Lukas

Date Sometime in July Time Afternoon? Location Good question

The shackle hurt.

Lukas sat on his “bed,” and prodded at the tender, raw and blistered skin peeking out from underneath the metal band.

When the thing had first been clamped into place, he’d had a sock between the metal and his skin. But then he’d tried taking up jogging to cure his boredom, and not only had he fallen on his ass a few times when the smooth cloth on his feet didn’t quite find purchase on the infirmary’s metal floors...but the socks had also gotten really sweaty.

And it turned out taking them off to rinse in the sink had made it almost impossible to slip one back under the shackle.

So, he set the cleaned sock—it had been a gift from his daughter, Ruth, and had cartoon blue glaucuses all over them, and he didn’t want to lose track of it––in a spare storage cubby, and left his left foot bare. The right sock followed shortly after, as he realized how much worse his balance became with each foot gripping the floor differently.

It was disgusting.

He knew it was disgusting.

Who the hell knew what his feet might be coming into contact with on the infirmary floor.

Nothing good, that was for sure.

But, once again, Kel hadn’t exactly given him a lot of alternatives. Crate after create of supplies, and she hadn’t acquired any PPE other than a few boxes of gloves and masks. No surgical gowns. No hair caps. Not even goggles or a face shield. And definitely no shoe covers.

So, barefoot medicine it was.

Unless he could manage to work some gloves onto his feet...which...well…

No.

That would just make his small supply run out faster. Not to mention trip him up again.

Lukas grimaced.

No good options.

And now he had ankle blisters.

...Please, please let this place be relatively sterile.

He wasn’t quite sure how Kel expected him to be useful if he got an infection.

No more jogging...or pretty much any unnecessary movement around the infirmary. It wasn’t safe until the blisters healed or hardened. Given how aggravated the area was, hardened would probably be the way it went.

Was he going to scar from this? Was he going to have to live with a discolored ring on his ankle forever?

Would he live long enough for that to even be a concern?

Lukas shuddered, and hugged his knees to his chest with his good left hand. The chain clinked at the movement, and a couple cold links brushed against his bare feet.

He didn’t bother to readjust. The cold and the twinges coming from his ankle at least jolted his system a little. Gave him some variety.

There weren’t enough ceiling panels to bother counting them again.

Ten.

They were big. A few had cutouts for the lights, but that was the only variety to them. They all looked pretty new.

Same number of floor panels too.

The bathroom technically made eleven apiece, but he went back and forth on whether or not they counted.

He couldn’t bring himself to go over their inventory again. It hadn’t changed in days, minus some pain meds. No point wasting his time, or getting up and hurting himself more.

“Just say something,” Lukas muttered to himself. “Just try again. Tell her that you need something to do, or you’re gonna lose it...”

Like Kel would care.

Like it wouldn’t put McKenzie at risk.

The doctor rubbed his wedding band with his thumb, and grimaced.

Kel never should have seen it. He should’ve taken it off before the Nightingale reached the Dolos. He was prepping for possible casualties, that ring should’ve been off his finger and in his storage cubby long before they reached the ship. Why hadn’t he taken it off? Why did he always put that off till the absolute last minute? How could he have been so careless…

Stop.

Lukas took a deep breath; let it out.

Too long.

He was spending too long in his own head, and it wasn’t helping. He could almost hear his therapist trying to pull him out of his spiral. Doctor Valez was always great about that…

He hoped somebody had told her what’d happened. He didn’t want her to think he’d just...just given up.

At least he knew this wasn’t about McKenzie.

It hadn’t even occurred to him at first. But then Kel’d threatened to go after his ‘spouse,’ and the thought that this could actually be some kind of political kidnapping screeched into his brain. But that only made sense if Kel already knew who his wife was...and she’d almost immediately made it clear that wasn’t the case.

So, back to square one on that puzzle.

But at least he could probably take “interstellar bioterrorism” off the list of reasons he’d been kidnapped.

Whether that improved or worsened his odds of ever going home, he couldn’t really say––

The infirmary door hissed open.

Lukas tensed.

“Good afternoon, doctor.”

He forced a small smile on his face. After what he was pretty sure was at least five or six days spent with her, he’d started picking up on some patterns.

She seemed to like politeness a lot.

A bit weird for a pirate, but he’d take any advantage he could get.

“Afternoon,” he gave her a small nod. “Things going well out there?”

“Quite,” Kel replied. “I have a number of promising leads. If they prove fruitful, this may all be over quickly.”

