Chapter Twenty-Two
Rhazek
Smarter.
Elara’s voice is barely a whisper.
The pressure field has stolen most of her breath. Sarkan’s arm is across her chest. His weapon rests against her lower abdomen, light as a lover’s hand and twice as obscene.
The open emergency pod sits behind Elara, beacon shrieking. Living metal curls through the breach at my back.
Weapon first. Sarkan dead later.
Sarkan’s violet-black eyes fix on mine.
“Elara,” I say.
“You can breathe?”
“Badly,” she whispers.
The light in Elara’s palm pulses weakly through the pressure field. The life-pattern flickers in the bond.
Behind him, through the red-lit corridor, a human woman crawls into view, dragging another freed captive by the sleeve. A young man helps two others move toward the breach path. They are too slow. Too exposed.
I send a silent request for a map through my implant to The Black Star. Her signal is thin but enough.
Alcove pressure field tied to ceiling emitter. Weapon keyed to Sarkan’s pulse. Enemy ship systems partially exposed through blood resonance on door panels.
I let my gaze slide deliberately to Sarkan’s bleeding hand. “She marked you.”
His nostrils flare.
“Temporary,” he says.
He tightens his arm around Elara.
I keep my eyes on Sarkan. “You should have feared her more than me.”
His smile thins. “I do not fear restrained women.”
“No,” Elara rasps. “That’s why you keep needing restraints.”
The Black Star threads another update through the breach.
Ceiling emitter vulnerable. Angle blocked by Elara.
I lower my blade.
Sarkan’s eyes brighten.
I let the blade clatter to the floor.
The sound echoes in the alcove.
“There,” he murmurs. “The Black Star Warlord disarmed for a human woman.”
“For Elara Quinn,” I say.
“Kick it away,” he orders.
I obey.
The blade slides toward the open pod, near its manual release cable. Elara follows it with her eyes.
“Now step back,” Sarkan says.
I step back, leaving the blade within reach of my tail.
The breach behind me shifts quietly, living metal tendrils easing farther into the alcove wall. Slow enough not to catch his eye. Low enough to hide in red light.
Sarkan’s gaze stays fixed on me.
The Black Star reaches the ceiling emitter. I wait for her signal.
Sarkan speaks more softly. “I could still offer you terms. I have Elara.”
The Black Star signals readiness. I say, “You had her,” as she crushes the ceiling emitter.
The pressure field around Elara dies.
At the same instant, my tail whips the discarded blade into the exposed emergency-pod cable.
The pod hatch fires open wider, blasting compressed air across the alcove and knocking Sarkan’s weapon hand off-center.
Elara drops straight down.
Sarkan fires.
The shot burns over her shoulder and tears into the wall where my head had been.
I am already moving toward her.
I catch her before she hits the floor, one arm around her ribs. I turn, taking the second shot across my back armor. Pain bites hot through my shoulder.
Elara sucks in one desperate breath against me.
“Humans,” she gasps.
“I know.”
She is in my arms for less than one second before I set her behind me, toward the breach.
Sarkan lunges.
I turn.
A hidden blade slides from his sleeve, white metal with a poison-blue edge, aimed at Elara.
I catch his wrist.
His blade stops an inch from my side.
His wrist breaks.
Sarkan snarls, face twisting.
I drive him into the wall hard enough to crater the pale panels. His bitten hand tries for another weapon. My tail snaps around that forearm and pins it away from Elara.
He bares his teeth. “You cannot kill me.”
“No.”
Then I slam my forehead into his face.
His nose breaks.
Blood spills black-red over his mouth.
Elara says behind me, “That was definitely not killing.”
The corridor beyond erupts in movement.
Jorren enters through the breach with three Black Star warriors, all wearing filters and stun rigs. Behind Sarkan’s line, the freed humans stumble toward the opening, pushed by fear and the gold emergency line The Black Star projects beneath their feet.
“Human guards compromised,” I call.
“Stun and secure,” Jorren answers.
My commander’s blade stays sheathed. He fires two stun pulses down the corridor. One controlled guard drops. Another charges, screaming through half-dead implant commands. Jorren catches him, turns him, and pins him.
Sarkan uses the half-breath of my attention to twist under my grip.
I slam him onto the floor.
He hits hard, breath leaving in a sharp crack. His broken wrist bends wrong. I plant one knee beside his ribs and pin him with a hand at his throat.
“Go to Jorren,” I say.
“No.”
“I am not leaving until the humans are through.”
She crouches near the young man, who has half-carried, half-dragged the last of the holding-cell captives toward the breach. “Ben, can you move?”
Ben nods shakily. “Yes.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
“Good answer. Go anyway.”
Jorren catches Ben as he stumbles and hauls him through to The Black Star’s side.
One by one, the freed humans cross.
A woman in Veyl guard armor comes last, blood on her cheek. One of Jorren’s warriors supports her; a fresh field patch covers her disabled implant. Her eyes are dazed but her own.
Elara reaches for her and helps her across.
All civilians through.
I stand, dragging him up with me, one hand still around his throat. His broken wrist hangs useless. My tail pins his other arm behind his back.
