“I need someone to press down, right here and here,” he ordered.
Saul, the guy who had talked his ear off earlier, quickly obliged. Dean wiped his fingers carefully. Now that he could see through sober eyes, thanks to the chemical solution he had obtained on the black market, Dean looked Saul over. The young man appeared to be average: neither tall nor short, with shaggy brown hair and a beard to match. He wore a jumpsuit that looked to contain souvenir stains from all the jobs he had ever worked.
The bar emptied out, the customers no doubt eager to get clear before Station Control showed up. Dean had to work fast. He didn’t want to get tangled up with the EAG any more than the other regulars at the Tavern did.
Reaching for the girl’s face, Dean stretched open her eyes, one at a time. “Does anyone know her?” he asked the room.
For a moment there was silence, then, “I’ve never seen her before, and I’ve seen a lot of the people around here,” the bartender explained.
Dean had hoped to call the girl by name, keeping her mind from slipping into darkness while he worked. He had little to go on, but he bent down to talk gently into her ear.
“What are you saying?” Saul asked. The girl sputtered, as if in reaction.
“That’s better,” Dean said, in a louder voice. “I am Dr. Stratos, and I will be your surgeon this afternoon. I’ve never lost a patient, and I believe you will help me keep the streak going.”
Field surgery atop a bar with no proper equipment was a unique challenge. Two bullets had entered just under the rib cage at a sharp, upward angle. She must have been laying on the floor and facing her attacker when shot, he deduced. Removing her shirt had revealed no exit holes. The surgeon feared each breath prompted the bullets to wriggle their way in deeper.
“Do you have any tongs?” Dean asked.
“We have some in the kitchen,” offered Brake, the cook who had been leaning over the bar, watching.
“Small?”
“Nah, the tips are about this big,” Brake explained, holding his finger and thumb apart by an inch.
“Won’t work,” Dean said, exhaling. He thought for a moment. “Pliers? Do you have needle-nose pliers? The longer, the better.”
“Sure we do,” Astarsia answered, fumbling around under the bar.
“Good. Bring them to me, fast,” Dean ordered. “I wish I had forceps, but pliers should fit inside much better than my fingers.”
“Here, try these,” the bartender offered, producing a pair.
“Let’s see what we can do,” Dean said.
***
Dean watched calmly as a woman wearing an EAG uniform confronted them, hands on hips. At her side was a holstered pistol. The officer’s hair was long and wavy, a deep brown mixed with lighter tones. The Earth Aerospace Guard must have loosened its regulations, Dean thought, smirking.
Her complexion and facial features suggested the woman was from South Asia, somewhere on the Indian subcontinent. She looked to be in her mid-thirties.
Behind her stood three others in similar outfits. The security team was undoubtedly concerned about the blood smothering Dean’s clothing and the young girl lying shirtless on the bar, still unconscious.
As they approached cautiously, Dean could see that the officer’s eyes were light in color. Green? No, they were pale brown. He had made up his mind about one thing: he found her attractive.
“Who are you? What just happened?” she demanded.
“May I ask who you are, first, ma’am?” Dean asked politely.
“Lt. Commander Louisa Malik, Station Control. I’m in charge of security. Now, who are you? I have a report of a shooting here.”
“She was shot twice. I don’t know who did it.” After a pause he added, “Yet.”
“I will be opening an investigation. Is she okay?” the commander asked.
“She will be. I removed the bullets and bandaged her up. She needs more extensive treatment to prevent infection and to make sure she heals okay. I did the best I could under the circumstances. I also gave her what little morphine I had in my pocket. She will need more soon. I keep telling myself I should be more prepared.”
“You’re a doctor?” Malik asked.
“Yes,” answered Dean, feeling his patience wane.
“We don’t have much. Station Control keeps a small sick bay going, but only for staff,” Malik explained, with a touch of sadness in her voice.
“Are you kidding me?” Saul exclaimed. “A station this size with nothing more than that?”
Dean knew where this conversation was going.
“We had a full-service hospital,” the commander said, lowering her voice. “A freighter hauling refugees from Earth slammed into the station after the embargo. Whatever the pilot was thinking, he managed to kill all his passengers and destroy the hospital. We tried shooting at the ship but it didn’t stop them. Want to see the vid? It’s heartwarming stuff.”
“Well, I can’t sit around here all day,” remarked Dean, changing the subject. “Not if I’m going to find the young lady’s attacker.” He was in a vengeful mood.
“Stay put, I need to get statements from everybody,” Malik warned. Dean walked right past the commander. She drew her sidearm, as if to add weight to the argument.
“I know you won’t shoot,” he stated calmly, reaching the front door before stopping. Malik was out of her comfort zone.
“Look,” she said. “Tell me your name. I need it for the report.”
“Dean Stratos,” he called over his shoulder. Dean stepped through the doorway. He was ready to do some hunting.
***
Tracking down the shooter had proven to be a leisurely task. Local criminals were used to the lack of an adequate police force. Surveillance systems were in widespread disrepair. Getting away with a crime on the Cage was usually accomplished by running fast.
