Wormhole Cultivation [Book 2] - Chapter 22: Bad Days (Patreon)

I pulled the knife out of my spatial pocket and swore at the pain shooting from my leg into my head through my groin.

At least the pain hadn't gone through the groin before! But I already knew what came next. Next I had to remove the affected area, and do it as fast as possible, so fewer deformed particles of flesh spread through my bloodstream — and only then the pod and regeneration.

Three years in the Federation had given me plenty of practice with surprises like this. When I'd just started training at Black Hole, I'd had a couple dozen minor incidents ending in severed finger tips. Cut off with this very same razor-sharp knife, incidentally.

None of them came close to the scale of my very first injury, with the prax's face plate. Right now there was a real chance I'd beat that record. Not the most pleasant experience. The kind that makes you seriously consider amputation on the spot.

I held the knife out to Kate.

"Cut it," I asked. "The trainer, not the leg. We need to assess the state first."

"You don't want to wait for the medics?" she answered uncertainly, taking the knife.

"Believe me, I'm all for it, but we need to move fast. Cut."

Kate lined up on the trainer and pulled at the edge near the tongue.

I clenched my teeth against the pain. The nerve endings in my foot were absolutely losing it.

She'd only cut a few centimetres in when a pair of medics burst into the hall on jetboards and rose higher to spot us among the concrete mess.

"Here!" Kate shouted and waved.

The medics dropped onto us from the air.

"What happened?" one of them asked. "I didn't catch the signal."

"Space injury," I said, pointing at my leg. "The foot's fused with the sole of the trainer. Scan it."

The medic dutifully, too dutifully, bent over the leg and held a scanner to it.

Oh, come on! This one's only a Three, and his partner's a Two, no less!

Just my luck.

"You're looking at fused flesh and plastic," I explained to him. "You need to figure out how deep one's penetrated into the other and cut it off.

"Are the bones and muscles affected?" I went on directing his actions.

"The muscles are clear. Bones aren't affected either. Only the superficial epidermis and part of the dermis are compromised, about three millimetres deep."

I exhaled. "Great! That's the best-case outcome. Cut the whole lot off."

The medic hesitated, still holding the scanner over my leg, as if hoping the problem would just disappear if he stared at it long enough.

"We'll get you to the infirmary, there…"

"No, damn it!" I barked. "Infected flesh particles are already spreading through my blood. The longer you stall, the more damage gets done to the body, the longer the recovery. Just grab it and cut off the infected skin in one motion."

"I'm not a surgeon, I don't cultivate Blade. It won't come off in one motion."

I shifted my gaze to the second-stage assistant.

He shook his head very fast and very categorically. I don't think it was blood he was afraid of — more likely the Four's fury if he cut off something extra.

"Wonderful," I ground out. "Just wonderful. Kate, love, this is the perfect moment to show off your love of sadism."

"Piss off," she said, and handed the knife back to the senior medic. "Cut, go on!"

The medic sighed and turned down the knife. He reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of scissors, with which he quickly and neatly trimmed away the excess trainer fabric. Though I still winced at every one of his movements.

"Local!" the senior of the pair ordered, pointing at my calf.

The junior medic sprang to life, pulled out an injector, and discharged it into my calf with a flourish. The careless motion tensed my whole leg, and a growl of pain broke through even my clenched teeth.

The junior medic actually took a step back from my furious glare. The senior one, resigned to his fate, took an ordinary scalpel and sank it half a centimetre into the left side of my foot.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yeah!" I barked.

"Tell me when it stops."

"Just cut, go on!" I barked again.

"As you wish," he agreed, and pulled the scalpel through.

Black blood gushed from the wound. Or maybe my vision was just going dark. And my ears started ringing... I missed the senior medic ordering the junior one to shoot another dose of painkiller into my neck.

"...and you'll stop twitching." I heard that much.

"I've got a high resistance to toxins and drugs of that type," I warned, but my vision was already swimming. My leg had stopped whitening the way it had before. "Ha..."

My consciousness seemed to detach from my body, and I watched from the outside as the medic cut off my sole, starting from the heel.

He ran into some difficulty with the toes, but by then the drug was already in full effect.

Good drug.

Almost as good as that Federation relaxant.

Bit of an odd taste on the tongue, but a good drug.

I never actually saw the medic finish cutting off the sole, I passed out before that.

I woke up with the sensation that someone had cut my leg off at the knee. No, it didn't hurt, it was sensorially absent, and that made me jerk and nearly fly off the bed I was firmly restrained to for exactly that reason.

My leg hadn't gone anywhere. Same as in the Federation, it had been placed in a personal capsule. Except this capsule wasn't mobile but stationary, small as it was, so I was securely attached to it.

"How convenient," Zola said. "I was about to leave."

"Hi," I croaked. My throat was scratchy, like I'd swallowed sand.

Zola pushed a plastic cup with a straw toward me without a word.

I latched onto it.

"Bones and muscles are clean," she didn't waste time. "The blood's barely infected. You'll be fine in a week, if our estimate's correct. We still don't have much data on injuries of this kind."

