Mateo chokes on his lunch and is saved by Luke, who is in a wheelchair. [M rescuer, M victim. Choking. Heimlich. Vomiting. Rescue breathing.]
In the space between words, a bite of Mateo’s lunch slipped into the back of his throat. He tensed, suppressing a cough, and tried to swallow the awkward mass without making a scene. It’s okay, he told himself. Just relax and it’ll go right down.
He placed the half-eaten chicken salad wrap down on the bench beside him. His fingers came away slick with grease that was soaking through the wrapper. He had been excited to share one of his favourite food carts with Luke, an online friend who had just moved to the city for university, and because the area was more wheelchair-accessible than Luke’s hometown. It was a nice day outside, so they brought their lunch to the park. The tips of Mateo’s ears burned as it occurred to him that random passers-by might see him in this state.
Mateo’s throat bobbed around the obstruction, scared to inhale in case he pushed it down further. He just needed to get it out so he could go back to enjoying his friend’s company, but the sandwich sat like a rock at the top of his windpipe.
Luke knew from his friend’s sudden silence that something was wrong. Mateo never stopped talking for this long.
“Uh oh. You good?”
Mateo opened his mouth to respond and erupted into a harsh coughing fit, unable to get out a single word. Luke flinched at the noise. It sounded painful, and he watched Mateo with increasing concern as the seconds ticked by without relief. Luke placed a hand on Mateo’s shoulder as he tried to recall the first aid course he had taken so many years ago.
“Keep coughing. Keep it up.”
As if he could do anything else. Mateo heaved and retched, snatching quick breaths in between coughs, but it wasn’t enough to replenish his lungs’ dwindling supply. A fierce heat was rising in his face and his mouth flooded with saliva. He was beginning to feel nauseous from the forceful coughing. He spun away from Luke as a bubble of acid scorched up his throat and spat out a thick glob of bile and partially digested food.
“You okay? Is it out?”
The blockage shifted slightly and Mateo inhaled sharply, hungry for air. That was a mistake. With a wet gasp, the sandwich got sucked back into his windpipe, sealing it completely. Annoyance gave way to full blown panic as he clutched at his throat, feeling the slight bulge of the stuck food. Luke craned his neck, trying to get a look at Mateo’s face. He was red as a fire engine, eyes bulging, and mouth gaping as he strained to move any air.
Oh shit, he’s really choking.
Luke remembered being in the class, watching the instructor demonstrate various first aid procedures and mentally translating them into things he could realistically do on the days when he needed to rely on his wheelchair. Back blows – he could handle that.
“Mateo! Lean forward. I’m going to hit you on the back, okay?”
Luke reached behind Mateo and pounded his back between his shoulder blades. He listened for breath but the only sound was the hollow thudding of his fist. Mateo lurched forward with each strike, squirming from pain and panic.
This isn’t working. If I can get him to help himself… I just hope he’s not too far gone to listen.
Mateo shoved two fingers into his throat, hoping to either grasp at the food or make himself puke again, which might force it out. His knuckles scraped against his teeth as he worked the hand around. The abrasion stung with acid, but he didn’t care. He was intensely, hideously aware of his own bodily sensations in this moment even as the rest world dimmed around him, as if almost nothing existed outside of his body. Luke was saying something, but his voice was hopelessly far off and Mateo struggled to make out the words. It sounded like...
“Okay dude, try something for me. Stand up. Stand up!” He grabbed Mateo’s arm, urging him out of his seat. Mateo swayed and gripped the armrest of Luke’s wheelchair for support. “Get behind the bench and thrust into your stomach with the back of the bench.”
Mateo nodded weakly. He stumbled getting into position, and his first attempt landed awkwardly, sending a sharp spike of pain through his lower ribs. He pressed off the seat of the bench with trembling hands and tried to align himself better. His second attempt landed with uncomfortable yet welcome force, but he was still choking. He banged a fist against his chest, urging the stuck food to move. Mateo’s lungs felt like lead – a tight little ball in his chest that was slowly collapsing into a singularity, dragging the rest of his body into it.
As his vision tunneled, Mateo looked up and caught a glimpse of Luke’s worried face. He was saying something, but Mateo couldn’t understand anything through the haze of fog that had settled over his brain. He was desperate to breathe, to cough, to do anything that wasn’t flailing around uselessly humping the back of a bench while his friend watched.
Oh god, I hate that he’s seeing me like this.
Luke had never felt so helpless as he sat watching his friend fighting for his life. There was a sheen of sweat covering Mateo’s graying face. A long string of saliva trailed from his lips to the seat of the bench and broke apart when he rose clumsily to attempt another thrust. Over and over he collapsed into the bench, his movements becoming progressively more sluggish until he no longer had the strength to stand.
Mateo threw himself onto the bench once more. His feet kicked out behind him, lifting off the ground and sending as much pressure as he could manage into his abdomen. He teetered on the back of the bench, hanging like a sheet on a clothesline. His tender ribs flared in a futile attempt to drag in any air around the chunk of food still firmly wedged in his throat. He was briefly aware of a hand grabbing the back of his shirt before he faded completely.
Luke rolled his chair behind Mateo and threw on the brakes. He wanted as much stability as possible for what he was about to do. He reached up and grabbed the back of his friend’s shirt with both hands and pulled Mateo towards him. Mateo’s body flopped backwards so that he was sitting on Luke’s lap. Luke wrapped his arms around Mateo’s waist and pulled as hard as he could, but as he suspected, he didn’t have enough leverage for the Heimlich while he was sitting down. His hands skipped up Mateo’s chest and locked together over his heart. Mateo rocked back and forth, practically riding Luke’s thigh as he began chest thrusts. Luke might have blushed if he wasn’t so terrified.
My one saving grace is that he’s too out of it to remember this.
Mateo’s head snapped back after a particularly violent thrust and crunched into Luke’s nose. Luke cursed as tears filled his eyes. He turned his head to the side, blinking furiously, but kept up his rhythm with the chest thrusts.
A strangled huff worked its way out of Mateo’s swollen throat, which finally got Luke to pause. He shook his friend.
“Mateo? Talk to me. Can you breathe?”
Receiving no response, he resumed chest thrusts. Mateo continued to grunt and gurgle as the blockage worked its way up. Luke snaked an arm across Mateo’s chest to support him as he leaned him forward.
“Come on man, cough it up!”
Mateo’s head lolled forward and large chunk of partially chewed sandwich fell out of his mouth, landing on the ground in front of Luke’s wheelchair with a soft splat. It felt terribly anticlimactic for all the work he put in, but he was grateful all the same. Luke breathed a deep sigh of relief. Mateo didn’t.
“Mateo, come on, take a breath!”
Mateo was heavy and boneless in his friend’s lap as Luke hiked him up so he was sitting somewhat vertically again. Mateo’s head lolled back against Luke’s shoulder. Luke kept one arm around Mateo’s waist for support and brought the other one up to lightly tap his cheek. When Mateo didn’t rouse, Luke gripped his chin and angled his face toward him, hesitating for a moment before he sealed his lips over Mateo’s and breathed deep into him. Some of the air puffed out of Mateo’s nose against Luke’s cheek, but he also felt Mateo’s stomach rise slightly where he gripped him around the waist.
Come on, come on, come on.
Luke cradled Mateo in his lap, feeding his starving lungs another breath. He continued until his head was swimming, thoughts tumbling around faster than he could make sense of them.
You can’t die. You’re my only friend in this city. Also you fucking drove us to the park and I need a ride home.
Mateo’s lips moved against his. Luke pulled back as Mateo let out a deep, rattling cough. He gasped, taking in his first breath after far too many minutes. His eyes were glassy when he finally opened them, but they came to rest on Luke and that was a good sign.
Luke let out a short, breathless laugh. “When you said that food truck was to die for, I didn’t think you meant it literally.”
Mateo swallowed thickly, his throat still raw, and said, “Still gonna eat there.”
Camilla noticed it first before anyone else. After a week of trading nonverbal quips with Signore Cellini’s daughter, she was accustomed to Stefania’s tells. That tight, pinched expression was so foreign on the face of a woman usually brimming with effortless charm. When the young noblewoman suddenly stopped eating and became flushed, Camilla assumed that she was feeling nauseous and was trying very hard not to be sick in front of her father’s important guests. Then, Stefania leapt up from the table and ran off with a hand over her mouth, which practically confirmed that assumption.
The brief stunned silence after Stefania’s departure rapidly dissolved into a burst of concerned murmuring from everyone at the table. Alonzo Cellini tried his best to smooth things over.
“Ah, my apologies Giancarlo, Lucia. It seems my daughter has taken ill.”
“Shame.” Giancarlo De Bardi paused, stifled a burp, then asked, “Did you see what she ate?”
