Critical Mass
Jace and Mace: Paramedics of the Nightingale
“I’m losing her!”
“Stow it, sis! I’m flying as fast as I can!”
The asteroid field blurred past the viewscreen as Jace Brooke gritted his teeth, hands tight on the shuttle’s controls. Beside him, Mace worked furiously in the cramped medical bay, her voice taut with urgency.
“She’s crashing hard—get us to the Nightingale now!”
“I see it!”
The hospital-frigate loomed beyond the nebula, its docking bay opening like a mechanical mouth. The ambulance shuttle—white and red, lights blazing—threaded the final gap in space.
“Nightingale, this is Mace, inbound with critical patient.”
“Med-bots are prepped. You’re cleared to dock.”
The shuttle hit the bay hard. Rear doors hissed open, oxygen flooding in. Four humanoid med-bots moved in with eerie precision.
“Vitals stabilized. Minimal bleed. Take her—go!” Mace asserted.
The bots whisked the gurney away.
Jace exhaled. “Well, that’s one hell of a ride.”
Mace didn’t respond. Arms crossed, jaw tight.
“What now?”
“She almost died, Jace. I kept her alive… and we just hand her over like cargo.”
“We’re paramedics, not miracle workers. That’s the job…”
“No, that’s your version of it…”
She turned on her heel.
“I’m checking on her.”
Jace watched her walk away, the echo of her heavy space suit boots on metal floor.
“Good God… at least some of us know when to let go.” He grumbled to himself.
© 2025 Jeff Walker
