Someone jostled my arm, waking throbbing pain. My eyes flew open. I was lying on my back on a makeshift cot under a shade awning. A slender man in a medic's uniform was peeling back my sleeve. The dried blood kept catching on the wound, tearing it open. He glanced at me before going back to tormenting me.
"Prelim scans showed minor injuries." His voice was deep, mellow, smooth and soothing. "Your arm is the worst."
"What time is it?" I tried to ask. It came out a hoarse cracking sound that was nothing like my normal voice.
He put my bleeding arm down and handed me a water pouch. "You should eat something. There should be an exam room empty by now. The worst of the fighting is over." He grinned, showing me very white teeth. "We let you sleep, since your injuries weren't critical."
I sipped water, swallowing painfully. The liquid eased some of the dryness. One pouch wasn't going to be nearly enough.
"Sorry we don't have shower facilities set up," he continued as he plucked at my sleeve. He snipped a bit more free of the clotted blood. "Word is we're moving out tomorrow morning."
I sipped the water and tried to make my brain work again. They were leaving again? So soon? Why?
"This whole place is ready to explode," the medic continued calmly while he worked on my arm. "They say civil war is about to break out. If it hasn't already." He pulled at a particularly stubborn bit of cloth. I winced. "Sorry. It's got to be cleaned." He dribbled liquid over my arm. It stung. It wasn't water.
"What about the others?" I asked. My voice was husky, raw and hoarse.
"The slaves?" The medic glanced at my face before picking at my arm again. "That's a sticky question. Half of them aren't citizens of the Empire. I haven't heard what they're doing with them. Those that want to come will be taken back to Duraanos. At least that's the rumor. They're rounding up the rest now. Some of them are way up in the mountains. They sent flitters out after them." He rinsed my arm off again and twisted it into better light. "The projectile is still embedded. We'll have to get it out before I can bandage it." He handed my arm back to me. Blood seeped from several long gouges. "You want help or do you think you can walk? It's just over there." He pointed to a portable open front hut not far away.
"I think I can walk," I said. I rolled up to sit and waited for the dizziness in my head to fade.
The medic held my arm anyway. The room was tiny. There was a single exam table and a chair and a rolling tray with medical equipment stacked on it.
"No shower but I can offer you clean clothes," he said. He put a gray jumpsuit on the exam table. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Just need to grab some supplies." He left me alone, dropping the curtain across the entrance to the small room and giving me the illusion of privacy.
I sat in the chair to pull my boots off. They were caked with mud and looked much worse for wear. I stood and eased my tattered jumpsuit off. I pulled on the clean one, stepping into it carefully and pulling it up. My back was to the door. It hurt to work my injured arm into the short sleeve of the jumpsuit. It was a lightweight one, cheap and disposable. I worked it up over my shoulder then fastened the front.
The medic was standing behind me, watching. He'd come in without me noticing. He studied me, something different in his face now than before. The light bantering tone was gone from his voice when he spoke.
"I've got some creams that might help your back," he said. "You'd still have scarring but it wouldn't be as noticeable."
I'd forgotten the whip marks on my back. After Reashay's instructions, they must have been impressive. I shrugged.
"It's healed. It doesn't really matter." It came out flat and hard.
The medic looked away, puttering with the instruments on the tray. "Sit down and let me take care of your arm."
I sat on the exam table. It was low enough that my feet barely dangled. The medic swabbed my arm with anesthetic. I didn't watch as he cut the bullet out. I felt blood dripping down my arm. I swallowed against nausea.
He worked quickly and quietly. He sat back a few minutes later. "You should be easy on your arm for a week or so. Your scan showed a few cracked ribs. I'm recommending active duty in no sooner than two weeks."
Active duty? It was a slap in the face reminding me that my life wasn't my own anymore. Lowell and the Patrol owned me.
The medic handed me a packet of instant food. "You want to eat that soon," he said to me as I stared down at it. "It probably isn't the quality you're accustomed to, Admiral, but it's what we have."
The curtain behind the medic opened. Lowell stood there, watching me. I couldn't read his face, it was set in a neutral mask that hid everything. The medic put his equipment away, he hadn't noticed. Lowell cleared his throat. The medic glanced behind him. He jumped to his feet and saluted.
"Well?" Lowell asked.
"Full recovery, nothing serious, sir," the medic said. "Although I do recommend two weeks leave."
"Can you excuse us a moment?" Lowell asked, his eyes were still on me. "I'd like a word alone with the Admiral."
The medic hustled out, muttering about packing supplies.
Lowell stepped in, letting the curtain drop behind him.
"What?" I asked.
He looked away from me, fingering the medical supplies still on the tray. "Was Tayvis here, Dace?"
I went cold inside. "He was out there, near their camp last night. Why, Lowell? What are you not telling me?"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "We searched everywhere. They're all accounted for. Dace, Tayvis didn't make it. There's a witness who saw him get hit."
I felt as if the world was sliding sideways. I couldn't hear anything. I stared at Lowell, wanting him to tell me it was only a joke. A cruel one. I almost expected Tayvis to come through the curtain. I couldn't breathe, I only felt pain. He wasn't going to come through that curtain ever again.
I felt myself falling, collapsing to the ground. Lowell caught me before I hit.
"You're lying," I accused him, lashing out against the pain eating me from the inside. "Tell me you're lying, Lowell."
"Dace, I'm sorry."
I leaned against him. I heard the anguish in his own voice. A sob escaped, a low sound of animal pain. I felt tears slide down my face, burning hot. It couldn't be true. Tayvis couldn't be gone.
But he was.
I cried myself numb.
I'd lost part of my soul when Mart died. I lost my heart with Tayvis.