GtCon

“Hi again, Blortiany. I know you said not to come back after I broke the couch in your office. Yeah… they fired me again.”

Blortiany flinched at Jonah’s booming voice. His six eyes darted around nervously as nearby aliens scrambled to distance themselves. Adjusting his tiny collar, Blortiany looked up, his head barely reaching Jonah’s kneecaps.

“Y-yes, I remember you,” he squeaked, clutching his clipboard like a shield. “But I can’t hire you. Management’s still furious about the couch. And the ceiling. And the chair.”

“Can you just hook me up with one more job?” Jonah pleaded. “Something where I’m not a hotel statue?”

Blortiany’s mandibles clicked anxiously. He hesitated, torn between fear and a strange desire to help. “I… I could try,” he said, fingers dancing across the clipboard. “But most jobs here aren’t built for beings your size. And the ones that are… well…”

He trailed off, squinting at his datapad. “There’s one position,” he muttered.

Jonah knelt, the metal floor groaning under his weight. Neon lights painted his massive form in shifting hues. Blortiany instinctively pressed himself against the wall, clipboard trembling as he tilted the datapad toward Jonah.

“Maintenance crew for a long-haul freighter,” he whispered. “Not glamorous, but the ships are modified for larger species. The pay’s not great.”

Jonah nodded slowly. “Where do I find the employer?”

“Docking Bay Seven, berth forty-three,” Blortiany replied. “Kelvin Karkov. He’s a human trafficker—don’t worry, it just means he specialises in larger species. Still… I wouldn’t go alone. Humans draw attention these days.”

Jonah wagged his finger in thanks, a local gesture. His finger, however, was nearly the size of Blortiany’s head.

Blortiany stiffened, mandibles clicking rapidly. He managed a small nod. “Y-yes. Of course. Good luck, Jonah,” he squeaked, edging away. “I hope this works out for you.”

The way he said it sounded almost like a prayer.

Back at his apartment, Jonah ducked through the doorway, the frame groaning under his weight. He hadn’t paid off the lease—units built for larger species cost double. The space was cramped: low ceilings, narrow corridors, everything scaled for beings half his size. His mattress lay in the centre of the room—no bed frame could support him. Possessions were scattered in corners, shoved out of the way.

He lowered himself onto the thin pad, springs squeaking in protest. His head nearly touched the ceiling. The datapad flickered as he picked it up, screen dimming under his massive fingerprints.

A pulsing red hologram projected above it: Eviction Notice. The message replayed in a metallic voice:

Jonah rubbed his temples, the headache that had been building all day now throbbing with renewed intensity. He ignored the pad and headed to the kitchen.

The kitchen was barely a counter and a small fridge wedged into a corner. He reached up, brushing the ceiling as he grabbed his last pack of Galactic Crisp. The wrapper was wrinkled from being crumpled in his pocket. It opened with a satisfying crackle, releasing the scent of artificial vanilla.

The first bite was sweet and creamy, but it did little to soothe the gnawing discomfort in his gut.

He’d figure it all out tomorrow. The interview was coming. But what did a maintenance worker on a freighter even do?

Fix things? Replace parts?

Jonah had only ever held jobs where he stood still—a human statue, a security guard, even a living poster for a bar that never paid him. The idea of actual labour in tight spaces made his shoulders ache.

He finished the snack, crinkling the wrapper in his hand and tossing it onto the cluttered counter. The sweetness lingered, but the unease in his stomach remained.

Maintenance work. He’d never done it before. But what else was he qualified for? His skills were limited to what humans did naturally—standing upright, reaching high places, and endurance. None of it mattered here.

Outside, neon lights cast shifting colours through thin windows. Alien traffic hummed—engines, clicking mandibles, bursts of strange music.

Sleep pulled at Jonah like a riptide, the rhythmic hum of the city outside blending into a lullaby. His massive frame settled onto the thin mattress, the springs groaning in protest as he shifted, searching for comfort. Neon light filtered through the threadbare curtains, painting streaks of purple and green across his closed eyelids.

His mind drifted, replaying the day—Blortiany’s nervous glances, the dim job listing, the cold finality of the eviction notice. The mattress sagged beneath him, its padding worn thin from years of use. Somewhere outside, an alien vehicle rumbled past, its engine thrumming like a heartbeat.

Jonah woke an hour before the walk-in interviews were scheduled. If he hurried, he’d make it on time.

