Chapter 3: Jak
His skin still tingled from her touch. His plan to work for the farmers forgotten, Jak just wanted to take Tessa and run with her to a place where he could keep her safe, where he could take her in his arms and tell her that he loved her. He was sure she knew how he felt, but he was also sure she didn’t return his feelings. He was a fool even to dream that she might care about a landless, clanless man. The best he could offer was to do exactly as she’d asked—protect her from Bolon.
Jak looked away from Tessa, scanning the crowd for something to distract him before he made a complete fool of himself by blurting out what he was feeling. He watched as a woman passed by them, one who looked as out of place in the Pit as one of the silver and green birds that the nobles kept in their gardens. She wore a dress of some shimmering pale stuff that floated around her body as she walked. He couldn’t tell the color of the cloth in the flickering light of the holos. But it was the sort of dress, Jak imagined, that women wore in the Black Palace among the nobles of the Regent’s court.
"Kamura Mobutu, a Daughter of Family Mobutu, one of the Thousand Families of Terra," Tessa said, sharp-eyed as ever.
Jak wasn’t surprised that she’d noticed the woman too, or that she knew her name and rank. The Terran was a head taller than Tessa and built like a young athlete at the peak of her training. She wore her long hair in a fall of tight curls that framed her smooth, coffee-colored face. It was a lovely face, but the disdainful twist to her full lips made Jak find her less than beautiful. He watched her as she looked over the crowd with eyes that were large, dark, and willful. As he gazed at her, memories came upon him, drifting out of other lives as they did so often when his own heart was in turmoil. In his mind, he saw other women and the grief they left behind like the scent of their skin.
I watched the woman I loved walking away from me, smiling as she moved gracefully into the arms of another. My beautiful wife was leaving me for a man old enough to be her father, the Satrap of a province. I was just a simple farmer, and her new lover was richer than I could ever hope to be. Her laughter was a dagger in my heart . . . .
By the Lost Gods, yes, this one was sure to bring trouble wherever she went. He looked away from the woman and shook off the memories. The Pit was not a place to be caught dreaming.
"So, what does that mean, Daughter of the Thousand Families?" Jak asked. He didn’t care, but it gave Tessa a chance to talk about something other than Bolon, and listening to her would help him stay grounded.
"They’re a trading cartel on Terra, or at least that’s how they started. Now, they run the whole planet. Very respectable. Very dull. They use the title ‘Daughter’ or ‘Son’ the way we use ‘High Lord’ or ‘Lady’ on Shadriss."
"But you told me once that Terra was run by a Council of Elders?"
"And all the Elders are members of the Thousand Families," Tessa said, her attention on the woman. "I wonder what she’s doing here."
He gave the Terran woman a second, more thoughtful look. Then he stiffened.
"n’Tau is with her."
Tessa shifted in her seat so she could see the woman’s companion.
"You’re right. The Gambler is keeping company above his station."
What in the name of the Lady Ur was this woman of the Thousand Families doing in the company of Bolon’s favorite lieutenant? How had she wound up in a den like the Pit?
n'Tau the Gambler was notorious for his cruelty, even on Shadriss. The gaming rooms on the upper stories of the Pit were among his favorite haunts, but those who won too much of his money had a way of disappearing. He was Bolon’s enforcer, a man who killed for pleasure.
Still, he didn’t look like a thug. Tonight, the Gambler was dressed in a dark silk tunic and pants. The fabric rippled with rich highlights as he moved, and a heavy golden chain flashed around his neck. He and the Terran woman made a well-dressed, seemingly well-matched pair.
"Most likely, she won’t live out the night," Tessa continued, "and anyone who sees them together would be smart not to remember it."
Tessa turned away, taking her own advice. Circumstances had hardened her heart to any care beyond herself and one or two precious others. Jak understood that coldness, but he had too many deaths locked away in the ruined storehouse of his memory. He couldn’t value another life so lightly.
"Somebody should warn her about n’Tau," he murmured, but Tessa didn’t hear him over the noise of the holos and the babble of the crowd.
