smeared over the floor around Blaylock. He'd lost a lot of blood. In the wetness, one of Galen's hands slipped out from under him. He regained his balance, turned Blaylock onto his back. Blaylock's face was ashen, his lips a greyish blue. The rise and fall of his chest was barely visible, his pulse beneath Galen's fingers rapid and weak. Thin streams of blood continued to run from his hands out onto the floor. Galen had to stop the bleeding.
Blaylock had a handkerchief in his jacket. Galen took hold of Blaylock's cold wrist. He pushed up the jacket sleeve, tied the handkerchief tightly about the forearm as a tourniquet. To slow the bleeding from the other hand, Galen pulled her scarf from his pocket. He leaned unsteadily across Blaylock's body, yanked the scarf tight, leaving bloody fingerprints. Then he pushed himself out of his coat, laid it over Blaylock. If Blaylock's tech wasn't restored soon, so that his organelles could operate, Galen didn't know if he would survive.
Galen believed G'Leel had to be dead, but he made his way over to her, hoping that Elizar merely thought him concerned. She'd been holding her gun the last time he'd noticed. Her guncase was open, but her hands were empty, the weapon was nowhere to be seen. For show, he checked G'Leel's pulse and was amazed to find her still alive. She had a chance to survive. He rolled her onto her side to check the plasma burn. The wound was deep, the yellow of bone visible at its center. She couldn't last long. He had to find her gun.
"You always wanted to be a healer," Elizar said. He stood beside the upended table, the gurney. Perhaps the gun had fallen on the far side.
Elizar set a chair down beside Galen, extended a hand to assist him. Galen ignored the hand and used the chair to pull himself up, sitting