Editing Story:Another Continuation of LCB (section)

=== Chapter Twelve ===


It was half an hour since Taesan left. The exitus rifle had been cared for, and primary Taldeer was almost healed. Only her arm and leg remained untreated. Livii glanced at the farseer before returning to his pistol’s maintenance. Much of the light had returned to her eyes, and she seemed to enjoy the company of the medic. Mellorena, for her part, seemed quite proficient in her art - the scars that ran across Taldeer’s body were barely visible. There was something about the farseer’s body which made it hard to look away. As the Eldar woman performed motor tests, her lean, toned musculature was easily visible. With every flex, long and slender muscles rippled beneath her skin like curving, flowing waves, each one leading fluidly into the next. On a rational level, Liivi understood that this woman was xenos - that it should not be surprising that there were notable physiological differences between her body and the holy human form. Yet somehow he felt surprised by the fact that the body of this warrior, one of her race’s finest, more closely resembled what he would expect to see in a dancer, gymnast, or athlete. An irrational expectation. But it surprised - no, stunned - it stunned him all the same. This was the source of a sensation that was equal parts unfamiliar and confusing, and so Liivi did his best to ignore it.

Taldeer was his primary, and his primary must be protected. Protecting primary Taldeer required that this pistol function well.

The sound of footsteps. Large ones. Liivi looked up. It was the other Fire Dragon. He sat on the ground in front of the vindicare. Even from this position, he cut an imposing figure. He was as tall as Taesan, if not taller - but with significantly more muscle. Entering hand to hand combat with him would be undesirable.

“My name is Ysukin,” the giant said, his voice a low yet resonating rumble. “I do not yet trust you, mon-keigh. But you saved our Farseer. For that I am thankful. But expect no mercy for treachery.”

The eldar put his hand forward.

Liivi looked hesitantly up at the giant before turning back to his pistol. He shook the eldar’s hand while removing the coolant sheath. “Noted. I am Liivi.”

Something twitched in his face. Consternation? “I apologize if my gothic is rusty.” An unwarranted apology. His gothic was impeccable. He even mimicked a Terran accent.

The Vindicare began to disassemble the magazine. “You speak well. Like the others. Many of you know gothic. More than I thought.”

Ysukin frowned and nodded. “It is more common than you might think. Officer candidates typically learn it to enhance their chance of being selected. There is also a not insubstantial portion of the youth that leaves to explore the galaxy. It would be impossible to get around without knowing at least a bit of Gothic.”

“Gothic is widely spoken outside the Imperium?” He set the pins to one side, arranging them as they were inserted.

The giant shrugged. “Spoken enough. I know not what your superiors tell you, but there are many human occupied worlds outside of Imperial space. Most are near the border of the Imperium, but not all. Each has its own language, but Gothic is the language of trade. Most worlds beyond that area are not worth visiting.”

“There is nothing there?” Fingers ran over the magazine spring, cleaning the caked silt that had wormed its way in.

“Yes. Or they are backwards savages from some failed and forgotten colonization. Or they are hostile, undiscovered xenos.”

“You went there?” With all the tenderness of a mother, the Vindicare began fitting the magazine back together.

The brow of the xenos furrowed. “I believe I have answered enough questions. As far as I am concerned, you saved our Farseer and treated her well. So I shall be courteous. But I have a few inquiries of my own. I would like to begin with the most pressing one - why?”

He stopped. Looked up, away from his pistol. Looked into the stern eyes of the xenos. “Why,” Liivi asked? It vexed him. Insufficient data.

“Yes. You did more than just spare a VIP. You defected. For your own reasons. To protect the VIP. Why?”

This was not terribly unusual. It was common for those who assigned missions to inquire about the Vindicare’s methodology or decisions. Why are you there? Who are you shooting at? For what reason? What’s the logic? In short: explain yourself. This was typically easy. The correct course of action, the right thing to do, could be quickly explained by quoting the Vindicare dictum.

“It… was the right course of action…”

“Because?” Ysukin allowed the question to hang in the air.

Liivi re-lived the situation. “...Permission to fire had been granted. The shot was lined up. Primary began movement. Removed her helmet. I was unable to execute. As though it violated the Dictum, but… which part?”

“That is a report,” the eldar stated bluntly, “not ‘why.’”

There was just the slightest hint of firmness in the vindicare’s voice. “It is my answer.” Liivi returned to his work.

The big eldar stared sternly at Liivi before sighing and massaging his temple. “Very well. We owe you a debt. But make no mistake. I’ll keep my eye on you, Liivi.”

As the big eldar stood up to leave, both of the striking scorpions walked over and sat in front of the Vindicare. They had been talking in what seemed to be a heated discussion, with others occasionally chiming in.

“Liivi.” The male pointed at Liivi.

“Barroth.” He pointed to himself. “Elnys.” He pointed to the female.

Barroth put his gun between Liivi and himself, then pointed to the exitus pistol.

Liivi stared in response.

Tanlon piped up from the corner he was meditating, next to the still silent guardian. “They want to look at your pistol for a bit. He’s offering a trade.”

Slowly, cautiously, he pushed the exitus pistol towards them.

----

“Almost done,” Mellorena wiped the sweat off her forehead. Only Taldeer’s right arm was left. “Then I can get to work on the human!”

“I like your enthusiasm, but don’t overwork yourself.” Taldeer was beaming. She felt better than ever, and the healer’s energy was infectious.

“Don’t worry about me,” the medic replied, reaching into her kit. “I have more than enough energy for this. A <month> ago I processed half an infirmary. Twenty patients. That was a bad night.”

“How did you manage to do that?” 

“I don’t really know, being honest. I just had to do it. And I did it. The other medics were incapacitated. Desperation can be a real motivator, eh?” She smiled wryly. “I think I slept for a day after that one.”

After pulling out another pouch of medical psychoplastic salve, she peeled away the bandage and began to examine the shredded skin along Taldeer’s arm. The farseer winced. It burned, being exposed to the air. Mellorena sighed. “I hate flayed ones,” she muttered, and began pouring the salve across the breadth of the shredded arm. The pain receded as the numbing agent worked its way into the flesh. Dead tissue was swiftly broken down. The medic eyed it carefully, inspecting the cleanliness of the wound.

“Is this work anything like what you do on Ulthwe?”

“Hm? Oh, I work the emergency room on Ulthwe, so it’s pretty similar. More accidents though. I work the inner ward, away from the hull. We don’t see violent injuries like this.”

“That battlefield certainly is more…”

“Grotesque? Yeah... The newer healers typically keep their masks up all the time. But if you spend enough time working with people’s insides, you get used to seeing them outside. I only wear my mask into combat. Masks during treatment make it hard to be empathetic, and next to treatment itself, empathy’s usually what injured people need most.”

Taldeer reflected on this in silence for a time.

“You know Doctor, even if you’re just being professional: thank you. This might just be my darkest hour.” She chuckled under her breath. “Farseer Taldeer Ulthran. First she was saved by a mon-keigh after allowing her entire force to fall prey to them, then she walked into an artillery barrage, and now she’s parasitizing a crash landed squad to survive. But you’ve actually brightened it. So thank you.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve had a long run of bad luck. I’m sorry.”

“Well, I’m the common denominator.”

Mellorena frowned. It was less severe than an angry frown. A sort of thoughtful expression. She did not like what she heard. There was something she wanted to say. But all she could do was weigh the question of saying it.