by Martin Perry
“No, of course not.”
“Well, this definitely trumps Korak then,” Thom said.
Dropping him down as gently as they could, the two men moved away from the limp body. It seemed natural letting the woman in to administer care. Both were confident that their friend would be fine in the end, but they weren’t at all interested in being involved in his outcome.
Stepping aside, moving away from each other, Kerra cut down the middle of them, staring down at the weapon she had failed to notice up until that point.
“What the hell is that?” she exclaimed. “It looks like he stole a museum piece”
“What?” Charles and Thom mumbled in unison.
“That weird-looking blade and pistol combo strapped to his leg, obviously.” She was a little annoyed at their ignorance, although it was probably just her nerves bubbling up.
“Oh yeah! Man, I could use that thing to cleave meat. Odd choice for a bayonet though huh?” Thom’s insights were something of a hodgepodge these days. “Not very practical if you’re trying to stop a guy moving.”
Kerra moved forward, kneeling down and reaching a hand out to release the weapon from its strapping. Turning it over in her hands, it was such an odd thing to see in the daylight. Despite numerous missions across endless planets, this sort of archaic weapon had never been used against her. The pattern on the handle almost looked like a map, but age had worn away the edges of the continents. There was a single scratched bold blue gem inset into the wood. She might have decided the weapon was of alien origin, but its overall structure was far too reminiscent of items she had seen in history books. While receiving her military training, she had been required to learn about ancient war tactics. Concepts like using remote drones, satellite weapons and anti-gravity bombs, the sort designed to disable rather than disembowel, hadn’t always been employed. It seemed as though this primitive weapon was a combination of ideas rather than one of the old pistols or revolvers that she had studied diagrams of. Maybe it wasn’t as old as it looked.
She set it on top of her pack. It sat next to her with the medic gear having been pulled out and set out in front. Maur’s legs were a high priority. The volume of blood leaking from them wouldn’t be enough to kill him, but it certainly pointed towards something being very wrong. Lifting the right leg up, the smell almost getting the better of her, she used the nearby scalpel to cut the strapping at the back of the leg braces. She repeated the process on the left and tried harder not to cause further breakages. With a deep sigh, she wrapped fingers around both of the moulded pieces of armour and slowly lifted them up.
“Oh...” said Charles.
“Fuck. Man, that does not look good Kerra, that does not look good at all”
Thom wasn’t wrong. Bits of WoundGel stuck to the material as she separated leg and protective armour. More alarming was the large amounts of it bravely attempting to hold together the bloody gouges in his thighs and calf muscles. Some of the tearing was unconnected to any of the gel, showing it to be fresher than the rest of the wound. Maur must have exerted himself beyond what the already ruptured flesh and medical aide could sustain.
“Thom, you’re better with knives than me,” she stuttered. “You cut the old stuff out so I can put new gel in.”
“No way Kerra! You picked medic, you live with the consequences,” Thom replied.
Charles’ silence denoted his lack of motivation to volunteer, and while Thom was right, yet again, she didn’t appreciate his immediate rebuttal. Taking the scalpel in hand she slowly began to slice away the connective tissue linked to the old WoundGel. More blood began to fill the wounds as she went along, the portable suction device hastily being unwrapped and shoved in to try and help with the problem. There were only two cans of WoundGel in her gear, and it had a habit of jamming in the nozzle if you didn’t use it all at once. It was best to free up all the wounds first, and she did, with considerable concern mounting over the blood loss.
“Fuck! Fucking fuck fuck!” Kerra shouted, the pressure mounting.
The plastic seal was quickly ripped away from the can, opening up the nozzle. It was a good thing that Maur lay passed out, as the force with which she jammed the can into each wound would have hurt like hell. She was panicking quite a bit, but trying not to show it outwardly. One by one, the gouges both big and small were filled with fresh WoundGel. The blood stopped flowing, at least from his legs, and she was ready to move on to the next part of her repairs.
“Charles, you’re gonna need to help me with his,” Kerra said, sweat still dripping from her forehead. “Lift his torso up for me so I can get at his chest piece.”
