Oben felt a surge of fleeting relief as the last few drops of water fell onto his tongue. That was it, he though to himself. The end. His skin was completely empty.

  Somehow he was still alive, although his strength was fast failing. Alive, but trapped. The power surge he had initiated in the temple’s mechanisms had caused the masonry to collapse around him, blocking any exit. Ruined crystals lay scattered on the floor.

  By all rights he should be dead of dehydration a week ago, but somehow the temple seemed to be condensing water, and a slow drip occasionally fell from the ceiling during what he assumed to be night. Assumed, because he had lain in complete darkness for… days? Weeks? He did not know. Time merged together, and he slept dreamlessly in spurts.

  He didn’t know why he even bothered. He contemplated pouring the water out and allowing himself to succumb to death. His orcish companions had clearly abandoned him, and he didn’t blame them. It was possible they were killed in the collapse. Probable even.

  He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. He didn’t want to think anymore. He heard voices. A woman’s voice? It reminded him of Aliyse, soft and honey-like. He didn’t want to think about Aliyse anymore. He wanted to sleep.

  Oben’s eyes jolted open. There were definitely voices now. A man’s voice he didn’t recognize had joined the female one.

  They were speaking low standard. A familiar language he thought he would never hear again.

  Oben tried to call out to them, but his voice choked in his parched throat. He struggled to even open his mouth. With a surge of willpower though he powered through.

  “Hel..llo!?” He called between coughs.

  An indistinct voice seemed to answer him, although he couldn’t make out the words. He repeated his greeting.

  He heard a hammering outside the doorway. Fallen stones being moved. A bright light shone in his eyes, blinding him, as huge silhouetted forms entered the room. Steel fingers closed around him and picked him up as if he weighed nothing and he was carried.

  When he came to again he was laying on a stretcher in a familiar looking environment of steel and plastic. He felt his stomach lurching in his chest. He was flying.

  A huge form hovered over him and called to him in a honeylike voice. A small dark face peered out of a bulky suit of white exo-armor, like an angel of mercy from the ancient religions. She smiled at him and her mouth moved as if speaking, but the words washed past his enfeebled consciousness. He gave a weak smile in return. Oben fell back asleep, but this time he dreamed.

  Oben woke up once again in the hospital bed in the windowless room. The gentle centrifugal gravity still felt strange, as if a weight had been lifted off his chest he had forgotten was there. His wounds had been tended to, and he still felt woozy from the drugs he’d been given. An IV bag hung at his side, dripping fluids into his veins.

  The door slid open, and a short woman wearing a grey uniform with admiral’s bars entered, flanked by the doctor who had routinely been in to check up on him the last few days. The doctor sat down next to him, but the woman remained standing, her face an expressionless mask.

  “Good morning Third Lieutenant. T-This is Admiral Fost, she’s here to ask you some questions about your um, your recent experience.” The doctor said. He rubbed his hands nervously.

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  “Of course.” Oben responded.

  “Your um, report leaves a lot of questions we’d like to addre…”

  “That’s enough doctor, I’ll take it from here.” The woman said, snatching a clipboard away from the doctor. The frightened man shrunk away from her instinctively.

  “Let’s get down to business Third. Tell me everything that happened from the moment you awoke from cryosleep. Leave nothing out.”

  And so Oben relayed the story of his adventures in their entirety. From the crash all the way to waking up to his armored rescuers saving him from a slow death in the ruined temple. After he had told his story, he told it again.

  And then a third time.

  “… and why did you not activate the distress signal in your escape pod?” She repeated again. Oben shifted uncomfortably.

  “It’s like I told you, I was unable to regain access to the vehicle.”

  “Yes after the alleged… ‘orcs’ kidnapped you. And then allegedly fed you, clothed you, and taught you their language. And you didn’t simply ask to return to your vessel because…?”

  “I couldn’t! The other tribe took it, the ones with the red paint and the animals!” Oben snapped. Admiral Fost’s face tightened.

  “Surface teams haven’t encountered any sign of any green skinned hominids on the surface, nor were there any recorded as dwelling on the planet. Are you telling the truth, Third?”

  Oben’s response was cut off when the doctor interrupted.

  “Um, excuse me sir. The patient is um, displaying a heightened adrenal response. He’s in need of rest and medication.”

  If looks could kill, the doctor would have dropped dead on the spot as the admiral shot him a glance.

  “It’s just, y-you know, he’s been through a lot of stress and um…” He stammered. Sweat ran down the back of his neck.

  “Fine. I wouldn’t want to endanger the health of your patient, doctor. Forward the transcript of this conversation and his medical logs to intelligence.”

  The admiral stood, and strode purposefully out of the sick bay, leaving Oben alone with the cowering doctor. He sighed and laid back down as the doctor appeared to make himself look busy at the counter.

  “Anything?”

  Fost turned towards the figure waiting for her in the hall as the sick bay doors slid shut. A clean cut man with grizzled features, cropped grey hair, and sharp blue eyes leaned up against a bulkhead, scrutinising her out of the corner of his eye.

  “He stuck to his story, as ridiculous as it sounds.” She responded. He grinned smugly.

  “I’ve never known you to fail an interrogation Fost. I’m surprised I can’t hear him sobbing from out here.”

  “And I’ve never known you to be a voyeur, Vissald.”

  The man’s small grin turned to a smirk.

  “It’s my business to keep informed if there’s potential threats.”

  “From what he reported, whatever inhabitants are still on the planet are primitive in the extreme. They pose no threat.”

  “And you believe him? We have six scout ships unaccounted for. Spear chucking savages don’t shoot down spacecraft.”

  “A combat team found him in what appears to be the ruins of an outsider outpost. But you already knew that, Commander.”

  “You didn’t answer the question. Do you believe him?”

  Fost hesitated, glancing back at the door in thought.

  “They found him wearing some ridiculous garb. He had a bunch of stone age tools on his person. Either he’s gone native or he’s gone insane. So no, I don’t trust a word he says. But he might be useful. I want you to send some armed landing parties to the northeastern peninsula of Nelby Primary. Let’s see if we can’t flush out some of these little green men.”

  Vissald grinned a bit wider.