Chapter 5

Command and conquer

 

 

"Before you start rewriting the brains of a bunch of Goblins," Cyrus said, the sheer absurdity of his words hitting him mid-sentence, "can you explain a few things to me first?"

Never in his life had he imagined saying something like that. And yet, here he was.

‘Certainly, Cyrus,’ Hoshi replied, their voice as composed as ever. ‘However, I must remind you that neural enhancements have already begun. Additionally, the longer we delay, the longer it will take before you and the others can be provided with sustenance.’

As if on cue, Cyrus’s stomach let out a low, disgruntled growl.

“…Okay, fair point,” he muttered, rubbing his gut.

Still, he wasn’t ready to rush into this. Not without answers. Not without knowing exactly what was happening to these creatures—or to himself.

The Goblins lying unconscious before him—the same ones who had snarled, clawed, and nearly torn him apart—were now, somehow, his responsibility. The thin, pale scars on his arms were proof of how that had gone last time. And soon, they’d wake up. Were they going to listen to him? Or just try to finish the job?

If Hoshi expected him to go along with this, he needed to understand exactly what that meant.

Another one of those mysterious smiles crossed the face of the digital being. It was strange to see Hoshi standing there in their holographic form, yet hear their voice only inside his head, their lips never moving when they spoke.

Yet another experience he never imagined he’d have to contemplate.

Peculiar occurrences were definitely becoming the norm for the day.

“I saw, or felt, or remember?... Whatever it is that you put in my brain earlier. How the Goblins lived while they were in their home. They seemed peaceful enough, but there were a lot of fights. Are we sure that as soon as we wake these guys up, they aren’t going to just attack me again?” Cyrus asked.

‘While I cannot, with one hundred percent accuracy, guarantee that will not be a possible outcome, I am ninety-seven point two percent sure that, along with the neural modifications and their observed general demeanor, the likelihood of them capitulating and becoming active and beneficial members of the ship’s crew is extremely high.’

‘The chance of their rebelling and going against their own well-being is minimal.’

“But not zero… That’s not one hundred percent reassuring,” Cyrus added.

‘Few things are ever one hundred percent certain, Cyrus,’ Hoshi subtly rebuked.

“Fair.”

Although his stomach was telling him to hurry and wrap things up, one question still burned in Cyrus’s mind. “Where did this ship originate from? I now know that it was excavated by, not built by, the Goblins. So who were the original builders?”

Then Hoshi flickered.

For the briefest moment—so fleeting Cyrus could barely process it—their form shifted. It wasn’t just a glitch. It was something else entirely. A shape that wasn’t human. A being so inhuman as to be truly alien.

His brain tried to categorize it, to force meaning onto the impossible shapes and colors, the not-quite-there movement—like looking at something underwater, just beyond the rippling surface.

Something ancient. Something intelligent.

And then it was gone.

The moment passed so quickly he almost doubted it had happened at all—except for the way his stomach clenched, for the faint, residual instinct shivering through him. A whisper of wrongness, lingering in his nerves like an afterimage.

The AI’s voice stuttered. ‘I… I… I do not have access to that data.’

For a moment, the voice regained its metallic quality, reverting to the distorted tone it had used earlier.

Then, just as quickly, the familiar androgynous tone returned.

‘It appears there has been corruption of my databanks due to the extreme amount of time that passed while the ship was stationary.’

“Uhh… okay, how long were you buried?” Cyrus asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

‘From what I have been able to determine through the analysis of isotopic decay, stellar degeneration of nearby quasars, and measurements of the redshift/blueshift of nearby stars, I estimate that this ship was buried an equivalent amount of time to approximately fifty-four thousand of your Earth’s years ago,’ Hoshi replied, without any hint of humor or deception.

That answer only fueled more burning questions in Cyrus’s mind.

How did the AI measure an Earth year without ever having been in the Sol system?

How could a ship stay buried for fifty thousand years and still be functional enough to survive the vacuum of space?

And perhaps most puzzling of all—how did the ship’s AI know the name of his planet?

Cyrus didn’t recall saying "Earth" aloud. But he had thought about it.

Probably numerous times, now that he thought back over everything he’d encountered since being here.

He had just thought about his apartment, Mrs. Norris, and his old life moments ago.

