Mordjan

by Immortal Angel

  And to be honest, even though it was her mission, that was really why she was going.

  Her worst fear had come true. She’d found a mate and lost him before they’d even been mated.

  She didn’t know if she could be like him, if she could live for her healing rather than her heart. To live for others was such a holy aspiration, such self-sacrifice, but she had already done that for centuries. For a brief moment in time, she’d thought that maybe she would have something for herself.

  There were ten other medics and ten healers, as well as boxes of supplies on the shuttle. Everyone was quiet as they flew through the blackness of space.

  “We should be on the ground in thirty minutes,” the high medic told them, looking up at the pilot, who nodded. “The first thing will be to set up a tent behind our lines if we can. If we can’t, then we’ll put up a flag where people can bring the injured and spread the word.”

  “It’s a huge battle down there, Zaleria,” the pilot said. “I don’t think you’ll have trouble finding people to help.”

  The flight was blessedly short. At first only Fayelle’s fingers shook, but by the end of the flight her entire body was shaking with nervous energy. She’d never been in this kind of battle before.

  When they arrived on the planet, the pilot circled overhead to give them a view of the battlefield. The scale of the battle shocked her, even though she’d been told it was thousands of soldiers on each side.

  The valley between the two mountains was vast, and thousands of Ardaks and thousands of rebels were swarming each other like angry ants. From their vantage point, she could see ray guns blasting, red-bladed swords slashing, glints of metallic swords and guns countering them. As they landed, sprays of blood, snarls from angry Ardaks, and screams of the dying were the sights and sounds that greeted them.

  “Over there,” Zaleria shouted, and they began to unload their supplies as quickly as possible. Almost as soon as the last box hit the ground, the pilot was lifting off and shooting back up into the sky to a safe distance. Fayelle turned to the high medic with wide eyes, and she offered a small smile.

  “He’s getting more supplies. Filarion! Eltador! Set up the flag. I don’t think we have time for a tent—people are bleeding out as we speak. Fayelle, help us open these boxes and set them in order—meds, needles, dressings.”

  She nodded and opened the first box, working efficiently with the others. Before they were even fully set up, the injured were being brought over, and whatever semblance of organization she thought they would achieve was lost.

  They worked in teams of two, and she worked with the high medic. Zaleria was excellent at instructing her, showing her how to blend her magic with the tech to conserve her energy. Soon she was stemming the flow of blood with her magic while Zaleria doused them with disinfectant and threw in sutures or staples. When they were closed up, she helped bandage the wounds, and they would move on to the next.

  In the larger surgeries, she was stemming the flow of blood from arteries and keeping patients stable while Zaleria was stinting and suturing, repairing them as quickly as she could.

  They worked all through the day and night, and soon she could see only blood, even when she closed her eyes. The stench was in the air, and the screams had pierced her ears more times than she could count.

  “You need to rest,” the high medic told her.

  She met Zaleria’s bloodshot eyes. “So do you.”

  Zaleria shook her head. “I’m used to this. I can do another solar rotation before I become completely useless. But backup is coming. They buzzed me and told me they’ll be here shortly. When they arrive, I want to you to grab a blanket and sleep for at least three hours behind those boxes.”

  She eyed the boxes skeptically. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “I felt like that my first time on the battlefield as well. Don’t worry, you’ll be out like a light the moment your head hits the hard ground beneath the blanket. Your dreams probably won’t be that pleasant, but you’ll be so tired you won’t remember them.”

  Knowing that sleep was coming buoyed her for the next fifteen minutes, until a fresh wave of medics arrived. Nearly everyone who came with her grabbed a blanket and went to sleep, and the high medic was right.

  She was asleep the moment her head hit the ground.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Mordjan

  Mordjan lifted his visor and wiped the sweat from his face. He was fairly confident the battle for the second ship was won.

  Hour after hour, they had meticulously swept each level and stairwell. They hadn’t moved fast enough and had lost quite a few elves to the Red Death and injuries. The Ardaks had fought harder than he’d ever seen them fight before.

  However, he was going to let the resistance take over from here.

  He wasn’t tired exactly, as the energy was keeping his body in top condition. It was his mind that was worn down . . . and his heart.

  He wanted to see Fayelle. To hold her and forget what he’d just done over the past twenty hours. To see Simban and assure himself that his friend had made it.

  After watching Simban fall, he’d been more convinced than ever that he needed Fayelle to stay with him, to enjoy the moments they both had left.

  The resistance was sending more soldiers over by shuttle, and then he and Ruith would take the shuttle back to the main ship.

  He arrived thirty minutes later, going straight to the med wing. He was certain he would find them all there.

  “Simban,” he said, letting out a breath when he saw the man awake. He strode across the room and clasped his arm.

  “Thank you for getting me out of there,” Simban said. “That damn Ardak did a number on me. Fayelle is probably the only reason I’m still alive.”

  “Speaking of Fayelle, where is she?” Mordjan asked.

  Simban’s brow creased. “She’s gone, didn’t you know?”

