Another anecdote from the galaxy in the Museum of No Importance. Science fiction audio poem with musical and sound effects. As a cruiser reaches a new world, what is there but to call upon a wave? Call Upon a Wave Fate's deathly grip loosens as our ship slows its mighty descent and glides to a hovering halt over the crimson carpet that quivers below. Lather gathers in a Bevy of hairs that stir in the sticky waves that lash and congeal and seemingly beckon us down, before collapsing back into chaos. We're safe now. Safe to watch the waves of treacle that roll beneath our cruiser. But creamy echoes beguile us, bouncing from our shimmering hull and out into this unexplored world. The air is thin. Lifeless. Yet, something draws me to watch from the obs deck. Drunken faces curdle in the slow, glutinous maroon-lashing waves. They’re calling, calling to me. I can see their siren faces. Singularly, I’m pulled towards an abyss of tempting eternity. Flickering shadows of doubt pulse and meet something shimmering intelligently On our hull, probing and pressing, pressing on some old instinct. Finally, into the ocean I fall, Helmet cracked and I gasp. Sinking, struggling, drowning, until I gulp a mouth of nothing. I am nowhere, below what I thought were waves. Nothing stirs and nothing is real. A sickly silence spreads. I scream in broken time, nowhere. The scream is devoured as it falls upwards. Three provisions of sense are granted to me, A smell, a taste, a contradictory texture of gel and ice They alleviate my malaise while leaving me none the wiser. I look down or up? I grasp for the phantom shadows that swirl outside the vortex that now surrounds me. Another world awaits me. Another world awaits.