Chapter Nineteen (Patreon)

The hospitals of Khedive had once been a gem upon the brow of Kalee. An interlocking system of care, with massive tunnels that allowed for transfer from one hospital to another without needing to deal with street-level traffic. Despite the Kaleesh’s nomadic tendencies (or perhaps because of them) the Kaleesh suffered few deaths to disease, malnutrition, or accident. The system had some of the lowest death rates in the galaxy, comparable to those of Alderaan (though admittedly the Khedive system needed to focus on a single species, as opposed to Alderaan’s more cosmopolitan population).

Most of that system was now ash. Hospitals had been the primary targets for hundreds of bombers during the three-day air battle, and far too many had been successful. While the tunnel system survived, it was the only thing that did. For a the first week after the army left, Ali’ya had done little other than clear rubble with the Force, helping the Kaleesh emergency workers gain access to the tunnels and their back-up supply stores. The more access points they had the better, since no one knew when the next attack would come. Even with the battlefield shifting away from the city there was a general feeling of unease.

It was only after that first week, when they deemed the tunnels sufficiently accessible and moved Ali’ya towards curing patients that they realized what she could do. In fairness, Ali’ya hadn’t realized it yet either. Apparently spending so much of her time healing up from exercise had a serious affect. Most--nearly all--medicine undertook the traditional steps of healing. With wounds, that was to stop the bleeding, allow inflammation so more nutrients could reach the area, and then slowly help regrow the cells. Ali’ya skipped over the first two entirely, regenerating cells as if they’d never died. The process was an intensive one, eating through the energy stores of the patient and often leaving them somewhere between peckish and ravenously hungry depending on the severity of the wound. The process alone was not perfect--and could be painful--but when combined with nutrition and saline drips Ali’ya managed to heal severe blood loss, organ damage, and traumatic brain injuries. The only thing she couldn’t do (yet, Ali’ya hoped) was regrow lost limbs or organs. If the body part in question was entirely destroyed or missing, there was only so much she could do. Ali’ya offered to ease the passing for some of those whose lungs were too damaged or whose livers and kidneys were entirely gone, but the Kaleesh healers quickly moved her on.

“This is war,” they told her in their lyrical tongue. “Better one unpleasant death than two comfortable ones.” Ali’ya nodded, unable to respond in their tongue and not having much of an argument. She was here to save lives, not take them. No matter what the System and it’s skewed rewards system (10 experience points for each saved Kaleesh, 100 experience points for each killed Yam’rii) said.

Two weeks passed, and the wounded the received were coming from further away. Too far for immediate care. Only those lucky enough to be around Master Bulq--who could force them into a stabilizing trance--or injured severely but not too severely were able to make it back. Ali’ya healed as many of them as she could. She tended to the wounds of the ever-growing civilian population of the city, expanded as millions rushed in as their traditional lands were turned into battlefields. She gave what little knowledge she had on epidemiology and helped install water purification systems throughout the city. Twice a week she used their stolen HT-2200 to carry food and medicine in from the southeastern continent, as of yet untouched by the war.

One month passed. Two months. The Huk were being pushed back to their colonial capital, the wounded told them. They were liberating slaves. Ali’ya saw very few of the liberated, who were quickly taken in by what mental health facilities remained. What rumors she heard of their enslavement made her weep as the Force curled around the words speaking, truth, truth, truth. Ali’ya shoved her concerns to the back of her mind. She returned to the hospital. She cured diseases, burned out infections, regrew skin, healed wounds, and repaired organs. She saved lives and ended the days with blood-covered hands, trying to focus on the ones she had saved rather than those she could not help.

The news from the front turned grim. They were pushing, but the Huk weren’t stepping back. They reached the colonial capital, only to find the entire city turned into a fortress. Every street, every building, every room on every floor was fought for. Some buildings were used to house secret caches of artillery while others sat filled with explosives, waiting for someone to try and search. The Huk fought like cowards, refusing to face the Kaleesh. Instead they planned ambushes in the streets, blade-like arms swinging out, cutting down a score of Kaleesh warriors before they could be brought down. It was an ugly war, but they were winning.

A strange noise startled her. Ali’ya jolted, leaving the amputation wound in a half-healed state of scarification. WHEE-OO! WHEE-OO!

