Over Light 4

Don found decelerating while continuing evasive action was far more difficult than it was when speeding up, owed in large part to the fact that he was facing backwards. The numbness wrought from both the medication and the excessive G-force played a role, as well as the fact that he was slowly losing consciousness, but flying backward was no easy task.

Thankfully, the concentration of rays coming his way had decreased in tandem with his proximity to the Oberlux. What remained of his capacity to think during his trance-like state was not large enough to ponder the reasons for such a change. That was for later.

He could not remember the events following the injection, his mind both muddled and energized by the substances involved, but he could vaguely make out a timer huddled in the corner of the display.

One digit left in the minutes place? It was difficult to tell.

The proximity to danger was not. In his stupor, he had come to equate 'bright' to 'bad'. High definition vision was not required when the subject of avoidance was a brightly colored area.

A big white circle appeared on screen.

What was that for again? Targeting? Danger? Gravity warnings? Docking? Navigation? Don had forgotten.

The vaguely arrow shaped indicator around the edges and the pulsing of the ring seemed to suggest he should be keeping his trajectory inside of it.

For a moment, the Noah shook. Not quite as violently as when this whole fiasco began, but enough to prompt Donovan to question whether or not he had made a vital mistake and would end up learning the truth of life beyond death.

The sudden lack of pressure on his chest, coupled with the controls failing to respond, aided in this assumption.

What lifted him from the delusion of an early passing was the reflexive tensing and subsequent pain that followed the flow of electricity into his body.

A brief moment of clarity, granted by the ever so sweet motivator known as pain, focused Don just enough to get a grasp on what ARC was trying to say.

". . . docked suc- . . . -ercede- . . . -ator."

Docked? When? The shaking? Something about Mercedes? The elevator?

He was tired. Aching everywhere and struggling to see, much less think, movement was only possible courtesy of whatever stimulants remained in his bloodstream.

He pulled himself, slowly, out of the recessed seat, swearing furiously in his head when his foot got caught on one of the control sticks.

A rancid smell met with his nose now that his focus was drawn from the struggle. Was it feces? Urine? Puke? Some unholy amalgamation of the three? All he could tell was that it very much did not agree with his standards of cleanliness. He could feel the bile building up in his throat.

Finally free from the cockpit, Don attempted to stand. He found himself unable to muster the strength to do so. He didn't make a second attempt, instead crawling towards the collapsed dog, whose figure he could make out only due to the fact that her black and brown coat stood out against the light gray.

"...sorry sweety..." Don mumbled an apology as he took hold of her scruff, he couldn't find her collar.

With how numb his hands were, the only guarantee he had confirming his hand was holding onto her was the increased difficulty in pulling her limp body across the floor.

In light of his situation, Don found a new appreciation of the smaller space, the elevator floor was not far away.

That being said, it was still far a longer distance than he wanted to crawl with dead weight. The feeble shuffle to the corner felt like it took hours.

Making sure all appendages were within the bounds of the lift plate was also an ordeal. He gave up on anything precise after vaguely situating Mercedes in the middle, opting to curl up against the corner, less effort.

A distant whine signified his job was done.

He gazed back up into the cabin as he descended, wondering what was to come of him as his consciousness faded.

- - - - - - - - - -

The Captain had been expecting to receive the survivors aboard this strange black box with open arms, even if this occasion was not one for high spirits.

He was met with a corpse.

At least something that looked like a corpse.

Given the way they were flitting around the beams, he had assumed that they were in top condition. The faintly breathing mass of pale and bruised flesh was no doubt one of the "Designated Survivors" that the good Draco Helmsguard had spoken so highly of.

"Someone get the Healer, immediately!"

"I am already here sir!" A woman clothed in a white and blue garment, donning a belt with various satchels and pockets, nearly tripped in her hurry to get up onto the deck. "Who needs my help?"

The Captain gestured to the lump of flesh on the floor.

"Oh great heavens! What have we here?!" Rapidly closing and dropping to analyze him, she pulled out a small knife and a vial. Placing the sharp edge on the print of Donovan's thumb, she made a small, but deep, cut. She collected some of the blood from this wound in the vial.

Producing an eyeglass from one of her many pockets, she analyzed the blood sample.

The Captain watched her countenance change from panic, to bewilderment, to a cocktail of fear and confusion. "Did he poison himself as a measure against Split Decay? How is he still breathing!? Quickly, quickly, carry him to the ward! He needs immediate attention." She gestured towards the smattering of curious crewmembers that had nothing to do for the moment. "Don't forget the furball!"

They're handling was rather rough, but it was enough to move him.

"Now if you'll excuse me, Captain, I have a patient to see to."

She trotted off behind them, chastising them for their rough handling while trying her hardest to ready him for treatment.

The Captain turned his attention back towards the Noah, and the strange platform that had descended from it. Seeing as it was an exit, it followed that he could enter from there.

Sure enough, as soon as he took a stance in the center of the plate, it began to rise. The inside of the ship smelled awful. Blood, urine, feces, vomit, sweat, all bombarded him, but he remained unfazed. He had been in the presence of far worse.