Celestial Penance

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. They are wrong, for I can hear them. They echo across the eternal expanse, filling the void. They transcend space and time, juxtaposed with the abyssal magnitude of my mind--but I gave up screaming millennia ago, or so it feels. Floating, weightless, the speck of earth no longer visible. Has anyone traveled further? Perhaps.

Am I sleeping, warm in some bed--a hospital perhaps? Is my slowly spinning trajectory just some subconscious manifestation of trauma? Is this like a flying dream that ends when I fall out of bed, or suddenly jerk myself awake as if landing on the mattress? There is a surreal beauty to the revolving scenery. The patterns of stars have lost their cohesion and they are just a mass of blurry, blinking dots, pin-pricks of light through the fabric of nothingness that has draped itself over my existence.

And now, of course, I have to question that very existence. Are these fading memories of running or laying in the sunshine, long grass tickling my cheeks, laughter and sublime comfort, all just figments of imagination. What is that, even? To think that once, I was the center of the suns attention, basking under its radiance, a loving embrace. Now it is one tiny speck among millions; a gelid apathy as I realize none of the stars care about this predicament.

I refuse to succumb to the numbness and force myself to remember the fields along the lane I used to walk to get to school. Tall bundles of hay, drying in the Midwest sun. Cicadas singing, crickets harmonizing, bees providing a steady baseline. All those sounds in my mind have crossed a barrier. I swear I can hear them as if my suit was infested. Ah, yes, my suit. Unfortunately, I am coming to the end of my journey, or at least my conscious observation of it. For I am sure my body will float through infinity with or without my spirit. The silver cord severed, stretched too far from mother earth. The life support from the suit won't last forever. The stars watch, indifferent to my fate as I float, as I spin, as I die.

I can hear internal echoes of my previous screams, desperate pleas for help, wanton promises for whichever deity decides to listen. All the sounds my mind has ever heard becomes a cacophony that transforms into an opus. Beauty, both external and internal, brings a peaceful joy, a paradox of sorts, that allays my fear of the unknown. I slip off that precipice and sink, blissfully, toward oblivion.

Nothing makes any sense. Thought is pointless. The endless abyss, spackled with twinkling warmth that teases and taunts, too far out of reach. Everything is too far. Everything is...

THUMP

"What was that?" I hear my raspy voice as if an ancient version of myself has spoken. Something solid beneath me; I've collided with something. I twist to see, but I fight with myself since this must be the final hallucination before my mind lets go. Are those hands grabbing me? Tears fill my eyes and everything blurs.

*****

"What was that?" The ships helmsman, Lieutenant Fook, asked. His furry lips moved up and down out of synch with his question. He irritatingly tugged on one of the venal cords that connected him to his symbiotic host on the upper deck of the bridge. His blue furry fingers tried to find their proper position on the flight array but they kept bouncing erratically as the pressure from the venal cords increased and decreased sporadically. "What the hell is going up there?" Fook yelled through a closed mouth. Then his lips flapped immediately after.

"I think Brian has been drinking again." The irritated observation came from the captain. He shifted his weight and scratched his muzzle.

"We've only been stopped for two minutes," another crew member turned, or rather, his face twisted around his large brown clump of a torso that tapered to the top like a swirl of ice-cream and then he re-solidified his face in a new position staring at the helmsman.

"Thank you both for the clinic on the blatantly obvious. You both get a gold star." Fook threw his long furry arms in the air. They flopped like wet noodles. "How am I supposed to fly this thing now?"

"Well, we still need to hear from Shiann on engine conditions," the brown clump said. His face had started to slide and he corrected it with a sniff.

"Are you starting to ooze again, TED?"

"I believe so, Captain. I can go apply solidifier, if you like."

"No, I need you here. I need all three of you here."

"You hear that Brian?" The helmsman yelled. "Get your ass over here." There was a shuffling and a thump above their heads. Then a head poked over the railing. "We're still on duty, you schmuck."

"Seriously? The engines stopped, like half an hour ago. We aren't going anywhere so stop your bitching." The head receded but the venal cords stopped flapping and the helmsman regained his faculties enough to raise his middle finger.

"Now," the captain stood. "There was definitely an odd thump a moment ago. I'm going to go see what it was." He turned and bumped his head as he left the bridge.

"Idiot," mumbled Fook. He cast a grimace over his shoulder. "And you're starting to stink again."

"There's no need to get mean," whined TED as he pursed his lips and sniffed at himself.

"Get on the com with Shiann and find out what's going on."

"No need to be snarky," TED muttered. "And you could say please."

"Just do it, you big shit."

***

The captain watched through the airlock windows of the cargo hold as two of his sparines pulled the body inside. Both six-winged soldiers stared down at the still form, neither sure what to make of this discovery. Once the bay door sealed, the captain entered the hold. He too stood silently. All three stared for an awkward length of time. One of the sparines, the corporal of the watch, cleared its throat.

"Perhaps we should take its helmet off?"