“You don’t want me to hel...”
“Thom, just shut the fuck up for once”, she barked, beyond caring about Thom’s feelings, “and let Charles do the heavy lifting.”
As Thom skulked off in a huff, resting his back against a wall and trying his best to look calm and cool, Charles stepped in and hooked his hands underneath Maur’s armpits. Again, he lifted him with ease, and Kerra moved in to cut away the back straps. Each sprung away, the armour not being Maur’s everything was just a little too tight for his muscular frame.
Kerra’s eyes suggested that she really didn’t want the pressure of removing another piece of armour, the promise of horrific surprise too much for her. Charles saw this, his heart breaking just a little, and silently moved in to shift the last part of foreign body covering from his friend.
What lay underneath was shocking. The two large holes, as if flesh had been cut away from him, still lay just below Maur’s ribs. There was no doubt that the injury had been exasperated, just like those on the legs, but the WoundGel had done an even poorer job of patching things up. There was no time to hesitate. Kerra cut away the remains quickly, care overwhelming concern, before shaking up and unsealing her second can of gel. She squeezed out every last drop and tried to apply some rationale to the situation. The wounds on his chest had been inflicted with only one intention; to cause complete agony and torture Maur into submission.
“Who could do this?” Charles murmured.
“Some sick fuckers”, Thom moved back into the fold. “I’ll have their guts for this.”
“Yeah, sure,” Kerra muttered.
“What does that mean? ‘Yeah, sure’?”
“No, nothing. Sorry. I just can’t get over these wounds, we need to get him back to the ship as quick as we can.”
They had noticed Maur missing from the bar about an hour after he wandered off to a bathroom. Initially, the men thought that he may have just passed out and would be found head-first in a urinal. After banging on every stall, in every species’ and gender’s facilities, and shouting at the top of their lungs over the pounding bass of the bar’s music, they had no luck. Anger set in, both Thom and Charles becoming irritated by the volume and chaos that surrounded their ears. Back at the table, Kerra’s spirits were still high and unaffected by the first attempts at a search. She set her team in motion, downing the last drink before sending them out into the night, fully expecting to find Maur in a gutter, or perhaps upsetting the local street walkers. It wasn’t until a full standard hour had passed that alarm began to set in.
Thom had very nearly came to blows with a puran male who was haughtily describing a drunken shambles of a human who had smirked at him near the toilets. The puran had little answer to questions spat at him, even when thrust up against a wall, so Charles had separated the cook and the alien. His own frustration, with anger blending in, made him want to beat the guy himself, but he knew little was achieved through mindless violence. It was unlikely that Maur had been disappeared by a gang of such pathetic individuals, and Charles resolved that the team should separate.
Kerra’s relatively slim frame, and the rigorous fitness regime she actually enjoyed maintaining, meant that she was by far the fastest of the trio. Thom, having only recently having had to travel further than the distance between the fridge and his stove, was much more akin to walking at Charles’ pace
. The gentle giant tended to shift his significant weight at a relatively slow pace when not fighting. They paired together, while she agreed to set out on her own in a one woman search party. With the night in full swing, the two uneven halves went their separate ways. Heading in opposite directions, they felt there was a much better chance of finding their friend, not knowing the mess of a man that Kerra would eventually uncover.
Cirramorr, much like most of the cities that littered Pura’s surface, was always crowded. Neither Kerra nor the pair of men managed the keep their cool during the hunt. Charles had developed a need to bounce passers-by off his chest, taking absolutely no care to avoid angering natives and visitors alike. Thom had attempted to duplicate this effort, but ended up worst off in the majority of the encounters. Without his intimidating friend by his side a fist-fight would have ensued.
