The Heart

Spoilers for Ratchet & Clank Future: A Crack In Time!

The average male Lombaxian heart weighs approximately 230 to 260 grams. It beats an average of sixty-five times per minute in a state of rest and contains four chambers for pumping the average 4.9 liters of blood contained in the Lombaxian circulatory system. It sits beneath the costal cartilage, approximately six centimeters left from center and averaging eight centimeters below the surface of the skin.

Clank stopped briefly in his calculations to ponder their validity. The Lombax in question, while technically adult, was not entirely average. His body weight of 43.9 kilograms was 28.6% less than the average, and 31.2% less in terms of height at only 149.8 centimeters.

A "runt" as Captain Qwark would have said; though a confusing term, as Lombaxes do not reproduce in litters.

While he was aware that judgements of height were different for one who stood only 67 centimeters, Clank never saw Ratchet as a "runt." It was a disparaging term that had come to be closely associated with weakness or inadequacy - qualities that, from his own experience, simply did not exist in his close friend.

Clank turned his eyes to Ratchet, sleeping on the mat beside him, snoring softly as he always did. Previously something of an annoyance, their time apart had taught him to appreciate the sound. It had also taught him just how petty all of their past altercations had been. Squabbles over what holo-vid program to watch, arguments as to the interpretation of the rules of various tabletop games, bickering over how much thrust power was necessary for any given vehicle. It was assumed a natural action for close friends or family.

The terrible image flashed through his mind again. Though it had not technically happened due to his six minute time jump, he could still see it, remember it, hear it. The sound of an energy blast against weakened armor, gasping breaths, and a slowing heartbeat. Forty-five beats per minute. Twenty-eight. Ten. Then silence, horrifying silence as he watched his adopted brother die before him, his lifeless body plummeting over the edge of the Great Clock.

How ironic that a lifeform could be so strong and so frail at the same time.

Clank moved to sit beside Ratchet, noting his rumpled undershirt and bare patch of skin on his right wrist, the fur worn down from years of glove-based weaponry. He could hear his heart beating slowly as he slept, fifty-three beats per minute. It was a comforting rhythm, much like the ticking of the Great Clock, of his home.

Ratchet shifted in his sleep, murmuring briefly about about ion ducts. Clank smiled, reaching down to stroke the fur on his face. Ratchet responded to the feather-light touch by throwing an arm up and over, catching Clank by the shoulders and pulling him down to the mat, where he held him fast like a boy would a teddy bear.

Clank suppressed a small laugh. His father was right; the universe did indeed have a wonderful sense of humor. The small robot shifted as best he could in Ratchet's skinny arms, his vision obstructed by gold fur. He could hear as well as feel the steady thumping as he began powering down his auxiliary systems. That was quite enough thinking for one night.