The Martian in the Greenhouse – Geoffrey W. Cole
“Can you sit?”
Honoré awoke to find herself lying on a cot in a little room full of mostly empty boxes of medicine and medical supplies. The woman who had asked the question loomed over Honoré. Pale, oily skin stretched tight over thick bones. Grey hair tied up in a bun. Ice-blue eyes set deep.
“Shush,” the woman said. Honoré realized she’d been moaning in pain. It felt like she was steeping her extremities in hot tea. “The pain will go away. You’ll keep most of your toes, and all your fingers. Our Doctor Madsen is very good.”
Bandages wrapped Honoré’s hands and feet. The woman offered her a small plastic cup full of awful-tasting water that she swallowed with difficulty.
“I’m the Captain,” she said. “And you are Honoré.” Honoré flinched as the Captain probed her arms. “You spoke in your sleep. We didn’t know if you would make it. How did you find us?”