“What?”  Azalea was on her feet.  “A dead human?  Where?  …Was the body wearing a kind of bulky white outfit?”  Astronaut.  It must have been.

“Don’t think so,” the creature said, shifting position to get a better look through the window.  “I think it was blue, and only bulky around the lower section.  With large rings holding the clothes away from the legs.  There was considerable speculation about that.”

“Do you mean a hoop skirt?” Azalea asked.  She pulled at her own dress.  “Like this, but bigger?”

“I guess.  Didn’t see it myself.  Why?”

Azalea sat down next to her pack and stared at the wall.  “Maybe there are more people working on time machines.”

“What?” the alien barked.  “What machines?”

“Time machines,” Azalea admitted, suddenly worried.  

“Sex in a storm!” the creature exclaimed as it disappeared from the window.  “Captain!  Captaaaaiin!”  Footsteps pattered away.  

Azalea grew very worried.  

She didn’t get any less worried when a thunder of footsteps sounded moments later.  She stood to look, meeting that large pterodactyl person at the window.  There were other aliens there too, but Azalea kept her eyes on the glare being leveled her way.  

“Is your planet conducting unauthorized time travel?” the deep voice demanded.  

“I guess — Well, I am, but — what do you mean, unauthorized?”

The dinosaurian stepped back and snapped that enormous beak angrily.  “Do you have any contact whatsoever with outside civilization?”

“If you mean other planets, no.  We found water on Mars, but—”

Another snap, like the alien wanted to fix a certain problem violently.  Azalea was grateful for the door between them.

“I did not need this,” the pterodactyl ranted, twitching its wings-arms with visible restraint.  “You,” it said to Azalea, “Hand over the tech.  No more signals for the authorities to track down.  Fog, take it.”

Azalea stepped back as the door opened to the threatening silhouette of the large rhino-person from earlier.  Four arms reached for her, and she obediently handed over the precious time machine for the second time.  A grunt was the only reply.  

The door slammed with an anticlimactic thump.  Azalea pressed herself to the window.  “Be careful with it!”

The rhino was trundling away on its many legs, time machine held carefully.  The pterodactyl was snapping out orders to the other aliens in the hallway, sending them scurrying on a variety of errands.  Only the last one mattered to Azalea.

“And you,” the pterodactyl said to the human who crouched on the ledge like a monkey, “Talk to our guest.  Learn everything.  I’ll be up front, figuring out how to salvage the plans she’s wrecked.”  

“Yes ma’am, Captain,” said Carmine with another jazz-hands salute.

The captain clicked her beak again and stormed off, stomping her wing-fists against the floor with extra vigor.  

Carmine watched her go, then turned to meet Azalea’s eyes with an amused look.  She wasn’t wearing the goggles.  

Azalea stepped back a half-step when Carmine strode up to lean against the door, her face inches away.  Nothing else about her looked wrong, except maybe her teeth.  It was hard to say in the low light.  

“So,” she drawled.  “Time travel.  Did you invent it all by yourself, or work with anyone?”

“Just me,” Azalea said.  “I did what research I could, but no one else has ever succeeded publicly.”

Carmine nodded, red hair swaying.  “Or succeeded and lived, by the sound of it.”

“What happened to the one you found drifting?” Azalea asked, edging closer again.  

“Think it’s back in space,” Carmine said with a shrug.  “No need for that kind of smell onboard.”  She stared at Azalea, unblinking.  “But back to you.  How many times have you activated your invention, calling down the wrath of any time cop scanning this galaxy?”  

“This was actually the first time I used it for real,” Azalea said.  “I didn’t know about the time cops.  I’m sorry.”

Carmine waved a hand.  “Yes, that’ll go over well with them.  They love that excuse.  Maybe you’ll get lucky and they won’t be scanning this far out in the clouds.  They obviously didn’t find your competitor, however long ago that happened.”

“Hoop skirts were in fashion centuries ago,” Azalea said.  “If I knew what kind it was, I could say more.”

Carmine nodded.  “Lucky,” said said, drawing out the word.  “So have you worked out what the two of you both did wrong yet?”

“No!” Azalea exclaimed.  “It’s been bothering me!  I was supposed to land in my own house, yesterday, not on a spaceship way out in space!”

“Did you factor in your planet’s motion?”

“My what?”

Carmine was smirking.  “Most planets move pretty fast.  And they rotate in place, and the solar system moves, and so does the galaxy, and so forth.  How do you expect to land in your living room if you can’t keep up with it rushing away from you?”

Azalea sat down.  She muttered a curse word, feeling phenomenally stupid.  

The face at the window was grinning at her.  “Rookie mistake.  But one your planet is prone to, obviously.  So at least you didn’t screw it up alone.”

“Thanks.  That helps.”

“Any time!  Now tell me about yourself.  How useful can you be, to make up for the massive inconvenience that you represent to the dear captain?”

Azalea was honest, listing every hobby and talent she could think of that might interest a space captain.  She tried asking for details on what kind of work this crew did, but Carmine only smiled and asked more questions.  

Eventually something beeped, turning out to be a communicator of some sort hidden in the collar of those sleek black clothes.  

“Sure thing, Cap’n,” Carmine said to the air.  Another beep sounded.  “Well, I’m off,” she said to Azalea.  “We’ll know soon enough if the authorities are headed our way.  Sleep well!”

She spun with a wave and disappeared down the hall before Azalea could ask about her eyes. 

~~~