Recovery, Nurse, Friend

Buddy woke up to see two women lean over him without many, if any, cybernetics. Both were dressed in white with red crosses coiled by snakes marking the lapels and headdresses of their frock-robes. Between them was a machine, from which cables, wires, and self-automated dendrites stretched to his arms, chest and legs.

“Good morning mister Limbo,” one of them said, “I’m Sandra, I’m a trained overhaul and surgery mechanic, and this is my apprentice Lucia. How do you feel?”

Buddy looked around; he was in a room, lying on a cot. “Where’s Hound?”

“The canine was in intensive care, and I’ve heard he pulled through. It was hard to treat him not knowing what his sentience system is,” Sandra said, “now, how do you feel?”

“Like recycled shit,” he groaned.

Sandra slapped him, Lucia giggled. “Not in the Lord’s house,” said Sandra.

“Ow.”

“Tactile sensoria operational,” Sandra said to Lucia, who scribbled the finding down, “can you move your digits please, one at a time,” she then said to Buddy.

He rolled his eyes and did as the mechanic said. The neurological test was followed by several others, each more demanding, until Sandra was satisfied and left with Lucia to report to whomever was in charge, leaving Buddy to stew in his discomfort.

He looked around again, more awake this time, and realized he was in some part of the church he didn’t recognize. A storage unit or a study of some sort meant for a human sized priests when there still were such things, perhaps.

The small door on the other side of the room opened, and Buddy could see the massive form of Father Robert sit himself by the frame, pistons hissing, and lean down to be seen and to see, joints whining.

“You’re awake. I did not think it would take this long,” the priest said in a deep, worried voice.

“How long was I out?” Buddy asked, getting up to sit on the edge of the cot. The chronometer readings ever in his periphery were glitching and didn’t give proper readings.

“Two days.”

“Great…”

“I’m glad you are well, Beaufort. I have not had the chance to thank you for retrieving Jean,” Robert said after a long pause.

“Yeah, well… part of the job I guess,” Buddy said.

“Thank you,” Robert said. No doubt if they had shared the space, one of his large paws would be on Buddy’s shoulder now. An even longer pause followed.

“Hey, you were the one that took out Tom, not I,” the bounty hunter said, disturbed by the sincere silence, “by the way, how did you get all the way up from the sanctuary to the front doors?” he asked.

“Very carefully,” said Bob.

“Sucking in your gut and up on your tippy toes?”

“More or less.”

Buddy laughed, then cringed at the pain that followed.

“Take it easy, Beaufort.”

“What are we laughing about?” said a staticky voice from somewhere beyond the priest.

Robert raised his trunky legs to let Hound limp beneath them into the room. The poor thing was wrapped in ferro-thread support gauze, his left ear was clipped from the outer edge, and his chromed snout was covered by a black sticker-tape, scratched where it was visible. The neon green eyes were a tad dim, but very much alive.

“Hey Hound-o! Nothing much, just at the thought of Father Bob here traversing the nave,” Buddy said.

“No doubt with the grace of a dancer,” said Hound, earning more pained laughter from both.

“Alright you two, that’s enough,” said Father Bob, “we still need to discuss the continuation of your mission.”

“Hold on,” Buddy said, pointing his primary-index finger at the priest, “what the hells do you mean, continuation?”

“Beaufort…”

“Don’t you tell me not to swear. I very nearly got wrecked because of this here mission. I better get some compensation or else.”

“Beaufort,” the priest said, raising a hand to placate the cyborg, “if you recall, your mission was to find and retrieve what the See is looking for.”

“The Verdancy Pathogen,” said Hound.

“Yes,” said the priest, “and Jean is merely a guide to it. You still have a long road ahead of you.”

“Oh hells, that’s right,” said Buddy, rubbing his temples, “but it’s going to take some time before we are up and ready to go. Also, we need food for the Grower. It’s going to be an expensive trip, and I ain’t paying for it.”

“Arrangements are being made, fret not. The See will sponsor this mission, and the final payment will be adjusted based on what success parameters are met, and how demanding it proves to be,” Father Robert said.

