The Thing in the vents that eats people

4

I make my way to the comms room. A few guards try to stop me but I turn on the charm and talk my way past them. That nearly saps my strength, but I manage it knowing that hopefully sugar is waiting for me on the other side. I get turned around a couple of times in the stores because I don't know which ladder I came up, but soon enough I'm in front of the very locked comms room door.
Now, it's locked, and not even the staff can get in. However.
I have more than a few tricks, that extend well past a bit of charm and breathing in 0-g. My mothers, who raised me, didn't even know the full extent of my species's unique abilities, hence studying us. And since I was a juvenile when they got me, I had little information to offer them especially since I didn't fully grasp their language.
It's not that the locked door is a challenge, so much as explaining how I got through it is. I'm not worried about the crazy candy hoarder on the other side, I'm more worried if that Admiral finds out I got in here. He shouldn't, as the only person with access to the cameras is in this room. But I do want a reasonable excuse. I'm going to have to go with that I had one of the old key cards from the Eurydice from my mothers, and that it happened to be coded right. The odds of that happening are nil, but I'm guessing a fly-boy isn't going to be able to calculate those odds. I'm going to have to bank on that and charm my way out of it.
I raise a hand to the keycoded door, breathing deeply in, then letting it out slowly. I can hear my heartbeat, and then the pounding of my breath in my body, the swish and gurgle of my guts as they twist miserably, and I can hear blood rushing in my veins.
I can also hear the steady hum of electricity inside the key pad. It's not much. But the way key coded doors work is they run a loop of electricity, so when they are interrupted by the particularly coded mag strip, they unlock.
I slide my finger down the lock, feeling the gentle vibrations of the electricity, letting them melt into my finger, then I slide my finger up it again, this time there is a click.
I push open the door swiftly, cramming myself in quickly in fear of reprisal. That's good, because a man and a cat both scream.
"Who the fuck are you?" A pistol is pointed in my face as I slump against the door.
The comms room is twice the size of any bunk, with dozens of screens on every wall, one screen for each room of the ship. There's a puffy chair hanging in front of screens, and boxes upon boxes of MREs are hastily strapped to the floor. A fluffy black cat is sitting on the chair, using its claws to hold itself down.
The man floating before me is half in military dress, with the shirt tied about his waist and just wearing a tight sleeveless shirt. He is pale eyed, with a bit too long for military hair, slicked up and colored (I think artificially??) blue, and he has dark lines around his eyes. He's also holding a pistol on me.
"I'm a castaway, I got picked up two hours ago—,"
"I know," gesturing to the screens, "I know EVERYTHING. That doesn't explain who or what the fuck you think you are?"
"I just wanted some candy someone said you had some?" I ask, weakly.
"They haven't been able to open that door for months and YOU break in after being on this ship for less an hour, just to get candy?" He folds his arms, floating idly.
"I have a medical condition, my blood sugar drops," I say. It's the lie my mothers taught me.
"Then why aren't you on medication?" He cocks his head, sassily.
"I just need to eat regularly, please," I say, holding out a hand, "I'll bring you something from the rest of the ship?"
"You can't offer me anything," he says, going back to the screens, shaking his head. It takes me a moment to realize he slings a packet of red gummy candy over his shoulder.
"Thank you," I snatch it out of the air and rip it open, starting to eat hungrily.
"So, Candy, how'd you survive in deep space for weeks on end, without proper air?" He asks, not looking back at me.
"What?" I ask, chocking on the candy as I stuff it in my mouth.
"You heard me. I saw the stats from your pod," he says, dragging long fingers down a screen with loving care, "You should have been dead. So what are you? A changeling?"
"What is that?" I ask, feeling the blood rush from my head.
"You haven't heard the stories, Candy? Changelings, are creatures from deep space, live for thousands of years. To survive, they need to bond to other life forms, like a parasite. They can nearly perfectly mimic humans, but they tend to start you know, killing 'em," he says, slowly turning, and seeing my panic stricken face, "Calm down, I'm not going to shoot you. I don't care that much."
"I just passed out, I don't remember," I say.
"Well looks like you are a motherfucking miracle, Candy. That's what this ship needs though," he says, looking back at the screen.
"I'm not—,"
"Android? That how you do that shit with the door? I mean come on there's a reason you didn't run out of air. Last time I was on earth more than half of 'em were 80% or greater cyborg. Everyone wants to live forever," he breaths, flipping a few camera feeds. "Don't pretend I'm stupid. I'm not. I can add. I know damn well you haven't been breathin' for a good week."