Lucia De Bardi leaned towards her husband with a look of dawning horror and muttered, “Everyone is eating the same thing, darling.”
“You need not concern yourself with the food” Alonzo quickly interjected. “Stefania has been feeling out of sorts these last few days. It happens regularly. About the same time every month.”
Stefania’s mother shot him an exasperated look and started to rise, intending to check on her daughter, but Camilla held up a reassuring hand and said, “Allow me, Signora. Please, relax and enjoy your dinner.”
Without waiting to be dismissed, the servant girl left her post and darted out into the hall. She didn’t see which way Stefania had gone, if she had tried to make it to the nearest bath or if she headed out to the courtyard for some fresh air. A pained retching noise echoed from somewhere down the hall. Camilla’s skin prickled with concern as she followed the sound.
She rounded the corner, coming up behind Stefania. The nobles’ daughter was hunched over, red in the face, heaving indelicately. Camilla was suddenly unsure of herself. The Cellinis were her employers, and nobles tended to care a lot about saving face. Perhaps what Stefania really needed in this awkward moment was privacy.
But a cold sense of dread kept Camilla rooted to the spot. Stefania kept making those small, choked gulping noises, but the whole time Camilla had been watching her, she hadn’t heard the woman inhale. Concern overrode her sensibilities, and she approached Stefania.
“My Lady, forgive me. Are you alright? You left so suddenly.”
Camilla stepped around so that she was facing Stefania, placing both hands on her shoulders and gently urging her to stand upright. Camilla’s grip tightened in fear as she took in Stefania’s appearance. Her face, streaked with tears and saliva, was quickly fading from a deep red to ashen gray. Her bright, expressive eyes were dull and unfocused and her mouth moved wordlessly as she gasped for air.
“Are you choking?” Camilla asked, though she already knew the answer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t – I’m going to help you now! Hold on!”
Camilla stood behind Stefania, wrapping her chubby arms around her waist. “I’m going to push on your stomach to make you cough,” she explained as she cuffed her fist up under her breathless companion’s ribs. “This might hurt.”
Stefania didn’t resist, in fact, she seemed to lean into the touch. Camilla wouldn’t flatter herself by thinking that was intentional.
Please let this work, Camilla pleaded silently as she wrenched her fist into Stefania’s abdomen. No change. She tried it again.
There was a strained clicking noise coming from Stefania’s throat now. That’s progress, Camilla thought. She continued the thrusts, but never managed to elicit more than a small, guttural hiccup. Though her muscles burned from the effort, it felt like she wasn’t getting enough force to be useful. As she dug her hands in again, she felt the telltale criss-cross pattern of a front lacing kirtle under Stefania’s clothes. Is that thing getting in the way? Why are thin people so obsessed with looking even thinner?
Something brushed against Camilla’s thigh, startling a gasp out of her. Stefania’s hand dangled freely, bouncing against Camilla’s leg as she rocked into her with each thrust. She was beginning to go limp and would soon be unconscious, or worse.
“Oh no, nononono, you can’t! Just – just a little more. Come on now. Breathe. Breathe!”
Camilla’s voice was shrill with fear. She let out a choked sob when Stefania’s knees finally buckled, her dead weight dragging them both down to the floor.
With a moment of stillness, Camilla became aware of her own shallow, panting breaths. She held her breath for a few seconds and blew it out slowly, trying to calm her racing heart as she figured out what to do. Perhaps shamefully, she thought of running. She was terrified of what the Cellinis would do to her if they blamed her for their daughter’s death. Even if they didn’t, Camilla knew she would never stop blaming herself. She’d hesitated in the dining room, and again out in the hall. Her interference might not be enough to guarantee Stefania’s safety, but continued inaction would guarantee her death.
With that thought steeling her nerves, Camilla scrambled to her feet and raced into a nearby room, Alonzo’s office, where she knew he kept a thin blade for opening envelopes. She snatched it off his desk and returned to Stefania’s side. The dress her Lady had chosen for the evening was a deep midnight blue, with a V-neckline and puffed sleeves that were very fashionable now. It probably cost more than Camilla’s entire wardrobe. She tried not to think about that as she gripped the neckline with both hands and gave it a firm tug. The fabric tore in a jagged line right down the centre of the dress. Camilla pushed the excess material aside, hooked her blade under the now-exposed kirtle’s laces and slashed them all, from waist to breastbone, in one smooth motion. She cut through the chemise as well, first plucking it away from the skin to avoid drawing blood.
Camilla wasted no time as she swung a leg over Stefania’s supine form and straddled her hips. She began thrusting into Stefania’s abdomen with the heel of her hands, leaning into it with her full weight. The action felt more productive now with the tension gone from Stefania’s body and the layers of clothing out of the way. It took only a couple of tries to force a ragged wheeze out of her slack, blue lips.
When Stefania made no further effort to breathe, Camilla leaned forward and hooked a thumb over the unconscious woman’s bottom teeth, opening her mouth as wide as possible as she peered inside. There was something just barely visible at the back of her throat. Camilla swept a finger into her mouth to try to retrieve the object. Somehow, this felt more invasive than cutting her out of her dress just moments ago.
The object was just out of reach. With a frustrated huff, Camilla withdrew her hand and repositioned herself to continue abdominal thrusts. Her fear gradually gave way into a grim focus, and Camilla lost herself to the rhythm of this simple repetitive task. It was positively hypnotic the way Stefania’s shoulders shrugged and breasts jiggled in in time with Camilla’s determined thrusts. Camilla’s chest hitched with excitement at each grunt and strangled gasp she managed to wring out of the choking woman. She had to force herself to stop after hearing a particularly harsh gag to check if the obstruction had cleared. This time when she swept Stefania’s mouth, a large, almost completely intact piece of meat tumbled out and landed in a pool of saliva.
Camilla dove toward Stefania and sealed their lips together, breathing deeply into the other woman’s lungs. Stefania’s chest rose, causing her breasts to graze against Camilla’s. The feeling sent a pleasant shiver through Camilla’s whole body. She delivered another breath and Stefania’s lips twitched in response.
Stefania’s throat seized with a few breathless hacks before the first lungfull of air sent her back arching off the floor in desperate relief. Camilla knelt over her, too shaken to move, while Stefania thrashed and sputtered, still loosely trapped between Camilla’s thighs.
“It’s alright, my Lady,” Camilla murmured. “Stefania, you’re alright. Just breathe now.”
Watching the colour slowly return to Stefania’s face as she recovered filled Camilla with such warmth and satisfaction that she couldn’t resist reaching down to stroke a palm against her cheek. Nothing could ruin this moment.
“It’s been ages! Where could that girl have gone?”
Except perhaps the entire dinner party walking in on them and seeing the noble family’s daughter lying half-naked under one of the servants. Camilla jerked her head up, burning from shame as much as physical exertion. Stefania’s parents and Lucia De Bardi all wore terrifically scandalized expressions. Giancarlo De Bardi grinned slyly. Stefania’s little brother Benito pointed a grubby finger at the girls and brayed enthusiastically.
As she looked up at her father in a daze, this was the only time Stefania recalled ever seeing him at a loss for words.
Well father, you did say you wanted to make a memorable impression.
Trans guy Skyler chokes just a few days after getting a hysto. His partner tries to help without using abdominal thrusts.
[M victim. F rescuer. Choking. Partial airway obstruction. Back blows.]
Skyler shuffled into the kitchen and eased himself into a chair at the table, looking over the row of medication bottles like a general inspecting his troops. There were twice as many as usual on account of him being 48 hours post-op from a long-awaited hysterectomy. Aside from his usual psych meds (necessary evil), he had antibiotics to ward off infection (so far so good), anti-inflammatories for pain control (so far so meh), and a non-prescription stool softener that he’d picked up after several other trans guys had recommended it (the unsung hero of abdominal surgery recovery, holy fucking shit).
“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” his partner, Grace, called from the sink. She had taken time off work to help him during the first week of recovery. “Here,” she said, setting down a bowl of oatmeal in front of him. “For the ones that need food.”
“Thank you,” he hummed, voice still thick and gravelly from sleep. “’Preciate you.”
“I’m glad I could help!” she chirped. “It’s kinda nice actually. Reminds me of when I used to take care of my grandpa.”
Skyler snorted, which was as close to a laugh as he dared to get right now. “I’m better looking though, right?”
“You did not just ask me to think about how hot my grandpa was.”
Skyler dug into his oatmeal as their goofy couple banter continued. When he wasn’t paying attention, half a mouthful slithered down his throat the wrong way. He broke off mid-sentence, sputtering. After the surgery, every cough, hiccup, and too-deep inhale made his still-healing muscles spark with pain. Skyler tensed, fighting his body's natural urge for a deep forceful cough. He smacked an open palm against his chest, trying to work the obstruction out of his throat. All that came out was a pathetic, gargling wheeze.
