33 hours.
From the moment the two shuttles collided until they carried the last victim out of surgery, the three Knights spent 33 hours fighting to save those wounded in the disaster. They couldn’t save everyone, but for every ten patients brought to the small field hospital, nine were still alive at the end of the ordeal. An amazing accomplishment by anyone’s standards.
But the pile of severed limbs told a grim tale of just how much that hard-fought victory cost. For many of those who had survived, their lives would never be the same.
The trio staggered out of surgery, their surgical gowns covered with the blood of a dozen species, their expressions drawn and haggard. Their draftees were there as well, led by the young Ksot Velsa Sebu, helping them out of their scrubs and wiping away the worst of the gore. They drank filtered water from the river, oblivious to its chemical taste, nibbling on Soya bars before Blye slowly rose to her feet.
“Get some rest, you two,” she told them. “Terra knows you’ve earned it.”
“What about you?” Prash asked. “You must be dead on your feet.”
“I’m fine,” she dissembled. “I’ll wake you in four hours to relieve me. Now go get some sleep.”
The pair needed no further encouragement. Leaning against one another for support, they toddled off to bed while Blye made her way to their recovery ward. The massive number of casualties had overwhelmed their small clinic, forcing them to make do with limited resources. The cots were full, some housing more than a single patient. They’d bunked the overflow in simple bedrolls, doing the best they could to keep them out of the dirt and under cover.
Drifting down the main aisle, she checked in on her patients; examining their vitals, ensuring their drains were clear and functioning, doling out medication where needed. It was getting hard to remain focused, the long hours in surgery had definitely taken their toll. Pausing at one cot, she realized it held the Yait’xaik worker she’d operated on at the start of all this madness. He was currently slumbering, though his sleep was far from restful, tossing and turning as much as his broken body would allow.
She pulled up a stool beside his bed and examined his sutures. The bandages would need changing soon, and there was some leakage between the stitches, but given the severity of his injuries, he was recovering as well as she might have expected. His skin was warm and clammy to the touch, likely running a mild fever. They’d have to monitor that, but as long as it didn’t spike, she was content to let his body’s natural defenses carry the load.
Her eyes drifted back to his stumps. Blye knew she’d had no choice, not with so many other casualties coming in, but that was small comfort to someone who’d just had their life shattered. Modern prosthetics were remarkable, assuming they could locate a source, but they were still poor imitations of the real thing. They’d give him back his mobility, all right, but that was all they’d do. Just hunks of metal and plastic strapped onto what remained of their pulverized limbs.
How I wish I could give them back to you, her mind whispered, her thoughts drifting to dark and dangerous corners.
“You should get some rest as well,” she heard a voice say. Looking up, she realized Velsa was hovering nearby, looking far more refreshed than she did.
“Soon,” she promised, “but one of us has to stay up, in case we're needed.”
The young Ksot found another stool, pulling it up beside hers. The two sat in silence, watching over the wounded until she finally spoke. “I don’t know how you do it,” she said at last, her voice filled with wonder.
Blye cocked her head, regarding her. “Do what?”
“Any of this,” she shrugged. “You spent a day and a half in surgery trying to put broken bodies back together. You came up with a plan to house all of us, with just a few hours' warning. Most would have thrown up their hands and walked away.” The alien shook her head. “I can’t decide if you’re courageous, mad, or foolish.”
“The smart money’s on ‘foolish’,” she said with a wan smile, as she tried to stifle a yawn. “Don’t give us too much credit, Velsa. Most of you are sleeping under the stars, the water situation is still an issue, and if we don’t start seeing some regular supply runs soon, food is going to be a real problem.” She shook her head. “We’re not out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot.”
Velsa leaned in close. “And yet, You’re. Still. Here.”
Blye sighed wearily. “Where else would we be?” she asked.
“Why are you doing this?” she suddenly demanded. “It can’t be for wealth or power, for there’s none to be found here. Certainly not fame, so what is it that has you toiling in obscurity under the worst possible conditions, to help sapients you have never met?”
