Page 9

SELENE

D usklight burned at the forest's edge as I clutched the medicine pouch to my chest. The moment I'd dreaded had arrived—we needed to separate.

"Let me take you closer," Kavan said, the fading sunlight catching on his emerald skin. His tail flicked back and forth, betraying his concern.

"No." I touched his arm, my fingers lingering on his smooth skin. My markings tingled at the contact. "Martinez will have reported us by now. Hammond will be watching for you."

"You believe he won't detain you?"

"I have a better chance alone." I looked up into his golden eyes. "I'm still his chief medical officer. I have something he needs."

Kavan's jaw set. "The risk?—"

"Believe in my ability to navigate this, Kavan. People are dying, and this is the fastest way to get them help."

The way she looked at me—steady, unafraid—made it harder to let her go. But I knew if I asked her to stay, she wouldn’t be mine in the way that mattered.

A low rumble came from his chest, but he nodded. "Where should I wait?"

"Here. Give me until moonrise. If I'm not back..." I paused.

"I will find you," he said with such quiet certainty that I almost felt sorry for anyone who might stand between us.

I tucked the medicine pouch into my jacket and inhaled deeply. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," he answered immediately.

I laughed despite everything. "I meant do I look like I've been running through the forest with an alien?"

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Perhaps slightly disheveled."

"Perfect." I smoothed my hair back. "Wish me luck."

"More than luck," Kavan murmured, touching his palm to my cheek. "Ancestors protect you, now and always."

I walked away, feeling his gaze on my back as I approached the jagged perimeter wall formed from hull plating ripped from the Seraphyne , the heat-scored metal unevenly welded.

A spotlight flared from a precarious lookout fashioned from the ship's long-range sensor dishes, bolted onto a framework of bent girders. It pinned me before I reached the main entrance—a repurposed cargo bay door that ground open with a shriek of stressed metal. I shielded my eyes and called out, "Dr. Carter returning! I have medicine for the sick!"

Voices shouted, the heavy door clanked fully open, and armed security surrounded me before I'd taken three steps onto the packed earth within the compound.

"Stand down. That's an order." Commander Hammond pushed through the circle of guards. His uniform remained impeccable, at odds with the rough-and-ready environment. His eyes moved from my face to the pouch at my hip, his expression mixing relief and suspicion. "I knew you wouldn't return without Nyxari escort," he said, his emphasis on the alien name sharp with accusation. “Even if you’re hiding them.”

My stomach knotted. Martinez must have reported back by now. Did Hammond know Kavan had been with me? Did he know about the fight with the patrol, how Kavan had disabled them? If he knew, this wasn't just suspicion; it was a trap. How much detail had Martinez given? Enough for Hammond to dismiss any denial out of hand?

"I came alone," I said, forcing steadiness into my voice and holding his gaze, praying he couldn't see the lie. "The medicine couldn't wait for proper channels. May I see my patients now?"

Hammond studied me, then nodded curtly. "Phillips, escort Dr. Carter to quarantine. Full decontamination protocols."

Phillips stepped forward, his own uniform looking worn, and guided me toward the medical bay without touching me. I bit my tongue to keep from asking about these "decontamination protocols." Better to appear compliant until I understood what was happening.

The medical bay—hastily converted from a storage hold—reeked of harsh disinfectant attempting to mask the underlying scent of fever sweat. Exposed conduits snaked across the low ceiling. Every cot, some clearly modified from the ship's passenger acceleration couches, held a patient with blue-black veining spreading across their skin. Dr. Frakes hunched over a diagnostic panel that flickered erratically, wires trailing from beneath its dented casing. His lab coat was stained with coffee and what appeared to be blood.

"Christ, ," he muttered when he saw me. "Where have you been?"

"Getting this." I pulled out the medicine pouch and began unpacking the components on a nearby metal crate. "We need to prepare an infusion immediately."

Hammond strode in behind me, his polished boots loud on the grated floor. "Dr. Frakes will analyze the compound first."

"With respect, Commander, we don't have time. Roberts and Ackerman look critical." I nodded toward two patients whose veining had spread to their necks.

"Analysis first," Hammond insisted. "We don't know what alien compounds you're bringing into my camp."

I swallowed my frustration and handed a sample to Frakes. "Fine. But prep the infusion kits while you work. We'll need to act quickly once you've verified it's safe."

Hammond's eyes narrowed. "Confident, aren't you?"

"In the medicine? Yes."

Frakes worked efficiently despite his flickering equipment. Hammond watched my every move as if expecting sabotage. Twenty minutes later, Frakes looked up from his analysis.

"It's plant-based. Complex, but nothing immediately harmful according to the ship's chem database. Contains compounds similar to known antivirals."

"Satisfied?" I asked Hammond.

"Proceed," he ordered, though his posture remained stiff with distrust.

