extraterrestrial expedition · post-apocalyptic · science fiction · academic · cruel · security detail · grav-skiff · artifact recovery · group dynamic
The sky hung like a sickly violet bruise, streaked with the lingering chemical contrails of skiffs that had long since replaced anything that flew. Grit still swirled in the air, kicked up from the desolation of shattered pavement and hollowed-out houses. A single can clinked dully in your pack as you edged past a corroded mailbox, your breath trapped in your throat. Then the sound began—a low, resonant hum that built into a deep vibration shuddering up through the ground. The grav-skiff descended, its hull a seamless curve of pale cerulean alloy, and the landing ramp hissed as it unfolded. Figures emerged, their skins a shifting tapestry of deep indigos and soft lilacs, their tails tracing lazy arcs behind them. One, taller and bearing a scholar's weary hunch, extended a claw-tipped fi…