Claiming Cure (Dauntless Cyborgs #3)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Triage was a necessary tactic for medics to master.

The universe was a violent place. It was filled with hostile species battling for resources.

Medics often had to decide who in that universe lived and who died.

Cyra sucked at that part of her role. She wanted to heal everyone.

Knowing that about herself, she deliberately chose to practice on Cancri B, a planet sparsely populated with peace-loving humanoids.

Then the Humanoid Alliance or the Invaders, as the locals called them, arrived. They forced the Cancris to build a giant weapon.

Some of the materials used in that process caused body-destroying tumors. The abbreviated testing of that weapon had also inflicted harm on the locals.

Every humanoid on the planet, and many humans, including herself, were now dying.

Painfully.

Cyra was trying to save them all. That impossible goal drove her to work very long planet rotations.

And wake up too cursed early.

“The back doors have been accessed.”

The robotic male voice pulled Cyra out of her troubled and much-too-short sleep.

“I’m awake, system.” She groaned and rolled off the sleeping support. “Sort of.”

Her brain was fuzzy but, after half a lifetime of tending patients, she could dress herself in her sleep. She donned a light-blue flight suit and serviceable boots.

A matching blue strip of fabric was wrapped around her bald skull. It was a serviceable head covering, not one of the elaborate accessories Kritalin, an aspiring garment designer, had created for her.

That was regrettable. but her first patient of the planet rotation valued discretion.

And Cyra didn’t want anyone to see her bald scalp. One of the side effects of the pills she’d self-prescribed had been hair loss.

Fates. She missed her black locks. They had been a vanity of hers.

And now they were gone. Like so many other things.

She slipped into her white medic jacket, stuffed a handheld into a pocket, and hurried out the door. Her private chamber, having once been a storage space, was situated in the medic bay.

Solar cycles ago, when she first arrived on Cancri B, long before the Humanoid Alliance had come, she had maintained a separate residence. Her patient load was laughably lesser then. The shifts weren’t as long.

Now, she didn’t have the time for a standalone domicile. She lived where she worked.

As she walked along the dimly lit hallways, she reviewed the patient’s file.

“One new message received,” her system’s robotic voice informed her.

“Who sent that message, system?” She didn’t look away from the file.

“Cure.” Her system’s revelation didn’t surprise her.

But it did please her.

She exchanged messages with the medic eight or nine times a planet rotation. Those communications were mini breaks of normalcy in the midst of all the pain and dying. They made her feel less alone, less isolated.

Cure might be stationed on a distant planet. And sure, he could be an arrogant asshelmet sometimes. Yet they were joined in their cause – to derive a cure for the tumors inflicting the Cancris.

That cause would have to wait.

“Save that message, system.” She would look at it later.

Her patient was her current priority.

Cyra didn’t know the female’s name. She had designated her merely as R.F. in the database. That was short for Rebel Female.

The unknown female was part of those forces. Fates. She might be the leader of the group of beings trying to stop the Humanoid Alliance and their deadly activities. Cyra wasn’t certain of R.F.’s role.

The female always requested appointments long before sunrise, when the settlement around the medic bay was dark and quiet.

Cyra glanced at the footage from the front-doors recording devices as she passed the reception area. When the settlement was quieter , she silently amended. There was already a long line of prospective patients waiting outside the medic bay.

There were so many ill, too many for her to see. And she could do very little for them.

Fates. She could do very little for herself.

Cyra touched the back of her neck.

The pain suppressors muted her agony a bit. That wouldn’t last for much longer.

She looked down at her handheld’s tiny screen. The notification for Cure’s message flashed. He might have uncovered a cure.

There could be hope.

She entered patient-chamber number 3. R.F. always used the same space.

“Put your weapons away.” Cyra scrolled through the female’s file.

“I might not have been wielding a weapon.” R.F. holstered her gun.

Before the Humanoid Alliance arrived, Cyra would rarely see a weapon on Cancri B. The locals had been peace-loving beings.

But the Invaders, as the Cancris called them, were hostile, kill-happy beings. And the locals had to match their violence or be obliterated.

Cyra understood that. She didn’t like it, but she understood it.

“You’re always wielding a weapon.” She studied her patient.

The human female changed her appearance as often as a medic changed gauze on a burn victim. This planet rotation, R.F. had the orange skin and black hair of a Cancri.

“I like that hair.” Cyra touched her own fabric-wrapped scalp. She missed her hair so very much. “If I had time to obtain a set for myself, I’d ask you where you sourced it.” She sighed. “But you must have viewed the long line of beings waiting to see me. I have no excess time for anything.”

