Disclaimer: I don't own Boba Fett—gee, I wish! Star Wars belongs to
George Lucas, and I'm just borrowing it for a few minutes. I'm not trying
to make any money on this, it's all just for fun. So please don't sue me!
Nightfall
Boba Fett hunkered in the crevice in the rocks where he'd taken refuge for the night, and listened. Even with his helmet's sound turned to maximum, the sound was still maddeningly faint; a mixture of hissing, slithering, and clicking. It seemed to be coming from a tiny crack, far in the back of his improvised shelter.
That opportunistic idiot Merisu was thorough, if nothing else; she'd even disabled the built-in light from his helmet, though at least she'd left the passive systems intact. He used his tongue to switch to infrared viewing—and saw nothing. So he switched to night vision. The darkness was so thick that even that wasn't much help; the world was still mostly black, with just small patches of green.
There—he saw movement. Down in a tiny crack in the back wall.
He stayed still, watching. Not that there was much of anywhere to move; the hole was so small he'd had to take off his jetpack to fit. And now, it seemed even tighter in here—now that he wasn't alone.
A shadow seemed to detach itself from the deeper darkness.
Except there was no light to cast such a shadow.
He stared at it, trying to see what it was. Then another one came out, and another one.
He eased himself forward and magnified the view; it looked like some kind of insect.
It began to crawl toward him.
He waited, motionless, watching. When the insect reached him, he put one gloved hand down. The bug slowly crawled onto the palm of his hand, and he lifted it to get a better look.
It was big—nearly as big as his palm. In the dim light, its carapace looked like faintly shiny black. It had large mandibles in the front; that was what was doing the clicking.
It dropped its head, and began to chew at the fabric of his glove. He turned his hand over to drop it, but it didn't fall. A sharp shake of his hand sent it flying. It landed on the rock floor and scuttled away, clicking rapidly.
He looked back to the crevice, and saw that more of the bugs were coming out. Several of them were crawling toward him, now, clicking their mandibles.
He felt his heart rate pick up, as adrenaline began to trickle into his bloodstream. He could almost dismiss the revulsion as some left-over instinct that no longer served any real purpose—almost.
He looked at the palm of his glove. The bug had only chewed at it for a few seconds, but it had eaten almost through to the bare flesh.
He began to look for a rock, something he could use to block up the opening. And then he saw a larger shadow coming out of the hole.
It wasn't just one of them, but many. The bugs swarmed out of the rocks like a dark cloud. The primitive, instinctive part of Fett's brain was screaming at him to rip the rocks from the front of the cave and run. But the calmer, more evolved side of his brain retained control. He didn't know what else was out there; the bugs might not even be the main threat.
The bugs reached him, flowing like a tide over his boots—and kept going. He let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding.
And that was when he felt it; a burning pain just over his right shoulder blade. He twisted his head back, to see the hind end of one of the bugs, sticking out of his armor. It had chewed its way through the flight suit, and was now trying to burrow its way in.
He slammed his hand down, and felt the carapace crunch. The bug wriggled, and went still.
But Fett felt something moving. Another bug was trying to eat its way through the suit, just above his left knee.
He crushed that one as well. But more were crawling up his legs. He brushed them away, and began to pull the rocks from the entrance. But before he could pull out more than a few, he heard more of the sounds—from above.
The whole ceiling was flooded with them.
He worked faster.
Not fast enough, as it turned out. The bugs fell on him like a wave. They crawled over his visor, blinding him. And now, some of them had gotten in his suit. He could feel them, creeping along his back.
He tucked his chin, and slammed himself backwards, to crush them. He felt their ichor, in a sticky mess on the inside of his flight suit.
And still the bugs kept pouring over him.
He had to stop frequently to wipe the bugs away, and even then, he was half- blind. He tried to open the crevice by feel, at least enough for him to squeeze out. His heart was hammering at his ribs, his breath came in harsh gasps, but he refused to surrender to the blind, primitive panic that the bugs raised in him.
