Episode X Dark Hunter

A Good Time to Wake Up

We have seen before, our heroine floating in the thick dream state, lingering between life and death in some middle realm; and so it was now. She was numb, within and without, swimming in the cold blackness, only hoping that she could finally rest; and yet she felt something touch her lips, something wet and cold and hot; it was novel, and still familiar. Distant voices spoke muffled words somewhere far in the distance, like sounds one hears when underwater.

The drink on her lips soaked in, past her mucous membranes and into her blood. Videsse felt as if she began to rise from the opaque sludge, her body becoming lighter, and easier to move as the perceived pressure lessened. At once she felt unbearably cold, and her muscles began to tremor in response, slightly at first and then violently as her form slowly ascended through icy water. She lifted her lead-weighted hands to her head, the tremors making it impossible to cover her face. Then only a moment after the peak of her tremors began, she felt her frigid core warm from the outside, as if suddenly aware of a blanket wrapping around her--the heated bacta bag. The tremors peaked and then subsided, just in time for the rising wave of a headache; and a wave it was as it rose, swelled and subsided in a gently furious roll. At the crest, Videsse bit her lip and held her temples as if to prevent her head from exploding. Thankfully, she thought, it was only for a few seconds. Another capful of the cold hot liquid touched her lips again.

Then, just like one rising out of the water, she opened her eyes and gasped as the dream fell from her in drips, her vision clearing, and the black mist receding; water from wet eyes. Her arms and legs gained strength as she waded out of the deep. Undead shadows, now exposed in the receding waves, fled to distant corners like the tide where they likely found an escape to another realm. Videsse tried to chase them with her eyes, but every moment fewer of them were visible, as her brain was now satisfied with the few ounces of whiskey it had received, and the hallucinations were no longer needed.

She felt as if she needed to vomit; due either to the last of the alcohol withdrawal effects or to Donal's flying as she was now aware as her head slammed into the wall.

Slave-1 lurched downward, and every passenger lost their stomach; everyone, that is, except for the PZ droid, naturally.

"What was that!" Donal exclaimed, righting the ship, then hair-pinning to port.

"That's what I was telling you," Cam replied. "Their weapons are serious!"

Another white plasma ray lit almost half of the viewscreen.

"Holy stars!" Donal pulled up as hard as he could, and everyone was thrown more firmly into their seats. The stars of space filled the viewscreen again, and an unfinished frame of a capital ship skeleton sat in the distance.

"Raider, get on those coordinates, now!" Donal barked.

"Already on it," the ship's droid brain replied. "Just get me some time, without killing us. Rear shields up." Raider anticipated what Donal did not.

"How many are there?" It was Videsse.

Donal looked behind him surprised. She was gripping the back of the pilot chair with a wide stance to help steady herself in the darting movements of the ship.

"What! Get back in your seat. You--"

"Port now!" Videsse interrupted.

Donal reflexively thrust to port. A Needle-class snub at eleven o'clock had fired, and the ray passed to the starboard.

"Head to that capital ship," Videsse ordered pointing to the unfinished ship. "Dive!"

Donal pushed the control arm down.