"No," she said flatly. And in the same flat voice, added, "I'd better go. You need rest and quiet."
"Wait," he called. But she was gone. "Pat," he called out, once, twice. That unemotional voice was a dead give away. Something worse had happened and she didn't dare tell him.
Curt Wing dragged his body out of the bed. It screamed in agonized protest. Somehow, his mind held together against the shock and hurt that poured into it as he pulled his body upright, focused his eyes, looking for something to wear instead of the brief hospital garment.
Dead-Eye, from the next bed, asked weakly, "Where you going, Cap?" Wing didn't answer. He was delving into a wall locker, dragging out a burnt tunic, finding torn and broken sandals.
A white-gowned nurse barred his way in the hall.
"You can't leave, Commander. In your condition, you'll kill yourself," she said gently.
"Why not?" Wing grated. "I should be dead anyway. What's a few more minutes more or less? Life won't be any fun anyway if Earth is lost." He had to use his hand to guide himself along the wall as he pushed his weary, beaten body toward outside.
Behind him, he heard Dead-Eye calling,
"Wait for me and Elizabeth, Cap. We're coming, too."