The moment his eyes opened, reality slammed into him. The mattress was lumpy, his back stiff from curling into an unnatural position to fit the tiny space. The air smelled stale—a mix of old food and the faint metallic tang of the apartment’s ageing filtration system.

He checked the time on his datapad: sixty minutes. Just enough. Stiff muscles protested as he rolled off the bed. A quick scan of the room confirmed what he already knew—no clean clothes.

He wiped himself down in the sink, the only option available. The cold slime ran over his skin as he scrubbed quickly, careful not to hit his head on the mirror above the tiny basin. Cleaning slime splashed onto the grimy counter. He pulled on a slightly less wrinkled shirt—still stained, but at least the stink was stale. The pants were the same ones he’d worn for three days, but they no longer smelled like something had died in them. Good enough.

Jonah glanced at his reflection. Tired eyes stared back. His straight, mid-length hair with messy bangs refused to stay in place. In the dim light, his brown eyes looked nearly black. His golden-brown skin stood out starkly against the dingy grey walls, the shadows under his eyes deepening in the gloom. The clothes clung awkwardly to his broad frame, fabric pulled tight across his shoulders. He patted his hair down one last time. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

Grabbing his datapad and keys from the pile of loose items on the counter, he headed out. The hallway was narrow, forcing him to walk sideways to avoid scraping his arms on the walls.

Outside, the chaos of the city slammed into him. The morning rush had begun—a flood of beings moving in every direction. Scuttling insectoids with chitinous armour, bipeds with glowing eyes, and floaters hovering inches above the ground. They flowed around him like water around a stone, eyes flicking away in that unconscious way people had when they registered his height but dismissed him as an obstacle rather than a person.

A group of four-legged creatures galloped past, hooves clicking against the pavement, nearly colliding with him before their pilot jerked the reins.

Jonah rolled his eyes. The paths designed for smaller races were useless to him—most of them the size of mice by Earth standards. He scanned for an alternate route.

Ahead, he spotted the hoverpath—its glowing blue lane markers promised a smooth, effortless journey through the morning rush. But the entrance ramp was laughably small, built for creatures no larger than a housecat. He sighed and turned away, searching for a road that could actually accommodate him.

With a sigh, Jonah veered toward the main street, where at least he could walk upright without stooping. The sidewalks were packed, forcing him to shuffle awkwardly to avoid jostling the smaller beings. A Trandoshan with a cybernetic arm muttered under his breath as Jonah brushed past, tail twitching with irritation.

He was going to be late—but not too late. He pushed forward, weaving through the crowd. The morning sun peeked through the skyscrapers, its rays diffused by atmospheric filters, bathing everything in a peachy orange hue. The air was thick with the smells of fried proteins, artificial sweeteners, and engine exhaust—a cloying miasma that clung to his skin. Street vendors hawked processed food, ozone crackled from overhead power lines, and somewhere above, a repulsorlift hovervan screeched as its pilot swerved to avoid a rogue speeder. The sound cut off abruptly—likely a collision.

Jonah checked the time: twenty minutes left. Docking Bay Seven was at least a twenty-minute walk. He picked up the pace, navigating the maze of the lower levels.

Despite the rush, walking through the city always gave him a strange sense of euphoria. So many odd creatures, each with attributes from across the solar system. None of them is human. Earth was half a galaxy away, and it was no surprise he hadn’t seen another of his kind in ages. Most aliens were half his height at best, with only a rare few reaching his shoulder.

The path ahead was lined with stalls and small businesses—vendors selling steaming bowls of luminescent chowder, repair shops with buzzing neon glyphs, and a medical clinic where a patient’s arm stump still smoked from a fresh cybernetic implant. A Devaronian merchant leered at him, forked tongue flicking out in a grotesque smirk, but turned back to haggling when Jonah didn’t react.

Spotting a gap in the crowd, Jonah ducked under a hanging sign advertising ship parts.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “Datapad says this is an inefficient route.”

The device flickered, suggesting a new path—straight up a maintenance tunnel. Jonah scoffed. Those tunnels were built for drones, not humans. But the estimated arrival time dropped to fifteen minutes.

He tightened his grip on the datapad. Fifteen minutes was still cutting it close. After a brief hesitation, he turned toward the alley leading to the tunnel. It was dark, lit only by flickering emergency beacons. The walls were slick with condensation, and a damp, metallic smell filled the air.

