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She opened her mouth to argue that she didn’t need any scans or tests, that all she needed was some painkillers and a chance to sit down for a while, but the medic’s hard expression was mirrored on Stevie’s face and Blythe sighed.

Yeah. She wasn’t getting anywhere with either of them looking at her like that. It was the same look they’d use when a junction box had burned somebody and she was about to insist she could carry on working with half her hand blistered. They were right, which was annoying, and it was even more annoying because they knew she knew they were right.

So she lay still while Layla and Stevie maneuvered the body board beneath her. The rigid panel scraped against the deck, then slid under her shoulders. Rann moved in at her other side without being asked, big hands careful as he supported her hip while the board was slid into place next to her.

She sucked in a breath as his fingers brushed her thigh through the suit.

He looked down at her. He wasn’t smiling now. Instead, his jaw looked like it was set hard enough to crack teeth.

She looked away first. Bloody hell. What the fuck was this?

“On three,” Layla said. “One. Two. Three.”

They lifted just enough to settle her fully on the board. The movement jarred every bruise she had, and she hissed as the straps were fastened across her chest, hips, then thighs.

“Not so tight,” she said.

“It’s a stretcher, B. That’s the point.”

“Still.”

Ignoring her, Layla pulled the forehead strap down next. It pressed across Blythe’s skin, pinning her head in place, and then all she could see was the smooth metal plate of the airlock ceiling.

At least there was no rust up there, unlike the rest of the ship.

“Honestly,” she said as the board lifted beneath her. “The blast knocked me off the hull. He shouldn’t have been able to reach me.”

“I snapped one tether⁠—”

“The blast blew you back toward the airlock.”

Rann and Stevie spoke together as the stretcher was lifted and they started off down the corridor.

Mentally, she added at least three repairs to her ever-growing maintenance list. The conduit over her head had a split seam she’d missed before, the emergency light at the next junction flickered every fourth pulse, and somebody had scuffed the paint clean off the corner protection around the galley hatch.

Seriously, she should get carried around like this more often. Let her spot things from an entirely different angle.

“I’m just saying, he shouldn’t have been able to reach me.”

“It’s okay, love.” Stevie patted her hand. The tone of her voice plainly said she thought Blythe had had her bell rung, which was rich considering Blythe was the one who usually had to explain to Stevie why a concussion did not improve through sheer bloody determination. “We’ll check your suit feed later and you’ll see.”

“I thought you said the suits didn’t have feeds?” Rann’s voice came from somewhere around her feet as they carried her along the narrow corridor toward medbay.

They reached medbay and all conversation ceased as getting the stretcher through the narrow corridor door became a bloody military maneuver.

“Turn her.”

“I am turning her.”

“Not that way, you’ll catch the corner.”

“I can see the bloody corner, Stevie.”

Blythe sighed as the board swung sideways, then tilted up. Her shoulder complained hard enough to make her grit her teeth. The doorframe passed close to her face, all chipped gray paint and old weld marks.

“So the suits do have feeds then?” Rann asked, bent nearly double behind the lower end of the stretcher, one huge hand braced under the board, the other gripping the doorframe halfway up so they didn’t clip her against it. His hair was to his cheek with sweat. “I thought you said they didn’t?”

“No, I said that the uni-suit didn’t have a feed. All the others do,” Stevie said, distracted as she and Layla tried pushing in opposite directions and almost wedged the stretcher in the doorway.