Grown Men

other.
    Ox looked gray, but obeyed as his partner scrabbled in the cabinets. His breathing was very shallow, just sipping air into his lungs.
    Runt stopped and choked the anxiety down, wiping Ox’s blood on his own chest, right over his hammering heart. His eyes focused and the medkit sat right where it always did.
    “You can breathe okay?”
    Ox gave a small nod and shivered.
    Runt kept epi-darts for anaphylactic shock, but Ox wasn’t wheezing. “If blood got in the bite—”
    Ox raised his eyes, swimming up through the pain.
    No rash and no cramping . . . so no eel blood had gotten in the wound. Or the water had washed it away.
    “Ox, I’m gonna need you to let go so I can see your little scratch.”
    Ox nodded, but his hand stayed against the bite.
    Runt put his small hand on the larger one. He didn’t tug or push, just rested his palm against it and made a soothing sound to calm Ox down.
    C’mon .
    Millimeter by millimeter, the massive hand lifted under Runt’s away from the bite. Ox’s panic made the pulse throb in his big throat. He was going into shock.
    Runt saw why.
    With the hand out of the way, serious damage was visible. Torn skin, sure, but a circle of shredded intercostal muscles, almost down to the bone. Worst of all, a long, serrated tooth had buried itself between two ribs. Dark blood oozed out of him like syrup.
    The cuts were nothing, and the muscle would heal with a patch in a few days. But the tooth could kill him. Lodged there like a shunt, the barbs had stopped it from sliding in and puncturing a lung. Ox could easily bleed out if they didn’t remove it. Much worse than slow poisoning.
    HardCell would have to evacuate him.
    Now .
    Ox tried to sit up.
    “No.” Runt kept his face steady. “Why don’t you stretch out a few ticks? Lemme see if we’ve got something to pull a tooth.” He pushed Ox back onto the foam and grabbed the basics from the medkit.
    The room stank of musk and copper.
    “First thing, we need to stop the bleeding, yeah?”
    Ox nodded, his pupils blown black by his adrenal levels.
    Runt slapped a dermal patch on Ox’s smeared hip. And then another one on his pec to be safe. They would lower his heart rate, which would slow the blood loss for a bit.
    Runt disinfected the wound twice, and sealed it with plasti-skin with a hole for the tooth. The bandage would buy him a few minutes to contact transport for evac.
    He’ll be fine.
    They didn’t have a surgery. Terraforming was a high-risk, high-yield profession. If you lost a couple fingers, your profits and your citizenship took away some of the sting.
    But that ragged tooth couldn’t stay in his rib. And the synthetic skin would only stabilize the wound until Ox could be evacuated.
    What if he left and didn’t come back? I’d— Well—
    Runt took a shuddery breath and kept scratching Ox’s head, trying to soothe him.
    I can’t go with him.
    If Runt left, HardCell would claim abandonment, repossess, and install new cofarmers. They’d both lose the land, the citizenship, everything.
    Runt‘s mind skittered over the crappy options: call HardCell or risk worse?
    With Ox in shock and none of the facts, the decision had to be Runt’s, and it would be blind. Luck fucks me again .
    If Ox was hiding, a hospital visit could ruin everything. If he had betrayed HardCell, they might retire him there rather than risk the publicity. No way Ox wanted corporate scrutiny or his vitals splashed over data terminals.
    Runt went to the terminal but stopped, his bloody hands hovering over the keyboard.
    What am I forgetting?
    Once he sent the request, the rules would change entirely. A medical team would make decisions based on cost and odds. They’d control Ox’s body completely, because according to his indenture contract they owned every millimeter of it.
    HardCell means business!
    But if Runt couldn’t get that tooth out, Ox’s death would be slow and painful. Sepsis would devour his giant from inside.
    If I’d gone with him.
    If the wetsuits were armored. If the medkit had a scalpel. Fuck.
    What am I forgetting?
    All he cared about was stretched out on the fucking mattress.
    All I care about .
    Ox panted in pain, hissing air between his teeth. He blinked over eyes dark and slick as volcanic glass.
    What is it? Something about the bee-moths.
    Runt flicked his eyes around the sleep-space trying to dislodge the thought. Something in the sheds? Focus .
    “Try to breathe slowly.” Again Runt’s memory churned and