313 Far Future Ch. 23 – Some Small Slices of Life (1/2)

”Here is the first lesson for you. I have your backs.”

I grabbed Jimo's arm, yanked it to me, activated the vibroknife, and plunged it into his forearm.

He screamed as it bit through the flesh, carved into the bone, blood and muscle flying everywhere, gouging out a horrible wound six inches long as he howled in pain.

But his arm couldn't move an inch.

I shut off the knife, and flipped Grim out from behind my head. The crystal familiar seemed to pulse from pearl to red as I slapped it down over the wound.

He trembled as the wound was stolen from him, split open on my arm. Muscle reconnected, blood was sucked back in, sinews repaired, bone mended. They all gaped as they watched the wound reappear on my arm, the same one that was holding him, and it twitched and slithered together and went away.

There was some blood on the floor, but both of our arms were unmarked.

”I have your backs,” I said calmly, meeting his eyes, then slowly moving it to clever Brekko, clam-lipped Davro, and the others. ”If you get shot, I can take the injury. If you get stabbed, I can take the hit away. If you get beat, pummeled, mashed, crushed, I can make anything but limb or organ loss go away.

”So when you fight, you FIGHT, goddamit! I HAVE YOUR BACKS! All you have to do is win, and regardless of how chopped up, mangled, beaten, and bruised you are, I will take care of it!

”Now, each of you give me your arms! You're going to see this, you're going to feel this, and you're going to believe this, each one of you!

”Then,” and my smile grew totally cruel, ”you're going to practice how to fight. You're going to hit, and you're going to get hit. I'm going to patch you up, and you're going to fight again. You're going to learn what it means to dish it out, and very, very importantly, how to take it.”

I flicked on the vibroknife. ”Student Brekko.”

He swallowed, looked at the rather pale Jimo, his unmarked arm, and stepped forwards.

----

”This is a Transfer Circuit; it's attuned to me.” I held his hand, poked his finger with a Vajra sharper than a needle, and Davro didn't say anything as a tiny drop of blood rose there. I touched it to the white crystal, and scarlet veins ran through the psionic circuit in precise runeforms.

I dropped the chain onto his hand. ”Now, I want you to practice stabbing yourself, and then healing yourself with that jewel. You need to spend your Nimbus into the jewel to let me know what's coming. If it doesn't turn red, I'm not in a situation where I can accept the damage.”

He swallowed, looked at the crystal, shuddering a bit as he formed his Nimbus. ”Why me?” he asked, gesturing to the others looking at him... who didn't know whether to be envious or not.

”Because this ain't a Soulbound Item, which means they can't Attune to it. You're the only one who can. In other words, if they go down, you're the only one of you six who can heal them.”

His back straightened as he suddenly realized the responsibility he had. ”R-right!” He could heal his bros... and probably anyone else who needed it, come to think of it. He stared at the crystal as he concentrated, trying to align the psionic power flowing over and around him, and align it into a working Nimbus of psionic power that could do all sorts of stuff, if one had the time and inclination to learn.

The crystal pulsed red, and I felt a throb in my heart, let it connect. The crystal turned red, and Davro clenched his jaw as he drove his knife to the hilt into his arm...

-----

His fist, covered in the mindclaw, crashed against my jaw.

Jimo yelped as my head turned slightly, and my eyes didn't leave his. He clutched his hand and stepped back as he looked at me.

”That was extremely disappointing, Disciple Jimo.” He swallowed at my voice, suddenly feeling very, very weak. ”Discharge it this time. Again!”

He did, crashing his fist into my gut. Psychic energy blew out from his mindclaw, trying to rip and tear at me.

It barely raised a scratch on my stomach.

I backhanded him. He spun around in place, body following face, and ended up face-first on the ground, drooling.

”Very disappointing.” I lifted Grim, his chain wrapped around my hand, and nodded at Davro, who sidled forward to treat his buddy. Practice, practice! ”Disciple Brekko, put some muscle into it, I hope.”

He looked at his big buddy Jimo, back at me, and swallowed as his mindclaw materialized...

------------------------

The car came into a stop in front of them as they hung out in front of their favorite loading dock. The six of them looked up as four brawny sorts piled out of the slick car that riding low, heavy with armor, and with the multiple scars and paint jobs to verify that it had seen some action.

The men were moving with the precision and weight of the cybered, and had the glint of neural circuits on their faces, and the stiffness of subdermal armor turning their faces into oddly similar ridges. Their skin wasn't glossy, so that hadn't been totally repressed, but they were definitely big and confident as they rounded on the six teens who were just looking at them.

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Nobody had drawn yet, but the four were all packing.

They were a bit disconcerted to see two of the teens were, and the guns had quite naturally dropped into their hands.

Brekko rose, his eyes having an odd light to them. It was the light of someone whose soul had been touched by the dead, and suddenly was a whole lot older for it. They were eyes that had lost their bravado, and replaced it with something else a whole lot colder and grimmer.

The ebon-skinned man nearly a head taller than him came right up to his face, glancing over them all, and settling on Davro quite quickly as the other three backed him up from by their car. Disruptors and slugthrowers had range, after all, no need to get up close and personal.

”Davro Klingster. My boss Sharkey, has heard that you seem to be in possession of a rare gift. He'd like to invite you to sit down with him,” the man said, with a smile that said this wasn't an invitation.

”Fuck off, bot,” Davro said without batting an eye, and the man actually blinked at the casual reply. None of the six seemed at all surprised or even uncertain at his words, or the threat behind them.

”I don't think you understand what Mr. Sharkey's invitation actually means, punk,” the cyborg smiled, revealing teeth too perfect to be natural, now sparking, and his eyes grew targeting rings. It was quite an intimidating display.

The six punks looked back at him as if he were joking. ”And just what does the great and mighty Mr. Sharkey want with one of us?” Brekko asked, his voice just as apathetic as Davro's.