A great pressure builds in my chest, the throbbing pulses outwards towards my stomach, where it desperately searches for escape. My core contorts as my body decides to use the contents of my stomach to vent the building pressure; I fall to my knees as I retch despite my empty stomach. A vile, clear liquid. Satisfied, the throbbing pain recedes and I am able to raggedly breathe once more.
With Sanguinian effort, I shove myself to one side, collapsing on my back a short distance from the curious spillage. The bleary view of the thick cables running across the ceiling slowly clears up, the soft thudding and tapping of feet on the metal panelled floor growing louder. Funny, I can almost swear that I can tell each foot apart by it's timbre, even over my gasping breaths. The approach continues, the pace steady, and I feel a calm taking hold of me, unable to hear any malice in that gait. A clunk resounds from my side, and I find my hand reaching for the bottle without having to spare a single thought to the act myself.
"A satisfactory improvement. Your aerobic endurance is fast approaching the minimum level for further training." Having righted myself, I greedily gulp at the vita-slurry provided, one hand on the floor to maintain my balance, as my instructor proceeds with my performance review. Several days have passed. Each starting with laps until I am physically unable to continue, followed by what I had hoped would be a breakfast prepared by the shuttle's servant-skull, but has recently been replaced by vita-slurry. A viscous and tasteless liquid that my body inexplicably screams for as soon as I am able to force down the first few mouthfuls. I'm pleased to hear that, yes, my count was correct. Fourteen laps. A sense of pride wells up not only at me beating my record, but at the fact that I'm finally able to count beyond my fingers. MX has been insistent that I master 'base ten' counting before we move on to other subjects. I fail to see what base ten even means, considering that the numbers go way beyond ten.
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
"-and that's all, for now. Once you have recovered you will shower, and then rest within the shuttle until your mid-cycle meal. Today's instruction will be delayed, as I have business within the ship proper." With a nod of my head, I feign understanding, using my diminishing exhaustion to cover for the complete lack of attention I paid to his rambling. Seemingly satisfied, he turns to leave, and I keep an eye on him as he returns to the shuttle. Working my fingers into the muscles on my leg, I watch him reemerge, donning a more worn-in robe. He heads to the shuttered crew doors on the far side of the bay, reaching into his hood as if he were about to massage the back of his neck, before producing a long cable from within. I switch to working on my other leg before the aching fully sets in, observing how he connects the cable to a covered port on the panel, the doors opening wide enough for him to pass through. Without a glance back, he's gone. The doors shutting behind him.
I finish massaging the sore muscles of my legs. At first, MX had done it for me, but he recently judged I'd observed him do it enough to manage on my own from now on. Whatever. I'm done, and whilst nobody is here to tell me otherwise, I'm going to go sleep on that soft fancy rug until lunch.
