Hello all! Next week's schedule is going to be a little goofy with some unexpected travel and limited internet access. You'll get a post Monday, as normal, but the mid-week chapter may be delayed until Thursday mid-day, with Friday posting as usual.

Thank you all for your support and understanding! Enjoy the chapter!

~~~

C.H.A.D.D. was quite an effective diagnostician, if all reports were to be believed.  Through its programming and years of experience, the drone had grown into quite an expert at seeing all sorts of injuries and maladies.  From mundane bumps and bruises to mana plagues and parasitic infestations, C.H.A.D.D. had studied extensively.  And what happened to Dr. Mayhew was bad.

The attack from Valentine blew a hole straight through Kyle’s torso, destroying his heart and one of his lungs outright.  Furthermore, it shredded the spine and most of Kyle’s ribcage, leaving his liver and remaining lung with serious damage.  Even with the most effective healing methods the drone was aware of, the wound was almost certainly fatal, with a ninety-nine-point three percent chance of death, even if treated immediately.

C.H.A.D.D. didn’t have access to any of those things.  What C.H.A.D.D. did have was an absolute refusal to give up.

As he felt Dr. Mayhew’s consciousness fade, he activated the pack’s propulsion, while at the same time wrapping Kyle’s body in thick leaves to serve as bandages and try to stop some of the bleeding.  Fortunately, between Storm Shelter and Kyle’s incredibly durable body, the pack had held up well, with the seed packs still easily accessible.

Quickly reviewing the catalogue of different seeds he’d had Dr. Mayhew acquire, C.H.A.D.D. drew more mana to grow a couple of small reeds, which were immediately broken by some twisting vines.  The reeds had a thick sap with antimicrobial properties, and C.H.A.D.D. soaked the leaf bandages in it as they flew.

Time was of the essence, but at the same time C.H.A.D.D. needed to get them somewhere safe if their plan was to work.  Through the unique bond the Kyle created after defeating the shrike matriarch, C.H.A.D.D. felt an emotion come through.  The drone had largely refrained from commenting on the other party to the bond, but now the feeling was clear.  Fear, anger, and worry made it through.  And C.H.A.D.D. would have none of it.

[LISTEN HERE, YOU MOPING, TAGALONG, MANA-STEALING HOOLIGAN.  DR. MAYHEW IS DYING, THIS IS NO TIME FOR YOU TO SIT AROUND FEELING SORRY FOR YOURSELF.]

C.H.A.D.D. wasn’t sure if the words themselves translated through the bond, but the drone was quite certain the intent did, as a feeling of surprise and indignation came back through the bond.

[DO NOT SASS ME.  YOU HAVE DONE LITTLE OTHER THAN GROW FAT OFF OF DR. MAYHEW’S HARD WORK, AND CAUSE PROBLEMS BY REARING YOUR HEAD AT INOPPORTUNE TIMES.  I CAN TELL THAT YOU ARE INTEGRATED WITH DR. MAYHEW’S MANA CULTIVATION.  IF YOU WANT TO SAVE HIM, AND THUS YOURSELF, IT IS ABOUT TIME YOU CONTRIBUTED.  ACTIVATE HIS HEALING SKILLS TO STABILIZE HIM.]

Uncertainty and confusion came through their connection, but C.H.A.D.D. also felt a whisper of conviction.  Good.  It owes me for stealing mana from the World Tree Seed.  There was a shift in Dr. Mayhew’s mana as the emotion turned from conviction to frustration, then finally triumph.  C.H.A.D.D. could feel regenerative energy coursing through Dr. Mayhew’s body, fighting to keep the cells alive, even as they crept ever closer to death.

You need to hold on, Dr. Mayhew.  You cannot give up, not yet.  Not after everything you have been through.

C.H.A.D.D. could not be sure if the sentiment made it through to the unconscious Survivalist, but now was not the time to dwell on it.  Flying away from the settlement, the drone finally found what it had been looking for.  All of the reports on Kertan Six indicated sinkhole activity, and subterranean caverns.  From all of C.H.A.D.D.’s records, that also meant that there would be ground water, and shelter.

The sinkhole that appeared on C.H.A.D.D.’s map had been somewhat overgrown, but the scans indicated that hidden behind the tree cover, an underground network of caverns opened up.  A quick reference through some of the historical documents referred to the formation as a “cenote,” a term C.H.A.D.D. quite liked.

Releasing a smaller bamboo spear to clear the way, C.H.A.D.D. flew into the open hole in the porous ground, the limestone beneath the loamy forest soil having been eroded through.  Dr. Mayhew’s condition was worsening, despite the constant infusion of regenerative energies, and C.H.A.D.D. understood that time was absolutely of the essence.

The moment they passed through, C.H.A.D.D. fired out a network of vines covered in the gray bark from the stoneblooms.  The goal was to both obscure their retreat, as well as to help shelter them from any other fallout.  More reinforcement would be necessary, but that would have to wait until C.H.A.D.D. finished stabilizing Dr. Mayhew.

