When Harry woke he was pretty sure he was dead. But if this was the next world, he slowly realized, it smells an awful lot like a hospital. Then he heard the faint, regular beeps of monitors and saw that he was in a hospital, or at least the habitat’s infirmary. Must be the infirmary, Harry decided, once he recognized that he was floating without support, tethered only by a light cord tied around his waist.
And his left leg was gone.
His leg ended halfway down the thigh. Just a bandaged stump there. His right leg was heavily bandaged, too, but it was all there, down to his toes.
Harry Sixtoes now, he said to himself. For the first time since his mother had died he felt like crying. But he didn’t. He felt like screaming or pounding the walls. But he didn’t do that, either. He just lay there, floating in the middle of the antiseptic white cubicle, and listened to the beeping of the monitors that were keeping watch over him.
He drifted into sleep, and when he awoke the supervisor was standing beside him, feet encased in the floor loops, his wiry body bobbing slightly, the expression on his face grim.
Harry blinked several times. «Hi, chief.»
«That was a damned fool thing you did,» the super said quietly.
«Yeah. Guess so.»
«You saved Marta’s life. The frickin’ rescue team took half an hour to get outside. She’d a’ been gone by then.»
«My leg …»
The super shook his head. «Mashed to a pulp. No way to save it.»
Harry let out a long, weary breath.
«They got therapies back Earthside,» the super said. «Stem cells and stuff. Maybe they can grow the leg back again.»
«Workman’s insurance cover that?»
The super didn’t answer for a moment. Then, «We’ll take up a collection for you, Harry. I’ll raise whatever it takes.»
«No,» Harry said. «No charity.»
«It’s not charity, it’s—»
«Besides, a guy doesn’t need his legs up here. I can get around just as well without it.»
«You can’t stay here!»
«Why not?» Harry said. «I can still work. I don’t need the leg.»
«Company rules,» the super mumbled.
Harry was about to say, «Fuck the company rules.» Instead, he heard himself say, «Change ’em.»
The super stared at him.
Hours after the supervisor left, a young doctor in a white jacket came into Harry’s cubicle.
«We did a routine tox screen on your blood sample,» he said.
Harry said nothing. He knew what was coming.
«You had some pretty fancy stuff in you,» said the doctor, smiling.
«Guess so.»
The doctor pursed his lips, as if he were trying to come to a decision. At last he said, «Your blood-work report is going to get lost, Harry. We’ll detox you here before we release you. All off the record.»
That’s when it hit Harry.
«You’re Liza’s friend.»
«I’m not doing this for Liza. I’m doing it for you. You’re a hero, Harry. You saved a life.»
«Then I can stay?» Harry asked hopefully.
«Nobody’s going to throw you out because of drugs,» said the doctor. «And if you can prove you can still work, even with only one leg, I’ll recommend you be allowed to stay.»
And the legend began. One-legged Harry Twelvetoes. He never returned to Earth. When the habitat was finished, he joined a new crew that worked on the next habitat. And he started working on a dream, as well. As the years turned into decades and the legend of Harry Twelvetoes spread all across the orbital construction sites, even out to the cities that were being built on the Moon, Harry worked on his dream until it started to come true.
He lived long enough to see the start of construction for a habitat for his own people, a man-made world where his tribe could live in their own way, in their own desert environment, safe from encroachment, free to live as they chose to live.
He buried his great-uncle there, and the tribal elders named the habitat after him: Cloud Eagle.
Harry never quite figured out what the monster was that he was supposed to slay. But he knew he had somehow found his path, and he lived a long life in harmony with the great world around him. When his great-grandchildren laid him to rest beside Cloud Eagle, he was at peace.
And his legend lived long after him.