Do you have any deep sentimental attachment to this teeshirt?'
He felt it being torn all the way up the back before he even got a chance to answer. No.'
Oh, good.' Something pressed against the raw place on his shoulder. This one's not quite so bad.'
He felt cold water dripping down from his shoulder, the sting of antiseptic.
You were lucky with the leg wound that it wasn't your femoral artery that got hit. Could've lost a leg.'
He was a little less grey than he had been. Still damp, but not quite so pallid. She kept giving him sips of water. You a doctor?'
Nope. Learned to do some of this stuff when I studied nursing.'
Oh. You're a nurse.'
Nope. Never qualified. It was too disgusting. Do you know how much mucous those people have to deal with?'
He laughed. It hurt.
I'm serious.' She made a bundle of his helmet and yoke and stuffed them under his knees. His left foot was still cool but she could feel a steady pulse in his ankle. They'd spit up into a cup and then want to show it to me! Gag!'
He grinned and she wrapped a space blanket around his legs, tucking it under his feet and around the helmet and yoke. He let his eyes close again. There was comfort, there was water, now all he needed was rest.
Try the ship again.' She poked something into his hand. A communicator. He looked at her. The bully. She wouldn't let him sleep. His eyes just wanted to close but she kept on at him.
They don't answer.'
Come on. I'll hold it, you talk. They'll be looking for you.'
She stretched out on the dirt beside him and held the communicator to his mouth. Her breath was on his neck, it had a sweet, fresh smell. His hand rested on the soft warmth of her hair. She wasn't too bad really. A little younger than him, not a spring chicken though, a woman with a bit of life under the belt.
Talk, Jon,' she insisted.