Copyright © 2023 Rachel L. Tilley

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A fish out of water

Martin thought he was walking into a supply closet.

Floors three through six, and eight through fourteen, had an identical layout. Had he been coming from his desk, this would have been the correct room for his pen and a pocketful of staples – he liked to have an ample supply in his pedestal, ready for the moment he ran out.

After spending quarter of an hour in the gents, he forgot he was currently on floor seven; on account of the month end meeting, which had finished immediately before his detour.

Of course, if he’d actually been thinking about what he was doing, he would have registered the bright red and yellow ‘no entry’ sign plastered across the door. There was no doubt it was bright enough, but he hadn’t been paying sufficient attention and only comprehended what it had said after he’d passed through the door.

Partly, he’d been moving on autopilot, but mostly, he’d been daydreaming about what he was going to eat for dinner. Thursdays meant noodles on the sofa, in front of Quiz Night, his favorite show.

Having pushed the door open, and absent-mindedly walked through it, he found himself confused, and in a nondescript, almost-bare room, with beige, plastered walls, and a smooth, stone floor. It was obvious there had been some sort of mistake. Scrunching up his face, he took a moment to reflect, before realizing exactly what his error had been.

Any attempt to think clearly was difficult when inwardly, he was panicking.

Yet when he turned around to go back, Martin discovered a glowing blue light instead of the steel door. To one side of it, there was a tall, slightly-rusty, metal control panel with various buttons. One of which was larger than the others.

Still thrown by the situation, he assumed he’d done something wrong, and it was this unidentified mistake which had triggered the strange fluorescence. Making a snap decision, he slammed his hand down on the huge red button, which had ‘OFF’ written across it in large white capitals. His hand had moved too abruptly for the action to have been well considered… but he had thought it was the most logical thing to do in the circumstances.

The bright blue light sputtered, then flickered out. Martin was left facing a blank wall.

Around half a minute later, when his shock had begun to subside, and the doorway had not reappeared, he scratched his chin, wondering what on Earth was going on. Whilst he was experiencing mild curiosity as to what was hidden here – that an as yet unidentified someone hadn’t wanted other people to find – the feeling of regret, at having suffered the lapse of attention which had led him here, was far stronger.

There weren’t a lot of options open to him. The room was empty other than the full-length, metal contraption. He’d already pressed the largest button on that, with limited success, and was reluctant to mess around with any of the others.

Which left only the grey, unimposing door on the opposite side of the room. Tentatively, he tried the handle – determining, with relief, that it wasn’t locked. It was lighter than he’d anticipated and flew open with nothing but the slightest push.

Jumping backwards as a breeze hit him, Martin frowned.

Not only did it lead outdoors, but the scene ahead didn’t look anything like the cityscape he’d have expected. There were no roadways, or pavements – and where were all the offices? Instead of asphalt, the ground was coated with dusty, red rock. A few weeds peeked up here and there, but it was otherwise devoid of greenery.

Blinking a couple of times as his eyes adjusted to the natural light, Martin became aware of several women staring at him.

He bit his tongue. Resigning himself to being unable to do anything except stand there looking awkward, he prayed one of them would speak first.

“Uh oh,” the nearest one said.

“Can you not read?” said the other.

“Send him back.”

“He might tell someone.”

“If he were to disappear, it might go unnoticed. He doesn’t look married; he’s clearly dressed himself.”

They gawked at him some more.

Shifting his weight between his feet, Martin did his best to look unimposing. “I won’t tell anyone.” He attempted a placating smile. “I’m not even sure what it is I’m not supposed to be telling.”

He really didn’t like the sound of ‘disappearing’.

“We’ll take you home,” the curly-haired lady told him; she’d been the one who’d questioned his literacy. “It’s too much hassle to keep you around. I’m sure you understand the need for confidentiality… Martin from accounts.” She gestured at the name badge attached to the lanyard around his neck. He gulped. The message was clear – ‘we know who you are’.

Having led him back through the door, she came to an abrupt halt.

He was afraid to ask what the matter was.

“Sodding hell,” she eventually exclaimed. “Where’s it gone?” Scowling at him, she continued, “Why are you looking at me blankly?”

He formed his lips as though about to give an answer, but at a loss for words, made no actual sound. “Where… is… the… return… portal?” She spoke slowly, like she anticipated he might find it difficult to understand.

Martin’s brain began whirring. She didn’t mean… surely, she couldn’t… “Oh, bollocks. I may have turned it off.”

She clutched her hand to her chest, as though he’d caused her to have palpitations. “No, no, no, no, no.” In a move he considered a touch on the dramatic side, she ran away screaming… leaving him standing alone, increasingly apprehensive about the situation he’d landed himself in.

Not in any hurry to venture back outside, he sat cross-legged on the stone floor. It was a little cold, letting him know his trousers weren’t as premium in quality as he’d thought.

