by Kira Bacal
revenge on my ex-partner. Naturally, I chose the latter.
I briefly considered dumping the cargo out of sheer spite, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. I’d seen how much hard work went into harvesting the crystals, and the hardscrabble little Delphidian colony was counting on the sales to finance their next educational upgrade. Thus, in true Terran blind-yourself-to-the-inevitable fashion. I decided that I’d get myself home, no matter what, just so I could strangle that slimy sindith.
Having set out to accomplish the impossible, I went about arranging the mundane. I plotted the most direct course, ignoring the fact that it took me through an unexplored region of space, and made the pilot’s chair as comfortable as possible.
Normally the ship’s autopilot handled most of the point to point travel, and I was only needed for the tricky bits: launch, landing, and any changes to the itinerary. Now, however, I’d need to be at the controls full-time, making sure we weren’t headed smack into an asteroid or too close to a star’s grav-field. Also, without the computer to make the necessary overdrive calculation, I’d be restricted to maximum norm-space speed. Even with the new course, it was unlikely my food and air would last long enough.
Never one to let facts sway me, I rationed food and water, closed off the rest of the living quarters, and dropped the FiO2 in the cabin air to near-hypoxic levels. If I didn’t make it, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.
I wasted a few minutes composing a farewell message, but gave up in disgust when I realized I didn’t have anyone to whom to send it. My family was scattered – the one thing we shared was a distaste for each other’s company – and my last romantic entanglement had ended. Badly. Inventive suggestions of suicide methods had been mutually exchanged, along with sincere urgings to utilize them. I wasn’t eager to have my last words greeted with delight.
Vowing that if I survived this, I would find someone who would love and cherish me, I set my jaw and engaged the engine.
When the lights first appeared, I ignored them. I noticed them, mind you, but I was in an apathetic daze induced by fatigue, narcosis, and starvation. It had been almost two weeks since the computer died, and supplies were nearly exhausted. It had been twenty-two hours since my last nap, and about as long since my last “meal” (it’s hard to consider two sips of tinny water and half a ration bar a meal). O2 tanks were as near to empty as makes no difference, and the CO2 levels in the cabin were rising. I barely remembered what had driven me into this mad race for safety, and sheer inertia alone was carrying me on.
So I noticed the lights, with a kind of dull wonder, but I didn’t do anything at first. Then, as they continued to grow in size, my numbness slowly gave way to a resigned realization that the hallucinations had begun. My abused body had at last rebelled – next I’d think I was sipping a tall julep at Lasereye’s.
Still, training dies hard, so with that comprehension, I did all the right things. I tapped the O2 tanks, shooting the last few jets of oxygen into the cabin. I gulped down my next day’s ration bar to ward off low blood glucose and drank two days’ worth of water to wash it down.
It was only then that I turned to the scanner, waiting for it to confirm what I already knew: nothing was out there.
Instead, the scanner lit up like a supernova. Images and data kept spilling in – insisting that an impossibly large ship of completely alien design was on an intercept course.
I regarded the output sourly. Clearly I was even farther gone than I had feared. If I were close enough to death to hallucinate readings, I would have expected to be squarely in the middle of a much nicer fantasy – preferably with a Venusian masseuse, Roman baths, and a buffet table groaning with food and drink.
I closed my eyes and tried to will myself into a more sybaritic environment. After all, I’d done everything I could to improve my mental state, and obviously it hadn’t worked. I ignored all the extraneous lights, klaxons, hissing, clanging of metal on metal, instead focusing my remaining energy on picturing the ideal orgy partner: full lips, deep blue eyes…
Just when I felt the image was clear enough to touch, I opened my eyes, expecting to see my dreamboat gesturing invitingly. Instead, three bulbous eyestalks attached to a squat, tentacled body peered closely at my face.
I recoiled with a yell – prompting a similar backwards leap from the apparition. Then, having realized that my efforts to modify my hallucination had been fruitless and the orgy would proceed without me, I let loose with a blistering series of oaths, most of which were directed against my ex-partner, my luck, and my intelligence (or lack thereof).
