Editing Nine of Swords

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;''Smothering…Oh, God, I was smothering, he had me pinned, his hand clamped hard over my face and cutting off my air.  My lungs were burning when he leaned in close and breathed in my ear:  “Learn to like it,” he said as I started to choke.  “Like it.  Or I’ll bust you so far down you’ll never step foot on a ship again…”''<br>

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I shot awake and clutched air where my gun would have been had I been wearing it.  My quarters were dark.  I was alone.  The bastard was dead.  Nothing else mattered.  I brought my knees up and sucked air, waiting for the shakes to subside.<br>

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;''I hadn’t dreamt that in years.  Why now?''  I listened to the atmo hissing through the vents and the answer was clear.  ''Arden'', that bitch-traitor part of my memory whispered.  ''Spittin’ image.  How many other ways is he alike?''<br>

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I kicked free of the covers, shoved my feet into the boots I’d left standing in the puddle of my coveralls, zipped up and quit the cabin.  There was only one thing that would make the memories go away and that was work.  A ship this size, even running in night mode, would have plenty of it.  I grabbed some coffee Christian had thermosed up in the galley and took it with me to the engine room.  I checked the time:  03:13 hours.<br>  

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I drained my cup, rolled up my sleeves and grabbed my tools.  If I was lucky, no one would look for me until after breakfast.