His bottom was soon thoroughly numb.

The onset of pins and needles began in his left foot. He was trying to summon the effort to stretch his legs when several of the women hurried in. Studying their faces, he hoped to find one that looked more amenable than the others, but they all seemed dismayed, angry – or both.

Martin didn’t follow much of what was going on – and was still none the wiser as to where he’d been transported – but their conclusion itself was clear. They were going to gather everyone together that evening for an emergency discussion.

When the team were dispatched to spread the word, he waited until they were on their way out, before approaching the one at the back. “I appreciate I’m part of the problem here, but can you please enlighten me as to what’s going on? Is there any way I can help?”

She thought for a second, then seemed to take pity on him. “We’re mission crew Omega Seventy-Eight.”

Martin racked his brain, trying to remember what that particular crew had been tasked with. Although he wasn’t directly involved in returns on investments – and therefore didn’t have a say in what was considered a worthwhile commission – he ran a lot of the analytics for the scientists, which meant he regularly reviewed the data on the assignment lists.

It must’ve been the adventitious nature of the situation; his memory was failing him.

She moved to a whisper, “We’re not supposed to be here. We’re meant to be exploring solar system Three-Eight-One.”

Martin nodded, now recalling which particular crew he’d stumbled across. It was something of a surprise to find them alive.

“This was just a fuel stop-over… but they had some bonded uranium, and they agreed to let us use it to power the portal for as long as we stayed.”

Ah. That was rather fascinating as it happened. He would have liked to have had the chance to study such a portal. Earth had run out of the resource needed to power them decades ago, so he could see the obvious appeal. The mechanics had been left on the older spaceships as they were already built in, but they didn’t even bother creating the structures for the newer ships. Unfortunately… “So, when I pressed the off button, it basically activated the fuse and…”

“Yes. You melted the uranium.” Bollocks. “It sucks, but we really should have re-commenced our mission years ago – and everyone here knows it.”

“Yes, you’re right. All your onboard electronics were fully depreciated, and the ship value had been written-off, with Board approval. The estimated recovery had already been taken back out of the budget. To be honest, you probably could have got away scot-free, as nobody is expecting you to return. I don’t think we even still have a record of your mission dossier on file.”

“I only understood about half of that, but it didn’t sound very helpful. Or constructive.” She looked at him askance – as though she feared he might do something stupid at any given second. “Maybe don’t say it again in front of the others.”

“Will I be allowed to come to this meeting, then?” He wasn’t sure whether he wanted the answer to be yes or no.

“I guess we’re stuck with you but, well… I’d stay quiet if I were you. There are a handful of people who’d become rather over-dependent on popping back to a certain coffee shop two or three times a day. Factor in the caffeine withdrawal headaches they’re about to experience and…”

“I get it. I’m going to be Mr. Popular for quite some time.” He put his face in the palms of his hands. What a mess he’d gotten himself into.

With a couple of hours to wander around, he’d hoped it might at least be a pretty town to visit. Unfortunately, Fuel Station Two was about as exciting as the name suggested. The small neighborhood where he’d emerged held a few houses and a couple of convenience stores. The streets were deserted. Martin quickly ran out of places to explore, and finding a wall to sit on, set about waiting for the evening to arrive.

The emergency meeting was long and frustrating: two and half hours of complaints about everything he’d spoilt. It should have been an email.

He couldn’t help but eye his watch. Having answered thirty questions in their selected specialist subjects, four Quiz Night contestants would be finding themselves whittled down to the remaining three, right about now.

Despite their coveted ability to return to Earth for cinema trips, fast food, and coffee, Fuel Station Two was apparently home to not much other than some outdoor springs and a small, but friendly, populace. Why this crew were so attached to the place was beyond his comprehension – although Martin was a little disappointed he’d missed out on experiencing the hot tubs given he’d spent a couple of hours at a loose end.

Despite such an arduous discussion, the outcome was the only one possible – the unanimous agreement they’d have to recommence their actual mission. In the end, the lone controversial point was whether he went with them or got left behind.

It wasn’t until the meeting was about to be adjourned that someone called for Cathy to advise when they’d be ready to depart.

It rapidly became clear she wasn’t present.

After an excessive amount of hesitation, a bashful lady he hadn’t noticed before rose, and admitted she’d heard Cathy saying she was popping over to use the facilities shortly before he’d closed the portal. Martin struggled not to roll his eyes. The toilets on these ships weren’t that bad.

His outlook took a turn for the worse when he managed to gather she was the captain and pilot.

She was there, and he was here.

It was so typical nobody had noticed earlier that the captain was missing. You would think it impossible, but no, this crew were such a disorganized bunch that he could well believe it.

And how could she possibly have been the pilot as well; didn’t their employer require them to be separate people? Had the budget cuts really been that bad?

No, they had to be pulling his leg.