He stepped inside, shoulders brushing both sides. The hum of machinery vibrated beneath his feet, and the eerie green glow of emergency lighting cast long shadows. The tunnel sloped upward steeply, forcing him to hunch. His breath grew heavier—not from exertion, but from the claustrophobic tightness. Maintenance drones zipped past, recalibrating themselves around his bulk.

Jonah pushed through and emerged into the open air, stumbling slightly as his legs stretched to full length. The sudden shift made his head spin. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the city’s familiar stink—recycled atmosphere, cooking fats, and industrial chemicals.

Ahead loomed Docking Bay Seven, a massive circular structure with towering spires reaching into the filtered sky. Ships of various sizes hovered or settled onto landing struts. Jonah pressed forward.

The bay buzzed with organised chaos. Dockhands shouted over the whine of engines and hissing hydraulics. Twi’leks unloaded cargo from a sleek courier ship, their lekku swaying. A Rodian technician waved him past, barely looking up from a landing strut.

The air was thick with heat, oil, and ozone. A few beings glanced at Jonah—some curious, others weary, as if they’d seen him around before.

“Twenty-three... twenty-one... where’s seven?” he muttered, scanning the area. The ships distracted him—tall ones, short ones, clean, old—all capable of crossing the cosmos. He lingered too long.

Docking Bay Seven was tucked into a corner, its designation glowing dimly above a pair of heavy blast doors. No ship was visible, but a bulky alien sat on a bench nearby, shirt unbuttoned to reveal scarred, grey-green skin. Four arms were folded across his chest—two on his knees, two cradling a datapad. He appeared half-asleep.

Jonah checked the time. He was twenty minutes late. The ship-watching had sealed it.

He stepped forward, unsure if the alien was the interviewer. As he approached, the figure jolted awake, flinching before composing himself.

“Fislgort! You scared me! What do you want?” the alien cursed, peering up.

“Um... sorry I’m late. Did I miss the interviews?”

“What... oh. Morttey!” he called toward the closed hangar door. Then, clearing his throat, he added, “You’re not late. You’re the only one who showed up. The walk-in interview was Mort’s idea—we lost some crew.”

Now fully awake, the alien’s sharp, dark eyes reflected a yellowish tinge under the harsh lights. His mottled skin was rough and scarred. The upper arms gestured vaguely toward the hangar.

Inside, movement stirred. The heavy door began to slide open.

“Mort! Get your fat sploch out here! We got one!” he shouted and cursed partially in a language you’ve never heard before.

The hangar revealed a ship—not massive, but definitely big enough for Jonah. Four wings, a rocket engine, dulled red from age. Just seeing it stirred something in him. Hope.

Then Morttey emerged—a smaller alien with translucent wings flexing behind their back. Jonah had never seen anything like them. Humanoid, pale porcelain skin with dark veins beneath. Sharp features, squared jaw, smooth face with two nostril holes. Jonah blinked, adjusting to the light.

Morttey was three times shorter than Jonah but carried themselves with easy confidence. They looked up with a knowing smirk.

“Well, well. Didn’t think we’d get anyone today,” they said, voice sing-song and oddly elongated. “I’m Morttey. Captain of this junk heap.” They gestured at the ship.

“Welcome to the crew! What’s your name?” they shouted, as if volume improved comprehension.

“I’m Jonah. Jonah Jorgina Henery. Wait... I got the job?” he asked, uncertain.

“Ha! Yeah, you got the job. You’re the only one who responded!” Morttey laughed.

They moved closer, craning their neck to look up. Their wings shifted, casting strange shadows on the floor. Up close, Jonah noticed the sheen of their skin, the way light caught the fine membrane.

“Listen, big guy,” Morttey said, voice still melodic. “You’re way bigger than anyone we usually take on. But we need muscle, and you look like you can handle yourself. Assuming you know what you’re doing.”

Their eyes narrowed, gauging him.

Jonah straightened instinctively. “Yeah, I’m really good at... um... maintenance? I’ve got a lot of experience working with my hands.”

Morttey’s expression shifted from scepticism to amusement as they looked Jonah up and down. “Maintenance, huh?” they chuckled, light almost forced. “Yeah, I think we can work with that. Plenty of systems on this bucket need tending to.”

The four-armed one gestured for Jonah to follow. “Let’s get you inside. You’ll be more comfortable than standing out here in the open.” The other alien—Jonah’s apparent new crewmate—grunted in agreement and shuffled after Morttey, his lower arms still clutching the datapad.

