Chapter 8
Of Medicine and Machines
Aftermath
The skirmish had been short and sharp, with the actual cut and thrust bit over in less than fifteen minutes, but the aftermath seemed to last for ever, and as the villagers started to strip the bodies of arms and armour before moving them out of the village on ox carts, the euphoria of victory gave way to nausea.
Although Simon was the ‘true soldier’ among them, all his fighting in the past had been done over rifle sights, and the noise and reality of medieval battle had come as a total surprise to him. He had been violently sick as soon as Martha’s troop had turned to run.
Maxine grabbed a wet cloth from Ginny’s bucket and threw it at him. “Clean yourself up soldier, can’t let the others see you like this.”
Simon wiped the mess from his face, “made a fool of myself, haven’t I Max?”
“You did OK, considering you’re only a man. This victory’s yours. You made us what we are.” She grimaced at the memory of the first clash of steel on steel and looked at the ground, “it’ll be easier for us next time,” she said softly.
“How do you stay so calm?” he asked her, “I don’t think I could get used to this.”
“Neither could I,” she replied with a wry smile, “I work in the woods, felling trees and making charcoal, and I often stay out there on my own. I just imagined they,” she inclined her head towards the bodies, “were wild animals.”
His eyes followed the direction she had indicated and he heaved again, but there was nothing left to bring up.
“For all our sakes, pull yourself together. Now, or I’ll have to swear at you again.” She rested her hand on his shoulder, “we’ll all get over it.” And then, in a much quieter voice, “eventually.”
Ellen came to them and put her arms round her younger sister.
“Max, we did it, we did it,” she said in obvious relief. “You all OK this end? It’s chaos down the left. Lottie Brand’s still down and old Nessie’s going frantic, bossing everybody round. They’ve carried someone off on a board.” The two clung to each other, as if wanting proof that they were still alive.
“Sounds like all the bad stuff was down there then,” Maxine replied, “they soon turned and ran from us, that Denny girl’s frightening.”
Ellen then frowned and said softly, “is it right about Jan?”
Maxine nodded slowly, “she’s in a bad way. Lost most of her left arm.”
Jan had been carried into the taverna, and was lying on a table, with Denny talking softly to her, while Frankie and Val Tomson were by the fireplace waiting for the pokers to start glowing. Denny was stroking Jan’s temple as she whispered the girl’s name.
“Jan Crane, where do you go? Come to me now, in the trees.” Jan was still trembling and whimpering with pain and fear. “Jan Crane, reach for me, you’ll be safe here. Close your eyes, listen to the birds.” Denny put her forehead to Jan’s and slowly, the injured girl’s body grew still and then the only sound was Denny’s small voice.
“See the door. Open it, go inside the room, close it. Close the door.”
Perspiration was dripping off her brow as she turned to the women by the fire.
“Do it. Now,” she commanded, and Frankie took the first iron from the coals. Jan’s arm was tied to a board, and when the smoke rose and the smell of burning flesh filled the air, the arm only jerked slightly.
“Another one,” the innkeeper said to Val, “over that side, it’s still weeping.” And Val applied the second poker to the raw flesh below the elbow. The two surveyed their handiwork, then Val loosened the tourniquet.
“That’s done it,” she announced, “but it’s not pretty, and she’ll still maybe get a fever and die.”
“Pretty doesn’t matter. Keep her alive for a week,” Denny told her, running both of her hands through her hair, “and Caren might be able to help. Put her to bed, and lay her on her side. I’ll have to rest as well, haven’t done that for a long time. Forgot how tired it makes you.”
They had been watched through the windows by several women and girls, and Frankie beckoned them in to help move a cot downstairs. By the time the unconscious Jan had been laid in the bed, Denny was curled up in a corner fast asleep. Frankie covered her with someone’s forgotten cloak and slid a cushion under her head.
“Where’d she learn magic like that then?” She said quietly to Val, when the others had been ushered out, “never seen nothing like it before.”
“Don’t know, and don’t care,” was Val’s short reply, “Jan’s a good girl, and the dark one stopped her hurting. All we need to know.”
