by Cheree Alsop
Liora rose and O’Tule took her seat.
“Thank you,” O’Tule said quietly, her gaze on her friend. “I couldn’t leave her.”
Tariq slipped his hands beneath Shathryn to carry her.
Liora was about to return to her own seat when Tariq gasped and dropped back to his knees on the floor. His jaw clenched tight and a sheen of sweat showed on his forehead.
“Tariq?” Liora asked.
“I got thrown on the way here,” Tariq replied tightly. “I’m fine.” He tried to rise back to his feet, but pain washed his face pale. “I don’t have time for this,” he said through gritted teeth.
Liora set a hand on his arm. Before he could protest, she pulled at his pain. She heard his breath catch in his throat at the sudden absence. Answering pain filled her ribs with such sharp agony she knew he had broken several of them.
“I can help,” she said. She reached toward Shathryn with her free hand. The pain was unbearable.
“I’ve got her,” Tariq replied.
With the pain momentarily gone, he lifted Shathryn in his arms. Keeping a hand on his shoulder, Liora followed them out of the bridge.
It took all of her strength to reach the medical wing. Sweat beaded on her forehead and hot and cold rushed through her limbs. Liora kept a hand on Tariq’s shoulder as he settled Shathryn onto a bed and gave her a sedative to slow her frantic sobs. She finally fell into a deep sleep.
“You can let go now,” Tariq said.
Liora focused on him through the haze of pain.
Tariq watched her, his eyebrows pulled together and light blue gaze unreadable.
“Liora, you don’t have to do that anymore.”
She nodded. “I’ll pull away gently. Sending it all back at once could shock your system.” She forced a smile. “We don’t need you unconscious as well.”
“No, we don’t,” he said. He led her to a chair and helped her sit, his touch gentle.
Each movement hurt her ribs.
“Go ahead.”
“More of the crew will be on their way,” she said, her voice tight. “You’ll need to be able to tend to them.”
He crouched so they were eye level and gave her a smile that she had never seen before. It turned up one side of his mouth even though his brow was creased and his lips pressed together. It looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or scold her.
He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Liora’s cheek.
“Liora, I can handle it,” he assured her gently.
Liora nodded, unable to think clearly past the fire that trailed his fingertips along with the pain in her side. She closed her eyes and focused on her ribs. Slowly, steadily, she eased the pull and let the pain return to Tariq. She heard his teeth grit together, but continued to let go of her hold on the pain.
She opened her eyes slowly. Tariq held his side and forced a smile despite the pain that made his face white.
“There,” he said, his voice raspy. “No big deal.” He paused, then said, “Except I might need help up.”
Liora rose and ducked under his arm. She eased him to a standing position.
“We should wrap those ribs,” she suggested.
Tariq nodded. “Let’s do that.”
She helped him over to the supply closet and pulled out a wrap bandage. She glanced back to see Tariq trying to get his shirt off. Bruises that were nearly black colored his left side. When he tried to lift his left arm, a gasp escaped his lips and he lowered it again.
Liora slid her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and lifted it carefully.
“You hit a wall?” she asked to distract him from the pain.
“The corner jumped out at me during one of those explosions,” Tariq replied; his voice caught as she eased the shirt over his head. “I thought you were in charge of keeping that from happening.”
“What?” Liora asked, caught off guard.
He lowered his arms and smiled at her. “Wall security, remember?”
The memory of their conversation shortly after Liora had been given a position aboard the starship surfaced. She couldn’t help the smile that touched her face.
“I guess it is my fault, then.”
Tariq nodded, his expression solemn. “Got to keep those walls in line.”
She shook her head and couldn’t get her smile to leave. “Ridiculous.”
She put the bandage against Tariq’s bare chest and wrapped outward toward his bruised ribs.
His breath caught at the touch of her hand on his skin. “I can do that,” he said, his words quiet.