As they approached the ship, its age became more apparent. Inside, however, it was surprisingly spacious. Jonah could stand upright in most rooms without hunching, with a few inches to spare above his head. Old boxes were stacked everywhere, some dating back years. Morttey zipped around during the tour, while the other alien kept pointing out things not to touch, treating the ship like a newborn.

“So that’s the whole lot,” Morttey said, finishing the tour. He’d stopped yelling once he realised Jonah could hear just fine. “We’ll get you a room ready by tomorrow and—”

“Wait, a room? Like, to live here?” Jonah interrupted, a twinge of joy in his voice.

Morttey grinned and nodded. “Yeah, live here. You signed up for a crew position, didn’t you?” He spread his arms, gesturing at the ship. “Welcome to your new home. Well, for now anyway.”

The other alien scoffed, shaking his head. “Hope he doesn’t take up too much space,” he muttered, loud enough to be heard.

Morttey shot him a warning look. “Don’t mind him. That’s Vex. He’s been with me since the beginning.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jonah said.

Vex snorted, upper arms crossing while the lower pair cradled the datapad. “Yeah, yeah. Save it for the job,” he muttered. No real malice—just the gruffness of someone who’d seen too many newcomers come and go.

Morttey brightened. “That’s the spirit!” He clapped his hands once, the sound sharp in the corridor.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jonah asked. “How about I bring my personal things in the morning?”

Vex barked a laugh. “Personal things? You know how much space you take up, human?” He gestured vaguely at Jonah’s frame. “We’re already tight on storage.”

“Shut it, Vex,” Morttey said, waving him off. “He’s big, not stupid.” He turned to Jonah. “Yeah, tomorrow’s fine. Bring what you need—just keep it minimal. Our cargo space is stretched thin.”

Vex muttered something about humans being bigger than he thought.

“Yes, um... Captain?” Jonah said, suddenly feeling overly polite.

Morttey burst out laughing, melodic and unexpected. “Call me Mort. No need for titles here. This ain’t the army.” He motioned to the corridor. “We’re just trying to keep this rust bucket flying and our bellies full.”

Vex groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes. “He’s going to be insufferable with the polite act,” he muttered, already heading off.

Morttey watched him go with an indulgent smile. “Don’t mind him. See you tomorrow. You’ll meet the rest of the crew then.”

Jonah left with a finger wag, the local gesture of thanks, and headed home to pack.

On the way back, Jonah passed through the shopping district and spotted a familiar figure—Blortiany. His bulbous green form was unmistakable, hovering near a vendor stall, inspecting a small mechanical device. His translucent lower half rippled as he moved, bioluminescent patterns shifting beneath the surface.

“Blortiany!” Jonah called out, drawing curious glances. The alien turned, eyestalks twisting toward him in surprise.

“Jonah?! What brings you here?” he asked, voice tinged with apprehension.

“Sorry to bother you,” Jonah said, smiling. “I got the job. I just wanted to thank you.”

Blortiany’s eyestalks twitched rapidly, then settled. His lower half darkened slightly, patterns dimming as he processed the news. “The job... You mean the ship?” he asked quietly, upper limbs folding protectively.

“Yes! The ship! I got it!” Jonah grinned. “It’s not much, but it’s work. I start tomorrow.”

Blortiany’s eyestalks flicked toward the vendor, then withdrew slightly.

“I’m sorry for bothering you so much these past few months,” Jonah added. “I know you probably hate my presence.”

Blortiany tensed, bioluminescent patterns flickering erratically before stabilising. His eyestalks curled inward. “Jonah... you didn’t bother me,” he said, though the strain in his voice betrayed him.

Jonah shifted uncomfortably. The vendor behind Blortiany cleared his throat, eager to resume business, but Blortiany didn’t notice. He stared at the ground, limbs twitching.

“Here,” Jonah said, handing over enough silver to cover the device in Blortiany’s hands. “I can’t pay you back in full, but I can do what I can now—and maybe later?”

Blortiany’s eyestalks snapped toward him in surprise. He hesitated, then extended an upper limb to accept the credits. “Jonah... I was just looking. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Jonah said, waving a hand. “But I don’t mind helping. You’ve done a lot for me.” He swallowed hard. “You’re a good friend, Blort. I... I don’t have many of those.”

Blortiany’s eyestalks drooped, his bioluminescent patterns pulsing with what looked like embarrassment.

Jonah turned and walked away.

Blortiany didn’t stop him. Jonah could feel his gaze on his back, but the alien remained silent. The shopping district’s bustle felt muted now, the sounds of bartering and tech whirring distant compared to the quiet in Jonah’s chest.

