by Rachel Ford
He glanced down at his soiled clothes, then back up at her. Confusion filled his features. “It’s…it’s not my blood.”
It took a moment for Nik to understand, and when she did, she laughed. “It’s mine.” It wasn’t a funny realization, exactly, but somehow it struck her as very funny. “Gods, Brek, I…”
But she didn’t finish her sentence. The lights of the room dimmed in her vision, and she slipped into a dreamless sleep before she could.
Elgin had had a lot of time to reflect, these last days. He was not, he’d realized, a remotely patient man. It was a poor quality in a captain, perhaps. But now that his leg was busted, and he was confined to a single spot, unable to pace, unable to move unassisted, it damn near drove him off the deep end.
And if this was the gods’ way of teaching him patience in the final weeks of his life, well, it wasn’t working. Dagir had been gone hours, two at least. Kerel was asleep, and had been since earlier in the day. Now and then, she’d mumble or flinch. Mostly, she was so silent he could hardly tell if she was still alive.
Godsdammit. He couldn’t think of a torture more pronounced than this: being rendered useless and immobile while his crew suffered and risked.
The minutes rolled on, oblivious to his suffering. The guard changed, one shift replacing the next. The returning men and women passed him with a salute and, “Morning, sir.”
He supposed it was morning, now. Their timepieces were set to standard time, but that was wildly out of sync with the days on this planet. By Echo Nine standards, it would be morning.
Which, he told himself, meant Dagir would be back soon. He’d have to be. Unless he’s dead.
He scowled at himself for that thought. He’d heard no weapons fire. He’d gotten no distress calls from Dagir or his team. They’re fine.
No sooner had he settled on that conclusion than did his mind remind him of the distance, and the lack of reliable communication. And he was back to scowling.
The hours passed slowly for the once-captain of the TS-Supernova, now-invalid. He’d just about convinced himself that the mission was a bust when he heard the heavy tromp of boots outside the cave. A minute later, in the dim light of early morning, Lt. Dagir and his band stepped in. They were grinning, and all accounted for.
“Well, godsdammit Dagir, it sure took you long enough,” Elgin snapped.
The younger man regarded him with curious eyes, offering a questioning, “Sorry, sir?”
This only soured Elgin’s mood, making him feel unreasonable on top of everything else. He bit down on his annoyance, asking, “Did you get the stuff?”
Now, Dagir grinned. “And then some. The Falcon’s Talon’s medbay was completely intact. We took everything we could carry.”
“And there’s still more back there,” one of the team put in.
This, at least, did something to lighten Elgin’s mood. “And no one saw you?”
“No sir. Lenksha’s men are holed up in one of the wrecks. We steered clear of them.”
“Good job,” he conceded, adding with a chagrined smile, “even if it did take a while.”
Dagir grinned again. “Thank you, sir.”
Chapter Forty-One
Brek was surprised he hadn’t paced a hole through the clinic floor. Awhile after they’d arrived, one of the nurses had come out to tell him that they’d delivered the baby. It was a girl. She was a little premature, but healthy and able to breathe on her own. She’d have no complications.
“What about Nik?”
Here, the nurse’s expression had grown a little less sure. “The doctor’s still with her. She’s lost a lot of blood, Minister, and her heartbeat is erratic. They’re giving her a transfusion as we speak.”
“Can I see her?”
“Not yet. She’s not conscious yet.”
So he’d gone back to pacing, too numb, too terrified, to think. He’d walk through fire for Nik. He’d face anything for her. But in her moment of direst need, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do, and it terrified him.
So he was still pacing, a good hour and a half later, when Dr. Kel emerged. “Doctor.”
“She’s alright, Brek.”
He allowed himself to breathe at that. “Thank the gods.”
Here, Kel regarded him with an appreciative look. “And you. If you hadn’t got me, if we’d waited even a little longer – I don’t think she would have come back.”
“Oh gods.”