The innkeeper considered Val’s words. “Dark one eh? Well, anyone who can stop suffering like that is an angel in my eyes.”
So the legend of the Dark Angel was born.
The ‘angel of light’ was not happy. “I know it’s not right, but use the same model as last time.”
“ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY SURE, CAREN?”
“You did a really good job on Sylvie, she’s better than new. Your calculations were excellent.”
“THANKYOU, CAREN. IF I HAD A PLEASURE MODULE, THEN I WOULD PROBABLY FEEL HAPPINESS. THE PATIENT IS STABLE, ANALYSIS COMPLETE AND REPAIRS CAN COMMENCE. SOME REGROWTH AND REPLACEMENT WILL BE NECESSARY IN THE LOWER TORSO BUT NO OTHER MAJOR WORK REQUIRED.”
“What about the power cells, how long will they last?”
“WITH FULL LIFE SUPPORT RUNNING, 928,63 HOURS. ON STANDBY ONLY, APPROXIMATELY TWICE THAT.”
“And with the medico powered up?”
“519 HOURS MAXIMUM.”
“How long will this case take?”
“EXTRAPOLATION WOULD SUGGEST 115 HOURS, PLUS OR MINUS 1,9”
Caren did some quick calculations, turning hours into days and weeks.
“Shut down all unnecessary equipment, including microwave detection and defence. We’ll secure the area against intruders for you. We’ll get a power cell from the Hood somehow, or transfer you in sleep mode.”
The Never confirmed that it was an acceptable plan, and Caren left Joannie in the Never’s care then went outside to Jade, who had elected to stay with her. When told of the power problem, and when Jade comprehended what it meant, she left Caren and entered the woods.
“Going to find some guards for you,” she said as she departed. Less than an hour later, she was back with two dogs. Caren watched them walk towards her, and realised that these were females, even though they were dressed in a similar manner to the males she had seen. It was their rolling hips that gave it away.
“Caren, these are Flair and Scutcher. Daggit thinks that he’s in charge, but what these ladies decide, is usually what happens,” and she waited for Caren’s reply.
“Erm, nice outfits you’re wearing, Flair, Scorch,” was the confused girl’s reply. She’d not actually had a conversation with an animal before. Oh, she’d had her first racing camel when she was six, but it had never talked back to her.
Jade’s eyes went wide in surprise and the shorter, paler dog woman's mouth gaped in astonishment while the other, Flair, laughed aloud.
“Told you it would be fun didn’t I? This is a sharp one and no mistake. Scorch indeed.”
“Right, that’s it. I’m changing my name, right now.” insisted Scutcher, “what’s your name again girlie?”
Caren eventually said, “Caren?” she was now totally baffled by the proceedings.
“As from this very minute, I am to be known as Caren Bonecrusher, and let no one forget it.” She whirled round and her laughing companion joined her in stalking round the clearing and looking briefly into the cave.
“Righto, Jady, we’ll do it. Scorch eh?” And then they were leaving.
Caren demanded that Jade tell her what that was all about. Now that Flair and ‘Caren’ had gone, Jade was having a laughing fit.
“That’s so funny, Cas. You called her Scorch,” near hysterics now, “that’s about the worst swear word the dogs have got. It’s disgusting,” and throughout the rest of the day, as the canine women and children erected a tented encampment round the cave entrance, Jade could occasionally be seen, clamping a hand to her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut to control her merriment. Later, Caren sought out her namesake to apologise.
“It’s alright girl, I’ve calmed down a bit now, and I know you didn’t know what you were saying. How could you? Tell you what. I like you, think you’re really funny, and to show there’s no hard feelings, you can borrow my Tag tonight, if you want.”
Jade was silently mouthing 'No' from behind the smiling dog Caren and shaking her head.
“Tag?” queried girl Caren.
“Yes, he’s my husband.”
“I see,” said Cas slowly, “that’s very thoughtful of you Mrs. Bonecrusher, but I can’t at the moment. Erm, the time’s not right you see.”
The dog Caren wrinkled her nose and sniffed, “very well dearie. Little bit of blood never put him off before, but you know best.”
