“She isn’t what I expected of an Earthling,” Dagon murmured as he stared down at her.
Adaos nodded. “The Sectas led us to believe Earthlings bore no strength, no honor.”
“Eliana possessed both in abundance.” Dagon glanced down her body, which was still encased in the suit. “She’s smaller than I anticipated.” For some reason, that made his failure to rescue her even harder to accept. “Rid her of the suit, run the scans her commanding officer requested, then clean her up. Let me know when she’s ready to be placed in cryo for transport to Lasara.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Dagon could not stop himself from fingering a lock of her hair.
It was as soft as a fentorian feather.
Regret chilled him. He should have known he couldn’t save her. He should not have let hope sway him.
Turning on his heel, he left the infirmary and headed back to the bridge.
Adaos watched Dagon leave. Though his friend and commander’s face remained stoic, the medic could tell the Earth woman’s demise had struck a blow.
Even Adaos felt some despair. He had listened to the woman’s conversations with Dagon. The commander had broadcast them throughout the ship after delivering a furious reprimand to two men wagering over her fate. And like Dagon, Adaos had found her rather astonishing. And quite likable.
Until then, he had not understood Dagon’s inability to see that she must be deceiving him. As a healer, Adaos had concluded she must be in an escape pod in order to have survived as long as she had. He had studied the detailed descriptions of Earthling anatomy and physiology and known she could not possibly slow her breathing enough to make a day’s worth of oxygen last a week.
Yet here she lay… in a suit. No pod had been found anywhere near her.
How had she done it?
Retrieving a scalpel, he began to cut the suit off her, careful not to nick her skin with the laser. He sliced the suit into several pieces that could more easily be removed.
Once he had discarded them all, he stared down at her.
“She’s so small,” he murmured, parroting Dagon’s words. Were she to stand up, she wouldn’t even reach his shoulder.
And she was far too thin, confirming that she had indeed survived over a week without food or water before she had died.
The clothing she wore was not typical of Lasarans. A black shirt hugged her from shoulder to wrist and down to her hips, the dark fabric outlining unnaturally conspicuous ribs and a shrunken stomach. Though she was clearly underweight, her breasts were nevertheless fuller than most Segonian women’s. Matching black trousers with many pockets loosely covered slender hips and outlined prominent hipbones.
Most of the fabric covering her right side was peppered with holes torn by shrapnel from what he guessed had been an explosion, judging by the scorch marks that marred it. The skin on the right side of her neck bore a raw wound, as did her right cheek and jaw. Her shirt and pants on the right side—as well as any exposed skin along it—were liberally stained with blood on the shoulder, arm, waist, hip, and leg down to her ankle.
The outside of her protective suit had been pristine before he’d cut it. So she must have guessed correctly. Someone had to have stuffed her into the suit while she was unconscious.
He peered at her damaged side and swept his scanner over her. Broken bones. Multiple deep lacerations. A severe head wound. How had she even survived these injuries?
Adaos retrieved a hover tray with a neat array of tools. Leaning over her, he gently nudged back one eyelid and shined a light in her brown eye.
No pupillary reaction.
Again he ran his handheld scanner over her and found no heartbeat.
Silently he reprimanded himself for hoping for another outcome. He was a healer. He knew what was and wasn’t possible. He didn’t need the extra tests Eliana’s commanding officer had ordered to confirm she was dead. He had seen enough bodies while serving in the Segonian military to know. But he would perform them anyway.
Grabbing his med tablet, he tapped the surface several times, activating the full-body diagnostic scanner. A mechanical arm descended from the ceiling and positioned a wand above Eliana’s head. Slowly it began to travel down her body, casting a narrow ray of light over her all the way down to her toes. Retracting, it hovered above her chest.
Adaos decided to take a blood sample while he awaited the results. Clearly, there was more to these Earthlings than either the Lasarans or the Sectas knew. He was very interested in—
“Heartbeat detected,” the comprehensive scanner announced in the female Segonian voice allotted to all subsections of the ship’s computer.
Eyes widening, Adaos spun around. “What?”
“Heartbeat detected.”
“Just one?”
“Affirmative.”
It couldn’t be possible, could it?
He moved closer to the bed. “Any breaths taken?”
“Negative.”
“Search for activity on a cellular level.”
“Searching.”
Adaos studied Eliana’s still form but could find no discernable trace of life. Her chest did not rise and fall. No pulse thrummed beneath the skin of her neck. Her eyelids did not twitch.
“Cellular activity present,” the comprehensive scanner announced.
It didn’t make sense. “Have you detected any other heartbeats?”
“Negative.”
“Could you be mistaken?”
“Negative. Cellular anomalies detected.”
“What kind of anomalies?”
“Inconclusive.”
He frowned. Was the scanner malfunctioning? “Perform a systems analysis.”
“Performing systems analysis.”
Leaning over Eliana, he again peeled back one eyelid and shined a light in her eye.
No reaction. He ran his handheld scanner over her once more and again found no heartbeat.
The comprehensive scanner must be—
“Systems analysis complete. All systems are performing as intended.”
Perhaps he should move the Earth woman to the next bed and use that scanner instead, just to be sure.
He set his tablet on the tray and nudged it out of the way.
“Brain activity detected,” the scanner announced.
Spinning around, Adaos stared at the Earth woman.
“Heartbeat detected.”
Eyes widening, he approached her.
What the srul was happening?
Though light dragged her—kicking and screaming—toward consciousness, Eliana neither moved nor made a sound. Pain inundated her. Hunger gnawed at her. And thirst…
The light vanished. Darkness returned. But it was no longer complete. Her eyelids merely shielded her from whatever light hovered above her.
Where was she? Why was she so weak? Why did such agony assail her?
Somewhere nearby, a man muttered something in a foreign language.
Alarm cut through her like a knife. She had lived four centuries, give or take a decade, and had learned a lot of languages in that time. Yet she didn’t recognize the one he spoke.
She raised her eyelids a tiny bit, just enough to allow her a slit through which she could better ascertain her situation. A cold white room surrounded her. No artistic ornamentation graced the walls, just cabinets, beds, and what appeared to be medical equipment.