If Hoshi had been skimming his thoughts, then maybe it wasn’t just numbers and measurements being translated—maybe the AI had been absorbing context from him this entire time.

That idea made sense.

Apparently, he had the SCANT nanites in his brain already, so it shouldn’t be much of a stretch for them to pick up on what he was thinking. The realization should have unnerved him. But instead, it gave him a small sense of security.

Other than Mrs. Norris, he hadn’t had many friends.

Definitely no one he could regularly express his thoughts and feelings to. Doing so would have only made him an even bigger target for ridicule. (If he had been social at all, that is.)

So having someone—or something—that could understand him without judgment… felt kind of nice.

A dry, empty feeling settled in his stomach, followed by a dull pang of hunger. How long had it been since he last ate?

His mind flashed back to the sandwich he had packed for his picnic by the pond. That moment—sitting in the sun, feeling the breeze, tossing popcorn to the ducks—already felt like a lifetime ago.

His outside excursion, those rare moments where he forced himself to go beyond his apartment, had already felt so far removed from his normal life that they had felt surreal.

What was happening now was almost too much to believe.

He had hoped there would be something like replicators aboard, like in Star Trek, but from the way Hoshi had spoken about food shortages, that possibility seemed unlikely.

After fifty thousand years, he guessed that even alien food storage would have gone bad.

So, if he didn’t want to starve, he needed to focus on getting the ship operational. That meant figuring out how to make the necessary repairs so they could reach somewhere to trade or forage.

Which meant waking up the Goblins. And talking to them.

With some reluctance, he decided that his questions would have to wait. 

For now.

“Okay, these questions aren’t getting me anything but more confused and curious. We need to get these guys up and functional before we all starve," Cyrus said, suppressing the lingering questions still burning in his mind.

"What can you tell me about them?"

‘The SCANT is unable to properly interface due to their genetic makeup. I can only fully interact with individuals who possess the specific genetic marker left by my progenitors,’ Hoshi explained.

Then Hoshi’s image suddenly froze.

The holographic image in Cyrus’s mind stopped moving entirely. Even the comets that normally drifted across the star-filled kimono came to a standstill.

A strange, static-like noise filled his head.

Seconds passed. No movement. No response.

"Hello?" he whispered, unease creeping into his voice.

His thoughts drifted back to Hoshi’s last statement. Something about genetic markers left by their progenitors. The words nagged at him, but only for a moment.

His mind had bigger concerns.

What would happen if the AI stayed frozen like this?

Even if he had the knowledge to make repairs, without Hoshi’s guidance—and with their image obstructing his view—there was no way he’d be able to figure out how to fix the ship.

And if he couldn’t fix the ship, how was he supposed to survive?

Before his mind could spiral into full-blown panic, Hoshi’s voice finally returned.

‘Yes. My apologies.’ Their voice was slightly distorted, their image flickering before stabilizing.

‘It appears that whenever I attempt to establish a neural link to the Goblin brain, my subsystems suffer cascading failures. It takes several moments to reset when this occurs. This is why your presence is so desperately required.’

Cyrus exhaled, relieved. The AI was no longer frozen, and for now, that was enough to calm the building emotional storm.

“Yeah, that would make things difficult for sure.”

He took a moment to figure out the best approach for determining the Goblins' abilities.

His mind flashed back to the taller one. Back when their eyes had locked, Cyrus had sensed something different about him. Not just more intelligence, some authority?

He had looked at Cyrus as if evaluating him, as if he were the one making decisions for the others, even though they didn’t seem quick to obey.

If any of them were a leader, it had to be this one.

“Can we start with the tall one here?” Cyrus stood and approached the hovering platform where the Goblin lay.

“Can you wake him up so we can talk? That’s what you said the SCANT does, right?”

‘Certainly, and yes, that is one of its primary functions,’ Hoshi replied as their avatar moved with him to the platform. ‘Do you wish for him to remain secured?’

Cyrus hesitated. “Uhhh… yes, for now. I think that would be best.”

This one hadn’t seemed aggressive before, but better safe than sorry. Besides, it gave him a bargaining tool if needed.

Hoshi’s avatar positioned itself on the opposite side of the bed.

A moment later, Cyrus heard the Goblin stirring. Small groans signaled his slow return to consciousness.

