doing what they could for their own kind. They had no place for prisoners in the underground, and the long journey to the Sisters of Mercy would kill them anyway. Random and Ruby put away their swords and went to look for Alexander Storm, a swordsman long past his best last seen facing off against Investigator Shoal. They moved among the bodies, occasionally turning them over to study the blood-flecked faces, but he wasn't there. They eventually found him hiding in a concealed hollow, well away from the main action. He wasn't hurt. He looked up at them, and in his face there was only anger and resentment.
'I ran,' he said defiantly. 'So would any sane man, faced with an Investigator. I'm not inhumanly fast and strong, like you. I was no match for her, and we both knew it. So I turned and ran, and she let me go. She had more important things to do. After all, how dangerous could one old fool be?'
'You were doing fine until she came along,' said Random. 'You were fighting just like you used to.'
'I was tired and hurting, and I couldn't get my breath. I can't fight like I used to anymore. I'm an old man past his prime. Just like you used to be. Only you're not, anymore. Are you?'
'Alex…'
'I saw you fighting. No one's that fast or that strong. Not even the Jack Random of legend. I don't recognize you anymore, Jack. What are you? A Fury? A Hadenman? An alien? Because I don't think you're human anymore.'
'I'm your friend,' said Random. 'Just as I always have been.'
'No you're not. You're looking younger all the time. No one can stand against you, not even Investigators. Whatever you are now, you have nothing in common with the likes of me anymore. Maybe you did die when the Empire had you, after all. Or at least the Jack Random I used to know.'
He pushed past them and walked away. Random started after him. 'Alex, please… I need you.'
Ruby stopped him with a hand on his arm. 'Let him go. He's right. We're not the people we used to be. We're better. And you don't need him. You've got me.'
Random looked at the bloody mask of her face for a long moment. 'Yes,' he said finally. 'I've got you.'
Mother Beatrice of the Sisters of Mercy held the flap of the hospital tent open so that the stretcher-bearers could bring in more wounded. There were many gravely injured after the unexpected rebel attack, and already the tent was full to overflowing. There was already no room left for cot beds. Beatrice had had them thrown out, to pack more wounded in. Now they lay shoulder to shoulder on bloody sheets, screaming and moaning and whimpering and waiting to die. The stench of blood and vomit and naked guts was almost overpowering, despite all the disinfectant the Sisters were splashing around. Beatrice knew she'd get used to it after a while, but that didn't help her now. The smell made her head spin, and she clutched at the tent flap for support. Or maybe it was just the hopelessness of it all. Beatrice and her people were doing all they could, knowing as they did that most of the time it wasn't going to be enough. After Toby's broadcast, drugs and plasma and medical supplies had come flooding in from the Sisterhood and other charities, as well as the reluctant Wolfes, but no more doctors or nurses. Technos III wasn't that important, and they were needed elsewhere. No one had foreseen a bloodbath like this. She'd never seen so many casualties from one battle. Normally, they just died. Her new resources meant Beatrice could keep more of the wounded alive, but that meant a greater strain on her still limited space and supplies. Damn the rebels. Damn the Wolfes. And damn her for coming here because she thought she could make a difference.
Beatrice wiped at her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand, not knowing she left a crimson smear behind from her bloodstained hand. When she thought of what she could do with a real med lab and real equipment, it made her feel sick and useless, so mostly she tried not to think about it and got on with what she could do. She pushed her tiredness aside and went back into the tent. Back into hell. She made her way slowly down the length of the tent, stepping over bodies and patients, helping the doctors and the nurses where she could. Even if it only meant holding a patient's hand or placing a cool hand on a fevered brow. Sometimes she had to help hold a man down while the doctors operated. They were saving the anesthetics for those who wouldn't survive the shock of extended surgery. For quick in-and-out jobs they usually just gave the poor bastard something to bite on. To muffle the screams as much as anything.
