Proximal Flame's Fiction

The Lefu was standing on one hand, her legs and other arm sticking out to the sides, moving in slow arcs in some exercise ritual. If she had noticed Natalya’s arrival in the cell bay, she gave no sign of it. “Give me a moment,” she asked of the guards. They exchanged a quick look before acquiescing, stepping just outside the door, letting it hiss shut. “So you’re what’s scaring the Concord,” Natalya said aloud as she shifted the window from one-way to two-way, turning on the comm. The Lefu raised her legs together, toes pointing up at the ceiling of her cell. Her muscles rippled in a wave from her calves down to her forearms as she stretched. The tattoos on her exposed flesh glinted under the fluorescent lights. “You’re what’s killing us. Our own damned species,” her voice was rough, her throat tightening with revulsion, aching with each word. “But you’re not, are you? Not really. You might look like us, but there’s nothing inside that makes you human. I wonder if you even bleed.”

The major looked down at his huge gauntlets; they were stained with blood. The freshest blots were from a young ensign who’d been skewered on the end of a bayonet. She’d never even seen what killed her, the alien creeping up behind her, invisible and impaling her on the end of its rifle. There were some sounds that you never thought a human could make until you heard them for yourself, straight from a dying throat. Leibowitz had heard too many of those. He’d killed the ensign’s murderer. Not very forgiving, but he hadn’t joined the Corps to proselytize mercy. Especially not to some tentacle-faced monstrosity that had just gutted a helpless girl like a fish. The Marine leaned back against the scarred bulkhead, listening to the comm channels as more of his people died. I hope this tub is worth it.