Chapter Nine: Solo Death Pounce
Avocato floated in a sea of misty gray.
He had been wounded often enough during the course of his military career to know when he was being held in a drug-induced stasis. It was a strange sensation, but not exactly unpleasant, like hovering on the very edge of sleep. He was warm and in no pain, but would not be able to move until the lid of the recovery pod was opened and he was released from this coma. All the same he remained aware of some things, like the depth of the wounds on his chest and the fact that he'd crushed a few tail bones, when the lights in the room were dimmed, and when people came and went. Of the passage of time, he had no notion. Seconds or years could have passed. He heard muffled voices, but could make little sense of the words, and while he understood the language, much of the vocabulary was foreign. Tuna? Poker? Mooncake? They were familiar to the talker, but not Avocato.
He knew by their voices that there were several people around him. Two were with him more than any others, one young, the other kind, both male as far as he could tell. The young voice seemed familiar somehow, and he seemed to have known Avocato personally. The kind voice had a lot to say and also seemed be on close terms with him, but that made little sense to Avocato since that was also the person with the oddest vocabulary. If he knew this person so well then surely, he would know what a cookie was. They seemed very important, though he thought the word itself was silly.
Perhaps when he woke up things would make sense. Until then, he had every reason to believe he was safe. Part of him knew that the drugs affecting him also blocked his memory of whatever trauma had brought him to this point, which was just as well because he knew he had been critically wounded. All he could recall was blinding light and searing heat. Radiation poisoning, perhaps? It wouldn't be the first time. Shot by a laser? He'd lost count how many times that had happened. An explosion? There were plenty of those in his past and that would explain the extent of his injuries. He mentally shrugged off his concerns. Memory would return with consciousness, and by then he would be healed, at least physically. Until then, trying to make sense of what was being said to him sufficed to keep him distracted from worry.
Today the kind voice was going on about exotic foods they reportedly had shared, though if Avocato had ever willingly consumed something called oatmeal, he was mercifully unaware of it. It sounded revolting. Awful edibles aside, he appreciated the discussion. It had been ages since he'd been able to carry on an unguarded conversation. Nikos was the only one left who could and would tell him to go to hell, and his only source and outlet for humor and understanding. Most everyone else he interacted with was either terrified of him or a spy. Even when he was with his four-year-old son, he knew he was under constant scrutiny. Any hint of disloyalty or dissatisfaction would be used as a weapon, and so he weighed every word before speaking it and guarded his emotions. It was not easy, and he hated that he had to be so cool even to Little Cato. To hear this rambling voice going on and on about the ridiculous was rather refreshing.
He became aware that there was trouble only when something slammed into the recovery pod. Avocato felt the sharp jostle, but could neither move nor open his eyes so long as the pod was sealed. He heard bangs and shouts and things being smashed about, and somehow his mind knew that a brawl of sorts was going on. Well. Strange alien customs side, that was highly unusual for a medical facility.
Cool air suddenly washed over him as the canopy of the recovery pod slid open slightly, bringing with it a jolt to his consciousness and an antiseptic smell and the sharp tang of blood. This was abnormal and too abrupt. He knew that instantly. Coming out of these pods was a process in order to minimize shock, but the healing cycle came to a sudden halt when something – or someone – deactivated the controls. Awareness, pain, and memory came flooding back, and Avocato was snatched out of oblivion and thrust straight into a fight.
His eyes snapped wide and he drew in a loud gasp as he remembered fighting the Scoti boarders, Yig moving to take a killing shot aimed for Avocato, the bridge officers and crewmen screaming and shouting as they were slaughtered around him. He remembered squaring off against a Scoti wielding a laser knife and the sensation of being slashed across the chest. He had snatched the knife away from her when it caught on the buckle of his gun belt and used her own weapon to kill her on the spot. Another Scoti, bigger, male, armed with gun and blade, screaming in fury and hate as he threw himself into the fray. Avocato mentally flinched at the realization he'd been stabbed multiple times in the arms and chest and leg. The sensation, even remembered, was horrifying. But mostly he recalled fighting, fighting, fighting for his life, trying to keep the Scoti there and occupied until the Kalibar could deliver the final, telling, blow . . .
He'd been the last one standing and the Scoti had been closing in to finish him off when . . . nothingness. The next thing he could remember was the kind voice talking to him about . . . about his boy? How was that possible?
