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“Better do this while it’s still numb,” she chatters, and though the medic’s knife is sharp, everyone hears the slippery crunch. Tach staggers off to be sick; the captain is pale. Ashlock exhales through pursed lips and then manages “I need a drink with all possible speed.”

The medic fumbles gauze. “You shouldn’t have alcohol until we get the bleeding–”

“I can still kill you with this hand.”

The captain finds a plastic flask of something clear and burning, which Ashlock hits hard. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks.

“Just make the boat go faster,” says Ashlock.

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