Watcher In The Shadows

The ship was dark. Not as dark as the space it drifted through, but what little lighting still worked in the interior was weak, casting feeble splotches here and there to illuminate the cabin. Not long ago, the ship had hurtled through space like a shooting star. That time had ended. The ship had slowed, and soon the light would go out entirely, plunging its occupants into darkness.

The woman, unencumbered by this knowledge, continued with her routine as if nothing had changed and all was well. She took her meals at the same time every day, slept and woke on a schedule, and, when awake, whiled away the time reading classic literature or expanding her breathing through Yoga and meditation. Anything to keep her mind occupied and focused away from what was to come and how little time she had left.

Though she knew every item on the ship, every nook and cranny of her tiny floating world, she had yet to realize she was not alone. In her defense, the watcher was little more than a small shadowy form, who blended into the darkened corners where he watched and grew. Though she may have felt his presence, seeing him would have required an open mind. The woman’s mind was like a jail cell, locked and guarded to prevent unwanted thoughts from flickering through. Thus, her companion remained nothing more than a goose on her grave.

The woman finished reading the last page of How Green Was My Valley and slowly closed the book. Holding it to her chest, she tapped it lightly as she thought about what she’d read and contemplated the lessons to be drawn from it. To fully immerse herself in the comparison of her life verses this prosaic rendition, she unlocked the hidden door of her mind and allowed the memories to flow.

How different from this story her life had been. In her hands was a tome filled with love, loss, joy, heartache, and a deep connection that held the family together. Miranda’s life had little of that. Her mother had abandoned her at an early age, leaving her in the hands of a brilliant but cold father who had little use for the nonsense of emotions. Instead, he preferred to live by logic and strict personal discipline. The same was demanded of his only child. Under his tutelage, Miranda had grown into a superior intellect of her own, that at once pleased and repelled him. To grow a daughter whose intelligence outshines one’s own can be a bitter pill to swallow. Her father had nearly choked on it. In his fit of misplaced preservation, he had destroyed her.

“Enough,” she whispered harshly to herself, pushing the memories back into the cold cell and slamming down the door of her mind. For a brief moment, between open and close, she felt a twinging of her senses, as if someone were watching her. It was impossible, she knew, but it was there. That prickly feeling on the back of her neck that she always got when someone was staring at her. Frowning, she cast a searching look behind her but saw nothing in the dim glow. The door closed, and the feeling was gone.

With a shake of her head, she rose from her seat and crossed the room to the book nook. The door responded to her touch, sliding open to reveal an empty shelf. Regretfully, she slid her hand along the smooth surface, her mouth drawn in a sorrowful line. When she had entered this place, the nook had been full of books. Now only this one remained. Heart heavy, she placed the book upon the shelf and slid the door closed. A hum followed, growing in volume and pitch for several seconds before suddenly cutting off, leaving behind a stunning silence.

The woman, her palm still pressed against the door, lay her forehead there also. A tear slid down her cheek and dropped to the floor. With trembling lips and fingers, she raised the door and stared at the now-empty nook. More tears tumbled from her eyes. It was becoming more difficult to keep her emotions in check under these conditions. Angrily, she slammed the door back down and stalked away, a tumultuous wave of emotion fighting to overwhelm her. At the window, she gazed out at the stars. The pinpricks of light in the inky blackness soothed her.

The salty-sweet smell of her sorrow roused Watcher from his drowsy state. Raising his snout, he sniffed the air, taking in all the knowledge locked in the odors of the small capsule. It was beginning. His eyes glowed a deep red in anticipation of it. Without thought, his eyes locked on the woman, his tongue slithered across his thin lips. Now, the watching began in earnest.

The woman stood at the window for some time. Still as a statue, she stared out at the stars, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She, too, knew the time had come. The books were gone. The food would be gone in less than a week’s time if she rationed. The lights grew dimmer each time they blinked on. Soon, they wouldn’t come on at all. There would be no telling one day from the next.  Not that it mattered. If she didn’t find a way to change the trajectory of this floating prison, the sun would destroy her before lack of food became a problem.

She gave her head a firm shake; she didn’t want to think on that now. It was still possible for her to find a solution, but it would require focusing on the problem. That, she didn’t want to do yet. More time, she thought to herself as she gazed out at the vast emptiness around her, I need more time.