“I’ve got it,” she replied as softly. “It’s hard to keep a steady pressure if you wrap ribs by yourself.”
He took in a sharp breath as she stepped around behind him keeping a firm hold on the bandages.
“I hate that you know that from experience.”
Liora slowed what she was doing. She looked up and found him watching her in the mirror next to the supply cabinet. She was suddenly very aware of her palm on his side. His skin felt hot to the touch and she didn’t think he had a fever. She pulled carefully, easing some of the pain he felt.
He turned to face her. The movement caused the bandage to fall away. He didn’t appear to notice.
“Liora, you don’t need to do that.”
“Do what?” she asked, pretending not to know what he was talking about.
He caught her arms in his hands.
“Liora.”
She looked up at him. The expression in his light blue eyes made her heart beat so loud she wondered if he could hear it.
“You don’t have to take my pain,” he said.
“I don’t feel it,” she fibbed.
His eyes narrowed. He shook his head. “Don’t lie to me. I see it in your eyes. These ribs hurt, but they hurt a lot more a minute ago. I can’t let you do that.” His voice lowered and he said, “I won’t let you carry my pain for me.”
“Somebody should,” she whispered.
As if he couldn’t help himself, Tariq leaned down and cupped her face in both of his hands. He kissed her gently on the lips.
Liora closed her eyes. His taste filled her with warmth. She felt surrounded by him, his scent, his strong hands, and the way the pain disappeared even though she still pulled it from him.
When he stepped back, she fought to get her bearings. He looked at her as though he felt the same way.
The intercom buzzed. “Tariq?”
Tariq cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, Lieutenant?”
“I have three bleeding boys and another out after hitting his head on the output shaft coupling. I’m sending them all your way,” Lieutenant Argyle said.
“I’ll be ready,” Tariq replied. He looked at Liora. “Back to work.”
“I’ll stay,” she replied, answering his wry smile with one of her own. “You might need me.”
Chapter 17
A half hour later found Liora stitching the minor wounds of one of the engine crew while Tariq stapled a gash down another crew member’s calf. They were the last two Lieutenant Argyle had sent over. The others had been bandaged and returned back to work a little worse for wear. Liora found if she concentrated hard enough, she could keep Tariq’s pain to a manageable level without needing to touch him.
“It threw us around like rag dolls,” Officer Unman said, keeping his attention away from the wound Liora stitched along the pad of his hand. “I was in the middle of tightening a cuff when bam, I was thrown across the room into the water recycling unit with the screw driver stuck in my hand.”
Liora tied off the thread. “Lucky the screw driver didn’t stab you in the eye.”
Officer Unman laughed. “I know, right?” He opened and closed his hand. “Hey, that’s pretty good. I didn’t know you worked in the medical wing.”
She glanced at Tariq and found him watching her. His smile deepened and he turned back to bandaging the wound he had finished stapling.
Liora put gauze to the gash and wrapp
ed it in a cotton bandage. “I just stared,” she told Officer Unman.
The intercom buzzed.
“Brace for impact.”
Tariq swore under his breath. Liora pulled the officer off the chair to the floor. They braced against the wall. Tariq leaned over Shathryn to keep her safely on the bed. An explosion shook the Kratos.
“Not again,” Tariq said, jumping to his feet.
The intercom buzzed again. “Prepare for boarding.”
A chill ran through Liora. She and Tariq exchanged a glance.
“Stay here,” Tariq ordered the officers. “Keep the door shut.”
Tariq hit the door lock when he ran by and it slid shut behind them. They took off up the hall.
“What’s going on?” Tariq demanded the second they reached the bridge.
Devren’s face was white. The bandage Tariq had wrapped around his brow showed blood.
“Damaclans,” he said.
Hyrin pointed at the monitor.
It was the one word Liora had never wanted to hear. She followed Hyrin’s finger to the screen in front of him. By the markings, the ship was Damaclan for sure.
