Page 86 of Claimed By the Condemned Alien

Kesta closed her eyes briefly.

Dreven's quiet laugh followed her as she picked up the case.

CHAPTER NINE

Sabotage

Later, while the scanner cooled from examining another volunteer, Tavi became Kesta’s self-appointed translator, equipment thief and primary source of cultural information that could not be trusted.

He sat cross-legged beneath the diagnostic table, tightening a connection with two hands while the other pair sorted salvaged couplers.

“Kharovian males remove a horn when rejected by a mate.”

Kesta did not look up from the medication ledger.

“No, they don't,” Sera said from across the room.

Tavi tilted his head. “Some might.”

“None ever have.”

“Traditions must begin somewhere.”

Kesta finally looked at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

Tavi’s violet eyes slid toward the infirmary entrance. Dreven stood outside speaking with Keth, both males bent over a condenser schematic. Kesta followed Tavi’s gaze. Then looked back.

“Tavi.”

“Yes?”

“Inventory something.”

“I am.”

“Farther away.”

His grin widened. Sera threw a folded bandage at his head. He caught it with a lower hand without looking and disappeared into the supply room. Kesta returned to the medication ledger, though she found herself reading the same dosage line twice. It was ridiculous. She had known Dreven for days.

She had no intention of becoming one more human body conveniently paired with a Kharovian commander because an imperial compatibility program had decided the biology looked promising. Knowing that did not make the attraction disappear. If anything, knowing someone might have predicted it made her more determined to understand exactly which parts belonged to her.

The thought was still bothering her when the condenser siren began. Every person in the infirmary froze. Sera was moving before the second pulse.

“Beds.”

Kesta shoved the ledger aside. The outer doors opened almost immediately, and workers carried in three patients at once. The first was a pale machinist with severe chemical burns across both lower hands. The second, a Kharovian woman whose breathing sounded wet and wrong, coughed blood across the front of the worker supporting her. The third was a child. Unconscious. Dreven reached the doorway behind them. Kesta stopped noticing anything except patients.

“Burns left. Respiratory adult center. Child here.”

Sera followed the gestures without waiting for translation. Kesta moved to the child. Small Kharovian female. Perhaps seven or eight by human developmental standards. Copper skin had already darkened around her lips, and every breath came as a shallow whistle through a chest that barely expanded.

“What was she exposed to?”

“Condenser vapor,” one worker said.

“What is in it?”

The worker looked helplessly toward the others.