His smile shifts to panic. “What are you doing? Recording the Mokarran’s religious ceremony means death.”
“Being in the employ of the Mokarran is death for all of us. You will just get me there faster.”
He slides his arm under her, propping himself against the wall to support her slumping frame. “Why invoke their wrath at all? Why do you record it?”
Whatever ails Nytalyan must be treated quickly. Lying will not get her to the medical bay. “Not to make a recording, but to record. I’m unable to learn the religious language just by listening.”
“I know I haven’t given you a reason to trust me, so I will. I’ve noticed in recent battles with the Throgen Empire the Mokarran only engage with non-Mokarran forces. They shift much of the non-Mokarran forces to the Throgen border.”
“Do you have proof of this?” she asks.
“I have memorized all the pertinent information. Facts and figures are safe in my brain. I’ll keep no physical recording of to invite my death.”
“Why bother if you keep no proof to pass on to others?”
“Who do I pass it along to? Who will help us?” He hopes she catches the us. He needs to get her to the medical bay.
“I don’t know yet. With enough proof, we incite people to rebel.”
“Don’t ask a lot. You find the right group to free us from the Mokarran, and I’ll recover the proof. So what were you doing?” he asks.
“This Mokarran religious leader has introduced new dogma to purge all those not Mokarran.”
“Fitting with the most recent acceptance list into the military—all Mokarran.”
“If I learn enough of the language I’ll decipher the teachings. I’ll figure out what they propose to do with us.”
“There are days I don’t think I want to know.”
“If we turn a blind eye, then who will stand up to them?” Nytalyan demands.
“Those braver than us.”
“It has to be us, or no one will care.” Her legs give way.
He prevents Nytalyan from spilling to the floor. “Someone will notice if I carry you. You need medical.”
“What did they do to that conduit?”
Saltāl heaves her arm over his shoulder. He’s not a muscular male, but he’ll act as a crutch. “If we hear anyone you’ll have to stand on your own. It’s a long way to the landing bay medic station.”
“Central Medical is one floor down,” Nytalyan protests.
“You’ll have to explain exactly what you were doing to the Mokarran staff at Central Medical.”
••••••
NYTALYAN SNUGGLES WITH herself in a fetal position on the examination table.
The humanoid doctor with six elongated webbed fingers and a blowfish head pokes her egg sac.
Saltāl hovers in a corner.
Nytalyan needs to trust him.
“The Mokarran have limited access to the medical records of your species. They track what medical procedures we perform. Too severe an illness, and staff workers disappear. Others, in your case, are made ill to check loyalty.”
“I’m confused,” she admits.
“Trust him. Dr. Oligolepis has no love for the Mokarran,” Saltāl assures her.
“I witnessed Mokarran religious mass and had to hide in one of the conduits.”
“Directly around the temple?” Dr. Oligolepis speaks with insight.
“Yes.”
“They pump that full of a radioactive gas. Any treatment for exposure will reveal you were there.”
“Is it fatal?” Saltāl jumps to her side.
“I’m unable to run a diagnostic to check. The computer will record the scan and automatically send a report,” Dr. Oligolepis adds.
“Help me out of here, and I’ll die in a corridor. No reason to let them know you both are willing to help me.” She attempts to sit up, but her head swims, preventing it.
“I’m a doctor and sworn to protect life. I’ll help you, if I’m able, before we dump your body.”
“I won’t leave her someplace to die,” Saltāl protests.
“If I’m unsuccessful in helping her, I certainly will. I am sworn to protect life, and above all, mine first. I’m unable to help anyone if I am dead.”
“I never knew you were so pretentious, Doc.”
“Watch the Mokarran slaughter your patients because they set off one of these radiation booby traps and self-preservation will overcome you.”
“Please just help,” she pleads.
“I’ll give you injections to flush the poison from your system.”
“I am nearing my time to lay eggs.”
“I was afraid of such.” Dr. Oligolepis frowns.
Nytalyan grabs the cloth lab coat and uses it to pull herself up. She unzips her jumpsuit and tears off her undershirt. Her fish scale skin supports no mammary glands. She palpates on her side. The copper skin was discolored by a fading gold strip growing up her side.
“They’re dead! My babies are dead.”
Confused, Saltāl is left with questions he dare not ask.
Dr. Oligolepis shifts into a medic mode with little bedside manner. “Does your species have miscarriages?”
“Doc, she needs to grieve.”
“I must treat her. I know it’s callous, but if you ever want to have children again, I need answers. If I diagnose it, the Mokarran will know.”
“It’s not common. I’ve heard of eggs being discharged before the stripe grows to full length.”
“I’ll give you contra treatment for the radiation, flushing out your womb.”
“Will that cure her?” Saltāl demands.
“Without scanning the radiation, I don’t know. But chances are good since with this flushing treatment I’ll prescribe a larger dose than I could if I tried to hide the treatments.” He pulls a portable computer to the table. “The Mokarran will know you miscarried, and this will be painful.”
“Do what you have to, Doc.” Nytalyan falls back onto the table.
BLACK MILITARY BOOTS drive the pea-sized gravel from the footprint created when they land on the rooftop. Amye squirrels her way across the surface, unable to quiet the crunch, crunch, crunch of each step. She slides to a halt at the gable edge, unable to leap the distance to the next building.
She scrunches behind a smoke-scarred chimney flipping the binocular eyepiece from her ear clip to her left eye. She strains her eye. The device telescopes in on the building
