by Naomi Fraser
All the men turn back around and resume their conversations. But the screens play out the visual of all the soldiers around the spacecraft in the desert. The video pans out, and I am just a slight figure with my sister in my arms. No blue, thank heavens. The spaceship had cameras.
“One billion credits,” Marcus barks. “What the hell did you do?”
“Saved my sister.” I rub my mouth. “When was the last time you heard one billion credits being put on the head of a woman? One with a child, at that?”
“Never. Well—now, once,” he amends.
“You might think I’m a criminal, but I’m someone far more valuable than that,” I say bitterly. “You won’t need their credits. I’ll give you everything you need if you help my sister and get us off this rock. I’m the technology you want.”
“Don’t misunderstand. I have no love for government’s soldiers. But I don’t see how a prisoner could have—”
Gunfire cuts off his words, and bullets zing past his head. He curses, ducks, and then grabs my arm around the table. The tavern explodes in an uproar of men running for safety and reaching for their guns.
“Get your sister,” he orders. “Under the table, now. Put that laser gun to good use if anyone comes near you.” He rises, pulling the guns in his holsters in one smooth move, levelling both barrels at the open doorway.
I flinch, peeking over the top of the table, feeling the colour draining from my face. A vacant space opens up in my gut at the idea of killing more people.
He looks back at me, and he stops, eyes wide with keen intelligence. “You don’t want to. Huh. Interesting. She escapes soldiers but hates killing. Hopefully you won’t have to.” He turns back to the men he sat with originally. “Zach. Casey. Go see what the problem is.” He glances at Maybelle. “No matter what happens, she will see the doctor back at the ship.”
Two huge men rise to their feet, pick up their table, and then forge their way to the door. Glasses smash on the ground. The sky light breaks above our heads, and a smoking gas canister drops to the table.
“Change of plan.” Marcus holsters his guns, leans over, and grabs Maybelle, setting her over one shoulder, one strong arm in the back curve of her skinny knees. “Grab that box and your gun. We’re getting out of here.”
My protective instincts surge to the surface. “I should . . . let me take her,” I offer, holding out my arms for Maybelle.
“Are you kidding? You took down a platoon of Oshiro soldiers with one laser gun. I might be a little slow on the uptake, but I’m not stupid. We need you on a trigger. This isn’t my first raid.” He drags me over to the table beside Zach and Casey. One has massive shoulders and skin the colour of polished onyx, while the other looks lean and mean with arms and hands of pure muscle whose gaze fires with steely determination.
“I didn’t use the laser,” I say, huddling beside May on Marcus’s shoulder, checking her nose and mouth to allow for airflow. “That isn’t how I escaped.”
“Even better.”
“No.” I swallow. “You don’t understand . . .”
Bullets punch into the rock table, missing my head by millimetres, and my ears ring. I gasp, turning to Marcus.
“What’s to understand?” He looks at Zach. “Down the hallway on three, or we’re never getting out of here alive.”
Zach nods, his dark skin gleaming with sweat.
Eyebrows raised, Marcus helps lift the table higher, then asks me, “Ready?”
I nod quickly.
“Then help guard the rear. This is gonna go down fast.”
I slip behind him, reassured by May’s head on his broad shoulder. She’s safe for the time being. Marcus and Zach flip the table vertically and forge their way along the hallway, Casey firing a huge shotgun down the side of the table. We make it up the stairs and onto the boardwalk, stepping on bodies and cutting our way through the people who are trying to flee and hide.
A gunfighter aims straight for Marcus and my sister, and I scream a warning. But before I can lift the laser, Casey shoots him in the face.
A sudden shot knocks Casey off his feet, and he crashes back onto the planks. I run over to him, trying to drag him behind the protection of the table, but he’s too heavy. “It’s okay, you’re okay.” I can’t lift him to pull him to safety. “Help me someone.” The bullet is lodged in Casey’s neck. My hand shakes against his skin. I will use my water to move him. “You’re going to live.”
His eyes open, and he stares at me with eyes of crystal grey. “Only the good die young,” he whispers in a smoky voice, his lips twisting in a grimace.
