SABINE
Port Gralic looked like someone had welded three different space stations together and forgotten to check if they were compatible. Sections spun at different rates. Architecture clashed. Mondian brutal efficiency smashed against Lyrikan curves, with Merrith tunnel systems threading through it all like veins.
The docking was a disaster. I scraped the hull against the guide rails, overcorrected and nearly slammed into a merchant vessel. Finally got her into the assigned berth through sheer luck.
Varrick hadn't moved during any of it.
The dock officer demanded fifteen hundred credits total. I found Varrick's credit chip in his jacket. During one of his conscious moments in hyperspace, he'd given me the override code. “In case,” he'd mumbled.
In case he died.
Getting him off the ship took everything I had. Seven feet of unconscious Vinduthi versus one exhausted human woman. I finally found a hover-stretcher in medical supplies and managed to get him moving.
Level Seven was exactly what you'd expect from a station's underbelly. Flickering lights. Suspicious stains. The smell of ozone and rot. The quarters I found were shit. One room, one bed, a bathroom that hadn't been cleaned this century. But the door locked and the Merrith landlord didn't ask questions.
“Nexian toxin,” he said, looking at Varrick's gray skin and the black veins spreading across his chest. “Three days to metabolize if he's strong. After that, he'll either be dead or recovering.”
“He's strong.”
I got Varrick onto the bed. He groaned. First sound in hours. His eyes flickered open.
“Sabine?”
“I'm here.” His hand was cold. Vinduthi ran hot, but the toxin was destroying his system.
“The ship...”
“Locked. The Regalia's safe.”
“If I don't...”
“Shut up. You're not dying.”
His thumb traced a circle on my wrist. “Fierce little dealer.”
“Your fierce little dealer.”
Heat flared in his eyes. Then his body seized. Every muscle locked rigid, back arching. I threw myself across his chest to keep him from hurting himself. His fangs extended fully. Then it passed, leaving him gasping.
The fever hit within the hour. His skin burned so hot I could barely touch him. Sweat soaked the sheets. He thrashed, muttering broken words.
“No... don't... please... I'll work harder...”
Old trauma bleeding through. The voice of someone much younger, terrified.
“You're safe,” I told him, using my dealer's voice. Calm, steady. “You're with me.”
His red eyes opened but didn't focus. “The algorithms... dying... three years... calculations wrong...”
More fragments: “Broken... already broken... worthless... Qeth said...”
Then names like a prayer: “Rylos... Zarek... Talon... Brevan... Kallum...”
The wound wept clear fluid that smelled wrong. Metallic and bitter. Black veins spread down his arm, across his chest. When I tried to cool him with a wet cloth, his skin actually steamed.
A Merrith vendor two levels up sold me basic supplies and added a bottle of something blue. “For the pain. When it gets bad. Three drops only.”
When he started screaming, actually screaming, I forced the three drops down. His breathing eased.
