“I shall see you at my abode this evening, Ruh'ah,” Lysa purred as she pressed her soft chest against Martinez, holding him against the wall.
Martinez smiled and gently caressed her cheek, leaning in and kissing her goodbye for the day. He liked that Lysa was forward like this; it was amazing to be wanted, and none of his previous lovers had ever been open and honest with him. While he would never tell the Marines or anyone at work how this made him feel, the way Lysa gently scooted in and guided him against the wall scratched an itch he never knew he had before.
“I can’t wait. I will get us something to eat on the way home, alright?” Martinez said
“Very well, just make sure it’s not as spicy as you usually have your food. I still cannot bear that heat,” Lysa said.
“I got you,” Martinez nodded. “Lysa, please be careful out in town… with all the people going missing and this new drug…” Martinez started, but Lysa hushed him.
“Ruh’ah, worry not; I shall be aware of my surroundings,” Lysa insisted.
Lysa stepped back, letting them both go their separate ways for the day. Maybe he was paranoid. Lysa could defend herself well, and it wasn’t like he or Teacher would not notice her absence. Still, he was worried; this new drug and the disdain others felt for her species likely made her a prime target for whoever was orchestrating these abductions.
Martinez stopped at the door just before the streets began and watched Lysa as the early morning crowd parted for her. He knew they were afraid of her because she was an Aviex, but he did like that their parting gave him an excellent view of her swaying hips and long legs, barely visible in the morning fog.
Martinez held her in his sight as long as he could, but eventually, the crowd of listless drifting aliens returned and concealed her from sight. He smiled and turned toward the distance, ready to go to the trauma center. The last thing he should do is keep Shiksie waiting. The tall feline woman was stressed out enough and did not need to think he tried to hurt himself again.
Martinez ran his hand through his hair and stretched, spreading out any tender feelings from the multitude of fresh cuts and bites Lysa had given him last night.
—
“Henry, hurry up and finish that report. Another patient is arriving, and I need you to do the initial assessment on your own,” Shiksie said.
Martinez looked at her from the data terminal he was working on like she was crazy. Shiksie never let him do an initial assessment alone. She always coached him because he was still not certified as a cross-species nurse. He had his Human EMT(emergency medical technician) certifications and a menagerie of different Human Naval schools. But he had only been working here at Draun for a few months and was forced to enroll in school by the director only three earlier.
Shiksie was hunched over at her own data terminal, tapping away at her report of their last patient. She was wearing the same scrubs Martinez did but built for her gymnast-like body. Her long legs were crossed, and her meter-long tail was tightly coiled in her lap, gently swaying as she focused on the information.
She reached up, scratched behind her radar-like ears, and scrunched her nose, squinting at the report she was going over. Her emerald cat-like eyes were barely visible in the dome-shaped trauma center's bright overhead lights.
“What do you mean do it myself?” Martinez questioned.
“I mean, you are on your own for this one. We have five more patients outside, and the rest of the rooms are all full. I need to handle these others. So, I am handing you this jail clearance. It should be simple enough that you don't need me, but call me if you do,” Shiksie said in her flat, professional monotone.
Shiksie almost always had that cold professionalism since she confessed her feelings that had lessened around him from time to time, but that was not assured. In a way, she let her hair down when they were alone. But her emotions froze back over when it was busy at work, and the facade went back up.
Today was hectic; the shop was constantly bustling with life. The sound of heart rate monitors and various intravenous pumps chimed all day, but the grating sound had become background noise hours ago.
Because of how busy they were, Martinez had yet to take his lunch break, which was supposed to be hours ago. There was no chance to file all their reports for the first patients of the day.
But Shiksie was correct; a jail clearance was generally straightforward. All he needed to do was assess the patient, take vitals, and sign a paper saying the soon-to-be prisoner would not die if left alone in a cell. The process mainly existed for liability reasons but also ensured that any injuries the Draun police might have inflicted during the arrest were spotted and tended to.