Gathering
An uneasy calm returned to Homestead in the week following the bloody clash and destruction of Mad Martha’s patrol, and it was noticeable that nobody walked across the grass in front of the bakery. It was mostly green again after the last two days of rain, but it was still forbidden ground to the villagers who had fought there.
The four remaining recruits from Dockside were still in the village, living with the Brand family. Ginny said that as there were so many in the house already, then four more wouldn’t be noticed for at least a week. They had carried poor Lydia’s body up the bare slope of Carlton Hill, where they had scooped out a shallow grave and built a cairn over her. Couldn’t quite see the ocean, but it was the best they could do, then Dorian and Sami had returned to Dockside.
When Beryl turned up with Glen and Basher, several of the older women had tried to attack them, but Connie Nesbitt had seen it coming and was there to stop them. She stood in front of the ex troopers facing the angry mob.
“Bows are for hunting and spears are for leaning on, but a sword’s for killing with. You got no right to carry swords here and now, Patti Crane, so you and your misguided friends go put ’em back where they belong.”
“You’re the one who’s misguided, Nessie, now stand aside and lets finish the patrol proper this time.” There were shouts of agreement from the five women behind Patti.
The old guru spoke calmly now, “Think on a minute girl. There’s only one of us that’s actually died, Ivy’s sister near to it, your Jan with only one hand now and Lottie and Rachel covered with bandages. That’s it apart from scratches, and who we didn’t kill, the dogs finished off. We were part of a miracle here last week, and that’s a rare victory that is. Be satisfied with our good luck and go give thanks to the Lady for it.”
“It’s still not right, them walking in here like that. They deserve a beating for it.”
The old woman shook her head and smiled at her, “No child, no. I helped Beryl into this world, like I helped you, and she’s Homestead, just like you. Where do you think she’s been all this time? Down on South Farm, tending the livestock like I asked her. If these three had been in the line against us last week, we wouldn’t be standing here chatting, all cosy now. We’d like be dead.”
She could see that her grim audience still weren’t mollified, “Kirsty.” She raised her voice, “Kirsty Vine, bring ’em out here now.”
Kirsten came quickly out of her mother’s taverna and threw a bundle of broom shafts on the floor, then turned and scampered over to where the rest of the villagers were gathering to watch the fun.
“Right you are, ladies. Stack up your weapons over there,” waving her hand vaguely towards the inn wall, “and you’ll have your chance to give these three a thrashing.”
She looked round at the trio of lovers, “you as well. No edged weapons allowed, and no biting. Sabe?”
There were only six broom handles, and the three troopers stood unarmed.
“Have to it then, but don’t hurt them too much.”
“We won’t Mother Nesbitt,” replied Patti.
“Not you girl, I was talking to Beryl.”
It was over within two minutes. Although Glenda was going to have a very fat ear soon, Beryl and Basher were unhurt. but all their six assailants were on the floor, suffering with minor cuts and bruises, two broken fingers and six deflated egos.
Ma Nesbitt squatted down in front of Patti, “good, aren’t they?” she said smiling, and then slapped the miserable girl hard across the face.
“And that’s for calling me Nessie. My friends call me Connie, but to you,” she dug her finger into Patti’s chest, then swept her arm round to indicate the others, “and you lot, I’m Ma Nesbitt. Except for Sylvie Long, I’m boss around here, and don’t you forget it. Now, you’re all going into the Vine and have a drink together, and these three are going to help patch you up. Aren’t you?”
Beryl was quick to answer, “Yes Ma Nesbitt, wouldn’t dream of anything else.”
During the ‘patching up’ in the taverna, the nine women talked together, and it was the first time a Homesteader had spoken with a trooper without fear, and they learned a lot about each other that afternoon. They learned about Constance Nesbitt as well.
“Thought the old duffer was losing it,” muttered Ivy, and was answered by Beryl.
“Hush, it’s Ma Nesbitt to the likes of us, and couldn’t you smell it? She’s been to see the dogs. At her age. Old biddy’s truly awesome.”
