Page 11 of HaL

Then the needles emerge.

Several narrow tubes slide into the veins along her arms, one after another, connecting her to a network of clear lines that pulse faintly as fluids begin to move through them. I manage to keep watching until another instrument descends toward her leg.

I wince.

The tube is inserted with brutal efficiency, and I must look away for a moment. I hear the soft mechanical click as the machine locks everything into place, followed by the steady hum of pumps and monitors.

Above her head, a display comes to life.

Her heartbeat appears first; a rhythmic pulse traveling across the screen. Body temperature follows, then blood oxygen, respiration, blood pressure, and a dozen other measurements I do not recognize. Numbers shift constantly as the machine records every change in her condition. For a moment, I find myself staring at the monitor instead of her. It is easier that way.

The machine does not seem disturbed by what it finds. It simply continues its work, methodical and indifferent, while Troza watches the readings and adjusts the instruments attached to her arm.

I cannot stop thinking about how vulnerable she looks beneath all those machines. And somehow, that frightens me more than the damage itself.

Glancing over at Troza, I can see a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, and I realize I am practically soaked through in my insulated form, as the room’s temperature is much warmer than either of us are used to. She must have sensed me looking at her because she turns my way for a moment.

“HaL, you will only scare her if she awakens to find you covered in her blood. Step into the ionizer in the other room and clean up while I have this pin inserted into her arm. This fracture is one of the worst I have ever seen, and I need to make sure all the bone fragments are removed before I can set it properly.”

The effort it takes to step away from that bed costs me every ounce of strength I have left, but thankfully, the ionizers are fast even if I do have to let them clean me in both forms. I force myself to summon the calm I rely upon whenever I am dealing with the constant problems that seem to plague us every rotation. It is a calm born of necessity rather than comfort, something I have learned to wrap around myself until the panic and exhaustion are pushed far enough away that I can function.

I settle into my unprotected form, and the change leaves me feeling strangely exposed after everything that has happened. There is no hiding the resemblance to my father now. It is there in the breadth of my shoulders, the shape of my build, the familiar lines that I have spent a lifetime seeing reflected in someone else. Even my eyes betray me. Blue now, even though a different color than his, they mark me as undeniably his.

A tic later, I am back in the room.

Troza has already made what preparations she can. A thin, heated cover has been placed over Dawn, and someone has brought in a chair. She still has her back to me, completely focused on Dawn as she works carefully on the girl’s broken arm.

I barely make it three steps before the adrenaline that has carried me through the last half rotation finally gives way. It crashes over me all at once. My knees weaken, my breath catches, and suddenly I am sitting in the chair without remembering the moment I lowered myself into it. My hand finds Dawn’s almost instinctively, settling over the gloves the machine has placed on hers.

I hold on.

The room is still slightly too hot — or perhaps I am simply feeling the warmth more keenly now that the immediate danger has passed. The temperature is uncomfortable, but bearable. Instead of focusing on that small discomfort, I concentrate on the heat beneath my palm, and the steady rhythm of Dawn’s breathing.

Anything to keep my mind from returning to everything that has already happened. For now, she is here. She is alive, and that will have to be enough.

I tighten my fingers gently around her hand as exhaustion pulls at every part of my body. I have no idea how long I can maintain it, but I know I cannot afford to let go yet.

“What are these?”

“Those gloves will do what your hands were doing previously. Not only are they slowly warming her up, but they are also continuing to maneuver each finger individually to ensure the blood flows consistently. I need you to come to this side to help me.”

I am beside her in two steps, only to gasp when I see the damage and all that Troza is trying to fix.

“HaL, I need you to press one hand right here, then the other here, while holding her wrist down so that there is no way she can move. Do not let go until I tell you to. I must reset this larger bone, and her reflexes will automatically cause her to flinch.”

“Ughh, why is the machine not doing this?”

“I do not trust that our larger equipment possesses the delicacy needed to do this properly, and I am doing all I can to erase the horrors and every mark this youngling has experienced at the hands of those heathen Korgons.”

I have never been squeamish before, but Dawn’s arm being open from the elbow to the wrist, laid out in multiple layers like she is being dissected, brings bile into my throat. All the warning Troza gives me is a nod, and the next thing I hear is a loud pop as the bone slides back together. If Dawn moved, I do not recall, as I am fascinated watching Troza slowly mend her muscles and ligaments. Shaken up more than I realize, my voice comes out as little more than a whisper.

“Will she be alright?”

“She is stable, HaL. Everything we are doing is increasing her chances. We will need to work on her feet next, then use the handheld healer on the worst of her bruises. I have a feeling that hip of hers may also have a chipped bone, but I cannot see the extent of all her injuries yet, as the scans are coming in slower due to the machine learning her race. You can go sit with her until I get this sewn back up. I am going to put a regenerative cast on it, and this arm should be good as new in a few risings.”

“Thank you, Troza.”

“What for?”