by Brian Fisher
Chapter 6
The blast had been much larger than T'Sula had realized. The beautiful glass and stone from the front of the restaurants had become shrapnel, lacerating and bludgeoning hundreds of people in the blink of an eye. Many of the wounded were unconscious and bleeding heavily, leaving only a handful of people, most of whom were dazed by the blast themselves, to care for them.
Sirens pierced the smoke filled air as T’Sula Mir tended to yet another victim. Her hands had long since gone slick with the blood of innocents. The carnage from the simple, but powerful bomb forced her to recall her training. The explosion had ripped apart a peaceful afternoon, free from the savagery of fighting a brutal war. T'Sula had thought, had hoped that she had found a brief respite from fighting for survival. After all, survival was all that anyone could hope for. Survival meant more than riches, more than fame, and more than any other thing, except freedom.
Freedom was the one thing that could not exist in the galaxy. Freedom from fear was a luxury that not even the wealthiest denizens on any of the worlds knew. There was always fear. Fear of the Ta'Reeth, and fear of the extremist factions that supported them. They had taken the galaxy by force and either killed or enslaved everyone and everything in their path. T'Sula could not understand them. She only knew that they were the enemy and that was purpose enough for her.
No one knew where the Ta'Reeth came from, or why they did what they did, moving from one star system to the next and conquering each one as they moved through the galaxy. They had come from nowhere. The first planet to fall had once been the mightiest. Earth had been first, followed by all of her colonies. Now her people were little more than refugees. Only a handful of worlds were left free now, but it was only a matter of time before they too fell to the Ta'Reeth. Nothing could oppose them for long. It was all that anyone could do to slip away and survive for another day.
T'Sula worked diligently as she tried to help those that she could. She knelt next to a wounded Olcai. Its eyes were glazed over and it was showing signs of shock.
"Where does it hurt the worst?" she asked, not expecting a reply. "I'm here to help you. I need to check you for injuries. Please don't be alarmed." T'Sula gently ran her hands over the Olcai, searching for anything that was wrong. She found a broken leg and numerous abrasions, but nothing more.
"You'll be alright." T'Sula told the little alien as she made a splint and secured it to the broken leg. After the leg was splinted, she raised unbroken leg, bending it at the knee, and treated the Olcai for shock.
Near the Olcai lay a young Bakeeron man, his face a mask of blood and pain. T'Sula quietly knelt beside him and started to check him for injuries. Blood soaked his clothes and stained the ground. T'Sula brushed back his blood matted hair and found the carotid artery. She gently placed two fingers against his neck and searched for a pulse. After searching for what seemed an eternity, she found that he had no pulse. She closed her eyes, fighting back an angry scream, and then gently closed the dead man's eyes.
"T'Sula, come here for a moment." Kamira straightened herself after kneeling next to a wounded Malgar. The man had his own silver blood oozing from a wound near his temple.
"What is it?" T'Sula asked, wiping blood and grime from her hands as she stood. She sighed, forcing herself not to look at the dead man at her feet. How many people had to die? Millions had died already throughout the galaxy and more would soon follow. It seemed inevitable, and it weighed heavily on T'Sula's heart. She forced the thoughts from her mind, and focused on helping the people around her. There were so many wounded, and so few people that could help. Any second that her thoughts wandered, another innocent person could die.
"I need help moving this man." Kamira pointed to the massive Malgar. He easily massed more than both of the Bakeeron women combined. "He's going to need proper medical attention. If we could move him to the aid station, he may live." Kamira motioned toward a tent that had been erected on the far side of the courtyard. The station consisted of little more than a tent filled with a few tables and well intentioned volunteers that did triage and applied a few bandages. Proper medical facilities around the city were preparing to receive the massive influx of patients, and ambulances were supposedly on their way.
"Commander Mir, Commander Nor, please come with Me." a large, blue police drone interrupted as it descended from above. Red and blue lights, mounted on either side of its head, flashed as it stopped and hovered a meter above the ground. Its bright blue body glistened in the sun while the women struggled to move the unconscious Malgar.
"Sure, we'll come with you. After we get this man some medical attention." T'Sula looked angrily at the drone. She hoisted one of the Malgars arms over her shoulder and struggled to move him.
"Allow me." the police drone said in a deep monotone as it landed in front of them. The drone reached out its arms, and gently took the man from T'Sula and Kamira. "Follow me." it ordered as it took to the air, hovering just above their heads, before it flew to the aid station. T'Sula and Kamira followed close behind, picking their way through the wounded and dead.
Moans from injured men and women laid siege to T'Sula's ears on the walk to the aid station. She closed her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to shut out the all too familiar sound. Her heart broke with each new cry for mercy until tears rolled freely down her cheeks.
The women watched quietly as the drone landed and placed the injured Malgar on a stretcher. T'Sula shook her head slightly as the antigravity units on the stretcher groaned under the strain of the Malgar's bulk. The drone paused for a moment, and then led the women away from the aid station. T'Sula and Kamira paused before following the drone, and looked back at the carnage.
Without saying a word, T'Sula placed a hand on Kamira's shoulder, then followed the police drone away from the chaos.
Makeshift barriers surrounded the entrance to one of the small shops located at the far end of the pavilion. A pair of drones stood watch, one on each side of a single wooden door. A freshly painted sign, labeling the shop as 'Dursa's Caldonian Eatery' hung above the entry.
