Page 26
Story: Bonded to the Star-Beast
He makes a decision.
“Neema,” he says, and his voice is no longer pleading. It is the voice of a leader, a chief. It is laced with a power that makes the air crackle. “You will listen to her. You will do as she says.”
He turns to Kyra. “The vine with the white bells. You know the one she speaks of from her datapad logs you reviewed?”
Kyra nods, her eyes wide. “Yes, I believe so. It grows near the base of the old Kresh trees.”
“Then you will go with Neema,” Jaro commands. “You will find this plant. You will bring it back. Now.”
He is risking everything. Challenging the Head Healer in front of his sister is a political act with enormous consequences. It is a declaration. He is choosing my science over their tradition. He is choosing me.
The thought is the last thing I register before the darkness swallows me whole. A single, desperate hope remains: that they find the right plant. That my science, my last gamble, is enough to save me.
Chapter 13: HEALING HANDS
My world narrows to a single, pulsing point of pain behind my eyes. I am floating in a black, viscous void, tethered to consciousness by a thread of stubbornness. Jaro's command echoes in the space where my thoughts used to be, a mantra against the encroaching darkness.Stay alive. Stay alive.
Systemic shock. Tachycardia. The alkaloid is binding to acetylcholine receptors, causing neuromuscular paralysis. Respiratory failure is the logical next step.The clinical part of my brain is still working, a detached observer commentating on my body's systematic shutdown.
A large, warm hand covers mine. Jaro's. His life-scent, a mix of rich earth and that unique, spicy musk, cuts through the sterile scent of my own fear. I feel the low, anxious thrum of his beast through his palm.
“They are not back yet,” he says, his voice a gravelly rumble meant to be reassuring. It is not. “It has not been long.”
“Define... long,” I rasp, the words scraping my throat.
He doesn't answer. The silence stretches, filled only by my ragged breaths and the frantic thumping of my heart.My heart. The bond-mark.It feels like a hot coal pressed against my skin, a focal point for the poison burning through me.
They won't find it. The description was too vague. A pale green vine with white, bell-shaped flowers. In a forest of impossible botany, it's like looking for a specific grain of sand on a beach. My analysis was incomplete. My hubris... my fucking hubris will kill me.
I try to squeeze his hand, to communicate something. Gratitude? A final, desperate plea? I'm not sure. My fingers refuse to obey.
The woven plant-matter of the dwelling door slides open. Two figures are silhouetted against the brighter light of the settlement. Kyra and Neema. My heart lurches with a hope so sharp it feels like another wave of pain.
“We have it,” Kyra says, her voice breathless as she rushes to my side. Neema follows, her expression a mask of grim skepticism. She holds a bundle of pale green vines, the delicate white, bell-shaped flowers looking deceptively innocent.
“Is this the one, Kendra?” Jaro asks, his grip on my hand tightening.
I force my eyes to focus.Yes. Chlorophytum K-7. High concentration of steroidal saponins. It's the one.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Neema lays the vines on a stone slab with a reverence that seems at odds with her disbelief. “Now what, alien? Do we chant to it? Burn it and have you inhale the smoke?”
“No,” I say, my voice surprising me with its sudden firmness. Adrenaline, my body's last-ditch effort. “No, don't crush it. The cellular structure... must remain intact. Solvent extraction. We need to isolate the saponins.”
Neema scoffs. “This is not how the healing plants are honored. You will anger its spirit.”
“I'm more concerned with the biochemistry than the spirit right now,” I bite back, then immediately regret my sharpness. I need her on my side. “Neema. Please. I know your methods are... different. But the poison inside me is a chemical. It requires a chemical counter-agent.”
I see Jaro move to stand behind the old healer, a silent, imposing wall of support for me. He doesn't speak, but his presence is a command in itself.
“Neema,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Her way saved her from your... purification. We will try her way.”
The healer's jaw tightens, but she gives a curt nod. “Tell me what must be done.”
This is it. My one shot. I have to direct a xenobotanical extraction from a bed, while my nervous system is under attack.Just another day at the office.
“Kyra, my datapad,” I say. “And the portable analysis kit. The small one.”
