Swift Feather Chronicles: Ch 3 - Plushie Nest
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qR3ebFhIkjg
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Thrynn watched Vincent with growing suspicion.
“Vincent…?”
“Yeah, Cap?” he answered, emerald eyes still fixed on the tiny puffball rolling around in the palm that could crush her like a dandelion mane. He was being so careful with her. It was almost enough to distract from the mystery at hand.
Almost.
She gestured sharply at the hovertray. “What are these?”
Vincent looked up… and frowned in genuine confusion.
That was unexpected.
“They look… like toys, Cap?” he said, more question than statement.
“I can see that they’re toys,” she chittered, exasperated. “What are they for?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. They look really good though! That’s the Swift Feather? And is that a Noxbeast plushie?”
“You expect me to believe these toys have nothing to do with you? You know nothing about them?!”
Still shrugging, he said, “Wish I could take credit, Cap… but no. Nothin’ to do with me or anyone in Triple M, far as I know. Where’d you get ’em?”
“They were in the shipment of cleaning supplies that just caught up with us. Hamtonio and I were inspecting them. They were in one of the crates.”
Vincent stood, keeping his hand steady as a gimbal so Krell didn’t wobble. One-handed and with no visible effort, he lifted the Swift Feather miniature — the one that took both Thrynn and Hamtonio to get onto the tray.
He inspected it closely.
“The detail’s excellent! I almost feel like I could look through the Triple H common room window and see us sittin’ in there!”
He set it down and picked up the plushie. Krell noticed instantly.
“It’s gorgeous! I want one!” Vincent said, admiringly.
“You have the real thing!” Thrynn said, incredulous.
“Yeah… but… she’s at the uni right now… plus… this one’s smol.”
“You just had eight ‘smol’ ones for weeks! And she’ll be done weaning and back with you before you know it!”
Vincent shook his head, mirthful. Apparently this was a lesson in the art of cute-appreciation she was not yet ready for.
Krell extended her wingclaws toward the plushie, eyes full of longing.
“I’m sorry, my child,” Thrynn said, distressed. “I would give this to you if it were mine, but it isn’t.”
Krell’s face crumpled. She cried — the tiny, piercing cry of someone brand new to existence.
Thrynn’s crop heaved… but was empty.
Fuck.
Vincent stroked Krell’s tummy. “Sorry, baby. If I did what you want me to do, my stomach acid’d melt you.”
Taqal stirred, bleary. “I’m up… I’ll… I’m… getting it…”
He hopped down, took Krell from Vincent, and began feeding her. Thrynn’s relief was palpable.
Vincent turned away, clearly grateful for the distraction. “Cap… if you found ’em in cleanin’ supplies… they’re prob’ly Glark’s. Maybe talk to him? Or Toothless? Glark and Bammy are so cute together! You hear he just popped the question?!”
Gardenworlder he might be… but the toys absolutely fit Glark’s personality.
“I’ll do that, Vincent… this evening.”
She sent the hovertray away before Krell could get upset again.
“Alright, Vincent, we have appointments to keep. Taqal? Will you be alright on your own?”
Taqal raised a wingclaw in a Terran thumbs-up.
Thrynn burst out laughing. “Alright, we’ll be off then!”
-later-
Glark stood at attention when she approached,
“Mr. Glark,” she began with the hovercart following her, “care to explain the toys?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, Captain… after seeing pictures, one of my great nieces wanted a Noxbeast. The rest of the clutch joined in and… I figured this would be safer. One of my great nephews wanted a model of the Swift Feather because ‘Unka Ig’s ship.’ I commissioned them from a toymaker on my home planet. These are prototypes the manufacturer sent me for evaluation.”
Thrynn raised an eyebrow. “Vincent may be right that your cradleworld needs reclassifying. Toys aren’t uniquely deathworlder, but the fact that there’s a whole manufacturer with personnel free to accept commissions like this…”
Glark rumble-chuckled. “Well, normally they assemble cleaning drone buffing pads, but one of the board members is a cousin of mine and I brought them a lot of business…”
He paused, realizing the contradiction.
