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"Oh, fine." Sean replied. "I'm up a few bucks." He bent and kissed her hello, and then headed for the first floor bathroom. He heard Trishell's laughter through the closed door. "Listen, Sean, I know that you're not playing poker." "What do you mean?" he called back. He could hear the flutter in his own voice. He was a terrible liar. Of course he wasn't playing poker, how could such a bad liar play poker? Trishell didn't seem to be angry. "Honey, you don't need a backpack full of books to play poker. And when I was vacuuming found a dice with only four sides under your desk." Sean zipped up and flushed the toilet. "It's all right," Trishell said. "I think it's cute how you're embarrassed." Sean opened the door. "You don't think it's silly?' he asked, still toweling his hands. She patted the sofa beside her. "Come here and tell me about it," she said. She was wearing one of Sean's new work shirts and nothing else. Only two of the buttons were done. # "Condition red!!" called the crewman in charge of monitoring Sean's stages of arousal. Sirens flashed and klaxons sounded as millions and millions of Seans sprinted to action stations. # Sean slept easily that evening, and the Captain was able to put many of the crew ashore for the night. The crew of nearly a billion Seans passed through Sean's skin into the sub-atomic space of the headboard, where their 'pleasure island' of games, goof-offs, and, the Captain admitted, much-needed rest quarters for a crew he knew he worked hard, awaited them. There was a legend, an old sailor's story, that the crewmen were vessels themselves, and needed to sleep occasionally, so the crews that drove them could relax. The Captain dismissed such talk as myth. He himself had never left his post, and he never slept. He spent this night as he spent every night, pacing the length of the bridge, reviewing the operations of the day. His thoughts were a particularly troubled this evening. "Ensign," the Captain of Sean called to one of the crewmen who had drawn overnight duty. "What do you make of the new orders we've been issued?" "Oh, I think they're a step in the right direction." the Sean replied. The answer surprised the Captain. Asking for opinions was a little game he played with the crew, who usually hemmed and hawed, trying to find an answer that would allow them to wiggle out from the Captain's scrutiny as quickly as they were able. The Captain of Sean turned and studied the crewman. He was surprised by what he saw. The ensign stood at attention, jumpsuit fully buttoned and neatly arranged upon his ridged body. But the Sean didn't look stiff: he presented an air of being relaxed, even comfortable on the bridge, secure in the job that he had to do. Not something the Captain usually saw in the Seans who pulled overnight duty on the bridge. Typically, they looked as if they would rather be anywhere else than here. "That's how you feel?" The Captain asked. "Yes, sir," came the unequivocal reply. The Captain looked at the ensign a moment longer, studying the crewman, searching for the namable quality that would explain the change in manner. The Captain of Sean took a step closer, a question clearly forming in his mind, but he suddenly turned away without speaking. He dismissed the crewman with a wave, and resumed pacing. #
"You stayed late," she said. "Working so hard, exercising, now dressing like an executive." She swatted at his tie. "What's gotten into you?" He ran up to he and hugged her. This was a surprise for both of them; she usually instigated hugs. She giggled and pretended to struggle. "Why so happy?" He released her and stepped back. "The client loved my presentation!" He spread his arms wide in a show of victory. "They chose it right away and didn't want to even see the others. I'll get a raise out of this," he said. "They may even make me an art director." "That's so great!" she said. "It makes me feel better about buying this." She took a large box out of a white plastic shopping bag that was on the kitchen table. "It's TiVo," she said. "Next Tuesday, we can watch Robotech and then Charmed after." "Let's watch Charmed first." Sean said. # Deep within Sean's skull, red lights set in the ceiling of the bridge descended and began to flash. The Captain leaned over a crewman's shoulder and read the screen that displayed a record of conversations. "Did he just agree to watch Charmed? On a Tuesday?" he asked. "Did he just say that without a trace of irony or sarcasm?" "The sarcasm dials are all flat, sir." The crewman responded. The Captain looked at the screen. Trishell's face filled Sean's vision; to the Captain her features went on and on, like the bulwark of some enormous vessel coming towards them. "It's her." The Captain said at once. "Excuse me, sir?" The ensign asked. "It's her, god damn it," the Captain said. "She's influencing our vessel in some way. A profound way." He leaned forward, pushing the crewman aside as he typed a command into one of the crew stations. "It's almost as if she's gotten inside, somehow." His fingers flew. A diagram of Sean came on-screen. "But that's impossible," he said. "The hull is intact. The ship is secure." Then the Captain of Sean saw the crewman's fingers: the nails were long and filed to a tapered point. He leapt back. "Turn around," he ordered. The crewman faced him. "Remove your cap," Long auburn hair spilled out over the shoulders of her white uniform. "My
God," the Captain said, as the invader, who resembled Trishell,
yet seemed older, more mature than the vessel the Captain saw
every day from his bridge, advanced upon him. "Who are you?'
he asked. |