18

Heblon returned to the barracks just prior to nightfall, about thirty minutes before Wedge was returned to his detention cell. They had been through this routine a number of times now. For the last few days, Moff Tchlinda had tortured Wedge to within a millimeter of his life. Each time he had been returned to his cell in a pitiful condition, and Heblon had done his best to ease his pain and make him healthy enough to withstand the next session. But now only Heblon knew that he also had to keep Wedge alive long enough to be rescued by his friends.

As the stormtroopers unloaded Wedge onto his bunk, Heblon knew that he was in worse shape than ever before. He was very pale, shivering uncontrollably, and barely conscious. Heblon gave a silent prayer that he would survive the night.

He turned to the two troopers standing in the doorway. He knew he had to keep up the pretense of being loyal to the Empire, although it sickened him more and more every time he had to do it. "Why I have to look after this rebel scum every time someone dumps him in his bunk is beyond me. But it's always me." He made a big show of his long sigh. "You're dismissed, I guess."

The troopers turned from their Lieutenant and hurriedly left the room. Heblon now had his troopers posted further down the hall where they could sit at a table instead of remaining at attention directly outside the door. There was really no need for a guard at all anymore since Heblon was with Wedge most of the time and the pilot was in no condition to go anywhere. But it would look suspicious if he sent them away completely.

As soon as the troopers were out of earshot, he closed the hatch. Heblon returned to and knelt beside the small bunk. He placed his hand on Wedge's forehead and found it burning and sweaty. Quickly gathering a rag and basin of water, he soaked then placed the cool wet cloth on Wedge's forehead for a minute and then on his chest and arms. He knew that he would have to cool him down or the fever would kill him.

Well, it will be one of the things that will kill him.

"I'm going to d-die. W-why don't you just let me?" Wedge said in a pitiful voice. It was rough, nearly inaudible, as if his throat was raw from screaming. There was real fear in his eyes, and Heblon's heart sank. After days of torture, Tchlinda had finally broken the spirit that he had come to admire so much.

"You're not going to die, Wedge. Not here and definitely not because of these people." He made sure to speak to him in low tones. He couldn't know for sure, but the cell had to be monitored and he didn't want to blow his cover. But he found that he wasn't worried about himself anymore. His goal was to live long enough to get Wedge out of harm's way.

It's such a strange feeling to care about someone else's life more than my own. Now I know why the Rebels fight as hard as they do.

"P-please just let me die. I can't take anymore. I tried to be strong, but it hurts too much." He began to sob and tried to roll into the fetal position that he had so often adopted in the past few days. Heblon reached around to Wedge's back to help him move onto his side. When he felt something warm and sticky, he pulled his hand back. It was covered in blood. He gently rolled Wedge towards him so he could have a better look at whatever new wound he had. It was only then that Heblon saw some of what Tchlinda had done to his back.

It was a mess, to put it mildly. It looked like someone had taken a very sharp blade and carved into his skin an approximation of the Rebel Alliance crest, about thirty centimeters in diameter. At least that is what it looked like it had been originally, before it had been mutilated. There were slash marks and welts all over his back, as if someone had taken a thin piece of fiberplast and repeatedly attacked it, trying to obliterate the symbol. Blood oozed from the wounds onto the bunk, where a small puddle was just starting to form.

"By the Gods...Just rest easy, son. I'm going to get you something that will help you feel better." He very carefully returned Wedge to his fetal position, lying on his right side. The pilot gritted his teeth and clutched the thin mattress in an effort not to scream out.

But when Heblon started to rise, Wedge's hand came up and gripped his wrist. "No, don't leave me. I don't want to be alone when I...when I die."

"You're delirious. You're not going to die. I'm going to see what I can scrounge up to try and stop the bleeding and make you more comfortable."

"Heblon, I can't take it anymore. Please, I'm tired...tired of fighting."

The older man leaned in close and spoke so low that he wasn't even sure that Wedge would be able to hear him. "Wedge, I wasn't going to tell you this because it could possibly jeopardize their mission, but I think you have the right to know. I've been in communication with some friends of yours who have contacted your squad mates. They're planning a rescue mission for tomorrow. So you are going to have to hang on just one day more. You can do that, can't you?"

