The pain faded, as the drug took effect, knitting his lacerations and what was left of his limbs together, and strengthening his resolve to keep going.
He had almost considered suicide because of the pain, but this seemed like the better option now, all things considered. Anyway, it’s hard to kill yourself when your limbs have been blown off. That was off the table for now.
The alien stood over him holding the now-empty drug ampule, and its seven-fingered hands hovered over him, preparing to finish the surgery with another dose of nano-drug, the tiny molecular machines would restore him fully in an hour or less.
Yes, he would be restored to full health and functionality, limbs regrown, but there was a problem of his being brought to trial and convicted — of grand theft, for the attempt to purloin the Mind of Ravaad, the holiest relic of the Wuuldraphi empire.
Within the hour, he was brought out of his cell, and escorted to the court. He was only now beginning to think that taking this job was the dumbest thing he’d ever done. It also counted up there with the most painful — something about the means used to guard the relic . . . .
What kind of a hard-case, or lunatic, protects a sacred object with close-proximity explosives?