The others at the table looked at him without a shred of concern. “What are you going on about? Sit down, you fool,” the human woman said.
“Can’t. Drank—” More gasping as he fumbled for something in his pocket, knocking over his glass of beer.
Thalia raced over and stuck her hand in the man's pocket. That got a reaction from his companions. “What are you doing!?”
“He’s trying to tell you he’s having an allergic reaction,” she said, shouting over the other man’s protests. Instead of finding an injectable antihistamine in his pocket, she found a medical card.
Useless.
“He’s allergic to a berry, I think,” the woman said.
Thalia tossed the card to the table. “Hey! You got a first aid kit?” she shouted to the bartender. He nodded and produced a red plastic box.
The man continued to clutch at his throat, desperately sucking in air.
“You need to calm down,” she said, using her most soothing voice. “Panicking is making it worse. You have a couple of minutes. Relax.”
Her words had the opposite effect. His eyes went wide, and he backed away, like he was prepared to outrun anaphylaxis. Gray splotches covered his throat and his lips.
Sighing, she suddenly understood why Doc always browbeat his patients into submission. Fear and panic made people stupid.
She grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him down into a chair. Moving swiftly, she grabbed the blaster from his shoulder holster, dialed the setting to the lowest level, and pressed the barrel to the side of his head. With a brief hum and flash, the man slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Rough hands grabbed her. “What did you do?” the other Sangrin man snarled.
“Stunned him. Panic makes the reaction happen faster.”
“You killed him!”
Thalia shoved the broadside of the blaster against the man’s stomach. “Stunned. Him. Now get out of my way and let me work, or you’ll be responsible for his death.”
The man looked at the human woman. Clearly this was the boss. She regarded Thalia with cold eyes, then nodded. The bartender arrived with the first aid kit.
Encouraged by the undisturbed seal, she cracked open the box. A quick scan told her she had what she needed. The small monitor powered up immediately, and Thalia handed it to the boss. “Hold it to his wrist and watch his vitals,” she ordered. “His oxygen is probably low because he was panicking. Let me know if it gets too low.”
“What’s too low?”
“The numbers turn red.” The device had a simple design. Doc had called it idiot-proof.
Crouched on the floor, she fumbled with the injectable canisters in the kit, each a salmon pink color. Holding the labels up, she squinted to read in the low light. Written in Sangrin, the translation chip in her head transformed the foreign characters into something she could read.
“This one,” she said, tearing off the plastic wrapper. With one hand, she twisted the base, pushing the epinephrine—or its alien equivalent—into the chamber. She plunged the needle into the unconscious man’s thigh and pushed down on the syringe, injecting the drug.
A tense moment passed.
Gaze fixated on the cheap monitor, the woman said, “His numbers are going up.”
“Good.” Thalia sighed, resting on her knees. She didn’t want to think about the sticky floor or the sucking sound the fabric of her pants made every time she moved. “Call medical rescue. This station has to have emergency medical.”
“He’s fine,” the man said, stubbornly not moving.
Thalia narrowed her eyes. “He’s currently not dying but he is far from fine. He needs a doctor. Do it.”
Once again, the man looked to his boss, waiting for her permission before he scurried off.
The woman gave Thalia an assessing look. “How’d you know to do that? You a doctor?”
“God, no. I actually have people skills, but I’ve worked with one.”
“Are you sure about those people skills?”
Thalia shook her head. “I cleaned Doc’s equipment and handed him the right tools when he was too drunk to read the labels.” Only once she said the words did she realize how it sounded. “Phrasing. Crap. It wasn’t like that.”
“Sure, it wasn’t.”
“Think what you want.” Thalia stuffed the contents back into the first aid kit. The plastic wrap kept the unused items sanitary, but everything she opened needed to be tossed.
“You got a name?”
“Yup,” Thalia said, not elaborating.
A slow, calculating grin spread across the woman’s face. “I’m Sue.”
“Okay.” That seemed so average for the badass woman with scars on either cheek.
Sue rolled her eyes. “You expect my name to be something like Galatrix Loralie the Dreadful?”
“Honestly, yes, but I can see how Sue is better for ordering coffee and whatnot.”
Sue nudged the unconscious man with the toe of her boot. “Thanks for saving Naston. He’s not the brightest, but he’s good with explosives. I knew he was allergic to a berry, but I forgot which one. What are you doing out here at the ass-end of the Sangrin system?”
The rapid change of topic caught Thalia off guard, which had to be Sue’s intent. Buying herself time, Thalia checked Naston. His breathing evened out, and the gray splotches on his lavender skin faded.
“I was on a ship but had a disagreement with the captain. His plan was shit, I told him as much, and suddenly I had to leave in a hurry,” Thalia said.
“You keep your head in a crisis.”
Thalia shrugged.
Naston stirred into consciousness just as the medics arrived. Thalia stepped back, briefly describing what happened and what she did. They administered another injection and made Naston drink damn near a gallon of water.
Sue handed Thalia a cold beer as they watched the medics work. “What were you doing with the big red guy?”
Thalia bristled, glancing to the empty table where Havik had been. She didn’t want Sue’s attention on Havik. Not just because Sue might recognize him, but because he was hers. She didn’t share.
“Working,” Thalia answered. Disappointment flashed on Sue’s face, and Thalia knew what type of work Sue thought she did. Thalia held up two credit tokens. “Not that kind
