Authors: Robert
“N-no thanks.” She wasn’t sure why, but she knew she couldn’t keep it. She offered it back.
“Oh, no, keep it. It’s special.”
“I know it is, I just don’t really…” How would she say it?
“The gem is actually part of you. Well, part of the gem is, at least.” She broke off as he continued. “Some of your tissues were damaged to the point that replacement was recommended, and not all of your lost blood could be returned. I had the shroud put it to use here.”
“I’m…a diamond?” The thought flashed through her mind only briefly; ruby would have been more appropriate.
He laughed. “On the inside, you shine.”
She studied the ring again. It was beautiful. And in his strange, generous way, he didn’t seem to consider accepting it to put her under any kind of obligation. It would fit under her glove…she swallowed hard and pocketed it.
“Anyway, I was saying something. About the titanium and your bones…look.” He offered her the cloth. It appeared white from a distance, but up close she could see that it was streaked with grey. “I made it a bit more obvious. Since it’s not using the iron right now – but might later – it reduced it to a form that it can store easily. I used more than titanium to make the ring; the things I used there, I picked up earlier, including your blood. Your body – the cybernetics that are becoming a part of you – did the same with the titanium that’s still inside of you. It’s on your bones for easy storage until the system has a better use for it.”
“Okay.” She croaked out the word; her mouth had gotten even more dry. She needed water, but the things he’d said held her attention. There were wires of elder metal clinging to her bones. Elder metal that had been part of a crossbow bolt, that had nearly killed her less than an hour ago. A crossbow bolt that had doubtless been forged by a human slave, from metal pried from ancient ruins – probably by another slave. And it was now part of her. The rest of the bolt was now a piece of jewelry, decorated with her own blood and bone.
She swayed on her feet as the nausea peaked, then fell. Derek caught her and she retched. The world faded away again, but the last thing she thought was a comfort.
I’m here, and I’m not going to leave you.
***
Derek wiped off his suit with the shroud, wondering what had gone wrong. She’d seemed a little off, but she should be fine. He mentally prodded the mediceps and asked it what was wrong with her.
The blood loss from her injury had not been replaced. She was going into hypovolemic shock and would die within minutes if untreated. He went into full rush.
How had this
happened?
She had lost about a half-liter of blood to the injury. That wasn’t much for him, but she was smaller than he was. It still shouldn’t have brought her down to a level where shock would be a serious risk.
He pulled up records of the transplant. He’d been mostly focused on soft tissues during the procedure; he hadn’t examined her system beyond what had been necessary to put everything in motion. Her hemoglobin level at the time of the transfer was only nine. Twelve was normal. He delved deeper. Her blood was critically low on iron.
His gut clenched in guilt. The iron deficiency had predated his meddling, but he had compounded the problem. Her growing cybernetics, lacking a truly intelligent guiding force, had diverted iron from hemoglobin formation. The added iron of the crossbow bolt would have been the perfect solution if the blood loss that had resulted from its entry hadn’t also pushed her over the edge.
He had a proper transfusion started less than a minute after her collapse. The implications were far more serious, though. He’d nearly killed her – was it really his fault? – by giving her cybernetics. The mediceps had neither brought her condition to his attention nor acted to correct it of its own volition. Things weren’t going to be easy.
Derek gently rocked Mycah back and forth in his arms as converted blood filtered from his ulnar artery into her bloodstream. He could make things work. Everything would be fine; that was the way things went, right?
***
Thursday, October 27, 3481.
Time: Early afternoon.
Location: Catacombs of Keiths Manor. City of Kaitopolis.
Lydia’s heart raced in her chest, causing her hands to tremble slightly. Of all the things that had happened to her in the past week, waiting for Styx was the most nerve-wracking. She knew she had been raped, but during the assault she had been struck on the head. It had left her slightly distant from the incident, as if someone had been raped and it merely happened to have been her. Her pain and fear at the time had been dulled; she had survived, and had focused on that survival to keep from falling apart.
Survival’s charm was seeping away now. Styx’s chambers were well known to offer the threat of things far worse than death. And now she was in his waiting room, in near-total darkness.
The Hand who had found her had refused to tell her anything. Styx had to be responding to the incident. She did not yet know what his response would be, and the waiting left her gut twisted into a painful knot.
Some had told her that she should have fled. The Kharai were Lord Michael’s greatest creation yet. Whatever she had been before, she was Kharai now, and was to avoid shaming the Kharai at any cost. Lord Michael had warned every squad, before conversion, that their behavior had to be perfect. They could not afford to alienate the people they were supposed to protect. Ominously, he had stated that Styx would personally take care of any who did not hold themselves to the pinnacle of honorable behavior.
Styx had left them a demonstration. The man’s transgression—if it had been a man—was not specified, but the mewling thing of fused bone and wasted muscle that remained was kept alive in the training halls as a reminder that the cost of attracting Styx’s wrath was heavier than anyone wished to pay.
There was a cough, and she jumped in surprise, wings flailing in panic as she upset her chair and crashed to the floor. The voice that followed was flat and cold.
“Hardly the decorum required of a battle seraph,” Styx said. “Grace and beauty. Be a thing of angelic wonder, magnificent perfection. On your feet.”
Lydia gritted her teeth against the pain, jumped to attention and forced her breathing to calm. She’d probably crushed some of her remaining flight feathers; most of them had been lost in the attack. She still could not hear Styx moving, but the sound of his voice circled her.
“Better than I expected, all things considered.” Lydia felt hands running across her shoulders, and down to where her wings connected. She tensed.