Lukas tilted his head. “Leads? So you’re looking for something?”

She glared. “You already know exactly who I am searching for. Stop pretending otherwise.”

No pretending about it.

But she clearly didn’t believe him, and it wasn’t the time for an argument. He never won those.

“If you really think that...” Shut up, bad question. Shut up! “Then why haven’t you asked me anything?”

His captor stared at him.

Her expression slowly morphed into a grim smile.

Shit.

No universe where that was good, was there?”

“Because were I in your position,” she looked him up and down, and huffed. “I would tell you anything you wanted to hear, and nothing you needed to know. I would lead you directly into a trap from which you could not escape. Which makes anything you have to say about their whereabouts useless. You are not here as an intelligence asset. Just equipment.”

Equipment.

Just how many euphemisms was she going to come up with?

...Once again, not the time.

Pride had to wait. There were more important things to deal with.

“Speaking of...equipment...” Lukas stuck his left foot out in front of him on the bed, and pulled up the cuff of his pants to make the shackle and surrounding red skin clearly visible. “I’m having a bit of trouble with this thing. The last couple days, it’s been rubbing a lot, and it’s all blistered now. If I can’t stop the rubbing, it’s going to get hard to walk. Honestly, it already hurts to try. And if it gets infected––”

She crossed over to him, grabbed him by the left calf, and pulled the wound close to her face. He barely avoided falling off the side of the table in the process, but did end up awkwardly splayed out on his back.

The blisters on his ankle screamed as his captor shifted the shackle around to get a better look at the wound.

Lukas bit his lip, and fought back tears as blood and pain rushed to his head.

After a moment, she glared down at him again. “How could you let it get this bad?”

He hadn’t been concealing it. He just didn’t mention it.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

She probably wouldn’t appreciate the distinction.

“I-I was afraid,” Lukas answered honestly. “I didn’t want you to think I was complaining about nothing––”

“Never conceal something like this from me again. Understood?”

He nodded, and she dropped his leg without fanfare. “How do you need to fix this?”

Lukas sat up again, but hesitated to answer.

Only one real way, but she wasn’t going to like it.

“Could you...” Why was he even asking? She was either going to laugh in his face, or hurt him again… “Could you take the shackle off? Just for a little bit?”

Reading the expression she gave him was like trying to read a concrete block.

He swallowed. “Please, I need to treat the sores before an infection sets in, or the blisters get any worse. And I can’t get to them with the shackle in the way. It won’t take long. I promise, I won’t try any––”

“Show me your arm.”

Not quite sure where she was going with this, he complied. He hadn’t unwrapped the cut on his right arm for a few days anyway, and although his scans said it was healing just fine, it was time for another visual inspection.

As cuts go, the wound looked great. The worst of the redness had faded, and the scabs were hardened, and beginning to be covered over by thin layers of new skin. It wasn’t even seeping anymore.

Still made him ill to look at. Still would scar.

But it could’ve been much worse.

He held it out for his captor to see; she grabbed his elbow––mercifully not the purple fusion splint still covering his right hand and wrist––and pulled the limb closer to her face.

“Six days,” Kel muttered. “Six days, and there’s still this much damage. You truly heal slowly, don’t you?”

Lukas frowned. “It’s actually healing really well. The scar might not even be that visible––”

“But it will scar?”

Why was she asking? It wasn’t like she actually cared.

Answering was still the safest option though.

He sighed. “It was a deep cut, and I’m not the best at hand-sewn sutures. Yes, it’s going to scar.”

She held him there a moment longer before releasing him, and stepping back.

“How long would you need the shackle removed?”

Oh.

Okay then.

“Ten minutes or so,” Lukas hedged on the high end for safety. “Enough time to treat any really raw spots, coat it in a salve, and wrap some bandages around it to stop the rubbing from doing any more damage. I’ll have to change them from time to time too, like with the arm. Infection risk.”

To his wary surprise, she nodded. “Stand up. Put your hands on the table. Feet apart.”

Relief fought with annoyance as he complied. He hated these pat-downs, and it bugged him that she thought he was stupid enough to conceal a weapon or infuser pen or something when they both knew what a terrible idea that would be. But he wasn’t about to risk his treatment to complain.

After an uncomfortable few moments, she finally stepped back. “What supplies do you need?”

The doctor hesitated. “Do you want it to heal naturally, or can I speed it up––”

“I need you able to walk, not run,” she cut him off. “Do not test the limits of my generosity.”