“They know the state of the ship. If they fire again, we’re done for,” Devren said. “Our only hope is to invite them onboard and give them whatever it is they want.”
“What if they want the Omne Occasus?” Tariq asked.
Devren shook his head. “By the way they’re talking, I don’t think they know what we have. Hopefully they’re just pillaging.”
“I never thought I’d hear that as a good thing,” O’Tule said quietly from her station.
Devren watched the ship pull closer. “I had Straham hide it in the cargo hold behind the Gull. Our best hope is that they’ll overlook it.”
“That’s placing a lot of weight on hope,” Tariq told him.
Devren said what they were all thinking. “Hope is the only thing we’ve got right now.”
Liora wanted to be anywhere but on the bridge of a ship in the process of being taken over by Damaclans. The thought that they would be entering the Kratos at any moment made her stomach tighten. She ducked back out the door.
“Liora,” Tariq called.
“I can’t be here,” she replied.
Liora didn’t stop until she reached the walkway before the engine room. The thought of coming face to face with Damaclans again was almost more than she could bear. She paced from one end of the walkway to the other. Memories of her childhood swarmed her thoughts.
She saw Obruo beating her with the mastery staff in an effort to break her so she wouldn’t complete the Damaclan training. The faces of the impassive Damaclan elders leered down at her. They didn’t want her to be one of them. She was a half-blood, inferior even though the law demanded that she be raised according to her Damaclan heritage. The Damaclan children her age laughed at her torture. They enjoyed that she was Obruo’s target.
She had promised herself when her clan died that she would avoid Damaclans for the rest of her life. The race was small considering the greatness of the Macrocosm. Up to that point, except for Obruo, it had been doable. Now an entire Damaclan ship was next to the Kratos. She pictured a dozen of them landing in the holding bay.
Damaclans were dangerous. Devren had no choice but to hope the Damaclans were only pillaging for their own gains. The Kratos had little to give after everything they had been through. Her crew, the crew she had fought and bled beside, were at the Damaclans’ mercy.
Liora’s hands clenched into fists. If there was one she knew, it was that Damaclans had no mercy.
She rushed back up the walkway, past the cargo bay, the medical wing, and the living quarters, then up the hall to the bridge. She slammed her hand on the panel and the door slid open in time for her to see a Damaclan lift Devren by his neck into the air.
The human struggled to break free. Everyone’s weapons were on the floor and half a dozen Damaclans kept the other crew members from going to their captain’s defense. Tariq was pinned to the ground. A Damaclan had an arm around his throat and a knee in his back while he waited for his chief to give the kill order.
“Put him down,” Liora commanded.
All eyes shifted to her.
The Damaclan who held Devren took in the markings along Liora’s neck.
“I didn’t think I’d find a member of Obruo’s clan on the wreckage of a Coalition ship in the middle of the Phoenix Dwarf Galaxy,” the Damaclan said, his voice deep.
His hold on Devren’s throat tightened. Devren clawed at his hands, but the huge Damaclan didn’t appear to notice.
“Let him go,” Liora said.
“Obruo’s not here,” the Damaclan replied. “And even if he was, I don’t have to answer to the blood of the—”
Liora pulled the sleeve back from her right arm and held it up. The Damaclan stared at her for a moment. He slowly lowered Devren to the ground and stepped back. Devren fell to his knees gasping for breath.
“Let them up,” Liora said. “All of them.”
At the chief’s nod, the other Damaclans let their captives go.
Tariq rose quickly to his feet. He grabbed up his gun and aimed it at the chief.
“Tariq, don’t,” Liora said.
Tariq looked at her, his eyes wide and chest heaving.
“He was going to kill Devren,” Tariq said. “I should shoot him through the eye for that. What’s going on here?”
The Damaclans kept silent, their full attention on Liora. She took a stealing breath and said, “What is your clan?”
“Clan Incendo,” the chief replied.
