When Eivaley was finally near their destination, she could hardly believe what she saw. Conor had told her they were going to his car, so she had a picture in her mind of what that may entail.
Four wheels, an electric engine, and some exciting accouterments would have made the vehicle truly his. Oh my, how wrong she was.
Floating several centimeters off the duracrete was a massive, matte gray repulser-based vehicle. It was some kind of military transport; even Eivaley could tell that much; she had spent enough time with the military of her planet and the GU to recognize that much.
Anyone who has watched any holo-flicks over the last hundred standard years would be able to recognize the vehicle as military in origin. It had thick reinforced windows, metal blast shields, and the remnants of what looked like a turret position on top.
Eivaley could make out a crude paint job over what likely was an emblem of the previous owner on the door. While she could not quite make out what it said through the dried red paint, she could have sworn it showed HPD(Heavalun Police Department)
“Get in,” Conor said, opening the side door and gesturing for her to clamber up.
Eivaley started to climb into the spartan vehicle; as her foot touched the bottom railing, she felt Conor push a hand against her rump. It was apparent he meant nothing sexual by it because he simply aided her up the near meter to the seat.
“Thank you,” Eivaley said as Conor tossed the bag of gear into the well beneath her feat.
“Don’t worry about it,” Conor replied, shutting the door and leaving her inside to look around.
The inside was just as rudimentary as the outside; there were five seats, two up front and three in the back, with a little standing platform and sling for someone to pop out of the roof hatch with.
The only thing that was not like this was the dashboard: thousands of indicators, screens, nobs, lights, and switches coated the dashboard and front ceiling. All of them had text indicating what they were for—but how was she supposed to know what APS(automatic defense system) or ADC(automated driving controls) were?
As Eivaley finished pondering the interior, Conor hopped into the driver's seat. Before activating the UAPC(up-armored personnel carrier), which he had strategically transferred the equipment to an alternate location several months ago, he dug into the bag and pulled out some items.
“Alright, take this,” Conor said, holding out a vile of stimulants to Eivaley. The green ichor was almost glowing in the dark chassis.
“What do I need this for?” Eivaley asked.
“It’s a combat stim called Zurega. Just keep that on you, and when I start to pass out, jam it into my thigh,” Conor explained while holding another dose and flipping the cap off.
Conor then slammed the autoinjector into the side of his thigh. A dull hiss sounded as pneumatics forced the green medicine deep into his muscles.
With no warning, Conor clutched at his chest and screamed in agony, causing Eivaley to jump in fright.
This was one feeling that, no matter how many times Conor played with fire and decided to use Zurega, he never got used to. The absolutely overwhelming, painful, yet euphoric rush of every fiber of his body being forced into overdrive was beyond description.
Unless you had used hard drugs for years chasing a high or had spent your whole life pursuing the rush of feeling a bullet skim your clothes and a knife skimming your flesh, you just could not understand how alive one felt while being moments away from dying.
He buckled against the steering wheel, unable to control himself for the moment as all of his muscles released uncountable micro spasms.
Eivalay reached over to him and shuddered when Conor started to hyperventilate. His punctured lungs wheezed like a leaking balloon. At the same time, she could feel his heart slamming like a hammer in his chest, reverberating in the air. It spiked so quickly she could not discern one beat from the next. It almost felt like the Humans chest was vibrating.
The tidal wave of adrenaline crashed through Conor's nervous system, causing him to sweat buckets nearly instantly.
“Oh fuck the hell yes,” Conor roared while sitting up. “That stuff makes you ready to meet Urla.”
Eivaley shivered as Conor yelled. He was so loud it reverberated down to her bones. The sheer command of his words made him seem like a beast of death unleashed upon the mortal coil.
That unwavering dominance and presence made her want him more. If he was at her side back home, Eivaley’s sisters would finally ignore her and allow her the calm life she desired.
They could fight over their mother's favor; Eivaley just wanted to live life and help people.
