#murtry

   Keane was conscious long enough to feel her saliva boil off her tongue and the formerly inert nitrogen gas bubbled in her blood caused intense pain. Her instinctive nature forced her body to scramble back to the lander a few meters away. Yet, everything went black after seconds of the forlorn effort.

   The stench of stale metallic air woke Keane up from what felt like a deep slumber. This was not a sickbay or her ship. A dark and empty bar surrounded her; the only source of light was coming from the two windows on either side of the door. The deteriorated wooden floor creaked under her stillness. Behind there was a pack, it must be hers.  A tumbler of substance was in front of her; she cautiously brought it to her nose. Whiskey. She threw it back, picked up the pack, and pulled open the door. Tall grey mountains surrounded the desolate building , so tall in fact they nearly blocked out the light. Not far in front a path was laid out that led to a thick pine forest. She felt an internal pull towards the path.

   The forest was silent except for the sound of her feet hitting the ground. Her passing seemed to echo between the trees. There was no fear in her which she thought was strange. Ahead the scenery changed, there was a small warm glow at the end of the path and it grew in size with every step. Just before she reached the natural exit she was perplexed by the sight of tall sand dunes in front of her. 

   She walked into a clearing where the grass gradually turned into sand. To her left and right stood a clear line of trees that went on forever in both directions. The mountains loomed behind them.  Keane continued to follow the internal pull in her gut and walked up a dune. Once she reached the summit she paused to look around her. The desert only extended ten kilometers in front of her. Snow peaked mountains surrounded it and the smell of pine was strong. The wind was soft and the small grains of sand drifted over each other. For the first time she heard a sound that she didn’t make. She stood still and felt the wind blow through her long loose strands of hair.

   Her breath quickened when she realised she had no idea where she was or why she was there. Her wonder was interrupted by movement a few dunes over. A figure was making its way over to her.. The figure was getting closer, but she couldn’t make out who it was. 

   A man? 

   New smells reached her nose, a scent of alcohol and blood. Immediately, her joints started to ache and her left hand felt like it was fire. She looked down to the terrifying sight of her hand profusely bleeding, torn to shreds, and with bones sticking out.

   Her mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out. The figure was approaching, but took no notice to the gory injury.  Her head lolled back as nausea and vertigo became overwhelming. The fall into the warm darkness  was slow.

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   Keane’s eyes fluttered open. Seated in a hyperbaric chamber with a window on the door she slowly bent over in the reclined chair to see medical staff tending to patients. Her head throbbed and she squeezed her eyes shut. Pain radiated through every limb and settled in the joints. Her hand. She looked down and saw her left hand in a clear rectangle contraption. Below the wrist was a clean sawed line and a new skeletal hand was attached. Lasers travelled back and forth scanning and dispensing bio fluids to start the construction of the nerves. She swallowed and closed her eyes again. Her mouth was dry and her body relaxed.

   Morphine, she guessed to herself, that’s good. 

   She tried to remember what happened. Someone was attacking the lander. Greer was ahead of her and he was aiming at someone in the rocky mountains. Or was it the field? The field beside the mountains? It was nighttime. Keane didn’t see who shot her. She clenched her teeth to swallow the nausea. Whoever the perpetrator was, nearly killed her by decompressing her suit to the vacuum of space. 

  She leaned forward again and peered out the window. The medical staff were no longer tending to the patient closest to her and she got a wide view of the sickbay. None of her crew were in the other chairs. This could be good or very bad. The patient in the chair closest to her chamber was getting a limb regrowth procedure for his right arm. The skeleton and nerves of his arm were complete and the lasers started to build up the muscle system. He was reclined back and sleeping. His hair was wet with grime and sweat. The tuffs of brown hair matted to his face. He had a blond patch above his brow. Her study of the man was interrupted by the appearance of Greer.

   He strode in with confidence and charm that Keane was well acquainted with over the past two years. Greer spotted her face in the window after a quick glance of the hyperbaric pods. He smiled with  relief and gave her an okay hand symbol with a questioning look. 

   Behind Keane’s returned smile was pain and weakness, but she gave a thumbs up. Greer peered in with curiosity and saw her soon to be new hand. 

   “Cool,” he remarked. His baritone British voice sounded muffled and faint through the door. “Another two days and you’re out. Allard and Murtry are fine, they’re worried about you,” he added.

   Keane nodded and gave another thumbs up. His smile reassured her about the rest of the crew and he left the sick bay for her to heal in peace.

   Two days came and went. The doctor finished Keane’s final health evaluation. Her health had returned and her limb regrowth had been completed. She admired her new hand, which now had a new set of fingerprints. She thought it funny, if she had ever been booked for a crime it would set off confusion if anyone tried to accuse her based on her former fingerprints. 