“Yes, both of those statements are true. She is a board member, and she makes toys as a hobby. I paid for equipment rental and materials and commissioned her for the design.”
He gestured toward the plush. “May I?”
She handed it to him.
He turned it over in his hands, nodding. “Proportions are good. Nubby legs just like the original. They even got the big eyes right. Ha’nae does good work.”
He smiled softly.
“To be honest, my family is fairly well off now — I saw to that — but there are still too many struggling families. I keep an eye out for business opportunities to send home so others don’t have to struggle like I did. Not many can leave planetside to make their fortunes. I only got my chance because of the military.”
Thrynn’s expression softened. “That’s very noble of you, Igthan.”
He blinked at the use of his given name.
“Well… these don’t break any rules. Just… let me know when the Noxlet plushie is in production. I think my daughter would enjoy having one. Also — congratulations. I wish you and Ms. B’ham every happiness.”
Glark smiled. “Call me Igthan.” He offered the plush. “Would you like to give her this?”
Thrynn’s eyes widened. “Really?! You’d just give me this? Don’t you need it for quality control?”
Glark sNoxed. “Aesthetics are spot on. Best way to test durability is to hand it to a child, no?”
She considered offering to pay… then realized it would cheapen the gesture.
She accepted it with a warm smile. “Thank you, Igthan. I’m certain she’ll treasure it.”
He bowed. “Thank you for having me aboard your wonderful ship, and including me in the Swift Feather family.”
“If she does manage to destroy it,” he added, “let me know. I’ll send it up the chain. We’ll get her a better one.”
Thrynn chuckled. “I’m happy to have you aboard, Igthan. If I ever lose you and Ms. B’ham to domestic life, it’ll be a blow. Don’t worry — I’ll keep you updated on how Krell gets on with her gift.”
“Actually,” Glark said, “if it’s agreeable, we’re going to remodel the shuttle bay she’s living in. I’m going to move in with her. We’d like to add a brooding chamber. Also — if the plush sales take off, the benefits will go into an account to help pay for Fluffy’s needs.”
Thrynn narrowed her eyes in amused suspicion. “I’ll need more detail before I sign off on that. Provided you’re not planning to bring a brood of hundreds of hybrids into being on my ship… it should be fine.”
Glark rumble-laughed. “We were thinking one. Maybe a playmate for Krell.”
He blinked. “Charity? Fluffy is earning that by being the model for the toy. It’s technically hers. But by Federation tax law, Vincent is her guardian, so he manages her finances.”
Thrynn nodded. “Put it to Vincent like that. He’ll be far more receptive.”
“I never once thought he needed help,” Glark said. “But I’ll do that.”
“Keep up the good work, Igthan,” she said, turning to leave.
“Absolutely,” he replied. “I take care of family. Have fun with your little one.”
Glark walked toward the Swift Feather’s cafeteria with the miniature ship hovering dutifully over his shoulder. Its micro-antigrav unit hummed softly, running lights blinking, engine glow pulsing like a heartbeat. The ionizer quietly scrubbed the air around them — technically making it a piece of cleaning equipment, which Glark found deeply satisfying.
W’ham B’ham walked beside him, her tail brushing his leg every few steps.
“…So I’m getting incredible response about the toy ship,” Glark said, trying to sound casual. “Hamtonio even messaged me asking if he could saddle one and use it for transportation.”
W’ham hiss-giggles, the sound warm and wicked. “Leave him to me. I’ll make him a tiny hovercycle. A noisy one. So we can hear him coming and not get brained as he goes by.”
Glark snorted. “That would be… helpful.”
They stepped into the cafeteria. The lunch crowd was already buzzing, but the moment the miniship floated in behind them, heads turned.
Glark took a seat beside a replicator. W’ham settled beside him, curling her tail around his waist in a quiet, instinctive claim.
“After the captain’s reaction,” Glark said, “I’m going to share both the miniship and the NoxPlush designs with the whole ship. Trina?”
A holographic shimmer, and—
“Hi Iggy!”
W’ham slapped a hand over her muzzle to stifle a laugh.
