MISC: The Girl Who Saved The World, part 1
phillies at 4liberty.net
Fri Dec 18 19:34:50 PST 2015
I had a thought, namely reordering things by interchanging Chapters 1
and 2, and establishing what she is, in the first few paragraphs:
Chapter One - Flashforward
The Invisible Fortress
January 11, 2018
I awoke at half past dark. To put it mildly, I hurt. Some places hurt
even more than others. Yes, I was doing mind control on myself, so I
didn’t exactly feel the pain. That meant I could sleep. I still knew I
hurt. A lot. “Hurt” was better than the alternative, which did not
involve being alive. I’d landed the right way when I was thrown into
the wall, missed getting a disabling concussion, and dodged getting
gutted by the fellow with the knife.
One of the times when I woke up, the healing matrix prompted me to ramp
down my mind control down, so the matrix could tell exactly where I had
been injured. I overdid it. I cut the mind control off. Incredible
pain swallowed me. I burst into sobs and uncontrollable tears.
Fortunately the healing matrix kept me from going into shock. After a
few minutes I remembered I could simply ramp control back up. By then I
was soaked in sweat. The matrix was putting me back together, but it had
its own order of doing things, and some of the reasons I really hurt
were late on its list.
Then I remembered where I was. Not safe at home, the home I grew up in.
I was in my own house, the one I bought. I don’t know why Mum threw me
out of the house, those six months ago, leaving me with the money in my
pocket and everything I owned locked in a U-Store-It bay. I’d come
home, finding home gone, Mum vanished, and a pair of U-Store-It keys
anchoring a really short note. The note told me to get lost and take
care of myself. Not in my worst nightmare had I ever expected that.
Mum was right. I can take care of myself. I just wish I didn’t have
to, not with no advance notice.
The healing matrix was fixing me, but…oh right, healing matrix. I
summoned the glyph for Medico, its associated rules engine. Nothing in
violet, nothing that was killing me despite the matrix. Of course, the
matrix should have dragged me conscious if I were dying, and it hadn’t.
Nothing blue, long-term near-death threat. Red warnings? Let’s see.
Three broken ribs, stitched by telekinesis. My right shoulder? Nothing
had broken, but bits of force field were holding things where they
belonged while the matrix forced repairs. Internal bleeding from
high-impact collisions? That had been fixed. Gold - a black eye, a few
bone bruises, but I’ve been here before, just not so many ways at the
same time. Green – slices, scrapes, abrasions … my skin is being
returned to perfection as I lie in bed. My face was cleaned up by the
Namestone before I faced the Martyr, but the rest of me was my problem.
The matrix was healing everything, way faster than
I’d heal naturally. I’d still need a week to recover.
Major knock-down, drag-out fight? Where? With whom? Then I remembered.
Atlanticea. It was the most wonderful memory in the world. Or would
have been, if everything didn’t hurt so much. Not to mention I was
totally exhausted. I’d solved the Maze, the Maze that defeated Julius
Caesar and Cortez and Jackie Fisher and the French Imperial Guard. I’d
reached the Tomb and matched wits with the Martyr himself. I’d
recovered that palm-size sphere of crystalline sky, the Namestone, the
Key To Paradise. No one else in the history of the world had ever come
close, but I’d done it. Now the Namestone is a wonderful present I gave
myself, a couple months late for my twelfth birthday, almost as good a
present as my ponies. The ponies were a better birthday present, if a
few months early, and I gave them to myself, too.
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