The straightforwardness of the question caught her by surprise, though the sleep deprivation didn’t help. “I could say that someone has to,” she said at last, “but then that’s not an explanation.” She pondered the point the young Ksot was making before finally shaking her head. “Helping those in need is my clan’s guiding virtue, Velsa. It’s our sacred duty to aid all who seek our help, regardless of race or species.”
“I still don’t understand why,” she pressed. “What reason could you have? Do you crave adulation? Is that the reason?” She pointed at the Yait’xaik beside them. “Do you think he will thank you for saving his life… or curse you for taking his legs?”
“It doesn’t matter if he thanks me,” Blye sighed, “or if he curses me. This isn’t about that. This is about…”
She paused, casting about for a way to complete that sentence. “... it’s about doing the right thing, about making the universe a better place,” she finished. “I can’t explain it any clearer than that.”
Velsa looked curiously at her. “You Terrans are a strange species,” she muttered.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
That earned her a laugh. “My dear, you don’t know the half of it,” she chuckled, though the humor quickly faded. “What we do isn’t easy,” Blye told her. “It’s a hard life, dangerous and uncertain. But I know in my heart that this person,” she said, patting the cot beside her, “is alive, thanks to my training. Maybe he won’t see it that way,” she admitted, “and maybe he’ll think it would have been better to just let him die. Only I can’t allow myself to think that, not when I’m in surgery.”
Blye turned and spent a moment contemplating the restless patient. “I help those who need it, Velsa,” she finished, “so I guess the answer to your question is that simple... and that complicated.”
The young medic just stared at her for a moment, then shook her head and rose to her feet, wandering off to check on their other patients. Blye didn’t blame her confusion, she’d run into it before when dealing with other species. Altruism was almost nonexistent in the Perseus Arm and helping others was viewed with suspicion. About the only thing the various races could agree on was the adage, “Charity begins at home”. Tend to your own knitting and let others manage their own troubles. Safer all around.
Only that was changing, thanks to the Alliance. Working together to defeat a common enemy was something they understood, and the other races were slowly starting to accept an ethos higher than enlightened self-interest. It was still a nebulous relationship at best, but Blye had hopes.
Making herself comfortable, she settled in for another long shift; sitting bedside vigil yet again with those she’d fought desperately to save.
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The next morning, Captain Tujaqi paid them a visit.
The Knights were still woefully behind on sleep, but there were simply too many matters requiring their attention to ignore. They had dealt with the shuttle accident, but there was still the slight matter of ten thousand new arrivals that required food, water, shelter, and medical attention… and Blye still had no idea how she was going to meet those needs. The captain’s visit at least provided them with a brief distraction.
“The last of the refugees have disembarked our ships,” he informed them. “The other captains have also assured me they’ve handed over all the food and water they can spare.”
“Thank you,” Blye said sincerely. “We appreciate your assistance.”
“I only regret leaving you with such a heavy burden,” the captain replied. “You also have my deepest condolences for those lost in the accident.”
“We all regret what happened,” she agreed. “Given the circumstances, I suppose we should be thankful it wasn’t a great deal worse.”
The Bamidh colored. “That is… most gracious,” he said at last. “Though honor compels me to note that we might have avoided it, had the shuttle pilots in question followed procedure.”
“Those pilots paid for any mistakes they made with their lives,” Blye said rather forcefully. “They were also, I am given to understand, under a great deal of pressure from their captains to speed the transfer of refugees to the surface,” she pointed out, giving him a caustic look.
He fidgeted under her gaze until she finally let him off the hook. “People are scared,” she said tactfully, “and panic, sadly, is even more deadly than the Yīqún.”
Captain Tujaqi nodded, bowing his head. “You are not wrong,” he said finally.
“I wish it had never happened, but I have to focus on what’s ahead,” she explained. “I only hope that all involved learned something from this tragedy.”
