Chapter 5
The guys from his class gathered at Ivan's place. His room was at the end of the left wing and thanks to that, they could revel around without worrying to disturb the peace in the dorm. Mostly the M-generation members were present. Everyone came with a salad or other snacks, Sandro brought pastries, and Josh's task, as it turned out, was to provide a tonic.
"Hey guys, I'm sorry, I was forced to come, thus, I'll be your sponger today," Chris joked. "Although, I can go and get granola."
"Hi," Ivan held out his hand to greet Chris. "Sit wherever you like and do not worry we've got enough snacks.
"Ah, Vanya, listen," Chris followed the owner of the room; trying to be useful, he picked up a couple of dishes to take out to the company. "When can I get a haircut?"
Ivan gave him a careful look, estimating, probably, the amount of work. He was a black-haired young man with a pleasant low timbre. He was larger than Chris was and was in his final year. Always calm and confident, never talked a lot; it was nice to be around him. He didn't have a permanent partner but never stayed alone for a long period of time. As a hobby, he cut hair manually.
"And what exactly do you want?" He asked phlegmatically, placing the dishes he carried on a low table in front of the sofa.
"Just cut everything. It's getting really hot and messy style becomes annoying."
Everybody was making themselves comfortable on the sofa and everywhere around. Some already had joysticks in their hands; the company split into players and watchers.
"Well, no difference for me, I can cut it now."
"Yeah, great."
Chris helped Ivan set the chair in the right place, sat down as soon as he received the command, and reclined his head back. The brunette rummaged in the inbuilt drawers, took out the tools, filled the spray bottle, and turned the Robo-cleaner on. He repositioned the chair a little, lowering it, then sprayed water on Chris's hair and set to work.
The scissors clicked rhythmically over the ears, involuntarily lulling, despite the hubbub coming from the sofa; someone was losing there, someone was rejoicing. Chris tried not to disconnect, so he decided it was better to chat a bit.
"Vanya, you're graduating in winter, right?"
"Yes."
"And then?"
"Graduate school, of course."
"Of course?"
"I had some plans for practice in the mainland, but, you know, the Phase. This is the best thing that could happen to a surgical student."
"Ah. Yes, I agree. So, you'll transfer to the seventh building team right after graduation?"
"In fact, I already have. They enrolled all those who stay for post-grad. In addition, later will involve additional staff to the perinatal house after final exams; they want the top excellence students. Others will go to the fifth – the medical center, or, well where they planned to work and practice outside the Biosphere."
Chris sighed. Ivan moved forward to work on the front strands, so Chris had to shut up so as not to eat the cuts-off. Nevertheless, as soon as the opportunity appeared, Chris asked again:
"Listen, how many hours of practical training do you have? How are they calculated?" He asked, hoping to get any information about how much he is not suitable for working on the Phase-II. "What do you do when you're not attending the lectures and not in the laboratory?"
"Practice at the medical unit. They divided us into subgroups and assigned to specialists. You can say this is a truncated internship for three hours a day, approximately."
"And what is this internship?" Chris asked.
"You come in the morning, hand over the report you made on yesterday's patients, check-ups and stuff. The supervisor announces the task for the day, for example, today we were at the reception, and my partner and I were assigned for dermatoscopy. But it's too easy if you ask me. Yeah, and tomorrow we have to report if we examined someone with something suspicious or malicious, or just a harmless type of nevi. The supervisor will have to check everything," Ivan thought for a few seconds, scratching his chin. "Frankly, I think they check right after our shift ... or even before they assign us to do the check-ups. Sometimes we assisted during the moles, adenoids removal, and hernias surgeries. They don't really allow us to actively participate in abdominal operations, only to monitor, to be on hand, and carefully observe the surgeon's work, in order to later give quick tests for us to see how attentive to the details we are, to the processes that are not described in the textbooks. You wanna leave the bangs here?"
"What? Oh, no, they get into my eyes."
