Location: Hegemony Ship
Aliens: Human, Oculum, Rechin, Arthropoid
You hear about Westover?” Arma asks, two tendrils holding the cards up to one of her many eyes. She bobs slowly above her chair, just one of the crew. For an Oculum, she’s not so bad. I assume anything we say is directly reported to her superior, but that would happen whether or not she was part of the conversation. “I heard he’s still in sick bay.”
“Well, yeah,” Urn says, drawing a card. His hammerhead eyes are so far apart he has to hold the card up to one or the other.
“Not another crazy rumor,” Pux says, his wings flickering quickly in agitation. He barely has to lift his cards for his compound eyes to catch all he needs to know.
“No rumor,” I say, tossing my cards onto the pot. I may have the worst luck out of any ensign on board. Well, maybe not as bad as Westover. “I went to go see him today,” I say. I don’t say anything else, watching the game play out. But there’s no game to watch, as the rest are staring at me intently.
“You can’t just leave it at that,” Urn says, slapping my shoulder with the back of his fist. He doesn’t mean to but it hurts. Rolling my shoulder and my eyes I sigh.
“This doesn’t leave this table,” I say, mostly to Arma. Her eyes blink in rapid succession, from her right side to the left in a ripple. She does it when she’s nervous. “Right?” I ask and the others agree out loud. “He’s not doing so hot,” I say, staring at the center of the table where a small pot has accrued. “I don’t think he noticed that I was there.”
“What do you mean?” Pux asks. “Did he go blind?”
“Not literally,” I say. I can’t help but want to sound spooky. Captain Horl’s disappearance has gotten everyone in a twitchy mood. Westover was just the beginning. Or so I thought would make the best tale to spin. “He kept going on about the corridor. How he didn’t want to see what was in the outer door anymore.”
“What door?” Urn asks, his razor-rimmed jaw agape. Too easy.
“You know he was found on level 13, right?” I ask, leaning forward, lowering my voice.
“So what?” Pux asks.
“Humans are superstitious about the number 13,” Arma informs him.
“Well, sure,” I say, “but what I mean is there isn’t an outer door on 13, its outer wall is the hull of the ship.” The others trade glances. “He was scared, even sitting there in sick bay talking to me. Well, not really to me, just out loud.” Here, I drop my voice to a whisper. “‘Its back is to me. Its back is to me.’ he kept saying over and over.”
“What had its back to him?” Pux asks.
“A figure,” I say.
“A figure in a doorway that doesn’t exist? He’s just gone off the deep end for the dozenth time this tour,” Pux says, shrugging. But his wings twitch again. I’ve got him.
“That’s not kind,” Urn says. Pux shrugs, but apologizes.
“He said he tried to touch it,” I say. I’ve been leaning closer and closer to the middle. “He reached out,” I say quietly, “and grabbed hold of whoever…or whatever it was.” I let the room fall into silence. If only I had thought to turn the lights off.
“What happened?” Arma asks quietly.
“It snatched him up!” I yell, reaching out and grabbing hold of Urn and Pux. All three of them jump and drop their cards.
“You’re not funny,” Pux says.
“I think I’m hilarious,” I say, leaning back with a grin. “But seriously. Maybe whatever got him is what got Captain Horl. He just lived to tell about it.” I notice Urn shifts his eyes away from me when I mention the captain.
“Ugh, now we don’t know who’s cards are who’s,” Urn says.
“Aw, man,” I say. “Guess we gotta take back our bets and start over.” The others groan, accusing me of cheating. We divvy our chips back out, all the while I’m grinning. While I’m collecting the cards to deal again, I see something out of the corner of my eye. Someone standing in the doorway, waiting to come in. If it was a CO, we’d be getting a tongue lashing for having even an ounce of fun. But since they keep their peace, I figure whoever it is is just another grunt like us. “Come on in,” I say, dealing the cards. Whoever it is doesn’t say anything, but they move closer, coming to stand between Arma and Urn. I can hear them breathing. It's fast and ragged. “Don’t be nervous, buddy, pull up a chair,” I say, about to deal a hand to whoever it is.
“Who are you talking to?” Pux asks.
I look up and now there’s nothing there.
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