by Cynthia Sax
Thankfully, the gash wasn’t deep. “Are you injured anywhere else?”
“No.” He shook his head and winced. “Go. Treat Ariq.”
“I have to give you pain inhibitors first.” She unwrapped the medic pack. “You—”
“Lead Medic.” Ariq shouted for her again.
“Give me pain inhibitors later.” Qulpa stumbled away from her, making the decision for her. “We’re warriors. He wouldn’t call for you unless it was life or death.”
Fuck. He was right. She glanced at Oghul.
He held out his palm.
She stuffed the medic pack in her pocket and grasped his fingers. He guided her through the remnants of the ship. There wasn’t much of it left. The bridge had broken into pieces. Panels littered the ground. Wires hissed.
She didn’t spot any body parts or corpses. The seats were whole, seemed to have been fabricated from a type of protective material. Her mother would have appreciated that feature.
Males, smeared with dirt and blood, stepped aside as they approached. Their solemn expressions prepared her. She knew it would be bad.
It was worse than she expected.
Her patient wasn’t merely any male. It was Yesun, the youngest. His chair had failed him. A small pipe had pierced the back, gone straight through the warrior’s chest.
“You can heal me, right?” He glanced at her, hope and fear battling for supremacy in his eyes. “You’re the best medic. Don’t tell my sister I said that.” He struggled to smile, his effort almost tearing her to pieces. “But you are.” He took a ragged breath. “Tell me you can heal me.”
“Keep still.” She fumbled through her mini medic pack and found the prolonger. That would slow his processes, extend his lifespan.
She injected him. It should buy him some much-needed time.
Because while the warrior had faith in her abilities to heal him, she didn’t share his optimism. They were on a disaster site. She didn’t have access to a proper medic pack or fancy machines.
The pipe was temporarily sealing the wound. It must not have hit any major organs. Those were the only reasons he remained alive.
That state wouldn’t last. He was slowly bleeding out.
“I have enough pain inhibitors for one warrior and that’s it.” She glanced at Oghul. “Are others injured?”
He looked around them. “All of the warriors are accounted for. Give the pain inhibitor to him.”
“I don’t need it.” Yesun’s bottom lip quivered. “I can tough it out.”
“That’s not your decision to make.” She injected him with the pain inhibitor. “I’m responsible for you until the Chamele medics arrive.”
Their location had been relayed before they crashed. Help would be coming.
For that, she was thankful. She didn’t currently have the tools to safely heal him. Machinery and more supplies were needed.
“The arrival of the medics will be delayed.” Oghul shook his head, dashing her hopes. “No rescue teams will be sent until they’re certain the hostile ship has left the area. That could take a shift or more.”
“That’s bovine shit.” She turned to him and lowered her voice. “His injury might look minor.”
“It doesn’t look minor.” Her barbarian’s lips formed a flat white line. “I’ve seen warriors die from less trauma.”
“But this is a serious situation.” She ignored his comments. “If we do nothing, he’ll die. Soon. He has mere moments of life left.”
“Then we do something.” Oghul cupped her chin, lifting it.
“If I do something, he might die.” And that would crush her. Because, although it wasn’t professional of her, she cared for the damn youth. He was too fuckin’ endearing. “All I have is the small medic pack and—”
“Is it enough?” Her warrior stopped her words. “Can you save him using what you have?”
She scanned Yesun with her handheld, considered the placement of the wound, what she would have to do. “It might be possible but—”
“We have no choice.” Oghul was blunt. “If we do nothing, he dies. If you tend to him, he might live.”
“Or he might die.” If she made one mistake, if she misjudged the extent of the wound, the youth’s lifespan would end. The process had to be perfect.
“He might die.” Her barbarian conceded that point. “His odds of survival are low. We all realize that.”
Ariq, Oghul’s top warrior, nodded. The male’s frantic shouts for help had been for Yesun, not himself. They all loved the youth.