Finally, he created a gap. He pulled himself out, and dropped to the ground. He rolled around, to kill any bugs still in the suit.
But now, the bugs had started pouring out of the crevice. Boba Fett rolled to his feet, and began backing away.
That was when the ground gave way beneath him. He tried to get to solid ground, but he didn't have time. He fell, in a shower of dirt and rocks. He rolled out of the fall, and pushed himself to his feet.
Then he stood, looking up. He'd fallen nearly four meters, into the dark. In the light from the three moons, he could make out what he'd fallen into. It wasn't just a hole—it was some kind of underground passageway. The walls arched up above him, offering no purchase.
If he'd had his jet pack—and the fuel to run it—he could have gotten out easily. But then, if he'd had the jet pack….
He dismissed that train of thought as non-productive, and began to look around. The tunnel disappeared into darkness in both directions; both toward and away from the cliff face.
Ever since his encounter with the Sarlaac, he hadn't liked being underground. But there was no help for it. He looked into the darkness in either direction, and then headed away from the cliffs. At least that way there would be less chance of running into the bugs—he hoped.
* * *
There was no light down here; even his night vision was useless. He had to feel his way along the cavern. After two and a half standard time parts of walking, the tunnel dead-ended in a rock fall. Fett tried to get some of the rocks free, but it was no use. He turned, and began walking back. When he reached the pool of light, he stood there for a few minutes, just looking up at it. Then he started into the darkness, beneath the cliffs.
He kept his senses alert, listening for the sound of the bugs. But all that he could hear were the sounds of his own heartbeat and breathing.
Feeling his way through the dark, it was easy enough to lose track of time. He was surprised when he looked up and saw that less than a standard time part had passed. It seemed like he'd been down here for a day and a half. In the darkness and silence, his other senses seemed to be magnified. He was acutely aware of the ichor that coated the inside of his armor, the scratching of the broken carapaces, and the stinging of sweat in the scrapes they'd made. The air in the cavern seemed thick in here. And he was thirsty.
He didn't dare drink the water; for all he knew, that misbegotten Merisu had put a sedative in it, but the thirst was becoming a torment. Finally he decided on a compromise. He took a mouthful of water, held it for a moment, then unsealed his helmet for long enough to spit it out.
That at least eased the discomfort.
He kept walking. He barely noticed when the gloom began to lighten; the night vision goggles steadily began to lighten into the green. But finally, he realized he could faintly make out the rocks that littered the cavern floor.
He shut the night vision off for a moment; there was a faint, diffuse glow. Some form of bio-luminescence, perhaps? He doubted it would even be visible to the naked eye, but it provided just enough for the light-hungry goggles to illuminate his path.
He could move faster, now, though he was still cautious. He didn't want to run into any more bugs. He wondered if his former hostage hadn't misinterpreted her sister's drunken ramblings—if the instead of "it's eating me," the dying prospector hadn't said "they're eating me."
He didn't like being eaten.
Still, right now, keeping moving was the best option. The sooner he was out of here, the better.
He kept walking.
Nearly a standard time part later, the tunnel started opening out. He wasn't sure he liked that idea, but he wasn't about to turn back now.
Still, he moved more cautiously.
Now, the ground started to angle slightly down. He didn't like this….
He didn't see the big bug, until it was too late.
He was scrambling down a rough patch of ground, when a rock turned beneath his feet. He lost his balance, and skidded down the incline on his backside. Before he could get up, a large, dark shadow scuttled from the rocks.
He'd never even heard of an insect this big. It was large enough to straddle him; its mandibles were the size of his fingers. It dropped its head, and began to chew at his armor. He could hear it scrape at his chest plates.
Then it began to move lower, in search of an opening. And Fett didn't think the fabric of his armor would last long, against it.
Fett slammed his knees up, against the insect's abdomen. It barely even shifted; it was tough and heavy.
He felt more scraping; smaller bugs were there, chewing on his extremities. He slapped at them crushing them. On his chest, he could feel the big bug feeling his armor.