"Duty calls, darling," Tessa said, her eyes on a slender, well-dressed man who had just entered the Pit. His tight braids and black curls were groomed to perfection. Jewels gleamed in his hair, on his hands, and at his ears. He stood by the bar, scanning the crowd with an intent and impatient expression. Two bodyguards and a thin, nervous looking assistant waited behind him.
Tessa rose and straightened her shawl with a sigh.
"The High Lord Cav is here. Time for me to go be charming and sexy."
"Be careful, Tessa."
He looked again at the High Lord’s bodyguards. Cav n’Chall was first cousin to the Regent of Shadriss, second only to the young Prime, Luan n’Chall, who would be Overlord the next time the Twin Moons were together in the sky—if he lived that long. Meanwhile, Cav n’Chall was third in line to the throne. Would Bolon, Regent’s bastard that he was, dare interfere with a legitimate member of the House of n’Chall?
"Maybe I should tag along with the rest of the party," Jak suggested.
"Thanks for the offer, but my client would never stand for it. I’ll see you in the morning."
She leaned across the table to kiss Jak’s cheek, then rose and went to the waiting man. Jak watched as they embraced, the man whispering something in Tessa's ear. He fought down a slow burn of jealousy that he knew he had no right to feel. Tessa was his friend and sometimes his patron, but he had no claim on her. Still, he scowled as Tessa laughed, linked her arm with the High Lord’s, and left the Pit with him.
She’d left most of her tankard of ale and there was still plenty of lamnan, so Jak stayed, no longer hungry but forcing himself to eat while he had the chance. There was no telling when he’d find his next meal. He just wished he could calm the fear that soured his stomach.
Tessa was in danger, and to tell the truth, he wasn’t sure that he could be much protection for her. Despite the strength the strangeness gave him, he was only one man. He still thought that her best course was to get off the planet, no matter what the cost, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t going to start over alone on a strange world, among strange people.
Shadriss was no prize. The planet was dry, except for a few long rivers like the Ur, and the desert produced a hard, merciless people. There was little law, and much death. With Tessa’s help, he’d survived four years on Shadriss—four years in which he couldn’t afford to ship out as a passenger and couldn’t find work as crew.
Jak knew he could pilot a starship. He touched the pilot’s medallion that hung from a long chain around his neck. It was his was proof. It looked like a jewel, a topaz set in a circle of gold; but it was coded to his DNA. Take it away from his skin, and it would be dust in a day. If he closed his eyes, he could see consoles, feel controls. He’d piloted everything from big cargo-movers to small, fast scouts. He could remember how, but he couldn’t remember when. He growled and shoved the platter away from him.
Four years ago, Tessa had found him in an alley with the front of his head split open and the pilot’s medallion still live around his neck. He had no memory of that day or of anything else from his past, but that’s what she’d told him. He knew his name was Jak, but he remembered nothing more. For reasons she wouldn’t give, she’d had her driver pull him into her ground-car, and then had smuggled him into a room near her apartment. At first he’d thought that she did it because she knew him, that they’d shared some past together, but he knew now that wasn’t so.
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Lately, he’d come to think it might have been an act of rebellion, well in keeping with her reckless nature. Someone had wanted him dead. Did Tessa know who? Did she suspect? Had she saved him to defy his would be murderer? Or had she just given in to a momentary weakness, and helped a man too wounded to help himself? He’d asked, but after the third time she’d given him a flip answer he’d realized she wasn’t going to tell him the truth. Her reasons were her own, and he might never know them.
For Jak, time began on the day he’d opened his eyes in the small room Tessa had rented for him near her apartment. His own memories were few, but there were dozens of other lives to draw upon. Yet somehow, even then, he’d known that those other memories were too dangerous a secret to share. Using Tessa’s com, he’d accessed the poor excuse for a port computer to try to find out if it held any information linked to the pilot number shown on his medallion, but nothing came up. Either the database was too old or too corrupt to find the information, or he’d arrived on Shadriss as a passenger, not crew.
