Chapter 19 - Noviosk
Her frail body goes limp, and I lower her gently to the ground, careful to avoid the deadly liquid—even if the soil has already soaked most of it up.
Goulou rushes toward Sam, but I stop him with a sharp gesture.
“Don’t touch her. Her clothes are soaked in poison.”
His skin ripples with dark red patches, flowing in waves. Within seconds, several Gek
karis surround us.
I analyze the situation quickly. She said the antidote—or whatever can counter this—must be administered within eight hours. So we have a bit of time.
First thing’s first: her clothes. That poison-drenched outfit has to go. And her skin must be rinsed. Then we get her to Gekkar Creek.
“Wash Sam!” I tell Goulou, pointing at her.
I don’t know sign language like Sam does, but this is not up for discussion.
Luckily, the Gekkaris are frighteningly efficient and impressively coordinated. Within moments, Sam is undressed and carried by several of them to the water basin I use daily.
I watch helplessly as they bathe her quickly, then dry her off. Flea brings a loose dress that they slip onto her unresponsive body.
“You go in eh-oh-pah!” Goulou announces.
I blink, trying to decode what he means.
“Eh-oh-pah!” he repeats, pointing toward the aeropod.
Right. He wants me to fly her to the doctor in Gekkar Creek. Makes sense—I hadn’t even taken time to think.
“You go!” I say to Goulou.
“Goulou no!” he protests, his skin turning a hideous piss-yellow.
I follow them to the aeropod, where they carefully place Sam—still unconscious—on the floor in the back. Obviously, the Gekkaris have never flown one of these things. Or anything else, for that matter. So the job falls to me.
My mind is chaos.
Sure, I’m still recovering. I limp around with a cane and my strength is a shadow of what it was. But I can still fly. The aeropod. The two-seater ship Sam parked miles away.
Nothing ties me to this place. I could leave now—head back to Srebat, my home. By the time I got there, I’d have regained full strength. Once home, I’d just need to regroup… and retake what was mine.
I climb into the aeropod, stiffly, thanks to my stubborn leg. I run a quick diagnostic and check the saved routes. Three are obvious: Gekkar Creek, Home, and Ship. The rest are exotic places—Bounom River, some lakes...
Decision made in seconds. I select “Ship.”
Two minutes later, I’m there. Right where we left it when we arrived on Gekkaria. I remember waking up in this aeropod, carried by a whole pack of Gekkaris to my case. The memory still makes my teeth grind.
The hatch opens. There it is—Sam and Logan’s old ship. The same one my men intercepted back then. No insignia linking it to the Confederation. Just a sleek, solid design—exactly the kind of prize they’d seize.
I limp toward the ramp, ignoring my own subconscious screaming that Sam might die.
The ship’s door slides open. Inside: a standard layout. Cockpit for two. Basic living quarters. The cot I’d used still smells like me.
Glorious. My ticket home, right here.
“AI, run a full systems check,” I say, hoping the thing isn’t password-protected.
“The ship is fully operational. Solar batteries are charged. Water supply sufficient for two occupants.”
“Excellent. Food rations?”
“Enough for three standard days.”
I grimace. Not ideal.
“Estimate travel time to Srebat.”
“That destination is not in my database.”
Figures. Stupid Confederation tech.
“Pull up the Eastern Quadrant.”
It takes me ten minutes to spot my system and mark my home world.
“Here,” I say. “Now calculate the route.”
“Estimated travel time: eighteen Polar Days.”
Perfect. I’ll need more supplies. Which means... Gekkar Creek.
I ignore the slight wave of relief that hits me at that thought. Dropping Sam off with the doctor isn’t noble—it’s efficient. With her stable, I can get what I need and leave.
I return to the aeropod. Sam’s still sprawled in the back. Pale. Sweating. Her body’s clearly trying to purge the poison.
I punch in the new destination. Outside, the lush forests fade into cracked plains. I tense up as we reach the settlement and land as close to the entrance as possible.
Time is ticking.
I hoist Sam onto my right shoulder. She’s limp. Sam—the one always buzzing with life—is disturbingly quiet now.
My leg screams in agony. I grab my cane with my left hand. Unsteady but upright, I push forward.