Not everybody witnessed the swift fight in front of Frankie’s taverna. Anton was back on the farm with his beloved Billie, who was the only Homesteader near to his size, and they were becoming inseparable. She knew she had to share him with the other girls, but it had been the normal thing to do for decades now, and the thought of him in someone else’s arms didn’t trouble her. One man, one woman partnerships were unknown to the villagers. He sometimes went
on a guilt trip about it, and she’d had to slap him a time or two to bring him back to reality, but life was good for them now.
Four others missed it too, Sylvia was mountain climbing with Simon, Georgie and Maxine. They were heading North, and hoping to gain enough altitude to get a clear signal from the party that had gone to reconnoitre Valencia airport. They needed to know an approximate return date, as rumours of the patrol’s destruction would be sure to reach Violet in Central before too long.
Unfortunately, the bad news had travelled fast, and Violet was already screaming at her miserable priestesses for their lack of foresight. How could they have not seen this coming with that bloody fortune telling machine of theirs? What good was the damn thing? They fed it sheep and goats, and all it did was make pretty pictures in the air. She sent out the order to raise the militia to squash the rebellion pronto.
“Better stop a moment, ladies,” Simon suggested, “There’s a lot of people ahead.”
The three women shaded their eyes and squinted, but even with their enhanced eyesight, there was nothing to alarm them.
“Well, there’s some dust in the air, but can’t see people,” said Sylvia. The others agreed with her. Simon turned to Max and adjusted Anton’s helmet for her.
“That’s about right, now click this switch here.”
She squealed in fright and stumbled backwards, as the vid screen slid down and showed the view from the helcam.
Georgie grabbed her by the arm as she went past, and held her upright.
“Aaah.” Max uttered and waved her arm about in front of herself, making clutching motions with her fingers. “What? Where are they?”
“Out,” said Simon, close to Max’s helmet. There was a small whirring sound as the 3D camera refocused, and Maxine’s view of the world widened. She quickly grasped the fundamentals of the camera, ‘in’ and ‘out’ being the only two commands she would need. Simon passed his helmet to Sylvia, then Georgie demanded a turn, and for several minutes the Homesteaders played with their new toys. “in... out... in... out... in… out.” Eventually they settled down and examined the trail in front of them.
“Well, you’re not wrong, lover boy, there’s people ahead.” agreed Sylvie.
“Lots of them,” added Georgie, “coming this way, and they’ve got carts as well.”
“Piled up with stuff,” said Sylvie. “Driving a flock of goats and sheep. I can see cattle too, off to the side. There, top of the front wagon. You see her, Jo?”
“Can’t miss her, she’s so big. Es la Gran Chica. Crampton’s on the move.”
They swapped helmets again and Simon shut down the electronics. If Hawk or Hind were going to relay for them, they would have heard from Margaret by now, and two hours and five kilometres later, they greeted the ‘greatest girl in the world’.
“Hello, Mojo, what you doing down here then, moving house?”
She was Mona Verge, Crampton’s guru and leader, and she looked down at Sylvie chuckling, “not surprised to see you girl, they said you’d live through it. How did it go?” Some of the travellers recognised that they were in for a lengthy stop, so had started setting up camp beside the trail. Mona climbed carefully down from the cart, and yelled for a stool to be brought.
Drinks were passed round as she told them why Crampton was ‘on the move’, and it transpired that Margaret’s little group had stopped with them for two nights, on their way North, and the inevitable had happened, Jimmy and Marcus had been making whoopee with several Crampton women, and the whole village had decided the next day to up sticks and go South. It had taken several days to organise, but they were now only a day or two away from Homestead.
Mojo spoke openly to them, “way I figured it was that you’ve already got lots of room for us down there, and if you was all dead, then we had a whole village to ourselves.” She then lost her nearly permanent smile. “There’s nobody to the North of us now. Went up to Albert a couple of months ago and found the place deserted. As far as I know, we’re at the edge of the world girl.”
The smile returned, “enough of that gloomy talk, tell me, would your man there be available to do me the honour?” and she fluttered her eyelashes.
