It was a peaceful life, to farm keeflowers on the fringes of Queil space. More lucrative targets distracted raiders from the fields of Galeus, and Imperial bureaucrats hesitated to meddle with such a bounteous keemeal producer. There was nothing for tourists and no reason for businessfolk to commute here. On Galeus you worked your crops, made your shipments, ate your keeseed and raised your flock. And that was that.
So it bothered Arl to be out in the fields this late. His well-practised routine had been thrown off. By all rights, he should be asleep, but instead he was chasing a rogue perimeter breach alert. It could’ve been a meteor, but no showers were forecast for tonight. The night was clear and still, the vertiginous galactic expanse arcing overhead.
Arl chirruped in shock as, rounding a gana copse, he spied a dazzling light emanating from something in a field. He pulled his skimmer up beside the bright object, warily reaching for the rifle in the passenger seat. The weapon sat uneasy in his arms as the light resolved into a humanoid silhouette.
The being was tall, sleek and featureless but it soon changed, as if sculpted from clay, into a roughly Queil-like form. Arl found this harder to look at, and not just because of the light. As he hopped back in surprise, the being raised both hands placatingly.
“Greetings,” it began, the movements of its beak failing to match its words. “I am Centurion Thirteen. I come seeking knowledge.”
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