War Angel: part seventy-four

“Impressive infirmary you have, Mr. T’reen,” Wilma said with genuine admiration. She walked deeper into the room, while the Drakes stayed just inside the door, her body spinning around slowly as she took in the wonders of the facility. “Advanced medicine development equipment, poly-resin for splints and sealing wounds together, full-body scanning beds…” The doctor clasped her hands together. “I’ve never seen its like. I’ll bet your crew never stays sick or injured for long.”

T’reen grunted. “We pride ourselves on our resistance to pain and injury.”

“Of course,” she replied.

An Omegan dressed in bright orange clothing walked into the room and nodded to T’reen. “How may I be of assistance?”

“The Supreme Commander has decreed that the Earther doctor be allowed to examine the old one for damage and to continue her care for the young one. See to it that she gets what she needs.”

“It will be done.” T’reen nodded and left. As he did, the Omegan doctor exhaled and gave the three of them a wan smile. “My name is L’ahl E’mito, and I am the chief medical officer of the Kan’Tar.” He waived them into the room and toward one of the scanning beds. “Shall we get started?”

F’ath M’isti’s office was not what Jack was expecting. In his imagination, Jack had pictured M’isti as a man of trophies, and he anticipated walls and cabinets filled with guns, knives, captured military insignia, and perhaps even a skull or two. Instead, the room that M’isti led him into was almost completely Spartan. There was a large desk at one end, a lone computer tablet laying on top, and there were two metal chairs without padding, both on the side of the desk closest to the door. The only “flair” to be seen was the window behind the desk. Through it, Jack could see B-class ships stationed off the Kan’Tar’s bow, a rough reminder of the corner the War Angel crew had willingly painted themselves into. Jack followed the Omegan across the room, and as M’isti walked to the back side of the desk, he pointed Jack to a chair.

He sat down. “Not what I was expecting from your office, Supreme Commander. Impressive view, though.”

The Omegan gave a slight sneer. “This is not my office,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “This is… a place for moments that need to be discrete.” He turned to face the window and stared at a passing ship. “What passes between us is not meant for the eyes and ears of others.”

“Worried about your own crew?” Jack smirked. “That’s rough.”

This time, F’ath M’isti growled. “Unlike your Captain Morrison, who apparently never saw it coming?” The contempt in M’isti’s voice was unmistakable. “Do not lecture me, boy. You are but one of many, and neither your life or your death are of any consequence to me.” Jack’s posture wilted slightly. “So let us cut to the heart of the matter. I am listening.”

Kate paced around the room, stalking an invisible foe across the floor. She continually flexed her fists, occasionally stopping to throw punches at the air. She unbuttoned the top buttons of her uniform and blew air down her front. As she fluttered the shirt against herself, she began pacing again. “I don’t like it,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.

“You don’t like it?” Sarah snorted. “Trust me – I like it a whole lot less than you. He’s who the hell knows where on this ship with a man… an alien… who could tear him apart limb from limb. I can’t… we can’t lose him, Kate. We need him. This is his stupid plan.”

Gina reached her hand across the table and took Sarah’s in hers and squeezed. “And he’s going to be just fine.”

Sarah swallowed her rising anxiety. “How can you be so damned sure?”

“Because no one is more completely full of it than Jack. He has a gift for this stuff, Sarah. He’s going to come back to us.” She paused and exhaled. “And he’s going to come back to you. But for now, we have a job to do. So: shall we ring for dessert?”

Jack sat back in his chair. “So if we can put the gate back together, we can put a stop to the intrusion into Erestia, and we can all go home happy. What do you say?”

M’isti’s face remained placid and unreadable, and he turned back to the window. “It’s an interesting theory, I’ll grant you that. Indeed, I’ll grant you this: my people did indeed come here centuries ago. We shared our culture with various tribes on your world, and we were happy to do so, including our legends of Erestia. What those tribes chose to take from us and add to their own lore was their doing. Your native North Americans certainly took more from us than most. However,” he said, suddenly beginning to smile, “Erestia is a place for the spirit, not the body, and we certainly never built any sort of gate to reach it. I’m afraid you’re quite wrong about our purpose here, Mr. Keys.” Before Jack could react, the Omegan jumped across the desk and lifted Jack out of his chair by the throat, picking him up and slamming him against the wall, his feet dangling below him.

“I’m afraid you and your crew won’t be leaving here alive.”

The light from the body scanner finished drifting down Patrick Drake’s body. L’ahl E’mito watched the readout carefully, pointing out bumps, bruises, and cracks to Wilma as they registered on a nearby screen. “He is in decent health,” L’ahl noted, “no broken bones, a few nasty lacerations. In all, surprisingly healthy for someone who has spent time as one of our prisoners.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Well. That’s a relief,” he said, helping his father out of the scanner and to a nearby table where the older man’s clothing was waiting for him to get re-dressed.

“We are not a race known for its kindness,” L’ahl replied, not registering the insult or sarcasm. “Typically, we just kill.” The Omegan beckoned to Ben to get undressed. “Let’s have a look at you.” The younger Drake dropped his clothes to the floor and walked over to the machine, stepping in. As he did, it leaned back and he found himself staring at the ceiling.

The older Drake coughed. “No worries, son. Totally painless.” In response to that, ben shot Wilma a look. “Just let the man or whatever he is do his job.”

L’ahl wiped a large amount of sweat from his forehead, then started the scanner at the top of Ben’s body. “Ah, yes, I see,” he said as the light moved slowly downward, “throat trauma.” Wilma nodded. “No treatment here for that, I’m afraid. Only time will heal that.”

She shrugged. “It was a longshot.”

The scanner continued downward, and L’ahl began to furrow his brow, then coughed. “Interesting. Interesting. Doctor, it appears as though…” He looked up sharply and coughed again, then refocused on his screen. “It appears as though this man has an unusually virulent disease coursing through… oh, no. Oh, no.” The Omegan doctor coughed louder. “We must establish quarantine immed-“

Wilma grimaced as she shoved the scalpel through the back of L’ahl’s neck and through his throat in the front. The Omegan doctor collapsed to the ground, beginning to drown in his own blood as he aspirated it into his lungs, as well as spilled it across the infirmary floor. As she watched him die, she looked down to see that her hands were covered in his blood. They began shaking uncontrollably, and the elder Drake came up behind her and pulled her away. She looked at the corpse and a tear made a slow journey down her cheek “I’m sorry, L’ahl, but I can’t allow you to do that.” Wilma wiped the tear away. “I’m sorry.”