I opened my eyes and the world was dark. Everything hurt, too. Thick, burning fire across my chest and upper body; splintering, stabbing knives in my left shoulder; slicing, hot claws spread over my face. Everywhere else was varying amounts of dull, sore, deep pain. Every muscle ached, every joint screamed at me. But I was alive.
Inhaling deeply, I savored my first breath in who knew how long. Or, I tried to. The breathing tubes, feeding tubes, and whatever-the-hell-else tubes jammed down my throat were not particularly conducive to breathing freely. Coughing violently, I flailed my arms, clawing at my mouth and neck. I heard sharp beeping alarms going off and a door opened, slamming against the wall with the force. My vision was obscured by something, presumably a bandage of sorts.
Hands grabbed mine and held them down while a voice said, “Calm down, calm down. We’ll get those out right away.”
They were not lying, and the tubes emerged from my throat within seconds. I inhaled deeply, and regretted it immediately. Breathing hurt. I hadn’t noticed it before in my blind panic, but the slightest movement of my chest resulted in burning pain flashing across my body, settling in my ribs and lungs. I wheezed in surprise and began breathing shallowly.
I started to reach my hands up toward my face to remove the block on my vision, but whoever had removed the tubes held them down again. Judging by the sound and accent of the voice, it was a male Kantim. The distinctive deep purr underlining the words was a dead giveaway. “You shouldn’t move your arms. Really, you shouldn’t be moving at all,” the Kantim instructed. “Your injuries are quite extensive and moving aggravates the healing process.”
I conceded that point. I tried to vocalize, but the words got caught in my chest several times before I could say them. “Could you get rid of the bandages on my head? I’d like to see.” My voice was rough and harsh, dragging at my throat as I spoke. It came out more a whisper than conversational, but I got my point across.
The Kantim paused. It was a long pause, full of apprehension and dread. “Sir, there is no bandage on your head,” he faltered, voice cautious. “Your injuries…they weren’t just to your body. I’m afraid your eyes are gone.”
He continued to speak after that, but I didn’t hear a word. I just lay in stunned silence. I was blind. Of all the senses, the one I relied on the most was my sight. Not having smell would only be an inconvenience, merely affecting small parts of my life. Without touch, I wouldn’t be able to feel pleasure, or pain, or anything. It had ups and downs. Should I lose my hearing, it would be difficult to adjust but I could do it. Jahen used their hearing a great deal in life, but one could manage without it.
But being blind, that scared me. I hated not being able to guide myself through a dark room, forced to rely on my touch to lead me. Now, my whole life would be that way. I would never see another sunrise, nor a beautiful face. I would be forced to depend on others to help me navigate the world. The burning in my chest intensified, and I gasped in pain. I realized I had been breathing heavier and faster in my panic.
I heard a clink and movement to my right when the kantim said, “I’ve upset you, I can see. I’m going to put you under until someone who can help you better is available.”
Before I could protest, I could feel my body go limp and my consciousness faded away. When it returned, I could hear voices talking outside of my room. I assumed I had a room, because while I could not see it, there had been a door and I did not hear anyone else around me. The voices were indistinct and hushed, but I could recognize one of them. It was Clint Stone.
Opening my mouth to call out, I found speaking was easier said than done. Well, in this case I suppose it was neither, but regardless, it was near impossible. All I got out was a croak. When I attempted to raise my hands to rub my throat, I found I could not move them. They were tied down, presumably for my protection, but that fact did not occur to me until after I ripped at the restraints in an attempt to be free. I would not be bound again.
The agony that blossomed in my shoulder quickly dissuaded that action. Bone grated against bone when I pulled with my left shoulder, a reminder of the brutal beating I had taken from the Irgh. He had slammed me to the ground, breaking every bone in the region of my shoulder. I inhaled sharply, remembering how the Irgh had stomped on my chest. That should have killed me. The last thing I remembered before I blacked out was the sensation of…my heart popping.
The Irgh had killed me. There was no way I could have possibly survived that. That stomp would have ruptured or shattered everything in my chest, killing me almost instantly. But I was alive. Everything hurt, many things were broken, but I was alive. I shouldn’t be.
Unless I was imagining things. What if I was misremembering because of the trauma? I didn’t know. I’d have to ask Clint what happened. No, actually Bor would be better to ask. He’d been there. But had he survived? Surely someone knew. My thoughts spun round and round my brain, picking up speed. The door opening and a voice saying, “I understand, but you need to stay out here while I explain the situation.”
It was the other voice, the one who had been talking to Clint. Presumably, this was a doctor or someone similar and they had told Clint to stay outside, which is why I only heard one person moving about the room, walking with a slight drag to their foot. I could hear them stop by my side, and I could hear the tapping of fingers on glass, as they manipulated what was likely a display on the humming machines in the room.
