((I feel kinda like waiting to see if Terenia's okay, that's just me though -__-; We can still continue. If someone wants to play as Aurora then Terenia said that's be fine, so no worries.))
The rebel fighter was cruising higher than any of the humans had ever seen if fly before. It ascended through clouds, past birds of prey and airplanes, and it would have been icing over from the high altitude if not for the internal heat exchange system--and of course the protective shielding.
It appeared, in fact, that they were going into orbit. Outer space. Completely offworld.
"This is your captain speaking," Myitt drolled sardonically. "If anyone gets motion sickness, please refrain from hurling onto the ship's floor, thank you. I'm well aware that major injuries do not tend to help such things along. I suggest you sit down and buckle up again."
Once the ship was cruising invisibly past the bristling ring of all the other invisible Yeerk ships cornered in orbit, Myitt walked back to the storage room and retrieved the black glue gun-like device. In her free hand was a plastic bottle of red liquid that looked something like a sore throat spray, but with no label.
"Spray this into your mouths, only once," Myitt said seriously. "It's a very powerful painkiller." She gave it to Corliss, who inhaled the dark red liquid, and he passed the bottle to Norpo.
"Can't believe that poor bugger's gone," Corliss said after a moment, shaking his head. "Just a kid, you know..."
"Yeah, sh*t happens," Myitt said offhandedly. "At least it wasn't us." Despite her harsh tone, she did appear bothered by the death of the innocent person they'd dragged into this mess.
<Better to be dead than back there with those creeps,> her host muttered.
<Is it, really?> Myitt replied calmly. <I wonder about that.>
She turned to Aurora. "Are you hurt?"
Corliss grabbed the black gun from Myitt's hand, at which she glanced at him sourly. He squeezed down a sort of priming handle, and the thing made a sound like a camera flash charging. Then he pulled back his bloodied, torn shirt sleeve. Fresh blood oozed from the mostly cauterized wound as he pushed the sterilized end of the device onto the wound. Corliss let go of the handle and a grey, hissing sort of liquid putty streamed out of it, filling and covering the wound and bubbling around his shoulder like a living bandage. He cursed at the pain, apparently from some antiseptic in the liquid. Tendrils of white smoke rose from the bandage as it dried, light grey tendrils continuing to spread gently around his arm. Finally he sat back, flushed and exhausted but apparently in less pain. The grey material dried with the consistency and appearance of a mix between concrete and shiny grey silly putty.
