Wolf 1061

I peed as I was fairly deep in the cargo hold. Watching the pee come out of me was still strange, the urine stream twisted like a braid, the momentum of part of the stream trying to break away, but being pulled back only to ricochet to the other side trying to break away. And then it all collected into a growing ball that slowly approached me as it was tethered to me for as long as I peed. Strange to think that somewhere some beetles were smelling the pee already and fluttering their wings to get here. The bats ate the beetles and moths. The cat probably ate the bats. Was the cat the apex predator or something else? Was the chalk left behind from another trip? Or was there another stowaway on board?

I suddenly woke up in a new place, stuck to an air vent. I must have closed my eyes for just a moment. I was hungry. I felt grumpy. I had no goals in my day, nothing to look forward to, and nothing to challenge me. Perhaps, that's why my little stop by the crew quarters on the way to the algae reactor captivated me so much. There was a chessboard with magnetic figures on the kitchen table. It was a pristine setup, except for pawn e4.

The tempting reaction was to meet it with pawn e5 or do something more interesting like pawn d5. Doing something utterly modern like pawn b6 might be quite a statement to introduce myself as a player. The foolish thing was that if I made a move, the ship cop would know that a stowaway is on board. Rather than staying in the crew quarter, he might come chasing me. Outside of reasonable communication range for years, he might do all kinds of things to me only to throw me out of an airlock so I couldn't report him. I would really be at his mercy. It was stupid and I walked away.

I kept thinking about the board and the covert game that we could be playing, denying each other's existence but indulging in it all the same. Those thoughts probably wouldn't have gone anywhere. I'm quite a reasonable person. But in the corridor where I had met the cat, I ventured deeper and found a tapestry of blue algae on the wall. The scent of it was slightly acidic, slightly sweet, and a hint of raspberry. I felt comforted and calm reveling in the scent of it. I also had slim hope that the cat would come back and make friends this time. I should have realized it then. Some of the algae have psychotropic properties. I think this one had anti-anxiety properties, which soothed my angst of being alone in space but also lowered my sense of fear.

Lulled by a sense of safety and lack of fear, I strutted the next day in the kitchen. And did pawn to b6. I opened a drawer, found a chocolate bar in it, and snagged it. While I was breaking into the chocolate-covered wafer, leaving crumbs floating in the air without care, my fingers typed around the keyboard of the laptop on the kitchen counter. It was easy to open up the camera feed. The cop was sitting at his computer. He had an Arabic sword with a curved blade. Those were supposed to be very barbaric as they ripped into the skin of the victim. His face looked angry. He was walking around with no pants, probably making it easier to masturbate. The air in the room was littered with used clothes, garbage, and things. He really didn't look after himself. He had an utter sadness around his eyes. Shocked back to feeling terror at his sight, I quickly got out of the kitchen.

The next day or whatever happened after I blanked out with sleep again, curiosity pulled me back to the kitchen. He had moved pawn d4. That's a very standard opening. He probably doesn't know about controlling the center from the distal proxies. The more I'd tilt the game to a style that he wasn't familiar with, the better my chances would be. I snuck into the room and placed pawn on d6. That moment, the door flew open. The cop had his pants on this time. His Arabic sword was drawn in the air. I galloped away and down the corridor as fast as I could. Any illusions of a friendly cop were dashed. He cursed after me and threatened me. He was slow but relentless. Each time I rested, he'd catch up to me. I wondered if it was best to wait in a dark section and let him move past me, but what if he'd touch me in the dark section? That would be utterly terrifying.

My heart pounded. I felt shaken to my bones. I needed to get very far away. So I kept going and going deeper into the hold. The landscape down here got very eerie. Mold covered the air vents. Long fingers of mold reached out into the room and waved as I moved past. Little crawlies moved around the mold, eating it up. Bat nests had dozens of little bat bodies clustered together and shivering. I was truly fucked in this horror scene. I would be here for years. I started thinking of grandiose schemes: What if I trap the cop and keep him in the stowaway prison cell? I would never overpower that hulking monster of a cop.

