Hearts of Gold

All Atrius remembered was the sound of the blast and the impact as the force exploded against his skull. His fuzzy recall could only bring back fragments beyond that chronon, the blurry image as the ground rushed up into his face and the delayed sensation of shock and pain. It had not been a good day to awake from a million cycles of stasis. In fact, he'd never thought much of any day that involved dying.

Atrius pushed the cloth off his face and struggled to a sitting position.

He shuddered, realizing he sat in a lightless room. Darkness was bane to Kriar. Without sunlight their bodies went dormant, a biological throwback overcome through technology. Reason exerted itself. Nothing to fear, his matrixes were providing the necessary resources.

He rubbed the back of his head and scanned the shadowy surroundings. Counters lined three walls in the rectangular room, and six beds were arranged down the middle. A caustic smell hung in the air and he heard the hum of machinery. From the surgical implements on a table nearby he guessed this to be an infirmary.

He stepped away from the bed and moved to examine the tools. Touching the matrix gem on his brow, it emitted a dim red light. Atrius picked up the cold metal instrument and rolled it between his fingers. There were traces of his blood on it.

Atrius dropped the tool and ran a finger over the matrix on his sternum, instructing it to run a full physical diagnostic. No telling what these creatures were trying to do.

**Aberration, right radial appendage. Scan continues...**

Turning his gold skinned arm he found a tube inserted between the flexor muscles. Now what would they hope to accomplish with that? He removed the tube and a dribble of chalky blood followed it. Atrius willed the circulatory cavity closed. Frowning, he wiggled his fingers and tested them for sensation.

Only incompetents would apply medical techniques specific to their species on a different race.

**Trace metallic intrusion, lower left abdominal region.**

He examined the thumb sized matrix jewel inserted above the groin area. It glowed red and healthy, his trusted life-support mechanism. Atrius continued probing until he discovered the recently closed vertical incision.

What is this? The wound was to my head. By the Mother, they were doing an autopsy even though I wasn't dead! Both his hearts thudded at the thought of primitive tools invading his body.

**Level three diagnostic complete. Bio-energy flux, nominal. Bacterial intrusion, nominal. Viral activity above nominal tolerances, corrective measures proceeding. Motor control at eighty-one percent. Muscular performance, sixty-eight percent. Respiratory--**

He halted the diagnostic. In summary, he wasn't in peak condition. Chronal indicators showed a passage of three planetary rotations since his first encounter with the indigenous life, and a total of two million solar cycles from when the Protectorate warriors wounded and imprisoned him in the lake bed.

With no escape possible, he'd stasised himself until help could arrive. The distress transponder must have failed.

He'd been freed when a dredging machine brought him to the surface. He started conversing with the inhabitants and things proceeded well until its explosive termination. He would be more cautious now.

He searched the infirmary. It's all gone. My clothes, the weapon, the cyber—dark, they have my cyber! Level fifteen tech in the hands of a level seven race. I need it to build a signaler.