“Get…get me out of these things,” I forced out, shaking my wrists. The tapping stopped.
“I can’t, I’m afraid. You need time to heal, and moving will not help you,” said the being at my side. His voice–I could tell it was a male–sounded vaguely familiar, and he spoke in that cool, professional tone all doctors had. “Hmm. You shouldn’t even be awake right now. Mkuan should have given you enough to knock you out for another few hours.”
The tapping resumed on the screen, and I grew impatient. “I won’t move, I promise. Just get me out of these things.”
My voice must have sounded desperate, because the doctor sighed softly before loosening the restraints on my wrists. “Don’t move,” he admonished again, tapping my arm lightly to emphasize his words.
“What do I call you, doctor?” I asked him. I would get straight to the point, but I was not going to just refer to him as doctor for the rest of the conversation. Besides, it was polite, and it always paid to be polite to the people in charge of healing you.
“It’s B’honnes, Tedix. Didn’t you…” he trailed off before finishing what I assumed was “didn’t you recognize me?”. Being blind was going to take a lot of getting used to. He cleared his throat in obvious embarrassment. “Since you’re awake, I might as well bring you up to speed on your situation.”
He inhaled, and the sound of fingers scrapping on skin followed. I could guess he was scratching his chin or cheek. “Firstly, I have every reason to believe you will recover from your injuries. From what I’ve seen of you in the past, you’re a tough bastard and you don’t stay down for long. I’d think you’ll get no less than seventy percent function back with proper therapy, and it’s entirely possible you can regain full function in a few years. I’d expect you to start therapy within the week, assuming no complications.
“As to your current condition, you’ve been in a coma for nearly a month now. It was touch and go in the beginning, but you stabilized quickly enough. The major areas of concern are your chest and shoulder. Nearly every structure–organ, bone, and muscle–was either pulverized or shattered, with the exception of your heart and lungs. I can’t explain it, but they were in perfect condition when you were admitted. Now–”
“Hold on,” I croaked, half holding up a hand before remembering not to move, “are you telling me that a blow to my chest damaged everything else, but managed to miss both my heart and lungs?”
There was a moment’s silence before B’honnes said, “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve been treating patients for nearly thirty years now. I don’t know how it’s physically possible, but that’s what I saw.”
I grunted in puzzlement, before telling him to continue. “Your shoulder was completely destroyed, requiring us to replace it with a metal-organic construct, which should function entirely like natural after the tissue and tendons reknit. Your chest is more complex and we’ve not yet had a chance to fully repair it. Instead, we’ve implanted an artificial framework which will serve as a mold for your muscle and other organs to repair themselves from. Your ribs and sternum were also attached to this framework and they appear to be healing quite nicely.
“Several of your organs were ruined beyond repair and we’ve given you new ones, which seem to have taken well enough. We’ll still have to monitor for signs of rejection, but after this long, it’s unlikely.”
He paused again, and the scratching noise followed. “Your eyes, well, I’m sorry to say we can’t do anything to help with those. They were too damaged to save, and we removed them to prevent infection. As soon as the surrounding area has healed, you’ll be fitted with replicas. We’ve stitched up your face, and that’s basically healed now, only a few scar lines, here, here, and here.” He drew his finger across my face as he said so, once across my forehead, straight across my eyes, and just above my chin. “Those were rather deep, but they healed rather quickly.”
“Do they look badass, at least?” I asked hopefully. If I was going to be blind for the rest of my life, I might as well look good. Not that I’d ever be able to see them.
“That they do. Your scars will fade to a pale white, as opposed to the bright red they are now, and I think those will give you a hardened badass look.”
I chuckled at that. Moving my chest hurt, but I couldn’t stop. My chuckles quickly turned into sad laughter that dissolved into sobs. Interestingly enough, even though I didn’t have eyes, I could still cry.
I felt a comforting hand on my undamaged shoulder, and I heard B’honnes say, “I’m sorry about this. I wish it could be different, but at least you’re alive, right?”
I nodded half-heartedly. It really felt like my life was over. I’d be dependent on others for the rest of my life, and I could never go with Clint on his adventures or fight alongside him. I was next to useless as I was. B’honnes’ voice came from near the door. “I’ve covered everything I need to for now. Do you have any questions for me?”
I couldn’t think of one that he could answer. I shook my head. “Alright,” he said. “Clint is waiting outside, and he’d like to talk to you. Should I let him in?”
I sniffled and wanted to wipe the tears from my face, but I obeyed B’honnes’ orders and didn’t move my arms. “Yeah, go ahead.”
The door creaked and I sensed a large body rush through it. The tremendous thumps were very evident as Clint bounded towards me across the room. I thought I heard a faint chuckle from B’honnes as he left, but I could not be sure.
