Chapter 8
- Nora -
“Get ready to run,” Lucius says while he makes all kinds of weird moves and sounds. “I’ll distract them and you try to get away. There must be some smaller craft on this ship. Likely that way.” He swoops up and down into a specific direction, as if pointing.
The little drone is doing an admirable job of causing chaos. He darts through the air, flashes lights, and produces noises that sound increasingly ridiculous.
The giant locust watches him. The lobster stares with obvious fascination. Neither of them is paying much attention to me.
That feels like the sort of situation that rarely lasts. I take a careful step backward. Nobody reacts. A second step carries me closer to the corridor beyond the chamber. Lucius continues his performance without missing a beat.
The opening remains clear. I glance toward the drone one last time.
"You're either a genius or a disaster," I mutter under my breath. Then I slip through the membrane.
The opening closes behind me with a wet sound that makes me wince. I stop immediately and listen. My pulse pounds in my ears while I wait for shouting, pursuit, or the arrival of an angry alien warlord.
Nothing happens. The silence lasts long enough that I begin to believe I've actually gotten away.
A smile creeps onto my face despite everything. After the crash, the capture, the living spaceship, the trophies, and the increasingly confusing giant locust, I finally feel as though I'm doing something for myself instead of reacting to whatever happens next.
The corridor stretches ahead through walls of living tissue. Soft pulses travel beneath translucent layers, and the floor gives faintly beneath my feet. Walking through this living spaceship feels wrong. Human ships hum and vibrate and creak. This thing breathes.
Now that the locust isn't standing beside me, taking all my attention like an unchained tiger, I can pay attention to details.
Openings appear and disappear farther down the corridor.
Strange creatures carry supplies through the passages.
Somewhere in the distance something large produces a deep bellow that echoes through the living structure.
I decide there is absolutely no reason to investigate that sound.
The passage divides ahead. I slow near the junction and study both routes. Neither looks more welcoming than the other. Neither contains signs, maps, or anything resembling common sense. But I swear I can see huge muscle fibers.
"Excellent," I whisper. "A maze made of meat." I choose the left passage and continue walking.
Several seconds later a wet sealing sound echoes behind me. The noise is familiar enough that I stop and think through it before turning around. Membranes close all the time aboard the Beast. I've seen dozens of them open and shut during the last hours.
Still, something about the timing bothers me. I turn back toward the junction. The passage I came through is gone.
A smooth living wall fills the space where the opening had been only moments earlier. I stare at it for several seconds, waiting for the membrane to reopen. It doesn't.
The smile fades from my face. Then another opening appears farther ahead. The membrane peels apart, revealing a continuation of the corridor beyond. For a moment I simply stand there looking from the sealed wall behind me to the newly opened route ahead.
A cold feeling settles into my stomach. "I'm starting to think this ship doesn’t like me."
And I don't like the look of the new passage.
Maybe it's because it appeared the moment the previous route vanished.
Maybe it's because every survival instinct I possess is warning me that a living spaceship probably shouldn't be trusted.
Either way, I find myself staring at the opening while my mind works through possibilities.
Then I glance back at the smooth wall behind me. Nothing moves. Nothing opens. The route that brought me here is gone.
"Fine," I tell the ship. "I'll play along."
The corridor ahead curves downward, and I start walking. One hand trails along the wall. The living surface feels warm beneath my fingers, and every few seconds a pulse travels through it. The sensation makes me increasingly aware that I'm walking through something alive.
Several side passages appear as I continue. Each one seals before I can reach it. After the fourth time, coincidence stops feeling like a convincing explanation.
A membrane opens ahead. I move toward it, and it closes. Another opens farther down the corridor.
I stop and stare. "You're definitely doing that on purpose."
A scratching sound draws my attention upward. A pale many-legged creature watches me from the wall for several seconds before disappearing into a fold of tissue. Almost immediately, the next membrane opens.
Then a deep bellow rolls through the ship, stronger than before. I look behind me: Sealed wall.
