Chapter 8
Jon’s heart nearly stopped as Nicole’s eyes closed and she fell back, unconscious, in his arms. The chest wound was serious, and he knew it was beyond his ability to care for.
Richard had finished tying the hands of the Mercodian at his feet, and he motioned to Sean with his head. “Sean, get them back to the ship. Institute a total lock-down. Nothing gets in or out. I will take care of things here.”
Sean was in motion before Richard finished speaking. He strode to kneel beside Nicole, carefully placing his hand around the wound as a dam. He tapped the badge at his chest.
The three shimmered into nothingness.
Jon was barely aware of the space they teleported into; a standard enough transport room, sized for six individuals standing fairly close together. A red light flashed over Nicole’s head as they came into full presence, and Sean glanced up at it. He still had his hand pressed attentively on Nicole’s wound.
His voice was even but quick. “You lift her; I will lead the way.”
Jon curled his arms beneath her still form, and in a moment the two were moving across a narrow hallway and into an infirmary. The turquoise walls were organized with transparent shelves fronted by closed glass doors. A single bed took up the center of the room; Jon laid Nicole down carefully on its padded surface.
Sean kept his hand against the wound while with his other he reached up and pulled down a robotic brain on a swivel mount. “All right then, let us see what we have,” he murmured.
Jon slid his arms out from beneath her, laying her hand at her side before stepping back. Sean took a deep breath, then released his own hand from the wound, giving the medical robot a clear area to work with.
The unit began with a quick sweep down her entire body, moving in a smooth glide from head to toe. Then it reset itself squarely above her chest. Thin arms emerged to connect to the screw.
Its voice was soothing and clinical as it gently twisted the screw free. “One metal screw, penetrating two inches, punctured lung, no major blood vessels,” it reported. Lasers carefully cauterized the wound as the screw unfurled itself from her chest. Other beams lit into action, delivering medicine and anesthesia.
Sean exhaled in relief. “Thank God,” he muttered. “That could have been far worse.”
The robot finished and slid to Nicole’s right thigh. “Hairline fracture, right thigh,” it reported evenly, sending out a beam of emerald light.
Jon shook his head in confusion. “Her thigh? But the piano was nowhere near –”
The machine’s voice answered smoothly. “Thigh injury is six months old.” It then slid down and left. “Double break, left calf.”
Sean rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, nine months ago.”
“You are correct,” answered the robot without pausing in its work.
Jon looked at Sean, shaking his head again as the robot moved on to her arm. “What, does she not like medical robots?”
Sean’s eyes lost some of their shadows. “She hates them like the plague,” he agreed, the corner of his mouth tweaking up. “The only time we can get her fixed up is when she’s drunk or knocked unconscious by something.”
The robot moved a few more times, then drew up to a resting position. “All major repairs completed,” it reported calmly. “I count forty-seven minor injuries still untreated. Shall I begin?”
Sean shook his head. “No, she will be irate enough that we let you get this far,” he sighed. He glanced over at Jon. “Could you get her to her room and settled in? I should check in with Richard to see if they need help.”
“Of course,” agreed Jon without hesitation. He gathered Nicole’s form up in his arms.
“Sleeping quarters are to the left,” pointed Sean. Then he was in motion to the right, moving at a quick pace.
Jon took a step out into the hallway, turning left. In a moment the hall opened up into a large, circular room. The center area had a well-polished mahogany table with six chairs around it. A bank of windows overlooked the swirling clouds of the planet beneath them. The connecting rooms each had a name presented on it with black, embossed letters. Nicole’s was on the far left. He moved up to it, then took her hand in his and waved it past the entry plate on its right side. The door silently slid open.
He stepped into the room – and stopped. He had been in many rooms over his thirty years of life, rooms of elegance, rooms of austerity, rooms that were glittering with jewels and oozing with atmosphere. But never had he been in a room which felt so …. Right.
A large bed lay to the left, with an ebony and turquoise design which mimicked the flow of grain in marble. Matching curtains were pulled closed over the two windows. An open door to the far right led to a washroom, and a large display case to his right held a collection of weapons, photos, and other items. A heavy, intricately embroidered cloak from the Sullon Empire was hung as a display tapestry on the far wall. The floor was polished ebony wood.
He moved forward to the bed, laying her down on it, and easing off her high heels. He gently rolled her on her side to unzip the back of her golden dress.
Her voice came in a mumble from against the pillow. “Don’t let them use the machine on me,” she insisted.
