Oh, thank fuck he wasn’t dead! Being run out of town would be the shittiest of all outcomes, especially after meeting Bron Smith, the dwarven smith. Jon wasn’t gonna get that lucky a second time.

A rough glance at the depression in Faelyn’s left arm and in Jon’s expert opinion—which it was not—the man’s ulnar bone was broken. A clean fracture, he hoped. Evy was the next best medical expert he had. If things kept going this way, he was gonna need that ‘saw-bones’ specialist real soon.

He had put in the request directly after rescuing Kay. The world, being a genetic golden goose, should entice many an aspiring researcher. Enough to jump in during quarantine hopefully.

Bron announced behind him. “Alright, I’m calling it, the fight goes to Kay!” There were surprised murmurs and a few complaints. Bron shut them up quickly. “There’ll be no fucken whinin’ about it. You wanted a show, and ya got something, I dare say, none of us ere seen. Three cheers fer the Calamitous Kay!” He led them in the cheering and then dispersed the crowd.

Jon paid it no mind. He attempted visual and touch inspection, but Faelyn was having none of it.

“Keep your filthy hands off me human!” He likely meant it as a threat, but Jon saw ‘wounded deer’.

“Shut the fuck up and let me check and treat you. I’m a healer.”

“I’m perfectly fine human. I’ve no need for your pity.”

“You’re lucky to be alive. I’d have been happy to get the shit kicked out of me, but no! You had to go and piss off Kay. Rookie move son, now let me see that fucken arm. It needs resetting.” Moving the arm was a diversion; he pulled a stethoscope from his first-aid kit.

“Stop fucken squirming; I need to check your lungs.” He finally got the cold metal on the man’s chest under the neckline.

“I shall remember this harassment human!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m a piece of shit, you’re amazing. Now let me work.”

Brom moved close speaking low, “Ya have a bit o’ splaining te do Jon. Just what kind of strength does your mistress wield?”

“A question for a later date I’m afraid Bron. Thank you for calming the crowd. I most certainly owe you one, trust me you’ll not regret it.”

“Aye, I have a measure of the man you are. You shared drink and talk with me after all, so I’ll let things lie for now.” He turned his attention to Faelyn. “How does he fare?”

“Fucken lucky, that’s how. Breathing appears regular and unconstricted. Maybe a cracked rib or two but the arsehole won’t let me check.”

“You can’t know of my breathing with that queer trinket! Just what kind of contrived healer are you?”

“The best goddamn healer you’re likely to get. And say whatever the fuck you like, I know, and you know, your breathing is fine, that’s all the knowledge I need. Say I’m lying one more time. I dare ya, matter of fact I double dare ya!”

“Master! Use this; it’s a healing potion.” Jon inwardly groaned.

“Master!? Healing potion!?” Bron reacted expectedly to the first part; the second was news to Jon too. Oh well, since Kay’s ‘little’ display, it was best that attention shifted to him. He had home-advantage up Shit’s Creek after all.

Next, where the bliksem did Keya get her hands on a healing potion? Jon recalled the flasks of Gavin’s he apportioned to Kay way back when they first met. They weren’t labelled, so how the hell did she know.

He ignored Bron’s and Faelyn’s shocked expressions.

“Kay, you’re sure it’s a healing potion?”

Kay had since realised her blunder and hesitated before continuing. “I-It is. I am sure, I… checked.” Kay wouldn’t lie, and the way she enunciated ‘checked’ was laden with hidden meaning. Just how much diagnostic power did her magic have? He’d check with her later.

No way about it, Jon had slipped up. There was always something. He’d clean forgotten about those donnerse flasks; they would need to be sampled too.

“Hold up on the potion just yet. I’ve gotta set his bones.”

Bron spoke. “Jon, if tha truly is a healing potion then... what kind of powerful folk I’ve gone and mixed myself up with?” It was quite heart-rending seeing that paled expression on the dwarf.

“You’ve nothing to fear Bron. We come in peace, and only wish you live long and prosper.” He gave the prerequisite sign.

“Yo Faelyn, I’m gonna need you to lie down for a bit.”

“You expect me to prostrate my self on this dirty floor?!”

“On a table is fine too. I just need you in a position where you won’t move too much to make alignment easier. Bron would you be so kind? I promise it to be educational!” With much fuss, they got Faelyn on a broad oaken slab with his head bolstered on someone’s coat.

