TICEES

by Mills, Shae

  Chelan panted for air as she looked over the rest of his body. Everywhere she looked there were extensive pools of blood from yet undetermined injuries. Chelan wanted to check for his pulse but she dared not remove the cloths from his wound. Suddenly it became dark, and Chelan cursed. The full force of the storm was overhead, and she had no idea how long it would take for the light to be restored.

  The storm raged for what seemed to be an eon, but Chelan kept her vigil over the man as she prayed for his life. Finally, the light began to filter down, and the surface roar subsided. When Chelan could see again, she eased up on her pressure and looked down at the wound. She sighed with relief. The profuse bleeding had significantly slackened.

  He needed more attention, but she needed him in the cavern where there was more light. She also needed to get his torn uniform off so that she could attend to the rest of his wounds, and the closer she was to the healing waters, the easier all her tasks would be. They were a lot farther down the incline than she had been when she’d crash-landed here herself a year ago. The fuselage had acted as a sleigh, sliding along the snow and ice avalanche, but she wanted him farther still.

  Now came the daunting undertaking of actually accomplishing that feat. She yanked on the metal and pulled him as far as she could on what remained of the ice debris. Then she stopped and sat down, her lungs burning from exertion, her back aching. “Why do they have to make their warriors so damn big!” she cursed as she hunched forward in a heap. Then she looked up. She was now at the cavern entrance, and that was far enough for her.

  Once again she applied pressure to his leg injury and then wound one of her leather ties to hold the cloth, thus freeing her hands. Chelan finally looked back to the man and held her breath in anticipation. She leaned forward and began removing his face protection. Chelan smiled as his features were revealed to her—the familiar blue-black hair, the strong jaw, the handsome face—another superb, genetically manipulated Iceanean warrior. Chelan did not recognize him, and that was half of the battle. Now she just hoped that he did not recognize her.

  Chelan’s fingers coursed through his hair, feeling for lumps on his skull, but she found nothing, his life probably saved by his flight helmet. Her fingers pressed down along his neck, but still she detected nothing abnormal. Then she reached to his jacket and opened it, and she was temporarily stunned by the profusion of blood.

  Chelan braced herself and frantically began stripping him of his garment, tugging and pulling at the jacket until she finally rid him of it. Carefully, she went over his flesh with her fingers, checking each wound for severity and shrapnel. Most of the lacerations appeared to be those caused by metal fragments, and most were cleanly sliced. Although some were deep, they were not the priority at the moment. Right now his torn thigh was his most grievous wound, at least that she could see.

  Chelan shuffled down and removed his knives from his boots. Then she took off his boots and his pants, cutting the garment away from his body at his partially severed leg. Chelan sat back, taking several deep and calming breaths. Tentatively, she dared to remove the clothes from his thigh and waited. But the bleeding had slowed to a mere ooze, and Chelan nearly cried with relief.

  The muscle was badly torn, the wound to the bone and across the entire width of his thigh. Chelan just hoped that most, if not all, of his major ligaments were intact, but she had no idea how to check. She wished she knew more about anatomy, but then even if she were a doctor, she wondered how much her Earth knowledge could be applied to the Iceanean people.

  She secured the cloth back in place and then continued, feeling down each leg as she looked for breaks, but nothing was displaced. Flashes of the fighter’s condition, especially the cockpit, sliced through her mind, and she wondered how he had fared as well as he had. Though there were still internal injuries to consider, Chelan passed them over. As with her, if they were there, there was nothing she could do about them.

  She broke open the emergency kit and surveyed her utensils. She grabbed a pen-like object knowing that it was a medical laser, and also knowing that it would be her best ally. But just how good a surgeon she would be was quite another question. Next she found a tube of their biobonding agent, and that would definitely be put to good use.

  Other utensils included easily identifiable objects such as forceps and scalpels, even a retractor, but many of the instruments Chelan could not identify and therefore had little use for. The only other thing she closely inspected was a fairly large bottle full of a clear liquid. When Chelan opened the container, she smelled the familiar scent of the antiseptic that Stose had used on her. It would certainly come in handy, and it was precious.

  Chelan set to work. She gathered some furs, water, and more of her soft cloths. Then she bundled up some of her larger blankets and moved them by the warrior. Finding the closest dripstone depression, she poured out a small amount of the antiseptic and then placed all her utensils in it. She shed her shroud and gloves. Then she washed her hands as best she could before dipping her fingers in the fluid.

  When she was all prepared, Chelan paused to review just exactly what she planned to do. Judging by the amount of blood loss, a major vein was severed somewhere, and she knew what to look for, but quite likely it had collapsed. The bleeding could have come from an artery, but if it had been the femoral artery, he would have bled out by now. Then she frowned. Or would he? She knew they had supreme control over themselves and could lower their heart rates and their blood pressure and slow their metabolism. Maybe it was an artery, and he was controlling his body systems. Could he do that while unconscious? God, she knew so much, yet right now, she knew so little. But regardless of the situation, she couldn’t get a handle on anything until she opened his wound and had a good look.

