“And then everything was bright and uncomfortably warm. Prickly. Things poked her. Sounds drifted, garbled. She wanted desperately to sneeze. Then she was thirsty. Gin. A tall iced gin. Double limes. Sounded good. Trilby Elliot opened her eyes. Everything was dark again. No. Dim. Her vision hazed, then focused like her old binocs. Red-rimmed numbers. An annoying beeping sound. She tried to turn her head, decided the effort wasn’t worth it. She moved her gaze through the dimness. Red numbers to t...he left. Damned beeper over her head. On her right . . . It took a moment. A chair. Empty. Her nose itched again. She raised her hand to scratch it, bumped her wrist against something. She crossed her eyes and looked down. A cylinder. Over her. She was in sick bay. It didn’t look like hers but, hey, maybe she’d made a big profit from that run to . . . to . . . She licked her lips, swallowed. Tried her voice. “Dezi?” A door slid open, sending a shaft of bright light into her eyes. She squinted, saw the outline of a stocky form.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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