“You can have this set.” R.F. extended that generous offer. “Sanitize it first.” She removed the simulated hair and placed it on the right horizontal support. “I rarely use the same hair twice when I visit this settlement.”

“You’re careful.” Cyra pointedly looked at the female’s now-bare scalp. “In all areas. You applied the pigment even under the hair set.” She shook her head.

The fact that the female believed that step was necessary horrified her.

It implied that, at least once in the past, she had been stripped naked and her manufactured hair pulled so hard it had been ripped from her head.

Cyra pressed her lips together.

The Humanoid Alliance had to be ejected from the planet before they did more harm to the local beings.

“I should give you a lecture about how frequent usage of long-lasting pigment increases the chances of serious health issues, but that’s not a consideration now, is it?” She paused. “For either of us.”

They both had tumors that would soon be past any hope of a cure.

Cyra resisted the urge to touch the back of her neck.

Their remaining lifespans could be counted in mere planet rotations.

And that grieved her. She had failed R.F. as she had failed so many other beings.

Including herself.

“We’re humans. Humans don’t live forever.” R.F. shrugged.

Cyra wasn’t as casual about their impending deaths. “I’m seeking to ensure you live longer than your twenty-four solar cycles.” That was too young to die. “What are your symptoms?”

“Nothing other than the hair and fingernail and toenail loss you told me to expect with the pills.” R.F. listed the known side effects. “Oh, and I can’t keep down any nourishment in solid form.”

“Taking it in liquid form helps with that.” Cyra pressed the handheld to the female’s stomach. That was the site of the female’s largest tumor. “And I do mean liquified nourishment, not merely fermented beverage.”

Many of her patients tried to offset some of the pain with fermented beverages.

That created more problems than it solved.

If they had a drunken episode around the Humanoid Alliance males, they wound up dead.

“I only drink fermented beverage when I’m not flying.” R.F. gave the enigmatic reply.

“Hmmm…” Cyra frowned at the handheld’s small screen. The readings were…unexpected. “That can’t be right.” She pushed the device against R.F.’s stomach again.

“It isn’t good news.” Her patient guessed correctly.

“It isn’t good news.” Cyra met the female’s gaze. “The tumor has grown, and it shouldn’t have done that, not this early. The pills aren’t working as effectively as they should.” She tilted her head. “But how can that be? They were produced in the same batch as mine, and my tumor hasn’t grown.”

“It isn’t the pills.” R.F. flattened her palms over her stomach.

“What?” Cyra stared at her patient.

“It isn’t the pills.” R.F. repeated that statement.

If it wasn’t the pills, it had to be something R.F. had done. Something that brought her close to the activity that was causing the tumors.

That activity was the Humanoid Alliance’s fabrication of a massive weapon.

A weapon the enemy attempted to test recently.

“You stopped the testing of the machine, didn’t you?” Cyra lowered her voice.

The Humanoid Alliance was searching for the being or beings that had sabotaged their test. She doubted the enemy could hear their conversation from wherever they were positioned, but she wasn’t taking any chances with R.F.’s lifespan.

“It’s better for you if I don’t answer that question.” R.F. was as protective of her.

“I see.” And Cyra did see.

If the Humanoid Alliance questioned her, she could honestly say she didn’t know who the saboteur was. She suspected it was R.F. But she didn’t know.

“There were 212 deaths that I heard about in this settlement alone during that testing.” The Cancris didn’t always contact her when there was a death. “And every pregnant female patient I had went into immediate distress.”

It had been the most horrid planet rotation in solar cycles of horrid planet rotations. She lost so many patients and future patients in such a short time.

That had ratcheted Cyra’s anger toward the Humanoid Alliance to seething level.

“There are 2 other settlements at the same distance or closer to the site.” The medics in those settlements had been as devastated as she was. “That doesn’t include the smaller clusters of domiciles. Whoever stopped that testing saved lifespans.”

“Whoever temporarily stopped that testing might have merely delayed those deaths.” R.F. reminded her that the testing would resume.

And more beings would die.

“Then the testing has to be permanently stopped.” That was the only solution, the only cure for all the trauma. Cyra met R.F.’s gaze. “I’m ready when you are.”

R.F. had asked her during one of their early appointments what she would be willing to do to prevent the tumors from growing and more beings dying.

When Cyra had said she’d do anything, R.F. told her that anything would be required. She would be asked, some planet rotation in the future, to tend to some of the Humanoid Alliance leaders.

Her mission would be to ensure the weapon was destroyed and that there was no chance ever that enemy could manufacture it in the future.

