Read Online Aurora by David A. Hardy - Free Book Online Page B

jagged piece of bulkhead. Blood gushed from her shoulder, and white bone protruded. Someone grabbed the First Aid box, and before long was applying a tourniquet and pad. Fortunately, the cab of the rover was pressurized, and, although badly dented, its outer skin did not seem to have been fractured.
    With difficulty, they winched the rover upright, and in a purple twilight the vehicle limped back to base.
    * * * *
    At first it seemed that Aurora was back in that strange yet familiar dream she had known before. It had reappeared several times since her brief yet spectacular sortie into the world of rock music—nearly always when she was for some reason at best semiconscious. She had come to call the experiences her “flashes”. But this time the white-gowned figures stood around looking down at her gravely. There was no music or gaiety. Behind them, the slopes of the volcano (could it be Olympus Mons? No, surely it was too small—and it was clad in green for more than two-thirds of its height) were wreathed in clouds. Suddenly the view was blotted out. Brilliant violet–white light flared, too painful to look at. She tried to cover her eyes, but her arm would not move....
    * * * *
    She screamed, and opened her eyes to see the tiny sick bay, partitioned off from the rest of the Hut. Robert Lundquist, the mission’s only qualified physician, leaned over and pushed her back into her pillow.
    Much later, he gave his patient the news. “Anne, my dear, I don’t know how else to break this to you. If we were back on Earth a surgeon might just be able to help you. But there was nothing else I could do. Your arm was severed at the shoulder. I—I’ve had to amputate it. I am so, so sorry.”

MEMORIES
    Aurora sat up on her cot, trying to eat breakfast with her left hand. She was determined to play as full a part as possible, even with only one arm, and had already made a start on learning how to write, use a computer keyboard and perform other everyday tasks one-handed. If only it hadn’t been her right arm! Reflexively, she wriggled phantom fingers. She had heard of this phenomenon, but still was surprised by it each time it happened.
    Lundquist pushed aside the plastic curtain and entered the makeshift sick quarters. “And how are we this morning?” he asked with a rather forced smile. He looked typically Swedish, Aurora thought. His wavy yellow hair was thinning at the temples. He was pleasant, but spoke only when necessary. His family had been American for several generations; had his wife been here she could probably have sewn the arm back on and connected the necessary nerves and blood vessels, for she was a leading surgeon.
    â€œWell, I don’t know how you are, but my shoulder’s giving me hell,” said Aurora. “I guess I’ll live, though. Won’t I?”
    â€œOh, yes. You’re fit and healthy, and you didn’t lose too much blood. There’s no infection—it’s just the muscles and nerves knitting.”
    She tried to lighten the mood. “Hmmm. That’s neat. I never did learn to knit even when I had two hands.”
    Lundquist looked relieved. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t get dressed today, and perhaps have a go at getting the database up to date. That’s if you feel like it.”
    * * * *
    She began to make herself useful to the team by performing tasks which, if they were honest, the other members would rather were left to someone else anyway. But she itched to get out onto the surface again—itched as much as her shoulder did—and began to pester the physician.
    Finally he announced that it was time to remove the special dressing that had been in place for the last couple of weeks.
    As he examined the pink stub at her shoulder he frowned.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Doc?” asked Aurora worriedly. She didn’t like Lundquist’s expression.
    â€œOh, nothing, probably. It’s