Glark sighed, leaning against his Night Goddess. “Please record material and design scans of both the mini ship toy and the NoxPlush I gave the captain for her hatchling. Place a notice on the ship’s bulletin board that they’re now available at the replicators. First one for each crew member is complimentary. After that, standard material cost.”
“Okay!” Trina chirped.
“And make two copies of the mini ship. One here, one in the Triple-M lounge. Set them to fly a circular course near the ceiling. If anyone asks, show them the board post.”
The replicator hummed. A second miniship emerged, hovered, and drifted upward to begin its patrol.
The cafeteria erupted in delighted chatter.
Trina manifested again — this time holding a NoxPlush in her arms.
She squealed.
“IT’S SO FLUFFY, I’M GONNA DIE!”
And then she spun in circles like a child on a sugar high.
W’ham blinked. Her frills lifted. Her pupils dilated.
This was the first time she’d seen the toys.
She leaned down, bumping her muzzle against Glark’s cheek. “You’re making the whole ship happy, Iggy.”
He shrugged, embarrassed. “Just… doing what I can.”
She wrapped her tail more firmly around him. “You always do.”
The cafeteria buzzed with laughter and chatter, the miniship looping overhead like a tiny guardian spirit. Trina spun with her plush, humans pointed and whispered, and W’ham B’ham’s bioluminescent freckles glowed softly as she leaned into Glark’s side.
Then she said it.
“Iggy… I want one.”
Glark blinked. “A NoxPlush?”
“Yes,” she said, voice warm and certain. “Life-sized. Scaled to Fluffy.”
There was no pause. No hesitation. No calculation.
Glark didn’t even think about materials.
He just nodded.
“Of course.”
A human at the next table choked on their drink.
“Oh my god she wants a kaiju plush.”
The life-sized NoxPlush slid out of the replicator with a soft whump, its enormous fluffy form settling onto the cafeteria floor. W’ham B’ham placed both hands on its head, glowing like a starfield.
“It is perfect,” she whispered.
Glark watched her — the way her frills lifted, the way her tail curled, the way her bioluminescence shimmered in soft pulses — and something shifted behind his eyes.
A thought. A realization. A spark.
He looked at the plush. Then at W’ham. Then at the humans gathering around, already whispering excitedly.
And he understood.
Size didn’t matter. Joy did.
He turned to the replicator interface with a slow, dawning grin.
“Trina,” he said, voice warm and certain, “add a new option to the catalog.”
Trina popped into existence, still hugging her own plush. “Yes, Iggy?”
“Add a scaling parameter to all plush items. Let customers choose any size they want — big or small.”
“You’re giving them… scaling?”
Glark shrugged, trying to look casual. “It seemed practical.”
Her glow brightened. “You are dangerous.”
He leaned gently against her side. “You love it.”
“I do,” she admitted, tail curling around him. Someone else chuckled softly. “Hamtonio’s going to want a ridiculous one, isn’t he?”
W’ham hiss-laughed. “He will. And I will handle him.”
The cafeteria settled into a warm, contented buzz — not loud, not chaotic, just… happy. The kind of quiet excitement that spreads through a crew who’ve been through something hard together and now get to enjoy something soft.
W’ham pressed her forehead gently to Glark’s.
“You realize,” she murmured, “you’ve just changed the entire ship.”
Glark smiled, small and sincere.
“I know.”
The life-sized NoxPlush rode over W’ham B’ham’s shoulder like a fluffy, defeated kaiju. Its oversized legs bounced gently with each step she took, the soft fabric rustling against her scales. She carried it effortlessly, one arm hooked over it's back, the other swinging loosely at her side.
Glark walked beside her, matching her pace, the miniship hovered obediently behind him like a loyal pet.
For a moment, neither spoke. It was a comfortable silence — the kind that only exists between people who’ve already chosen each other.
W’ham finally broke it, her voice warm.
“Iggy… this is going to look incredible in the nest.”
Glark smiled. “It’ll fit perfectly. I already accounted for the footprint.”
She blinked. “You… what?”
He tapped his datapad. “I’ve been working on something. Let me show you.”
They paused at a junction, the soft hum of the ship around them. Glark lifted his wrist and projected a hologram into the air — a detailed, rotating 3D model of the shuttle bay she’d been living in.
