Mimic and the Journey Home

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I leaned back in my seat, my heart beating to its own personal fiesta while the rest of my body was on cruise control. The whole situation was surreal. In a very short couple of hours, I had gone from a janitor and maintenance worker on a government-contracted mining vessel in deep space to a fugitive on the run with an undiscovered life form that had the ability to shapeshift.

“Ay, you guys remembering to breathe back there?”

My gaze turned to Gonzales, who had turned the pilot seat around after putting us into autopilot. Or at least I hoped she put us on autopilot. Otherwise, our escape would be a short one.

“I do not necessarily need to breathe,” Mimic said flatly.

“I’m fine,” I answered just as shortly. “Just catching up with everything that’s happened.”

“Right? It’s been a bit of a rush, hasn’t it?”

Alerts suddenly sounded and I looked to the flashing lights. “What does all that mean?”

“Nothing good,” Gonzales answered tensely, whipping around to grip the controls with pale knuckles.

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