For some reason he couldn’t fathom – it could only have been that everyone else was as ready for the meeting to be over as he was – they decided to call an emergency vote on who was going to ‘take one for the team’ and learn to fly the spaceship.

He tried to keep quiet, but the side glances being thrown his way made him nervous. His luck was consistent. The whole day had been on a downhill trajectory, and evidently, the bad news wasn’t over yet.

He couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “You do realize that choosing me purely out of spite isn’t going to help anyone!”

“Nonsense,” called the one he’d now learnt was named Suzanne, with her hands on her hips. “Despite our concerns in relation to your earlier mishap, you’d undoubtedly be the most willing learner. After all, you’ll be wanting to make amends.” That sounded like a threat if he’d ever heard one.

Curly-Hair decided to stick up for him, “He probably doesn’t know the first thing about ships, Suzanne. He wouldn’t know where to start. He’s from finance, for Pete’s sake, and we don’t need expenses approving. Why not have him make the coffee?”

He was nodding along right up until that last bit. How rude!

“I can tell you I know a lot more about ships than you are implying. For instance, the navigation system costs three million to install and requires calibration every fifteen years – at least every fifteen, I should say, more often if you want it to stay up to date. Of everything, the toilets need the most frequent replacement; realistically you’ll only get six years from those – if you’re lucky – because they cheap out on the flushes.”

Hmm, maybe he shouldn’t have disclosed that… best to distract them with another tidbit. “What else? Aha, crew size: between fifteen and twenty people – any more and you risk running out of oxygen. Has anyone been inspecting the oxygen tanks while you’ve been stashed here?” He’d bet anything they hadn’t been.

“There you go then. You’re in charge of flying the ship now. Congratulations Mr. Popular,” Suzanne responded. He glared at Curly-Hair, who must have been telling everyone his nickname. She shrugged apologetically, but he didn’t feel appeased.

Another, more worrying, issue was now playing on his mind. Did he truly know more about the ship than anyone else who had been chosen to staff it?

After further discussion, Martin was given permission to sleep on the ship that night. He may have been their new captain, and responsible for driving the voyager, but they were apparently doing their best to make it clear he wasn’t able to make any of his own decisions.

It now dawned on him that he had no change of clothes and similarly, no home comforts. His life back on Earth hadn’t been exciting, but it had been comfortable. What would they do with his belongings when he didn’t pay the rent on his apartment? Who at the office was going to prepare the monthly comparisons to budget until he returned?

The only positive coming out of the whole palaver was discovering that, as captain, the person he’d been elected to replace had been entitled to their own room. The three other dorms contained six bunks – and given the all-female crew, the alternative would probably have seen him being forced to sleep on the floor in a corridor somewhere.

Sure, it wasn’t a large room, probably around the size of the supply closet he hadn't paid a visit, but for somewhere like this, it was a luxury. The only objects were a desk, small wardrobe, and single bed; within the stark, white walls he had everything he needed. The minimalist, uncluttered style suited him.

Martin gripped the door, waiting to close it – hopeful he’d soon be left to his own devices – but Anna, the medic, lingered, seemingly not having got the hint. From within her bag, which he’d assumed held medical supplies, she produced a wadge of paper. “The manifest. It details our goals and the mission statement. I’m afraid the instruction manual has been misplaced.”

“Right…”

“Don’t worry,” Anna said to him, “I’m sure it’s not that difficult. Have a look at all the buttons, and you’ll work it out.”

Buttons. He was never pressing any button ever again. Not unless he knew with absolute certainty what would happen.

Tossing the papers aside the second she’d left, he lay down on the bed; staring at the ceiling until eventually, he drifted off.

A knock on the door provided a rude awakening. “What time is it?” He yawned, unable to stop himself. “And who’s there?”

“It’s time to go.” She didn’t give her name, but he could tell it was Suzanne from the sarcastic tone.

“Hold on, I’ll grab the door.” A glance at his watch told him it had just passed nine a.m. Outside his room, the ship was bustling. He rubbed his eyes, wishing he knew where he could get a coffee.

“Get yourself washed and down to the control room. I want to get going. If we’ve been able to mobilize ourselves overnight, then surely you can manage it.”

“Overnight?” They’d packed up overnight? “Hold on a second, I need some time to learn to fly this!”

“Look, Captain, we’ve been on this blasted planet for years,” she said, arms folded. “You’ve left us with absolutely nothing to do here. We’re bored and ready to leave.”

Stalling, he pretended to wipe some sleep dust from his eyes. He needed a moment to think. Rather than being helpful, his brain used this time to provide him with the word ‘rheum’.

There was nothing for it; he’d have to negotiate. There wasn’t much for him to bargain with, but surely it was in their interests if he didn’t destroy their vessel in his first few hours.

Suzanne, on behalf of the crew, allowed him one entire day to get to grips with the workings. At this point, he might have worried he’d lost their respect, but he hadn’t really had much further to fall.

