Chapter 50 #2
“Canmore,” Tullia says, face stern. “If I don’t heal her now, she’s…she might not make it. Her magic, I can’t feel it at all. And there’s a strange energy emanating from her. It’s almost like her soul is dripping out.”
Task wants to scream. Her soul? Was that even fucking possible? “Voss!” Task shouts across the ship to where his friend still kneels on the floor, trying to tourniquet Axel’s calf. “We need more time.”
Voss looks up at him, his eyes flashing in the dim interior of the Hopper.
They’ve done this dance a million times, but never in this circumstance.
Never when there was a veritable army outside, when the love of Task’s life lay dying on the floor, when their pilot was bleeding out.
When the entire Nexarium Force was after them.
Task knows what he’s asking, as he always does when Voss uses his power.
Another minute off his life, or five. It adds up.
Voss breathes in, still eerily calm given the circumstances. Task supposes it’s because he’s used to being in battle, of keeping everything locked away that isn’t directly helpful to the circumstances. Of facing up any number of things that feel insurmountable.
Something rattles the side of the Hopper, and Axel swears. “Lasers!”
Voss lifts his hands from Axel’s leg, holds them out in front of him, closes his eyes, and then it stops.
Everything outside is quiet. “Go!” Task says to Tullia, who’s already rushing back to Kit’s side.
“Where’s the damage?” He runs to Axel in the captain’s seat, looking over his shoulder at the smoldering side of the Hopper.
“It’s minimal,” Axel says. “We should be fine to get through the atmosphere, assuming we make it through whatever is waiting for us outside.”
Voss stands, one hand still extended, holding time still. “How long?”
Task looks back to where Tullia’s hands are pressed to Kit and shrugs, helpless. Every minute his friend keeps time frozen, he gives another minute to Kit. One minute of his life for hers.
“How long?” Voss raises his voice, his hand shaking with the effort of keeping time still. Usually he holds it for only a few seconds, enough to get them out of a sticky situation, but Tullia could need thirty minutes, maybe longer.
“I’m not sure!” Tullia cries. “She needs to wake back up before we’re airborne. She needs more serious medical attention than what I can give her here.”
“We’ll get it,” Voss says, clenching his jaw. “Just wake her up.”
Tullia presses her hands against Kit, and Task runs back across the Hopper, drops to his knees next to her. “Can I help?”
Tullia looks at him, her eyes wide as she takes him in, like she almost can’t believe what she’s seeing. The Hand that’s betrayed the Governor.
“I can relieve some of the pain,” Task rambles, forgetting that Tullia already knows this about him.
He pushes up the sleeves of his uniform.
“I assume that’s part of what’s keeping her under.
Her body’s way of protecting her, no?” Task knows this is about to be very bad for him, that even if he can help absorb some of the pain, it will be excruciating. He doesn’t care. She needs to wake up.
Tullia nods, hands still gently glowing over Kit’s side. “Try it. Hopefully with what I’m imbuing her with and what you’re pulling out, it will be enough.”
Task looks down at Kit, bites down on his lip hard.
Tries not to think about everything that he’s put her through.
That she hates him. That it will never be the same between them again.
He places his hands gently on her other side, breathing in deeply as he feels it.
The agony almost immediately flowing out of her.
He grimaces as he takes it in, feels it swirling in his veins.
He grits his teeth, taking more and more in as Tullia continues to imbue Kit with a golden energy — that soothing stream of magic that only healers have.
Task is almost full with her pain, and it feels like his insides are being scraped raw, that all of his nerve endings are on fire, but he won’t remove his hands, not until she wakes up.
There’s a flicker of movement behind her eyelids, and they’re opening, her green eyes locking with his.
“Oh, thank Odite. Thank Odite,” Task gasps, finally taking his hands from her body.
He can’t touch her again, can’t take any more of it, doesn’t know if she has it in her to neutralize him right now.
“We good!?” Voss is yelling, sweat streaming down his face, his entire body trembling. “I’m about to lose my hold.”
Tullia nods, standing up.
“What’s happening?” Kit asks, looking around, trying to push herself up into a sitting position. Her voice is hoarse.
“We’re getting out of here,” Task says.
“What?” Kit gasps.
“Sit down!” Axel says, and Task feels the engine rev under him.
“Come on, we need to strap in. Now.” Task wants to pick her up, carry her to her seat, but the pain is too much, and he’s barely able to stumble to the bucket seat himself. “Help her,” he commands Tullia, who grasps Kit under the arms and pulls her to standing.
“You’re alright,” Tullia says, looping Kit’s arm over her shoulder and hobbling across the small space with her. She arranges her in the seat, and Kit slumps down almost immediately, her head lolling back as she moans.
“Keep an eye on her!” Task demands, glaring at Tullia. He wants her to do more, even though he realistically knows she’s limited. He sits behind Kit, ready to catch her if she passes out again, not sure if she’ll be able to handle the time jump.
