Chains of Loss by Robert

of iron, and made a twang and a crunch when he crushed it.  He grabbed his opponent – an orc, he saw now – by the throat, and hoisted it off its feet.  The suit's gloves gave him full tactile sensation of the orc's windpipe; apparently its body had at least a few token similarities with that of a human.
    Now what?  He didn’t know what to say! 
    “Bad…bad orc!  BAD!”  He threw it to the ground.  That wasn’t enough, he had to make sure it wouldn’t follow them.  He slipped into the rush again and pondered his options.  He didn’t know enough of its biology; without that knowledge, he couldn’t aim precisely enough to stun it without potentially killing it.  If he just left it, it might get away and never be brought to justice for its violation of wartime law. 
    A solution came to him; the orc wasn’t a cyborg.  It couldn’t possibly regenerate.  Anything that would have stopped Mycah without his help would also stop this orc.  He ended the rush, stepped up to it and kicked its leg.  The creature howled as its femur-analog snapped. 
    “Sorry!  Sorry!”  It had seemed like such a good decision at the time!  Still, what else could he have done?  He paused just one moment longer and reached down to the orc, which tried to shy away from him.  Derek stuck a gloved finger in its mouth, collected a saliva sample and backed away.  He had to learn their biology if he wanted to avoid hurting them.
    “You’ll be okay, all right?  I just had to stop you.  Don’t tell anyone where we went, okay?”  He kept talking to the orc as he walked back to Mycah.  She’d lost consciousness—possibly the mediceps’ doing—so he picked her up.  He took a moment to reorient himself, then paused.  She’d lost a rib fragment; he thoughtfully grabbed it, polished it and gave it to the medical shroud for cleaning and reintegration.  The orc's weapon was also made of potentially-useful metals, so he grabbed its remains and fed it into the industrial shroud.  That done, he set off in the direction they’d been going.
     
    ***
     
    Mycah woke to light on her eyelids, but didn’t feel like opening her eyes.  There was no pain; no difficulty breathing.  It had been just a dream.  Still, why had she dreamed that Derek would say that, and why did it echo in her mind?  It was ridiculous.  Everyone left her.  One way or another, he would too. 
    She opened her eyes and was unsure that she had really awoken.  Derek was carrying her, but his stride was so smooth she hadn’t had any sensation of movement. 
    So.  She was dead, and he hadn’t survived being shot either.  Was it heaven, hell, or somewhere else?  If she was really dead, why did she still taste blood?
    A story came to her suddenly; her father had told her once about how he’d seen warriors ignore pain and injury when at the brink of death.  Was she still just barely alive?  She reached an arm towards the exit wound and flinched.  The crossbow bolt was still protruding from her chest. 
    Derek slowed to a stop and set her down on her feet. 
    “You okay?”  He asked.
    She swallowed.  Her mouth and throat were dry, but she still had no pain.  She had to keep her sentences brief; the more she breathed or talked, the worse the wound would get.  “How long?”
    “Since you were hit?  About half an hour.”
    “The orc?”
    “He won’t be following, and I put a good amount of distance between us.  We should be safe for a while.”
    Mycah took a deep breath.  It still didn’t hurt, and she wasn’t coughing up blood anymore.  She couldn’t explain the lack of pain, but the bolt had probably plugged its own wound.  She’d probably bleed out the moment it was removed. 
    The bloodvials.  They were her only chance to remove the bolt before infection rendered their power worse than useless.  But if she used one with the bolt inside of her, it would get sealed in.  “Need to get this out.”
    “The thingy?”
    He didn’t