<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'">The announcement the debris field they had just gone through was the refueling they sought was a blow Maggie had not been expecting. Horrified, her gaze left Curtis to look out the terribly cracked up window, as if the refueling station would pop out from behind one of the distant planets in view and prove the man wrong. She’d thought it all space junk or perhaps the wreckage of something else. Humans were trashy creatures with no regard for where they dumped their junk; it would have made perfect sense. Now they really did not have any choice by to land on that planet, a sentiment Andrijan was already speaking.<br/>
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He words made sense and somewhere she was computing them in her mind, but she was also stuck on the fact he had used a childhood nickname of hers. It caused a temporary frown of confusion to light on her face, but she quickly shoved it from her mind. Chances were that Andrijan knew another Maggie and was using the nickname on her for that reason. Happened all the time, did it not? People projected names of people they knew onto people they didn’t. Jacobs immediately became Jakes, Antonios became Tonys. She shook it from her mind when Curtis came around to check on Moore. It would do her no good to dwell on nicknames, nor on the fact they were going to have to land on some mystery planet. Especially when Curtis was announcing just what she had feared for Moore. Cracked rib.<br/>
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Wanting to help, figuring she could do something once Curtis returned with the first aid kit, Maggie went to hastily begin removing her safety straps. She slid from her seat to kneel down beside Moore, trying to assess his situation while pushing her hair back from her face. She had a teeny bit of medical training and began the traditional check for vitals, reaching for his wrist to check his pulse rate. She didn’t have a way to time, but felt for the strength and general speed. Fast, but not erratic and not bounding. It was likely fast more out of stress and pain than for them to be worried about any sort of cardiovascular issue. The wheezing sound coming from him was also slight compared to the last punctured lung she had come in contact with, but his lips were beginning to blue.<br/>
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“It might just be a small puncture,” Maggie suggested quietly while Curtis rejoined and shoved a syringe into her hand. She glanced up at him with a nod, then continued to speak quietly to Moore while she peeled away the wrapping around the syringe. “You probably wouldn’t need surgery then. Sometimes they’ll fix themselves if it’s minor enough.” She paused to look down at it with a small frown, trying to figure out what it was she was giving the man. Curtis hadn’t said what it was, nor which side of his chest she was supposed to apply it. “Is this adrenaline?” She called out finally, her voice uncertain. It seemed an archaic method, one Maggie had only heard of happening to people. But Moore was looking worse and worse and Curtis was not someone to be questioned, so Maggie grimaced to herself, reached out to try to count Moore’s ribs, and prayed she not only had the right space between the right ribs, but that she shoved the long needle into the correct side of his chest.<br/>
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“Sorry,” Maggie murmured miserably, hating she was likely inflicting harm to heal, and pushed the plunger downward.</span>