I grin. “Like that, is it?”
“Zach,” Marcus calls out. “Cover.” He bends on one knee and says, “Case?”
The men block the light, and I relax my muscles, reaching for Casey’s neck. Here. His muscles reveal their true structure, and I push water into his system, flooding the area around the bullet.
The pellet pops free, washing out in a burst of bloody water. Smiling, I hold up the bullet in a pink puddle in the centre of my palm, then drop it onto the boardwalk with a clank. “There’s a bit of internal damage. The wound needs cleaning and stitches, but he should live.”
Marcus hugs my sister tighter to his shoulder. “What the hell did you just do?”
I grin at his shocked face. “I told you: I am the person you want. I am a water healer.”
Chapter Five
“A water healer?” Marcus regards me, and the alertness in his gaze is electrifying. His long lashes sweep down, but the smooth line of his tanned brow creases. “Want to define that one for me?”
He shifts closer, taking up my personal space. He isn’t afraid.
None ever have the courage after witnessing the blue for the first time—at least, not my jailers; they all were too fearful. As well they should be, I tell myself at the guilty dig in my heart.
“She got the bullet out, Cap’n,” Casey mutters in a raspy voice. “Who bloody cares how?”
Marcus frowns. “I do. Her hand turned blue.” He appears as if he’s not breathing. “Like something I’ve never seen before, from another world.”
“It’s water,” I say softly. “The energy won’t hurt you.” Not true, my conscience prods. I swallow. “Here.” I touch his hand, and at the warmth of his hand, a tingle heats my fingertips. He looks into my eyes, staring at me. We hold eye contact as my heartbeat pounds in an aching throb; my breath quickens and lips part, then his gaze drops to my mouth, and his pupils dilate. But I don’t understand what I’m experiencing and can’t make sense of the sensations washing through my body. All my nerve endings quiver.
A bullet whizzes past his face, punching into the mud wall behind his head. He ducks, and dried mud flakes rain down around us.
“Hell—Zach, cover!” Marcus roars. “We gotta go.” A harried grin slips curves his lips as he looks back at me. “Looks as if you’re coming with us . . . just like you wanted. Whatever the heck that was . . . I’m gonna find out.” He pulls Maybelle off his shoulder and hands her over to me. “Take care of your sister. I’ll get him. Case, let’s go,” Marcus orders and assists his crew member to his feet behind the table. “Everyone move.”
Bullets pepper the table Zach holds up as cover, and we all proceed as one.
Blood drips onto Casey’s shirt. He stumbles alongside Marcus, then swears. “Knew visiting this place wouldn’t be a good idea. Not enough action.”
“I don’t think I can take any more,” Marcus jokes and then shouts, “Zach, head for the hovercraft. Take the wheel.”
Zach nods, running to the other side of the tavern toward an old green craft that looks more like an open-roofed car with rails. He tosses the table to one side so hard it knocks over three men. A handgun appears in his hand quicker than thought, and he shoots two men who try to climb into the hovercraft. Then he pushes me and my sister up into the craft before jumping into the driver’s seat to start the engine. All up, he takes about five seconds, then he starts the craft,
but it jerks forward in a hard bump.
I cry out, falling back while trying to get Maybelle on one of the backseats.
Casey starts cursing.
“You all right?” Marcus calls over to me.
“Yes,” I shout, resting my sister in a seat to buckle her in, then look over the side of the hovercraft for Marcus and Casey to see if they’re okay.
A crowd of men shoot at them. “A little help,” Marcus calls, dragging Casey along the boardwalk.
I fire up the laser gun and cut a line in the ground behind him. Dirt flies up in a sheet of brown wind, and a few men get their shoes charred, but the laser keeps slicing through wooden planks, and smoke wafts up in a cloud. The bullets keep coming, but at least the men stop their charge through the smouldering fog.
Zach leans over the side, grabs Casey, and hefts him into the hovercraft with one easy flex of huge muscles. Casey lands on a seat, his hand clamping down on his neck wound. “Thanks.”
