Traveller Inceptio
97

Murdoch was at a loss as to how to best help Tatae. Damn! Damn! Damn! How had this all turned to shit so quickly? She hadn’t time to evaluate the mission, but somehow they became involved in combat and, to make matters worse, allowed Tatae to return. Now she had to manage someone transported one thousand years into her own future. Tatae was plainly besotted with Hunter and concerned only for his safety, but, Bloody Hell! What a mess! Now Murdoch had to include Tatae into her damage control.

Why the hell was Tatae here?

Murdoch was more concerned for Morris and Osborne. She had just been informed they had gone into surgery while Hunter was being prepped and Hurley was to undergo some scans. Hardheaded though he may be, Hurley still reeled from that potentially fatal blow he had received earlier in the day. His helmet had saved him, but his head had rung like a bell and brain trauma was feared. Morris had only survived because he was so fit. His liver had been split and he had lost a lot of blood through internal bleeding. While doctors were optimistic of his recovery, it was all very touch-and-go.

Osborne’s case had already received cautiously positive news. There would be still many hours of microsurgery ahead of him, but the medical team was hopeful. He had been immediately flown to London’s St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington, where a team of surgeons who specialised in limb reconstruction were already on hand.

The rest of the Traveller team were being patched up and examined. Many cuts, some quite gruesome, had been cleaned and restitched, and though not considered serious, there would be some impressive scars. The physicians were also instructed to examine for any transfer of exotic pathogens. It was a bit late now. All of their carefully planned quarantine procedures had been thrown out the window because of the nature of the medical emergency. There had been no time to debrief the men, so there was no real understanding of the day’s events. While relieved they had survived, the military professional in her was intensely interested in viewing some of the hours of raw combat footage Professor Taylor had already confirmed as recovered. Oh, she knew there would be negative consequences. Any minute now, the media frenzy would attract the attention of military command and politicians. Men had been injured while engaged in a botched rescue mission and Murdoch knew the shit would hit the fan.

She had to manage one situation at a time.

A nurse knocked on their door and popped her head in. “There’s a Professor Taylor at admissions. He says he needs to see you.”

Murdoch shook her head emphatically. “Not yet. Tell him to wait.” As the other nurse fled, she looked at the nurse who had been so helpful. “I have to keep him away from Tatae for the moment.”

At the mention of her name, Tatae looked up, red-eyed from weeping.

“The poor girl needs quiet time, not interviews.”

Though not particularly empathetic, Murdoch imagined Tatae would have difficulty coping with the impact of modern life. The poor girl had been in the 21st Century for only a matter of hours and had already been subjected to more than she ever should. Her appearance in the Area of Convergence had been horrifying. They all immediately knew who she was, but to see Tatae gripping Michael’s hand, her face pale and stricken, was a shock to all of the Traveller support team.

In the rush to care for the wounded, no thought had been given to what they should do with the Saxon healer. After hours of failing communication and repeatedly delving into the cafeteria’s store of tea and biscuits, their friendly nurse came to take Murdoch and Tatae to see Michael, just out of surgery.

***

Tatae gasped as she saw him. He lay in a small, white room where autumn winds blew gently. Strange things were attached to his arm and face, and he rested in a bed that was white and pure. Before her journey to Michael’s home, Tatae had never seen anyone wear white, not a white like the clouds or an old man’s beard. The colour of Michael’s bed dazzled. Tatae had been exposed to so much strangeness, she felt nothing more could surprise, amaze, or shock. Was this the Christian heaven of which the monks had spoken?

Tatae took Michael’s cool, strangely limp hand and held it quietly, afraid he was near death, but the dark-skinned healer signalled that Michael was well, only sleeping. Murdoch uncomfortably waited a few moments, then hugged Tatae and left them to themselves.

Tatae was terrified, afraid of the strange, white room, afraid Michael would leave her, and most of all, frightened she would never return home. As Tatae held her amulet to call on the Goddesses, she could feel nothing. That made her most terrified of all.

***

After the distraction of Tatae, Murdoch’s priority was to check the health of her charges.

Osborne’s status had been upgraded. He could have his severed left arm reattached, while Morris was due to be flown out for emergency specialist care. The other soldiers’ wounds had been cleaned, and some had even showered and changed.

Murdoch had seen wounds before, but the things these men had to face had been horrendous, no matter how professionally detached she tried to be. She turned to see Professor Taylor bearing down upon her, closely followed by a couple of his students. There was a jolt of annoyance. The last thing she needed was yet another argument with the pompous academic.

“Helen! My God, thank goodness we’ve found you. We’ve been looking everywhere and there’s a media contingent who’ll soon be heading for the wards where the injured men are kept, unless we do something,” he cried. “I need to speak with the media or some of them will try to access the team’s rooms. Have you spoken to the hospital’s public relations manager yet?”

The irritated Murdoch shook her head. “I’ve had other things on my mind, Professor Taylor,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“Yes, of course. Look, I’ll take care of it, but we have to sit and talk about what’s happened. I don’t even know who’s injured.”

“I think all of them,” sighed Murdoch. “They’ve all been injured, only some more seriously. None have died—yet. Just give me some time. Calm the media pack so we can have a moment to discuss specifics. They’ll need to know.”

“My God, well…yes. I’ll take care of the media. They’ll just have to wait for the moment, at least until we’re ready.” To Murdoch’s intense relief, the professor hurried off.

It would not take long for the media to determine the choppers’ destination and they would want their story. Suddenly she sat, weary and a little overwhelmed. Taking a deep breath, she sought inspiration and a little more strength. Hurley would be all right, so she created a mental list of what was required, and went back to work.