He stayed in the city of Namdrik because it contained the only starship landing field on the planet, but most of the ships that frequented the port belonged to local nobles. He had no chance of work with them. They used only servants from their own lands. So far, the few traders who came to the port all had arrived with full crews.
He was bound to this desert world and its intrigues; it would be his grave just as, in a way, it had been his birthplace. He leaned back in his seat, resting his lamnan hide work boots on the chair that Tessa had abandoned. His gaze went to the nearest holo where someone was talking about the ceremony that would be held when the Twins next mated. The Joining, they called it, when the boy who’d lived the past four years under the Regent’s care, the Prime Luan n’Chall, would be linked with the God Core and become the Overlord of Shadriss.
And just what did that mean? Jak wondered. People here talked about the event as though its meaning were obvious. But Jak saw nothing obvious about linking a boy—well, a young man of fifteen or so—with a piece of alien technology that no one really understood. As the tale went, Lingyang n’Chall, the first Overlord was the woman who’d figured out how to do it, and she’d passed her knowledge and the device on to the care of the priests of Nish. Since the death of the last Overlord, the red-robes had kept the God Core safely hidden in their main temple, waiting for the Prime to come of age. Would the boy be changed? Would he find alien memories filling his thoughts the way Jak found strangers’ thoughts in his own head? Or was it all just a piece of show, political sleight of hand that meant nothing?
Jak shook his head and scanned the bar again. He knew he wasn’t welcome here, but he wasn’t yet ready to return to his empty room. The holos and the crowds at least gave the illusion of companionship. Across from him, visible through a haze of smoke and intervening patrons, was the Terran woman, Kamura.
Jak frowned. The woman wasn’t displaying the kind of grace that Jak would have expected from a Daughter of the Thousand Families, not from the way that Tessa had described them. She laughed too loud and too often and seemed not to notice that she was slumming well below her station. As n’Tau led her deeper into the crowd, to an alcove at the rear of the room, she stumbled, catching her heel in the shimmering stuff of her long skirt. Was she drunk? Or drugged?
Jak shrugged. Tessa was right. It was none of his business.
The Pit grew more crowded over the next hour, as Jak nursed his drink. The boy came and cleared away his empty platter. Jak thought word about him must have spread among the priests, because none of them came by with an offer of more ale. His tankard was long empty, but he pretended to drink from time to time. Although tables were at a premium, no one joined Jak, and no one dared to ask him to leave.
At last, Jak saw n’Tau rise from the table he shared with Kamura. Patting her hand, he said something that made her giggle, and then walked away toward the guarded archway that led to the gaming tables in the upper rooms. Jak wasn’t surprised to see him head for the tables. n’Tau’s gambling habit was well known in Namdrik. Yet, the landlord of the Pit would never allow a tourist in the upper rooms, so the pretty Terran would have to wait down here. Still, he must be very sure of this girl to leave her alone. Very sure or even more in the grip of gambling fever than Jak had suspected.
Well, this was his chance to warn the Terran. Maybe she’d leave while she still could. He knew Tessa would tell him to mind his own business, but there was something in him that always led him to protect the innocent.
A few quick strides across the cracked tile floor brought Jak to Kamura’s table. He licked his lips, noting how the subtle scent of her perfume reached him even through the drug smoke and sweat stink of the Pit. He was just drunk enough to have set off on this mission of mercy without caring about the ramifications. Even so, he almost turned away. As he hesitated, the Terran aristocrat glanced up at him, noticing his presence for the first time. What was the proper title for a Daughter of the Thousand Families of Terra? What had Tessa told him? Did it matter?
After an awkward pause, Jak settled on the polite usage of Shadriss, "Noble Lady, you’re in great danger."
"Is that so?"
