The Somnambulists Waltz

[The Rake]

Ponemah - the Outer Rim


It wasn't the first planetary collision that the Rake had experienced. More importantly, it didn't seem to be his last. He woke up on lying on the wall of the main hold and blinked, sticky blood clagging his left eye shut and his upper body tangled up in his cloak. He swiped at his eye and coughed as he swayed to his feet. His head was pounding, but there were no warning sirens shrieking in the freighter. His vision swam, eyes roaming over the disorientating sight of the room turned the wrong way around.

"Runt?" His voice came out croaky. As his eyes focused in the gloom, he saw the sleek silver body of the Hrosma tiger lying motionless at the other end of the up-ended wall. Staggering around and over the chairs and crates that had be thrown from the floor to the wall, his cloak lopsided on his shoulders, he made it to the still form - just as Run lifted his horned head and cracked one sleepy eye open.

"Mrrr?" the creature made a questionning noise, evidently none to pleased to be roused from what looked like a nap.

"Oh, no - don't let me disturb you," the Rake turned away, taking a moment to get his bearings before he picked his way back along the wall. As he walked, he ran his tongue around his teeth and gums - nothing loose or bloody there - and tried to tentatively roll his shoulders. That wasn't quite so pleasant. Something in his left arm felt off.

He stopped, about three quarters of the way along the wall and looked up, squinting up along the length of the corridor that lead to the freighters cockpit. Normally it was a short walk away but circumstances being what they were, it'd be a decent climb to get back into the pilots seat. Not so decen with a busted shoulder.

Something tiny bounced off his forehead and he took an unsteady step backwards.

Grails of sand trickled through the hairline fracture in the transparisteel, slid down the main control panel then tumbled through and out of the inverted cockpit, piling at the bottom of the hallway beyond.

Through the main view-port, there was no view of the sky - only sand. The ship was buried, how deep he couldn't say yet.

"It's salvageable," the Rake said, as if the words might make it true.

At his side, Runt gave a low growl. The ship groaned and the Rake glanced down at Runt, who rolled his shouders in something resembling a shrug and mrr'ed again.

"True. If we're buried, there's no chance anyone will come and scrap the ship for parts.. though we're not liable to make much use of her either."

How the hell was he going to get out of this one? There was no telling how much sand they were under, and how long before that trickle become a flood.

He cast his eyes around the room, looking first at the padded booth and its table, and then at the smashed remains of a tumble and bottle that had been sitting on the tabletop not too long ago. That had been some good brandy. Expensive stuff. Expensive...

The thought tickled a memory in the back of his mind. Runt's claws were already clacking against the metal beneath them as the Rake made for the secure cargo storage. "The slab," he agreed, as the tiger slipped through the horizontally orientated hallway and into the small cabin beyond with the Rake on his heels.

Lights blinked in the darkness, flashing along the length of the carbonite block that lay face down in the secure cargo storage. Runt purred.

"I don't know how it works. Maybe the lights mean something good. All readings happy?"

The tiger swung its horned head back to look at him with narrow yellow eyes.

"Mm. Either she's dying, or about to come out of hibernation on the floor of a freighter with its arse buried in the Sea of Sand. Could be worse though, eh?"

Runt whuffed a sigh.