Chapter 12
Aura
Wyl’s grip on my hand is almost painful as he guides me through the throngs of people in the main hallway of the station.
I worry about his ability to lead with one of the Ssylin face coverings applied to his all-weather hood, but he insists on being in front in case we encounter station security on the way to wherever we are going.
He did not allow us time to pack before we left our quarters, stating that we will be fine with the clothes on our backs. When I inquired about food for him, he brushed it off as “irrelevant.”
Wyl has not given me the chance to ask how he plans to get us off the station, nor has he offered that information.
I have no doubt that our sudden departure is directly related to the news report I pointed out. Not five minutes later, Wyl stormed into my room, removed my Ssylin cloak, and requested that I affix a Ssylin hood film to each of our all-weather hoods to conceal our identities.
Despite the oddity of Ssylin technology on human clothes, few people give us a second glance as we race down the hallway.
That is likely due to a malfunction in the station’s environmental controls.
Moments before we fled our quarters, the internal temperature on the station plummeted, sending its occupants into a panic.
Now nearly everyone is wearing similar suits to ours, and we are not the only ones rushing from one location to another.
No doubt Wyl is somehow responsible for the calamity. Factoring in the timing of the malfunction with his complete lack of concern over it, that is the only conclusion.
I do not get a chance to confront Wyl about this until he cuts a sharp left, dragging me into another hallway. This corridor leads to the docking bays, but the choice does not make sense to me. “Wyl, station command stated that the ship had not finished refueling. Why are we going this way?”
“Station command is full of shit. I’m betting the ship has been ready for days.”
“You believe that they are lying?”
He suddenly pushes me into an alcove, ducking in next to me as a small contingent of Galactic Authority soldiers marches past and shielding me from their view with his own body. Once the soldiers are gone, he finally answers.
He drops his voice to a low whisper. “Not only do I believe they’re lying, but I also think they know that we’re lying. That spells trouble for us if we’re caught, so let’s try not to get caught.”
Before I can formulate a response, he has my hand again. We dive back into the crowded corridor and weave through the throngs of people. The majority of the others are headed in the same direction we are, rushing for their ships or possibly station escape pods.
I hope Wyl is correct about the status of the fuel cells on Jupiter’s Joy. It would be … unpleasant to have to battle other passengers for an escape pod.
After several wrong turns that could have been avoided had Wyl simply allowed me to lead, we finally find the bay Jupiter’s Joy is docked in.
The station’s docking clamps are still affixed to the hull, but otherwise the ship appears to be in good repair.
It does not look as though the Galactic Authority damaged our ship during their inspection.
Though we had arrived on the station via airlock, our ship was moved from the external dock point to a larger docking bay early on to facilitate the fueling and, apparently, the investigation.
Spacious and open, the docking bay is open to space on one wall; the only thing preventing us from being sucked into the vacuum is a faintly glowing force field where an exterior wall would be.
“Aura, get in the cockpit and start the engines. Navigate the ship to the Klymani asteroid belt but take an indirect route for the first ten parsecs. I’ll take care of the docking clamps and the force field.”
“But what if the Galactic Authority returns to this bay? If I am not here to protect you—”
“I’ll be fine. Get in the ship, please.”
“But Wyl—”
He raises his voice to such a degree that a reflexive subprogram kicks in, and I flinch. “Aura, on board, now!” Then, softer: “Please. Klymani Prime, the asteroid belt. I promise I’ll be right behind you in a few minutes.”
I board against my better judgment and prime the ship’s engines for launch. Navigational calculations take time, especially when our destination is a dangerous asteroid belt outside of Galactic Authority-monitored space, and I do not think Wyl wishes to delay our departure.
Since I am in the bow of the ship and the docking clamps are on the aft, I cannot hear if Wyl encounters trouble while disengaging the clamps.
This fact makes me anxious. I despise not knowing if Wyl is safe, and the growing feeling of uncertainty distracts me enough that I do not hear the magboots approaching until they are right behind me in the cockpit.
Sudden clanking alerts me to another presence, and I whip around in my seat, activating a defensive projectile device built into my arm. Firing a single round, I only realize that it was Wyl approaching behind me afterwards, when my processors finally catch up.
“Wyl!”
I note the Wyl has already changed out of his all-weather suit into a regular crew uniform.
His breathing and heartbeat are erratic, as though he has just overexerted himself physically, and there seems to be an odd bulge underneath his jacket.
Before I can inquire about any of that, he pats my shoulder and redirects me to face forward.
“I’m okay; you missed.” He points at a hole in the superficial bulkhead. “Punch it.”
“The station’s force field—”
“Is disabled. Trust me; just go. We have to get out as soon as possible and hit lightspeed.”
