Under A Winter Sun by Johan Dahlgren (ink ebook reader txt) 📕

suppressed retch, he wraps the head in the dirty blanket before he picks it up. Then he dumps the bundle in my lap.

“Thanks. Want to see something gross?”

The little priest's eyes widen. He nods like he can't stop himself, and I uncover the head. The reek of rotting flesh worms its way into my nostrils like the fingers of a ghost.

I leer at the priest and unwrap the makeshift bandage from my mangled hand. The skin has already grown back over the bones, but where my hand should be is only a stump. There's only so much the nanites can do without a source of fresh material. The priest stares at it in wonder.

“Amazing.” He reaches out to touch it but stops himself and looks at me for permission.

I nod. “Go ahead, touch it. Careful. It bites.”

He grins uncertainly, swallows, and traces his fingers over the smooth skin. “How is that even possible?”

“Magic.”

“Ow.” He yanks his hand away in surprise and pain. “That hurt. What was that?”

“I told you. It bites.”

The nanites on my skin are desperate to start the healing process, and they will grab at anything carbon-based to get going. The priest's soft hand is just what they need. I guess they use the same tech as the recyclers on starships to break down complex materials into their constituent atoms for reuse. But these little guys can build infinitely more complex things than bars of iron and hypercarbon.

The priest rubs his fingertips with a grimace of pain. One tip is raw. He turns back to my partially healed stump. “This is incredible. How can you heal so quickly?”

I laugh. “You've seen nothing yet, priest. Watch this.”

Jagr looks over from her seat as I put the stump against the scalp of the cracked and shrivelled head. The tingle as the nanobots scream to work sends shivers of pleasure up my arm and down my spine. “Ah, that feels so good.” It's only part acting. The pleasure of reconstruction borders on the erotic.

What they restore in me, the nanites tear from the head. Skin and dried tissue melt from the bones as the nanites deconstruct it into building blocks.

The priest covers his mouth with a pale, trembling hand. “Dear God.”

He can't tear his eyes away. Neither can Hildr and Skallagrim. Finn has seen this parlour trick a hundred times before. Likely Jagr has done it herself more times than she'd like to admit. I raise the stump into the light from one of the overhead spotlights. The priest gasps as my hand grows back in front of his eyes. There are already raw and gory rudimentary fingers, and I wiggle them for theatrical effect.

“Oh, Lord in Heaven protect me,” whispers the little man and faints again.

“Yes, impressive, isn't it?”

I make a fist and unclench it with a sticky sound, revelling in the numb itching from the regrowing nerve endings.

“Perez.” Jagr turns over on her other side in the crash seat, trying to get comfortable. “Stop scaring the priest.”

“Aw, can't a man have a little fun?”

My hand is almost regrown, and all that remains of the head on the blanket in my lap is a small squishy pool of goo. The nanites have deemed the slush unusable.

The PA crackles to life again. “Boss, the sun is up.”

“That was quick.” Jagr sits up and stretches her arms with a crack and a groan. “Time to move.”

She gets to her feet as Soledad comes into the crew area from the aft airlock.

“Soledad, you and Braden stay with the ship and patch her up while we go see what's out there.”

Soledad does not look happy about it, but she nods.

“The rest of you, gear up. We don't know what we're up against, so pick a balanced load. It could be bad guys; it could be a fucking candy-floss castle. Dress accordingly.”

“Damn, I like candy-floss,” Braden says over the speakers. “Can I come?”

“No. You stay on board in case we need a quick airlift out.”

“Crap.”

“But you can come and help us with the gear.”

“Right ho, boss.”

Jagr and Soledad head for the cargo bay.

I roll up the blanket with the goo and toss it into a corner, then I get out of my seat. “Come, Finn. Let's grab some gear and go sightseeing. Whatever is out there, it has something to do with the death of your father.”

Finn grunts. With considerable huffing and puffing, he gets out of his seat. He has grown fat in the breeder monastery.

I turn to Hildr and Skallagrim. “Are you coming?”

They glance at each other and Hildr nods. “Yes, we're coming.” They get out of their seats and stoop low to avoid banging their heads.

“Good, we need all the hands we can get.”

“What about him?”

Hildr tips her head at the unconscious priest. “Do we leave him?”

“I don't know. Ask him.”

She steps over, leans over the priest, and slaps him. Hard.

The priest mumbles something and turns the other cheek without waking up. How very Christian of him. Hildr slaps him again, and he wakes with a start.

“What? Where am I? Who are you?”

He blinks and squints around. “Oh, right.”

He sees Hildr hovering over him. Or rather, he sees her bosom hovering over his face and his eyes go all glassy. “Am I dead?”

“No, you're not dead.” I smile. “Are you coming?”

He blinks. “What? Me? Where?”

“Yes. You.” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder towards the cargo bay. “Out into the cold.”

He thinks about it for a moment. Then he looks at Hildr, towering above him with her hands on the armrests of his seat. “Well, doesn't someone need to stay and protect the women?”

Hildr bares her teeth, and he flinches.

Staying indoors with a warm bosom seems to appeal more to him than going out into the cold. I can't say I blame him. The occasional shudder that runs through the ship tells me the wind is still raging outside, even if it has quietened down over the last hour.

“Braden and Soledad will stay with the ship. The rest are going.”

The little man looks