“Listen: she’s very weak. She’s tired. She’s going to need a lot of sleep and no stress.”
He nodded emphatically. “Of course. Of course, anything.”
“And Brek?”
“Yes?”
“She’s going to need you.”
He blinked, his heart soaring at the words. Still, he wasn’t quite sure he trusted them – or his interpretation of them. “What?”
“Nik cares for you a great deal. More, I think, than anyone. Pregnancy and birth, they’re hard on a woman in the best of circumstances. The body changes, hormones change. But she’s been through more than most.”
He nodded. “Of course. Can I see her, Doctor?”
Kel hesitated, as if there was more to say, but then nodded. “She asked for you, as soon as she came to. She’s waiting.”
Again, Brek’s heart trembled with delight. He clapped the doctor on the shoulder, and raced past him.
Nik was there, with a nurse at her side, and the tiniest infant in her arms. She beamed up at him, eyes glistening with tears. “Brek.”
“Nik.” He crossed the room in a few strides, kneeling beside her. “Oh, Nik, how are you?”
“I’m fine. Weak, and sore. But fine. Kel says I’ll be fine.”
He nodded, glancing down now at the baby. “He said she’s a girl?”
“Yes. I’m going to name her Grela. In her dad’s memory.”
“It’s a good name. It’s a good name for her.” He smiled. “She looks like a Grela.”
She smiled too. “Doesn’t she?”
He nodded again, his eyes returning to her. Her face was haggard and drawn, her eyes weary and her cheeks tear stained. “Oh Nik. I’m so glad you’re alright.”
She glanced away, though, down at Grela. “She…she’s so beautiful, isn’t she?”
Brek considered. In general, he found nothing particularly delightful about babies. Their antics didn’t charm him the way they did some, and their frailty rather frightened him. Newborns were less cherubic and more fragile, and so should have left less to appreciate. But this was Nik’s child, and he could see already how much she loved her. “She’s an angel,” he decided.
Nik smiled at him, and even through the weariness, her face radiated. “Brek, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“I…I want you to be her godfather. Just in case something happened.”
He blinked. “Me? What about your brother?”
She shook her head. “I love Div, but I don’t trust him. Not like I trust you. I’d rather it be you. If you’re willing, I mean. You don’t have to answer right away. Think about it, as long as you need to.”
“Of course, Nik. Of course I’ll do it.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
For a while, she gazed at the infant. The child was sleeping now, still and quiet in her arms. Brek saw tears well in Nik’s eyes. “Are you alright? Should I get the doctor?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. She’s got his eyes, you know.”
“What?”
“Grel’s. Before she fell asleep, she…she was watching me. And…” Her voice caught, and for a moment she was silent. “He wanted this so much: to meet her, to see his baby. Oh gods, Brek.”
The nurse intervened as Nik began to weep, lifting the baby from her arms. “Let me take her, Minister. So she doesn’t wake.”
Brek wasn’t entirely sure what to do, and for a moment he hesitated. He ached for her. Her pain seemed to cut straight through him, ev
ery tear finding its way right to his heart. He’d have taken it all away, if he could. But it didn’t work like that, and he didn’t want to overstep or make her uncomfortable.
But he couldn’t stand by and watch her cry without offering what comfort he could, either. So he wrapped an arm around her. “Oh Nik.”
She leaned into his hug, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing into his shoulder.
“I miss him so much,” she said in a minute. “So, so much. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him, Brek.”
A knife between the ribs probably would have hurt less. He didn’t resent her words. It was natural for a widow to mourn her husband. It was natural for a mother to grieve the father of her child. Still, holding her in his arms, his heart breaking for her while hers broke for someone else, hurt in a way Brek had never known. The reasons why, however just, could not assuage that pain.
“I know,” he managed. “I’m so sorry.”
Nik cried for a long time, and he held her all the while, until Doctor Kel returned and sent him away. “She needs to rest now, Brek. Take a seat in the waiting room, if you will. I’ll be out soon.”
