Page 47 of Shielded Heart

Shouts came from down the hallway, their origin shrouded by the slowly dissipating haze. He knew only that they weren’t any of his people—he’d have heard their voices doubled in his commlink earpiece.

The hardlight projector on Arcanthus’s right forearm sparked and powered down; fortunately, his arm’s functions were undamaged. He slipped the arm beneath Samantha’s legs and lifted her off the floor, holding her against his chest as he stood.

A few moments before, there’d been a wall and an apartment door on the left side of the hall. Now there was only a gaping, jagged hole. The shouting in the corridor drew nearer.

“Almost there,” he whispered, stepping through the breach. “Almost safe.”

The apartment was small, set up just like Samantha’s, with sparse furnishings spread around a single room—a room blanketed in dust and debris. The window looked out onto the alleyway between this complex and the next one over.

“Drak, new plan. Bring the car around to the alley. I’ll meet you there. We’ll get the cren brothers after.”

The commlink crackled to life, and Drakkal said, “On the way, Arc.”

Arcanthus stopped a few meters away from the window and lowered Samantha’s legs to take hold of the auto-blaster dangling from his shoulder. He fired several bolts through the window; they didn’t crack the glass, instead leaving glowing, oozing holes. But all he wanted was the glass weakened.

Releasing the weapon, he scooped Samantha up and strode forward.

The window gave after two kicks.

Once the buckled glass panel fell away, Arcanthus leapt up onto the windowsill, thrusting his tail out behind him for extra stability. The voices in the hallway were closer than ever.

“Bastard is around here somewhere with thatji’tas,” someone said from just beyond the gaping hole in the wall.

Arcanthus leapt out the window.

It was a three-meter drop to the ground; his cybernetic legs absorbed the impact, allowing him to remain upright and reducing the jolt to Samantha. He turned his head to see the black hovercar speeding toward him.

The vehicle’s rear swung slightly sideways as it came to a sudden halt in front of Arc. The back door swung open, and Sekk’thi waved Arcanthus inside. He passed Samantha in; the two vorgals took her and laid her carefully on the back seat.

“There!” came the shout from behind. Plasma bolts struck the back of Arc’s armor and the vehicle around him.

Arcanthus dove into the hovercar. Sekk’thi slammed the door shut behind him as the vehicle accelerated.

Urgand was already kneeling beside Samantha, his medical kit open. Despite the size of his hand, his fingers were gentle as he parted her hair to check the wound on her head. In this crowded cab, around these aliens, she looked so small and frail.

Arcanthus fell to his knees next to the vorgal. His chest was tight, his body numb, and a dull ringing still undercut the thumping of his own heart in his ears. He took Samantha’s hand in his own and squeezed it. She didn’t respond to his touch.

“Swing around back so we can pick up the cren.” Arcanthus’s voice sounded distant and echoey, like a fading memory. “How bad is it, Urgand?”

The vorgal frowned. “Hard to say. Never treated a terran before. But the medpod back home should have her species’ specs loaded. It’ll tell us more.”

Arcanthus settled his gaze on her face and curled his free hand into a fist.

“Any idea who those cowardly fuckers were?” Thargen asked.

“No, but we’re going to find out who the fuck they are,” Arcanthus said through clenched teeth, “and make sure they regret this decision for the brief remainder of their lives.”

Ten

Something feathered across Samantha’s cheek. The faint sensation persisted, pulling her out of an abyss-like, dreamless sleep and easing her into consciousness. Her brows furrowed; the delicate touch shifted to them, soothing away their tension. Something else stroked her leg, moving from ankle to knee and back again.

“Samantha?” The familiar voice caressed her name and drew her the rest of the way to wakefulness.

Her eyelids fluttered open. She was looking up at a ceiling lit with a red ambience. Blue lines raced across it in intricate, angled patterns, never curving as they faded and retraced themselves ceaselessly. It was an oddly calming display but did not counteract her immense confusion.

Where am I?

The gentle touch shifted back to her cheek, following it down to trace the line of her jaw. Now that she was awake, it startled her; she flinched away and turned her head.

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