‘Just to reiterate, these Goblins will not be able to see or hear me due to the failure of the neural link. It will be up to you to explain the situation.’

‘Due to limited power reserves and malfunctioning pathways, normal audio-visual communication is not yet possible. However, I am working on a solution to restore communication between myself and the Goblins.’

Hoshi’s voice remained calm, but the implications were clear—Cyrus was on his own for this.

As the Goblin’s eyes began to flutter open, reality set in.

This was about to be his first real interaction with another sapient species.

‘At least one that uses words instead of claws,’ he thought, hopeful—but also doubtful.

He honestly had no idea how this was going to go.

Cyrus tried to maintain a neutral stance, though it felt impossible given the circumstances.

No matter how he positioned his hands, it felt awkward trying to appear casual in front of a Goblin who might just as soon prefer to eat him than engage in conversation.

The Goblin’s eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first.

Then they found Cyrus.

For a brief moment, Cyrus saw it—that same intelligence he had sensed before.

But it was fleeting.

Realization of his circumstances hit all at once.

The Goblin's gaze snapped to his restraints. His body tensed, then jerked violently.

A deep, guttural grunt tore from his throat as he writhed against the bindings, muscles straining, teeth bared.

He snarled, spittle flying from his gritted teeth.

In this moment, he looked more like a feral animal than a sapient creature.

Cyrus genuinely hoped he was the latter.

That two-point-eight percent chance Hoshi had mentioned earlier—the chance that these Goblins would rather attack than cooperate—suddenly felt much more plausible.

The platform shuddered under the force of his struggle.

Cyrus flinched, unable to stop himself. His heart kicked into high gear, and he instinctively stepped back, hands raised.

"Whoa, settle down!" His voice came out more urgent than intended, but he forced himself to keep it steady.

"I'm here to set you free, but first, I need you to promise you won’t try to hurt me once I do."

He kept his tone as calm as possible, though the pulse throbbing in his neck told another story.

At first, the creature's grunts and growls were indecipherable, nothing more than raw, guttural noises as it writhed and twisted against the restraints.

Thankfully the oddly glowing bonds held firm.

But then—slowly, words began to emerge from the guttural hisses and snarls.

It was an unusual dichotomy.

Cyrus could still hear the creature’s raw, primal sounds, its snarls and strained breaths—yet, at the same time, the meaning behind them took shape.

The first fully decipherable sentence Cyrus understood from the Goblin was, "Who da Farq is you!? Why you on me Farqing ship!?"

Cyrus blinked.

The aggression in the words wasn’t surprising.

The word choice, however, was.

He had expected snarling, growling—maybe even a few alien curse words. Something that sounded like pure gibberish.

But this? 'Farq'? 'Farqing'? 

This was right on the line between a bad sci-fi censor job and an inside joke from the universe itself. Was this ship literally editing Goblin profanity into something that sounded like Farscape reruns?

This had to be made up, right? It couldn’t be some weird Goblin word that just happened to be close to, but not quite, what sci-fi shows used so they could swear without being dropped by the network.

That wasn’t possible... was it?

Or was there a built-in profanity filter censoring their actual words?

If the SCANT nanites were sanitizing his translations, that raised even more questions. 

Did it pick something similar to English on purpose?

Was it specifically designed to sound like something he’d recognize—but also find funny? 

Who programmed it? Did the aliens who built this ship have a universal rating system for swear words? Were all of them censored? Were there different words for different swears? Was there a setting somewhere he could tweak?

He mentally chuckled and decided he would have to ask Hoshi about this later.

An actual chuckle escaped him as the questions spiraled in his mind.

It wasn’t intentional. But the absurdity of it all was just too much.

The Goblin’s eyes narrowed.

Its upper lip curled, baring sharp teeth. The restraints creaked as it twisted against them, snarling.

Clearly, it didn’t find anything amusing.

"Oh, sorry... I didn’t mean to laugh," Cyrus said quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "It wasn’t at you—"

He hesitated, realizing how bad that sounded. "I mean, it was at the swear words. Or, uh—how they sound. You know what… nevermind."

The Goblin snarled again, but this time, it felt less aggressive. More annoyed than murderous. Which, all things considered, was an improvement.

