Crimson stains clung to the walls and could be found scattered across the floor of the cold infirmary. Wounded enemy soldiers laid on beds far to the back; no one bothered to check them. Broken equipment sat piled against the middle of the wall. Stained sheets and pillows laid scattered across the floor. The few working lights flickered. Wires dangled from the ceiling; they moved like beheaded snakes as sparks flicked from their torn ends.
Corporal Jackson carried Private Nicholson down the cratered stairway. He found the cleanest bed available before parking IEV so he could open the torso hatch and slide out. Blood soaked through heavy cotton in Nicholson’s wound. Corporal Jackson cut a patch of her uniform away with a laser knife only to find three heavy t-shirts underneath. Along with the blood, they obstructed a clear view of the wound. When he finally cut all the bloody cloth away, he applied pressure against both sides of the puncture.
“You don’t need so many layers of clothing,” Corporal Jackson said, “They’ll interfere with your unit’s interface.”
The latex of his gloves became covered in congealing crimson as he discovered yet another undershirt, thin and pasted against the body. He lifted it and ripped it away; the pieces dripped. The gaping wound had cut a hole straight through the body. It opened the abdomen, went through the muscles, the intestines, and out through the muscles of the back. Burns lined the edges of the interior but they hadn’t cauterized the wound. The medic pressed down on the stomach. Gauze stuffing the wound would need to be removed.
A syringe injected painkiller parallel to the wound. The punctured intestines and colon received flesh suture mesh to guide the cell restorative’s properties. A thin tube of green liquid forced out the remaining bloody gauze that had been inserted to stem the blood loss. It shattered inside the wound. Reddish green bubbles spread with an excess of carbonation. Jackson welded flesh shut as it grew back over the outer edges.
“The cell restorative is working nicely. You’ll have a nice decorative scar though. Do you prefer a swirl, or a helix?”
Corporal Jackson wasn’t joking, he had a degree of control over the shape of the scar. He felt around the rib cage, Nicholson grimaced. An x-ray screen from the side wall confirmed Jackson’s suspicions.
“You have three broken ribs, both sides, probably caused from fall after escaping your unit. If I don’t get cartilage injections in them, they’ll take forever to mend. Now I’ll have to realign them first. One wrong push and they’ll stab your lungs. Let’s get this shirt off so I can get to work.”
Nick moved to sit up, but a sharp pain prevented the motion. A hand clasped around the doctor’s wrist to prevent him from cutting the clothing.
“Stay still, don’t interfere with your treatment.”
“I won’t let you touch me until you promise not to tell anybody what I’m about to tell you.”
“You know I can’t promise that, but if it’s something that’ll affect my work you better tell me anyway.”
Private Nicholson placed two fingers in her mouth and detached a voice altering device from its roof.
“That deepens the voice by an octave,” she said, holding the device in front of Corporal Jackson’s eyes before placing it in his hand. Her voice softer and higher, still determined.
“I’m not really a man.”
“Now that’s one I never heard before.”
He carefully unbuttoned her uniform, lifted Nicholson slightly, and pulled it from under her back, throwing it on the floor. The tattered undershirts had to be cut upwards with scissors. When that was completed, Jackson found a tight wrap of gauze placing intense pressure on her breasts, serving to keep them completely unnoticeable. The medic blushed for a moment, his hands shook slightly. He gently pulled the gauze upwards, but stopped short of cutting it.
“I’ll be. How in the world did you ever pass the physical?”
“I was determined.”
“That wrap around your ribcage is pressing the broken edges of your ribs, possibly into vital organs. I have to cut it.”
“Can’t you set my ribs and give me the injections through the gauze?”
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Mobuto yelled from the stairs. “How’s Nick doing?”
“He’s a tough guy, he’ll be fine,” Jackson said, then he whispered to Nicholson.
“I can’t work with that thing pressing against your ribs, they’ll never set. Give me a break, I’m trying to save your life. I’m a doctor, it’s not anything I haven’t seen a hundred times before.”
Before the medic could cut, one of the wounded Buldethians sat up. He had a syringe, which he plunged into his neck. The genetic serum turned the soldier’s skin gray as the flesh of his nose spit from the growth of a horn on his extending face. Jackson pulled a pistol from his belt and fired it as he ducked behind a support pillar. Nicholson lifted the hospital tray off the stand and used it as a shield as the rhinoceros morph charged. The force of the blow sent her behind her bed. Mobuto jumped down the steps in his IEV. The growing rhinoceros man charged him.