The harder he coughed, the more it would hurt, but those shallow huffs of air weren't cutting it and the human body really had no chill about saving itself. Skyler resigned himself to that fact as he braced both hands against his tender abdomen and attempted a proper inhale. The ragged breath hitched, dissolving into a series of hacking, shuddering coughs. He pressed into his abdomen and tried his best to ride it out.
Grace winced sympathetically. “Aw, sorry babe. That looks like it really hurts right now.”
A searing pain lanced through his shoulder as Skyler continued to cough. The nurses at the hospital had warned him about this potential side effect of surgery. Apparently the human body had a nerve running to the shoulder that could get compressed by abdominal swelling, causing a ‘slight twinge’ of pain. Fuck that. Skyler felt like he was getting stabbed.
Grace shifted nervously in her chair. It was obvious from the look on her partner’s face that he was in a lot of pain, but she was also concerned about how much difficulty he seemed to be having clearing his airway. She rounded the table and began patting firmly between his shoulder blades.
“Sky, are you okay? I don’t wanna have to heimlich you this soon after surgery.”
God no, just let me choke, Skyler thought miserably.
He was standing now, gripping the edge of the table as he jolted forward with each thudding blow. Every rattling cough sent a fresh wave of pain rippling through his abdomen. At the same time, the lack of oxygen was giving him a weird though not entirely unpleasant buzz.
Grace landed another sharp, heavy blow between Skyler’s shoulders, panic rising in her voice as she ordered him to cough. “Is this – are you for real right now? Cough it up, Sky. Come on, you got this.”
One particularly harsh cough launched the sticky mass out of his throat, where it splattered on the table. Skyler took a deep breath and let it out with a groan. Grace’s hand stilled on his back. Gradually, the irritation in his throat subsided.
“You scared me, jerk,” she said without any real animosity.
“It’s so over for me,” Skyler lamented. “A bowl of instant oats was almost my downfall.”
Grace leaned against her partner’s back and mumbled “I love you” into his shoulder.
“What was that?”
“I said my grandpa was hotter than you. No contest.”
The daughter of an Italian nobleman tries to hide the fact that she is choking so as not to embarrass her father in front of a potential ally. The only person aware of her predicament is the servant girl who she's been trying all week to flirt with.
[F victim. F rescuer. Choking. Heimlich.]
A swell of laughter startled Stefania and she realized her mind had been wandering again. She flicked her gaze over to where her father and his dinner guest were draped over the divan, cheeks rosy with the flush of wine. Giancarlo De Bardi was the latest in a series of Florentine nobility her father Alonzo had invited to their family’s estate as part of his political maneuvering, the seventh one in as many nights. It was nice to get dressed up and play hostess every once in awhile, but most nobles were tiresome company and Stefania longed to return to her studio.
She had missed half the conversation, and De Bardi’s eyes were on her again, waiting expectantly. Taking her cue from her father, she laughed and tried to make it sound sincere. It seemed enough to placate them, and the men returned to their discussion.
Camilla, one of the family’s servants, swept into the room and refilled everyone’s glasses. Stefania sat up a bit straighter and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She had no trouble summoning a real smile around Camilla. Throughout the last week, the two had been commiserating through shared glances. Subtle eye rolls when a guest said something particularly boneheaded, coy little smirks when Alonzo stumbled over his words in eagerness. Two nights ago, Stefania had reluctantly accepted a dance from a nobleman who roved his hands over her like he was Michelangelo shaping clay. It would be hard to forget the way her skin crawled under his indecent touch, or the grim relief that washed over her when she glanced over his shoulder and saw Camilla glowering from the edge of the room. Stefania held her gaze, and for the rest of the dance pretended she was in Camilla’s arms.
Alonzo murmured his thanks, barely acknowledging Camilla as she worked. Camilla approached Stefania and poured a generous bit of wine into her glass, much more than she had given both men. Her brown eyes were bright and conspiratorial and she winked as if to say you’re going to need this. Stefania smiled warmly up at her and mouthed grazie. Her gaze lingered on Camilla as she retreated, appreciating the way the evening sun made her olive skin glow.
De Bardi was now leaning precariously to one side, elbow perched on the arm of the divan and finger clumsily pointing at one of the paintings on the wall.
“I was saying, Alonzo, you have an impressive collection featuring most of the great masters, but I don’t think I recognize that one.”
“Ah, that is an original masterpiece by my daughter,” Alonzo beamed. “One day, she is going to make the Cellini name well known in the art world.”
De Bardi hummed appreciatively. “Very nice. Do you ever do portraits, my dear? How would you like the chance to work with someone truly inspiring?”
“Who did you have in mind, my Lord?”
Mercifully, Camilla returned at that moment to announce that dinner was ready. Everyone rose and made their way to the dining hall, joining up with Stefania’s mother and Giancarlo’s wife as they returned from touring the villa’s gardens. They took their seats around the long wooden table laden with colourful fruit, decadent cheeses, and a hearty roast duck in a sweet, tangy orange sauce. Stefania’s younger brother, Benito, scampered in late, sliding into the chair across from her. Their mother tutted and brushed a smudge of dirt off his chin as he got settled.
Stefania was still only half paying attention to the conversation as dinner got underway, but she picked up on the change in her father’s tone as he shifted into the rousing, persuasive cadence he used whenever he was trying to make a sale. The only other person at the table whose boredom rivaled her own was Benito, and he often dealt with that boredom by pestering her. Stefania felt a sharp kick to her shin and glared across the table at her little brother, who feigned an expression or innocence. They both knew she would shoulder the blame if she made a fuss and embarrassed their father in front of company. Camilla passed behind Benito and lightly elbowed him the head as she reached to remove a dish. She muttered an apology to him while staring pointedly at Stefania with a self-satisfied smirk. Stefania gave a small, appreciative nod.
She popped another piece of duck into her mouth, determined to enjoy the food at least. The flavours danced across her tongue as she savoured the tender morsel. Just as she prepared to swallow, Benito surprised her with another kick, causing her to gasp involuntarily. The sharp intake of breath pulled the food into her throat where it pressed awkwardly against her windpipe. She made a soft, pained gulp and quickly pursed her lips in an attempt to stifle the noise. Benito was grinning smugly as he continued to wolf down his supper. She fixed him with what she hoped was a menacing look, but she began to waver as she realized that the piece of meat still blocked her throat despite repeated attempts at swallowing. She tried a light, experimental cough, but no air was coming out. She furrowed her brow and tried delicately to inhale, but no air was getting in. Her eyes widened in fear at the grave realization that she was choking.
Stefania went utterly still as she considered her next move. Her father would be angry and terribly embarrassed if she made a scene. She was reasonably certain he cared more for her wellbeing than his own reputation, but still she hesitated. Her need wasn’t too dire yet, and she might be able to work this out on her own. Stefania dropped her gaze and chewed slowly, deliberately, attempting another hard swallow. The effort only seemed to wedge the bite of food more securely in her throat. The tangy sauce, usually a refreshing treat, now burned her throat, making her nose prickle and her eyes water. She swiped at a traitorous tear threatening to spill over and hoped no one noticed the blush creeping up her face.
Her dinner companions as of yet were unaware of Stefania’s predicament, but Camilla had noticed her apparent discomfort all the way from her post near the head of the table. Stefania caught on to Camilla’s restrained concern, and for the first time, the attention felt like too much. She could handle her father’s disappointment, but she withered at the thought of looking foolish in front of Camilla. Stefania flashed a weak smile in her direction, trying to assure them both that everything was fine, even as she winced from the pressure building in her chest. Her aching lungs strained for air. It was an odd sensation, making her feel impossibly full and cavernously empty all at once.
Maybe a drink would help ease the stubborn mass down. She reached for her wine glass with trembling fingers and sipped carefully, not wanting to spew. That restraint paid off as the wine pooled at the back of her throat, unable to breach the obstruction. She leaned forward and gently released the mouthful back into her glass with only a few droplets dribbling down her chin.
Stefania dabbed at her lips with a silk napkin, grateful for an excuse to hide behind something. She felt hot, dizzy, chest heaving and heartbeat thundering in her ears. Benito was scowling at her again. Perhaps it was too optimistic to think she could be discreet about gagging into a napkin. She held it there anyway, if only to absorb the flood of saliva that poured out of her mouth as she gurgled and retched.
Pleasepleaseplease just let this be over.
“Mooom!” Benito’s petulant drawl rose above the din. “Stefania’s making faces at me. Tell her to stop.”
