Time To Repair

Northampton England, Wednesday August 13th 2262

01:08:13 hours

Simon stood naked in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. He twisted and turned to his left and then right to see the full extent of his injuries.

The fourteen minute journey from Hillary Jane’s house to the teleporter in Wrenbury Lane had been agony; every slow careful step had been excruciating. Simon had never before endured pain of this intensity for so long. On arriving home the first thing he had done was open his medical kit and take three pain relief capsules followed by a large swig of Antihol. His pain had subsided by fifty percent already; another few minutes and it would be gone completely. His giddy feelings of excess alcohol had also started to wane.

“Rear-view,” he commanded. The mirror switched from reflection mode to the live-feed setting and displayed his rear aspect which was being streamed to the mirror by a small pinhead lens fixed into the ceiling behind him. Most of his injuries were better viewed from the front so he switched back to the reflection mode.

The three puncture wounds to his left thigh looked nasty. His leg was almost completely covered in dry and fresh blood; the fight with Norman had smeared it everywhere.

He bent down to his clothes that lay strewn around him and pulled his dat-com strap from his trouser pocket. He straightened the bent pin attached to the leather band as best as he could, clipped it into the body of the strap and put it back on his wrist. He rotated his hand about to check the strength - the strap promptly fell off, the pin disengaging from the body again. Simon frowned as he picked it up and relocated the pin again. If this kept happening he would have to buy a new band. He put the strap on once again.

“Body scan,” he instructed. While he waited for the scan to complete he went back over to the open medical kit on the bed. He sat down gingerly next to it; hopefully the large green and white plastic box that his mum had insisted on buying him when he moved would contain everything he would need.

Simon’s strap pulsed against his wrist to let him know that the scan was complete.

The display read:

Swelling and contusions to the right eye

Severe swelling and contusions to the right forearm

Minor abrasions to the arms, legs, and torso

Slight swelling and mild contusions to the knuckles of both hands

Swelling and contusions to the right-hand side of the torso

Hairline fractures to right-hand side ribs four, five, six and seven

Severe contusions to the testicles

Three open wounds to the left thigh

Foreign body detected in the top thigh wound!

Blood loss 3.26%

Conclusion: Seek medical treatment for thigh wounds and rib fractures. Send diagnosis to Doctor Savage?

Simon weighed up in his mind whether he really needed to disturb his doctor at this late hour. The chances were Doctor Savage would have diverted his incoming out-of-hour’s medical enquiries to the ENH anyway. Did he really want to be sat in the England National Hospital in Oxford for hours waiting for treatment?

He re-read the strap diagnosis; there was nothing on it really that he couldn’t treat himself at home. His ribs would heal themselves and pain capsules would be sufficient for most of his injuries. His thigh wounds did need attention though; especially the top one that had something in it. He shifted his weight to his right buttock and stretched his left leg out on the bed; twisting it inwards as best as he could to see the wounds on his outer thigh more clearly. The top one was the worst. He reached into the medical box and pulled out a tin of anaesthespray. He pumped the trigger three times to build up the pressure and then sprayed his thigh. The cool mist felt good and within seconds he lost all feeling in most of his leg. Next out of the box was a large antiseptic pad. He ripped open the bag with his teeth and spent a couple of minutes cleaning the wounds and the surrounding area. The white pad had turned completely pink by the time he was finished. A rummage in the box located the tweezers he needed next. Simon carefully fished around in the wound until he felt something hard against the tweezers. He thanked the inventor of anaesthespray, not for the first time in his life, as he painlessly pulled out a jagged shard of crystal glass. He dropped the piece into the bag the pad had come in, along with the soiled pad.

“Check for foreign bodies,” Simon instructed. The strap pulsed after a short wait to reveal no foreign bodies found. Good, Simon thought as he plucked the glass bottle of flesh restoration accelerant from the medical box. He shook it for a minute to activate it and then carefully poured the effervescing clear fluid into each of the three wounds. The solution reacted with the blood, transforming into a gel inside the wounds with a hard clear shiny surface, that when adhered to the surrounding skin would be irremovable without surgery. Simon was pleased with the results. Within a few days now the wounds would be virtually healed and the flesh restoration accelerant would start to disintegrate. He decided a shower was needed before he could properly assess any of his other injuries.

After a long soak Simon felt a lot better. He had a clear head following the antihol, and all his pain had now subsided thanks to the pain capsules; he would have to carry these around with him for the next week at least to keep the pain at bay. He positioned himself in front of the bedroom mirror again. The only telltale sign of his fight was the rapidly growing bruise round his right eye. All his other grazes and bruises would be concealed beneath clothes and were not serious enough to need attention.

The swelling around his right eye wasn’t too noticeable but the darkening red bruise would have to be concealed; he didn’t want to think about what Anna Chillipoc would say if she saw it.

He retrieved the glass bottle of bruise blotter from the medical box and went to the mirror in the ensuite where the light was better. He spent five minutes meticulously painting the flesh coloured fluid around his eye with the long brush fixed to the underside of the cap. He stood back a little to see the finished result. It wasn’t perfect, but would fool most people that didn’t know him too well. He would try and avoid Chilly Poxy for a few days as well as visual communication with his mum. He frowned as he thought of the barrage of questions about the new lady in his life he would face from her at some point.

He was exhausted and in need of his bed. He climbed in and groaned with pleasure at how good it felt. His traumatic end to the night was over. He would wake in the morning and put the evening’s awful experience behind him. It wouldn’t pay to dwell on it. It had happened and was over and done with as far as he was concerned.