Once inside the subterranean cave, C.H.A.D.D. flew over toward the far side, where there was space to work.  The first and most important thing that needed to be done was finding a solution to assist Dr. Mayhew in cellular respiration.  Between his destroyed heart and one remaining lung, getting oxygen to his system was going to be a massive challenge.  Not to mention the huge amount of blood loss from the initial attack, and the almost immediate shock, of course.

First things first, the drone admonished itself, getting to work.

One of the theories the drone explored when first considering treating those impacted by the fungal infection was using artificial organs; destroying the infected tissue and replacing it with something else.  That theory had been quickly scrapped the more C.H.A.D.D. learned about the scope of the infection, but the notes were still in the archives.

Unwrapping Dr. Mayhew and placing him on a bed of vines, C.H.A.D.D. pulled out the primitive system it had designed.  It wasn’t nearly small enough to replace a human heart, but the tightly wound leaves, reeds, and vines would do.  The chambers of the artificial heart consisted of waxy, hydrophobic leaves, wound together in layers.

Dozens of thin, flexible reeds jutted out from the construction, and C.H.A.D.D. quickly ran the calculations to ensure they were each the right size.  If they were off by even a fraction, the damage to Dr. Mayhew’s system could be substantial.  As the drone reviewed, several of the reeds were discarded, with new ones being woven in that met specifications.

Both the World Tree Seed and Dr. Mayhew’s mana were being drained at a rapid pace, with C.H.A.D.D. not caring one single whit about efficiency.  An old Earth expression said that, when doing a project, there were three considerations: speed, quality, or cost-effectiveness.  One could only choose two of the three, and right now the focus was on speed and quality.

The last component of the triage setup took the longest to grow, as it was a full fruit, designed to contain air.  Another was already growing as vines began to wrap around both the heart and lung construct, ready to compress both to simulate a pulse and breath.  Hold on, Dr. Mayhew.

C.H.A.D.D. moved the construction into place, and with vines in place to hold him stable, pressed the reeds into place.  Each individual tube was designed to connect to a specific vein, connecting directly to the torn and damaged tissues.  Impossibly thin leaves were prepared to bind the veins and reeds together.  The large, hollow fruit was designed to take in air, absorb the oxygen, and transfer it via an auxiliary chamber into the makeshift heart; effectively functioning as a makeshift lung.

Dr. Mayhew’s body began to convulse, nearly tearing out one of the connections.  Pushing more mana into the vines, C.H.A.D.D. restrained him further.  All of the drone’s computing power was focused on a single objective; stabilizing the body.  The Core of the Parasitic Devourer, as Dr. Mayehw called it, was still pushing energy into the regenerative abilities; which was one of the few things keeping him alive right now.

Slowly, blessedly, the convulsions slowed, then stopped.  C.H.A.D.D. continued to rhythmically pump the artificial heart and lung, while systematically cleaning and changing the dressing on the rest of the grievous injury.  If it got infected, there would be little enough that the drone would be able to do.  The best thing the drone could do now was to keep the blood flowing, and take it one step at a time.

As the hours wore on, Dr. Mayhew’s breathing began to come easier.  To C.H.A.D.D.’s relief, scans of his head revealed that there was still oxygen flowing, and measurable brain activity.  They were still a long, long way from stability, but it was a start.  Ideas began to flow as C.H.A.D.D. created lists of projects.  First, their cenote would need to be secured.  Next, there was the matter of food and sustenance for Dr. Mayhew.

The drone also wanted to get some chaddlings created to assist with security and some of the manual tasks around the pool of crystal-clear water.  C.H.A.D.D. wouldn’t dare leave the work of maintaining the heart and lungs to an automated process, so the other work would need to be delegated.

A feeling of exhaustion came to C.H.A.D.D. from Dr. Mayhew’s core, and the drone sent a feeling of gratitude through the bond.  Ideas were already forming to help repay the little mana-thief for stabilizing Dr. Mayhew, though they would have to wait until things stabilized more meaningfully.  Now was a time for patience.  Medical treatments couldn’t be rushed, after all.

