Death Ship Quest

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Captain Rog Fan-Jertril, formerly Lieutenant Fan-Jertril, fell into another fit of coughing and staggered against the bulkhead, trying without success to ignore the agony in his chest. He paused to spit a ball of bloody phlegm to the already-foul deck before forcing himself erect.

Soon, he told himself. Very soon, the Vir Rekesh would be ready for her long sleep, and he would be able to surrender to the endless peace of death.

Death. He was going to die. He examined his feelings curiously. Why was he not afraid? Why wasn't he curled up in a corner, crying? Or shouting and cursing his cruel fate? Or drunk? Or stoned? Why this clinical calm, this easy acceptance?

Even six months ago, he knew, the thought of his own death would have at least sent a thrill of cold fear down his back. But that had been before.

Before, when he was Lieutenant Fan-Jertril, scion of a wealthy family on Raltha, Recent graduate of the Fleet Academy and a year's advanced training that had enabled his family to buy his promotion, and newly assigned to the Battle Cruiser Vir Rekesh. The assignment, coming so close on the heels of the promotion, had strained even his family's resources, but his father had insisted.

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