On the Verge

An Evening Interlude

Ever since the Captain had announced his intentions to return to Aegis to deliver the Medurrian Ambassador, as well as to look for Dr. Vych, in hopes that he can save the sesheyans, Arton had just “had a bad feeling about this.”

With his lungs bursting and screaming for air, Arton’s only thought was, “I knew it.” His mouth and throat beyond his conscious control, Arton’s body forced him to inhale, but what he inhaled was salty seawater, and he felt the crushing pressure of several atmospheres as they rammed the column of water into his lungs.

No longer just suffocating, Arton was now drowning, one of the most primal fears of human beings, and it was all his fault. He thrashed about, but to no avail, he just became weaker.

Finally, as all hope was about to leave him, he sat up abruptly, and bumped his head on the bottom of the sink in his stateroom, which startled Peshka who had apparently turned on the warm water supply and was bathing herself, her body covering the drain hole, and thus causing the overflow to spill out onto Arton’s face. Arton hurled his soaking wet pillow at the tishk as she ran, “Dammit Skeeter! I told you to keep that thing away from me,” he bellowed.

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