Rover of the Sands
You awake mid-morning with a fever. Rising halfway from your sweat-soaked pillow, you mumble about being late for work. Viola’s cool hand presses you back down. Your lungs feel horribly tight and you can’t miss the look of worry in her strained face, seemingly aged overnight.
Malone—ship’s barber, dentist and surgeon, stands behind her with a grim look in his old eyes.
“I won’t lie to you, Hogan. You’ve got the sand sickness bad. Were you ill at all up till now?”
You shake your head weakly.
“Well at least he’s got his faculties,” Malone says to Viola, then blushing as he remembers she cannot hear him. “Anyway, Hogan. The Captain will be along soon. Here on the Rover, we’ve only the very best of care. Heh heh! Hach!” His cough is dry, most likely spotted with blood, just like everyone. He looks once more uneasily at Viola before leaving you in haste.
“Strange man,” you whisper to her. “I wonder if he’s a queer. He’s never known what to say to you, that’s for sure.” Viola smiles sweetly at you and you are relieved to see that the strange glow has not returned. Besides, you’re in no shape to help in that area just now. How could you have gotten sick so quickly? Surprises are hardly, well—surprising, in the New Times, but you’d prefer to think of yourself as a strong, unassailable man. And with your baby coming so soon…You lie back and your eyelids slide heavily down.
You are awoken suddenly by Slugger, who comes flying in terror into your room, its door still open in anticipation of Malone’s return with more medicine.
“Christ God, Hogan!” he screams. “I saw her again! I saw her! Oh lord in heaven, it was horrible. Oh God, oh no!”
Viola starts awake in the chair by the table. Seeing Slugger in his usual state, she stamps her foot angrily. This distracts him for just a moment, and their eyes meet. You swear you can actually watch his skin fade to an impossible pallor.
“No. Not her. Not her. By God it’s her…” He runs stumbling from the room.
“Viola. Viola! What is he saying?” But she ignores your outstretched hand, staring unmoving at the empty space just vacated by Slugger. Her body is stiff and strange. You try to touch her, but are met with a nasty electric shock. What on this Earth…?
And then she is gone. You call feebly after her, even as the darkness descends upon you once again.
It is bright midday when you wake again. You can feel immediately the return of strength to your muscles and the restoration of the quickness of your mind. The Captain is standing all in black by your bed.
“Slugger’s dead,” McCann says without fanfare. “Jumped right overboard. Kept shouting, ‘It’s her! It’s her!’”
You are leaden again as memory of the odd scene returns piecemeal. McCann fixes you with his cold eyes.
“Hogan, I trust you. I trust you implicitly. I expected Slugger to blab, but you, you I expect to obey orders. Did you let loose any word of what you saw?’”
You shake your head, not daring speech.
“I shall believe you, Hogan. But something foul is happening here. I can smell it in the air. Muster tomorrow. Twelve hundred hours. I see you are on the mend and I expect you there.”
“Yes, Sir,” you whisper. You salute and he leaves.
Viola sits hunched in the rocker in the corner, not moving a muscle, not meeting your gaze.
Malone—ship’s barber, dentist and surgeon, stands behind her with a grim look in his old eyes.
“I won’t lie to you, Hogan. You’ve got the sand sickness bad. Were you ill at all up till now?”
You shake your head weakly.
“Well at least he’s got his faculties,” Malone says to Viola, then blushing as he remembers she cannot hear him. “Anyway, Hogan. The Captain will be along soon. Here on the Rover, we’ve only the very best of care. Heh heh! Hach!” His cough is dry, most likely spotted with blood, just like everyone. He looks once more uneasily at Viola before leaving you in haste.
“Strange man,” you whisper to her. “I wonder if he’s a queer. He’s never known what to say to you, that’s for sure.” Viola smiles sweetly at you and you are relieved to see that the strange glow has not returned. Besides, you’re in no shape to help in that area just now. How could you have gotten sick so quickly? Surprises are hardly, well—surprising, in the New Times, but you’d prefer to think of yourself as a strong, unassailable man. And with your baby coming so soon…You lie back and your eyelids slide heavily down.
*******************************************
You are awoken suddenly by Slugger, who comes flying in terror into your room, its door still open in anticipation of Malone’s return with more medicine.
“Christ God, Hogan!” he screams. “I saw her again! I saw her! Oh lord in heaven, it was horrible. Oh God, oh no!”
Viola starts awake in the chair by the table. Seeing Slugger in his usual state, she stamps her foot angrily. This distracts him for just a moment, and their eyes meet. You swear you can actually watch his skin fade to an impossible pallor.
“No. Not her. Not her. By God it’s her…” He runs stumbling from the room.
“Viola. Viola! What is he saying?” But she ignores your outstretched hand, staring unmoving at the empty space just vacated by Slugger. Her body is stiff and strange. You try to touch her, but are met with a nasty electric shock. What on this Earth…?
And then she is gone. You call feebly after her, even as the darkness descends upon you once again.
*******************************************
It is bright midday when you wake again. You can feel immediately the return of strength to your muscles and the restoration of the quickness of your mind. The Captain is standing all in black by your bed.
“Slugger’s dead,” McCann says without fanfare. “Jumped right overboard. Kept shouting, ‘It’s her! It’s her!’”
You are leaden again as memory of the odd scene returns piecemeal. McCann fixes you with his cold eyes.
“Hogan, I trust you. I trust you implicitly. I expected Slugger to blab, but you, you I expect to obey orders. Did you let loose any word of what you saw?’”
You shake your head, not daring speech.
“I shall believe you, Hogan. But something foul is happening here. I can smell it in the air. Muster tomorrow. Twelve hundred hours. I see you are on the mend and I expect you there.”
“Yes, Sir,” you whisper. You salute and he leaves.
Viola sits hunched in the rocker in the corner, not moving a muscle, not meeting your gaze.