“Yeah, the insurance premiums on dead Master Mentats are really high,” I agreed. “Easier to slap on a Tau and occasionally expend a few Downspire idiots than a Mentat.”
“Truth!” he said, pointing at me with his fork, and diving in for another slab of pasta joy. “So, what brings you to my place?” he got down to business.
“Business arrangements, of course. I’m looking to expand my manpower base, and with the Top Fifty as my HQ, I’ve got a pretty good base of operations. I want to make Habberblok a pretty secure place to live and work, I’m bringing the ghosts slowly online, and I’d like the most trusted man in the blok to work with me.”
He chewed thoughtfully. “Good dreams, and throwing the ghosts in there is impressive. What’s in it for me?”
“Well, I’d like to send in any pure psions I recruit for combat medic training. Psionic healing is based on anatomical knowledge to an extent, and if they are gonna heal their fellow students, they need to know how to heal normal people. You’d have to pay them, of course, but just like interns, although having some psis on the payroll will be nothing but good for you.”
“That’s kind of a mutual benefit, although I won’t turn down some good, smart workers.”
“They’ll be kind of dumb coming in, but they’ll get smarter.” Especially as they empowered their Mark. “I have it on good faith that if they want to live in Habberblok and not be tormented by the ghosts, they need to be healers of one kind or another. But if they live here AND have the approval of the ghosts... they are gonna be some nasty punks to have around if some fighting starts.”
He thought about that as he chewed slowly. “Biopsis in a blok medicae. That tickles my fancy, I have to admit. What else?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but part of your pay comes from the number of services you bill, right? And you do some business on a cash basis?”
“Sure. Tat heads who show up (no offense) expecting me to plug all their holes better have some cash in hand. They better have a lot of cash in hand if they shot up some of my people.”
“So, cash business is more profitable than billed business?”
He waved his hand in the air. “Cash business I have to handle myself, usually, since it usually involves prying things out of screaming punks, or stitching them back together after violent disassembly. Billed is actually usually handled by the nurses and interns, so I get a slice regardless.”
“Would unlimited Empathic Healing availability be of use to you?”
He pursed his lips, pausing another forkful, and looked me in the eyes. He slowly put it in and chewed some more.
“That’s... an interesting proposition,” he said after a minute. “Unlimited... having psions around for emergencies is nice enough. How are you doing unlimited amounts of it? That would be pretty traumatic for the receiver.”
I scooted up, setting down my plate and flipping Grim into my hand. “Left arm.” I held out my hand.
Intrigued, he rolled back his white coat sleeve and offered it up. I grabbed his wrist firmly, and traced my forefinger down his forearm. He hissed in disbelief as my nail sliced a foot-long gash in him so cleanly he barely felt any pain. As crimson welled up thickly, I took Grim and brought him down the length of the cut, while turning my own forearm over.
He watched the cut Transfer over, the blood and injury vanishing from his own forearm as the skin on mine split open... and two inches behind the injury being inflicted, it came back smoothly together and healed itself, also leaving no mark.
“You’ve got a Fast Healing Matrix!” He was shocked despite himself, lifting his bare arm up and flexing it thoughtfully, staring at me. “What’s it rated at?”
“Five. In time, I’ll get it to fifteen.”
He whistled despite himself. “That’s... very impressive.” Fifteen points was an impressive amount of punishment to be able to heal away, enough to kill a normal person straight off, and I would be able to mend through that every six seconds!
“It’s an untapped source of revenue.” His eye twitched despite himself as I held up a plain crystal wrapped in a golden setting with chain. “Empathic Crystal resonator. As long as I agree to it, it can Transfer injuries to me from anywhere. So, you won’t need a psion for the tough stuff. You can’t Transfer it faster than I can heal it, and it should save you a lot of time and leave no scars. You should also be able to charge double the price.”
He pursed his lips. “Slow, painful, and residual effects versus fast, painless, and no residuals? Yeah, double price is a given.” He looked thoughtfully at the crystal, thinking over the implications... especially if there was a mass trauma incident, which generally happened at least once a month. “Just being able to stop any bleeding fast will be nice...”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Finger.” He extended his hand again, I poked it, and as the tiny drop of blood welled on it, I tapped the crystal to it. Snow-flakes of red blossomed through it, and I tossed the chain and crystal on his desk as I got me another slice of lasagna. “It will turn red if I agree to the Transfer. You can’t Transfer faster than I can heal, and it will only work for you. If somebody steals it,” I smiled slightly, “I’ll go looking for it.”
He smiled despite himself. “Very good. This is definitely something in it for me.”
I held up two fingers. “Carrot number Two. I can offer you a transpsionic-enhanced Mark that will establish a telepathic link between the two of us, which I can also link up with any others who have such a mark, AND... the Mark can eventually buff the Statistic of your choice by +4.”