"I can organise a comprehensive study, if you find some volunteers," I promised, not letting go of the straw.

"Thanks for the tempting offer, but I've got plenty of work as it is. Besides, I don't trust people who lose a fight to their own trainer," she said.

"Very funny," I appreciated it. "I recently explode a Four's jaw off."

"You know what those two things have in common?" She pointed at the metal pod holding my leg.

"What?" I asked, once the cup ran dry and the straw started wheezing.

"Both happened by accident," she said, tossing the cup in the bin. "Bye. I'll stop by again later."

Zola didn't keep her opinion to herself. When Bao came to check on me, he opened with her exact words.

"Seriously? You beat an experienced Four, but lost to a trainer?"

"You and Zola can both go to hell!" I commented.

Bao laughed. "Mate, this is really ruining your reputation as a tough fighter."

"Are you here to mock me?"

"Yep. Zola specifically asked me to."

Bao stayed a bit longer than Zola had, and after him Rene stopped by. Apparently he and Zola hadn't been talking.

"What happened, mate?" he asked. "Why do I need this news right before seclusion?"

"You finally settled on a date?"

"I'm taking the chamber the day after tomorrow. I figured you'd cover for me in the hall."

"Oh, then I'm glad I can't!" I said, unable to hold back a genuine grin.

"That's an unhealthy attitude, Jake," he said.

No one else visited me until late evening, but I got quite a few messages, including from my master, his master, fellow students, praxi, colleagues, and just acquaintances.

And in the evening, someone I hadn't expected to see at all dropped by — Jonson.

His jaw was an unnaturally pink colour, like a baby's skin, covered in soft, thin adolescent fuzz, and slightly smaller than it should have been.

Hatred glowed in his eyes.

"Sullivan," he said, in a voice that sounded somewhat foreign, as if it were hard for him to move the new part.

"Jonson," I answered, making no attempt to sit up straighter.

Not that I could have. I was securely restrained. If a fight broke out, there'd be no running for me.

I could Misty Step... and collapse from the pain.

He came closer, stopped a metre from the bed, looking down at me.

"Seems everyone has their bad days," he said.

"And often we're the ones to blame for them," I jabbed.

"With a social circle like yours? Of course."

"Not following," I said.

"You think this is over? I lost this particular skirmish. But I'm not the kind who forgets debts, Sullivan. You've just turned a neutral, at worst inconvenient, superior into someone who now has a personal interest in making your life a little harder."

"Noted," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "Good thing that person's no longer my superior."

He probably meant to clench his jaw, but the teeth didn't line up straight and it came out somewhat crooked.

"Everyone has their bad days," he repeated. "But there are good ones too."

Jonson turned and walked off, evidently thinking that sounded cool.

Personally, I thought it was so-so.

I was discharged from the infirmary on the third day, with skin on my foot just as soft and pink as Jonson's chin. Putting weight on it hurt, but it was bearable, and the medics assured me that in a week there'd be no difference left between the old skin and the new.

Straight from the infirmary, I headed to Novak's for our previously scheduled tea.

Aoran was already sitting at the table when I walked in. He saluted me with his cup, studying me with all three eyes.

"Painful lessons are learnt best," he said.

"Kate must adore you," I said.

"A talented young girl," he nodded. "Seems she does like me, but I don't follow your sarcasm."

"Forgive me. That was out of place. My leg's killing me."

"Show me," he asked, with no transition whatsoever.

I dropped into a chair and stretched out my leg.

"Should I take off the trainer?"

Aoran waved that off.

"From what I can see, it shouldn't kill you. Are you sure this isn't just plain bad character talking?" he asked me, with academic curiosity in his voice.

Three-eyed prick.

"Absolutely," I said, and held back any further comment.

"Such self-control," Novak needled me, pouring and handing over a cup. "Bravo!"

"Thanks!" I said, and decided I'd keep my mouth shut no matter what.

As a result, everyone stayed silent for the next ten minutes, wondering who'd crack first.

Novak decided to go first.

"Any questions?"

"I heard the demons sent a probe through the wormhole. What happened to it?"

"The demons tried to send a probe through," Novak corrected me. "It was destroyed by a direct shot straight through the wormhole itself, before it managed to cross over to this side."

"Luck or calculation?" I clarified.

"Careful preparation," the master said. "We were ready for that turn of events."

"Was it just the probe? A single one?"

"Yes."

"Then why did everyone go into a panic like it was the end of the world?" I asked.

He poured himself more tea, unhurried, as if deliberately demonstrating to me the very calm I was supposed to be learning.

"Because it's a signal — they know. And they did get some limited data. The fleet's shifting station positions and reshuffling the minefields. That'll keep going for a while yet. They'll send probes, we'll reposition to meet them. Don't pay it any mind, it doesn't concern you. Train, and try to hold out a bit longer this time without injuries or other kinds of trouble."

"I'm all for it, but Jonson came to see me in the infirmary, threatened me a bit. Just so you know, if something happens — not my fault."