Blood Impulse

Part 17.4 - SUBSPACE SICKNESS

Halogen Sector, Battleship Singularity

There was nothing particularly surprising about it. He just wished Amelia would aim a little to the left. She was damn near barfing on his shoes. Granted, they weren't nice shoes, but he did only have two pairs.

Amelia noisily wretched onto the floor again, shuddering as she emptied the contents of her stomach. "Uggh."

When she finished, he dropped a warm, damp towel down beside her, and she grabbed it, wiping the slather of spit and vomit from her face. Next, he dropped a rubber band into the same spot. With her shaking fingers, she used it to tie back the hair he'd been holding back for her.

"Thanks, Ron," she managed, her breaths short and shuddering. Dizzy and disoriented, she'd never felt so physically sick and she knew exactly who to blame. "I hate him. Absolutely hate him." The man was evil. Her uncle had dragged them into his war with Command and trapped them here, now on the run from the worlds.

He said nothing, just extended a hand to help her to her feet.

She took it, a strange exhaustion pulling at her limbs. They felt wobbly and unfamiliar. The room around her seemed to spin, the paintings on the wall, rug on the floor and decorative light fixtures blurring together. Bile started to rise in her throat again. She struggled to swallow it down, doubling over as the floor lurched up to meet her.

A pair of hands grabbed her, and the floor stopped. Falling, she realized. She'd been falling face first into the deck. She was pulled into a pair of strong arms, her own body limp and useless as she was carried across the room.

Typical planet-hugger. The FTL jump had sickened her to the point of helplessness. He deposited her into the deep blue upholstery of the nearest chair.

Amelia wrapped her numb hands tightly around the ornately carved wooden armrests, as if that hold could make the room stop spinning. Distantly, she heard the noise of the sink somewhere behind her, but the sound was vague and unimportant to the thundering pulse in her aching head.

A frigidly cold towel was thrown onto the back of her neck, and she hissed, but before she could complain, a glass was pressed to her lips, accompanied by a single command, "Drink."

She obeyed, finding the cool water surprisingly welcome. It eased the painful throbs of her head, refreshing despite its oddly metallic taste.

When she emptied the glass, he set it down, and moved examine the small sleeping form on the couch.

The cold rag on her neck was quickly bringing the world back into focus, numbing the pain and stalling the spin of her surroundings. A small movement drew her attention to him, the wraith standing above the couch. He was clad in black, oddly missing his usual flannel. "Ron?" she queried, but he didn't turn to face her, reaching down to the exposed neck of her sleeping son.

In the next moment, the door flew open and Ron Parker ran frantically into the room, his flannel hanging over a t-shirt. "Amelia!" he dashed over, the colors of his shirt nauseating. "Are you alright?"

She managed to nod as her confusion mounted. If this was Ron, the real one, then who the hell was standing across the room, with his hand on her helpless son's neck? Weakly, she pushed Ron to the side. "Get away from him," she demanded, her voice sounding so weak and raspy. "Get away from my son."

He didn't move from where he stood, back turned and face hidden. She started towards him, but couldn't even fully get up, her legs wobbly and weak.