Chapter 246: (Hesstla) (1/2)
The words were interfering in a nightmare.
He was stuck in the wreckage of a house, rafters pinning his legs down. The mag-ac rifle in his hands was beeping from overheating, flashing the warning light that the ammobloc was almost dead, the burning dim red light signifying the power pack was drained. His armor was cracked, broken, his face shield smashed and torn away, exposing him to air that tasted of burnt metal, acrid chemicals, and scorched meat. The Precursor machines were swarming, he couldn't get up, couldn't have gotten away even if he could have gotten the house off of him, his leg broken, his breathing agony as he hitched each breath and the metal band tightened around his chest. The rest of the squad, all Terrans, were dead around him, all staring at him with dead eyes, asking him over and over...
why did you let us die?
he kept firing, kept screaming in defiance...
”Marine, can you hear me? Marine!” the voice snapped through the nightmare and he was vaguely aware of a Mantid in a sterisuit looking down at him. ”Marine!”
”Ayut,” he managed to grunt around the tube down his throat.
”Choice time. Either a regen-cast and quick growth, which means you're off the line for at least two weeks, or a cybernetic prosthetic, which means you'll be out for forty-eight hours. Look left for regen, right for cyberware,” the Mantid clacked.
He looked right.
”All right. You aren't going to like this, Marine,” the Mantid warned. She looked to the side. ”Get a bare bones warsteel Telkan prosthetic arm,” she looked back at him. ”You have to be awake for this, we need the nerve channels live.”
He tried to nod, the tube down his throat, his head held still by tractor/pressor beams, his body strapped down.
”All right, let's prepare the site. We'll save as many nerves as we can,” the Mantid said. ”Put in the mouth-guard, we don't want him biting through the tubes,” She looked down at him again. ”This is going to be extremely painful. Your mind needs to be awake for this. We'll save what we can of your nerves.”
She paused a second. ”You may scream. There is no shame, Marine.”
He just managed to gag out another ”Ayut,” before it started.
He could feel the laser scalpel slicing away the flesh on the stump of his arm where the suit's auto-doc systems had cauterized the flesh and sealed it with non-permeable plastic. He knew when the nerves were left exposed to air. He could smell the heavy laser carving away the bone of his arm.
The whole time he stared above him, at the waldos moving around to make sure the lighting was the best, at the positive pressure tent, at the shadows. He recited the words of the Omnimessiah to himself, praying for strength and endurance as Enraged Phillip had possessed when he walked the sands of Mars to find Bellona the Grave Bound Beauty, the Omnimessiah on one side, Vat Born Luke on the other.
He knew tears were leaking from his eyes, that he couldn't stop them, even as the nanite and the sterile field wicked them away.
He focused on the Digital Omnimessiah's promise that anything could be endured if it must be endured, that there was the strength within all people, even those not yet found. He focused on how Enraged Phillip had waded through liquid warsteel at one point, the pool of blood red metal igniting in response to the wrath that had filled him. How Phillip had endured that pain to reach the Lost Little Ones.
It went on and on, the pain was a living thing that soon he learned to accept, almost to cherish. It became a friend, a companion, someone who knew him more intimately than his parents, his siblings, even his few and far between lovers. Pain. Mother. Father. Lover. Secret Confidant.
Still the pain went on, but he was beyond it now, bouyied by it, supported by it. It was deep in his soul, tempering him, as the nerves all the way into his chest burned with cold agonizing fire. It felt like talons scraping on the bones, carving patterns upon his very skeletal structure. The nerves all the way to his spine burned and throbbed with fiery agony.
Eventually he was just lost, adrift in a sea of pain, his lips moving around the tubes as he mumbled prayers and recited parts of not only the Digital Omnimessiah but those who had come before him. Tears falling from his eyes even though he did not weep.
Finally, suddenly, it was over. The pain was replaced by a warm tingling feeling.
”All right, run a connection check,” the Mantid doctor said. ”Go through the fingers. All right. Fist. Open. Relaxed. Wrist. All right. Elbow. Open hand. Fist. Wiggle fingers. All right, release control,” the Mantid looked down. ”Look left for yes, right for no.”