“Low odds are better than having no chance at all.” Her male’s lips were grimly set. “You have to do this, gerel, for your patient, for me, for yourself. You have to try to save him.”
“But—”
“You have to do this.” He repeated.
She gazed at Yesun. The youth was trying so hard to be brave, chattering with the other males, making jokes, but she saw the fear in his eyes.
She was terrified also. Fuck. How had she found herself in this damn detestable situation again, having the ability to heal someone but not the equipment or supplies?
Her gut churned. Bile burned the back of her throat. Her fingers were already a mess, blistered and bleeding.
But she had to do this. She squared her shoulders. Her barbarian was right. They didn’t have a choice.
“I won’t fail him.” As she had failed the Palavian, her mother, others.
This time she would defeat death. She would save Yesun.
Chapter Sixteen
Loss wasn’t new to Oghul. Many of his friends had died in battle. That emotional burden was carried by every seasoned warrior.
But losing Yesun would crush him. The male was the youngest on his team, was engaging, likable, genuinely nice, and he resembled Hulagu, Oghul’s baby-faced brother. He hadn’t lived yet, hadn’t experienced the universe.
Oghul also felt responsible for the youth. It had been his decision to orbit the planet, his decision not to immediately fire at the other ship. The vessel was theirs…or had been theirs. They had fired a warning shot.
What type of adversary did that?
None that he knew. Warriors didn’t project their moves to their opponents. He’d concluded it wasn’t the enemy chasing them, had determined it was a communication error, a problem to be solved with words.
Their opponent had utilized missiles and shot his ship out of the sky. His crew’s injuries were his fault.
If Yesun died, he would be the being to blame. The youth’s death would be on Oghul’s conscience. It would haunt him forever.
“Search the rubble for a medic pack.” He gave that command to one of his males. “Gerel, what do we do?”
“Clean the area around the wound and the pipe.” She handed him one of the cleaning cloths, used a second one to tidy her blistered hands.
If Oghul could perform the procedure, spare her the pain, he would do that without hesitation. Seeing her in agony tortured him.
He hadn’t her skill. Few beings in the universe did.
She had to undertake the task. All he could do was assist her in every way possible, give her his strength, his hands.
He flicked the cleaning cloth to renew it, bent over their patient.
“I can clean myself, Second.” Yesun held out his palm. His fingers shook. The youth was striving to be brave, trying to act like a warrior should.
“You are to remain perfectly still.” Oghul’s gerel glowered at him. “That’s your sole task. Do you understand me?”
Yesun opened his mouth.
“Unless your next words are ‘I understand you, Lead Medic’, I don’t want to hear about it.” She didn’t allow him to speak. “You asked me if I could heal you. I can. But only if you do as I say.”
“You can heal me?” The youth looked at Gisella. The hope flickering in his eyes clawed at Oghul’s heart. “I won’t die?”
“I wouldn’t waste the pain inhibitors on you if I thought you were going to die.” Her brusque respon
se made many of the warriors smile.
They believed her. As did the youth. “I’ll see my family again?”
“You’ll see your family again.” She didn’t meet his gaze. “You’ll share burnt meat and other barbaric nourishment, reducing your lifespan significantly and—”
“It isn’t barbaric.” Her comment distracted Yesun from his injuries. “It’s delicious. My sister soaks the meat in a mixture for planet rotations.”
He talked about the process. Oghul cleaned the youth’s skin and polished the pipe sticking out of his chest. His gerel spread out the mini medic kit, hooked an object the length and girth of one of his hairs into her handheld. An image projected upon the ground before her.
She squinted at it. One of the warriors erected a flat piece of debris, creating a screen. The image stabilized.
“There will be bleeding.” Her tone held no emotion. “Don’t become alarmed. I will be preserving medical sealant and only bonding the major arteries and veins.”
Oghul heard what she didn’t say. There wouldn’t be sufficient sealant to close all of the severed arteries and veins, might not be enough to seal the life-or-death ones.
