Cradled in his arms in a stupor as he rushes you to Medbay

You float along; you're heavy body swaying from side to side as your reeling head spins. Feeling the throbbing pain in your leg, you fight through the blackness until you see the blurry face of the rugged guy as he cradles you in his arms. You instinctively snuggle into his chest, the comfortable feeling of his arms cradling you reminding you of being carried by your father when you were sleepy. Then, as you fight against the fatigue of your groggy mind, the world continuing to fade in and out, you realise he's carrying you at a jog.

The next thing you notice is him coming to a sudden stop before gently laying you down on a bed. Your eyes snap shut as the glare of the overhead light lances into them like daggers. The feeling of cold metal running up your leg bring your mind back to the throbbing pain as your pants fall away from your leg, exposing your wound. Finally, a moist coolness wipes across your wound, causing the pain to dull before vanishing altogether as the cool seeps into the wound. You notice voices around you as your groggy mind slowly clears with the pain gone.

As your minds clear, you start to make out the murmur of several voices seaming to pound against your aching head as they resolve the gruff voice asking, "Is she going to be ok?"

Then the smooth voice replies, "Yes, I'm giving her synthetic blood, but she should fully recover. She only lost 40% of her blood volume. I believe the slash must have just nicked the edge of her femoral artery; it must have torn when she jumpy down from the vent. However, I want to give her a full check-up; she's clearly malnourished."

A deep voice asks, "How old is she really? It can be more than 15."

"Well medically, that is hard to say precisely, especially when she's obviously been malnourished for several years that stunted her development, but all the markers I'm seeing indicate she's an adult. Her bones have fused; She's finished puberty; Her developmental genetics have all switched off. I can say she's between 16, probably a least 17, and 23, so 18 seems reasonable; according to her implant computer, she's 18 and a half. I see no medical evidence to contradict that. She just looks young due to stunted development, being just 150 centimetres and having underdeveloped breasts; however, that's unlikely to change since she's fully matured. Being underweight doesn't help either; she's only 35.1 kilos, for her height, the mean is 46.2; I'd like to see her gain at least 3." The smooth voice seems to lecture. "Now her reproductive system is offline, again due to malnutrition. However, I'm going to switch it off at the genetic level. Given her underdeveloped state, I don't think she will ever be able to have children safely. If that changes, it can be switched back on. Now I want to give her a physical exam."

Then you feel the cold metal running up your other leg, followed by your chest between your breast, then each arm, then goosebumps ripple across your skin as you feel the chilled air against your exposed skin as your pants and shirt are pulled out from under you. Finally, the headache fades, and you carefully open your eyes, squinting at first, before opening them completely when the light doesn't stab into them again. When you try to sit up, a hand presses against your chest, pushing you back down while the smooth voice says, "No, girl, don't try to get up yet." As your gaze drifts to the source of the voice, you realise it's the alethic guy from earlier as he continues.

"Why are you helping me? No one even wasted resources on me before," you question them.

You hear a gruff laugh followed by the gruff voice lecturing you, "Basic medical care and food don't really cost anything." You shift your gaze to find it's the rugged guy who had been carrying you, as he continues, "not with modern technology, everything that was used to treat you will be recovered and recycled, so the only cost is some time and energy. And it's not like the recycling system gets much use, so the time doesn't really count. As for food, basic foodstuff that meets nutritional requirements can be made using a biofab from biological wastes, which is really just a little energy cost. That is why ever were civilised guarantee access to basic shelter, food and medical care, even for prisoners awaiting execution, it's typically just considered as the minimal for humane treatment in this day and age." You stare at him in shock, at the explanation, highlighting just how poorly you and the other tunnel rats had been treated on the station.