Soon was a relative term, and the medical man’s definition apparently differed from his own. The minutes rolled on and on.
Not that Brek minded exactly. He wasn’t in a fit state for conversation right at the moment. He was drowning in a tidal wave of mixed emotions. The strongest was joy: joy that Nik had survived, that her little girl had lived, that they would both be well. But somewhere in the mix, alongside the relief and happiness, was a heart breaking into a thousand pieces. His heart.
She still loved Grel. He’d seen that, clear enough. Which meant that whatever he’d thought he’d seen for himself in her eyes had been his imagination.
He didn’t doubt that she cared for him as a friend. She trusted him enough to ask him to be her child’s godfather. He hadn’t imagined her affection on that front.
But she still loved Grel. And that realization, and all the hopes it shattered, left him feeling empty and broken in his own right. Nik – his sweetest Nik – would never be his.
When Doctor Kel finally emerged, he did so to find the younger man slumped forward in his seat, his face buried in his hands. “Minister?”
Brek started. He’d missed Kel’s approach. Now, he scrambled to his feet, trying to feign a nonchalance he couldn’t begin to feel. “Doctor.”
Kel, however, took a chair beside him. “Sit, Minister.”
Brek complied with a measure of alarm. “Is everything alright?”
“You tell me.”
He blinked, confused by the words. “What?”
“Nik is well. Her blood pressure is under control now. Grela is well. They will both be a lot stronger after rest.” Kel studied him. “But what about you, Brek? Are you alright?”
He flushed. “Of course.”
“Hmm.” Kel sat back, ostensibly studying the city beyond the window, and for a moment they remained in silence. “I heard about your conversation. Nurse Kila told me.”
“What?”
“Yours and Nik’s. Just now, I mean.”
“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He didn’t know if the doctor understood the impact of it on him. He certainly wasn’t about to divulge it.
“Grel was her first love, you know.”
“What?”
“Grel Idan. I’ve known Nik since she was born. I told you that before. Well, he was the world to her. She gave up everything for him: her home, her family, her wealth.”
“I know,” he said numbly. He did, and he didn’t need the reminder.
“A first love, a love like that – it’s not something you just forget, Brek.”
He felt his cheeks flush deeper. “I wouldn’t expect her to,” he said.
Kel turned back to him. “Are you sure?” Brek wasn’t sure what to say to that. It felt more like an accusation than a question. So he was silent. “You’ve been a good friend to her, Minister. If you care about her the way I think you do, you need to be patient with her. Her emotions are going to be all over the place. She just had – and nearly lost – her dead husband’s child.” Kel put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s processing a lifetime’s loss and disappointment, and joy too. But for her, it’s all happened at once, inside a year.”
Brek considered the other man’s words. “I…I know.”
“Right now, and for a little while, she will need your friendship more than anything.”
“She has it. She’ll always have it, Doctor Kel.”
Kel studied him, then nodded. “Good. And Brek?”
“What?”
“Nik loves you too. She needs time to see it. Time to see beyond the past. But I know her, like I say.
“Nik respects her friends. She’s good to them.” He shrugged, cracking a grin. “She could be a little more cooperative where her doctor’s concerned, but who is keeping track?
“She loved her parents, too. She idolized her father, when she was a child. Her mother was her best friend.
“But in all my years of knowing Nik, I’ve only seen her look at one other person the way she looks at you. I’ve only heard her talk about one other person with the same warmth and admiration she saves for you. And he’s dead.”
Kel rose, turning to face him. “It may take a while, Minister, but the grief will dim. And she’ll see beyond it.”
Chapter Forty-Two
“Oh fuck,” Kerel muttered.
“Now those are some auspicious first words on coming to,” Elgin smiled. “No need to ask how you’re feeling.”
She groaned. “Like I was put through a meat grinder. What the hell did you do to me, L-T?”
“Saved your life, Ensign,” Dagir replied airily. “That’s all.”