"Yes, of course," the captain agreed. "Yes. Get on with it, then." The corporal rolled all six of his eyes. He folded his translucent wings behind him and squatted down to complete the procedure. He hesitated, trying to figure out exactly how to go about it.

"Just pull," the other sparine suggested.

"Well I don't want his head to come with it, now, do I?"

"I wonder where he's from?" The captain asked.

"I think we should take him to med-ward and let them deal with it," the corporal replied.

"Yes. That's a good idea," the captain clapped his hands together. The sparines shared a knowing look of disparagement and scooped up the new arrival by his ankles and dragged him to med-ward.

***

Shiann held her face in her hands. The chief engineer quaked as he watched her. That body language of the ships pilot did not bode well. He simply hoped he would live to see another day.

"Explain this to me again," she said quietly. The engineer cleared his throat. Then he cleared it again, more vociferously in order to dislodge the phlegm that would not budge from absolute terror.

"We don't have the resources on board to fix it. Logistically speaking--"

"Logistically speaking we're going to have an engineer shaped hole in the hull in a minute." She stared at him icily. He felt a little urine leak so he fidgeted to compose himself. An angry Shiann was a terrifying thing to behold. He prayed silently that she hadn't crossed that threshold. He tried to laugh as if that would alleviate her mood. It did not.

"We can send a cruiser from the battle group," he tried to nonchalantly answer the problem as if there was no problem at all, but a finger trying to pull the pressure of his collar off his carotid said otherwise.

"The battle group?" She folded her arms. He noticed her skin had started to glow. Sweat dripped off his nose. He tried to gulp but his adam's apple was paralyzed. She stepped closer. "Where is the battle group, exactly?" He tried to think of the answer she wanted to hear.

"Out there?" He pointed.

"We dropped out of formation. The battle group is probably trying to decipher the stress signal as we speak. They won't have a clue how far behind we are. It's a damn good thing we aren't in hostile territory. But don't worry about having to answer a court martial inquiry panel. I'll make sure there isn't enough of you left to give an answer." A loud beep sounded, followed by static and then another beep.

"Shiann!" She yelled at the speaker above her.

"Umm, yes, this is TED." The speaker intoned.

"This better be important."

"No, I mean, perhaps..." More static but all the chief engineer could hear was Shiann's foot tapping. "The captain is investigating an unusual thump. We may have hit something."

"We aren't moving, TED." She said it to the speaker but looked directly at the chief engineer. The heavy spite in her tone did not go unnoticed. "Fine, I'm on my way." She spun on her heel and strode to the cathode car. "Solve this!" She yelled over her shoulder. She slammed the hatch behind her and the car sped up the cathode tube back to the central hub of the ship. The glow of her skin left a negative light imprint on the chief engineers vision as he stared at the cathode tube. He let out a shuddering sigh, long after the whine of the car had faded.

***

"What do you think, doctor?" The captain asked.

"I've never seen anything like it," the doctor replied as she poked the still form with the tip of one of her tentacles.

"Is it dead?"

"No. But it's not responding to anything I've tried yet. It's not a normal anatomy, either. I mean, which orifice should water go in, for instance?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Indeed," the doctor frowned. The body stirred and started to wake. The captain, more curious than cautious, leaned in close. His large flared nostrils at the end of his long face snuffled. The patient's eyes squinted open. He screamed and tried to scramble away. It was a pathetic raspy sound and the restraints kept him in place on the examination table. He coughed. The captain and the doctor shared a glance.

"You're a horse! And you're...you're a...uh...a squid? A jellyfish?"

"What did it say?" The captain asked the doctor who simply shrugged.

"Where am I? Am I dead? Is this, like, heaven or something?"

"Get him something to calm him down. You are on the Penxanifer class dreadnought, R.K.N. Jell-Mi-Kell. I am Captain Eli. This is Doctor Verra. And who might you be?"

The patient stared at them apoplectically. The doctor tapped the top of her head with one of her facial tentacles, signifying a sudden idea. She rushed over to a cabinet and whisked it open. She rummaged for a second and found an object. She twisted it, gave it a gentle slap and then a little light came on. She rushed back and held it over the patients head.

"What are you doing?" The patient cried fearfully.

"What are you doing?" Whispered the captain.

"Rearranging some of his neurons. I think his brain is similar to yours." She breathed the word 'unfortunately' after making this observation, but the captain didn't notice. She swayed the device from side to side.

"There. Do you understand us now?" The doctor asked.

"Yes. Yes I do." The patient stared at them both with sheer dread. After a few moments of awkward staring he realized he was not necessarily in any danger. "Where am I?"

"I already told you," the captain shook his head. The doctor sighed. The patient frowned in confusion.

"What's your name?" The doctor asked.

"My name?" He thought for a moment. It had seemed like an eternity floating through space and time. He recalled, a lifetime ago, a semblance of an existence that seemed like a shadow of memory. Then it came to him. "My name is Major Tom."