Rebel Heart

"Yes," she replied.

The doc helped her sit. Major Dan, a man with blond hair and dark eyes, sat in the bed across the aisle from her. He flashed a smile. Lana looked from him to Major Brady, with his darker features and hair.

"Doc, I really have too much to do to stay here," she said. "Can you clear me?"

"Shut up and lay down," the doc replied.

The man who couldn't speak above a whisper pushed her down, silently concurring with the doctor. Her gaze dropped to his large hand. His battle suit was rolled to his elbows, revealing roped forearms and a Thomas Jefferson quote tattooed on his inner forearm.

All tyrannyneeds to gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent. She glanced up at him again, not expecting someone from the lower class and trained for battle to wear such a classic quote.

He turned away and spoke in his broken voice to the man called Dan. Lena frowned, wondering if the doc's adrenaline gun had overcharged her and made her hallucinate. She swore she heard the Guardian's voice again. The doc reappeared, frowning, and armed with another medicine gun.

"Greenie says you have to go back to work. I'll give you a charge of-"

Fire tore through her, and she gasped, the pain nearly driving her unconscious before it ceased.

"Jesus, doc!" she cried.

Warmth flowed through her, and the pain dissipated.

"It's better than an apple a day," the doctor said cheerfully. "It'll keep you from collapsing for about twelve hours. You gotta tell him you need sleep."

"I don't have time," she replied, feeling worn despite the charge. She rose with effort. Her legs were a little wobbly, and she waited for them to steady her.

"You'll have to find time. Your chem tests came back all over the place. How many of the anti-sleepers have you been taking?"

She gave him a look.

"That many?" he said, crossing his arms. "I'll put you on quarters for tomorrow."

"Thank you, Doc, but I really-"

"You should listen to him." Brady's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Thank you, deep-throat," the doc said with a look at Major Brady.

The look the major gave him was as intense as one of the doc's adrenaline shots. She had a feeling the doc would need his own pain meds if he kept taunting the two tense soldiers.

"Come back tomorrow," the doc ordered. "Here's your stuff." He handed her a bag with her micro and her personal vault. Her micro was bright with an alert.