Play it cool.

<snip>
As Lindstrom’s orders filled the air all the combat mechs stopped their attack. The remaining miners hid till they saw the combat mechs head back to their ships. Jacky closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he exhaled in relief. Jacky looked at Jaxx as he asked, “Were you really gonna kill me?” Jaxx replied in his Vader voice, “Naw bro I totally chased ya here cause this place totally messes with my scanners and stuff, so I was hoping to hide ya and stuff. However, we totally lucked out since that Lindy dude called us off from this most harsh fight. Well I’m off to find Eve babe so see ya around goggles.” Jacky watched as Jaxx zoomed off and left him alone.
</snip>

Jacky was far beyond nervousness. He had come to face his almost certain demise at the hands of a gelatinous death beast, only surviving with a stroke of luck, and then he was afraid that one of his friends was trying to kill him. In hindsight, Jacky sighed with the one thing that kept him confident in dangerous situations: he had met his future self, and he was okay.

Jacky felt a wetness on his foot. He looked down. Something red dripped onto it. Jacky's finger had been shot off in crossfire.

Jacky was scared. Not because his finger was gone; he was still in shock, and couldn't feel it. He felt ill at ease because there was something wrong. Not wrong in the sense that he was harmed, but wrong like seeing the one plothole in your favorite book. Something didn't match up.

His future self wasn't missing any fingers.

He had seen his future, and it could then change. He didn't know how, he didn't know when, but something changed, and he was now in a crisis of mortality.

But his mind was taken off of this somewhat by a sudden crippling pain where his finger used to be.

"Shit!" he yelled. He needed a doctor. Anybody, really. He had his wrist communicator, still. Did the others? He didn't know. He pressed the button for an open message.

Better not seem pathetic, he thought. Play it cool.

"Hey guys! Long time, no see! Guess which smeg-head got one of his fingers blown off?" he said into the communicator. "If you could help out a bit, that'd be great."

He didn't want to seem demanding, either.

"No rush, though. I'm sure you're all busy."

Shit, that sounded sarcastic.

"Sorry."