MSNPC Jujo Zas - Terminal Descent
teayl.thorn
(( OOC: No tags, I just needed to sim so I’m filling in some background detail with these characters. ))
((Descending—Cargo Lift, Orbital Tether, Proxima Sigma))
The cargo lift shuddered as it disengaged from the receiving station and slid along the orbital tether, beginning its long descent toward Proxima Sigma’s damaged surface. With the passenger lift jammed—likely for good—this was the only option. Jujo didn’t mind. The cargo lift made it easier to transport the oversized soliton waverider damper—a mouthful of a name for what PS4 Colony engineering insisted on calling an "emergency braking assembly.”
oO Ludicrous. Oo
This wasn’t just some spare part for a commuter train. It was a miracle of proprietary tech, designed to nullify soliton wave effects in a localised zone of space within the wave.
It sat silent now, dark and dormant on its grav-pallet, mag-locked to the lift’s floor. Through the narrow transparent viewstrip, the red, green and blue surface of Proxima Sigma rushed up towards them. His home.
Glancing over at the two junior engineers Jujo had dragged with him. He wasn’t willing to leave them behind in what was left of the dying orbital station. They’d fought to stabilise the environmental systems aboard the station, to salvage power, to hold on just a little longer. But half the station had broken off into orbit, and gravity had begun to reclaim the pieces. One by one, they fell like asteroids and molten hail, pummeling the planet below.
Jujo desperately hoped Kieqquch—his mate—and their families had made it to the outer settlements, away from the blast zones. But it was a hollow hope. If Starfleet couldn't halt the incoming soliton wave, then no place would be safe.
He rubbed his brow ridge, claws briefly flicking over the tender edges of his earholes. Chief Investigator Tarek had ordered them off the station, demanding Jujo report to planetside for a debrief. There was nothing more they could do up there. Except bring the dampener.
He didn’t know if they’d get a chance to use it.
As the lift pushed into the troposphere, turbulence nudged them gently, and the black of space gave way to a dusty lavender haze. Jujo squinted through the viewport.
oO Why do they even put viewports in cargo lifts? Just another thing to crack when everything goes to the void. Oo
The silence was broken by the sharp sound of gagging.
Gizresso: By the Rotten Egg! Urgh! It reekth in here!
Laiqesh: Shhhut up! I’ve had enough of your hisshhing. Be grateful you're breathing.
Jujo: Enough. Both of you.
He didn’t raise his voice, just let the weight of authority press into the words. Still, he raked his claws lightly over his scaled scalp, trying to stay calm.
Jujo: It’s a cargo lift, Giz. They use it to haul freight, livestock, fertilizer. Of course it smells. How long have you been with maintenance? Didn’t you do orientation?
Gizresso, crimson scales flaring slightly, clutched at his snout with both claws. Jujo’s eyes widened.
Jujo: No. No, no, don’t do that—not here—
But it was too late.
Giz’s six nasal flaps, three on each side of his elongated snout, quivered violently—then blew open.
Gizresso: AAH-CHHHRRRSSH!
Mucus sprayed in all directions like a burst steam valve. Jujo winced both sets of eyelids closed.
Gizresso: Thorry. :: whipping at snout ::
Laiqesh: Dishgushting. I'm never working with you again.
Jujo sighed and wiped something slimy off his eye.
Jujo: :: with dry sarcasm:: You two should get a room.
A beat. Silence.
Both junior engineers stared at him, mortified. Then at each other. Then back.
Laiqesh: We’re hatchmatesh. Shiblingsh. Didn’t you know that?
Jujo: Oh. Oh, Void—I just thought—because you always argue—Never mind.
He cleared his throat awkwardly and desperately reached for a different topic.
Jujo: Kieqquch—my mate—we're expecting three. Our eggs are due to hatch… any day now.
His voice faltered.
Outside, the streaks of atmosphere cleared enough to reveal broken terrain below—what remained of the central Terminal, once a shining hub of industry and community. Now, craters and broken roofing spread beneath.
They’d be landing in minutes.
Jujo gripped a railing, his claws tight around cold metal. He didn’t know what waited at the bottom of this tether, or what the next few hours would hold—for him, for his companions, or for his planet. But he wanted to be there when the eggs hatched, if they hatched. If there was anything left to hatch into.
If this were the end… he would meet it with Kieqquch.
Together, as always.
[No tags/ TBC Maybe]
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Jujo Zas
Civilian Maintenence Engineer
Proxima Sigma Receiving Station
As simmed by:
Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14