CHAPTER 5

Maureen catalogued her handy work. The cut on the temple over the left eye had been secured using two butterfly bandages. The skin around the left eye itself was blossoming with bruising; nothing she could do there other than let nature take its course. The same with the other locations on his body where he had hit, or been hit, by objects. The bruising would heal on its own, eventually, but moving wasn't going to be pleasant for a few days. Of the injuries she could physically examine, the gash on his right thigh was the most concerning. If she were to guess she'd surmise that on one of the rotations Don's thigh had been impaled by a pointy object then ripped free. The gash was nearly four inches long with ragged edges. But what was of greater concern was the depth and the fact she believed it lightly nicked the femoral artery. There wasn't a lot of blood, but enough to make her cautious. She packed the wound with the compound they had been taught, which would seal the puncture much like a flat tire.

Maureen was sure Don had a concussion, but like the bruises there was nothing she could do about that injury either. The portable scanner indicated that his right forearm had sustained some muscle tears which might affect his usage of his right hand. None of his ribs, miraculously, were broken, nor his skull, nor any bone in the mechanic's body. The scanner also showed that all his internal organs were intact and unharmed.

She went about caring for the unconscious mechanic with clinical detachment. The sight of blood did not faze her, she was not squeamish. Stripping him down to his almost birthday suit to treat his wounds did not embarrass her either, it was all part of the job. Besides, as she examined him, she could see she wasn't the first person to patch him up. His body bore witness to a few scars, some more interesting than others. This young man had been in a few scrapes in his life, and somehow that didn't really surprise her.

Maureen rolled him onto his stomach to tend to the wound on his back by the shoulder blade. It was a deep one and would definitely add to his collection of scars. She set the suture machine over the laceration, turning it on and letting it go to work.

As she knelt next to him waiting for the tool to finish, her eyes were drawn to marks on his broad back. She adjusted one of the lights in the tent to take a closer look at the faint lines. They were scars and they were old, very old. If she were to hazard a guess, she'd say they stemmed from his childhood. The marks on his back reminded her of her history of religion class and the pictures depicting the flogging of Christ.

The machine beeped to indicate it was done interrupting her contemplation. She removed it, then stored it away. Satisfied she had done all she could, she carefully rolled him over on his back once more before pulling a thermal blanket over his healing body. She wasn't begrudging the time it had taken to treat his wounds, well except when she saw it was nearly dusk. It was now too late to do anything else before dark, other than deploy the portable perimeter shield.

Before she began patching up the mechanic, she had retrieved the camping gear from the C-8 and set up the tent figuring it was a more sterile environment in which to treat her patient. She had also located the other items that they would need for the night; food, water, lights, and their personal packs. Though she had found the perimeter shield, she had not installed it since it took at least an hour. She figured the priority was tent, bleeding man, perimeter.

She rose, figuring she had done all she could for the injured man other than administer pain medication, which she was hesitant to do not knowing anything about possible allergies. Most drugs, especially ones for general use, were pretty benign. Still it would be safer to wait until he awoke and could confirm.

Moving outside of the tent, she studied the fading alien sky and tried to calculate in her head how long the darkness would last. Based on her most recent reckonings, she estimated 10 hours of darkness. Looking at the pile of perimeter posts to install, she sighed. Safety first. She really wanted to work on trying to restore communications and then seeing if the C-8 could be made operational. Don bragged he was the best mechanic in the fleet, well here was his chance to prove it. After one last longing gaze up the incline where she knew the ATV's antenna could be found, snapped off, and lying in the dirt, she picked up the first pole of the perimeter alarm and positioned it. These weren't as hard to install as the main system used to protect the Jupiter, still it took time and effort.

The setup didn't require her to use her brain at all; it was so simple a child could do it. So, she turned her mind to other matters. Judy, for example. She had the feeling her eldest daughter had wanted to tell her something after she returned from the disastrous fuel trip, but there simply hadn't been time before this trip. She also would have liked to be able to be there more for her daughter, who she knew was upset by the death of Evan. But since the invasion of the Resolute, it had been one crisis after another with no time to catch your breath, to grieve, reflect, or heal. Simply shove your feelings aside, stuff them in a box and move onto the next calamity.

It dawned on her that Don had been on that trip with Judy. She wondered if he knew anything and she made a mental note to ask him. She turned her mind to the issue of this planet's wobbly orbit and that occupied her as she set up the rest of the perimeter. Less than 45 minutes later, she had completed the circuit, switched on the controller, and watched as the glowing poles indicated they were protected. They hadn't had time to learn all the predators on this alien world, so the 'fence' was a reasonable precaution.

Inside the tent, Don was fighting his way back to consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, then closed, then opened again as he tried to focus on his surroundings. His muddled brain waded through the images it was being sent. He wasn't outside for there was no sky, but it wasn't a building because the ceiling seemed to billow. Finally, his military stint kicked in and he figured out he was in a tent.

