“It's just a flesh wound.” Ambassador Ruiz.

They were the kind of soldiers exemplified in countless entertainment streams. Lopez, a feisty Latino fond of gum, wore her black hair short. Truman, a tall Aryan type, happily worked a straw between his teeth. Meyers, of African descent, was the solid quiet type. Sarge was a gristly veteran of many campaigns if his scars and weathered stogie were any proof.

Ben pulled Raul close and complained, “They're slowing us down.”

Raul replied, “They're working a grid.” He called ahead to the Sarge, “You're working a grid. Right?”

Sarge answered around his worn cigar. “Yep.”

Coming to an intersection, Meyers raised a fist and the others crouched in place. Sarge turned, saw Ben standing, and said in a hushed snarl, “Down!”

A troop of aliens suddenly crossed the intersection. While some turned and opened fire, the rest turned and ran up the facing street. Ben could see a human body draped over the shoulder of one of the beasts. Ben leaned to the side to avoid a shot and immediately returned fire. Then, he ran ahead yelling and discharging both alien weapons at once.

Sarge yelled, “Truman! Rein in that civvy!”

All parties behind street planters and exchanging fire, Truman followed Ben, making a wide spread with his solid projectile setting. From behind, three black-clad Orlainese troopers took cover and rendered assistance. Sarge accepted the help with an indifferent shrug.

Raul called across to one of the troopers, “Co'Hwaul?”

The trooper answered, “Mar'Shilae.”

Truman caught up with Ben, who stood behind the corner of a building watching a warehouse. Truman inhaled deeply and said, “Man! Shit!”

Ben said in a level voice, “They're in there.”

They were joined by Sarge, Raul, the soldiers, and troopers. Crouched behind Ben and Truman, Sarge spoke harshly to Ben, “If you ever pull another stunt like that,” but he did not get to finish.

Ben wheeled and stared at Sarge with an adamant glare. “They're in the warehouse,” said Ben, his voice verging on a frantic note. “They've got Heaven.”

Lopez, checking an overlarge wrist device, reported, “Trees and hills beyond. Good place for a ship.” She turned and winked at Truman.

Ben called over his shoulder as he bolted toward the warehouse, “We can't let them get away!”

Sarge stood, took his cigar from his teeth, and cast it angrily to the ground. “Goddamnit!” he shouted. “Well? Follow!” he told his men.

Ben kicked in the door and walked in firing to both sides. Aliens fell in his wake. As the others burst in and joined the firefight, aliens behind crates stood and opened fire. Diving for cover behind inadequate crates, they joined an earnest contest for life and death. Only Ben walked forward, shooting with deadly precision and miraculously avoiding injury.

Truman took one to the right shoulder, an explosive shot that sent him spinning to the floor. Lopez ran to Truman and caught a shot in her back-borne gear. She fell across Truman. Sarge, yelling, stepped out and strafed the crates ahead of Ben. The troopers advanced from crate to crate, and the sound of alien weapons was deafening. Raul stood from behind a splintered crate, fired his gun, and was hit in his left arm.

The battle was pitched, and moments seemed much longer than they were. Ben reached the crates unscathed and muscled through, continuing his barrage. Troopers, Sarge, and Meyers performed a pincer maneuver and joined Ben to finish off the remaining beasts.

Ben found an unconscious Heaven between a crate and the wall. He fell on her with teary eyes to examine her wounds. Her left eye was slightly swollen and there was a large red bruise on her right cheek. One of the Orlainese squeezed in beside him to offer a proper examination. Sarge stood over them searching his pockets for a cigar. He found what he wanted with a satisfied grunt, broke it in half, and placed the working end between his teeth.

One of the Orlainese propped Raul against a crate to examine his arm. Wincing, Raul watched as his sleeve was ripped away. Looking into the eyes of the Orlainese trooper, Raul said, “Yeah. Just a flesh wound.” Then, he chuckled at his brave witticism.

No one died in the forray. As Sarge called in a medevac, the troopers called for a shuttle to the Mar'Shilae. Sarge begrudgingly took the hand of a trooper and both parties went their separate ways. Strapped into gurneys, Raul and Heaven were maneuvered into locked positions inside the small shuttle. Ben took a wall seat between them, his eyes rarely straying from Heaven's face.

