Arachna gawked, holding back her desire to click. Her entire body shimmered slightly but was otherwise completely transparent.

Now that was not something normal Krath could do. She knew that as a fact from her inborn memories. How had she done it? Was she some sort of mutant? After all, she did have defective forelimbs. Maybe this was some other mutation imparted to her by her Hive Mother?

Slowly climbing out of the box, she took one step onto the floor of the room. Dozens of Yumens chatted around her, sipping their bubbly drinks and snacking on small bits of food. As she scampered on the floor right in their midst, no one looked. No one even batted an eye.

Horde, this was amazing.

The Yumens were socializing, exchanging bits of information. They told all sorts of stories—funny, sad, curious, and everything in between.

Arachna listened to several pieces of their conversations, surprised about how much she could actually understand. Not everything was clear, of course.

Mostly the Yumens talked about what they would do when they got back to Mars, their home. The things they would buy, the vacations they would go on, how they would spend their money.

Horde, was that all that these Yumens thought about? It all seemed so superficial. These Yumens put themselves on a vessel designed to travel the stars for months, even years at a time, simply to get more money so that they could buy whimsical things. What kind of life was that? There was no real meaning or purpose to their lives.

Well, at least they had good food.

Suddenly, she felt a kick into her abdomen, the air going out of her lungs. What in the horde? It was the commander, Rip Graves. The man tripped over her and fell face forward, dropping his drink all over Arachna before the cup shattered into pieces on the floor.

Horde, not good. Arachna panicked. The Yumens would find her now. How could she be so clumsy? She'd been so caught up in the Yumens' conversations that she didn't notice the commander walking right toward her. Or rather, right over her.

The guests paused their conversations to stare awkwardly at their fallen ship's captain. Rupert immediately put out his hand to help Rip to his feet.

Arachna took the opportunity to scurry across the room, hoping that if the Yumens' attentions were focused on the fallen commander, they'd fail to see shimmering light covered in tiny specs of broken glass and champagne. Luckily, both were transparent and likely hard to spot by a Yumen with weak vision.

"You all right?" Rupert said.

"Must have tripped," Commander Rip said. "Haven't done that in ages. Maybe I'm getting old."

"Try one of my pies," Rupert said. "You'll feel much better."

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"I should get changed," Commander Rip said. "Can't go about my own party covered in champagne now can I? I'll be all right."

Arachna gathered herself under one of the tables. That was too close of a call. Somehow none of the Yumens saw her. Looking around the room, she caught a few Yumens glances and head tilts. But then they simply shrugged and ignored her. It was almost as if they didn't want to see anything unusual, but simply go back to their ordinary lives.

Turning her head sideways, she sipped some of the sweet liquid that had collected on her body.

Yum.

This champagne was ambrosial. Yet another triumph on the part of the Yumen palate. Perhaps she'd keep these chefs around instead of eating them. How could she get more of this wonderful sweet drink?

Arachna eyed the champagne. Cups full of the bubbly drink were on a small wooden table not far from the food. Yumens casually walked over to it and took the glasses to sip.

Arachna scampered over. Horde, she wanted one of those. The tinted water fizzed inside the dainty cups.

"Champagne, Ma'am?" a chef said. Rather than the white aprons he'd worn in the kitchen, this chef was now dressed in a neatly pressed black and white outfit. With a white-gloved hand, he handed a drink to one of the female Yumens nearby.

Arachna climbed up the side of the table. With her bulbous forelimbs, she stealthily tried to lift one of the cups but only managed to push it to one side. Her beak wouldn't fit into the top of the glass. It was too small.

She tried another tactic. On the side of the table, there was a glass decanter filled with more of the carbonated liquid. If she could get there, then maybe she could dip her extended beak into it.

She shimmied over, hanging off the side of the table until she reached the decanter. Thankfully, enough cups had been taken that there was empty space on the surface of the tabletop for her to sit. Then she stood up on her two hindmost legs while wrapping her other six legs around the decanter.

The smell wafted into her beak, causing her to salivate, several drops landing on the decanter itself.

Then she plunged her beak in through the top and gulped. The flavorful beverage ran over her tongue and down the back of her throat like pure joy. The carbonation fizzled, mixing with the sweetness of the alcoholic drink. She wanted to drink the whole thing as fast as she could.

Gulp, gulp, gulp.

She eyed the drops of her saliva that landed on the outside of the glass decanter. Uh oh. The acidic drops were eating through the glass, causing champagne to spill out onto the table.

Time to get lost.

Arachna lifted her head and climbed back onto the floor.

"What's wrong with the decanter?" Rupert said to the chef handing out glasses.

"What do you mean, sir?" the chef asked.

Rupert extended his index finger toward the decanter. The large glass pitcher was leaking bubbly champagne all over the table.

"Oh dear," the nearby chef said. "I'll get another one pronto."

"Right," Rupert said, grabbing a towel from the food cart. He immediately got to work cleaning up the mess.

Arachna scampered across the room, observing the holiday party. The guests seemed to be having a good time despite their commander's mysterious gaffe and subsequent absence. The guests munched on slices of pie, enjoying every bite.

As Arachna walked, she noticed that her steps were a bit...wobbly. Normally, each step was coordinated with all the others, but now she seemed to drift from side to side, occasionally tripping on her own feet.

Her vision started to swirl, even fading in and out. Her thoughts became muddled and woozy.

She decided that it was time to find her way out. Not worth sticking around in such a public place even if she was invisible. Especially when she was feeling like this.

Horde, what was in that champagne?

Wobbling back and forth, she made her way out the front door.

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Commander Rip Graves