Twisted Metal Heart - Eve Langlais Page 0,4

away from the stranger. The machines stopped their task and returned to their bases.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Ceasing the wanton waste of our resources.” He waved a hand at the man. “You said it yourself. He’s a nobody. He’s not worth the effort.”

A callous thing to say, but no surprise. This was Alfred.

She pursed her lips. “He’s a person.”

“He’s a stranger.”

Stranger danger. It rang in her head like a warning bell. Yet she looked at him again, a man in his prime, a man she’d felt compelled to save.

“We are not letting him die. Remove his arm and leg.”

“If you amputate his limbs, you might as well take his life.”

“He’ll adapt. I’ve heard Wastelanders aren’t as stringent about appearance as the domes.” Picture perfect. It was why she lived out here and not in the domes.

“Even if they accept him, he will struggle to survive.” Alfred remained blunt.

If he were awake, she could have asked him. Do you want to live or die? But his eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow. The bleeding had been stopped by the machines, but the amount of repair that needed to be done…

“Fix him.” She glanced at Alfred. “Repair the body as best you can. We’ll fabricate the rest.” As in create a custom bionic arm and leg. Or co-opt a set already in progress.

His mouth pursed in disapproval. “It will take time to mend his injuries even with the amputation.”

“Time that can be used to make him parts.”

She eyed the whole arm and broke it down in her mind, seeing the components. Alfred would take measurements to ensure accuracy.

“You can make him the nicest bionic limbs in the world, but they still won’t replace his flesh ones.”

“Better than leaving him with nothing,” she muttered. “What are the chances he’s got an affinity for metal?” Because the right kind of Deviant genetics would make the bond between flesh and metal easier.

A long time ago, it was discovered that humanity had split. Some remained the same, unchanged by everything that had happened to the Earth. Others became something new and acquired odd skills.

Alfred shook his head. “The chances would be rather small. Metal psion wielders are rare. One that also has a hint of healing even rarer.”

Which she already knew. The difficulty of bonding flesh and metal explained why bionics weren’t in high demand. What was the use of a limb that would barely function? That didn’t stop some people from ordering attachments to replace their hands. The chef version with the mixer and knife proved popular, as did the hammer for the builders.

“You can’t know for sure he’s not a viable subject. Think of it. He’s a Wastelander who’s been breathing toxic dust probably his whole life,” she said.

Not so much toxic as a trigger sometimes. Scientists had theorized the radioactive components could turn on the Deviant gene and were intended to make Wastelanders resilient. Strength kept them from dying. A good thing, given most deaths in the new world were violent.

“You are arguing over much. Since you seem determined to save him, we’ll save him.” Alfred huffed and rolled to a desk where a tablet sat on the flat surface. A few swipes of his fingers and a holoimage appeared in front of him. It twisted as he fed information into it. Approaching, she looked at the rendered tri-dimensional image of the stranger. Seventy-six inches in height, a solid one hundred kilos.

The left arm and right leg were highlighted. She heard humming as the robot arms moved for the bed. With lasers, pinchers, and other attachments, they cared for the patient.

Usually she was the one requiring patching. The Wasteland was always testing her strength.

As the saws went after the limbs, she activated some of the more intense healing protocols to ensure the patient didn’t waken.

Alfred actually spun to stare at her. “You do realize that was the last of the pain meds.”

“Yes.”

“And that this man most likely won’t pay for it.”

“I wasn’t planning to ask,” she replied, eyeing the almost glowing colored fluid running through the tube inserted in his good shoulder.

“You’re giving him the treatment for free?” Alfred sounded quite appalled by the concept.

“Free is not a dirty word.” She turned a grin on him. “Think of it as advertising to a new clientele that we are available for business.” Because the Emerald Enclave in their protected bubbles might have the money, but they led very safe lives that didn’t usually require metal parts. Most of their business currently came from