I could hear the uneven, hitched breathing of Clint Stone. I could tell he had been crying, but I couldn’t see the evidence. A silence filled the room as Clint stood next to me, unmoving. I could hear his breathing, but that was the only noise in the room, besides the constant humming of the machines that had kept me alive for weeks.
“So,” I started, the words harsh on my lips, “I guess–”
“You stupid, moronic, imbecilic fool,” Clint interrupted me, speaking as if I wasn’t even there. His voice was forceful, but hushed, a thunderous boom set to hospital levels. “What were you thinking fighting three Irgh on your own?”
He wasn’t really mad at me. I could imagine his face was contorted in that stern, disapproving look he had, but his voice displayed none of it. His words were full of fear, relief, and happiness in equal measures. There was also an undercurrent of sadness, but I wasn’t sure why. I rolled my head towards where he was, standing or sitting, I couldn’t tell. “Hey, you did it, why couldn’t I?”
That drew a sharp exhale from Clint, a noise close to laughter. “I can’t believe you. Everything is a challenge to be beaten, and you act like nothing can stop you.”
I narrowed my brow at him. The lack of eyes and eyelids made that action feel very odd. “Says Clint Stone. You’re the one who killed a dragon. And rode another one.”
He didn’t say anything, but I heard him grumble. “Thank you,” I said, “for saving me.”
“What?” he asked, sounding surprised. I could see his brow furrowing in his voice. “I didn’t save you. I didn’t even know you were injured until after we took the ship.”
“Then who…”
“Bor did. And that medic, Mylen? Mylak? Something like that. Bor tells me that he was the one who saved you.”
Mylak had saved me? Well, logically, it did make the most sense. He was the medic after all. But I’d never heard of a medic fixing a ruptured heart. “What did he do?” I asked Clint.
“What do you mean? I assume he did medic things, bandages, needles, and all that.”
“…Clint, I was dead. There was no way for a medic to save me.”
“Dead? No. You can’t have been. People can’t come back from the dead.”
“I think I might have been. That Irgh stomped on my chest, Clint. I’ve seen what damage you can inflict with your foot, and you’re not nearly the size of an Irgh. The last thing I remember before I lost consciousness was the sensation of my heart popping.”
Even though I could see it, I could tell Clint winced. “You ever had you heart popped?” I continued. “I know what it feels like. I was dead. Someone or something brought me back.”
I could hear Clint mumble under his breath. Had I been any other species, I likely wouldn’t have heard it, but I was a jahen, and jahen had the best ears in the galaxy. “Then Bor wasn’t imagining it.”
“Bor wasn’t imagining what?” I asked. Clint inhaled in surprise. “I can still hear, you know. I lost my eyes, not my ears.”
“He said he saw Mylak use magic to save your life.”
Of all the things I had been expecting, or had even been willing to accept, magic was not one of them. I laughed shallowly, avoiding stressing my chest. “Did he get hit over the head in the fight? There’s no such thing as magic.”
“I said as much to him when he told me, but he insisted that Mylak reached into your chest and healed you. He even told Bor that he rebuilt your heart and lungs.”
Shaking my head, I said, “But there’s no such thing as magic.” I half shrugged before the pain made me stop. “Still, now we know why I’m alive and my heart and lungs are in perfect condition. Some medic used technology unknown to heal me.”
“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,” Clint muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, just an old Earth saying. Seemed appropriate here.”
“Hmm.”
My stomach growled loudly at me. I placed my right hand on it in surprise, having not noticed my hunger earlier. “Do you suppose there’s any food around this place,” I asked Clint. “I’m starving.”
“There’s some in the cafeteria,” he replied. “I can go get some if you like.”
“Hmm. Don’t know if I should eat any without B’honnes’ say so. My insides are pretty much mush anyway from what he says.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Our discussion lapsed into trivial things, the weather and such. It’d had been a long while since we’d had a chance to just sit and talk about nothing. Several months, in fact. We sat there–well, he sat there, I lay there unable to leave–for hours, just talking and enjoying each other’s company.
I wasn’t going to be seeing much of Clint in the future. I wouldn’t be seeing much of anything, but Clint wasn’t going to be around often. There were the Bandits to worry about, and the upcoming war. Unless I was greatly mistaken, there were little more than three months before the Rebellion was going to declare war on the Swrun Empire, launching the galaxy’s final hope for freedom.
I would have to get used to be sidelined. A blind jahen has no place on the battlefield. But perhaps there were other ways that I could help. I was about to bring that up when the door to my room swung open and someone hurried in. “Captain! There’s been news about Juiwa! He’s back!”
From the voice, I could tell it was Bor. He was breathing slightly heavier than normal, likely from running here from wherever he was when he found out.
“Where is he?” Clint asked. “Bring him here.”
“Uh, it seems Vyena was hurt on their way here, and he’s not leaving her side. They’ve been in Nunemabi for a few days. She just got out of surgery. I don’t know anything else.”