Cyra assumed that meant blowing the structure to bits and killing every Humanoid Alliance being she saw.

Killing beings would be emotionally hard but technically easy. Learning how to heal patients meant understanding all the ways patients could be harmed.

She knew how to kill beings.

Destroying the weapon was a bit out of her skill set. But she had access to databases. And she had a couple ideas about how that feat might be accomplished.

Doing all that and surviving was impossible, however.

She would die during her assignment.

Cyra accepted that fate.

It was certainly a more exciting and fulfilling and likely less painful end than being slowly eaten alive by a tumor.

“I need time,” R.F. told her. “How much of it do I have?”

“You have less time than you previously had.” Cyra inputted all the factors that estimated a patient’s remaining lifespan into her handheld.

Then she looked at the results.

They weren’t…good.

She scowled and inputted them again. The results were the same.

Fates. “Assuming the pills are given an opportunity to work properly again—” She frowned fiercely at R.F. “—and they stop the growth, you should have at least ninety-five planet rotations until you go into the final stages.”

During the final stages, the tumor would be visible. R.F. would be in tremendous pain. More than she likely was in right now. And her energy levels would further plummet.

None of that was conducive to defeating the Humanoid Alliance.

“Then we wait for ninety-five planet rotations.” R.F. gave them both that time to prepare.

“We wait for ninety-five planet rotations.” Cyra nodded. She would have ninety-five planet rotations of healing and living left. “What will you do?”

“I’ll prepare and organize the others.” R.F. confirmed they weren’t the only two beings involved in the plan.

Cyra had always suspected that. A massive mission like the one they were undertaking would require a large team.

“Fly fast.” R.F. often mentioned her love of flying. “Feel the wind on my face.” The female smiled. “And you?”

“I’ll treat as many beings as I can, using the credits a mysterious benefactor left in my working chambers.” Cyra smiled back at her.

She suspected R.F. was that benefactor. The credits always appeared after an appointment with her.

“That mysterious benefactor knew you’d use the credits to heal others.” R.F.’s tone was gruff.

She was right. Cyra had been using the credits for the production of the tumor-slowing pills, medical supplies, and other materials to help the Cancris. She?—

“One new message received,” her system announced.

R.F.’s hands dropped to her guns.

Cyra glanced at the screen. It was another message from Cure.

She hoped it regarded a cure for the tumors and not that nonsense about him visiting Cancri B. Any being setting foot on the planet risked illness and death.

And there was no time in her schedule for playing hostess.

She had ninety-five planet rotations of living left.

“Your team is all female,” R.F. grumbled. “Other than him.” She gestured to the device. “You could change the voice.”

“I don’t have the time to figure all that out.” Cyra shrugged. It wasn’t a priority for her. “And tech isn’t my thing.”

System’s voice also sounded a bit like the robotic voice Cure used. She liked that they had both chosen very similar conduits for their conversations.

They were equals in that and many other ways.

“Saving lifespans has always been my focus.” She suspected it had always been Cure’s focus also.

They were both skilled at healing.

Yet, in her case, she wasn’t skilled enough. Her patients were dying, and there was very little she could do about it.

As a medic.

Stopping the Humanoid Alliance and their big weapon might make a difference.

“I thought I’d prevent the most deaths in this universe by healing the ill.” She had been convinced that was her calling, especially after she had been given her requested post on Cancri B.

She’d known how vital a medic’s presence was for isolated areas.

When Cyra had two solar cycles, her mom and her unborn sister had died in childbirth. The delivery had been difficult, yet it should have been survivable.

If there had been a medic attending.

There had been no healers serving the area around their agri-lot, however.

Her dad had then died from heart failure when she had fifteen solar cycles. That death had been preventable also.

The area had been assigned a medic shortly after that. But it had been too late for her family. She’d been orphaned, forced to rely on the kindness of neighbors.

“That’s why I became a medic.” She was determined that no one would endure what she had been forced to experience. “But it seems my final act will benefit the most beings.”

That final act would be destruction and death.

It was a soul-shredding way to leave the universe.

“Being a medic is necessary for that final act.” R.F. misinterpreted her regret. “And it will save thousands of lifespans.” The female pulled her garments up and fastened them.

As she did that, she smiled.

That made Cyra uneasy. R.F. wasn’t the smiling type.

“Do I want to know what you’re thinking?” She narrowed her eyes at her patient.

“No.” R.F.’s response wasn’t a surprise. The female rarely shared her thoughts. “I’ll have extra pills.” She changed the subject. “I’ll leave them in your working chambers.”