Well, that certainly got everyone’s attention. Her dinner companions were all staring at her with confused expressions and a tinge of disgust. Stefania could contain her discomfort no longer. She lurched out of her chair, sending it clattering behind her, and clapped a sweaty palm over her mouth. Then, she turned and raced out of the room.
She burst into the hallway without any idea where she was going. It felt as though she was floating somewhere outside her body, being pulled along like a kite on a string by some unearthly force that compelled her forward. She stumbled along until finally she sagged, clutching at the wall for support. Her free hand clawed desperately at her throat. It surprised her to actually feel a bulge where the delicious, dastardly dinner sat blocking her windpipe. She worked her fingers over the spot, trying to coax it out. The action seemed to disturb something in her throat and she heaved, arching her back like a cat, as she struggled to cough up the food. The roughest, most sickening noise tore out of her and she doubled over, retching with such force that her vision dimmed.
When it faded back in, she was staring into Camilla’s eyes, dark with worry. Camilla’s strong hands were on her shoulders, steadying her as she looked the helpless woman over with increasing terror. Stefania couldn’t blame her. She probably looked dreadful right now, standing there shuddering and gaping like a fish. She felt her intricate hairdo sliding to the side. Several tendrils of thick auburn hair had fallen loose and were clinging to her blotchy face, wet with tears and mucus. Camilla dropped her hands from Stefania’s shoulders and disappeared from view.
Stefania’s heart sank with fear that she had scared Camilla away for good, but it was barely a second before those hands were back, circling around her waist and locking together against the soft spot just below her ribs. Stefania instantly relaxed into the embrace, feeling the press of Camilla’s ample breasts and large stomach as she leaned into Camilla’s warm, supportive touch. It was an oddly blissful moment, despite the circumstances. A thought strayed into Stefania’s muddled mind that this was all strangely similar to that uncomfortable night on the dance floor. She hadn’t been able to breathe then either. At least this time she’d managed to find her way into Camilla’s arms. She might have chuckled if she had the breath to do so.
Pain exploded through Stefania’s body as Camilla jerked her fists up into her abdomen. It shocked her so much that she came to a little more, but before she could get her bearings, Camilla did it again. Stefania’s ribs flared in response, still making feeble attempts to usher the breath back into her lungs. It hurt, sickened her stomach, but she understood that Camilla was trying to help her.
Camilla pulled into her over and over with deep, bruising thrusts, nearly lifting Stefania off the ground a few times. More and more of Stefania’s hair came undone as she bobbed up and down in Camilla’s arms. The heat that had been building to a fever pitch inside her suffocating body suddenly rushed out in an instant, leaving her cold and drained. She began to slump forward, letting her arms hang heavy as Camilla fought to keep up her efforts while supporting more and more of Stefania’s weight. Camilla’s panicked voice surfaced over the rush of blood in Stefania’s head, begging her to cough it up and breathe.
She wanted to, but it was out of her hands now. The last of her strength left her and she folded over, completely limp in Camilla’s desperate grasp. Stefania’s vision darkened. Sparks of light flickered against the endless black like embers rising into the night sky. She tried to warm her hands at the fire, but she couldn’t move. She was gone, disappearing into the darkness like a drop of paint in the ocean.
After discovering evidence of a government conspiracy, Archivist Kairi escapes her home planet with the help of Yvon, the implanted memory of a former military pilot. Drifting through space in a damaged shuttle, they are picked up by Del, a scavenger, who attempts to resuscitate Kairi after the shuttle loses oxygen.
[GN rescuer, F victim, M victim. CPR. AED. Hypoxia. Agonal breathing.]
It was a good plan in theory, but now that she was actually sitting in the cockpit of an A-97 Stinger shuttle about to add thievery to her list of crimes, right after treason, Kairi was less certain.
“You’ve flown this model before, right?”
Deep in her subconscious, Yvon’s memory stirred.
<You picked me because I was the best pilot Gila’am had ever seen. Give me anything with wings and a throttle and I’ll make it dance.>
Kairi blew out a shaky breath. She had given herself only one month to integrate with Yvon, the living memory unit of a former military pilot. Six months was the norm for safe, successful integration. As head Archivist of the most respected education centre on the planet of Gila’am, Kairi could have had her pick of scholars, diplomats, and philosophers, but she had more immediate need of Yvon’s skills. After uncovering evidence of a government conspiracy, she was no longer safe on her home planet.
Alarms blared throughout the hanger. It was now or never.
“Let’s go.”
The now-familiar vertigo washed over her as she relinquished control of her body. Yvon was always present, pressing against her consciousness like the water outside a submarine, but she decided when to open the hatch and let him flood in. He didn’t feel things in the way that people typically understand feeling. Everything an LMU experienced was through a shared endocrine response with their host, rather than direct sensory input. The weight of the controls in his – their – hands, the rumble of the engine as the craft roared to life, sent a burst of endorphins and adrenaline coursing through memory and host. But Yvon wasn’t thinking about the technicalities of their situation. In that moment, he simply felt good.
Yvon revved the engines and Kairi’s body sunk back into the pilot’s chair, heavy under the increased g-force. The craft sped out of the hanger and lifted sharply up. Clouds swirled past the windows and the amber sky darkened to black as Gila’am’s atmosphere peeled away from them. Kairi had never been off world before. She was grateful for Yvon’s guidance in this moment because even if she had been in control of her body, she would have been completely useless, distracted by the dazzling stars.
This was one unexpected benefit of sharing your mind with another. Yvon had been to space over a hundred times in his fifteen years as a pilot, and even the brilliance of the cosmos eventually became routine. Kairi’s wonder sluiced over him like a cool spring and he saw the stars as if for the first time.
<Beautiful, isn’t it?>
Kairi was shaken out of her stupor by three blips on the radar. “Yvon, what am I looking at?”
<Ah, we have company.>
Three sleek Enforcer ships streaked across the void, quickly advancing on Kairi and Yvon’s position. Yvon rolled the shuttle, just barely avoiding the head ship’s laser. The other two Enforcers began firing and one lucky shot seared across the Stinger’s hull. Damage reports scrolled by on the dashboard faster than Kairi could read. Yvon had suggested the Stinger because of its speed and maneuverability, but the lightweight shuttle just couldn’t hold up under extended fire from three advanced warships.
A dense cluster of rocks and debris appeared in front of them, close enough that it could be seen through the windshield without having to rely on radar.
<Perfect! I’m going to try to lose them in this asteroid field!>
“We are going to die,” Kairi said, screwing her eyes shut.
<Not if you would let me see where I’m flying.>
Yvon bobbed and weaved through the asteroid field. Smaller rocks pinged off the hull, causing Kairi to jump at every impact. She involuntarily jerked the controls, scraping the shuttle against a chunk of ice.
<Don’t fight me, Kairi! Breathe.>
She attempted to slow her breathing, hoping to quell the nauseating combination of stress hormones churning through her system: Yvon’s steely confidence trying desperately to override her primal panic. He dodged a piece of debris and her anxiety spiked again as she realized it was a jagged piece of another ship. They had thankfully lost the Enforcers, but a huge rock was growing bigger in their field of vision and it looked to Kairi like there wasn’t a large enough gap to fly around it.
<You know why they call this model the Stinger?>
Yvon’s voice, if she could even call it that, was playful. Smug, even. He flipped a switch on the dashboard, discharging a shimmering pulse of electricity. Every rock within a 10-foot radius instantly vaporized into a shower of space dust.
Kairi whooped with excitement as their shuttle cleared the asteroid field. Internally, Yvon was smiling too.
“Lead with that next time!” Kairi said in between nervous gasps.
<It has a long refractory period. Didn’t want the show to be over too quickly.>
Kairi chuckled, still struggling to catch her breath. This felt different than the panic attacks she’d experienced before. Air was moving into her with each breath, but it did nothing to soothe the tingling itch inside her lungs. A red warning light flashed and caught her attention.
“Oh no…”
The shuttle was losing oxygen rapidly. Kairi’s heart thudded in her chest and she started to hyperventilate. For the first time since liftoff – the first time since they’d integrated, really – Yvon began to worry. To date, there had never been a successful postmortem extraction of an LMU. If Kairi died, Yvon’s memory would die with her. LMUs were not installed while their human counterpart still lived, so, logically, he knew that a version of him had already experienced death. It was a thought he had pushed down ever since he awoke inside Kairi’s consciousness.
