Saa'be

betray

________

"Let me go to her," the Recruit sobs, trying to rise despite the charred flesh moving on his chest. The Gunner forces him back down, the fifth time she has done so, putting steady but unrelenting pressure on his shoulders.

"She can handle herself," The Gunner assures him again but she is neither motherly nor the woman the Recruit cares for. "You charge after her and you'll undo all she is doing for you." Her voice is frustrated, having tried this argument before with no success. She wants to keep him calm, but adrenaline and pain are biological responses. On top of his selfless desire to care for the Double and the Double's own lack of regard for her own safety, the Gunner is surprised neither has fallen; the Conglomerate is not far behind, waiting for the weakest to fall.

She tries to change tactics instead. "I'll bring you to her when you stop reopening your wounds." His capitulation, as intended, is more from surprise, the change in tact interrupting hormonal responses and clearing the irrational haze from the Recruit's eyes. The two of them, the Gunner thinks ruefully to herself. Always arresting with gemstone eyes and hopeful, liquid expressions.

"You'll...," He's querulous, trembling from it all: emotion, pain, shock, hope. She nods and it seems to release whatever internal force was shoring him up because he collapses finally, limp when she catches him, relief making him a worn doll.

He settles finally and the Gunner can actually make some progress closing his wounds. She meant what she said because she made a promise to the Double. It's a risk to move the Recruit when he's so wounded but every move they make and have made since crashing on the Plains has been a risk, one uncertainty after the other making a tiled path through foggy air.

"Stay still," she tells the Recruit as she staunches the remaining sluggish trickle and applies pressure. "Now, I need you to stay calm because if you open this wound again, that delays us." He nods. For such a young one, he's done remarkably well at breathing through his pain, The Gunner thinks with a surge of caring concern that surprises her. She's used to being blunt and following orders. Perhaps the Double is rubbing off on her.

"The Double will need our help," The Gunner tells him. "We're her backup and if we're going to prevent anything from happening to her and also get you stitched up, you're going to have to do your best to stay quiet. Okay?" The Recruit nods, a grim, determined look coming over his pale face. She worries at that pallor... but risk aversion is not the attitude she chooses to adopt. She owes a debt and she's determined to pay it despite the damning decisions she has already made for the future.

"Arms around my neck," The Gunner instructs as she scoops him up into her arms, lighter than she expected, still congealing blood from his wound pressing into the fabric of her shirt. He whimpers in pain but keeps his lips pressed in firm closure, as stoic as a fresh soldier can be when wounded for the first time in battle.

She starts off through the trees, trying not to worry that dawn is lightening the greens in the upper canopy. Perhaps the Recruit can feel her unease where they touch because he asks, "She's in danger, isn't she?"

The Gunner never knew she had heartstrings until that whispered question. She doesn't answer him, which is answer enough.

____________

There are booted footsteps reverberating through the soles of her worn shoes as she pockets the rest of the blood coagulants and infection blockers.

"So soon," the Double murmurs to herself. Is there even much point to keeping her perception filter in place? Maybe for just a bit longer, she thinks. If only for the Recruit's sake.

She ducks behind the space next to the door and a utility closet as the footsteps stop and a fist meets the door with militaristic precision and vigor. She'd jammed the door controls after her and she wonders what kind of courtesy is drilled into the Conglomerate soldiers that they would knock, especially since they know she is an intruder. Their leader inevitably barks some ultimatum about opening up the door, but she isn't listening, one hand charging her pulse pistol on its highest setting, the other activating a steady hum of plasma energy across a short sword she found in the base armory on her way here to the medbay. There will be the talking, threatening, and then the blasting of the door. She hates the drama of it when one of her charges is dying, the solution in her pockets.