Page 37 of Orange Tundra
"Nothing that can't wait," I replied firmly. "Go. We don't have much time."
He hesitated, clearly wanting to press the issue, but another burst of enemy fire decided for him. With a final concerned glance, he melted into the shadows, Xy close behind.
I watched them go, then turned to Clitasoxdfwe’h. "Now we wait."
Waiting proved excruciating. Each second stretching like an eternity as we held our defensive line. Our numbers were thinning—two of CG's crew had taken hits, though thankfully none fatal. The pain in my abdomen came in increasingly regular waves, forcing me to time my breathing carefully to avoid giving away my condition.
The sacred hiscat remained pressed against my leg, its warm presence oddly comforting. Occasionally it would look up at me with those unsettlingly intelligent eyes, as if measuring my resolve.
"They should be in position by now," Clitasoxdfwe’h murmured, checking his weapon.
I nodded, unable to trust my voice as another contraction built. The baby was moving too much. Too soon. We needed to end this fight and reach the heart of the ruins where Onork believed we'd find the knowledge to save my child.
I was beginning to fear the worst when a commotion erupted from the attackers' position. Shouts of surprise turned to cries of pain as Nim and Sim sprung their trap.
"Now!" I called to CG's remaining crew. "Push forward!"
Chaos erupted as Nim and Sim struck from behind, catching our attackers in the deadly crossfire I'd planned. The ambushers scattered, their coordinated attack dissolving into panicked confusion.
Some fled toward the desert outskirts, abandoning their weapons in their haste to escape. Others found themselvessurrounded, dropping to their knees in surrender as CG's crew closed in.
I stepped out from behind our cover, one hand pressed against my swollen belly as another contraction rippled through me. Despite the pain, I couldn't suppress a surge of triumph. We'd won this round.
"Disarm them," I ordered CG's mercenaries, who moved efficiently to collect weapons from the defeated attackers.
Nim was at my side in an instant, his eyes quickly assessing my condition. "You're in pain," he stated, not a question but a certainty.
I nodded, no longer able to hide it. "The baby... I don't know what's - what's wrong."
Sim joined us, blood splattered across his fur but otherwise unharmed. "What? Are you hurt?"
"No," I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. "But we need to reach the center of the ruins."
Nim's expression hardened with determination. "Then we move now."
Xy approached, dragging one of the captured ambushers. "This one says he works for Kilo and had been posted in this section for years. They were ordered to prevent anyone from reaching the White Tribe archives. "
"Where were our sentries?" Sim glared at Xy. He didn't waited for him to answer. "Unfortunately, there's no time for that. We need to secure the White Tribe."
I straightened, fighting through another wave of pain. The path ahead now lay open, leading deeper into the heart of the White Tribe ruins. Somewhere in those ancient structures lay the knowledge we sought—information that might save my rapidly developing child.
"Let's go," I said, taking a step forward. My legs nearly betrayed me, but Nim's strong arm slipped around my waist, supporting me without making it obvious to the others.
The sacred hiscat trotted ahead, its tail held high as if leading the way. Perhaps it was.
As our group moved forward, I pressed a hand over my abdomen, feeling the life within responding to my touch. Hold on, little one, I thought fiercely. Just a little longer.
Plus, I need to explain to one of your dads that I wasn't a warrior queen from Earth. I almost laughed when Xy tried to discreetly step back from me when I walked too close to him. What, he was now afraid of me attacking him? Oh right, I was twirling the laser pointer, I mean laser pen with my fingers like a fidget toy. Maybe I should give this back to Sim.
18
SILVER BEAST
The ravine narrowedinto jagged walls that pressed like the ribs of a long-dead god. I moved ahead of Axad and Cruuvex, nostrils flaring, tracking scents laced with rot and oil. The wind shifted—and I caught it.
Blood. Not fresh. Not old. Staged.
My claws scraped the rock as I stopped. Below the beast’s snarl, Zirc stirred—a tremor of grief, of guilt. Roqs. The name scraped against bone. I didn’t know if I wanted to mourn him or tear his throat out for the betrayal.
