Saved by the Monsters

The signs had been there, annoying, unwanted, a random, occasional nuisance, but the one that was wanted was a nuisance by its absence. Right after leaving the nebula, the first signs were there, then gone, then there again — the ones that foretold disaster. Now, the cameras and antennae swept in slow circles, the AI controlling them looking for the faintest change, looking for the sign that may, despite all hope, not be coming.

The only light in the cockpit was from three small LEDs. The red one that signified the distress call was being sent, the yellow one signifying that environmental controls were operating on emergency battery power, and the blue one that said the twelve cameras and nine antennae were sweeping space in a 360-degree sphere around the ship.

At first, the loss of the light from the monitors and regular lighting systems had left the pilot in what seemed like impenetrable darkness. In a few moments, however, acting on muscle memory to activate emergency systems, there were the three glowing indicators that defined what might be the last light he would ever see.

The pilot wasn’t a warrior, just a cog in a commercial supply chain, but the unmarked light freighter, stranded in the buffer zone after evading the enemy picket was likely to be targeted as hostile. Based on the last burn he’d made before the engine seized, he guessed he was drifting away from his own people he was meant to supply.

He tried to sleep. There wasn’t much else to do to occupy his time until the first to greet him arrived; rescuers, death at the hands of the enemy or death by asphyxiation when the environmental controls failed.

After failing to sleep for what seemed hours, he pulled out the hard copy of the cargo manifest. It was only ever used when the regular systems were down or — as in the case of dropping cargo for the front-line ships — unavailable. It took some time to find the right angle to hold the printed plastic sheet to read it in the feeble light.

Vaccine for the pox that was spreading through the settled worlds, anesthetics, antiseptics, bandages, burn treatments, decompression treatments, artificial blood, surgical tools, assorted other medicines, and body bags. The last made him shudder.

I’ll probably end up in one of those, he thought. Then he thought probably not, unless he crawled in himself before he died from the failure of the environmental systems. The enemy wouldn’t bother. They’d see who was piloting the ship and blow it up.

“Crawl out of the hole and think positive,” he muttered. His voice sounded thunderous in the dead silence of the ship. He let out a loud yell of frustration that echoed back from the far reaches of the ship.

He put his hand on the control for the sensor monitor. Switching it to battery power would allow him to see what the cameras saw and hear any radio signals but would reduce the time he would be able to breathe. He knew he should wait for the blue LED to turn red and blink to turn on the monitor, but the monotony was eating away at his mind.

The monitor flickered to life. At the bottom, the time was displayed. What had felt interminable was less than three hours. He shut the monitor off and tried again to sleep. It would make the air last longer, and the wait seem shorter.

His sleep was filled with visions of the enemy, said to be monsters. They burst into the cockpit, tore him limb from limb and began eating him while he still lived and screamed in terror. Their cruel fangs dripped with his blood as one leaned in to bite his face and he woke screaming.

After getting his breathing and pulse under control, he chided himself, “Panic uses more air than exertion. Slow breaths, steady.”

His hand hovered over the control for the sensor monitor. He didn’t know how many minutes he’d already reduced his survival by his nightmare, but checking the unchanging monitor just to see the time would use up power he couldn’t — or at least shouldn’t — waste.

He closed his eyes and took slow, even breaths. If he was going to survive long enough to be rescued, he’d have to be conservative with his power use. He felt his pulse slow, almost to a trance-like state. This would be the way to prolong his life.

The pilot wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, relaxed against the straps that held him in the chair, his arms floating freely at his sides, his eyes closed. It felt like forever and no time at all.

He was pulled back to a dim awareness that the light that filtered through his closed eyelids had changed. It was a struggle to open them and focus. The blue light had turned red and was blinking. It took everything he had to turn on the monitor.

The voice on the radio, repeating the same message over and over was heavily accented, almost impossible to understand. “… life-support … weapons … declare … docking … rescue … life-support …”

He tried to focus on the image of the approaching ship. Even though his eyes refused to fully comply, he could tell it was the enemy — the monsters. He must’ve drifted into territory they controlled. They were declaring rescue, but would kill him as soon as they figured out he wasn’t one of them.

He couldn’t find the energy to panic. Instead, he found himself ready to die. It wouldn’t be so bad, now.

The ship rattled as the enemy docked with it. A few moments later, the airlock cycled, and the monsters came in. They wore suits that held their poisonous atmosphere around them and hid their hideous faces with slavering fangs.

