Blood Moon

Patrick Walts: the short fiction collection

Lieutenant Colson crouched against the wall and shoved off, propelling himself down the corridor towards the rec room.

He glided in through the open door, breaking his momentum by grabbing onto the back of the chair where lieutenant-commander Alvarez sat watching sixty year-old reruns of “The Big Bang Theory on the antique 16K television he’d brought with him from Earth and refused to part with.

The old shows don’t look right in HV.

“Dinner’s here,” he said, and the other looked up, his previously bored eyes now ablaze with devilish delight.

“Fresh meat,” said Alvarez, rising. He paused. “And remember, this time, leave the crew alone. Don’t stare at them all crazy, don’t lick your lips. They’re not food. They bring the food. You screw with them, they stop bringing the food. Right? Are we clear?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he said, foregoing the “sir” bit entirely, which…

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