Sneaking up on the gang’s hideout, Dean had eavesdropped on a conversation which confirmed this was the right place. The pair of junkies finally moved on, leaving the entrance unguarded.
Emerging from the shadows, he carefully checked the corridor in either direction. All was quiet. There were no cameras that he could see. The door was latched, but the locking mechanism seemed pretty flimsy. He could easily kick the door down, storm the den, and take them by surprise.
He knocked instead. When the door slid open, a young man, barely more than a teenager, staggered outside. His skin was pale and covered in lesions. Dean figured some were from disease, and the rest were the results of drug use, but he honestly couldn’t tell the difference.
The junkie never saw a thing before he hit the floor, face down. After dragging the unconscious body inside, Dean was pleased to find the hideout shrouded in darkness. This gang liked to stay in the shadows. Unfortunately for them, so did intruders.
The room he stepped into must have been a lab. Lining the walls were long tables featuring various scientific equipment. There was no way of knowing what it was all for without turning on the lights. He drew his concealed pistol and proceeded deeper into the room.
Voices echoed from a hallway. Carefully, Dean moved down the passage. An open door near the end of the hall was the source. Plastering himself to the wall near the doorway, the Maxilla listened carefully before moving in.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor, staring up at the first kind face I’d seen since I was separated from my father. I was very young in those days, a little naive, and destined to learn many things the hard way. I could tell Saul was a good man.
- Anya Suvorov
2318 AD, 23 months after Collision Event
Saul cradled the wounded girl’s head, helping her to eat some soup that Brake had prepared as quickly as he could. Astarsia brought another glass full of water, along with a packet of electrolyte supplements. He may not have had any formal medical training, but Saul had seen enough malnourishment and sickness on his home habitat to know the girl needed hydration. She had regained c
onsciousness about an hour before, shortly after the doctor left to chase after the shooter.
The Malik woman had stuck around for a while, interviewing and cross-referencing the stories she was hearing. Saul guessed the officer had a list of things she had to check off before she could scurry back to the safety of Station Control.
“This is how it is on the Cage,” Astarsia remarked in a low voice. “Not that we have gunshots all that often, but plenty of fighting, and sometimes killing. Usually we keep things decent around this area, but you never know what can happen.”
“You have a lot of desperate people in a confined space,” Saul observed. “Trust me, I understand.”
“Where did you say you were from?” Astarsia asked.
“Harper Station 4. Heard of it?” Saul asked.
“I think so. Where is it?”
“I don’t know,” explained Saul. “It was in orbit around Earth when I lived there.”
“I miss looking out at Earth,” she said, her voice trailing off.
“Oh, I bet,” Saul remarked. He never got the chance to visit Earth, but his crewmates would talk about it all the time.
“Where is that man who saved me?” the girl said. Up until then, her only words had been to say that her chest hurt and to ask for water.
“We don’t know, honey,” Astarsia answered. “He ran off just before you woke up. He is looking for whoever did this to you.”
“How old are you?” Saul asked.
“Fourteen.” The girl’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. She looked young for her age.
“What’s your name?”
The girl hesitated. “Anya,” she finally said.
“Well, Anya, you are looking much better. How do you feel?”
“Not so good. I hurt more,” Anya said, meekly.
Saul knew she needed more painkillers, and soon. His captain’s order included some medical supplies, and he was pretty sure morphine was on that list. Maybe Torus wouldn’t notice if some went missing. Who am I kidding?
“Astarsia,” Saul said, getting her attention, “I think I can get some drugs for her. Maybe even some antibiotics.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but I need to run back to my shuttle. I’ll be quick.”
***
Saul had made his way down to the docks as fast he could move. He was now confronted with unexpected and inconvenient news: his shuttle had been placed on lockdown. The salvage technician could not leave, even if he forced his way into the ship. Any attempt to circumvent the lockdown would tear the shuttle apart.
The dockmaster’s office was empty, but Saul could see the docking status of his shuttle on the large display screen dominating the room. He needed to speak to someone, but wasn’t sure how to proceed.
Saul noticed the hatch opening behind him. He turned to face a woman with dark hair cut just above her shoulders. The face seemed familiar. Her body was lean and pale. She wore a black button-up shirt with no sleeves, showing off one arm covered in tattoos, while the other was bare. Her cargo pants were dark gray. If those were not military surplus, the boots certainly were. It took the salvage technician a moment to take it all in, but when he did, recognition left him confounded.
“Hello, Saul,” the woman said.
“My god, Calypso?!” Saul exclaimed.
“Yeah, it’s me,” she confirmed.
“We thought you were dead.”
“Sounds like the captain didn’t tell anyone what happened. Another ship picked up my suit beacon. I don’t believe it was luck. How is Bernard?”
Calypso had tried to kill their captain. As punishment, she was placed inside a long-term survival suit and hitched to a cable. The Beast dragged her through space for a couple days before she was cut loose.
“Same as always,” he answered. “Are you saying the captain made sure you would be rescued?”
“That’s all I can figure.”
“Doesn’t sound like our captain to me,” Saul said, still trying to wrap his mind around all of this.
