Henry Gallant Saga 2: Lieutenant Henry Gallant by H. Peter Alesso

perfectly still, okay? You have first, second, and third degree burns over thirty per cent of your body, and you’ve lost a significant amount of blood, but your vital organs are intact and you will make a complete recovery using the rejuvenation bath after surgery. You should be up and around in four days and within a week, you should no longer suffer from chronic pain.”
    Gallant nodded and the med-tech, with the help of the AI, began operating on his wounds. He didn’t feel significant pain, but could feel the pressure of the physical actions against his body and he was fascinated as the med-tech peeled away his damaged skin. Then collagen and the new skin, grown from his stem cells, were grafted onto his body. Finally, the surface was bandaged.
    The med-tech smiled encouragingly. “It looks good. Though, if you had had genetic engineering enhancements, your stem cells would have produced a cleaner match.”
    Chief Howard came into medic bay while Gallant was receiving medical attention and wished him well, but mostly everyone was too busy looking after their own emergencies to pay more attention to him.
    Soon after surgery, Gallant ended up in the regeneration chamber for twenty-four hours of rejuvenation. Nearby chambers were soon filled with his shipmates in various states of recovery.
    When Gallant was released from the regeneration chamber, the first thing he asked was how the captain was doing.
    The solemn med-tech mumbled, “He didn’t make it.”
    Gallant’s face fell. He said nothing. He had no words to express his personal grief.
    Then he felt a moment of concern for how the Intrepid would fare under Neumann’s leadership.
***
    After he was released from sick bay, Gallant went to his tiny two-by-three-by-four meter quarters which he had shared with Paulson and Stahl.
    They wouldn’t be returning.
    He stared down at his shoes and the burnt deck beneath them; he sat on what was left of his bunk in the shattered remains of his three-man stateroom. The cabin was sparely furnished, revealing a traditional stark military room. A desk rested in one well-lit corner. The cubicle also included a tiny storage locker for each man to store his clothes and personal belongings. Three storage lockers had been under the bottom bunk bed and contained what personal property had escaped destruction. The rest of their personal effects were mostly distributed trash, strewn on the deck. The crumpled bunk beds were a heap of unrecognizable twisted metal. Along one wall was the closet containing uniforms. He managed to find one remaining disheveled but useable uniform he could wear.
    He combed through the wreckage, but what remained of their personal items was unrecognizable. He bumped into a lump of melted material. He puzzled over it for a second and then closed his mind; he would rather not know what it had once been. The only area to escape incineration was the single utility sink in the corner of the room.
    He picked up a few surviving remembrances—wreckage of shattered lives—an image stick with enough memory to hold millions of selected pictures, a personal jewelry pin which belonged to Stahl, and Paulson’s UPSA class ring.
    “Their family will want these,” he muttered, and he continued to gather what he could, aware family members would eventually ask about them.
    He would have to find other accommodations, but first he needed to get cleaned up and feel refreshed. He decided to take a quick shower under icy water for the prescribed thirty-second allotment. Pleased the water flowed when he stood under the faucet; he recoiled as the cold permeated his flesh. A twenty-second antiseptic cleaner and a ten-second rinse followed. He felt better after his shower.
    He stood before the mirror while he shaved. His reflection showed a familiar face—one with a steely fortitude.
***
    Burial in space was always an intense emotional experience, even when it didn’t include the death of the ship’s captain. Traditional space