W’ham’s frills lifted in surprise.
“Alright,” she said, adjusting the plush, “show me the rest.”
Glark expanded the hologram. The model zoomed out, revealing the full nest layout
“This is the table,” he said.
W’ham’s frills lifted.
The hologram showed:
a floor-level, double-wide bench on one side
reinforced
cushioned
sized for her tail, hips, and lounging posture
a raised bench on the opposite side
sized for Glark
giving him the same table height as her
the table surface spanning between them
both benches aligned so they could sit together naturally
W’ham stared at it.
“You made me a floor bench,” she said softly.
“Of course,” Glark replied. “You sit differently. You need space. And I wanted us to share the same table without you crouching or me craning my neck.”
Her glow warmed. Her tail curled around his leg.
“This is perfect.”
He swiped again.
“Drone charging station and my workbench,” he said. “Less foot traffic. More efficiency.”
W’ham nodded. “They’ll like that.”
“And the nest ring has flat-bottomed depressions for drinks, tools, datapads… anything we want to keep close.”
She grinned. “You know me too well.”
Finally, he zoomed in on the center.
The padded platform. Circular. Soft-lined. Warm-lit.
And labeled:
BROODING POD — PRIMARY POSITION
W’ham stopped walking.
The plush sagged slightly on her shoulder as she stared at the projection.
“You put it in the middle,” she whispered.
Glark nodded. “It’s the heart of the nest. Everything else radiates outward.”
Her glow deepened, warm and steady.
“You’re building a home,” she murmured.
“We’re building it,” he corrected.
They resumed walking, the hologram drifting ahead of them like a lantern guiding the way. The plush bounced gently with each step, absurd and perfect.
As they approached the shuttle bay doors, W’ham leaned down and touched her forehead to his.
“This is going to be our nest.”
Glark’s voice was quiet, steady.
“It already is.”
The doors slid open.
And together — plush monster, hologram, and all — they stepped into the space that would soon become their home.
-later-
Glark is hauling a heavy cleaning unit down Corridor 7B, on his way to obliterate a stain that has personally offended him.
Five miniships zip past him in a blur of color — red, blue, green, yellow, purple — banking around him like he’s a pylon.
And then—
WHAM. A sixth miniship slams into the wall beside him so hard it leaves a tiny scorch mark.
Glark freezes. The heavy cleaning unit bumps into his leg.
From down the hall:
“I’M OKAY!”
Another human:
“Carl, you hit the wall again!”
Carl:
“It jumped out at me!”
Glark:
“It is a wall. It does not jump.”
Carl:
“Well it moved!”
He stares after them.
“What… are you doing.”
A human voice echoes from down the corridor:
“RACING, IGGY!”
Another voice:
“BLUE TEAM FOR THE WIN!”
A third:
“RED TEAM CHEATED, THEY ADDED THRUSTER BOOSTERS!”
A female voice, "Shaddup! those are experimental!"
Glark closes his eyes. He inhales. He exhales. He mutters something in his native language that probably translates to “I am surrounded by children.”
Then he keeps walking.
The heavy cleaning drone hums in solidarity.
The moment the shuttle carrying the humans and senior officers lifted off, a strange hush fell over the beach.
Not silence.
Just… the absence of authority.
Glark stood there, arms folded, tail swaying, watching the shuttle disappear into the sky. Beside him, W’ham B’ham tilted her head, wings half-furled, bioluminescent freckles catching the sun.
Behind them, the remaining softworlder crew members stared at each other with the exact same expression:
We are absolutely going to do something stupid.
Glark exhaled. “We should… remain professional.”
W’ham’s tail curled around his waist. “Igthan. We are on leave.”
“Yes, but—”
“We are unsupervised.”
He hesitated. “…That is true.”
“And,” she added, leaning down with a grin, “you brought the hoverjet keys.”
Glark looked at the keys in his hand.
Then at the ocean.
Then at the softworlders behind him, who were already vibrating with anticipation.
He sighed the sigh of a man who knew exactly what was about to happen and had already accepted his fate.
“…Fine,” he said. “But I’m driving.”
A cheer went up.