Each step is a war. My arms tremble, and my cane sinks into the parched earth.
I walk the main street, scanning for someone, anyone, who might know where the doctor is.
Then it hits me—I look like a murderer carrying his victim’s body through town.
“Help me!” I bark, hating every syllable.
Somewhere in the galaxy, a legend is dying—reduced to begging in a backwater town.
The locals scurry away, slamming doors, terrified of me—even with my cane. I guess I still project “danger.” A twisted sort of comfort, that.
Finally, one coward points toward a building with a green facade. Then vanishes. Of course he doesn’t offer help.
I hobble to the doctor’s office and bang my cane against the door.
“Doctor! Open up! She’s dying!”
The man appears, eyes wide. He sees me—sweaty, limping—and Sam, lifeless over my shoulder. He gets it.
“Inside! Lay her there, quickly!”
I ease her onto the table. My right arm’s numb. I collapse into a chair, panting.
“What happened?” he asks, already rummaging for vials.
“She got splashed with something toxic. Said she’d die without a counteragent.”
“Did she name the poison? I need to know which antitoxin to use.”
Think, Nov. Rewind.
We were walking. The Gekkari brats staring. One fell. I caught her. Then Sam collapsed.
“She said... Mouerta lotion, I think.”
“Mouerta? That’s an extremely potent neurotoxin. I use it in microdoses as an anesthetic. How much was she exposed to?”
Enough with the questions. Fix her! I brought her here—now do your damn job.
“She fell on a vial. It soaked her clothes—not this one, the other. The purple one.”
“I see. Then this serum might help. It’s strong—meant to match the toxin’s intensity. Without exact data, I’ll have to make an educated guess. It’s her only shot.”
He pulls out a syringe—thin as a pin, filled with amber liquid. He injects it into her vein.
Silence.
“She’s not waking up,” I say after a long beat.
“She won’t—at least not yet. Her body needs time to recover. She’ll stay under observation.”
I nod, unsure why I feel this tightness in my chest. I can’t stop staring at her pale, lifeless form.
“What if she doesn’t wake up?”
No answer. He carefully places the syringe into a metal box and closes the lid with a sharp click.
“Time will tell. You can wait if you’d like.”
Liar.
I feel it in his tone—he’s afraid of me.
“How kind of you,” I sneer. “But I think I’ll use this time to do some shopping. Can you point me to the nearest market?”
Some time later, I drop off my loot in the aeropod. I didn’t pay for any of it, of course. My sheer size convinced them it was a gift. Even scored a decent pistol off some old fool. Feels good to have a weapon again.
Just as I’m about to leave, I pause. Did I forget something?
Sam’s in good hands. She doesn’t need me.
But I need her. Well—not her. Just her ointments. My leg is burning like hell.
I sigh and head back to the doctor’s. Just to grab some balm. Maybe a quick update on her condition. Strictly practical.
I knock with my cane. He opens the door.
“She’s still unconscious,” he warns. “Probably until tomorrow.”
“I need ointment. The kind she makes. For my leg.”
He looks surprised, then lowers his eyes to my cane.
“May I examine you?”
Why not? Sam’s been nagging me to see a professional. Might as well.
I follow him into the exam room and lie down. He hesitates. Doesn’t dare ask me to remove my pants.
“You try anything shady, I’ll kill you.”
“I’m a doctor. I don’t harm—I heal,” he says, voice shaking.
Truth.
I roll my eyes and strip.
“You’re lucky,” he says after inspecting the wound. “Could’ve lost the leg. Sam did good work. Was it an open fracture?”
“Yes. She cleaned it thoroughly—had to.”
“She did a great job. You’ll regain full mobility soon. I’ll apply the same balm she’s been using. Night’s falling—you should stay here with her. I have to go home, but it’d be better if someone kept watch.”
Is he kidding? He’s the doctor! What am I supposed to do if she worsens?
“You don’t get it, old man. You’re staying here until she wakes up. Understood?” I growl.
He gulps and nods.
“Of course. I’ll just grab a few things from home. Won’t be long.”
Truth.
“Good. Don’t be late—and bring food.”
That delicious rush of power. The way others bend under the weight of my will.
Sam never did. She saw me as some broken thing to mend. But that ends soon.
