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Madison Rye Progress 2024-09-28 18:32:05 -07:00
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<p>That was the worst part, they would often think when they woke from yet another nightmare of that day a decade and a half ago. There was no discontinuity. There should have been some break in their — or her, as they thought of themselves back then — perception of time, some blacking out, some fading to white that presaged the shift.</p>
<p>There had not even been a perceivable decrease in the unnerving tang of glimmer in the air.</p>
<p>She had been there, sitting in her flight chair, running her paw through her headfur, just this twelve-year-old mouse her dad always called &lsquo;little Soot&rsquo;, and then she was at the cockpit in a wildly different body, sitting in front of unfamiliar controls.</p>
<p>She/he/this body cried out in shock and agony, for the captain, whose body she now inhabited, had been well and truly singed by the explosion of the prober, to the point where the CMO, the ever-kindly Dr. D, was caught in the act of slathering ointment on the side of her/his/this body&rsquo;s face</p>
<p>She/he/this body cried out in shock and agony, for the captain, whose body she now inhabited, had been well and truly singed by the explosion of the prober, to the point where the CMO, the ever-kindly Dr. R, was caught in the act of slathering ointment on the side of her/his/this body&rsquo;s face. They both — these two bodies no longer inhabited by the correct minds — stared at each other in shock and horror.</p>
<p>&ldquo;No no no–&rdquo; Dr. R/not Dr. R was saying.</p>
<p>Abby/the captain/this body wailed and clutched at the console, mashing buttons in a panicked attempt to find something, <em>anything</em> solid and known, something to anchor herself/himself/this body. The shuttle slewed sideways.</p>
<p>None of the rest of that otherwise prosaic afternoon made it into their dream. It always ended in silence, a warm rush of air to the face that blended seamlessly into the move into wakefulness.</p>
<p>The dream clung to Soot like the whispers of spiderwebs caught in fur, little streaks of memory that would tickle a whisker here, the rounded rim of an ear there. Days like these, more than most, the long-healed scar of their reconstructed muzzle would itch and the lisp that came with it, one they bore proudly, would be all the more pronounced.</p>
<p>They would make their way through the day with all the same practiced ease as ever, and yet just below the surface, simmering uncomfortably, would be the dream. There, just beneath their skin, would be–</p>
<p>&ldquo;Captain on deck,&rdquo; the automated system announced as soon as their ID was recognized. The faint chime that followed, a thing doubtless engineered to sound soothing and reassuring, always sounded inquisitive, as though the station was curious to hear their thoughts on the matter.</p>
<p>&ldquo;Yeth, yeth,&rdquo; they muttered under their breath, completing the ritual. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m here now.&rdquo;</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2024-09-28</p>