SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

White was the first color that greeted the Lancer, and even then it was fuzzy. He opened his jaws once, twice, trying to dislodge his tongue from the bottom of his mouth.

“He’s awake!” exclaimed a familiar voice, and Brokehorn felt more than saw the shifting of great mass.

“I can see that,” said a female voice, somewhat annoyed. “He’s going to want water, and you standing up like that will likely get someone trampled and give me more work.”

Brokehorn thought water was a fine idea, and thought to say as much. All that came out was a tired wheeze, his throat far too tight to make noise and activate his vox harness.

A warm hand touched his face, and he could see better now. A dark claw with a figure in white in front of him. As he focused, he saw it was a human woman who attended him. An older woman; her hair was flecked with silver, and she had many lines around her eyes. She found a smile for him though, and placed a hose into his mouth. “Swallow as much as you can, and if some of it runs out, well it’s no problem. Cleaning up is part of the job, and we certainly don’t mind doing it for heroes,” she told him.

He didn’t register what she said, as the feeling of cool water gushing down his dry throat was a wonder that captivated him. He drank eagerly, only stopping when pain deep in his gut forced him to. Brokehorn saw the nurse’s eyes squint and she nodded. “Pain?”

“Yes,” he managed, his voice still rusty. “In my stomach.”

The nurse nodded again. “That’s to be expected. I imagine the flesh there is still healing, even though they took the stitches out a week ago,” she explained.

“How long have I been out?” he asked.

“Nearly three weeks now. We… we didn’t think you were going to make it when they brought you here,” she admitted. “But here you are, and that’s what matters.”

“How bad was it?”

She shook her head. “I’ll let the doctor talk about that. I don’t want to get into specifics,” she told him. Brokehorn had a feeling that was her final word on that subject. “I’m sure your friend will want to talk to you about it though, so you can ask him. I’m Nurse Sera, and please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

“Is there food? Can I eat?” he asked her, trying to rise but pain forced him back.

There was a guffaw from above, and Sera looked up for a moment, scowling, before turning back to the Lancer. “I’ll see what I can get for you, but it’s likely going to be nutrient fluid for a bit until your gut heals up a bit more,” she told him, and then turned to the other being present in the room. “You have ten minutes with him, but he needs his strength. Don’t make me come in here and have you forced out again,” she told the Tyrannosaurus.

“I don’t think I have ten minutes of conversation in me,” responded Ripper.

The nurse shook her head and left, leaving Ripper and Brokehorn alone.

Brokehorn was able to take stock of his surroundings now. The two were in a cavernous, white room with one wall dedicated to a haptic chart of his vitals, which showed his improving medical history over different timelines. Above him hung a large piece of cloth; he couldn’t make out what it was, but didn’t care. Instead, he turned to Ripper.

“You just happened to be here?” Brokehorn asked.

“I did, but…”

“You were here every day?”

The Bladejaw nodded, opening his mouth several times before finding words. “It was bad. I arrived just as the other Khajal arrived and well, I finished off the two of the three survivors.”

Brokehorn tilted his head at this. “I killed six. I was nearly dead when those three arrived.”

“So you were. But the humans convinced themselves you killed seven, so that’s what they told Dhimion Cruzah,” explained Ripper. “They survived, though some were injured when you rammed the truck. They were very effusive in their praise of your valor.”

There was another pause. “How bad was it?” Brokehorn inquired softly. This realization of his own mortality was a new thing to him.

“You died,” said Ripper. “I remember the lead medic telling me that as they began working on you.”

“If I died, why would they try to bring me back in the middle of an active battlefield? Especially when surrounded by Federation troops.” Triage procedures of the Dominion military prohibited resuscitation.

“Maybe they decided an effort was better than answering to an enraged Bladejaw.” Ripper responded.

The two Old Bloods locked gazes for a moment, and it was Brokehorn who spoke into the silence. “But why all that for a dinosaur you just met?”

“Because I think…” Ripper paused again, as though searching for the words. “We understand each other. Not just being Separated, but we understand the reasons we fight. Call me selfish but I was not ready to lose that, not after finding it so soon. I would not have the promise of a friendship taken away from me.” There was none of the light acerbic wit in Ripper’s words, and Brokehorn found himself touched.

“Besides,” said Ripper quickly, nodding toward the banner above them. “This is the kind of thing you don’t usually see at all.”