CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
My Brother’s Keeper
Never discount the possibility you might live through it.
Those who are prepared to die are unprepared to live.
Nickolai had mentally and spiritually prepared to die. Because of that, he found it disconcerting to open his eyes in the dark confines of the lifeboat and realize he still drew breath. He lay there, strapped to the jury-rigged acceleration couch, staring up into complete darkness, wondering if he was being rewarded or punished.
His last memory had been the slam into atmosphere. He had thought the shielding had failed the way the boat had shuddered.
He smelled blood.
Blinking, he adjusted the photoreceptors in his new eyes and the interior of the cabin came into focus. He saw the monochrome cabin in sharper relief than he’d ever be able to with his natural eyes, despite his species’ excellent night vision. His sight edged into the infrared, and he could see the form of Kugara radiating heat next to him. He heard her breathe and found himself grateful.
The lifeboat had taken a beating. The lack of lights showed a general power failure, and the bulkhead above him had been bowed inward by the impact of landing. The cot had been blown out of its stowed position to dangle like a half-severed limb. The emergency stores had also broken free, scattering medkit, food packets, and survival tools all through the cabin.
He now appreciated the effort Kugara had put into extending the acceleration couch. It had taken both of them an hour to unbolt parts of the third and fourth couches and attach them above and below a standard-sized couch. The effort had probably saved his life, given the violent landing.
As it was, it was an agonizingly slow process, untangling himself from the harness, except for his right arm, which gave him no pain at all. It no longer even felt a part of him. Fortunately, given how unsteady he was, the lifeboat had come to rest with the acceleration couches on the bottom. He was able to peel himself out of the couch without falling over.
“Kugara?” He spoke to her, but she was unconscious. Bending over her, Nickolai could see a sheet of blood trailing over the side of her face from a wound in her temple. Something had struck her during the descent, probably when the storage compartments burst open. She groaned, and he searched through the wreckage for the remains of the medkit.
He grabbed the kit, half of which was missing, and did what he could to treat the wound. He was gratified to see that it wasn’t as bad as it first appeared. It had bled profusely, but it was just a superficial tear in the skin. The blow causing it hadn’t been enough to knock her out. She’d probably blacked out from the deceleration as Nickolai had.
She groaned a few times, but didn’t wake up until after he had flushed the wound and had sprayed the last of the bandage on her scalp.
“Shit, that’s hot.”
“You have a bad laceration.”
“Am I bleeding to death? Save that stuff.”
The can hissed and died. “It’s empty now. You used most of it on my arm.”
She blinked and fumbled with her restraints. She raised her head and bumped it on his wrist. He barely felt it, but she flopped back, pressing her hands to her forehead muttering, “Shit.”
“Are you all right?”
“Where’re the damn lights?”
He had forgotten that she would be unable to see. He stood up and looked at the scattered emergency supplies until he saw a flashlight.
“What are you doing?”