“Alright, I will do my best,” Martinez said, slightly nervous about being left alone to treat anyone.
“You will do well. I trained you, after all,” Shiksie said with a slight smirk. “I’m forwarding you the file for their species; brush up on them, then head over to room fifteen, alright?”
Martinez nodded and twisted in his chair to look at the file.
Well, this was a shock. Martinez’s first solo patient was another Suulintal woman. Hopefully, this one was not like yesterday. Martinez did not know if he could stand seeing another broken mother begging him to tell her where her children were.
Martinez quickly reviewed the Suulintal information on his terminal. Because he had treated one yesterday and reviewed all their species information, this was more of a refresh than Shiksie had likely assumed it would be.
Suulintal were an avian, semi-humanoid species classified as yellow. They were common but not seen every day. Most of their vitals were similar to Humans', though they had a slightly higher metabolism and an average temperature of 40 degrees Celsius.
Beyond that, their appearance was nearly Human, besides their reflective eyes, feathers, large talon-covered feet, and a pair of wings that spanned several meters on average. Nothing too surprising, Martinez was well used to aliens of all shapes and sizes at this point; few truly shocked him by appearance alone anymore.
After a few minutes of confirming any specific cultural needs the Suulintal had, he was ready to go. Luckily, there were none, unlike many patients who showed up where he had to dance around religious or other needs.
The Suulintal were well integrated into the GU, and most of their old cultural tendencies were well forgotten or waylaid to ease interaction. The only exceptions were those on their homeworld of Insyun, where they held deep issues with being seen by non-arboreal species and, god forbid, touched by those not of their kind.
Martinez got up and went toward the patient room. As he went along, Ivorn and Therin rushed into other rooms, checking on the patients who had been waiting a while. Meanwhile, Harnsis fluttered by going to discharge one of the patients whose treatment had been completed.
They all worked exceptionally hard today, and there was no sign of slowing down. Hopefully, a workload like this will remain an anomaly. Having this many people arrive for medical aid was concerning and pushed them all to their limits. If this keeps up, they might need to hire another nurse.
Martinez paused and stifled a gag when he entered the room with his first-ever solo patient.
The woman was at most only fifty kilos, her skin clung tightly to her body, and her skeletal structure easily visible even though her entire body was covered and caked in matted blood, shit, and other excrement. Martinez thinks her feathers are meant to be orange, similar to her vapid expressionless stare, but he could not tell.
Both were concerning; the data Martinez had indicated the Suulintal should be close to a Human in weight; seventy to eighty kilos would be more reasonable for someone living in the safety of Draun.
The more horrifying thing was that one of her wings was halfway gone; loose, filthy bandaging covered the nub sticking from her back as it oozed pus and plasma. She had the tattered remnants of the other wing clutched between her arms while swaying uncomfortably back and forth on the bed.
What the fuck happened to her?
“Took you long enough,” the police officer snarled after glaring at Martinez for the last few moments.
Martinez looked over at the man he was regrettably acquainted with. Officer Surail.
Officer Surail and Martinez have a bit of history, namely that the man was adamant about arresting both Lysa and him after they were attacked several months ago. After that failed arrest, they periodically ran into one another when Surail needed a jail clearance.
Martinez was confident Surail was still salty about the night he and Lysa were released, especially because he was not shy about acting with the same courtesy as a live grenade around the Human.
Surail stood from the chair and to his full height. The man's imposing frame easily reached two and a half meters high. Something about the man always unsettled Maritnez, be it the reddish eyes, the jet-black fur, or the fact that he was always wearing the usual green and black uniforms of the Draun Police. He could not tell what combination of them set him off. But he did know that he did not enjoy that Surail was, in general, an ass.
“What, no one else available other than a vein slicer today?” Surail growled.
“Now is not the time for your petty shit; what happened to her? And what's her name?” Martinez rebuffed, stepping past him and tossing on gloves.