"I'm Cyrus," he added quickly, gesturing to his chest in the universal symbol for introducing oneself.

"And I’m not exactly here on your ship—well, I guess I am, in a way—but it’s not really your ship," he said, emphasizing the word "your."

“I mean, yes, your clan—Is that the right word?—anyway, your clan unearthed it, but it belonged to someone else long before you laid claim to it."

He was rambling. His words piled onto each other, his anxiety rising with every syllable.

The Goblin wasn’t even that big. It barely came up to his chest.

But to Cyrus, that was still formidable.

He had never had the reason or desire to test himself physically. And he definitely wasn’t about to start now.

"Sorry, I'm getting off track," Cyrus apologized, attempting to refocus on the main objective.

"Okay, let’s start with this—can you tell me your name?"

 

 

Daegnon awoke to find the human from before standing over him. His hands and feet were bound, and a wave of fear passed through him.

Goblins were always regarded as lesser beings by the big people—humans, elves, dwarves. (Though, to be fair, dwarves weren’t much taller.) His instinct kicked in, and he struggled against the restraints, twisting and pulling in a frantic attempt to free himself.

"How dare you! Knock me out wif bad magic!? Steal me ship!? Tie me up!? Now what!? You got a pet dragon or somethin'? You gonna feed me to it!?" His voice rose in fury as he fought against the bindings.

The human spoke, but the words were a strange, unfamiliar tongue. At first, the tone sounded condescending, like he was being mocked. Then, it shifted, sounding more confused than threatening. The human definitely wasn’t speaking Common—the universal language most species used to interact on Dranor.

But then—slowly, the strange words started to make sense. The longer the human spoke, the more the meaning slipped into focus, like a hazy memory sharpening over time.

"Who da Farq is you!? Why you on me Farqing ship!?" he yelled up at the human. As soon as the words left his mouth, something felt off. They didn’t sound quite right.

He saw a flicker of recognition on the human’s face, like he had actually understood what Daegnon had said this time. But Daegnon questioned his own words.

He knew what he had meant to say—yet, somehow, what actually came out was different. Even to his own ears.

Then, he heard it. A chuckle from the human.

Daegnon’s eyes narrowed.

Was the human laughing at him? Or did the words sound just as strange to him as they did to Daegnon?

Either way, it didn’t sit right.

His frustration boiled hotter.

The human rambled for several moments, before finally asking Daegnon for his name.

“Me name Daegnon. You understand?" Daegnon finally asked, calming down somewhat in the hopes of being released. He still didn't trust this human, but as long as he wasn't dead, he would do what he could to protect himself and his fellow clan members. After all, he was still the burrow-master.

"Yes, like I just said, my name is Cyrus, and I'm not here to hurt you or steal from you. I just want to make sure you won't hurt me before I let you go. Our last encounter didn't go well for me, so I'd like to start over, and hopefully find a way for us to coexist since we are both basically trapped here," Cyrus explained, rubbing his arms as though massaging old wounds.

The words hit him hard. He had tried to deny it. But now, he had to face the truth.

There was no way home. No way to escape.

He was stuck on this ship with the other five Goblins who had been aboard when it moved away from their mountain—when he had moved them away.

His gut twisted at the thought.

He was the burrow-master. It was his duty to lead. To protect his people.

But how?

Could he really trust a human? Was this some trick? Or was he truly as trapped as they were?

His options were limited. Fighting wasn’t an option. Waiting for a better opportunity? He wasn’t sure there would be one. He really wasn’t in a good negotiating position, and that probably  wasn’t going to change any time soon.

If this human was also trapped as he said, and if he could help them escape—then perhaps, forming an alliance would be their best chance at survival.

"We trapped?" he finally said, his words slow and deliberate, as though he were tasting them before releasing them. He was fighting against instinct—against the urge to lash out—and instead, embracing the peaceful existence he had been pushing the clans toward all his life. The same peace his father had striven for. And his father before him.

Daegnon had been on merchant outings before. He knew there were some among the other races who could be decent, who would treat Goblins with respect. But that trust was always hard-won.

And being held captive?

That made trusting this human very difficult.