<Kairi, listen to me> Yvon soothed, inasmuch as he could convey tone with only his thoughts. <We’re not going to die. Not yet. We need to find an oxygen tank and a helmet and connect them to your suit.>
Yvon insisted that Kairi slip on a flight suit over her uniform as soon as she entered the shuttle. He was especially grateful for that instinct now, as it would save them time in donning the emergency gear. Kairi’s hands fumbled over the seat belt and released it with a click. She stood up from the pilot’s chair and her feet lifted off the floor. The lights in the cockpit flickered. There was a moment of darkness before the emergency lighting snapped on, bathing the cockpit in an eerie greenish glow. Yvon cursed inwardly. No power, no g-forces simulating gravity. The engines were down and they were drifting.
Kairi’s black hair swung freely as if flowing underwater as she turned her head and looked around the cockpit. The tank and helmet were mounted to the wall behind her. She kicked off the pilot’s chair and swam over to them.
<Good> Yvon murmured. <Don’t turn the oxygen on yet. First you need to connect the tank to the helmet. There’s a small circular port on the back of the helmet.>
There were dark spots in Kairi’s vision as she maneuvered the air line into the port with shaking hands and twisted it until it was secure.
<Do you feel the metal ring in the neck of your suit? Put the helmet on and twist the ring to connect it.>
Kairi did as she was told. The echo of her own wheezing breaths inside the helmet was unnerving. She reached down and turned on the oxygen, shuddering with relief as she took her first full breath in what felt like forever. Her bangs were matted to her forehead, sticky with sweat, but she ignored the discomfort as she hung there in zero g, drinking in the steady flow of oxygen. While she recovered, Yvon thought about their next step.
<We don’t have a hull breach. The shuttle would have depressurized instantly if that were the case and we would already be dead. This is an engine problem. No engines means no life support, which means no temperature controls and no oxygen recycling. We’ve got about three hours to solve this problem before your oxygen tank runs out.>
“Can you show me how to fix the engine?”
<We need to see the extent of the damage first.>
Yvon guided Kairi to a hatch in the floor that led to the craft’s small engine compartment. It was standard procedure for all pilots to be trained to make basic repairs. After a moment of poking around, he realized the problem. The engine was designed to vent excess heat out into space, but the vents along the hull were jammed shut, likely due to impacts from the asteroid field. That alone would have only taken a quick EVA to fix, but the engine had suffered significant heat damage under the stress of their narrow escape, and there weren’t enough replacement parts on board.
<Alright, Plan B. We activate the distress beacon- >
“No!” Kairi shouted, surprising herself with the noise. “The Enforcers will be looking for me, and I didn’t go through all this trouble just to wind up in prison.”
<Then let’s get back to the pilot’s chair for Plan C.>
Yvon called up a map of the star system. Navigational aids were offline, but based on their flight path before they lost engine power, he calculated that they were on a trajectory towards the system’s jump gate.
<Admittedly it’s a long shot, but if we can reach the gate, we can jump to a heavily populated system and find help.>
Kairi fidgeted in her seat. “So we just sit around until we drift past the gate?”
<Think of it like a long road trip. Want to play I Spy while we wait?>
“Oh, fuck off.”
_____
Del leaned their head back against the headrest and closed their eyes. The spin of the pilot’s chair gradually wound down and Del kicked off the floor, sending it whirling again. They traveled to this sector hoping the asteroid field would be a gold mine of wrecks that they could salvage for scrap. So far, the trip had been a wash. They hummed along as the record player – one of their favourite antiques they had scavenged – crackled with the easygoing melodies of an old Earth band called The Beach Boys.
“You know what, boys?” Del said, still with their eyes closed. “Yeah, it would be fuckin’ nice.”
Something pinged on the radar, and for a second, Del thought they had imagined it. The console chimed again and Del sat up, leaning forward to examine it more closely. A pair of goggles dangled around their neck, gently swinging as they scanned the feed. There was something heading toward Del’s ship. They squinted out the window and flipped the headlights on, catching a glint of something small and metallic. It looked like a shuttle.
“Company,” Del muttered, “and I’m not even dressed.” In the nearly two weeks they’d spent alone, Del had taken to wearing their jumpsuit with the zipper down to their bellybutton and the arms tied around their waist. They still bound their chest, not comfortable enough to go fully topless, even in the far reaches of space.
Del flicked on the short wave radio and attempted to hail the shuttle. Receiving no response, they adjusted some settings on their ship’s external sensors to try to see if the shuttle was giving off any heat emissions. Nothing. The craft was dead in the water. Maybe this trip hadn’t been a complete waste after all.
Del brought their ship alongside the shuttle and matched its velocity, preparing to bring the shuttle aboard. As the airlock to the cargo hold began cycling, Del gleefully drummed their fingers on a set of joystick controls. They had just installed a set of robotic arms on their ship and were eager to test the upgrade. The arms moved along a track that ran the full length of the hull. They each had three fingers, independently controlled, and two joints that resembled wrists and elbows. Before they got the upgrade, whenever Del picked up a particularly big piece of scrap, they would have to do multiple EVAs to disassemble it and bring it into the cargo hold piece by piece.
With only a bit of fumbling on Del’s part, the robot ‘hands’ clamped down on the shuttle and dragged it through the now open hangar doors. “Easy, easy… yes!” Del cheered as they managed to set the shuttle down with only a slight bump. Del retracted the arms and switched on the ship’s autopilot. While the autopilot adjusted the environmental controls to re-pressurize the hangar, Del grabbed a toolkit and made their way down.
The shuttle, now that Del was close enough to identify it, was a Stinger model. There were some scrapes and dents on the hull and… were those scorch marks? It was unusual to see a small shuttle like this so far from any planet or station. Del wondered briefly if they had launched from a larger ship, a fighter or cruiser that had gotten damaged or attacked. The windows were dark and Del could see nothing of the inside of the cockpit. They released the emergency lock and slid open the door on the side of the shuttle.
Del shone a flashlight into the cockpit and sucked in a breath through their teeth. The flickering beam illuminated a human figure wearing a flight suit and helmet who was slumped over, unmoving, in the pilot’s chair. Many of the wrecks Del had scavenged were surely deadly, but none had ever come with a body. Del really didn’t want to add Grave Robber to their business card.
The stranger didn’t respond when Del crept closer and tapped their shoulder. Del panned their light over the body, taking a closer look. The needle on the stranger’s oxygen tank was pushing into the red. Del unclasped the seat belt and carefully maneuvered the stranger out of the chair, lying them down on their back on the floor of the cargo hold.
The stranger’s helmet twisted off easily with a light click. Long black hair spilled out in a halo around her head. Her heart-shaped face was ghostly pale and her lips had a distinct bluish tinge. Del could feel their own pulse pounding at their temples as they ran their finger’s along the woman’s neck. They leaned down with their ear directly over her mouth and counted silently to ten. She was absolutely still with no sounds of breath.
Del shifted slightly, trying to recall the first aid training they had taken so many years ago and regretfully never cared enough to renew. They tipped her chin up, plugged her nose and sealed their mouth over hers, delivering two deep breaths past the woman’s soft, pliant lips. Del straightened up and locked their hands over the center of her chest, pushing tentatively at first, then more forcefully as they found their rhythm.
When they hit thirty compressions, Del leaned down to give two more breaths, and then listened for any signs of life. This is pointless, they thought, hearing nothing. How hard were they supposed to try before admitting they were only bruising a corpse? Del grabbed at the zipper on the woman’s flight suit and pulled it down so they would have one less layer in the way of their rescue efforts. They froze when they saw the uniform she was wearing underneath – the sky blue robes of an Archivist. What was an Archivist doing all the way out here? And more importantly, how much would her people pay to have her returned alive?
Moving with renewed purpose, Del jumped up and ran down the corridor towards the ship’s modest medical bay. They knew they had an AED around somewhere and hoped it still held a charge. Newer ships had fully automated medical interfaces with advanced monitoring equipment and CPR machines. Del had never really thought to upgrade this part of their ship. They figured any accident bad enough to warrant that much help was one they probably weren’t going to walk away from. Besides, they’d still need someone to switch on the machines, and they almost always traveled alone.
Del raced back to the cargo bay with the AED, skidding on their knees to the woman’s side. They took the shears to her robe, exposing her chest, then powered up the AED. Del stuck the pads to the Archivist’s chest where the diagram showed and let the machine work.
Analyzing. Do not touch patient. Shock not advised. Continue CPR.
Del placed their hands in the valley between the woman’s breasts and pumped. Her breasts jiggled and her stomach popped as her body rocked with the force of the compressions. Del was ashamed at how much they enjoyed the sight.
“Focus!” they growled. “What’s wrong with you?” They continued the cycle of compressions and breaths for about two minutes before the AED chirped again.
Analyzing. Do not touch patient. Shock not advised. Continue CPR.