Acting out of character, as he wasn’t usually one for gambling, Martin opted to risk spending what was left of the morning looking for the flight manual.

Maybe someone had left it in the kitchen…

Ignoring the glares while he stopped for a coffee, he remembered there was no Wi-Fi, and he couldn’t do his morning crossword. Yes, that was why he drank it quickly. Not because he felt intimidated.

Happily, his wager paid off, and after around seven minutes of searching – it had taken him longer to find the control room – he found the object he sought in a bottom drawer, under the navigation panel. All six thousand three-hundred pages of it.

He settled for reading the contents page, skimming the introduction, and feeling pleased with himself.

Having also uncovered a small, ring-bound notepad in his cabin, he jotted down a few sentences from what he’d learned so far, then brainstormed some phrases he could say that sounded space-like – hoping to ensure he sounded knowledgeable when it came time to begin directing everyone. He wished he’d watched more relevant TV, but at least he knew some of the trendy acronyms, having heard them around the office.

Throughout the afternoon, there were several moments when making the coffee suddenly seemed like a very appealing role assignment. In between feeling sorry for himself, he leafed through the chapter on taking off, feeling safe in the assumption that anything else – once they’d managed that part – was going to be less urgent.

By nightfall, Martin was feeling a lot better about things.

He was taken down a peg when it was suggested he wore the previous captain’s clothes. They might have been laughing at him while they said as such, but it was actually his best option.

Although the trousers fit comfortably around his waist, they were tight on his thighs, and he had a good four or five inches of ankle and calf showing above his shoes. There was no chance of him getting into one of the blouses, but he hoped the more he wore the jumpers, they’d stretch across his back, and there were vests he could pair them with.

Feeling clean and semi-presentable, he was ready to face the new morning, and his first day of having real responsibility.

The main room was underwhelming. Around three times the size of his bedroom, the ceiling-to-floor chrome finish was so shiny as to be distracting, and looked a little outdated too. He took a seat in the center, irked there was nothing demonstrably superior about his chair compared to the four on either side of it.

“Chart a course!” he bellowed at the navigation team, who promptly informed him that the course had been charted before they’d left Earth and, given this was a fuel stopover, they’d never actually deviated from said course.

Apparently, the correct thing to say would have been, ‘Boot up the route-finding system and authorize the co-ordinates’.

He turned to his notes, where he’d drawn pictures of the important controls. Click this, turn that, pull a knob here and there – it all came together nicely.

Off they went.

There was an embarrassing moment when he fell out of his chair – of course, the rest of the crew had remembered to strap themselves in – but then something unexpected happened when they burst through the atmosphere. He received a round of applause!

A smile graced his face, his ego inflated… until he heard the calls of ‘thank you’ being directed at Suzanne. Oh well, sod them. His resume was going to look amazing after this. Tonight, he was going to cram the manifest and find out where they were actually heading. There were several star cartographers on board, and he suspected there might be a lot of flying around measuring distances and not much exploration in search of new alien lifeforms, but a man could hope.

During the few days that followed, there was actually very little for him to do. The manual was dry, but he did his best to persist and read as much of it as he could stomach.

He’d known they’d come aboard at the same time he had, but the first time he saw one of the three women they’d picked up while docked at Fuel Station Two, Martin was surprised to see they appeared very little like human women. Somehow, he’d managed to spend two days on that planet without coming across any of the natives, and ashamedly, he hadn’t even realized.

At least two feet taller than him, they looked like mythical creatures and spoke with such perfectly enunciated, posh English accents it made them sound like villains from an old 1980s movie. He could only assume they’d learnt the language through watching old news broadcasts – being the only pre-year-2000 media still widely available.

Martin had been just about settling into something resembling a routine when a member of the team approached him to report a ship had been spotted on the horizon.

Whilst pondering whether you still had a horizon in space, he realized he was probably missing the point.

“We’re not supposed to be here! That’s the point!” She sounded pretty exasperated with him. “We should be mapping out Three-Eight-One by now.”

“Oh, I see. Okay. Activate the cloaking device.” No one made a move to do anything, so he added, “ASAP!”

“That’s not a thing.”

Oops. That was a real shame. Erm… “Right then. Turn all the lights off.”

Running around the ship, they turned off all internal and external lights, leaving only the emergency lighting.

Then, they waited.

It took several tense hours, but the ship passed them by without attempting to initiate contact, and they all breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“Martin?” He looked up. “You realize they could still see us on the radar, don’t you? It’s just that I feel like you might need to read the section in the instructions explaining how radar works.” Bollocks. He could picture a dot beeping within a circle, and Curly-Hair was right; that didn’t seem to have anything to do with whether a ship could be seen visually.

A small positive, but at least this hadn’t topped his favorite low point. He’d been using the ex-captain’s toothbrush for almost a week before someone had told him there was a supply cupboard.

