by Aer-ki Jyr
The orange shifted to blue, but went no further. Knowing that was all he had left, Riax didn’t attempt to intensify the plasma any more, instead summoning as much of it as he could. The small pinpoint of blue in his hand grew into a sphere the size of his fist as the Dreklor’s mass obscured what was left of his diminishing vision.
The blue orb elongated and a thin stream leapt forward . . . Riax’s last modification to his attack. More intensity per square centimeter, hopefully penetrating its thick skin with enough juice left to deliver a killing blow. He aimed at the creature’s forehead, which was about all that was visible to him now, and released the bioplasma attack.
He never saw the results. The moment his hold on the blue flame released, blackness washed over him and he lost consciousness.
RIAX WOKE UP, seated on the cargo bay floor leaning back against a crate, with a telepathic resonance echoing through his mind. He blinked away what haze he could and found himself staring into the face of a female Cres. Her hand was on his forehead, providing him with a focal point to realign his senses.
With the telepathic assist, Riax got his wits about him, but knew better than to try to move. He remained motionless for a long moment, then mentally waved off the Cres’s assistance.
Report, he ordered telepathically. He didn’t want to risk the motion speaking would have entailed.
The cargo bay is secure, Ella answered back, staring into his eyes from half a meter away. You succeeded in wounding the Dreklor enough for us to finish it off.
How long have I been unconscious?
A few minutes.
Check for survivors and take them prisoner.
Marren is now. Orrona is attempting to kill the pinned Dreklor. Shall I have her stop? the Cres asked, automatically deferring to the Human’s command authority.
Yes.
Ella nodded once, then sent the telepathic order.
Is the rest of the ship secure?
We don’t know yet.
How many of you are left?
Ella lowered her head slightly. Two dead, three remain. Plus the Junta on the bridge.
Clear the ship, and if you can seize theirs. I saw a breach access port in the upper bays.
I will send the others, but I must remain here to protect you.
Make sure the prisoners are secure, then go with the others and leave me here. Have the Junta bring me food. She can also watch over the prisoners, but you must go now. Before the ship has a chance to detach.
Ella didn’t argue, but she didn’t move either.
Now . . . Riax urged, adding a stronger telepathic emphasis to the word.
So ordered, Ella said in mind protest, but also with deep respect. She stood up and walked out of sight.
Riax stayed put, not so much as twitching. He was starting to recover, but he knew from past experience that any slight movement would stall that recovery. He was slipping into a healing trance of sorts automatically, which was fortunate. Right now he didn’t have the wherewithal to consciously put himself into a proper one.
He kept his eyes open. Falling asleep would break the trance, and he needed to recover as fast as possible. He saw Marren cross his field of vision, dragging a body behind him, then several minutes of silence passed with neither a sight nor sound in the bay. He was beginning to wonder when the Junta would get to him, or if something had happened to her, when he heard faint sniffing sounds from his far left.
He remained still, not wanting to break his trance, and listened. There would be three or four sniffs, then a dull scraping sound followed by more sniffs. Slowly the repetitive sounds increased in volume until Riax sensed a presence just to the left behind the crate he was leaning against. Resisting the urge to sniff himself, he began to pick up whiffs of alien blood and had a feeling he was going to need to move to different cover.
His pulse began to quicken, but he held still, wanting to suck up as much recovery as he could before he was forced to flee. He couldn’t tell how much strength he had at the moment, the trance left his body with a slightly numb, tingling sensation that blocked out most of his tactile/internal senses. The only way to know was to act and see what happened.
More sniffs, more scrapes. Several minutes later a large head appeared beside him, emerging from behind the crate low to the ground. Its neck turned towards him, but Riax couldn’t see it. His vision was still focused ahead as he readied himself to move at any second.
The Dreklor sniffed continuously through two large slits in the center of its face between two sets of eyes. It kept sniffing as if it couldn’t identify what scent it was tracking. Riax realized that he must have been sweating profusely and the creature had latched onto that or the blood leaking from the stump of his right arm. Didn’t matter, the wounded creature was nearly on top of him and he had to move.
He flexed his muscles slightly, shaking off some of the tingling numbness, ready to spring to his feet . . . but didn’t. The creature continued to sniff, but made no aggressive move. Riax twisted his neck to the left, feeling a touch of dizziness as he did, and looked it in the face.
Its four eyes looked at his face and sniffed again, then it let out a slow whine. Riax frowned, and attempted a limited telepathic link. His physical fatigue affected his telepathy too, but it wasn’t incapacitated as much as his other abilities at the moment. He sensed familiarity from the creature, as well as confusion and pain. It was hurting and coming to him for help?
Riax rolled over onto his left side and crawled up to the Dreklor, whose head was only partly visible this side of the crate. He gently reached his hand out toward its face.
It sniffed his fingers profusely. After a few seconds Riax reached forward and touched its head. The Dreklor continued sniffing but didn’t otherwise react.
