'All personnel must abandon ship,’ the words in the air say. ‘Please follow guidance lights to escape pods. [540. 537. 536...]'

'Huh,' we think, and as we think it, the noise of the thought emerges from our siphon.

We only vaguely comprehend what the words are telling us, but we understand that the audible words comprise a voice, which is what we use when we form audible words like “huh” ourself.

'Huh,' we say again.

We look back at the newspaper in the display of human possessions, and we realise that the words used by this new voice in the air and the words used by the newspaper are very, very different. Not only does the word 'ship' mean different things, but the voice didn't actually say the word 'ship'.

'Ship,' we say aloud. And then we say the word the announcement voice used, which wasn't “ship”, but means “ship”, and refers to a ship. And thinking of a ship conjures up images within us, like the newspaper did, but these are images of huge dark shapes above us, cutting through the water, their shadows gliding across the sand, the incredible volume of the noisy ones and gentle creaking of the quiet ones.

'[516. 515,]' says the voice, and it occurs to us that we'd better find these escape pod things before safe egress from this ship is no longer possible, and whatever happens then happens.

The red lights are no longer just flashing on and off, but are now moving in an organised pattern, leading towards another door, and we pull ourselves towards it.

Beyond is a long thin room – a corridor – with white featureless walls, and it takes us a while to traverse it. We soon start to envy jaguars and capybaras and humans – all creatures with rigid legs.

The red lights guide us to another door, but when we try to open it the control panel doesn't respond to the touch of our pokey arm. We realise the glyph on the control panel is different, and so is the door itself. This one is larger, and looks very solid. It has a window in it, and we stretch upwards, pushing and pulling ourselves up until we can see through it.

Beyond is a further section of corridor, but this one is filled with fire that flickers and flows. The top of the corridor has buckled and fallen, and jagged pieces of material have sheared into the walls. Thick smoke boils up and is sucked away through cracks overhead, and half of the red lights lining the walls have ceased to flash.

We try the control panel again, but even as we do we know it won't work. The damage to the ship beyond is too extensive, so the door has been sealed. These doors exist not to permit entry, but to prevent it.

'Huh,' we say, taking a moment to appreciate how clever a door is.

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'[471. 470…]' The voice counting down reminds us.

We turn in the other direction and fold our arms into halves. We push the bent ends against the floor, rising up like a crab might, and attempt to imitate a walk. It’s slow, but is faster than slapping our arms down and pulling ourselves incrementally across the dry floor. We move past the door to the containment chambers in search of an alternative path to the escape pods. When we come to a junction at the end of the corridor we pause, looking both ways, trying to judge which might route might be most favourable.

But then a figure appears, coming towards us fast from the left.

It has six limbs and moves on the four stubby digits at their tips. The limbs are less flexible than ours, each bending only at two locations. The creature is covered in a tight grey fabric, except for its head, which splits in two directions and has an eye at the end of each. Its mouth is a big round hole that wibbles around the edge as it comes to a halt beyond an arm's reach from us. Like the boar and the capybara and the jaguar, we don’t think we’ve encountered one of these before, yet we do know what it is – a mixcycla.

'Who are you?’ it asks, using the same kinds of noises – the same language – as the voice in the air. ‘Why have you attacked us? This is a peaceful research vessel!'

We try to respond to it, but we don't know what words to say, or if they will come out right. Our arms wave in the air and change colour. Scarlet spots form on them and race from our body down to the arms’ tips. We wonder if we've spent too long looking at the red lights overhead.

The mixycla backs off, rearing up onto its four hind limbs and raises a blunt metal object with the remaining two.

We try to communicate again, this time concentrating on words. Words and noises.

'We are…’ we find our voice by pushing air through our siphon, matching the mix’s language, but still don’t know what words to use. ‘We don't know... we did not attack you.'

'You did,' the mixcycla insists, and lunges forward, swinging its weapon at us. We reach up and catch it mid-swing with our mighty limb, and another, the first on our left, lashes out with a balled tip and bops the creature in the face, sending it sprawling against the wall.

'Good job, fighty arm,' we tell it, impressed by the strike. The creature struggles upright, and realises that it's somehow left its weapon in the grip of one of our other limbs. We look around at our waving arms, and it occurs to us that there might be words for what we are too. 'Are we an... octopus?'

The mixcycla stares at us, its mouth wibbling. 'Wait... Yes,' it says. 'You... you aren't from the boarding party. You're different colours... but I recognise you now. You're a specimen! You must have escaped your research pod!'

'[442. 441…]' the air voice reminds us.

'You shouldn't be awake at all... Your cell must have malfunctioned after the attack. You aren't supposed to... I mean...'

There comes a noise from behind us. The creature looks in that direction and pales in shade slightly – a much more efficient means of communication than its voice-words. We look round to see what has triggered this threat response, and see three tall figures charging down the corridor.

These ones are different, clad in black armour. They have only four limbs, two for locomotion and two which hold long complex objects – probably some kind of weapon. They remind us of humans, but the way they more is more... crustacean. No word comes to identify them.

'Oh,' the creature beside us says. 'That's the boarding party.'