Sam slept two full days after Hilbert got him the good drugs. When he finally wakes, he's quiet and loggy, his face so lined he looks like he's aged a few years since the cave-in. But he's alert. And all too soon, he's fretting about missed hours. And what this treatment will cost.

The worrying is almost as bad as the wound. By the time anyone else is actually around, he's already trying to get himself out of bed, teetering around his room with a pair of crutches he really shouldn't have yet.