Zurega was for all intents and purposes, not for human consumption. The highly potent combat stim was originally designed for the COS’ premier shock troop species, the Grek.
Simply put, the Grek were a hearty, nearly indestructible species. They were semi-aquatic, with enough steel-like muscle mass to toss Conor’s three-hundred-kilo frame like a softball.
However, due to their docile yet fiercely loyal nature, Zurega was created.
Any of the Grek with this stim pumped through them was the most unstoppable creature this side of the GU border. Unless they get vaped or ripped limb from limb, there is no way to slay them.
The effects are similar to Humans. The main difference is the speed at which the narcotic is consumed. Due to Humans' comparatively lightning-fast metabolism, Zurega lasts at most thirty minutes and always precedes a life-threatening crash.
But that was why Conor had given Eivaley the extra dose. Urla knew he would not be able to administer it once he crashed.
Hell, the last time Conor used this stuff, he went blind in an eye; that's why he had a cybernetic implant replacing his left eye today.
“Are you ok,” Eivaley snapped, grabbing his head and making him look at her.
What the fuck is he thinking? This looks like torture, and now he wants her to inject him with more drugs when he passes out.
“So long as you remember what you have to do,” Conor replied, not telling her that taking so much Zurega would ensure he would die once the effects wore out.
Eivaley grimaced, watching Conor's nose bleed; his eye turned bloodshot between blinks, and his skin flushed red like a fresh bruise.
Why was he lying to her? She knew this could not be healthy for him. She did not doubt his capabilities before he did not need to drug up and hurt himself.
With him bleeding more, she had to wonder how he was going to walk away from bleeding from every hole and the wounds to his chest.
“Please be alright,” She whined.
“We will,” Conor lied, turning back to the steering wheel and beginning the up-armors start sequence. “Make sure you buckle up.”
Conor meticulously actuated a series of buttons and switches in what felt like slow motion to him, but in reality, it was lightning fast due to the drugs effects.
Once the sequence was ready, Conor threw the lever in the dashboard's center, and the APU(auxiliary power unit) whirred. The sound swelled as the small turbine engine announced its life to the world.
Once the hydraulics and subsystems had power, Conor grabbed the main engine levers and throttled forward to the start position. The dual turbine engines below their feet vibrated violently for a moment as they lurched from hydraulics, forcing tonnes of metal to flick.
The engines popped and sputtered, drowning out the constant ticking of the sparkers. But gradually, their RPM grew, and more subsystems began to receive the necessary power.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Eivaley commented.
“Don’t worry, babe, it’s all going fine,” Conor replied, never looking away from the dozen gauges he had to monitor.
Eivaley did not comment on Conor Calling her babe, beyond her tail happily wagging to her side.
The tachometer gradually swung up as the twin turbines fought to be self-sustaining: 15 percent, then 25, then the indicator touched 45 at long last, and the low growling engines roared into the night. They spewed fire from their exhaust and steadied at 110 percent.
“Fuck yeah, listen to that baby sing,” Conor exclaimed, flicking on the exterior lights and bathing the entire area in bright white.
As soon as all the lights were on, Conor powered the rest of the systems he needed: the ADS(active defense), auto drive, and stabilization assistance. Once he had double-checked Eivaley's buckle and reiterated what he needed from her, Conor floored it.
The UAPC lurched forward, pinning Eivaley to the seat for a moment. Unlike when Conor was in a civilian vehicle, or any vehicle with tires for that matter, Conor did not have to care about the metallic carcasses strewn about the underground lot.
The repulsor sensors at the vehicle's front detect the upcoming obstacle, empower the thrust in their direction, and gradually tilt the front to crawl over. it
As the heavy vehicle traversed each obstacle, the repulsors forced thousands of kilos of pressure down, crushing everything beneath it with sprays of glass, crushing metal, and bleeding oil.
Eivaley stared out the window and watched as dozens of aliens, mutants, and animals scurried away from the light emitted from the lightbars atop the UP armor. Most crawled into the murky black, but a few stopped just short of the border, hissing at them from behind cover.
