Once they got past that, they found yet another hurdle to treating him: his medical history. Poor N’kal didn’t understand half the questions the nurses asked him, and when he tried to explain a childhood illness he’d had, they all blanched in horror.
I guess “scale rot,” while probably the best translation he had, wasn’t exactly something the nurses were prepared to hear.
Frustrated with how long everything was taking, I finally got fed up and started asserting myself. I may not have been in my jurisdiction, but I could still wave my badge around and use it to get the ball rolling a little faster. I started throwing out words like “material witness” and “foreign diplomat,” and I made sure to make vague threats of repercussions from the President and the AARO if he didn’t survive into the morning.
After what felt like entirely too long of a wait, the doctor finally came in to check out N’kal’s wound to assess the damage and see what he could do.
Turned out the best way to close a Xalanite puncture wound after stitching the torn muscles underneath, from Dr. Vismani’s point of view, anyway, was to use a medical staple gun. His suture needles couldn’t pierce N’kal’s scales, and he said that if he only stitched up the inside without reinforcing the sutures with the staples, the wound would just open up again the next time N’kal exerted himself.
After running some tests on N’kal’s blood, Dr. Vismani gave us the unfortunate news that no, human blood products wouldn’t work for a transfusion. N’kal was stable enough to get back on the road, but he might need Xalanite blood when we got to the intake center. There was a chance he’d be weak until then, but he was stable. In Dr. Vismani’s professional opinion, he’d survive.
All in all, from check-in to check-out, we spent six hours in the ER. Not too bad, considering the national average and the hiccups we went through. Problem was, we now had been delayed in reaching the only semblance of a safe place for Xalanites in the US … and even that was iffy. I tried reaching out to my AARO contact again, but he maintained radio silence. I didn’t know if there were more problems from right-wing extremists up there or if he was just busy with other administrative duties, which was frustrating. I needed to getN’kal safe with his people, and until Steve responded, I had no way of knowing if I was even heading the right direction for “safe.”
I drove N’kal to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy to pick up some antibiotics and pain meds. He took them dry, which was almost enough to makemegag. I just can’t dry swallow pills like that, especially not the horse pills he was given.
Finally, around seven in the morning, we were able to hightail it out of Gary and head back on the road towards the Xalanite intake center. Steve hadn’t given me a specific address or coordinates, but I knew it was near Rochester, so I had a general direction to aim for. My biggest concern was the security of the place once we got there. N’kal might have been a bit annoying, but he didn’t deserve to be a victim of further hate crimes.
If Jim’s attack was even a hate crime. Something about it didn’t sit right with me. Jim was a grumpy asshole most of the time, but to open fire on a hotel room and even spray bullets into the parking lot—that didn’t fit with the years I’d spent as Jim’s partner in the department. Being a curmudgeon was one thing; being a murderer was something else entirely.
A couple hours after we got back on the interstate, N’kal’s stomach rumbled loudly. He’d been quiet and reserved since getting injured, but I was still surprised that he didn’t ask for food.
“You hungry?”
He nodded, but his gaze never left the window. He seemed to be watching the scenery again as we drove.
“I’ll keep an eye out for an exit. Let me know if you need anything else, like a bathroom or something.” If he hadn’t used the toilet in the hotel, I might have wondered if Xalanites even needed the bathroom. I supposed any species that took nutrients in had to have a way to get the resulting waste products out,though, and N’kal sure as hell took in plenty of nutrients at the hotel.
“Will there be a bathroom if we stop for food?”
“Sure. Most fast-food joints have public restrooms, and even if we just grab snacks at a gas station, there’ll be a toilet.”
“Public restrooms …” His tone was soft, somber. “But I cannot go out in public, can I? Your partner was evidence enough of that. Xalanites may have some few places they can go here on Earth, but we can’t really visit, can we?”
It was then that I realized why he’d been so quiet. This man—thisXalanite—had come to Earth in search of a good time, and thanks to Jim, he’d met the dark side of humanity. Knowing that he was at risk simply for being who and what he was must have been one hell of a downer. I scrambled for something to say that might cheer him up.
“Not everyone on Earth is like Jim,” I said, patting his knee. “We’ve just gotta get you to an area that has more of your own people. Then you’ll feel better, fit in better.”
“More of my own people …”
Crap. Wrong thing to say. “That’s not what I meant, N’kal. I just mean—Look, humans are assholes. You’re probably better off finding yourself a nice Xalanite woman. They’ve got, like, four tits. Wouldn’t you have more fun with that?”
N’kal scowled and pushed my hand away. “I do not care about the number of teats on a woman. You have two. Yours are nice. Plenty.”
It seemed like he was going to be in a funk no matter what I said. After a long, awkward pause, I tried to make up for my Foot-in-Mouth disease.
“I’m really sorry your vacation isn’t turning out the way you’d hoped. I’m sure you’ll eventually find a nice human girl to date, but the ones who are interested in Xalanite men are probably flocking to the intake center to meet one. So, y’know, that’s theplace to be in your situation.” I cast a glance in his direction, but the sour expression never left his face. “I’m trying here, N’kal. I really am.”
He sighed and turned his head away from the window. “I know. I should apologize. You have not done anything to harm me, yet I am being most ungrateful for your help.”
Poor guy.
Before I could say anything else, my phone chimed. I dug it out of my pocket and took my eyes away from the road for a second to check the screen. It was a message from Steve.
Since I couldn’t safely read his text, I one-handed dialed him and put the phone on speaker. The car we’d stolen was too old for Bluetooth, and I didn’t want to be distracted by holding the phone while I drove.
“Hey, Steve. What do you have?”
“I should be asking you that. You’ve got several different departments up in arms over your grand theft auto and the destruction at the hotel. You were just supposed to be bringing the Xalanite here. What happened?”
