Chapter 5 A Hard and Dirty Fight #2
Ki’Remi inclined his head. ‘Already transmitting.’
Issa’s gaze softened. ‘You’re doing important work, Sheba. I sense it.’
Sheba welcomed her friend’s acknowledgment with a smile. ‘You both are too. Get some rest when you can.’
Ki’Remi’s lips curved again. ‘Indeed, and you keep being the Queen you are, even in the wilds of Lattaya.’
The feed dissolved, leaving the tent quiet again.
Sheba exhaled and opened a private channel.
Selene’s official Prime of Dunia symbol bloomed on the screen, gold-threaded and intricate as befitting her position as leader of an influential planet.
Sheba hit the record button.
‘Hi Sis,’ she said, keeping her tone light but honest. ‘Just a quick hello to let you know I’m doing well. The clinic is thriving, the team’s solid, but the work is busy and sneaks up on you. How are you?’
She paused, then smiled, her voice softening.
‘How’s Kainan? Tell him I said not to forget to sleep, even if he pretends he doesn’t need it. And kiss the girls for me. I yearn for my nieces and nephews. I miss you all.’
She took an inhale, tamping down her homesickness.
‘I’ve stumbled on some intriguing data on Tansinia. This planet is almost as healing as Dunia, with unexplained restoration and impacts on the physiology that deserve major attention. I’ll explain when I have time. Speak soon, my love.’
She terminated the connection and stared at the glowing symbol for a long moment.
Minutes later, she was back in the ward, surrendering to a surge of urgent cases, technical inquiries, and logistics demands that mounted with relentless momentum.
Yet, beneath the professional resolve, the memory of a pair of silver-gold eyes from the previous night persisted, a vivid haunting that held on with a stubborn grip.
Later that afternoon, she claimed a quiet moment for herself.
She perched on a cargo crate on the inside of her tent, its flap half open for some privacy.
Her fingers wrapped around a mug of sweet, hot kahawa.
Her shoes were kicked off, long gone, her bare feet dangling as she sought to ease the pressure of eight hours upright.
Steam from her cup rose in lazy curls, and the ceramic heat seeped into her palms, grounding her.
Behind her, the facility pulsed with activity.
In the shade of the canvas awnings, patients shared a rare laugh as they played cards.
Children darted among the supply stacks, their giggles punctuating the air while medics steered wheelchairs over the gravel paths between wards.
Above it all, the sun began to sink, casting pinked shards across a stunning sky, where wild-hued birds circled in effortless arcs.
Her focus drifted back to Idan and the spectacle he caused at the bar.
She pictured the unruly spill of his dark hair and the lethal elegance in his every movement.
Danger didn’t just follow him; it seemed to emanate from his frame, given the sheer power she detected vibrating beneath his skin.
He embodied a raw savagery, a savage instinct held in check by a terrifying level of control.
She’d spent enough time around shifters to recognize the markers.
From the unnatural stillness before motion, to phenomenal speed that blurred the eye, and the glow in their irises as their potency and focus sharpened.
Also, the sigils, gold, luminous, etched under his dermis with the same pulsing radiance she witnessed on Molan, her best friend Rina’s partner.
Was he like Mo? A freakin’ immortal warrior?
She exhaled, a sound halfway between amusement and disbelief, and lifted the mug for another sip.
Her peace fractured at the squeal of incoming engines above, as a burst of voices rose from the far side of the compound.
Footsteps pounded, a stretcher clattered against stone, and the easy rhythm of the lazy afternoon snapped away.
Sheba set her cup down with a curse, feet slipping into her slides, her brows furrowing as the noise surged closer.
Sheba stepped out from under the tarpaulin edge just as a flyer dropped from the sky.
It settled hard on the packed earth landing pad in front of the administration wing, its thrusters scorching the ground beneath it.
Two more craft settled into a squat nearby, propulsion motors ticking as they cooled, hulls scarred and patched from rough landings.
The air was redolent with the scent of fuel and dust as doctors rushed forward with nurses guiding hover beds into position.
Sheba too raced into the fray.
Sheba intercepted Imani mid-stride, her hands already snapping on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves. ‘Doctor, status report?’