Kamura seemed unimpressed. Her hand toyed with the shimmering ribbons that fell from her shoulders and formed the bodice of her dress. The ribbons skimmed loosely over her high, rounded breasts and then were gathered by a narrow gold belt at her waist so that her dark nipples peaked out whenever she moved. The skirt was a swirl of silk that spread around her shapely legs.
Brown eyes summed him up and dismissed him in an instant. She made it clear that his pilot's medallion, a sign of at least provisional respectability, was trumped by his scarred face and ragged work clothes. Jak all but growled in frustration. He’d never tried to help someone who so little wanted his aid. He thought of walking away and leaving her to her fate, but thinking of any woman, even one as arrogant as this one, alone with n’Tau turned his stomach.
"For your own safety, leave now and go back among your own people," Jak told her.
He felt himself flushing under her scorn, but he was determined to finish what he'd started whether the Terran listened or not.
"And why should I do that?"
"The man you're with, n'Tau, is a danger to you. He’s a killer-for-hire and sometimes he’s worse."
Kamura smiled. "And I suppose you’re offering to provide protection? For a large fee, of course. I’ve seen you watching me. You aren’t as clever as you think." Her dark eyes narrowed. "Go away, you oaf. You won’t scare any credits out of me."
"All I’m offering is a warning."
But Jak knew he’d lost any chance of making her listen. The woman’s arrogance was like a whiplash across his pride.
"Go back to your own people," he repeated. "I can’t protect you. No one here can."
"I am a Recorder for the Family Mobutu, with all the skill and power that embodies. I can protect myself," she said, "and if I wanted a guard, I certainly wouldn’t hire the first scruffy beggar who offered."
Her hand touched a small bag that hung from her golden belt, and Jak realized she had some sort of weapon concealed there, probably a needler, one of the new, toy-sized guns that could set his nervous system on fire.
Discouraged, he looked at her a moment more but realized she’d never take his warning seriously. He turned and stalked back to his table; despite the crowd, no one had taken advantage of his momentary absence to claim it for their own. At least his battered appearance had some advantages. He was angry, angry with Kamura for refusing to believe him, and angry with himself for making such a foolish—and public—attempt to warn her. He had definitely consumed too much of the Regent’s ale this feast day. Now, when n’Tau returned, Kamura would tell the Gambler everything when Jack had said. Or, if she didn't do so, someone else would; Bolon had eyes and ears everywhere.
And
then?
Jak slouched at his table, still pretending to nurse his tankard of ale and glaring at anyone who looked in his direction. He didn’t think n’Tau would try anything tonight in the Pit, not with so many here who would welcome the excitement of a free-for-all. They would get in the way of the careful butchery the Gambler enjoyed. But if he did, Jak wouldn't make it easy for him. He didn’t have many skills, but somewhere in his forgotten past, along with the knowledge of how to pilot a starship, he'd received some very thorough training in combat skills, both armed and unarmed. That was why Bolon said he wanted to hire him, to work as an enforcer like n’Tau. But Jak had no stomach for the job. He’d fight to defend himself, and he’d do whatever he had to in order to protect Tessa, but he wouldn’t take money to maim or kill. Not even to buy his way off this forsaken planet.
It wasn’t long before Jak saw n’Tau return to where Kamura waited. The Gambler’s luck must have been good. Rings flashing on his hands, he poured a pile of credits onto the table in front of her. Even in the dim light of the Pit, Jak could see that all the squares were the dark colors of high denominations. Then, as he seated himself, she said something to him, and Jak watched as n'Tau scowled and shot a narrow-eyed glance in his direction.
Jak stared back until the Gambler dropped his eyes. Slouching back in his seat, Jak did his best to look like the hard case that Bolon and his men thought him to be. He muffled a belch. Thanks to the Regent’s bounty and Tessa’s generosity, he’d had far more to eat and drink tonight than he’d expected. He preferred not to think about what Tessa would say when she learned that he’d angered n’Tau for the sake of warning the Terran woman.
Frustrated, Jak managed to glare a passing priest of Nish into giving him another tankard of ale and then he lingered until well into the night, apart from the crowd but part of the illusion of warmth and life. After all, when he left, it would only be to go to the barren room where he slept.
