TICEES (61 page)

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.

Chelan looked at the warrior and held her breath. She pushed away from him slightly and then placed her hand over his mouth and nose. She sighed with relief once she realized he was still breathing. Convinced that he was okay, she rolled from him and sat up, taking the time to try to force Korba’s images from her mind, and finally she relaxed.

She looked down at her naked body, her skin covered with the products of his fever. Then she turned back to him and felt his forehead. He was now hot, but the shivering and sweating had stopped. Moving down, she removed the furs from his lower body and looked at the wound. It was still fiery red, but the ooze from the abscess was subsiding. Chelan felt up and down his inner thigh for any other swellings, but she detected nothing. Again she swabbed out the incision and poured the antiseptic over it. The area of the gash that crossed the front of his thigh looked good, and she was thankful for that.

When she had cleaned all her utensils and the pelts, Chelan returned to him and stripped him of some of the furs. Now that the chills were gone, she had to control his fever. This was his third day with her, and still there were no signs of consciousness. On the positive side, she could manipulate his wound easily without hurting him. And the longer he remained still, the more healing that would take place, inside and out. But what plagued her endlessly was the fact that he needed water, and now with the fever, the need to get the life-giving fluid into him was imperative.

Chelan was planning her next move when he moaned ever so softly, and she saw him swallow. Frantically, she dumped the remaining medical supplies from the container and filled it with water. She then dissolved some of the concentrate in it and warmed the mixture slightly. Moving to him, she was determined to get at least one cup of the brew into him. He needed the fuel for his long battle, and he needed the water badly for his fever. She pulled on him, pushing more furs under his back, propping him up as far as she dared. Then she opened his mouth and transferred the fluid with her fingertips in tiny amounts. Cautiously, after each addition, she tipped his head back ever so slightly, stroking his throat until he swallowed. It was a long process, small drops at a time, but she succeeded. As soon as the liquid was in him, he seemed to settle back into his catatonic state. But her relief was palpable.

Standing, she looked down at him and smiled. So allayed was she that he had drunk, she almost felt weak. And the best part was that now, somehow, she felt that he was going to make it. Chelan hugged herself. The gentle Iceanean men of the Empire had done so much for her, and now, at last, she had the opportunity to return a small portion of the favors allotted to her. She would give him life.

Chelan spent the next couple of days sitting and sleeping by the unconscious man, attending his silent needs and watching over his healing. The first time she found the fur under him soaked with his urine, she nearly descended into a deep depression, for the fluid was brightly tinged with blood. But as the time passed, the amount of blood appeared to be diminishing, and finally she was able to breathe a huge sigh of relief.

During the few periods when he stirred, she was instantly by his side, getting as much water and nutrients into him as she could before he passed back into absolute peace. Chelan knew that his fever was reducing, but she did not know what was normal for his people. Though Korba and Fremma radiated warmth, she knew that their basal metabolism was lower than hers, but how much lower she could not begin to guess.