He looked left.
”Hot? Yes or no?” she asked as warmth seemed to envelop the arm. He looked left then right then left again. ”So, warm, not hot?” He looked left.
She went through pressure, pain, hot, cold, tingles, prickly feeling.
”All right. We'll finish up and move you to recovery,” the Mantid said. ”Nighty-night, Marine.”
Darkness took him as he looked left.
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He looked at the arm. Flat black warsteel. What looked like bands on the biceps and forearm and fingers. It was bare bones, standard Telkan strength, right now but apparently it would have more added. The smart-link was dead, felt weird, like a piece of frosted wire in his arm.
The Mantid doctor, Screams, moved daintily as she came up and sat down. ”Any problems?”
He shook his head.
”Let's run another set of tests now that your nerves, spinal column, and motor control centers are fully integrated,” she said.
”Yes, ma'am,” he rasped. His throat was raw and sore.
”Let me up!” a Terran bellowed, struggling against the pressors holding the Terran down. ”I can fight! Let me up!” He could hear the pressor beam emitter focused on the Terran begin to beep an overload warning. ”Let me up! You can't keep me here! I'm still fit to fight!” When the Terran looked at him he saw the Terran's eyes were glowing bright red.
A nurse moved up, increasing the anesthetic. The Terran turned and looked at her, his burning red gaze fixed on her. ”Let me up, Phillip stab your eyes!”
”What's wrong with him?” he asked the Mantid.
The Terran was still struggling, still fighting, but getting weaker as the anesthetic beam did its work.
”We're not sure,” the Mantid said. ”But that's part of why I came to talk to you,” she glanced at the Terran then back at him. ”In your battle, did you run into anything strange. Anything out of place that you can think of?”
He shook his head. ”It got down to my chainsword at the end, but I was pretty busy.”
”Nothing out of place?” the Mantid asked.
”They were Precursor AWM's, new ones, I wasn't looking for anything weird, just killing them,” he said. He leaned back. ”Some of the lighter ones had armaglass globes that glowed blue, and inside the big one, at the end, there was a bunch of them, like twenty or thirty of them, but I was down to my magac pistol and grenades by that point. And my one hand,” he admitted.
She nodded at that. ”Anything strange?”
”My little brother had to turn my psychic shielding all the way up, but that's standard with Precursor AWM's,” he said.
”I'm going to check your armor logs,” the Mantid said. ”A nurse will be by in a few moments. No combat, no wearing your armor, no linking up with your neural interface for a day or two.”
”Let me up. Please, let me up, I can still fight,” the Terran said quietly, almost pleadingly. He looked and saw that Terran was asleep, unconscious, and still muttering.
”Why am I strapped down?” he asked.
”You had some brain damage. Microstrokes, nothing major, nothing we couldn't handle, but you're going to be out of the fight for a couple of days,” the Mantid stood up and leaned forward. ”If there's anything strange, anything you need to tell us, do not hesitate. These AWM's are new, every little bit of data can help.”
The Mantid turned away, motioning at the nurse. ”Go ahead and let him up. We need the bed,” the Mantid said. She shuddered, yawning. ”Prep the next patient.”
He looked up, staring at the ceiling of the inflatable positive pressure system, ignoring the lingering aches and pains. He recited the mantra for strength and endurance, calling upon the patience and endurance of Vat Grown Luke and Enraged Phillip.
A nurse, an Ikeeki who's feathers were hidden by the adaptive camouflage uniform she wore, bobbed up and looked down at him.
”All right, I'm going to reduce the anesthetic. You tell me if you start to feel woozy,” the Ikeeki said.
He just nodded.
Sensation came rushing back. His knee ached with remembered pain, his right shoulder ached from strained muscles, his back ached from everything he had been doing. All of the pain, but the pain in his left arm, had the tingling warmth of quikheal compounds going to work.
He remembered who he was.
”Name?” the Ikeeki asked.