From above her, came the rhythmic popping that signified lights out. The woman pushed away from the window. Quickly, she walked to the small fridge, grabbed out a cold bottle of water – only eight bottles left. Too few, too few – and made her way to the sleeping pod perched on the left side of the room. It took up a third of the space now, with the couch, chair, and table taking up another third. The kitchen area and the closet-sized bathroom took up the remainder. Each day the space grew smaller. Soon, there would only be the pod, and then nothing left to her at all, unless she found a way to stop the transition.

“Tomorrow, Miranda. Tomorrow,” she whispered to herself as she snuggled down into the pod and drew the lid closed.

The popping came faster now. The last pop took the lights with it as it faded away. Tucked inside the sleeping pod, her cool water next to her, she would sleep in relative comfort until the lights came back on. With a sigh, the woman breathed in the Sleep Myst and allowed her eyes to flutter closed. The drug had been one of her great contributions. It had never occurred to her that she would have to use it.

Watcher crept to the pod, his body as thin and dark as a shadow. He needed no light to see by, his senses so keen he could find his way even in total darkness. What he did need, was inside the woman’s sleeping skull. Buzzing around like tiny bees making honey, were her memories, regrets, hopes, and fears. All the things that made her who she was now and what she had once been. A sweet nectar, the scent of which called him closer.

Laying prone across the pod, splayed fingers pressed to the glass, Watcher gently probed her defenses until he found a soft spot to slip through. His mind melded with hers.

The woman was dreaming. Disguised as her shadow, Watcher took in the elements of her dream. Filtering through what was real and what was her subconscious mind filling in the gaps, he concentrated on what knowledge could be gleaned from it and stored it away for later. Smiling to himself, he breathed it all in, devouring the sweet elixir of her psyche as he did. 

This tall and slim version of herself, held her head high, making eye contact with each person she spoke to as she commanded the room. Feeling lighter and stronger, the burdens of her older self not yet weighing upon her, she held court in the college lab as though she were the great Queen of Knowledge. Draped in a lab coat over a very short white dress, ballerina flats on her feet that matched the blue of the scarf around her sleek neck and set off the gold flakes in her eyes, her long brown hair swished against the material of the lab coat as she moved. Every eye in the room was on her. Professors, as well as students, were captivated by her smile, her beauty, her intellect, her charm, the very essence of who she was.

Only one man stood apart, assessing her in a cool, calculating manner. This man knew everything about her: her brilliance, her drive, her desperate need for approval, and he used it to his advantage. The woman, a mere girl here in this dream of a memory, could not see it. To her, he was her support system, her cheerleader, her measuring stick, her father. Only later would she realize the part he played in her demise. But, for now, it was a sweet memory that filled her with happiness.

Watcher lapped it up, gorging himself on her emotions until his belly grew round and fat with it. Slipping as effortlessly from her mind as he did from the pod, Watcher waddled back to his corner, beady eyes barely open, to sleep off the effects of his meal. Tomorrow would be another day to eat and grow. For now, he drifted off to sleep, her dream replaying over and over again in his mind.

Miranda, his mind whispered, her name is Miranda.

The lights came back on with a loud buzz, rousing Miranda from her sleep. The pod top slid back and she stepped from her cocoon, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Stretching and yawning, she set about her morning routine: bathroom, clothes, water, and food. She did these by rote, her body on autopilot while her brain rehashed the dream of the night before. Though it had been a pleasant memory of her youth, it’d left her feeling sluggish and sad. That was a time before her ambition had gotten her into trouble. Back when she was still the apple of her father’s eye, not his oblivious pawn.

Who am I kidding? Miranda mused silently. To him, I was never anything else.

The lighting system had dimmed considerably while she slept, casting the cabin in a soft glow, reminiscent of candlelight. It was enough to brush her teeth by but not enough to work by. More light was needed if she could find any. Miranda scanned each shelf and rummaged through every drawer, nook, and cranny until at last, she found a small penlight that would suffice.

