Drifter Read Free

teenager check the old man's airway, pinch his nose shut, and blow air into his lungs. One breath for every five compressions. Good. The kid knew what he was doing.
    … Four … Five … Pause. A woman was fanning air towards the old man as if that might help him breathe. She had sun-damaged skin, a beat-up electro-implant where her right eye had been, and the look of a rimmer. Wendy nodded in her direction.
    "Ma'am? Would you do me a favor? There's an emergency comset mounted on the far bulkhead. Pick up the handset, and tell whoever answers that we've got a medical emergency on D deck. We need a crash cart, cardiac monitor, and resuscitator. Got that?"
    The woman nodded and disappeared into the crowd. She was back moments later.
    "They won't come." The woman said it levelly. A statement of fact, nothing more.
    Wendy pushed. One… Two… Three… "What do you mean 'they won't come'? This man is dying! Did you tell them that?"
    The woman nodded. "I told 'em, miss. They said I should read my ticket. Something about medical services being available on C deck or above."
    Wendy swore. Damn them! She'd known about the restrictions on a D-deck ticket but hadn't taken them seriously. Surely a fellow doctor would place more value on a passenger's life than the words printed on a ticket? Apparently not.
    Wendy checked the man's pulse. Nothing. She looked at the boy. He shook his head. No pulse and no respiration.
    Wendy considered the contents of her medical bag. She did have some epinephrine cartridges for her injector, but even if the drug worked, the old man would still need intensive care and she had no way to provide it. Not without use of the ship's medical facilities.
    The boy caught her eye. Wendy shook her head. Both of them stood up. She looked around. The crowd had started to thin out. Death was nothing new to these people. Rimmers mostly, fresh from planets where life was hard, and death came young.
    But the onlookers didn't go very far. D deck was too small for that. Being the globe ship's lowest passenger deck, "D" was located right above the hold, and was rather small in circumference.
    That hadn't stopped the shipping company from packing them in, though, and Wendy was reasonably sure that there were more passengers on D deck than on A and B combined.
    The result was a crowded maze of curtained-off double-tiered bunks, lights that burned around the clock, the smell of food cooked over portable burners, air so thick you could cut it with a knife, and noise that never stopped. Talking, laughing, yelling, and crying. It went on around the clock.
    It made Wendy yearn for Angel's wide open spaces, for the clean wind that whipped across the open plain to chill her skin, and the privacy of her own room.
    A newborn baby cried somewhere behind her and Wendy looked down. The old man's cheap blue ship suit seemed to billow up around him as if filled with air instead of flesh.  
    The old man's features were enlarged with age. He had a large beak of a nose, ears that stood almost straight out from the side of his head, and a long thin mouth which curved up at the corners as if amused by what had happened.
    Wendy felt someone brush her arm, and turned. The woman with the electro-implant smiled hesitantly. "His name was Wilf. He had the bunk over mine."
    Wendy smiled. "Did he have friends or relatives aboard?"
    The rimmer shook her head. "No, miss, none that I know of."
    Wendy nodded. "Well, we can't leave Wilf here. Let's carry him over to the lift tube. The crew will take it from there."
    The woman made no move to help. "They won't say anything for him, will they?"
    Wendy imagined a couple of bored crew members, laughing and joking as they loaded the body into an ejection tube.
    "No, I don't suppose they will."
    The rimmer pointed to the brooch pinned over the pocket of Wendy's jacket. It was a triangle surrounded by a circle of gold. "You're Chosen, aren't you?"
    "I'm a member of the Church of Free Choice, yes. Only our enemies