Surail always seemed to have the issue of speaking down to everyone. It especially bothered Martinez that he always referred to Lysa and him as vein slicers. Neither of them ever did anything to the man, but he still insisted they were no better than murderers waiting to happen.
“Found her rolling around in some gutter while on patrol. She never said anything or did anything. Other than being stupid and trying to get away, I had to toss her to the ground a few times,” Surail replied with a sadistic grin.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“Oh, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to avoid you,” Martinez said, rolling his eyes.
Surail did not comment on that beyond a low growl.
Martinez carefully approached the shaking woman, paying close attention to where her long talons were. For all Martinez knew, she was whacking out on drugs and would lash out at him; she might as well have four kitchen knives on her feet.
“Hey, my name is Martinez. I am here to help you out. Is it alright if I see your injuries?” Martinez gently said while sitting and leaning close to her.
“You are wasting your time, vein slicer. Stupid thing won't talk,” Surail grumbled, leaning against the doorframe.
Clearly, she didn’t want to talk to Surail, a feeling he understood. But that was limited to the officer. A few moments after asking the question, the woman's dull, tired-looking orange eyes landed on Martinez, and she gently nodded.
So she was communicating; the dense police officer behind Martinez could not notice something subtle. Why the fuck is a shithead like him a cop? Does he have no empathy?
“Ok, just hold still and let me get a look at you,” Martinez said, slowly moving to her missing wing. That was, without a doubt, what he had to look at first.
Martinez spent the next few minutes unwrapping the disgusting matted bandaging from where Jane Doe’s wing used to be. With each wrap he removed, the scent of rotting flesh grew more robust; it got bad enough that he heard Surail gag and nearly vomit. Even Martinez had to admit this was a horrendous odor, and he already knew what was happening. She had to have an infection, a bad one at that. She wasn’t even making noises as he touched the injury. Jane Doe was likely septic already.
Pulling off the last blood-soaked covering confirmed what he had feared. The woman's wing stump was halfway rotted. All the muscle and skin were red, damp, and covered in throbbing pustules. Not even the worst case of trench foot he had ever seen could prepare him for the swirling discolorations.
However, the worst part was the jagged piece of greenish-white bone that poked out from the center. Jane Doe clearly had befallen some amount of osteomyelitis. Just how much of the infection had entered the bone, he could not tell; she was so filthy that seeing her skin to look for discoloration was impossible. He could not even make out the fur beneath the thick muck.
Something was not right about this. Getting an infection this bad would take weeks of neglect, and plenty of people were afflicted by drugs around the city and would come in between their fixes. No one ever had anything this bad.
That, along with what broke her bone? It looked half smashed; little bits of shattered fragments clung to the surrounding flesh.
Someone did this to her.
It was not like she had been run over or slammed against a hard surface by a larger species. Her wing would still be there, likely mangled and in need of surgery, but still there.
Martinez put a thermometer into her mouth and almost dropped the reader. She was burning up with a temperature of forty-five degrees Celsius. There is no way this could be a jail clearance. Martinez would never sign off that she would be alright; she would die without being rushed to surgery to remove her infected skin and be put into a treatment room for several weeks.
“Go out there and get Shiksie. I need her to be washed, and cannot do that alone,” Martinez told Surail.
“What do I look like, your servant?” the officer complained, lifting his nose at the Human.
“Do you want her to die? I need to check her infections and treat them. If she is filthy, nothing will change them,” Martinez barked.
Martinez could order around the toughest Marines in the GU to do anything he wanted. That was the only real benefit of bearing the coveted moniker of Doc. When Doc told you to do something in his serious medical tone, you did it, no questions asked.
This cop would not give him any guff if the situation called for it. This scenario certainly did.
“Fine,” Surail grumbled before lazily moving out of the door.
Martinez went over and closed the door. He did not want to deal with Surail any further. The officer’s lack of care was not helping and was obviously making the woman uncomfortable. Her eyes kept shifting to the officer every few seconds while removing her bandages. After that, Martinez settled into one of the chairs and scooted next to Jane Doe.