W’ham lifted the hoverjet speedboat out of the sand like it weighed nothing and tossed it into the water with a splash that soaked half the group.
Glark put on his shades.
W’ham put on her grin.
Hamtonio put on his life vest, three floaties, and a prayer.
And the softworlders piled in.
The hoverjet speedboat tears across the water as Glark sits in the driver’s seat, eyes hidden behind shades, a cigar clamped between his teeth, a massive grin stretching across his maw. His hands grip the controls like he was born in this chair.
The music is loud enough to rattle the hull. The beat shakes the seats. The gardenworlders scream in delight.
Species-specific intoxicants flow. Someone is dancing. Someone else is howling. Glark is the designated pilot, so at least the chaos is responsible.
A furred crew member leans over the rail, face in the wind, doing a perfect impression of a Terran dog with its head out a car window.
Behind them, the speedboat kicks up two enormous rooster tails as it tows a pair of parasailers.
One line leads way up into the sky, where W’ham B’ham is giggling like a starstruck hatchling, wings spread wide as she parasails without a sail.
“THIS WAS A GREAT IDEA!!!” she roars, doing an Immelmann turn that absolutely no one will ever convince her isn’t a barrel roll.
The second line has Hamtonio Banderas clinging to the handgrip like a man bargaining with fate, his tiny parasail flapping wildly as the wind destroys his carefully styled fur.
“WHY DID I AGREE TO THIS!?!?!?! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!”
Ten seconds later:
“YEAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
The hoverjet hits a wave just right and launches, the whole boat going weightless. The gardenworlders scream. Glark whoops like a desert storm. W’ham does a corkscrew just because she can.
Hamtonio, now fully inducted into the Church of Adrenaline, yells:
“FASTER, IGGY! FASTER! I CAN SEE MY HOUSE FROM HERE!”
“You don’t have a house here!” Glark shouts back, laughing.
“I CAN SEE IT ANYWAY!”
W’ham swoops low enough to tap Glark’s head with her tail. “You’re showing off!”
“You love it!”
“YES I DO!”
The boat roars forward, kicking up a rooster tail big enough to be seen from orbit. Music blasts. Someone starts a chant. Someone else starts dancing on the seats. A cooler tips over and sprays drinks everywhere.
It’s chaos. It’s joy. It’s family.
And Glark, cigar glowing, Shades reflecting the sun, thinks:
Yeah. This is home.
Glark and W’ham B’ham curled together in the corner of the Triple-H lounge, quietly snuggled, waiting for the show to start. Glark nudged her with a smirk.
“Go on.”
W’hammy gave him a sly look and tapped a button on her wrist-pad.
The mini Swift Feather drone broke from its ceiling patrol, swooped down to the food replicator, snagged a pouch of hot popcorn in its tiny tractor beam, and delivered it to their table before resuming its route as if nothing had happened.
“Exactly as planned,” Glark said proudly, emptying the pouch into a bowl.
First the captain announces the performance name it's a triple H production of Lion king. They then mention trina Trina summoned a live feed of the captain’s daughter snuggling her new noxbeast plushie — a gift from Glark.
The entire Triple-H crew let out a collective, adoring “Awwwwww!”
W’ham nudged him. “You big softy.”
“Yes, yes I am,” Glark said, leaning back against his Void Lady and offering her the popcorn.
Later, after the film and the applause, Glark and W’ham walked side by side toward her shuttle bay.
W’ham sang softly — Can you feel the love tonight… — her voice a little bassy but surprisingly good.
Glark paused. “Are you sure about… us?”
W’ham tilted her head. “When I first met you, I thought you were a grouch.” She mimicked him perfectly: “Who’s gonna clean that up!”
Glark chuckled. “In my defense, that is what I signed on for.”
Her expression softened. “Out here, my kind are loners. We don’t… pair easily. But being with you feels different. I love it.” She wrapped a wing around him.
Glark leaned into her. “I love you.”
W’ham shivered, then scooped him up with her wings and carried him the rest of the way, double-speed, setting the privacy filter behind them.
Inside her quarters, she set him down gently. Her wings stayed half-wrapped around him, her eyes glowing deep-space violet.