I administered the treatment to Roberts first, then Ackerman, explaining the dosage to Frakes as I worked. Within an hour, Roberts' fever broke, the dangerous temperature finally receding. Two hours later, the blue veining on both patients began to recede slightly, its aggressive spread halted.

"It works," Frakes breathed, relief washing over his exhausted features. "Fevers are dropping on Roberts and Ackerman. The veining isn't spreading further."

"It counters the Luraxi toxin directly," I confirmed, moving to the next patient. "But recovery takes time. Maintain dosage schedules precisely, monitor for organ stress – full recovery could take days, especially for the critical cases."

Hammond acknowledged the results reluctantly, watching Ackerman’s vitals stabilize on the monitor. "Effective," he conceded. "But that doesn't mean I trust where it came from."

"Right now, I don't care about trust," I said, preparing the next infusion. "I care about saving lives."

By nightfall, every patient had received the initial treatment, and the worst cases showed marked improvement, their conditions stabilized. Hammond had disappeared, leaving me to work under the supervision of two security officers I didn't recognize. I cataloged the limited equipment, checked dwindling supplies, and tried to appear absorbed in routine medical tasks while surveying the bay.

What I saw disturbed me. The bay had been crudely subdivided with barriers fashioned from thick viewport panels removed from the ship, many bearing scratches or faint stress fractures. Makeshift guard stations, little more than metal desks and chairs, stood at each entry point.

"Dr. Carter." Zara's voice startled me. She stood in the doorway, her security uniform immaculate, a jarring contrast to the surroundings. "Commander Hammond requests your presence in debrief."

I caught the subtle warning in her eyes. "Of course."

She escorted me through corridors walled with metal bulkheads cut from the ship's interior, their original paint scorched or peeling, occasionally forcing one to duck under drooping bundles of multicoloured wiring. Hastily erected energy field emitters hummed loudly at the security checkpoints. At each one, Zara presented her credentials, and the attending guard examined me with increased scrutiny.

"You've been busy," I murmured as we cleared the third checkpoint.

"Hammond's implemented extensive new protocols," she replied, her voice professionally flat. "Especially regarding personnel who've had contact with the Nyxari."

We paused at a junction where two corridors met. A guard passed, nodding to Zara.

"Claire?" I asked when he was gone, keeping my voice low.

Zara's expression remained neutral, but she touched her collar, where I knew her hidden markings lay. "Section C. Isolation level three. Hammond calls it 'decontamination observation.'"

Ice formed in my stomach. "What does that mean?"

"It means you need to be careful," she replied, resuming our walk. "Commander's office ahead."

Hammond sat behind a large metal desk bearing the unmistakable design of the Seraphyne 's bridge consoles, a datapad in his hand. "Dr. Carter. Your treatment appears effective."

"It's stabilizing the patients, Commander. With continued application and careful monitoring, I expect recovery for most within seventy-two hours, though some critical cases may take longer."

"Excellent news." He set down the datapad. "Now, tell me where you acquired this miracle cure."

"Local flora," I answered truthfully. "I've been studying Arenix plant properties since our arrival."

"With assistance?" His eyes never left mine.

"I'm a doctor, Commander. Research is part of my job."

"Indeed." He leaned forward. "And will your... research... require you to leave camp again?"

The trap opened before me. "No, sir. I've collected sufficient samples for our current needs."

"Good. Because I'm implementing new quarantine protocols. Medical personnel with exposure to unknown biologics will remain in controlled environments until we've verified they pose no contamination risk."

My markings tingled beneath my sleeves. "And how long might that verification take?"

"As long as necessary, Doctor." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "For your protection, of course."

"Of course." I matched his false smile. "And my patients?"

"Dr. Frakes will continue administering the treatments you've prepared, under your remote supervision."

Hammond was placing me under house arrest while making it sound like a medical precaution. I nodded as if accepting this.

"I'll need to prepare additional medication and instructions. I worry about leaving the complex care required to Frakes alone, especially with limited supplies of the Nyxari medicine."

"Naturally." Hammond gestured to Zara. "Officer Graydon will escort you back to medical to complete your preparations, then to your quarantine quarters."

I spent the next two hours preparing treatments and recording detailed instructions, acutely aware of the guards watching me. When Zara finally led me to my "quarters"—a small cabin, likely a former crew bunk, stripped bare except for a cot, the door sealed with an external magnetic lock—I sat on the edge of the cot and stared at the metal walls.

"Lights out in ten minutes," Zara said loudly for anyone listening, then whispered, "Third shift change. Watch for the signal."

She left me alone with my thoughts and the growing certainty that I needed to discover what Hammond was doing with Claire and the other marked women before I escaped.

The room plunged into darkness at precisely 2200 hours. I lay on the cot, fully dressed, counting minutes until the third shift change. A soft buzz from the door announced Zara's signal almost four hours later.