I’ll get my strength back.
And when I do... the galaxy will remember who I am.
By morning, she's still asleep. The doctor says her condition is perfectly stable and that she's out of danger. I hesitated more than once to leave during the night, but after all, I'm not in that much of a rush.
So I decided to wait until she wakes up. Which shouldn't take much longer…
I step outside to get some air. The sun is low and glowing red, and dust dances along the village’s main path. I sit on the bench outside the building, leg stretched out, crutch leaning against the wall. The air is dry and crackling with electricity.
For the first time in a long time, I feel torn. Caught between the pull to return to Srebat and the nagging urge to make sure she’s going to be okay. Attachment is weakness—I know that. I learned it the hard way.
But this isn't attachment. It's more like a reluctant admiration for this young woman who’s adapted to a stripped-down world and made something meaningful out of it. She looks fragile, but there’s iron in her spine.
The very fact she didn’t hesitate to help me—a giant stranger—says more about her than anything else.
No, Sam is something else. And I’d be damn tempted to keep her with me.
Not to mention, she’s stunning.
But to her, I’m nothing more than a grumpy patient. Maybe if she knew who I really was—the warlord once feared across the galaxy—she’d look at me differently.
I hear them before I see them. Heavy boots. Voices. A group of Humans walking up the main road. Five, maybe six. Long coats, weathered faces. One of them stops dead when he spots me.
“Well well… look what we’ve got here,” he says, swaggering closer. “What’s a Srebat doing in a place like this?”
Shit. An Earthling who knows my kind. Bad luck. And he looks like he wants to show off for his pals, judging by that gleam in his eye when he notices my cane.
“You’re not looking too good, pal!” he laughs. “Lose your way? Lose your pride? Oh wait… looks like you lost your leg!”
I rise slowly, leaning on the crutch. My heart starts to pound. I know what’s coming, and I know I can’t stop it.
“Just passing through. Not interested in your dump of a town. Leave me the hell alone,” I growl.
“Too late for that,” he spits, literally. “You’re on my turf now. Messing around in things that don’t concern you. The drug trade here’s under my watch, and I don’t take kindly to nosy bastards. Especially crippled ones.”
“What do we do with him, Felone?” asks one of his thugs. “Off him?”
I scan the situation. Five of them, all armed. Me—alone, leaning on a stick, barely mobile. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t even dare raise their eyes to me. They’d be groveling for a spot in my ranks.
But power is everything. And Paviok was right: without it, you’re just prey.
“You can’t lay a hand on my patients!” the old doctor shouts, voice shaking.
“Nov?” Sam appears beside him, pale and unsteady, but unmistakably awake.
“Well look who it is! Albert’s little girl, isn’t it? The genius behind that wonder drug Zebulon everyone’s been chasing.”
“Sam, go inside with the doctor. I’ll be right behind you,” I say urgently. “As for you lot—walk away. That’s an order.”
“Ooooh, scary! What are you gonna do, hop us to death?” Felone sneers. “The gimp’s gonna fight!”
I grit my teeth. This isn’t going to end well. And Sam, damn her, is still standing there, frozen.
I grip my crutch like a pathetic excuse for a weapon. They come closer, circling me. The first punch flies in from the right—I dodge, pivot on my good leg, and slam the crutch into someone’s skull. He drops like a stone.
The others rush in.
I try to back up, but without support, my injured leg gives. I go down hard on one knee. Then the beating starts.
Fists. Boots. Elbows. I fight back as much as I can, but my vision goes red, then dark. The taste of blood fills my mouth.
Someone’s screaming. Sam.
“Grab her too,” Felone barks. “She’s the one who cooked up Zebulon. Her old man’s been trying to replicate it, but she can probably make it better.”
“No…” she murmurs.
I try to get up.
Felone smashes me in the temple. The world spins. I hit the ground, face-first. Dirt grinds into my eyes. I feel hands on me, patting me down, tying me up. I try to look for her.
They’ve got her. She’s struggling, but she doesn’t stand a chance. I want to scream, but my throat’s dry. I want to move, but my body won’t obey.
“Bring ’em both,” Felone orders. “We’ll figure it out at the base.”
Everything fades.
The sky closes.