Raul said softly, eased by his medicated IV, “Ben. You're either reckless or brave. ¿Cual es cual? I don't know.”

Ben turned to Raul, his face slack as if he could not believe his own actions, and answered, “More like desperate.”

Raul smiled. “You love her. Fácil de ver.”

Ben turned back to look at Heaven. His nod was automatic.

Chatter between the pilot and the Mar'Shilae was constant. Raul closed his eyes and listened to the Orlainese language. It soothed him. He had learned some of the language but overall, Raul could not shake the impression that Orlainese was just so much French.

Ben held Heaven's hand possessively and looked past the pilot through the broad front view. The Mar'Shilae could have been the Co'Hwaul's twin. Out in the cold black of space, the enormous ship appeared as an indigo shadow that obscured the distant gas clouds. Lights winked in and out on the craft as it grew visibly larger. Ben looked down at the hand he held. He took a deep breath and exhaled, trembling. He had never been so scared in all of his short life. He did not have memories from his previous life, but he had deep feelings.

Crispin stepped from the shuttle to the deck of the hangar bay. The Mar'Shilae was alive with the varied activities of its workers. Crispin watched a contingent of Orlainese officers approach as he wrung his hands. Three officers stood before him, the foremost smiling. He was tall and thin with a regal cast to his chiseled face.

The officer, dressed in purple and black, introduced himself. “I am Captain Oberes, commanding the Mar'Shilae. I am a noble of House Oberes.”

Crispin cut in, his voice both nervous and anxious. “You said Raul is here. May I see him?”

“Relax,” said Captain Oberes. “He is here. He is well. Allow me to escort you.” Captain Oberes extended an arm toward the exit.

Crispin pressed a hand over his heart and took a deep breath, at last managing a smile. From the moment he had heard that Raul was wounded, his heart could not sit still. It moved painfully in his chest. Now, at last, Crispin felt somewhat at ease. He fell in beside the Captain as the officers marched casually from the hangar bay. Crispin peeked around at the workers, so absorbed in their tasks. He could really not tell the difference between the Co'Hwaul and the Mar'Shilae.

Many crowded hallways later, they entered the med bay. The two unnamed officers departed, and Oberes led Crispin to a wall bed surrounded by a curtain. He said, “I shall return later,” and pulled the curtain back.

Crispin sat in a chair beside the bed. With a long worried glance at Raul's sleeping face, he reached out and took Raul's hand into his.

Raul opened heavy eyes and turned to Crispin with a genuine smile, though weak. “Crispin,” said Raul. “You came.”

“How could I not?” asked Crispin. “When they said you were hurt, I was so scared.”

Raul placed his free hand atop Crispin's with a gentle pat. “I'm fine. They're really good here. Además. It's just a flesh wound. Mirar.”

“They said you were in a fight with aliens,” said Crispin.

“Yeah,” said Raul. “Big fight, but we saved Heaven. You should see Ben. He's a nervous wreck.”

Crispin blinked back a happy tear. “You're too brave for your own good,” said he.

“You know me,” said Raul.

“I know you,” replied Crispin, standing.

Crispin helped Raul upright and fussed with the pillows behind him. He took a water glass from the table and held the straw to Raul's lips. When Raul was done, Crispin set the glass aside and took his seat. Raul reached out his hand and Crispin took it.

Raul said, “I'm one scar closer to my Dad's count.”

Crispin responded, wiping tears from his eyes and laughing. “Idiot.”

Ben sat beside Heaven's bed in a private room on the Mar'Shilae. His eyes were closed and tears were on his face. He clasped his hands in his lap, trying to calm his breathing. Heaven slept and occasionally moaned. Ben was happy to be with Heaven, but he had a pain in his chest he couldn't shake. Images flashed in his mind but they were not images of the present Heaven. He sat across a table from her late at night. She wore a large loose shirt, and Ben was amazed by her smile.

“Are you crying?” asked Heaven in a hoarse voice.

Startled, Ben looked up and wiped tears from his face. He shook his head from side to side, but as more tears sprang free, Ben relented with a nod. He palmed his eyes and blinked hard, sitting forward, and taking Heaven's hand.

“Where are we?” asked Heaven, attempting to survey the room.