After a conversation with Ivan, Chris sat sulking beyond belief, his eyes glued to the bottom of the glass he hardly even drank from. The reality wasn't merciful, Erzketau was right – he has nothing to do in the seventh building team so far. It turns out that the idea that suddenly visited him this afternoon is probably the only way out to crack the zirka and break the wall. How adventurous could the greenie be? Still, what if Chris overestimated his capabilities and even taking this crazy step won't be able to show his potential in the end? What if he's incapable to justify Shirokawa's trust?
"Hey, are you okay?" Someone shook Chris's shoulder, pulling out of reverie. Sandro crouched beside him, looking worriedly at his ex.
"I'm fine, as always," answered Chris in a lifeless voice.
"Yeah, yeah, we know that we've been there already," the blondie giggled. "So what happened?"
"I ... I fear that I have set the plank too high and this time I will not be able to jump above my head," Chris expressed the thought that was swirling in his head after a short silence, the thought that prevented him from enjoying the fun with everyone here.
He was so carried away by this new challenge, new information about his body, about the experiment, all his decisions, the upcoming surgery, this sudden impulse to be one of those who will see the first implantations with their own eyes, and even the pivotal quest with the "final boss"! A whole adventure suddenly broke into his life, so quickly and vividly that he completely ceased to control the situation, letting it evolve, never stopped to think, where it is going. However, he ought to stop and just think it over like a rational adult and a sane scientist. Was he doing the right thing and was it worth it?
"Hmm ... if you worry that much, then this is something really important for you," Sandro said thoughtfully. "I think you can do it," he decided joyfully.
Chris grinned and shook his head as if wanting to say: "You're never changing."
"But, hey, Chris, who told you that you have to jump over your head?" He asked suddenly seriously. "Who told you it was your obligation? What's gonna happen if you can't? Will someone die or get sick? Tell me, what will happen if you won't reach the marker that you set for yourself? Will you become worse? I think you can do it." He covered Chris's palm with his and squeezed it lightly. "But even if not, you will not stop being the Chris whom we all know and love."
Chris looked at Sandro, blinking dumbfounded and not believing that he's not dreaming and the person sitting in front of him is Sandro he knows. When did he learn to generate such deep thoughts?
"Someone definitely influences you highly positively I'd say," Chris finally said in response.
"You think so?" The young man grinned mysteriously, then suddenly grabbed Chris by the chin, smacked his lips briefly, and turned their faces in the direction of the kitchen island. "Who might that be," he sang, and Chris fixed his gaze on the very owner of the apartment, who stands there with his eyes narrowed at them. "You know," said Sandro, letting Chris go, "I couldn't even think that there can be someone… anyone better than you in bed," he cocked his head looking playful, "Come visit us when you fix your asceticism. I'll ask him to give you a couple of lessons," Sandro licked his lips with his tongue slowly, not breaking the eye contact with Ivan, who repeated his movement and beckoned with his finger. Sandro got up, swam across the room, climbed on Ivan's lap, and hid their further wordless communication with a thick mane of his curly fair hair.
Chris did not expect that he would ever be able to feel better from talking with this eccentric Leone boy, but he had to admit that his words calmed his unfolding internal conflict. Therefore, in the morning, his mood was completely different, and he did not hesitate when, after the transplantology class, he went down to the pulpit where the zirka stood.
"Erzketau-kri," he nodded, greeting the coordinator.
"Newman-kri," the Zirkaazte also nodded, smiling softly and as if expecting a new performance by the board.
"I want to offer you... um, a... bet?"
"A bet?" Zirka raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.
"Well, maybe not a bet, rather a match. I challenge you to a battle contest and if I win, you will take me to the team."
Zirka was taken aback, he even pulled back slightly, bowed his head, and either coughed, felts laughed. It turned out the second, because when he raised his head again, a broad, toothy smile, an image never witnessed by Chris before and ever, flashed on his face.
"So you give up?" asked Erzketau clearly having fun.
