It was somewhere beyond the third star in the Razão System that Oliver felt the need to stretch. He and his Striginaean crewmate, Búho, had been on the “night” shift for approaching five hours now and he’d been sitting still for the last three. Oliver supposed that there really wasn’t any night shift or day shift since they weren’t on a planet at the moment, but he felt it fair to let his tired brain suggest it was. It appeared to be night due to the blackness of space outside the viewing port and the fact that most of his crewmates had retired to their quarters to enter their sleep cycles. He shot a glance towards Búho, who seemed unperturbed by his lack of sleep. Really, Oliver supposed, it made sense that an alien descended from their planet’s equivalent of owls would seem unaffected by the extended hours. 

Standing from his console with a large and audible groan, Oliver stretched his arms high above his head, causing his lilac researcher uniform to stretch with him. Oliver heard several satisfying pops before he twisted his torso allowing the last few joints to click in agreement. He then interlaced his fingers and pushed outwards, giving his hands and wrists the same treatment as his spine. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief before turning his head towards Búho and taking in the concerned look he was getting. 

“Something wrong?” Oliver asked. In his peripherals, he saw a small green light on his breast pocket blink in sync with his words. Much to Oliver’s amusement, Búho blinked owlishly. He then did his best impression of a nod, which was difficult due to his Striginaean biology. The avian strode over to where the terran was standing. His breast pocket shone in response.

“How is it that breaking a bone is supposed to be extremely painful, yet you broke several just now with no consequence?” 

When Oliver first joined the Astral Voyage, it was slightly jarring to see Búho’s beak click in a way that didn’t match his translated words, but Oliver had since grown accustomed to it. Oliver shot an odd look down towards the smaller crewmate. 

“I didn’t break any bones, I just cracked my back and my knuckles,” he explained. Búho paused, then began again. 

“I fail to make a distinction between the two actions.” 

“Breaking a bone is bad, yes, but I just popped my joints.” Oliver paused. He noticed the way his translator flickered yellow on certain words. There was no direct word for what he was saying in Búho’s native tongue. “Pop,” Oliver emphasized, “and crack can be used to describe the sound something makes. I cracked my back and knuckles,” Oliver explained. He chuckled softly, “If I broke a bone, I’d probably be crying on the floor.”

Búho made a face that said he was still skeptical, but didn’t deem it important or appropriate to press the topic further. Oliver was happy to let the subject drop and do another sweep of their ship’s surroundings. He strode over to the proximity monitor and swiped through a few screens before finding the correct one: their immediate galactic positioning system. Oliver noted a smallish blue blip on their starboard side. 

“Búho, take a look at this?” The owl complied and fluttered over to where the human was standing. Taking in the odd but not immediately threatening ship coming towards them, he puffed his chest out and began to fiddle with their communications system. 

“This is Scientific Researcher Búho Eostrix of the good vessel Serenity. We request you identify yourselves or change your current trajectory.”

Silence. Búho tried again. 

“This is Scientific Researcher Búho Eostrix of the good vessel Serenity. We request you identify yourselves or change your current trajectory. Do you copy?”

Still silence. Oliver strode over to the viewing deck. The ship was barely visible in the blackness of space, but he could make it out in the nearby starlight. As it approached, Oliver noticed the state of decay the ship was in. Having been on the vessel for long enough to realize a trap when he saw one, Oliver immediately began to activate the defenses, though he feared he might be too late. 

As he was typing, a fuschia burst hit their port side. Red emergency lights flared as the main consoles and terminals began ejecting sparks and smoke. Both Oliver and Búho were knocked off their feet; Oliver was buried in rubble, his chest painfully pinned by a support structure. He had banged his head on the steel floors and felt an uncomfortable sensation in his chest, but that didn’t matter. He could hear Búho’s alien screams. His crewmate was in trouble. Oliver forced himself to dislodge his body from the destruction and run towards the source of the horrible sound.

When he managed to locate the origin of Búho’s panicked cries, Oliver shuddered at the sight. Búho screeched inhumanly -- the owl’s left wing was trapped under a metal beam. Oliver clambered over to his crewmate and, ignoring the searing pain on his left side, managed to get into a position to lift the debris. 

“Búho, you’re gonna be fine, okay? I’m gonna get you out of here.”

Búho squawked. Oliver began to pry at the beam, only succeeding in nudging it a few millimeters off the ground and making his partner croak in pain. Suddenly there was an audible thumping coming outside the bay doors. There was snarling and scratching, too. Only then did it fully hit Oliver: he couldn’t wake the other crewmates when the control panels were this badly fried. It was just him and his alien comrade Búho against a band of space pirates. 

Some small part of his mind registered how cool that sentence would have sounded to his teenage self. 

Realization finally settling in and his brain coming to grips with the reality of his situation, Oliver began to work in overdrive. He gave a mighty heave to the beam and lifted it a meter off the ground, giving Búho ample space to climb out from beneath. Oliver scanned the avian and noticed that aside from a few ruffled feathers -- possible bruising suspected-- and a damaged translation unit, Búho looked fine. 

“Okay, good… you’re okay. You’re safe,” Oliver sighed.