About that time, his pain receptors came back online and they were screaming at him from every inch of his body. Terror began to set in as the vulnerability of his situation began to dawn and he started to struggle to sit up. As the tried to prop himself up, the thermal blanket slid down his chest and he realized he was nearly naked. Lifting the corner of the blanket higher, he gazed underneath to see just how naked. Simultaneously, the tent flap opened and something entered the structure.

His brain wasn't fully operational yet and he was having a hard time processing everything, so he began to panic. Ignoring his body, which was begging him to be still, he clawed his way upwards until he was sitting, all the while clutching the blanket like a life line. Sweat broke out on his body and his breath came in harsh gasps. His eyes desperately searched around him for a weapon of some sort for defense. How did he get in this situation? Hadn't he been beaten enough in life? Did the universe hate him that much?

"Don! It's me, Maureen" she called out when she realized he hadn't comprehended who she was yet. As she moved closer, it dawned on her he had never called her by her first name, so she awkwardly added, "Mrs. Robinson."

Robinson. Robinson. Robinson his flustered mind chanted. I know that name. The lady. On the planet. Where we all crashed landed. Who called me a smuggler.

Maureen moved closer to Don figuring it might be reassuring. She reached out her hand to place it gently on his shoulder to calm him, but it had the opposite effect. Don yelped when she touched him, dislodged her hand, and scrambled backwards so quickly, he banged into the side of the tent. The structure shook, but held under the onslaught.

They sat there for a moment, frozen in time. Don was shaking, sweating and panting as he huddled against the tent wall. Maureen was staring at him trying to figure out what was going on. Sensing her nearness was more detrimental then helpful, she moved across the small enclosure and sat on the second bedroll near the opposite wall. That appeared to be the right move as the mechanic's breathing slowed and his eyes became more focused. Still clutching the blanket, he moved away from the wall back to his own bedroll. With a grunt, he tried to maneuver into a position where he could remain upright. Reaching out a hand, he dragged a nearby cargo container over, threw his pillow against and gingerly leaned some of his weight on it, being sure to keep the wound on this back above the prop.

"Comfortable?" she asked, not quite knowing what else to say.

"Not really," he muttered shifting around trying to find a position that didn't aggravate his injuries. There was none, he swiftly decided.

Grabbing the medical kit which was near her feet, she opened the lid and rooted inside. "There are a number of choices for pain, but I wasn't sure if you were allergic to anything, so I waited."

"Thanks," he replied with a strange inflection in his voice she couldn't place.

She waited for him to say more, but radio silence settled over the tent.

"So?" she prompted.

He stared at her stupidly.

"Do you have any allergies?"

"Allergies?"

"To any pain medications. The recommended one is," she looked at the label on the injector, "Hydrortien."

"No."

She didn't listen to his answer as she got up and closed the distance between them, getting ready to inject the pain med.

He stared at her as if she were crazy. "What are you doing!"

Halting, she looked down at him, thoroughly confused. "I thought you said you were not allergic to Hydrortien?"

"I'm not," he replied, hesitantly.

"So, I'm going to give you the shot. I can see you're in pain. What am I missing?" she asked as she took a step backwards. "You can't be afraid of a shot.

In actuality, he was, but not for the reasons she was implying. Not wanting to answer, Don fiddled with the blanket, trying to ignore her. He knew it wasn't going to work, but he did it anyway and he was surprised when she backed off.

Maureen walked back to the medical kit, placed the syringe inside, turned, sat on her mat and watched Don. For once, the man who always had something to say was mute.

"Our medical database has records for all colonist, but not, ah, staff" she noted, awkwardly. She fully expected some snark remark about the Jupiter families or AC, because he never missed a chance to gripe on those subjects. But he only nodded his head.

Not knowing what else to do, it was obvious he didn't want the shot, she closed the medkit, pushed it aside and grabbed the container holding their food supply. "I set up the perimeter alarm. We should be safe from any predators tonight. I also saw the antenna for the C-8 as I came down the slope. It was ripped off. At first light I'll retrieve it. See if I can get the comms up somehow."

She took a few items out of the food case before glancing over at Don once more. He had resettled himself as best as he could, was still clutching the blanket, and even from here she could see the lines of pain etched in his face. She decided to try again.

"Why don't you take the pain injection? It will help. Trust me. I was very grateful for it when I broke my leg." She opened a water container and poured two cups. "Are you afraid I'll think less of you because you used something to ease the pain?"

That did get a comment out of him. "I don't care what you think of me," he shot back, which was a lie he was coming to realize the more time he spent in her company. "Besides, you already think I'm nothing more than a stupid smuggler."

Without thinking, she held out the cup of water to him and instinctively, he reached for it with his nearest hand, which happened to be the right. As he stretched out his arm, the muscles in his forearm felt like they were going to pop through his skin and the wound on his back felt like it ripped open. His fingers closed on the glass then immediately opened, dropping the vessel and its contents on the floor. Tears escaped his eyes as he bowed his head and tried to breathe through the pain. "Sorry. That kit have aspirins?" he grunted between breaths.

