Dr. Molly Chen held the scalpel between two tentacle tips and tried to keep them from shaking. The blade wobbled. She set it down on the metal table and flexed all four tentacles, watching them curl and uncurl. Before the crash, before Auster's atmosphere rewrote her DNA, she'd had the steadiest hands in the surgical ward. Now she had tentacles instead of arms, and they moved like they had minds of their own. She picked up the scalpel again. This time, she used three tentacle tips together, gripping the handle from different angles. The blade held steady. A smile crossed her green face. If she could master these new limbs, she could perform surgeries no human surgeon ever could. Four arms working at once. Reaching impossible angles. Saving lives that would otherwise be lost. The tentacles trembled again, and the scalpel clattered to the floor. Molly cursed and looked up at the twisted metal beams above her. The crashed Celestial Station stretched around her in all directions, broken glass and debris covering every surface. She'd found this operating room three days ago, mostly intact. The surgical lights still worked. The tables were bolted down. It wasn't much, but it was hers. This wreckage would become her training ground. When she could hold a scalpel without dropping it, she'd move on to actual procedures. When she mastered that, she'd do surgeries no one else could attempt. One tentacle reached out and picked up the scalpel from the floor. She brought it back to the table and set it down gently. Progress, she told herself. Yesterday she couldn't even grip it. Tomorrow she'd practice suturing. The station had given her shelter and a workspace. Now she just needed patience.

Molly wrapped two tentacles around a bolt and twisted. The metal groaned but didn't budge. She added a third tentacle, applying pressure from a different angle. The bolt squeaked, turned half an inch, then another. She unwound it completely and set it aside with her fourth arm while the other three held the metal panel steady. Basic coordination, she told herself. Before she could slice into anything living, she needed to control each limb independently. She spent the next hour disassembling an overturned equipment cart, using her tentacles like separate surgeons working together. By the end, she could hold, twist, and stabilize all at once without thinking about it. Molly stepped outside the wreckage and found a small river flowing through vibrant alien flowers. The water ran clear over smooth stones. She gathered her surgical tools in two tentacles and walked to the riverbank. Each scalpel, clamp, and needle needed to be clean before she practiced any actual procedures. She dipped the instruments into the current and scrubbed them with careful movements. Her tentacles worked in sequence, one washing while another dried with a torn piece of cloth. The flowers gave off a sweet smell that made her nose wrinkle. When the last tool gleamed in the light, she tucked them against her body and headed back inside. Tomorrow she would cut into something. Tomorrow she would find out if her tentacles could do what her hands used to do.