Varrick
My shoulder was on fire. Not the clean burn of a normal pulse wound.
This was different. Wrong. The edges of the blast crater in my flesh had a greenish tinge that meant only one thing: Nexian modification.
Qeth's paranoia had extended to his weapons.
The bastard had tipped his pulse charges with neurotoxin designed specifically to prevent Vinduthi healing.
The toxin was already spreading. I could feel it moving through my bloodstream like acid, each heartbeat pushing it deeper into my system. My left arm had gone numb from shoulder to fingertips. Black veins were beginning to web across my chest, visible through my torn shirt.
“Left!” Sabine yanked me sideways as pulse fire seared the air where my head had been.
Sabine moved before I could. She grabbed a piece of debris, metal sharp enough to cut, and threw it. The same wrist motion she used to deal cards, but faster. Harder. It caught him in the throat, spinning him backward. He dropped, dark blood pooling beneath him.
“You throw knives?” I managed through gritted teeth.
“Cards. Knives. Whatever works.” She hauled me forward, my weight barely slowing her down. “Bay 7. Your ship.”
We passed two Merrith techs cowering behind a fuel pod, their six-fingered hands covering their large eyes.
A Mondian enforcer, not Krave, someone younger and hungrier, was systematically executing Qeth's former lieutenants against a bulkhead.
The spray patterns on the wall said he'd been at it for a while.
“Don't look,” I said when Sabine's steps slowed.
“I've seen worse.” But her hand tightened on my arm.
The Silver Hand sat untouched in Bay 7, her dark hull reflecting the chaos around us. My ship. The one thing I'd kept from my life before Qeth's betrayal. She was sleek, built for speed over comfort, her lines suggesting violence barely contained.
My vision swam as we approached, edges going dark. The toxin was affecting my nervous system now. I stumbled on the ramp, would have fallen if Sabine hadn't caught me.
“The hatch.” I started.
She'd already found the control, her fingers moving over the panel. “It's locked to your biometrics.”
I pressed my palm against the scanner, smearing blood across it. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ship recognized me despite the poison changing my readings, and the hatch hissed open.
Sabine sealed it behind us while I collapsed into the pilot's seat. The familiar leather creaked under my weight, and for a moment, I just breathed. We'd made it this far.
“Can you fly this?” My words slurred. The toxin was spreading faster than expected.
“I deal cards.”
“Same precision. Different application.” I forced my eyes to focus on the console. The controls swam in and out of focus. “Blue panel. Touch the startup sequence. No, the other blue.”
Her hands moved over the controls. The ship hummed to life, drives warming, systems coming online.
“Navigation next. Third screen from your left.” Blood ran down my arm, dripping onto the deck. Each drop hissed slightly where it hit. The toxin making even my blood caustic. “Do you see the...”
“The docking clamps. I see them.” She'd found the pattern in the controls. Blue meant primary systems. Red was weapons. Green was navigation. Just another deck of cards to master. “There. Released.”
The ship shuddered as the magnetic locks disengaged.
Through the viewport, I could see the battle still raging.
A Zhyx, nightmare on eight legs, had cornered three humans near our bay.
Its six eyes tracked multiple targets while its jagged fangs dripped venom.
One of the humans threw a grenade. The explosion rocked our ship.
“Where's the throttle?” Sabine's voice stayed steady, but I could hear her elevated breathing.
“Right hand panel. Ease it forward.”
She gunned it.
The Silver Hand shot from the bay, throwing me back in the seat.
Pain exploded through my shoulder as the partially-healed wound pulled against the movement.
Through the viewport, I watched two Frost Collective fighters collide trying to avoid us.
Metal shrieked against metal, then both ships spun into the station's superstructure.
“Too fast!” I gritted out, though part of me was impressed.
“They're shooting at us.”
Valid point. Pulse fire splashed against our shields as three separate factions decided we were worth pursuing. Or maybe they just wanted the ship. The Silver Hand was clearly high-end, custom, worth more than most beings saw in a lifetime.
“Hyperdrive sequence.” My vision was going, darkness creeping in from the edges. “Grid reference panel. Seven-seven-nine.”
She found it. “It's asking for coordinates.”
“Port Gralic. Saved preset. Blue folder.” I needed to send a message before we jumped. My fingers were numb, clumsy on the communication panel. Half the letters I typed were wrong. I deleted, tried again, fighting through the spreading paralysis.
Package secured. Nexian toxin in wound. Need 72-hour metabolization before safe return. Going dark. Port Gralic coordinates attached.
“Why Port Gralic?” She'd found the coordinates, was inputting them while I fought to stay conscious. “Why not your ship? Your crew?”
“Toxin's trackable until metabolized. Conclave could follow the signature.” Also, I didn't want my brothers to see me this weak, though I didn't say that. “Port's lawless. No questions. No Conclave connections.”
The effort of talking was enormous. My chest felt tight, lungs working harder to process oxygen my blood couldn't properly carry anymore. The Nexian toxin was a cruel joke. A poison that turned my own healing against me, forcing my body to tear itself apart in an attempt to regenerate.
“The Regalia,” I said suddenly. If I died, she needed to know.
“What?”
I dragged myself from the pilot's seat, each movement agony. My legs barely held me as I stumbled to a section of floor that looked identical to every other section. But when I pressed my palm against it, biometric lock responding despite the blood, a hidden panel opened.
I pulled the Regalia from my jacket. It was heavier than its size suggested, humming with alien harmonics. Even through the toxin's haze, I could feel its power. The key to the Sovereign's vaults. The thing we'd killed and almost died for.
“If something happens...”
“Nothing's happening to you.” She grabbed my face with both hands, forcing me to focus on her eyes.
Those hazel depths that had catalogued every tell at every table for five years.
Now they catalogued me. The spreading poison, the failing systems, the very real possibility I wouldn't survive this.
“You saved my life. You got shot for me. You're not dying in this chair.”
I wanted to tell her it wasn't about saving her.
Not entirely. It was about the way she'd looked at Qeth when she realized she'd been his unwitting tool.
The fury and pain and strength all mixed together.
It was about the claiming instinct that had been riding me since the moment she'd decoded my mathematical flirtation.
It was about the fact that somewhere between the casino and here, she'd become more important than the mission.
But words were beyond me. I managed to get the Regalia into its lead-lined compartment before my legs gave out entirely.
She caught me. “Varrick, stay with me.”
The hyperdrive engaged. Stars elongated into lines. Through the viewport, I caught one last glimpse of the Parallax Station. Already small, pieces breaking off as it died. Five years of Sabine's life, burning away behind us.
The last thing I remembered was her voice: “I've got you. I've got the ship. I've got everything. Just survive this.”
My last coherent thought was that I'd put our lives entirely in the hands of the autopilot and a dealer who'd never flown before.