  Mordjan went still. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”

  “She went with Second Medic Zaleria down to Belavia. The Ardaks attacked there early, and the rebels sent a team of medics to help.”

  His insides went cold. “You’re telling me she’s in battle?”

  Medic Filarion came up to the foot of Simban’s bunk. “I overheard your conversation, and I wanted to assure you that she’s as safe as she can be. She’s with the other medics. Zaleria has been in dozens of battles, and while she isn’t quite as good as Tass was, she’ll take care of her.”

  Mordjan didn’t know what to do. Every instinct he had was crying for him to go after Fayelle.

  But he knew that he couldn’t.

  This was her mission, too, and her right to fight if she wished. Healing on the battleground was going to be her duty, after all.

  So, he wouldn’t chase her down, but when she returned, he’d try his hardest to get her to understand that she shouldn’t go into battle without him again.

  And then he’d do whatever it took to convince her that she was his.

  Chapter Thirty

  Fayelle

  Fayelle was awakened by the sounds of screaming coming from the battlefield. Almost all of the men’s voices were raised, and the resulting raucous cacophony shook her to the core.

  She jumped to standing and then froze. There were more Ardak ships arriving.

  Hundreds of them.

  Some were landing, but most of them remained in the sky. Even she knew what that meant. Reinforcements wouldn’t be able to get through. Even worse, yesterday the two sides had been relatively evenly matched. Today, the Ardaks would easily be two to one, and there was no way they could win.

  She rose and moved to stand by Zaleria. “Have the reinforcements arrived?”

  “Not yet,” Zaleria said, not meeting her eyes as she worked. Fayelle went right to work as well, and soon, they had more injured than they could handle. Clearly, the new arrivals had turned the tide in the battle, and it wasn’t in the resistance’s favor.

  The battle began furiously
, the new Ardaks fresh and obviously rested and ready for battle. The Belavian soldiers were obviously exhausted, but they rallied one last time, reforming lines where they could, taking advantage of cannons and longer range weapons where they could.

  If they don’t get here, we’re all going to die.

  She knew it and accepted it, but she would do what she could, while she could.

  Her mind went to Mordjan, wondering if he had gotten back to the ship yet, wondering if he was okay, wondering if he was mad at her for having left without telling him.

  But then another wounded soldier was thrown onto the mat in front of her, and she turned her attention to him.

  Mordjan wasn’t here, and this man could die if she didn’t focus.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Mordjan

  Mordjan shot straight upward, and the sweat on his body told him his dreams had been nightmares. What wasn’t a nightmare was the incessant banging on his door.

  He glanced at the empty bed beside him, reminding himself Fayelle was gone.

  The banging began again.

  He strode to the door and opened it.

  Irielle burst into his room, ignoring his state of undress. “Mordjan! You need to go after Fayelle!”

  His body went cold. “Why?”

  “She’s going to die!” Irielle sat on his bunk and burst into tears.

  He grabbed his shirt and tugged it on before he knelt in front of her. “What are you talking about?”

  Her shoulders shook, and she covered her face with her hands. “They sent Fayelle and Zaleria to Belavia.”

  “I know. They are there to help the injured.”

  “Yes, but the resistance isn’t sending reinforcements. They found documents on the ship you recovered about an Ardak blockade, so now they are using Belavia as a distraction so they can win the war on Velmar and protect their precious technology.”

  “What? Where the hell is Velmar?”

  “Who cares?” Her voice became a shout. “Are you listening to me? They are sacrificing the medics, Fayelle, and everyone else on Belavia! They are all going to die!”

  No. She wasn’t going to die. Determination went through Mordjan, and all at once, all of his excuses died. All this time, he’d been fighting for others, asking nothing for himself.

  In the end, he’d lost his hope because he had nothing to live for.

  But there was something to live for. Someone to live for. Fayelle was his hope.

  “They aren’t going to die, dammit,” Mordjan growled, taking her by the arm and striding to the door. He opened it to see Simban in the hall, his fist raised.

  “Have you seen—”

  “She’s here.”

  “What are you doing?” Simban asked, pulling her into his arms.

  “I overheard some medics in the hall—” She sobbed into his chest. “Reinforcements aren’t coming, so they’re going to let Belavia fall to the Ardaks.”

  Simban’s brows disappeared into his hair, and he glanced up at Mordjan. “What?”

  “We aren’t that far from the planet, so I’m going to take my suit and one of those ships. I’m going to get her back.”

  A door opened on the left and Jovjan strode out. “Who’s going to get who back?”

  Mordjan turned his attention to him. This would be Jovjan’s chance to prove his dedication. “The Ardaks have put up a blockade on Belavia, and the resistance isn’t sending any reinforcements to the medics who went to the planet to help.”

  Jovjan closed the door behind him. “Then what are we waiting for? You guys coming?” He asked the question over the cyborg frequency.

  “Of course,” Chihon responded. “We can’t lose Zaleria. She’s the best medic we have.”

  By the time Mordjan reached the end of the hall, all five cyborgs were there. They took the elevator to the engineering wing and each went to their table to grab their suit.

