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19

Everyone in our class was paired with an experienced medic for training runs, each with one from his or her own species. While that wasn’t going to be the case as working medics, for training it made things simpler to go on runs with someone who spoke the same language and came from the same culture. That presented certain difficulties in my case, so Xeelix took it upon himself to work with me personally. It was probably the obvious choice, but I couldn’t get past the feeling that they’d singled me out for special attention.

First runs as a trainee are a roller coaster of emotions, a constant flow of new sensations clamoring for attention. You have to quickly figure out how to keep your head under pressure, and most of all learn from the more experienced medics. As of two weeks ago training runs had been a distant memory, but here I was in the middle of it once more.

We met in a cavernous hangar in the bottom level of our sector’s medical center—I wished they’d just call it a hospital—where we were paired up with our training preceptors. Like everything else in the Union, it was impossibly neat and tidy. Glow panels in the high ceiling shone like natural daylight, making the already airy space feel like we were outdoors. The back wall was filled with supply and specialized equipment lockers.

Enormous openings were evenly spaced along the opposite side of the hangar, as if the entire deck was open to space. Xeelix explained that they were force fields taking the place of mechanical doors. Apparently they were more reliable, but it left me with the willies. What happened if the power went out? A low-frequency hum permeated the hangar, the sound of those electromagnetic fields keeping the vacuum at bay.

The Class III transports, our flying ambulances, had looked interesting as holograms; in person they were pretty impressive. Larger than the shuttle I’d left Earth in, each was about the size of a city bus and emblazoned with the Corp’s green slash, beginning at the tips of the outrigger pods and coming to a point midway atop each ship. Each slash bore alien script which my visor translated as numbers. Ours was 5.

I mentioned they were teardrop-shaped, the equipment pods flaring outward as the fuselage tapered to a sharp point. They were the first time I’d seen any evidence of wear and tear, with subtle scuff marks and dings around the access panels along the top of each pod. It made the things feel more lived-in, more real.

Each transport was lined up in front of a force-field opening, between rails on either side. “Those are additional field generators,” Xeelix explained. “When a transport is dispatched, it is surrounded by a local field before its bay is opened to vacuum.” They must have had a lot of confidence in those devices.

As if to illustrate his point, a high-pitched klaxon sounded overhead, like the squawking of irritated birds, and I heard a message through my translator. “Alert bay twelve, alert bay twelve. Prepare for immediate departure.”

Xeelix pointed toward the far end of the hangar, where a translucent yellow wall had appeared. Behind its shimmering electromagnetic curtain, a transport began powering up. “The field is in a visible spectrum to warn away others,” he said, and pointed to the rail nearest us, which was also cast in high-visibility yellow. “It is important to avoid these areas.” Good to know, as I wouldn’t want to stumble into one of those things when they threw the switch. Same reason we painted safety lanes around our ambulance bays in high-viz colors, though nobody in the firehouse was in danger of being cut in half by a force field.

I was mesmerized by the whole ballet. An amber beacon began flashing on the transport’s belly, a warning that its gravity drive was being spun up. The field bowed outward as the ambulance began to hover, which was more than a little unnerving. “Is that a gravity wave?”

“Highly localized, but yes. Just enough to move the ship out of its launch corridor.”

There was a flash of white light around the rim of the portal as the outer force field opened, letting the ambulance slip through along a current of escaping air. The field quickly returned to its normal invisible state and the sparkling yellow curtain disappeared. There was a tickle of moving air and my ears popped as the hangar’s pressure equalized. “Bay twelve is clear,” I heard. “Bay twelve is clear.”

Xeelix seemed satisfied. “Quite a good introduction, I think.” He motioned me onward. “Now, let us become familiar with our own transport.”

He led me through an exterior inspection, allowing me to open the outrigger compartments to check the gear inside. For this, we used the same goggles he’d showed us for patient assessments. As I opened each panel, an inventory list appeared in front of me. Species-specific immobilizers, breathing masks, atmosphere tanks, oddly shaped cervical collars, and the ever-present array of brightly polished butt probes were precisely arranged in each compartment.

At his direction, I waved my bio ring across one side of the ambulance and a large oval opening appeared. I stepped inside and found it to be exactly as depicted in our training holograms. An automated, moldable gurney sat in the center with scanning and assessment gear mounted atop shelves along one sidewall. Outlines of monitoring screens were embedded in the opposite wall. I pointed them out to Xeelix. “I have a question,” I said, tapping my visor. “If we can see everything through these, then what are the monitors for?”

