Fortuna by Kristyn Merbeth

Author:Kristyn Merbeth
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2019-11-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Consequences

Corvus

Titan is dying. Momma is gone. It feels as though the entire world is collapsing around me, but right now I have to focus on Pol seizing in my arms. His muscular body arches and contorts, his breath a pained gurgle, his eyes rolling. I nearly lose my grip on him, but we manage to lift him onto the nearest table in the med bay. As soon as she lets go of him, Drom steps back.

“I need your help,” I say, meeting her eyes. They’re wide, her face drawn and pallid. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Drom could face a million firefights with a grin and a war cry, but now, her fear is palpable. She’s no soldier under my command, just a nineteen-year-old girl whose twin is dying in front of her. Still, she takes a deep breath and nods at me, ready to follow orders.

Pol spews out another mouthful of black goo, so reminiscent of the liquid running through the cords on that alien ship that my stomach lurches. The sound of his breath is a terrible thing, wet and struggling. I don’t know what the hell is happening to his body, but I’m familiar enough with the sound of choking.

“Get him onto his side,” I say, rushing to the cabinets. I rustle through the shelves and containers. After three years away, I still remember the med bay’s layout. Aside from the pills and quick-fix kits, it’s shocking how little the rest has changed. “We need to help him breathe.”

Drom sets her jaw and grabs Pol, turning him onto his side the same way she saw me do it. She lowers her helmeted head toward him and whispers words too quiet for me to overhear.

Once I find what I’m looking for, I push the tube down Pol’s throat and slip the mask over his face. His breathing eases as the device clears a path and takes the pressure off his struggling lungs. Still, his body jerks, his eyes rolling and shifting and mostly white.

Drom looks down at her twin with a stricken expression.

“He’s dying, isn’t he?”

I turn away, rummaging through medical supplies and searching for an answer other than I don’t know or yes, he is, say your goodbyes. I fill a syringe with an anticonvulsant and a painkiller. It’s not time for goodbyes just yet.

As the medicine floods his veins, Pol’s body slackens, his eyes fluttering shut. He’s finally unconscious, which is likely a blessing for him. Drom doesn’t relinquish her grip on his shoulders, as if she’s trying to anchor him here.

“I’m doing what I can,” I say.

Or, rather, I already have. I’ve cleared his breathing passages, stopped the muscle convulsions, taken away his pain. But I’m treating the symptoms, not the cause. I have no idea what other chaos this thing is wreaking within his body. I could run some scans, perform some tests… but I’m not sure there would be a point to it. He’s within the jaws of this weapon, and I have no way to pry him free.

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