I slipped into the corridor where flickering emergency lights cast everything in red shadow. Zara touched her finger to her lips, then pointed down the hall.

"Security breach in section A," her voice came clearly over the comm system. "All available personnel respond."

Distant boots echoed as guards moved away. Zara pressed something into my hand - a security badge.

"Restricted wing," she murmured. "You have fifteen minutes while they investigate my diversion."

"Coming with me?"

She shook her head. "More valuable here. Go."

I moved through the darkened corridors, swiping the badge at checkpoints that beeped acknowledgment. The restricted medical facility occupied the farthest wing, beyond three security doors reinforced with extra plating.

Inside, the space looked nothing like the main medical bay. Beyond the familiar surgical tables with restraints were new installations—strange apparatus constructed from what looked like parts of the ship's impulse drive, interwoven with glowing alien artifacts and connected by thick, mismatched power conduits snaking across the floor. Along one wall stood a row of transparent isolation chambers, possibly fashioned from modified escape pods, each containing a narrow cot. Two were occupied.

I approached the first chamber. A woman lay curled on her side, her arms exposed where monitoring devices were attached via crude clamps. Dark artifacts positioned around her cot pulsed with faint energy whenever her silver markings brightened.

The second chamber held a man I recognized from the engineering team. His shirt had been removed, exposing silver markings across his chest—and what looked like strange metallic objects affixed directly over those patterns with adhesive strips. The markings beneath seemed distorted, struggling to maintain their form.

My stomach turned as I moved to a battered computer terminal humming loudly, its casing dented. The screen displayed clinical notes on "artifact integration trials." I scrolled through them, horror building.

Resonance testing. Neural response mapping. Marking suppression attempts.

The notes detailed progressive experiments using artifacts recovered from ruins, each more invasive than the last. Hammond had moved beyond his failed surgical "decontamination" attempts—now he was trying to control and manipulate the markings with alien technology he couldn't possibly understand, using equipment clearly not designed for medical purposes. This was an entirely new level of dangerous interference.

I opened a file labeled "Assessment and Classification." Here, Hammond had categorized the marked individuals by extent of "contamination," mapping the spread and pattern of each person's markings. Not as a scientific study, but as a security assessment.

A final document froze my blood. Hammond's personal notes:

"Alien technology implanted to subvert human loyalty. Pattern suggests interface designed to override logical decision-making in favor of alien directives. Removal unsuccessful. Recommend isolation of affected individuals pending development of effective decontamination procedure or permanent containment."

A distant alarm shattered the silence. I'd stayed too long. I backed away from the terminal, turning toward the exit - and found Hammond blocking the doorway.

"I wondered how long it would take you to come here," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "Who helped you? Graydon, I assume?"

My markings burned beneath my sleeves. "What are you doing to these people?"

"Protecting humanity." He stepped forward. "The markings are changing you, . Turning you against your own kind."

"They're not changing me, Hammond. They're part of me."

"Part of you?" He laughed bitterly. "Those things are alien technology implanted in human tissue. And I intend to remove the contamination before it spreads further."

He moved toward me, reaching for his sidearm. "You'll understand once we've completed the decontamination. It's for your own good."

As his hand closed around my arm, my markings flared with sudden, blinding intensity. Silver light blazed through my clothing, and Hammond recoiled as if burned. He stumbled backward, momentarily blinded.

I ran. Past him, through the doorway, down the corridor. Alarms blared throughout the facility. Voices shouted behind me. I discarded caution and sprinted for the nearest exit, my markings still glowing through my clothes like moonlight through gauze.

The cool night air hit my face as I burst through a heavy service hatch that hadn't been properly sealed. Guards shouted. A spotlight swept the perimeter. I ran for the tree line, lungs burning, the knowledge of what Hammond planned driving me forward.

The forest swallowed me into shadow, branches whipping against my face as I plunged deeper into the darkness. Behind me, Hammond's voice rose above the others.

"Find her! She's compromised!"

I ran until my legs nearly gave out, then stumbled to a stop, gasping for breath. My markings gradually dimmed until only a faint silver sheen remained visible on my skin.

"."

I whirled toward the voice, heart pounding.

Kavan stood among the trees, golden eyes reflecting starlight. "What happened?"

"Hammond," I gasped, still struggling for breath. "The artifacts he stole during the attack. He's found more from the ruins. He's experimenting with them on marked women."

Kavan's expression darkened. "Did he harm you?"

"No. My markings..." I looked down at the silvery tracings on my wrists. "They reacted to the artifacts. They flared when he tried to use one on me. I've never seen them do that before."

"They responded to the threat," Kavan said quietly. "Just as lifelines do when their bearer is in danger."

Distant shouts penetrated the forest. The search party was spreading out.

"We need to move now," I said. "Hammond won't stop looking."

Kavan nodded, taking my hand. "Then we go deeper, where they cannot follow."