“They have a number of uses,” he explained. “They can function as ‘repeaters’ so others can see what you see. They can also display physiological information which would otherwise crowd your field of view. Often they are simply used as windows to the outside. This is an important psychological benefit to both patients and technicians.”

That was more than good enough for me. I liked being able to see where we were. We’d been exposed to every piece of gear in class except one, and that had been bugging me. In the back of the compartment hung three vacuum suits in transparent lockers, one of which was clearly tailored for a human of my size. “What about those? We were never trained on how to use them.”

“An oversight, I admit,” Xeelix said. “They are used commonly enough among our spacefaring races as to be an afterthought. It would be like teaching you to put on a coat when it is cold outside.”

I stared at the simplistic-looking spacesuit. “This seems a little beyond dressing for the weather.”

“I suppose so.” He led me back to where the suits were hung. “Come, let us have you try yours on. As with your uniforms, it was tailored based on your initial entry scan.”

I swiped my ring across the door and lifted the immaculate white jumpsuit from its hanger. It was light, no more cumbersome than my medic coveralls. A small backpack was mounted below the helmet rim, and the helmet itself was a clear ovoid bubble. “This isn’t glass, right? More of that transparent metal?”

“Correct.” He pointed to the backpack. “This is the biopack, your ‘life support.’ It contains power cells, communications, temperature controls, and air circulators. It is controlled by a panel embedded in the left sleeve.”

Sure enough, there was a small rectangular crystal above my wrist, seamlessly woven into whatever this fabric was. I turned it over to check the backpack. “Seems awfully small. And it’s all so light.”

Xeelix lifted the suit from my hands to show me its features. “The biopack is what you would call a ‘rebreather.’ It contains a small supply of breathable air in a mixture tailored to your species. Its circulation pumps include catalysts to remove carbon dioxide before reintroducing it to your helmet.”

“Doesn’t seem like that would be enough to keep everything under pressure.” My skepticism was asserting itself again. Of course, all I knew about spacesuits had come from watching old films of astronauts on TV. They were supposed to be bulky and stiff, necessary to keep the human inside at a survivable air pressure.

“The only air is inside your helmet.” He pointed to its rim. “Notice the material beneath your neck; it will seal off the rest of your body. The suit works through mechanical counterpressure. The fabric is woven with flexible alloys that are constantly adjusting to your movements.” He pulled at the skin on his arm, then gently poked at mine. “Our epidermis is already a sufficient containment vessel for most environments. In vacuum, we only need a way to keep air molecules from escaping.”

The inner layer would be skintight, which made me thankful for the loose outer covering. “What is this layer for?” I couldn’t imagine it was for looks.

“Radiation shielding. It requires something more ‘low tech,’ as your kind might say. It consists of simple physical barriers, many of which are similar to the materials your own space travelers use. A force field would offer full-spectrum protection, but those require considerable amounts of power. Equipping the biopacks with antimatter reactors seemed . . . impractical.”

I laughed. “Was that a joke?”

“That was my intention. I understand humor is important to humans, particularly in unfamiliar environments.”

“It certainly makes some things easier.”

“Excellent.” He opened the adjacent locker and pulled out his own suit. “I wished for you to be fully at ease before exposing you to vacuum.”

I took a step back. Exposing and vacuum were not words I wanted to hear strung together.

Xeelix stripped out of his coveralls. “Do not be anxious. I will be with you.”

Contemplating the buck-naked gray alien before me took my mind off the “exposure to vacuum” part, if only for a moment. If he was this comfortable around me, I’d have to be likewise around him, but it was all going to take some getting used to. “No, uh . . . underwear, then?”

He was halfway through sealing up his suit and looked at me, cocking his head to one side. “What is . . . ah. I understand now. Underclothing is not recommended. It can become quite uncomfortable.”

I frowned, still unconvinced. My “underclothing” was already light enough that I didn’t see how it could make a difference, so I shed my coveralls and left everything else in place.

The suit went on easily enough, with a barely noticeable closure running the full length in front. It wasn’t a zipper, but it did the same thing, following my finger up and down to connect seamlessly. Cool air caressed my face as I set the helmet into place. It was comfortable so far, the inner layer in fact feeling like a second skin. It pressed against my underwear a bit, but nothing to complain about. Maybe I could retain some of my dignity after all.

Xeelix showed me his wrist controls and pointed to a pulsing white light, which apparently meant “A-OK” in the GU. His voice sounded in my ears. “This is an integrated diagnostic for suit function and integrity.”

