Don't Judge
Corso woke with a start at someone shaking his shoulder. He bolted upright staring up into the face of a man with balding gray hair and deep blue eyes radiating kindness from beneath bushy brows.
"How is she, doc?" he mumbled, needing to hear the best and trying to brace for the worst.
"She's out of immediate danger but is going to need at least four days in the tank. She was septic by the time you got her here and without going into too much detail, she had a nice soup of bile, body waste and blood leaking into her abdominal cavity. Three broken ribs and two cracked vertebrae added to the complications. We damn near lost her twice on the operating table. She's one tough lady, I'll give her that."
"Can I see her?" pleaded Corso. "Please?"
"Follow me," said the doctor.
Corso stretched the kinks from his muscles, wincing a bit when he moved his shoulder, and followed the doctor's receding back down a corridor and through a set of double doors. Largo brought up the rear, carrying the duffels.
Six tanks sat against the far wall of the room. Blinking monitors hung on the wall between each unit, all in standby mode except hers. Various beds, tables, trays and rolling chairs filled much of the remaining space.
Corso tread slowly, almost reverently, to the round glass enclosure where Ky floated in a clear liquid. Tubes protruded from her arms and monitoring electrodes were attached to her chest and temples. A breathing mask covered her face, bubbles rose lazily and her hair hovered in a wispy halo around her head.
He laid his hand gently on the glass, then pressed his forehead against the cold hard surface and puffed a sigh of relief through pursed lips, leaving a ring of fog in its wake.
"I love you," he whispered as if somehow his words could penetrate all the barriers between them and travel to her ears and maybe her heart.
"Take a seat and let me have a look at you," said the doctor.
Begrudgingly, Corso turned away from the tank and hopped up on one of the exam tables where Dr. Harren ran a med scanner up and down the length of his body. The doctor physically prodded his torso and shoulder determining he had a sprained shoulder, cracked rib and very mild concussion. Nothing that a kolto injection and a few days of inactivity wouldn't cure.
"I'd say you got off pretty lucky considering the injuries your partner sustained," Harren stated while injecting the necessary meds into the side of Corso's neck.
"I won't leave her, so don't bother asking," said Corso, hopping down from the exam table and moving once more to her tank.
"I understand, son, but you look a little worse for wear and to be honest, I could throw you out for sanitary reasons alone. I've encountered desert cats that smelled better. Go get a shower, a change of clothes and something to eat before you come back. I might even see about getting a cot set up, but you have to follow my rules."
"Come on home with me," offered Largo. "I've posted my men already and she'll be safe enough, plus, we're only a commlink away. Doctor Harren will call if there's any change and I'll have you back before you know it."
Corso swiveled back to the tank to gaze into her face. He hadn't seen her this peaceful in a long time. Sure, it was drug induced, but still, no frown lines marred her brow and she was too far under to dream. He traced the curve of her face from hairline to chin with his finger, leaving a smudged line on the unyielding glass. He would have given anything to touch the warmth of her skin or the silk of her hair.
"I'll be back soon," he promised her. "Thanks doc," he extended his arm to shake the hand of the man who'd saved her life before pivoting on his heel to follow Largo out of the room. Outside the med center, they mounted a speeder for the short trip to Largo's home.
They climbed to the second level of Largo's warehouse which doubled as his home. Corso butted his forehead against the heel of his hand as soon as they entered the living quarters.
"I completely forgot about Akaavi, Gus and Bowdaar. It's been over two days since they heard from us. Gus will be frantic and the other two are gonna be pissed. Mind if I use your holo?"
"It's in the comm room, right through that door. Help yourself."
Corso removed his datapad from the inside pocket of his jacket and settled himself in front of the comm panel. He plugged his datapad into the unit and keyed in the frequency for Akaavi then sat back waiting for her to answer.
Finally the Zabrak's familiar visage appeared as a pale blue hologram.
"Mar'e, Corso. Where the hell have you been?" the Mandalorian's deep female voice asked accusingly.