"Okay… good. Daegnon, that’s a very interesting name, not one I’ve heard before," Cyrus replied. "I’m sure you have a lot of questions, as do I, but I want to fill you in on what I know so far so that you can make an informed decision for you and your people. You’re the leader of these others, right? And you are a Goblin? That’s what your species calls themselves?"

This human used some big words, but the voice in Daegnon’s head—the one translating the human’s speech—did its best to help him understand.

"Yes, we Goblins, and I burrow-master," he said slowly, enunciating each word carefully to ensure there would be no misunderstanding. "You have things to tell—just do and be fast. Be tied make me not easy." Daegnon tried his best to remain calm, matching the words Cyrus used.

"Oh, okay. Would it help if you had a hand free? I know I often have an itch on my nose that would drive me crazy if I couldn’t scratch it. Would that help?" Cyrus asked, his tone polite.

Daegnon studied this strange human. The things he spoke about were so... mundane. Unusual.

His tone held no hint of danger. No sign that he had ever feared for his life—or ever had to fight for it. From the looks of him, he had never gone hungry or been without a soft place to rest.

"Cyrus," Daegnon said, forming the strange name carefully. He spoke as candidly as possible, hoping he had remembered it correctly. The unfamiliar name felt strange on his tongue.

"I sorry for before. We no should attack you. Not before know who you is. But my head screams to me—escape now. Makes talking hard. So please, let me free. I promise—I not hurt you."

Daegnon watched as Cyrus looked up, seemingly staring at the wall beyond his bed. Curious, Daegnon shifted his head to follow Cyrus’s gaze but saw nothing there. Frowning, he looked back at the chubby, unusual human.

 

 

'Cyrus,' Hoshi’s voice echoed in his mind. 'There really is nowhere Daegnon can run to. Now that I have confirmed the SCANT is fully integrated within him, he should pose no actual threat to you. If any aggression toward you is noted, the nanites will react.'

'Furthermore, the neural link between us is strong enough that you do not have to vocalize to speak with me. Simply direct your thoughts toward me, and I will respond in kind.'

Cyrus had delved into enough sci-fi and anime to already assume their link was something like technological telepathy. But hearing it confirmed by Hoshi made the idea of speaking to them this way easier.

Still—he was concerned. What exactly did Hoshi mean by 'react' to aggression?

'That’s good to know,' he tested the link. 'What exactly do you mean by reaction?'

'In terms that will be easily understandable, the nanites will induce a small seizure, rendering the Goblin unable to use motor functions.'

Cyrus stiffened. 'You can give him a seizure?'

'It is not exactly the same, but yes.' Hoshi’s response was emotionless.

Cyrus’s brow furrowed. 'Could you do that to me as well?'

'Technically, yes. However, that protocol has been removed due to your demeanor.'

Cyrus knew he wasn’t the type to get mad easily. Apparently, that was obvious enough for an AI to notice. Was he that much of a push-over?

'Then can that protocol be removed in the Goblins once they’ve shown they aren’t aggressive?'

'Yes. However, given their behavioral tendencies, I believe removing it at this stage would be ill-advised.'

Cyrus considered that for a moment. He understood the benefit of keeping it in place—for now. But it reminded him of shock collars used on Earth.

He wasn’t a pet owner, but the idea had always sounded cruel. This felt similar. He didn’t want to use it at all. But at the same time, he knew Hoshi was trying to protect him. It would only activate if Daegnon attacked him.

He decided to trust himself. If he could convince Daegnon that cooperation was the best path forward, it wouldn’t become an issue. For now, he let the matter go.

'Okay, but only if he really comes at me. Go ahead and release his bonds. If they’re making him feel this uneasy, anything I tell him won’t sink in. Since he’s their leader, he needs to understand what’s going on. We’re going to need his help,' Cyrus said in his mind.

The holographic image of Hoshi nodded in acknowledgment.

 

 

"Okay, I am going to trust you," Cyrus said. As he spoke, Daegnon felt the binds vanish from his arms and legs.

It was instantaneous, like magic.

He flexed his wrists, rubbing where the restraints had been, and couldn't help but feel a small measure of respect for this human.

Perhaps he was some kind of powerful sorcerer.

As if to confirm Daegnon’s suspicion, he watched as the empty floating table shifted—gliding effortlessly so that Cyrus could sit upon it. At the same time, Daegnon’s own bed lowered, adjusting to better fit his height.

