h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

*Pestilence staggers in after him.*
[Pestilence] Me too...
*Fester looks up from his work. He appears to be performing an autopsy on one of the JACKAL soldiers.*
[Fester] The doctor is elsewhere. I'll see what I can do...
*Patches up Kran's injuries.*
[Fester] There, you were superficial. Pestilence, however... He'll take a while longer. Congratulations, by the way. I hope you deserved that promotion. I don't usually give rank so easily, but Marshal insisted...

thanks Fester

*wanders off again limping slightly wondering what hes going to do now*

[Fester] Get something to eat?
*Kran stops. How did he... Never mind. Kran ached from injury and adrenalin lag, and he was tired...*

One of the bulkheads peels open, steam pouring out the uneven slit in the metal. Recrash steps out clean and comfortably dressed, and pushes the door back in. A flash of white porcelain before it closes completely.

"I'm here now. What can I do for you?"

[Pestilence] How 'bout stitchin' me up again, 'crash? I've got a broken arm, an' a coupla' cracked ribs, maybe some other stuff...

Medical work in progress.

The gleaming surgical instruments, held in the hands of flawlessly programmed servo-drone attendants, the easy click and whirr of force-healers and ultrasonic medicators, the cool, clean lights that bathed the sterile room, this all gave an air of near-inhuman efficiency. The poker-faced doctor, immaculately dressed in laundered and pressed surgical whites, hummed as he worked.

“Hmm… clean break of the humerus resulting in its projecting from the skin, patched on-site with a hasty splint that almost did more damage than good, three damaged ribs, one in two places. Multiple lacerations and extensive abrasions… Etcetera, etcetera…”

“Doc?”
“Yes, Pestilence?”

He was lying comfortably on the surgical table, still wearing his mask but bare to the waist, exposing sickly white-and-purple flesh. His broken arm extended out where the doctor could get to it, and his head was comfortably raised on built-in cushions that allowed him to face Recrash. His lenses blinked.

“I was wondering… shouldn’t you be in the training room, doing something?”

“Ah, settling some vendetta. Yes, I heard of that.”
“So what are you doing here?”
“Well, it has something to do with quantum tight-beam technology. It’s a really long story.”
“Please do.”

“Very well. You see, I’m still there, fighting. You wondered sometimes where I was when I was gone for long periods. My tight-beam tech not only allows me to move from place to place, it can also dial me forward and backward in time. Limited to specific sites, of course.”

“So are you a future Recrash, or what?”
“Past, actually. I’ll disappear into that door in awhile when my current version is finished.”
“Aren’t you worried, that like, he’ll, you’ll die?”
“That’s a risk.”

*Angel is sitting on a medical bed. She looks almost helpless, where it not for the fact that she'd killed so many people... She looks up at a bowl of grapes, takes one, and tosses it into the air. She tries to catch it in her mouth, but it deflects. She tries again, and it stops in mid-air, spinning gently. She smiles to herself, takes the grape, and eats it.*

[Fester] Recrash, how is Pestilence? Is Angel ready for interrogation? Also, we need medical personnel down at The Shrineworld. If you can get down there, I'd appreciate it. (A880940)

From behind a curving shield of armored glass, Recrash notes his subject. Nestled comfortably on a suspended platform in the center of a duralium sphere, Angel is a subject worth watching. Optical, thermal, magnetic resonance, and ultrasound scanners sweep her periodically.

It seems that a long drugged sleep has been good for her, Recrash thinks, but his brow knots with unease at the psyche-test reports. Very complex. So far, she'd done nothing but eat, sleep, and use the refresher thoughtfully installed on a lower level of the holding chamber. Yet, there was a hidden current of hysteria there, a wellspring of madness just under the surface.

He would need more time to plan.