He twisted, and got one booted foot up beneath it. Then, the other.
He put his hands down to brace himself, and straightened his legs. The oversized insect flew back through the air, and landed on its back. Fett leaped to his feet, and began to run forward. At least there was a chance; he knew there was no escape behind him. But this trail, too, dead-ended, in a high-ceilinged chamber.
But this one wasn't sheer; he thought he could climb it. And he thought he could see a crevice in the rock, just beneath the roof. But he'd better hurry; the bugs were coming toward him.
In the lead was the big bug.
He started climbing. He knew he couldn't match the bugs' speed, but at least he had a head start. Maybe he could reach the crack in the wall before the bugs caught him.
If he could make it…if it was a way out…
One slip, one misstep, and he would die.
He paid no attention to the sound of the chittering, allowed nothing to distract him.
Finally, he gained the narrow crevice. It was only big enough for him—but it seemed to continue up, at least as far as he could see.
The bugs were almost there, though. And below, he could hear the large bug clattering at him. But at least, it didn't seem to be able to climb up here. Too heavy, probably.
But it seemed to be leading the "army" from the rear. The air was full of the sound of its clicking its mandibles. Perhaps it was some kind of hive- mind; he'd heard of insects that did that. Maybe if he killed the big one…
Fett began to look around. Finally, he saw a stalactite, on the ceiling a few feet away. Cautiously, he eased out of the crevice.
The bugs now totally ignored the crevice, and followed him once again. The leaders of the "pack" had already reached him, by the time he got as close as he could to the spike of rock.
He reached out, and grabbed it. But it was too strong; he couldn't even budge it.
He paused just long enough to kill a few bugs who'd gotten too close, and then shifted his grip. Rather than pulling at the stalactite, he kicked at it, hoping to loosen it enough to grab, without shattering or breaking it.
Finally, he saw a crack appear at the base. He shifted his weight back, and grabbed the stalactite. He wiggled it like a child might wiggle a loose tooth, until it finally popped loose.
The full wave of insects hit him then, but he ignored them, and looked for the big one still at the base of the cliff. He would only get one shot; the other stalactites were too far from the cavern walls to be any use at all.
But then, his life had often come down to one shot.
He sighted, lined up the stalactite, and let it go.
That second seemed to stretch into infinity, as the spear of rock plummeted through the air. In that moment alive, life and death both hovered near, waiting to see who would claim Boba Fett.
The stalactite hit.
The big bug let out a scream, piercing and metallic. A second later, it was picked up and echoed by the rest of the bugs. They all stood still, now ignoring Fett.
It was the best chance he was likely to get.
He moved as quickly as he dared, now; climbed back through the field of motionless bugs. He took the opportunity to brush many of them off the rock face, to fall; he didn't want to crush them and have to worry about bug guts on his handholds.
He'd almost made it through them, when they came alive. They mobbed him, crawling over him wherever they could. He didn't dare take his hands from the rock face to kill them.
Instead, he kept going, ignoring even the ones that got inside his suit. Finally, he reached the crevice.
He threw himself down, and rolled as if he were putting out a fire. The bugs made a disgusting crunch, and he killed them, both inside and outside his suit.
But there were more. No matter how many he killed, there were more.
Until, finally, they stopped.
Fett sat up, and looked around. One last, lone bug threw itself at him. He squashed it, and sat still, waiting for his heart rate and breathing to slow to normal. Then he shoved himself to his feet.
He used the last of the questionable water to wash the bug-goo from his gloves, and then began to climb up the narrow crevice in the rocks. The bio-luminescence faded as he went up, and soon he was in the dark again, but he climbed by feel.
Finally, though, it was too tight to go on. He could put his hand up, but no more.
He stopped, to think.
And realized that the darkness had, almost imperceptibly, lightened. Now, instead of pitch-black, he saw greenish black.
There had to be a light source, somewhere.
He drew his arm back, and now he saw a little more green. There was light up there.