“Iggy…” she murmured, voice warm, “you make me feel anchored. Like I finally found gravity.”
Glark brushed a hand along her jaw ridge. “And you make me feel like I finally found the sky.”
She let out a soft, trembling hiss — overwhelmed, affectionate — and folded her wings around them both like a cocoon.
Outside, the faint echo of the Triple-H crew singing drifted through the corridor.
Inside, it was just them.
Two wanderers. Two predators. Two hearts finally at rest.
W'ham Bham growls softly, "It's not fair! I wanted to join the tournament! I'm just as tough as any of them!"
Glark pulls her head down to his level and strokes her eye ridges, "That's the thing hun. You're at least twice as big as any of them!" He gives her a wicked grin, "It'd take at least three of them to stop you."
Whammy gives him a strained smile, "You're just saying that..."
Glark smirks and he knocks his head against her snout with a clack of tough scales, "Babe, you throw me around like a toy! In a one-on-one they wouldn't stand a chance...."
Whammy rumble giggles and gives him a lick on the snout, "Sweet talker."
Glark chuckles, "You're my Little Raid Boss and you know it. However... I have an idea...."
---later---
Late at 'night', Glark and Whammy sneak into the 3H lounge, giggling softly to each other.
Approaching the central table, Glark lays out a small round green embroidered, tasselled rug/mat with printing around the edge.
Whammy pulls the "Giant Fuck-Off Hammer" from her back and gently sets it in the center of the mat, six foot handle straight up, slightly denting the metal table.
The mat has stylized likenesses of Glark and W'ham B'ham decorating around the center. Written in the embroidering around the rim of the mat:
"If you wish to challenge the Dragon Duo, Raise the Holy Hammer of WhamBam to the sky and call forth their names:
Hungarian Horn Tail
Night Fury"
If any actually manage to lift the 44 pound sledgehammer, the embedded sensors will let them know, as well as hear and identify who makes the call.
Glark grins and he activates the coup-de-grace, tapping a button on his wrist datapad. Within seconds small leafy vines grow out of the mat and entwine themselves around the handle of the hammer, giving it a lost legendary weapon appearance.
That will be an interesting poker game to be sure.
Whammy giggles as they make their escape, "So in the new one I'm going to install a gravity booster, It'll double the weight of the head just before impact, It's going to be epic!"
A small crowd has gathered around the table, staring at the hammer like it’s Excalibur. A human ensign pokes it. Nothing happens. A Zanzibari tries to lift it with both hands. It doesn’t budge. A gardenworlder tries to use leverage. The vines tighten, as if offended. Someone whispers: “Do you think it’s… cursed?” Someone else whispers: “No, it’s worse. It’s engineered.” Trina manifests above the table, hands clasped dramatically. “BEHOLD,” she declares, “THE HOLY HAMMER OF WHAMBAM.” The crowd gasps. Hamtonio arrives, fur immaculate, sipping a tiny drink. He squints at the hammer. “…I could lift that.” The entire room turns to stare at him. He clears his throat. “…eventually.”
A soft beeping starts in the darkened quarters.. The volume grows gradually, eliciting a groan by the broad dome shaped bed. A large black tail reaches up and smacks the already dented alarm unit off it's spot to the floor, stopping the alarm. The tail then returns to it's previous position, curled around the 'little spoon'. The 'little spoon' stirs and snugs into his warm 'big spoon'. "Morning dear." Whammy murrgrumbles, She wants to sleep in. Glark chuckles softly and squeezes his way out of her grip, standing and stretching his bones. He loads up some music before he hops in the hydrosonic shower. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdqKLwjgaRI Metallica - Nothing Else Matters (S&M) HD
"~Never opened myself this way Life is ours, we live it our way All these words I don't just say And nothing else matters. Trust I seek and I find in you Every day for us something new Open mind for a different view And nothing else matters.~" Finally the big black tail starts swaying to the music, Iggy's voice actually smooths out a lot when he's singing...
