The Legacy of the Second Scale Pack

He can just pick them out through the slats in the gutter. Scuttling legs clinking against darkened walls. Click, click-click, click. Are they alive? No, nothing on this planet is alive. The air is disturbingly clean, sterile, but not breathable. The planet’s surface has been rendered faceless, any facets of civilisation inhaled by rock. Being an adventuring soul, he was disappointed at the prospect of exploring another glorified stone. Until now. These beings must be synthetic. Yes, there – the glint of a metallic husk as one turns the corner. A robot army? Another AI? His mind wanders, remembering reports of dead planets, empty save for half-crazed machines abandoned to carry out expired missions. He suppresses a shudder.

CLANG. One of the robots jumps against the gutter cover, four pointed legs straining at his face. He jerks his head back, rolling untidily to the side. That was a mistake. The robot wrenches the gutter cover free, then another one leaps onto his face. Soon, a pack of them are swarming over his arms, his legs, his torso. It’s suffocating, despite the protection of the EVA suit.

BZZZT. His suit buzzes. It’s never done that before. The lights flicker. BZZZT. It happens again. Another robot clambers on top of his chest and raises two of its legs, exposing its underbelly towards his helmet. By the stars, these things are armed! A bolt of something erupts from the robot’s belly directly onto his helmet. BZZZZT. A scale-line fracture trickles next to his left eye. What is it the Kallimari like to say? Ah, yes. Gukk.

But he is a seasoned adventurer. And if adventuring has taught him one thing, it’s how to think outside of the box. The robots haven’t pinned him down, they’ve pinned down his suit. Using his tongue, his teeth, and the muscles controlling his frills, he manoeuvres his head down towards the back of the airbag control button, just above his left clavicle. BZZZT. His snout jolts abruptly against the chassis.

Whumph. The airbag puffs around his torso, the force of it toppling the robots. This time, he rolls purposely towards his shuttle, gaining momentum. Meanwhile, he twists his arm round his back, grasping for – oh sweet water of oasis, yes.

The jetpack roars into life and he feels himself swinging upwards. The hover settings are adjusted so he hangs in the air, just out of arm’s reach from the robots. From up here, they look rather cute. They swarm over each other beneath him, forming a shifting mound, some of them tumbling ridiculously down the backs of the others. He quickly snatches one from the top of the mound, careful to angle its belly away from him. Surely there’s a way to turn one off? BZZZT. A quick taser to the chassis, and the robot goes limp.

He brings the robot to an entrepreneurial side of the galaxy. To a growing crowd, he tells of his dastardly escapade, obscuring the part where he mostly looked like a Sailor having an allergic reaction. Some suggest that the robots killed all the life on the planet, maybe some twisted conservation protocol. He likes that idea. People beg for more stories, but he can’t stay for long. He’ll leave his name here, as he has done for each adventure.

Chokri Allkin, of the Second Scale pack. Pleased to have met you.

For a while, the names of the Second Scale pack and their scarlet shawl flutter in and out of communication channels and news reports. Moko Strarm saves a stranded ship around Huxxis V, Iklou Tuiv stops a robbery on Kallimar, Dittas Breakbank discovers another relay out there on the fringes of ARCOL. But then, after but a few months, these appearances seem to dwindle, then stop. No more are the faces of the Second Scale pack seen out in the wilds of the galaxy. No more their voices heard to those in need. Unnoticed and overlooked, somewhere in a forgotten corner of an even smaller northern Corico newspaper, a small article reads:

‘Body found in gutters of Water Station #9. Unidentified Balra with shot to head found. Information wanted.’

And with that, whimper, the Second Scale pack rears its head no more.

Written by Barnaby C.

The campfire gleams. Don’t be shy. Come a little closer. The wood crackles, the flames dance, the smoke billows towards the stars. Family and friends from all over the galaxy have arrived here to gather and remember their roots. Here, take a seat.

Words scamper under flickering shadows and drift through the night. Can you catch them?

The Tale of Tekt Nine-Claw, the one who found the lost colony of Huxxis V…
… Osal One Eye’s untimely demise, the bane of the Dragon’s Egg…
And Moko Strarm himself, who found the dragon!

Stories twirl and stitch themselves together, weaving tapestries of dashing young Balra soaring beyond the faintest stars in the sky. They scurry, explore, fight, escape, encountering the wondrous, the great, the eerie, the macabre.

…you’ve heard the one about Chokri Allkin, no?
Bested 3 AIs… I heard it was 4… well, he outsmarted all of them…
But! The clock he took had more to it than meets the eye…

Tales are told till the stars grow tired. People come and go but slowly begin to dwindle. It’s getting cold. The dawn beckons.

But wait – a line, a loose tapestry thread, flutters alone in the dying embers. It seems to be whispering.

The Tale of the One Who was Forgotten…
…Gesh Haluk was his name. The youngest…
For one must be forgotten for all to be remembered…
… so the stars speak their names…never recalling…
He who proclaimed them throughout the galaxy.

The light from the fire fades. The thread, faint and fragile, scatters in the breeze.

Well. Every tapestry begins with a thread.