Parasomnia

"What the hell was that?" I jabbed a finger toward the planet's surface. "Explain."

"Blokays has an equatorial threshold—a transition zone." Her projection flickered. "It generates atmospheric aberrations. Temporal storms being one of them."

"And you didn’t think to mention that earlier?" Rage burned through my veins. "I nearly died on that fucking planet. Twice."

"You should've prepared better, Ethan. You're the one who cut me off while I was briefing you."

"How was I supposed to know you weren't just blabbering nonsense?"

"Be more careful next time. Luck won't always favor you."

"Now you're mocking me? Why the hell do I even put up with you?"

I slumped into the chair and glared at the ship's monitor. The planet's surface had vanished from view. The storm raged outside, hurling fist-sized snow chunks against the hull.

"How long will it last?" I asked.

"A couple hours," my companion replied tersely before vanishing from the compartment. "But it won't stop us from lifting off. Eliot can navigate through it."

"Abort takeoff," I ordered. "We'll wait out the storm."

"What are you scheming now?"

"Need to check something."

"Fine. Report to medical first—that frostbite won't treat itself."

I peeled off the torn spacesuit and cursed at the blackened flesh encircling my elbow.

"Two injections and you’ll be good as new," Skyla said, her hologram flickering reassuringly. "No need to panic."

"What I really need is some of that Coldborn firebrew," I muttered, swabbing the injection site. "Take the edge off."

"Don’t gamble with your senses, Ethan" Her voice turned stern. "It’s just a shot. Endure it."

A sharp beep sounded as the auto-injector's needle punched deep into my arm. I unleashed a stream of Kallinkorian curses so creative they'd make a dockworker blush, while Skyla's hologram cheerfully displayed my diagnostics.

"Healthy as an ox," she announced with infuriating brightness.

True to Skyla’s prediction, the Temporal Storm dissipated within hours. The surface had returned to its perpetual night—only now the snowdrifts had reshaped themselves, burying the ship’s landing gear. We still managed to lower the ramp.

I stepped out, adjusting my new helmet. This time, I kept the heating at maximum—no more frostbitten extremities or unwanted astral visions, thank you very much.

The planet’s silence was absolute, broken only by the creak of compacting snow under my boots as I circled the ship.

"What are you looking for,Ethan?" Skyla’s hologram materialized beside me, her tone laced with genuine curiosity.

"Shut up. Wait—no, scan for life signs nearby," I rapped my knuckles against the helmet.

"Bioscan detects one living organism. Twenty paces at your five o'clock. No movement detected."

"The hell you mean 'no movement'?" My brow furrowed. "Is it dead or not?"

"Vitals confirmed. Thermal signature present but static."

I moved slowly toward the coordinates Skyla had given me, until a small snowdrift caught my eye. Kneeling, I brushed away the powder with careful hands—then froze.

There, blinking up at me with round gray eyes, was an infant. A tiny Coldborn, its fingers like delicate icicles, kicking its legs as if delighted by the universe. And it was glowing.

"Holy fucking hell," I breathed. "Sharius got himself a reboot."

"The Temporal Storm defies prediction," Skyla replied, her voice tinged with awe. "When it engulfs Blokays, spacetime buckles like Kallinkor’s tectonic plates. One man might shed decades like a snakeskin, while another crumbles to dust mid-breath. It’s an anomaly where time frays—stretching one life across centuries, hurling another back to their cradle."

"Anything else you’ve conveniently omitted about this planet?" I asked, holding the tiny Coldborn at arm’s length like a malfunctioning grenade.

"If you mean anomalies, that’s all I have," Skyla replied.

"And what exactly am I supposed to do with this pint-sized hellspawn?" I exhaled sharply. "Two hours ago he was trying to ventilate my skull. Now he’s drooling on my gloves."

"If paternal instincts escape you, leave him. Something else will find him. Maybe."

"And if the storm cycles back?"

"Then Sharius might age decades in seconds—or blink out like he was never conceived."

I stared at the infant. Its wide gray eyes held no recognition—just the blissful ignorance of a creature unaware it was cradled by its would-be victim.

"Irony’s a bitch, eh, buddy?" I gave the tiny Coldborn a gentle shake. "Not only did you fail to kill me, but now you’ve won the cosmic lottery."

The baby gurgled with something disturbingly close to Kallinkorian laughter, its icicle fingers curling around my glove.

"Fine," I finally growled. "I’ll dump you with your kin. Let them deal with their reborn messiah."

"We need to leave, Ethan," Skyla interjected. "What if another pack of those entities is already hunting us?"

"You picking up movement on scans?"

"Negative."

"Then I've got time."

I dug out the snowcat I’d wrecked during the chase. After depositing baby Sharius in the passenger seat, I was about to head for the waterfall when a glint caught my eye—the judge’s disabled weapon. I scooped it up and stuffed it into my backpack. Might come in handy.

