Chapter Forty-Seven
The light on the life sign monitor flicked to green as Connor closed the section of scalp on Martienne's head. He'd been breathing so shallowly, the soft sounds of the medical systems had become like a background drone. Now he pulled the bloody gloves off and the face mask. He stretched his aching back and sucked in a deep gulp of air that wasn't tainted by his own breath.
On the pocket computer display, Lem smiled. “I seem to have been obsoleted."
“No one could ever replace you, Lem, just as no one could ever replace anyone else on the team."
“Thank you."
Connor tapped the monitors hooked into the pilot. “What's the prognosis. Everything looks green or close to it."
“Barring unforeseen complications, she should recover."
“Recover when, though? We need to get dow