The woman’s chest reddened under Del’s determined hands. Her head nodded back and forth and her eyes cracked open slightly, though she was still unresponsive. Del subtly stroked her cheek as they repositioned her jaw for more breaths. Her beautiful chest rose and fell completely at Del’s command. They were in control of her fate. The realization sent a not-unpleasant shiver down their spine.
Analyzing. Do not touch patient. Analyzing…
_____
Yvon was adrift in the darkness. Some sightless, weightless void that smothered him like ashes. His sputtering consciousness probed around in search of the solid, steadying edges of Kairi’s nervous system. He felt disconnected from her and it troubled him, but if he was conscious enough to have these thoughts, then she couldn’t be dead.
A sliver of light sliced through the inky void. Yvon peered through the gap at the dark brown face slowly coming into focus. Someone was staring down at him, at Kairi, their expression pinched with worry as they bobbed rhythmically up and down. A bead of sweat rolled down the stranger’s forehead. He watched as it wobbled at the tip of their nose for a second before splashing onto Kairi’s face. Then, the stranger leaned down, tipped Kairi’s head back and sealed their lips over hers.
Yvon didn’t like being manhandled like this. He so desperately wanted to do something, but he was underwater, being helplessly tossed about by the current.
<Get a grip. They’re saving your life.>
He didn’t know if he – and he meant the original Yvon, but really, what was the difference? – was alone when he died. It was likely. Working alone meant he never had to share the glory after pulling off a dangerous mission. Perhaps things would have gone differently if he’d had someone to help him. For the first time since he integrated with Kairi, he paused to consider the irony of his situation. He had no choice but to rely on her, and as long as she lived, he would never be alone again. Funny how the universe always had a punchline custom built for you in the end.
<Come on, Kairi. This stranger is trying to help us. We can’t let them do all the work.>
He wrapped his awareness around Kairi’s heart and lungs and willed them to move.
_____
Shockable rhythm detected. Charging. Stand clear.
“Holy shit,” Del breathed, scuttling backwards on their ass.
Shock ready.
Del hit the button to deliver the shock. The AED whirred and made a noise like a flashbulb going off. The unconscious woman arched up off the floor, then slammed back down as her muscles relaxed, breasts jiggling from the impact. It looked painful, and Del wondered if she could feel what was going on. Did she know they were hurting her to save her?
The woman’s mouth fell open and a rasping, guttural gasp escaped her lips.
Shock delivered. Continue CPR.
“But she’s breathing!” Del protested, as if the machine could hear. On closer inspection though, it didn’t seem like the woman was actually getting any air. Her neck muscles twitched in a pathetic attempt to usher the much needed breath into her body, but her chest remained still while her lungs shuddered in emptiness. Del leaned forward and pushed two more breaths down her stubborn throat.
Del blew out a frustrated breath as they locked their hands over the woman’s heart once more, trying to ignore the way her breasts bounced against their wrists as they drove their hands into her chest. The full body flush they were experiencing was only mostly from physical exertion. Del cursed as a bead of sweat ran into their eye. They blinked furiously, trying to disperse the salty burn without breaking the rhythm of their compressions.
Analyzing. Do not touch patient.
“Come ooon,” Del whined. They were feeling pretty wrung out and weren’t sure how much longer they could continue their efforts.
Charging. Stand clear.
Again, the woman lurched grotesquely as the electricity shot through her. This time when she thudded back down onto the metal floor of the cargo bay, her eyes flew open and she gasped sharply. Del cupped her cheek.
“Hey, hey, you’re alright. Can you hear me?”
The woman leaned into Del’s touch before her dark eyes fluttered closed again. Del felt a stab of fear in their chest, but relaxed when they saw that she was still breathing. They would rest a moment, they decided, and then find somewhere more comfortable to put their guest.
_____
Kairi awoke with a stuttering breath. Her chest felt heavy and the simple act of breathing was a chore. She forced her eyes open and quickly shut them as the bright overhead light sent a wave of pain rolling over her skull like ripples on a pond.
<There you are. How are you feeling?>
Kairi slowly opened her eyes again, blinking as her vision swam, then steadied. She was lying on a narrow cot in a small, windowless room with metal walls. There was a strap across her hips that anchored her to the cot, but its purpose seemed to be stability rather than restraint. Across the room was a counter and a stack of drawers. The plastic shell of an AED sat open on the counter, pads and wires askew, while a battery pack rested beside it in a charger. Above the counter, there were about a dozen shiny medical implements affixed to the wall by a strong magnet. It was a modest med bay, much smaller than the health centre on Gila’am.
Her brow furrowed as she realized she was alone in the room. Who had spoken then? Her pulse quickened. A sense of unease that didn’t entirely belong to her was building in her gut.
<Tell me what you remember.> The voice was coming from inside her head. Had she finally been approved to receive an LMU and was now waking up after the implantation? That would certainly explain the headache.
“Hello?” Kairi rasped. Her throat was dry and her voice stung like daggers. She swallowed thickly. She was about to ask who the presence was, but before she got the words out, a name popped into her brain. “Yvon?” She was flooded with relief, mostly his.
<That’s a good start. We had a bit of a close call. You were deprived of oxygen for… I’m not sure how long. Memory loss can be a side effect.>
Her sore ribs then, from CPR? She shuddered, which only aggravated her injuries. Flashes of memory were beginning to pull together like clouds from a gathering storm, but her head was foggy still.
“Show me.”
<It might be upsetting to re-experience- >
“Show. Me.”
Yvon obliged, rendering the scenes from their escape in startling detail. The flash of weapons fire, the harrowing chase through the asteroid field, the edges of her vision darkening as the air in the shuttle ran out, and a brief view of a cluttered cargo hold and a dark-skinned stranger staring down at her.
“So... where are we now?”
<From the condition of the cargo hold, I’d say we are on a scavenger’s ship.> Kairi could sense Yvon’s distaste. Before she could ask, he continued. <I’m extremely grateful not to be dead right now, but I suspect the Enforcers have put a bounty on you by now and the pilot of this ship only rescued us so they can collect it.>
Enforcers? Kairi groaned as memories of the government conspiracy she had uncovered resurfaced in her mind.
<Out of the frying pan, into the fire, eh?>
“Okay, I can get us out of this. Just need to think.”
The door to the med bay whooshed open and the visitor stopped short, blinking in surprise. “Oh! You’re awake!”
The visitor leaned against the door frame, but the tension in their brow betrayed their casual body language. They wore a vibrant green jumpsuit, which looked elegant against their dark brown skin. Their round cheeks and flat nose softened the overall look of their face, despite the intensity of their gaze.
“Don’t freak out, okay? My name’s Del. I picked up your shuttle near an asteroid field. Engines were down and your oxygen tank was almost empty. Please tell me you understand and aren’t brain damaged.”
“I understand,” Kairi rasped. “Might have to get back to you on the brain damage.”
Del smiled, warm, relieved.
<Careful,> Yvon warned. <You can’t trust a pretty face.>
Kairi watched as Del crossed the room and pulled a pouch of water out of the supply drawers. They kneeled down beside Kairi, unscrewed the cap, and held the pouch to her lips – an unnecessary gesture, since Kairi’s arms were not restrained. Kairi closed her dry lips around the nozzle and drank gratefully.
“Mmm. Thank you, Del. My name is Kairi.” She considered giving a false name, but figured if Yvon was correct and Del really did mean to collect a bounty, they already knew her identity. “What were you doing out there when you picked up my shuttle?”
“You first. What’s an Archivist doing out in the middle of space? It seems like you had a rough ride.”
Kairi wriggled under the blanket, just now realizing that she was no longer wearing her flight suit. Del must have removed it to administer first aid. She felt something small, thin and hard pressing against her chest: a safety pin holding the front of her Archivist robes together.
“Trying to get home. I was returning from a cultural exchange, but experienced a navigational system error and got lost in the asteroid field.” Plenty of people had told Kairi that she was a terrible liar. She hoped it would be easier with Del, who wasn’t familiar with all her tells yet. If nothing else, she could blame any suspicious behaviour on a hypoxic brain injury.
“Well, we’re in the Nimet system now, on the other side of the gate from where I found you.”
“That’s perfect! I’m from Korleck. It’s in this system. If you could drop me off, I’d be very grateful. So would my government. I’m sure they would want to reward you.”
“I think I could manage that. Might have to stop somewhere to refuel first.”
<No argument at all? Either there is no bounty, or the scavenger hasn’t caught wind of it. We were in a pretty remote area of space. It’s possible that any long range transmissions haven’t reached this ship yet.>
Del made a soft grunt as they got to their feet. “Soon as we’re in range, I’ll radio Korleck and let them know we’re coming.”
“Uh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Kairi said, trying to keep her tone neutral. “They’re expecting me, and face-to-face communication is more respectful for us. It’s a cultural thing.”