‘Severe traumas consistent with a rockfall accident at the mine,’ Imani shouted over the dying whine of the engines.
‘We’ve reports of six traumas and a dozen others with blunt-force contusions.
One patient has a laceration over their ribs; it’s deep, penetrating the thoracic cavity.
Another has sustained multiple intracranial injuries and is showing signs of neurological drift.
We also have a cluster of victims with crushed hands, likely from trying to brace against the slide. ’
Sheba’s mind mapped out the operational priorities with cold, clinical speed as the first gurney hit the ground. ‘And the rest of the intake?’
‘Five more unknowns are rolling in on the next wave,’ Imani replied, her face a mask of grime and focus.
Sheba turned toward the emergency ward, her voice cutting through the rising din.
‘Triage the head traumas to Bay One and get the rib laceration into immediate imaging. Move non-critical patients out of beds into wheelchairs or the overnight wing. Let’s clear the decks before those new patients touch down. Move!’
Along with Rehema, Kaelin, and Eliza, Sheba went to work.
Matteo jogged past with a portable oxygen rig slung over his shoulder.
Linh crouched beside a patient who had collapsed near the reception ramp, while Toma moved with grim efficiency, clearing space and directing traffic.
Chaos followed the injured out of the flyers as medics hauled bleeding bodies toward triage with more urgency than care.
The miners were a rough lot, shouting over one another, barking orders at the junior nurses rushing in with stretchers and med kits.
She helped one miner with arms and clothing streaked dark with blood into a wheelchair before handing him to Brad.
One woman sagged between two nurses, her face gray and slack with shock. Another clutched her ribs and swore through clenched teeth as she fought to stay upright.
More miners with less severe injuries crowded the reception.
Their angry calls for attention cut through the air, laced with impatience and profanity.
A flare of anger erupted in Sheba’s chest at the way they spoke to her staff.
Not having either the time or the patience to indulge their nonsense, she moved, directing bodies, assigning stations, and calling for plasma packs and sterile instruments.
Her voice rose above the din, steady and unmistakable, guiding the lesser experienced nurses as they followed her lead.
From the corner of her vision, she caught movement outside.
A man stepped down from a just-landed, flashier flyer.
The ambiance in the clinic and grounds around him shifted.
She spotted the miners sit up, some even saluting as he strode toward the demountables.
From the locals, she witnessed eye rolls and resentment stirring.
Whoever the hell he was, he sauntered into the emergency triage area; his presence a jarring puncture in the room’s frantic atmosphere.
He possessed a curated, artificial radiance.
From his platinum-blond hair, slicked back with a glittery oil that caught the clinical LEDs, to his brown eyes, flat and translucent.
Every inch of him gave off an air of excessive wealth; he wore a tailored charcoal jacket of spun silk studded with jeweled buttons.
He was far too pristine, his complexion glistening with a waxy, pampered glow.
His boots were a masterclass in arrogance, mirror-polished obsidian leather so they refracted light.
He scanned the chaos with the proprietary detachment of a man counting stacks of schills in a bank rather than lives in a ward.
With a thin, practiced smile that didn’t reach his hollow eyes, he strode toward a bed where a battered miner offered a desperate, sycophantic grin.
They exchanged handshakes and shoulder bumps as the newcomer sought to get an update from the injured collier.
Moments later, he glanced up with an impatient furrow to his brow.
‘My men are reporting slow service,’ he barked at no one in particular. ‘I don’t want my people bleeding all over this place. You -’ he pointed at Nurse Rehema wrestling with a hover cot, ‘- bandage a few wounds won’t ya? Now. Or get me someone who knows what they’re doing.’
Sheba inhaled, straightening her spine from the bedside where she was overseeing a patient’s wound bandaging, striding toward the unwelcome intruder.
‘Who are you, Sir?’ she called out, her voice dripping with excessive politeness, ‘and who do you think you are ordering my staff around?’
He pivoted to her, surprise flickering across his face before it settled into appraisal.
His eyes dragged over her with raw avarice, lingering where they had no right to rest.