Something was wrong with them. Eivaley could recognize that many of them were sapients of some kind: Aviex, Builmeric, and even a few Jurintic. It was as if they could not fathom the piece of technology lumbering through a territory they had claimed.
“Just ignore them,” Conor instructed, seemingly able to read her curious mind. “They are feral.”
“But they are sentients, right?” Eivielay questioned while watching a pair of Aivex with a few too many arms pulsing bulbous growths, claws at a corpse, and snarling at one another.
“Hardly; most can’t speak standard or even recognize language. They might as well be animals,” Conor said, turning the wheel to traverse out of the main section of the megastructure and into what looked like a decaying train tunnel.
“ Why doesn’t anyone help them?” Eivaley replied, thinking back to all the assistance programs on her planet and in the GU.
“It would be a waste of time, money, effort and lives. With how many there are, it would be impossible. Those two Bulmeric would likely be like the rest of them in a few years,” Conor admitted.
“That hardly seems like a valid reason,” Eivaley sighed, trying not to think of Orevii or Trigul. They deserved to be happy. Befalling this fate would be horrible for them.
“It ain’t, but—you can’t save everyone, especially here,” Connor growled, just loud enough for her to hear, dredging up long-forgotten memories of his youth.
He and Brakul would have fallen into the same fate if they had not become mercenaries. Seeing these things made Conor’s blood boil. Why would they get a handout when all he and Brakul got were swift kicks in the chest or a gun to the face?
Fuck these ferals, they can figure it out themselves. Just like he had to.
Eivaley clicked her tongue and pondered the idea, watching as more of the wretch crawled into grates and cowered in access tunnels.
Eivaley wanted Conor to be wrong with all of her heart. She believed that everyone could be saved if one simply tried hard enough, put enough effort into assisting them, and assured them they were not alone.
But seeing these sentients act like beasts made a small part of her soul crack, and believe him slightly. As much as the idea went against everything she had ever known.
—-
The rest of the drive out of the underground was filled with palpable silence. Only the dull roar of the engines, Conor's thumping heart, and his labored breathing kept them company.
As Conor turned the UAPC out of the tunnel's exit and onto a main street, his demeanor grew sharper.
In an instant, he began to scan every alien, alleyway, skyscraper, and car for any potential threats for anyone monitoring or preparing an ambush against them.
While the up-armored did not offer the pair any semblance of stealth or subtlety, it was their best chance of making it to the upper district in one piece.
So long as no one busted out rockets, landmines, a tank, or Urala forbid a mech, nothing could molest them. Nothing could stop a good mech with a railgun or rocket pod in an urban center. They were the epitome of maneuverable and flexible firepower, short of an army of cyborgs like Conor–but no one had that lying around.
Their pleasant and calm drive lasted a few blocks before Conor's fear of Voodal having put out a BOLO(Be on The Lookout For) on them was given credence.
A slug from an old-world rifle slammed into the window next to Eivaleys head. The flex-glass bulged inward and spiderwebed, spraying glass spall over her. Luckily, none harmed her.
Eivalay jumped out of her skin and ducked down without Conor telling her to hit the deck. The moment she was low, pure bedlam befell all of Heavalun around their vehicle.
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Blasters and slug throwers erupted from all sides and angles of the road. Be it the rear, front, left, right, or even below. Rounds slammed into the heavy armor, sounding like a wildly beaten drum.
It was as if every soul in Heavalun was gunning for them in this one instant, and knowing Voodal, that was likely half true.
Eivaley cowered low beneath the windows, screaming like death had come for her, fearing each shot and slam of rounds against the walls. It was her first time in a warzone, so that was to be expected.
Conor floored it, following all forms of training that he had learned. You have to push through and out of the kill box when you are ambushed. Staying where the enemy planned to fight was only asking to be dusted.
Get out by all means you have available to you.
It's too bad whoever was in charge of these dureks had planned for Conor to do just that.