So that was where he would go.
He removed his gloves, and began to feel around, carefully. Trying to loosen the rocks, little by little. After a long time, he was rewarded by a shower of pebbles. Was it his imagination, or did the blackness edge a little more into the green?
It took hours of painstaking work, picking out shards of rock. He scraped his fingers raw, felt them get slick with blood. But gradually, he saw the world lighten. Not enough to see, but some.
And then, it was open. He had to work his way up, with his helmeted head turned to the side, but finally, he was in a larger space. And there was light here, enough that he could turn off the night vision.
The first thing he saw was his jet pack. He'd worked himself back into the cave where he'd started. But it was day now; he could see light coming through the hole in the rocks.
He pulled himself up through the last, tight space, scraping up his armor as he did so. Then he unblocked the entrance, and walked out
He looked down, and winced. His armor was nearly black with bug guts. He could only imagine what the interior looked like.
He decided to leave his jet pack in the cave; it would only slow him down, now. And he needed to conserve his strength. The thirst had returned, with painful intensity; if he'd still had water, he might have risked it being drugged. And with every step, he felt his armor sticking to his body, clinging to wherever he touched.
He started walking.
* * *
He thought he was hallucinating, when he heard the sound of water. But a few minutes later, he saw it; a whole riverfull. He popped his helmet, and scooped water into his mouth until his thirst was slaked. Then he carefully washed out the water reservoir in his helmet, and refilled it.
Then he walked down the river, until he saw a deeper pool. He waded into the water, and began scrubbing the ichor off his armor. It took a while to get the outside clean.
This was the part he wasn't looking forward to.
He stripped down to his shorts, turned his suit inside out, and began scrubbing. He was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, not just disarmed but nearly naked. He strained to hear the sound of a potential attacker, above that of the rushing river.
Finally, the suit was clean, and he began scrubbing himself down, using a handful of sand to scour at the sticky substance.
He ducked his head under the water to get rid of the last of the sand, and when he popped his head up, there was a shadow by the side of the pool.
"Keep your hands were I can see them," a familiar voice said. "And turn around—slowly."
Nightfall
Boba Fett hunkered in the crevice in the rocks where he'd taken refuge for the night, and listened. Even with his helmet's sound turned to maximum, the sound was still maddeningly faint; a mixture of hissing, slithering, and clicking. It seemed to be coming from a tiny crack, far in the back of his improvised shelter.
That opportunistic idiot Merisu was thorough, if nothing else; she'd even disabled the built-in light from his helmet, though at least she'd left the passive systems intact. He used his tongue to switch to infrared viewing—and saw nothing. So he switched to night vision. The darkness was so thick that even that wasn't much help; the world was still mostly black, with just small patches of green.
There—he saw movement. Down in a tiny crack in the back wall.
He stayed still, watching. Not that there was much of anywhere to move; the hole was so small he'd had to take off his jetpack to fit. And now, it seemed even tighter in here—now that he wasn't alone.
A shadow seemed to detach itself from the deeper darkness.
Except there was no light to cast such a shadow.
He stared at it, trying to see what it was. Then another one came out, and another one.
He eased himself forward and magnified the view; it looked like some kind of insect.
It began to crawl toward him.
He waited, motionless, watching. When the insect reached him, he put one gloved hand down. The bug slowly crawled onto the palm of his hand, and he lifted it to get a better look.
It was big—nearly as big as his palm. In the dim light, its carapace looked like faintly shiny black. It had large mandibles in the front; that was what was doing the clicking.
It dropped its head, and began to chew at the fabric of his glove. He turned his hand over to drop it, but it didn't fall. A sharp shake of his hand sent it flying. It landed on the rock floor and scuttled away, clicking rapidly.
He looked back to the crevice, and saw that more of the bugs were coming out. Several of them were crawling toward him, now, clicking their mandibles.
He felt his heart rate pick up, as adrenaline began to trickle into his bloodstream. He could almost dismiss the revulsion as some left-over instinct that no longer served any real purpose—almost.