“Did you say sponsor?” Buddy asked, all ears, “that means we get one of those nigh on infinite credit tokens?”

“No, Beaufort. And don’t be greedy,” said the priest, “what it means is that your repair expenses and overhaul procedures will be paid for by the See. Transportation will be arranged, energy supplies, both organic and inorganic, will be covered, and an escort will be attached. The See’s pockets aren’t infinite, and this mission must remain clandestine, so no credit token.”

“I’m sorry, but did you say escort?” Buddy said, “as in soldiery?”

“I share Buddy’s concern, Father,” said Hound, “that would undoubtedly draw attention to us.”

“Oh, I apologize,” said Robert, “I meant to say agent. An asset of the See, a representative so to speak.”

“Thanks for the trust padre,” Buddy said. Hound chuffed in agreement.

“She will not be there to give you orders or interfere. She’s a squire, and this would be her test of proving. She requested the assignment herself and given that no one except the higher authorities knew of the nature of this task up until the two of you, the See saw it as divine providence,” the Father intoned.

“She blackmailed the See didn’t she?” Buddy asked.

Hound wheezed one of his high-pitched coughing laughs.

If the priest could blush, he was doing so now. “Insolence! To think… to assume that…”

“Alright, alright, father,” Buddy said through contained chuckles, “it don’t matter to me in how which way she got the job, just that she won’t get in our way.”

The priest calmed down. “She’s quite proficient for her age, and… well, let’s say: lively. She will also be your Buggy driver.”

“Yay, Buggy,” said Hound.

“Ya like drives boy?” Buddy asked in a high-pitched voice.

“Don’t do that,” Hound said, baring fangs.

Buddy raised his hands in apology, then he turned back to the priest. “Well, when do we meet her?”

“You already have,” said Robert, “the mechanic, Lucia.” The priest rose. “But enough for now, you two need rest. The mechanics say the overhauls begin in an hour, and that you two will be fully recovered in three days. Rest, see to your systems and software, and we’ll talk more soon.”

As the priest was turning, Buddy said, “hey, Father Robert? Where’s the atomizer?”

The gigantic mech stopped, still as a statue for an uncomfortable second, then he spoke in a hushed voice so no one nearby might hear, “in my cockpit. I’ve kept it secret from the others of the See, and I will return it to you. But you must promise me one thing.”

Buddy said nothing.

“You must promise that after this mission, you will either destroy it or return it to the See for safekeeping.”

Buddy worked his copper jaw, dented where he had received the pummeling from Tom. “Alright, Father, I promise.”

“Good,” said the priest, “now get some rest.”

Massive footsteps echoed off the stone walls, never really fading until the mech inevitably stopped at some point. Buddy and Hound were left alone. Both sat in a quiet repose. The events of the past three, well, five if you count the two days of near comatose hibernation, had been more than unexpected for both.

Buddy looked at the wrapped up dog who in turn stared blankly at a wall deep in his own thoughts and realized that he trusted the thing. Hound had been nothing but sincere, had done nothing but prove his reliability, even though he’d threatened to dart off if danger arose when they had first met.

Were they friends now? The hell should Buddy know; he only had one, the priest, and even that strained the definition.

Foolishly, he was about to voice the question, honestly wishing to know, but Hound beat him to it with a question of his own.

“Do you suppose that branch manager new something of my maker?”

Buddy thought for a long spell, then, “he could have been lying. He was Conclave, after all. They’d do or say anything to get what they want,” he said.

Hound’s ears drooped. Buddy shared the feeling, much to his surprise.

Hesitantly, he reached a hand toward Hound, palm lingering just above the scruff. He thought about it, then, smiling to himself he lowered his hand. The scruffy line of hair was soft under his tactile sensoria.

Hound didn’t protest or move from his spot.

“We’ll find whoever made ya, okay, friend?” Buddy said.

Hound craned his head back to look him in the eyes. “Sounds good,” he said.

END OF BOOK 1.

 

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