“I think it’s just my shoulder and clavicle,” Dr. Lahiri said through gritted teeth.
“And a concussion,” Clarke added, trying to keep her voice neutral. “I think the bones are broken. I can set them and make you a sling, but I’m afraid we don’t really have much here for the pain. Did you bring any supplies with you?”
“I don’t know what’s on the dropships,” Dr. Lahiri said, causing Clarke’s stomach to plummet with disappointment. “It all happened so quickly. There wasn’t time to prepare.”
“We’ll make do. I’m going to help you sit up. Are you ready?” She kneeled behind him and placed one hand under his good arm and the other behind his shoulder blade. “On my count. One, two, three.” She raised him to a sitting position, and he let out a pained cry as she helped him lean against a wall of debris. The color began returning to his face. “Just stay as still as possible until my friends come to get you.” She waved a hand in the air, gesturing for Wells and his team. “They’ll help you get somewhere safe.”
“Clarke,” Dr. Lahiri muttered, his voice growing hoarse. She reached for her water container and lifted it to his lips. He took a small sip and continued. “I’m sorry about what I said last time. Your parents would be so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Clarke said slowly, wondering whether Dr. Lahiri really believed that her parents were dead or whether he was still too afraid to tell her the truth. “I’m sorry for… for losing my temper.”
Despite the pain, he smiled. “I just wish I could take as much credit for your left hook as I can your surgical skills.”
The next few hours passed in a blur. Clarke hardly noticed the dawn breaking, except for the fact that it made suturing easier. By the time the sun was high in the sky, all the uninjured Colonists had been led to camp, and a good portion of the injured had been carried away as well. Throughout the morning, a few more members of the hundred came down to the lake to help and to search for their parents among the new arrivals. But the relatively small number of happy reunions had been disheartening. Apparently, the families of the hundred hadn’t been given priority on the dropships, never mind that their kids had been sent on an impossibly dangerous mission to Earth.
Clarke finished fashioning a splint for an elderly woman’s leg and then stood up to stretch quickly before moving on to her next patient. She noticed that the guards who’d been standing in a circle around their captain a few minutes earlier had dispersed to help carry the wounded up to the camp. She could only hope they remained more focused on helping their fellow Colonists than on hunting down the boy who had gotten the Chancellor shot.
Her eyes settled on a guard who looked uncomfortably familiar. Clarke stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out why she felt suddenly queasy. He was standing at the center of a slow-moving scrum of people, directing them with one good arm and cradling an injured hand to his chest.
Clarke turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see her, stalling for time by taking inventory of her bandages while she racked her mind for the guard’s name.
Scott.
Scott had often been assigned to medical center patrol during her apprenticeship, and Clarke had come to dread their frequent encounters. Although the guards typically didn’t interact with the doctors and apprentices unless there was a security issue, Scott had been an expert at making his presence known. He wasn’t much older than she was, and there was something snide and officious about him. He never looked at the patients when he was in the room—only at the doctors or other guards, like he was too good for anyone else. But what had really bothered Clarke was the way he acted when he was alone with her, and the lengths to which he seemed willing to go to make that happen.
Clarke had to force herself not to break into a jog as she walked swiftly down the corridor toward the medical center. She was nearly twenty minutes late for her rounds shadowing Dr. Lahiri, but the punishment for “hazardous behavior” was even harsher than that for tardiness. Being late meant that she was in trouble with her supervisor. Breaking one of the ship’s rules meant facing the Council. It was rare for guards to write someone up for running, but the boy who’d been patrolling the medical center recently had quickly gained a reputation for being a power-tripping bully.
Clarke turned the corner and groaned. She’d hoped to slip into the medical center unnoticed, but Scott was standing in front of the checkpoint. His back was to her, but she recognized his broad shoulders and slightly greasy blond hair that always looked to be longer than was typically allowed by guard regulations.
Clarke could tell he was in the middle of some kind of confrontation, but only as she drew closer did she realize he was holding a woman by her wrists. He had them pinched together behind her back. She was a sanitation worker from Arcadia, and based on the loud scolding Scott was doling out for everyone to hear, she had simply forgotten her pass. Most guards would have let her off with a warning, but not Scott, who was making a big show of slapping restraints on her wrists. The poor woman had tears in her eyes and could barely raise her head when Clarke slipped past.
Indignation and disgust curdled in Clarke’s stomach, but she didn’t dare look back. She stood to gain nothing by intervening. If she tried to get in the middle, Scott would probably threaten the woman with even more severe repercussions, just to prove his power to Clarke.
By the time Clarke started seeing patients, she’d pushed the incident out of her mind. That was one of the things she loved about being a medical apprentice, the way her mind could be one hundred percent focused on the task at hand, leaving no room to worry about anything else in her life. Not about her parents, or Lilly, or the terrible secret she was keeping from Wells.