"There, let’s have a friendly discussion, shall we?" Cyrus said as he sat on the hovering platform.

Daegnon narrowed his eyes.

"You is powerful sorcerer, yes?"

Cyrus blinked.

"Wait, what? A sorcerer?"

The confusion in his voice was genuine—and then, to Daegnon’s irritation, he started laughing aloud.

Daegnon stared at him, trying to determine if the human was mocking him. Was he being made fun of?

Cyrus quickly waved a hand. "This... this isn’t magic; it isn’t even my doing," he said, still grinning. He hesitated, then gestured around them.

"This ship," he started, then his gaze drifted slightly, eyes unfocusing for a moment as if listening to something unseen.

"The Grayfang, I guess you call it?"

Daegnon nodded.

Cyrus continued, "It’s actually the ship—or more precisely, the AI—making things happen. Although… you probably wouldn’t know what AI means."

He thought for a moment before nodding to himself.

"How about we call it ‘the spirit’ of the ship for now? It’s the spirit that moved the beds and removed your bonds."

Daegnon followed Cyrus’s gaze as the human looked at the wall, just as he had earlier. Once again, he saw nothing there.

However, something about it bothered him. Cyrus wasn’t just staring blankly. He was talking to someone. Someone Daegnon couldn’t see.

Since the human had spoken of a spirit within the ship, perhaps that was what he could see but Daegnon could not. The thought was unsettling.

Daegnon had wondered before if there was a spirit guiding this ship. It made sense to him. After all, that was how he and his gang had been led here—by the glowing yellow arrows on the glass panels. Someone, or something intelligent, had to have placed them there. Especially since they had been the only occupants.

The idea of a presence he couldn’t communicate with made Daegnon feel an odd mix of emotions. A twinge of sadness. A prickle of irritation. He would have liked to speak with this spirit himself.

At the same time, he was impressed by the human’s unique ability.

Daegnon was of two minds about Cyrus. On one hand, he felt a deep unease. And envy. But on the other, he was beginning to accept that forming an alliance was in the best interest of both himself and the other Goblins. The human’s ability to speak with the ship’s spirit could be their key to survival.

 

 

‘While I must leave this intermediation in your hands, I suggest you find a way to explain things in a manner Daegnon can better comprehend,’ Hoshi advised.

‘He lacks the technological knowledge you do. His world, from what I could tell, was one based almost solely on magic and the use of what they would label as “mystical energies.” You may need to adjust your descriptions to align with his past experiences.’

‘Thanks, Hoshi, you’re right,’ Cyrus replied. ‘I’ll have to be careful with how I explain things so he can actually follow along.’

Cyrus took a breath, then turned his attention back to Daegnon.

"Okay, this is going to be difficult to understand, so let me see if I can find a good way of explaining what’s going on," he began.

"This ship was made a long time ago by really smart people—much smarter than either of us. But something happened to them, and the ship got buried in your mountain."

He paused, watching Daegnon’s face for signs of understanding before continuing.

Cyrus then began explaining how the ship had shown him the years of excavation his clan had undertaken.

"My clan is Rustfang," Daegnon interjected.

"Rustfang," Cyrus repeated, nodding in approval. "That sounds like a strong name." Without lingering, he continued, "This ship has a mind in it—a thinking machine. Technically, it’s called the Automated Control System, but where I’m from, we call this kind of thinking machine an AI, which stands for artificial intelligence. Think of it like an artificial soul trapped inside the ship."

Daegnon nodded, seeming to grasp the concept, so Cyrus carried on.

"So this AI can talk to me because I’m more similar to the people who built the ship—at least, I guess that’s why. The AI doesn’t have much info on that anymore, apparently. Oh, and their name is Hoshi. And really, they’re the one who controls this ship. They’re the one who moved these floating beds. And they’re also the one who created the fog earlier—the stuff that knocked you guys out."

‘The repair nanites have successfully rerouted the holographic emitters to the control system’s projection processors. I believe this will assist with your explanation,’ Hoshi said before Cyrus could continue.

Cyrus paused mid-thought as every display in the room lit up simultaneously. A digital face appeared on the screens, and a metallic voice echoed from unseen speakers.