  After the bleeding was addressed, then would come the muscle repair along with cleaning and the removal of any foreign matter. From there she would have to take things as they presented themselves. She had to work quickly, knowing that doing something was better than nothing and realizing that whatever she was going to do had to be completed by nightfall.

  Chelan took a deep and shaky breath. She removed the makeshift dressing from the large laceration and spread the wound wide, wincing at its magnitude. Immediately, the suspect bleeder presented itself, an artery for sure, its life-threatening flow of blood renewed. Chelan quickly clamped each end of the thick white vessel and then cleared out the excess blood. Pulling the two ends together, she began the meticulous task of binding them with the laser, spot-fusing them first, and then sealing everything with the biobonding gel.

  When she had finished, she released the clamps and checked for leaks. The ends had sealed beautifully, and Chelan sat back in pleased silence. Then she reached for his foot, concerned over the lack of circulation from the severed artery, but his flesh, though cool, felt fine. “Wow…” she exclaimed. “Amazing.”

  She poured a tiny amount of the antiseptic over the wound and watched for bleeding. There was some oozing but nothing she could see that she could fix. The wound was surprisingly clean considering the state it was in, and Chelan could find nothing that did not belong.

  Then she set about sorting through the dense muscle tissues. For the most part, Chelan could see what went where easily. His unconscious state made the drawing of the muscles together manageable, for she knew that he was far too powerful for her to handle otherwise. Bit by bit, she sorted through the layers of tissue, cauterizing bleeders with the fine laser and binding the muscle fibers with the surgical glue.

  Chelan worked as quickly as she dared and ever so carefully. But she realized that despite all her efforts, the young warrior would probably never regain the full use of his leg. That was if she saved the leg at all. Chelan knew nothing about nerves or ligaments, except that ligaments could retract far into the leg where she could not retrieve them. And nerves totally eluded her: she didn’t even know what to look in for let alone how to repair them.

  The hours ticked on, and she worked dili
gently, taking time out only to stretch cramped fingers and to rub weary eyes with her palms. Periodically, she leaned over and listened to the comfort of his heartbeat before continuing on. Now it was time for his skin. She pulled all the jagged fragments together and smoothed out the torn edges with the scalpel. Then, with delicacy, she began binding the edges together with the glue, making sure the wound was completely sealed. When she was finished, she was utterly exhausted.

  Now only time would tell. She had done her best with his leg, and the bleeding had stopped. But she could do no more, and she prayed that infection would not take him. Chelan stood and stretched and then moved to the pool. She soaked one of her pelts and then returned to the man, wiping his face tenderly.

  But she could not rest. Next was his chest, and Chelan took a deep breath. She checked him carefully for shrapnel, removing it when she found it and then closing the wounds. Again, hours passed, and then she was finally done. Chelan soaked another pelt and sponged his flesh, cleansing it of blood and debris. When he was totally clean, she sat back and inspected her work. She was pleased with her mending, and she loved the delicate touch of the fine laser. It was easy to control, and it did its job beautifully. The biobonding gel was a miracle in itself. Between those two agents, her job had been made relatively simple. To do what she had done with sutures … well, the man would have died long ago.

  Finally, she dabbed some of the antiseptic over his chest and the leg wound. She was careful not to waste any of it, for the prevention of infection would be critical for his survival. She furrowed her brow. Surely they would have had some sort of medication with them just for a situation like this, but if they did, obviously it was elsewhere in the fighter.

  Chelan let the solution dry on his skin and then she gathered some loose fur pelts and pushed them under his head. She turned him to his side slightly so that any urine he secreted would flow away from his wounds. She propped furs behind his back and then covered him with a large blanket.

  It was getting late, and Chelan was drained, but she was afraid to leave him. She retrieved her shroud from where she had dropped it and placed it over some of her furs next to him. She lay down and immediately was consumed by a deep sleep. The night was upon them.

  *****

  When Chelan awoke at first light she was afraid to move. She held her breath, but she could hear nothing. She pushed herself up slowly and bit her lip as she looked down into the man’s still features. Her body trembled with trepidation as she tentatively touched him. Then she moaned with the relief at the feel of his warm skin.

  Chelan removed the blanket from him and looked first at his chest. All the lacerations looked fine, save one near his side that was puffy and red. Chelan pulled the fur off his lower body and studied the large wound. There was some redness toward his inner thigh, and she flinched. She poured a small amount of the liquid directly on her fingers and felt over the entire length of the incision, checking for any swellings, hot areas, or lumps. So far, so good.

  Then she laid her head on his chest ever so gently and listened. His respirations and heart beat were regular, but so very slow, and she wondered if that was normal for a wounded warrior. Once again she pondered if he was able to slow his metabolism while being unconscious. She knew they were bred for their exceptional healing abilities, but this man was almost in suspended animation, and she had no idea if that was good or bad.

  Only when she was completely satisfied that she had done everything she could for him did she cover him up and attend to herself. She was caked with his blood, so she stripped off her uniform and took it with her into the pool. She soaked for a time and cleaned the garment, but she did not linger, for she was afraid that the man would die in her absence.