He looked at the palm of his glove. The bug had only chewed at it for a few seconds, but it had eaten almost through to the bare flesh.
He began to look for a rock, something he could use to block up the opening. And then he saw a larger shadow coming out of the hole.
It wasn't just one of them, but many. The bugs swarmed out of the rocks like a dark cloud. The primitive, instinctive part of Fett's brain was screaming at him to rip the rocks from the front of the cave and run. But the calmer, more evolved side of his brain retained control. He didn't know what else was out there; the bugs might not even be the main threat.
The bugs reached him, flowing like a tide over his boots—and kept going. He let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding.
And that was when he felt it; a burning pain just over his right shoulder blade. He twisted his head back, to see the hind end of one of the bugs, sticking out of his armor. It had chewed its way through the flight suit, and was now trying to burrow its way in.
He slammed his hand down, and felt the carapace crunch. The bug wriggled, and went still.
But Fett felt something moving. Another bug was trying to eat its way through the suit, just above his left knee.
He crushed that one as well. But more were crawling up his legs. He brushed them away, and began to pull the rocks from the entrance. But before he could pull out more than a few, he heard more of the sounds—from above.
The whole ceiling was flooded with them.
He worked faster.
Not fast enough, as it turned out. The bugs fell on him like a wave. They crawled over his visor, blinding him. And now, some of them had gotten in his suit. He could feel them, creeping along his back.
He tucked his chin, and slammed himself backwards, to crush them. He felt their ichor, in a sticky mess on the inside of his flight suit.
And still the bugs kept pouring over him.
He had to stop frequently to wipe the bugs away, and even then, he was half- blind. He tried to open the crevice by feel, at least enough for him to squeeze out. His heart was hammering at his ribs, his breath came in harsh gasps, but he refused to surrender to the blind, primitive panic that the bugs raised in him.
Finally, he created a gap. He pulled himself out, and dropped to the ground. He rolled around, to kill any bugs still in the suit.
But now, the bugs had started pouring out of the crevice. Boba Fett rolled to his feet, and began backing away.
That was when the ground gave way beneath him. He tried to get to solid ground, but he didn't have time. He fell, in a shower of dirt and rocks. He rolled out of the fall, and pushed himself to his feet.
Then he stood, looking up. He'd fallen nearly four meters, into the dark. In the light from the three moons, he could make out what he'd fallen into. It wasn't just a hole—it was some kind of underground passageway. The walls arched up above him, offering no purchase.
If he'd had his jet pack—and the fuel to run it—he could have gotten out easily. But then, if he'd had the jet pack….
He dismissed that train of thought as non-productive, and began to look around. The tunnel disappeared into darkness in both directions; both toward and away from the cliff face.
Ever since his encounter with the Sarlaac, he hadn't liked being underground. But there was no help for it. He looked into the darkness in either direction, and then headed away from the cliffs. At least that way there would be less chance of running into the bugs—he hoped.
* * *
There was no light down here; even his night vision was useless. He had to feel his way along the cavern. After two and a half standard time parts of walking, the tunnel dead-ended in a rock fall. Fett tried to get some of the rocks free, but it was no use. He turned, and began walking back. When he reached the pool of light, he stood there for a few minutes, just looking up at it. Then he started into the darkness, beneath the cliffs.
He kept his senses alert, listening for the sound of the bugs. But all that he could hear were the sounds of his own heartbeat and breathing.
Feeling his way through the dark, it was easy enough to lose track of time. He was surprised when he looked up and saw that less than a standard time part had passed. It seemed like he'd been down here for a day and a half. In the darkness and silence, his other senses seemed to be magnified. He was acutely aware of the ichor that coated the inside of his armor, the scratching of the broken carapaces, and the stinging of sweat in the scrapes they'd made. The air in the cavern seemed thick in here. And he was thirsty.