When he thought to look again, n’Tau and the woman were gone. Jak pushed himself to his feet, scowling at a young couple who made as if to slide onto the still-warm seats of his table. Hastily, they backed off and waited for him to stride down the aisle to the front of the Pit. No one spoke to him or looked directly at him as he shouldered his way to the door, although there were plenty of sidelong glances. Jak had learned to recognize faces as a matter of survival, but he’d made no friends among the clannish people of Shadriss.
He strolled out of the Pit and paused in the dusty street to one side of the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. There were few lighted streets in Namdrik, and both Liss and Leath had set. The only light came from the narrow slice of stars that shone between the thick-walled buildings, heavy with their coating of adobe over ancient dura-steel frames.
This late at night, even the Great Market was closed. So, there was no purring of passing ground cars, no hum of ships overhead to break the silence. Once the door of the Pit shut behind him, even the blast of noise from the bar faded to a murmur.
The night was hot, the air still and heavy, like a weight against his lungs. A fine coating of sweat covered his skin as the humidity from the river washed over him. By day, this place would be noisy with traders and farmers, bustling with merchants and shoppers. Now it was late, and aside from a few places like the Pit, the area was deserted. Jak kept a wary eye on the shadows, but even the mobbies, those unwanted children who lived in packs like wild animals, seemed to have abandoned this corner of Namdrik.
A deep breath brought Jak the stink of the river Ur from three streets away, where the water grumbled under its load of mud and sewage. Refuse from the Great Market and the docks went into the river nightly, and pipes emptied raw sewage there constantly. Wrinkling his nose, he stretched, debating whether to walk through the streets or take the faster passage over the roofs. His home, such as it was, was away from the river, near the spaceport. Living close to the port had always given him hope, abet a hope as thin and faded as his old vest. He could walk the distance in an hour. Going over the roofs would take only half that time, but that route could be risky.
Jak was about to leave when he heard the sound. By all the rules of survival, he should have ignored it. But he'd already ignored those rules once tonight, so he paused and listened. It came again, a mewling from the alley on his right. If the night hadn’t been so quiet, he’d never have heard it. Jak’s mouth went dry as memories rose to his mind, most half-lost in a fog of grief and fear. Then one memory rose clearly and swept him into that other life.
. . . bend down to touch the fair hair of my wife where it’s matted with blood, and I close her torn dress around her. Surely, she must be cold lying in the snow. Surely, she must be cold lying here dead. I was gone only for a day, just one day to take the cart full of grain to the market and trade it there.
Her face looks so pretty, as if she’s sleeping . . . except for the blood that makes a halo around her head, so much blood. Why have they done this to her? Grief . . . unbelieving . . . I feel the white pain of a blow and fall with my cheek resting on icy gravel. My forehead rests against my wife’s naked chest. Her heart is silent; her flesh is cold. Brisk hands strip away my purse and staff. I hear the creak of my cart as they drive it away. I do not have the strength to rise. I am cold, so cold . . . .
Then Jak was back on Shadriss, shivering as he stood in the hot, fetid darkness, hands pressed to his head. So many lives and so much pain! He shook himself, wondering how long he'd stood in the timeless unfolding of a stranger's last moments. Only seconds, he thought, as once again, he heard a moan and a deep sigh from the alley. He saw no one else around. This was no memory. Those sounds of pain were real.
Wiping sweaty palms against his legs, Jak drew his knife from its sheath at his waist. Not for the first time, he wished he had a blaster, but such a weapon cost far more than he could afford. He moved into the darkness of the alley and waited with his back against the rough, adobe of the wall, the knife ready before him. Along with the scent of urine, the sharp spike of deteriorating plastic, and the stink of the river, the air held the unmistakable tang of freshly spilled blood. He tensed, hearing a scraping sound, but no one came near him. The sound came again, this time accompanied by another moan. Jak released his breath. The attacker had gone; only the victim remained.