“Not possible at the moment,” said Max quickly, “we all rather overused him this morning, won’t be fit for a day or two.”
“Wonder he can walk, after what we put him through,” added Georgie, innocently.
“Mmmm. Well no doubt the cheeky thing will find out where I’ll be staying, when you get back from your stroll.” said the big guru.
They said their farewells and started to climb the low hills towards Saddlers mountain. Simon contemplated the fate awaiting him at Homestead, “she’s so big. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“We’ll protect you lover.” said Max.
“But if push comes to shove,” Sylvia added, “you’ll just have to tell her you love her, and get on with it.”
Simon was speechless, and they walked on in silence. Sylvia just smiled to herself. She’d caught Mona’s sly wink at her, and knew she’d been teasing.
It was cold when they stopped for the night, below the summit, and they hoped that the next day would see their errand fulfilled. They spent the night wrapped up together in a tight parcel of all the blankets and cloaks they had, and slept fitfully.
Northwards
“Sorry, girls,” said Georgie.
“Wha’for?” mumbled Maxine, still half asleep in the tight cocoon of blankets and cloaks surrounding them all.
“Had to do it, or I’d’ve burst.”
The stench of her silent fart crept up the blankets, and Max scrambled out, wide awake now. “Hells girl, what you been eating? That’s evil.”
They huddled around the meagre fire, each wrapped in their own thoughts while waiting for the pot to boil. Although there was nothing in the area like coffee, the beans from the carob trees provided a reasonable chocolate substitute and they had found lots of ingredients for herbal tea. While not comparing favourably with Best Moroccan, the miners had admitted that it was drinkable.
Breakfast was a chunk of stale bread, and a handful of nuts washed down with pretend tea, and Simon vowed to do the catering next time they ‘went for a stroll’.
Two hours later, they were on the summit, and Simon powered up the two helmets, his own, and Anton’s, now resting on Sylvia’s head.
“Got them,” he said thankfully, and redirected Sylvia in the right direction. The distant figures were only tiny dots on his vid screen, but years of training let him interpret the view. “See them, Sylvie?”
“Well I see something. Could be ants I suppose?”
“Time to make a call I think,” he said and tweaked the audio controls.
“Wedge Simon. Valence Margaret,” and he waited. “Wedge Simon. Valence Margaret.” There was still no answer, so he tried again, and again. After an hour, they were about to give up and start walking again, when Maxine told them tha
t she had seen a flash of light Eastwards, out to sea. They turned as one and looked where she pointed. There. There it was again.
“Good grief, they’ve done it, Hood’s coming in,” exclaimed Simon as the shuttle grew on his vid screen.
“Is that Hood?” asked Sylvie not comprehending what she saw.
“Yes, no, well part of her anyway. It’s the same sort of shuttle that we came down in 2,000 years ago. It’s a miracle it still works.”
Maxine and Georgie could just see the little craft as it descended towards Valencia. Finally it was skimming along the runway, trailing smoke and billowing parachutes, eventually coming to a safe stop.
“That was brilliant. Even Ricky couldn’t have done it better.” shouted Simon.
“Ricky? Can Ricky do that?” Maxine was incredulous.
“Too true sweetie, he’s the best shuttle jockey ever seen.”
“NOT BAD WAS IT, SIMON.”
“Hood, Hood baby, are we glad to see you.”
“THE PLEASURE IS MUTUAL, I CAN ASSURE YOU.”
“Hood, can you say a few words to my friends here? They’d really appreciate it. They’re in your fan club.”
They pressed their ears close to the helmets. “AND WHO ARE YOU GOOD LADIES? WOULD ONE OF YOU CARE TO WAVE TO ME?”
They talked for only about ten minutes, but it was like a lifetime for the three ecstatic women, who were suddenly star struck teenagers again. Hood described the clothes they were wearing to prove that she really could see them, and reassured them that she was back, but strangely enough, still orbiting the moon. They didn’t understand that bit, but decided that the Lady of the night was great enough to be wherever she wanted.
“We shall pray to you both,” Georgie declared fervently, then Hood patched Simon through to Margaret, while the others took turns wearing Anton’s helmet to get a better look at the shuttle, aka Hood.