I followed his lead and lifted my left wrist. As promised, the same pulsing white light indicated I was good to go. “What about warnings?”

“It will glow steadily if you are in vacuum. If it turns off, there is a problem with your suit. The wrist panel will inform you of the precise malfunction.”

Lovely. That seemed backward. No news was not good news, apparently.

Xeelix closed the side door and began tapping at a nearby embedded panel. “I am venting cabin atmosphere into our recycler tanks. We will be in vacuum shortly.”

It didn’t take long. The hiss of moving air grew steadily quieter until the cabin was utterly silent. The counterpressure material begin to squeeze in response. The white light on my wrist panel pulsed more rapidly, and began glowing steadily as Xeelix announced “vacuum.”

And now I fully understood what he meant about underwear. It was as if the counterpressure fabric was trying to meld itself with my body, forcing every stitch and elastic strip to dig into my skin. It only got worse when I shrugged my shoulders and rotated my arms, trying to get a feel for the suit. All I’ll say about that is thank God I didn’t need underwire bras.

“You should try it through the full range of motion.”

I remained as still as a stone, afraid to move any more. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Perhaps not.” This was a definite teaching moment. “Let us turn our attention to your helmet. Do you feel at all claustrophobic?”

If that was going to be a problem, it was overshadowed by the sensation of my undies cutting into my skin. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, the hiss of circulation fans matching my rhythm. Turning my head was the one physical movement that didn’t hurt, and the helmet was big enough that it didn’t feel restrictive. “No, I’m good. Feels natural.”

“Excellent. This has been a satisfactory exercise.” He tapped another command into the panel and I heard air returning to our little mobile ER. The pressure garment began to release its vise grip on me and I let out a sigh of relief.

“I believe you see what I meant now.”

I hurriedly drew my finger across my chest to unzip the suit and began tenderly poking beneath the elastic of my underwear. My skin was an angry red stripe beneath, chafed in some places and bruised in others. It was sure to be even worse under my bra. On the other hand, the pain had kept me from obsessing over being separated from horrific instant death by a few millimeters of metallized alien fabric. “Yes. I see what you mean.”


The rest of my orientation was uneventful, mostly reiterating what Xeelix had showed us in class. The only question I had left was who would be driving the bus. Where I’d come from, we were crewed in pairs and partners would swap driving duties. LifeFlight helicopters were (of course) always flown by a qualified pilot with a pair of medics in back, one of them usually a registered nurse. I’d never been interested in that kind of work; I’m too scared of heights.

I’d figured our ride was going to be more like a helo’s, which proved right. Not long after Xeelix finished my orientation, another Gray climbed aboard, this one already in a vacuum suit, carrying the helmet under one arm. Androgynous or not, this one tended toward female by the graceful way she carried herself, with a slight sway of her hips. It was subtle, just enough for another chick to spot, alien or otherwise. She paused to study me; maybe I was the first human she’d encountered.

“Greetings, Melanie Mooney. I am Needa, your pilot.” She turned to Xeelix and they apparently had a private, telepathic exchange which my translators didn’t pick up. Needa finished with a respectful nod and settled in at the pilot’s station. A flick of her hand brought the ship’s control panel to life.

“She was asking if your orientation was complete. It is a necessary condition to check in with central dispatch. I hope you took no offense; you are her first encounter with a human.”

Aha! I’d been right on both counts: female, and first contact. Cool. “Your race is hermaphroditic. How often do individuals settle on a specific gender?”

“It is situational. Often it is driven by the name given at birth. Translated into your English, male names traditionally end in consonants. Female names traditionally end in vowels.”

That wasn’t much different from our traditions, which was interesting. I was starting to develop a real affinity for these little gray guys, and wondered how much else we had in common. “So it comes down to the parent’s preference?”

“It is left over from ancient practices, before we evolved into a form that was more . . . adaptable.”

That held some interesting implications, and made me wonder what humans might be like in another ten or twenty millennia.

“I have informed central dispatch that we are on active status,” Needa said. “We are currently number one for ready alert.”

“Excellent,” Xeelix said. “We will be on the next run, as you would say.”

I was beyond ready to get moving, and began to feel edgy from anticipation. “Awesome.”


It was an exercise in hurry-up-and-wait, a fact of EMS life that was apparently fundamental across the galaxy. We spent the next couple of hours hanging out in the bus with Xeelix reviewing procedures and quizzing me on the various GU physiologies. Despite having that information implanted in my head, recalling everything on the fly was a real challenge. That wasn’t the same as having knowledge ingrained in my memory, it was more like files I could access if I concentrated enough. It was teaching my brain to work like a user interface.

