Bid Against the Thunder || ONC 2020

Chapter 7 - Wherever You Will Go

 Sitting on a broken step stool, Tabraile woke up as his elbows slid from his thighs. He sat abruptly upright and blinked rapidly to soothe his tired eyes. Exhaustion plagued him while he kept vigil at Anayera's bedside. As he wiped the back of his hand across his face with a yawn, he felt a subtle squeeze at his knee.  

"You're awake," he said with a laugh.

"You weren't," she whispered. "I didn't want to disturb you. You needed to rest after everything I've put you through."

"Don't you worry about me. Strong like bull. Rancor bull." Tabraile flexed his biceps and playfully beat his chest. He grinned at her laughter, which was cut short by a violent coughing fit. "Have some water." The Socorran cradled her head in his arm and helped her drink from the emergency ration bottle. "Easy. Take it slow."

"Where are we?"

"Greleus 9, a moon in the Hagos Cluster. In what's left of an abandoned Resistance base."

"An abandoned Rebel base?" She looked around at the dilapidated medical bay. "How did you know to bring us here?"

"I was part of the flight squadron that destroyed it," he said. "Then I was assigned here for the clean-up." Tabraile walked over to the oblong window and activated the blind. "Watch your eyes. Greleus has a white sun. Every window or viewport is shielded from the heat and glare.

The transparisteel glass opened onto a craggy, crater-pocked landscape of ruined buildings beneath a cloudless sky. Greleus 9 was a desolate world with nothing more to offer than isolation. "See that observation tower?" Tabraile asked, pointing to a slender structure that cast a prominent shadow over the mountainous terrain. "That's an atmospheric elevator. It's connected to a satellite in orbit above the planet. The Rebels used it to launch weather balloons."

Anayera squinted against the glare. "Weather balloons?"

"Layman's term for spycraft," he said, adjusting the blind. "When you get high enough, gravity is no longer a factor, and you don't need engines to launch your gear and equipment." Chuckling as he gazed at the tower, he leaned on the dusty window pane. "Yates and I used to take rides inside the tube. It pulls an easy 4G's. We'd make bets who would throw up or pass out first before getting to the top."

"You've led an interesting life, Captain Marric Tabraile."

"I certainly thought so," Tabraile said, "until I met you."

Anayera winced, grasping at her lower torso.

"Deep breaths," he whispered, holding her other hand. "Try to stay calm."

"How bad is it?" She stared at the bandage covering the wound.

"You're bleeding internally. Even if this facility were fully functional, I would need to find you some professional help."

"We can't go back, Tabraile," she said. "We're well beyond a court-martial now."

"We're not going back to Omman. We're going to Talus."

"Talus? In the Core Systems. You weren't a very good smuggler, were you?"

He pretended to be wounded and slumped over her legs. "Talus is a small world, backwater, even for the Core Systems. It has Imperial installations: forward outposts, field hospitals, and—"

"And it's suicide to just walk into any of those bases and not expect to be detained. I made quite a mess on Omman."

"It takes weeks for updated info from the Empire to reach those outposts. Trust me. We'll check you into a field hospital for a few days, and then we bail."