Wick's story

“Wow Stol, that job really cost you an arm and a leg didn’t it.”

The young brunette’s grin was the only thing visible under the blue glow of their visor and globe of bushy hair, as they wave a hand over the shaking man’s bandaged stumps.

 Stol (pronounced: Stole) looks up at him from his place on the table and gasps through gritted teeth, “Just fix me, Wick.”

Wick nods and turns around to pick up the cybernetic arm from the table behind him. Placing it besides Stol, he adjusts the nutrient line inserted into his veins. He turns the valve on a secondary line which begins to pump ‘numb-er’ into Stol’s stump.

“How’s it going?” Wick looks up at his father as he unfolds through the doorway, an airbrush cradled in his hands. A stream of sunlight accompanies the petals that blow in behind him. Outside, the fresh paint is still dripping from Wick’s name next to his fathers; so, the sign now reads ‘TAL’S & WICK’S CYBERNETIC REPAIR’.

Wick’s father, Tal (pronounced: Tah-ul), is a tall man; legs like trees and hair-like leaves. The streaks of white dotted throughout his hair, the only sign of his age.

“Just started.” Wick waves the arm at his father, who waves back.

“Need a hand.”

Stol groans, as Wick replies, “Nah, already got one.”

Wick picks up a ‘bio-attacher’; which looks like a silver tube topped with a small bronze bowl-like disk filled with needle-like spikes.

“No more puns.” Stol slurs. His head rolls to the side as the ‘numb-er’ kicks in. Eyes flutter and he yawns.

As his eyes close, Wick has already finished unwrapping his stumps and inserted the bio-attacher into his skin; there is a small whirring sound as the needles extend into the nervous system. The silver tub splits into 4 components and folds back around the stump. Click. Click. Click. Click.

“All prepped dad.”

Stol’s eyes are closed, even breaths moving his moustache with each small puff.

“Alright son, can you fetch his leg.”

“On it” Wick bounds through the curtains to the back, while Tal begins to attach Stol’s new arm.

*         *         *

“You’ve gotten a lot taller kid.”

Stol limps in through the doorway, listing slightly to the left on the crutch tucked into his armpit. Shaking off some errant snow that had attached itself to his shoulder.

Wick shrugs as he adjusts the earpiece on the little girl sat in front of him, her father leaning on the counter watching his hands move with curiosity. “And you’ve gotten smaller”.

Stol adjusts his crutch and narrows his eyes at the man’s cheeky grin. “Was that a pun?”

Tal can be heard laughing out back.

“Of course not…just an observation.” Wick kneels around to look into the girl’s eyes. “How does it sound?”

She shakes her head, ponytail swinging side to side. “It doesn’t ring anymore.”

Her dad steps forward. “It looks so simple…but it’s not.” Wick shrugs and makes a so-so motion with a hand. They leave, the daughter swinging on her father’s arm.

A rustle alerts them to Tal emerging through the fading curtains leading to the back of the shop, a mechanical foot in his hands. New streaks of white developing in his hair, give him a near-celestial glow under the lights.

“Here, I think this is your size.”

Stol perks up as best he can from his spot against the wall, “How did you know I lost my foot?”

“Your wife called ahead.”

“Oh…should’ve realised.”

Tal grins, but his face drops as he coughs. He almost drops the foot, but Wick swoops in to take it.

“How long has that been going on?”

Wick leads Stol to the seat while keeping a careful eye on his dad; who’s procured a bottle of medicine from behind the counter and takes a swig. “Just a week or so. The doctors think it’s an off-world flu variant…”

“So, I have to drink this nasty medicine.” Tal corks the bottle on the pink liquid and mimes gagging; to which Stol chuckles.

“You know the worst tasting medicine is usually the one that works.”

Wick bursts into nervous laughter.

There is a pause while both men stare at him, and he quickly raises the foot, “um, why don’t I take this one dad?”

Stol looks sympathetic as Tal deflates, shoulders drooping, “Oh, okay. Yeah, bout time you did some jobs yourself. I’ll sort the deliveries.” Tal turns to leave.

Wick watches him go with a worried sigh.

*         *         *

CRASH!

“Dad! Stop! I’ll get it.”

Wick rushes over to help Tal up, clutches his arm and hauling him into the patient’s seat.

Tal’s cheeks have sunken in, a red flush blooming on his face. The pool of glowing green bio-lubricant on the floor reflected in his eyes.

Wick scans his face with a worried whine. “Dad, I think you should see the doctor. This one’s worse than last year.”

Tal nods weakly before pushing himself to stand. “I’ll get an appointment tomorrow.”

*         *         *

Wick cleans the shelves and glowing vails of bio-lubricants and cleaner. New lines have etched themselves into his face, a strained smile being the new main permanent feature.

The front door blows open. A couple carrying a toddler with an artificial hand enter, both woman shaking the snow off their boots onto the cobble outside before they come in.

Approaching the counter, the toddler gives a shy wave. “We’re here for Lily’s upgrade. Is Tal here?”

Wick's face goes blank. “No, it’s fine, I’ll be taking over service from now on.” He looks at lily, “Hi there, my name’s Wick. You here for your new hand, huh.”

He disappears into the back, emerging moments later with three hands cradled in his arms. “what colour would you like?”

*         *         *

Creak.

Wick looks up from his spot behind the counter, filling in holo-forms for ‘parts’ orders.

Stol is standing in the doorway.

“You’re here very early. Your check-up is next year”

Stol makes a show of patting his metal leg, the resounding clang from the two artificial limbs makes him jump, “I’ve gotten a bit stiff, wondering if you could check it out.”

“Are you sure you’re not just getting old. It has been a few years.”

“That’s why I came to you.”

Wick closes the forms and comes around to the patient side, “alright, get on the table.”

Stol shuffles over and clambers onto the table.

“I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

The light of Wick’s visor darkens, he looks down “It’s fine.” Lines of sorrow have carved themselves onto his face besides the

An uncomfortable silence descends on the two, while Wick checks his arm and legs for damages. A glowing vial of lubricant is injected into the joints. He then uses a spray canister to administer sleek black sealant to any superficial scratches, the colour shifting to match what’s already there.  

“Dad!” A small nine-year-old boy darts into the shop followed closely by his mother, Pliae (pronounced: plea-ah). He stumbles in the too-large fur coat wrapped around his shoulders, and Wick reflexively drops the can to catch him.

The boy’s curly clack hair frames his cherubic cheeks and large blue eyes. Matching his mothers.

“There you go,” Wick places the boy on his feet, “I think that coat’s a bit big for you, isn’t it?”

The boy grins and laughs, “It’s not mine.”

Stol reaches over and plucks the heavy coat from his small shoulders. “It’s mine.”

Pliae kneels and runs a hand through Tal’s hair, pulling him close into a hug. He squeaks as she squeezes him. “Tal, you cheeky little bean.”

Wick jolts.

“What’s his name.”

Stol looks up into Wick’s visor with a tired, but kind, grin. “His name’s Tal, after your father.”

Wick stumbles back and his visor flashes a brief ‘ERROR’. He shakes his head and stares at Stol, mouth agape.

“The actual reason we came today, was to ask you to be his solar guardian.”

Wick chokes, “you serious”; if he could cry, he would be.

Stol nods, and Pliae grins, “Your father has always been close to us. We would love it if you would accept us as family.”

Wick gulps and nods. His visor flashes a soft pink as he kneels to look into Tal’s eyes.

“Hey there Tal, I’m Wick. Guess we’re family now.”