“As do I,” the captain agreed. He paused for a moment, debating his next words, until reaching a decision. “I also feel it is my duty to inform you that once we depart, it is likely we will return someday soon, with more passengers.”
The news hit Blye hard, even though she’d been expecting it. “We will make do,” she said simply. What else could she say?
Rising to his full height, Captain Tujaqi gave her a polite nod. “Then I will take my leave, Chevalier Tagata. I wish you and the others good fortune, in the days to come.” She managed a brief smile as he exited the hospital, before sagging against a nearby wall. More refugees? She was still struggling to care for the ones she already had.
“He can’t be serious,” Amar said hoarsely. “Can he?”
“I’m afraid he is,” Blye answered, “so we’d best prepare for it.”
“I’m open to suggestions, ma’am,” the former Valkyrie replied, “because from where I sit? I’m wondering what happens when the food runs out. I worry we’ll discover the so-called ‘Civilized races’ have absolutely no issues with getting their hands bloody.”
“... Let’s hope you’re wrong about that,” she said softly, though she was all but certain he was one hundred percent correct.
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As luck would have it, a few hours later they finally got some good news, as Spata Zhai’s mine expedition finally returned. It took them some time to wend their way through the vastly expanded encampment, pausing briefly to examine the crash site before eventually arriving at the hospital. For all intents and purposes, it had become the camp’s nerve center, and where the Knights were usually located.
The excursion members were covered in mud and grime, lugging long poles and various pieces of equipment. Akuum Wuzah, their drilling expert, looked dead on his feet. Apparently, he was unused to jungle safaris.
Blye met the group at the door. “Please tell me you were successful,” she implored them.
“Indeed we were,” the Spata grinned, as they laid down their burdens. “Akuum assures us that we should have no trouble digging a proper well with this equipment.” He looked out over the camp with a measured eye. “Though I am uncertain it will provide enough fresh water for these many individuals.”
“We won’t know until we drill,” the engineer said wearily. “If the water table is shallow enough, it is possible we have enough material for a second, or even a third, well.”
“That would be very helpful,” she said with obvious gratitude. “How soon can you begin?”
“It has taken us three days to hike back with all of this,” the Ixian reminded her, gesturing at the pile of gear. “Perhaps you might allow us the chance to locate a bit of food and a few hours’ rest before whipping us into further labor?” He was still smiling as he said it, but she recognized there was steel behind those words.
“Of course,” she nodded. “It’s just that our need is so great, and…” Her voice trailed off into silence, as she weighed just how important that well was to them.
“Tyrant!” Zhai bellowed good-naturedly, while the other Ixians chuckled at his outburst. “You have my word, we will commence drilling as quickly as possible,” he continued, in gentler tones, “for I can see you have not been idle during our absence.”
“We're just barely holding on,” she reluctantly admitted. “When ships arrived in orbit and announced they were dumping ten thousand new refugees on us… well, we’ve been playing catch up ever since.” She nodded at the wreckage. “When those shuttles collided, we suddenly had over a hundred casualties on our hands. We spent the next two days in surgery trying to save them.”
A look passed between the Ixians, but it was far too subtle for her to grasp. “And how many did you lose?” he asked carefully.
“... Fourteen,” she whispered. “Terra alone knows how many amputations.”
The blue-skinned warrior regarded her for a moment, as something shifted in his posture. Like Captain Tujaqi before him, he, too, seemed to straighten and stiffen before he bowed to her. “Allow us two hours to regain what energy we have spent, and we will begin work on your well. Is this acceptable to you?”
“Completely,” she sighed in relief. “Thank you, Spata,” she said earnestly.
“You are most welcome,” he said with a smile. “It is plain that your back is already bent beneath many burdens, Chevalier Deuxième Blye Tagata. I have no intentions of adding to them unless I must.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” she sighed. “If you find fresh water, call me immediately, day or night. Until then, however… I’m going to grab a couple hours of sleep,” she informed them, before stumbling off to their shelter.
Within minutes, she was curled up in her bedroll, dead to the world before her head hit the pillow.