The Void Beneath
The plaster did not splinter into bone and blood; it sheared apart like dry chalk, falling away in large white chunks onto the clean linen sheets.
Dr. Linwood gasped, lunging forward to inspect the catastrophic trauma she had spent three weeks monitoring on electronic charts.
There was no bruising. No surgical incisions. No titanium fixation pins.
The skin on Arthur Vance’s leg was smooth, pale, and entirely healthy.
"Move them," the boy said softly, pointing his dirty finger at Arthur’s bare toes.
Dr. Linwood reached out with a trembling hand, lightly touching the patient’s foot. Instinctively, Arthur’s toes curled away from her touch—a perfect, uncompromised neuromuscular response.
"Arthur..." Dr. Sterling whispered, his face draining of color. "Your femoral scans showed three compound fractures. We authorized sixty milligrams of morphine a day. We signed disability affidavits for the federal district court..."
The boy set his river stone on the bedside table and pointed into the hollow cavity inside the remaining portion of the cast beneath the calf.
Dr. Sterling reached into the plaster shell. His fingers closed around a thick, vacuum-sealed transparent bag labeled CONFIDENTIAL: DEPARTMENT OF MARITIME ARCHITECTURE.
Inside the plastic was a black, military-grade biometric external drive and eighty pages of waterproof technical manifests.
"What is this?" Dr. Sterling asked, holding the bag into the light.
May you like
Arthur Vance sat bolt upright, sweat beading across his forehead, his pupils dilated with sheer terror.
"Don't open that!" Arthur screamed, lunging across the bed with both functioning legs to snatch the bag. "Sterling, put that down! That is proprietary corporate property!"