He navigated the narrow walkways, catching fragments of conversation in languages he didn’t understand. The aliens moved with ease, slipping through gaps that left Jonah scraping walls. He kept his head down—not out of shame, but because it felt right.

Passing one of his old jobs, he hid his face. The memory of the music box incident still stung—300 silver lost in a single crack. His supervisor’s fury had been instant.

“A human working in this section? It was a mistake to hire you!”

Through the grimy windows, Jonah saw the same automated scrubbers he’d broken countless times. Inside, another creature of his height moved stiffly, carefully. Jonah recognised the posture—someone who knew they were replaceable.

His apartment greeted him with its usual chill and flickering lights. He dropped his bag, already feeling lighter. Tomorrow, he had somewhere to be.

The bed creaked under his weight. Outside the viewport, ships drifted silently through the void. He pulled out the datapad Morttey gave him and scrolled through the crew manifest: Morttey, Vex, and four others he hadn’t met. No other humans.

Jonah looked around the room, scanning for anything sentimental or valuable—something worth taking, or selling if needed. Jonah’s gaze swept the cramped quarters—battered furniture, a few clothes hanging from hooks, and the small collection of human trinkets he’d managed to keep through the years. A photo of his parents sat tucked into a corner, yellowed with age and dust. Beside it, a small porcelain figurine—a gift from his sister before she died. Worthless now, but priceless in memory. A reminder of something he could never reclaim.

He spotted the old Earth coins he’d been hoarding—dimes and pennies with faded designs from a planet half a galaxy away. They might fetch something at the right vendor, but he’d miss their cool weight in his pocket.

He folded his shirts and essentials into a bag. A slime-making stick for hair care, a mirror, and a small blade—small for him, but probably a full dagger to most other creatures.

The photo caught his eye again, pulling him back to that awful day when he was fifteen—the last time he saw his parents. A human Asian woman and a tall bald man sat beside two children. Jonah, with the worst haircut imaginable, and his sister, flashing the cheekiest smile. For years, the photo had stirred resentment—memories of what she’d done right before it was taken. But now, it was nostalgia. A feeling he couldn’t find anywhere else.

His bag was nearly full when he found a small datapad tucked in the back of a drawer. An old model, still running on basic input/output systems instead of the neural interfaces everyone else used. He stared at it for a moment, then packed it too.

Jonah shook off the rising tide of emotion and washed himself off with slime. The citrus scent lingered faintly as he rinsed his hands under the tiny sink. His reflection stared back—dark circles under his eyes, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. He shook the slime from his hair and reached for the last half-crumbled protein bar.

It tasted like compressed cardboard with an aftertaste of nothing. He chewed slowly, not even tasting it, staring at the empty cabinets. The regret settled in—he’d spent his last credits helping Blortiany. No funds left for real food. His stomach twisted as he swallowed the final dry bite.

The silence of the apartment pressed in. The hum of the ventilation system, once background noise, now felt like a reminder of how alone he was. Outside the viewport, ships drifted silently through the void. Crews laughing over meals. Creatures who didn’t have to wonder where their next bite would come from.

The orange glow in the sky faded—night was coming. Jonah had been going to bed late for weeks, but tonight he wanted rest. Real rest.

He lay down on the mattress he hated to call a bed. The thin padding barely softened the metal frame beneath. Above him, the slime-stained ceiling flickered weakly. The distant thrum of the station’s engines and the creaking of old pipes filled the silence.

Sleep didn’t come easily. His mind replayed the conversation with Blortiany—his tension, the dimming of his bioluminescent patterns when Jonah handed him credits. Jonah rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the thin pillow. The bed smelled of old sweat and cleaning chemicals that never quite masked the scent.

The eviction notice still buzzed in the background, a countdown to displacement. The rhythm of the ventilation system lulled him toward sleep, the mattress groaning softly as he shifted.

Blortiany’s face lingered in his thoughts—eyestalks drooping in discomfort. Jonah should’ve let him refuse the money. But he couldn’t ignore the need. He knew that feeling too well.

Sleep finally took him, but it was restless. Fractured dreams flickered behind closed eyes. Blortiany’s face again—this time filled with pity. Then his sister’s smile, young and carefree, was glowing in the haze of memory.

I promise I tried my hardest but I also challenged myself with a really weird reference from a fashion magazine for amy’s dress- so yeah.