Page 50 of Havik: Warlord Brides
“You killed him!”
Thalia shoved the broadside of the blaster against the man’s stomach. “Stunned. Him. Now get out of my way and let me work, or you’ll be responsible for his death.”
The man looked at the human woman. Clearly this was the boss. She regarded Thalia with cold eyes, then nodded. The bartender arrived with the first aid kit.
Encouraged by the undisturbed seal, she cracked open the box. A quick scan told her she had what she needed. The small monitor powered up immediately, and Thalia handed it to the boss. “Hold it to his wrist and watch his vitals,” she ordered. “His oxygen is probably low because he was panicking. Let me know if it gets too low.”
“What’s too low?”
“The numbers turn red.” The device had a simple design. Doc had called it idiot-proof.
Crouched on the floor, she fumbled with the injectable canisters in the kit, each a salmon pink color. Holding the labels up, she squinted to read in the low light. Written in Sangrin, the translation chip in her head transformed the foreign characters into something she could read.
“This one,” she said, tearing off the plastic wrapper. With one hand, she twisted the base, pushing the epinephrine—or its alien equivalent—into the chamber. She plunged the needle into the unconscious man’s thigh and pushed down on the syringe, injecting the drug.
A tense moment passed.
Gaze fixated on the cheap monitor, the woman said, “His numbers are going up.”
“Good.” Thalia sighed, resting on her knees. She didn’t want to think about the sticky floor or the sucking sound the fabric of her pants made every time she moved. “Call medical rescue. This station has to have emergency medical.”
“He’s fine,” the man said, stubbornly not moving.
Thalia narrowed her eyes. “He’s currently not dying but he is far from fine. He needs a doctor. Do it.”
Once again, the man looked to his boss, waiting for her permission before he scurried off.
The woman gave Thalia an assessing look. “How’d you know to do that? You a doctor?”
“God, no. I actually have people skills, but I’ve worked with one.”
“Are you sure about those people skills?”
Thalia shook her head. “I cleaned Doc’s equipment and handed him the right tools when he was too drunk to read the labels.” Only once she said the words did she realize how it sounded. “Phrasing. Crap. It wasn’t like that.”
“Sure, it wasn’t.”
“Think what you want.” Thalia stuffed the contents back into the first aid kit. The plastic wrap kept the unused items sanitary, but everything she opened needed to be tossed.
“You got a name?”
“Yup,” Thalia said, not elaborating.
A slow, calculating grin spread across the woman’s face. “I’m Sue.”
“Okay.” That seemed so average for the badass woman with scars on either cheek.
Sue rolled her eyes. “You expect my name to be something like Galatrix Loralie the Dreadful?”
“Honestly, yes, but I can see how Sue is better for ordering coffee and whatnot.”
Sue nudged the unconscious man with the toe of her boot. “Thanks for saving Naston. He’s not the brightest, but he’s good with explosives. I knew he was allergic to a berry, but I forgot which one. What are you doing out here at the ass-end of the Sangrin system?”
The rapid change of topic caught Thalia off guard, which had to be Sue’s intent. Buying herself time, Thalia checked Naston. His breathing evened out, and the gray splotches on his lavender skin faded.
“I was on a ship but had a disagreement with the captain. His plan was shit, I told him as much, and suddenly I had to leave in a hurry,” Thalia said.
“You keep your head in a crisis.”