Impromptu medical care was the night’s second instalment of entertainment. The stress and adrenaline of prior events had thankfully sharpened Jon’s senses. He would be able to manage this operation and then crash in the Bunker.

First, he the felt and prodded to ensure the rest of the arm was fine. Jon also asked Faelyn to move his fingers. Everything else appeared in order.

Satisfied, he stuck his hand through the rift in his bag and produced a broad white over-sized bangle with countless rods extending out of it. Each rod was as thick as a pencil, but half the length and there were five encircling rows of them, making the bangle more of a hand length sleeve bristling with outer pins. The interior was unobstructed but holes extended through the bracelet for each mounted rod. The inside diameter could freely clear a fist or any particularly muscular arm up to the bicep. “This will feel cold and a bit weird, so don’t freak.” He slicked the limb up to the shoulder with medical gel, and Faelyn pulled a sharp breath as Jon touched skin. Afterwards, he slipped on the cylinder. The rods engaged, pushing through the bangle and dropping rounded tips onto the dermis. They contoured to the forearm’s cross-sectional shape, the rods outside undulating gently as he guided it up and down the limb.

What everyone else did not see was the ultrasound image fed to his HUD. The precise acoustics of the cylinder allowed for higher imaging resolution, and the data centre back home stitched the scans together. Each roller delivered localised ultrasound giving him a three-dimensional view. “You have a fractured ulnar bone as I suspected. The break looks clean.”

“Giving it a name will do nought, human,” retorted Faelyn.

“Knowing is half the battle, accurate knowledge more so. This is treatable without surgery. Again, you are lucky because surgery is something I am not equipped to do. Mind you I’d try anyway, but now I can guarantee you’ll be able to fire a bow again.” That got the fucker’s compliance.

A hole in the centre of the cylinder, between the rods, allowed for the next step. Rummaging in the med-bag produced a rift syringe. It looked nothing like a traditional syringe; just a slim stylus with some buttons on the side and back, and a hollow silver ringed tip: the rift. A dispensary back in the med bay got the anaesthetic dose ready. Doses were prepackaged with syringes in vacuum-sealed cartridges. No mess, no fuss, and his stock was newly replenished.

“This will sting a little at first, but it is medicine to remove the pain. Essential before I start moving the bone back in place, you understand?”

Faelyn acquiesced. Inserting the syringe-stylus through the designed hole in the rodded cylinder; he aligned it with the fracture site. The rift activated and a needle pushed through and pierced the skin, injecting right into the break-site to properly bathe both broken ends. Sitting back, he waited for the drugs to kick in.

“I smell strong spirits,” noted Bron.

“It’s the medical gel it has high alcohol content, cleans wounds and prevents them from going septic. I have plain rubbing alcohol too, but the device you see needs to slip freely on the skin.”

“Cleans wounds, huh? I did nay know that.”

“There is likely more that Jon knows than all of Elgelica combined,” weighed in Kay.

“Lay it on thick, Kay,” said Jon glancing at the girl and smiling.

Guiltily, she averted his eyes.

He turned back to the patient. “Faelyn, my fair-weather fighter, how’s the pain?”

Faelyn looked down with incredulity. “Mostly gone, I could scarcely believe my arm broke if I were not seeing it.

“Okie dokie. Please keep your arm in this lifted neutral position while I work.”

The arm ready, Jon engaged the pneumatic functions of the cylinder pins. They simultaneously got to work pushing and prodding at the break site. The ‘magically’ moving machine elicited a few awe-filled gasps, and one from Kay no less. Looks like she’s not immune to mind-blows just yet. In seconds the device expertly manipulated both broken ends back into position. He watched the repositioning on ultrasound.

“Please keep your arm very still we’ve one more step. I’m going to slip on the cast. Kay, could you come here and hold?”

Kay gently held the arm and cylinder in place as the pins retracted. Jon retrieved a tubular sleeve like that of a long shirt arm and slipped it on beyond the elbow. Fully in place, it hooked around the thumb like a fingerless glove. The cylinder pins reengaged on the break site.

Finally, he pulled out an aerosol can of quick-setting foam and pumped up the sleeve like a tire tube. Pressure from the pins would ensure exact support and positioning as the cast rigidly set. A curing countdown auto-started in his HUD: Lee’s handy work. Silent and attentive when the mic-man needed to be. He owed his partner more than a few beers when he got back.