“Hey there, can you talk? I have a few questions,” Martinez asked calmly.
There was no response for several seconds, but eventually, she muttered a few words. It was so quiet that Martinez could not understand them. He had been blown up too many times; it was always like this. People had to speak up around him.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you. Are you able to speak a little louder?” Martinez asked.
“I can,” the woman said just above a whisper while nodding.
“Perfect. Can you tell me what happened?” Martinez asked.
The woman shifted uncomfortably for several seconds. She grumbled and groaned, clearly frustrated. Then, she clung tighter to her only remaining wing, holding it like a kid would a blanket.
“It’s alright. I’m just trying to help you be safe; I can’t do that without some idea of what happened,” Martinez assured.
She snaked her clawed foot out from under her body and grabbed Martinez’s hand with her talons. Not much of a shock there; Martinez knew her species used their feet as a second pair of hands. She gripped it tightly, a pressure he returned, wanting to show her he was with her.
“I can’t remember— I was at home with my family—then everything is a blur like I was in a fog. The first thing I saw clearly after coming to was that cop yelling at me in some warehouse, then dragging me to his car. Where are we?” The woman mumbled between long pauses to take breaths.
Well, that sounds like a story similar to yesterday's woman, so she likely was drugged with visage. But how long ago was that? Visage lasts a day or two; With her infection, she must have been afflicted weeks ago.
“We are at Draun City, on Renoural, in the Rentix system. Specifically the Trauma Center,” Martinez said.
“No, that can’t be right. I was on Minorun,” the woman whined, pulling his hand closer. “How did I get here?”
Minorun—that planet was halfway across the galaxy from here. It was a relay stop for long-distance travel. The only reason Martinez knew about it was because while on the way from Verillon to here, the Jericho stopped there for a day or two.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know. We will figure it out, though,” Martinez reassured, even though he had no idea where to start doing that. Likely, that would have to be done after the massive undertaking of tending her wounds.
Martinez did not want to freak her out any more than she already was, so he decided to end that conversation there, moving on to possibly getting more information about her and seeing what else she could remember would be better.
The woman could only remember her name and a few details about her family, so that was something. Her name was Ruhinley, and her family was a mate, Stuhlin. Together, they had four little ones: Manei, Ruhlet, Sarumit, and Caritlen.
When that was done, Shiksie arrived and asked him what was wrong, clearly worried he had messed up somehow.
“What happened?” Shiksie gasped, seeing the shivering woman clinging to his hand.
After a quick explanation, they got Ruhinley to agree to be cleaned up and washed so they could treat her.
It took Martinez a few harsh words to get Surail to stay out of the room. Surail was so persistent that it took Martinez threatening to tell Sergeant Feinel about Surail going against medical professionals to back off. The look on the man’s face was flawless, a solid mixture of fear and frustration.
Serves the fucker right. Surail treats everyone like dirt. But Feinel was quickly able to put the officer right and get him to back off, even if it took some threatening. Although, the fact that Surail was alone was odd. He and Feinel usually worked together.
Cleaning Ruhinley took Shiksie and Martinez almost a half hour; it was horrible. Every bit of dirt and grime they cleared revealed more open wounds, bruises, and fractured bones. As they went along, Martinez felt sick and sinking.
This was not the result of some random violence; these injuries were calculated and planned. Every injury was terrible, but it would not kill Ruhinley outright. It was like she had been tortured. She reminded him too much of the Marines they found kidnapped by Farq’s on Verrilon.
Every detail of what he saw was horribly familiar to what he had seen on Varilon of captured Marines. She was dehydrated, infected, and covered in more injuries than he could calculate. They even found a tourniquet buried under the dried bloody feathers around the stump that was her wing.
Someone tried to keep her alive. But why? The Marines on Varilon Martinez could understand. That was torture to extract information or stress the Human military's medical systems. This just seemed pointlessly violent.