Marcus climbs inside, both guns in hand. His brow knits at me. “Get down. No coincidence they want you after news of those credits. Don’t let go of that laser gun.”
“I won’t,” I promise and take aim behind us to make sure no one else follows.
The hovercraft builds momentum, and then Zach changes gear. We lift up into the sky, flying over the top of shrubs, crashing through an old fruit stand at the side of the street and then sweeping around the corner of the tavern to the vast empty space at the back of the settlement. Rapid gunfire echoes behind us.
“Faster!” Marcus yells. “We’re collateral damage. The easy kill to get to her.” He glances at me with another frown. “Do you think you can kill anyone who gets too close?”
I open my mouth at him, press my lips together and then nod. I pull down Maybelle’s head to avoid any stray bullets.
“Just checking,” he says with a small curve of his lips.
The ship sweeps to the side, avoiding another two hovercrafts coming in the opposite direction. Zach pulls out a radio line and barks into the receiver, “Sarah? Are you there? Start the ship.”
“What is it?”
“Trouble following us. Got some woman and kid on board who might be able to help with the water tech.”
“Really?” Light laughter comes through the radio. “That was fast. I love the way you guys work.”
“Just have the dock down for us, and be ready to take off.”
“No problem. Stay safe. I’ll meet you at the rocks on the western side of town.”
“Let’s hope she’s right, and it is fast,” Marcus mutters grimly. “I wouldn’t mind getting off this planet for good.”
“Me, too,” I say with feeling.
Marcus glances at me again as though I’m a puzzle he can’t work out. The heat from the thrusters shimmers over the dry desert ground. We travel past rocks, and Marcus turns his attention to the hovercrafts following us.
“Up ahead,” Zach shouts. “Get ready for it.”
I look over my shoulder to the vast open mouth of a spaceship. Marcus fires his guns at the hovercrafts tailing our ship. Zach forces the hovercraft at full speed, and a high-pitched metallic shriek sounds as he swerves the craft up into the wide dock.
“Now,” Zach yells.
Light changes to darkness, and we crash into the railings in the belly of the spaceship then jam at the foot of a staircase. My grip slips on the seat, and I fly across the seats, landing with a hard crack against the console. I choke down a gasp at the shock. Pain radiates down my face, stomach, and spine. The dock shuts with a loud bang, but then all movement stops, and I take in another hard rasp of air.
A growl echoes to my left. A man grabs onto my arm. I scream. His hair spikes above his head and yellowed teeth flash in a snarl. He mutters something about money, yanks at my hair, jerking my head to the side, and then pulls out a gun. His tight grip tears at my scalp, but I reach for him. The blue aura flickers over my fingertips, and I spread my fingers wide with a delicate motion. I own the water in his body, no matter if my knees shake and stomach drops at the idea of killing another human being.
A gunshot rings out. The man gasps, releases me and then slithers back down the hovercraft to land on the metal floor of the ship amongst scattered cargo boxes.
Marcus stands behind him, holding a smoking gun, and his piercing eyes narrow into blue slits at the slow dance of blue across my knuckles. Oh, not again, I think in frustration. I clench my fist, furious when nothing happens and the energy doesn’t disappear.
He stands still, watching with dangerous intensity. An incredible silence falls all around me, and I notice everyone’s stares. Come on . . . I try again to vanquish the blue, but it climbs up my arms. I sit on the front seat beside Zach, pressing my hands together, knees touching. A sharp arrow of pain sears my lower back. I gasp and then erupt into blue.
“Holy—” Zach jumps from the craft, backing up with his arms spread, eyes wide. “What the hell is that?”
Just as suddenly, the blue aura sinks into my skin, and I sit in a puddle of water, completely drenched. The Old Order clothes stick to my skin, but I don’t bother to pull at the fabric. I’m too busy working on controlling my ragged breathing. The corset cinches my torso, making panic flare in my heart. I don’t want to cause another flood. I don’t say anything, just sit there staring at them all. My hair plasters my cheeks, reaching my waist.