“Do not worry,” he reassured me. “It is my pleasure to assist you.”

I sighed. “It’s a lot to digest.”

Perplexed, Xeelix rubbed his chin. “I do not understand how that relates to your gastrointestinal function.”

“Sorry. I meant comprehend.”

“Ah. I see now. I did not believe you had eaten the files.”

I laughed. “Feels like it sometimes. When I was studying to be a veterinarian, we spent a lot of time on different species’ anatomies. I wished they could’ve just downloaded it all into my head back then. I’m not so certain now.”

“We have observed that humans retain complex information more readily if they have to spend considerable time in study. I was curious how our methods would work for you.”

“I’ll get used to it. It has reminded me of vet school a little.”

Xeelix shifted in his seat. “I am curious about that as well. If my understanding is accurate, you were close to completing your course of study. May I ask what caused you to change your plans?”

He wanted to know why I’d quit for something presumably less challenging. Fair enough, considering all they’d done to bring me this far. It wasn’t something I enjoyed talking about, even after all this time. The guys back in the firehouse had known not to bring it up, but I couldn’t blame Xeelix for asking.

I absentmindedly smoothed out my coveralls—a pointless gesture, as they stayed remarkably wrinkle-free. “I came from farm country. Agricultural region. We had more than enough vets around; my father was one of them. What we didn’t have enough of were emergency medics.” I was ready to leave it at that, fortunately the dispatch center ended the conversation for me.

“Alert bay five. Alert bay five. Prepare for departure.”


Rolling out felt familiar. The sudden burst of activity, the rush of adrenaline as we shot out for the unknown. Xeelix and I pulled out our data crystals and read through the dispatch notice:


ALERT 149883-46 / ASSIGN MED 5

SINGLE VEHICLE ACCIDENT / SKIMMER CLASS

TRANS-ATMOSPHERIC FLYER

THREE OCCUPANTS ABOARD, TYPE CHALAWANI

LOCATION: SECTOR 00, SUBSECTOR GAMMA 338,

REPORTED BY EMERGENCY BEACON

HAZARD RATING: 3 / NO G.U. PRESENCE REPORTED


“Chalawans,” Xeelix said as the capital ring receded behind us. “You recall their anatomy and physiology?”

“Working on it,” I said, forcing my brain to call up their file. “Partial exoskeleton. Four lower limbs for mobility, four upper limbs for manipulation. Quadrilateral symmetry,” meaning all eight limbs were evenly spaced around their centers. “Elongated neck, four eyes arranged vertically in pairs.”

“And their most vulnerable regions?” Xeelix pressed.

“The neck and underbelly.” Imagine a crablike shell with a giraffe-like neck.

Xeelix pointed to my crystal. “This information is rather thin. We have no reports of injury types. As you surely practiced on Earth, we must be mentally prepared without jumping to conclusions.”

“We’re going into this blind. How’d they get the report in the first place?”

“According to the alert message, it came from their flight plan and emergency beacon. Traffic control is aware of a skimmer accident, the number and race of occupants, but no more.”

“What’s a skimmer?”

“As the dispatch notice says, it’s a trans-atmospheric flyer. Perhaps the closest match to one of your rocket-powered vessels. They rely on similar methods of reactive propulsion, thus the hazard rating.”

I did recall that 3 was higher up the scale than I’d like. We’d have to be careful. I had no idea what they used for gas, but rocket fuel on Earth could be very nasty stuff. “I’m surprised anyone in the Union still uses them.”

“Some citizens still prefer them for short trips. Many use them for recreational purposes.”

Interstellar hotrodders, then. “Is that a popular pastime?”

“For some more than others. Chalawans tend to be fond of antiquated technologies. It is an avocation which often lands them in trouble.”

I looked up toward the pilot’s station in a vain attempt to figure out where we were going. “It’s not on the capital ring. Where are we heading?” I was wondering how far and how much time I was about to skip, but asking that seemed brash for a rookie.

He pointed at my crystal again. “Not far. Sector zero-zero is the Union center, the planet the capital ring orbits. We are approaching from its night side, which is why it is not yet visible.”

In orientation they’d said the planet was uninhabited, at least by sapient creatures. It was something of a galactic nature preserve. “That’s interesting. I’m surprised the Union would allow a vehicle like that.”

