Scream

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

This is not quite true. The reality is that screams are short-lived, in the vacuum of space, and only a select few can hear them.

The Dar'jorand'r, who roam in packs through hyperspace, appearing only when they hear screams and sense prey.

The great Ar'tur'in, who drift on the cosmic winds, ever ready to help those in need.

And the mysterious Mare'meda, who are said to have once inhabited an ocean moon, a moon long since turned to ice, along with everything else orbiting what was now a White Dwarf sun.

They adapted to swim in stardust, following in the wake of comets.

They rescue the lost, the abandoned and betrayed, and bring them into their fold.

Some say they have mystical powers, able to resurrect the lost ones they save, transforming them into Mare'meda like themselves.

If you scream into the vacuum of space, lost or raging or in despair, only a select few will hear you. Which one will answer depends on luck and fate.

I'd known the expectations placed on me when I'd taken service with the Ert'risk'a.

Humans had a reputation among the other lifeforms scattered through the galaxy, after all. We were viewed with a strange combination of fear and reverence, a race that feared nothing and were virtually unkillable, but when the chips were down, there was no-one better to have on hand.

The problem was, my skill-set was limited, compared to most of my kind who took to the skies. I knew my way around a malfunctioning engine, and was a good enough shot to serve as protection when exploring a new planet, sure. I was a decent hand with languages, particularly with miming when the crew and whoever we encountered had no common tongue to communicate in.

But that was about it.

Humans had a reputation, and the Ert'risk'a in particular had their own reputation for expecting humans to be omnipotent, capable of anything and everything. They came with their own warning label, these days, after a few too many humans signed on and died in circumstances that their friends swore up and down the deceased would never have gone into willingly. Word spread, newcomers were warned, and only the desperate, the suicidal, and the frighteningly competent took up with them, these days.

I was the former, one of the desperate. If I hadn't been frantic to get away, uncertain if even the depths of Space would be far enough to escape the horrors that pursued me, I never would have set foot on their ship. There were times that I wondered if the certain death that awaited me if I stayed wouldn't have been the better option, after all.

I'd survived by the skin of my teeth, up until now, and I wondered how long I had until my luck ran out.

About now, apparently.

Whichever bright spark had fallen asleep at the navigation console had sent us straight into an asteroid belt, and the hull had taken damage. Severe damage, enough that someone was being sent out to fix it, rather than trusting it to hold until we could limp to the nearest spaceport. The only space-resistant suits we had were made for Ert'risk'ans, who had six limbs and were the size of a large canine, distinctly not human sized or shaped.

A cold chill went down my spine, and I knew what was coming, even before all eyes turned to me. "You know that humans can't actually survive in space without a suit, right?"

The captain scoffed. "We've heard the stories; Humans can do anything."

Before I could form a rebuttal, or even protest, I was being hustled toward the airlock, the door slamming behind me.

It would be no more than half a standard minute before the airlock cycled open, sucking me into the vacuum of space to suffocate, fatally depressurize, or freeze. Whichever came first.

I thought of the legends told by old Spacefarers; unproven and almost a myth, but also my last, desperate hope. Through the clear flexiplas that was the only barrier between me and oblivion, I saw a bright trail moving swiftly toward me. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs as much as possible.

The temperature dropped, and I could feel myself being sucked forward, into Oblivion.

I screamed. With all the air in my lungs, as the weight of nothingness pressed in on me, as the comet grew closer, I screamed. If this was to be the last sound I ever made, let it be a scream of anger and defiance and hope in opposition to all odds.

Arms caught me, pulling me into the bright tail of a comet as it blazed past.

A face, almost humanoid yet something distinctly other, beautiful and terrifying, cradled me close. I could feel myself changing, every atom of my being shifting and transforming into something new. The pressure vanished, and I could breath again.

A new life, and a new hope.

What came next was a mystery, but it was one I was ready to face.

They say, in the vacuum of space, no one can hear you scream. I can hear you, and if I am near enough, I will answer.

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