You arrived to your late shift at the space stations medical bay to find it absolutely crawling with people.
The place had never been packed like this before, wall-to-wall bodies in every direction, doctors and nurses scrambling to do their jobs amongst the throng.
Curiosity getting the better of you, you flagged down your superior, but before the question could pass your lips, he preempted you, "evacuees from a gas leak on the lowest level. No one is severely injured, but we've been instructed to keep them here until the leak is patched."
"We'll be out of beds in no time, most likely," you point out, and the man commiserates before assigning you to the team checking people in and guiding them to their rooms, a task you normally enjoyed.
But the people displaced by the leak were heavily agitated, and you had to bite back many a scathing comment as you received unearned attitude about inconsequential things such as whether the room had windows.
Who wants a window out into the vast coldness of space, anyway?
As hours pass, the crowd begins to thin, but before you could finally breath a sigh of relief, a wave from a not-very-well-lit dead end hallway gets your attention.
You've complained to maintenance about that light often, and you huff a little before brushing down the front of your pale gray scrubs and putting on your best nurturing smile.
The smile falters slightly when you walk down the hall and see who it was that waved.
You couldn't even hazard a guess as to the blonde girls age, but she had to have been in her teens. Based on the suit, you guessed she had just come back from a trip to the Green Moon, since this space station was the last stop on the way to the nearest urbanized planet.
Behind the girl, a man in a similar yet somewhat more ragged suit was leaning against the wall, and you were momentarily shaken to find that he was missing his right arm, the left clutching at an injury to his side.
Pretty sure this should have qualified as an emergency as soon as they arrived and wondering how long they had been waiting, you turn and signal one of your coworkers to find you a room with two beds before giving the duo your undivided attention.
Less chipper than you would have liked, you give them your name before saying, "and I'm going to get you taken care of. Can I get your names, please?"
The girl clearly didn't care for what she saw as fake comforting, and she looked to her companion before responding in a voice far more level than you expected, "we can't pay."
"You can discuss that with our financial department later," you tried to be realistic and soothing at the same time, "for now, let me get your names so I can get you into a room."
Still skeptical, the girl nods and says, "I'm Cee. He's Ezra."
You start writing before she asks seriously, "can we get separate rooms?"
Her companion laughs out loud at her request, and you try your best not to laugh back.
"I'm sorry, we're down to two-person rooms at this point, but I can get you the really thick private dividers?"
Nodding slowly and taking her struggling companion by the elbow, the girl follows you as you ask your coworker for the room number and fill out their paperwork with as much information as they're willing to give you.
Which isn't a whole lot, justifying your suspicions that they must have come back from prospecting.
It's dangerous business, to be sure, you remember your own father saying the last time you saw him, before going on a prospecting venture himself.
A venture he never returned from, leaving you and your mother alone to pick up the pieces.
Burying that back in your mind where it belonged, you keep asking questions, but your two patients aren't very forthcoming about their ages, places of birth, or how they got off the Green Moon in such terrible conditions.
