“To feed the climate refugees in the Hotzone,” Armonk finishes. “To be a super-plant and proliferate where nothing else would grow.”
“That’s right.” Dr. Varik nods. “And due to the nature of my interaction with the plant, I was one of the first transgenic, um, products, for lack of a better word.”
I gape at him. “What do you mean?”
“I crashed inside the rock formation and staggered around, eventually finding the first Fireseed. I passed out, hugging one.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“My arms had lesions on them—gaping wounds from my struggles in the desert. That’s a whole other story, as you say.”
“The Fireseed pollen migrated into your lesions,” Armonk finishes. “It merged with you!” His dark eyes glitter with the realization that Dr. Varik is more than he ever imagined.
“In so many words, yes. Its pollen invaded the wounds. Changed me.”
“But how?” I ask. “Are you healthy?” The hum in my brain has turned to uneasy static.
He snorts. Rubs his hands. “Healthy in the sense that I’m not on my deathbed,” he answers grimly. “But I go through a daily regimen to stay healthy.”
This is really scaring me. Maybe we shouldn’t have come here. I glance down at my own arms to see if there are any lesions, or things growing out of them. Nothing now, but when?
“What kind of health regimen?” Armonk asks him for me.
Dr. Varik waves away the question. “I won’t burden you all with my problems.” He attempts a hopeful yet unconvincing grin. “Because Ruby’s had a very different transmission than I did. You, young lady, should not worry about your health.”
But he does have me worried, quite worried, and also for my brother, Thorn. I tell Dr. Varik about Thorn, and he makes more notations in his holo tablet. “I’ll run more tests on you both,” he promises. “I’ll make sure I keep you two healthy.”
I hold out my arms. “Will I, um develop lesions or—?”
“No, Ruby. He shakes his head slowly, too hesitantly for comfort. “It sounds as if you’ve gotten more of the benefits of the blending than I did. As I stated, there seem to be different varieties of this, um condition.”
“What do you mean?” Armonk asks.
Dr. Varik studies me with his crystalline eyes. “You say that you run really fast?”
“Yes.”
“And that you crave the sun?”
“Yes, is that bad?”
“You’re getting nutrition from it—you’re photosynthetic. You’ll need less food. But you still need some, you’re still half human, so make sure to eat at least one small meal a day.”
“One small meal?” Armonk says incredulously.
I grin. No more stuffing food down three times a day. “Sounds good to me. Can I … sunbathe?”
“Yes, but not for hours.” Dr. Varik smiles. “You still have partially human skin.”
As he gives me a thorough checkup, Armonk sits there with a glazed, worried look. It’s funny, now that I know what’s going on, unlike Armonk; I’m relieved—relieved that I’m not going crazy or dying. For the moment my fear flips to giddy joy.
I’m part plant! I’m literally one with my god, Fireseed!
Ha! How the elders would envy me now.
After Dr. Varik is done consulting with me, he gives Armonk a thorough once-over and has him remove the worn, too-short leg off to take new measurements. I avert my eyes and move over to give them space. To see Armonk with one leg missing is like seeing him naked, and makes me ache. I think of all he’s been through: not being able to play soccer to the best of his ability, getting twice as winded by trekking through the fields as he goes on sentry duty at night.
Dr. Varik fits Armonk for a temporary prosthetic. He promises to deliver a new one in a couple of days. As he makes final adjustments to it, the doorbell rings.
We all startle, even the doctor at this prospect of company. This place seems so private and new, as if no one yet knows about it and we’re in a safe cocoon. Dr. Varik jumps up, with a guilty frown, or is that only my overactive imagination?
Before he can get to the foyer, someone enters from a side door and calls out in a cheery voice, “Varik, are you in there? I’m looking forward to this.” It’s a familiar wispy tone in the rangy drawl of folks from Skull’s Wrath. The hair on the back of my neck stands up when it dawns on me who the voice belongs to. Armonk and I exchange uneasy glances.
“Hello,” Dr. Varik calls.
Nevada bounds in, in her ornate fringe boots. Now it all makes icky sense—why she washed and colored her hair and dressed in her finery.
“Welcome, Nevada.” Dr. Varik ushers her to a chair.
She stops in her tracks at the sight of Armonk and me. “Oh!” is all she says at first. Her cheeks and neck bloom into a blotchy rose as she struggles for words. “Ruby, Armonk! This is a surprise.”