Open Space and Hyperspace

The ship jumped to hyperspace, the miasma of swirling blue that was hyperspace filling the viewscreen before them, and Fifth breathed a small sigh of relief. The human as well slumped in his chair, though it seemed to Fifth as though it was more stressful to him being safe than it had been when they were in actual danger. Fifth understood this somewhat, for he had seen it often on the battlefield; this was a sentient who had seen much danger and violence, perhaps too much. It took a toll after a while. Begrudgingly, and perhaps only as slightly as possible, Fifth found he respected the human a little more. If only a little. He was a human after all.

Alright, 'Fifth.' I'm Fel. He swung the chair back around to face the man sitting at the gunnery station. I'm not sure about our arrival time -- less than six hours though. We're not exactly on a shipping lane, so we'll see how much I can shave off. In the meantime --

Something caught the Fel's eye, and as the sound of a blaster rung out through the corridors of the ship, Fifth's hand automatically snatched the blaster pistol out of his jacket. His head turned, he saw the human woman - a slight wisp of a sentient with a wound on her head, now sweeping her rifle from right to left - and Fifth acted again without barely thinking. He knew instinctively that the time it would take for her to move the rifle and train it on him would be too little time for him to raise his own pistol and train it on her. Thus, he did the next best thing, and trained the pistol on the crumpled form of Fel on the ground, who being on the floor was far closer and easier to aim at - in contrast to the long swing upward Fifth's arm would have to make to aim at the woman.

All of this happened in mere seconds, and to someone looking on at the spectacle, it may have been shocking. Granted, a seasoned soldier would immediately draw his weapon without even thinking of it. But to aim it with such subconscious thought at the person who had just saved them? And indeed, this was unique to the Firrerreo; this absolute and utter disregard for all other sentients, and even their own race outside their own clan, to such a degree that one's first instinct was to take a hostage out of a would be savior. This instinct was at the heart of every Firrerreo, and Fifth was no exception.

"You'll have to excuse the pilot. He's not thinking straight. Get up. Slowly."

Fifth was silent for a long moment, neither moving nor blinking, the heavy pistol steadily aimed at Fel on the floor. Eventually, he spoke, his voice level, his tone smooth and steady.

"I believe...that it is you who is not thinking straight. Here you are, backing a sentient you don't know into a corner, into a small space with what I presume is a friend - you wouldn't have stunned the Fel if he didn't have some kind of value to you. Additionally, you confront me in this room, the cockpit, with so many critical pieces of electronics. You are obviously no soldier...but I do think you are a survivor. So tell me, human, would you like to survive? To be safe? Because this is what I want, very dearly. I want to go home. That's all there is to it. But I'll be damned if I've spent the last twenty years in carbonite just to die in nowhere space, at the hands of some human female."

Fifth finished speaking, his hand tightening on his pistol, his eyes narrowing, his skin shifting to silver. He evaluated his options, taking in the human and his surroundings. If she made a move, he would have very few opportunities. But some did indeed exist. In all, though, it would be risky business. The best route would be to talk to her.

Fifth's hand tightened on the pistol, and for a long moment, he considered simply shooting the man. That would be unwise, though, wouldn't it? The man, the Fel, was clearly the one who had come to his rescue. The woman was the issue. But, there was something more as well. Setting aside the fact that Fifth was a run of the mill soldier, with no powers or special training...he was also a Firrerreo. That meant a lot of different things, nowadays, but it meant a certain thing to Firrerreo themselves especially; many thought them wild, ferocious and callous, even outright savage. There was some truth in that. But the FIrrerreo homeworld had been a place of art an refinement - in this light, it would be more accurate to say that Firrerreo were simply passionate, and anything they did had passion. Loving, arguing, fighting - they did all with a passion that surpassed other species.

Such as it was, that Fifth's blaster hovered on Fel, that Fifth snorted and shook his head.

"...No. I am no Imperial. I am no human." Said Fifth, dropping the blaster and crossing his arms.

Mercy? Probably not. But perhaps even Firrerreo had a limit in regards to their callousness. And, perhaps even a limit to how many lives they could take. Though they would surely refute that claim just as passionately.

The woman fell first to the railing, then to the ground, giving time for Fifth to rise to his feet. On the ground, the woman was attempting to draw a blade, but, frankly, Fifth was having none of it; backpedaling quickly, he backed away from the woman on the ground, raising his hands disarmingly.

"Hey, hey...easy. Frell, if you'd just listen, you nashtah, we wouldn't have to fight!"

Continuing to back up, Fifth hovered in between the common room and the reactor room bulkhead, his hand coming to rest on the panel that would trigger the bulkhead to close.

"Think, human. Do you have any idea what the Imps will do if they catch you and I'm NOT here? Do you have any idea what they do to human women? A slaving collar, and a pleasure house for the local barracks for you. A mining penitentiary for the pilot. Back into stasis for me. You stand a FAR greater chance of staying alive if you stick with me - Pashtah!"