“Awesome,” The sigh was more for himself than anyone else. “once it hardens as a cast, you’ll need to leave it on you until the bones have properly healed. That’s about one to two months for humans, but I’m not so sure for elves. You’ve lighter bones so maybe less. Don’t bloody use it heavily for a while after that you hear!”

Bron asked, “Why the blast do ya have all these trinkets in your bag, Jon? Were you expecting someone to come to harm?”

“Well Bron, you’ve only just come to know me, but as a rule, I have just about everything and more in my bag. Don’t question it; you don’t want to open that can of worms.”

“He does not lie,” confirmed Kay.

Faelyn was looking a little drugged up just then; he hoped Evy got the dosage right.

“What by the gods is a ‘can’?” Asked Bron.

“‘Tis a thin metal jar for keeping food,” she explained.

“Do you eat worms then?”

“I-I do not know.” Kay got lost in thought.

Bron threw his hands up in exasperation.

Jon wasn’t in the mood to explain. “Alright, hand the potion over.” Kay plopped it into his outstretched hand. Best to get this out the way while they waited. “I take it potions are rare around here.” He uncorked the flask and sniffed.

Bron replied, “aye, you might say that, more like legendary though. The means of making true magical elixirs be lost to time. Apothecaries these days dabble in simple salves and tinctures.”

“You were aware of this Kay?” She nodded sombrely. Divulging such a trump card was far from ideal, but it was hers to offer. Jon would not deny such wishes, especially since she was cognizant of its gravity.

He apportioned a small sample in a glass vial. It was a liquid with slight green murkiness to it, like water with excessive algae. He promptly switched the rift to the mass spectrometer in the Med Lab. Pushing through, he lodged the vial securely in the receptacle. It took a further few minutes to return initial results: a dilute water solution of some hydrocarbons and a few proteins, harmless on first glance. Well, there’s nothing for it, he searched Kays eyes for surety in her assessment.

She swivelled her ears forward and nodded.

“Here goes nothing,” he sighed and took a swig. It tasted bland and slightly grimy. Jon was the veritable food taster for this new world, as such drinking and eating shit he thought relatively safe was part of the job description. He only realised how much he trusted Kay in the afterthought. That was not like him at all.

“Lee, please eyeball my bio-feed. Let’s see what the fuck we got here.” Lee could guide Kay in returning him to the capsule if shit went sideways, and he could puke his guts right there and then if he wanted to. Jon considered himself a pragmatic bulimic when the need arose.

“Who’s Lee?” was Bron’s inevitable question.

“My spirit guide.” The response was either too stupid or too esoteric that it prompted no further questions.

Another HUD timer was initiated to track the potion’s efficacy.

The setting of the cast finished first, and in the interim Jon inspected Faelyn’s ribs. Some bruising aside, the elf was no worse for wear. The same lightness of frame that sent him flying likely softened to impact too. Swings and turns supposed Jon.

It was around this point that Jon realised everything was feeling a lot clearer and that he needed to take a leak something serious. He rushed to the thankfully vacant outhouse just in time. “Lee, what the fuck is my blood-alcohol level doing?”

“Ain’t there a rule about talking while you go?”

“Extenuating circumstances.”

“Well, it’s off a cliff then. I’d say you’ve found an instant cure for intoxication. Side-effects may include an uncontrollable urge to piss your liver out.”

“Thank you, Lee. Be sure to write that on the label.” Walking back to the bar as he spoke. The night air breeze in the backyard was cold on his skin. Bron and Kay turned as he nimbly strode up.

“What was tha all about?” Asked Bron.

“Alcoholic emergency, it appears I’m sober now.” Turing to Kay. “Whatever this bullshit juice is, it’s probably not deadly. Offer it to Faelyn if you want Kay, it’s up to him if he wishes to refuse.”

Faelyn appeared to have been observing Jon’s testing, and he took the concoction without complaint. Brave, stupid or something worse, Jon was unsure.

Faelyn took a sharp breath as the supposed potion took effect, and Jon rescanned the bone break just to be sure. No new miracles occurred; the fracture still showed clearly on the scans. Any speed up in healing would probably be measured in days, that was bullshit enough. They sent the wide-eyed Faelyn off with his arm in a sling and a promise for regular checkups. Test subjects were valuable after all, but elf boy didn’t need to know that.

At last, they turned in for the night. Retreating to their room and slipping back to the comforts of the Bunker. Any more problems that might come of the night’s events were for future Jon to worry about.