The corners of his mouth turned down ever so slightly. “They are not generally permitted,” he said grimly. “But that is not for us to determine, of course. Constables are en route. For now, it appears we will be the first on site.”

That was completely opposite from the way we did things back home. The cops were almost always the first to respond. “What do we know about those skimmers? Any hazmat we need to be worried about?”

“Haz . . . mat?” His translator was having trouble with that one.

“Sorry. It stands for ‘hazardous material.’ Dangerous chemicals.”

“Ah. Yes. Skimmers tend to be highly customized, though most use a propellant compound based on the elements you call boron and lithium. It is highly reactive with oxygen and toxic to most races if ingested.”

I didn’t plan on swallowing the stuff, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other ways to ingest it. “Fumes?”

Xeelix nodded. “Fumes will be a concern.” He pulled at his jumpsuit. “Our uniforms will be adequate against exposure, but I anticipate we will need to wear protective hoods.”

I glanced over at an equipment locker that was marked with a black slash. It held our protective gear. This first run was going to be complicated.


Despite the inertial dampening, our little ship shuddered as we plummeted through the planet’s upper atmosphere. I flicked on one of the outside viewscreens and could see only a sheath of incandescent plasma streaking past us, like we were flying through a neon tube.

“Atmospheric entries for emergency response calls are more . . . exciting . . . than usual,” Xeelix explained. “Time is of the essence.”

I nodded, as if I knew enough to understand the difference. After a few minutes we’d left the light show behind. High-altitude clouds zipped past as we flew in an ever-tightening spiral on our way down. Needa had targeted our entry to put us right on top of the emergency beacon. She looked busy up front, and I had the distinct sense that she was enjoying herself.

Soon the clouds gave way to reveal a dense forest below. Verdant trees with multicolored blooms turned beneath us in a kaleidoscope of alien vegetation as Needa continued her spiral, too fast for me to identify anything.

A clearing opened up ahead and we began to aggressively decelerate. I could tell this by looking outside; with the dampener field we couldn’t feel anything.

We settled into a large clearing surrounded by curling, funnel-shaped trees. I only call them “trees” because they were enormous; otherwise they looked like ornamental flowers. It messed with my sense of scale. A stream ran along the far side of the clearing, leading into more dense forest. Light reflected off exposed metal scattered across its banks. That was our crash site.

Xeelix opened the hazmat locker and pulled out a pair of transparent breathing hoods. They were a lot like the helmets on our vacuum suits, with a respirator pack mounted behind the neck closure. He handed me one along with a pair of disposable gloves. In this, they were much more “low tech” and comparable to the vinyl exam gloves I was used to. Honestly, they’re not even worth mentioning except that it was comforting to have something so familiar.

I opened the main door and was assaulted by a potpourri of new smells. Even through the respirator pack, the competing scents were as overwhelming as if I’d stumbled into the perfume section of a department store.

Xeelix noticed right away, of course. “GU Prime is what your people call a nature preserve.” He looked across the clearing at the tangled mess of metal, appearing to be thinking about something else. “Access points are tightly controlled. Recreational flyers like skimmers are not strictly prohibited, but they are not often found here.”

I grunted acknowledgment as I popped open one of the outboards to retrieve the Chalawani gear. I figured we’d need breathing masks, exoskeleton patch kits, and elongated cervical collars. There were only two of the latter; hopefully all three didn’t have spinal injuries.

Xeelix watched approvingly. “Excellent. I had assumed the same.” He slung a field bag across his thin shoulders and headed to the scene. For being no taller than I was, he had a surprisingly long, loping gait. I snatched my own bag and ran to keep up.

The site was nothing like the crash I’d come across back home, where the vehicle was mostly intact. This thing was a mess; debris was scattered across a hundred-meter fan pattern. They’d hit hard and their vehicle had disintegrated; more of what I was used to finding in a high-speed crash. It was hard to see how anyone could have survived it. “Do these things have inertial dampeners?”

“They typically do not. Skimmer enthusiasts are attracted to the unbridled sense of acceleration.”

My hotrodder analogy had turned out to be pretty close to the mark. Some of the larger pieces were brightly colored with iridescent shades of crimson and violet.

Xeelix pulled a thin wand out of his field bag and held it in the air. “Residual traces of boron and lithium. We must keep our respirators on.”

“I expected a lot more fuel spillage.”

“If their tank ruptured, most of the fuel would have reacted with the native oxygen. It would have been quite energetic.”