The next song cues up, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_NB5luxtic Bryce Fox - Horns (STéLOUSE Remix)
~She got blood cold as ice And a heart made of stone But she keeps me alive She's the beast in my bones She gets everything she wants When she gets me alone Like it's nothin' She got two little horns And they get me a little bit~ Whammy grins and she rises, stretching out full length, then swaying to the heavy beat, She giggles to herself and joins Glark In the shower.
--later--
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8mS8Pfgros twenty one pilots - Heathens (DISTO Remix) Glark is seated before a long 'bench' along one wall, originally for Whammy but he has appropriated a section of it for a desk. He's doing the daily reports for both of them because of his talent with paperwork, and well, they piss off Whammy, She'd rather do the work than write about it. Whammy is setting up the gear for the maintenance she has planned for the ship today.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sjWU5dGcGI Daft Punk - Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger (Far Out Remix) "Here you go dear." "I'm glad I had the forethought to order these upgraded transfer units, and the best part is we can install them while on the move." W'ham B'ham purrs softly as she drops the old unit into a container aboard a hovercart for recycling. Then she lifts up and holds the panel in place while Glark secures it. Glark chuckle-rumbles and gives his lady's neck a squeeze with his legs, sitting across her top shoulders, "Always thinking ahead." He grins, checking his datapad, "next one's in section 5 corridor B." W'ham starts walking, able to handle his weight with no issues, especially with the gravity assist unit he got her. "C'mon, Fred!" The hovercart, hearing it's name, starts obediently skimming after them. They reach the next location and Whammy reaches up to catch the panel after Glark disengages it. She leans it against the bulkhead and fishes a new unit out of Fred, passing it up to her work buddy with the fine manipulators.
Two ensigns walked past W’ham and Glark later that day, whispering loudly enough to be heard.
“Did you see Hamtonio parasailing? I thought he was going to die.”
“He did too. Then he ascended.”
“Is Glark allowed to pilot that fast?”
“No.”
“…Do we care?”
“No.”
W’ham’s frills twitched in amusement.
A pair of humans sprinted past W’ham and Glark, chased by a cleaning drone.
“WE DIDN’T MEAN TO SPILL IT!”
The drone beeped angrily.
W’ham sighed. “What did they spill?”
Glark checked his datapad. “…Everything.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RvV3nn_de2k&list=RDRvV3nn_de2k&start_radio=1 Sammy Hagar - I can't drive 55 "...And most importantly, here's how to stop it, squeeze these." Whammy uses a laser pointer to indicate the brake levers under the handgrips. Hamtonio Benderas claps his little paws in glee, "Can I try it?" "Helmet?" "Check!" as Hamtonio plunks on the dome over his head made to fit over his ears. "Safety belt?" "Check!" Hamtonio grins and adjusts the grav assist belt meant to kick in if he falls off, showing off the little brass (his race) skull on the buckle. "Alright, get on and start her up!" Hammy almost falls over himself as he clambers onto the miniature hovercycle built to his scale. He places his paw on the start pad and the little machine powers up, lifting a half inch off the table. "I'll give you a top speed limiter that will increase as the computer detects your skill improving. Give her a spin!" Hamtonio revs the little machine and lifts off into the air, climbing and doing a lap of the garage/machine shop/hangar. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mNBgBCco38o As he floats by Whammy, moving at a human walking pace he exclaims, "This is amazing!" Wham-Bam Grins and nods, "Thanks for the idea! I think Glark could turn this into another business for me." Hammy pulls in and stops, "What now?" Wham bam smirks, "It's a hobby of his. He's started like five cleaning supply manufacturers on his home planet, one of his relatives is a toymaker and now she's got her own design company, Where do you think all the mirkplushes came from?" Hamtonio's tail goes stiff and does his race's equivalent of a blush. He's also been using one as a bed because it was so soft. "hmm. I'll have to think about that." Whammy grins, "Go on, Hammy, take her. She was made for ya. Have some fun!" Hamtonio give an excited squeak, "Thank you! I wonder if Huamita will like it...." He loops around and heads out the automatic door. Wahm-bam grins, flopping onto a giant bowl shaped heated chair. She cracks a nearby cold keg of her special reserve, takes a drink and lays back, "Worth it."
