She closed her eyes and mumbled something he couldn’t make out. He didn’t think she was damaged enough to be dying, but he worried anyway.
Rushing to the front of the ship, he jumped into the pilot’s seat and rapidly initiated the departure protocols. He already had permission to leave. He’d been about to depart when he’d heard her cry of pain while doing a last inspection of the ship’s rear plating.
Despite the commotion going on in the dock, he was allowed to go without delay. Soon the ship was on a direct trek to Yormun Station. He wasn’t sure if the human wanted to go there, but it wasn’t within the Talin Empire, Talin owned, or Talin affiliated, so it was relatively safe for both of them.
He still couldn’t believe those two hunters had found him so quickly. He thought buying this ship under an assumed name would protect him better. He had a lot to learn about being a fugitive.
Once the ship was en route, he shut off the comms for everything except emergency signals. He moved out of the seat so quickly he tripped and almost went to the floor. Where was his normal grace and poise? As a logistics general, he’d coordinated most of the Orlok War, and yet he couldn’t manage to get out of a chair without fumbling.
The sight of the small human made him forget about his clumsiness. He knew she was small; he’d carried her. But she seemed even smaller laying in the average-sized bunk. She also appeared much too pale. All the images of humans he’d seen were shades of brown, but this one was pasty white!
He grabbed the rudimentary med supplies on the ship and knelt next to her and focused on assessing her injuries. He’dassumed if she was talking and not crying out in pain, she wasn’t that hurt. Maybe he was wrong.
One arm of her jacket was absolutely soaked in blood, and it was dripping onto the bed under her. It was clear what caused the bleeding, a long, yellow quill was pierced through her shirt sleeve and arm.
How could those hunters have done this? Everyone knew humans were fragile. They could’ve easily killed her.
“The hunters should both have their plates removed one by one,” he grumbled.
He thought she’d passed out, but at his words her eyes fluttered open. Then the corners of her mouth turned up.
That was a smile! She was smiling at him. That was good. If she showed teeth, then it was an even better smile.
“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds painful, so I agree,” she mumbled. She tried to sit up but winced. “Ouch, damn it!”
She was cradling her arm against her chest, careful not to touch the quill.
“I’m going to cut away your shirt,” he told her. “Then I’ll see if removing the quill is feasible."
“Cut the shirt, I don’t care,” she agreed. “But get this damn thing out!”
He popped open the med kit and was dismayed to see it didn’t even have a basic med scanner. Without it he couldn’t check to make sure the quill hadn't pierced anything vital.
“There’s no scanner,” he said, bringing his eyes up to meet hers. “After I cut the shirt away, I can saw off the quill at both ends. Then I can cover the area in antiseptic gel and wrap it until we get to a place with medical staff to—”
Before he could finish explaining his plan, she grabbed the quill and pulled it free.
“Why would you do that?” he cried out with a startled rattle much too loud for the small ship.
“You weren’t going to, so I did,” she said. They both watched the blood begin dripping out of the hole in her sleeve and start to soak the chest of her jacket. “That’s not good.”
“No it’s not!” he agreed, ripping the sleeve open with his claws to find the top puncture bleeding profusely. The lower puncture was only weeping a little blood. He focused on helping her instead of voicing all the reprimands that flooded his head.
Ripping open a packet of gel, he poured it over the wound. It didn’t stop the bleeding, but when he wrapped the bandage around her arm, he saw the dressing change color as it bonded with the gel. He watched closely for several submarks, but no blood seeped through the bandage.
“See, not a big deal,” she said, but her voice was a little breathy. She was still sweating profusely to the point that her clothes were soaked. She waved her good hand in the direction of the med kit. “Are there any painkillers in there?”
He rummaged around until he found a vial. The label cycled through several languages, but he didn’t know how to read any of them. He knew it was a painkiller from the color, but he wanted to know if it was still good.
Impatient, she snatched it from him and squinted her eyes at the label.
“Yes! This is the good stuff!” she declared and put the tab end in her mouth. Biting off the top, she spat it out and then downed the liquid.
“I could've opened that,” he said.
She made an adorable snorting sound. “I’m sure, but it might’ve taken you a few years.”
Zephrum might not know how long a “year” was, but he knew when he’d heard an exaggeration. He couldn’t blame her;she must’ve been in intense pain since being injured. Still, he couldn’t stop the gentle reprimand that came out of his mouth.