~~~

Valentine looked down at his rapier with disappointment.  Howling Fang was a skill he’d been so proud of, a skill designed to efficiently slaughter his enemies.  And now, twice, it had failed to fully live up to his expectations.  The first time, against the magma user, was to be expected.  After all, the man was a mid-tier C Grade, using a C Grade defensive skill.  But the fact that his attack did even less to Kyle Mayhew of all people was disgraceful.  Sure, the kid was tough, but Howling Fang should have turned him into a mist.

With a shake of his head, Valentine turned back to the panicked onlookers.  At least he could be satisfied that Mayhew was dead and gone.  Now, he could turn his attention back to the most important matter; getting off the grid to somewhere safe.  A quick pulse with his vital sense showed him where the population was congregating, with waves being warped away in batches.

In a few quick blinks, he arrived at the door to the teleportation facility.  A few guards tried to intercept him, but they were easily dispatched.  Strolling inside, he ignored the panicked screams as he laid eyes on a woman cradling her panicked child.  He blinked over to them, lazily pointing his blade as he spoke in a loud voice.

“Listen up.  Whoever is in charge here, you’re going to make some negotiations on my behalf.  Or else things are going to start getting very, very messy.”

To illustrate the point, he moved the blade closer to the woman.

“Please, what do you want?” A large man standing next to the teleporter said, his hands raised.  “Haven’t you already killed enough?”

“That entirely depends on you,” Valentine replied coolly.  “Now, what I’m going to need are some assurances.  I’m unfamiliar with all the details, but I need you to get in touch with somebody from your Collective.  I get to safety, you all get to evacuate.  I don’t, and the precautions I’ve taken will activate, and everybody here dies.”

A moment later, a voice came through a communication device the man wore on his wrist.  “My name is Granzare, one of the sponsors of this settlement.  Let me be clear about one thing; while we can facilitate your evacuation, you are hereby considered a fugitive in both Gray Conglomerate and Collective space.  A bounty has already been placed on your head.”

The voice paused for a moment, as if to let the threat sink in.  “If you choose to turn yourself in right now, you will be arrested, tried, and bound.  If not, even if you have our word on safe passage, you will spend the rest of your days being hunted down until you draw your last breath.”

“That’s a risk I’m happy to take,” Valentine replied.  “And understand that, if you cross me, every person here will be slaughtered.”

It was an incredibly risky gamble, one built on nothing more than a bluff and a hope that this “Collective” was as weak-willed as any other organization of its like.  This was the risk of valuing weak lives too preciously – they became weak points to be exploited.  All he could do now was hope.

A few minutes later, Granzare came back to him.  “Step onto the teleporter.  You will be sent away to a habitable planet outside of Gray Conglomerate jurisdiction.  If anything happens to these people after your departure, we will respond by ensuring your demise is a brutal one.”

Gregory simply nodded, stepping onto the platform.  A moment later, he was whisked away.  As his vision came back to him, Valentine saw a defunct teleportation platform beneath, covered in dust.  Already, the mana was dispersing from the sigils, preventing any use for a return.

Stepping out of the teleportation chamber, he looked out at a mostly-lightless metal field, with a dome of some sort surrounding it.  Extending his senses, he didn’t detect anything living anywhere nearby.

Stranded on a defunct space station, he mused.  Not ideal, but better than he’d been in years.  Gregory Valentine was finally free.