“A water healer,” Marcus murmurs, his eyes narrowing on me. “Who by the looks of things has had a rougher than normal day.”
“This ‘verse gets crazier every single minute,” Zach says emphatically.
“I’ll get a towel.” Marcus grins, holstering his gun.
I stand with one hand on my back, pushing away my hair and say the first thing on my mind. “What about the doctor for my sister? Don’t we have to go back for him?”
Marcus saunters to an intercom on the wall and presses a button. “Sarah, did the doc arrive in time?”
“Sure did. He’s in the clinic. The labour went faster than he expected, and he got paid a good price for it, too.”
Marcus grins and drawls, “Now, that’s what I want to hear.” He looks to me with raised eyebrows. “Let’s get your sister and Casey seen to.” He turns back to mutter into the speaker, “And, Sarah, I need someone down here to throw a dead body out the airlock.”
Chapter Six
I follow Marcus’s tall figure along the ship’s steel walkways, trying to copy his steps so I don’t trip or touch anything forbidden—not until I get my water under control. His long legs stride with an easy grace, and combined with his commanding air of self-confidence, he reminds me of the Star Lords I’ve read about in the history books. His broad shoulders block most of the light, and a metallic, musty scent fills the enclosed air. The corridors narrow and darken the further we walk into the spaceship. My arms ache from May’s dead weight, but my bones lock into place, refusing to give her up until we reach the clinic.
Casey walks behind me, and the whine of the ship’s engines make a soft hum reverberate along the walls. The sound merges with a brighter light, and we turn, coming to the clinic.
“It’s not much.” Marcus tilts his head, gesturing toward the inside of the clinic. It’s a suite with glass walls, two rooms, and beds. He raises his arm and leans against the doorjamb, his gaze roaming my face, but he holds my eyes longer than strictly necessary. His dark blue shirt pulls at the waist of his trousers, and he looks too powerful and handsome to be real. “But we’re looking to change all that.” He clears his throat. “Doc,” Marcus calls, “meet your newest patient. Got a little girl for you to fix.”
A man in a blue sweater with clipped red hair steps from the counter in the clinic and smiles at me. “Hi, I heard a child’s been shot. Come inside. I’m Chester.” His gaze drops to my sister, and he frowns. “Put her on the bed.”
“Victoria,” I say by way of greeting, and then, “Thank you.” I step into the clinic, laying Maybelle onto an available bed. “This is
my sister, Maybelle. She’s seven.” My sister’s blonde head dents the white pillow on the bed, her body too slight for such a large surface. My heart pinches, and I smooth back hair from her forehead, adjusting the strands on the pillowcase.
The walls are white like the linen beneath May, but a faint blue light washes through the room. The strong smell of disinfectant permeates the air, and air-conditioning vents blow cool air onto my wet clothes.
Everything is far too silent for a few moments, so quiet I feel my heart hammering. I swallow dryly, watching things around me as if I’m a stationary object stuck in a whirl.
But then my focus sharpens on the white counters, boxes of gloves, and sterilised equipment. Tension dissolves in my shoulders. I can stop running now. I take in a deep, calm breath. I’ve found assistance for May. My bond to my sister surprises me at the oddest times, but I am helpless against the onslaught of relief filling my chest. I kneel at her side, clasping her hand in mine and then kiss her small palm.
“Was Casey hurt?” Chester asks.
“Neck wound. Bullet,” Marcus says. “Victoria got it out.”
“It’s just a graze. Work on the girl first.” Casey shifts to a chair by the wall and then rests his head back on the glass.
Chester gives Marcus a quick glance. “Casey will need to go into the next room while I tend to her.” Chester looks down at my sister and then saunters over to a counter to open a drawer. He dons gloves and rips opens a sterilised packet. “Let’s take a look.” He steps closer to the bed, listens to May’s chest with a stethoscope and then cuts away at her dress with surgical scissors. I stand up, leaning over to look as he inspects her wound.
He glances up at me, his eyes full of compassion, though a clinical detachment infiltrates his voice. “She’s been shot straight through her abdomen.”