Del raised an eyebrow and Kairi did her best impression of the pleasantly vacant expression that she often saw on her diplomat friends back home. “Uh huh,” they said, finally. “I need to head back to the cockpit. Will you be alright here for awhile?”
Kairi nodded. “I should rest.”
Del dimmed the lights before they left. Kairi wasn’t sure if it was habit or if they had noticed her squinting uncomfortably. Alone again, sort of, in the cool darkness, she sighed and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
<Korleck was a good choice.>
“It’s a huge planet on a major trade route. We’ll give Del the slip once we’re planetside. From there, it shouldn’t be too hard to get passage on another ship.”
<What are you going to do with the information you discovered?>
Kairi chewed on her bottom lip. “I haven’t decided yet. Find someone who’ll listen to me. Let them make the hard decisions.”
Yvon was quiet for a long while. Kairi was just beginning to drift off to sleep when he spoke again. <Kairi, what happened to me? What was the recorded cause of death for Yvon Durel?>
She hesitated before answering. “Officially, you died in the line of duty. There aren’t a lot of details. All I found out was that there was some kind of accident during a mission in the Ortenna cluster. No body was ever recovered. Why are you asking about this now? You never wanted to know before.”
<Because I would like to locate my ship, my body, and find out how I died.>
While she hadn’t planned on going to such a remote cluster, their shared nervous system told her how much this meant to him. Besides, she owed him a favour, or several, for helping her escape from Gila’am.
“Okay. Yes, I’m with you. Let’s find out what really happened.”
<Thank you, Kairi.>
“Don’t mention it.” Kairi’s response came as a yawn as she settled into the cot. Soon, the hum of the engines lulled her to sleep.
Long distance lovers Cal and Rena are excited to reconnect on a date to the fair, but the evening gets dicey when Rena chokes on a ride. [M/F. Choking. Heimlich. CPR. Onsite resus.]
“Aw come on! It’s new year’s eve!”
“Sorry,” the ride operator responded in a carefully neutral tone that did not suggest he was sorry at all. “Park rules. No food or drink on the ferris wheel. I’ll hold onto that bottle and you can collect it from me after your ride.”
The woman looked like she was about to argue, but her partner muttered something inaudible and gently urged the bottle of wine out of her hand, passing it to the operator. Calvin Holmes, next in line with his girlfriend Rena, watched as the two women paid the fare and settled into their seats. He put an arm around Rena’s shoulder and grinned as he approached the operator.
“Nerve of some people, huh?”
The operator smiled wearily and said, “Enjoy the ride, folks. For your safety, please remain seated at all times.”
Rena shuddered as she sat down in the carriage. “I forgot these were metal seats.”
“Wanna sit in my lap?” Cal said playfully as he scooted in next to her.
“Now there’s an idea,” she chuckled, shifting in the small enclosure to straddle her boyfriend’s lap. She leaned in as if to kiss him, but turned her head at the last minute and exhaled a breath onto the window. Her manicured nails clicked against the glass as the drew a heart with her and Cal’s initials.
“Tease,” Cal whispered and nipped at her ear. Rena shivered as his breath ghosted over the soft skin of her neck.
There was a mechanical whirring and a loud ka-thunk as the ride started up. Rena settled back down beside Cal, resting her head on his shoulder as the carriage lifted.
“Perfect timing, Cal. We’ll have a great view of the fireworks from here.”
Cal smiled to himself. His buddies at the garage had given him a good ribbing about his corny date idea, but he and Rena were both romantics at heart. She was doing a physiotherapy masters program in the next province while he stayed in their home town working as a mechanic. Rena joked that they both did body work of sorts. The distance was tough at first. They talked and texted every day, but both looked forward to when Rena came home for holidays.
“Got something for us.” Cal rummaged in his jacket pocket and withdrew the box of chocolate covered strawberries he stealthily smuggled onto the ride.
Rena huffed a small laugh. “‘Nerve of some people’” she chided, grabbing one of the berries and popping it into her mouth.
“Hey, so, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. I got a raise at work. It’s enough that I’ve been able to start saving for a house. I know you said you weren’t really sure where you wanted to go after graduation, but I’d like to live together. Start our life together, for real. What do you think?”
Rena was silent. Her eyes were screwed shut and there was a pained expression on her face. Suddenly, she lurched forward and her shoulders heaved.
“Woah, babe, you alright? You gonna be sick?”
Rena slapped at Cal’s knee and turned to him, now fully panicking. Her mouth opened and closed, uselessly trying to gasp for air. She grabbed at her throat and a chill washed over him as he realized that she was choking.
“Aw shit, Rena! Cough it up!”
Cal brought the heel of his hand down firmly between Rena’s shoulder blades. Her puffy winter jacket cushioned the blows and he wasn’t sure that he was actually helping. He made a frustrated noise and jumped up. The quick motion caused the carriage to sway and Cal paused briefly to steady himself before hauling Rena up to stand.
Cal wrapped his arms around Rena, straining to position his hands properly with the size of her waist and bulky clothes. When he jerked his fist up into her stomach, the entire carriage swayed with the force. Rena stumbled forward. Calvin half fell, catching the seat while he held on tightly to his girlfriend. Pain shot through his knee as he awkwardly bumped it against the seat, but he managed to keep them both upright. This wasn’t going to be easy. He spun Rena around and grabbed the zipper on her jacket.
“I’m gonna help you, babe. Just need this off.”
The zipper stuck halfway down. Cal fumbled with it for a few seconds before ripping it off. He pulled the jacket off and dropped it at their feet, then spun Rena around again. Probably a bit too aggressively, but he would apologize later.
If there is a later.
Cal pushed that thought out of his mind as he sought his landmark. It was much easier to feel what he was doing without the jacket in the way. Easier to deliver thrusts too. His hands went deep into Rena’s soft belly as he pulled her against him. The carriage continued to sway, but Cal found his rhythm and the pair rocked into each other with each abdominal thrust. Rena folded over in his arms. Cal was supporting more and more of her weight and he could tell she was beginning to pass out.
“No, no, no” he pleaded, carefully lowering her to the floor of the carriage. There was barely enough room to lay her down fully. Cal leaned against the window and looked down at the operator’s booth. He screamed and waved, trying to get the man’s attention, but no one could hear him over the noise of the fireworks. There were at least another ten minutes on the ride. Too long for Rena to go without air.
There wasn’t enough room to kneel beside her, so Calvin straddled Rena’s hips. For a moment he was caught off guard by her appearance. Rena’s half-lidded eyes stared off into nothingness, completely void of expression, and her brown skin was becoming a sickly ashen colour from the lack of oxygen. The fireworks illuminated her still form in unnatural light – red, then blue. She looked… no, she couldn’t be dead. Not yet. He placed his hands just above her bellybutton and shoved hard.
Rena’s head lolled to the side. An odd gurgling noise came from her throat. Not a cough, not quite. Cal pushed again and the strawberry shot out of Rena’s mouth with a pressurized wheeze. He immediately crushed their lips together and breathed deep into her lungs.
This isn’t the kind of new year’s kiss I had in mind.
Cal drew back and waited. He shook her gently, then more frantically when she still didn’t breathe. He leaned down and pressed an ear to her chest, hearing only the muffled bursts of fireworks outside the carriage. They were a poor imitation of a heartbeat. Choking back a sob, Cal straightened up and locked his hands together over Rena’s chest and began pumping.
Small puffs of steam formed above her lips as Calvin’s air left her lungs. Her breasts jiggled and her stomach rolled under his desperate compressions. Cal leaned down to push two more breaths between her lips and tried not to think about how cool and relenting they were. Her chest rose, then returned to rest.
The carriage pitched forward as Cal began another round of compressions, putting him off balance. He heard a soft crunch as his hands landed too hard in the center of Rena’s chest.
“Fuck!” Cal shouted in frustration. He cursed the ride for trapping and taunting them. It was hard enough keeping Rena’s stubborn heart beating, but he had also spent the last few minutes bobbing to counter the ferris wheel’s movement. His bruised knee was aching and his muscles were quivering with effort.
“Come on Rena,” he gasped. His own breath was coming fast now. “Come back to me.”
Rena let out a strangled huff that turned into a low groan. Cal paused. “Rena?” he said, hopefully.
As if in response, Rena’s body spasmed with a sharp intake of breath and Cal could have melted with relief. Her eyelids fluttered as she gasped and coughed. Cal gently cupped her face with both hands as her gaze slowly fixed on him. Below them, the sounds of celebration rang out as people began chanting down to midnight. Cal leaned down and pressed a kiss to Rena’s forehead.
A deaf person saves their choking partner. [Unspecified genders. Choking. Heimlich.]