The Human closed his eyes and concentrated. With physical contact he was able to get a genetic sample from the creature and analyze it in a limited way. It manifested itself as a collection of shapes within Riax’s mind. A lot of the shapes were unfamiliar, but several strands matched a pattern he’d encountered before. He rechecked three times before opening his eyes and pulling his hand back halfway.
“What did they do to you?” he asked, looking into the eyes of a race he was familiar with, but one that had undergone heavy genetic modification.
Riax touched its head again and communicated what he could to it telepathically. It didn’t recognize the language of its own race, so he had to improvise. After a bit of linguistic trial and error he’d come to terms with the creature, and neither Human nor Dreklor considered the other as a threat.
With that accord cemented, Riax gingerly stood up and walked around the Dreklor’s large head and sought out its wound, barely keeping himself from tipping over. It was on its right side, where his impromptu grenade had cut into its hide, and currently facing the crate with a small gap in between.
Riax climbed up on the creature’s back and reached over to the wound. He placed his hand on the hide next to it and concentrated, glad that he didn’t have to stand while attempting this. He really wasn’t in good enough shape to try, but the Dreklor was dying and he had to do something.
Using genetic keys that the Humans had placed in this race long, long ago, Riax accessed its physiology and upped its already considerable regenerative rate. He chose what small areas to enhance, and triggered a number of built-in biological responses. The wound had already begun to scab over, reducing the blood flow, but with Riax’s help it was stopped completely. The Dreklor had already lost an incredible amount of blood, evidenced by the slick trail of it extending back to the spot in the cargo bay where Riax had originally downed it.
With the wound marginally closed, Riax began enhancing the blood replacement process, growing new blood cells to take the place of what had been lost. Simultaneously he also numbed a bit of the creature’s pain while putting it into a sleep state. When its hearts
rate decreased and his impromptu biological repairs were complete, he carefully pushed back and slid off the creature, wobbly as his feet hit the floor and he struggled to remain standing.
To his left he noticed the Junta standing perfectly still, holding a stack of supplies, jaw thoroughly agape.
Chapter 13
“RELAX,” RIAX TOLD HER, his own words making his head throb. “It’s on our side now.”
Jalia looked him over, the creature, and then him again. “You look . . .” she said, hesitating to find the right words, “like you could use a good nap.”
“Well put,” Riax responded, walking towards her. “I need food. The more sugar the better.”
Jalia set the stack down on the floor then took a knee next to it as she sorted it out for him.
“Here, start with this,” she said, reaching up and handing him a Tilari cake while trying to avoid eye contact with his genitals, which were directly in front of her face.
Riax took the small black disc, sniffed it once, then bit off half of it. His jaw hurt from the effort, and he wondered how long it’d actually been since he’d last eaten.
Jalia blinked in surprise when he didn’t seem to react to the intensity of the cake. Even she had to nibble away at them. Had she bitten off as much as he did, the sugar and spices would have overwhelmed her senses, but they didn’t even seem to faze him. He ate the second half as quickly as the first and looked down to her for more. She handed him a bar of Reva bread, then pulled a bag of liquid refurbishment out of the stack and gave it to him.
Riax downed the bread and water/nutrient mixture, beginning to feel the first signs of nourishment working through his system in the form of a series of head rushes. Each one left him slightly more aware than the last.
“I also brought you some clothes,” Jalia said, handing him a pair of grey pants and a flexible, white long sleeve shirt. “I hope they fit.”
“Thanks,” he said, taking the clothes. “What else have you got there, food wise?”
Jalia held up several more items that she’d snatched from the galley. Riax took all of them and sat down on the floor a couple meters away. He pulled the wrapper off one long flexible chewy strand and whittled it down while he pulled on the pair of pants with his one arm and a bit of telekinesis.
“They said there were prisoners?” Jalia tentatively asked.
“Yes, somewhere over there,” Riax said, pointing behind one of the crate stacks. He could vaguely sense their minds clustered out of view. Her question also reminded him of the other Dreklor, pinned beneath the walker. He pulled on the shirt, having some difficulty maneuvering within the highly stretchable fabric, but eventually he got it wiggled into place and stood up, grabbing another foodstuff to take with him.
“I also brought some sandals and boots,” she said as she pulled two pair of her own sandals aside with a pair of larger boots she’d scrounged from the crew quarters.
Riax stepped next to the sandals, and it was obvious that they were going to be short on him. Likewise the boots were obviously too big. “I’ll make do,” he said gratefully, walking off barefooted in the direction of the pinned Dreklor.
It sensed his approach and snarled, unable to see him. All four of its eyes had been shot out, and its nose slits and mouth had been chewed up as well thanks to the Cres’s handiwork.
Riax frowned and approached the creature, creating a telepathic link. This one took much longer to attain, and given that the Dreklor’s sense of smell had been diminished from the lachar damage, it took the Human a lot of effort to convince the pinned biped that he wasn’t the enemy.
