Page 3 of Alien Desire
At last, I make sense of it and shoot my distress signal into the vastness of space. Then I lean back in the chair and try not to cry. Who knows how long I will be here?
By now the pale sun is sinking down below the horizon and once again this world turns a fiery red for several fractions of a moment and then seeps into a grey that falls darker and darker until it is night. I’m exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes from closing.
Stretching and yawning, sending fresh jolts of pain cascading down my sides, I stumble to the bedroom. Here, I freeze. There’s a distinct rustling sound coming from somewhere within this room, a sound that is not the computer or one of the mechanics.
I listen carefully, my blood running cold and my body stiffening. It sounds like the soft snufflings of a creature. Back on Earth, this would be no cause of concern. But here on an alien planet, where I have no knowledge of the friendliness of the native inhabitants, it could mean danger.
Running back to the pantry, I find the store of weapons I’d clocked earlier and arm myself with a small blaster before venturing back into the sleeping bay. I chide myself for not searching the whole of the station for any such lurking dangers. A rookie mistake.
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I fling open the cupboard doors and am greeted by a giant ball of fluff with several pairs of eyes that blink. We stare at each other and it takes my brain several minutes to deduce that this is not one creature, but several.
Dogs.
Left behind by some previous space mission. There’re packs of them scattered all across the universe. Many are so far removed from the domesticated ancestors that were abandoned, they are now feral and wild. And sometimes dangerous, known to have attacked and killed humans.
But before I have time to think further on this, the creatures streak past me, dashing for the door.
“Hey,” I cry, chasing after them, only to see the last one squeeze through a small vent in the main communal area.
Note to self: secure the vent. I don’t want them coming back and slaughtering me.
I glance down at the blaster in my hand. Perhaps it is something I ought to keep on me until I know more about this planet. So I take it into the bedroom and place it on one of the small tables scattered in between the cots. Then I find a heavy crate and drag it across the opening of the vent.
This little encounter peaked my adrenaline and now, as it fades away, I’m even more tired than I was before. I can’t be bothered to undress, crawling under the covers.
It’s as I’m falling asleep that the faces of my crewmate finally creep back into my mind. I’ve tried to block them out, tried to stop myself from dwelling on their loss.
But now I see them all clearly.
Haunting images.
Jacob’s frightened eyes. Ling’s small, calloused hand. Georgio’s bloody remains.
They’re gone. All of them.
The second family I’ve lost.
Chapter two - Emma
Iwake to the faint sound of whining. At first it infiltrates my dreams and I mistake it for the drone of the spaceship. When I open my eyes, I’m completely disoriented until my brain pulls out the memories of the day before.
Lying on my back, I gasp for air as a wave of panic and grief courses over me. I let it pass, and then my attention is drawn back to the noise.
It’s coming from the cupboard again. Have those hairballs returned? I should have sorted out the vent properly last night.
Picking up the discarded blaster from yesterday, I go to investigate.
This time I find just one of the fluffy creatures, small and curled into a ball in the corner. His eyes are big and round but all his other features and limbs are lost under the matt of black fur. He quivers as I stare down at him and whines again.
“Go,” I tell him, gesturing my blaster in his direction. “Go on, go. Your friends already left.”
Or maybe they were his family. The dogs seem to have dragged the stuffing from one of the mattresses into the bottom of this cupboard, and formed a soft sort of den, almost like a nest.
The fluffy thing lifts its head, holds my stare, and then sinks back down and whines a third time.
Reluctantly, I poke out a foot in his direction and prod it gently with my toe. It merely watches the action of my leg, but refuses to budge. I try again with a little more force, the fur ticking my foot, but when he remains where he is, I give up. It’s not worth a bite or a scratch.
“Fine,” I say, “stay if you want.”
