Through the wall, the voices sounded like muted trumpets, rising and falling in brassy squeals. The hard staccato soprano of his squad leader jabbed in with irregular beats, counterpointed with the rough bass rasping of orders shouted above a lifetime of engine noise and grease.
The vocal jazz was unintelligible and irregular, even borderline annoying. He didn’t enjoy the lack of repetition. Unpredictability was not a crewman’s friend. The clamor was still better than the tiny room they’d stuffed him inside. The harsh click of the lock still reverberated, and well after the echoes of his screaming had faded.
He’d have been content if they’d only left him there.
Nineteen shining rivets across. Twenty-one down. Or that’s how he preferred to think of it, rather than the even twenty and twenty. A dent where the last inmate had tossed a meal tray, perhaps. It was the only view, and his only entertainment other than the conversation he couldn’t understand.
It didn’t matter what they were saying. Didn’t matter how hard Deanna argued for extenuating circumstances. Melik knew Command would never trust him again on an op. Frankly, he didn’t blame them. Who would trust a crew member who tried to spacewalk into an asteroid?
He closed his eyes and wished there was enough room to tip the chair back. A hatch slammed, and the voices grew dim as they headed toward the bridge.
In the silence, the music began again, eerie and wailing, chords striking in inhuman demands for sacrifice. The notes washed over him, stronger even than the desire he’d buried for Deanna, eliminating all passion.
It did not end with a screeching halt. It merely ended. And that is when his own keening began, his voice already hoarse and weary.
Melik found himself crumpled onto the floor, eyes watering and with torn fingertips, the rivets’ sharp metal edges streaked with blood. He sobbed into the void, so deep he knew he would never return.
No, they should not trust him again. The music would return, and with it, the overpowering urge to follow. Eventually, and unpredictably.
No, they should not trust him again. After all, everyone knew that when Old Earth’s seas grew crowded, the sirens had left for freedom and the stars.
***
I’m not entirely happy with this one, but it’s done! Cedar Sanderson prompted me with the opening line about muffled trumpets, and my own prompt about unusual warning signs went to Leigh Kimmel. Need a weekly writing prompt? Play along at More Odds than Ends. We don’t bite, and neither do my carnivorous plants.
