Tevun-Krus #55 - May The 4th Be With You: The Space Opera Special

First Breath, Last Resort - A Short Story by @LLMontez

If the swamp-child cared that the party guests pointed and gushed about the stringy turd clinging to the crevice between its adorable green butt cheeks, it didn't show it. Oblivious of the attendees' coos, the infant swampling pressed its webbed hands against the glass of its tank, fixating its large yellow gaze on one guest in particular.

He was the only party-goer who curled his lip at the young swamp creature. His black, thin eyebrows scrunched together over a pair of narrowed, mismatched eyes. The brown eye on the left returned the steady curiosity of the child. On the right, the gold filled socket gleamed behind thick strands of black hair.

The swamp creature reached out with pudgy arms. It stretched forward to grab at the shiny plate on the strange human's gloomy face.

"I think it wants something," Moon grunted at Teeno. "Don't tell me we're being forced to watch it feed. I swear to God, Teeno—"

Teeno, bedecked in his gaudiest blue and silver jacket smiled wide. He raised a glass in greeting toward a slender guest as she passed by.

Ladies of high society loved Teeno's sleek grooming. They adored every inch of him from his silver hair slicked back from the peak in the center of his forehead, to his haute pointed, polished blue boots that perfectly complimented the specific powdery hue of his couture officer's jacket. If they weren't won over by his sharp attire, then it might be his roguish charm or natural levity. To the multiple sexes of the galaxy, Teeno could shit his own intestines for dinner and they'd all still want to fuck him.

It made Moon want to vomit.

Teeno chuckled. "Good Lord, no. We are merely here for its First Breath. I can't believe in all the years you've been alive, you've never attended a First Breath party."

Whenever Teeno brought up Moon's years in captivity as Juno's pet, he tended to lose his composure. "No. We're here to free Nuna. This is a work function and not your petty socialite playground. But now that you've mentioned how little of the universe I've seen, considering I've spent five hundred of my five-hundred and fifty-six years of life on that fucking prison shithole. . . that rotting hell of inescapable—"

Moon struggled to finish his thought as the iron-fisted control he maintained over his body slipped. As his ire increased, the clanking of his bones popping from their joints rattled the few classy guests within earshot. They turned to stare in disgust as the hideous man's body twitched. The hand holding his beverage jerked violently, sloshing the drink around.

Teeno's forced chuckles and backward steps exposed his true uneasiness when Moon lashed out. Though he still beamed with his usual jovial carelessness, his anxious gaze darted around the room to catch the bystanders' reactions.

Moon closed his eye.

Return to your helm.

The mantra cleared out the turmoil, stretching out a black, open sky before him. The words pushed away his insecurity and flattened his flustered thoughts about his failing limbs. You are the master of this ship. Return to your helm. Return to your helm. He imagined the deck of his ship where he stood alone, facing the vast ocean of stars. Friendly emptiness and silence met him as he faced the expanse of black beyond his helm. They sucked his confusion into a vortex and spit it out far, far away. With a naked finger, he pressed on the cool, sleek panel at his side, reviving the ship's controls. A simple caress of skin on glass seized command of the vessel. The creak of the ship correcting its course synchronized with his heartbeat.

Once again, Captain Shin-Hyun Moon's body aligned with his mind.

When Teeno sensed the nuanced slump, the even breathing, the nearly imperceivable calm of his captain, he returned to his side. "I apologize. You're right. We're here for Nuna."