Page 118 of Star-Crossed Captive
“Mace?” she croaked, turning as much as she could to see his face. His eyes were closed and sweat beaded his brow. Her stomach twisted with nausea.
“Move!” Betel shouted from nearby. Amidst more weapons fire, the acrid scent overwhelming, she tried to follow the order, to squirm out of Mace’s grip, but his body pressed her against the deck. A panicked sob left her lips.
His body jerked forward, rolling, but his eyes didn’t open. Then his arms fell away enough to allow her to wiggle free.
She lifted her head. Betel dragged Mace by his collar one centimeter at a time toward the lift. His weapon fired nonstop in the direction they’d come.
The next round of bursts made her flinch, and she ducked instead of getting to her feet.
“Take his gun!”
She turned and saw the two defenders using the bulkheads as cover, firing blindly toward them. Mace’s gun lay near his feet. She dove for it, pressing the trigger as soon as it settled in her hands. Her body jerked with the force of the recoil.
The laser blasts gouged holes in the bulkheads, sparks flying. But her chaotic aim had the desired effect of making the defenders retreat. She spun, scrambling after Mace as Betel pulled him fully onto the lift. The door closed behind her. Betel slapped his hand against the control panel and the lift ascended.
It was the first time she got a look at Mace’s injury, and a shout broke from her lips. She clambered closer. A laser burn cut across Mace’s spine, melting his uniform to his body. The wound was too deep, too wide. He was losing too much blood. He needed immediate stasis and surgery.
Nausea swirled in her stomach. “I need a med kit!” she shouted, swallowing against the bile rising in her throat. She pressed her fingers to Mace’s neck, felt a weak pulse, and exhaled a quick, relieved breath.
“There’ll be one in the command center,” came Betel’s rough reply.
The lift door slid open to reveal a wide corridor equipped with a biometric tunnel.
Betel dragged Mace out by the collar. “I need some help here,” he shouted to the right.
Spiro came running from an arched doorway. Nia moved out of the way and Spiro took his feet.
Her heart aching, she followed them the way Spiro had come. The doorway opened into a space mimicking the atrium’s in shape and layout, a holotable at its center. Viewers ran along the circumference, ones full of images of the battle outside, violent with laser blasts, mines exploding, a debris field scattered everywhere. Nia’s breath caught. She’d flown through that.
“What happened?” asked a woman with black hair swept into a tail at the top of her head, her expression hard.Must be the commodore.
“Stray defenders,” was all Betel answered as he and Spiro carried Mace to the side.
“Keep him face down,” Nia ordered, following, her heart beating a rapid rhythm in her chest.
Her gaze skimmed over the rest of the people in the command center. The bodies of six defenders were piled in one corner, two with high-ranking uniforms in white. A small group of bound CORE technical officers huddled not far from them. She recognized the Tellusian warrior, Mace’s friend, who stood near the CORE officers, but his concerned gaze was directed toward her.
Standing across from the commodore, three Tellusian techs stood shoulder to shoulder, their fingers frantically skimming the surface of the holotable, their faces pinched with worry. That’s when Nia noticed a countdown hovering above its surface:
16:39
16:38
16:37
A self-destruct?The acid churning in Nia’s stomach climbed her throat. She swallowed and returned her focus to Mace. He was the one who needed her help most right now—whether they were all about to explode or not.
She collapsed to her knees beside him and widened the melted and charred material of his uniform to get a better look at the injury. Her hands shook. Nerve damage. He might not be able to walk again.
“All three of you, get the damn thing turned off and get it turned off now,” the commodore’s voice cut through the tension. “Or we’ll die before we get a chance to see if this beast will even move.”
Betel shoved a med kit at Nia, and she opened it, letting loose a slow breath to calm herself. Thank the stars it was fully stocked. She grabbed two cardiovascular nodes, a laser scalpel, the transfusers, and a regenerator.
“Will Mace live?” The commodore’s voice cut right to Nia.
She swallowed and met the commodore’s gaze. “He needs stasis.”
“Do your best. We can’t move anyone right now.” She broke Nia’s gaze and focused on her technical officers.