Liora nodded. “Chief Incendo, have your clan repair the Kratos using parts from your ship. You will be our escort to the planet of Gliese and guard our ship when we land. After that, your services will no longer be needed.”
The chief withdrew his knife. The hilt of the burnished bone blade had been carved into a black hunting cat that resembled the felises of Verdan. Tariq’s finger tightened on the trigger. Liora stepped carefully to the side to shield the chief with her body.
“Liora,” Tariq growled.
“My blade is yours,” the chief vowed.
Liora accepted the weapon. She put the blade to her finger, drawing a small amount of blood. Everyone watched in silence as she rubbed her finger along the hilt, coating the black cat. She handed the weapon back to the chief.
“Your blade is accepted,” Liora said.
The chief left the bridge. The rest of the Damaclans followed.
“What was that?” Tariq demanded. He winced in pain as he helped Devren to his feet.
“Y-you’re the one,” Hyrin said with wide eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Tariq asked. He looked from Liora to Hyrin with impatience.
“Royal blood is religion to Damaclans,” Hyrin explained without taking his eyes off Liora. “Last time I checked, their queen lived on the planet Ralian.”
The name gripped Liora’s heart in a tight fist. She nodded.
“What happened to Tenieva?” Hyrin asked, his voice tempered with compassion.
“My mother died,” Liora said. She refused to let impact of what she said affect her.
Hyrin let out a low whistle. “Our Liora is the Damaclan queen.”
Liora clenched her jaw at his words. It was something she had refused her entire life. Before she had completed her training, they had a queen. After, when the clan realized she would survive to take up the role, they treated her with the respect she had longed for her entire life. Yet gaining it had felt bland and empty. It should have been her birthright, but they had refused to believe she was one of them until she proved it by killing Vogun. The day after she received the tattoo marking her royalty, they had all been killed.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said shortly. “They’ll help us get to Gliese, then they’ll be gone.”
She left the bridge and headed straight to her room. When she put her hand to the panel, the door slid open and the paintings O’Tule h
ad crafted along the walls caught her gaze. She stared at the one above the bed. The sun rose above the white, stark valley. The sandy slopes reflected the sun rays. Water trickled in a small waterfall down the edge of the ravine that fed their valley.
It was the same view she had seen after the clan had been killed by the nameless ones. She had walked from the valley, the lone survivor, the haunted one. She was royalty to no one, a cast off not good enough to die beside her mother.
She knelt on the bed and put her hand on the painting. No matter what she told herself, it was the home of her birth. Her heart ached when she looked at the sandy valley.
The door slid open and Tariq stepped inside. His head tipped slightly to the side when he saw her kneeling on the bed.
“I thought the bed was too soft.”
Liora withdrew her hand from the painting. “It is.”
Tariq motioned to the edge. “May I sit down?”
She nodded.
He sat, then stood again with a hand on his side. “I think I’ll stand.”
“Are your ribs bothering you?” she asked.
“The pain killers are kicking in. I should survive.” He gave her a smile. “And so will Shathryn and the engine crew, thanks to your help.”
“I’m not sure Officer Unman was thrilled about an untrained assistant doing his stitches.”
Tariq leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Actually, he seemed just fine about letting the gorgeous, mysterious Damaclan tend to his wound. He has no idea how completely stubborn you can be.”
“Oh, I’m stubborn?” Liora replied with a half-laugh. “You’re the one who tried to carry Shathryn to the medical wing with broken ribs. How far do you think you would have gotten?”
“Without you?” Tariq asked. At her nod, he rubbed the light shadow of scruff on his jaw thoughtfully. “To the bridge door.”
That brought another laugh from Liora.
Tariq’s smile softened. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear.”
Liora moved to the floor and pulled the blanket she used for sleeping over her legs more for comfort than warmth.
“You carry way too much, Liora. You don’t have to hold it all inside,” Tariq said gently.
Liora shook her head. “Some things don’t need to be spoken about.”