Once that understanding was attained he got to work on one of the Dreklor’s eyes. Fortunately they hadn’t been gouged out and there was something left to repair, but regrowing the delicate organs took a great deal of time . . . not to mention was very painful, given the rapid cellular growth. Riax put the creature into a sleep state as well while he worked on it. He hadn’t yet finished with the one eye by the time the Cres returned.
“Report,” he said aloud when they got within a couple meters of him, one of whom was limping badly.
“Both ships are secure,” Marren informed him.
“Prisoners?” Riax asked while he continued to work on the Dreklor.
“Six, secured aboard their ship.”
“We are midjump, correct?”
“Correct,” Marren echoed.
“How long until arrival?”
“Fourteen days,” he answered, using the Human measurement.
“Group all the prisoners in a secure location. The Dreklor, however, are not prisoners.”
“You want them terminated?” Marren asked.
Riax looked up from the still pinned creature and starred at the Cres. “No,” he said firmly. “They are allies. I didn’t recognize them because they’ve been subjected to intense genetic modification. The other one recognized me by scent after the battle. They are called Kayna, and share our homeworld. Show me your wound,” he said, pointing to Ella.
She walked up to him, careful to avoid the Dreklor, and pivoted so he could see the lachar blast mark on her left lip.
“Take off your armor.”
Ella retracted her armor into vest mode, save for the plate that had been damaged. It stuck out partway on her flank, but she was still able to wiggle out of the vest.
“Lay down,” he said, stepping away from the sleeping Kayna. Ella did as she was told, grimacing heavily as she came down on her hip.
Riax reached down to the rim of her formfitting pants and found the seam, then slid his fingers underneath and began pulling her pants off. She grabbed his wrist out of reflex, then loosened her grip almost in apology.
“Relax,” he told her, reinforcing the sentiment telepathically. She released his hand and he pulled her pants down to her knees, revealing the purple/black bruised skin on her naked hip, along with a small charred hole in the center. He halfway pulled up her shirt to fully expose her pelvic region, then ran his fingers over her hip.
“Your pelvic bone is broken,” he informed her. “What kind of medical facilities does this ship have?”
Marren turned and looked at Jalia, who had been standing on the edge of the group, listening to the conversation.
“What?” she asked.
Marren translated Riax’s question into the commerce language, which she likewise responded in. The Human couldn’t understand either one of them.
“A small medical bay with a primitive regenerative stimulation chamber,” Marren told him.
Riax raised an eyebrow. “What language is that?”
Marren stiffened. “The standard commerce language.”
“Terran is the standard commerce language,” Riax reminded him. “Why can’t she speak it?”
“There is a great deal we have to tell you,” Orrona interjected. “But can it wait until we deal with her wound?”
Riax nodded, turning his attention back to the injured Cres.
“Marren, help me carry her,” Orrona said. “Every unnecessary step she takes will worsen the break.”
Ella reached for her pants, not particularly fond of having her erogenous zone exposed for all to see, but Riax stopped her. “No, I think I can handle it. Just give me a moment.”
“How?” Orrona asked.
Riax glared at her as if she were a child asking a stupid question. “I’m Human,” he answered pithily, pressing his hand against Ella’s exposed leg just below the wound and concentrating.
“Ahh . . .” The Cres moaned as a mixture of pain and relief exploded within her pelvic region. The char and bruising on her skin began moving almost imperceptibly. Tiny black flakes began falling off, revealing bright blue skin beneath, a full two tones brighter than the norm for her body. The rest of her leg shrank slightly, followed by her midsection as nonessential mass was redistributed to
wards the wound to rebuild it with.
Her pelvic bone knitted back together, her muscles regrew their damaged layers, and her thick, flexible skin crept inwards from the edges of the wound until, like water, it flowed in to cover the entire area in a thin sheen of new tissue.
After several long, intense minutes Riax withdrew his hand and sat back, blowing out a heavy breath. “Not completely healed, that’ll take time, but you should weakly have full range of motion and mobility.”
Ella blinked, looking down at her nude midsection. The wound had completely disappeared, as had most of the pain. “How did you do that?”
“The question is, why don’t you already know?” he responded, unnecessarily pulling Ella’s pants back up and smoothing the waistband in place. Her face scrunched in the Cres version of a blush at a private telepathic comment from the Human, who then stood up and extended a hand to pull her to her feet.
“Well?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for an answer.
“You’ve been in that pod for a very long time,” Marren said as gently as he could. “Many things have changed.”
Riax frowned. “How long?”
Marren never got the chance to respond. As soon as it crossed his mind the Human plucked the answer from him.
“16,000 years!” he said incredulously. “That’s not possible. At maximum, the medical pod only has enough power for . . . maybe twelve.”
The Cres exchanged glances, save for Ella, whose eyes were locked on Riax. Her hand kept stroking her hip, with her subconscious mind still not registering what had just happened.
“Wait . . .” Riax said, holding up his hand. “How did you get my pod?”
“We recovered it from the remains of a crashed Human ship,” Marren said straightly, sensing the Human didn’t need to be coddled, “along with seven others. Yours was the only one functional.”
“Define crashed,” Riax demanded. “How much was left?”
