The Iconoclast

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Yet, I've been listening to the anguished screams of my passengers and crew members for almost two weeks now, and they've been quite clear and distinct... Evans was first. Then Murray, Kuong, Rios, and finally Mr. and Mrs. Neigele. I have no idea who else may be dead or dying because I was able to cut off shipwide communications before the screams and the laughter drove me insane.

I'm sure that the only reason that I'm still alive is that as captain of the Arroyo; a Camel-class, short distance space freighter, I'm intimately acquainted with every nook and cranny of this old tub, and I've been using this knowledge to play a lethal and ongoing game of cat and mouse with whatever it is that's killing everyone else onboard. Am I a coward? I honestly don't know. What I do know is that I've never been this afraid in my entire life, and if you'd heard those screams and that maniacal laughter... I'm sure you would understand. Especially considering that the only weapon on the entire ship is an old, company-issued Taser that's locked up in my desk back at my quarters. These old Camel-class ships, so-called because of the huge tanks filled with heavy water that are attached to their exteriors (the heavy water catches neutrinos and other subatomic particles, and converts their energy into energy the ship can use) are notorious for being reliable, tough, and inexpensive to operate, which makes them perfect for use as shuttles, freighters, and transports. Passengers often refer to them as buses. Smugglers like them because of all the aforementioned nooks and crannies. The Arroyo carried a little bit of everything on its pre-determined route to the moon colony, and its return trip to Earth orbit again. Occasionally we'd make a stop at the military waystation that replaced the International Space Station years ago, and in fact that's where we're holed up now. When things started getting crazy, and people started dying, I pointed the Arroyo at the waystation and asked for permission to dock. When I explained the situation to the powers-that- be there, the Arroyo was denied docking privileges. With the screams of the dead and dying ringing in my ears, I tried to force the issue and dock anyway, but some sort of missile or torpedo fired across my bow proved to be a powerful deterrent.

So now here we are, floating somewhere between Earth and the moon, practically within spitting distance of armed military types that could theoretically rescue us from whoever or whatever was killing everyone onboard, and I'm developing leg cramps from having squeezed myself into this recessed, barely-there, storage compartment. Sorry if I'm rambling, but as I may have mentioned before, I'm really, really scared.

"Hello, Captain? You can come out now. It's all over!"

A human voice. A woman's voice speaking in 21st century American dialect in fact. I didn't recognize the voice, but it easily have been one of the passengers. I was so relieved that I nearly kicked open the cover to my hiding place and crawled out... but then she laughed. The same laugh I'd been hearing while my passengers and crew were being slaughtered. I froze, and unconsciously gripped the gold cross that I habitually wore around my neck in a death grip.

She laughed again. "Awww, is the big, bad captain afraid of little, ol' me?" Another laugh. This lady had a wicked sense of humor. "I overheard you calling for help earlier," she said. "Looks like the cavalry isn't coming anytime soon. And to tell you the truth, I'm a little insulted. Is it true that they think I may be some sort of space virus, or a hostile alien lifeform?"

That laugh again. "Well, I am hostile," she said. "But I assure you that I am as much a child of Earth as you are... maybe even more so."