Kerra, so much lighter on her feet, chose to duck into the narrow alleys to avoid the night-life. A few questionable characters had made motions towards her, but none had the balls to start something with a woman toting a military grade laser weapon. She had slung its leg holster over her shoulder, just to make sure it was plenty visible to the scum and psychos she jogged by. Passing human and puran buildings, street merchants, maintenance garages, craft ports and more than a few street brawls, it had taken until sunset to locate their crew-mate. They would never admit it, ashamed of their actions, but they had chattered over comms about giving up. Together they decided to head back to the Jump Cannon, the official designation of the ship that everybody more often referred to as Annie.
It had been on her way to meet with Thom and Charles that Kerra stumbled across the drain covering. He couldn’t have been there long.
“Lets get moving then,” boomed Charles. “Get him proper medical attention.”
“Hey, come on guy,” chirped in Thom. “Kerra is the best doctor of medical this alley has ever seen!”
“Yeah, very funny Thom. Lets just get home. I’m fucking sick of this heat.”
Charles could sense the tension building between the two and decided to carry Maur himself. The gel would hold if he hoisted his friend over his shoulder, and the weight was nothing to worry about. After getting Maur in position, lifting him without a grunt or complaint, Charles let his other arm swing around Kerra. She was a soldier, and a tough one too, but she hated to see her crewmates hurt. Her upbringing was probably to blame for her over-caring nature. The daughter of two Trans-Orbital Relief Corps workers, Kerra had spent many of her formative years working in refugee camps on Earth, but also further from home. It hadn’t been until she witnessed a massacre on Seeon that the thoughts of wielding a weapon against the evils of the universe had entered her mind. The odd combination of vicious warrior and selfless humanitarian was a personality that he had never encountered before. Charles was proud to work with her, and even prouder to call her a friend. They exited the alley, and began to trod back towards their ship.
“Ha.” A bold chuckle from Charles.
“What? What is there to laugh about?” spat a rattled, tired Kerra.
“Well, nothing just now I suppose, but wait until he has healed.”
“Oh man, I can’t wait to tear him apart. Mugged in a fucking toilet, and then he ends up looking like the contents of one?” bubbled Thom. ”That right there, is priceless material.”
“Fuck. I hadn’t thought of that,” Kerra cheering up a little “That makes him Shit-Stain.”
All three broke into a fit of laughter, the new nickname was going to stick quicker than the crap that filled Maur’s hair. Temporarily repaired, slung over Charles’ back, his head bobbed up and down, still completely unconscious.
“Hah! You hear that Shit-Stain? Get well soon,” Thom giggled, “'cause you better be ready for a verbal beat-down.”
A quick snort suggested that even unconscious, Maur knew what he had coming for him. He might soon regret leaving that sewer.
“When a man touches the stars, he is greeted with the terrible realisation that he means nothing to them. He is a speck, a grovelling atom. I have experienced this feeling. Ultimately, while he might journey through the clouds and onto distant planets, he is not the master of them. Here we stand, on the eve of our first near-quantum flight, exiting our solar system in a fraction of time. Yet, I wish to remind you of something. God is the universe, the stars are his nerve-endings. The only way to remind him that we are here is to touch them. Welcome aboard.”
Spoken by Arsen Thule, inventor of near-quantum speed travel, shortly before being found dead. It is believed ingested hallucinogens led him to place his head in the lit galley stove. The flight went ahead as planned.
Chapter Three
When he awoke this time Maur was met with a rather pleasant woozy sensation. His head wasn’t clear by any stretch of the imagination, but at least it was filled with an airy, joyous sensation. Rousing into consciousness it crossed his mind that maybe his captors had just been subterranean stoners after all. Not bloodthirsty, hooded maniacs, but instead misunderstood, weed loving sewer dwellers. It seemed unlikely though, particularly since he could make out the medical bay around him now. He was pretty familiar with the place, even in its newly refitted state, having landed himself there on numerous occasions. Whether it was a work-related injury, bar brawl or a medical emergency of a hangover, the staff doctor had always been nice to him. Perhaps that was why he had such a good feeling coursing through his veins.