As Hamtonio disappears down the corridor, his tiny hovercycle buzzing like an angry bumblebee, Glark steps into the hangar just in time to see Whammy sprawled in her heated bowl chair, keg in hand. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with a fond smirk. “Productive morning?” Whammy lifts her drink in salute. “I created joy. And possibly a menace.” “Sounds about right.” She pats the side of the bowl. “C’mere, Iggy.” He walks over and climbs into the curve of her coils, settling against her chest like he belongs there — because he does. She wraps a wing around him, pulling him close. “You know,” she murmurs, “between the plushies, the miniships, the hovercycles, and the cleaning drones… we’re basically running a small empire.” Glark chuckles. “Family business.” Whammy hums, pleased. “Our brood is going to have the coolest toys in the ’Verse.” Glark tilts his head up to look at her. “Our brood is going to have the coolest parents in the ’Verse.” Her bioluminescent freckles brighten just a little — the void-dragon equivalent of a blush. She bumps her muzzle against his. “Sweet talker.” He grins. “Always.” Outside, faintly, they hear: “WOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOO—” CRASH. Whammy sighs. “I should probably go check on him.” Glark pats her shoulder. “Finish your drink first. He bounces.” She laughs — a deep, warm rumble that fills the whole hangar. And for a moment, everything is perfect.
Shipwide Announcement — 1000 Hours
Attention crew,
We have a new medical specialist joining us on rotation. Her name is Dr. Dawn Aerlyght, and she comes with an exceptional reputation across Federation military ships, frontier medical detachments, and high-risk assignments.
Dr. Aerlyght is known for:
precise trauma triage under fire
advanced cybernetic integration
rapid surgical response in unstable environments
battlefield-grade adaptability
and a consistent record of saving lives in situations where most medics would be overwhelmed
Her service history shows short deployments by choice — not due to performance. She tends to go where she is needed most, often taking assignments others refuse because the risk is too high or the conditions too unpredictable.
Dr. Aerlyght will be arriving aboard later today. Please give her a warm welcome and assist her in getting oriented to our medbay and ship systems.
— Captain’s Office
W’ham’s datapad chimed while she was tightening the last panel in corridor 5B. She flicked it open with a clawtip, expecting another maintenance ticket.
Instead, a personnel file loaded.
Incoming Specialist — Dr. Dawn Aerlyght
W’ham raised a brow ridge.
“Ah. The new medic.”
She scrolled.
Federation military service. Multiple short deployments. High-risk postings. Trauma triage under fire. Cybernetic integration specialist. Commendations from captains she actually respected.
Her frills lifted slightly.
“…Huh.”
Glark glanced down from her shoulders. “Something interesting?”
“She’s good,” W’ham murmured. “Really good. The kind of medic they only send to ships that expect trouble.”
Glark hummed thoughtfully. “Short rotations?”
“Yeah.” W’ham tapped the note. “Voluntary. She moves around a lot.”
W’ham scrolled back up the service history, frowning slightly.
Short deployments. High-risk postings. Excellent performance. No disciplinary marks. No medical flags. No interpersonal notes.
Just… transfers.
A lot of them.
Glark noticed her expression. “What’s wrong?”
W’ham tapped the screen. “These rotations. They’re too short. Too frequent. And every captain who filed a report praised her work.”
Glark hummed. “Voluntary transfers?”
“Yeah.” W’ham’s frills lowered thoughtfully. “But the pattern’s strange. She leaves right after major incidents. Never stays long enough to build a crew bond.”
Glark leaned forward. “Burnout?”
“No.” W’ham shook her head. “This is something else. Something personal. Something she didn’t write down.”
She scrolled again, reading the commendations — all glowing, all sincere.
“She’s respected,” W’ham murmured. “Deeply. But she never stayed to see it.”
Glark rested his chin on her shoulder. “Maybe she didn’t know.”
W’ham’s eyes softened. “…Maybe.”
She closed the file gently.
“Whatever the reason,” she said, “she’s coming here now. And we’re going to make sure she knows she’s welcome.”
Glark nodded. “She’ll figure it out. This ship doesn’t let people drift.”
W’ham smiled — a small, determined curl of her lip. “No. It doesn’t.”
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