He had survived. How had he survived? Had his plan worked or not? What happened to the Kalibar? Where was he? What was happening now?
The torrent of memories and emotions swept over Avocato and he knew better than to fight it. Like the swell of an ocean wave lifting and carrying him in to shore, he just rode the rush of sensation. Doing anything more or less would not help him to recover.
He returned to the here-and-now as someone cried out in pain and panic, and instantly he recognized the voice as belonging to the kind one. Avocato forced his eyes to focus, blinking to clear them with indifferent success. He had too many drugs in his system still to expect results. From the relative safety of the recovery pod, he tried to see what was happening around him. Shadowy figures, one slim and humanoid and fair, the other hulking and reptilian and dark, swayed and struggled against each other in the center of the room. Something in his mind registered: human, Scoti. So. His assassins were still trying. Experience and one blurry glance told Avocato that the humanoid wouldn't stand a chance.
At least, not alone.
There was no way he could lie here and do nothing while the person who had been watching over his recovery was pummeled or killed. Even if he found humans to be thoroughly annoying creatures, it was apparent they weren't all useless and this one was fighting to protect him. He certainly could do no less. Avocato lifted his left arm – the broken one, as it turned out – and worked his fingers under the edge of the mask feeding him oxygen, prying it off his face with another loud gasp. Faint alarms dinged at the change in patient status, but he ignored the warnings as with his right hand he groped for the emergency release inside the pod before the automated system could drug him into unconsciousness again. He was under no illusion that if that should happen, the Scoti would ensure he'd never wake up.
His fumbling hand found the panel with the emergency release and he slid the cover aside to hit the button. The clear canopy overhead slid partially back and stopped. It had been damaged during the scuffle. With a growl of annoyance, Avocato yanked the IV lines out of his hands and arm before clamping his hands on the brim of the cover. He managed to force it back enough for him to fit through the opening.
That was the plan, at least. Seeing it through was a different matter. He had overestimated his strength and flexibility in his present condition, so while the human/Scoti battle raged on without him, Avocato struggled to haul himself to the brim of the canopy opening. He sat for a moment, half in, half out, collecting himself, before easing one leg and then the other out of the pod. He knew putting any weight on his right leg would be torture, but he had no choice but to slide off the cover. Agony coursed up his leg as his bare feet landed on the floor and he fell back against the unit, gasping and struggling to keep from blacking out as he felt bone shift. He'd only get one shot at this, he knew, and if he was to be of any help, it had to count.
Human and Scoti were rolling on the floor. That the human had managed to avoid being killed this long was impressive and spoke to either the human's fighting skill or dumb luck. Avocato could smell blood and sweat and fear heavy in the air. He kept out of range of their flailing limbs as the Scoti slammed the human onto his back, gripping him by the throat. This was his chance. The Scoti was completely focused on his opponent, but Avocato saw the instant the human spotted him coming from the shadows. Recognition and surprise and sheer determination flooded those oddly-shaped eyes as Avocato lunged.
Despite being a highly civilized and advanced civilization, Ventrexians were descended from apex predators with a long, proud, and shockingly successful record for killing. Even the least of them was capable of holding their own in hand-to-hand combat. It was instinctive and inherent, this ability to attack and defend, and they came equipped with claws and teeth and deadly speed. Most Ventrexians refrained from physical fights, preferring to keep their personal weapons just that, and most considered it gauche to resort to retaliation by means as primitive as tooth and nail (as opposed to biting comments). Some, however, embraced the primitive as just one more means of defense, and Avocato, soldier to the core, was quite firmly entrenched in the latter camp.
He landed as softly as his injured leg would allow behind the Scoti, whose unclothed back was completely exposed. Idiot. He'd turned his back on a known warrior. Without hesitation Avocato loosed his claws, crossing his arms as he slammed his hands into rock-hard muscle. Broken bones protested at the impact, too painful to ignore, and he let out a vicious hiss in answer to the pain coursing through him. His claws dug deeply into the Scoti's unprotected flesh, and with a savage, feral scream, Avocato dragged his hands from shoulders to hips, crossing the Scoti's back in a bloody 'x'. A second scream rose up with his own, this one of agony and surprise as the Scoti arched up at the unexpected assault.
The Scoti whirled, throwing off the human to face off against one of the most dangerous and unpredictable beings in the universe: A Ventrexian with nothing to lose.