A horn to his helmet knocked Mobuto over and he laid motionless. The enemy soldier experienced an overdose affect of the genetic serum and went into a frenzy. It charged into a wall and dented the superstructure with its horn as flesh continued to bulge and harden.
Nick crawled on her stomach, took Mobuto’s rifle, and crawled back behind the bed. The beast charged against a ceiling pillar ceiling pillar but failed to break it. Then it charged into Ray’s unmanned IEV. Nick knelt but was unable to fire her weapon, barely able to breathe because of the squeezing pain clutching her chest. Pain pulled her to the floor, her lungs heaved; she stabbed herself with her own ribcage as she breathed. She unraveled the tightly wrapped white bandages to relieve the pressure.
Then she retook the firing position, using the bed as cover. The insurgent Buldethian rhinoceros morph took a pinpoint shot to the eye which would cook what remained of its brain. The medic moved to the bed. Nicholson moved around to the back, hiding herself from view as the IEVs of Diatsu and Momar approached from the steps. Only her face could be seen. Her excessively sweaty hair stuck to her cheek as if it were stained with glue.
“I would have been dead for sure if you hadn’t stopped it,” Corporal Jackson said.
“Mobuto, you all right?” Diatsu asked from the stairs. He saw the poorly morphed Buldethian soldier with smoke rising from an eye socket and grimaced, “Ugh, that’s disturbing.”
Mobuto removed his helmet. “He knocked my communications out, but we got him.”
In order to prevent any further disruptions, the remaining wounded Buldethian crew resting towards the back were summarily executed.
“You three can go now,” Jackson commanded, “Call me if there are any further wounded. I can’t be distracted. Now go!”
“Yes Corporal,”
Private Nicholson drug herself into the bed, covering her chest with her left arm. She had a strong yet slight build. Slowly she turned on her back.
“The first thing you’ll need is a surgical cover. It may get crowded down here. I don’t understand how you managed to manipulate your medical files.”
“I’ll explain later.”
The doctor pulled a light blue cover over her, folding it just above her navel. He pressed the ribcage, inserting needles through the skin. They penetrated into the flesh until he hooked a rib, gently pulling the injured bone into the proper position. He continued with X-ray scans, repeating the process until he was satisfied with the results.
“Your ribs are in place,” he said, “After I give you the cartilage injections you must remain perfectly still for twenty-four hours. I’ll be around to check the healing process from time to time. No problems here, once they’ve mended it will be as if they had never been broken.”
Corporal Jackson cut a hole in a piece of black cloth and placed it over her chest, moving the small hole over to the first injection site. He filled a needle with a viscous yellow substance from a large bottle.
“This is more difficult because I can't risk injecting cartilage builder into your soft tissues. How in the world did you manage to get in the 113th? I mean- well, if someone else catches you, they’ll report this before you’re completely healed. It’s against the commander’s regulations, and I don’t want to think about what he’d do.”
Corporal Jackson positioned his elbow upward, forcefully injecting the cartilage material, said, “I’d be a bit miffed if I’d known you longer. I’d appreciate an explanation of what’s going on.”
“Nick is short Nicole. I always wanted to fight in one of the famous infiltration units, and by the time I signed up, this was the only unit still equipped with IEVs. Too expensive to maintain, I guess. I’ve kept my hair fairly short, stayed aloof, avoided the group showers. I’m supposed to need special chemical baths for a skin condition. They’re horrible but they protect my cover.”
“What about those time’s you grew some fuzz and the lieutenant yelled at you to shave?”
“I wasn’t using any hormones.”
She pulled a small circular gadget out of her pants pocket. It had a gray view window and some small metal buttons on the side, its display case blinked red. “I can wear this and create minor holographic images, it helped at times. Think I broke it though.”
Corporal Jackson finished with the injections, placing the needle on the tray. Both it and the glass bottle were empty, though little globules of sticky yellow slid down the sides of the glass.
“I’m done,” he covered her up to the neck with the blue sheet. She sat up, allowing it to fall without thinking.
“I need that gauze, and my uniform.”
Corporal Jackson glanced around the room.
“Get down or your ribs will be forced out of place. You can’t have that pressing against you for now.”
“Then I’ll get them myself.”
Corporal Jackson conceded by tossing her the gauze and the remains of her uniform. She rewrapped the gauze, though very gingerly. Then replaced her uniform, buttoning it as best she could, and fell to the bed with a determined stare directed at the ceiling. Corporal Jackson replaced her covers as his communication device activated.
“I’m getting a call for help from the commander.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got all day.”