After a pause, my words were repeated back to me by the creature, only in more polite tones.
“Oh, great!” I shook my head in a mixture of amusement and despair. “Not only are my hallucinations unattractive, but they’re unfriendly as well! I must need intensive psych rehab to do this to myself.” That said, I buried my face in my hands, too spent even for more black humor.
At a gentle touch on my shoulder, I uncovered one eye and peeked out. The creature was back, regarding me anxiously. “Please excuse us. Was our return of your greeting performed improperly? We believed you require assistance. Are you unwell?” Its Standard was impeccable.
I blinked. This was an awfully weird dream. “I’ve been better,” I finally allowed.
“You will permit…?” It touched me with a small instrument held in one tentacle.
“Ow!” I yelped and jerked my arm away. That had hurt! Even through my clothing I could feel a stinging welt rise.
“Our apologies,” the thing quickly offered. “The pain will be transient, but we required a sample of your tissue for appropriate analysis.”
“Uh huh.” I eyed it narrowly as I rubbed my sore arm. “Analysis” sounded ominous. Like “appetizer”. I’d heard the science types’ blather about alien species, how all the hypotheses predicted that when we did encounter eeties, they’d be friendly. “Too advanced for hostility.” But these were the same people who said we’d never travel faster than light.
So anyway, I wasn’t all that reassured when a squat thing with three eyes said it needed to analyze me. For all I knew, in my dream, “Terran kibble” would be the aliens’ favorite snack.
“Do you understand us?” the creature asked, its tone unnervingly eager to please. “We examined your ship and its memory banks when we first detected your vessel. The information seemed generally complete but the linguistics program did leave some gaps, especially in the area of colloquialisms.” With surprising facility, it called up the appropriate records on the computer screen and tapped the deficient files for emphasis.
I hadn’t even known the computer had a linguistics program. “You’re doing fine.”
That’s when it hit me. If I hadn’t known about the program, how could a figment of my imagination? I sat bolt upright. But that would mean –
No. It was impossible.
But if…
I looked over at the little creature who was still earnestly explaining how confusing Standard diphthongs were. I turned to the main viewport and for the first time noted the huge vessel stationed alongside. It dwarfed my tiny craft, which could easily be engulfed by any of its multiple docking stations. Looking behind me, I saw through the open hatch that more than a dozen of the creatures were bustling back and forth on my ship.
I bit my lip, hard. When I tasted the blood, my world wobbled briefly then reformed – complete with tentacles. Okay. So I wasn’t hallucinating. These were actual alien life forms.
Hysterics seemed inappropriate at this point. Surely the time had passed when I could have curled into a sobbing ball of panic. What then was left? “Take me to your leader”? “I come in peace”? “Please don’t eat me”?
In the end, I settled for, “Sorry the place is such a mess. If I’d known you’d be by, I’d have tidied up.”
“Please do not distress yourself. We are quite accustomed to unexpected Initial Encounters.
You seem very composed for a species who has never before met another race. Please accept our compliments.” I made self-deprecating noises, as if this sort of thing were de rigueur.
“No, truly. We could tell you stories about other races – quite advanced, some of them – who reacted in the most outrageous fashion: cowering in terror, begging not to be consumed, threatening violence…” He waggled his eyestalks in what seemed to be humorous exasperation.
“Heh, heh,” I managed. The eyestalk thing was making me queasy. “So – just for the record – tell me again why you’re here.”
Before it could reply, another alien hurried up and presented my conversational partner with several small, brick-like objects. “Ah!” the eyestalk waggler turned back to me. “Here is some sustenance which we have created for you, based on your own computer records and our biophysical analysis.”
I gingerly accepted one of the flat wafers. They were unexpectedly heavy and moist. With six eyes watching me expectantly and the reputation of my species at stake, I had little choice. Trying not to cringe, I took an experimental nibble.
Ginger snaps. The grikking thing tasted like ginger snaps. Happily, I like ginger snaps. “This is great!” I exclaimed in astonishment.
The two aliens wriggled with delight. “Excellent! I am pleased to see our analyses were