The tone was strange—it had the rough quality of a Goblin’s voice, but it was older, deeper, more metallic. The sound reminded Cyrus of the old metal-speaker effect Hoshi had used when first speaking to him.

"Hello, Daegnon. I am Hoshi. It is good to finally meet you." The holographic image of Grubnash said, although the lips of the Goblin image didn’t move.

Daegnon stared at the digital face, dumbfounded.

Cyrus was just as confused.

The face on the displays was nothing like the holographic image he saw in his mind. Rather than a nondescript, androgynous human figure, the image on the screens was distinctly male, and a Goblin.

But not just any Goblin—an older looking one. His features were different from Daegnon’s, but the resemblance was there—something in the nose, and the eyes.

"I am borrowing the image of your forefather Grubnash, if that is alright. He is your ancestor who first began the excavation of the Grayfang. He is, in essence, the first person I recall," the voice explained.

The introduction left both of them reeling.

Daegnon was stunned. The ship could speak to him like this? Could see into his history? And it had chosen Grubnash—a founding figure of the Rustfang clan. Someone who had been important to all of them—and significant to him personally.

Cyrus was also surprised, but for entirely different reasons. This made his explanations much easier. Daegnon now had the proof he needed to understand what was happening. And it also meant Cyrus wouldn’t have to constantly play messenger between the two. That, at least, was a huge relief.

Daegnon shifted slightly, looking as though he wanted to stand and speak directly to the projection of his ancestor.

But before he could, Cyrus cleared his throat lightly, steering the conversation back on track.

"Okay, now that you have a better idea of where I’m getting my information, let’s continue, shall we?" Cyrus said, shifting back into his explanation.

"The fog that knocked you out before contained little machines." He pinched his fingers together to indicate just how small he meant.

"These machines got into our heads and are how we can talk to each other and understand the different languages we speak. They connect our minds, letting us hear the words we’re used to hearing even though we aren’t actually speaking the same language."

Cyrus paused briefly before continuing. "They also connect me to Hoshi, but in a slightly different way. I guess your..." He hesitated, searching for a term that might make sense to Daegnon, noting his apparent difficulty in grasping some of the higher concepts.

"...Your species isn’t compatible. You don’t have the right type of blood."

Daegnon stared at Cyrus. It wasn’t clear if he was waiting for more information or simply trying to process everything he had just heard. Either way, Cyrus couldn’t quite tell.

"I not know what musheenz is, or how they be in me," Daegnon said, struggling to pronounce the unfamiliar word machines. It clearly wasn’t part of his usual vocabulary. "But sound like magic to me. Me Shaman Kigto cast spell to make speak Common when we trade with big-folk. To me, that sound like what is happen."

His expression grew more contemplative, and his syntax subtly improved as he worked through the thought.

"Okay, well… Whether you choose to think of it as magic or technology," Cyrus said, choosing his words carefully, "since neither of us really knows how it works, it’s basically the same thing, right?"

Daegnon hesitated, then nodded slowly.

"The real reason I’m here telling you this is that this ship needs our help. It isn’t fully functional. It doesn’t have a lot of power left and needs to be repaired. Without our help, both it and us are going to just float here in space until we eventually starve and die."

Cyrus winced internally. He could hear how whiny he sounded by the end of his speech, but—it must have struck a nerve, because Daegnon’s ears perked up.

"We need fix ship?" The surprise in Daegnon’s voice was evident.

"Yes, and if we don’t do it soon, we are all going to starve," Cyrus exhaled, relieved to have finally gotten to the main part of the explanation.

The two looked at each other, and at that moment, Cyrus’s stomach gave another growl.

Daegnon’s lips twitched upward, one side curling slightly in what could have been amusement.

"I need to know what you and your guys here are good at," Cyrus said, trying to get them back on track. "If we’re going to make this work, we need to get the right person working on the right project. Do any of your friends have special abilities?"

Daegnon looked puzzled for a moment before the words sank in. He turned his gaze toward the still-sleeping Goblins, studying them thoughtfully. Cyrus assumed he was trying to recall any special traits or gifts they might have—analyzing how they could be best utilized.

When Daegnon looked back, what he said wasn’t what Cyrus had expected.

"I am burrow-master. They listen to me. I am leader; that my special abilitee. We found ship, so it ours," he said, his tone turning almost menacing at the end.