Wasn’t exactly hard to do.

“Then I need gloves, gauze, a tube of Sporeneon cream to fend off infections, and a clean bandage,” he said instead of the thing that’d get him hit. “And a clear path to the sterile sink, or a basin of water from there and some more gauze. Wounds like this should really be rinsed off before––”

“Over there,” She grabbed the back of his scrubs, and pushed him towards the forward-center of the room, a space free of any equipment or beds. “Sit.”

Lukas limped to the space, and did as he was told. He looked up nervously at his captor, and waited.

She unholstered her gun.

Lukas stopped breathing.

Oh god.

She was gonna kill him.

He’d complained one too many times, and she was sick of him, and she’d just moved him to a patch of floor that would be easier to clean, and––

“It’s just a precaution, doctor.” Her voice barely cut through his panic, but it did. “Do not do anything stupid, and I won’t use it. Understood?”

...Oh.

He started breathing again, and nodded vigorously.

“Good,” her lip twitched, and she pulled a tablet from her pocket. “Now when I unlock the shackle, I want you to move it to your right ankle.”

Lukas drooped. “That will just tear up my right one, it won’t fix––”

“It is a temporary measure,” Kel said. “You will move it back to the left once the bandages are in place. I am not leaving you unsecured for ten minutes. Understood?”

...Right.

It was the best deal he was going to get, and he knew it.

Another nod, and Kel tapped something into the tablet.

The seam of the shackle glowed blue for a moment, then clicked open.

But it didn’t fall off.

...Not exactly a good sign.

Feeling his captor’s impatient eyes on him, Lukas gritted his teeth, and peeled the metal off his sticky skin.

Some of the blisters tore open in the process.

Some others near the center had apparently been torn for awhile.

None of them looked, felt...or smelled...particularly good.

“Put it on the right, doctor,” Kel ordered. “Now.”

He grimaced. “Can I clean it off first? It’s not exactly sanitary––”

She leveled the gun at his head.

He clamped the shackle into place.

It felt wet.

He fought back a retch.

But at least his captor seemed satisfied. She lowered the gun, and holstered it. A few taps of the tablet, and the shackle’s seam sealed again.

“Ten minutes,” Kel reminded him. “And show me all the steps.”

Lukas nodded, and stumbled to his feet. Without the pressure of the shackle, the wound throbbed, and he limped his way over to the supplies.

“So was there a reason you came to visit when you did?” Might as well ask while he worked. If it turned out to be something unpleasant, then at least it would be over faster that way. “Or did you just want some company?”

A snort.

Good sign.

She had some sense of humor. Not one he fully understood. But it was definitely there.

“I simply needed a change of pace,” Kel leaned back against one of the operating tables, and watched him shuffle over to the adjacent table with his tray of supplies. “One can only sift through logs for so long before the words begin to blur together. Is there anything more tedious?”

The doctor stopped mid-hoist onto his bed, and stared at her.

She raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to say it.

Not a fight he was gonna win. Not outright, at least.

“Well if you want some first-aid tutorials or anything, just let me know,” Lukas hedged as he began rinsing his ankle with sterilized water. “I’m sure I can come up with something more interesting than whatever logs you’re looking at.”

Another snort. “Are you not worried about making yourself obsolete?”

Yep.

Very funny, that woman.

He let out a bitter laugh, and dabbed at the broken blisters with clean gauze. “I’m a trauma surgeon, Kel. I’ve been going off the assumption that you knew that. I’ve pieced together shattered rib cages, re-attached an auditorium’s worth of appendages, and repaired more impalements than I can count. If you need a trauma surgeon for...whatever you’re doing out here…then showing you how to splint an arm or make a compress won’t make me obsolete. But it might up the odds that you actually make it back to my table. If you’re interested.”

A long pause.

Nothing but the scratchy sound and sticky feel of dry cloth on ruined skin to break up the silence.

“And why would I trust anything you would teach me?” There was a dangerous edge to her voice. “How could I trust that you would not intentionally make my injuries worse?”

If she really thought that little of him, then how the hell would she trust him if she actually needed surgery?

...Best not to say that either.

“Because I want to go home.” Lukas gingerly applied the first coating of Sporeneon. “And I don’t get to do that if you bleed out ten feet from the end of my chain, do I?”

Another long pause.

Then footsteps, circling him; coming up from behind.

A hand rested on the top of his head. He fought back a flinch, and waited.

“Keep trying to be useful.” She tousled his hair. “It suits you.”