The Firm Grasp

The Firm Grasp is an axe that is pieced together from many different tools. There is a saw blade, some wrenches, a very old, but still effective, brake handle, and some old Kraeth hoverboard boosters that have been dialed up to max. It was made by a Drin Skrau named Adzoa Rozek, who is the exiled niece of a certain Drin royal figure; consequently, she just goes by Adzoa. Too many questions when people find out her last name, and she wants to disappear among the Skrau, leaving her past behind her. The Skrau are a people made of exiles, runaways, deserters, and any others that find their way to them. They largely don't have rules or hierarchies for the most part: If you find your way into a Skrau clan you have to prove yourself useful, or you get dropped at the next space station or planet. Adzoa is very useful. She can make weapons from trash, and she's not too bad in a fight. When Adzoa gets a kill with The Firm Grasp, being a fan of puns, she laughs and says, "They never saw that coming!" Every time. Her somewhat off-kilter humor is also the reason for the name of the axe being so... different. The names are all inside jokes, but only with herself. No one else gets them. The Firm Grasp has boosters in the back for super-extra propulsion when swung. It can also propel the user forward roughly ten feet if the full boost is activated. You reeeeally need to hang on though, or there goes your weapon! It takes some training to the get the hang of, considering it can move a lot fast and hit a lot harder than a typical axe of its size. Adzoa supposes it could also be thrown and the boosters could help in that regard, but she's never understood why you would want to throw a weapon away from you. "Not only are you left without a weapon, but you have to run across the battlefield and fetch it. Like an idiot." 

***

“Whoops!” The helmet shattered, shards of metal and visor spattering the ground. The rifle slipped from the last trooper’s hands, the body crashing to its knees before plummeting face first into the dirt. It joined the other Gaz corpses scattered about the field, bloated in the midday sun. Adzoa the Cackler planted one foot on the body, and pried the axe from its skull. She let out a loud laugh. “The one that almost got away!” She busted up even more at her own ‘joke,’ the humor in it apparent only to her. “They didn’t see that coming!” The other members of her Skrau clan picked through the battlefield, scavenging the remains for useful debris. Adzoa was busy turning her axe over and over in her hands, studying its patchwork frame like she had never seen it before - never mind that she was the one who had built it. La’osh the Anxious, organizer of the raid, looked on with some dismay. It had been a success for sure: no casualties amongst the clan, nor the strife-siblings who had joined them. And while the spoils were likely to be of excellent quality, the attention of the Union was not good. If he had known they were Gaz, the attack never would have happened in the first place. What they were doing wandering around out here, he couldn’t guess. Yargoz the Stubbled shouted from across the field, holding up a piece of equipment plucked from a corpse. “Oi! Interesting find, I found!” La’osh trotted over to the site. The loud hiss of firing boosters trailed behind him, as Adzoa flew over, carried by the rockets attached to her axe. She crash-landed, giggling as she tucked and rolled to the ground. She popped to her feet, tools jangling from her belt and bandoliers. “It’s gotta’ be the shoes!” Laughter, again. “What’d you find, sibling? Hopefully something worth the trouble we’ve borrowed.” Yargoz had ahold of a dagger, except it wasn’t a dagger. It had a projection that looked superficially like a blade, studded with tiny emitters. The handle was covered in dials and buttons, with a small readout embedded in the hilt. At the base of the blade was a stone, cloudy-white, like a cataract-covered eye. “Me bets it’s a stabber.” Yargoz demonstrated by jabbing at the air with the dagger. “For stabbing, ya’ know?” He offered a broad smile. “Keep it, can I? What for the stabbing?” R’yelth the Spongy, sponsor of the strife-sibling Oblong clan, slithered over on its tentacles. Slime bubbled from its beak. “Blis blot bluh blagger,” it gurgled, a single arm trailing over the blade. “Blis ble bluh blemonic blerk blof bluh Blanoi.” The Skrau took all kinds; your skills are what was important. Not your background, your species, or your grasp of Galactic Standard language. But that did, on occasion, create challenges. “I’ve got a firm grasp on this,” Adzoa said, referencing the pet name for her axe, “but I’ve got no idea what you just said.” She chortled. “Oh man… Classic.” “It said it’s Manoi,” La’osh replied, casting a disapproving glance at his clan-sibling. Not that she even noticed. “And that it’s demonic.” “Demonic, eh?” Yargoz slashed at the air, testing the blade. He frowned. “Second thought given, as a stabber, it’d suck.” He flipped it over in his hand, offering the handle to R’yelth. “You wouldn’t happen to know what it does?” La’osh asked. Union equipment was rare out here, Manoi-built even more so. If it was useful, it could fetch a good price at market. The mollusk pondered the question, turning the item over and over in its tentacles, one humongous eye nearly pressed to the blade. Goo dripped down the handle. “Blo,” it finally answered. “Blis blequires blor bludy.” La’osh sighed. If it wasn’t recognizable, how could he hope to sell it? “Alright, we can take a look aboard our ship. The Espoir should be here any moment.” Unnoticed to nearly everyone, a Gaz soldier, a stocky Fulgenate, had propped itself up on one elbow, injured but alive. It stealthily reached for a pistol lying nearby, and took aim at the group. The computer on Adzoa’s arm chirped, a motion sensor picking up the movement. She clenched the handle of her axe tightly, the repurposed hover boosters lifting her into the air in a spin. Whirling like a tornado, she flew through the air, the final revolution of her axe cutting through the Fulgenate’s neck without stopping. The head hit the ground with a plop, the axe burying itself in the dirt. Adzoa busted up, tears filling her eyes. “Oh! Oh man! My dude!” She collapsed to the ground, clutching her stomach as she rolled back and forth. “Nothing to lose your head about!” La’osh just shook his own head. “Adzoa, could you pull yourself together?” She laughed harder, barely able to answer. “Oh! Oh! Tell him first!” She pointed at the dead body next to her. “All I did was axe him a question, and he fell to pieces!” Over the horizon, a massive ship appeared, near silently skimming the ground. Its long shadow blotted out the sun, a mountain in the sky. As it slowed to a stop, neon lights came to life and danced along the superstructure, a festive celebration of a successful mission. From the open decks, a cheer went up from the Skrau gathered there. The Espoir was a converted casino-ship, a long-distance cruiser originally meant for gambling and carousing. With a massive galley, hundreds of sleeping berths, and numerous decks repurposed for breaking down captured treasure, the vessel was absolutely perfect for Skrau Clan Skidmark. La’osh beamed with pride. No one Skrau was above another, but, surely, tonight would be a celebration in his honor. 