"I can't tell you," I whisper. Cyborg is better than the truth.  Changeling is one of the many names for what I am. One of the less derogatory, and I'm annoyed that I'm pleased he picked it. And he didn't call me a monster like most of them do.
"Huh, okay, cyborg then, what you have an illegal implant? Rich kid trying to get off planet?" He asks, handing me a packet of chocolates. I take it, hungrily.
"I was helping my mothers," I say, softly, touching my necklace, "On a research ship."
"Yeah, them things killed the Eurydice, same time they got us," he says, tapping another screen, the soft blue haze reflected on his smooth face. "You think I"m crazy, Candy?"
"No," I say, frowning, realizing I haven't thought it at all. He seems entirely sane. And he's giving me food. If he gives me just one more bit of candy I'll probably bond to him for life, insane or no.
"Your mistake," he whispers, grinning, "You want to see something?"
I nod.
He taps a keyboard, and for a moment all the screens switch to black—no not black.
Space.
Endless stars, a million glittering spots of light in the vast universe. I smile, staring out at it. I try to pick out the star I was born in. I can usually find it.
"Perks of the job," he flips it back to the surveillance cameras. "Nice to meet you, I'm Weaver."
"Nice to meet you," I say, holding out a hand. He shakes mine, his hand is warm and soft, a bit damp with sweat.
"You a chocolate addict?" He asks, handing me another packet of candies.
"Just sugar," I admit, taking it gladly all the same.
"Stay as long as you like," he says, glancing at me one more time, "You're not bothering me, Candy."
"How come you have a cat?" I ask, petting it. I like animals, especially soft ones. With my parents, my biological parent and their partner, we had a pet once. I don't know what it was called, but it wasn't as soft as this. I only know this is cat from a computer program my mother used to teach me how to be human. I wasn't very good at it.
"A family sneaked him on, they got eaten a while ago, but I saw this little guy on the cameras, went and got 'em. They aren't supposed to have pets," he says, typing on one of the keyboards. "His name's Hermes, you can pick him up if you want. He likes to be held it's like gravity, you know?"
"Why would you name your cat, after the psychopomp—the messenger to the dead?" I ask, frowning and trying to remember the literature I've read, "That can't be a good omen, can it?"
"You mean the god of messenger and travelers and things? Guardian of the crossroads? Can't imagine a better spirit to invoke, than the patron god of lost things, not for this journey. Also, if we don't see the end of it, nice to have a good line on a quick way to the land of the dead," he says, smiling, that I even knew the reference.
"Fair enough. He's your cat," naturally I picked it up and am cuddling it I simply love cuddles and apparently I have not been touched or hugged in weeks. The cat starts purring immediately.
"Nope, you don't own cats. They just choose to exist with you. I don't own things, and things sure as hell don't own me," he says.
"You never want to have a family?" I ask, because it seems sad. "I can't imagine not belonging to someone."
"I'm better off on my own," he says, tapping another screen, and looking at me looking at the candy hanging in plastic bags.  "Eat what you want. It doesn't matter."
I am too hungry to argue, finding more twisted red rubbery candies, while the cat nestles in one arm. I wander over to look at a couple of the monitors.
"Is that—," my mouth is full, "Is that the ship wide oxygen stores?"
"Mmmhmm," he says, taking a candy from me to eat.
"They're dropping at a rate of what—ten to twenty liters an hour—that's cataclysmic," I say, staring at the glowing screen.
"Ding, ding, ding, you win the prize," he claps his hands lightly.
"The only reason for them to drop like that— is—the only reason that our stores would be being depleted like that is if something was eating," I say, my voice shaking, "There's a Kestryl on board."
Weaver nods, slowly, and sarcastically.
"What—we have to tell them," I say, moving towards the door.
"Why—the fuck do you think I'm barricaded up here like this, Candy?" He scoffs, "They don't believe me. Lack of evidence. Not enough time. No way we're going to get it out. You heard me this morning. I'm not even allowed to call it a Kestryl on the giant voice anymore. So. We call it the thing in the vents that eats people."
"But—-," I feel tears fill my eyes. Those things have killed two of my families so far. "We're three months from Alpha Centari. I've already radioed ahead to any Goldilocks between here and Alpha Centari, they cannot permit a landing of a vessel that's infected or they have reason to believe is infected. Nor do they have containment crews set up even if the embargo were lifted," Weaver shakes his head, "Sorry Candy. You just got picked up by a floating coffin."