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Each was excruciating, both in effort and slowness, however. He was forced to carefully navigate the broken ceiling components littering the floor. Triumph, as savage as his anguish, rose in him when he grasped the lid of the floor bin. He laughed at the ridiculous notion of victory to have walked no more than fifteen feet. The hysterical edge to his barked hilarity scared him into shutting up.
Because the floor storage was the better support, Ilid leaned his hip on it and swung open the door to the closest wall cabinet. His gaze slid over well-organized stores of water and food ration pouches, power chargers for handheld computers and com units, small hand tools, and…there. In the corner, the red icon of a medical scanner on its lid, was an emergency first aid kit.
Ilid grabbed it and laid it on the floor bin’s lid. He wrenched it open. Because only one hand was operational, his progress in loading a tube of pain inhibitor in the inhaler was horrifically slow. He was crying again before it finally, mercifully locked in place.
He wrapped his lips around the device’s mouthpiece and depressed the plunger, ignoring the bolt of pain in his chest and gut to inhale the blast of mist as deeply as possible. He took another hit and a third.
The jagged pain dulled. Ilid moaned in relief. Again, when it halved. When agony quieted to a dull ache, he had another dose.
He caught himself sinking, his ass sliding down the front of the floor bin toward the floor. He stood up straight, marveling at the lack of pain as he did so. It was a lie. He was still badly injured, but he no longer felt it. He was close to giddy from the lack of pain.
Get a grip. You have work to do while it lasts, because you won’t maintain this level.
No, he wouldn’t, certainly not for a week. A check of the emergency kit revealed three additional canisters of inhibitor, each possessing a mere ten doses. He’d damned near used half of his initial canister already. Considering a ten-day week, twenty-seven hours a day, and thirty-six doses left…
One dose, every eight hours if he wasn’t found before life support ran out. He suspected a single dose wouldn’t do much to keep him free of agony.
There was no help for it. As long as he could stand and maintain mobility, Ilid had tasks to perform. He’d enjoy his brief respite while it lasted and get some work done.
He moved carefully as he removed food and water rations from the bin, mindful he could make his injuries worse when he didn’t feel them. He tried ignore the fact of torment in his near future.
Chapter Four
Alpha Space Station
Captain Kila stood at the bottom of the ramp leading to the umbilical connected to his spyship, glancing from Piras to their clanmate Hope and back. He pretended time wasn’t wasting, or that he was already behind schedule.
“We’ll be fine,” Piras assured him for the millionth time. It sounded no more truthful than when he’d first uttered it.
“The stationmaster and Nobek Kuran are working together to make sure we have protection. Especially Piras,” Hope added.
Their Imdiko Lokmi stayed silent. He was leaving too, and Kila thought he probably wasn’t enthralled by the situation either.
The difference was, Kila was the Nobek, the clan protector. As loyal as he was to Kalquor, his clanmates were his personal responsibility. He’d be unable to do his duty by Piras and Hope while on the mission of discovering what had happened to the spyship orbiting Bi’is.
There were those who’d love to get their hands on Piras. Certain people believed he owed them his life in exchange for those he’d allowed to be taken.
“We need to know what happened to the other ship, my Nobek. You need to learn if Bi’is possesses some sort of weaponry to use against us. Or if the shadow vessel we encountered there returned and harmed our people.” Piras spoke softly. Not as Kila’s commanding officer, nor as his Dramok. He spoke as someone who intuited Kila’s heart and the war waging within it.
“I know. It doesn’t make this shit easier.” His com beeped, the display showing it to be the first officer’s frequency. He snapped, “On my way.”
“Acknowledged, Captain.” Dramok Deram’s tone was official, betraying no sign he’d noted Kila’s temper. Smart man.
“Don’t put yourself in stupid situations,” Kila snarled to Piras. “So help me, if you do, when I get back—”
“I’ll miss you too.” Piras glanced between him and Lokmi. “Please don’t kill each other over those damned engines, Chief.”
“All our captain has to do is keep his big, clumsy paws off them.” Lokmi hugged Piras and Hope in turn. Kila heard him whisper in their Matara’s ear, “Keep an eye on him, okay?”
“Be careful out there,” she urged, blinking to keep tears at bay. Throughout their clanship, she hadn’t been separated from any of them.
Her hug for Kila was strong for such a small woman. He buried his face in her dark hair, inhaling as much of her scent as he could. Depending on what he found, he could be gone months.
The thought churned his stomach. When he and Hope separated, he glared at Piras once more. “Promise me.”
“I’ll be fine. I won’t run through the station shouting, ‘I’m Dramok Piras, I gave up Laro Station to the Basma, so come kill me.’”
“Asshole.” Kila hugged him briefly, then turned away. He stormed onto the ship, Lokmi on his heels.