“There’s no need to leave them anywhere.” Cyra waved one of her hands. She was constantly tweaking the formula, and she had storage compartments filled with older versions of the pills. “I haven’t located a medic to take over here.”

She, admittedly, hadn’t looked very hard for a replacement.

Her lips twisted. “It seems no one wants to live in a place that’ll kill them within a couple of solar cycles.”

She’d be dooming that medic to an early death. It wasn’t a fate she’d wish on anyone.

“That will change.” R.F. sounded confident about her prediction. “I should go.”

The female never stayed for very long.

Cyra had other patients to see also.

R.F. moved toward the door.

Before she crossed the threshold, she paused. “Thank you, Cyra, for… everything you have done and will do.” The female gave her the appreciation Cyra hadn’t realized she’d needed. “The beings waiting outside are there because your presence gives them hope. You’re making and will continue to make a difference.”

“I could say the same to you.” Cyra smiled. They were both helping…in their own ways. “Though few beings will ever realize they owe some of their hope and all of their futures to you.”

R.F.’s face pinkened. She never sought recognition.

It seemed to embarrass her.

The female paused for a heartbeat.

Then, without saying another word, she slipped out of the chamber.

Cyra knew the next time she saw R.F. would be when she was called to strike against the Humanoid Alliance.

She hadn’t lied to the female. She was ready to take that action.

The Humanoid Alliance was forcing the Cancri to mine and work with toxic materials to build their massive weapon.

Harmful waves of energy were exuded when the enemy tested their killing machine.

The entire planet and every being on it were exposed to a constant, pounding stream of contaminants, and that was causing the tumors and other symptoms.

Her patients couldn’t start to heal until that energy flow stopped.

The only way to stop the energy flow was to eliminate the Humanoid Alliance’s presence on the planet. Permanently.

She—

“The back doors have been accessed,” her system reported.

R.F. must’ve exited the medic bay.

Cyra was now the only being left in the structure.

She couldn’t see patients.

354 planet rotations ago, she had been attacked by a huge pain-ravaged Cancri male during the rest cycle. After that incident, Zorelle, her best friend and the medic bay’s extremely skilled organizer, had insisted Cyra promise not to see walk-in patients when she was alone.

So the beings in the line outside the medic bay would have to wait until Zorelle or one of the volunteers arrived.

Cyra now had some free time. She opened the first message from Cure.

The male’s communication was blunt. Swap the Yudiy compound for equal weights of Plimm 5-1. And designate meeting coordinates.

Excitement gripped Cyra. It was a solution she hadn’t considered.

She ignored Cure’s second order and retrieved the information on Plimm 5-1 from the databases.

Yes. She nodded. That could ?—

“The back doors have been accessed.” Her system surprised her with that revelation.

No one else was expected in the medic bay.

Cyra poked her head into the hallway.

Zorelle marched toward her. “I saw that cryptic message in the system, and I knew you were seeing a patient.” Her friend clucked her tongue. “Did you at least eat before you started working?”

“Nope.” Cyra shook her head. She had chosen sleep instead of food.

“I didn’t think so.” Zorelle extracted a beverage container from one of her pockets, opened it, and held it out. “Here. Finish all of it.”

Cyra did as she was told.

She knew better than to argue with her friend.

“It’s not bad.” The sweetness made the liquified nourishment tolerable.

“That’s iipii fruit with a touch of hi21 grass.” Zorelle’s eyes gleamed. The Cancri female loved sourcing new nourishment flavors. “I liquified your pill and pain suppressors into it also.”

“The pain suppressors fog my brain.” Cyra had talked about that with her friend.

“Your brain works just fine.” Zorelle took the empty container from her. “Here.” The next item she gave Cyra was a cleaning cloth. “Go into a chamber and tidy yourself.” She turned. “I’ll open the doors and sort out the patients.”

“I don’t need to tidy myself.” Cyra grumbled to the female’s back.

“Don’t lie to me, healer.” Zorelle shook her head. “I know you. You went straight from your sleeping support to meet with your mysterious rest-cycle patient.

Cyra had no reply.

Because her friend did know her, and she had gone straight from her sleeping support to meeting with the Rebel Female.

“And swap that plain blue thing you’re wearing for one of Kritalin’s pretty head coverings.” Zorelle touched the purple-and-green concoction on her own head. “We could meet our mates this planet rotation. We’ll want to look gorgeous when that happens.”

Cyra didn’t have the time or energy for a mate. As Cure had reminded her recently, both resources were limited for her kind.

The going-to-die medic kind.

But she wouldn’t argue with Zorelle.

Cyra re-entered patient chamber number 3, stripped off her garments, and tidied herself.