“Air raid sirens,” Ali’ya though aloud. Why are they--why doesn’t matter. “Everyone get into the tunnels!” Ali’ya ordered, her force-enhanced voice booming through the temporary medical center. Those nearby winced and covered their ears. “Everyone into the tunnels!”

“The tunnels were closed off last time!” one patient protested.

“We’ll open them again!” Ali’ya shouted back. “Now go, we don’t have much--” Even Ali’ya couldn’t hear her next word through the rushing wind as a plane zoomed across the street.

“Bomb!”

“Bomb!”

Ali’ya turned, looking up for a split second. There was a bomb. A large bomb. It floated on the air as time stood still, sinking slowly towards the ground. Ali’ya acted without thinking. She felt protectiveness rise up inside her. These people were wounded. Injured. They were hers. Ali’ya pushed.

The tent flew up, torn from its moorings. With unexpected strength it caught the bomb, hurtling it higher into the air. The floating tent caught in the engine of a passing bomber. The bomber yanked the tent along with it. The tent yanked the bomb. The bomb hit the bomber. A noise like a sound cannon and bright blue and green flames across the sky.

“Move!” Ali’ya shouted, pulling herself from the confounding vision. “Now!”

Nurses, patients, visitors, and staff moved across the ground. Some rushed, others walked with speed but not panic. Nurses and healers carried patients on repulsor-beds and in stretchers, wheeled down amputees and lent shoulders to the hobbled. Ali’ya did not join them. Nor was she alone in staying aboveground, for some sixty Kaleesh remained as well.

“Where is the nearest anti-aircraft position?” Ali’ya asked the Kaleesh in his dark uniform.

“Three blocks down,” the Tarkhan answered.

“Good. All of you, remain with the wounded.”

“Ma’am--”

“We don’t know if the Huk are going to try another landing. If they do, the tunnels are where they’ll hit.”

“Agreed,” the Tarkhan spoke. “All off-duty warriors, with the wounded. On-duty and on-call, with me. How good are you with artillery?”

“I have little practice, but the Force guides my hand and I can see for miles,” Ali’ya replied, blinking her feline eyes.

“Hmph,” the Tarkhan grunted. “Move out! To Zeta-Oshk-Ten!”

Ali’ya had not been lying when she said the Force would guide her hand, or when she said she could see for miles. Yet she found herself cursing her aim more often than not, gaining more glancing shots and near-misses than true hits.

DANGER! The Force’s warning made the fur on her neck stand up. Ali’ya pivoted immediately, bringing the gun with her. Her eyes widened in terror. A capital ship--a true, purpose-built warship--was in orbit. Landing craft were being sent down.

“They’re attempting a landing!” Ali’ya shouted through the coms. “Capital ship in orbit, the landing craft are splitting up as they near!”

“All personnel, target the landing craft!” the voice of Khan Edyo demanded. “Repeat, target the landing craft.”

Ali’ya took aim once more. She hit, but all that did was show the craft’s shields. She hit again, and again, and again. Those beside her fired as well, slowly wearing away at the landing craft’s capabilities.

“It’s not enough,” Ali’ya realized. The anti-aircraft guns the Kaleesh had were meant for defense against fighter craft, pirates, and their nearby (and now defeated) foes. They were neither intended to nor capable of contesting the heavy shields of the landing craft--far stronger than Ali’ya remembered those models having. Not when the enemy had more ships than they had guns.

“Tarkhan,” Ali’ya said, leaping from her seat. “Get eight of your best gunners.”

“What?” the Tarkhan asked incredulously, lining up another shot. He fired, taking out one of the six engines.

“The freighter,” Ali’ya explained. “It has heavier guns than this. We can use it.”

The Tarkhan stared at her. “One ship?” he asked. “Against so many? We will not survive.”

The Force trilled with warning. Ali’ya ignored it. “We’ll die if they land.”

“Not necessarily,” the Tarkhan replied, a sharp smile taking over his face. “We let them land. Then we retrieve your ship, and tear through their landing craft and personnel.”

“The civilian casualties--”

“We’ve evacuated as many as we can,” the Tarkhan interrupted. “Welcome to war.”