***

“What in the Spire would make you think this was a good idea?” Elder Jorsh the Besotted banged his fist on the table, feebly but full of anger. While the elders were, in-theory, afforded no more respect than any other worthy Skrau, it was hard to break the habits of the old worlds. Thus, the elders often spoke first, longest, and most definitely loudest. “The trap was excellent, and we had no reason to believe they would be Unionists,” La’osh retorted, trying to project a degree of confidence. “Would you rather I have suspended the hunt due to the manner of prey encountered?” That rankled their feathers. Elder Er-Tuq the Grubby stood and shouted. “Heresy! Apostate! Heretic!” Her quills bristled. They stood amongst the old theater, La’osh and R’yelth on stage, while the elders heckled them from the orchestra pit. No produce had been flung - yet. The Espoir hurtled through space FTL, towards a rendezvous point deep within Null. The Union was unlikely to track their path, but it would be best to remain on the down low for the time being. The Gaz-Manoi Union wasn’t known for pulling their punches. “Calm! Calm!” roared Elder Rut the Bilge Scrummer. He glared at his fellow elders in turn, his words coming out with a snarl. “Are we not Skrau? Do we not make do? Did our sibling not make do? What are Skrau if not opportunists?” Elder Jorsh snorted, rolling his eyes and leaning his chair back, arms crossed in defiance. “What are Skrau, if not opportunists?” He mocked. “Oh please. Let’s see how that argument goes over with Clan Oblong when we tell them we’re now fugitives from the Union!” Next to him, Elder Uif the Acidic quaked. “If the Union doesn’t turn us into stellar fragments, our strife-siblings surely will.” He hung his head. “We’re doomed…” Elder Rut pointed at him angrily. “As if the Union wouldn’t blow us out of the heavens at the first opportunity, just for being Skrau. How do you think we came to call this vessel home, hmm? Through cowardice and aversion to risk? No! It was the bravery of our clan that gave us such blessings!” “And the cook,” chimed in Elder Er-Tuq. Elder Rut sighed. “Yes, and the cook. Sibling Palmerstaff the Eater’s defection and assistance was invaluable, but that is not the point! The point is -“ “We’re doomed.” Elder Uif began to quietly weep. The elders began to argue amongst themselves once again. La’osh and R’yelth exchanged glances, and quietly slipped out off stage. “We should leave the elders on the next rock,” La’osh muttered. “Blair block bluid ble blest,” R’yelth gurgled. 