Having thought it was a joke at first, he’d made someone else open the door for him. He never wanted to go in a supply cupboard ever again.

Day fourteen was when the gravity of his situation truly sunk in.

It was going to be a very long time before he was able to go home, and he was bored. He hadn’t yet managed to wrangle an invite to the evening card games, and it was looking increasingly likely that he was going to have to simply turn up one night.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t just tell him to do one.

Martin couldn’t shake the feeling he was being intentionally kept out of the plans. The manifest they’d handed him was close to gibberish. Instead of detailing their destination, the objectives referred to ‘completing the journey’, ‘good communication’ and ‘working for the good of the team’.

He pretended it wasn’t all getting to him, but… well… he’d started talking to a cat. Obviously, there wasn’t a real cat on the spaceship, that would have been ridiculous. However, he was categorically in favor of the designation ‘ghost cat’ over the alternative, ‘imaginary friend’.

The sad fact remained: Stealth Cat was his only ally aboard this place.

Fortunately, what the cat lacked in both size and the ability to speak, was made up for in facial expressions. Stealth Cat was the most sarcastic cat he’d ever met.

Currently, she was restless.

“You don’t have to stay by me, you know. You could go wander the ship. Maybe you’ll overhear something interesting.” Stealth Cat gave him side-eye but remained where she was. “Okay, do as you please, but I’m taking a nap.”

When he next opened his eyes, Martin found her curled beside him, her whiskers inches from his nose. He couldn’t help but sneeze.

Amusingly, she didn’t stir.

There was a knock at his door. His fleeting curiosity had been replaced by irritation by the time he’d travelled the three steps between the bed and the door handle. The crew never sought him out. Something must be wrong.

“Captain,” said what-was-her-name. Samantha? “We’re approaching Fuel Station Sixteen shortly.” Or maybe it was Sarah. “Captain!”

“Yes, Sarah?”

The girl looked behind her – and then seemed to realize it was her that he was addressing. “Estelle, sir. Are you prepared to take control of the situation?”

“Situation,” he repeated blankly. Estelle looked at him like he was being hard work –didn’t she understand he’d only been awake for a couple of minutes?

“We need to re-stock at Fuel Station Sixteen. A message has been sent ahead to advise them we will be there within the hour.”

“Okay, thank you for letting me know.” She didn’t leave. Was it rude to close the door while she was still standing outside? He glanced towards Stealth Cat for advice, then remembered she was asleep.

“Captain, we need you to land the ship.”

“Oh.” Ohhhh. Why hadn’t she just said so in the first place? “Yes, of course. Give me twenty minutes to prepare… and make myself presentable.” Or, in other words, to look up that section in the manual as quickly as he possibly could.

“I’m afraid we can’t, sir. Time being of the essence and all that.”

“If that is the case, why am I only just hearing of this?”

“It’s in the flight plan, Captain.”

Conspiracy. This whole place was one huge conspiracy against him. He would not show fear.

Five minutes later, he was in the control room, and in no way doubting himself. His brain was insistent on reminding him how difficult it was supposed to be to land an airplane – and this seemed like a similar deal. If they were playing some sort of game with him, this seemed like a risky gambit.

Suzanne was there too – just his luck. “Are you ready?” she asked him. Presumably rhetorically, but who really knew.

“I think it would be better if we skipped this station and picked up fuel at the next. I need more time to prepare.”

“What do you think happened to fuel stations three through fifteen? I mean, obviously, some of them weren’t on our route.” Obviously. He rolled his eyes. “But we have bypassed as many as possible. We didn’t want to alert anyone to our presence – remember?”

She paused, waiting for him to confirm he understood. He nodded, but was forced to take a deep, calming breath.

“Now our fuel is at a level where we have no choice; but hopefully, we have journeyed far enough away from Earth, and near enough to our destination, that it won’t cause too much of a rumble.”

“You didn’t think to tell me earlier? That I might need to work out the controls? Do you have some sort of death wish?”

She looked at him like he was speaking gibberish. “We had assumed it was obvious. Especially to a ship captain.”

“I’m an effing accountant!” That came out a bit louder – a bit less calm-sounding – than he’d intended.

“Well, we’re all screwed then, aren’t we!”

I’m sorry… was she annoyed at him! Infuriating.

Having had enough of their back and forth, which he decided wasn’t going to be productive, he took a seat in the control chair. The planet was visible onscreen, but still looked quite far away. He took another deep breath and told himself he could do this… no one else was going to.

Firstly, he had to work out where on the planet they were supposed to be landing.

Someone more helpful than Suzanne decided to interject. “The coordinates are set for the designated landing strip, and don’t worry, it’s incredibly wide. All you have to do is achieve the appropriate angle of descent, so we’re at the right height when we hit it. I’ve seen Cathy do it, and it’s not that difficult.”