Elara’s voice comes from behind me. “Rhazek.”
I turn enough to see Elara.
She stands near the breach, one hand pressed against the wall for balance, the other hovering over her lower abdomen. Her wrist is bleeding through a bad wrap. Her hair is half-torn loose. There is a bruise forming along her jaw. Red pressure-field marks cross her arms.
She sways.
“He lives,” Elara says. “We need proof. Those humans need answers. Varesh needs exposure. Dead men are convenient; Sarkan deserves to become evidence.”
My hand loosens by a fraction.
Elara’s eyes hold mine.
“Smarter,” she whispers again.
I throw Sarkan at Jorren.
Jorren catches him with three warriors and locks a stun collar around his throat before Sarkan can recover. The collar hums and forces him to his knees.
I go to Elara. “May I touch you?”
Her laugh breaks. “Yes, Rhazek. Please.”
I cup her face with both hands. Her skin is too cool.
She leans into my palms. Then her face crumples.
“You came,” she whispers.
My voice is raw. “Always.”
Then her knees give.
I catch her.
Jorren appears beside us. “We need to move. Sarkan’s ship core is destabilizing. The freed civilians are aboard The Black Star.”
I lift her carefully.
The moment we cross into The Black Star, the ship surrounds her with warmth.
“Elara Quinn secure,” The Black Star says.
Seryn waits in the breach corridor, blood on her sleeves, scanner already raised. She points at the mobile platform.
I lay Elara down. The platform adjusts beneath her knees and ribs. She grabs my hand before I can step back.
Seryn scans her wrist, jaw and the pressure-field bruises.
Seryn’s scanner moves lower.
Elara’s eyes snap to Seryn.
Seryn’s face goes blank.
“What?” Elara asks.
Seryn does not answer.
The scanner sweeps again.
Elara’s hand goes cold in mine.
Nima appears in the corridor behind her, pale and shaky but upright, supported by Ben and the woman who crossed last. “Elara?”
Elara’s breathing speeds. “Seryn.”
The doctor’s jaw tightens.
She scans again. No rhythm.
“No,” Elara whispers.
Seryn adjusts the scanner. Three seconds pass with Elara crushing my hand.
Then a pulse. Tiny and faint, it fills the corridor.
Seryn exhales. “Present.”
Elara makes a broken sound.
Elara turns her face toward me, tears sliding into her hair.
“Stressed, but present,” Seryn says. “Elara, I need to treat you now.”
In medical, I press my forehead to Elara’s knuckles.
“I am here,” I say.
“Anti-sedative support first,” Seryn says, showing Elara the injector. Elara nods and offers her arm. Seryn administers it, then prepares a separate dose for pain.
Elara’s eyes flutter.
“No,” she whispers.
Seryn freezes. “No pain control?”
“No sleep.”
The room goes quiet.
Elara’s grip on my hand turns desperate. “Not yet. I don’t want to wake up somewhere worse again.”
Nima steps closer, wiping her face. “You won’t. We’re here.”
“Door?” she whispers.
“Open,” I say.
“Room?”
“Medical. On The Black Star. Seryn’s room. Not Sarkan’s.”
“Humans? Guards?”
Jorren answers from the doorway. “Ben and the six holding-cell captives are in recovery. Four other guards are alive, one critical. Two died before we reached them.”
I lift my head from her hand.
“Nima is staying. Jorren has the corridor,” I tell her.
Elara looks back at me. “And you?”
“Here.”
“Chair,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
Seryn waits, scanner still in hand. “Pain control?”
I sit where she points and place my palm beside her hand.
She lowers her fingers onto mine.
Elara swallows.
“Okay,” she says. “Pain control. Light. Don’t knock me out.”
“Light,” Seryn promises.
She administers it.
Elara’s body eases by slow degrees. Her breathing steadies. The life-pattern’s rhythm remains faint but present. The mark in her palm dims against my skin.
Jorren steps beside my chair, voice low. “Sarkan is secured. His ship’s archives are copied and sealed. He has asked to speak to Elara.”
I look at Elara. “Do you want to hear what he says?”
“No.” Her eyes close. “See? Easy.”
The corridor outside medical flashes once.
The Black Star’s voice turns low and formal.
“Sarkan Veyl’s vessel core collapse in sixty seconds. Recommend distance.”
“Move,” I say.
Medical inertial fields rise around us. Elara’s platform steadies. Nima sits before she falls. Seryn straps down equipment with one hand while continuing to scan with the other because she is apparently made of discipline and spite.
Through the medical bay’s small external display, I see Sarkan’s pale ship drift away, wounded and burning from within.
The core collapse blooms silent in the dark, white and red and gold.
Elara does not watch the dying ship. She looks at me.
“Enough talking,” Seryn says softly.
Elara’s breathing slows.
I sit beside her while The Black Star carries us into the dark beyond Nyx Gate.
When Elara finally sleeps, her fingers still rest on mine.
Seryn lowers the scanner and looks at me.
“She will need real rest now,” she says quietly. “No councils. No strategy. No declarations. No war unless it waits politely.”