“What happened?” Clint asked me. I sat there with my mind racing, unsure of how to answer that question. I decided the truth was best and I told Clint what had happened since the rock fall. I told him that he had been knocked unconscious and that I had found him, barely breathing, with a shard of rock jammed in his chest and his hand trapped under that boulder. I hesitated, then told him about the plasma cutter and that I had done what I had to save his life. His face remained unreadable for the duration of my tale and when I had finished, with the part about me searching for him in the hospital, he just looked at me. There was no emotion in that face, no anger, no hatred, no nothing.
“So that’s why my chest hurts so much,” he said, rubbing it with his hand. “I had a rock the size of a knife jammed in there.”
“You would have died, Clint,” I said, trying to convey my regret at what I had had to do. “There was no other way, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry about what?” he raised his left arm, showing me the white wrapped stump. “This? Tedix, you saved my life. I’ll admit I’ll miss my hand, but I’d rather be alive.”
I felt relieved. He wasn’t angry with me. My brow furrowed. But I had crippled him, he was less than a man now. Most other beings would have been furious, but Clint seemed unperturbed. The pain medication must still be affecting him, because I had known Clint to erupt in anger when he was given the smallest slight. I had given him a permanent handicap, he should have been raging, but he was peaceful. I racked my brain, searching for something to say.
The door swung open, preventing me from having to come up with something. The same doctor that had helped me strode in, followed by a different nurse, who was a Cthyn as well. He moved purposefully to Clint’s side and pulled out that little stick of his. He shined it in Clint’s eye, Clint offering no protest.
“We have no idea of how to treat a human, but lucky most sentient species share the same basic layout,” the doctor told Clint as he placed his fingers on Clint’s neck. “Heart and lungs and brain are all in the same place, mostly. You’re lucky that your friend brought you here instead of a different hospital, though. Here we specialize in rare organisms and we do happen across the odd first-timer.”
The doctor prattled on, talking about the similarities and differences between the various races of the galaxy. He seemed one of those beings who, when confronted with a challenge, jumped right in, but didn’t shut up about it. He moved on to how they had treated Clint.
“When you got here, you were in a bad way. Rock shard pushed through your chest, blood everywhere. Your arm wasn’t much of a problem, the stump was already cauterized and …” He stopped, noticing Clint’s face. It was twisted in anger, the frustrated anger when there is nothing you can do and so you lash out at the nearest thing, even if they had nothing to do with the anger. Clint was angry about his missing arm but he had forced himself to be calm around me because I was his friend and I had saved his life. The doctor, however, was not his friend and so received the full weight of Clint’s anger.
An alarm beeped on the nurse’s waist and she bustled out of the room, headed for another. The doctor didn’t resume talking for a long while and even then, it was to tell Clint that he would be able to leave the hospital sometime in the next few weeks, based on how well his chest wound was healing.
“I’m going to remove your bandages. I need to see the progression of the wound,” the doctor said. He reached cautiously at Clint’s chest and carefully removed the bandages. Underneath, I could see the angry red wound where the rock shard had punctured his skin and pierced his flesh. To my eyes it was not nearly as bad as it should have been. Nor to the doctor’s, either.
“This is remarkable! It looks like it happened weeks ago. Your body must have been working in overdrive to do this,” the doctor said, rubbing his tentacled chin. “But you shouldn’t be this far healed. I wonder if the nanites helped any? They must have.”
“Excuse me? Nanites? What the hell are you talking about?” Clint said. “What did you bastards inject me with?”
The doctor held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “We did nothing. When we took a sample of your blood to replicate, we noticed that there were nanites floating around in it. They looked like they had been inactive for years. Your injuries must have activated them.”
Clint looked confused. I was as well. Nanites? Little machines floating around in Clint’s body, doing gods knew what. The thought was disturbing. I saw Clint’s mouth move but I could not hear what he said, even with my enhanced hearing.
The doctor looked at the wound in Clint’s chest, or rather the place where it had been, and glanced at the bandaged stump lying on the blanket next to Clint. I saw the doctor lick his lips nervously and then he spoke hesitantly.
“If you will allow me, I would like to examine your … other injury.” Clint grunted in assent, a confused look still on his face, eyebrows furrowed and mouth thin. The doctor lifted Clint’s stump from the bed and placed it on Clint’s stomach. He slowly unwound the bandages, a pile beginning to form on the bed beside him. He pulled the last layer off and revealed what remained of Clint Stone’s arm.
A smooth expanse of pink flesh greeted our eyes where it should have been burned and blackened. Apart from the fact that it shouldn’t have been there, the stump looked healthy. Clint stared at it, the first full sight of his damaged arm nearly overwhelming to him. I stared as well. Even the doctor seemed shocked. He hesitantly ran his finger over the smooth skin.
“This is miraculous. I’ve never seen any technology that could do this, not even the Swrun managed to develop nanites that could repair this much damage. I’d dare say that you could survive anything that wasn’t an immediately fatal wound.” He shook his head in amazement. “If you don’t mind, I would like to run some tests on your -.”
“No, no tests,” interrupted Clint.
“But think of the knowledge we could get, the things we -.”
“I said, no tests.” Clint’s voice was low and hushed, dangerous. The doctor swallowed and nodded.
“In that case, I think you can be discharged. Your wounds are healed up beyond the dangerous point and you seem rested enough. I think that -.”
The doctor was interrupted for a third time, but this time it wasn’t by Clint. Outside of the door came a loud commotion, what sounded like doors being smashed in and people shouting.