"Wh-... why is that? I'm more serious than ever! Choose time and weapons," Chris demanded with all the seriousness he had.
"You are, because...," he breathed out without finishing, deciding something for himself. "Okay, let it be your way. Just no complaints then," he tapped his band, scrolled his timetable for a bit of a minute, swiped screen away, and replied, "tomorrow, at three in the afternoon. I choose the bo2 staffs as a weapon.
"Looking forward to it, kri," Chris responded enthusiastically, but walking vigorously out of the auditorium, he had this only thought: "Help me Freya!3"
***
Chris faced a difficult task. It wasn't an easy one before but he hoped that it would become one after he'll talk to kri. However, it didn't. Yes, he pulled zirka onto tatami and tried to establish his own rules, but the second part of the terms didn't work out the way he expected to. He wielded bo well enough, but sparring on those, you have to observe a certain ritual and sequence of movements, and keep a distance that is very difficult to shorten. With the staff so long, the opponent will be protected in a way and a highly skilled opponent will just play around not letting his rival close enough for a strong strike. Yet, Chris needed exactly the opposite; he needed the opportunity to get to Erzketau's body as close as possible. With routine blocks-attacks, they could easily stand for five, ten, and as many minutes as they'd like. He pondered and weighed all the experience he had while training with the zirka. One of the difficulties is that this opponent won't be easily exhausted; zirks were tougher. Not only adult males, but also the whole race is generally physically stronger.
On the other hand, Chris cannot drag the fight too long; he will become exhausted sooner than his opponent will. He needed to rock the opponent, tease, and infuriate, then it will be possible to play on zirka's fuse and carry out a contact attack. But how can he establish a contact when they'll be dancing at a seventy inches distance from each other!?
With such thoughts, Chris went to bed and woke up with them next morning. He stretched, had his breakfast, and went off for the obligatory auditorium hours. Then he came to the gym to warm up, and now, at five minutes past three, he stood opposite the sarcastically grinning zirka and tried to probe him with his gaze before they started, assessing the situation while he could.
"Well, Newman-kri, let's determine the criteria for ending the fight. Losing an instrument?"
"I suggest until the first touch to the floor," Chris declined zirka's choice.
"Hm, are you purposefully making it easier for me?" Erzketau allowed himself to smile openly, exposing a row of sharp teeth. Despite the fact that zirks' teeth were evolutionarily blunted, the sight could make one nervous a bit. "In that case, at least fight in full force."
"Never intended to do otherwise," Chris grabbed the staff with both hands, stepping a little to the side, hinting his circling direction. "Don't be gentle with me today, or I'll assume that you refused me all this time for a reason not serious enough."
Zirka only squinted at it and went clockwise. Having circled the space twice, the zirka suddenly became all springy and abruptly went on the attack, so Chris only managed to put the block on his left and right, stepping back little by little.
"You weren't really thinking that I would play in giveaways?" Not caring about opening on both sides alternately, the zirka continued to make sweeping attacks, while maintaining the distance between them at a maximum length, just as Chris has feared.
Although the fact that he decided to play aggressively had its advantages. Chris only had to get himself together, concentrate as soon as possible; seems like the professor decided to pin Chris to the floor earlier by all means.
The world narrowed down for Chris to the radius that the opponent indicated with his bo. His eyes registered blurry movements, not concentrating on the image as a whole, but clinging to small details, when it could help to react in time – dodge the foot, not run into the wall, round the gaping spectator, and beat the blows all the time.
Tuck-tuck-tuck – staff sang to the beat of the fight.
Tuck-tuck-tuck – blood thumped in the temples, sharpening the hearing.
Everything around was filled with breath. Their breathing: short, sharp, shallow breaths and exhalations; quieter, deeper, subdued breathing of those, who watched their fight. Occasionally cacophony was diluted with shrills like: "Oh, almost got it!" or "Whoa, he dodged it nice". How many were there? Who came and when? The unnecessary questions, unnecessary information. Both are focused only on each other. Grab, get, block an attack, and block the retreat.