Okay, so… he needed to use the lever to ensure they lowered themselves slowly. Their goal was 6,352 miles away and they were currently approximately 2,500 miles above the planet. It sounded like a SOH-CAH-TOA equation, but who had time for one of those right now?

Martin wiped the sweat from his forehead. Shouldn’t the navigational team be up here advising him? No, there was nothing for it, he was going to have to do this using luck and judgment. They needed to start going more down than forward. If he flew in a little steeply, he could always re-level their ship and return to a shallower descent.

Stealth Cat, having snuck into the room, curled up in a ball on his lap. Thankful for her show of support, he stroked her for a few seconds, before realizing he didn’t know whether other people could see her – and if they couldn’t… he probably looked a little strange… bordering on inappropriate.

It took only moments for the big rock to shift from appearing sufficiently far away to being directly in front of him. Almost simultaneously, it became clear that judgment was not all it took to land a spaceship. The angle, which had felt like a glide, had really been more of a plummet.

He jerked on the lever, but the unfortunate truth was, he didn’t have enough time to turn such a huge ship away from the near freefall they were experiencing.

“What the hell are you doing?” someone yelled.

At that particular second, he’d been wishing he’d skipped ahead to that part of the manual instead of reading it chronologically, whilst scanning the decks for any button that looked like it might assist him.

He didn’t think it would be helpful to say as such.

“You’re going to kill us all!” he heard next.

Then they all started screaming. Himself included. There may have only been six or so of them in the room, but together, they made an awful lot of noise. It was a wasted thought, given it was potentially one of his last. He wanted to think something profound, but nothing was coming to him. Stealth Cat, conversely, was looking up at him like he was being a bit daft.

There had to be something obvious he was missing.

“What kind of dumb ship doesn’t have autopilot on it?” he cried out in desperation.

“Autopilot engaged.”

Where had that voice come from? Did one of the crew think it was funny – at a time like this? But no, they were all looking at him. Martin turned to Stealth Cat, although of course she hadn’t said it… had she?

Meanwhile, they were still plummeting.

The voice spoke again. “Please provide instructions to your autopilot.”

“Land. Land the ship! On the co-ordinates!”

“Autopilot active.”

The speed of their decline drastically slowed. The ship banked sharply to the right, in a curve evidently meant to give the autopilot time to flatten the vessel.

His stomach flipped from the motion; he thought he might throw up. Adrenaline was swimming round his body in excessive measures.

Conversely, Stealth Cat had gone back to sleep.

Coffee, he needed coffee.

“Well. That was a bit of a cliché,” he declared to Stealth Cat, who didn’t seem to have forgiven him for waking her. He’d perched on a barstool in the kitchen, which had only served to demonstrate quite how dizzy he was feeling. The coffee tasted good, though. It might have been the best mug he’d ever made. “I guess I did learn something from all those TV shows, after all.”

The entire crew had, unsurprisingly, been in mild disarray after the whole incident. He was rather lucky to have the kitchen to himself – and he had no intention of moving. Regardless of whether, as Captain, he had a responsibility to uphold morale.

When he finally emerged, three cups later, he was resolute in his decision to explore the planet. They probably wouldn’t leave again without him, and a break from this ship would do him a lot of good.

Traversing the passageways, Martin discovered the place was deserted.

He encountered no one else until he reached the door. “I’m afraid you can’t leave the ship, Captain.”

His jaw dropped. The only other person aboard was waiting there solely to prevent him from leaving? “Excuse me?”

“I would have thought the reasoning was clear.” In that case, why had they felt the need to post a guard? “You aren’t a registered member of the crew. There’s no record of you being on board.” Hold on… did that mean he couldn’t put this on his resume? No, that was ridiculous; they’d have to clear things up as soon as they landed back on Earth.

“I’m sure nobody will notice if I pop out for a few hours.”

“Impossible. There is a registration desk between this airfield and the planet outside it.” She lifted her head, making eye contact with him for the first time. “Plus, Suzanne is already having to clear up the mess created by your atrocious entry. They were very afraid we were going to crash – in a densely populated area – and are now threatening to raise sanctions against both Earth and any other ships wanting to stop here. You’d think they didn’t teach you how to land at flight school.” She shook her head at him.

Martin walked away. He couldn’t be bothered arguing – she was obviously only trying to antagonize him. He returned to his cabin to spend the next few days in better company than hers.

The first task on his list would be looking up the autopilot commands; he needed to know what this thing could do.

His crew returned to the ship in a very merry state, and he couldn’t help but feel bitter. He’d spent two days studying while they’d been out there enjoying themselves. It was their selfish interests in their own comfort that had led to this situation in the first place.

Why had this not occurred to him earlier? Maybe this was what Stealth Cat had been trying to tell him.