As soon as he pressed the pedal down, two trucks with mounted blaster cannons drove into the street and opened fire along with several dismounted Voodal gangers.
Sket, if only Conor had stolen a tank, this would not be an issue. But those blaster cannons will make short work of the UAPC's moderately light armor.
“Hang on,” Conor yelled, pushing the pedal toward the floor and accelerating.
Rounds bounced off the vehicle's armor, sounding like an army of fists being driven against a metal trashcan. But that would not stop Conor. He aimed the UAPC straight at the two trucks and braced for impact.
With no warning to Eivaley, the UAPC impacted the trucks, causing the whole vehicle to lurch.
Conor sneered as several of Voodals men were turned to paste between the UAPC and trucks, splattering blood like a popped water balloon. It serves those bastards right; they are stupid mooks for Voodal, after all.
They would be freelance if they wanted to live free and have a life with any value. By Urla, the only creatures Conor valued less were obnoxious bureaucrats obsessed with regulations and rules.
Even Zlit rats held more respect than those two-faced fucks.
After barreling through the barricade, Conor looked in the rearview to see if they were being pursued. What he saw made his heart sink. One of the Voodal had stepped out of a stulk shop and into the center of the road.
The Voodal croaker raised a massive recoiled rifle to his shoulder and readied to demo their UAPC.
“RPG!” Conor shouted, shoving Eivaley below the heavier metal armor of the doors while cranking the wheel to turn down a side street.
Conor cranked the Vic so hard that the bolts holding the repulsers screamed in agony as the UAPC listed onto one side and slid. Just as the vehicle fishtailed, Conor felt the dull thunk, thunk, thunk of crushing small meaty objects, likely a few random pedestrians, but he would never know.
The RPG's hellish hiss roared as they almost made it behind cover. However, due to Conor's abysmal luck, they were just far enough around the corner for the ADS not to activate, but the RPG still hit them.
A deafening explosion rocked the UAPC and moved it half a meter to the side. Hot shrapnel skidded through the cabin, shattering glass, crushing armor, and rending upholstery to ribbons.
Most of the scalding slag harmlessly destroyed the inside of the vehicle, but not all. A Sharp jolt of pain in Conor's lower back caused him to gasp momentarily. His lower back throbbed with each heartbeat once back upright and flooring it through the crowded sidestreet.
Conor was well aware that he had been hit, but all he could do was knuckle down and keep moving. The screaming woman at his side needed him to complete this mission despite the warm ichor flowing into his belt line.
“It will be alright, babe,” Conor yelled, his and Eivaleys ears ringing like bells after that near explosion. “I will get you home.”
Conor looked over at her when she clung to his leg, and her claws dug in, causing him further pain. The pain was a good thing; at least that meant he was still alive, and that frag in his back had not paralyzed his limb. Urla knew he would already punch his time clock if his legs were done for.
The problem was that just shifting his head to quickly look at her made him light-headed, and when he looked back toward the road, he was nearly blind. All the human could see in front of him was a blurry blob of colors, roughly shaped like a road filled with screaming and fleeing civilians.
Whatever was going on in her head, he had no idea. But it could not be anything good. No one was truly born to be in combat; even Conor understood that your environment made you into a killer. Eivaley was not built for events or a life like this.
Another rocket screamed by them and impacted a shop, showering the exterior of the UAPC and the street with scalding slag. The Voodal, while not incredibly accurate with those rockets, only had to get lucky once, and they would be done.
Thinking as quickly as his mind could while actively shutting down, Conor scrambled to come up with some way to get off the roads and be able to open up the throttle so they could escape.
If Conor had not been caught up in this mess, he would have wondered who had paid Voodal so much to have the old croaker pull out all the stops. It had to be a small fortune if he was willing to dust all these civilians and let Conor kill so many of his men.
But thoughts like that would come later, once he had had his life direction changed holistically by today's haunting events.