I paused in my search for victims and studied the nearby vegetation. Sure enough, the tops of the closest funnel plants were badly singed, all curled up and crispy. The skimmer had gone up in a big fireball. “We might not have any survivors.”

“A distinct possibility.”

We spread out, searching opposite sides of the debris field. It wasn’t long before I came across our first victim. Or rather, pieces of him. A mottled yellow shard of exoskeleton, about the size of a dinner plate, lay on the ground. Its color signified the victim was male. Nearby was one of his lower extremities, snapped off at the mid joint. I followed a smear of purplish blood across the cornstalk-thick grass and found the rest of him.

It was my first encounter with a Chalawan. His shattered carapace lay in pieces atop its thorax and abdomen, still attached but so fragmented as to offer no protection. Two pereiopods—his walking legs—were missing. His neck was bent at an odd angle—granted everything was “odd” to me at this point, but trust me when I say it was obvious. “Found one!” I shouted to Xeelix. “Chalawan male. Missing two lower extremities. Neck appears broken.” I pulled out the transducer disk from my trauma bag and pressed it against the base of his neck. “No vitals. I think this one’s a goner.”

Xeelix was by my side within seconds. He knelt and motioned for me to move the transducer down to the victim’s abdomen. He shook his head sadly. “You are correct, Melanie.” He tapped a note into his data crystal, transferring everything we’d read from the transducer. He pressed against the ring of his hood, calling back to our ship. “Needa, report to central dispatch. We have located one victim, deceased. We are continuing our search.”

“Understood,” Needa replied. “Constables report they are on approach.”

“Very good,” Xeelix said, and straightened up. “Come, there is nothing we can do here. Let us keep moving.”

I stowed my gear and stood, giving the broken Chalawan one last look before moving on. At least we wouldn’t be running short on cervical collars. That sounds grim, but in truth when you’re responding to an accident with multiple victims, you’re hoping there’s enough gear to go around.

We found the next one a little farther ahead; this one I located by smell, like roasted lobster. That’s in essence what we found. The poor guy was burnt to a crisp, no doubt closest to the fuel tank when it went up. Legs and arms were curled up beneath him. His carapace may have offered momentary protection, but his head and neck were gone.

“Vaporized in the blast,” Xeelix said. “Sadly, I have seen this before.” He called in his report to Needa.

This didn’t make sense. “Why wasn’t the other one burned?”

“Impossible to know without a constable investigation. I suspect this one survived the initial impact and went back to try and isolate the fuel cell.”

Damn. Poor guy tried to do the right thing and it literally blew up in his face.

Xeelix quickly moved on ahead. I was still running to catch up when he came to a stop and kneeled over another mottled yellow exoskeleton. “Melanie! Come quickly!”

I ran over to his side and dropped down to my knees, hurriedly opening up my bag. This one was still alive. His lower extremities appeared to be in place, but two of his uppers were bent at odd angles between the joints. He moved groggily, with all four eyes fluttering at random. Probably a head injury. We worked together to put the cervical collar in place around his meter-long neck.

I tried talking to our patient as Xeelix placed a full-face breathing mask over him. “Can you hear me?”

He answered with clicking sounds my translator couldn’t yet decipher. Xeelix repeated the question in Chalawan. More clicks. “He can hear us.”

“Great. Can you tell me your name?” I asked without thinking. They apparently didn’t have names in the way we thought of them, but I was going by habit now.

After a couple more clicks, my translator started to keep up. “Lusanii brood, four of twenty.”

“Thanks, Four. You can call me Melanie.” I held up my hand with two fingers extended. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Again, I was relying on old habits. It apparently confused him even more.

“Rely on your assessment tools,” Xeelix said patiently. “Remember, you are almost certainly the first human he has ever encountered. He is afraid.”

Oh. Hadn’t thought of that. It was easy to forget that I was the alien here. Again. I pulled out the disc and began moving it slowly across his thorax and abdomen. “Irregular heart rate. O2 sats low, respiratory rate also irregular,” I said. I pressed the center of the disc and began looking for internal injuries. The transducer functioned as it had in class, projecting images of the patient’s anatomy in my visor.

Xeelix moved over beside me and began directing my movements. A jumble of internal organs appeared, his long eight-chambered heart beating randomly beneath his carapace. Breathing was harder to assess because Chalawans exchange gas through “book lungs” like spiders. Their chambers look like a folded book and don’t expand and contract like ours; they function more like gills, letting air pass over them. He was lying belly-down, which would’ve blocked the flow of air, so Xeelix set the meter-long cervical collar in place and gingerly moved our patient onto its side. No matter what kind of creature you’re dealing with, you don’t want to move them when there’s a possible neck injury. But if they can’t breathe, none of that will matter.