“I know, but he may have made an exception in my case,” she suggested.
“Why?”
“Because I’m his niece,” explained Calypso.
“Oh,” was all Saul could think to say. As if he didn’t already have a lot to absorb with his long dead crewmate come back to life. Saul decided to change the subject to something more immediate. “Did you put the lockdown on my ship?”
“Yes, or rather, my employer did. He wanted to make sure you didn’t slip away without a chance for him to talk with you,” she explained.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I am in a hurry. Perhaps another time,” Saul said, losing his patience.
“You will come with me if you want to see the inside of your shuttle again.”
Saul said nothing for a moment, pondering the situation. He then extended his hand, index finger pointing directly at Calypso, and said “Alright, but there is something you have to do for me.”
***
“Can she walk?”
“I don’t think Anya should go anywhere,” Astarsia said. The owner of the Tavern looked genuinely concerned. Anya was now sitting in a chair, drinking another glass of water.
“I’m not asking you,” Calypso warned, glaring at the bartender.
“How do you feel, Anya?” Saul asked.
“Okay, I guess. I feel stiff and achy,” the girl explained.
“Astarsia, we can take her to a clinic full of professionals,” explained Saul. “It’s her best shot at a full recovery without complications.”
The comm device on Calypso’s belt chimed. She walked a few paces away and listened.
“Take care of her, Saul. Come back and see me sometime. Both of you.” She nodded to Anya.
“You got it. Thank you for everything,” Saul said.
“Yes, thank you,” agreed Anya, rising slowly from her chair.
“Alright,” said Calypso, rejoining the group. “Let’s get moving. We have to make a detour on the way.”
***
Calypso stood with Saul and Anya over three dead bodies. Anya had insisted on entering the room, despite Saul’s attempt to shield her.
Two of the corpses were men lying on their backs. The third was a woman sprawled face down. Their blood was pooling together in the center of the room. One had a distinct boot mark on his throat.
“Well, that’s Rafe Johnson, the leader of the Constant Anguish,” declared Calypso.
“That’s Rafe?” Anya asked, her voice betraying surprise. “He is the one who shot me. I didn’t recognize him like that.” She pointed to Rafe’s body. It was splattered with blood and his features were twisted in agony.
“Two shootings in one day,” remarked Calypso. “Control is going to be all over this, tightening up security.”
A loud thump and the crash of a dozen things hitting the ground at once sounded through the wall. Calypso and Saul turned to look at each other.
“What was that?” asked Anya.
“Let’s find out,” Calypso suggested. Saul wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
They followed her out of the room into a side passage, stopping by a door. She tried the handle, but the door was locked from the inside.
Calypso drew a small gun from its place of concealment, aimed, and fired two shots downward into the door handle. It blew apart, leaving a wide hole in its place. She nudged the door with the muzzle of her gun, sending it creaking inward.
“After you, young man,” she ordered.
Saul wasted no time complying. He flipped a switch on his way in. A single dim light appeared in the middle of the ceiling. Shadows engulfed everything. He regretted his decision to leave his equipment harness back on the Beast. It featured many useful items that would come in handy right now, including glow sticks and a flashlight.
Cabinets hung open with contents strewn all across the floor. There was something else down there. The substance was dark and distinct even in the low light. It was blood. There was a t
rail leading into the darkness against the wall.
Saul opened a drawer, then another, until he came across a light he could use. They followed the blood into the shadows. He could just make out a large shape on the floor, unmoving. Saul aimed the flashlight.
A man lay with his back against the wall, wrapped tightly in a fetal position. His hands were grasping the sides of his head. The trail of blood was thicker here, and it was still flowing. A cart was overturned. Medicine bottles, syringes, and other medical instruments lay scattered all over. Some were resting on the man’s shoulder. Light glinted off the unmistakable profile of a large caliber pistol lying on the floor a few feet away.
“Oh no,” Anya said, nearly voiceless.
“Move out of the way,” Calypso demanded. She nodded toward the man on the floor. “Check him, Saul. I’ll cover you.” She slid the man’s gun further away with her foot.
Wary of slipping in the blood, and planning to beat a fast retreat if necessary, Saul placed his legs in a wide stance. Giving his old shipmate a clear shot, he bent over carefully and touched the man on the shoulder.
As if in response, the man thrust his head, arms, and knees outward. His mouth was open. His face was contorted, stuck in an expression of extreme pain. Now they could see where the blood was coming from. A knife handle protruded from his chest. It looked serious, but the man was clearly preoccupied.
“I know this man,” Saul confessed.
“You do?” asked Calypso.
“He’s the doctor who operated on Anya. Dean something.”
“Dean Stratos?” she suggested.
“That sounds right. How did you guess?”
“My boss has been trying to recruit Stratos since the Collision,” Calypso explained. “We need to sedate him so we can take him with us.”
“He’s a good guy. I don’t want to hand him over to a thug,” Saul declared.
“My employer is no thug, and he wants to hire your friend, not hurt him.”
Salvaging the Beast (The Fall and Rise of the Third Planet Book 1) Page 5
