It’s a bright array of dancing lights and I wait as they flutter across the screen, words and numbers populating in a cascade.
A dozen different bits of information fill out like character stats. Normal numbers are black. Things that need addressing are bold and blue.
It shows me the medical reason for the tightness in my thigh—it doesn’t tell me the source, but I remember forgetting to stretch last night—and the light swelling in my wrist, an old injury acting up because of the cold.
It spits out a pair of pills the screen identifies as “safe painkillers.”
The line that populates next isn’t just bold, it’s about ten points larger.
“And there it is…” I say under my breath.Bait.
I thought I’dfeelit if—when—I got pregnant.
The machine offers me a more comprehensive scan, but I decline it.
Whatever else there is to know, I’d prefer we all learn it at the same time.
“What do you think?” I ask. “Are you going to be an uncle?”
Kissu sneezes and I know it’s an emphatic “no.”
“We’ll figure that out later.” I scratch his chin. “Take me back upstairs, please.”
Kissu leads me back out so I don’t have to guess. I’ll figure out the layout later.
When I sit on the couch, he brings me another pair of socks and then my boots.
I put them on, wondering how long it’s going to take.
I dig in the blankets for my e-reader, but it’s gone. Eyes narrowed, I look at Kissu and he, very suspiciously, doesn’t look back at me.
Going to my cat tree, I climb up one step and peek in the basket bed.
It’s not there either.
I can’t think of any reason he would have hidden it from me.
And then, I don’t have to think of a reason.
A chime echoes through the outpost. I’ve only heard it twice before, when Kimba and Hazard came by.
The doorbell.
Quicker than I thought it would be. Maybe he doesn’t think he has time to waste.
Kissu hops down from the sofa and slinks into the back hall.
If he doesn’t want to be seen, I won’t give him away.
I walk to the door slowly and take my time putting my jacket on, checking my pocket to make sure I have gloves tucked away inside. I don’t answer until it chimes again.
A leached gray Sian with sharp green eyes, I don’t know why I’m surprised that he looks older than most of the men I’ve seen. He looks at me like we know each other.
“Hello Chrys.” He greets me like an old friend.
“Can I help you?”
There’s a vehicle in the snow behind him. It looks like the helicopters flying around the crash site, but without blades.