Their employment contracts required them to use their best endeavors to complete their mission. If they hadn’t been acting in their own interests, that portal would never have existed. Yet, they’d managed to make him feel guilty for an honest mistake.

Still, he believed he had this ship thing under control now.

“Autopilot, embark.”

“Autopilot, activated,” came the voice back, and the ship began to rumble.

“Thank you, autopilot.”

“Thank you for remembering to say thank you, Captain. This time.” Had the whole crew just heard him get told?

On the plus side, whilst everyone else had been drinking to their hearts’ content on Fuel Station Sixteen, he’d procured a copy of the route schematic from the drawers at the foot of Suzanne’s bunk and now had a much better idea of where they were actually going.

Although their primary goal was charting solar system Three-Eight-One, they also planned to visit a couple of the planets there which were known to be inhabited – and he’d be damned if he was going to let them leave him behind again next time.

In fact, he was feeling a lot more confident all round. In spite of his ill-fitting uniform.

With more freedom to explore, he’d found a small library – two shelves filled with books – finally giving him something to alleviate the boredom. It was just a shame he hadn’t found any information on the planets they were due to visit.

A day or two before they were due to make a sojourn, he approached Suzanne. He figured she’d be put out if he asked anyone else… and disagree with him just for the sake of it.

“Yes, of course you can leave the ship this time.” That had been unexpectedly simple. Now he was suspicious. He narrowed his eyes. “They won’t be ticking us off against any official lists here. They aren’t expecting us.”

Oh, okay. He supposed that made sense.

Martin reclined in his chair, with his hands behind his head, as he directed the ship to land using the navigation team’s pre-determined coordinates. There was no applause when they landed in the middle of the runway, but from the lack of insults or derision, he knew he’d done well.

As they stepped off the ship, breathing devices in place, he was surprised to see nothing but a lot of… well, nothingness. Planet Ghack was beginning to seem like a strange place to have landed.

Attempting to eavesdrop on some of the conversations around him, he actually gathered more than he’d expected – the words ‘diamonds’ and ‘treaty’ being fairly indicative of what was going on here.

He followed, towards the back of the group, as they made their trek. Someone amongst them, it seemed, knew which direction they ought to be heading in.

Concerned they’d left behind an empty ship, he counted how many of them were present, which supported his hypothesis – the guard on Fuel Station Sixteen had been posted to prevent him leaving, rather than anyone else coming aboard.

After around two miles – it could have been less, it had been a while since he’d walked anywhere – they approached a small, gated outpost. Skeptical as to what kind of reception they might garner, he continued to hang back as the residents came out to greet them.

Suzanne and another officer led the discussion, which was in a language beyond his comprehension. Most of his crew, however, appeared to be listening intently.

With no way of participating, he became increasingly aware of how hot it was and how tired his legs were. He was considering interrupting to ask for a glass of water, when one of the locals took his hand and led him away. It didn’t occur to him to do anything other than comply; after all, they’d ‘come in peace’.

Martin was directed to a small, basic room, which was empty, but for a cot in one corner. Unsure what to do, he waited.

It was when Curly-hair looked in on him – her face just about filling the small, open window frame – that his solitude was, at last, interrupted.

“Well, Martin,” she sighed, through a genuine smile, “I thought I’d come and gloat. Suzanne doesn’t think you’re worth it, but I wanted to see your face when I told you. It was pure luck you fell into our hands, really.” She was clearly waiting for him to say something in response, but he managed to restrain himself. Let her say her piece. “Did you not notice the whole Omega Seventy-Eight company are female? Did you not wonder why? Well? Didn’t you?”

“I suppose I assumed it was due to the sleeping arrangements rather than anything sinister.”

“It’s because on planet Ghack they eat men. They believe they’re a delicacy. Every negotiation crew we’ve sent to date has failed to return. When our employer finally realized why, they sent us instead. We never dreamt we’d be able to both enter discussions and bring them a gift. Of course, head office would never have allowed us to bring a sacrifice – but this way, they’ll never even know. There’s no record of you being on board. And we’re going to come back with an incredible contract. We’ll be heroes.”

Wow. It did make a sick sort of sense. They had been weirdly secretive about everything. “You need me,” he blurted out. “I’m needed to fly the ship!”

“You mean we need you to give commands to the autopilot? And did you really think we were calling you Captain as anything other than a joke – Suzanne is our captain.” She snorted and quite visibly rolled her eyes. Seeing he wasn’t going to respond, she began to walk away – but not before calling back, “And my name is Sophie! Asshole.”

In fairness, that last part was probably deserved.

By the following day, Martin had managed to think up a few choice comebacks he could have provided Sophie.

The sad truth was, other than failing to break the door down, and wondering how he was going to taste, he hadn’t achieved much else in his hours waiting. It was difficult not to be angry. The crew clearly thought they were so clever, but he could name at least two instances of gross misconduct that would have had any one of them sacked on the spot.

