I Walk the Quiet Corridors of a Starship at Night: Writing Exercise #18

Day 36

White noise. Dim light from above. Or below? No, not below — that’s me. That’s… where I am. That’s my bed. Where it is, too. Must be above, or to the side. Dim light from… where? A pause in consciousness. Home. Home, with Ryla, with the blue sky… no, dim light… dull humming…

The urge to urinate.

Raman’s eyes were open. How long had he been laying there, before the tight, aching sensation near his bladder coaxed him awake?

He yawned deeply, tears springing to his eyes. He blinked them away and yawned again, wondering if he could ignore the insistence of his biology — so unfortunately inconsiderate of his dreams — and fall back asleep.

No, he thought. It’s getting uncomfortable. He sighed, yawned again, and tossed aside his blanket. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness of his sleeping pod, a small but comfortable space with room enough for his bed and a low table. A comm unit on the wall sensed his movement, and the dim, sourceless light Raman had imagined in his semi-consciousness brightened almost intangibly, giving him just enough to see by.

He silently commended the engineers who had worked so thoughtfully on the intelligence software that kept the sleeping pods so pleasant. At this time of night — or whatever it was out here in the perpetual darkness of space — the lights would only come up to full if he asked them to; the onboard computer would only speak when spoken to, rather than greeting him or asking what he needed.

Raman stretched the length of his body on the short patch of floor between his bed and the door, luxuriating in the sensation of his muscles loosening, then padded to the door. It whispered open, and he stepped into the narrow hallway.

Directly across from him was another doorway. The name Lucius S. was projected in orange letters onto a small placard of clear glass, which was affixed to the midpoint of the wall near the door. On both sides of the hall, for about thirty paces in each direction, identical orange letters spelled out the names of slumbering inhabitants behind identical doors. Here and there, the signs were green points in the semi-darkness; green indicated the crew member was elsewhere on the ship, either on duty or in the dining hall.

The only other light in the hallway was a soft halo of light around Raman, which seemed to come from the floor, ceiling, and even the walls. He paused outside his door to look up and down the hall, and — satisfied that he was alone — padded silently down one end of the hall, towards the washroom. The soft light followed him, illuminating his way.

Raman enjoyed this time of night. Well, whatever it is: day, night, supper time. “I still haven’t gotten used to that,” he muttered.

The words sounded loud in the cool silence of the sleeping ship, and he almost jumped at his own voice.

I haven’t gotten used to…when… it is. But I like this time. The time when the ship is quiet, and my crewmates are asleep, and…

Truthfully, Raman felt like it was his ship, and that he was the captain, wandering purposefully through his ship’s hallways. It was easier to feel this way when he was the only one awake.

Well, the only one he knew was awake.

Sometimes, when he woke in the night like this, he would wander and hear a muffled voice in a sleeping pod, or the approaching steps of some other night walker. Sometimes, he would become annoyed, because his illusion evaporated.

Most times, however, he played a game where he would be as quiet as possible, making every effort to evade other crew members who were on duty and who happened to be passing along the same hallways. Of course, they had no idea he was playing hide and seek with them, but it made the stakes seem higher. How could he explain what he was up to? Far better to avoid them.

Raman turned a corner at the end of the hall and paused at the entrance to the washroom. Around the next corner was one of his favorite spots on the ship: a small nook, carved from the smooth walls to house a hot water pipe access. Across from this nook was a wide, pill-shaped window and endless views of the passing universe. He decided to ignore the protests of his bladder, and continued on to the nook.

He never tired of looking out onto the stars. Tonight, they swirled like spatters of neon paint on a black canvas, steady in their glow. Great balls of blue and yellow and orange and red and brilliant white, some the size of small coins, many but pinpricks…but — oh! There were so many he gave up in happy defeat the challenge of counting them.

The window was just around the turn in the hallway, and it sat at the end of a long passage that ran a great way along the outer hull of the ship. Raman could see no one down the dimly illuminated walk, so he stole a few moments with his nose near the glass, as though a few more spans could bring him appreciably closer to the stars.

Satisfied with his short time at the window, he retreated to the hidden alcove and snuggled into the small space between the pipe and the side wall. The hot water return gave off a hint of warmth and emitted quiet sparkles of sound every now and again as unseen droplets of water traveled beneath its insulated surface.

Once Raman stepped from the hallway, the soft illuminated halo of light disappeared, so there was no chance of anyone finding him there, unless they happened upon him. There was room enough behind the pipe for him to hide himself if someone chanced by, but in all the times he had come here, that had yet to happen.

Strange, he thought, as he rested against the warmth of the pipe and drank in the starry display before him. Strange how I should find such comfort in a water pipe and in communion with the stars.

The quiet thrum of the starship, as it glided through the night, lulled him half to sleep.

Originally published at www.zerofoxgiven.net on April 20, 2017