His mouth quirked into a smile. “No more than necessary,” he promised. “We have to get you out of this dress.”
She leaned against him as he eased her to sit up, her back to him. She dutifully raised her arms over her head, and he slipped the dress free of her body. She dug beneath her pillow for a moment, pulled out a flannel top, and drew it down over her torso. Then she was sliding up the pants over her bottom half.
Jon eased down the covers, and in a moment she was beneath them, collapsing wearily back against the pillow again. He gently lay the covers back up over her shoulders.
She drew his arm over her waist, curling up against it, his hand against her chest. “Stay, Nath, until I fall asleep.”
He tensed, wondering who Nath was, but then she snuggled against him again and he eased down at her side. She had nearly been killed. The reality of the danger settled down on his shoulders. He lowered his head to her neck, pressed a gentle kiss against the soft flesh there, and thanked all the Gods that she had made it through.
It was under ten minutes when soft snores were easing from her body, and he was able to gently extricate his arm from her sleeping form. He stood, looking down at her for a long moment, then turned to look again at the room. The display case caught his eyes, and he moved toward it.
The pair of long knives on the top shelf – they seemed familiar. Had he seen images of them before, on one of the websites about the team, perhaps? The one on the left was smaller, elegant in design, while the one on the right seemed sturdier. His hand moved to it of its own accord, and it slipped into his grasp as if it was made for it. He did an experimental swing, then two, sighing in delight at the delicate balance. The weapon was made by an artisan. He tossed it in the air, giving it a triple spin, and it landed solidly in his hand, ready for the next blow.
On the shelf there was a hair pin to one side, a pattern of a wolf head on it. He traced a finger along it, lost in thought. It seemed so familiar, so important.
The shelf beneath had a photo in a simple, iron frame, and he took it out. He recognized the group immediately. It was Nikita, the last crown princess of the Huns, killed thirty years ago at the end of a violent civil war. But it was a photo he had never seen before. Nikita and her band were shown standing in what appeared to be a restaurant of some sort, quiet and elegant, and their faces held a haunting focus which called to him. Everyone was there. Krissolion, who had been killed on an espionage mission on the night of the final speech. Rikindo, Stefford, Shawnald, and Eyanapolis, who had been slain by assassins as their world made its tumultuous transition to a democracy.
And there, by her right side, was Nathan, her Knight.
Jon looked between the two figures. All through the past thousand years the tradition had been maintained. The crown princess had come fr
om the Hun family and had married outside the six main noble houses. It was through her lineage that the family line traced. And through those same thousand years, the Knight family had offered up to her a sworn protector, a man loyal only to her. He took no wife, had no children, and focused solely on her safety.
There was a movement at the door; he carefully put the photo back into its spot. Stephen stepped into the room, smiling as he found Nicole sound asleep in her bed.
“That is good. So she did not put up much of a fuss?”
“No fuss at all,” agreed Jon. “I think she was more worried about the robot than the wound.”
Stephen’s mouth creased into a smile. “She would be,” he agreed. “Come on, let me fill you in.”
Jon gave one last look at Nicole, then followed Stephen as the two headed out of the room.
Stephen pulled to a stop by the table in the center of the room. “Richard has held a tight rein on any knowledge, and so far the story is that you and Nicole have been seriously injured or killed. I realize this will upset your shipmates, but I would ask that you let it ride until morning. This could be critical in our finding out what is going on here.”
Jon felt a twinge of guilt at causing grief for his friends, but he nodded. “Of course, I understand.”
Stephen nudged his head to the right. “That last room on the right was Christopher’s room; feel free to use that for the night,” he commented. “In the morning, just come out in your bathrobe if you wish. We are casual here. Once we have all had our morning glogg, we will figure out our plan of action.”
Jon’s brow creased. “Surely the negotiations will not go on as planned tomorrow morning?”
Stephen glanced at Nicole’s closed door. “That will be up to Nicole to decide, but I imagine she will say yes,” he stated. “Very little will cause her to slow once her path is set. Somehow she will find a way to make this work.”
His face shadowed. “That was a wild fluke, with the piano sending shrapnel. Thank you for keeping her alive.” His gaze held Jon’s. “When this is all over with, whatever I can give you, it is yours.”
Jon nodded. “I appreciate it, but no gift is necessary,” he countered. “I could not have seen her come to harm.”
Stephen looked into his eyes as if seeking something. Then he let out his breath, turned, and headed back toward the bridge.