The smell of herbs being macerate filled the air. Lar'jar was quite particular about certain things, manipulating drugs and other medicinal items among them. His goal was to achieve optimal results, meaning the Medic would oversee or even perform every step of the production of those products. Even something as common as salve.
A jerk? Yes. A methodic laidback jerk.
Lar'jar, like most yautjas who got past their first couple hundred years, had an ingrained need to check all equipment (weapons, tools, devices, everything). There were many variables during huntings out of their control, suffice to say that reducing to a minimum the chances of your equipment failing you during a life-death situation was not smart, it was common sense.
So no one would bait an eye when that need for control would bleed into other areas. It was not paranoia, it was the byproduct of good survival instincts.
The interrogation of the bad blood was extended for another 4 hours, before the next pause.
Lar'jar had purposefully avoided the event. Other Yautja were welcome to watch as long as they didn't interfere.
When the enforcers walked out, the dark Medic looked inside the chamber, quickly evaluating the disgraced Yautja, and approached Setg'n'kah.
"Would you like me to run a check up on him before you continue?"
"It's only a 30 minutes pause".
"One would say it would be wise extend it, if you plan to have him conscious for another two hours".
The enforcer looked back, over his shoulder. The Bad Blood was laying in a puddle of his own blood. And Setg'n'kah was mostly responsible for that.
He took a long breath. Extending anything that felt like courtesy to that vermin was not in his plans, but Setg'n'kah was a reasonable male.
***
Lar'jar simply knew Setg'n'kah would not leave the side of the Bad Blood scum. This was his prey, and if there was something that Yautjas could simply not avoid was to watch over their trophies (this one was just being allowed to brief for a bit longer).
The Medic was patient. He requested the rest to get the fuck out, so he could work in peace, but the enforcer stayed. Eyes glued on the crippled Yautja, probably already planning how he would mount that skull on his trophy wall.
"Where is the female, Setg'n'kah?"
That question came out so of left field, that Setg'n'kah first reaction was frowning.
"You mean the ooman?"
"It's the only female aboard this ship. Yes, the ooman", he answered in his usual calm tone, sans snark.
(The mercenary and Sila were back to Ah'kaedh's vessel).
"Working", he answers, trying to be noncommittal.
"That's good to hear. It's my particular opinion that the ooman is quite the skilled specimen, if you compare her to others of her race".
Lar'jar keep working on the patient, now hooking a catheter to pump fluids into his veins.
"She did a good job with this piece of shit", still non committal.
"Oh, so you only requested her assistance on medical matters?", Lar'jar, the jerk, could also be a snake.
He sounded, oh, so innocent. But Setg'n'kah knew better. He had walked right into the Medic's trap.
"I believe that by being responsible for her, she should work where her work would be of more help".
YOU ARE READING
Boundless
FanfictionThirty-nine years after leaving behind the hellhole at Sezei, Ah'kaedh has come to terms with the fact that he will never find his Girl. Moving on is not easy, and his path has been painted with the red of all the human mercenaries he has been hunti...
