Alan Diver's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Alan leaned against the inside wall of the crystal shelter and felt the tape on his ribs give a slow, sticky peel. He had maybe an hour before the strip slid off entirely. Without bracing, every breath would knife him, and he could not climb back out for the medic doubled over. He pressed his palm flat against his side and made himself think. The shelter pulsed under his hand, soft and warm, like something asleep. He limped to the pile he had dragged in that morning. It was wreckage from the Valdris: a cracked panel, a coil of insulated wire, a med kit with half its seals burst, a strip of cargo webbing. He pulled the webbing free and laid it on the floor. The old tape went into a wad in his pocket. He would need something rigid to hold the ribs while he wrapped, something he could lean into without using his hands. In the next chamber he found a beetle husk the size of a footlocker, dried and hollow, wedged against the wall. He kicked it. It held. He dragged it to the center of the room and tipped it on its side so the curved back faced up at chest height. A bracing post. He could press his ribs to the shell and let it take his weight while he worked. He needed a splint. The cracked panel was too long. He looked down and saw the floor scraps near the doorway, a cluster of broken crystal shards the same material as the walls. He picked through them until he found two flat pieces the length of his hand. He wrapped each in a strip torn from his undershirt so the edges would not cut him. Then he set them against his side, leaned his full weight into the beetle shell, and started winding the webbing around his chest. The first pass crushed the air out of him. He counted to four and pulled the second pass tighter. By the fourth wrap the shards sat flush against the cracked bone and the pain shrank to a dull, manageable burn. He tied off the webbing with his teeth and one hand. He stood up straight. It held. He took a full breath and the brace held that too. Alan looked at the doorway and the gray light beyond it. The medic was still out there, somewhere east, and the rats would be moving again by dusk. He picked up his notebook, slid the half-burst med kit into his jacket, and stepped out of the shelter. Behind him, the crystal walls pulsed once, slow, as if marking the time he had left.