The capsule was dented, but the engine sputtered to life, crawling forward at half its normal speed. Memories of the Astral Sisters sent a chill down my spine, though the Shining Limit had faded from the sky. They were gone. At least, that’s what I told myself.

I edged behind the waterfall, descending into the familiar tunnel. The LED markers I’d embedded in the walls still glowed faintly, painting a path through the hollow darkness. When I reached the central cavern, I kept my helmet on and made for the "Ice Cradle," praying no one would recognize me.

The place was shuttered, but a lockpick and old habits got me inside, the sleeping infant tucked awkwardly against my chest.

The bartender was inside, his tiny mouth hanging open in shock.

"Found this little guy up top," I said, laying on the thickest accent I could muster. "Got caught in the Temporal Storm."

"Ethan?" Gelsion recognized me instantly.

"Look, I’m not here for trouble," I whispered, thrusting the infant into his arms. "Sharius couldn’t duck the storm in time. I could’ve left him, but… here we are. We good?"

Gelsion considered for a full minute—long enough for me to vividly imagine shoving the wretch into boiling thermal waters—before giving a slow nod:

"Deal. You really are unpredictable, Kallinkorian. They speak truth about your kind."

I looked at the bartender through my fogging helmet and winked at him:

"Hot damn," I muttered, wiping condensation from my visor. "Just like this whole mess."

I found my way back quickly, and upon rushing onto the ship, I eagerly peeled off the spacesuit. My entire body was drenched in sticky sweat, and I headed straight for the shower as the ship climbed to cruising altitude, leaving the frozen planet behind.

"Did you decrypt the letter?" The hologram’s voice cut through the steam as it activated the shower for me.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"Practice some patience, sweetheart," I grumbled while the dry-jet sterilized my skin. "Let a man decompress first."

"As you wish, Ethan" A pause. "Though I should mention—this look suits you better."

"The hell’s that supposed to mean?"

Lights flickered on along the shower compartment’s side wall, illuminating a mirror usually hidden behind sliding panels. I stepped closer—and froze.

The reflection showed a haggard Kallinkorian, skin parched from years of recycled ship air, short hair sticking up in chaotic tufts. A single silver streak framed his face like a scar.

"Mullen’s Streak," Skyla said. "A marker unique to Kallinkorians who’ve survived Temporal Storms."

"Thought I’d dodged it." I touched the silver strand. "So… did I age?"

"Visibly? Hard to tell." Her hologram flickered. "You’ve always looked like hell, Ethan."

I burst out laughing:

"Look at you, finally grasping humor. Proud of you, kid."

"You’re welcome. If you want certainty, we’ll need to run diagnostics. Medical bay."

"Couldn’t care less," I waved her off, manually slamming the mirror panels shut. "Done playing lab rat."

The reflection of that joyless bastard vanished—the last thing I caught was those brown eyes.

"Let’s grab dinner first. Then I’ll tell you what the letter said."

"According to my data, it’s morning on Blokays right now."

"We make our own schedule here. And I want it to be night," I chuckled, thinking of Glacius.

"I don’t understand you, Ethan," Skyla replied. "Time flows the same for everyone."

"Used to think that too, sweetheart."

Five months and twelve hours later, I touched down on a new planet for the first time. Skyla had assured me this world was "ideally suited for initial field testing."

But after being Eliot’s captive for so long, I’d have taken any planet—even one actively trying to kill me.

"And remember, Ethan," the hologram drilled its final instructions into me, "if you feel unprepared—turn back or call the ship immediately. No heroics."

"Yeah, yeah, got it," I waved her off.

The earpiece kept rolling uncomfortably in my ear, threatening to fall out at any moment. Reluctantly, I shoved the tiny capsule deeper inside while simultaneously adjusting the oversized spacesuit. I hadn't even taken a step outside yet, and already everything was pissing me off.

The planet was tiny—small enough to walk its entire circumference in a week, according to Skyla. Intelligent life existed here, but sparsely. They couldn’t reproduce among themselves, which spared the place from overpopulation. Occasionally, though, exiled creatures from other worlds were dumped here. Given the hostile conditions, most died quickly… but a few managed to spawn just enough offspring to keep the planet’s ecosystem limping along.

The planet was called Micronda. Even its name exuded minimalism, though—for its size—it was remarkably lush and picturesque.

I trekked through low shrubs and stunted trees until I spotted the settlement that housed literally everyone who lived on Micronda.

"Aprmptblamrv," – I startled, looking down at a small creature resembling a Kallinkorian slug, barely knee-high.

The being was chattering animatedly, but its speech was utterly incomprehensible to me.

"Skyla," I tapped my earpiece nervously, "what the hell is this slug thing? I can’t understand a damn word."