There was a pause. I could tell Clint was thinking it over and trying to decide if he should go to Juiwa or if he should stay here. I decided for him. “Go,” I said, nodding my head towards the door, “I’ll be fine for a few hours. Stay any longer and I’ll send a search party, though.”
He chuckled at that. Clint asked, “Which room, Bor?”
“I can just take you–”
“That’s fine, I can handle it. Which room?”
“Uh, 6294. Sixth wing, second f–”
“I have been here before. Perhaps too many times.”
“Oh, alright.”
Clint left, leaving the room feeling just slightly diminished. Despite my blindness, I could still tell the room was emptier than when Clint had been in it.
“Bor, you still there?” I called out. I wanted to ask him more questions about Mylak and this “magic” of his.
“I’m here, do you need anything?” He sounded concerned, the kind of concerned you felt for an old invalid.
“Oh, enough of that,” I said, perhaps a bit more harshly that I intended. “I’m not dying.”
“Umm…” He sounded confused at my response.
“Sorry, just venting a little of my anger. Don’t treat me like I’m dying, is all I ask.”
“Oh.” The rustling of clothes and the tapping of boots told me that Bor had walked around the bed and was now in the spot Clint had occupied. There was a creak of wood, and I assumed Bor sat in a chair.
“It’s been a while,” I said jovially, attempting to break the albeit already thin tension. Bor chuckled.
“Only a month.”
“So, catch me up, anything interesting happen since I took a long nap?”
“…He didn’t tell you?” That couldn’t be good. Clint didn’t hide things from me.
“What?”
“Lady Night, she’s…she’s dead.”
“What!?” I shouted, nearly sitting up before the pain forced me back down. “How? When? Who?”
“As I understand it, she was on a diplomatic mission, and she went through pirate space. Her ship’s been missing for a week now. And the pirates in that area don’t take prisoners.”
I nearly didn’t believe him. There was no way Jaein was dead. She couldn’t be. She would have stared the pirates into submission, or negotiated her way out. It just wasn’t possible. But I knew Bor wouldn’t lie about that.
“How’d Clint take it?” I asked, dreading the answer. Evidently he had not reacted too badly, as he was still here, and I hadn’t heard of the Swrun Empire going down in flames.
“He killed a station.”
“He…what?”
“I could hardly believe it myself, but he boarded a Swrun Military Space Station and killed every living thing on board. Then he blew it up.”
A station. By himself. He had not handled it well. Not at all. I could not blame him though. Everyone had their breaking point, and Clint was far beyond his. First his planet, his family, then Regon, and now Jaein. If anything, how far passed his breaking point Clint Stone was showed just how strong he was.
“Did he go hollow?” I asked before I could think.
“What? Holl–” I could tell from Bor’s voice that once he understood what I was talking about, he knew. There was nothing quite as terrifying as Clint Stone so filled with rage he was calm and empty.
“And he spent a week like that?”
“A week?” Bor asked, evidently confused.
“You said Jaein died a week ago, and he’s not Hollow right now. I assumed he’d been Hollow since then. It takes him a while to come back. If it was less than a week, that must mean he’s getting better at it.”
“Tedix, Clint was ‘Hollow’, as you put it, since he found out you were hurt. He was like that for almost a month. He only came out of it because he heard you were awake.”
I froze, what little parts of my body I could still move locking into place at that revelation. What had that done to Clint, to be in such a state of black rage for a month? What had he done?
“How many?”
“How many what?”
“How many did he kill, maim, slaughter? Clint Stone is not a gentle being.”
Bor inhaled. “I do not know. Last count was four frigates, several FOB’s, and a station.”
Ye gods. And all of that except the station was a direct result of my being in a coma. What would he have done if I had died? That reminded me of the question I had wanted to ask Bor in the first place.
“How am I not dead?” I asked Bor. “What did Mylak do to me?”
“I–I don’t really know. All I know is your chest was a pile of mush, and he put his hands on you, and, poof, you were alive again.”
“If he could heal my heart and lungs, why didn’t he heal the rest of me?” That part was still unclear. If I was going to bring someone back from the dead, I wouldn’t have brought them back to the very edge, I’d have made sure they survived.
“He said something about it being difficult and how he hadn’t done it in centuries. I’m not sure what that meant.”
“Wait, he talked to you? What else did he say?”
The chair creaked under Bor as he shifted. “Uh, I think that was about it. Wait, he said something about someone giving you regards.”
“Who?” Give me regards? Who did Mylak know who would pass on a message to me?
“I can’t remember exactly what–got it! He said, ‘If he wakes up, tell him Grixaz sends his regards’. Do you know a Grixaz?”
I felt my jaw drop. If the skin and muscles on my face had been any weaker, I think my jaw would have fallen off.
“You could say that,” I said slowly, getting the shock to wear off. “Grixaz Jaku is my father.”