***

The attack group was clustered around a table on the old gaming floor, shooting dice and enjoying a post-battle drink. Adzoa sat at one end, fiddling with the dagger and making “whooshing” noises. “How we all doing?” La’osh inquired. A cheer went up from the group. Drinks were offered and accepted. The two took seats at the table. “What do you think, Chuckler?” “Well, somebody wasn’t a dummy. Maybe.” She tapped the dagger blade against the table. “It definitely does something.” “Blike blut?” “Huh?” “It said, ‘Like what?’” “Well.” She giggled. “Oh man. I guess it’s working hard or hardly working, ya’ know?” “… no?” “Yuh.” She let out a snort-laugh. “It ain’t for stabbing. These are laser focusing arrays,” she said, poking the round elements that dotted the blade. “Big ones - that’s what she said, hehehe - rated for high output. Power supply is intense, too. And then there’s the crystal.” “This thing?” La’osh asked, setting a finger on the cloudy, inlaid stone. “You see any other rocks that I got? Yuh, the big-honking mystery rock. It ain’t for decoration, and it ain’t any substance I’ve ever seen.” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s not just a rock?” “Oh, you’re so funny! Man…” She grabbed her stomach as she laughed. “Wait, you’re serious? Whoo boy… you sound like my relatives. ‘Why so serious?’ Ahahahaha!” “Bluh?” R’yelth asked. La’osh could only shake his head. “Nah, it’s weird. It’s emitting the polar opposite of gravity and has negative mass.” “That’s… not possible.” What was negative mass? Opposite of gravity? “Are you making this up?” “Nope! Science is rad! I just can’t get it to work.” She poked at the dials some more. He eyed it suspiciously. “Maybe that’s for the best.” “Nah, would be cool to see what it does.” She smacked it against the table, hard. “You know, I wonder…” She unscrewed the hilt of the dagger like a torch, a fuel cell tumbling out onto the table. “Ah, so stupid! I put the battery in backwards!” She slipped it back in. “Uh, Adzoa, if this is so powerful, maybe we shouldn’t test it aboard the ship? Besides, we’re about to meet up with Clan Oblong, and the elders are already all kinds of pissed.” She ignored him, screwing the hilt back together. “There we go! Now -“ There was a thump as the ship abruptly dropped out of FTL, followed by a tremendous jolt that knocked everyone to the deck. Drinks and equipment scattered as the room spun. Weapon impacts pounded the hull, the crew tumbling wildly. A warning klaxon rang out, the high pitched screech signaling the now-obvious: The Espoir was under attack. La’osh struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against the table. Thank the makers that it was bolted down. R’yelth was nowhere to be found, having disappeared into the mass of crew had been sent careening across the room. Adzoa was just barely hanging on, dagger in one hand, the other gripping the axe she had now embedded in the deck. Smoke and embers blinded him, carrying with it the scent of burnt wiring. The artificial gravity struggled to keep up with the lurching ship’s orientation, the oscillations rapidly changing which way was up. La’osh wanted to hurl. The stricken vessel took another barrage. Somewhere the hull breached, a sudden pop signaling a pressure change. Emergency stabilizers kicked in, keeping the interior intact for the moment. The turbines roared, and with another thump, the Espoir jumped away, disappearing into the relative safety of faster-than-light travel. They were alive. For the moment. He surveyed the room. It was a total mess; anything not screwed in had smashed into one wall or another. A spot fire had broken out in one corner, threatening to become a blaze. Toxic smoke choked the air. And in the center of it all stood Adzoa, looking uncharacteristically concerned. “Uh, La’osh? As usual, I couldn’t help but turn it on… heh.” The dagger lit up, the laser emitters cutting a ring of dusty light into the gloom in front of her. An image formed; a portal, anthropoid-sized, of a faded-hue similar to the unusual stone. He had barely managed to focus his eyes when a figure stumbled out, collapsing to the deck. The portal closed, plunging the room back into near-darkness. The figure crawled across the floor, retching. La’osh moved in cautiously, blaster at the ready. The figure fell on its side, wild-eyed and gasping for breath. Gaz. Or, it was Gaz. He didn’t recognize the species, but the armor was almost unmistakable. Almost. This was twisted, strange. Odd mechanical growths and skeletal constructs warped the frame, while multiple extra optics gazed out in all directions, insect-like. It may have started as a Gaz soldier’s armor, but what it was now, La’osh couldn’t say. The soldier stared up at him, desperate. It muttered something, over and over. La’osh moved closer, still keeping the gun trained on him. “ - hind me. It’s right behind me. It’s right behind me. It’s right behind me. It’s -“ “Who, solider? Who’s right behind you?” The Gaz blinked, seemingly seeing La’osh for the first time. He screamed. “They’re coming! They’re going to cross The Di-” Thwack Adzoa stood over the now-unconscious Gaz trooper, brandishing her axe. She had smacked him on the head with the butt of the handle. “That guy needs to get a grip. Get it? grip? ‘Cause it’s - oh man.” The sirens turned off, but the emergency wasn’t over. Whoever had attacked had left them badly damaged, and there was no guarantee they wouldn’t try to finish the job. But this dagger and the newcomer added a whole other wrinkle to the situation. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one day,” La’osh admonished her. “Help me get this one to the brig.” “Geez, La’osh,” she muttered, helping him hoist up their captive. ”Live, laugh, love a little more, amiright? Yeesh.” La’osh sighed. This day would never end. A crackle of energy filled the air, a rapidly expanding slash of light popping into existence in front of them. It stabilized and then burst, revealing another newcomer. Clad in dark robes and unique, multi-faceted armor, the figure rushed forward, unsheathing a slender sword. It kicked La’osh in the chest, sending him sprawling, while simultaneously bashing the handle of the sword into Adzoa’s head. It tore away the dagger and grabbed ahold of the Gaz soldier under one arm. Without a word, another portal opened, and the figure tossed the dagger and trooper in, before disappearing inside. The portal fizzled out of existence as suddenly as it had appeared. They lay on the floor, La’osh clutching his chest, Adzoa cradling her head. In all the chaos, it wasn’t clear anyone had even witnessed what had happened. “Did anybody get the license plate of the Landrunner that ran me over? Take a good night, everybody.” Adzoa finally groaned. “Heh.”