He carried a small torch in one of his vest pockets. He fished it out now with his free hand. Holding it well away from his body, he aimed the beam in the direction of the moans.
The Terran girl lay in a bloody heap in the dirt, the skirt of her dress shimmering around her. He’d known arrogant woman was in danger, but still it was a shock to see her so despoiled. He played the light around the alley, not expecting to see anyone now but careful just the same.
There was the usual mess—generations of trash piled high on either side of a narrow path that led back into the warrens behind the building. A mobbie path, a new one, probably made since the last sweep. Cold sweat broke out on his skin, despite the heat. May the Lady Ur be merciful, and prevent any of those feral children from coming along now, or he and the Terran would both be meat for their larder.
He shined the light on Kamura again. This was n’Tau’s work. He’d dumped her out the side door of the Pit and left her to die in the filth. If the Ur had been closer, he’d have dropped her in the water where the swarms of banderri would eat the evidence. In moments, those water beetles would have consumed everything, flesh, bones, and all. But the Ur was three streets away, too far for n’Tau to risk being seen carrying a body, or at least, not this body. Still, he’d probably ordered a crew to clean up the evidence, and they’d be here at any moment. Tomorrow, there’d be a dozen people to swear they saw n’Tau deliver Kamura safely back to her hotel.
Jak knelt beside the injured woman, his knees gritty dirt prickling against his knees. She was still breathing, but for how much longer, he couldn't say. Her face was b
ruised, and her left arm felt broken, but those weren’t life-threatening injuries. The amount of blood in her hair suggested a worse wound. Her clothing, such as it was, seemed intact so he thought she probably hadn’t been raped, which meant that n’Tau wasn’t acting for his own perverted pleasure.
Jak knew he should leave now and forget he ever saw the woman. Yet, somehow, his body didn’t obey the good advice that was coming from his brain. Kamura moaned again as Jak held the torch between his teeth and used his free hand to search through her blood-matted hair. No way was he going to put down his knife. There, behind her left ear, the skin was cut to the bone, probably by the heavy rings n’Tau wore. The little bag she’d worn at her waist was missing, so her credits and identification were gone with it. No doubt, n’Tau thought he’d killed her, but the Terran’s thick, kinky hair must have cushioned the blow. Jak paused. If n’Tau hadn’t done this for his own pleasure, that had to mean that Bolon wanted the woman dead.
To attack a Daughter of the powerful Thousand Families was no small thing. n’Tau must have done this on Bolon’s orders, and Bolon answered only to the Regent. That meant Graff n’Chall was behind it. Why? What could he hope to gain? The Regent would be a fool to risk the vengeance of Family Mobutu, and not even his enemies called him that.
How could he save this girl? He could call for a medic. But he couldn’t afford to keep a private com, and the nearest public com-unit was a long walk away. Anyway, it probably wasn’t a good idea to place a call to a med-center and ask them to pick up the Terran. Not if the Regent and Bolon wanted her dead. Whatever was to be done, he’d have to do himself.
There was plenty of trash in the alley; paper and old rags, a pile of splintered boards and plastic that looked like the remains of someone’s handcart. He took hold of the side of the cart and pried loose a couple of straight pieces of wood that were less filthy than most to make splints for Kamura’s arm. He tore some of the ribbons off the top of her dress and used them to bind the splints and hold her arm against her side. The scalp wound he decided to leave alone until he had something he could use to clean it. Jak wished he had a cloak or a cape to wrap around her. She needed warmth, and it would hide her, too, but he had nothing that would do the job.
He picked her up in his arms as gently as he could. She moved once, like a sleeping child stirring, and then subsided with a whimper. Her soft skin felt clammy with shock. He hoped she’d stay unconscious. He’d take her to his room just for tonight. Tomorrow, he’d figure out a way to get in contact with Family Mobutu. With any luck, Kamura would be back among her own people before anyone in Namdrik knew she was still alive. Perhaps there would even be a reward—enough to get Tessa free of Shadriss at last.