Your hand on my shoulder startles me and I fumble my embroidery stitch, accidentally sticking my finger with the needle. There’s an urgency to your touch that fills me with dread even before I look up and see your watering eyes and scarlet cheeks. Your other hand flies up to grasp at your throat. I quickly flash the sign for cough it up. You shake your head and clasp your hands in front of your stomach, miming an abdominal thrust.
I rise from the couch and spin you to face away from me. Your stomach muscles tense in anticipation as I ball my hands into a fist just below your rib cage. I wrench my hands into your diaphragm and the force causes you to fold over my arms. I see your shoulders shuddering, feel your stomach lurch as your body tries to expel the object that stole your breath, but I cannot hear if you’re moving any air. You look back at me over your shoulder, your expression pleading, and I continue to thrust. After five or six attempts, you sink to your knees and I slide down to the floor with you.
I’m terrified as I think for a second that you’re passing out. How long were you choking before you came to find me? You lean forward and brace one hand on the floor while the other beats uselessly against your chest. I let go of you just long enough to pull my phone out of my pocket and hit the emergency dial button. 911 texting is available where we live, but I haven’t registered for it. No matter. My hands are busy at the moment anyway. I set the phone on the floor beside us and try to enunciate as clearly as possible.
“I am deaf. I need an ambulance to 65 Ashburn Street. My partner is choking.”
I repeat the phrase over and over as I continue to work on you. I bring the heel of my hand down firmly between your shoulder blades, casting glances over your shoulder to see if anything has rolled out of your mouth. The skin on the back of your neck is growing purple and splotchy from the lack of oxygen. I grab you around your waist and haul you into a kneeling position. My heart clenches as you flop back into me, heavy in my arms.
I try another abdominal thrust, but it’s difficult to get enough leverage now that we are no longer standing. I switch to chest thrusts and that’s a bit easier. Your head lolls forward and I quicken my pace, furiously driving my hands into your chest. In my frenzy of panic, I almost don’t feel your hands fluttering over mine, urging me to stop. You lurch forward and spit out a grape. The wet, shining fruit rolls to a stop a few feet away as your body shakes with hacking, silent coughs.
My arms circle around you once more and I bury my face into the back of your neck, drawing the scent of you deep into my lungs. Hot tears are streaking down my face. I lap at them as they run into my mouth, tingling with the taste of salt. A flash of light draws my eye to the window and I see an ambulance pulling up outside our house. I let out a sigh of relief as I melt into you, feeling the rise and fall of your lungs as they fill with breath.
Hayden must save her girlfriend Merrill when she chokes eating breakfast. [F/F. Choking. Heimlich.]
Merrill was never much of a morning person. With her eyes still closed, she reached over to her girlfriend's side of the bed and hummed discontentedly when she grasped only sheets. Hayden was already at the gym then. The pair were opposites in many ways, but it had been easier than Merrill expected adjusting to each other’s schedules once they moved in together. She eventually rose, pulled on a pair of underwear and an oversized sweater, and made her way into the kitchen with a book while she waited for Hayden to return.
With a gurgle and a hiss, the coffee maker announced it was finished. Merrill crossed the kitchen, gently stepping over her cat Freddie who was lounging in a sunbeam, to retrieve two mugs from the cupboard. She chose the ones she and Hayden painted on their first date.
There was a jangle of keys in the front door and the dull thump of Hayden’s gym bag hitting the floor. Freddie meowed and trotted over to greet Hayden.
“Aw, there’s my little buddy,” Hayden said affectionately. Then, a little louder so Merrill would hear her from he kitchen, “Babe, I got us breakfast! That new bakery is finally – AH!”
“You alright in there?” Merrill called.
Hayden strode into the kitchen and placed a box of still warm croissants on the table.
“I’m okay. Freddie just got a little excited to see me.” She held out her hand, which was covered in fresh scratch marks.
Merrill grasped Hayden’s hand and brought it to her lips. “I told you not to play too rough with him,” she hummed, pressing a kiss to her girlfriend’s tanned skin.
Hayden smirked playfully. “Right, sorry. You’re the one who likes it rough.”
Merrill scoffed and dropped the hand, but couldn’t keep smile from forcing its way to her lips. “I made coffee.”
“Thanks babe. Heeey, I remember these,” Hayden said, picking up her mug. “You kept them.”
“Of course,” Merrill replied, grabbing a chocolate croissant from the box. “I love the one you painted for me, with that cute little gecko on it.”
“It was supposed to be charmander,” Hayden said with mock offense as she took a seat across the table.
Merrill smirked as she swallowed her bite of croissant. The pastry scraped painfully down her throat. She swallowed again, felt her muscles working around the chunk of food, but unable to move it. She pressed a closed fist to her lips and tried to force a bit of air, managing a jagged cough.
“You alright babe?” Hayden said, looking up from her breakfast.
Merrill lowered her fist and thumped it against her chest. When she spoke, her voice was strained.
“Wrong… pipe,” she wheezed.
Hayden pushed her drink across the table towards her girlfriend. “Here, take a sip.”
Merrill’s hands closed around the mug of coffee and she brought it to her lips. Immediately she knew something was wrong when she couldn’t swallow. She turned to the side and spat out the mouthful of liquid.
Hayden leaned forward in concern. When Merrill turned back towards her, her face was flushed a deep red. Tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes, wild with panic. Her mouth opened and closed silently as she pointed frantically at her throat.
“Oh shit,” Hayden muttered. She rounded the table and stood beside Merrill. She reached across Merrill’s chest for support and placed her other hand on Merrill’s back, urging her to lean forward. Then she brought the heel of her hand down firmly between Merrill’s delicate shoulder blades several times, to no avail. Merrill heaved, lungs spasming from the lack of air. She reached up almost involuntarily and weakly clasped Hayden’s forearm.
The back blows weren’t working and Hayden knew she had to try something else. She grasped Merrill under he armpits and pulled her to stand. Her muscular arms circled around Merrill’s torso, hands ghosting over the waistband of her underwear and she sought the proper position.
Ohmygod, ohmygod, she thought to herself, this is crazy!
Hayden made a fist just above Merrill’s bellybutton and clasped her other hand around it. She felt Merrill’s stomach muscles tense in anticipation.
“I’ve got you, babe,” she said, more confidently than she felt.
Hayden jerked her fist upward into her girlfriend’s soft stomach, causing Merrill to lurch forward. Hayden paused, hoping she wouldn’t accidentally injure Merrill while she attempted to save her. She had no idea how hard she should be doing this. She tried another abdominal thrust, and still nothing. Merrill was beginning to struggle less in her arms.
Screw it. Broken ribs heal.
Hayden summoned up her strength and pulled up into Merrill’s stomach with enough force to lift her off her feet. Merrill made a soft gagging noise. Hayden loosened her grip on Merrill’s waist, but kept her hands in the same position in case she needed to deliver more abdominal thrusts.
“Babe! Are you good?”
Merrill felt the blockage shift slightly. She leaned forward and shoved two fingers into her mouth, attempting to dig it out. Saliva dribbled down her hand and chin. No good. It was still too far in. She withdraw her fingers and shook her head.
Hayden fisted her hands into Merrill’s stomach again and again. Pressure built in Merrill’s chest and behind her eyes with each thrust, but the damn pastry didn’t budge. Stars danced in her vision. Her head was becoming a supernova, too hot and too heavy.
Suddenly, she felt the blockage release. She made a horrible retching noise that dissolved into hacking coughs.
“Come on Mer, cough it up!”
A large, wet, chunk of partially chewed croissant flew out of Merrill’s mouth and landed with a splat on the kitchen floor. Merrill’s knees buckled and Hayden gently lowered her to the ground as she coughed and sputtered. She was dizzy with the sudden rush of air, but Hayden held her steady as she got her bearings.
“Breathe Mer, just breathe,” Hayden murmured in Merrill’s ear as she held her. They were sat on the floor with Merrill leaning back flush against Hayden chest. Hayden held onto her from behind, her hands still resting on Merrill’s bruised stomach, feeling the rise and fall of her breaths as they evened out.
“I can’t believe… that just… happened,” Merrill said in between ragged breaths.
Hayden kissed the top of Merrill’s head as she muttered reassurances.
Freddie strolled over and began sniffing at the piece of croissant on the floor. Merrill shooed him away with her foot.
“Freddie, no! I almost died choking on that, if you even care!”
“And I already fed you this morning,” Hayden added.
Merrill let out a shaky laugh as she settled back into her girlfriend’s arms. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”
“Bet you’re glad I moved in with you now.”
Merrill turned so that she was looking up at Hayden and cupped her girlfriend’s cheek.
“That’s not the only reason,” she said softly, pulling Hayden into a kiss.