He didn't dare drink the water; for all he knew, that misbegotten Merisu had put a sedative in it, but the thirst was becoming a torment. Finally he decided on a compromise. He took a mouthful of water, held it for a moment, then unsealed his helmet for long enough to spit it out.
That at least eased the discomfort.
He kept walking. He barely noticed when the gloom began to lighten; the night vision goggles steadily began to lighten into the green. But finally, he realized he could faintly make out the rocks that littered the cavern floor.
He shut the night vision off for a moment; there was a faint, diffuse glow. Some form of bio-luminescence, perhaps? He doubted it would even be visible to the naked eye, but it provided just enough for the light-hungry goggles to illuminate his path.
He could move faster, now, though he was still cautious. He didn't want to run into any more bugs. He wondered if his former hostage hadn't misinterpreted her sister's drunken ramblings—if the instead of "it's eating me," the dying prospector hadn't said "they're eating me."
He didn't like being eaten.
Still, right now, keeping moving was the best option. The sooner he was out of here, the better.
He kept walking.
Nearly a standard time part later, the tunnel started opening out. He wasn't sure he liked that idea, but he wasn't about to turn back now.
Still, he moved more cautiously.
Now, the ground started to angle slightly down. He didn't like this….
He didn't see the big bug, until it was too late.
He was scrambling down a rough patch of ground, when a rock turned beneath his feet. He lost his balance, and skidded down the incline on his backside. Before he could get up, a large, dark shadow scuttled from the rocks.
He'd never even heard of an insect this big. It was large enough to straddle him; its mandibles were the size of his fingers. It dropped its head, and began to chew at his armor. He could hear it scrape at his chest plates.
Then it began to move lower, in search of an opening. And Fett didn't think the fabric of his armor would last long, against it.
Fett slammed his knees up, against the insect's abdomen. It barely even shifted; it was tough and heavy.
He felt more scraping; smaller bugs were there, chewing on his extremities. He slapped at them crushing them. On his chest, he could feel the big bug feeling his armor.
He twisted, and got one booted foot up beneath it. Then, the other.
He put his hands down to brace himself, and straightened his legs. The oversized insect flew back through the air, and landed on its back. Fett leaped to his feet, and began to run forward. At least there was a chance; he knew there was no escape behind him. But this trail, too, dead-ended, in a high-ceilinged chamber.
But this one wasn't sheer; he thought he could climb it. And he thought he could see a crevice in the rock, just beneath the roof. But he'd better hurry; the bugs were coming toward him.
In the lead was the big bug.
He started climbing. He knew he couldn't match the bugs' speed, but at least he had a head start. Maybe he could reach the crack in the wall before the bugs caught him.
If he could make it…if it was a way out…
One slip, one misstep, and he would die.
He paid no attention to the sound of the chittering, allowed nothing to distract him.
Finally, he gained the narrow crevice. It was only big enough for him—but it seemed to continue up, at least as far as he could see.
The bugs were almost there, though. And below, he could hear the large bug clattering at him. But at least, it didn't seem to be able to climb up here. Too heavy, probably.
But it seemed to be leading the "army" from the rear. The air was full of the sound of its clicking its mandibles. Perhaps it was some kind of hive- mind; he'd heard of insects that did that. Maybe if he killed the big one…
Fett began to look around. Finally, he saw a stalactite, on the ceiling a few feet away. Cautiously, he eased out of the crevice.
The bugs now totally ignored the crevice, and followed him once again. The leaders of the "pack" had already reached him, by the time he got as close as he could to the spike of rock.
He reached out, and grabbed it. But it was too strong; he couldn't even budge it.
He paused just long enough to kill a few bugs who'd gotten too close, and then shifted his grip. Rather than pulling at the stalactite, he kicked at it, hoping to loosen it enough to grab, without shattering or breaking it.
Finally, he saw a crack appear at the base. He shifted his weight back, and grabbed the stalactite. He wiggled it like a child might wiggle a loose tooth, until it finally popped loose.
