“The damage isn’t as bad as it could be,” he said. “His ribs did a good job of protecting him.”

Mahlia pointed at one of the wounds. “This is the only one that’s bleeding hard.”

“Hmm.” The doctor squinted. “Laceration to a neurovascular bundle. We’ll cauterize this first,” he said, “then stitch up the wounds.”

Their patient suddenly asked, “Can you even see, old man?”

Mahlia looked up at him, trying to remember his name. Ocho. A sergeant. “I can,” she said. “And I’m the one doing the stitching.”

“Blood and rust! Stumpy’s going to stitch?”

“Watch your mouth,” Mahlia said, “or I’ll stitch your guts shut.”

The doctor sucked in his breath, but the patient just smirked. “Castoff’s got some bark in her.”

“No bark. Just a needle.”

Mahlia set the point and pushed it in with her good left fingers. The doctor’s hand met the needle on the other side and drew the catgut through. He handed it back to her. Between the two of them, they nearly made a whole doctor. They worked the thread through again.

“We don’t have any sulfa here,” the doctor said. “You will need to keep this wound clean and dry.”

Ocho was looking into space again. “Yeah. I know.”

From the survey of his body, it looked like he did know. His dark skin was ripped and scarred in dozens of places. He was missing part of an ear, and there was a puckered scar in his cheek, as if he’d been stabbed or burned. A small circular hole, now closed.

The soldier caught the direction of Mahlia’s gaze. “Army of God,” he said. “Sniper.” He opened his mouth, showing her the other side of the wound. His pink tongue was also torn.

“Came right through. Got my tongue, on the side. Came out my mouth. Didn’t chip a tooth.” He bared them, showing her. “Not a one. Fates got me close.”

Mahlia held up her stump. “Me too.”

“Don’t look lucky to me.”

“Still got my left.”

“You southpaw?”

“Am now.”

She wasn’t going to tell him how long it had taken her to train her left to do the work that she’d taken for granted with her right. Even so, sometimes a part of her mind would trip, and suddenly it was like she was in a mirror, looking the wrong way as she tried to use her left to do what her phantom right could not.

“You’re pretty good with it,” he admitted.

“Good enough for this.”

“Can’t ask for more,” he said.

Mahlia glanced up, startled. Something in his voice was soft, almost apologetic, or pitying.

Can I deal with you? she wondered. You got something human in there, somewhere?