Worry clouds his expressive gaze and he leans in and gives me a quick, soft kiss. “I will wait here.”
I slip from his grasp and lay flat on the pallet. “I’m ready,” I tell the computer. The bed immediately begins to recede into the wall with me on it, and I watch Aehako’s worried face disappear from sight.
Lights flick and then go dark.
I suck in a breath, because this isn’t like a CAT scan after all – more like a slab in a morgue. What if the machine breaks down and won’t let me back out? I start to breathe rapidly, full of anxiety. My hand touches the panel over my head. It’s less than a full arm’s length away, ditto the sides. Lights begin to flicker, and I watch the walls come to life with more writing and dancing charts – probably my vital signs.
“How can we assist you today?” the computer’s smooth voice asks.
“I need a foreign object removed.” I point at the translator in my ear.
“Please remain still. Our systems will scan you to make a health determination.”
I put my arm down and lie flat on the bed, careful not to move. I look around, wondering at the technology. I’m a lot smaller than the bed itself – I think even Aehako’s brawny form could fit in here – which tells me that the sa-khui haven’t changed much since the crash. There’s a head rest – maybe in case the patient has extremely large horns – but it’s too big for my neck and I ignore it, tilting my head off to the side.
“Our sensors have noted two foreign bodies,” the computer informs me pleasantly. “Would you like for us to proceed with extraction of both?”
“T-two?” I stammer, shocked. “What do you mean?”
“Our sensors indicate a non-organic compound attached to your human sensory organ. Further scans indicate that you have also acquired a parasite native to this planet—“
Oh. The khui. I keep forgetting that Aehako’s people crash-landed here and had to take the khui, same as we did. No wonder their computer views it as a foreign object. “I want to keep the parasite and get rid of this thing.” I tap the translator. “The non-organic compound attached to my um, ear.”
“Please turn on your side so we may examine the object in greater detail.”
I roll over and immediately, computerized arms sprout from the wall and begin to touch the translator. Things whirr and chirp, and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from jerking every time something taps on the metal, as it sends feedback screeching through my skull.
“Object identified,” the computer informs me. “Sensors indicate it is a strbde qreiduvp scipqrei.” The computer rattles off a sequence of unintelligible sounds. “Would you like to proceed with extraction?”
I notice no one’s offering anesthesia or novocaine or any sort of medication to numb the pain. I lick my dry lips. “Is it going to hurt?”
I mean, I still need to get it removed either way, but I want to know what I’m in for.
“Sensors indicate that the equipment is attached to sensitive neural tissue. It will take some time and effort to remove without damage, but the probability for successful extraction without requiring additional surgery is 97%.”
That sounds encouraging. “Let’s do it, then.”
The table underneath me whirrs and shivers, and a sleek metal cuff slides around my neck.
“What?” I yelp, jerking as another cuff locks around one of my wrists, and another on my ankles.
“Kira,” Aehako bellows, and his voice sounds far away, muffled through the machinery.
“Please remain still,” the computer admonishes me. “You are being restrained for your own safety. The slightest movement can affect the operation. Do you still wish for us to proceed?”
“Kira!” Aehako shouts again, and I hear a clatter of equipment, and an angry chirp from the computers.
“It’s okay,” I call out in a small, thready voice. “I’m all right! Tell him I’m all right, computer.”
It’s silent for a moment, but I don’t hear Aehako shouting anymore, so I suppose that’s a good sign. I force myself to relax, trying not to think of the cuff around my neck as choking me. It’s just like a blood pressure cuff. That’s all. No problem.
“Please remain calm during the procedure.”
“Okay.” I close my eyes so I don’t see the robot arms moving around. Something pings and I feel a tug against the translator, and my body tenses.
“Your blood pressure is abnormally high. Shall we provide soothing music?”
The question strikes me as utterly absurd, and I swallow my hysterical giggle. “I’ll calm down,” I promise.
“Do you have any other questions you wish to have answered?”
My stomach chooses that moment to rumble, and I decide to make a joke. “Is there a snack bar around here?”
“Query: what is snack bar?”
Oh. Now I have to explain. I feel a bit childish. “A place where you go to eat.”
“This ship has three dining locations. However, current food and water supplies are exhausted.”
Of course. The people that crashed here probably cleaned out the pantry. “How many people were on this ship?”
“At the time of landing, this vessel had one pilot and sixty-two passengers.”
Interesting. I hear the computer arms humming and the thing in my ear tugs. I squeeze my eyes even tighter shut, trying to relax. “So what kind of trip was it? The one that crashed?”
“The charter for Se Kilahi reads: A voyage for those to commune with nature.”
Se Kilahi must be the ship. It sounds pretty. “Commune with nature? Was this a…camping trip?” If so, they got a heck of a camping trip. Maybe they were a back to basics kind of group and that would explain why Aehako’s people went from advanced technology to leathers and hunting/gathering in the course of three hundred years.
“Query: what is camping trip?”
“Never mind.” Something tugs on my ear again and I cast about for another question. “So what’s the weather going to be like for the next week, Siri?”
“Query: what is Siri?”
“Never mind.” I smile inwardly at my own joke.
“The atmosphere indicates that more snow will return at this planet’s sunset.”
Yaaay. I never thought I’d be so happy for snow. Maybe it’ll prevent the other aliens from landing. “Can you tell if there is another ship in the atmosphere here?” Worth a shot.
“Affirmative. Sensors have located an alien ship three drumah away.”
I have no idea how far a drumah is, but I hope it’s far. “How many aliens on board?”
“Sixteen.”
Ulp. “You can tell there’s sixteen? Seriously?”
“Affirmative. This unit is connected to a satellite orbiting the planet that allows the ship’s computers to track and record information.”
“Like how many sa-khui are here?”
“Affirmative. There are thirty-five modified sakh and twelve modified humans currently on the planet.”
Huh. I wonder what the point of recording all the information is for. Before I can ask, there is a sharp tug on my ear and I yelp.
“Please remain still as the extraction begins,” the computer’s sweet voice tells me.
Then, there’s a blinding, red-hot shot of pain that seems to jolt directly to my brain and the world goes black.
AEHAKO
My heart stops beating when the wall spits Kira out. She’s crumpled on the strange bed, small and still, and there are bloody bandages pressed over her ear. Her strange metal shell is gone but her face is so pale, and she’s unconscious.
Mouth dry, I touch her cheek to rouse her. When she doesn’t stir, I collect her in my arms and take her away from this room. I don’t trust it. I don’t trust the elders’ cave, with its strange magic and glowing walls and disembodied voices. I want to take Kira back to my own cave and lay her down in my furs—