Knowing roughly where they were in the city, Conor skewed right and turned toward the Heavalun River. It was their only hope to get to the upper district without being torn to shreds by waiting ambushers.
Though calling it a river was a stretch. In reality, it is a massive kilometer-wide duracrete channel running from one side of the city to the other. The bottom few meters of the mega structure was filled with flowing water, shit, and Urla knows how many bodies. But the upper banks should allow them a near-straight shot to her father.
Getting there was their only hope now that Conor knew the situation on the street.
That was far easier said than done. No matter what street they went down, there was another ambush, police barricade, or some rando who decided to shoot at them, hoping to earn some brownie points with Voodal.
Sure, Voodal was revered throughout midtown and had a large influence on the police, but this was still unreal. It was as if the might of Urlas' arch angels were being directed solely to blowing Eivaley to smithereens.
By the time Conor skidded onto River Street, the up-armored looked like it had just been sent through Holois Run on the south side of town. Armor plating was falling off, the engines were leaving a massive black smoke trail, and Conor could hear a few alarms and warnings blaring: low oil, high exhaust temp, over torque, FOD in the engines, and even a busted tail light.
He would shut them off, but he could not see them with his eyesight fading to near pinpricks, and his focus had to be elsewhere.
The turnpike into the river should only be a kilometer ahead of them or so. But that was just a guess.
It's too bad Conor never had the chance to see if he could actually navigate the city while blind; life and the Voodal mooks had other plans.
The flaring light of a rocket engine and the hellish wail shot overhead were redirected away from the UAPC by the ADS systems flares and magnesium chaff.
The concealing field had sent the rocket spiraling and slamming into the sixth floor of a riverside highrise. Debris, bodies, and frag showered down. While Conor could not see it, Eivaley did.
“Turn right!” She yelled, tugging on his arm and forcing the matter.
Jerking the wheel, as she said, sent them careening over the duracrete barrier separating the river from the road. Most of the rubble harmlessly fell to the road where they were headed. Some of it hit the roof and rocked the vehicle hard, ripping away half of the rear cab.
The UAPC was a superb vehicle, but just like an old tred-based Vic’ it did not do well with free fall. And that five meters from the barriers top to the riverside slope might as well have been a fall from orbit with how battered they were.
Both Conor and Eivaley slammed their heads into the dashboard on impact, rattling both of their brains.
For Eivaley, it only caused a minor laceration over her brow due to Conor strapping her in earlier.
Conor was far worse. Between the blood loss, cranked heart rate, jacked blood pressure, fading combat stims, and that he was unbuckled so he could get out and shoot someone if needed, Conor was knocked out cold.
If not for his reinforced skeletal structure, that impact on the steering column would have caved his skull in. Instead, the skin from his brow to his hairline was peeled back, exposing open nanofiber bone.
“Are you alright?” Eivaley asked, rubbing her bleeding head and looking around the cab, noting the massive hole in the rear of the vehicle. “Conor?”
Eivaley sucked in a choking breath when she saw her champion. Conor was limp against the steering dented wheel, blood pouring from every orifice as the duracrete side of the river bank moved by out the window.
“No, no, no, no, don’t pass out,” Eivaley yelled while starting to fumble with the medication.
This was the only job Conor had given her, and as such, each time she failed to flip off the cap, it felt like a knife stabbing her.
She glanced out the window and saw they were almost in the river. At the same time, Voodal's men took position on the upper bank and started peppering the area with bullets and blasters.
The rounds whizzed, hissed, and pinged off the vehicle and duracrete. After what felt like an endless torture session with Malura, Evialey shakily popped the cap off.
“Please don't leave me here,” Eivaley yelped, punching the injector deep into the top of Conor's thigh.
She knew that was not how the Human had shown her to use it, but while she was in a panic and he was immobile, it was all she could manage.
For five agonizingly long heartbeats, she watched as Conor did not move. Until, like a man being ripped away from Malura, the Human shot up, gasped for air, grabbed the wheel, and floored it, his mind reverting to the last action he had intended to do.
