Eternity, Book 0 "Gone with the Sun"
Chapter 8 Charity
Die Walküre
"Babe. They're here. We have to go."
Tactus stood as the sergeant painfully clambered over the rubble, the rest of the troop trailing behind and assembling at the parapet below. The sergeant saluted, said "Good to see you sir. Ma'am, are you good?" – then frowned; his translator appeared to be non-functional.
But the small human sat up, with some difficulty, coughed into one of her discarded bandages, and replied in court turian:
"No, sergeant, not really. I'm not really good at all."
The sergeant gave her a considering look. Human females tended, in his opinion, to be pretty useless, but some of them were thoroughly competent if lightweight soldiers, and human liaison officers speaking their language were a rare resource. He noted the efficient-looking firearm at her back and willow-whip dancer's frame. This might not be the usual form of weakness. He turned to Tactus.
"We're not carrying polearms sir, can't make a stretcher, but some of our larger soldiers could undoubtedly carry her in a sling on their backs. If they take turns we should get her to safety in a few hours." Tactus nodded agreement. "Did you meet any husks or cannibals on the way, Sergeant?"
"Not after the first half an hour, sir. It's like they melted away. Or more likely crawled down the beam. We're beginning to re-establish radio contact, dropping a couple of tech levels. The news is of victory, sir, glorious victory – wait, we might not need to carry her sir. Someone's coming."
Tactus turned, and nearly jumped out of his leathery skin. "Sergeant, weapons free! Find cover!"
"No!" Hannigan tried to shout it, but it came out as a cough. The next thirty-six seconds were a blur. Hannigan almost wept in frustration – no-one was listening. The white shuttle's door opened. Dear God, it'll be that man and his bloody fire team again. But only Lawson appeared in the door. "Tactus," Hannigan croaked, "please please please don't shoot."
The shuttle's thrusters powered down; it became possible to talk in a normal voice.
"Weapons safe. Hannigan, she could have killed you!"
"She didn't. Not yet. And maybe I deserved it. Please, Tactus, don't start another war. I'm not worth it, honest."
"Deserved it? You? What nonsense is this?"
The woman in the clingy envirosuit apparently heard, but addressed Hannigan: "Do you still want to come?"
"Yes." It came out in a whisper. Breathing was difficult. She couldn't stand up straight.
"What? No! Hannigan, what the hell is this?"
"Hannigan? Really?" The woman looked puzzled. Hannigan just shook her head, and said "Later."
This was unexpected. "No bloody fear! I'm not letting you out of my sight, and as for you - if you want to start something–".
"Tactus."
"Right then." The stranger was clearly not a stranger to Hannigan. Friend or enemy, Tactus found himself staring into quite the most remarkable flinty blue eyes. But she was not arguing.
"Quite correct, turian. It was my fault entirely. If you wish to keep her in sight, you may come with us. We do not have room for your entire troop, however."
Tactus considered his position for all of a second and a half.
"Sergeant. Our liaison is injured and will require attention. I will accompany them. Return to base and inform Bailey. Is that perfectly clear?"
"Crystalline, Sir."
"Dismissed. Oh, test your guns before you go, and take this one, it still works."
Between the turian on the left and himself on the right, Toombs was able to get the woman onto the rear shuttle seat bench. The corpses lay to port up front, leaving the doctor busy with the crispy on the folding bunk. The shuttle took off again at once. Toombs went to check with Miranda, grumbling about eight minutes lost, and was told to look after the turian.
As he returned, the Hannigan woman slid against the wall and nearly fell off the bench. Blood was coming from her mouth. "Shit! Doctor!" The doctor turned to look and exclaimed something in a fricative voice. "Hannigan, lie on the floor. Tactus, help me remove her tunic." Toombs tried to assist also, but – this was weird – Lawson ordered him off and told him to watch the crispy's monitors.
Fine. Altogether too much trouble anyway. He couldn't help noticing that Lawson's victim was a slightly built woman, shaped like some sort of athlete, though thinner than the Cerberus cheerleader.
The whole incident reminded him of some of his own past he was not altogether happy with… and actually this crispy reminded him of…
"Oh crap."
"Figured it out, have you Toombs?" Confound her, since when did this doctor know him from a hole in the wall? As Michel gently probed around the sternum, a thin moan escaped. The doctor said something under her breath, then:
"Haemothorax, maybe haemopneumothorax, but not flail chest. You've punctured the lung, Lawson, but it's fixable. Oxygen please. Acetaminophen too."
Lawson had her brittle hard surface on, but delved into the medkit, handing over minibreather and hypo. Toombs approached, and hunkered down alongside.
"Doctor, how bad?"
"With treatment now? Prognosis is good. How far are we from an infirmary?"
"With Zabaleta piloting? We'll get to the Orizaba in about twenty minutes."
"Good. Hannigan, you listening?"
"Yes."
"We'll bind the ribs, I think, see if it helps with the pain and breathing, contraindicated for pneumothorax but in this case for the best, I think. Lawson, monitor closely."
Lawson had her brittle surface on. Toombs contemplated the scene for a minute:
"Boss. You made a mistake. Don't look back, it's done."
"She's hurt, Toombs, and it was my doing."
The doctor looked at her sharply but said nothing. Between crispy Shepard and this bloody woman, Lawson's ass must really be in a crack. Toombs had started out despising the quondam Cerberus queen, but you had to respect her fierce focus, and she who pays the piper calls the tune. In some way he felt he ought to resent but did not, gradually his squad had become her squad. Never before had he seen her this… listless. It was deeply unsettling.
"Operative Lawson," said the doctor. "I've finished binding. If you are quite finished feeling sorry for yourself, could you and Corporal Toombs make yourself useful and prop her up on the bench for now. I have to check on much worse injuries over there."
Toombs sat on the other side of the girl and gripped her shoulder as gently as he could. Lawson did likewise, accepting the tart instructions, stopping just short of criticism, with no hint of any sort of umbrage. Not like her at all. Lawson continued in that listless voice:
"Didn't really mean for that to happen. I stuffed up."
"I've done that too, Lawson." No obvious reaction. "But I got lucky, and that guy over there was the luck."
"Yes. I read the report. Wayne dodged a bullet. So did you. But in a way I didn't. My feelings got the better of me. Again."
Toombs shook his head. You can only do so much. But then, quietly, without any fuss, the woman took Lawson's hand.
Weapons safe.
– Next chapter will be #9, "A rush through the dark" –
Wednesday, July 15, 2015