and casualties will bring the authorities there. Med evac, too. That will work for us.”
Soldier could not argue with the point. But he had trouble believing that Runner had actually thought ahead, as opposed to simply giving in to his anger.
Above, swoop bikes with uniformed officers streaked past, high-pitched sirens wailing. Somewhere behind the crush of buildings, he heard a different kind of siren and presumed it was med evac.
Using the tall spike of the medical center as a navigational aide, he drove the speeder quickly through the streets until they reached the city center. A score of pedestrians milled about outside the large, transparisteel doors of the medical center. Swoops, speeder bikes, speeders, and several wheeled vehicles were parked in a disorganized fashion on the street. A small, box-shaped medical shuttle alit from a second-story landing pad, turned, and shot off in the direction of the havoc Runner had wrought. Soldier looked over to Seer.
“You’re certain the meds we need are on the ship?”
She did not blink. “I’m certain.”
He spared a look at Hunter, at Grace. They would not last much longer. “Then let’s go.”
They parked the speeder and exited. Seer took Grace before Soldier could, so he carried Hunter.
“Cover your weapons,” he said to Seer and Runner.
“Why?” Runner said.
“Just do it,” he snapped.
Runner grumbled as he covered the hilt of his blade with his cloak.
Together, they walked toward the sliding doors of the medical facility. Soldier kept his head down, but he felt the eyes of pedestrians and passersby on him. Perhaps they noted the raggedness of his group’s clothing.
A bipedal, anthropoid droid, coated in dust, separated itself from the crowd and approached them. Soldier tried to veer away, but it shifted to intercept them.
“May I assist you, sir?” the droid asked.
“No.”
“I will alert a doctor about your sick companions.”
“That’s not necessary,” Soldier said.
“It is no trouble, sir. Their body temperature is quite high and they will need rapid treatment. A medical team will be awaiting you inside.”
Soldier had hoped to go mostly unnoticed. That, it seemed, was no longer possible. They moved through sentients and droids and into the medical center.
A waiting room opened to the right, a dozen worried sentients sitting in chairs or watching a holo. To the left was a medical triage. The smell of antiseptic filled the air. Violet-uniformed doctors and nurses moved about the triage area. The beep and whistle of medical equipment reminded Soldier of the facility on the frozen moon. Bad memories bubbled up from the dregs of his mind.
“I don’t like doctors,” Runner said, agitation coming off him in palpable waves.
Neither did Soldier. Their experience with doctors involved sensory deprivation tanks, surgeries without anesthesia, painful tests, hypos, and constant monitoring. He felt his own level of irritation rising. The power he held at bay crept up on him, desperate to be used.
A thin female doctor with graying hair stood near the reception area straight ahead. She held a portable scanner in her hand. A male nurse stood beside her, one hand on a wheeled gurney large enough to hold Hunter and Grace. Both hurriedly approached as Soldier and the others entered.
“Put them down here,” the doctor said, her tone brisk and commanding.
Soldier laid Hunter down on the gurney and Seer placed Grace beside her. Soldier was pleased to see that Grace’s color had improved.
Soldier scanned the triage, the reception area, the waiting room, looking for lifts. He saw six security guards in black uniforms stationed within eyeshot. All wore blasters at their hips.
The doctor began her examination. “They’re burning up,” she said.
“They need injections of Metacycline,” Soldier said.
The doctor looked up at him. “Metacycline? I’m not familiar with—”
“It’s a mixture of several drugs,” Soldier said. “A genetic coherence sequencer, an antipsychotic, and a blood thinner.”
The nurse said, “I read about Metacycline years ago in a medical ethics paper. The Empire used it decades ago in some experiments.”
“Why would they need that?” the doctor asked Soldier.
“Just give it to them,” Runner barked.
Two of the nearby security guards noticed them, frowning at Runner’s tone.
The doctor blinked, taken aback, perhaps unused to being talked to in such a manner. She seemed to actually note their appearance for the first time—their filthy, threadbare clothes made from Imperial castoffs, their unkempt hair and beards.
Soldier saw the change come over her, the moment suspicion seized her mind, changing her concern from treating Hunter and Grace to ensuring that she was not harmed.
“Uh, I see,” the doctor said. She stood up and backed away, her eyes