In space, you still have your rights...
Alicia Ivy, the AI affectionately named by Orion- her creator, captain, and chief- watches over the small INGERPOL (Intergalactic Criminal Police Organization) as they carry out their mission to preserve justi...
I stand at the ready by the bay doors, preparing to open them. Orion and Orion's look-alike stand at either side of me. And because I insisted on having one more person I could trust to balance out the presence of Wayta, Reverend Shipping leans against the wall behind me, his breathing still shallow.
Only Rose stands guard in the medic bay, guarding the surgery patient and two still unconscious oxygen-starved cops.
"They've sealed their bridge to us," I say. "I'm preparing to open the bay doors."
"Should we prepare to find cover?" Reverend Shipping asks.
"You just turn the corner if it comes to that and hold the ground there," Orion tells him.
Shipping nods, a spark in his eyes despite the exhaustion still etched on his face. "And you?"
"Alicia Ivy's armor is bullet-proof," Orion answers.
"And fully armed to engage in offensive tactics if he takes manual control," I add.
Reverend Shipping frowns. "You can't just shoot them yourself?"
"I can only use nonlethal weapons," I answer. "Killing humans is against my programming." One I can overlook on a technicality, apparently. Since Wayta is barely human.
And maybe my algorithm computed that she wouldn't actually die when in proximity to Orion.
But I can work on out-maneuvering my programming later. Right now, we need all hands on deck.
The doors open before us, revealing five men standing on the other side. Well, two men, one woman, a cyborg, and an assassin droid to be precise.
I brace myself. This doesn't look like a welcoming party of a reputable ship.
"State your serial number and your business," Orion orders, coming around me.
If this were my hologram, I would give Orion a face for choosing to exert superiority over safety. But it's just as well that I'm not; it would undermine that superiority image.
"We don't bother with a serial image," the foremost of the two men says- somehow, despite his lack of many teeth. "And our business is answering ya'll's SOS."
"Thank you kindly," Orion says. "Our medical crisis is passed, though, as has our technical issue. Now we're just waiting out the storm."
"Well, you're in luck then." The woman cocks her head to the side, and the half of her her black and purple hair swishes with the movement. The other half has left her head inconspicuously bald. "Because our ship has been modified to withstand solar storms."
Orion frowns. "There is no standard issue ship or parts capable of that."
The woman swishes her half a head of hair to the other side. "That's why I said 'modified,' honey."
Wayta-Orion bristles behind me.
"And we thank you for your very kind invitation," Orion says. "But we are fine with sitting out this storm."
The other man grunts through all his muscle. "Well, we're not fine with that."
The hostility levels go up on their side. I step forward, but too late.
Something shoots out of the assassin droid, embedding itself into Orion's shoulder. He presses his hand to what appears to be a dart protruding out of him.
Aiming my arm at the assassin droid, I shoot out electro pulses. They hit my target, sending the droid flying backward.
Three of the remaining alien crew mates go for their weapons at the same time. The cyborg, though, just smirks. "I wouldn't continue down that path if I were you. Not if you want your captain to recover."
Wayta moves to Orion's side, looking like any good brother, and I analyze Orion's form.
As I wait for the readings come back, Reverend Shipping steps forward. "You poisoned him?"
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