"A rare lifeform, Ethan. No translation available—it’s not even in the xenobiological archives."

"So what am I supposed to do?" I tried sidestepping the creature, but it kept babbling relentlessly, trailing me like a sticky shadow.

"Avoid provoking it. We’ve no data on its attack methods. Could be venomous. Could paralyze on contact."

"Fan-fucking-tastic. First landing, and I’m already running from sentient jelly."

I quickened my pace through the settlement, and the deeper I went into the maze of simple square-shaped structures—perched on stilts, woven from branches and stones—the larger the crowd of slugs grew, all joining my initial "conversation partner."

"Aprmptblamrv!" the chorus of slugs chanted behind me.

When their numbers swelled to about fifteen, I stopped dead and spun around to face them. The move was so abrupt that half the slugs squelch-jumped in place, leaving behind glistening puddles of goo.

"I don’t understand you!" I waved my arms like a malfunctioning signal tower. "Zero clue what you’re saying, folks!"

The slugs fell silent, studying me—or at least I assumed they were, since I couldn’t pinpoint where their eyes might be. A rustling sound came from nearby, and another slug, noticeably larger, oozed out of one of the square structures. On its back sat a device, which it pushed toward me, waiting expectantly.

"Skyla," I called to my assistant, "they’re handing me some kind of… box."

"Describe it."

"Hard to put into words. Some weird sensor with wires and suction cups? I’ll scan it—you look for yourself." I activated my sleeve scanner, then turned stiffly in my suit to address the slugs: "Give me a sec, folks."

After an agonizing wait, the hologram finally responded:

"It appears to be a translator, Ethan. Crudely made and in need of refinement, but functional. Connect the yellow wire to your earpiece and place the gray sensor against your inner cheek. Try it."

"It's covered in slime," I grimaced, wiping the sensor on my suit's thigh.

"Endure it, Ethan. Gifts from native lifeforms must not be refused."

With a sigh and a silent curse aimed at the hologram, I hooked up the translator—a jury-rigged mess of whatever scraps other creatures had left lying around this godforsaken planet—and glared at the slugs.

"Alright, folks," I slurred around the sensor wedged awkwardly in my cheek. "What's so damn important?"

The device kept slipping, and I had to clamp my jaw just right to avoid either swallowing the thing or cracking a molar.

"You come here to mate?" asked the first slug that had latched onto me.

"Uh… no," I drawled.

"Mate here now?" chimed in another.

"Listen, folks," I backpedaled, "I’m just visiting. Maybe we could, uh, trade snacks instead? Souvenirs?"

"We not want trade," rumbled the largest slug. "Want mate. We wait galaxy-head to save planet from extinction."

"Right. Crystal clear." I shifted in my clunky suit, calculating the sprint back to Eliot’s ship. "So… any local hobbies? Besides, y’know, population revival?"

"If no mate, then GO!" The creatures flushed violet, bodies swelling like overfilled balloons about to burst.

I bolted for the ship, the spurned residents of Micronda hot on my heels—or rather, their glossy slime trails—in what was now the Galaxy’s most humiliating chase scene.

Turns out fertility wasn’t limited to the soil here.

As Eliot’s ship began its ascent, a couple of stubborn slugs clung to the windshield. I flicked on the external mic, deciding to try diplomacy one last time.

"Please disembark," I said, as politely as one can while fleeing an amorous mollusk mob. "This takeoff will be fatal for you."

"Give back device!" the slugs wailed in unison, their gelatinous bodies quivering. "We lend! Not gift!"

"Whoops. My bad," I muttered, not sounding particularly sorry.

"That ‘device’ is a xenotech artifact, Ethan," Skyla’s hologram materialized beside me just as the ship’s windshield jets activated with a hiss.

The slugs screeched—a sound like nails on a chalkboard made of mucus—as the cleaning fluid blasted them off the glass. They plummeted to the ground in a series of wet splats.

"We can't return the device. I'll improve it—someday it'll help you negotiate with other planets."

"Sorry again!" I shouted into the mic at the creatures below, now swollen and blackened with rage.

As Eliot's ship surged upward, I could've sworn the Microndians kept shrieking about mating rituals even after we vanished from sight—their shrill demands echoing through the void like a cosmic wrong number.

"Horny little bastards," I shuddered at the thought of staying any longer. "Why didn’t the other creatures come out? How do they even survive there?"

"Don’t dwell on it, Ethan." Skyla’s hologram flickered. "The data I gathered during the landing… isn’t encouraging."

"Meaning what? What did you see?"

"The other lifeforms don’t last long on Micronda. They’re used as incubators. Once they can’t provide what the Microndians need anymore, they die."

"Damn," I exhaled. "So these grubs are hellbent on becoming Kallinkorian butterflies."