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Mostly Harmless
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Meanwhile, in deep space:
SEP-010, Chapter 11.
Jamie Cunningham's eyes shot open as she jerked awake.
The lingering image of Svetlana Zaytseva examining an unnaturally colored blood vial chilled her to the core, especially knowing whose blood it was supposed to be. She swallowed hard, still trying to shrug off the pins and needles coursing through her skin.
The next thing she was aware of was the sound of guitars, and she realized she still had her earbuds from her iPod stuck in her ears. She listened to the music for a moment, chiefly to try to dispell her competely disrupted senses.
"Did I have the dream . . . or did the dream have me?" The voice sang. Jamie froze, focusing acutely on the lyrics, and she savored the dark irony of the moment before shutting the iPod off in disgust.
The door to her sleeping cabin opened abruptly, and she whirled about. Sienna Morrison poked her head in. Her eyes were wide open as if she was stunned.
"You alright, Jamie?" She said.
Jamie nodded. "It's nothing . . . it was just a dream," she lied glibly.
"Right," Sienna intoned, and Jamie's eyes darkened at her tone.
"I'm alright," Jamie insisted, and Sienna nodded shortly.
"Let's have some breakfast," she offered.
* * *
Eating scrambled eggs proved difficult. The problem wasn't inherent in the actual motor skills required to eat. Jamie Cunningham found her efforts slow . . . deliberate . . . and woefully poignant as she speared each cell of food with her fork, brought it into her mouth, and chewed.
Her mind roared with the details of her dream. She'd been known to dream lucidly before; in the months after she'd enrolled at the University to study, her dreams had been filled with the overwhelming chaos she'd left behind. It took a long time to come to terms with everything she had experienced in that time, and the sudden intrusion of the dream she'd just pulled herself out of was unwelcome in the least.
"I heard you scream in there," Sienna said bluntly as she chewed on her food.
Jamie flashed her a disparaging look. "Do you always begin conversations this way?"
"I'm just saying," Sienna replied. "It didn't seem like just a dream, really. Your reaction was enough to wake me up."
"Sorry," Jamie said tartly, and Sienna shrugged.
"As your mental health professional, and your friend," Sienna added lowly, "I feel it's my bounden duty to oversee the stability and happiness of the crew. That includes you, dearie. So! If I'm not prying too obtusely, what was the dream about?"
"Nothing," Jamie repeated slowly. This time there was a genuine edge to her voice, and she half-heartedly glared at Sienna from across the compartment.
The silence in the compartment became deafening, and Jamie picked up her tray, slid the cover over it and carried it quietly with her up the middeck transfer tunnel.
"Sorry," She heard.
* * *
Brian Adkinson was there.
As Jamie Cunningham floated into the cockpit, she frowned slightly as she planned her route to her chair. Adkinson wasn't the first person she wanted to see, and her gut feeling put her immediately at odds with her intention to finish her breakfast in peace.
"Hiya, kiddo," Adkinson said cheerfully as she approached, and she growled through her nose.
"I wanted to take in the view," She lied as she stuck her tray to a patch of velcro on the overhead panel, and Adkinson nodded.
"We're about a day out now," He said as he pointed out the window. "Earth's getting bigger. Have you had a chance to review the aerocapture procedure?"
"Yeah," She mumbled. "It's been a little while; maybe we can go over it again?"
"Sure, just a --"
Jamie Cunningham sucked in a breath loudly.
She failed to notice the chopped sentence issued from Adkinson's mouth . . . as her brain froze for just an instant. Her eyes picked up the the small, scintilating object that formed out of the corner of her eye, near the blue coronal hue that was Earth's atmosphere.
It took that instant . . . and then something clicked oddly in her head and she realized what the object was, and what it was doing. Her fingers jerked into action, dancing furiously about her keypad, and she jerked the translational joystick to the stopper.
"What the?!" Adkinson barked stridently as the RCS jets fired.
The object augured in at an insanely fast closing velocity, and Jamie Cunningham shut down amidst the sudden, frantic confusion around her.
"Jason, no!" She shouted . . . but it was too late. She saw the blinding flash of light. The unbelievably loud, dull bang! of the impact. The bone-jarring movement knocked the wind out of her. Just as her eyes clamped shut, she saw the world spinning around her, punctuated with the strangely brilliant white streaks of flying glass.
Then she heard sirens.
Only . . . they weren't the frenetic wail of police car sirens; the sound was too . . . computerized, and it repeated and ululated in a strangely nagging way. That, and she felt the air around her: it was cool and dry . . . not warm, humid, rife with mosquitoes and echoing with the droning songs of frogs and crickets.
"Jamie, are you okay?" A man's voice demanded fervently. She opened her eyes again and saw the blackness out of the windows in front of her. Her lungs still held in the breath she'd taken in just before the impact, and she found herself with just enough wherewithal in her to become suddenly puzzled with the fact she was seeing stars.