He had been stripped down to his underwear which, given he could remember the state it had been in when he left the sewer, he knew was a blessing. There was no more smell, no more filth stuck in his hair. Instead he had the odour of disinfectant. The contrast was absolutely welcome, even if he was slightly chilly without extra clothing on. Sitting up, any pain relieved by the drugs sweeping around his head, he could see why they had had to leave him quite so nude. There were more tubes lined into his body than he could explain the purposes of. Although exhausted by the time he managed to escape, he hadn’t thought himself to be in this bad a way. A medical scanner, two pristine white half arches, moved back and forward across the length of the clean bed he was on. Red lights were flashing away on either part of the apparatus. He assumed that it wasn’t too keen on him sitting up.
“Ah, you’ve decided to grace us with your presence again Maur? Well, aren’t we a lucky lot?”
Dr. Beatrice Sothebi, or Dr. Beat as she was better known, swept into the medical bay through the automatic door. The lights flickered on in sequence as she walked toward him, more of the new fittings and fixtures coming into view as the bay lit up. He could see her too, a behemoth of a woman. Well over six feet tall, she had a massive chest that was remarkably pert. Medical enhancement had been used to prop up the sorts of breasts that you only ever seem to see on women over the age of fifty. Her jet black hair was held back tightly with a blue elastic band, a pauper's solution for somebody on a doctor’s salary. A white coat was stretched over her front, the silver buttons lining up just at her side. Each looked as if it were ready to pop off, and the arms of the coat were stretched by either fat or muscle. She must have earned the name Dr. Beat somehow. It was probably muscle.
“How are we feeling then?” she mothered. “All full of rainbows and sunshine I hope?”
“Well, yeah actually. What have you given me?” replied Maur.
“Oh, just the usual stuff.” Her eyes glinted as she looked toward him. “Some codexaline, a morphex drip, and something from my own secret stash.”
“I assume your secret stash is entirely legal?”
“Of course dear, of course!” came a hurried response. He didn’t really care but it was fun to wind her up.
Dr. Beat’s background wasn’t well-known among the crew, although her wealthy English accent suggested that she came from a long line of successful individuals. A doctor and surgeon of deft skill and outstanding technical knowledge, there had been more than one conversation aboard the Jump Cannon as to why she had been a member of their crew
for so long. Eccentric, with the odd hobby of animated taxidermy, it was possible that she had just found somewhere that accepted her, and that was quite enough reason to stay.
“I’ve closed up the wounds,” she declared. “You’ll be fit to return to active duty tomorrow. You might experience some ongoing pain for a while, but we have medication for that.
Maur ran his hands under his ribs. There were two neat lines, raised up skin, where there had once been gouges dug into his flesh. While teleportation wasn’t safe for humans, it was harnessed in medical equipment to perform sutures without the need for laser or gel based sutures – both of which were known to fail during near-quantum travel.
With a tele-suture, the bits of flesh around the opening were literally melted together. The long silver handle led to a lit orb about as big as a golf ball, which glowed a dull pink when in use. The light, although it was certainly more than just that, acted as a collimator, harnessing teleportation at the same time. Atoms and molecules were scrambled, with relative accuracy, being moved closer to each other and overlapped. It was a piece of technology that had always startled him – he didn’t like the idea of a medical implement being quite so random. There were similar marks on his legs. He should really just be glad that there was no more blood leaking out of him, but Maur’s skin crawled at the thought of the tele-suture. It just didn’t seem normal.
“Of course, with the amount of filth and excrement that you were covered in,” Dr. Beat mused, “we’ll have to keep an eye on you for the next couple of weeks.”
“Why? I feel fine.” This was more than true, Maur actually felt great.
“Where are we Mr. Maur?”
“We’re on Pura, docked in the city of Cirramorr,” he replied. “Or at least we were.”
“And do you consider Cirramorr to be a safe place? A place which regards hygiene and clean living above all.”
“No. Hell no.” Maur blurted.
“Well, you can imagine the types of medical, industrial and sexual waste that gets chucked down the toilet then can’t you?” Dr. Beat smiled as she spoke. “And you, young man, were covered from head to toe in all of it. Two pills, twice a day. I’ll have the galley team put them in your meals.”