Búho looked inquisitively at Oliver, who must have said pure gibberish in Búho’s language. Oliver tried to speak in broken Common. 

“You- You not hurt. Good. We- in danger,” Oliver tried. It was hard to make the proper sounds with his human vocal cords, especially considering he hadn’t used the language since training, but he prayed the message would get across. Thankfully it did, because Búho tried to respond. Oliver felt a small sense of pride at getting over the language barrier. 

“Others?” 

“Sleep. Need help.” 

Búho did that little weird bird-nod then scanned Oliver’s form. 

“Red.” 

Oliver couldn’t gather what Búho meant. Rather than try to clarify, Oliver’s attention leapt to the increase in thumps and snarls coming from outside the bay doors. The pirates were getting closer. 

“Red,” Búho urged. Oliver gave a noncommittal shrug to show Búho he heard him, but still didn’t try to decipher what Búho was trying to say with the universal language. 

“Danger,” Oliver repeated. He grabbed Búho’s shoulder and pulled him towards the side exit and into a (thankfully) deserted hallway on the starboard side. The walls that were normally a muted blue-grey color were bathed in the red emergency light. 

“Red!”

Oliver gave up on Common and switched back to his native tongue. “Yup, the halls are red. C’mon, we gotta call for help.” 

Búho let out a sharp cluck, obviously he had given up on Common as well. They began to walk towards the sleeping chambers. Aside from the harsh lighting and the annoying siren, it was relatively peaceful, given the scattered debris and the muffled snarling. When they turned the corner the snarling got louder, so Oliver crouched over and began walking silently. Búho followed suit as best someone with talons the size of steak knives could. 

Peering around the corner was much easier for Oliver, so he led the duo closer towards the communications center. Due to the silence and patience required to navigate the scarlet hallways, Oliver’s adrenaline began to die down. The throbbing in his left side began to flare up again. Oliver noticed his bottom lip was split (how did he miss that?) and his head was swimming in ways that reminded him of falling off his bike when he was a kid; his vision was foggy and dark around the edges. He shot a glance over his shoulder over to Búho, who was in the process of preening his feathers. 

“Man, we look like a mess,” Oliver half-chuckled. Búho looked up and his eyes widened, which Oliver didn’t even know they could do.

“Red! Red!” Búho still tried to speak to Oliver in Common and gestured wildly towards Oliver, but to no avail. 

Not feeling like participating in the literal worst game of charades in the history of Astral Voyaging, Oliver sighed. He stubbornly growled in English, “I don’t know what the hell you’re saying.”

“Red,” Búho shot back with equal exasperation. Whatever he was going on about must have been urgent, but Oliver didn’t have the time to contemplate. Tunnel vision kicked in, and Oliver turned on his heel to resume the trek to the communications center.

Oliver made a mental note to brush up on his Common if they survived this.

Finally, after a tense few minutes of held breaths and muted steps, they entered the communications center. Upon entering, Oliver made a beeline for the emergency communications console and Búho closed the door and initiated the isolation locks. Nobody in or out. Oliver fiddled with the terminal for a few minutes and sent out their coordinates with a short message. 

Pirates attacked the Serenity in the Razão System, just past the third star. Most of the crew in their sleep cycle. Send help as soon as possible.

Once the message was sent, Oliver was able to pause and stop his racing mind. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, but focusing on them made Oliver realize how much pain his nerves were actually in. Oliver suddenly felt exhausted. There was a ringing in his ears that he couldn’t attribute to the ship and his head was on fire. Oliver’s knees shook before he collapsed onto the steel floor and watched Búho scuttle over to him as his vision faded.

__________________________

Oliver didn’t know how long he was out, but when he roused, he was in a white cot. A medical facility, he surmised. Craning his neck to look around the room, he noticed he wasn’t as alone. Búho was asleep in a chair next to him, bandages around his injured wing. His torn vest was replaced with a brand new one, crisp and vibrant lavender with a next-gen translator to boot. 

Oliver wearily smiled, realizing the danger they were in had passed, and fell back into bed with a content sigh. Striginaeans must have extremely sensitive hearing, because Búho woke up. 

“Oliver,” Búho hooted happily. Translator was working like a charm. Oliver shot him a grin and moved to sit upright. He noticed that he had been given bandages around his chest and left shoulder. He supposed his shirt was also replaced due to the damage and had his suspicions confirmed when Búho provided him with a new one, also affixed with the newest model of translator. 

“Is this thing on?” Oliver tested. Cue Búho’s trademark bird-nod. Chuckling to himself, Oliver swung his legs over the side of the cot to face his friend. “So,” he began, “I guess this means we didn’t die?” 

Búho gestured towards the screen opposite the bed listing off the ailments plaguing his Earthling friend. The screen mocked Oliver. Severe bruising across the torso, various large cuts and scrapes, mild concussion, punctured lung, and two broken ribs on his left side. That explains the pains and dizziness.  

“No, we aren’t dead. You cut it really close though. Apparently,” Búho chided, “you really wouldn’t know if you broke a bone… or two. You also lost a lot of blood. Your shirt went from lavender to-”

“To red,” Oliver finished. He wheezed out a laugh and met Búho’s gaze. “Búho, we really gotta work on our Common.”