She moved on, doing what she could, praying silently to her God for strength. The bodies were being carried away almost as soon as they stopped breathing. Partly because they needed the space for the living, but mostly because the Wolfes were storing the bodies for future use as organ donors. They'd paid for the mercenaries' services, so they owned the bodies. And far be it for the Wolfes to overlook a source of profit. Of course, none of the wounded here would benefit. Transplants were for officer class only.
Beatrice gritted her teeth to keep from swearing. Or crying. It was important that she didn't appear upset or worried. She had to look calm and confident, as though everything was under control. The patients needed to believe that. The poor bloody bastards.
She moved on, her shoes squelching in pools of blood and other fluids. The stench from open gut wounds and those who'd fouled themselves in dying was almost overpowering. And then she stopped, as it seemed to her she recognized a face. She knelt down beside the twitching, delirious man and frowned thoughtfully. Half of his left arm was missing, severed above the elbow. He'd taken other sword hits, too. Beatrice bit her lip. Of course she knew the face. She'd seen it often enough in the factory complex. This wasn't a Church soldier or a mercenary. This was a clone. And since the Empire didn't allow clones to use weapons, this had to be an escaped clone. Presumably, a rebel from the recent assault. She shrugged and got to her feet. She was a Sister of Mercy, and all were welcome here. And to hell with what the Wolfes said. She beckoned to the nearest nurse.
'This one's a rebel,' she said quietly. 'Do we have any more?'
'Thirty-two so far. You did say…'
'Yes, I did. Keep their faces covered. With bandages if you have to. What the Wolfes don't know won't hurt them, and we don't need the complications. Any news on more supplies?'
'Most of it's still held up in orbit. Since the attack, the Wolfes are only allowing
'Bastards. I'll contact the Sisterhood again when I get a chance. See if they can put some pressure on.'
'What do we do with the rebels once they're well enough to be moved? Can't just leave them here; we need the space. But what's the point in healing them if we just have to hand them over to Wolfe security afterward?'
'Don't worry about it. The rebels will spirit them away as soon as they can safely be moved. They always do.' Beatrice looked back over her shoulder as raised voices came from the entrance to the tent. She saw who it was and scowled. 'Here comes trouble. Get those faces covered. Now.'
The nurse nodded quickly and turned away. Beatrice made her way back to the entrance as quickly as she could and blocked it with her body. She nodded for the flustered nurse to leave it to her, and the nurse nodded gratefully and left her to it. Beatrice smiled icily at the newcomer.
'Cardinal Kassar, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company at this extremely busy time?'
'You've got rebel wounded in here,' said Kassar flatly. 'I've had reports. I want them handed over to my people for questioning. Now. They shouldn't be here anyway. I've got more hurt men coming in.'
'Something else gone wrong?'
'None of your business.'
'You're the one filling my tent with wounded. That makes it my business. And as a Sister of Mercy, I'll treat anyone who needs my help. That's my job.'
Kassar smiled coldly. 'Screw your job. Either you turn those rebel scum over to me now, or I'll have my men come in and drag them out.'
Beatrice nodded calmly. 'Always knew you were a bit of a bastard, James. But don't let your anger over losing a battle push you into doing something you'll regret. The Sisterhood still has a lot of pull with the Church back on Golgotha. And right now I'm the Sisterhood's favorite daughter. I'm doing great things for their image. You mess with me, and my superiors will have your superiors come down on you like a ton of bricks in a wind shaft.'
'We're a long way from Golgotha, Beatrice. By the time you can get word out, it'll all be over. Your precious rebels have information I need, and I'm going to squeeze it out of them, drop by drop. They'll suffer as my men have suffered. And there's not a damned thing you can do to stop me.'
'Wrong,' said Beatrice. 'Look down, Cardinal.'
They both looked down, and there was Beatrice's hand, holding a scalpel pressed lightly against Kassar's groin. They both stood very still.
'You wouldn't dare,' said Kassar.