"I...I can do that..." He coughed and wrapped his arms around his belly. "Argh!" His scream echoed through the tiny cell. His eyes widened, and he clutched Heblon's arm again, leaving bruised fingerprints on his skin. Heblon had never seen panic on his face like this before. Wedge tried desperately to draw a breath.

"Wedge?"

Suddenly Wedge's hand slipped from Heblon's forearm and his eyes rolled back into his head. A long breath escaped from him and then he was silent.

"No!" Heblon searched for a pulse at Wedge's neck and couldn't find one. "No, no, no, no. Don't do this to me."

Despite the wounds, Heblon flipped Wedge onto his back, dropping a blanket to the floor. He searched for the bottom of Wedge's rib cage, found it, and moved one fist width up. He placed the heel of his left hand down firmly on his chest, covered it with his right hand, and then laced his fingers together. He pressed down hard five times, waited a moment, and then repeated the gesture. After another five seconds, he went through the procedure one more time. He stopped, tilted the younger man's head back slightly, pinched his nose, and tried to blow some oxygen into his lungs. He did this twice, and then started to compress his chest again.

Heblon kept pumping his hand over the pilot's heart, hoping that it would be enough to convince it to start beating again. "You can't do this, Antilles! The Empire couldn't kill you with two Death Stars, I know you aren't going to let them get you this easy. Live, damn it!"

He stopped and tried again for a pulse at the neck. To his surprise, he found one. But it was weak, and he was still not breathing on his own.

"I hate to do this, but it's for your own good." Heblon stood over Wedge and slapped him hard across the face. He hoped that the shock would start spontaneous breathing again. "Come on. Come on!"

He slapped him again. When that didn't seem to have any effect, he grabbed Wedge by the shoulders and shook him violently. There was a slight wheezing gasp as Wedge drew in a rasping breath. There was a pause followed by a couple of gulped breaths, but then his breathing became more regular, if a little shallow.

Heblon sat down heavily on the bunk next to him, wiping sweat from his own forehead. He realized he was shaking, but wasn't sure if it was adrenaline or anger. All he knew for sure was that his head was pounding fit to burst.

As he tried to catch his breath, Heblon thought he heard someone whisper something and he spun to look behind him. There was no one there. He shook his head in disbelief at how jumpy he had become then regretted it as his head pounded even harder.

Without warning, Wedge sat upright, his hands grasping at the empty air in front of him. The violence of the motion knocked Heblon to the floor.

"Corran!" Wedge screamed. As suddenly as it happened, Wedge collapsed back onto the bunk, unconscious.

Heblon hauled himself up off the floor, rubbing at his left hip. A shiver ran down his spine, and he sat down heavily on the chair next to Wedge's bunk, breathing hard.

"This is going to be a long night."

Corran Horn sat in the middle of his temporary quarters on the Errant Venture, legs crossed beneath him. His hands rested on his knees, palms up, and his eyes were closed. He inhaled and exhaled slowly in a steady rhythm.

Mirax had gone to bed early as Tycho had suggested. Like many of the others, she hadn't slept well since Wedge's disappearance and wanted to get as much rest possible before the mission. Corran had wanted to stay up a little later. She asked him about it, but he couldn't tell her. He would speak to her about it only if his plan worked. He didn't want to worry her, but she had still gotten that look on her face-the look that she got when she knew it was some Jedi thing. A mixture of curiosity and concern for his safety.

All through the briefing that Tycho and Elscol had given earlier that day, Corran had been trying to shield himself from the emotions of the thirty or so people around him. Their feelings about Wedge and the coming mission had reached such a point that even his untrained talent in the Force had been overwhelmed. He had not been entirely successful at blocking it all out, but he had been able to make it bearable with sustained concentration. Through the clutter of emotions, worry and anxiety came through as clear as a supernova.

Corran couldn't help but share their anxiety, but he also felt a monumental amount of helplessness and frustration. The uncertainty of the situation, not truly knowing if Wedge were dead or alive, was hard for him to deal with. He needed to do something to bring the situation under his control.

It was then that he decided to take some action on his own to assure that Wedge was still alive. Elscol seemed to trust the Imperial contact they had, but Corran needed his own confirmation that their friend was still alive to be rescued.

