Planet Zar: Nexus

 :: Prepare for some turbulence. :: Tshorloth shot to the Wyvren's cluster of passengers. Military scientists but not soldiers. They were probably pissing themselves in this mess. Tshorlath snapped his gaze to Carrol, white-knuckling the controls. :: I think we can make it. ::

The Wyvren jolted as another barrage of metal pelted her hull.

"Like hell we can!" Carrol snarled. "I'm not killing us for some research."

Carrol was always pissy when they weren't on a 'real' mission saving lives, bettering the universe. Classified research from the hidden depths of a supernova remnant hardly stroked his hard-on for heroics. The thing was, Carrol didn't know if this shit was important. Tshorlath gleaned hints from stay thoughts off the brains, peeking carefully with his superb telepathy, and figured this collection detail meant something. The brains buzzed excitement over it - mostly at the thought of accolades but some of their thoughts brightened with bursts of hope. Tshorlath wanted to see this shit through.

Metal battered down the upper hull. Lights sparked and crashed. The taste of ozone filled the cockpit. Distantly, the brains shrieked from the passenger seats.

Tshorlath unbuckled his safety harness and swung to his feet. :: I've got an idea. ::

"Where the fuck are you going?" Carrol's fingers flew across the controls, calming alarms, striking thrusters, hurried but practiced. "Sit back down, I'm pulling us out."

:: This can't go on forever. ::

"It damn well can, it's a fucking met-"

Tshorlath lost the end of that sentence in a blip of psionic teleportation. In an instant the roar of The Wyvren's screaming engines dimmed to the silent embrace of space.

See, here's the thing. Tshorlath had excellent telepathic abilities. Well above average, probably to make up for his stumbling physical tongue. But teleportation? He was alright at that shit. He could manage it in a pinch but rarely bothered and he'd never take a passenger along. He also wasn't impervious to the dangers of space. Lack of pressure, lack of oxygen, lack of heat. The moment he felt the chill of space creep along his fingers he let his heat-self magic envelope his form. A temporary relief from the frigid belly of a dead star.

He had seconds to catch his bearing.

Tshorlath snapped  his eyes open.

The eye of the storm was molten gold and raining flecks of amber rose. It rose and swirled around him in an impossible dance of perfect hue, blotting out the ugly blackness beyond. He wasn't in the belly of a dead star, he was in the heart of it, still thrumming with energy that set his heated skin alight with shocks of pleasure. Tshorlath held back the urge to gasp at its indescribable splendor.

He'd fallen into the mouth of heaven.

He had a job.

Tshorlath glared through the swirling miasma of perfection. Hints of crude, black metal swept through it. And... and there, the dented hull of the Wyvren. They were right on top of their goal, they just couldn't see it.

Lungs burning, Tshorlath dropped his magical heat and teleported.

He landed rough, clumsy, in the cockpit and found himself wrenched to his feet by a strong hand on his bicep.

"You fucking asshole," Carrol spat.

:: We're close. We can make it. ::

Carrol shoved him into his seat and swung back to the navigator's chair. "You ever pull that again and I'm gonna cut your damned wings off. Reckless son of a bitch."

:; Worth it. ::