He froze. Stat-buffing stuff wasn’t impossible to find, but, like anything else, it was pricey. “A psionic Buff?” he asked slowly, and I nodded. This was not from technology or bioengineering. Naturally psionic Buffs were much pricier and more uncommon than the other two.
“Growing it will involve you being more active in your field, and earning Karma, of course. It also hooks you into my private intelligence network, the value of which you might imagine.”
He tapped his fingers on the table, the last two pieces on his plate momentarily forgotten. “That is an exceptionally good offer,” he agreed.
I held up a third finger. “If you accept that Mark, you will be able to make Seven. I shouldn’t have to tell you the benefits of doing so.”
His eyes grew intense despite himself. Making Seven was not an easy thing, and even harder for someone who accepted cybering or genegineering. But it straight up meant another seventy years of life, the chance to reach Ten, and the status that came with being a Ten.
Going from human to superhuman without having to become some cyborg or gene-grated thing was a temptation for anyone.
I held up a fourth finger, and his dark eyes flickered. “If you reach Seven, you will be able to throw off your implants, and become a Null Psi. If you become a Null Psi, you should have no difficulty making Ten.”
He swallowed despite himself. “You can make me a Psion?”
I flicked up my Claw, held it up for him. “I am not a Psion. I am a Null Psion, there is a significant difference.
“You have a chance to be a Null twice in your life... before you become a Two, and if you reach Seven and take your third Human evolution... if you are a Primos. A natural psi cannot, of course, become a Null.” I inclined my head at him. “So, to be a Null Psion, you must reach Seven... and naturally enough, abandon your implants.”
He let out a long breath, hands on his desk. “That is quite an offer,” he admitted. “May I ask why you are giving it to me?”
I waved my Claw. “I’m Gold. Good things should happen to good people. I intend to make a lot more good people who good things should happen to.”
He kind of looked at me funny. “That’s it?”
“If I said that ‘a lot more’ included most of the galaxy, would that be enough?” I riposted.
He looked at me again, as if I was nuts, and then at my golden Claw. Gold, not yellow. “Baby steps first?” he asked thoughtfully.
“Baby steps first,” I nodded.
---------------
Over the remains of the lasagna we went over some of the finer points of the cooperation, pinkie swearing on it... and I hauled out my Ink and gave him his Mark, of Intellect, and he picked Meditation and Concentration. He was a Four Expert, very good at his trade, if not world-class, so he would become both focused and more serene after suddenly having his mind opened to advanced meditative and mental discipline techniques.
He wouldn’t be able to use that crystal on others once he made Null, but he’d always be able to use it on himself... and we could always make one that he could use on others and then himself.
I had inroads into Blok Security and the Medicae. Recruits would first start trickling in, then flooding as I tightened my grip on the blok and the surrounding areas. It was a resource management game in real life, with territories, criminals, uncaring law enforcement, mentalists, crazyass mutants and Warp sorcerers, technomafias, cyborgs, and Jedi Knights with zum-zum swords.
I was enjoying myself. I was going to enjoy it more when I had 163 converted to a wheat field for making my own flour, and 164 to a big old herb garden...
==============
Months pass...
I kicked off the ground, hit the side of a building twenty feet up, and kicked off again. I did a long arch and flip to balance myself, and just as the second car came skidding around the corner, I came down on top of it and landed on the reinforced roof, taking my weight down to a fifth of gravity to reduce the impact, and then locked on with my heavyfoot as Billi finished his skid and gunned it after the shooter’s wagon ahead.
“Heya, Sensei. Welcome aboard!” he said, but we were basically /talking in Markchat.
The wind streamed past my Vajra, doing little more than tugging at my hair as he gunned it after the van ahead. The riders had popped open their doors and emptied a clip each into the crowds in front of Habberblok. There were four outright deaths, and dozens of wounded. Holes kept forming on my skin and healing over before they could bleed as Doc Mick and Davros saved those who’d been shot by Transferring the wounds to me. The latter had Blinked out there with the former within seconds, and they’d saved over a dozen people before they could bleed out between them.
Well, I helped a little...
Trindi was riding shotgun with a real shotgun, her face calm and focused, and her Nimbus up. If she got a clear shot, she was going to punch a load right through the side of the thing, and frag anyone inside. But it was juking and running so hard, smashing down anyone in its way in gleeful hurry to get away, that she didn’t dare take a shot.
I glanced at my Visual File and the TC control network. “Juice it and ram his right driver side.”
Billi shifted gears, slammed on the nitrous, and the rebuilt engine roared with power. It almost jumped as it took off, closing the fifty yards between us in seconds, and didn’t slow down as it did.
The back of it popped open, and someone looked ready to throw something out there.