He was out of his armor, wearing his kutte, a long-sleeved T, and jeans. He looked relaxed and relieved and freshly showered and scrumptious. Sadly, I think I said that to him.
He chuckled and said, “I didn’t think Mateo would get you back in time, but he did. He managed to damage another of his remaining short limbs getting you to safety.”
“That’s going to be a bitch to replace,” I said. “Warbot limbs are in short supply.”
Jagger smiled slightly. “Fortunately, Jolene was able to override the programs of a med-bay that had been triaging a Sabbath and put you in. We got you stabilized.”
“The Sabbath?”
“She lived.”
“Okay. What shape am I in?”
Casually, as if he was at abloody damntea party, he said, “Upper descending colon was hit and was resected. The lower lobe of your right lung was hit. Fracture of your dominant arm in three places when you took fire and then immediately landed wrong. You have titanium plates, rods, assorted screws, and various unpronounceable bits of mechanicals inside you now. Mateo described you as having warbot bones. Your nanobots are healing you at an astonishing rate of speed.”
I breathed out a sigh. “Evelyn?”
“Stabilized physically.”
Not healing. Just stabilized. That was bad. Those two words said a lot about Evelyn’s mental state.
Jagger added, “We didn’t think she had been transitioned, but we were wrong. When we tested her with your nano detector, the nanos were at a low level, not high enough to heal her like yours are healing you, but they’re present. Mateo said something about transitioning her to heal her fully.”
My father’s face flashed into my memory. I’d killed Pops when I tried to heal him. “Where is she?”
“Mateo has her in a med-bay in the Simba with him. He’s nursing her.”
Mateo knew as much about healing with med-bay protocols and Berger chips as I did, and a lot more about protocols for injuries. “Okay. What about the military convoy that was nearby?”
“Mateo hauled most everything off before they got to the kill site. Military found signs of a battle. One body. No armor. Blood, bits of intestines, a finger. Some mini-tank parts. They decided it was local gang warfare and withdrew.”
I chuckled, and it freaking hurt. When the spell of pain passed, mostly, I asked, “Bengal, Mina, Jacopo?”
“In that order, being fitted with a replacement limb; in a med-bay with femurs being repaired, and pissed. Warhammer managed to transition Jacopo before she dropped him, so he’ll go through med-bay protocols when one comes open.”
“What about the rats, any of Warhammer’s thralls left alive here, and the WIMP power source?”
“The cats hunted down and found the rat queen. I went in and killed her, and then burned her body. The rats are . . .”
He stopped and scratched his bearded chin. He looked good with a five-day beard, dark and bristly as a porcupine. His pretty eyes met mine. “The rats are sitting in corners, staring off into space. They don’t run, eat, or drink. They’re dying where they were when their queen died.”
I scowled. That wasn’t good. If the rats were dying in place becausetheirqueen died . . . “And Warhammer’s thralls? Are they sitting and staring off into space?”
“Yes. At first. There were only twenty-four left. Once our own people were stabilized and the less injured moved out, the thralls were put into med-bays and flushed with fluids, and while they don’t seem anywhere near a hundred percent, they do feed themselves and take showers when told to.”
How was I supposed to care for that many queenless thralls? “What do the medicals think about any further improvement?”
“Maybe. Slowly. They did better when we took them out of the bunker and let them see sunlight. Most hadn’t been outside since they were captured and transitioned.”
“The WIMP power source?”
“Untouched. Unfortunately, everyone knows it’s there, whatever it is—power source, weapon, or both. Eventually someone will come after it. Mateo and Jolene are prepared to bring down the bunker without damaging it.”
“Hmmm.” Mateo’s bunker busters. Some things were great. Some were not so great. Much like life in general.
“What about Warhammer’s nanobots? Is everyone washing appropriately?” Warhammer was dead, but her nanobots would still transition anyone they got on for seventy-two hours.
“The Sabbath rigged up a water line from the bunker’s pump to the outside. I issued orders for showers every hour for anyone inside. Clothes are washed and worn wet. And then showers again in an hour. Nobody’s happy, but everyone’s following orders. They saw the rats.”