Xeelix made a tsking sound. “It is as I feared.” He pointed at the Chalawan’s thorax, which appeared scorched from the blast. I placed the disc next to his respiratory opening. “There are burns around his atrial cavity.”

As I pressed the disc more firmly, we could see the seared folds of his lungs, like scorched pages of a book. “I’m surprised he’s still alive.”

“Chalawans are partially amphibious,” Xeelix reminded me. “They can survive for extended periods without being in open air.” He leaned in close, focusing his thoughts on me so our patient wouldn’t hear. His voice sounded like a whisper in my head. But this one does not have long. We must act quickly. He laid the patient back on its belly. “Tell me, what would you do?”

This seemed too urgent to use for a teaching moment, but one glance at the wounded Chalawan told me what to do—he needed a tracheotomy, fast. “We have to crack his carapace. Drill through his front dorsal quadrant, above the second and third abdominal segments, and insert a breathing tube inside the atrial cavity above the lung folds. We can use the respiratory pump to start airflow once we’ve secured him aboard.”

Xeelix stepped back and rubbed his chin. “Excellent.” He placed a hand on my arm, fixing me with those black almond eyes. “We must work quickly, Melanie. Prepare the breathing tube and respirator. We will also need suction tubes and retractors. I will calibrate the drill.”


Xeelix set the transducer dead center on the Chalawan’s front quadrant, gauging the exact depth. The drill was a handheld plasma cutter, and we needed to match its beam to the shell’s thickness. Going any deeper risked more damage to internal organs. I was still pulling out the field surgery tools when Xeelix announced he was ready.

I spread sterile mats across the carapace, leavening an opening for our drill, while Xeelix administered a sedative. It wouldn’t do to have our patient jerking around while we fished a breathing tube down around his vital organs. I laid out forceps, retractors, and a long section of tubing. “Ready.”

Xeelix had replaced his sterile gloves with a heat-resistant pair. “Very good. Keep your hands clear until I say so.”

I knelt back and kept my hands on my knees while he put the drill in place. It worked almost instantaneously. There was a flare of pure white light and a wisp of smoke curled away, carrying the sickly smell of burning calcium with it. Xeelix set the drill aside, stripped off his insulated gloves, and slipped on a fresh pair of sterile ones. There’d be more to cut, apparently. “The site is safe for us now. Retractor.”

I handed him the retractor. Fortunately our hands were of similar size, so we didn’t need separate sets of tools. He reached into the opening and began pulling folds of epidermal tissue aside. Now we could directly see the Chalawan’s innards. Xeelix studied the opening as I ran the transducer disk around the patient’s side to get a clearer picture. “No visible obstructions.” He gestured for me to move the disc directly over the hole he’d drilled. Our visors showed a clear path down to the atrial chamber.

“Excellent,” he said. “Our next task is more delicate.” He lifted a thin metallic tool from his field bag. It was an impossibly thin, articulated probe with an ablation blade at its end, similar to the arthroscopic instruments surgeons used on Earth. “We must make a small incision in the atrial sac to expose the lung folds.” He motioned for me to move the transducer disc. “Fix this over the left forward quadrant so we can see exactly where we are going. When I am finished, you will follow with the breathing tube. Are you ready?”

I set the disc in place with an adhesive patch. “Ready.”

Xeelix nodded and carefully inserted the ablation device down through the opening we’d created. I followed his progress through my visor, mentally mapping out the path I’d have to follow. He stopped right above the atrial chamber, gently placing the blade against the tissue. With a quick press from Xeelix, it sliced through to expose the book lungs. The ablation blade instantly cauterized the tissue, creating a nice, neat opening about the size of my index finger.

He deftly pulled the device out in a precise reversal of his movements. He turned to me. “Now.”

Without a word, I tore the tube free from its sterile wrap and began fishing it down into the Chalawan’s thorax, mimicking Xeelix’s motions. I wasn’t even thinking at this point, I was just doing. It felt no different than intubating a human patient; in fact I had a much better picture of where I was going with the tube.

It helped that Union gear was more advanced than the simple silicon tubes we used on Earth. These little beauties could be made as rigid or as flexible as we needed simply by twisting our fingers around them. In short, they reacted to our movements. On the one hand it required more precise control, but with enough practice you could make them do whatever you needed. I’d played with them enough in class to have a decent feel for it, but there’s nothing like doing it for real out in the field.

