Inhospitable
Badadum.
With a flick of her wrist, Helaena sent the ball around - it bounced off the floor, off the wall, and she caught it with her off hand without looking. She flicked it back to her left hand.
"Ma'am?" She looked up sharply. An ensign flinched, worrying at their sleeve, a chit clutched in sweaty fingers.
"Doctor, if you would"
"They've elected the commander of the fleet is all, doctor. The captain wants to know if you have all the supplies you need, so we can take position as ordered."
Badadum. She flicked the ball again, dropping her attention from the terrified ensign.
"Given our marching orders by an upjumped murderer, I see. We're as supplied as we'll get, I suppose."
The ensign nodded. "Yes doctor, sorry doctor."
Helaena sighed. She'd hated well enough the war on Galak - sitting in orbit in the ASAS Aesculapius, arms red to the elbow as she tried to save those poor unfortunates who were hurt bad enough that field surgery couldn't do the job. She'd lost 3 people on the table, and another died in recovery. And for each one - and the countless who hadn't died - she had taken their pain.
Badadum. That was, by and large, the main reason she was the chief surgeon on this ship - she was only 35, but, well, no other surgeon on the compliment could draw the pain out of the patient like shrapnel from a wound, or find the problem within seconds of setting eyes on the patient. She was a competent surgeon, and a Gamma level psyker.
She heard the faint rumble of the engines beneath her feet as the Aesculapius moved to take position. If she had wandered up to the bridge, she would have been unsurprised to note that the Aesculapius was taking position to support the fleet, rather than the planet. She was one of the hardier hospital ships they had, and could probably even take a glancing blow without being turned to debris.
Badadum.
The battle had gone rather poorly, Helaena suspected. She wasn't a strategist, and she didn't know the fleet disposition, but her medical bay was filling with badly wounded from multiple ships - they'd been shooting around the battle at a fair clip, grabbing those lifeboats which could be found. She didn't want to think about how many had died in lifeboats they couldn't reach, but given several of the lifeboats were from capital ships, she knew it was too many to bear.
Her current patient was a bridge officer from one of the frigates, his face badly burnt from some sort of horror the opposition had put in their shells. She drew as much pain from him as she could bear, but judging by the screams, neither that nor the morphine had done enough. She brought up his dog tags, and found the requisite information.
"Anaesthetist." She stepped back, letting the Anaesthetist do the necessary. His screams faded to nothing, but the medical bay didn't grow any quieter.
Her momentary pause did not last long enough for her to savour it. Another patient was marked as critical, and she made her way across the bay.
"Attention fleet. This is the captain of the ASN Great Gatsby, acting fleet commander. All remaining assets, retreat to Goldman. Do not fear pursuit at present, they will not pass us. This message will repeat. Attention fleet. This is the captain of…"
As the Aesculapius made her way to a stable orbit above Goldman, Helaena had continued her bloody work. More had died before her eyes in 20 minutes of this battle than the entire of Galak. This had been the first battle with this Eleventh Son, but she doubted it would be the bloodiest.
Things grew quiet about 5 hours after last surgery following the battle ended; those in critical condition were now stable or dead.
She wouldn't be able to sleep; she never was after days like this. Helaena fished around in her pockets, eventually drawing out a small rubber ball.
Badadum.
Life would go on.
