Wind reached Caleb before he could get his cheek off the roof. Grit stuck to his face, and cold tar paper pressed against his bare knees when he pushed himself upright.
The right shoulder took his weight. He lifted that hand, expecting the pull beneath the dressing, and found bare skin where the tape should have been.
His last clear memory was the medical bay. He had checked the property list, touched the call switch, and fallen asleep beneath a warm blanket with a sensor on his chest. Now his gown was gone along with the sensor.
Caleb ran his fingers along the collarbone. The cut beside it had closed. He turned his head and raised the right elbow, slowly at first, then above the range Dot had marked. The muscle moved without the catch that had stopped him at the spreader.
He inspected his left knuckles. Smooth skin covered the burns. Beneath his palm, the muscle across his chest felt firmer than he remembered, carrying a weight he had to adjust to when he stood.