There was a pause.

In that brief silence, Cyrus ran over what Daegnon had said—but more importantly, how he had said it. His speech was still rough, his words slightly slurred, but something was changing. His patterns were improving.

At the start, Daegnon had spoken in clipped, broken phrases, but now his words were becoming smoother, more structured. Cyrus wasn’t sure if it was the SCANT helping him adapt or if the Goblin was simply trying to emulate his way of speaking—but the rapid improvement was astonishing.

He had done his best to explain everything, and now, hearing Daegnon respond so clearly, he was certain the Goblin fully understood their situation. Which made what he was saying that much more unusual.

After a moment, Daegnon continued, his voice now more measured.

"If I am leader, they will work and do what I say. If I am not leader, they will not. So, I have to be leader." Daegnon hesitated before ending his thought, “If not… no one survive.”

There was no room for negotiation. His words were firm, absolute.

But beneath the certainty, there was something else. A faint sadness.

His shoulders slumped slightly as he spoke. "You understand?"

 

 

‘From what I observed of his culture, the burrow-master is similar to a chieftain. His orders are final, and those who oppose him are generally killed. The burrow-masters of the past had shamans, who served as mystical counselors, but I did not have the foresight to observe their interactions with other races. As such, I am unsure of the proper protocols for this situation,’ Hoshi said into Cyrus’s mind, assisting him in figuring out how to handle this new twist.

Cyrus began to mentally respond, but before he could, Hoshi added, ‘Recalculating…’

Cyrus frowned. That was… odd. He stayed silent, watching Daegnon as he waited, the pause stretching just long enough to make him uncomfortable. The sound in his mind was a strange thing to hear, almost like a computer buffering—except this wasn’t just some basic search query. The AI was apparently actively trying to rework their situation into something that made sense.

A moment later, Hoshi continued. Picking up exactly where she had left off.

‘I suggest offering him a leadership position—make him oversee the daily supervision of the crew while maintaining your designation as pilot, since you are the only one here capable of flying the ship. This will grant him the authority his clan requires while preserving your role as a necessary member of the crew.’

Cyrus exhaled slowly, taking it in. That made sense. Hoshi might not have explicitly assigned titles, but he understood what the AI was getting at.

It looked like his life was already turning into one of the sci-fi shows he’d always loved—so why not stay on theme?

 

 

Cyrus nodded once as Hoshi finished explaining, then turned back to Daegnon.

"So let me see if I understand correctly. As long as you give the orders, they will do what needs to be done, right? They won’t do what I ask of them—it has to be you."

Daegnon nodded in affirmation.

"Okay, so how about this," Cyrus continued. "Since you are no longer in a burrow but instead on a spaceship, you can be the captain—the commander of the crew. And I will be the pilot.

"My job will be to steer the ship, to take it where we need to go, since I am the only one who can fly it." He paused for a moment, then pressed on.

"You will have command of everything else. You can make sure everyone does their work, decide who comes and goes, and handle all the big responsibilities.

"You can be the leader, but the others also have to understand that we are equals. My role is essential if they want to continue to survive.

"This way, we’ll both be on the same level, but we will still need each other as well."

Cyrus watched Daegnon closely, waiting for his reaction.

As Cyrus described the captain position, he felt an unexpected weight lift from his shoulders. He had been dreading the idea of taking charge of the ship and the Goblins.

But this new paradigm—as Hoshi had put it—allowed him to shift the responsibility of managing the others to Daegnon while still keeping the role he actually wanted:

Flying the ship.

It worked out in both their favors, far better than he had imagined when he’d thought he would have to be captain—with the Goblins as his underlings.

Letting Daegnon take that responsibility freed him from the burden of being the main commander.

He had added the part about them being equals on the fly, but it had felt right. Not that he had any problem following orders—but this way, it gave him a little autonomy as well.

Daegnon studied Cyrus for a long moment, expression unreadable.

"Captain," he repeated, rolling the word in his mouth, testing it. His ears flicked slightly, thoughtful.

Finally, he nodded, a half-smile creeping onto his face.

"I like sound of captain. Sounds important."

Cyrus smiled back. "Then captain you will be. Now, how about we get to the rest of these guys so we can get this ship up and running?"