Havoc (14 page)

He couldn't seem to stop touching her, and though his face remained unreadably composed, through the bond she shared with him, she sensed his desire and growing affection for her. His presence and strength would help her too. For a moment, she allowed herself a congratulatory sigh of relief. Everything was going as planned. This shouldn't be so difficult.

Thumping into his seat, Ulvik cast a narrowed gaze over Kels, then pulled a clear container from under the table. Within the large cube, several dark shapes moved—scorpion-like creatures as big as her hand. They waved double-pronged tails over their segmented backs, their serrated pincers clacking so that even she heard them over a meter away. Ulvik shuffled the deck of round jarouki cards and passed them to Kels, who shuffled them also. Ulvik gave seven cards to each of them; then he opened a lid on the top of the bug box and dropped in the remainder.

The hissing jarouki swarmed the deck, scattering them about the bottom of the box, their tail stingers curled over their backs, at the ready. Sayal didn't realize she'd reached over to Elion and was squeezing his arm until he put his hand over hers. She stared at him, hardly able to form words. “By the Fates..."

Ulvik observed her with a gleam of cruel satisfaction. “First time seeing this, eh? Not a pretty game by any means. Survival of the fittest. Care to join us, chicky? Plenty of venom for everyone."

"Shut up and play,” Kels snarled, fanning out his cards.

Elion pried her off his arm and curled his fingers around hers to hold them against his thigh. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but it didn't quite cut through the worry.

Kels and Ulvik studied their spreads. Sayal leaned closer to Elion and whispered, “What are the rules exactly?"

Ulvik's annoyed scowl came up again, but Elion said, “She wants to know how it's played."

"I'll tell you, my beauty,” the inkman said. “The game itself's simple. Seven rounds of play, and in each round we're lookin’ for a different combo. Could be pairs, suits, colors, get it?” She nodded, and he said, “Trouble is, you need to draw and exchange cards to fill out your hand, and that's where these little lovelies come in.” He gave the container a jiggle that set the creatures snapping and hissing. The hairs rose on Sayal's nape. “Exchangin's not so bad, ‘cause you're allowed to drop ‘em in, but it's the drawin’ that makes life interestin'. Gotta get past my precious darlings if you want the new cards bad enough."

"How toxic are they?"

Ulvik bared his gray teeth. “Big guy like the captain, probably just make him real sick. Someone like you... I've seen ‘em nix a few players who didn't know when to quit."

"Ah well...” She swallowed rising bile. “Thank you for the explanation.” At least the actual poison wouldn't be flowing through her when Kels got stung, yet she would be absorbing the effects of it, and there would be little way to hide it from Elion's keen eyes, or the captain's. She'd have to sit very still and mask it, or convince them the disappearing tattoo caused her discomfort.

Unfortunately she didn't realize how difficult that would be until Kels reached into the box for the first round of cards, and a scorpion sank its stinger into the back of his wrist.

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By the time the captain and Ulvik were into their sixth round, Elion didn't know who looked worse—the inkman, Kels, or Sayal. Kels at least had his back to them, but even so, Elion could see his friend's shoulders slumping, see his breathing growing ragged as the poison took its toll, see the blood trickling between his knuckles when he dragged his hand from the jarouki box.

His hand had to be almost numb if not completely so by now. Part of the challenge of the game was grabbing all the cards you needed in one try, but that became more difficult as play went on and the unavoidable stings fried your nerves, rendering your fingers nearly useless. Kels had switched the cards to his left hand a couple of rounds back. His right dropped to the table like a brick, but he had the three cards he needed.

Ulvik looked even worse. Lids drooped over dead-looking eyes. His lips hung slack, and a snail trail of drool slithered down his chin. Surely he couldn't hold out much longer. Kels was ahead, but not by much. If they survived to round seven, it was anyone's game.

Elion had played jarouk in the past only if he was so completely bankrupt, he had no other options. He detested the chills and nausea brought on by jarouki stings, even if the effects lasted only a few hours. Understandably it was always a high-stakes game with huge pots for the taking if you didn't puke your guts out, lose consciousness, or simply cave before your opponent did.

Kels was hanging tough, but it was Sayal who really worried him. The poor angel must have had a weak gut, for as soon as the captain had taken the first hit, she had started to sweat and had gone downhill from there. Several times Elion had tried to convince her to let him take her outside, but each time she'd adamantly shaken her head and insisted on staying. Now, doubled over, her golden brown complexion gone ashen, she stared holes into Kels's back. What a quick but fierce bond of loyalty they'd formed.

