Thistle in the Sky | #NONC2022 | ✔

Chapter Nineteen

There was no way to know how much time had passed as the three of them remained squished together in the crate, not daring to breathe loudly as the tentacle they could only assume was still outside continued to lie dormant. The ship too remained silent. Had the monster just up and disappeared? Farah would not put such a phenomenon past the mysterious giants of the Tideless; the place was already a hotbed for sailors' tales of the mystical, magical, and sinister. The alternative, somehow, was even more frightening. That the jellyfish remained draped over the top of the Ariomma like a grotesque tea cozy, digesting its last meal, or waiting for its final prey to emerge.

Only in the darkness and the silence did the reality of it all begin to sink in. The three of them were the last people alive on the ship. The captain was dead, and the rest of the crew with her. Most not even by the monster's hand. Farah tried to dodge those thoughts, but they dogged her mind like hungry mosquitos. It took hours to realize they were plaguing Kaz, too. Farah resigned herself to the nausea they brought—it was easier than cutting her telepathic ties with her brother. She needed to reassure herself that he was still alive.

Gemi had begun to plan how she would contact the Nectamia. Farah let her attention drift over the details: something about how the tracker would provide the right frequency to access the ship's secret channel, which would have less noise and might reach the Nectamia over a greater distance. She didn't need to understand so long as Gemi did. If the radio operator died, neither Farah nor Kaz would be able to replicate whatever she was planning anyway.

They slept in the crate that night. Farah took first watch, which she bore out with gritted teeth as hunger, thirst, and the pain in her bent knees sank in their claws. If the monster wouldn't leave the Ariomma, they would have to make a dash to the radio room and pray for safety, or else die of thirst in their own wooden cage. When Farah couldn't keep her eyes open, she woke Gemi for second watch. She let her head fall to Kaz's shoulder. Sleep provided only a temporary reprieve.

They continued that way for several more watch cycles, sparing Kaz as his injury had him slipping in and out of fitful rest all night. After what could have been twelve hours or twenty, Gemi tapped Farah's knee. I think we need to go, she projected across the mindspace.

Farah's head spun as she lifted it. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and sawdust.

Can I ask you a question?

Gemi again. Farah tensed, and felt Gemi's instant apology and usual anxiety that she'd caused offense. Farah found her hand and signaled yes.

Does telepathy work on animals?

Farah started to say no, then paused. It didn't work the way it did on humans. Animals had no clear thoughts, so the best Farah could get was an impression—and even then, only if she spent enough time with the creature to determine its baseline first. Only then might any signal thereafter make sense.

Most still didn't. But she already had an idea of what Gemi might say next.

Farah conveyed all that as best she could through their limited means of communication. The reply was immediate. Do you have an impression of this monster?

Farah closed her eyes and sent her attention probing skywards. There was certainly something over the ship. It had no brain, no thoughts, not even at the level of a mouse or a bird—but there wasn't nothing, either. She relayed this to Gemi.

Would you sense it if it thought before attacking? Gemi thought back. Or if it noticed us?

That wouldn't be a thought... it would be a change. Farah sat up straighter. She had been probing around in the mindspace for most of a day now, distracting herself from their situation. She had acclimated—albeit unintentionally—to the presence of the monster overhead. Its instincts might not make sense, but there was a good chance she could sense a shift in its focus if she paid attention.