From the shadows, Watcher’s eyes focused on the woman as she searched the cabin, scattering countless items across the counters and floor. The sadness she had felt on awakening had morphed into a mixture of anger and frustration. These waves of emotion wafted from her body and flitted about, tantalizing Watcher’s senses. He drank it in, savoring every drop of the rich, smokey nectar until he felt half-drunk with it. Groggily, he smiled to himself. Unable to hold his eyelids open any longer, he drifted off to sleep and dreamed of her futile attempts at freedom.

Miranda took a deep breath, consciously forcing her emotions into the tiny boxes in her mind and focusing her thoughts on the task at hand. This was very new to her, this depth of emotion she was suddenly feeling. Never, in all her forty-two years, had she been inclined to feel things. Yet, as time slipped through her fingers, carrying her closer to her own demise, she found herself mired in emotion. Perhaps if she’d been able to display her feelings before now, she wouldn’t be in this fix. Perhaps she’d still be on her home planet creating devices to improve the lives of her fellow citizens instead of floating out here in space, in a prison she’d designed herself, plodding slowly towards her own death at the source of life itself. The thought sent a quaking through her body that she struggled to contain. The little boxes in her mind quivered at the possibility of a reawakening.

“Stop!” She yelled aloud, her voice ringing back to her in the sparsely furnished cabin. Breath shuttering in and out, she forced herself to regain composure and lock down her mind. It was folly to think on such things. The past could not be changed, but she could press forward in hopes of changing her future. “Where to start?” She said, more quietly.

The anger in her voice startled Watcher awake. From his comfortable spot across the room, he watched her pace the width of the cabin. Overnight, the ship had, once again, lost mass and with it objects that had once occupied the space. A small table where he’d watched her take her meals, a closet that once held extra clothes, and a small basket of toiletries had all mysteriously disappeared. Where the items went, he had no idea, but his hiding places were quickly fading. At this rate, he’d be standing nose-to-nose with her in another couple sleep cycles.    

“Okay, Miranda,” she mumbled to herself. “You created this thing; you can change the way it works. Just find the right panel and re-do the circuits… Simple.”

From a small compartment inside the pod, Miranda fished out a nail file. At her trial, when she’d finally wised up to the fact prison was imminent, she’d put together a kit of essential items to be placed on the prison ship with her. On the day of sentencing, her bag had been confiscated and every item plausible for escape had been removed. Everyone knew who she was and what she was capable of, thus they’d anticipated what she would do and thwarted her attempt at survival. She’d been left with a nail file and three writing utensils. 

Now, prying the panel door from its casing with the nail file, the micro lighting tube wedged under her armpit, she lamented the loss of those items. If she’d only found a way to secret them aboard, she could have re-routed this weeks ago. Not finding what she was looking for, she pried off the door of the next panel, muttering to herself as she worked.

“Not it. Not it. Not it, but … lights. Maybe I can override this for more lighting … Yes!”

She fiddled with the circuits for a few minutes more then slammed the door. Rage broke free from its tiny crystal box and flooded her senses. Again and again, she slammed her hand against the panel door, screaming.

“I can’t do anything from here! Where’s the damn main-frame?” Miranda pummeled the panel door until her hands felt like a thousand bees had taken refuge under her skin and her breathing came in harsh bursts. Tears coursed her cheeks. Laying her forehead against the metal, she gave in to her unbridled frustration.

“I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die,” she whispered over and over, her palm slapping at the panel again until her knees gave out and she slid to the floor sobbing.

When they had subsided to shuddering inhales and hiccuping exhales, she crawled across the floor and tumbled onto the sofa. Hopelessness filled her.

The initial outburst of anger had brought Watcher fully awake. The delectably bitter scent of rage, tinged with the tangy sweetness of fear and desperation, evoked a rumble from his stomach. Licking his lips, he sucked in a deep breath, relishing the taste of her. The waves came fast with the deterioration of her composure. Hungrily, he lapped at them attempting to pace himself, wanting to enjoy each course at it came his way. By the time she collapsed onto the couch in front of him, he was full once again.

This outburst from her gave him a deeper insight into the workings of her mind. The more she emitted, the deeper he reached into her core. Soon, they would be one, tangled together by the depths of her emotional state. Only then could he bring her the peace of transcendence and fulfill his purpose.