A strange thing appeared the next day. I was stalking my way to the algae reactor for my daily nutritional steal when I saw a chocolate bar hovering in the air. It was simply there, really easy for the grabbing. It was right where the corridor turned right. I was happy because it seemed like a lucky break. Maybe, the cop lost it when he was running, but something told me to be cautious. I slowly approached it and peered around the corner as I advanced my head forward. The cop was right there with the Arabic sword drawn. I galloped away, bouncing from wall to wall.

The psychotropic effect of the blue algae probably explains a lot, but I found these chases to be fun. He was way slower than me, and he was trying so hard. I'd cautiously move my nose around corners to see if he was waiting for me. And then I'd approach the kitchen. He always waited for me to make a chess move before he threw the door open and dashed at me. I think he liked the chase as well and didn't want it to stop.

I slowly recognized the rules of our game. I could explore the kitchen to my heart's content and snack on candy because he patiently waited for me to make a chess move. When I ran off, he now quickly gave up. If I wanted him to chase me longer, I needed to wait at the end of a corridor and taunt him with wiggles of my butt or sing him cheeky songs of superiority. I liked the thrill and heart pound of being chased while I felt safe that I could get away any time, I broke out into a hard sprint.

Slowly over time, I had caught glimpses to put together who he was. Sometimes, his face reminded of a little boy who had been neglected and was rough and uncivilized from it. Other times, he carried the sadness and disappointment of a middle-aged man stuck in a corporate machine. The times that shocked me the most were when his eyes were lit up with lust and hunger. There was such danger in those eyes, and what that terrible mood would drive him to do to me. As much as that shocked me, it also tingled me to find out what. A dangerous preoccupation. It's like giving a mouse anti-anxiety meds and putting it in a box with a cat.

One day, my period came on. It was pure misery. I took my clothes off to keep them clean and tied them to the railing near the chalk drawings. I hid myself as deep as I had gone in the cargo hold. I curled up in fetal positions, humming and crying out the pain in my belly. I couldn't keep quiet. So I had to be far away from the crew quarters so that he couldn't hear me, not even when he went on patrol. My ovaries tied themselves into the tightest of knots when I groaned, I could feel the deep vibration of my voice massaging them. I probably sounded like a didgeridoo for hours. But it was comforting.

And then I felt a warm brush against my neck, soft as a feather - here for a moment, gone the next. Then there was a dime-sized tap on my shoulder. The weight shifted onto and off me really fluidly. The head of a flying cat butted me on the forearm. Paloma was all purry. She was trying to sound like me, like a didgeridoo. And then she warmed herself into the center of my fetal position to rest right against my belly. Oh, that sweet, sweet Paloma! She was so loving and needy in which ways she begged for caresses.

I told her, "Your name is Paloma! When I call Paloma, you come running to me!" and I caressed her chin with my index finger.

It took me three days until I left my seclusion to come back to the chess game. The exposure to the blue algae for so long lowered my fear. When the cop came running after me, I stopped at the end of the corridor before a turn. The way how I stopped made it very clear that I'd stop running if he didn't chase me. He received the cue and stopped running. He put that Arabic sword into his belt. The sword had a huge arc of a blade. The pointy side of it was supposed to pierce the skin and then lift it up with the dull side so that the sharp side could cut through the innards. It was a truly horrifying piece of war. He waved his hands like a wrestler before a match and said, "Okay, let's do this the old-fashioned way!"

He must have felt a sense of security seizing me up. I was probably ten years younger than him. I was roughly half his weight. My ballerina body is built pretty light with not an ounce of fat. My boobies are pretty light as well, but still nice and round with a B cup. My hair is a long, flat dirty blonde mane. I tend to wear clothing that feels light and airy. It's the style of my jeans and t-shirt. My facial complexion is very clear, with a hint of red freckles around the nose. He probably thought he could fight me with one arm tied behind his back.

As he slowly came closer, I seized him up. He shaved since our first encounter. His clothes look freshly washed. His eyes don't look as tired. It looks like he started getting sleep and exercise. Was I impressing him and making him want to be a better man? He kind of smiled at me, almost as if we were on a date. And then I could smell it. He was wearing cologne - a mix of wildflowers and alcohol.

"My name is Colt," he said.

"I'm Harley," I told him.

"It gotta be lonely out there," Colt said.

"Same for you," I challenged him.

"To be honest, I signed up for this contract because I didn't want to live anymore," Colt replied.

