Saturday, January 20, 2007

Day Ten

Blasters were nice, but right now Trill was far happier that she had a knife. As long as she could cut faster than she was running out of air, all would be well. Otherwise...

She knew better than to waste time asking herself how she got into these situations. She knew how she'd gotten into this; she'd relaxed long enough to try and take a bath. The pond had looked tame enough and Toob said its chemical balance was acceptable. So, given it had been nearly two weeks since she'd been anything approaching clean, it was definitely bath time. Just her, a scrub pad from the first aid kit, and some soap mixture Toob created in his dispenser.

Yep, just her, those things, and a fish-thing big enough to swallow a landspeeder.

Five minutes into her soak, the sun seemed to pass behind a cloud. The shadow on the water was immense, so she'd looked up to see how bad the weather was about to be. The forecast wasn't hopeful.

Partly obscured, with a 100% chance of gigantic fish in the late afternoon.


Now she was in the belly of the beast, literally. Her blaster was on the shore, since its makeshift construction barely worked when it was dry; waterproofing had not been an option. Still, common sense had dictated taking a knife with her, something she was really, really grateful for now. An airtight vibration cutter with a long blade served the purpose well.

Right now, its purpose was to get her through the stomach of this damned pond whale before her lungs gave out. It was going to be a close race.

Hack. Her hands were moving feverishly, with her right one slashing and her left pulling apart the fresh incision and dragging her a few inches closer to freedom.

Slash. The oils and ichors of the fish's digestive tract coated her as the stomach membrane finally gave way. Now she was in its guts, with thick, rope-like cords of dense flesh between her and escape. Lovely.

Hack. Each strand she cut through sprayed half-digested pond rot all over her. Bugs, mud, and unidentifiable slime coated Trill from head to toe. Even holding her breath, she could smell the foul reek inside this beast. Smell it, and desperately wish she couldn't.

Slash. The blade was gumming up, cutting intermittently as its edge ground to a halt. Now she had to saw with the weapon; its vibro motor was shot. Even though it was a sealed system, the gore caking along the blade had proven too much for the poor thing. All she could do now was try to force it through the fish's rigid hide, every muscle screaming from the effort.

Hack. As her oxygen started to run very, very thin, Trill became desperate enough to try something she normally avoided like a Kessel Spicelung Plague. She stole a few precious seconds and reached out to the Force. Darrus had taught her that the power of the Universe flowed through all living things. Right now, "living" was the important part, since she wouldn't qualify for that status in another few seconds.

He'd also taught her that what she was about to try should never be used on a living creature, as that kind of aggression was a path to the Dark Side.

Well... tough.

In her last moment of urgent focus, Trillinae released all her power forward in as forceful a wave as she could. All she wanted was out.

Out, out, out, out, out, OUT!


On shore, all Toob could see was a massive fish, writhing in pain and rolling over onto its wide, pale underside. The body of the beast distended violently as its mouth gaped. Then, its stomach bubbled for a moment...

...and exploded. A geyser of chunky seafood burst forth, coating the medical droid, several feet of bank all around it, and extending out in a cone more than a hundred meters long. In the middle of the meat storm, Toob's mistress hurtled through the air and landed in the branches of a wide jungle tree.

She hit the foliage, smacked off the trunk, and groaned, "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ouch. Ow," breaking the tree's limbs all the way to the hard ground below.

Hastening over to her nearly unconscious form, Toob scanned Trill and saw that while she was badly bruised, she was not directly or direly injured. Crouching as far as its legs would allow, Toob reached to help his mistress to her feet. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah," muttered Trill painfully. "Mix up a fish fry."

Then, after catching her breath, "It's my turn."

1 comment:

Erisraven said...

Well, she is pregnant - it'll be her turn for both halves. She'll eat Mr. Scaryfish, and then he'll probably come back out the same way :)