Retrieving the now empty glass, she refilled it before digging around the medkit again. Finding a bottle of extra-strength aspirin, she dumped three in her palm, then brought them and the water back to the mechanic. This time she made sure he could use his left hand for the container and she watched as he successfully downed the pills with the water. Retrieving the empty glass from him, she refilled it, left it within reach then went back to her mat.

"You hungry?"

He carefully shook his head no.

"You should eat something to stop those tablets from eating through the lining of your stomach," she suggested, mildly.

Eyes closed and propped up against the container once more, his reply made him seem more like his normal self. "No worries. Don West has a stomach made of steel. Helps when you don't know what your next meal will be."

She activated the heat mechanism in the MRE she had selected and waited while it warmed up. "I thought freelance mechanics like yourself made good money."

He had been thinking about his childhood, but he answered closer to his present situation. "Well ya know, I don't really have a Jupiter on this planet to call home since mine fell over the face of a cliff."

"That wasn't yours to start with."

"Technicality. So, anyways, I have to beg for food and a place to stay each night. Not the most fun I've ever had."

Maureen looked over at him. "I didn't think of that. I suppose you can stay with us, on the Jupiter 2, until we get back to the Resolute. There is a half-filled cargo room you could bunk in."

She watched as his eyes opened wide, in surprise, at the offer.

"You stuck up for Judy. Helped her out when no one else would with Evan," she declared feel as if she had to rationalize why she said he could stay with them.

"She was doing what she thought was right. It's unfortunate, how it turned out." He fiddled with the blanket again before tentatively asking, "Did you, ah, take my clothes?"

Her meal was ready and she didn't answer him until she had ripped open the pack and used a spork to take a bite. "Don't flatter yourself, West. There was no other way to treat your injuries." It was interesting to see, even given his skin tone, she could see him blush.

"Hey no. I mean I get it. I was just wondering what you did with them," he mumbled awkwardly staring at the blanket over him.

Answering around mouthfuls of stew, she said. "They were covered with blood. I stripped them off you and tossed them away."

Dread flashed across his face. "Ah, how far…away."

She shrugged not really caring. "Just put on clean clothes from your pack. The one with the clean underwear, remember."

"Yeah, about that. I don't have any."

"Clean underwear?"

"Extra clothes," he said succinctly.

Frowning, she let her spork drop back into the bag of stew she was eating. "Your shirt was ripped, covered in your blood. The pants were in somewhat better shape, tougher material, though they still had the hole in the thigh from the impalement. The artery was nicked. I patched it."

Don glanced at his covered leg. That explained why his leg felt like it was on fire. Impaled. Wonderful. "Don't suppose there is a stream nearby."

Had she been standing, he swore she would have put her fist on her hips as she scolded him. "Why in the world don't you have any other clothes! You're a grown man. You know how to pack a bag for a trip…" As the words came out of her mouth, her eyes grew round.

"You mean the one I wasn't supposed to be on," he mockingly reminded her.

Picking up her spork, she poked around in the MRE bag before setting it aside, unfinished. She was no longer hungry. When had she become so hard she asked herself? When your family's lives are at stake, she decided.

"You, Jupiter families, have your lives packed on your ships, which, incidentally, came with you to this planet. Me, my life is in a locker up on the Resolute." He stopped and thought for a moment. "Hopefully, it is still there and didn't get torn off by the aliens. I came to this planet, literally, with the clothes on my back." Don closed his eyes and sighed. "Once again, I'm where I don't belong and am not wanted," he whispered softly under his breath.

Maureen didn't quite hear what he said but got the gist. "Be right back."

Grabbing a light, she disappeared from the tent. Trying to stay awake was exhausting, so Don gave in and drifted off to sleep. At least when he was asleep, it didn't hurt so much.

About an hour later, Maureen came back into the tent and found Don asleep. She quietly placed his clean, mended, folded clothes near him. She wasn't sure how many guys knew that the C-8 had, if you will, washing bags where you could place a few items in and through the miracle of modern science, they'd come out clean. She'd run his pants, shirt and socks through the bag and after, used a patch kit to close up the hole on the thigh of the pants. His t-shirt, on the other hand, was too far gone for repair. She'd also found his jacket in the C-8 and she dropped that on the pile too.

Exhausted herself, she turned off all the lamps, dropped onto her bedroll and fell asleep. She woke a few times during the night, to survey the camp and her patient. At one point he grew very restless. Moving over to check on him she could feel the heat rising from his fevered body. She injected him with a broad-spectrum antibiotic, woke him up enough to get him to down some more aspirin and a couple of cups of water before letting him drift off again. Once he was settled, she crawled on her on mat and was instantly asleep once more. They had a lot to do tomorrow and they both needed their rest.