"That's dark!" I told him back. I felt confused. Were we still playing the game? Was he having a breakdown?

He was so close that with a fast dash, he could grab my ankle. This was the edge of my comfort. Dulled by that blue algae, I wondered what it would feel like for his hands to wrap around my ankle, and I would kick myself free - the wiggly, little woman that I am. He hesitated. He knew that the rules of our game said that he'd have to lunge for me, but I could see in his eyes that he yearned to talk with a human as well. We were both fighting conflicted impulses. He eyed my whole body. I could feel him getting aroused. His eyes had a way of lighting up with lust, and his vein on his forehead started popping up when he got intensely horny. Then I dashed, having gotten my taste of danger. I galloped and galloped and hid deeper in the cargo hold.

Seeing and smelling a man's body so close had a feverish effect on my mind. I kept thinking about how I could play with the flame. I thought about doing a daring stunt of getting past him as to give him a chance to grab for me but with such a surprised grab that his hand would merely grace my body. I thought about us wrestling and my thin wrists and ankles constantly twisting out of his grip to feel him labor over me and pant heavy in his unfruitful struggle to subdue me. The danger of a man was something that lit me up, that set my juices in motion, and got me excited all over.

I spent the rest of my wake cycle deep in the hold. I could hear the sounds in the distance of him searching the corridors. I must have made him really horny for him to try to catch me so hard. It's the little victories in life that count. Am I right? That's when I heard Paloma crying. It was a weak and injured cry that woke up my momma instincts. With rash panic in my blood vessels and pin needles in my belly of dooming forbidding, I rushed towards the weak and soulful whimper. I found her floating through the room, curled up. She didn't fend me off when I grabbed her body carefully to pull her closer. My right hand immediately felt the big warm wet area on her neck. She was covered in blood. Tears shot to my eyes.

I rushed to the crew quarter without a thought about being caught. I was looking for Colt. He wasn't in the kitchen. I opened the door for the first time. His office had been neatly arranged now. All the flotsam was sorted into drawers. There was a neat office desk with a computer screen. I opened the next door to his bedroom. He was snoring, tucked into his sleeping bag to avoid drifting away.

"Colt!" I yelled. "Wake up!"

He looked at me stunt.

"Humanitarian truce!" I yelled and repeated. "Humanitarian truce!"

He saw that I was holding a bundle in my arms and nodded, "humanitarian truce," not sure what it was but that it meant for him to see what unfolded.

He slowly came closer to me to look at the bundle in my arms. When he saw all the blood and the poor Paloma, he cried out like a wounded animal himself in empathy. He quickly took me by the shoulder to guide me back to the kitchen. He got a bottle of iodine with a spray nozzle out.

"Hold her real well over the sink!" he told me.

"Paloma, this is going to sting like a mother fucker! But you have to stay in my arms. Do you understand?" I told Paloma.

I gently turned her neck to the side. Colt pressed the button for the air suction in the sink to start working. Then he sprayed the iodine liberally on her wound. Paloma was trying to get away, but she sensed that she shouldn't really get away and kept her escape attempts in control of my gentle embrace. I think she felt uncomfortable being trapped but also really knew that we were caring so much about her.

Colt gave me nitrile gloves to put on. With the help of a light, I could locate the cut and press the skin folds together. Clot applied surgical glue. Then we bandaged her up. It all went by so quickly because we were so focused on quick action to save Paloma. When we were done, and Paloma was snuggling hard into my arm for comfort, Colt looked at me and said, "Humanitarian truce," like he finally got the meaning of it and also to confirm that we, as sworn enemies, could simply stand peacefully next to each other.

"You want to fuck me," I told him.

"Yes, very badly," he replied.

"What is it with you guys that all you want from us is to fuck?" I asked him.

He seemed hurt but also honest about his true intentions. I could see the erection growing in his pants and felt the humanitarian truce fleeting away. A danger would overcome him when he wouldn't be able to hold himself back anymore and take me hard. I knew that it wasn't safe anymore and left with Paloma in my arms.

"Do you want one of those vanilla wafer bars?" he asked, trying to lure me back.

"Fuck you and your candy!" I hissed back at him without turning.

