A gyiik individual finds themselves crash-landed with several humans. Food stores are low, though plenty of water, and unable to go out to gather more. Worst part? The humans kept refusing to eat, saying "they could wait a few days" -- Anon Guest
They're hiding something from me. I know it. We survived a "cheese grater" crash-landing[1] in relatively good shape. Few souls lost, they said, in conditions where nothing could be done. The air was breathable. The water easily potable.
They got vague about the supplies.
That had to be the one thing wrong, here. My crew, the Humans with me, are adaptable souls. They survive, they rebuild, they create. I overhear a lot more than they tell me. Even then, they're clever. They mind what they say when they're near.
My legs are mangled. Shattered bone kept still in a stasis tub because they can't do anything better to help. Not enough survived to fix the legs of a Heavyworlder. So my adaptive humans put me in a tub. Well. Half of me. They need my upper half to cook.
Gyiik's have a cultural advantage in creating the edible from the nigh-inedible. We have four hands with which to give to others. Twice as much as many other humanoids. That is the gift of my kind.
The other gifts, the ones my Humans bring me, are already processed. Shredded. Milled. Filtered. Boiled to limpness.
And always in small doses. They let me nap. Sometimes, they let me snatch what sleep I can despite the pain. Sometimes, they can offer painkillers. I get the feeling they're doing everything they can just to make them. The surviving molecular printers must be working overtime just for medication. That's why they need me for the food.
I'd be all the way in a stasis booth if they didn't need me for my skills. If they didn't need me.
And yet... whenever I create. Whenever I work my 'magic' on the ingredients I have to my hands... I know it's not enough. Not for all of them.
I grow thinner. They grow thinner. I know I'm sedentary and need less, but... I can only hope help comes soon.
I fear this world is toxic. That there's not enough to eat.
I pray that help comes soon. Soon enough to make a difference.
[1] The planet's the grater, the ship is the cheese. Any questions?
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