“Don’t!” My mothers voice booms inside my head and it sends a jolt of panic through my already fried nervous system.

Telepathic communication is suuuuper convenient. Yeah, whatever. It’s not going to be very convenient when that shit gives me a heart attack from all the adrenaline and cortisol.

Is it too much to ask that we get a ringtone or something? Maybe a little vibration sensation? I’d settle for a swift kick in the nuts to being jump scared by that shit every day.

I shake my head and dart my eyes around, trying to get my bearings. What was I just thinking about? My thoughts feel jagged. Cut off in the middle of the stems before they can flourish. My gaze focuses in on the men far off in the distance. They are gravitating closer to the mouth of the ship. Suddenly eleven men spread apart and become doubled. So 22? Maybe? I don’t know. That’s a lot of heads, man. And speaking of heads, holy SHIT I’m losing too much blood.

I give myself a very harsh shake both mentally and physically and then bring myself back to the present situation — hopefully for the last time.

Okay, so here are the ducks and here is the row: Wrecked ship. Precious, HIGHLY sensitive, HIGHLY classified cargo. Loved ones also amongst precious cargo present on ship. Possibly hostile aliens infiltrating the ship as we speak. Specific order to terminate mission if ever making contact with other sentient life forms. Terminating Missions means detonating the fusion core thus dissolving all organic matter within the deadzone.

Most important fact of all the facts: Fuck that. We’re not just going to sit down and die.

Focus! I blink my eyes over and over.

Oh, this is not good.

Okay Xale, think! You know what to do. Observe. Report. Analyze. Plan. Prepare. Execute.

You’re trained for this.

Plus, mom’s there. And she knows you’re there.

She’ll wait.

She will.

She will wait.

From where I crouch behind a big mound of snow probably harboring a large boulder underneath, I watch the aliens walk the perimeter of my ship. I know that the metal stuff they carry are called guns and I know what they do. I just don’t know what that means for us.

Are they hostile? Or defensive? And will I be able to convince my mother to give me a chance to figure out which before she makes any reckless, mass casualty decisions?

The fate of every person in an approximately 400-foot-radius currently rests in my ability to reason with the most stubborn bullheaded woman I’ve ever known. Luckily for me that woman is my mother and those traits in particular seem to have had first class tickets straight to my DNA. Now I just have to use these mental faculties before I bleed out. Shit fucking damn. My side hurts! Whatever those guns shoot, it’s weak as hell but hurts like it too.

“They’re just looking around,” I tell my mom, trying not to sound desparate as I attempt to reassure her all while keeping any signs of pain or waning out of my message. “None of their technlogy looks advanced. I’m telling you even if they try to engage we can disable them. I’m not going to let them find you or jeapordize our assignment.”

I send the message, close my end of the connection, and then suck in air as if I had forgotten to breathe for the last hour or so.

It costs a lot of energy to communicate this way and judging by the blood slushie that has slowly formed around my boots, I probably don’t have much to spare, but she needs to know I’m coming. She needs to know there’s still a chance we can make it out alive. She needs to know that she doesn’t have to do what I’m sure she’s already gearing the system up for.

“I’m within the blast radius, mom. If you blow it, you kill me too.” I’m not sure if that’s true or not. I’ve seen our crafts explode before but not from self-detonation.

Her anger hits me like a pulse of heat. “I told you to run!” The raw emotion she allows to twine itself into her telepathic message shocks me. My mother has never given me acccess to any part of her mind besides her intellect. To receive these feeling from my mother is like watching the sun rise on the wrong side of the ocean. I don’t hate it but I won’t feel comfortable unless I understand why it’s happening.

The next message she sends has emotion but this time it is resigned, resolved and rock solid. “I sent the distress signal, Xale. They’re coming for you. But if you don’t make it out alive then all our work, our knowledge and data, it will be lost and it will have been for nothing. Either you stay and we all die and millions of people just KEEP ON DYING because you didn’t save this research, or you run and you give our lives the meaning they deserve. You owe us that. Make the right choice, son. Two-minutes twenty-four seconds.”

I know she’s done talking. And listeing is something she gave up on years ago before dad even died. She expects me to run and let her sacrifice herself, as well as every friend and family member on our ship. I’m supposed to let her destroy the place we have called home for the last five and a half years. She thinks I’m capable of letting her kill — No, not sacrifice. Let’s call it what it is: killing. — her own daughter and I am to just… let it happen. To leave and run right now. To spend the last few moments I have with my family running AWAY from them. Abandoning them. Choosing the safe path instead of the right one.

The part of me that loves humanity as a whole pleads for me to haul ass as far as my feet can take me in the next two minutes. The part of me that loves my family refuses to allow these to be the only options.

“You better do what you can to disble that detonator, mom. Because I’m not leaving you and I’m not leaving my sister. Dad trusted me to protect you when he died. And you know damn well he’d be on my side with this. So don’t fight me. Use the next minute to save our fucking lives and then help me take out these red suits. Head count of eleven from this vantage point.”

It’s my turn to be done talking. The ball’s in her hands and there’s one second on the clock. Take the shot or drop the ball. Kill us all or fight for the chance to live.

I wait in strained silence. Hoping. PRAYING. Wishing on every star I can see for her to concede and choose to believe in us. Believe in ME. I’ve done a decent job of being a father figure for Xadie but I can’t be our mom too. I can’t be… without a mom… too.

I somehow managed to bandage the hole in my sisters heart when our father died, without ever being able to even look in the general direction of my own. I won’t be able to do it with mom too. My heart can’t handle another hole that doesn’t heal.

“I can’t disarm it but I added an additional five minutes,” she sends.

I damn near crumple into the snow with relief at the sound of my mothers thoughts.

“Xadie?” I ask tentatively. My muscles somehow manage to bunch up a little bit tighter. I don’t know the status of anyone on the ship besides mom. She’s the only one I’m able to communicate with.

“She’s working on the Suits.” Mom assures me and my exhale makes me feel ten pounds lighter. “She’ll signal when to move in.”

There is a pause of silence for a moment. And then another. My stomach suspends itself in mid air.

“Mom?” I send.

Empty. Silent. Hollow.

I pop up from behind the boulder. No men in red suits. Just a dirty gray ship stranded in a dirty gray blizzard. The only possible place they could have gone is inside the ship. Either Xadie has come a long way in her distractive tactics, or something is very very wrong.