Free Enemy Games by Marcella Burnard

recently in contact with the Dagger , the filters should be no more than a few hours . . .”
    “Thirteen hours, sir,” Parqe interjected.
    “Excellent,” Jayleia said, relief easing the tension gathering in her shoulders. “The markers for the Chemmoxin pathogen were released a month or more ago. The Rhapsody should have them. We’ll synch the biofilters and teleport you to your ship, then, Captain.”
    “If he’s infected the teleport won’t go through?” Damen guessed. He matched her nod. “Then we each teleport.”
    “What?” V’kyrri demanded. His cautious tone and the way he eyed her told Jay he’d picked up her hesitation.
    “Primary symptoms are setting in,” she said. “I doubt I’ll teleport.”
    The muscles of Damen’s jaw knotted. “We’ll try.”
    “We could decontaminate the ship the way we did aboard the Sen Ekir last year,” V’kyrri suggested. “Wouldn’t a radiation bath work? The Kawl Fergus would handle a slingshot.”
    “Undoubtedly, on both counts, but we wouldn’t have the pre-exposure vaccine to shield us. We’d take a full dose of radiation,” she said. “You’d both be sterile, even after months of gene therapy.”
    They cringed.
    “The Rhapsody could send three doses . . .” V’k began.
    “It’s radioactive,” she said.
    “Then it won’t teleport,” Damen concluded, his tone grim.
    “Captain, if I may?” Commander Parqe interjected.
    “Go ahead, Commander,” V’k said.
    “I’ve taken the liberty of briefing our medical officer,” she said. “Jowun suggests stasis for your infected passenger.”
    Something dark and cold gripped Jayleia’s chest. She couldn’t draw a full breath. She didn’t comprehend the sensation and grappled for control of her runaway heart rate and blurred vision. When her eyesight cleared, she found herself on her feet, staring at the companionway outside the cockpit door.
    Confusion and deep uneasiness swept her.
    She drew a slow, purposeful breath, just to be certain she could. Air slid easily in and out. Frowning, she turned back.
    Damen half stood, one hand braced on the back of his chair, the other on his panel, as if she’d caught him in the act of rising. He eyed her, his gaze searching. Whatever he saw drew him to her side.
    He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him.
    “Easy,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
    Was it? Resting against the solid warmth of Damen’s chest, she relaxed. The last remnants of cold fled her body. A sense of safety crept over her and she sighed.
    “What happened?” Jayleia asked. Her voice sounded thin and scared. She focused on V’kyrri’s dazed expression. “Did you do that?”
    He turned his head toward her, though his eyes didn’t quite focus.
    “He didn’t do anything,” Damen said. “What happened?”
    Panic spiked into her chest. Her vision hazed.
    “Breathe,” he commanded at her ear, tightening his arm around her. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. Breathe, Jayleia.”
    She sucked in a ragged breath.
    Her vision cleared in time for her to see V’kyrri grimace.
    “Are you sure you aren’t trained in telepathic ambush, Jay?” he grumbled. “Cause that hurt.”
    She gaped at the telepath. The pounding in her head made her queasy. “What? No. You did something. Are you telekinetic? Or did you influence me mentally? Take over and drive me out of the cockpit? Why would you do that?”
    “Explain this if you can,” Damen said to V’kyrri as he led her to her chair. “Or I’ll refuse you painkillers for that headache you’re broadcasting.”
    V’kyrri sat upright. “Am I broadcasting? Sorry.” His gaze turned inward.
    “Sit down,” Damen urged, his voice pitched to soothe and reassure.
    It worked. She obeyed, embarrassed by how badly she’d needed his arms around her.
    “Thanks.”
    “Is that better?” V’kyrri asked.
    The ache in Jay’s head had diminished. She blinked. How could she, a non-telepath, have been picking up V’kyrri’s