Elgin smiled at that, too. Dagir had been on pins and needles since the operation wrapped up, waiting for Kerel to wake up. He’d heard, “Hell, I hope that was the right anesthesia setting,” and “What if that cut wasn’t high enough? What if there’s still necrotic tissue there?” more times than he could count. But now that she was awake, the lieutenant pushed all of the worry out of his voice. Based on his tone alone, Elgin wouldn’t have guessed the other man had wrapped up his impromptu surgeon gig by vomiting outside their hideout. He wouldn’t have guessed he’d been ready to puke ever since he first touched the surgery tools.
Hopefully, Kerel wouldn’t guess either.
She glanced over at her arm, or the stump that remained, and shivered. Still, she forced a light tone too. “I hope you’re not expecting a thanks.”
Dagir grinned. “No. Oh. I almost forgot. We got some water from the ship. Purified water. And some more rations. You can have the water now, and once the anesthesia wears off more, food.”
“Good. I’m starved.”
“Well, you’ll like what we got. Turns out the Talon had the new ration lines. Including pickled phigon eggs.” Kerel wrinkled her nose, and he laughed. “We’ll let you pick your poison.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Scuttlebutt in the fleet was, the new packaged rations were worse than the old lines. Or maybe they were just different – and to men and women accustomed to one type of quasi-food, a change just meant getting used to another set of godsawful flavors and textures. And that was worse than sticking with the familiar ones. Better the devil you know, and all that.
Dagir handed her a canteen of water, the cover unfastened. She drank a long draught, and then tried to screw the cover back on. It was an awkward business, with just one hand, and she struggled to keep the canteen still with a few of her fingers while adjusting the cover with others.
“I got it,” Dagir said, extending a hand toward her.
She, however, frowned at him. “I got it, L-T.”
He nodded, and for a long moment they all watched as she wrestled with the canteen. Finally, it twisted into place, and she set it aside. “I’m down to one hand: I might as well get used to it.”
“I gue
ss so.”
They were quiet for a time, and then Elgin asked, “You feeling okay, Ensign?”
“I don’t feel much of anything, to be honest, sir.” She threw a grateful glance in Dagir’s direction. “I guess that’s your doing?”
“You are on some powerful pain killers,” he nodded.
She nodded too. “I can tell. I feel like I’ve been shit kicked all over…but I don’t feel it, if you know what I mean.”
Elgin did. There was a certain almost disembodying sensation that went with the pain meds. You were aware of the pain, always, like the sound of rain on a tin roof overhead: you knew it was there, even if you weren’t getting wet. But the injections mostly blocked the brain’s pain receptors, so awareness was usually as bad as it got.
“Well, tell me if you start to feel it, Ker,” Dagir said. “And I’ll give you another dose.”
“Alright. And L-T?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. I’m probably going to regret saying it, as soon as these painkillers do start wearing off.” She flashed a half grin, the kind Elgin had spent an entire career seeing women and men plaster on their faces to lighten the mood in times of darkness. Times like this. “But thank you, for taking care of this. I…I didn’t want to die like that.”
“Of course, Ker.” Now, Dagir offered the same kind of smile. “You’re not going to get out of that court-martial that easily.”
Elgin smiled too. They were dying a day at a time on an irradiated hellscape. Surrounded by red trees. And yet, here they were: stiff-upper lips until the bitter end. They could have dissolved into despair and fear. Kerel would certainly be justified in shedding tears.
But there was something about the dynamic of a crew like theirs, in situations like theirs, that tended to keep the tears at bay, their emotions in check. It was the nature of a team, he supposed, the strength that lay in their cooperation. It meant people like Dagir would puke their guts out one minute, but put on a brave face for the sake of a crewman the next. It meant people like Kerel would laugh off their injuries, rather than grieve the rest of the crew. It meant he’d hang on, when he’d rather have given up.
“I don’t know,” he said in a moment. “I think we’re going to skip the court-martial. Might go the medals route after all.”