One of them came close and began speaking in their guttural language. Another slid a mask over his face, delivering fresh air. The one that had put the mask on him, and the other one stayed there as the fresh air woke him from his daze. He saw that the yellow environmental control light had gone red, but he had no idea how long ago.

The one in front of him raised the visor of its helmet to show its face. He thought they must want him terrified before they eat him.

Rather than show fear, he looked directly into the predatory eyes of the one that showed their face. The face looked softer than he’d expected, ugly but not hideous, just not properly defined. It spoke to him, with a far easier to understand accent.

“Your life-support system failed before we could get here. We were worried you had died. The doctor says you’ll be okay, though.” It angled itself so its predatory eyes were level with his own. “Are there any weapons on this vessel?”

“No, only you monsters.”

“What is your cargo?”

“Medical supplies.”

It spoke in their guttural language again and seemed accepting of the response over the radio in its helmet. “Is the vaccine for the pox that’s been spreading on your worlds?”

“It is. You monsters probably spread it.” The pilot was not going to show any fear.

“We’ll make sure the vaccine gets where it’s needed. You gave us quite the runaround when you blew past the blockade in this old vessel.” The creature bared its teeth.

He’d been expecting fangs, but instead, he saw flat-edged teeth, and no hint of aggression in the expression. If he was reading this creature right, it was happy.

“You’re not going to kill me and eat me, then?” he asked.

The creature’s expression went to one of surprise. “What? Why would we do that? Who does that?”

“They say the monsters — you — tear us with your fangs and eat us alive.”

“No. We do no such thing.” The creature checked the readout on the arm of their suit and removed their helmet. It said something in their language again, and the one it had called the doctor helped it out of the vacuum suit.

Its body was encased in a tight suit, but it looked soft underneath. No claws or stingers or other natural weapons showed. It removed the cloth that was tight around its head and a covering of curly, soft filaments floated out from it.

“That’s better,” it said.

“Your poisonous atmosphere…it’s in here?” he asked.

The creature made the happy face again. “It’s only poisonous if you’re not getting enough…uh…I forgot your word for [guttural sounds].” It tapped on the mask with one of its slender appendages.

“How did you know about the pox?” he asked. “That’s a state secret.”

“We are at war. We would be remiss to not have our spies where we need them.” The creature rotated its orientation some. “My crew has inspected your ship and cargo. We’re going to take you and the cargo on board and jettison your ship. The engine is totaled, and we have no way to tow it.”

“What will you do with the medicine?”

“We’ll drone it across the lines to your people’s medical ships. We’ve already sent six other drones of vaccine and supplies.”

“Why would you aid your enemies?”

“It’s part of the mandate for the picket. Life-saving goods are allowed in, refugees are allowed out. If my hospital ships were cut off from the rear by a picket, I would hope the enemy would at least be that civil.”

The creature helped him out of the seat and through the docking tube to their ship. “You’re not quite the monsters I was told you were.”

“The enemy rarely ever is.”

“What kind of warrior are you?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The creature made a long string of guttural sounds then followed up with, “female. And you? I’m guessing you’re not a warrior by the lack of any weapons.”

“Commercial Pilot Ezan. Empty Sky Cargo Company, male. The company sent me out in that rented ship because I’m the only one that could fly it through the nebula to get past the blockade.”

“Well, you’ve got some [guttural sounds],” she said. “We’ll make sure you’re safe to travel, then you’re free to either return home, or join the refugees in [guttural sound] space.”

“Refugees? Others have left?”

“A couple million so far, that’s why we have everything you need on board.” She pointed at the mask again. “In fact, there are a few doctors on board that are your species that will meet you here and check you out.”

A mechanized voice came over speakers all over the ship in the creature’s language, then followed up with the heavily accented, “Prepare for gravity under going. Prepare for gravity under going.”

“That’s my cue,” the creature said, and left Ezan with a guard in what looked like a medical station.

#

She rounded the corner and keyed her comms. “Doctors Elim and Oran, civilian patient waiting for you in the med bay. If he can be persuaded to help out with the refugees, he’d be a major asset. He’s one hell of a good pilot. Otherwise, find him a ride back home or wherever he wants to go.”

The ship began accelerating under one-half gravity and she loped down the corridor as she listened to their reply in her earpiece. After they’d replied in the affirmative, she added, “Oh, I think he’s almost there, but could you convince him that humans aren’t monsters? I’d appreciate it. Either way, make sure he has plenty of backup methane on-hand, so he doesn’t feel like we’re restraining him in any way.”