Profession

Tipping... and splat

When it got dark again, the director pulled me aside and asked me to go out into the city with my camera. "It's going to be dangerous, and I'll send a knight with you. We need proof of what's going on here. If we can get images out to the rest of the world, perhaps changes can be made."

I didn't want to, really, and I felt like a coward because of it. So of course, I said ok. I was given dark navy clothing, a couple of layers so I wouldn't need a cloak, which was a direct tie to the Order. Powerful family and connections wouldn't matter if I was caught; I would probably be shot for this. I pulled the hood of the huge sweatshirt up, rubbed some dirt on my face once I got outside, and my escort nodded as we climbed over the tall stone fence.

We'd discussed vantage points already and went to the first one where I could get long shots over the city; I could shoot in very low light and was able to capture the fires in many areas of the city. Down by the port entrance, the sailors were roaming around, and I was able to capture some images of them clubbing or shooting civilians. We moved on. We crept around the city for over five hours as I carefully took images of the chaos--the fires, the mobs of civilians, and rather differently, patrols of resistance fighters, their faces concealed with masks, actively targeting the sailors, who were in the streets attempting to regain control. The brutality on both sides; if the sailors weren't in big enough groups, the citizens... put them down. In larger patrols, the sailors fired into the crowds. We were on our way back to the hospital when there was unusual activity on the broad and pleasant prospect on the shore of Artillery Bay. I crouched on a wall and looked through my lens. I took a few frames, then jumped down.

"We've got to go," I said, and we made our way back to the hospital, as quickly as possible. My guard had to put one person in a sleeper hold, risky, but we had to report back. there were more eyes on the hospital than there had been, and we had to creep around to the part of the fence where there was a drop off into a small ravine and go in through the storm drain.

"What news?" the director asked wearily when we slunk in.

"I've got a lot of images. The last ones showed the navy bringing artillery onshore."

"Show me," the director said, standing. I showed the images, which were clear and unmistakable. "All right, Nurse, I need to make a plan. Go change and report back to the ER. Keep the storage media with these images on you at all times, and hide your camera somewhere where you can get to it fast." Dismissed, I went up, took a welcome shower, and got into a clean uniform. It was my last one and I wondered if we could work the uniforms into the laundry. We couldn't work in dirty uniforms.

Down in the ER were new and different problems. Lights were on only in individual treatment areas and over the intake and outtake desks. "The Russians cut the power," the head nurse said grimly. "We're on emergency generators now. Plan to use as little energy as possible. We are also running low on painkillers, antibiotics, anesthetics. Bandages, dressings, bed linens, casting materials, sutures." She sighed, and I immediately felt bad that I'd taken the hot shower. "I've got orderlies boiling cut up sheets so that we have clean bandages, at least. We can still use the flash dryers. Personnel who do embroidery and sewing have volunteered their silk threads and needles, and these are being prepared for sutures." I kept my face calm. There was nothing else to do. She assigned me a treatment bay. I got to work on our patients.

I came to the curtain when I heard raised voices outside. Pulling the curtain back, I was shocked to see three sailors there; two were supporting one, who hung limply between them. The civilians were protesting what looked like a request for help. Shoving started, and orderlies came running to break it up. "We have to treat anyone who asks for it," the head nurse said loudly, and our one remaining translator shouted over the crowd. "We don't have a choice." Several patients sneered at this and left. The head nurse summoned a free nurse; as she stepped into the light, I saw that it was one of the older nurses, experienced and knowledgeable. Marissa was also fast, and would get the sailor out of here quickly. Another nurse offered to help the other sailors but was dismissed rudely. I went back to my patient, doing what I could with the limited supplies we had. I directed him to discharge, cleaned the treatment table with--we were down to bleach solutions now--and turned to get the next patient, so I saw it all.