Fracture
© 2020 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  TheTiedTigress


She had joined a pickup game, and so far her side was winning.

Varan ran as fast as she could for the ball as it bounced along, planted her left foot and swung a right-footed kick, just as a kam darted in attempting to tackle her off the ball.

Knees do not bend that way.

Her pained howl brought an immediate end to the game as two players who were cross-trained as medical technicians tended to her. The on-duty medical techs, vertical orange stripes on the sleeves of their uniforms marking their specialty, came at a run, mere fractions after one of the players called for assistance. After a quick assessment, a splint was vacuum-sealed around her knee joint and Varan was placed on an artigrav-equipped stretcher.

“I’m very sorry about this, Varan,” the kam repeated. His tail and ears expressed sorrow and shame.

“It’s all right, Kandun,” she assured him, feeling dizzy as her body flooded itself with the Kashlanin equivalent of endorphins. “Accidents happen in wēarām, but please be more careful in future, aka?” He promised that he would, and the medical techs took her to the station’s infirmary.

The surgeon aboard ABG 58836 was a kam, and he smiled as he walked into the small room Varan was occupying. “Narchak, Subcaptain.”

“Narchak, Kiyēakh,” the vir replied, wincing slightly as she shifted her weight on the bed. The apparatus wrapped around her left leg beeped at her, and she settled down. “I apologize for this.”

He chuckled as he unrolled his padd, set it as a flat plane, and studied the data on it. “Playing wēarām, and an opposing player struck you in the knee with his heel, hyperextending the joint and fracturing your patella.” He glanced at her and smiled. “It’s not a major injury, but there’s some damage to the tendons. You’ll be in quarters here on regen therapy for the next full day, and you’ll wear sensors for several days after that.”

Before Varan could frame an objection the surgeon said, “I’ve already spoken with Captain k’Jen, so your duties are covered for the duration of your stay.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. She knew better than to argue with a surgeonmaster or surgeonmistress.

The quarters she was placed in for the rest of the day had controls for variable gravity. With the controls set to one-tenth gravity, sleeping was a very comfortable experience. The regenerator acted as a splint, preventing her from bending or twisting her knee.

It made using the garderobe a complicated maneuver.

In deference to the lower gravity, all her meals were restricted to foodstuffs that minimized the possibility of crumbs or droplets going adrift. Her evening meal of roast yevech was served boneless, already cut into bite-sized pieces, and served under a thick sauce that kept it on the plate. Liquids were served in sealed containers with valved straws.

Ordered to stay off her feet as much as possible, Varan spent the day in bed, sleeping or using her padd to keep track of how things were going aboard the Kith. There was nothing wrong with her eyes or brain, the vir reasoned, and there was always some matter that required the Command-Second’s attention.

She was still on her ship’s schedule, and after supper Varan began to feel drowsy. Tomorrow, she thought, her progress would be assessed and she would be released to return to her ship.

But there was still one thing she felt she needed to do.

Varan reopened her pad, unfolding it only twice before stabilizing it and scrawling on its glossy gray surface, “Lir ment’hok demefin renit Meredidh . . . “