Also, the sigils, gold, luminous, etched under his dermis with the same pulsing radiance she witnessed on Molan, her best friend Rina’s partner.
Was he like Mo? A freakin’ immortal warrior?
She exhaled, a sound halfway between amusement and disbelief, and lifted the mug for another sip.
Her peace fractured at the squeal of incoming engines above, as a burst of voices rose from the far side of the compound.
Footsteps pounded, a stretcher clattered against stone, and the easy rhythm of the lazy afternoon snapped away.
Sheba set her cup down with a curse, feet slipping into her slides, her brows furrowing as the noise surged closer.
Sheba stepped out from under the tarpaulin edge just as a flyer dropped from the sky.
It settled hard on the packed earth landing pad in front of the administration wing, its thrusters scorching the ground beneath it.
Two more craft settled into a squat nearby, propulsion motors ticking as they cooled, hulls scarred and patched from rough landings.
The air was redolent with the scent of fuel and dust as doctors rushed forward with nurses guiding hover beds into position.
Sheba too raced into the fray.
Sheba intercepted Imani mid-stride, her hands already snapping on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves. ‘Doctor, status report?’
‘Severe traumas consistent with a rockfall accident at the mine,’ Imani shouted over the dying whine of the engines. ‘We’ve reports of six traumas and a dozen others with blunt-force contusions. One patient has a laceration over their ribs; it’s deep, penetrating the thoracic cavity. Another has sustained multiple intracranial injuries and is showing signs of neurological drift. We also have a cluster of victims with crushed hands, likely from trying to brace against the slide.’
Sheba’s mind mapped out the operational priorities with cold, clinical speed as the first gurney hit the ground. ‘And the rest of the intake?’
‘Five more unknowns are rolling in on the next wave,’ Imani replied, her face a mask of grime and focus.
Sheba turned toward the emergency ward, her voice cutting through the rising din. ‘Triage the head traumas to Bay One and get the rib laceration into immediate imaging. Move non-critical patients out of beds into wheelchairs or the overnight wing. Let’s clear the decks before those new patients touch down. Move!’
Along with Rehema, Kaelin, and Eliza, Sheba went to work.
Matteo jogged past with a portable oxygen rig slung over his shoulder.
Linh crouched beside a patient who had collapsed near the reception ramp, while Toma moved with grim efficiency, clearing space and directing traffic.
Chaos followed the injured out of the flyers as medics hauled bleeding bodies toward triage with more urgency than care.
The miners were a rough lot, shouting over one another, barking orders at the junior nurses rushing in with stretchers and med kits.
She helped one miner with arms and clothing streaked dark with blood into a wheelchair before handing him to Brad.
One woman sagged between two nurses, her face gray and slack with shock. Another clutched her ribs and swore through clenched teeth as she fought to stay upright.
More miners with less severe injuries crowded the reception.
Their angry calls for attention cut through the air, laced with impatience and profanity.
A flare of anger erupted in Sheba’s chest at the way they spoke to her staff.
Not having either the time or the patience to indulge their nonsense, she moved, directing bodies, assigning stations, and calling for plasma packs and sterile instruments.
Her voice rose above the din, steady and unmistakable, guiding the lesser experienced nurses as they followed her lead.
From the corner of her vision, she caught movement outside.
A man stepped down from a just-landed, flashier flyer.