  When they were almost finished, the lights came on in the hall. Ruith strode in, looking angry. “Mordjan, what the vok is going on here?”

  “We are going to retrieve the medics you are planning to let die on Belavia,” Mordjan stated. “Not doing so is unacceptable.”

  “Jaffete! I knew you liked her too much! This is not your call to make,” he said angrily, raising his hands, obviously prepared for a duel.

  Mordjan raised a brow. “Seriously? You’ve seen what we can do firsthand and you want to fight me on this?” He didn’t want to fight the elf because, at this point, it was just a waste of time. He’d win and be on that ship in minutes.

  “Listen, I was coming to find you because I’ve been going through Tassarion’s files. He stated that he opened something on your chip, a part with extra files. You can’t risk yourself until we know what they are.”

  “Do you hear yourself? We came here asking for your help, and since then, we have done everything you have asked of us. Everything. And now you want to leave my mate on that planet to die! If there is something in my chip that you want, you better hope I make it back safely and forgive you for holding me up. Because if Fayelle is hurt or if I don’t get there in time to save her, I promise you that you will never see the information you want.” The more he spoke, the louder his voice got, and by the end, he was almost nose to nose with the medic as he yelled.

  “Come on, Ruith,” Chihon countered, as Simban tugged Mordjan away from Ruith. “This is not the way the resistance operates. We don’t just give up on our people.”

  “Besides the fact that Zaleria is now the expert on cyborgs,” Jovjan added. “We can’t afford to lose her.”

  “There are five of us,” Simban added. “Let us try to get them back.”

  Ruith stood there for several moments but then his hands dropped and his shoulder slumped in defeat. “There’s no way you’re going to win, and if you go, we’ll lose five cyborgs plus our medics. If you fail, you will have cost us our best hope, and the other resistance leaders will burn me alive.”

  “Whatever. Those are your bureaucratic problems. I’m not going to let my woman die out there because you’re too afraid to pick her up.”

  “This is a suicide mission!”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to have a little hope!” Mordjan shot back, stepping forward, challenge and defiance clear in his stance and in his voice. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to add another war to your list, which is exactly what will happen if you try to stop me from taking one of those ships to Belavia. Make your choice.”

  “Jukkete!” Ruith cursed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s your funerals. Take the shuttle from Bay Fifteen to the first Ardak ship. We’re still downloading data from the second one.”

  Mordjan nodded, and they all sprinted down the corridor to Docking Bay Fifteen.

  Hang on, Fayelle.

  I’m coming.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Fayelle

  Fayelle wiped her arm across her brow, knowing she was probably smearing blood on her face. She was exhausted, but there was no point in stopping. The Ardaks were getting closer and closer with every minute that passed.

  If they reached the tent, Fayelle knew it would be over quickly. She went to stand next to Zaleria, who was facing away from the tent and watching the high morning sun.

  “Zaleria?” she asked quietly.

  She didn’t look back. “Yes?”

  “They aren’t coming, are they?”

  The medic sighed but didn’t turn around. “No. The ones who relieved us were our only help. I got a fake communication from Ruith several hours ago indicating that we would have more men here, but there was a code inside it telling us that they weren’t coming.”

  “Why not?”

  “This isn’t the only war we’re fighting, and we need to win the battle on Velmar more than we need to win the battle here. If they take that planet, the Ardaks will get more of our best experimental technology. This world is expendable in comparison.”

  “They’re using us as bait?” she asked in
credulously. “What about the people here?”

  She shrugged. “What about the people everywhere? The Ardaks are invading so many planets that we can’t help them all. We have to choose wisely and conserve where we can.”

  “So, that’s it? We’re all going to die.”

  She swallowed. “It looks like it. I sent an encoded message back, asking for a small shuttle for the medics, but Ruith didn’t want to risk personnel.”

  Fayelle’s hands shook with helpless rage. “I can’t believe Mordjan would stand for this. There must be something we can do!”

  Zaleria put a hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do. If we stop now, the Ardaks will know something is wrong. Our only choice is to keep healing these men, keep pretending that reinforcements are coming, until . . . until . . .”

  Her voice faded away, and she swallowed.

  So there was nothing Fayelle could do—nothing any of them could do. She turned on her heel and strode back into the tent. If they were going to die, she was going to die saving as many people as she could.

  “Let’s keep going,” she said to the surgeon, who was also taking a break.

  He examined her bleak expression and nodded. “Agreed.”

  Minutes passed, hours passed, and nothing changed but the advancement of the Ardaks and different faces on the table.

  She was so focused on her work that when something finally did change, she almost didn’t notice it.

  There was a new roar overhead, and whatever was causing it was creating enough wind to whip the tent flaps around. Even Zaleria looked up from her surgery. “What the hell is that?”

  “I don’t know. Hopefully not more Ardaks,” Fayelle replied, trying to keep her magic steady. The continuous use had taken its toll on her, and her magic had been slowly waning.

  She saw an Ardak ship, and almost looked back down at the surgery, but then five flying things emerged from it.