The edge of Eivaleys door grazed the acrid water as Conor retook control of the vehicle and floored it.
Now that they were in the aqueduct, it was a straight shot to the upper district. They just had to pass through the Oletra cistern, but not even the lowliest species would live in that horrible infection waiting to happen.
As the speedometer rose and Eivaley was glued to the back of her seat, the gunfire gradually faded away. Even the cops stopped attempting to chase as Conor rapidly increased the gap between them.
By the time they were screaming along at well over 100 kph, all the weapons had stopped. Eivaley could not even see their pursuers anymore.
The only downside to going this fast was the UAPC shook violently, threatening to fall apart any moment.
“Conor, they stopped. You can slow down,” Eivaley assured.
But he said nothing. He just kept the pedal floored and drove them into the tunnel's darkness. They left behind the hustle and bustle of midtown and any threat of pursuit. Voodal might be powerful in mid- and downtown, but in the upper districts, he was just another peon.
The few lights that remained atop the UAPC illuminated the damp tunnels, which stretched on for kilometers in darkness. They could see the walls, thick sludge water, and the corpses left here by the upper district residence.
“We made it,” Eivaley cheered, “I can’t believe it.”
She sat and watched the duracrete tunnel fly by, expecting Conor to tell her, matter-of-factly, that it was not over and that she was wrong. For a man like him, that seemed fitting.
Instead of that, a suffocating silence met her.
Looking over at him, she could see his bloody lips moving and that he looked near robotic with how he drove. He was not wasting a single motion; even his eyes cleanly jerked from one piece of detritus to another before moving around it.
“Conor?” Eivaley touched his arm, causing no reaction.
Frustrated, thinking he might just be overwhelmed like she was, Eivaley shook him and yelled—still nothing.
Then she waved a hand in front of him and screamed in his face, much to the same effect. But at least getting this close to her Champion let her hear him. A knot formed in her throat when she realized something was drastically wrong.
“Get you home, get you home, get you home, get you home—-” Conor repeated ad nauseum.
“Hey, can you hear me?” she asked, desperate to know if he was still in there and had not gone mad.
But the same phrase was all he said.
Eivaley sank back into her chair and hugged her tail, nervously fidgeting like she had done since she was a hatchling.
Her conscious screamed at her like a monster, blaming her for this. Eivaley was not so stupid that she could not put two and two together. Until she had injected him, Conor was fine, speaking, yelling, and acting like her champion, doing everything to keep her safe.
Now he seemed distant, vapid—no, that's not right, unresponsive and brain dead.
With an overwhelming sense of guilt, Eivaley stared at him, taking in the horrible details of what she had done. Blood leaked from every orifice, but in the nightmarish trance Conor was in, he did not acknowledge it—not even the stream pouring out of his eyes.
Eivaley stewed in fear for Conor's well-being all the way through the tunnel and into the upper district. If she could, She would trade places with him in a heartbeat; he deserved to live after what he had been through.
What was she? A spoiled princess fed from a silver platter. He fought for a stranger and let her essentially kill him, all for what? Credits? She would have just given him them if she could have.
The opulence and regality of the area did not make her glance away from the Human. Conor was all that mattered—not the towering palace-like mansions, gardens that challenged one another in their grandeur, or streets made of pristine black marble.
Eivaley quietly spoke to Conor, having heard from her father, the high champion, and her late assigned champion that if someone was injured, talking to them would ensure they were ok and unharmed.
But that did not make her feel better; he just kept saying he would take her home, each repetition a knife in her throat.
As if on autopilot, Conor pulled up in front of Nefuril’s estate, the same one Eivaley and her father, Vuraley, were guests at.
By the gods, Conor was perfect; he and Brakul really did find her father's location.
Nefuril’s estate was massive and covered most of the plateau where the upper district was built.
