Archer woke in the dark, choking on dead air, his head spinning from oxygen deprivation. He recognized what was wrong, but struggled for focus so he could do something about it.
He felt around in the black, chest heavy, eyes burning, searching for the ejection button. His fumbling fingers find the cold, curved handle of the laser pistol that worked its way loose from his belt during the crash.
The crash! Archer froze, heart pounding, making his disorientation worse as his pumping blood used more of his precious fresh air reserve. He waited until the last moment, trusted his final command to fire the thrusters would be followed by the straining ship's computer, then dashed for the deck below and an ejection module. They were designed as personal safety craft for high-ranking crew, but wer