"I don't have much time, Akaavi, so just listen," said Corso before going into the retelling of the past forty-eight hours events.
"I knew better than to trust that filthy chakaaryc," huffed Akaavi, her frown knitting her facial tattoos into a straight line across her brow. "We can be on the next transport out to Tatooine, a debt of revenge is owed."
Corso shook his head. "Best you guys stay where you are until Ky wakes up and decides what she wants to do. I'm sure that she'll want to thank Sonhem for his hospitality at some point, but she still has four days in the tank and I don't think she'd appreciate us moving without her."
"As you say, but I will not sit idle here. I still have contacts with the Mando'ade who would never turn down a good fight and the chance for loot."
The deep, growling bark of Bowdaar could be heard in the background.
"The Wookie says much the same. We will wait for the call. Ret'urcye mhi, Corso, stay in touch."
Corso disconnected his datapad and exited back into the living room, furnished in an eclectic mixture of odds and ends. Faded peddler rugs lay haphazardly on the duracrete floor, overstuffed chairs sat here and there, and a couple of spacer's lounges fit snuggly into opposing corners. A steel table with uncomfortable looking chairs filled one wall and an old steel desk with a lop-sided, high back chair sat against another.
Largo stuck his head out of a door half-way down a dim hallway. "Shower's in here. Real water which we recycle. Collectors scrape every drop of moisture from the walls so nothing goes to waste. Sonic's good enough most of the time, but you look like you could use the real thing."
Corso entered a small bedroom with a refresher door off to the side. "Thanks, Largo," he said setting the duffels on the bed made up with a tattered quilt of mismatched patterns and garish colors.
"Sure thing, kid. Take your time, sand can be a real bitch on the tender parts, make sure you get all of it. Oh, and when you're done with the towel, throw it down the reclamation chute so the water can be recovered."
Hot water and thick lather were a luxury Corso hadn't expected to encounter on this dry planet where moisture held more value than precious metal, gems or credits. But, as delightful as this was, he remained impatient to return to the med center and Ky. He'd scrubbed every nook, cranny and crevasse, some twice, before turning off the shower and wrapping a towel around his hips.
He paused to catch his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror which remained clear of condensation since the shower was a sealed unit. He scrubbed his fingers across his cheeks and chin, the stubble prickly and course. His face had darkened at least a shade or two from the twin suns, and his eyes stared back, the whites a stark contrast against skin as brown as a willu nut.
Corso's mind insisted on wandering and he kept yanking it back to the task at hand. No time for a shave, no time for woolgathering, he had to get back to her. Droplets of water splattered to the floor from his dreadlocks which hung past his shoulders. He removed the towel from his hips and briskly rubbed his hair, threw the wet cloth down the chute, then proceeded to get dressed and exit the room. He'd wasted enough time on personal comforts.
"Got some food ready for you," Largo's cheery voice greeted him when he walked back into the living room. "I take it you feel better?"
"I feel sand free, but I'm not hungry," stated Corso, bags in hand, ready to leave.
"Dammit, boy, sit and eat something. You intend to starve yourself for the next four days and pass out as soon as they take her from the tank or end up in one yourself? Be smart and stay strong for her."
Corso glared at Largo, but dropped the bags and took a seat at the table. He didn't feel hungry but his stomach growled at the sight of the sandwich, fries and bottle of ale waiting for him. The first bite went down hard, his throat barely able to swallow, but before he gave it another thought, he was wolfing down the food like a starving man. He could feel his energy build and gave Largo an appreciative nod.
"Why do you think Sonhem didn't just off you when you were at his place?" asked Largo.
"We travel with a Wookie and a Mandalorian. You ever fight either one?" Corso quirked an eyebrow at Largo. "Plausible deniability, the mainstay of crooks and politicians. He could even volunteer to help look for us when they came calling, which they would have. The sand people would leave nothing but bones, if that, and what was left of the ship would be stripped and carted away. He could blame it on mechanical failure, feign innocence and get away with it, or so he thought."
"And Ky? What do you think she'll do when she wakes up?"