Any mistakes made would decrease the youth’s chances of survival. The pressure on his little medic must be enormous.
“We’re warriors.” He nodded at Yesun. “We’re accustomed to seeing blood and we don’t become alarmed. Ever.”
“This is like a battle, isn’t it, Second?” The youth gazed at him for reassurance. “We have to remain calm.”
“We have to remain calm.” He verified that goal.
“And you have to remain still.” Oghul’s gerel crouched by her patient, the sealing device in her hands. “Hold him against the back of the chair.”
Oghul did that, pinning Yesun’s shoulders against the surface. His own shoulder throbbed with pain. He ignored it.
“When I say to do so, I need a warrior to pull out the pipe. Very slowly.” Gisella waved the sealing device over the youth’s chest. The projected image changed, displaying what appeared to be an internal view of the male. “You are to stop when I say to stop.”
“I’ll do that.” Ariq positioned himself behind the chair, gripped the pipe.
“Will this hurt?” Yesun’s gaze flew upward to meet Oghul’s. “Not that it matters. I can endure the pain.” He swallowed. Hard. “I merely want to be…prepared.”
That was battlefield bravado. The youth was scared to death. Oghul saw that in his eyes.
“The pain inhibitors will ensure it doesn’t hurt you.” Gisella informed him. “But I understand it will feel strange. You might not be able to control your body’s reactions and that’s fine. Oghul will ensure you don’t move.”
Oghul nodded. The youth would remain still. He wouldn’t fail his little medic.
“Ariq, pull out the pipe.” She hovered over the wound.
The warrior grunted as he complied with her request. Blood gushed, flowing down Yesun’s chest. His form jerked.
“Stop.” She fed the sealing device into the hole the pipe left behind. The lines etched around her lips deepened.
Oghul gazed at her hands in horror. Each spurt of Yesun’s blood burned her pale skin, leaving patches of nasty-looking welts. His gerel must be in agony.
Yet she didn’t show it. Her forehead furrowed in concentration as she guided the device remotely through the wound, refastening the torn flesh, using the image as a guide.
The stream of crimson slowed yet didn’t halt. Yesun’s head swayed. His face turned ashen. His cheeks puffed out.
The youth was one glimpse of his own tattered flesh away from vomiting. That would make a risky process even more dangerous.
“Close your eyes, warrior.” Oghul put the full weight of command behind that order.
Yesun obeyed him, squeezing his eyelids shut. The color in his face didn’t return.
“I remember my first battle.” He sought to divert the youth’s attention from his wound. “Like you, I wanted to be the best. I was certain I’d excel, make a name of myself during the conflict.”
“Best warrior. In family.” Yesun said that between clenched teeth.
“I did make a name for myself.” Oghul continued his story. “I forgot to unlock both of my guns.” The males around them laughed. That was a common new recruit mistake. “If my Second hadn’t covered my ass, that would have been my last battle.”
“Pull.” His gerel instructed Ariq.
The warrior obeyed her.
“Stop.” She commanded a mere heartbeat later.
Zondoo. Oghul shook his head. The process was slow. This wouldn’t be a battle. It would be a long, drawn-out war with the youth’s lifespan as the prize.
Gisella’s chin jutted. His little medic was determined to be victorious.
“Your Second. Angry?” Yesun panted, his eyes remaining closed.
“He was angry. I could see that in his face. But he didn’t say anything.” The male didn’t have to do that. Oghul realized what he had done wrong. The terror of almost dying ensured he never made that mistake again. “The other warriors in the team, however, had plenty to say.”
***
He and five of his males had relayed every detail of their first battles by the time the pipe was completely removed. Toward the end of the process, the storytelling had been exclusively for their own entertainment.
The effects of the prolonger had finally worn off. Yesun had passed out. The youth’s head was bowed, his body limp.
Oghul’s gerel looked as though she was on the verge of collapse also. Her skin glistened with sweat. Strands of her hair hung down her back, freed from their confines. The long tendrils were damp and dark.
