“What the…? Where…?”
“You’re safe.” Green skin, three hands–a hemsi medic.
“What…?”
“X7 flare. Pulled you from a rescue pod.”
I’m in a medical bay: Some hemsi, three humans, chitin-clad arthropoids, and some furry maratuses. A squiddy orderly hovers next to the medic.
It comes back: The display ghosting white, sparks, the emergency jettison.
“You’ve been flushed,” the medic says, drifting away. “Rest, eat, okay?”
I nod.
“Hey,” the squiddy says. “Food here’s terrible. You’re human, right? Do you like…” A tentacle rustles around in its satchel, pulls out an insta-heat mug. “…chicken soup? Yes? Good! Eat, you’ll feel better!”
Marc A. Criley avidly read fantasy and science fiction for forty years before finally deciding to try his hand at writing it. His short stories have appeared in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Abyss & Apex, and elsewhere. Marc maintains a blog at kickin-the-darkness.com and noisily tweets as @That_MarcC.
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