“Excuse me, I must see what this is all about,” said the doctor and walked out of the room. He stopped in the threshold and slowly backed up, followed by a large scaled hand gripping a plasma pistol. I seized the wheels on my chair and flung myself backward, hiding behind the open door. Into the room strode a pair of the ugliest Ghurks I had ever seen, and the Ghurks are not a particularly attractive race. Brutish and scaled, thick horned heads sat on wide shoulders. Bulging arms on one held a plasma rifle and the other had his pistol pointed at the doctor’s head. The pair filed into the room and stood before Clint’s bed, not noticing me. The doctor ran from the room as soon as the Ghurks’ attention shifted to Clint. They paid him no mind.
“Clint Ssstone,” the reptile with the rifle hissed. “We hasss been looking for you for a long time.”
“Really?” Clint seemed surprised, but it was an act. I had heard that tone before and it was the tone he used to lead his opponents into thinking he had been distracted. It was usually followed by Clint jumping at his enemies and dismembering them, but that had been when he had two hands. I did not know what would happen now, but I prepared myself to fight.
“Yesss. There isss quite a large sssum on your head,” the one with the pistol hissed. “Cerberus wants you dead. Well, dead or alive but dead is easier. We’ve been tracking you for a long time, but this is the only time you’ve been in one spot long enough for us to get here.”
The pair lifted their guns, pointing them at Clint. He made no effort to move, realizing there was nothing he could do. He was trapped under the blankets and he was down an arm. I saw the look of defeat in his eyes and I knew I had to do something. I rolled my chair forward, ramming it into the back of the reptiles’ legs as hard as I could. They hissed in pain and stumbled, their knees giving way.
“Move!” I shouted at Clint. Mercifully, he did as I said, throwing the blankets high into the air, blocking the Ghurks’ view as he rolled to left and out of his bed, dropping to the floor. I reached up and pulled one of the Ghurks down on top of my chair. Off balance as he already was, it was no difficult task. As soon as his head was within reach, I smashed my elbow down on his face. I swung hard and fast, striking his jaw. There was a satisfying crunch and I felt the bone break. The lizard howled in pain and I quickly grabbed his pistol.
The other one, having recovered from the impact of my chair, swung his rifle at my head. I dodged it, awkward though it was in my chair. I forced the injured lizard off my knees and on to the floor, where he rolled in pain. I backed up my chair as fast I could, putting as much distance between the Ghurk with the rifle and me as possible. It wasn’t far enough. He swung the rifle again, striking me high on the upper arm. I felt it go numb with pain but I forced myself to ignore it. I tried to move my chair but it was stuck against the edge of the door, trapping me.
The Ghurk lifted his rifle again, preparing to strike me, but Clint leapt up from the floor and wrapped his stump around the lizard’s neck. Gripping it with his hand, Clint heaved backward, wrenching the reptile’s scaled head backward. Even maimed, Clint Stone was still a dangerous man and strong almost beyond belief. I heard the Ghurk’s neck pop with the force and his body slumped, like a puppet with its strings cut. Clint dropped the body.
The other Ghurk still rolled on the ground, clutching his jaw. I raised the pistol I had stolen from him and fired a shot into his head. He ceased his rolling and lay there, smoke rising from the hole in his head.
“Impressive,” Clint said. “Nice to see that those lessons haven’t gone to waste. Soon, you’ll be able to take me on. Actually, you could take me on now, with this arm of mine.” He waved his stump and his face grew dark. He was realizing how difficult it was going to be for him to fight in the future.
More noise came from the hallway. Very likely more bounty hunters, here to collect on the head of Stone. I leapt out of my chair, ignoring the fatigue in my limbs.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” I said to Clint, who stood there dressed only in his pants, angry red scar flaring in the center of his chest.
“I couldn’t agree more,” he said back and stooped, grabbing the fallen rifle. “Trade?”
“But you’re a better shot,” I said and then realized that a rifle required two hands to operate. I wordlessly handed the pistol to him and took the rifle. We edged cautiously out into the hall, glancing in every direction for enemies. We saw none and took off down the hall, despite having no idea where we were going.
We ran through those halls, sprinting around corners, and looking for a way out. At the end of one corridor, we saw a pair of Ghurks and backtracked in the opposite direction. I spotted a sign that said ‘Hangar, —>’ and pointed it out to Clint. We headed in that direction, but carefully, assuming that there would be bounty hunters guarding Susan. When we reached the hangar, we saw that our assumption had been right. There were four hunters lounging around the Susan and they were all well armed. Clint and I hid behind a pile of crates, full of what looked like medical supplies.
“What do we do now?” I asked Clint.
“We shoot them, get on the Susan and get the hell out of here.”
“Good plan. I’ll take the two of the left.” Clint nodded in agreement and we jumped out from behind the crates, guns blazing. My first shot took out the furthest left hunter with a clean hit to the chest. He dropped without a sound. My second shot went wide and the bounty hunter had time to react. He dove behind a crate of his own and pulled his own gun out. The two Clint fired at had dropped dead, precise holes drilled in their skulls.
“What are you doing messing around? We need to get out of here,” he hissed at me, seeing my hunter still alive. I grunted, then jumped out from behind the crate. I sprinted to a nearby crate, hoping for a better vantage point. But Clint had already taken care of the hunter, shooting him when he rose up to follow me with his gun.
I nodded in thanks and we took off to the Susan, opening her bay door and rushing inside. Clint rushed up to the cabin and ignited the engines. At least, he tried to. They gave a sick cough and sputtered, trying to ignite. Clint smashed his fist on to the panel in front of him.
“Those bastards messed with her engines. She can’t take off until we fix her.” He looked at me. “It looks like they’ve got us trapped.”