” Sam insisted matter-of-factly. “You're a hybrid.” Mig opened her mouth to protest again, but Sam raised a hand to stop her. “I don't know with what, but I know you are. I started guessing a while ago based on the scar across your chest. Androns aren't prone to cancer, but when they are it's typically in their brains or their hearts; it's typically fatal. But there are exceptions; you could have been one. But, I saw you bleeding. Andron's have purple blood. Yours is red; you'd have to be a hybrid. Which means that scar isn't from cancer. It was a cellular disease, right?”

Mig shifted, clearly uncomfortable despite the darkness shrouding most of her features. Sam started to continue, but Mig interrupted, “Alright, yes. It was a cellular disease. I'm Andron...at heart, but most of my cells aren't Silicon-based. When Silicon-based cells are made, my body either ignores or attacks them. When they start attacking, though, occasionally the Silicon will bond with the other element. I had to get the compound removed. Happy?”

“Nope,” Sam replied. “I want to know what the other element is and what the compound is.”

Mig sighed and her ears flipped down. “I resent you a lot right now.” Mig stayed silent, trying to defy Sam. The other woman stared at her relentlessly and held the light stick just high enough that the Andron could see how piercing her glare was. Finally, Mig relented. “It was carborundum. It built up in my chest. It was crushing my heart. It was a horrible experience and I wasn't able to talk to anyone about it because I'm Andron and it was carborundum.”

“Silicon carbide...” Sam laughed a little. “Alright, I'm not going to lie- I don't really know the significance of that. But what I need to know is if you need injections like other hybrids to stop multicellular compounds from forming.”

Mig shook her head. “No. There's not really anything they could give me to make a liquid chemical that can be naturally...” She wrinkled her nose as she tried to find the word. “...That could be naturally excreted without harming me. I go into a clinic once a week and sleep in a hyperbaric chamber to help my blood carry oxygen. The goal is to have my body form some kind of Silica compound that won't build up and crush my organs.” She picked at her fingernails. “I still have to go into a hospital once a month and have both silica and carborundum picked out of my body. It mostly settles in my chest.”

“What happens if you don't get these treatments?” Sam asked, the glare having been replaced by a look of concern half-way through Mig's explanation.

“You don't know?” Mig raised an eyebrow at her. “I thought you were a doctor or something.”

“No, I've just done some research,” Sam said with a grin.

Mig huffed, “So, I could have bullshitted through that whole thing and you wouldn't have known.”

“I'm not an idiot; I would have figured it out.” Sam replied with a roll of her eyes. “Now,” She placed a hand on Mig's knee, as if that would help get the Andron back on track. “What happens if you don't get your treatments?”

Mig shrugged. “I've never been off of them, but I'm guessing my blood would go back to the way it was and carborundum would start to build up in my body again.”