“Neema,” he says, and his voice is no longer pleading. It is the voice of a leader, a chief. It is laced with a power that makes the air crackle. “You will listen to her. You will do as she says.”
He turns to Kyra. “The vine with the white bells. You know the one she speaks of from her datapad logs you reviewed?”
Kyra nods, her eyes wide. “Yes, I believe so. It grows near the base of the old Kresh trees.”
“Then you will go with Neema,” Jaro commands. “You will find this plant. You will bring it back. Now.”
He is risking everything. Challenging the Head Healer in front of his sister is a political act with enormous consequences. It is a declaration. He is choosing my science over their tradition. He is choosing me.
The thought is the last thing I register before the darkness swallows me whole. A single, desperate hope remains: that they find the right plant. That my science, my last gamble, is enough to save me.
Chapter 13: HEALING HANDS
My world narrows to a single, pulsing point of pain behind my eyes. I am floating in a black, viscous void, tethered to consciousness by a thread of stubbornness. Jaro's command echoes in the space where my thoughts used to be, a mantra against the encroaching darkness.Stay alive. Stay alive.
Systemic shock. Tachycardia. The alkaloid is binding to acetylcholine receptors, causing neuromuscular paralysis. Respiratory failure is the logical next step.The clinical part of my brain is still working, a detached observer commentating on my body's systematic shutdown.
A large, warm hand covers mine. Jaro's. His life-scent, a mix of rich earth and that unique, spicy musk, cuts through the sterile scent of my own fear. I feel the low, anxious thrum of his beast through his palm.
“They are not back yet,” he says, his voice a gravelly rumble meant to be reassuring. It is not. “It has not been long.”
“Define... long,” I rasp, the words scraping my throat.
He doesn't answer. The silence stretches, filled only by my ragged breaths and the frantic thumping of my heart.My heart. The bond-mark.It feels like a hot coal pressed against my skin, a focal point for the poison burning through me.
They won't find it. The description was too vague. A pale green vine with white, bell-shaped flowers. In a forest of impossible botany, it's like looking for a specific grain of sand on a beach. My analysis was incomplete. My hubris... my fucking hubris will kill me.
I try to squeeze his hand, to communicate something. Gratitude? A final, desperate plea? I'm not sure. My fingers refuse to obey.
The woven plant-matter of the dwelling door slides open. Two figures are silhouetted against the brighter light of the settlement. Kyra and Neema. My heart lurches with a hope so sharp it feels like another wave of pain.
“We have it,” Kyra says, her voice breathless as she rushes to my side. Neema follows, her expression a mask of grim skepticism. She holds a bundle of pale green vines, the delicate white, bell-shaped flowers looking deceptively innocent.
“Is this the one, Kendra?” Jaro asks, his grip on my hand tightening.
I force my eyes to focus.Yes. Chlorophytum K-7. High concentration of steroidal saponins. It's the one.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Neema lays the vines on a stone slab with a reverence that seems at odds with her disbelief. “Now what, alien? Do we chant to it? Burn it and have you inhale the smoke?”
“No,” I say, my voice surprising me with its sudden firmness. Adrenaline, my body's last-ditch effort. “No, don't crush it. The cellular structure... must remain intact. Solvent extraction. We need to isolate the saponins.”
Neema scoffs. “This is not how the healing plants are honored. You will anger its spirit.”
“I'm more concerned with the biochemistry than the spirit right now,” I bite back, then immediately regret my sharpness. I need her on my side. “Neema. Please. I know your methods are... different. But the poison inside me is a chemical. It requires a chemical counter-agent.”
I see Jaro move to stand behind the old healer, a silent, imposing wall of support for me. He doesn't speak, but his presence is a command in itself.
“Neema,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Her way saved her from your... purification. We will try her way.”
The healer's jaw tightens, but she gives a curt nod. “Tell me what must be done.”
This is it. My one shot. I have to direct a xenobotanical extraction from a bed, while my nervous system is under attack.Just another day at the office.
“Kyra, my datapad,” I say. “And the portable analysis kit. The small one.”
Table of Contents
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