He’d travel over the roofs. It would be difficult in the dark, carrying an injured woman. The footing was treacherous, and there was always the danger of running into a night roving mobbie pack. But he needed to keep out of sight, and it was the fastest way to the only secure spot he knew. A steep staircase further down the alley led to the roof of the Pit. Jak climbed it, stepping wide where the treads were missing, and crossed the roof diagonally to the corner of the next building. It was hard to lower Kamura without jarring her, but he managed, and dropped onto the roof below.
He crossed a dozen more roofs before reaching his building. The roof under his feet had collapsed once, nearly sending them both tumbling into the darkness below. Only a fast, one handed grab at the nearest wall saved them. Fortunately, no mobbies had crossed their path. Flicking through the combination of the lock on the rooftop door, he pushed inside and paused at the top of the stairs to listen for a moment. A baby cried on one of the floors below, and somebody snored in a room nearby, but there was no one out to see them descend. Settling Kamura more securely in his arms, he stepped inside. Closing the door to the roof, Jak crossed the space as quickly and quietly as he could. For the first time, he counted himself fortunate that his room was on the third floor and near the stairway. The rent was cheap because the space was tiny and, with no insulation between his ceiling and the roof, it was almost always too hot. But tonight it meant he had to take only a couple of long strides to reach his door.
He had a bad moment when he nearly dropped Kamura as he fumbled the old fashioned card key out of his vest pocket—more secure than the combination lock on the roof, but not by much—and got the battered door open. She moaned a little as he stretched her out on his cot, and then turned to close and lock the door. He flipped the switch to turn on the one small light globe that hung from the ceiling, and the single room that he called home was illuminated in all its shabby poverty. There was only one window—high up in the opposite wall—but some other traveler over the roofs might be able to see inside. Jak pulled the thick leather shutter over it to be safe.
Then, there was no more putting it off. Time to play medic. He closed his eyes and tried to will some useful memories to come to him, but it didn’t work. He might have the memories of a great medic buried somewhere inside him, but he couldn't force them to emerge. He sighed in frustration. Damn whichever crazy god had afflicted him with this curse!
The first thing to do was clean the head wound. Even he knew that much. Jak took a tube of antiseptic and a clean cloth from the cupboard that held his few possessions and filled a bowl with water. Carefully, he sponged the blood away from Kamura’s face and hair. Some scrapes were revealed, but they weren’t important. What worried him was the bloody gash cutting through the hair behind her left ear. The swelling around it looked ugly and painful.
He cleaned the wound as well as he could, wishing he had a real med kit. Instead, he had a needle, a few yards of black thread, a small tube of antiseptic, and the remains of Kamura’s skirt, which he’d ripped into usable pieces.
It took a long time to stitch the wound, and he was grateful that the Terran remained unconscious while he worked. Maybe that wasn’t entirely due to being hit on the head. Jak remembered how drunk she’d seemed earlier. Maybe n’Tau had slipped something into her drink. The girl had moaned once or twice but didn’t really wake up. Jak kept wiping away the blood with another piece ripped from her skirt and stitching the wound as best he could with his poor tools. His back ached with tension when he finally finished. Smearing antiseptic over the gash and scrapes, he bound the last of her skirt around her head to try to keep the wound clean.
He checked her broken arm again but decided he’d set it well enough the first time—better to leave it alone. He’d done all he could. Kamura moaned, and he scowled down at her, remembering her arrogance, her insults in the Pit. He shook his head, disgusted with himself, angry with Kamura. What was the matter with him that he’d dealt himself into her problems? Didn’t he have enough trouble of his own?
Scowling, he touched the back of his hand to her forehead. It was a hot, sultry night, but Kamura’s skin still felt clammy from shock, and her breath came in harsh, irregular gasps. He found his winter cape and covered her with that. As he pulled off his boots and prepared to sleep on the floor, he made a promise to himself Tomorrow, if she were still alive, he’d see about returning this awkward woman to Family Mobutu.