   “Surprisingly the CT scan found no brain damage,” the doctor stated without looking up from her tablet, “your heart stopped for a little over seven minutes. Your crewmate….Greer did CPR for five minutes and you spontaneously resuscitated about two minutes after.”  She didn’t hear a reaction from Keane and so peered over her the device, “with no brain damage that is impressive.”

   Keane felt the lump wedged in her throat. She fixated on a stain on the floor ahead of her.

   “You’ll have a weird tingling sensation for the next week or two,” the doctor calmly stated. “If you follow the rehabilitation guidelines I sent to your PCA that new hand will feel like your original. Or better.” 

   “Thank you,” Keane acknowledged and promptly gathered her personal belongings into her weekend bag that Greer brought to her. She opened it and the odor of stale sweat and blood wafted up. Her nose scrunched up and she knew her next destination. 

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   Arcadia Station-Alpha is the last bastion of civilization this far out from the Primus System. The Primus System is home to Earth. When humans advanced enough to travel the further reaches of space through The Ring, what was then known as The Solar System needed a new name. Arcadia bore the title Alpha due to its size and grandeur. One of the many luxuries it housed was a public bath. For a few credits a traveller could get cleaned and soak in a pool of heated grey water. The aesthetic of the public bath recalls the glory of Roman architecture. In the midst of modern appearances and technology a revival of ancient art and decor made its way throughout the human inhabited Universe.      

   Keane departed Arcadia’s sickbay and strolled to the bathhouse; where the gentle floral aromas drifted throughout its dimly lit rooms.  In the locker room, she fully undressed, saved for sandals and a towel that were given at reception. She stepped into the busy shower room and turned an unoccupied  faucet to hot. The steam rose up  as she vigorously scrubbed off the scent of sweat and iodoform. She stood still under the showerhead letting the hot water roll over her body. 

   A desert in the middle of the mountains. A cool sandy desert. Earth? Somewhere else? Made up, most likely.

   Keane exited the bathhouse and the clean clothes felt refreshing against her skin. She smiled in comfort at the immediate sight of her crew. They waited at the foot of the stairs to the bathhouse. Greer, Allard, the pilot, and Murtry, who assigned himself the role of security area manager, chatted amongst themselves. Murtry was the first one to see Keane exiting the bathhouse.

   “Good to see you’re alive and well!” Murtry exclaimed. He gave her a casual hug, “How’s the hand?”

   Keane offered her hand lady-like, “As good as new. Feels a bit funny at the moment, but it should go away in a week or two and back to full strength in a month,” she changed topics, “fuck those guys. What the hell were they doing?”

   “Apparently it was an accident.” Greer added.

   “How?”

   “He…simply said…he thought we were raiders.”

   “We were picking up civilians.”

   Greer shrugged, “That’s what he said. His name is Axtin and he’s part of Terra Corp. They’re going to get slapped with another violation for this. Probably put them out for awhile.”

   “Good riddance!” Murtry hummed.

   “Someone has to topple the giant, it might as well be you,” Allard jested in her thick French accent. 

   “With my life,” Keane sighed, “I’m starving.”

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   Another part of Arcadia’s grandeur was the fifth level dining halls. They boasted meals for those on the go to the multiple course sit down affair. The level bustled with a variety of travellers and station workers. Some were well-dressed and others covered in grime. The rough ones were usually floaters who worked independently and performed random odd jobs. The money to be made was in harvesting resources from the assorted planets and moons within the half parsex area. 

   The sushi restaurant bustled with customers, some crammed up to the bar and the rest squeezed into tables in the cramped space. The crew sat shoulder to shoulder at the bar with little words exchanged as they quickly ate their food. Keane waved her hand quickly any time the prickly sensation became too much and somehow the movement calmed the new nerves.

   Between mouthfuls of ramen Allard asked, “You know what they call that feeling? Of a new limb.”

   “Oh ‘the stranger’.” interjected Greer.

   “Yeah because when you masturbate it feels like someone else.” Keane quipped. 

   “Really?” asked Murtry.

   “I don’t know…yet.” 

   Keane and Murtry chuckled. She was the only crew member Murtry felt, if only a tad bit, close to on a personal level. He admired her dry sense of humour. 

   A shadowy figure appeared behind them revealed himself under the neon glow of the bar’s sign. The four paused their eating to look up at this newcomer. His face was heavy with scars, but his clothing was finely made. After a few beats the man cleared his throat.

  “Which one of you is Captain Greer?” his voice was low and rough.

  Greer stood up from his seat to get on the same eye level, “I am.”

  “Mr. Wallis of Terra Corp would like you to join him for a drink in his office.”

  “When?”

   “Now.”

   Greer looked back at his crew and was met with silence. Keane gave him a nod.

   “Can’t hurt can it?” she whispered.

   Greer hesitated, “Sure.”

Chapter 2

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