Alright, here we go. Please add me into the tags and don't judge me too harshly lol.
The physical world was a poor mirror for the spiritual. Behind every structure, every event, every person lay thousands - nay, millions, billions, trillions - of the dead. Theirs was a seemingly quiet existence, hidden from the senses of the living. The dead were the forgotten majority, save for the brief funerals, the memorial, perhaps the occasional holiday. The dead held their silence for all with few exceptions.
Those exceptions lived half-lives. Or, perhaps, it was more accurate to say they lived many pieces of lives. A flash of unearned memory, a sensation of conversation, a mind-shattering and endless stream of thoughts pushed forward. It was a life no one chose. The sheer number yearning to speak, to have their will done, to see their dying wish become reality in the physical world, was overwhelming. Many spirit-servants died even before childhood, while their eyes were still blue and their souls were still settling. Fewer made it past childhood, and these few were often twisted creatures, malformed and anxious and violent and otherworldly in the worst way.
The rare spirit-servants that made it to adulthood found themselves at the bottom of society, cast out or labeled insane. Spirit-servants with status were the benefactors of a family that understood their plight, who took time to groom and train their young sèvitè so they could serve as a functional link between living and dead. Part of this training included a strict regimen of meditation, a practice that allowed the doorways between living and dead to be closed on occasion.
Udo Métayer hated meditating. And so, he’d found the best alternative: run to a place where the dead were less dense. Training to be a part of the navy had been difficult, but he’d pressed on. He’d made it, if only barely. Active duty was wonderful. He’d been a part of this ship’s crew for almost a year. Until recently, it’d been a blissful year, quiet, exciting in a regular way that normals wouldn’t understand. Two weeks ago everything had changed.
Here he lay, body strapped to the bunk, just trying to sleep. The ship’s never-darkened lights cast a flickering world against the back of his eyelids. With eyes closed, that faint fluorescent glow gave shape to the world of the spirits, giving them bodies and voices. With eyes open, the vision he was granted was almost equally irritating.
Kimba had been born a spacer and those elongated limbs made him look demonic. His lack of showering since the Event didn’t help his looks. Covered in oil and sweat and blood. He was repulsive. His mouth was opening and closing and words were coming out. Udo could hear him, but couldn’t understand, not while the spirits screamed at him from the other side of the veil.
“Boy,” he finally said as he unstrapped his torso and his legs. Kimba was older, and Udo hoped the word irritated him. He deserved chastisement, playing along with their captain as he had. Kimba had killed seven men during the Event. Kimba was still talking talking talking, didn’t seem to notice as Udo pushed himself through the bunker. Udo floated across the small space until he grabbed hold of a bar near the door. His joints popped as soon as he flipped on the bunker’s gravity. Kimba’s ceaseless speech stopped with a harsh clang as he landed on the ground. Udo grabbed one of the uniform shirts - a useless representation of old rank - wrapped it around his fist, and smashed the damned fluorescent tube. The room was cast in darkness for only a moment before the backup red lights cut on.
With those red lights on, Kimba’s head didn’t seem to bleed at all when Udo smashed his steel-toed boots into the older man’s skull.
He moved outside the bunker, took a moment to reorient himself. Under his feet, metal floors that creaked with every shift in weight, surrounded by old walls inlaid with the occasional port window and light. This aging structure was small, cramped, and newly steeped with its ghost. Before, he’d liked it well enough. He’d liked being able to look out from the windows to see the live stars twirling around him. He’d liked the arbitrary rules. He’d liked the lonely sound of the ship as it passed through the empty expanse of space, never stopping. He’d liked the dull uniformity of the walls.
All the things he’d liked, gone now. There was an alarm, blaring, blaring blaring. But not blaring loud enough to drown out the sound of the dead.
They came, the newly minted pirates, but the dead granted Udo second sight. Around the corner, with a rifle, they said. Running from the starboard side, port doors closing, watching your progress on the monitors in the mess, we can interfere with those electronics, we can end your suffering, we need your help. They told him everything he never wanted to know and they told him how to find his old, simple happiness again.
Udo didn’t know how much time passed before the mutineers were all dead. Of course, there was no silence. Not until he found the ejection port. He opened it and was sucked into the vacuum of space, where even the dead couldn’t draw a breath to speak.