Styx’s fingers squeezed a bruise on one of her flight muscles. “Damaged, yes, but not broken. I have heard what happened, Corporal, but I want you to tell me.”
Her throat constricted, but she forced it open and croaked out a report. The words came easier as she continued. Styx—unhindered by the dark—continued to work at her wings and the added muscle and bone structures that allowed her to fly. Bit by bit, he checked every muscle, bone, and feather, not even stopping when he interrupted her with questions.
When her report was finished, she waited. His questions came again.
“Why did this happen?”
She stumbled over the words. “I am at fault, sir. I was careless and went alone into the city.”
“True enough,” he said. “Why else?”
She hesitated. “Sir?”
“No, you wouldn’t know. You are at fault but not alone in the blame. Michael and I share it as well.”
She tried to keep the hope out of her voice. “How so, sir?”
“I failed to make the common thugs understand that to harm you is to show me disrespect. It should have been safe for you to enter the city alone. I will be fixing this mistake. But we’ll come to that later. How skilled was your assailant? Was he stronger than you?”
“Yes, sir. I could barely hurt him.”
“Michael erred. His focus was too narrow. He wanted to make you fly.” The voice had gained a slight, mocking lilt. “He did, but at the cost of almost all of your mass. You weigh about a third what you did before you were changed; you’re made of stronger things than you used to be, but it couldn’t have been hard to overpower you on the ground. Michael should have thought of this and given you something to fight with.
“Speaking of your assailant, though, we have caught him. Do you wish to be the one to mete out justice?”
“I-I think so, sir.” She knew what Styx was offering: she would have the right to castrate and execute her attacker in a public spectacle.
“Hmph. I make no promises. I won't allow you to participate in a first-round spectacle as a battle seraph. Angelic beauty, remember. Perfection does not go into the pits to rend a man’s flesh from his bones.”
“I understand, sir.” Expulsion from the Kharai meant the loss of her wings. She would never fly again, but she would survive.
“No, you don’t. I had a…discussion…with Michael. Understand, first; this news is secret.” Lydia nodded, and Styx continued. “We’ve gained some new intelligence that implies that battle seraphs may not be alone in the skies. While they are well-made for scouting, they are clearly inadequate for facing this new threat. So we have been planning something new.
“If you wish to be a part of this, then we may have a use for you. If not, someone else will be found. You may ask questions now.”
***
Thursday, October 27, 3481.
Time: Late afternoon.
Location: Wilderness, claimed by Overarchy. South of Worldsedge.
For the second time that day, Mycah woke in Derek’s arms. She could feel his stride this time, gentle though it was. The memory of her previous wakening was hazy, but she could feel the ring in her pocket. She opened her eyes; Derek slowed to a stop and set her down, his face more grave than she had ever seen.
He spoke immediately. “You were hurt worse than I thought. Are you okay?”
“I’m just…”
He didn’t stop. “Do you feel irritable or dizzy? Do you feel like chewing on something that’s not food? Do you want to sit down?”
She held up her hands before the onslaught and backed away. “Whoa whoa whoa! What’s got you so riled?”
Derek hung his head, his guilt turning his face almost into a caricature. “It was my fault. I hurt you.” Tears began to flow down his cheeks. “I didn’t make sure of everything and I almost killed you.”
“How?”
“You didn’t have enough iron in your blood when we met. My rations had enough to help but the cybernetics needed iron so they started taking some and you didn’t get enough. When you got hurt you lost blood and you didn’t have enough blood because you didn’t have enough iron so you almost died and it’s my fault because I didn’t check for it before I gave you cybernetics and the computer’s stupid so it didn’t realize you needed it but it told me everything I needed to know I just didn’t pay attention!” It had all come out in a single rush of words, a flawless demonstration of breath control that went completely over Mycah’s head.
“It’s okay. Really, it is.” He still wasn’t meeting her gaze. “Derek. I’m alive, aren’t I? You made it all better.”
He nodded. “You needed a little blood, so I gave you some.”
A few days ago, such a declaration would have given her pause. Now it was just one more bit of munificence. “Derek. Stop crying. I have to tell you…thanks.”
He finally looked her in the eyes as she continued. “You gave me back my eye. You restored my face. I never thought I’d ever look normal again; what you’ve done is more than I could ever have hoped for, and you never asked for anything in return. If you endangered me, it was only after saving my life.”
She stopped for breath.
Owe nothing to anyone; remit all debts as soon as they are issued.
She didn’t remember who’d told her that; her father, perhaps? It was a sound rule, but it was starting to choke her. Derek was too generous, and whether or not he cared about the value of his gifts, she did—and they were beyond all price. What way
did
she have to pay him back?
She had a lot of money. Not with her, but she had sizable savings—an amount of money that Derek would probably be able to make in about half an hour, considering what she’d seen of his abilities. No, her fortune would never come close to equaling the value of what he’d given her.
Only one thing was coming to mind, and she hated it—but if he asked, she could see no honorable way that she could refuse. She caught herself fumbling with the ties of her vest, then forced her hand to drop. She would
not
make the offer.
Derek pulled her close. He had to have noticed. She could feel his tears on the side of her neck, his breath on her shoulder.
“Will you forgive me?” He sniffled.
“I’ve—It’s okay,” Mycah said. “You’ve done so much that was good for me, that one little thing is nothing. I don’t know how I can pay you back.”
He smiled, blinking away tears and rocking her gently. She finally noticed that he had both eyes again.