‘Well, hello, beautiful,’ he said, his mouth curling into a self-satisfied smile. ‘I didn’t think medics, especially in this back of the woods, came in pretty mode.’
Her expression did not change.
‘We also come with zero tolerance for bullshit,’ she said. ‘So I’ll ask again. Who are you?’
He reached for her hand, already leaning in, intent on pressing his lips to her knuckles.
Sheba pulled back before he could close the distance.
‘Ty Si’Rhix,’ he said, straightening, his tone facetious. ‘I own Rhixon Mining Corporation.’
‘Well, bully for you,’ Sheba clipped. ‘I’m the Head Nurse. I run this clinic’s operations, and I don’t tolerate bullying or poor manners in my emergency ward. Step outside, and we’ll get your staff stabilized faster.’
He studied her closer, eyes narrowing, no longer amused.
She caught the gleam of resentment in his eyes, the brittle edge beneath the polish.
He did not appreciate being corrected.
He liked it even less when it came from a woman.
A thin, calculated smile slid into place.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I can be a gentleman.’
In your dreams, she thought.
‘I’ll leave if you pledge to give my crew the best care possible,’ he added.
‘Professionalism doesn’t need a promise,’ she murmured, giving him a cold flash of warning with her eyes.
‘Rhixon Corp is not wanted here,’ one of the locals, a crotchety, silver-haired, elderly woman, sneered from her bed.
At this, Ty spun around to face the older woman, scorn written on his face.
‘I can do whatever the fokk I want, old girl. I have a mining concession from Tansinian officials who have my back. The problem is your alderman, and this freakin’ village stands in the way of improving the lives of all Tansinians.
You’ve minerals beneath this ground that can generate billions of schills.
My brother Tiberius, may he rest in peace, died to bring that dream to life, but I won’t.
So watch out, lady, you might have to flee from that bed when I take it from under you to see my vision come to light. ’
‘Are you threatening my patients?’ Sheba snarled. ‘You need to leave now.’
‘Get the hell out,’ Toma growled, supporting her as he strode toward Ty.
The mining executive lifted both hands in mock surrender and stalked back in the direction of his sleek flyer.
As it rose into the evening sky, he leaned out from the lead vessel and gave her a single finger salute and a curled, twisted grin.
‘Bastard,’ she murmured as the craft climbed and banked away.
The sense of unease in Sheba’s gut did not fade with his departure. It deepened.
With an exhale, she turned to the task at hand: sutures, pressure dressings, bone stabilization, and quiet reassurance.
In less than two hours, the staff had most of the miners cleaned, bandaged, stitched, and stabilized, their pain dulled and their anger spent.
The critical cases remained in the wards for observation, and the rest got bundled back onto their waiting crafts.
The flyers lifted off with unnecessary force, rotors tearing at the air, hurling dust into the tents until tarpaulins snapped and strained against their ties.
Sheba stood outside the emergency wing as the fleet rose into the skies, hand up, shielding herself from the dust and grit.
‘Good riddance to them all, including their boss, may I never see his smug face ever again.’
‘We all wish it,’ Toma growled beside her. ‘He runs dirty mining operations here and out on the fringes, with a massive op in the Gamma Algenib sector.’
Sheba kept her eyes on the shrinking silhouettes and blinking tail lights in the darkened night sky. ‘Let me guess. Aqqari?’
‘Yup,’ Toma said. ‘Rhixon Corp has little to no respect for the environment. They tend to bully locals and bribe planetary officials to get their way. Ty has spent millions greasing palms across four planets and counting.’
Sheba turned to him. ‘How do you know so much?’
‘I had an encounter with his brother, Tiberius, some years back,’ Toma said.
‘He’s dead now, but then he was after a rich lode of xentium he started mining in the mountains behind us, and we found out that Rhixon Corp was poisoning the area’s waterways with chemical runoffs.
He stopped only when I reported him to the Pegasi Board of Environmental Protection, which ended his operation.
Ever since then, they’ve harassed us in retaliation.
I fear Ty might fight harder and dirtier to get at the xentium beneath our feet. ’
He stared at her hard. ‘Keep your guard around him.’
‘I intend to,’ Sheba murmured, as the flyers disappeared into the velvet black sky.