I look ahead: Open passage.
The choice is becoming increasingly theoretical. With growing suspicion, I continue forward.
The corridor ends in a small circular chamber, and I slow as I enter. At first it looks harmless enough. Then the membranes begin closing around me.
One seals behind me. Another closes to my left. I turn in a slow circle while more exits disappear. Within seconds every route is gone except a single opening on the far side of the room.
I stare at it while my mind catches up. The ship has spent the last several minutes steering me from corridor to corridor. The opening passages. The sealed routes. None of it was random.
"You're herding me," I whisper.
The floor vibrates beneath my feet. A pulse travels through the walls. At the same moment, the final opening begins narrowing.
That decides the matter.
I gather up the ridiculous packing wrap and hurry across the chamber. The membrane starts closing as I approach, forcing me to duck through the shrinking gap before it seals completely behind me.
For three steps, everything seems normal. Then the floor disappears.
The realization arrives an instant before something slams into my back. The impact lifts me off my feet. My arms fly outward as I lose balance. I try to catch myself, but there's nothing to grab. Before I can understand what's happening, I'm propelled through another membrane ahead.
Then the universe opens around me. Stars blaze in every direction and all the air is ripped from my lungs in one explosive exhale. My eyes and tongue start to sting and burn.
For a moment my mind refuses to accept what my eyes are seeing. There should be walls. There should be a corridor. There should be something beneath me.
Instead there is only open space.
I reach toward the ship on pure instinct, as though I can somehow pull myself back through willpower alone. The motion accomplishes nothing. My body continues drifting away while the darkness stretches endlessly around me.
Panic slams into me. My arms and legs thrash uselessly as I tumble away from the opening.
The Beast didn't guide me here by accident. It threw me outside, into the vacuum of space.
The stars shine around me, but everything is more silent than anything I’ve ever experienced.
I need air. My chest convulses. A scream tries to form, but I have no air in my lungs. The darkness around the edges of my vision arrives immediately.
Then something hits me. An arm clamps around my waist with crushing force.
The impact spins me again. Hard armor presses against my body. My brain loses track of everything except the desperate need to breathe.
The giant alien. He has me.
For a moment there is only violent motion. Living membranes rush toward us. Something opens ahead. The alien trembles with what has to be a growl, making me shake.
Then we burst through. Air slams into my lungs and I gasp like a fish on land. I suck in a ragged breath that turns into a cough. Another follows. Then another.
My entire body shakes as oxygen floods back into my system. My head and ears ache.
Strong arms keep me upright when my knees threaten to collapse. I cling to the front of his armor without meaning to. My head is about to burst with the noise of the ship, now that I can hear again.
Above me, the giant alien lowers his head. His chest heaves and his eyes shoot green fire. A deep, furious growl vibrates through his entire body.
I don't understand a single word he says. But the tone is perfectly clear. He's angry.
Very, very angry.
One arm stays wrapped around my waist while I struggle to get my breathing under control.
Every breath hurts. My chest burns, and my legs feel unreliable.
The chamber still seems to sway around me.
When I try to take a step back, my knees threaten to give out, and the only thing keeping me upright is the massive arm supporting me.
Despite myself, it makes me feel safer. He saved me again.
The giant alien towers over me, antennae rigid and mandibles spread.
His chest rises and falls as heavily as mine, but much slower.
Then he starts speaking. The growling words come fast and forceful while he points toward the membrane behind us, then toward me, then back toward the opening again.
Whatever happened out there clearly left an impression.
I watch the gestures for a moment before attempting a response.
"Look," I say, still fighting for breath, "in my defense, I had no idea your ship had doors that opened directly into space."
The answer appears to have exactly the wrong effect. His mandibles spread wider. Another stream of angry alien words follows. The volume rises enough that I instinctively lean back, which immediately reminds me that I'm still pressed against his chest armor.
Before either of us can continue, a familiar voice drifts into the chamber. "That appears to be an expression of frustration."