When I turn my attention back to the forward monitors, the force field is indeed gone, and I see several Galactic Authority soldiers’ bodies drifting out into open space.
“You killed them?” I turn back to Wyl, searching his expression for answers. If I find them, I suspect I will not like them.
Something in his gaze shifts, but I do not detect any muscle movement. The change is both subtle and terrifying. It is as if all that is good has left him, leaving only cold hatred.
“They were coming to kill you. I had no choice.”
As with his eyes, Wyl’s voice also lacks any warmth.
To avoid argument, I focus on launching the ship, implementing the navigational algorithm, and activating the lightspeed engines the second we are a safe distance from the station.
Lightspeed should, in theory, prevent us from being followed.
Current technology is incapable of scanning fast enough to track a vessel that is at lightspeed.
However, we do not know if the Galactic Authority has installed any monitoring devices or software on Jupiter’s Joy that could relay our position back to them.
I begin a system scan to locate any potential trackers just in case.
By the time I finish the scan and disable the tracking software that was planted, Wyl has left the cockpit.
Internal sensors indicate that he is in the galley, but something is off about his vital signs, possibly caused by a malfunction in the sensory array.
A quick diagnostic check of the internal sensors reveals some minor malware affecting the biometric indicators.
Perhaps this explains his anomalous readouts.
It takes seventeen solar minutes to wipe the malware and restore the biometric calibration to human baseline normative values. Just to verify the accuracy, I rerun the scans on Wyl’s vital signs.
Still abnormal.
His heart rate remains increased, while his blood pressure and core body temperature are steadily dropping.
Using the ship’s intercom, I hail the galley. “Wyl? Wyl, it is Aura. Please respond.”
No answer.
I hit the button to activate the video feed, cracking the plexiglass cover in the process.
Despite Wyl’s foul mood when we departed, I do not believe he would purposefully ignore my call.
Concern floods my neuroreceptors, and the fraction of a second that it takes for the monitor to turn on seems to last an eternity.
Finally, I have a view of the room. Wyl is not seated at the table, as I would have expected.
He lies prone on the floor … in a pool of blood.
My circulatory device pulsates at a rapid rate as panic sets in. I race down the corridors towards the galley, my footsteps echoing in the halls.
He did not say he was injured. In fact, Wyl stated specifically that I missed when I fired at him in error.
Was he lying? Is there a dangerous stowaway onboard, perhaps, someone who attacked him?
I cannot imagine what else could have injured Wyl so severely in the short time since we fled the station.
After skidding to a stop at his side, I drop to my knees and run simultaneous visual and thermal scans to determine the location, nature, and extent of the injury.
There! His lower left abdomen—the same location where I previously noted a bulge in his jacket—has a grievous projectile exit wound, with a smaller entry wound on his back, though they do not appear to be from my weapon.
A quick database scan confirms them to be consistent with a standard-issue Galactic Authority projectile weapon.
Wyl was attacked at the station prior to boarding Jupiter’s Joy. He neglected to inform me of this, neglected to request proper treatment, and now he is near death.
No more time to waste … I rip off his jacket and inspect the wound more closely, noting that he apparently attempted to staunch the bleeding himself by stuffing the hood of his all-weather suit into the jagged opening in the front of his abdomen.
This likely bought him some time, but it was not sufficient to fully halt the loss of blood, and it did nothing for the entry wound in his back.
A major vessel still oozes thick, dark red fluid, and Wyl is so drained that his skin has a sickly pallor to it.
Shifting the laser emitters in my eyes to produce cauterizing beams, I patch any bleeding areas by burning the ends of the torn vessels to stall the blood loss.
Once that task is complete, I leave Wyl’s side for just a moment to retrieve a medkit.
Cautery alone will not be sufficient to repair his wound, but I should have enough tools in the kit to perform surgery.
The kit has most of what I require, but for some reason, it is lacking a few things. Thankfully, I am programmed to improvise in emergent situations.
Even without suture wire or artificial blood products in the pack, my body contains compatible elements.
My neural wiring will allow me to stitch his wounds shut without causing irritation or infection, and my circulatory fluid can work as a temporary blood substitute until we reach our destination.
Klymani Prime has an outpost hidden within its asteroid belt where we can resupply.
I stroke Wyl’s pale cheek before I begin, speaking softly to him.
“Do not worry, Wyl. I will repair your vessels and skin. Just lie still. Rest.”
He stirs briefly at the touch, but he does not wake.
Whispering a prayer to every organic god in the known universe that he survives the journey, I slice open my thigh to retrieve an adequate length of wiring for the procedure, placing a nearby bowl from the dining table beneath to catch my circulatory fluid for later transfusion.
I refuse to lose him.