The full wave of insects hit him then, but he ignored them, and looked for the big one still at the base of the cliff. He would only get one shot; the other stalactites were too far from the cavern walls to be any use at all.
But then, his life had often come down to one shot.
He sighted, lined up the stalactite, and let it go.
That second seemed to stretch into infinity, as the spear of rock plummeted through the air. In that moment alive, life and death both hovered near, waiting to see who would claim Boba Fett.
The stalactite hit.
The big bug let out a scream, piercing and metallic. A second later, it was picked up and echoed by the rest of the bugs. They all stood still, now ignoring Fett.
It was the best chance he was likely to get.
He moved as quickly as he dared, now; climbed back through the field of motionless bugs. He took the opportunity to brush many of them off the rock face, to fall; he didn't want to crush them and have to worry about bug guts on his handholds.
He'd almost made it through them, when they came alive. They mobbed him, crawling over him wherever they could. He didn't dare take his hands from the rock face to kill them.
Instead, he kept going, ignoring even the ones that got inside his suit. Finally, he reached the crevice.
He threw himself down, and rolled as if he were putting out a fire. The bugs made a disgusting crunch, and he killed them, both inside and outside his suit.
But there were more. No matter how many he killed, there were more.
Until, finally, they stopped.
Fett sat up, and looked around. One last, lone bug threw itself at him. He squashed it, and sat still, waiting for his heart rate and breathing to slow to normal. Then he shoved himself to his feet.
He used the last of the questionable water to wash the bug-goo from his gloves, and then began to climb up the narrow crevice in the rocks. The bio-luminescence faded as he went up, and soon he was in the dark again, but he climbed by feel.
Finally, though, it was too tight to go on. He could put his hand up, but no more.
He stopped, to think.
And realized that the darkness had, almost imperceptibly, lightened. Now, instead of pitch-black, he saw greenish black.
There had to be a light source, somewhere.
He drew his arm back, and now he saw a little more green. There was light up there.
So that was where he would go.
He removed his gloves, and began to feel around, carefully. Trying to loosen the rocks, little by little. After a long time, he was rewarded by a shower of pebbles. Was it his imagination, or did the blackness edge a little more into the green?
It took hours of painstaking work, picking out shards of rock. He scraped his fingers raw, felt them get slick with blood. But gradually, he saw the world lighten. Not enough to see, but some.
And then, it was open. He had to work his way up, with his helmeted head turned to the side, but finally, he was in a larger space. And there was light here, enough that he could turn off the night vision.
The first thing he saw was his jet pack. He'd worked himself back into the cave where he'd started. But it was day now; he could see light coming through the hole in the rocks.
He pulled himself up through the last, tight space, scraping up his armor as he did so. Then he unblocked the entrance, and walked out
He looked down, and winced. His armor was nearly black with bug guts. He could only imagine what the interior looked like.
He decided to leave his jet pack in the cave; it would only slow him down, now. And he needed to conserve his strength. The thirst had returned, with painful intensity; if he'd still had water, he might have risked it being drugged. And with every step, he felt his armor sticking to his body, clinging to wherever he touched.
He started walking.
* * *
He thought he was hallucinating, when he heard the sound of water. But a few minutes later, he saw it; a whole riverfull. He popped his helmet, and scooped water into his mouth until his thirst was slaked. Then he carefully washed out the water reservoir in his helmet, and refilled it.
Then he walked down the river, until he saw a deeper pool. He waded into the water, and began scrubbing the ichor off his armor. It took a while to get the outside clean.
This was the part he wasn't looking forward to.
He stripped down to his shorts, turned his suit inside out, and began scrubbing. He was acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, not just disarmed but nearly naked. He strained to hear the sound of a potential attacker, above that of the rushing river.
Finally, the suit was clean, and he began scrubbing himself down, using a handful of sand to scour at the sticky substance.
He ducked his head under the water to get rid of the last of the sand, and when he popped his head up, there was a shadow by the side of the pool.
"Keep your hands were I can see them," a familiar voice said. "And turn around—slowly."