Firestorm by Kathleen Morgan Page B

completed" the computer informed him.
    Teague moved to the hold's floor panel, knelt, and lifted the small door until it locked in place. Steep metal stairs led down to the subfloor and the ship's hull. "Raina?" he called down into the hold. "Are you all right?"
    There was no answer. Filled with rising dread Teague climbed down the stairs. The small hold looked as it had before lift-off, sectioned off into neat, shelved compartments stocked with shielded receptacles designed to carry the Incendarian crystal back to Bellator. Strapped firmly onto their shelves, they'd suffered no damage from the rough ride down.
    "Raina?"
    Teague headed toward the rear starboard section, its back wall blocked from view by the ceiling-high shelved compartments. As he made his way around the compartment fronting the starboard wall, a low groan emanated from directly behind him. He wheeled and found the Sodalitas crumpled in a corner behind yet another shelved compartment.
    His heart pounding, he raced over and knelt before her. "Raina? Femina? What happened?"
    Her dark auburn lashes fluttered open. "The panel. . . it was loose. I managed ... to seal it shut. . . but it took a long while." She attempted to lever herself to one elbow and failed. "Ah, curse it all," she whispered. "I'm so weak."
    Teague reached out and brushed aside a long, curling lock that had worked free of her braid. "The electromagnetic radiation?"
    Raina grimaced then nodded. "That, and exposure to some high levels of heat, I'm afraid. Guess it'll soon be a mission of two once more."
    "Don't count on that just yet. You're too stubborn to give up easily. Besides, are you really willing to admit I was right in ordering you not to come down here?"
    "Hardly, Tremayne. You know better than that." With a superhuman effort, Raina offered her hand. "Help me get out of here, will you?"
    He scooted close, pulled her gently to a sitting position, and lifted her over his shoulder. Backing out of the narrow space, Teague hefted Raina more securely in place, then stood. The climb up the stairs with the additional weight of his human burden was a challenge, but he made it and soon had her lying on the narrow bunk in the sleeping chamber. He slid a pillow beneath her head and covered her with a blanket.
    "I'll be back in a few minutes." Teague's glance skimmed over her. She was pale, her skin clammy, and she could barely keep her eyes open. It was vital that he get the necessary injections from the med kit into her, a med kit they'd been as thoroughly instructed in the use of as they had the piloting of the spy ship and collection of the crystal.
    Teague ran from the sleeping chamber and down the hall to the galley where the kit was kept. He all but ripped it off the wall and raced out of the room, back down the corridor, and into the sleeping chamber. His hands trembled as he laid the box on the small table and opened it.
    What had Cyra said? First give the anti-radiation drug to decrease the effective amount of rads from a new radiation exposure and prevent further damage. Then the torpine, to put the patient into a healing trance for the next twenty-four hours. Between the two, one hoped to be able to minimize the damage. Later, after meds to treat specific side effects like nausea and vomiting, and healing ointments for any skin damage, there was an ample supply of narcotics for pain.
    He looked back at Raina. She lay there unmoving, apparently having drifted into unconsciousness. It was for the best, Teague told himself. She'd been through enough trauma without having now to endure his fumbling efforts to heal her . . . if he could heal her. There was no telling how much radiation exposure she'd received. He would never know. She would either live or die, and the final answers would lie in that.
    He gave her the injections. Then, after removing Raina's boots and loosening her clothing, Teague covered her with several more blankets to keep her warm. He lingered there a moment more, gazing