Margaret briefly gave Simon a rundown of what they had been up to since leaving Homestead, and asked for details of the villagers battle with the patrol. Although he left out the ‘nasty’ bits, she could tell he had been affected by the experience.
Except for one night when the three Homestead girls claimed to have heard big cats fighting in the distance, her story was fairly mundane. They had only seen Fran Collier and her daughter, who had volunteered to help them, along four of the Crampton women. They had worked non stop, clearing away rubble and what appeared to be the remains of a couple of Hood's original shuttles, and if it hadn’t been for Fran’s ox team, and five wardogs who had turned up unexpectedly, they would still have been only about half way down the runway.
Hood then declared the shuttle safe to enter, and Ricky was about to board her, so they might get an estimate of when they could return. Simon signed off and smiled, shaking his head at the sight of the still giggling women. Ten days ago, he’d been fighting in the line beside them, with Max cursing at him for getting in her way, and now look at them. Were they really the same people? Did he change like that as well? His mind was a seething cauldron of questions without answers.
Ricky paused at the top of the short stairway to the shuttle’s door, and surveyed the skin of the craft. As well as being battered and discoloured, there were actually whole panels missing. He frowned and gave a low whistle, “How the hells did this manage to get down?” he wondered out loud.
“Easy peasy fat boy, we got a real flyer on board,” came a small voice from inside the shuttle. “Watch where you’re treading dopey, this sort of body don’t grow on trees you know.”
Ricky paused with his right foot held high and stared at the diminutive figure below him. “Holy goalposts. Are you the pilot?”
“Course not, can’t reach the brake pedal, can I. The little mech followed this outburst with a peal of shrill laughter, then it whirled round and sped away into the cabin.
“HO HO HO, AMUSING LITTLE FELLOW, ISN’T HE? HIS NAME IS ALFIE. I REALLY MUST TELL THAT JOKE TO TOKSVIG GOOD ONE. IT’S ALL MY OWN WORK YOU KNOW.”
“Hi Hood, it’s nice to see you in good spirits.”
“NOW THAT’S A GOOD ONE AS WELL, BUT YOU GET NIL POINTS BECAUSE IT’S NOT REALLY ORIGINAL.”
Ricky was slowly losing the plot at this point, “say again?”
“AGAIN. HO HO HO. NO, THAT’S WHAT THEY SAID TO ADMIRAL NELSON.”
There was only baffled silence from Ricardo.
“HE WAS THE BRITISH STARFLEET COMMANDER, AND HE LIVED IN A BARREL OF RUM. GOOD SPIRITS? BEFORE YOUR TIME OBVIOUSLY.”
Ricky was still speechless.
“TIME TO TALK TO MARGARET, I BELIEVE.”
Margaret and Gudrun weren’t exactly eavesdropping, as Hood was broadcasting as well as using the speakers in the shuttle.
“Has she gone crazy?” asked Margaret.
“Didn’t think it was possible, but it sounds like the humour module is overlaying the core,” replied Goodie, the programmer. “I’ll have to talk to her.”
It wasn’t necessary. Hood damped down the volume on the humour board and outlined the next phase of her plan. From the shuttle’s belly was extruded metre after metre of continuous diamond panelling, and within six days, they had erected a perimeter fence 100 metres in diameter with Hood near the centre, and Alfie had been joined by Betty and Gummy, both bigger versions of the annoying little mech.
They were betting that the next one to appear from the shuttle’s teleport would be named Delly, or something like that. Another two days passed by, then Hood declared them redundant, as she now had a small army of mechs scurrying about the shuttle.
“THE PLAN IS FOLLOWING THE MODEL PERFECTLY,” she announced to the assembled workers. Daisy, Paula, Fiona and Ducky from Crampton, and Fran and Jean the pedlars listened attentively, but had to have much of it explained again later.
