Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [59]
Finally, I have no reason to stay. I can’t insist she let me stand deathwatch for her. “See you soon, Adele.”
On the street, I find him waiting. Pacing. Vel wheels to face me, and the flare of his mandible, the spread of his claws, communicate his tremendous disquiet.
“Vel.”
“Human death is terrible,” he says in a neutral tone. “Your bodies break down like machines inadequately maintained.”
“It’s not like that for your people?”
“No. Since we have three hearts, when one wears out, the others compensate. When the last beats its final time, life simply stops. But there is no external deterioration.”
“No brittle chitin, then? No crippling of limbs?”
“Our aging process does not work in that fashion.”
At least I’ve distracted him. So as we move down the walk away from her building, I continue with the questions. “How many do you have left?”
“I have two functioning hearts, Sirantha.”
Relief flickers through me. Though I don’t know what that means in practical terms, it should mean he has plenty of turns left. I know he’s already old by human standards, but I’m nowhere near ready to say good-bye.
I hail a hover cab because we’re in the wrong part of the city entirely to call on Ordo Carvati. It would take us all day to walk across the city, and I do want to get back to Adele as soon as possible. Vel slides in beside me, quiet now, and I respect his need to process the impending loss in his own fashion. Death isn’t like separation, after all. With the latter, you have some hope of seeing the person again, which is why I try not to think about March too often. I tell myself we’ll be together again; I just don’t know when.
“I will not be coming in with you,” he tells me, as the hover cab slows. “I need some time.”
“It’s not a problem. I can handle this.”
What seems such a long time ago now, I first met Ordo Carvati through Doc. What I intend to do strikes me as unbearably presumptuous. First I’ll inform him of his loss, then I’ll try to hire him. Mary, I’m such a dumb-ass. I stew over the unlikelihood of success as we fly toward Carvati’s private clinic. You can’t even reach the place from the ground; it perches high atop one of the top-security aeries, so if you can’t afford the emergency skywagon or a hover cab, then you’re out of luck.
I alight on the platform, but Vel does not. I lift my hand as the vehicle carries him away, then turn toward the hospital. It’s an exclusive, expensive haven built of ultrachrome and diamante with a marquee that reads, WE BUILD A BETTER YOU and a second one that flashes WHERE THE STARS COME WHEN THEY FALL. Inside, it is bright and clean. They’ve changed the chairs in the foyer since I was here last—no more bright orange. Instead, it’s a tasteful ecru edged in silver. The plants are new, too; these bear lightly scented blossoms with delicate crimson petals. Overhead, the skylight remains, bedazzling me with titian-tinged glamour.
The Pretty Robotics receptionist asks, “How may I help you today?”
I’ve no doubt I ought to have an appointment, but maybe connections will help. “Could you tell Dr. Carvati that Sirantha Jax is here to see him? I have news about Dr. Solaith.”
Her face shapes the facsimile of a smile. “I will pass along the message. Please have a seat and avail yourself of the entertainment package on the vid. Shall I order refreshments?”
“No, thank you.”
No more than a quarter hour passes before Carvati joins me. He’s a slim, silver-haired man with a smoothly cultured voice and an artificial tan. Yet one cannot help but like him, though he’s the consummate illusionist. From what I gather, he attended school with Doc, and they remained friends.
“How is Saul?” he asks, ushering me back to a private consultation room.
Sickness roils in my stomach, but I cannot dance around these tidings. I wait until the door swishes shut before replying. “He died as a hero during the bombardment of Venice Minor. I’m sorry.”
Carvati’s smile fades, his color dropping beneath the warm, false hue. “No. Saul wouldn’t have fought. That can’t be right.”
“He was a noncombatant,