“Hey. You up?”
Chk Chk’s antenna vibrated as he sent a telepathic message to the group. He could have sensed Dae and Obozaya through their linked vitals, but the whirl of the protection-class security robot’s gripper arm demanded his focus. One moment he’d been chattering with Dae while feeling for secret panels and inscriptions along the wall. The next thing he knew, a robot was waving mechanical pincers in his face.
Chk Chk drew his painglaive and repositioned himself further down the cramped corridor, away from the door. He wasn’t ready for another battle. There had been no time to rest since Dae blasted the last of the swarm of observer-class security robots that had chsed them through the (allegedly) abandoned space station’s corridors. Less than a minute ago, Obozaya had slammed the butt of her rifle against an escape pod’s electronic lock. Percussive maintenance, she’d said. Then the wall popped open and revealed two robots nestled among the wiring—dormant, then jerking to life. Now one robot blocked Chk Chk’s view of his friends with its hulking white chassis.
He stepped back and thrust the painglaive between the machine and his body. The robot’s gripper rhythmically spread and shut, a blunt claw smooth and heavy with thousands of pounds of reserved force. Reserved for his delicate bones. His heel hit a wall, bending polymer with his weight. Not stable enough to push off from, but solid enough to pin him as that claw came for his throat.
“Chk Chk, you can’t ask that! What will my fans think if this chat leaks?” Dae’s lighthearted response interrupted as he dodged to the side and away from the attack. Suddenly Dae cut the theatrics: “I’m up. Obo’s not.”
The answer was obvious once Chk Chk took a second to scan their interconnected vital signs. Dae pulsed with the rise and fall of the sun, while Obozaya’s vitality signs had dulled and slowed. Still alive, but unconscious and wounded. He focused on Obozaya—and the claw crushed his shoulder.
He tried to pull away, but it held tight and squeezed. Pain exploded and pulsed down his upper arm. The robot stopped crunching his carapace and raised him into the air. The mechanical groans deepened with the effort of lifting him, but his path up remained smooth and constant. As his feet left the ground, he kicked wildly at the robot’s metal chassis, hoping to break something. Even in danger, the grunts of the machine reminded him of a deep bass line somebody could dance to. Before he knew it, his foot was kicking in time to the beat.
The pain in his shoulder escalated every moment the claw grabbed him, spiking when he swung in its grasp. A crunch came from his back. He screamed.
“Chk Chk!” screamed Dae’s outside voice. Their pitch warbled higher and louder than normal, as though they were moving toward them from far away at incredible speed.
And they were!
Dae flew across the tiled floor at the speed of a meteorite impact, crashing down in a halo of sparks and broken tile. Their sun-etched arm slammed into the robot’s back. Hydraulics released with a hiss as Dae dragged it backward in an explosion of gravity, ripping the air around Chk Chk and popping the sensors in all his auxiliary antennae at once. The claw opened. Chk Chk fell. He grabbed for a pipe jutting from the wall and missed, scrabbling at smooth metal with his own weak claw, another keeping hold of his weapon.
He landed on his back and floundered for a moment. If Dae kept this footage, he swore he’d delete this scene later. But he was out of the robot’s agonizing grip, and at last he could help. Obozaya, slumped in her armor, draped over the twitching body of the other robot. Dae ripped the arm that had just crushed Chk Chk’s shoulder out of his attacker in a spray of sparks, then waved it at the camera drone floating overhead with a cheeky grin.
Chk Chk felt for Obo’s vitals. She was safe and stable, but she still needed help. As he scrambled over tiles now slippery with leaking oil, he popped his crumpled shoulder back into place. No time to worry about that. A second shadow was forming under Obozaya where her blood had pooled. Chk Chk’s bond showed him her injuries as though they had been inflicted upon his own body.
Blunt force to the head, he assessed, laceration on the forehead and possible concussion.
The edges of Obozaya’s shadow stretched toward him as he pulled her pain into himself. His forehead stung until it felt wet with blood, though it was only the transference of her suffering to him. The wound wasn’t real, but the pain was. Meanwhile, Obozaya’s shadow trickled into her wounds. Flesh grew into scabs and bone fused. Chk Chk sensed her pain vanish, felt the blood returning to her numb limbs. His pain would heal his friend, so he could take it.
Obozaya’s eyes shot open.
Her lungs opened with a gasp.
Chk Chk held her gaze as the dull ache of a head injury melted away from her and into him. Obozaya shifted upward, stood, and walked toward him. She loomed tall as ever, but now he could sense her body was full of pain. Old injuries. New injuries. But she always kept going. So would he.
“Chk Chk, you’re getting sloppy,” she bellowed, though she ended with laugh. “Try to keep up!”
Chk Chk smiled. He released the pain, laughing weakly at Obozaya’s cheerful bravado. Time began again for him. During the fight, the world hung suspended. No thoughts, no time to process his adrenaline response, nothing. Now, the exhaustion crept into him, deeper than he expected.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he responded, too winded to speak. “How about coffee?”