Fortunately, my first real-world use didn’t require much complex maneuvering. I fished it down past a major artery, around the upper digestive tract, then straight through Xeelix’s incision into the atrial cavity. “I’m in.” My eyes darted over to the vital signs floating at the edge of my field of view. “O2 sats are low, but stabilizing.” We still needed to seal off that opening around the tube. I kept it in place while Xeelix pulled out another long, thin instrument with a handle shaped for his hands. He knelt beside me and slid it down alongside the breathing tube until we could see it resting against the opening. “Keep it in place,” he said, and gave the handle a quick squeeze. Bio-adhesive paste extruded from the opposite end, securing the breathing tube in place and sealing up the incision around it. As he removed the tool, he set another blob of paste in place around the opening we’d made in the shell.

“Something’s wrong,” I said. “O2 sats are still too low.”

“Agreed,” Xeelix said. “Passive airflow is not enough. We must get him connected to a respirator.”

I searched the scene. Needa had landed us at a safe distance from the crash, mindful to keep us clear of any toxic fumes, but that meant we had a hike ahead of us. “Wait. I have an idea.”

I yanked a hose free from my rebreather pack and shoved my thumb into its open end to seal it off.

“Melanie! What are you doing?”

“Getting air moving,” I said, and held up my hose-tipped thumb. I turned my back to him. “Here—shove his tube into my open port and seal it.”

Xeelix didn’t argue but I could tell he was upset. “This is most unorthodox,” he said disapprovingly as he fed the breathing tube into my pack and injected a plug of adhesive around it. “You are putting yourself at considerable risk.”

“I’ll hold my breath if I have to. Let’s go.” I was going to be rebreathing my own CO2 until we got this guy aboard, so it was time for me to shut up and move. Xeelix lifted the Chalawan to one side as I slid the gurney under him, and we both pushed and pulled against his carapace until he was centered. We each unfolded a pair of wings from beneath the gurney to accommodate his width, which was a good bit more than your typical humanoid.

Fortunately that was the hard work, as the gurney was self-propelled. Once we had our patient strapped in place, Xeelix activated the gurney’s lift coils and the whole contraption began floating in air, waist-high. We ran back to our waiting ship. Or rather, Xeelix did his usual loping gait while I ran to keep up.

Needa was waiting for us by the main doors with a pair of semicircular wands in each hand. “For decontamination,” she reminded me. She moved the wands around each of us in turn until she was satisfied we were safe to board. “Hazardous residue has been neutralized,” she said as the door closed behind us. “You may remove your breathing hoods.”

I stripped mine off with a sigh of relief. It had fogged up to the point where I couldn’t see where we were going; I’d just been following Xeelix’s lead. He turned on the respirator pump as I pried the breathing hose loose from my pack. After cleaning off the adhesive paste, I inserted the tube into the respirator and waited for the Chalawan’s lungs to respond. Behind us, I could feel the odd push/pull of the gravity drive spinning up, our ambulance swaying as it lifted off.

“We must still be careful,” Xeelix said as he adjusted the pressure. “Their aerobic exchange is based on the free flow of air, not active respiration like ours.” It was striking to hear him compare us so easily.

I had taken off my goggles and was now watching one of the repeater displays on the wall behind him. “Sats are coming up,” I noted. “Looks like they’re staying above ninety percent.”

“They are,” he agreed, but I could sense he was perturbed. “Tell me, Melanie. What compelled you to take such drastic action? You put yourself at considerable risk.”

“It was a calculated risk. He needed airflow at that moment much more than I did. Where I’m from we call it ‘buddy breathing.’ I figured we could make it back here before I was in danger.”

“And if you figured wrong?”

“I assessed the scene. There appeared to be no further danger. We’d already determined the area was largely clear of contaminants.”

He removed his visor to study the more complete picture on the sidewall repeaters behind him. “In this case, I believe your actions may have saved this one’s life. He was on the verge of complete respiratory failure. In the future, please ensure that you don’t place yourself in similar danger.”

“I promise you if we weren’t ready to transport, I wouldn’t have done it. An unspoken rule among paramedics is to not add yourself to the body count.” I didn’t offer that my old boss had reminded me of that a few times.

“That is of some comfort,” he said. “Your kind is known for improvising.”

“Is that considered a good thing, or a bad thing?”

“I suppose we shall see.”


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Framed