The Ship

The Ship

Jay Caselberg

            "I will miss your conversation during the rest of the voyage," the alien said. 

            It might have been his own voice.  Or it could have been the alien.  Or maybe it wasn't.  Abaddon no longer knew.  He scratched at the stubble on his chin and thought about it.  It was like being impossibly small.  It was one of those things beyond the laws of physics and the laws of reality that his mind couldn't really get to grips with, but there'd been too many of those lately.

            "Commander Abaddon, it's time for your meal," said the alien.

            "Yeah, yeah.  I know," he said to the walls, to the floor, to the ceiling.  He couldn't see the alien, so there was no point looking for it.  He studied the back of his hand, staring at the fine dark hairs growing there.  They grew thicker near the hand's outside edge.  He wondered why that was.  Then he studied the thin metal band on his third finger.  There was a reason it was there.  He knew it was meant to remind him of something -- something important.  He blinked it away, then spun the couch around and stood.  As he rose, he caught a whiff of his body odor.  The smell wafted up from the open neck of his suit, enveloped his senses.

            "Commander Abaddon, it's time for your meal," the alien said again.

            "Joshua," he said.  "Call me Joshua."  What was the alien doing anyway, calling him by name?  Talking to him? 

            "Just shut up and leave me alone," he said.

            He walked away from the couch, stepping past the pile of clothes and flight suit lying crumpled in the way.  As he walked past it, the smell intensified and he buried his face in the open collar of his own flight suit, breathing deep.  He really needed to get things together.  Careless and sloppy leaving soiled clothing and kit in the middle of the floor.  It wasn't good to leave things lying around on an interstellar hauler.  It was far too dangerous.  He'd have to attend to it later.  Yes, that was right.  He’d deal with it later.

            "Joshua.  Call me Joshua," he repeated.

            Humanity had been plying the ways between the stars for decades now.  Desperately, they had reached out for contact, seeking other minds, other intelligence, with hope, with fear, with expectation.  Nothing.  The universe was empty.  All those years and nothing.  Yet here he was, Joshua Abaddon, and the alien had come to him.  Of everyone, it had come to him.  He wondered if he'd have time to tell them that they were not alone after all.  Why was everyone so afraid of being alone, anyway?

            But he was not alone.  He had the alien.  He and the alien, there together in the small tiny spaces between reality.

            Joshua stumbled out of the flight deck, gripping the doorway for support.  The alien was right; he was hungry, slightly weak.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.  Sometimes he ignored what the alien told him.  Down the corridor and to the right, feeling along the walls to guide the way.  The small kitchen cubicle was dark and he palmed the lights.  Crumpled half-full containers littered the floor.  Drying streaks of concentrate dribbled across the benches.  Time -- no time.  How long had it been like this?  Someone should clean this place up.  It was a mess.  He opened a panel and felt around inside, but the space beyond was empty.  He grimaced, and then tried another panel and then a third.

            "Ahhh," he said as his fingers curled around a tube of something.  He pulled it out and peered down at the label but couldn't concentrate on the lettering.  There was a color-coded tag there as well, but he couldn't remember what it was for.  It didn't matter.  Greenish gray, it was probably soup.  There should be a container around here somewhere.  He tried other panels, but no containers, just more tubes and other packages full of barely colored pastes.  There was nothing to heat a container with anyway.  He gave up and ripped at the top of the tube with his teeth then sucked greedily at the contents.  They tasted greenish gray, but he didn't care.  Whatever it was filled the space in his belly and chased the rumbling hollowness away.  He crumpled the tube and tossed it to the floor.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and remembering to palm the light switch again, stepped back out into the corridor.