Miranda wiped absently at the tears on her cheeks as she stared out at the stars. The Universe was so vast, she felt small and inconsequential in comparison. Was it any wonder she was here, floating in a death trap so far from companionship.

Twisting and turning like a flag in the wind, Miranda’s mind made its way back to the beginning. Her time at the college had been short-lived. Within months of becoming the first female to advance to the college board, as well as the youngest member to ever take up the post, Prince-Commander Jessup began to take notice. How could he not with so many accomplishments under her belt? Entering college as a teen, graduating at twenty, receiving her doctorate at twenty-two, and then moving on to teach the Sciences of Biological Technology, she had nowhere to go but up and the Prince-Commander was happy to give her the ladder. 

With her father handling all the details, Miranda had felt secure in her job as the Head of Bio-Technological Advancements. As such, she had created new and, what she’d deemed, more humane ways to help amputees regrow needed body parts, reconfigure the minds of common criminals, and dispose of those who could not, or should not, be rehabilitated. Out of that, the first isolation prison system was designed and produced. Not for one second, had it entered her mind that she would one day be an occupant. She had trusted; that too had been folly.

Miranda dried the last of her tears from her cheeks, sitting up as she did so. From where she sat, she could see the outline of a massive planet. Along one edge, a golden light shone. Soon that planet would move beyond the perimeter of the little ship as the planet continued along its path around the sun. Once this last planet moved, it was all but over. The sun would come. At this distance, the light and heat would be excruciating. Within hours, nearly unbearable. At this rate of speed, she would have a day and a half at best before her body gave out.  Not that it mattered, the radiation would probably kill her before that. She could slow the rate of radiation by closing off all of the enclosure sheets, but then she’d be left with nothing but walls to look at. Besides, the small ship would become like a hot skillet, she the frying egg, in no time. Which is better? Radiate or fry? Either way, she would die an excruciating death if she didn’t find a way to alter her course.

“Think, Miranda, think,” she said harshly through gritted teeth. Her hands, drawn into tight fists, pounded at her temples. “You are a genius, for God’s sake! You can figure this out.”

Dragging in a deep breath, she let it out slowly, hoping by controlling her breathing she could get control of her mind. An exercise she had excelled at all her life: compartmentalizing. Stuffing everything into little mind boxes, except the object of her focus.

Her father called it crystallizing. He had been relentless about her learning the skill. To keep her focused, he had said, to prevent distractions. Miranda had excelled at it. Shoving everything into those little boxes; her feelings, her thoughts, her needs, anything that displeased her father, until she became the perfect daughter. His approval was her reward and she lapped it up like a kitten with a bowl of cream. Just like that cream, it filled her belly and sated her hunger but, in the end, it wasn’t good for her. Perfect devotion verging on idolatry. Anything to gain his attention and affection, but it was hard-earned and left little of herself behind.

Drawing in another deep breath, she closed her eyes and focused on releasing all thoughts and emotions with every slow exhale. With intention, she pressed each into a small crystal mind-box and shut the lid until only the string of details related to over-riding the mainframe remained.

Watcher silently stretched, his focus on the woman. With each meal, he grew. The corner that had housed him, fit snugly around his growing form. In such a small space as this, she would be able to pick out his shape from the shadows before long. He wasn’t worried. She could neither harm nor escape him. Their destiny was intertwined to the bitter end, but it was best to remain concealed until she was ready – if at all possible. To be seen before then would upset the balance of this symbiotic relationship, though she was unaware it even existed.

Miranda returned to herself sometime later, grim but determined. The meditation had quieted her, allowing a layer of peace to first stabilize then buoy her up.

“Okay. Okay,” she muttered between sips of water. “The mainframe is on this ship somewhere. Obviously, they’ve moved it from the placement in my original design, to a location more difficult for me to access. That’s what I would have done. I just need to find it and I’m home-free.”

Returning to the panels, she once again removed each of the doors. Beginning with the first of the three, she used her file to remove the screws holding the circuit board in place, allowing it to hang freely from the electrical cables. She ran her fingers along the lines, tracing each in search of the one she needed, knowing it would feel different from the others. As a bio-technical line, it would have a pulse to it, signaling its use of biological components within the cable. Starting from the position of her design then working logically through the positions, she made her way through each one, finding it in the least likely of places; the last remaining line.

