Page 27 of Shielded in the Shadows

The ship’s banged-up exterior was purely camouflage because the interior was state-of-the-art and spotless. Keela had clearly invested in both her own comfort and outfitting the vessel to maximize speed, efficiency, space, and her odds of survival in a dangerous business.

The most startling find was a severed gray tentacle preserved and mounted above the doors to the cargo bay. I looked forward to hearing the story behind that particular trophy.

In my cabin, I stripped and dropped L’mel’s bloody kilt into the waste disposal. I washed off what felt like a bucket’s worth of blood and station gunk in the cleansing unit. Once I was clean, I used the med kit to heal my various injuries. Reaching the wounds on my back required some creative problem-solving, but after fifteen years as a GAIS operative, I was used to patching myself up.

The ship’s clothing synth offered a surprising variety of styles, but I opted for a utilitarian jumpsuit similar to the one Keela wore. I had to make some manual alterations to the design to accommodate my wings and tail and avoid an overly snug fit in some key areas. Once I dressed, I had the machine create two spares plus a pair of boots. That would get me by until we were able to stop at a port or station and I could purchase clothing of my own.

In the crew cabin, I studied myself in the viewing panel, trying to reconcile the male on the tall, narrow screen with the one who’d woken up at 0600 today in his bunk aboard the Fancy. I looked…better. More alive. Worried, yes, but less like I carried a hundred kilos on my shoulders.

After a quick meal, I removed the stale bedding from my bunk and dropped it into the sonic cleanser. As the machine did its work, I turned my attention to the mess near the port door. Some of the blood was mine, but most was Keela’s. Seeing and smelling so much of my mate’s blood spilled and remembering the chilling sound of her gurgling breaths made my hands shake as I meticulously cleaned the area.

When no trace of her blood remained, I channeled my restlessness and unease at being kept away from my mate by cleaning her boots and repairing the damage done to the wall by Sjer’s rifle blasts as best I could with my limited access to tools and other maintenance supplies.

Then I remade my bunk with fresh linens, cleaned and performed preventative maintenance on my weapons and Keela’s, and waited for my mate to wake.

CHAPTER 8

KEELA

Waking from a lengthy sedation in the medpod was never enjoyable.

And waking after a serious injury involving significant blood loss…well, that was even worse. A hangover from a long night of drinking Bacoran wine was pleasant by comparison.

At least the ship was still in shadow mode, so all the lights were dim and my sensitive eyes weren’t assaulted by brightness when the medpod powered down and the cover slid open.

Soothed by the familiar thrumming of the ship traveling through hyperspace, I blinked drowsily at the ceiling as sensation slowly returned to my extremities and the brain fog cleared. My nanobots were silent, as they often were after a lengthy stay in the pod. I was so used to their hum in my bloodstream that the silence was sometimes unnerving.

The most unsettling aspect of waking up in the pod was that the events preceding going into it felt disconnected from reality. My time on Ghira Station, from my meeting with N’vera to our abrupt departure and even the seemingly endless minutes sitting on Jarrix’s lap in the emergency seat as Siber got us away from the station, felt hazy, like a half-remembered dream.

The residual ache in my shoulder and the strange awareness of Jarrix’s presence aboard my ship confirmed all of it had been very real.

Cold reality hit like a stack of stones on my chest: N’vera had sold me alleged coordinates where I might find my long-lost sister, I had a big enough bounty on my head to draw in mercs and pirates from across the sector, and a Fortusian male I’d never seen before in my life had knelt naked at my feet and pledged his life to me. And he was traveling aboard the Nivilus.

My stomach growled loudly enough that it might have been audible throughout my entire ship. I’d been too wound up to eat anything on the way to Ghira Station after receiving N’vera’s confirmation of our meeting.

I might not have a plan to deal with the rest of my troubles, but at least I could address my need for food. I sat up, waited for the room to stop tilting, and swung my legs over the side of the pod.

I made it halfway to the medbay door before I realized I had a problem: I was naked.

Normally, whenever I came out of the pod, I simply went directly to my cabin to dress. No other soul had ever traveled aboard my ship, so I had no reason to keep clothes in the medbay. But now Jarrix To’vok was aboard my ship, and regardless of whatever connection he thought we had, I had no intention of parading past him in my skin.

I searched the room for anything I could use to cover myself. Finally, I located a small stack of sterile thermal blankets in the back of a cabinet. They were designed for use if a patient was undergoing treatment, or in case of emergency.

This qualified as an emergency.

I broke the seal on the package, wrapped the blanket around myself so it covered me from collarbone to knees, and marched to the door.

Before I could reach for the control panel, Siber spoke. “Greetings, Captain Wren. Medbay scanners indicate the inert tracking device in your leg has been removed and your overall condition is acceptable, with minimal residual effects requiring ongoing therapeutic treatment.”

Gingerly, I rotated my left shoulder and moved my arm. “Sore but functional,” I confirmed.

“Noted. Your guest is currently located in the crew cabin. Would you prefer I restrict him to that location until you have visited your quarters, eaten a meal, and then secured yourself in the cockpit?”

Gods above and below, it was tempting.

I wanted to put on a flight suit and feel like the captain of my ship again. I needed food. I had so much to think about and process, like the news of Calla’s apparent death and possible survival. I had decisions to make, big ones, and I didn’t need or want to deal with Jarrix while doing any of it.

But as the brain fog dissipated, vivid memories of Ghira Station piled up in my head, one after the other: the Final Chance staff door opening just in time for me to evade security, Jarrix kneeling at my feet, the way he’d laid waste to a half-dozen or more mercs on Deck 14, how he’d used his body multiple times to shield me even after I’d ditched him and used him as decoy…