Blood welled up
and ran down on the small towel she had placed beneath. Carefully
she widened the cut and set the forceps to work. Sajitar moaned and
breathed hard as the pain hit him. He balled his hands into tight
fists, pressing his eyes shut to ride out the pain. She tried to
divert her thoughts by thinking of how hot the metal must have been
to scorch the skin and get stuck. She let her mind travel to all
the different kinds of weapons she knew and listed their names and
bullet velocity. Still, she wanted to touch Sajitar’s skin, caress
him and tell him that it would be all right soon, but she couldn’t
utter a single word.
Stubbornly, she
only looked at the wound. Now her hands were calm and worked
efficiently. Her breathing slowed down and she ignored the drops of
sweat that ran down her temples. Within two minutes she had
loosened the shell and pulled it out carefully. Some skin was still
attached to it, but she could see that the shell was empty. She
held back a curse and very carefully probed whether the bullet was
in reach. She had no luck and did not dare to stick the forceps any
deeper. She thanked the gods that the hole was small and would heal
within a week once properly closed.
“I’m not yet
finished,” she told Sajitar quietly as she rummaged through the
first aid kit. “It might sting, I think.” When she looked she
realized that Sajitar had given in to the pain. His mouth was slack
and the stick lay beside his face. “Much better,” she mumbled. She
had never stitched a wound and was glad that the spray she found
sealed the wound with a flexible membrane that would subdue the
pain as well as protect it against infection.
Her thoughts
returned to the beginning of the operation.
It had been easy to get a search warrant for Sajitar’s
apartment. Once the name Sananda
Wang had been uttered in conjunction with
that unimportant man from an unimportant village, the judge had
nodded and signed the document without further questions. Later
Rayenne had pondered whether policemen usually went hunting without
a judge’s order to legalize their actions. She had not asked her
colleagues, but the feeling of being part of an operation that was
outside correct police action troubled her.
With four men,
they had searched Sajitar’s small apartment in order to find clues
about his connection with Wang, illegal substances, or anything
that would prove the man’s guilt. In the end, they had upturned
furniture, ripped open desks and cupboards and taken off pictures
without uncovering any evidence. Rayenne had turned around, hands
on her hips, and shaken her head. There had been less personal
stuff than expected. Clothes, bathroom equipment and three pairs of
shoes, but no pictures of family or lovers, no computer or other
electronic hardware, no signs that he had lived there on a regular
basis. Rayenne had shared her concern that Sajitar might not have
lived there permanently, but her superior had dismissed the
argument with a wave of his hand.
Still without
evidence, the police had searched Sajitar’s locker at the
spaceport, had questioned colleagues about his activities and done
a lot to find the suspected escapee. The only facts they had found
were that Sajitar Haju loved to stroll around town as well as spend
days in the forest. If they had been honest, they would have
conceded that there was not the slightest hint at a connection with
Sananda Wang except for fingerprints at the spaceport in a
forbidden area and the remnants of a substance stamped as
illegal.
Still, Rayenne
wondered if her colleagues had been too eager to denounce Sajitar
Haju as a criminal.
She shook her
head.
Her superior had ordered her to take Felberi and find Sajitar,
no matter the costs, and bring him to Belson Park. If he is no criminal , he
had said, he will make a fine
witness . He did not add that pressed hard
enough, a man like Sajitar was supposed to say everything the judge
wanted to hear, but Rayenne had understood. The
and ran down on the small towel she had placed beneath. Carefully
she widened the cut and set the forceps to work. Sajitar moaned and
breathed hard as the pain hit him. He balled his hands into tight
fists, pressing his eyes shut to ride out the pain. She tried to
divert her thoughts by thinking of how hot the metal must have been
to scorch the skin and get stuck. She let her mind travel to all
the different kinds of weapons she knew and listed their names and
bullet velocity. Still, she wanted to touch Sajitar’s skin, caress
him and tell him that it would be all right soon, but she couldn’t
utter a single word.
Stubbornly, she
only looked at the wound. Now her hands were calm and worked
efficiently. Her breathing slowed down and she ignored the drops of
sweat that ran down her temples. Within two minutes she had
loosened the shell and pulled it out carefully. Some skin was still
attached to it, but she could see that the shell was empty. She
held back a curse and very carefully probed whether the bullet was
in reach. She had no luck and did not dare to stick the forceps any
deeper. She thanked the gods that the hole was small and would heal
within a week once properly closed.
“I’m not yet
finished,” she told Sajitar quietly as she rummaged through the
first aid kit. “It might sting, I think.” When she looked she
realized that Sajitar had given in to the pain. His mouth was slack
and the stick lay beside his face. “Much better,” she mumbled. She
had never stitched a wound and was glad that the spray she found
sealed the wound with a flexible membrane that would subdue the
pain as well as protect it against infection.
Her thoughts
returned to the beginning of the operation.
It had been easy to get a search warrant for Sajitar’s
apartment. Once the name Sananda
Wang had been uttered in conjunction with
that unimportant man from an unimportant village, the judge had
nodded and signed the document without further questions. Later
Rayenne had pondered whether policemen usually went hunting without
a judge’s order to legalize their actions. She had not asked her
colleagues, but the feeling of being part of an operation that was
outside correct police action troubled her.
With four men,
they had searched Sajitar’s small apartment in order to find clues
about his connection with Wang, illegal substances, or anything
that would prove the man’s guilt. In the end, they had upturned
furniture, ripped open desks and cupboards and taken off pictures
without uncovering any evidence. Rayenne had turned around, hands
on her hips, and shaken her head. There had been less personal
stuff than expected. Clothes, bathroom equipment and three pairs of
shoes, but no pictures of family or lovers, no computer or other
electronic hardware, no signs that he had lived there on a regular
basis. Rayenne had shared her concern that Sajitar might not have
lived there permanently, but her superior had dismissed the
argument with a wave of his hand.
Still without
evidence, the police had searched Sajitar’s locker at the
spaceport, had questioned colleagues about his activities and done
a lot to find the suspected escapee. The only facts they had found
were that Sajitar Haju loved to stroll around town as well as spend
days in the forest. If they had been honest, they would have
conceded that there was not the slightest hint at a connection with
Sananda Wang except for fingerprints at the spaceport in a
forbidden area and the remnants of a substance stamped as
illegal.
Still, Rayenne
wondered if her colleagues had been too eager to denounce Sajitar
Haju as a criminal.
She shook her
head.
Her superior had ordered her to take Felberi and find Sajitar,
no matter the costs, and bring him to Belson Park. If he is no criminal , he
had said, he will make a fine
witness . He did not add that pressed hard
enough, a man like Sajitar was supposed to say everything the judge
wanted to hear, but Rayenne had understood. The
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