Retreat to Command (Otherwise Untitled)
#228 of Short Stories
A phoenix makes it to the cockpit, to request assistance.
~ The phoenix stumbled through the hallways of the ship, his eyes closed and hand grasping his shoulder firmly. With months of practice aboard the ship, he was able to readily navigate the corridors filled to overflowing with vibrantly flashing lights and spine rumbling mixtures of three different varieties of music for the dance floor. It was as he tumbled into the pilot's seat that the ship's machine intelligence noticed the blood and flames from his shoulder.
~ The cockatiel halted in place halfway through their dance across the main console, "Oh. Oh! Those are not friendly guests.", the bulkhead door to the cockpit already groaning into motion. "I will disengage Party Mode shortly, Sir.", reported the flicking blue ghost of a cockatiel who's attentions had turned to a display of ship systems' status.
~ The captain's only reply, for the moment, was a strained grunt as flames and blood seemed to slip between his fingers and into the seat. The room fell mostly to silence as the bulkhead slammed into place, followed by the sound of the security locks popping into place one at a time.
~ The cockatiel glanced up to the captain, fixing him with a gaze. The small bird seemed supremely silly, still wearing the monochromatic jester's cap from the Party Mode, "Permission to disengage Party Mode?"
~ The phoenix huffed with effort and a nod, "Granted."
~ The ship seemed to shudder with an echo of mechanisms as so many doors and airlocks opened abruptly, the security bulkhead of the cockpit creaking at the sudden pressure differential.