Twenty-Eight
I woke up a wreck.
My mouth tasted like the scum beneath Aunt Maria’s refrigerator. My left arm trembled with full-on post-stunner shivers. Despite the anti-infection and desensitizing meds, both of the suit’s catheters felt bloated.
My bunk featured a plush mattress that let me coast on the gravity waves all night long. The padding in the suit, not so much. I felt like two giant hands had squidged my whole body all night, as if I was the universe’s favorite stress ball. Opening my eyes freed lumps of sand without illuminating anything. Blackness pressed on my eyes and ears alike. I groaned and rolled my head, trying to work the kink out of my neck. The pressure of the too-snug collar had escalated into a line of proto-cramps. I itched to massage my neck, my back, my legs,
