“I don’t think we have to do anything.”
“The team won’t operate if we opt to stay together. They just won’t do it. But they won’t let us die, either. That doctor made it seem like a choice, but I don’t think it’s really a choice at all.” She saw through it all.
“Do you want to separate?” I asked her.
“I don’t know. Not really. Or I wish we had more time to decide. We don’t. I do know I want us both to live.”
She made it sound so simple. “OK then.”
“Yeah?” She seemed as scared as I was.
We sat in silence, holding hands, until the doctor returned. We told him our decision. He seemed relieved—he could pretend it was our choice instead of taking it away from us.
The doctor explained what they’d do to us—give us new, mechanical hearts, restructure our sternums and part of our ribs and chest (despite everything, I still remember being excited by the thought of finally having proper boobs), straighten my spine because it was a little crooked. We didn’t have time to process it much, because they hauled us into surgery right away, put us under, and then I woke up alone.
I remember that part so clearly. I spoke about it with Taema, sometimes. How very wrong it’d seemed, to wake up and not have anyone else in the room. How alien. I couldn’t take the silence, so I’d worked myself out of the foreign machines and found my way to her.
We always find our way to each other. The first thing I did when I woke up from the surgery was find my other half.
This time, Taema will find her way back to me.
THIRTY-ONE
TAEMA
When I wake up, I think I’m in the Chair.
I thrash against the covers, crying out. The machines around me beep. I have the fuzzy, floating feeling associated with pain medicine. I realize that I’m not in a Zeal or brainload Chair, but I still can’t place it. Hospital? The last time I was in a hospital was ten years ago, when I woke up alone for the first time in my life.
I’m alone again.
Screens surround the bed, all of them showing different parts of me—my steady heartbeat, my blood pressure, my brain activity. An IV stands sentry beside me, pumping nutrition and fluids into my veins. I can’t sit up. I’m too weak. What happened?
I was shot.
My hand rises, hovering over my chest. I have bandages. I remember the bloom of pain, shooting straight through me, more painful than being hit by dream lightning.
I’m alive, though. That’s something.
With difficulty, I manage to sit up. Moving triggers an alarm and a nurse droid comes in, topping up my medicine before going away.
I curse the droid as my eyes grow heavy again. I sleep.
*
The next time I wake up, I’m not alone.
Nazarin sleeps in the chair next to me, scrunched up awkwardly. His name is Aziz, but it’s hard to break the habit. I feel much better this time. More awake, more alive.
There’s a bunch of flowers on the nightstand next to my bed. Little white roses. I take one out of the vase and flick the stem at him. The water droplets splash him and he jolts awake.
“Hi,” I say, managing a weak smile.
“Hey,” he answers. His bruises are almost gone.
I try to sit up. Nazarin helps me and then passes me a cup of water, and I sip gratefully.
“Tila?” I ask.
“She’s been given a full pardon. It’s all still out of the press. You’re not being held for any crimes committed while undercover.”
“She’ll be free?” My voice quavers.
“Yes. She’ll be transferred and released tomorrow. You did it. You freed her.”
I laugh, though it sounds hollow and weak. “I did it.” My sister is safe. Safe. I fall back against the pillow. It hurts. “What’s my prognosis?”
“The doctor will fill you in on the jargon and everything, but I can tell you what I know. You were shot in the chest. It didn’t penetrate the Kalar suit much, but the impact of the bullet against your metal sternum messed with your heart and broke the skin. They had to repair and restart it. You flatlined. You’ll have another scar, unless you want to erase it.”
He snuck it in there, among the other stuff. You flatlined. I died. My fingertips graze the bandages. “Can I unwrap it?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Probably not yet.”
“When can I go home?” I want to go home and sleep. I want it to be tomorrow, when my sister is free.
“Soon, I expect. Let me call for the doctor.”
“Wait. One thing first.”
“What?”
“Tell them to send down the waxworker. Get them to give me back my face.”
*