Although he had turned down Luke Skywalker's offer to train to be a Jedi, that had not stopped Luke from sending Corran files on the history of the order and some training exercises. So when all the planning was done and all they had to do was wait or sleep, Corran had done some research. He had waded his way through the material, searching for any information on visions, determined to use what talent he had to find his friend. Because the more he thought about the dream he had had about Wedge the other night, the more he had become convinced that it had been a Force vision. He had somehow been shown events that were unfolding light years away. But what he had seen had been unclear and jumbled, as dreams often are, perhaps because of his untrained grasp of the Force. So Corran had a goal. He wanted to attempt to bring on a vision, something he had never done or even attempted before.

He knew from what he had read that it would be a difficult task, if not impossible, for someone untrained to accomplish. What he wanted to do required a fine control and intimate connection with the Force that he simply didn't yet possess.

In the year since he had learned about his Jedi heritage, Corran had not committed a lot of time and effort to improving his skill. He had not yet been able to break through the ever present barrier that seemed to be between him and the Force. He was still not capable of touching it, drawing on it whenever he needed it.

I know I haven't trained and will most likely fail, but I still have to try. But Wedge is so far away...

The Force had come to him before, through no action of his own. Sometimes in battle or other times of stress, he had been able to sense others around him and what their actions would be a handful of seconds beforehand. And while escaping from the Lusankya, he had unknowingly touched and influenced the mind of a stormtrooper. But it usually happened when the people he cared about were in trouble, and he was all that stood between them and disaster. At times like that, he had known he was as good as dead and acted with a peace and calm that wasn't usually in his nature. He knew now that the Force had been guiding him.

As it will guide me to Wedge...I hope.

But what he wanted to do now was on a much larger scale, and could be just as dangerous as taking on stormtroopers single-handedly. In the limited material he had found on visions and premonitions, there had been cases of young Jedi going into a deep trancelike state, moving out of their bodies and never being able to return, leaving an empty shell where once a person had been. They had had more training than Corran did, but they were still inexperienced, obviously unskilled in the abilities needed to return to themselves. Kinda like me, I guess.

Corran felt a trickle of fear at that realization. He was going to attempt something he had never even considered trying before and that others had tried and failed. He had no intention of turning himself into a vegetable, but he knew there could be consequences to his actions that far outweighed the benefits of his plan.

Should I do this? I need to know if Wedge is still alive and I need to do something...anything! But is it worth the risk? Yes! He's my friend and I won't let him down. But what if I get lost? What if I find out something I don't want to know? What if he's...

His breath caught in his throat and his eyes popped open. His concentration dissolved as anxiety and fear sprang up from within him. He brought up his hands to massage his temples. It eased some of the strain, but the fear remained. Not for the first time, he wondered at what he was trying to do. He also thought about what Luke would say if he knew.

He thought back to all the conversations they had had. In a lot of ways, Luke reminded him of Wedge. They were both good men who had repeatedly put their own lives on hold and in danger so that the rest of the galaxy could continue on. And both men had guided Corran in the path of life, leaving their mark on him. But now they seemed to be in conflict. Luke would frown on his rushing into something as dangerous as what he was about to try, whereas he knew in his heart that Wedge needed him.

It's funny how I think of Wedge and Luke as father figures when they are pretty much the same age as I am.

Corran sighed and returned to the task at hand. He knew that he could very well be placing his own life in danger, but Wedge was out there somewhere, depending on him and the rest of the Rogues to rescue him. But am I doing this for the right reasons? For Wedge or for myself?

That was the real root of the problem. He knew deep down that a Jedi should place the lives of others above his own, but he wasn't sure if he was trying to reach out to Wedge to help his friend or to quiet his own growing fears.

Should I even be trying this? He sat in deep thought for a few moments, arguing back and forth with himself. Wedge needs me. I know it. I can feel it. It's like his life depends on me. But can I make this work?

He shook his head. No more stalling. I have to do this.

He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth. He had become quite an expert on Jedi breathing and relaxation techniques over the past year. Comes from spending hours alone in the cockpit of my X-wing, going into combat. If there was ever a time that you needed to try and relax, that's it.

He closed his eyes and took two more deep breaths. He tried to let all of the stress and doubt of the last few days bleed out of him every time he exhaled. He didn't enjoy much success.

A Jedi can only act when he's at peace with himself and everything around him, he heard Luke's voice admonish him.

His breathing fell into a steady rhythm and he began to relax, his brain starting to let go of all the troubling thoughts. He tried to reach out with his mind, his first true steps towards the gift that had been his family's for generations.

