Page 3 of Stellar Drift (Central Galactic Concordance)

Four days later, in the small, darkened room that housed her still-pristine white, military-grade autodoc, the soft interior glow on Houyen’s body was the only light. The blended harmonics of the autodoc’s systems hummed quietly.

Sairy leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed.

Kyala, her muzzle still wet from lapping at the fountain, pressed her shoulders gently against Sairy’s thigh.

Through their mental link, Sairy knew Kyala didn’t care for the medicinal smells from the autodoc and was still distressed by Houyen’s illness.

The gargoyle had taken a liking to Houyen, as if he were one of her long-lost pups.

He looked vulnerable and helpless. Sairy felt an unexpected wave of protectiveness.

He must have been particularly susceptible.

She would have spared him the last days and nights of fever spikes, chills, and delirium if she could have.

Now that he was on the mend and showing signs of regaining consciousness, she had a choice to make.

Seeing him up close — and wrestling his body and uncooperative limbs into the autodoc’s shell-shaped chamber — confirmed her opinion that he was beautiful.

He wore his thick dark hair short with no styling, which suited his angular features and light brown skin tone.

He was strong and fit, and looked to be in his mid-40s.

But she really had no idea how old he was.

Thanks to modern medicine, simple body maintenance could shave ten or fifteen years off anyone.

A couple of days in a decent bodyshop in the megacity to the north could make him look anywhere from twenty to a hundred and seventy, and whatever shape, ethnicity, or gender he liked.

At least she hadn’t needed to remove more than his gauntlet-style percomp and his pocketed work vest to let the autodoc’s probes and nano-needles do their jobs.

Stripping off his clothes would have felt like taking advantage of him.

Which made no sense, considering she’d already given him a little-tested, experimental treatment without his consent, but there it was.

She was pretty sure they’d done the right thing by giving him the drug, but doubts kept creeping into her thoughts like weaver ants scouting for juicy beetles.

Three-plus years of necessary isolation had very likely reduced her relationship candidate checklist to "can fog a mirror," and her hormones couldn’t be trusted alone with the man.

Even if she was suddenly free of obligations and secrets, she didn't want to fall desperately headlong into anything — or anyone. Making that mistake twice in her life was enough.

But she wasn’t free, and at the end of the day, he was still with the Citizen Protection Service.

She wasn’t making that mistake again, either.

The CPS was supposed to help minders, but as far as she was concerned, that was the biggest lie in the galaxy.

They employed hundreds of thousands of telepaths who could pry into her thoughts or sifters who could mess with her brain chemicals to make her eager to babble her innermost secrets.

Or even worse, cleaners who specialized in gouging out memories or twisters who permanently distorted them.

Those she had personal experience with, and the CPS had treated Elkano the same way.

The locals wouldn’t thank her for bringing the CPS down on their heads, either.

None of them cared that the CPS staff were all minders.

A high percentage of the locals were, too.

They cared much more about the Makaan Nature Reserve and preserving the close-to-the-land lifestyle.

Endemic prejudice against minders in the big cities — and the galaxy at large — made creating isolated cooperatives in the wilderness an attractive alternative.

But the CPS loved rules, especially the ones about forcing children ages twelve and seventeen to be tested for minder talents. Avoiding that was another incentive for locals with kids to stay beneath the CPS’s notice.

All things considered, she couldn’t let him awaken in her autodoc, much less see the rest of her home. So her choice was to take him back to his aircar to wake up there, or take him to Irakat Collective and let them deal with him.

Except it was Trading Day in Irakat, which drew people from up and down the river and enforcers from Joro’s compound looking for kicks. She’d have to answer far too many questions about how and when she found the ranger in the first place. And Houyen might not appreciate waking up with strangers.

Really, her only option was to take him back to his aircar and let him wake up on his own. She’d ask Elkano to send cameras to monitor him and the aircar to make sure he woke up and was able to operate his vehicle.

She patted Kyala’s shoulder. “Come on, my friend, let’s get the airsled.”

He’d likely have headaches and feel like he got pushed off a skyskimmer for a few more days, but he would probably live.

Which was good, since the infinity fever was likely her and Elkano’s fault in the first place.