He couldn’t look at her hands without inwardly howling. His little medic’s fingertips resembled pummeled meat. Chunks of skin hung from them.
That didn’t stop her from her tasks. She was the strongest being he had ever met, had more self-control than any warrior he knew.
“That’s it.” She extracted the device from the wound. “There’s no sealant left.”
As she straightened, her neck cracked, a verbal confirmation of the strain she’d endured. Oghul wanted to hug her close to him, comfort her.
That wasn’t possible. He was holding their patient in place.
“Rip my jacket into strips.” She shrugged out of the garment. A warrior caught it before it hit the ground. “Wrap that fabric and the gauze around his chest.”
The males looked at him. They all knew what that garment meant to her.
“Do it.” Oghul authorized those actions.
His gerel had damaged her hands and was now sacrificing her esteemed white jacket to ensure their youngest warrior lived. She was more than merely a skilled medic. She was a caring, giving, great being.
“I reconnected all of the main veins and arteries…I think.” Her words slurred. “Is that enough? We’ll know in time.” She teetered, corrected herself before she toppled.
“Gerel.” Oghul tracked his exhausted human’s movements with his gaze. “You should sit down.” Before she fell and farther hurt herself.
“I’m fine.” She waved her bloody hands. “Hold him still while his wounds are being bound.”
She wasn’t fine but he did what she told him to do, pressing Yesun’s shoulders against the back of the seat. Their patient didn’t rouse.
Warriors wrapped the youth’s chest with torn strips of fabric. His males had bound their own wounds on the battlefield. That was a task they could do for his gerel.
“Should we tie him to the chair?” He asked Gisella.
If Yesun was restrained, Oghul wouldn’t have to hold the youth still. His hands would be freed. He could soothe his weary female.
“Yes, tie him to the chair. Good idea.” Her head bobbed.
That slight action knocked her off-balance. She fought to remain upright, stumbling forward. Her knees folded under her.
Oghul watched helplessly as the female he adored dropped to
the ground. She landed with a wince.
He suppressed a howl of outrage. The fall had caused his little medic more pain.
Frustration coiled inside him. “What are you waiting for?” He barked at his males. “Tie him up.”
The warriors used every piece of fabric they could find to restrain Yesun. The youth wouldn’t be moving until they released him.
Once he was no longer needed, Oghul rushed to his gerel’s side. “You did well.” He scooped her off the ground, hefting her high against his chest, relishing the feel of her, her scent, her softness. “You’re a true warrior.”
“If I’m a warrior, my battle isn’t over.” She pressed her cheek against his left pec, her breath wafting over his bare skin. “Some of the other males are wounded, require healing.”
“Their wounds are minor.” He sat on a nearby chunk of ship, cradling her in his arms. “We’re accustomed to treating ourselves.”
“You’re barbarians,” she mumbled.
“Yes, we’re barbarians.” He kissed her forehead. “Rest.”
“Can’t.” Her lush form sagged against him.
“You can.” He grasped her wrists and looked at her fingers. She would be left with scars. He kissed the air above that ragged flesh.
“Her fingers almost look as bad as mine.” Qulpa sat beside him. The warrior held up his fabric-covered right hand. The white former sleeve was tinged with red.
“Did you find your fingers?” Oghul’s gerel still listened to them.
“No.” The male shook his head.
“Fuck.” Her voice was soft.
“Yes, fuck.” Qulpa met Oghul’s gaze. “It will be hard to fly a ship with three fingers missing.”
Other warriors would have been worried about fighting, holding a gun. It was telling that the male mentioned flying first.
Oghul would wager, if the succession wars hadn’t happened, Qulpa would be a pilot, not a warrior. The male hadn’t merely lost his family during that turmoil. He’d walked away from a role he loved.
“Mechanical fingers.” Gisella’s lips brushed against Oghul’s chest, sending inappropriate messages to his cock. “They are damn close to the real thing, are as agile but stronger.”