The line wound its way from box to box before disappearing into the wall. Miranda looked for an access point but was disappointed. Tapping at the divider, she listened for the hollow sounds to determine the size, depth, and length of the corridor it ran through. By the time she’d determined the approximate dimensions, the day was gone. The lights popped their warning. She set aside her makeshift tools, placing them back in the pod for safe keeping. If they melted away in the night with a chunk of her ship, she’d have nothing left to work with.

Hope was thrumming in time with the beating of her heart, but Miranda pushed it away. If this all went sideways, she’d rather not fall from the height of lofty expectations. The lower the outlook, the less devastated she’d feel if things went awry.

Tucked into bed, the Sleep Myst hissed softly as it filled the space. She had a moment to wonder if it were possible to overdose on the sleep drug if everything else failed. The thought was still bouncing around in her mind when the Myst took effect and she slipped away.

Watcher had grown enough to stretch the length of the pod cover. Still more shadow than solid, he remained near weightless and easily settled onto the glass. Gazing into the sleeping woman’s face, he noted her serenity as she slept. Longing to touch the graceful curve of her cheek or the curls in her hair to know if they were as silky smooth as they appeared, he found himself stroking the glass between them as if he could reach through it. Without form, it was impossible to do either. Instead, he pressed his palms against the pod surface and closed his eyes. Concentrating on the rhythm of her breathing, Watcher found his way into her dreams.

This time, she stood in the hallway, bathed in a harsh yellow light. Around her, branching off in every direction, were more corridors all looking exactly the same. Watcher was little more than a dusky, vague shape in this dream, attached to her with a kind of thin umbilical cord. Through it, he could feel every heartbeat.

In her dream, she had lost someone very important down one of the corridors, but she was unsure which one. Fear grew in her chest, her heartbeats quickening in time to the thumping of her feet along the hallways. Back and forth she ran, searching desperately for what was lost, convinced something bad was about to happen to them. Spinning wildly, she called and searched until she collapsed on the ground, tears on her cheeks. In that moment, her eyes seemed to focus on Watcher, her hand reaching out to him.

Unnerved, Watcher pulled himself from her dream. No one had ever looked at him before. Not until the end when the two became so intertwined they could not help but see him. Disturbing him further, Miranda’s eyes popped open to meet his. Unsure if she were truly seeing him, Watcher slid from the pod’s top and out of view, waiting to see if her eyes would follow him. When they didn’t, he gave a sigh of relief, echoed by Miranda whose eyes drooped closed again.

Watcher slunk back to his familiar spot and wedged himself in, his mind whirling around what had happened. Had she spied him or had she not? Pondering his predicament and the outcome, Watcher drifted into an uneasy sleep of his own, his dreams plagued by memories of those he’d claimed before. Immortality wasn’t easy; less so when each new cycle began with him formless once again. Watching, waiting, consuming was all he knew. There was a sudden desire to be done with it, once and for all. This was his first dive into the sun, would it be possible to re-spawn afterward? Had any other Watcher done so? Perhaps this could be his ultimate demise. Unsure how he felt about this, he wriggled deeper into his isolation to contemplate.

Miranda woke to a much smaller space. In the night, the ship had shrunk once again. All that remained of her living quarters, was her sleeping pod and a chair. The kitchen had disappeared altogether except for the refrigerator which was built into the wall. The bathroom also remained, though closet sized with only the sink and toilet inside. Snapping up her elastic band from off the sink, she pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. It was too hot to wear it down.

Morosely, she fished her tools from the pod. Fear ate at her stomach. Doubt crowded her mind. If her plan to escape her fate was possible, now was the time. Turning her attention back to the wall where she had left off the night before, she gathered her tools and went back to work. Her knees cracked as she knelt down in front of the work zone she’d mapped out in her head.

Breaking through the wall proved more difficult than she had anticipated. The tools she’d assembled were crude and ineffective. Determined, she hacked, kicked, and pried until she’d managed to open up a small hole.

“Yes!” She yelled, kicking at it with her heel until the hole widened. Only by an inch, but it was wider. She kicked again and met a hard spot in the wall that jarred her entire leg. Her ankle popped loudly, and she cried out in pain. Wriggling it around to loosen it up, she checked the bones and muscles with her fingertips for any damage. There was none, though it hurt like crazy.

