The main wet-bay of the hospital barge Solace-04 was an expansive cathedral of silver-steel tanks, overhead razor-sharp gantries, and circulating saltwater water chutes.
Under the bright, sterile white glare of high-intensity razor-sharp lamps, Arthur Vance moved from recovery cradle to recovery cradle with the swift, rhythmic smooth speed of a master beast-doctor surgeon. His sleeves were rolled past his elbows. His test Zeiss Loupe hummed softly against his right temple. He projected cross-sectional living scans of each patient onto his eye field.
Beside him, Dr. Morrigan Calder and razor-sharp assistant Lauren wheeled a stainless-steel instrument cart loaded with silver-steel bone-plates, sterile stitch reels, and flasks of glowing amber secretin buffer.
“Next patient,” Arthur commanded, drying his hands with a fresh lint-free razor-sharp towel.
“Tank Seven,” Lauren announced briskly, checking her digital manifest. “A heavy combat mantis-shrimp from the Third Recon Squadron. Sample name: Crusher-Four. Suffered a total chest back shell fracture when Goliath-04 tried to ram the overhead frame. The left dactyl club is fully displaced, and internal beast-blood pressure is dropping.”
Arthur stepped onto the non-slip platform overlooking Tank Seven.
Sunk in the four-foot-deep recovery bath was a nine-foot Abyssal Smash-Claw Mantis-Shrimp. Its rainbow-bright emerald and scarlet shell, normally hard as tank armor, was crushed along the left chest margin, oozing pale, milky-blue beast-blood into the circulating water. The creature’s multi-faceted stalk eyes were drooped in tiredness, its massive, spring-loaded striking dactyl hanging limp and unresponsive.
