In the Black Spaces

014: The Face of Monsters

The sight of Ansanga's decimated body still made Wraia's skin crawl. Even though she'd helped pull him out of that pod; even though she'd come back on the shuttle with him, it just wasn't something she could get used to. The full, bright lights of the medical bay only made it worse.

You could see almost every bone in his body pressing at taut skin. Where once there looked to have been a thick carpet of dark hair, there was instead a mottled, patchy scalp. Up close, the burble of the tubes and the low hum of the medical machines formed a thick blanket of sound – a whole battery of military-grade medical tech harnessed to keep this man from falling through death's door.

Looking at him again, she understood why Sergeant Waters had used the word 'miracle'.

Swallowing down her horror, Wraia forced herself forward, one foot in front of the other until she reached the bedside. Waters shadowed her closely, his face a mask of discomfort, while Gallacher edged around to the other side, arms clasped behind his back as he took in the scene. His face remained impassive, but she could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Ma'am," Waters said softly. "I would like to go on the record that I do not approve of this course of action."

"As is your right, Sergeant," Wraia answered without hesitation. Then she looked at him, her gaze hardening. "Now wake him up."

Waters stiffened, then saluted. Sidling past his subordinates, he crossed the room to a sealed cabinet, where he keyed in a code, before withdrawing a small, blunt-headed injector. Unwilling to meet her gaze, he walked straight over to Ansanga, took a deep breath, and pressed the injector against the side of the man's neck.

There was a faint hiss as the injector discharged. Wraia saw the monitors begin to flicker, a bleep of warning signalling the change in Ansanga's condition. Seconds crawled by, and she saw his bony chest begin to rise and fall. She caught Gallacher's eye for an instant, before breathing deep, bracing herself for what might come next. She saw Ansanga's eyes flicker. He blinked; winced. He tried to move, but he could barely lift his arms. A weak groan rattled out of his throat.

"Ensign," Wraia said, speaking as quietly and calmly as she could, "can you hear me?"

"Where am I?" Ansanga's voice was a breathy croak.

"My name is Lieutenant Commander Wraia Clay," she replied softly, leaning a little closer to let him see her face. To let him see that she was human. "You're aboard the Sol-Fleet cataphract, S.N.V. Cobra." She gestured to the other side of the medical cot. "This is my first officer, Lieutenant Gallacher, and our chief medical officer, Sergeant Waters."

Ansanga's eyes flickered. She was stunned by how bright they still were, a clear burst of evergreen despite his hollowed out body and his laboured breaths. Vital and alive. He shifted slightly, or at least he tried to, before Waters pressed a gentle finger against his shoulder to hold him down.

"Don't try to move, Ensign," he advised. "You'll be alright, but you need rest."

"I... how did I get here?" The young officer blinked, squinting against the light. "The last thing I remember... the last thing..."

For a moment Wraia had a horrific fear that Ansanga didn't remember; that either the memories had been erased, or his mind had bundled them away to a dark place he couldn't reach. Seconds passed though, and his expression seemed to firm up, his eyes narrowing and staring upwards, like he was focusing on that moment.

"That thing," he whispered. "The ship... the Manticore, we tried-," His chest heaved and he closed his eyes tight. "Why, why? Why us? Why'd they send us?"