"Mmgh!" His left side twisted with sharp pain, the poke fell on the lower ribs.
Chris bounced back, grabbing the staff with one hand, pointing it to the floor, preparing for the swing. This was bad, the distance is getting bigger and this is the third missed strike; the first went casually on the elbow, the second more sensitive hit Chris's ankle, zirka made a perfect low lunge to knock him. He had to do something, and had to hurry up while the brain tries to escape the growing pain. Erzketau, meanwhile, also drew back, mirroring the movement of Chris's staff. Just a second for exhaling – and lunging for attack again. His jaw tensed, eyebrows converged on the bridge of the nose. Is he also on the edge? Or preoccupied with something else? It doesn't matter, nothing matters, Chris need to find a defense gap and try not to be hit again.
Chris orbited around the zirka, who went on the defensive. After every two strokes, he bounced back, pulling off, and invested saved energy in the next two strokes. Again, and again, forward, backward. He tried teasing moves that barely touched opponent's staff trying to lure zirka into attacking. Why is Grinch on the defensive? Not good! Chris needed a surge of emotions to conduct a distracting maneuver. He began to beat higher, not daring to open or to lower his hand – there was a risk to lose the hold, as his palms were dripping wet, but it was time to get closer. Zirka beat off all the attacks, looking sternly and exhaling noisily; beat off every blow, backing away bit by bit under the young man's pressure. With the last attack, Chris delivered several sharp blows and rushed, directing the body to strike down, under zirka's arm. Having slipped behind the greenie's back, he threw bo up with both hands, for only in this way he could be blocked from the back, and guessed right –with the lightning speed, Erzketau turned around immediately with his bo set horizontally, crashing it into Chris's staff.
"Gr-r-r!" grabbing both staffs and tightening his fingers to prevent the opponent from snatching off his tool, Chris leaned forward, crushing with all his weight, provoking greenie to back away, preventing him from kicking his legs, pushing against the wall.
Grumbling and growling, Chris pushed more.
(Come on, let out your tentacle! COME ON!!!)
The zirka simply had no other way to free both himself and his bo. Chris literally choked with delight when he felt the tight flesh enveloped his right forearm.
(Gotcha!)
Chris released both staffs leaving them for zirka to hold; he then grabbed the green tail with his captive hand, rushing to move before this tail sent him flying, and pushed off with his legs, launching his body around the opponent, behind and up with all his strength, until he felt Erzketau's shoulders with his knee pits.
A hellish pain pierced Chris's hand; Zirka reflexively squeezed everything he could squeeze as soon as the guy's thighs squeezed his neck. Unable to hold the excess weight, collapsed on his shoulders, Erzketau staggered and fell to his knees, stretching his hands forward for support.
Whistles and claps ripped through the hearing as if someone had popped a bubble that had previously surrounded the battlefield. Chris relaxed his legs and groaned under the flood of feelings. He did it, he managed, he knocked the greenie down, but, damn, all of his body was hurting and his right hand in particular – if it weren't for the ability to move fingers, he would decide that it was ripped the hell off. As soon as he thought about it, he felt that the pressure on this hand had disappeared. His head spun when zirka rolled him off and Chris flattened on the floor. Now he could relax, and he did, just lying on his back not moving an inch, completely exhausted, covered in sweat from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, trying to stabilize his breathing and eyesight, but the lamps still were sliding down the ceiling.
"Get the ice! Quick!" the coordinator thundered somewhere from above.
They all broke into noise again, several students approached them. Others rushed for a compress and someone called for a doctor. Chris tried to sit down, but he was forcefully pressed to the floor.
"Lie there," he was ordered darkly.
"I'm fine, really," Chris began, but gasped, clutching his ribcage with his good hand.
The rumble gradually faded; when the spectators realized that no one had died, they began to leave. The sounds of stomping and shuffling were heard from everywhere.
"Little brat...," the circus exhaled, taking Chris's hand and wrapping it in an ice pack.
