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Pressing her finger against the plate, she pulled door open and started looking for scissors. She found a pair, re-locked the cabinet and returned to her patient.
    Moving quickly, she cut through the suit's reinforced fabric easily enough. Bragan's scissors were very sharp, sharper than any she had ever used before. They also seemed to be of higher quality…where had he gotten them?
    The scissors blade slipped and cut her finger. For a minute it didn't hurt, then blood welled up and it started to sting. She stared at it, startled by the pain. Without thinking she stuck it in her mouth, then got up to look for something to bandage it with. The blood, warm and salty, filled her mouth. She wondered if he was in pain, too. Probably not, at least not yet. But he would be when he woke up. If he woke up…
    Was there any way she could steal some pain tabs from her father? She'd have to think about it.
    She found a small strip of fabric to wind around her finger. She wrapped it tight, and the pain seemed to recede a little. Nothing like a little pressure to make the blood stop, she thought. Time to get back to her patient. She finished cutting apart the pressure suit and peeled to either side. It was still trapped under his body, though, and now she faced another challenge. Underneath the suit his clothes were soaked with sweat and stained with blood—they looked and smelled disgusting, and she knew she had to get them off of him. She would have to cut them off just like the suit. It was a waste of good material, she realized, but if she cut carefully she would be able to salvage some of it. Unlike the suit, it was still largely intact. If she destroyed his clothing, she had no idea what he would wear if he survived.
    Such cloth was precious…
    She started with his right arm, carefully slitting the seam of his shirtsleeve. She took care not to jostle him as she cut, following the seam to his armpit and down the side of his shirt. The rough fabric was stiff with dried blood, hard to maneuver. She finished one side, then carefully cut the seam around the arm and across the shoulder. One side was done.
    She moved to his other arm, repeating her actions. Finally, she was able to pull the entire front of the shirt off him. Then, cradling his head in her arms, she lifted his upper torso just enough to slide the filthy fabric out from under his back. Lowering his head again, she rocked back on her heels to look at him.
    His chest was like nothing she’d ever seen before. He was banded with strong, lean muscle, the result of his manual labor in the mine, she supposed. Lying against it was a crude necklace, a string holding a shiny round pendant. Lifting it in one hand, she looked at it curiously for a moment, then let it drop. His necklace was none of her business, she reminded herself firmly. His stomach was rippled, and a line of dark hair trailed from beneath his pants up and across his chest. His upper chest was covered in the dark, curly hair, another thing that was new to her. Her husband had been old—she had never even seen him without a shirt, she realized. This man was young, and his body was strong… The sight of him was compelling. She felt her cheeks growing warm.
    Unable to control her curiosity, she dropped one finger to his stomach, trailing it along the line of hair. His skin was soft, but the hairs were stiff and wiry. The sensation was intriguing; she flattened her palm just above his skin, allowing the tiny hairs to tickle her hand as she moved it. A shiver went through her, and for some reason she felt tense. She snatched her hand back from his body, stood up quickly and picked up the bucket. It was time to clean him.
    Moving as efficiently as possible, she wiped down his upper body. It was hard not to touch him with her bare skin, but she managed to keep the rag between them the entire time. His arms were thick with ropy muscles, his stomach tight and hard. Just looking at him made her feel dizzy. All too soon, his