Ben answered, “We're in a private room on a ship that Sam sent. He told them to take care of us.”

Heaven sighed and closed her eyes. “He has a big heart.”

Ben asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I've been beat up and kicked,” said Heaven.

“Should I call the Doctor?” asked Ben in earnest.

Heaven opened her eyes and turned her head to see Ben. His wide eyes said much. He seemed haggard for a young man. What must he have been through? “No,” she said. “Do you know?”

“What?” asked Ben.

“How stupid it was for you to follow me? Really,” said Heaven. “Who's the Constable, and who's the PUP?”

Ben said, “I couldn't just sit on my hands. I had to do something. I was worried. Besides, I was with four soldiers from Merlin and three soldiers from this ship. Raul was there, too.”

“How's Raul?” asked Heaven.

Ben answered, “He got shot in the arm.”

Heaven said, “I'll have to check in on him.” Then, she smiled. “Come here and give me a hug.”

Ben jumped to his feet and laid himself gingerly across her body. Heaven pulled him in with her free arm. She pressed him close. “Thanks,” she said in Ben's ear. “I'm not sure I approve, still, thanks for coming after me. But I better not hear that you were reckless. 'Cause I'll smack you.”

Ben lifted himself to look into Heaven's eyes. He moved hairs from her forehead to the side with a gentle caring hand. He smiled and said, “I've sworn them all to secrecy. You won't hear a thing.”

Heaven laughed, then moaned. “Don't make me laugh,” she said. “Come here.” Heaven pulled Ben back into an embrace. She closed her eyes while she rubbed his back affectionately. “Besh,” she sighed.

Captain Oberes stood at the foot of Raul's bed, his cap beneath one arm. Raul sat upright and Crispin turned in his seat to face the Captain.

“I don't know a lot,” said Raul to the Captain. “Heaven has a communicator she got from the Jjarans and she's been waiting on a call from the Nashtatra. She's supposed to deliver Ben when they call. I don't know why exactly, some meeting. I guess she got hacked. She went to Hell's Balls to meet with the Nashtatra but was surrounded by the werewolves. Ben was frantic to find her after she called us. I followed, we were attacked, you know the rest.”

“Very well,” said the Captain. “My thanks.” The Captain placed his cap on his head, stepped through the open curtain, and turned. “I'll speak with Heaven and Ben. When you feel up to it, I have a shuttle prepared to take you to the Embassy.”

The Captain walked away, Crispin stood and looked at Raul. “A bit cold,” said Crispin. “I think I like Sam better.”

Raul threw back his bed covers and swung his feet from the bed. “The Orlainese take some getting used to. Do I have something to wear?”

Crispin turned and produced a bundle of clothing. “They brought you an Orlainese outfit. Really nice.” He shook out a sumptuous cloak of blue and burgundy. “I wouldn't mind having one of these,” said Crispin with an indulgent smile.

Raul slid from the bed. “It's yours when we get back. Hand me the pants.”

Crispin helped Raul into his clothing. He rose from tying his shoes with a flushed smile. “I don't want you to worry about anything when we get back. I'll take care of everything. For you, bed time and chicken soup.” He placed the cloak around Raul's shoulders and fastened it in place.

Raul smiled for Crispin. He said, “My Ambassadorial report will start off with a bang.”

Returning the smile, Crispin replied, “You'll have a lot to write, and a lot of time to write it. Of course, I'll be in and out to fluff your pillows and serve you soup.”

Raul nodded, setting his mind toward his convalescence and Crispin's care. “You make good soup,” said Raul.

“Now,” said Crispin. “If I can just remember the way to the hangar.”

“I know the way,” said Raul. “These ships are all alike.” He extended his arm, and Crispin entwined his arm in it. “Shall we?” asked Raul.

A sheepish grin on his face, Crispin replied, “Lead the way.”

Raul and Crispin walked along a busy hallway arm in arm. Hurried workers stepped politely aside. Raul swooned and leaned into Crispin, who took the burden with a worried glance.

“We need to get you home and in bed,” said Crispin.

Raul took a breath and steadied himself as Crispin led him forward. Smiling a weak smile, Raul said softly, “Te amo.”

Crispin smiled and answered, patting Raul's hand, “Te amo.”