"A Little Space Music" originally appeared in the Spring 2012 issue of On Spec magazine.
***
Dripping viscous green slime onto the brushed-steel plates of the recreation room floor, the pulsating blue slug reared until it towered a full metre above my head.
Its mouth peeled open like a gaping wound. Strings of mucus like pus-colored rubber bands stretched between the upper and lower palates, stretched, stretched–then snapped and fell toward the already fouled floor like slow-motion bungee jumpers.
Three eyes the color of old blood reared up on black stalks, somehow remaining focused on me even as they weaved and dodged like demented cobras in thrall to acid jazz played by a drunken snake charmer.
Then...then came the ultimate horror. The monstrosity made a noise like a saber-toothed tiger coughing up a hairball...and began to sing.
"Midnight...not a sound from the pavement..."
Oh, no. No!
"Touch me, it's so easy to leave me..."
That which does not kill me makes me stronger, I reminded myself. I felt very strong indeed by the time Lloyd Weber's oft-abused "classic" ground to its inevitable conclusion.
"Thank you, Mr...Urkh(cough)lisssss(choke). That was very...interesting. We'll be letting...people...know in about a shipday."
The slug grunted something that might have been "Thank you," or might have just been a correction of my pronunciation of his–I checked the information sheet–oops, its–name, and slithered out, leaving a trail of green goop a metre wide in its wake.
Groaning, I rested my aching head in hands, twitched my jaw sideways to activate my implanted commbug, and croaked out, "Next!"
#
This nightmare had begun the moment I boarded the XX Mendel, rushing down the loading ramp as though the hounds of hell were after me–which wasn't too far from the truth, considering Governor Feldercarb's minions sported long black fur, long blue teeth, and bioluminescent eyes that radiated heavily in the longer wavelengths of visible light.
One thing neither of the two possessed, however, was a boarding pass for the Mendel. The security tanglefield stopped them in their tracks at the top of the ramp. My elation evaporated two seconds later when, at the bottom of the ramp, the tanglefield likewise wrapped me in molasses and hardened to amber. Immobilized, I watched the ship's security hatch open, revealing a stocky, auburn-haired-and-bearded man in a bright-red uniform liberally adorned with gold buttons and braid. He looked like he'd just stepped offstage from playing the Major General in The Pirates of Penzance. "Professor Peak, I presume?" he said.
I found myself rather breathless, though probably due more to the tanglefield's compression of my lungs than the sudden outbreak of alliteration. "You have...the advantage...of me...sir.".
"Forgive me. Robert Robespierre Robinson, Captain of the multi-species capable luxury liner XX Mendel, pride of the Blue Nebula Line, at your service." The captain inclined his head slightly. "My friends call me Redbeard. You can call me Captain. Or 'sir.'" He looked over his shoulder and made an abrupt cutting-his-own-throat gesture, which alarmed me until the tanglefield suddenly shut off and I realized it hadn't been a signal for summary execution. I staggered. The captain caught me and straightened me up, then released me.
I took a couple of deep breaths. "I'm honored you felt it necessary to greet me in person...sir."
"I'm sure." The Captain looked up the ramp. Feldercarb's hellhounds snarled at him. He turned on his heel. "Come with me, 'Professor.' We have matters to discuss."
