Aftermath - Ann Aguirre [64]
“Are we done here?” Vel asks, watching the others tell anecdotes about Adele. “Have we been respectful?”
“I think we can go.”
As if in answer to my thoughts, my comm sounds. “I have to take this,” I say to the group, and I push away from the table and head outside to the bustling pedestrian walk. I smell distant airs from the market, sweet and savory, copper kiln smells and the spicy scent of kosh. A woman sits on a bench across the way, wearing a smoker’s dreamy-eyed smile.
“Jax?” It’s Dr. Carvati. “I have your Mareq hatchling ready for transport, along with the synthesized protein you requested.”
“Thanks. I’m on my way.”
Popping my head back in, I signal Vel that we’re heading out. He does not take his leave of anyone gathered, and they’re all too numb to notice. Probably best this way. Domina will wrap up Adele’s business affairs; she only asked that I stand by Vel—and I would’ve done that anyway.
A hover cab takes us to the clinic. This time, the reception-bot sends us straight back, but not to Carvati’s office. Instead, we hang a right and head to the in-house labs. Though I know what’s coming, I’m not emotionally prepared for my first glimpse of Baby-Z mark two. He looks exactly the same with his webbed toes and translucent skin, so tiny and fragile. I see the first clinging to March’s chest, clinging to life with such tenacity, even though we had no fragging idea how to care for him. In the end, I killed him, and with this hatching, I must try to make amends.
I greet Carvati with a handshake and a nod of thanks. “Your team did great work, but I suspect I shouldn’t let him imprint on me until I’ve had the procedure.”
The doctor agrees. “It should only take an hour or so. I can bump you up if you promise not to tell my waiting list.”
I smile. “Deal. I’d also like you to upgrade the processing option on my linguistic chip if you can.”
“Not a problem.”
Carvati doesn’t put me under completely. Drugs send me to a halfway place, where it’s warm and hazy, streams of light that likely come from his equipment. A local anesthetic numbs the area, so I don’t feel any of the pain, only pressure as he works. Eventually, the lights flow into darkness, and when I awaken, I hear:
“Are you with me, Ms. Jax?”
“Yeah.”
Carvati goes on, “You may notice some residual soreness and you’ll need to apply Nu-Skin to the incision twice daily until it heals.”
“I understand.”
“The vocalizer works on neural command. You tell it to switch languages, then speak. Now try to say something in Ithtorian for me.”
I glance around for Vel and find him within arm’s reach. His posture still radiates deep mourning, but he remains steadfast as ever. Honest to Mary, I don’t know how Adele found the strength to let him go. When my fingers flex, he covers my hand with one claw.
Ithtorian, I think. This gizmo doesn’t have an on-off switch, so . . . Speak Ithtorian, I tell the vocalizer. And then I say, “Thank you for being here.”
But it comes out in clicks, chitters, and whistles. Vel’s mandible flares in instinctive response; I can only imagine how strange it is for him, hearing me speak his native tongue. Well, with technical assistance, but still.
Also in Ithtorian, he replies, “It is my pleasure.”
“By my reckoning,” Carvati says, “the operation was a success. Another hour in recovery, and you should be ready to go.”
The residual soreness he mentioned before tingles in my throat, creeping about the numb edges. “Will I be able to jump today?”
“Give it eight hours,” the doctor advises me.
So a night’s sleep, then, basically. Medi-bots move me into the recovery room, and I doze through my waiting period. Vel wakes me when I can leave with a touch on the shoulder. Nodding, I slide off the bed and get dressed. After what we shared on Ithiss-Tor, there is no reason for modesty between us, and the human body offers him nothing in the way of visual interest or titillation.
From there, we head for the labs again, where they’re readying Baby-Z