“I’m fine,” I informed Starnyx as
soon as he answered his highly-encrypted phone.
A swarm of medical automatons
surrounded the gurney on which I was reclined, a humming and swirling dervish
of blades, clamps, sponges and other surgical tools focused upon the stump of
my shoulder. A surgical laser was carefully burning away flesh in a pattern
that would increase the efficiency of repairs performed by the medical nanites
once my right arm was reattached.
The blended smell of disinfectant
and cooking meat had been disturbing at first, but I was beginning to get used
to the odor.
“Okay…?” Eric yawned. “Where are
you?”
“I’m back in Boston,”
I winced; a more significant cocktail of painkillers was now coursing through
my veins, but some discomfort remained. “I’m sorry, I forgot that you were
asleep when I left.”
“Nah, it’s almost morning. I can
wake up. What’s up?”
“I ran into some minor trouble on
my way home,” I forced a chuckle. “It will probably make the news and I didn’t
want you to worry.”
“Hold on, let me get to a
computer.” I heard tired, uncoordinated movement over the connection.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Using my neural connection to the surgical control computer, I ordered one of
the robots to add another dose of topical anesthetic. “Really, I’m fine.”
“So, what happened?” Eric must
have reached his desk, because I could hear the clacking as he typed on his
keyboard.
“I ran into the Brooklyn Knights.”
“I think I’ve heard of them. New
guys, righ—” he paused mid-question and fell silent.
“Eric?”
“So, you’re fine then?” Nyx asked,
patiently.
“Absolutely,” I affirmed.
“I only ask, because the first hit
I get on recent news of Doctor Fid is shaky cel-phone footage of you with your
arm cut off,” he explained. “And I’m pretty sure you had both arms earlier
tonight.”
“Tis but a scratch?” I tried.
“Christ, Doc,” he sighed, “I’m not
doing Monty Python bits with you. Let me get dressed, I can be up in Boston
in a few hours.”
“Thank you,” I smiled gratefully.
“But, really, don’t bother. I’ll have my arm re-attached by then.”
There was another long pause.
“How?” Starnyx sounded
exasperated.
“Medical nanotechnology. I’ll have
function back in eight hours.” Which was a good thing, since my civilian
persona had a face-to-face meeting with the Governor of Connecticut this
afternoon to discuss opening a new research facility in Middletown.
“In twenty-four hours, I’ll be good as new.”
“You’re a scary man,” he chuckled,
relieved. “Okay, I get it. You’re fine.”
“I am.”
“Keep out of trouble, Doc, I’m
going to get back to bed. Stay in touch, yeah?”
“Of course.” It was an odd
feeling, having someone who cared for Doctor Fid’s wellbeing.
He hung up, and I closed my eyes
to think.
