The smoke rising from the crumpled escape pod tasted of copper, sulfur, and burnt ozone.
Tie Niu reached into the shattered brass cabin with his massive, calloused hands. With astonishing gentleness, he slid his forearms beneath the girl’s limp shoulders and lifted her out onto the clean basalt tarmac of Waystation #15.
The young girl looked like a broken porcelain doll.
Her face was smeared with dark engine grease and soot. Her coarse denim work overalls were shredded by shrapnel, soaked through with dark, sticky blood.
Severe, blistering third-degree radiation burns covered her neck, arms, and forehead, glowing with an unnatural, toxic violet sheen.
Her small hands still gripped the blood-stained memory crystal against her chest so tightly that her knuckles were white.
“Out of the way! Let me through!” Dr. Gu Qinghe’s voice was sharp with urgency.
The old physician slid onto his knees beside the girl. His silver-rimmed glasses flashed as his hands moved with supernatural precision.