Each time they revealed a new oozing wound, Shiksie shuddered and looked horrified. Her ears were tucked, and she kept looking between Martinez and Ruhinley, seeking some kind of stability here.
Ruhinley was no help. She was still delirious and barely able to talk. Martinez was focused and spoke to his patient constantly. Even if the topics were random, keeping her going was vital to her shaky situation.
Shiksie was always sensitive regarding kids and women in the shop. This was such a horrible situation that even Martinez was uncomfortable. He had to be their rock for the moment.
By the time Ruhinley was dressing in some extra scrubs and had the highest-strength antibiotics they could give her flowing inside her, she had nearly passed out from sheer exhaustion.
Ruhinley looked better, but not much. She lay down on her side, where she had the fewest injuries. The freshly bandaged stump jutted off her back, and the rest of her was somewhat relaxed now that it was an option.
“Thank you for getting me away from him,” Ruhinley sniffled.
“What do you mean ‘him,’ Surail? Or someone else?” Shiksie questioned while taking the woman's vitals.
“The officer, I don’t like him. He unsettles me, and I don’t know why,” Ruhinley said, looking pleadingly at Shiksie.
“Well, he brought you in for a jail clearance, but that's not happening,” Martinez commented. We have you scheduled for surgery to treat your wing and follow up. Do you know what he brought you in for anyway?”
She shook her head and grumbled.
“Ok, hold on,” Martinez said, stepping outside to speak to Surail. “Shiksie, keep her talking and watch her vitals.”
This whole situation reeked; there was no way this sweet woman did something to get arrested. Even then, Surail said he had just found her. Martinez may not be a cop, but if what his buddy Feinel’s word was anything to go by, the DPD(Draun Police Department) was short-staffed and had no real-time just to wander around.
How did he find time? And where the hell was Feinel?
Martinez found Surail just outside the room, lazing about and messaging someone on his datapad. Upon seeing Martinez, he tucked the datapad into his armor and looked over at him. “So, is that thing ready to go to jail?”
“Is that really your only concern? Did you not see the state she was in? Martinez said, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, it is. So can we go?” Surail questioned as casually as one would order a drink.
“Fuck no, I need to know what happened, and we have to get her to surgery,” Martinez replied.
“Well shit, I guess that's it then. Call me whenever she can leave,” Surail said, turning to leave.
“Where are you going? I still need answers,” Martinez said, grabbing Surail's shoulder.
Surail whipped around and tossed Martinez’s hand off him. “Don't touch me, you filthy vein slicer.”
“What the fuck is your deal bud? I’m trying to help the person you arrested. I want to know why?” Martinez growled.
“That’s police business, not yours.” Surail rebuffed.
“It is mine; she is my patient,” Martinez replied, pointing a thumb at his chest.
“Go figure it out then; she's just some stupid junkie,” Surail growled, stepping closer to Martinez.
“Martinez, get back in here! She is going into shock,” Shiksie yelled.
“See, go save your precious patient,” Surail snorted. “Now move along, you filthy animal.”
Martinez wanted to throttle him; he clutched his fists tightly, knuckles going white. Surail was always a lazy fuck, but this was something different. He was always more than happy to arrest anyone he could get his paws on.
This was not right.
“Fuck you, Surail. You are lucky I have to help her. If not, I would deal with you,” Martinez said as he turned around.
“I would watch it, vein slicer. I could arrest you for insinuating threats,” Surail boasted.
Martinez paused as he grabbed hold of the door. He took a deep breath to let his fury settle a bit. Surail was not worth getting arrested over. He could always message Feinel or file a complaint with the DPD later.
Surail’s actions were flat-out criminal, but he was the cop and could get away with it—for now.
“Oh, is that so? I'm sorry for making you think I was threatening you,” Martinez hissed through gritted teeth, each word venomous in his mouth.
“Good, make sure you remember it,” Surail smugly said before walking off.
Martinez sighed and opened the door. He had to help the patient he had now, and dealing with issues of DPD would have to wait.