Homesick -
Chapter Twenty-Five - Quarantine
“Feels good to be home, doesn’t it?” Sally asked.
He nodded, pulling his key from the console. “I didn’t think I ever would be. I’d kiss the ground if we had any.”
The forward window blurred with the spray of cleansing chemicals and the hollow sound of the spray echoed through the interior, reminding Sally of a trip through a carwash. She flexed her weak hand experimentally and felt her fingertips again.
“Let’s get him out of here,” she said, unstrapping herself.
Moving Anderson was easier in the lower gravity, but Sally’s knees still ached. While low gravity meant low weight, mass remained the same. Colliding with a wall would still hurt, and the act of breaking their inertia by stepping on the metal deck with Anderson in tow still reminded Sally of her injuries.
They guided him onto the waiting cot in the darkness of the bay. The walls were dull gray, making the room appear smaller than it actually was.
“Ian, see what you can do about getting us some light. I’ve got to get him cleaned up. I’ll also need your help to get his clothes off.”
Sally had almost let herself believe that the bulk of their work was done, but seeing Scott’s condition quickly told her otherwise. There would be no back-patting reunion of ship and crew; at least not for a while. And, as she began to dab at Scott’s filthy and scarred face, she quickly lost any selfish desire to rest. A mixture of emotions twisted within her. She felt both anger and astonishment that anyone could be capable transforming Scott into the wreck she saw before her. She also felt deep personal outrage that a man she cared for and respected had been brought to such ruin and indignity. But the doctor in her felt only the familiar need to undo the damage to her patient and restore him to health. Fortunately, this need outweighed all others as she started cutting off his clothing.
“Good God!” she cried as she pealed his shirt from his chest, revealing layers of dried blood and filth.
“Bad?”
“I didn’t see any of these wounds on the surface!” she scolded herself. “How could I have been so stupid? He’s going to need surgery!” She looked in dismay at the medical kit Vlad had dropped down. “We’ll need to get him to the infirmary stat!”
“What about quarantine?”
“To hell with quarantine! He’s got a fractured sternum! That could mean internal bleeding, and look at those deep lacerations! How could he even walk with that much pain?” She mopped at his hair. “And it looks like his skull’s been fractured, too!” She glanced at the ladder leading up into the hatchway.
Ian followed Sally’s gaze and knew at once where her concerns would lead her. He also knew he would have to become her voice of reason. “Captain, I know this is important, but I don’t think we should break quarantine.”
“He may not last!”
Ian took her arm. “We’ll still have to decontaminate first. It’s not just Vlad I’m concerned about. Once we break containment, the whole ship becomes compromised. It’s harder to clean the entire habitat section than just this bay. That could complicate things when we get back to Earth. We could be putting many lives at risk. You know that.”
Sally was about to protest, but mentally shook herself. “Of course you’re right,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m sure I would have realized that before I opened the hatch.” She touched his hand, gently removing it. “But go tell Vlad to get it ready.”
“Right away.”
Washing and disinfecting Anderson was a big job, and not a satisfying one. The more dirt she removed from him, the more obvious became his need for medical attention. Like the one-eyed man on the hill, Anderson’s hands were worn raw. Most of his fingernails were badly torn and bleeding, and some were gone altogether. His right foot was in much the same condition as his hands, and his back showed a vast array of infected puncture wounds that looked to have been caused by rusty nails! She winced sympathetically each time she applied the disinfectants, but Scott didn’t stir. Did she dare give him another sedative? She checked his chest carefully, trying desperately to determine the status of his internal organs, reaching in frustration for medical equipment that wasn’t there. She stared at his biomonitor, looking for subtle clues that might give her an advantage. Then, when she’d done all she could, she gently covered him up to his neck with a blanket and fastened him to the gurney, taking care to avoid the worst of his injuries.
It was only when she turned to her own cleaning that she realized how dirty she was. She deposited her torn jacket and shirt in the quarantine container and pulled off her boots, studying the filth that remained on the soles. She then scrubbed her body religiously with all the cleansing agents available on the ship.
And then, when this was done, she did probably the most important cleansing of all. In the meager privacy of the folded false walls she allowed herself to remove the mantel of command. She remembered the one-eyed man, the battered little girl, and the walking dead in the labor camp. Finally, she focused on her own friend and second in command. She let herself remember them not as a commander or a doctor, but as the little girl who pined for the injured bird. She wept silently into her towel.
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