“Deal.” She said.
“Don’t forget me!” Dae added, barely looking up from the robot they were assessing. “Remember, I drink graviton style.”
Chk Chk smiled as he pulled his setup from his bag. Dae liked their beans darker than a black hole with zero sweetness or additives, while Obo’s drink of choice was a pepper-and-honey latte, heavy on the honey and steamed milk. As he pulled out his gear, he tested his shoulder by rotating it in the socket. Sore, but not unbearable. He’d apply a medpatch first, enjoy its anesthetic numbness and sharp scent of peppercorns, then he could get to grinding.
Brewing coffee in his tiny field press was one of his favorite tasks. He didn’t need to perfectly execute the string of commands Raia taught him to jailbreak the deluxe nanopress machines favored by most cafés. Here, he could tune out and slip into the elegant simplicity of the ritual. Dae and Obozaya had already launched into a post-mortem discussion of their break-in, analyzing the successful approach followed by the accidental activation of hidden security robots, and ending in a blow-by-blow commentary about the fight.
Illustration by Mirco Paganessi
The grinder growled as Chk Chk inhaled, halfway hearing their talk, which was more technical than he ever wanted to delve. Why spend so much time trying to avoid pain? He didn’t get it, but then again, Obozaya didn’t understand why he sought out mosh pits. And after the dance, or the fight, his calming ritual was to unspool the grinder, measure out and place the beans, then grind any excess adrenaline into fine coffee for the press.
Brewing coffee contained the rhythm of a song, with its precise timing and variety of sounds. Growls, plinks, and drips kept the brew moving. Kept his friends going.
“Hey, Chk Chk.” Obozaya interrupted his thoughts again, just as he started to visualize how this moment would fit into a music video. “What happened back there? Did you get lost or something?”
“I was distracted,” he responded telepathically. His throbbing shoulder grated at his attention, making speech undesirable. “It’s my fault. I ended up on the wrong side when the robots ambushed us.”
Dae cleared their throat, then looked down. Yeah, he had been too busy joking with them to notice the robots lunge at him and Obozaya. A few more seconds and they would’ve been a unified team when the robots popped out from their hiding place.
No time to dwell on it. He tipped the beans into the press and activated a quick-heat pouch of water. Perfect temperature in seconds. As it warmed, he placed it over the med patch.
“I thought you priest types were good at paying attention,” Obo kept talking, though her eyes were fixed on the waiting press and its steady drip of coffee. “Try to keep that from happening again.”
He nodded. The water was warm enough now, though he let it linger on his shoulder for just a second longer. It poured into the upper chamber of the coffee maker, then slowly dripped downward. He unscrewed the metal cups from his mess set, added instant milk to one, and set them to self-heat. At the bottom of his pouch was the bottle of syrup he made before setting out. An ounce into the milk, and all that was left was to wait.
“Look at this, bestie!” Dae said, interrupting his reverie by waving the robot arm in his face to show off its twisting knotted snake logo. “Aspis parts.”
“You’ll be Aspis parts if you knock the coffee over,” Obozaya grunted. “Good find, Dae.”
The press pinged, quieting Dae and Obo with the promise it was finished. Chk Chk poured two drinks, before he set to making his own. Black with a pinch of glitter magically coaxed into color by the drinker’s current mood. It was his favorite barista trick learned in Takoris. He brewed his coffee Fulldark black with extra syrup, the surface swirled with shifting opalescent fire—the sheen of Zon-Shelyn’s sacred gown, and the myriad colors of the Drift, or the colors of his changing heart.
He sighed at the bitter aroma and sipped sweet, warm comfort. Soon, they would all be back on their feet and charging through the next door as a team. Until then, coffee.
About the Author
Rigby Bendele (they/them) writes in Richmond, Virginia as a TTRPG designer, fiction writer and erstwhile poet. They focus on strange, fantastic and embodied experiences. You can find their work in Starfinder Adventure Path: Mechageddon!, Pathfinder Adventure: Claws of the Tyrant and other fine Starfinder and Pathfinder books.About the Iconic
Chk Chk (he/him) is a male shirren mystic with the shadow connection who worships Zon-Shelyn, the god of therapeutic art and self-expression. Chk Chk casts powerful spells, heals his allies, and expresses his emotions through dark poetry—when words fail, he channels his feelings by smacking enemies with his painglaive, a powered polearm sacred to his deity.About Iconic Encounters
Iconic Encounters is a series of web-based flash fiction set in the worlds of Pathfinder and Starfinder. Each short story provides a glimpse into the life and personality of one of the games’ iconic characters, showing the myriad stories of adventure and excitement players can tell with the Pathfinder and Starfinder roleplaying games.“Learn more about the mystic class in Starfinder Player Core, releasing at Gen Con 2025, on paizo.com, and at your friendly local game store! Be the first to play Starfinder Second Edition by subscribing to the Starfinder RPG or Starfinder RPG (Special Edition) lines and receive a free PDF when your book ships!”
Read more at this site