“AND THIS VERSION OF MYSELF WILL BE MOBILE IN 40 DAYS TIME. THERE IS A STREAM VESSEL IN THE OCEAN 75 KILOMETRES TO THE EAST, AND IT HAS A STRANGE PROFILE. HAWK BELIEVES IT TO CARRY THE KEY TO OUR TIME TRAVEL THEORIES. IF IT CAN BE SALVAGED THEN WE CAN COMPARE IT TO YOUR TIME VESSEL IN THE HOPE OF MAKING A SUPERIOR MODEL.”
Betty, Gummy and Delhi, yes there was a Delhi, were carrying the promised items, and loaded them onto the peddlers cart. Hood had been in contact directly with the Never, so as well as the two ‘low energy weapons’, one crate contained a power cell. Hood had found the Never slightly amusing. Fairly intelligent, but dull. Probably needed to know a few good jokes. One of the derelict Stream ships turned out to be a hospital, and Hood had salvaged two scalpels which ought to be really useful. One of them, Hood explained, was a real whizz to use, solar powered and fairly dangerous, but the other one was dormant, couldn’t be powered up by mechs, and seemed to be part biological. These were the promised low energy weapons. The fifteen weary workers loaded up the wagon and trudged off on the week long journey back to Homestead, and as they left the perimeter gate, they could hear little Alfie talking to another
mech.
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“I no.”
“I no who?”
“If you already know, why you asking, dumbo?”
Medical matters
Denny’s pounding headache was only part of the price she was still paying for saving Jan from suffering the pain of medieval surgery on the stump of her left arm, and was in the recycler being sick again. Jan was safe enough now, laid on the medico with tubes in every orifice, being re-hydrated and stabilised. The film of macro-docs was beginning to form over the grisly mess below her left elbow and the Never had estimated a rebuild time of 97 hours. A problem had arisen though. Caren stared at the molecule thick patch growing on Jan’s stump.
“Is it still the same?” she queried.
“STILL THE SAME CAREN,” Replied the time ship. “VOLUMETRIC MACRO PRODUCTION RATE DIMINISHING. RESTRUCTURE ESTIMATE 86%. MACRO UNIT UNREPAIRABLE.”
The medico was failing, just as the time thrust block had, and would soon only be fit for use as a dining table.
“Monitor production, and we’ll revise in,” she frowned, trying to remember what time of day it was, “fourteen hours.”
The toilet door opened and Denny walked slowly through the bay and out into the cave. After a moment Caren followed and sat with her on the cave floor.
“Oh, Denny baby, you shouldn’t have done it. Not for so long, anyway.” She put her arm round her adopted sister’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.
“Lady knows, she was strong Cas. Almost got out twice. I feel dreadful.”
Denny’s family were different, not just seers and gurus, but mental magicians. Denny’s talent was still developing, but she was going to be good. Really good. For five days, Jan’s consciousness had been kept in a safe corner of Denny’s mind, behind the ‘door’ she had suggested to Jan on the bench in the taverna. They now knew each others secrets, but the differences between them meant that Jan would only remember it as a dream, and would forget most of it with the passing of time.
Pushing Jan back into her body had been traumatic for both of them, and Jan’s awful screams were still echoing in Denny’s head. Thankfully, the medico had been primed ready to start, and as soon as Jan started howling with pain and fright, Caren had given the command to commence.
“You look like you’ve been scorched,” Caren whispered.
“What?”
“Doggy joke.”
“Oh.” Denny managed to smile. “How are you getting on with them?”
“Well,” she hesitated, “it’s interesting,” was all she said.
Denny shook her head. “In what way?”
It was Caren’s turn to smile. “Most of the time, it’s chaos. Arguing, especially at mealtimes, but between fights it’s boring. Except that Flair showed me her drawings.”
“Artistic dog people. Well why not?”
“And these pictures are special. They don’t actually have writing, but their history is drawn on a set of parchments that go all the way back to something Flair called the great journey.”
“What was that then?”
“Don’t know,” replied Caren slowly, “she didn’t tell me.” She kissed Denny again. “Come on love, let’s go for a lie down. Nothing more to do here.”
Five days earlier, when Caren had turned up at the Vine and explained what they had to do with the funnel and hose she had brought, Frankie was incredulous, to say the least. “Let’s just go through that again shall we? We join this funnel to this here hose, stick it up her arse, then fill her up with salty water?”