* * *
SEP-010, Chapter 11.
Jamie Cunningham's eyes shot open as she jerked awake.
The lingering image of Svetlana Zaytseva examining an unnaturally colored blood vial chilled her to the core, especially knowing whose blood it was supposed to be. She swallowed hard, still trying to shrug off the pins and needles coursing through her skin.
The next thing she was aware of was the sound of guitars, and she realized she still had her earbuds from her iPod stuck in her ears. She listened to the music for a moment, chiefly to try to dispell her competely disrupted senses.
"Did I have the dream . . . or did the dream have me?" The voice sang. Jamie froze, focusing acutely on the lyrics, and she savored the dark irony of the moment before shutting the iPod off in disgust.
The door to her sleeping cabin opened abruptly, and she whirled about. Sienna Morrison poked her head in. Her eyes were wide open as if she was stunned.
"You alright, Jamie?" She said.
Jamie nodded. "It's nothing . . . it was just a dream," she lied glibly.
"Right," Sienna intoned, and Jamie's eyes darkened at her tone.
"I'm alright," Jamie insisted, and Sienna nodded shortly.
"Let's have some breakfast," she offered.
* * *
Eating scrambled eggs proved difficult. The problem wasn't inherent in the actual motor skills required to eat. Jamie Cunningham found her efforts slow . . . deliberate . . . and woefully poignant as she speared each cell of food with her fork, brought it into her mouth, and chewed.
Her mind roared with the details of her dream. She'd been known to dream lucidly before; in the months after she'd enrolled at the University to study, her dreams had been filled with the overwhelming chaos she'd left behind. It took a long time to come to terms with everything she had experienced in that time, and the sudden intrusion of the dream she'd just pulled herself out of was unwelcome in the least.
"I heard you scream in there," Sienna said bluntly as she chewed on her food.
Jamie flashed her a disparaging look. "Do you always begin conversations this way?"
"I'm just saying," Sienna replied. "It didn't seem like just a dream, really. Your reaction was enough to wake me up."
"Sorry," Jamie said tartly, and Sienna shrugged.
"As your mental health professional, and your friend," Sienna added lowly, "I feel it's my bounden duty to oversee the stability and happiness of the crew. That includes you, dearie. So! If I'm not prying too obtusely, what was the dream about?"
"Nothing," Jamie repeated slowly. This time there was a genuine edge to her voice, and she half-heartedly glared at Sienna from across the compartment.
The silence in the compartment became deafening, and Jamie picked up her tray, slid the cover over it and carried it quietly with her up the middeck transfer tunnel.
"Sorry," She heard.
* * *
Brian Adkinson was there.
As Jamie Cunningham floated into the cockpit, she frowned slightly as she planned her route to her chair. Adkinson wasn't the first person she wanted to see, and her gut feeling put her immediately at odds with her intention to finish her breakfast in peace.
"Hiya, kiddo," Adkinson said cheerfully as she approached, and she growled through her nose.
"I wanted to take in the view," She lied as she stuck her tray to a patch of velcro on the overhead panel, and Adkinson nodded.
"We're about a day out now," He said as he pointed out the window. "Earth's getting bigger. Have you had a chance to review the aerocapture procedure?"
"Yeah," She mumbled. "It's been a little while; maybe we can go over it again?"
"Sure, just a --"
Jamie Cunningham sucked in a breath loudly.
She failed to notice the chopped sentence issued from Adkinson's mouth . . . as her brain froze for just an instant. Her eyes picked up the the small, scintilating object that formed out of the corner of her eye, near the blue coronal hue that was Earth's atmosphere.
It took that instant . . . and then something clicked oddly in her head and she realized what the object was, and what it was doing. Her fingers jerked into action, dancing furiously about her keypad, and she jerked the translational joystick to the stopper.
"What the?!" Adkinson barked stridently as the RCS jets fired.
The object augured in at an insanely fast closing velocity, and Jamie Cunningham shut down amidst the sudden, frantic confusion around her.
"Jason, no!" She shouted . . . but it was too late. She saw the blinding flash of light. The unbelievably loud, dull bang! of the impact. The bone-jarring movement knocked the wind out of her. Just as her eyes clamped shut, she saw the world spinning around her, punctuated with the strangely brilliant white streaks of flying glass.
Then she heard sirens.
Only . . . they weren't the frenetic wail of police car sirens; the sound was too . . . computerized, and it repeated and ululated in a strangely nagging way. That, and she felt the air around her: it was cool and dry . . . not warm, humid, rife with mosquitoes and echoing with the droning songs of frogs and crickets.
"Jamie, are you okay?" A man's voice demanded fervently. She opened her eyes again and saw the blackness out of the windows in front of her. Her lungs still held in the breath she'd taken in just before the impact, and she found herself with just enough wherewithal in her to become suddenly puzzled with the fact she was seeing stars.
* * *