The hole in the wall was big enough for her to press her eye to and get a view of what was beyond it. The lack of light hindered her line of sight, but further down the wall a square pad pulsed gently, the green light growing then fading with each beat. This, she knew, was what she’d been searching for. If she could get to it, she could conceivably reconfigure the destination module and send the ship speeding away from the sun.

Miranda sat back on her heels, panting in the heat. The ship was gaining temperature, the systems beginning to fail. Cool air fluttered from the vents but with less strength than at the beginning of her journey. The closer she came to the sun, the hotter the interior became. Sweat glistened on her skin, staining her shirt with spots where it stuck to her. The ponytail she wore kept the hair off her neck, the tresses help high up on her head, yet perspiration trickled from her scalp, trailed along her pores, and puddled at her collar. She slugged back half her water then poured the rest over her head and shoulders. The icy coolness made her gasp, but it felt refreshing.

Feeling better, Miranda plopped down on the floor and went back to work. She managed to widen the hole enough to slip her arm in halfway to her elbow, but it wasn’t enough to reach the control pad. The edges of the roughly hewn opening bit into her arm as she stretched to reach her target. To her dismay, her arm refused to go in any further, and, for a terrifying moment, it refused to come back out. Blood wet the edges, slicking her skin enough to wrench the arm free.

There was an indention just below the elbow, not unlike the scoreline a knife would make on an orange peel. It throbbed painfully. Small trickles of blood made its way to the elbow before dripping onto the floor. A quick examination proved the wounds to be superficial, but a bandage of some sort would be needed.

Propping the elbow in her other hand, Miranda made her way to the bathroom. From behind the mirror, she pulled a disinfectant spray and a box of square bandages. Pulling two from the box she slapped them onto the cuts and called it good. 

The growling in her stomach sent her to the fridge where she grabbed a second bottle of water and a cold breakfast pouch. They were barely edible to her, preferring the heated packs to these cold ones but, the good ones had gone the way of the kitchen. Poof. 

Thinking of the other packs gave Miranda an idea. If she could find the opener, if it hadn’t gone poof, too, she could use it on the wall to expand the opening. Quickly, she rummaged through the three drawers set into the wall next to the fridge. She found it in the middle drawer, beneath a packet of napkins she’d forgotten about. With a whoop of satisfaction, she brandished it above her head as if it were a hard-won award.

No longer feeling the hungry, she returned to the wall. Using the tool to first perforate, then cut away, thin pieces of metal, she was able to enlarge the hole enough to fit her arm to her shoulder. The edges, jagged and sharp, resembled teeth. When Miranda stuck her arm through, the tips grazing her flesh. She had the unpleasant idea she was sticking her arm into a mouth. The thought of all those jagged teeth clamping onto her skin sent a shiver down her spine.

Forcing away the sliver of fear, she pushed her arm in further. Her fingertips brushed against the control pad. An uncomfortable tingle ran through her body; she yanked back, scraping the underside of her arm against the sharp points.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she moaned, sliding her arm back in.  Again, she felt the distinctive prickling that prevented her from laying hands on her prize.

She dropped back, yanking her arm from the hole, ignoring the sting of her tailbone when it hit the floor.

“Unbelievable,” she said, rubbing her hands over her face, tears pricking her eyes. They had anticipated her every move. First hiding the box deep inside the wall, then encasing it in a force field she had no way of breaking through. All her avenues were now exhausted. There was nothing more that she could do to help herself.

Overhead, the lights began their song. Scooping up her water bottle, Miranda slumped off to the pod, head hanging low. It was distasteful to her, giving in to defeat, but at this moment she had no idea what else she could do. Listlessly, she pulled the pod closed and settled onto her bed, her knees pulled tight to her chest. The Sleep Myst filled the enclosure, it’s quiet hiss drowned out by the sound of Miranda’s sobs as she cried herself to sleep.