“And a concussion,” Clarke added, trying to keep her voice neutral. “I think the bones are broken. I can set them and make you a sling, but I’m afraid we don’t really have much here for the pain. Did you bring any supplies with you?”
“I don’t know what’s on the dropships,” Dr. Lahiri said, causing Clarke’s stomach to plummet with disappointment. “It all happened so quickly. There wasn’t time to prepare.”
“We’ll make do. I’m going to help you sit up. Are you ready?” She kneeled behind him and placed one hand under his good arm and the other behind his shoulder blade. “On my count. One, two, three.” She raised him to a sitting position, and he let out a pained cry as she helped him lean against a wall of debris. The color began returning to his face. “Just stay as still as possible until my friends come to get you.” She waved a hand in the air, gesturing for Wells and his team. “They’ll help you get somewhere safe.”
“Clarke,” Dr. Lahiri muttered, his voice growing hoarse. She reached for her water container and lifted it to his lips. He took a small sip and continued. “I’m sorry about what I said last time. Your parents would be so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Clarke said slowly, wondering whether Dr. Lahiri really believed that her parents were dead or whether he was still too afraid to tell her the truth. “I’m sorry for… for losing my temper.”
Despite the pain, he smiled. “I just wish I could take as much credit for your left hook as I can your surgical skills.”
The next few hours passed in a blur. Clarke hardly noticed the dawn breaking, except for the fact that it made suturing easier. By the time the sun was high in the sky, all the uninjured Colonists had been led to camp, and a good portion of the injured had been carried away as well. Throughout the morning, a few more members of the hundred came down to the lake to help and to search for their parents among the new arrivals. But the relatively small number of happy reunions had been disheartening. Apparently, the families of the hundred hadn’t been given priority on the dropships, never mind that their kids had been sent on an impossibly dangerous mission to Earth.
Clarke finished fashioning a splint for an elderly woman’s leg and then stood up to stretch quickly before moving on to her next patient. She noticed that the guards who’d been standing in a circle around their captain a few minutes earlier had dispersed to help carry the wounded up to the camp. She could only hope they remained more focused on helping their fellow Colonists than on hunting down the boy who had gotten the Chancellor shot.
Her eyes settled on a guard who looked uncomfortably familiar. Clarke stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out why she felt suddenly queasy. He was standing at the center of a slow-moving scrum of people, directing them with one good arm and cradling an injured hand to his chest.
Clarke turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see her, stalling for time by taking inventory of her bandages while she racked her mind for the guard’s name.
Scott.
Scott had often been assigned to medical center patrol during her apprenticeship, and Clarke had come to dread their frequent encounters. Although the guards typically didn’t interact with the doctors and apprentices unless there was a security issue, Scott had been an expert at making his presence known. He wasn’t much older than she was, and there was something snide and officious about him. He never looked at the patients when he was in the room—only at the doctors or other guards, like he was too good for anyone else. But what had really bothered Clarke was the way he acted when he was alone with her, and the lengths to which he seemed willing to go to make that happen.
Clarke had to force herself not to break into a jog as she walked swiftly down the corridor toward the medical center. She was nearly twenty minutes late for her rounds shadowing Dr. Lahiri, but the punishment for “hazardous behavior” was even harsher than that for tardiness. Being late meant that she was in trouble with her supervisor. Breaking one of the ship’s rules meant facing the Council. It was rare for guards to write someone up for running, but the boy who’d been patrolling the medical center recently had quickly gained a reputation for being a power-tripping bully.
Clarke turned the corner and groaned. She’d hoped to slip into the medical center unnoticed, but Scott was standing in front of the checkpoint. His back was to her, but she recognized his broad shoulders and slightly greasy blond hair that always looked to be longer than was typically allowed by guard regulations.
Clarke could tell he was in the middle of some kind of confrontation, but only as she drew closer did she realize he was holding a woman by her wrists. He had them pinched together behind her back. She was a sanitation worker from Arcadia, and based on the loud scolding Scott was doling out for everyone to hear, she had simply forgotten her pass. Most guards would have let her off with a warning, but not Scott, who was making a big show of slapping restraints on her wrists. The poor woman had tears in her eyes and could barely raise her head when Clarke slipped past.
Indignation and disgust curdled in Clarke’s stomach, but she didn’t dare look back. She stood to gain nothing by intervening. If she tried to get in the middle, Scott would probably threaten the woman with even more severe repercussions, just to prove his power to Clarke.
By the time Clarke started seeing patients, she’d pushed the incident out of her mind. That was one of the things she loved about being a medical apprentice, the way her mind could be one hundred percent focused on the task at hand, leaving no room to worry about anything else in her life. Not about her parents, or Lilly, or the terrible secret she was keeping from Wells.