As he fell deeper into his meditation, he began to feel...something. He didn't really know what it was, but could sense it in the air. He tried harder to reach for it, but in the end there was nothing there.

Remember, the Jedi must trust their feelings above all else, Luke said to him.

Thanks, Luke, but that's easier said than done.

He knew that he was trying too hard, thinking instead of feeling. He made a sudden decision not to push it and eased into the Force, letting it touch him instead of rushing after it. As he cleared his mind again, he dropped his mental shields and opened himself up to everything around him.

Corran let his thoughts float from one memory to another. A picture of Wedge surfaced, everything that made him who he was: his face, his personality, his soul. He let the warmth of his feelings for his friend wash over him, relaxing him to a point that he was afraid he might just drift off to sleep.

There was a sudden touch of electricity in the air, returning him to the present, and the hair on Corran's neck and arms stood on end. He twitched when he realized he was no longer alone.

The presence was intangible at first, and he could not focus on it. He increased his concentration a little to see if he could figure out who it could be. As small details sharpened into images he could understand, he knew that the person was in a deep sleep. His face scrunched as he tried to make the contact clearer.

How can I figure out who this person is? He sighed quietly, suppressing his frustration. Relax, Horn, let it come to you. Pushing will get you nowhere.

Suddenly he had his answer as he discerned some of the thoughts and emotions of the person. But he was a little disappointed when he realized it was Mirax, asleep in the next room.

Of course, why didn't I think of it before? I know her better than anyone in the galaxy. I would naturally be drawn to her.

He lingered with her for a few minutes, finding peace and security in her dreamlike state. With her comforting presence, he tried to refine his technique, but knew he would have to expand his consciousness out towards Arramsetti III.

He felt fear for a moment, remembering all the lost Jedi. If a trained Jedi can get lost out there, what are the chances that I will? His thoughts turned to Mirax, and the fact that he was risking their future together on a foolish need to gain some control of an out of control situation.

He dismissed that thought and pushed his fear aside, moving on with determination as he remembered his friend, a captive on that planet. Probably hurt. Maybe alone and despairing of ever being found. Like I felt on the Lusankya.

Corran tried to recall what he had done to find Mirax so he could apply the same technique to finding Wedge. He thought about the planet, green and full of life, and tried to fly there as he would in his X-wing. But that didn't get him any closer to his goal. Except maybe one step closer to a massive headache. I'm being too literal here. I have to think like a Jedi. His mind went blank. Well, so much for that idea.

Feel, don't think. Feel, don't think. Feel, don't think! He chanted it to himself like a mantra, but it still wasn't working.

Again and again he tried without success to push past Mirax. He could feel the Force, but it danced just outside his grasp, and that disillusioned him. After an hour, he slumped to the deck, exhausted. He lay there on his back staring up at the ceiling, and a feeling of failure came over him, despite the fact that the experience was the closest he had ever come to employing the Force.

He slowly climbed to his feet and headed for the bedroom. He found Mirax there, sleeping as he had felt earlier. He stripped off his uniform and climbed wearily into the bed beside her. She rolled over and wrapped her arms around him.

"I was wondering when you would make it to bed," she said sleepily.

"Sorry I woke you," he whispered.

"S'right," she mumbled.

"Good night, sweetheart."

"G'night." Her breathing soon became regular again, and he knew that she had gone back to sleep. He envied her.

Even though he was worn out from his efforts, Corran found sleep as evasive as the Force had been. He tossed and turned for a while, feeling as though sleep was being denied him. Thoughts and images raced through his mind. Feelings of frustration and fear for Wedge's safety pulled him in all directions, keeping him from falling asleep.

Eventually his mind slowed, his body relaxed, and his thoughts began to drift as he entered the state that lies somewhere between sleep and consciousness. But he was still restless as his thoughts stubbornly refused to leave Wedge. Memories of his missing friend intertwined with places and sounds as they swam in and out of focus. They led him into his dream.

At least, it felt like a dream, but like his previous vision of Wedge, somehow he knew that it was real at the same time, taking place somewhere far away. It started with him sitting once again in the middle of the living area of his quarters, and he felt a slight disorientation as his mind expanded outwards. He could "hear" a murmur of voices somewhere in the distance, all speaking at once, like a vast ocean of whispers. But they remained at the boundary of his consciousness, just out of reach.

