The world was bright as starlight and desolate as a barren moon. Xalia Corsair looked for anything to tell her where she was and realized her eyes, her real eyes, were closed. She fought to open them in an all-too-familiar feeling.
She’d been drugged.
The world was blindingly white. Xalia’s bones were lead weights and her vision slid in and out of focus, trying to see anything at all. The effort was Herculean and cost her her consciousness.
She woke, truly woke, in semi-darkness. She remembered she’d been drugged and tried to move her limbs. Relieved when they responded, Xalia searched for her memory of how she had gotten here, in this skinny bed with railings.
Hospital, her brain supplied sleepily. We’re in a hospital.
Then the floodgates opened and Xalia bolted out of the bed.
“She doesn’t have a Bio-ID, doctor.”
“Take a sample and send it to the precinct.”
The floor felt frozen to Xalia’s bare feet. She ran down the halls on tiptoe, searching for a way out. Rows of lights on the floor illuminated her path and gently glowing signs told her which way she needed. She hesitated when she saw a sign declaring “storeroom.” Then discovered it was unlocked and mercifully empty of anything living.
She shed the gown that marked her a patient and took dark colored scrubs, slightly too big, off a rack. There were no socks or shoes.
“It’s the Claw!” Someone shouted in her ear as she stepped out into the hall, making her jump. After she whirled around and found no one, Xalia realized the words had been a memory.
She must have still had some of their drugs in her system.
Good drugs, Xalia thought, thinking she must be somewhere with enough money to afford the high end stuff. She took off again.
When she burst through the lobby, she misstepped in shock at the brightness but barreled right by the startled receptionist and security guard and ran into the night.
As she ran, she remembered.
The crew of The Widow was entering their night-cycle when, out of nowhere, there was a giant, metallic boom and the starship lurched violently. Xalia had been knocked off her feet, her balance being absolute shit as she had been awake for 24 earth hours.
Why do we still use earth hours? Xalia wondered briefly before being pulled back into the events that had landed her here...wherever here was.
She’d been almost ready to just curl up on the floor and let the night watch take care of whatever had happened. But then a shout echoed faintly down the hallway.
“Talon!”
The rush of fear was immediate and had Xalia up and buckling her weapons harness over her day clothes within seconds. A part of her brain wished she had time to armor up, but her training kicked in. A minute later, she’d scurried into the vent system.
Talon. The raiders who preyed on civilian and other raider starships alike. Once Talon had hold of a ship they ripped it to pieces, be it a casual cruiser or a supertanker. After draining it of anything useful and murdering everyone on board.
They were the reason Xalia didn’t have an alias on the ship’s roster. If they thought they had everybody subdued or dead, no one would be on alert for an inside rescue mission.
Thus, the vents.
More snippets to come, and soon a whole book will follow.
~Liss
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