T’arq
Voices drifted around him but, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t quite grasp their meaning. He felt he should know who was speaking—the voices were familiar—but every time he tried to think of a name; it disappeared like smoke. There were two of them. A soft and calm voice, and one more sharp as if used to giving commands.
The softer voice—a woman—said something, which was followed by a mumbled reply T’arq couldn’t quite catch. He drifted in and out of consciousness, their voices muffled.
“… not much left…”
“… surprised he’s still breathing…”
The words drifted through his… helmet? Why wasn’t he wearing his helmet?
“… big bastard.”
“… will she be OK?”
Who were they talking about? Krystal? It had to be Krystal.
“Hopefully.”
“… hasn’t woken… dangerously low on oxygen…”
Krystal! He had to get to her. T’arq tried to clear his throat to speak, but groaned at the effort and tried to sit up.
“All right, big guy. Settle down.” A small hand pushed him back onto the bed. It was almost comical how weak he was.
“Krystal…” he mumbled, before exhaustion overtook him and he dropped back into unconsciousness.
* * *
Sometime later, he eased his eyes open. Bright light speared his aching head, and he slammed his eyes shut. Shit.
“Sub-Commander Qu’Ress? T’arq? Can you hear me?” That was not Krystal.
“Krystal,” he muttered, pushing to sit up and squinting into the bright lights. “Krystal!” He roared, pushing off the bed.The bed?That he was on and stumbling across the floor to catch himself with a hand against the wall. “Krystal!” He bellowed again.
“Sub-Commander!” The gasped voice came from behind him, and he spun, blinking, until the fuzzy outline of a woman came into slight focus. Her red hair framed her face like a halo and she cowered in the corner.
Before he could take a step closer, he was grabbed from behind and lifted bodily and thrown back on the bed. He rose on his elbows to glare at Oren.
“She’s safe, you idiot.” Oren growled at him.
T’arq flopped back down on the bed in relief, turning his head to face his fellow warrior. “I have to see her.”
The older Taurean shot him a glare, daring him to move, before turning a much softer gaze to the woman in the corner. “Amelia, come,” he bent and picked her up, cradling her in his arms. “Do not scare the doctor who has been caring for your… flight engineer.” Oren lifted an eyebrow.
“Flight engineer?” T’arq’s brows drew together in confusion.
Oren scoffed, turning and walking to the doorway, where he paused. “Do you want to see her or not?”
T’arq scrambled from the bed and followed, the room swimming before his eyes and using the walls to hold himself up as he moved. Cool air brushed against him, and he realized that his clothing and boots had been removed and he was wearing the single-use garments patients wore when in medical. The corridor was tiny, the familiar layout letting T’arq know he was on a Taurean shuttle used for longer distance freight hauling between systems.
Oren turned into a room, T’arq following to see him put the human doctor back on her feet. She smiled up at him and brushed her hand against his cheek before turning to the slight form lying in the bed.
“Krystal.” T’arq practically fell forward in his haste to get to her side, collapsing in the chair next to her bed. She was still in her flight suit, the deep purple color at odds with the white walls and steel of the rest of the room. A medical monitor was hovering over the bed, the large curved white device passing in lazy paths over her body. The accelerated healing it provided gave a pink flush to her skin. She looked like a beautiful, but wilted, flower. Her eyes were closed and T’arq felt his own chest loosen as he watched hers rise and fall slowly with her breath.
She was alive. After all they had been through, they were both alive.
“How did you…?”