Floating outside of himself, he felt a peace he had never known before as the Force took over. He lingered there, letting his thoughts flow as the Force seemed to pass around and through him.

Without warning, the distant murmurs began to bombard him, and he thought his head would explode with all of the voices. He panicked, feeling smothered and overcome. He had to try and shut them all out before they drove him mad.

He quickly calmed himself and was able to regain a little control. It's like being at a party, and there are thousands of people talking, all trying to be heard. But you don't listen to them all. You only listen to and concentrate on the one person you want to hear.

With that understanding, he patiently sifted through the miscellaneous conversations and voices that he was overhearing. All the while, he listened intently for the one he wanted to hear.

He felt more than heard something familiar, and paused to home in on it. He lost it as it faded into the background, and he tried desperately to find it again.

Impatience leads to the dark side, Corran.

I know, I know, he thought irritably. He tried to settle down and listen carefully for the person he was seeking. Calm, I have to stay calm. Calm, damn it! He grew increasingly frustrated at himself over his inability to remain composed, and he tried to center himself. Letting his frustration flow out of him, he finally found some peace and serenity. As his feeling of relaxation grew, he started to take up his search again.

Then the pain hit him.

He could hear Wedge's mental screams as if he were in the same room with him, and Corran's mind seemed to catch fire. Even though he was apart from his own physical body, he could feel the searing pain in his back, as if molten metal had been poured all over it. He felt disorientated, split between his own mind and Wedge's, and it took every ounce of control he had to fight the terror growing within him and Wedge.

Everything he was feeling quickly began to overwhelm him. He belatedly realized that his experience in the briefing room should have warned him that he didn't have the defenses needed to protect himself against this kind of mental barrage. He tried desperately to break the link, but failed. And he knew that he was lost.

As suddenly as it started, the pain ceased. Corran managed to bring himself back under control and was relieved that he could still sense some weak thoughts from Wedge. But he had to struggle to keep a grip on Wedge's now elusive consciousness, and could feel that Wedge was slipping away from him. His few coherent thoughts were of a woman, who could only be Wedge's mother. Is she singing? Then Wedge was silent.

Corran felt a sudden chill throughout his very being, and he had to try hard to keep control. I just felt Wedge die. No! I can't accept that. It must be a mistake. No. Please, no!

As Wedge's presence faded altogether, Corran sensed someone else in the room, someone close to Wedge, almost in a state of panic if Corran was reading it right. He wanted to reach out to that person, to get a clearer impression of what was happening, but he knew deep down that Wedge was gone. Seeing his friend's dead body was something that he wanted to avoid.

Still, his thoughts remained with the second person. He fought against contact with him, but could see images running through the stranger's mind, too fast to make out. Then there it was, dancing in front of his eyes like a nightmare holo. A vision of Wedge, through the eyes of the second individual, lying on a bunk. He was pale and battered, blood covering the blanket beneath him.

Corran had seen hundreds of lifeless corpses over his years with CorSec and Rogue Squadron. He knew that he was looking at one now. It confirmed what he had felt earlier. Wedge was truly dead.

The thoughts of the man with Wedge echoed through Corran. "No, no, no, no. You can't do this, Antilles! The Empire couldn't kill you with two Death Stars, I know you aren't going to let them get you this easy. Live, damn it!"

Corran didn't want to see anymore, but he had no way to close his eyes to what the Force was making him watch. The images continued to flash before him, burning themselves into his memory. He tried his best to push his way out of that mind, but was held in place, struggling against the unseen force that kept him there.

Please, just let me go! he pleaded. The only thing worse than actually finding out that Wedge was dead was to actually see it happening, etched in his mind for the rest of his life.

It's just like when my father died in my arms. There was nothing I could do to save him.

Just as his despair reached its height, there was a spark of life. Corran focused on that spark, hoping desperately that he could will his friend back to life with his own thoughts. Wedge's presence grew stronger, and Corran knew joy, knowing that Wedge had returned. But the pain returned with him, stronger than ever, and it poured over Corran, dragging him into its currents. Down, down, he spiraled, until he thought he may never reach the surface again.

He tried to pull back to the safety of his own mind then, but could not. When Corran had been trying to lure him back to life, Wedge had instinctively latched onto him and wouldn't let go. Corran was held in a grip almost as strong as death itself as Wedge shared every bit of his pain and misery with him.