“That’s right mistress Vine.”
“And that’ll be good for her will it? Never heard such nonsense, it’ll likely kill her off.”
Caren sighed again, “look, it shows you how and why in this book.” She waved the plaz sheets in front of the innkeeper.
Frankie paused, then said, quieter, “show me again.”
Caren patiently pointed out the relevant passages and illustrations in the medicine for beginners book.
“The words don’t look right. Spellings are all wrong. Show me that salty word again.”
At last they administered the weak saline enema to Jan’s vacant body. Cas hadn’t tried to explain that Jan was now living inside Denny’s mind, but just said that Denny had put her to sleep till the medico was free.
Val Tomson and Ginny Brand were enlisted to look after Jan while she was in the taverna, and proved to be avid readers, asking Caren for ever more of the plaz books, and the book of home management proved to be hugely popular, with them reading over and over again how to keep your bathroom sanitized. Here in Homestead, you sanitized your toilet with a spade, filling it in and digging out a new one.
After the cauterizing of Jan’s stump, it had become impossible not to notice that Denny wasn’t well. Tilly the herbalist was concerned about everybody’s health, and had eventually managed to bully Denny into eating the bitter leaves she brought her, and the headaches grew less.
Denny and Caren had been mistaken for children when they first arrived, for Denny was only about 1.5 metres tall and Caren not much more, but their status in the village was now of folk hero proportions. The battle on the green had proved them both the equal of any fighter the villagers knew, and Denny’s quietening of Jan had been seen through the taverna’s windows by girls eager to spread the tale of the dark angel. Some said witch and the like, mostly behind closed doors, but even if she’d heard them say it, Denny would only have agreed with them. She knew that the war with Central was the time of the ‘real’ Dark Angel, and then she would finally know herself for what she really was. For good or bad, there was no choice, and either the prayer book was right, or it was wrong.
The next day they sent for Ma Nesbitt and Wandra, Jan’s aunt, and they stood by the side of the medico with Caren.
“As marvellous as this machine is, it’s only a machine, and it’s breaking down,” she explained to them.
Naturally, Wandra looked worried, “not going to die, is she?”
“No, dear, she’s safe now, but we can’t finish it.”
Connie was fascinated. “Growing back an arm, now there’s something you don’t see every day.”
“But we can’t finish it.” Caren repeated, “look. Never, show expected resource graph and visualize alternatives.”
“YES CAREN.”
The screens beyond Jan’s silent form showed the three satisfactory outcomes that were possible with the volume of macro docs available.
“Animate and go full torso.” The bodies on the screen moved in harmony.
“Give 8% margin of growth reduction.” The animated left arms shrank slightly.
“That’s the best that we can do. Sorry.”
“Which one girl,” asked Wandra, “they’re different.”
“You want us to choose, don’t you?” said the guru.
“I figured you would know best, being her kin and seer. But we’ve got to decide now, before they get to
o far.” She indicated the twinkling covering of macros.
“Short arm, skinny arm, or a hand with only a finger and thumb. Mmmm. Will any of them give her aches and pains in the wet?”
“No, they’ll be perfect. Different, but perfect.”
The two women studied the moving images.
“That one don’t turn.”
“No, the bones have to be fused together.”
“And she can’t be having fingers like that, she’d likely be called names.”
“Leaves that one then,” said Connie with a sigh, “It’ll be short but strong.”
“And move proper too,” added Wandra.
“Settled then? Never, reprogram for model 3KB76. And visualize.”
“MODEL 3KB76,” repeated the Never, “DOWNLOAD AND OVERLAY. RUNNING INTEGRATION. COMPLETE.”
“That’s it, ladies. Now all we can do is watch and wait.”
“CAREN.”
She frowned and turned to the speaker, “Yes Never?”
“WHAT’S BROWN, GOT ONE WHEEL, TWO LEGS AND FLIES?”
“You’ve been talking to Hood, haven’t you?”
“YES, CAREN. SORRY CAREN.”