What irked him most was that they thought he’d thought he was the captain. Of course he’d known they weren’t treating him with respect, but what had he been meant to do about it?

When they came to retrieve him, he was mentally prepared and waiting for his chance to make a break for it. The heads-up from Sophie had given him an advantage, even if only a small one. Had he remained unsuspecting, he’d have walked right into the pot. Literally and figuratively.

He knew the direction; his only chance was going to be to run – the biggest uncertainty would be how quickly. He’d never been fast at school, and hadn’t run anywhere for ten years since, but could he summon the capability, given the circumstances…?

He hadn’t seen any weapons they could use to shoot him in the back.

Suzanne led him forwards, while two crew members guarded him to either side. Even if they didn’t manage to restrain him fully, they’d probably slow him down enough that others could rush to their aid.

He kept walking as directed, for now.

Waiting at the front were three important-looking local inhabitants. Two were dressed like the other Ghackians, but decorated with numerous medallions. The speaker, however, wore a long white, furry cloak which trailed for several yards behind him. Wasn’t he overheating?

Martin fanned himself, but several people glared, so he stopped. Only because he didn’t want the attention… not because he was cowed.

In the absence of benches, the observers had seated themselves on the floor in three rows – the crew from Earth on one side, and the residents of Ghack on the other. It was almost like they were expecting a wedding.

When the time came, he’d have to make his way past – but surely, he could be clear of them before they managed to stand?

Each person present was introduced, and an energetic ritual followed, which involved lots of pointing at a pot by the speaker – who was holding a small canvas bag in his other hand – and lots of nodding from Suzanne.

Despite his impending death, the ceremony was amusing him tremendously. It seemed to be a very over-the-top way of swapping him for a trading agreement and a bag of diamonds.

Although… he couldn’t quite take his eyes off that bag.

A Ghackian unraveled some paper and placed it on a table. His guards took the opportunity to peer towards it, but he’d been looking at it too; between his fascination with both the diamonds and the proceedings, he’d missed his first chance to run.

When the speaker began to sing, Martin worked hard to resist the urge to cover his ears. There was no need to be impolite, however piercing the sound might have been.

When the guard to his right went to sign the scroll as a witness, his second chance came around, and he was determined not to falter.

Martin edged forward a few paces.

Grabbing the jewels, he began to sprint.

Somehow, he even managed to leap over the wall – hoping they’d waste precious time going around. He didn’t look back but knew he was being followed.

He ran as though his life depended on it.

It was a struggle to get enough air. The breathing device felt overly restrictive, and his chest burned from the exertion.

There was no time to question why, on reaching the ship, the door lowered for him. Summoning his last ounce of energy, he jumped up the steps and slammed his hand on the close button just in time.

“Autopilot, embark! As soon as possible! Please and thank you.” He collapsed to the floor, panting.

“Autopilot, engaged.” Those were the most reassuring words he’d ever heard.

Stealth Cat was sitting behind the door; she must have been the one to open the ship for him. Maybe he wouldn’t be completely alone for the return journey after all.

It was rather fortunate he’d known he’d be able to fly the ship without any of the others.

The voyage was far more enjoyable now he had free rein of the place.

Around two weeks from home, he encountered someone else on the ship – she looked like one of the natives from Fuel Station Two, although not one of the three he recognized, and Martin was, as you can imagine, very confused.

How had he not seen any sign of her presence before now?

“Hello,” he said, inelegantly, “I didn’t realize there was anyone else onboard.”

“You didn’t? But we’ve been talking every day.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. We have?”

“I prefer to spend most of my time in cat form but… oh my.” Martin was speechless and imagined he had blushed profusely. “I’m truly sorry,” humanoid-Stealth-Cat continued, “I really thought you knew. Who did you think was talking?”

“Talking? As a cat? I don’t recall ever hearing you speak.” He was beginning to wonder whether the autopilot voice had been the cat after all – but no, that made even less sense.

“I was communicating mind to mind. I suppose humans have not yet reached that stage of development? I hadn’t realized; I’d assumed you could hear me.” She pursed her lips. “I hope you’ll please still take me back to Earth. I understand there are many of my people living very happily there.”

Martin gave his reassurance, happy to have her onside, and unsure where else she thought he might take her.

Other than this revelation, the way back was thankfully uneventful. He stopped for fuel only once, and there was certainly no desk checking his name against an official register.

Martin was becoming increasingly excited about going home, and he was certain his employer would be pleased with the riches he’d secured them. Occasionally, the ethics of abandoning the whole team on Ghack troubled him, but he found this would quickly pass.

“And that,” the judge said, once Martin’s barrister had finished regaling everything he claimed had happened, “Is the most ridiculous – most preposterous – justification for stealing a spaceship to carry off a kilo of diamonds I can imagine being proffered.”

Stolen the spaceship? Yes, he supposed he kind of had.