"Ashsh...," the winning victim whimpered.
"Yes, do you wanna file a complaint?" zirka grumbled still displeased. "Total skrantl4."
"Tee-he-he," only now the whole event began to sunk in his mind with organized thoughts. "Hey, you fought great, Erzketau-kri."
A dissatisfied sniff in response. Who'd think he was so saddened by defeat. It wasn't in their nature to worry about some pride issues.
"You... surprise me as well, Chris," zirka finally admitted in a quiet voice. "But was it really worth it?"
"If you enroll me to the team, then yes," Chris answered, still smiling. "So, will you?" not completely getting rid of his doubts, he asked, opening his eyes and finding the face of the scientific coordinator.
Zirka was sitting to his right, cross-legged, pressing a voluminous compress on Chris's hand, his eyes on Chris. A towel was thrown over his shoulders and the smart wristband fixed on its place.
"Well, I accepted the terms of the match, which means it would be very indecent of me to refuse your request after an honest defeat," he said seriously, without a smile.
"Thank you," Chris, on contrary, answered with the widest smile of his, and decided it was time to get up.
He sat up very carefully not without the zirka's support and looked around. There were just a couple of students in the gym worming up to practice. Zirka handed him another compress, hinting that it's good to apply it to the ribs. At that moment, one pair of steps become very loud in the corridor, someone was apparently running here, and in just a few seconds, Josh flew into the room.
"Late!" a cry of wild despair erupted from his chest, but somehow it sounded too showy, so Chris didn't bother feeling sorry for him, and just smiled, waving his friend to come closer.
"Erzketau-kri," Josh nodded, sitting down to Chris's left, looking as if asking how he could help.
"Tumblin-kri," zirka nodded too, looked at Chris's hand, and slowly freed it from the icy prison.
On the skin whitened from the cold, a bruise stood out bright red, spirally encircling the arm – a mark of the lizard's tail. The owner of the tail clicked his tongue, shook his head, and carefully probed for a fracture.
"Mei, launch humans' soft tissue, and bones scanning," he ordered the band's AI and traced Chris's forearm several times with the projection screen. Then he did the same to other traumatized spots.
"There are no fractures, but I insist that you visit the medical unit," he said, then got up and added, "Just so you know, I will warn the doctor, please do not create him any problems. If you want to hang out later, then proper care and a sling will only help."
Josh smirked at this line; Chris rolled his eyes. Erzketau nodded and headed for the exit, but then turned again facing them:
"Oh yes, I will make sure to schedule your date as close as possible. You know, everyone is worried before the surgery; I don't want any worrying thoughts to distract you from the mastering of all the new material, right? Faster in – faster out … and off to conquer transplantology for graduates."
Josh patted a friend's numb shoulder after the professor left.
"Don't say that you yourself didn't ask for this," he said rising up.
"Probably... asked," Chris said doubtfully.
"Can you walk?" Josh inquired sympathetically and giving his hand for Chris to lean and stand up.
"Thanks. So where in the world have you been while I was punched black and blue?"
"With old Kazu, he is forcing a more complicated diploma topic on me, but I'm not quite sure if I am ready to take it."
"He won't advise shit. Do as he says. Ouch!"
Slightly limping, Chris hobbled to the shower. A friend was waiting in the locker room and then helped him to get dressed. Together they went to the housing complex, discussing the thesis, the old Japanese, and Chris's incredible luck.
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1 tonic – 7-9% of alcohol – this is the maximum that can be drunk; strong alcohol is prohibited by the Coalition for the manufacture, sale, and consumption;
2 bo – light, smooth wooden staff, 180 - 270 cm long; used in eastern martial arts;
3 Freya – other names: Freyja, Freyia, Freja; in Norse mythology, a goddess associated with love, beauty, fertility, sex, war, gold, and seiðr (a form of magic relating to both the telling and shaping of the future);
4 skrantl – (sirka) has multiple usages; here can mean a "birdbrain" as well as "holy cow".