A violent shaking dragged her awake. Disoriented, it took a moment for her to remember where she was and why. Once she did, she pressed the manual override to open the pod. The lid refused to budge. Desperately, she banged and kicked at the lid while holding the button down. The little motor gave a high-pitched squeal before sliding open a crack. Though the slit proved large enough for her fingers to fit through, she was hesitant to do so. What if the lid closed again pinning her fingers to the pod, making it impossible for her to free them? Or worse, what if they were sheared off completely leaving her fingerless and spurting blood? Mentally, she slapped herself for that last thought, it had no bearing on reality. It was the panic talking.

The shaking stopped abruptly followed by a hushed, mechanical sigh that added no comfort to Miranda’s mind. Instead, a growing terror washed over her as the implications of what was happening became clear. The shrinking of the ship had somehow damaged the pod leaving her trapped inside. The lights she’d worked so hard to brighten, remained dark. Light flowed in through the window. Some from the millions of stars around her, but most from the amount of sunlight growing around the edge of the planet propped between her ship and the fiery ball beyond it.

Fighting past her fear, she slipped her fingers through the slit and pushed with all her might. The lid gave, but barely an infinitesimal amount. Aggravated, Miranda pounded her fists against the glass plate, primal screams tearing from her throat.

Watcher crouched in the shrinking gloom, his eyes eagerly drinking in the growing drama. Perhaps the time was nearer than he thought. The woman was strong in spirit, but the fight to stay alive was draining her.

Miranda continued pounding on the lid until her fists hurt. Just when she thought it was hopeless, she felt the top move. It brought a spark of hope that renewed her efforts. Lifting her feet to join her hands on the smooth surface, she locked her shoulders and pushed. Gritting her teeth against the strain, she pushed with all her might. The lid humped up but remained secured to the tracks.

“Okay, okay, okay,” she whispered fiercely to herself. The unpleasant smell of her breath hanging stale in the air around her, bringing a grimace to her face.

Rolling onto her stomach, she drew her feet up under her. Positioning them wide for balance, she braced her back against the lid and pushed. It helped, but not enough. Opting for more power, she settled her hands flat on her thighs and pushed against the surface until her legs shook with the strain of it. The lid lifted, then caught on the lip of the tracks. Too fatigued to give it the force needed to free it, Miranda flopped down on the mattress to rest. The distinctively unpleasant smell of body odor, mixed with her morning breath, created a gag-worthy cloud of effluvium. 

Miranda struggled to lie still. One more push, she was sure, was all she needed to pop the lid, but it would take her full strength. She needed to relax the coiled springs that were her muscles Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her breathing, taking her body into a languid, restful state. It wasn’t easy. The enclosure was becoming uncomfortably warm as well as smelling like a locker room.

When she felt strong enough, she crouched again, bracing her back closer to the open slit and heaved. The metal screeched as it scraped over the lip of the track before giving way with an audible pop! Miranda stumbled forward, banging her hip painfully against the pod frame. Laughing with relief, she shoved the lid to the side. The spot on her hip twinged as she stood up and stretched; she rubbed at it absently. It felt good to rise to her full height. She stepped from the pod grateful to be free.

Watcher drank in her joy and her pain, each equally filling. The sweet flavor of her happiness was ambrosia to his tongue while the tang of pain tickled his taste buds on the way down. A smile spread across his face. A part of him was glad she’d freed herself, prolonging his feeding a while longer. By tomorrow, he’d be easily distinguishable from the other shadows in the room. Then there would be only fear to eat. He shivered in anticipation, though it wasn’t the meal of fear that had him excited. It was what came after that had his senses aflutter.

Miranda stood gazing out at the sun now blazing around the planet’s edge. Though the inside lights no longer worked, it didn’t matter. The sun’s rays lit up the room. It also raised the temperature a good ten degrees, if not more. Sweat trickled along her spine, sticking her shirt to her skin. It was time to make a decision. Close the external panels to slow the flow of radiation, locking herself in total darkness and creating an oven to live in, or leave them open allowing the sun’s light and radiation to fill the ship and die faster. Already, she was close enough for the sun’s radiation to wreak havoc on her cells and organs. Another day and she’d be feeling it. With luck, she’d die of a heart attack before her skin began to deteriorate. It would be less painful that way.