Funny thing was, Elion wasn't feeling all that well himself. As the night wore on, his belly began to tighten and his skin grew feverish, almost as if he were taking the hits himself. Even his hand felt foggy and sore. He shook it now. Saints, this game couldn't end soon enough.

Ulvik groaned and dropped two cards into the box. While he pushed his unresponsive fingers over the floor of cards, the jarouki swarmed his hand.

Sayal whimpered. He touched her shoulder. “Sayal, I'm taking you out of here now."

"No... I have to...stay until the end."

"You're not doing anyone any good.” He swallowed down a wave of nausea. Saints, maybe it was the heat of the room or the smell of blood. “A bit of fresh air will do us both good."

Tremors racked Ulvik as he blinked sweat out of his eyes and gazed down his nose at his new cards. He tipped back his head, perhaps to focus; then farther back, his mouth open...and then he tipped all the way until his chair crashed to the floor and his spindly form sprawled on the cement.

"Ulvik?” Kels inched up from his seat to peer over the other side of the table. Elion stood and went to the inkman. The fella was almost blue. He pressed his fingers to the side of his throat and felt a steady pulse.

"He's out cold."

"Thank the saints.” Wiping his arm across his forehead and letting out a moan, Kels tossed his cards onto the table. “Crack and ruin, I feel like shit."

"Think we ought to call Treena?” Elion tried not to puke as he dragged the inkman's sweaty, stinking body around to a more open area. Neither Kels nor Sayal were in any shape to help him. “I'm sure he could use a little nursing."

"Yeah.” Coming unsteadily to his feet, Kels pressed a button near a vidgrid on the wall. In seconds Treena's decorated face appeared.

She sighed. “Oh, dear, this can only mean one thing."

"Your pop's hit the floor, luv,” Kels said.

"And you? Feelin’ a bit buggy, are you?"

"Let's just say I'm glad my ship has a decent crapper in it, ‘cause that's where I'm heading."

"I'm glad you won her back,” Treena said. “Daddy was much too hard on you. Speakin’ of hard-ons, Kels, now that you've got your ship, d'ya think tomorrow we might...?"

He grunted out a laugh, leaning heavily on the wall. “My work here is done. Maybe next time."

She pouted prettily. “All right, then. Don't forget me, Kels. I know I won't forget you. I'll head over with a shot of jack for Dads. Ta!"

"Ta,” he said and palmed off the connection.

He gazed blearily at Elion. “We do have jack on the ship, right?"

"Yeah, I'm sure.”
On the ship
. Sweet words to his ears. He could hardly wait to board her, and he knew Kels felt the same way, even if he was wobbling on his feet. “Sayal,” he said. The girl had her head in her hands. He looked at Kels, who peered worriedly at her. “I don't know what's got into her, but she started looking poorly as soon as you started playing."

Kels shoved himself off the wall and went to her. He crouched down before her and swiped the hair from her brow. “Princess, what's the matter?"

"It's my back, I think,” she said, sounding as if she was about to burst into tears.

Kels's alarmed gaze swung toward him. Elion knelt quickly beside Ulvik's supine form and slapped his cheek. “Ulvik, wake up. Hello in there. Get up now.” But no matter how he shook him, the inkman remained unresponsive. “I'll get the jack from the
Nova
."

"Let's just take her there,” Kels said. “Ulvik as much as said he couldn't do anything for her. At least there we have medical supplies."

"All right.” Elion went to help Kels lift Sayal to her feet. Her sleek curtain of hair fell over her cheek, and her head hung. She turned into his embrace, her arm around his back. “I've got her,” he said, glancing at his captain. “You're not looking so healthy yourself. Can you make it?"

"Yeah.” Kels mopped his sleeve over his face; then he took the com for the
Nova
from the table. He thumped his right hand, still limp and swollen, against the bug box, and the jarouki hissed at him. “Thanks for a terrific game, you ugly fuckers."

Then he turned to Elion with the com held up triumphantly. “Let's go home."

Elion nodded and held Sayal tight against him while he followed Kels out a back door into a lot shared by Ulvik and other merchants, where ships might land to deliver or pick up goods. And there, in a pool of silver light, sat the
Ash Nova
in all her blue-black steely beauty.