"With her, who knows for sure? She'll most likely wait, months or a year, maybe more until this whole thing is just a vague memory for Sonhem. He'll get comfortable and careless and then she'll strike. Ky will get her revenge when he stops looking over his shoulder. She'll look him in the eye when she shoots him in the face."
Largo slowly shook his head. "Too bad she didn't take her time with this deal instead of barreling in."
"Don't judge. She had her back to the wall. Tell me you've never made a mistake when push came to shove."
Largo chuckled. "More times than I care to admit. You ready to go?"
"I've been ready since we got here," answered Corso as he rose from the table, grabbed the duffels and strode to the door.
As thankful as Corso was for the help, he was more thankful when the doc and Largo finally left him alone. He pulled one of the rolling chairs as close to the tank as he could, settled into the padded seat and propped his arms on the armrests. He leaned as far as the adjustable back would let him so he had a clear view of Ky's face. She looked so fragile, not at all like the fiery woman he'd traveled with the past three years. Her hands and feet were almost skeletal, the knuckles and arches pressed against skin stretched tight and translucent, marked by blue tributaries of veins.
Her arms and legs twitched from time to time causing him to sit up straight, ready to call for the doctor at any moment but the jerking movements passed quickly. Her lashes lay in dark half-moons against the circles under her eyes and her brows would arch upwards briefly as if she'd seen something amazing. Even like this, she was beautiful, a watercolor masterpiece in a liquid crystal frame.
He toyed with the ring box in his jacket pocket, idly prying the lid partly open with his thumb and letting it snap back into place. Not knowing what else to do with his hands, the mundane motion eased his need to do something while he continued to stare at the serene visage of the woman he loved beyond hope.
She'd buoyed him up and broken him down over the years and could make him feel lost and found with a single smile. An anomaly, a contradiction, and frustrating beyond sanity, he could not imagine his life without her.
The gurgling of the tanks created a soothing white noise and Corso scooted his butt forward in the chair, crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back. Half drowsy, his mind wandered to the first time he'd met her.
Port Nowhere, where nobody gave a shit who you were or what you did. He and Skavak were the pickup men for the arms, she was the transport. They worked for Ulass Venn who'd taken over Rendia Freight on Ord Mantell after Viidu choked to death on a rum ball during a Life Day feast, or so the rumors went. Corso'd been off planet at the time and had always wondered about the veracity of that story. He'd liked Viidu; Ulass, not so much.
Venn had taken the contract on behalf of some Republic Commander who liked to bypass official channels. Bastard likely doctored the bills of lading and took his cut long before they reached the front lines. Military grade arms sold well on the black market.
She'd sauntered down the ramp of her ship, like she was on vacation, dark ponytail bouncing, hips swaying and hazel eyes alert, scanning everything at once. He remained as smitten by her today as he'd been then. To this day, she walked with that smuggler swagger usually reserved for males in that particular line of work. His heart had jumped in his chest like a Corellian Durni and he'd hoped that she would and wouldn't notice him at the same time.
The farm boy side of him blushed when he'd wondered if her lips were soft and her skin warm and supple to the touch. He'd slapped that other part of himself back into submission, quickly shutting down the salacious fantasies and cruel twist of his mouth before anyone could see.
Of course, she'd paid more attention to Skavak until the prick tranqed them all, stole her shipments and Torchy. It was a low blow to steal a man's favorite blaster. Skavak disappeared like the rat he was and the rest is history.
Yeah, the one cocked-up delivery that had ultimately sealed her fate with the Republic and black listed her with the Hutts.
The only good thing about that whole mess was him signing on as one of her crew. They'd searched for Skavak for months but he was in the wind and every lead turned up empty. Maybe the bastard was dead—one could only hope.
Traveling with Ky had been an education that shattered many of his dreams and illusions and he wouldn't have traded one second for a Hutt's weight in credits.
He cracked one eye open to confirm she was still there then closed his lids and dozed. The beat of her heart, emitted in monotonous and reassuring beeps from the monitor, verified she still existed in his world.