Choosing the quicker outcome, Miranda let the sun stream in. Resigning herself to her fate, she wandered to the fridge and fished out an icy bottle of water. The refrigerator was no longer humming merrily along, and its light had also gone out. The water would stay cold for a while but not for long enough, she feared.  Not that it mattered, there were only four left, with the rising temperature she’d not ration them for too long. There was no point.

Resting her back against the pod, she stared out at the growing light in the darkness of space. The stars dimmed as the light grew, her despondency growing with it. Popping the top from the bottle, she sucked down the fluid, relishing the way its icy coolness soothed the parched desert of her throat. Her thoughts returned to the past, her regrets weighing heavy on her.

Once again, she felt eyes watching her, interrupting her contemplation. This time, it didn’t frighten her. They would die together, she and her foe. What harm could it do her now?

“I feel you watching me,” she said aloud, her eyes scanning the area around her. She saw nothing, though the corner to her right seemed darker than it should be. Perhaps it waited for her there.

Watcher’s ears pricked up at her words, but he didn’t respond. There was still more for her to do before he presented himself. Though she looked for him, the light from the blazing sun would prevent her from seeing him now. At least until he was ready to be seen.

Miranda returned to reflect on the course of action that had gotten her here. True, she still felt she didn’t belong in this prison, suffering corporal punishment for a crime that she committed peripherally. Had she not been so naive, so trusting, so complacent in the duties of her position, she would have caught on to what was happening before it was too late.

Between her father and the Prince-Commander, she’d been an easy scapegoat. How many papers had she signed without reading them? How many millions of other innocent beings had she allowed to be killed without knowing? Of course, she deserved to be punished for her ignorance and irresponsible behavior, but it was her father who had been the go-between, taking the Prince-Commander’s orders and twisting them into something that resembled nobility. She had bought it without question, signing decrees that seemed to be for mechanisms to improve lives, when they were really slated for destroying them. In the end, it was her fault, to a degree. Her signature launched an attack that killed over half a million people in a single day. Miranda dropped her head into the hands. Mass genocide created with the flick of a pen.

Funny, the two men she’d admired most had set her up to die for their transgressions while she’d worshiped at their feet. Not until the day of sentencing had she believed she’d be convicted of such atrocities. Convicted she was, while the true culprits were never tried. Each testified at her trial and simply walked away.

Grief settled heavily on her heart. She didn’t deserve this, not really, but neither did those people who were killed.

“Okay, I’m guilty,” she called out. “I said it. Happy now?” There was no answer, not that she had expected one. She’d hoped to feel better by saying it out loud, but she didn’t.

The heat from the sun was becoming unbearable as the tiny ship continued along its trajectory. Miranda rescued another bottle of water from the fridge and guzzled half of it down. Instead of sitting back down, she paced the ground in front of the pod. Nothing left but the waiting, her least favorite part of life. Wait for a taxi. Wait for the elevator. Wait for the rest of the office workers to arrive. Wait to live… wait to die.

A heavy sigh huffed through her dry lips. The bright, glowing ball was growing before her, reaching its tentacles beyond the planet’s body to stoke the sides of her ship. A fiery embrace that turned her skin red. The water in her bottle turned warm then hot.

Miranda drooped to the floor, panting, feeling very much like a Dali clock. Her attention turned once more to the shadow in the corner. A shadow that should not be there. Every inch of the small domicile was now bathed in the light of the sun, yet the shadow remained. She could feel its eyes upon her, hungrily watching her every move.

“I see you,” she whispered, around her parched lips, her voice feeling harsh in her throat. She longed for a long, cold drink of water, but was too drained from the heat to walk to the fridge. Or crawl, for that matter.

Watcher rose to his full height, his head brushing against the ceiling, his newly formed wings wrapped tightly around himself leaving her only a full view of the top half of his head and the furry claws of his feet. His eyes burned red above the wings. The woman’s fear was still there but muted, drifting away as the ship edged closer to its final destination.

“I know why you’re here,” she said, reaching limply in his direction. “I welcome you.”

Barely a whisper, but Watcher heard the words plainly.

Unfurling his wings, he reached for her hand. The fingers were cool despite the heat. Sweat tacked her hair to her head and neck, the skin red and beginning to blister from the exposure. Though Watcher loomed over her, there was no more fear in her eyes, only resignation.