The Bridge: A Science Fiction Survival Story

Untitled Part 77

The echoes of the booming door faded away to be replaced by the cries of the fallen, accompanied by shouts of surprise as gravity switched back on, bringing people and objects crashing to the ground. Then Hannah's voice rose above the crowd.

"Leave the injured where they lie! Those who can walk, make your way to a seat near the front. Doctor's apprentices, tend to their wounds, while doctors, come with me to those in most desperate need. Elisha," she shouted and pointed to her personal apprentice far back in the crowd, where she stood with her own family, "bring the medical carts to me, both of them. Let's go, now!"

Former members of the school Hippoc darted out from among the crowd, brought to life by Hannah, weaving around chairs to the ranks of Lear that were producing pools of blood near the door. Airomem stood over her father, shouting at Hannah as he clutched a knife that had pierced his shoulder, then shouting at him as he waved the healers away to tend those more wounded. And I stood as the center, my mouth dry, whispering a name in final homage.

"Tom." Perhaps the one among us who most deserved to arrive at the new planet, and who would now never make it. Tom, the true porter, who had carried us upon his shoulder. Tom, who –

"Horatius!" came a small voice by my side, and I looked down, wiping away a forming tear only to smear blood from my hand upon my face, then saw Ruth tugging at my shirt. "Horatius, you have to move! This area is for the injured and the doctors. You can't stay here!"

I blinked, realizing that doctors were actively swerving to avoid me, and let her pull me towards a seat a few dozen feet away. In front of us, Elliott was systematically combing through the crowd, splitting those with minor injuries and those in full health who needed to be seated.

"Let me see your hands," commanded Ruth, and I nearly smiled at the authority in her voice, one that seemed misplaced for one so young. I obliged, holding them outwards, nearly retching as I saw the damage. Two fingers on each hand sliced to the bone, large scabs still oozing blood starting to form over the gashes, while the cut continued in a much more shallow fashion across the remaining fingers.

"There's only so much I can fix," said Ruth, her eyes concerned. She unrolled a bandage from her pocket. "I'm not sure how useful these will be once they've healed."

"You are a gardener; I wouldn't expect much in the way of healing," I said, then stopped, my thoughts spinning, my head tilting, a long overdue thought crossing my mind for the first time. "Wait, Ruth, why are you a gardener?"

Maybe it was how preoccupied I had been with the events leading up to Segni's death, or maybe it was my appreciation of having such an astute learner in my classes. But Ruth was the daughter of a cook and a doctor, both the head of their fields, both members of the council. And yet somehow, she was a gardener, a position entirely unfit for someone of that status.

Ruth began to wash and wrap my fingers with practiced hands, her eyes on the work, speaking as she applied the bandage.

"You weren't the only one with secrets, Horatius. Not at all, not at all. But I had to promise my parents not to tell, though I still told her," she said, and gestured towards Airomem. "Not even my parents knew that, but it felt right."

"Told her what?" I asked, perplexed, biting the inside of my cheek as Ruth tightened the bandage. "And how did you learn to do this?"

"Horatius, my mother is just under the head doctor. She taught me," she said and knotted the bandage before standing up. "I'm still not allowed to say anything, but I can help you think. You are not the only reason Pliny fought for farmer representation in the council all those years ago. And you are not the only one who disapproved of Segni's actions, though our methods would take far slower. I'll answer your question with questions of my own. Who is on the council for head cook? And who for head doctor?"