  Chelan dressed and then knelt by him. She realized that the next problem was to get fluids into him. She stared at him for a long time as she puzzled over this dilemma. Could an unconscious person swallow? She licked her lips, frustrated by her lack of knowledge. The last thing she needed him to do was aspirate on anything. He could have multiple internal injuries as it was, and fluid in his lungs would be disastrous.

  Chelan sighed. Though she wished he could drink because of all the blood he had lost, he was not feverish, and he didn’t appear dehydrated. She would give him some time, and maybe he would come around and take some water soon.

  So, it was cleanup time, and Chelan spent the good part of the morning clearing away the rock and ice debris near them. She checked the man frequently, and when she was finished with her work, she returned to him and lay down.

  He looked so peaceful, and yet she knew that his struggle was great. She inspected his leg wound again and noted that the redness around his inner thigh was still there. Chelan hung her head, wishing once again that she knew more. All she did know for sure was that she could only wait. The rest was up to him.

  Chelan checked the fur beneath his groin, and she stiffened at the fact that there was no urine. He would need to drink soon, and she felt a knot forming in her stomach.

  She pulled her shroud up next to him as she stared into his serene face. She wondered if there had been any brain damage, but again, only time would tell. She reached out and touched his smooth cheek and jaw, and suddenly she smiled. There was no hair, and to Chelan that meant no pain. Only Ticees had facial and body hair, and only Ticees had hurt her.

  Chelan coiled up tightly next to him, drawing her shroud over her, and she immediately fell asleep. When she awoke sometime later it was still light, but she knew it was getting late. She turned toward the man and, suddenly, her face paled. He was sweating profusely and shaking violently, yet his skin cold and clammy. “Oh, my god,” she gasped.

  Chelan scampered to her knees, her eyes watering. She took several deep breaths and tried to calm herself. She had to think, and she had to think clearly. He was being ravaged by infection, and she had to help. She threw back the fur cloak. She looked over him; his whole body was moist, and his muscles tremoring. Chelan moved along to his leg wound, and the sight of the angry, red puffiness in one area nearly made her ill.

  Suddenly, adrenalin coursed through her, and she was running on pure instinct. She lurched to her feet. She had to get him near the cavern wall so she could provide him with warmth, and closer to the pool for cleansing. She took a large fur blanket and laid it out near the wall to the left of the entrance. Then she soaked several pelts in the warm pool water. Dashing back to him, she began rubbing him down. When she had cleansed and dried him, she hooked her arms under his and braced herself. With all her might, she began inching him off the fuselage and onto the fur. It seemed to take forever, every muscle in her body straining with an exertion far beyond anything she had ever done before. But she was determined. When he was finally alongside the blanket, she rolled him on to it, and then she stopped momentarily to catch her breath.

  Next, she began the task of maneuvering him to his side, and she supported his back with more furs. She rolled several of the pelts into a tight cylinder and placed them between his legs, assuring that his left leg did not fall onto his right. This way she could keep his incision fully exposed. She then placed a pelt under his groin area once again.

  Chelan could see that his shivering was intensifying, and she piled her blankets over his body, covering him completely except for the right thigh. Chelan then ran to where she had left his knives and selected one of them. Bracing it with some rocks, she set her lazgun on a low setting, aimed, and fired. The blue blade glowed red, and Chelan waited for it to cool. Then she grabbed the antiseptic and the knife and slumped down by the man’s side.

  She poured some of the liquid over the wound and some over the knife. Carefully, she began to explore the area that was infected, prodding it gingerly. She felt a thickening below the skin the entire area was angry red and distressingly hot. The severe puffiness was her target. Chelan positioned the point of the blade into his flesh over the area and then applied a steady pressure, sinking the razor-sharp knife slowly into his thigh.


  Chelan held her breath, not sure of what to expect, but suddenly she recoiled, rewarded for her effort as the giant abscess ruptured and released its foul contents. Chelan opened the wound further and then cleaned it, first with the pool water and then with the antiseptic. The area was a mess, and Chelan sat back as her eyes welled. “Oh god!” she cried out loud. “What else can I do?”

  Sniffling back her tears, she grabbed all the soiled furs and the knife and cleaned them all painstakingly in the pool. She would have to leave the wound open to allow the infection to drain. Outside of keeping the area open and clean, there was nothing more she could do.

  When she returned, his shivering was even more acute. Chelan grabbed her shroud and protected his head with it as she blasted the wall behind him with her lazgun so the red, radiant heat would warm his back. Chelan then stripped quickly, as Ticees had done for her, and she lay down beside him. She pressed tightly into his chest and pulled his arm over her. Chelan hugged him fiercely, being careful at all times not to touch his leg. She drew the furs over the both of them and buried her face into his powerful neck. With every tremor emanating from his body, Chelan shed another tear. “Please don’t die,” she pleaded. “Please don’t die.”

  Chelan lay next to the convulsing man for the rest of the evening and into the blackness of night. Time passed painfully slowly, and then Chelan drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  She began to stir just as the morning light filtered in. She moaned softly as her mind drifted in and out of consciousness. She felt warm and her skin salty and slick. She could smell a man’s heavy male scent, and her muscles clenched. Thoughts of Korba swam into the murky depths of her dreams, and suddenly her eyes shot open. She shook her head, forcing herself back to reality.