Tasneem’s mother cried as she carried her daughter out the door. Hela breathed a sigh, washed her hands. She could do this. She could. Just like home.
The next few people had second-degree burns or broken limbs that had started healing badly. There was no help but to sedate them, re-break the bones, align them and set the nanobots to mending them correctly.
The orderlies then carried in a delirious man with third-degree burns to his face. A kerosene lamp had been kicked over in an overcrowded refugee camp, its flames engulfing half his head. Infection inflamed the tissue, causing the angry wound to weep fluids. He would need antibiotics as well, but Hela injected him and laid her hand near his raw red cheek.
As she retraced the facial structure and the muscles, something jarred her imag