Voss lowers his hand, dropping into the seat next to Axel, and time resumes, shouts and gunfire outside the ship.
The ship lurches forward again, Thorleye activating the shields as they zoom into the open field in front of Nexarium, where two of Draven’s ships are already armed and waiting for them.
“Fire!” Axel says, swerving the Hopper to the left as Voss unleashes the turret on the right side of the ship.
A rain of laser-fire hits the ship closest to them before it has a chance to open fire, and Task sees it carve into its side, the metal peeling back in an angry smile. He forgot how good Axel is at this.
“We need to take down the other one,” Axel says, his focus unbroken, even as blood from his leg pools at his foot. Task reaches forward, wanting to grasp Kit’s shoulder, her hand, anything to ground him. To remind him that she’s still here. That there’s a purpose to all of the chaos he’s incited.
“Roger,” Voss says. “Ready when you are.”
Task can see the shields light up on the screen at the front of the Hopper; knows they’re being hit over and over again and that it’s only a matter of time before the laser-fire demolishes them entirely. He hopes they’ll hold long enough to get them out of the Nexarian atmosphere.
The Hopper swerves again, this time diving underneath the other craft, and he can see Voss angle the joystick upwards, unleashing a flurry of laser-fire into the underbelly of the other ship.
“Yes!” Axel actually pumps his fist in the air as he brings them out of the dive, flips them over the top of the ship. Its belly is now in flames, men shouting as the metal caves in entirely on one side.
“Task!” Kit cries, trying to look behind her. “What’s going on? I feel awful. I think I’m…”
“You’re fine,” Task says, hand hovering over her shoulder. “We’re getting you out of here. Just hang on.”
The Hopper lurches again, and Axel is swearing, an alarm blaring through the ship.
The portside shield has been breached. “Come on, come on, come on.” He can see Axel flipping switches, pulling levers, pressing buttons to prep the ship as they climb, Voss still releasing fire behind them as they ascend.
“Two more on us!” Voss calls out.
“Hold on!” Axel shouts. “Jumping in three…”
Task braces himself for the jump, tries to ready himself for the feeling of being squeezed through a tube. Remembers that Kit has never, ever had to endure this type of travel, and certainly not while severely injured.
“Love, this is going to be bad,” he says, leaning forward in his seat, pressing his lips against Kit’s ear.
“Just please hang on. Please.” He looks to Tullia.
“Be ready.” He doesn’t think Kit is strong enough to withstand the jump, and then it’s happening — he can feel the pressure building, the way it gets so heavy in the ship it almost flattens them, twisting his insides around.
And then they’re through it, somewhere far away in the galaxy, a planet glowing in the distance.
“Kit?” he asks, leaning forward again, brushing a lock of hair from her face, but her eyes are closed.
“She’s passed out again,” Tullia says, worrying her lip between her teeth. “We need to get her somewhere she can receive proper care.” She grasps Kit’s wrist between her fingers, counting her pulse. “Her heart rate is slowing.”
Task takes a deep breath, his fingers trembling as adrenaline races through his body. “Just do whatever you can for her right now, alright?”
Tullia nods, and he’s grateful for her presence here, that Voss managed to convince her to come with them on what will likely be a suicide mission.
“Where are we going?” Task asks Voss, who is gripping the dashboard in front of him as the Hopper bounces through space.
Voss looks back, his eyes flickering between Kit and Task. “Aquidium.”
Task rests his head against the side of the Hopper, looking out the viewport as the blue planet comes into focus. He doesn’t bother to ask how Voss managed to arrange this after how they left the last time — as thieves, with the threat of interplanetary war hanging over their heads.
“We’re clear,” Axel says, finally putting the Hopper on autopilot, looking down at his blood-soaked pant leg.
“That’s going to need stitches,” Voss says, still bracing himself as the Hopper bumps along.
“I’ve suffered worse.” Axel turns, grinning at Voss and Task. “Anyway, we’re out of there. They shouldn’t be able to follow us. I disabled the tracker before we launched.”
“The question is what we do now.”
Everyone is silent, the moment of peace both welcome and terrifying.
As the Hopper shudders along underneath him, Task unbuckles from his seat, kneeling on the floor next to Kit, watching as her chest rises and falls.
Tullia kneels on the other side of her, hands pressing into her again, trying to bring her back to consciousness.
Task’s entire body throbs with pain, the cavern in his chest full.
He shouldn’t touch her, can’t physically absorb anything else, but he takes her hand in his own anyway.
He knows it’s selfish, that if she was awake, she wouldn’t want him to touch her and that he’s running the risk of overflowing.
He knows he’ll never be able to make this up to her after everything; that this might be the only time he’ll be able to hold her.
When she comes to — and she will come to, she has to — she’ll be raging. He’s prepared for it. He’ll take it — her anger, her hatred, whatever she throws at him.
He squeezes her hand.
Even as it all goes up in flames, he thinks he finally did one thing right.