I wake on the floor, looking up at a loose light swinging from the roof of the emissary’s cruiser. My vision fills with diagnostic scans. Systems come online one at a time, and I can finally sit up.
Aera...
My body shudders like dry gears as I get it moving again. Things are still shifting back into place after being in a liquid state. But I am grateful for having contact with Capsule. I’m just not sure if it was enough.
Evo>>Aera: Aera...
Her head hangs limply to the side, her helmet still intact. She doesn’t respond when I call to her.
Evo>>Aera: Aera, please wake up.
I drag my body to her position. Liquefying is about as horrible and mind-numbing a sensation as fracturing into a million pieces. “Aera...”
She’s slumped in her seat, hanging from the straps. There’s no visible blood, but when my human assessment programs run, they come back with an alarming amount of heat in the same location as her recent head injury.
Concussion detected.
My self-decommissioning program starts up when it wouldn’t during all the time I served Solcrue. I do not understand why I can pull my own plug after my Bond is hurt, but not when I cause harm to hundreds of humans while controlled by the enemy.
I am devastated by Aera’s condition. I have let her become severely injured. Many will be furious with me because of it.
I check the screens behind me, but see no sign of anyone following us. Navigation is sketchy at best as it flickers in and out. But no other ships are detected in orbit, which means either we’re alone because no one followed us through the portal, or no one considers us important enough to chase.
This was too soon for her.She should not have gone on this mission.
I have a decision to make. I could give up, accept my decommissioning because I have failed my Bond. Or I could try to save her even if the probability of success is only thirteen percent.
If she does not survive, I will let the program run.
Until then...
All I can think about is mending our Bond, saving her, and holding her against me again.
I get myself put back together and unbuckle her. Carefully, and with my gloves on, I collect her from the chair and carry her into the emissary’s private resting quarters in the back.
There are basic medical supplies for Solcrue on ships like this. Captain Korosyn liked to parade me around like a trophy. I have seen more than my fair share of Solcrue emissary ships. And, for the first time, I feel like all that torture has a purpose, just like Navi said.
Lying Aera back on the bed, I gently take her helmet off and dig through the cabinet for the cold compresses. When I find what I’m looking for, I strap them to her injury to cool her brain. Then I pop open the panel beside the bed, which eases out and swivels open, exposing a robotic repair arm meant for privately stitching up theeliteof their kind.
Power is offline, but I prep the device over Aera, anyway. I trace the cables to the breakers in the floor. None are tripped, which tells me that the device is fine. It’s the power supply that’s the problem.
I tear floor panels up as I follow the lines back to the generator and discover where the unit was severed. Reaching around the generation system, I disconnect it from main power, mend the wire by heating a hand, like Magma does, and then reconnect the generator.
I hear a hum in the bedroom and poke my head up to see the device has lit up. Closing up the panels, I return to Aera’s side, steady her head in a gloved hand, remove the ice packs, and reposition the device over her injury. Then, keeping her head in position, I select the settings I need for deep tissue repair.
“You’re going to have a green mark on your beautiful face, but I can’t have you dying on me. No one can.”
Initiating the repair, I watch the lasers scan her head with green bars of light and burn the stitches from her flesh. The gash oozes, and my guilt makes it difficult to watch.
I let this happen to her again.
Beautiful, tender, feisty Aera, the contradiction that's been slowly healing me, even if she doesn’t know it, is lying here under a laser because I didn’t prevent what I should have. Because I listened to what she wanted instead of what Brodin, the older, experienced member of her crew wanted.
I sweep a gloved finger over her skin, wishing I could feel its plush texture.
He is going to kick my ass.
The lasers pass over her head again. Finally, the system begins laying down a grid of cells that reduce inflammation and replicate healthy cells, slowly closing the injury. My assessment program shows improvement, and the status dips from severe back toward healthy. But she doesn’t make it that far. Aera lingers in the middle. She’s underweight, exhausted, and dehydrated.
