Taking the time to work on her ship felt useless. Told herself she should be out there, hunting another post. That doing unnecessary repairs was a waste of time. Well, this fan should have been replaced weeks ago, but the rest was fine—enough.
After yesterday she’d been shaken. Carl was still in shock, docs said he’d recover. How long? Hard to say. Could be hours or weeks. Depended on the person. Said she got lucky. Lucky, right. Running into a Valtopian Horror. Real lucky. But it was Carl that was hit full on. Maybe they were lucky. It had been a young one, a few centuries old at most. Not much bigger than the fist-sized fan she was installing. The memory of the Horror flashed into her mind. Gah, that pure black blotch. Just there, hanging in midair, warbling like slow boiling tar. But blacker then the brightest sun is bright. Sucks your vision right into it, traps you.
The fan clattered to the ground. Crouched next to it, head in her hands, she tried to hold back tears. Body shuddering, neck tensing, her back a coil of writhing muscle. Maybe she should have taken the doctors advice and gotten some help. Too suborn to listen, too willful to change her mind now. I’ll figure it out, I’m fine—enough.
Too obsessed with the work to admit it was starting to be an issue. Carl said she needed to learn how to relax, was the most ambitious and driven person he’d ever met. Hadn’t meant it as a compliment. Okay, okay fine. Maybe one day would be good. She’d rest. Go on a walk, maybe get a coffee. Actually sit down and sip it instead of having it delivered before rushing out.
One rest day couldn’t hurt. Might even help.