The very sight of her seemed to bolster Kels, who limped to her side and pressed the lock into a slight depression. A ramp descended, and Elion breathed in the metallic, sweaty, oily, leathery scent of a deep-space swiftcraft that had been closed up too long. Saints, he loved her. Even Sayal lifted her eyes to gaze upon her.

"The
Ash Nova
?” she asked weakly.

"Yeah. C'mon. I'll take care of you. That's it. One step at a time.” He guided her up the ramp.

Kels had entered before them, and by the time Elion had Sayal on level ground, Kels was lovingly smoothing his hands over the control panels. Elion half expected him to drop to his knees and kiss the cold steel flooring, which he might have, had he not apparently been seized by a wave of nausea just then.

Kels hurried in the direction of the ship's head, leaving Elion to half carry Sayal to the medical bay.

"Here we are,” he murmured, easing her down onto a cot that whispered from the wall. Anxiously, he studied her for signs of ink poisoning. He discreetly stroked her hair, but none came free. As he seated her, he tested her skin with the pads of his fingers but sensed no hardening there. Her golden green eyes were closed, and she breathed through her mouth.

He sat beside her, trying to pinpoint what ailed her. For whatever reason, his own symptoms of nausea were passing. Probably had been the closed-in, airless room. He peeled up her blouse, afraid of what he might see, but her lovely, burnished skin was neither marred, nor was it hot to the touch.

"Sayal, sweetheart, tell me what I can do for you. Do you feel like you're going to hurl?” he asked as gently as he could. There was just no polite way to ask someone if they were going to puke.

Kels's boots pounded through the corridor. He stumbled in and rummaged noisily through a drawer until he found an aerosol jack injector. He slapped it against the skin of his chest. With a brief hiss, it spit the drug into his bloodstream. For all that it was vaguely illegal, jack was the best antinausea stim in the universe. Sweat soaked and pale, he crashed back against the wall and blinked up at the ceiling, gasping in air. After about five seconds, he gave an almost sexual moan of relief and sagged.

"Fucking saints, I hate jarouki,” he growled. Then he patted the wall of his ship and said, “But it was worth it, baby. You know I love you."

Still unresponsive, Sayal leaned, or rather fell, against Elion's arm, unconscious or close to it. He braced her up. “I don't know what to do for her, Kels. Her back looks the same, and she's not running a fever or anything that I could work with."

A muscle in Kels's jaw ticked; then he tossed him another injector. “Give her the jack."

Elion caught it but held it. “You don't know what it'll do to her. It might make the poison accelerate."

"I don't think so.” Pulling his lip thoughtfully, Kels said, “It's not the tat that's ailing her."

"How...? What else would it be?"

"Trust me on this one."

Elion hesitated. What if it killed her? Her small, limp hands curled in her lap. So fragile. So vulnerable...

"Do it,” Kels snapped.

Elion pressed the injector against the side of her throat. For a few seconds, the only sound in the universe was the pounding of his heartbeat. Her head rolled off his shoulder, and Elion's heart stopped altogether. But then she lifted her face and said groggily, “Kels? Elion? What happened?"

While Elion cooed and murmured to the girl, Kels watched. The expected jack headache bit around the edges of his brain. That could be just as bad as the farkin’ jarouki, so he dug around a bit more and found an injection of painkiller. The combination of lingering toxin, jack, and Dimextrin made his head feel as if it were a balloon rising from his shoulders on a very thin string, but the sensation lasted only a few moments.

He reached for another Dimextrin for Sayal. The small yellow injector lay at his fingertips. He considered, hesitated, then brushed past it and picked up a blue injector of Solactate. “Give her this, then let's get the
Nova
to the boarding docks before Ulvik changes his mind."

Elion caught the injector midair and explained its purpose to Sayal, his voice infinitely gentle. The poor bird looked like she could barely keep her eyes open, despite the jack.

"Wait, El,” Kels said. “Take her to my quarters first, get her settled in, then give her the Sol. Meet me up front."

"Yes, Captain."

El could never shake the military from his system. He'd been born into it, into the massive, voracious military complex, unlike Kels. Kels didn't mind the formality, though he noticed Elion slipped into it more when he was under stress. His mate moved past him with the girl close against his side, his arm around her. Kels went to take his rightful place at the helm.