A high wall of bleach-white stone marked its boundary; evenly spaced upon its build were bastions of armed sentinels, ensuring the safety of Nefuril and his guests. The wall Barely allowed one to see the towering spires of gold and bronze that grew out of the manor, that and the kilometer-long driveway and thousands of well-pruned and cared-for orchard trees, whose purple flowers swayed gently in the breeze.
From where Conor had parked, the front gate was visible, and it was just as grand as everything else. It was shaped of gold and made to look like intertwining branches with small creatures Nefuril kept as pets along its bottom.
Four men stood sentinel before the gate: two Jurintik armed similarly to Conor and two of the Kurlatra royal guard.
The guard was easy enough to distinguish as her father's guard based on their flowing red and gold tabards and the long M84 pattern rifles in their grip. The long arms were popular for the royal guard because they were traditional looking, long and simple, but also capable tools, allowing them to both drill and fight with one armament.
The four guards stopped their conversation and watched Conor leave the UAPC and limp towards Eivaley's side. They were paying keen attention to the blood-soaked man.
When Conor got out of the seat, Eivaley could see the 20-centimeter-long piece of scrap sticking out of his back, along with the blood soaking the floor and his seat. With her being able to see that much of the scrap, how much was still inside Conor?
She called out to him, but he did not react and kept trundling around to her door.
Using every bit of strength his augmented body could muster, Conor ripped the door off the UAPC, and tossed it away. It impacted the white wall of the manor with a heavy clang.
“Conor, please sit down,” Eivaley nearly begged. “I will get you help.”
As if he did not even hear her cries, the Human held out a hand for her. “Home.”
Eivaley frantically waved at the guards to get their attention before placing her hand in Conor's. To her surprise, despite his strength to rip the door off the UAPC, he held her hand as gently as one would a baby bird while helping her out of the car. .
That gave her a glimmer of hope; despite his state, Conor was still being careful with her and sensitive. At least, she hoped it was that.
“Yeah, let’s go home,” Eivaley said once on the ground.
As they limped forward, she still held his hand and leaned against him, uncaring of the blood oozing out of him.
Conor, in absolute single-minded focus, limped toward the gate. Holding his charge close. None of this was a conscious action. It was all the effect of him having taken lethal doses of combat stimulants.
The drug Conor used made you hyper-focus beyond belief. Right now, with next to no blood left and near blind, Conor's body was acting without his active thought. It was just his ingrained desire to get Eivaley to safety.
“Princess, by the grace of Huratal, I am glad you are alright. The high champion has been worried sick about you,” the younger royal guard said, rushing closer.
Eivaley knew him well; he was named Rullen. They regularly watched movies together when she snuck out with the ship's crew or visited their recreation areas.
“Who is the big guy?” Rullen asked, stopping in front of them.
As if on hearing that someone knew Eivaley and did not mean her harm was a trigger. Conor held her hand up towards Rullen and collapsed onto the duracrete. He made no attempt to arrest his fall or save himself from harm. The two aliens just saw Conor fall to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut.
“Conor!” Eivaley shouted, couching and turning his head toward her.
Rullen also crouched, but unlike Eivaley, he knew first aid and put a finger to the human's neck, looking for his pulse. What he felt was confusing. It was so weak he could hardly feel it, or it was so rapid it felt light. Neither was a good thing.
“Gotali,” Rullen shouted at the other guard. “Go get the high champion and Dreva.”
The other royal guard member ran inside without a moment of hesitation.
“Princess, I need you to step back while I render him first aid,” Rullen said, knowing how unpleasant first aid can be, wanting to spare the princess from seeing someone he could tell was important to her possibly die.
“No!” Eivaley hissed, “I’m not leaving”
At the same time, she clutched Conor's hand in claim but ezed back to give Rullen some space to work.
“Alright—” Rullen sighed, knowing the high champion would not be happy about this. But if Eivaley, the most popular princess in their empire, wanted to stay, he would not stop her.
Eivaley sniffled and kept talking to the passed-out and dying Human as Rullen began chest compressions.