White Owl Stowaway…snippet 02

“Yarrr.” Tink drawled in pirate-ish lingo. “Ye almost ended up in a recycle sieve there, me hearty.”

The sparkles which filled the shape now laying crumpled on her deck, quickly diffused and streamed outward in every direction to disappear into tiny circuit-like patterns which formed a satin finish on every surface in the chamber.

The Terran male emerged from the garbage bag shape. He lay motionless, in a twisted fetal position, noisily gulping breaths of the White Owl’s Terran-blend air.

Tink grimaced, then glanced upward toward a cylindrical red droid which was looping around gauge-lined curving walls high above. The droid suddenly halted, rotated to her direction, and tilted to center her upturned face in its visual sensors.

“I need you to take over watching the 11-D jumps, J.R.,” she ordered as she scrambled around the edge of her console. The droid sounded a slightly melodic, “Aye, sir,” and dropped to the seat just vacated, while she gracefully dropped to her knees beside the now quietly breathing Terran.

“Whoa, there me thievin’ beauty,” she cautioned when she began to cautiously straighten him, and he unconsciously resisted. “Ye be enchantingly powerful, but ye still may be a bit tangled in Davy Jones’ bony grip. Don’t wanna play at adding more damage.”

The man was heavy – and dirty. As she persistently worked through a triage routine, she gently cleaned him up with a small round device she pulled from one of her utility pockets. She studied his rugged features as they emerged from the grime, and confirmed that he was indeed very much appealing to her mindseye.

Once the top layers of grime were removed, Tink nodded to herself and eased carefully into the edges of his mind, alert for signs of internal injury and mental pain. Once again she began straightening his limbs and removing ragged pieces of his leathers, which barely made it into a recycle bin before disintegrating. She wondered where the heck had he been and what he had been doing before sneaking into her cargo bay.

She soon discovered some large purplish bruises starting to color muscles below the ribs on one side of his lightly barreled chest.

“Ye seem to be a fine and beautiful freebooter on the surface of it. she remarked. “But that bruising bothers me very much, me Terran hearty. So let’s check out yer innards – and get ’em fixed if they be needin’ it – whilst ye still canna feel it.”

For the second time Tink glanced upward. This time she looked intently at a cluster of grape-like spheres dangling at the apex of the curved ceiling. A sense of faint movements immediately emerged and streamed downward along those faint patterns in the walls. Once at floor level, the “somethings” spread across the floor in a beeline toward Tink and the supine Terran.

“Hurry, my leedle frenz,” she said suddenly. “There are stirrings in the edges of the man’s mental flux. Analyze and repair quickly.”

A few minutes later she added, “He’s near to waking, and judging from a previous brush with a Terran on Ma’Kluft, I don’t think this one’s gonna be OK with you guys fiddling around in his innards, either.”

~ by tinkianmotion on April 10, 2010.

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