As I sat in the algae reactor room, petting Paloma in my arms into a slumber sleep, I reflected on what had happened. What does it mean that I hold such power in my pelvis that he can't think and dream about anything else but crawling in there with his penis? Holding Paloma was very calming and soothing. I went into nursing mode. A reality overcame me that I wouldn't be able to stay on my own for the duration of the voyage. We would enter into some kind of cooperation.

From that day on, Paloma stayed by my side. She seemed to like the safety that I gave her from whatever was out there that was larger and more dangerous than her. It worried me a little bit. When venturing deep, I'd always keep an eye on Paloma to see if she picked up any predator nearby. I figured that her senses were better than mine. She had a thing for bats. Sometimes, she'd leap away from me for a few paces and look back at me like she wanted me to follow her. I figured out that she did that any time she smelled a brown bat. The brown bats were a little smaller than the black ones and quite fluffy. They were usually solitary. Paloma knew exactly where she wanted me to be. She'd nudge me until I'd block the bat's path on one side. And then she would leap at the bat from the other. The bat would wake up in shock, flutter away from Paloma, bump into me confused, and flutter the other way, straight into Paloma's fangs. I didn't quite approve of the furry mess that Paloma left behind. She'd cut up the bat from the belly to eat all the soft stuff and then leave the wings and fur to float around, but I knew that she had to eat and wasn't going to eat my algae ooze.

One of her little hunts brought me to quite an interesting place. There was a tiny little leak in a water pipe that sprayed a very soft spray of water out into the room. And the end of the spray had collected into a sphere of water, probably two yards in diameter. The clear and reflective thing was wobbling with the constant movement of forces ricocheting through it. I was pretty smelly at this point from weeks without a shower. I took my clothes off and tied everything to a railing.

I didn't quite know how to do this. I dove into it head first like a swimmer at a competition. The water at first pulled away from me as the surface tension tried to keep it off of me, but then the surface tension popped, and I was suddenly surrounded by luscious, wet water. I panicked a bit about not being able to breathe. So I pushed forward with a powerful breaststroke. I floated through the water bubble and pierced out the other way. The bubble tried to stick to me, but then released. I realized that this was a bit dangerous because the surface tension could trap me, but it was also very fun. I took another dive. When I tried to paddle at the surface, I realized how tricky it was to get the water from not sticking to my nose. Momentum was needed to dive in and through to keep it safe to breathe. So I'd dive in and quickly rub my body clean before I'd shoot out on the other hand. Paloma looked at me with her head cocked to the side like I was certified crazy for going near all that water.

Refreshing, joyful, and clean were the emotions coursing through my body. A new sense of confidence came to my eyes. I was a clean girl after all. With all the crudeness of eking out a living with not even basic hygiene facilities, I've had my spa date. I thought about the warm, plush towels back home on spa dates with the girls. We'd be wrapped up in them with our toes waving in a circle for nail polish to try - all the pretty colors! Servers would bring us porcelain cups with tea and lemon slices. I decided to call the spot Mazie Spa after the heroine Mazie, who was infamous for surviving a plane crash and battling agents in the jungle trying to hunt her down in her latest movie. She was a tough heroine with her bow and a lithe nymph in her nude scene under the waterfall. I pictured myself like her. I was all the bit like her, only out here in space!

When I was done, the water had a strange way of clinging in zero gravity. On earth, water kind of runs off, leaving behind sheen and drops. My blond hair, the length down to my shoulder blades, had trapped a rather large sphere of water that wobbled around. Water stuck to water and kept growing. I twisted my hair into a tied bunch and swiped the water off with a swift motion to send a big water sphere wobbling down the corridor. Still naked, I hesitated to put on my clothes because who knew how long the water would stick to my clothes instead of evaporating.

I wandered a little deeper down the corridor to pass the time. I looked closer at the containers. These older containers, deeper down the hold, had made multiple passages. The surface had a crosshatch pattern of steel grinders, removing a millimeter of surface each time. Life was very persistent. On earth, bacteria lives in volcanoes and algae in the ever-frozen antarctic. On long space voyages, all kinds of microbes evolved. They'd survive in tiny surface imperfections of containers that's why safety regulations required the outer layer of containers to be ground off. Yet on ships like these, many miles by many miles large, a single insect would manage to hide away somewhere and then start spawning offspring in the right conditions of the next voyage.