Page 21 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary
"Wait, are you saying this is intentional?" she asked, the implications making her stomach clench. "Someone designed a weapon to cause this specific effect?"
"Insufficient data for conclusion," Jex replied. "But probability is high."
While they stepped away for a hushed technical discussion, she moved closer to Davis. He'd started shivering, his body trembling with fine, irregular quakes. Acting on instinct, she reached out and touched his uninjured forearm.
Heat. Like touching a power conduit. His skin felt stretched tight, fever-dry.
"Covak," she called, cutting through their conversation. "He's burning up."
The Vorrtan was beside her in two massive strides, scanner already whirring. “Frexxit," he growled. “His fever is spiking."
"We need to cool him down," she said, already reaching for cooling packs from a nearby storage unit. "And don't say it… I know you were about to suggest ice water immersion, but that would shock his system too quickly."
Covak's eyebrows raised slightly, acknowledging her point. "Targeted cooling it is. Jex, monitor the energy variance."
They worked together, applying cooling pads to Davis's neck, armpits, and groin… all the places where major blood vessels ran close to the surface. She tried to be clinical, professional, but couldn't help the flush that heated her cheeks when she placed a pad at the junction of his thighs. Davis's eyes flickered open, struggling to focus. When his gaze finally found her face, she froze.
A thin ring of gold had formed around each blue iris. Delicate, gleaming like molten metal around ice. Definitely not there yesterday.
Her heart did a nervous tap-dance against her ribs. Should she mention it? Davis clearly had no clue, and Covak and Jex were focused on the wound, not his face. Whatever that weapon had done was more than just burn damage. It was changing him somehow, rewriting his body on a fundamental level.
"Guys," she said, voice tight. "His eyes."
Covak looked up sharply, leaning in to examine Davis's face.
“Frexx,” he breathed, then immediately ran the scanner over Davis's face. "Jex, you getting this?"
"Affirmative," the cyborg responded. "Pigmentation alteration in iris structure. Consistent with activation of recessive genetic markers. Genetic sequence analysis indicates... unusual patterns."
"What does that mean?" she asked, fingers still resting lightly on Davis's forehead. His skin burned against her palm.
"It means we don't know what the hell is happening," Covak said bluntly. "But whatever it is, it seems stable for now. Temperature coming down. You just need some rest, big guy.” He smiled down at Davis. “Lucky you, you get me all night long.”
Davis groaned. “Pass me my pistol, I’m shooting myself now.”
"I can stay," she said abruptly, the words coming out stronger than she'd expected. "I can monitor his vitals, let you know if anything changes." She fixed Covak with her best don't-argue-with-me stare. "Let me help."
Covak studied her for a long moment, then gave a single nod. "You know what to look for?"
"Temperature spikes, changes in the wound appearance, heart rate, respiration," she rattled off, calling on years of clinic experience. She might have been just Rettnor's glorified assistant, but she'd picked up more than most realized. "I've got this."
"Good," Covak said. “Because I have a hot mate to get back to.”
“Go,” she ordered. “I can handle this.”
As they moved toward the door, Davis reached out and caught her hand. His grip was surprisingly gentle.
"Mira," he managed, those gold-ringed eyes intense. "Thanks."
She tried for a casual shrug, ignoring the little flutter in her chest. "Hey, what else was I going to do? Covak's ice cream is all gone, and Ryke canceled movie night."
The ghost of a smile touched his lips before he closed his eyes again, muscles tight against pain that refused to quit. Spot settled closer, one mechanical leg extending to rest against Davis's ankle in silent solidarity.
She pulled up a chair and sat, eyes fixed on the monitors. The pulsing waveform continued its eerie rhythm on the screen, resonating through Davis's damaged tissue like a signal searching for something to awaken.
She reached for a clean cloth, gently dabbing the sweat from Davis's forehead. His breathing had steadied somewhat, but the fever still raged.
Whatever was happening to him, she'd be here when he woke…