Corran, untrained and not ready to deal with this unexpected assault from Wedge, was almost completely overwhelmed by the searing pain. Not even the happiness derived from Wedge's return from the dead could alleviate the unendurable agony. He wanted to wake up or return to Mirax's comforting presence, but was unable to escape Wedge's mental grip. In desperation, Corran reached out for Mirax, every part of his mind crying out to be free of the misery.

Even though he was disassociated from his sleeping body, Corran could feel the scream rip from his throat as it did from Wedge.

Mirax sat bolt upright in bed, holding her hands to her head as if it would burst if she let go. Corran, lying beside her, was screaming like she had never heard him scream before. But not only was he screaming there beside her, he was screaming in her mind as well.

She finally let go of her head and shook him roughly to try and wake him. "Corran? Corran!" His eyes flew open, but he didn't seem to see her. At least he stopped screaming.

Corran took in a shuddering breath and lost consciousness.

Heblon turned Wedge onto his side again, taking care to avoid his back. He retrieved the blanket from the floor and covered the limp man up to his waist.

Searching for some pressure bandages amongst the meager medical supplies he had in the cell, Heblon knew that he wouldn't have anything nearly big enough to cover the extensive wounds. But he would have to do something before Wedge bled to death.

He found two large bandages and tore the packages open with his teeth, taking off the protective covering and applied them to the mutilated skin. Although they didn't cover the entire wounded area, they did seem to significantly stem the flow of blood. Heblon sighed with relief then took his comlink out of his pocket. His hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly turn it on. He made a valiant effort to steady his voice. "Lieutenant Heblon to Eight Nine Two. Please report to detention cell Four-D."

Heblon waited a few moments for the stormtrooper to arrive. By that time, he had recovered enough to conceal some of his agitation. "Keep an eye on this prisoner. Contact me by comlink if there is any change. If he dies, I can guarantee that you will be next. Understood?"

"Yessir."

He turned and left the cell, heading for his quarters. He tried in vain to control his breathing. The next twelve hours were going to be the longest of his life.

Once he reached his quarters, he searched through his footlocker for another emergency medical kit. His next step would be the medical bay. He would have to steal what he needed. He made his way there and was relieved to find that it was empty.

After Heblon had found or stolen everything he needed, he returned to Wedge's cell and dismissed the stormtrooper with a wave of his hand. He stepped over next to the bed and emptied the contents of his bag onto the floor. Wedge still lay on his right side, his right arm dangling over the edge of the bunk. If anything, he was even paler now than he had been a half-hour before. But his breathing was still regular.

First, Heblon took the bacta bandages out of the pile and opened the sealed packages. He removed the blood soaked pressure bandages and placed the meter long bacta strips around the side of Wedge's rib cage, applying them gently to his back. Wedge tensed and groaned. "Mom?"

"Shh. Keep still while I make you feel better."

"I had such a bad dream."

"Just try to relax. You'll be feeling better and with your friends before you know it."

Heblon placed the medical thermometer next to Wedge's skin. Several lights flashed then it beeped. It read forty-one degrees Celsius. Heblon tossed it aside. If Wedge's fever rose any higher, it could cause irreparable brain damage at best, or kill him at worst.

Moving over to the refresher station, he refilled a basin with cold water. He returned to the bunk with the basin and took strips of cloth that he had taken from his own bed in his quarters. He dipped several of the rags into the water, loosely ringing them out. He opened them up and lay them over every exposed surface of Wedge's skin, except for his back.

Then, fishing through the pile that he had emptied onto the floor, Heblon picked up a small vile of bluish liquid and a needle. After drawing the fluid into the syringe, he looked for a vein in the arm that was dangling. He injected the fluid into his vein and took note of the time. He should be able to give him another dose of the pain medication before they came for him in the morning.

Slowly lifting Wedge up into a forty-five degree position, Heblon placed the familiar cup of bacta to his lips. He seemed to wake up slightly, his eyelids fluttering and then opening. But the bloodshot brown eyes could not seem to focus. "Come on, just take a little. It will make you feel so much better."

Wedge actually seemed to understand and swallowed some of the foul tasting liquid. Heblon lowered him back down to the bunk, making sure to lie him on his side. He noticed how much lighter the already thin pilot had become.

After making certain that all of the bandages were still in place and that the rags were still cool and wet, Heblon settled in for the long hours of watching and waiting.