Within days of coming aboard, she’d cornered them all for a “getting to know you” chat. So far, T’Raal had actually been caught smiling, Red was sporting a new hair style and Skinny had learned a ditty in Terran that was so dirty it made Fin smile. Even the recalcitrant Beauty had a new plant on his bridge console.
Talent shrugged. “Whatever works. Now talk.”
“I have nightmares.” Zero hadn’t intended to admit that, but somehow, once the words started flowing, he couldn’t stop them. “It’s a memory, but I don’t remember it.”
“What do you mean you don’t remember it?” The Lathar slid into the seat opposite, his expression one of interest. “Don’t you have…” he waved toward Zero’s arm, “bits for that?”
“Bits? Is that the best you can do?” Zero barked a laugh. “Yeah, I have an onboard comp and memory storage.”
“Really?” Talent leaned forward, studying Zero’s face like he could pierce the skin with his eyes and see what lay beneath. “All cybernetic or do you still retain some percentage of organic brain matter?”
Zero shook his head. “Not all cybernetic, no. My cybernetics are integrated with my bio-organics, with approximately a sixty-forty split. Most memory functions are cybernetic, and that’s the problem.”
Talent shook his head, his expression blank.
“When T’Raal found me, years ago, I was damaged almost beyond repair. It took months before I could move properly and even longer before I could fight. This memory is from before then.”
“Okay…”
Zero sighed and scrubbed at the top of his head. “My memory banks were blank. Completely wiped. I remembered nothing before waking up on the Sprite. Yet this nightmare… the people in it… I know them. They’re trying to reach me, and I’m falling… I wake screaming some guy’s name. Jesh. But I don’t know who the fuck they are, or who Jesh is. And it’s driving me fucking crazy.”
❖
“I’m sorry, Ms. Archer, but I’m afraid I don’t have good news for you.”
Eris Archer only kept her expression level by dint of long practice. The doctor’s offices were not on her list of favorite places to be. She’d seen enough of them over the years. She knew better than to get her hopes up, but Doctor Reed’s expression killed any secret hope she’d been harboring deader than a dodo.
Doctor Reed was a specialist, the best in lower limb neuro-reconstruction, which was the reason she’d hired him. She’d hoped… prayed… he could help her.
“Okay, Doctor. How bad is it?” Her voice was level, which she was proud of. Silly little thing to be proud of, but there you had it. In situations like this, when her very ability to walk hinged on his answer, sometimes she had to hold on to the little things.
“We have your test results back and… well, can I be frank?”
She shrugged. “You can be whoever you like, Doc.”
Her attempt at humor fell flat, Reed’s expression not changing.
“I’m afraid the Markovian technique will not be an option.”
She nodded slowly, keeping her hands neatly folded in her lap. A veteran, she was used to being cool under fire, and her tenure as Tarantus Station Security Chief had ensured she could keep calm and professional…
Which came in real handy when all she wanted to do was scream about the unfairness of it all. She’d had so many dreams for her life, and none of them had involved being in a doctor’s office having a conversation like this. But she also hadn’t thought her military career would be over and she’d be forced to work for a second-rate outfit like Tarantus Station.
“We knew it was a long shot.” She squashed the bitter disappointment and wondered if the doctor would offer any alternatives. Without an end to her condition in sight, she couldn’t afford to pay for his services long. Not without financial help from her… yeah, she wasn’t going there. So not going there.
She didn’t glance down at her leg or the supporting brace hidden beneath her clothing. She supposed she should be grateful that exo-supports were easy to hide. None of her staff knew about her little… issue. That was the way she wanted to keep it. She didn’t want whispers behind her back or the pity when they looked at her. Which was the main reason she’d told none of them about her military service.
At least the support was nothing like the archaic scaffolding of yesteryear. It ached liked a bitch, but she ignored it. She lived with pain every day. It wasn’t getting any more attention just because of a little bad news.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Archer, but it’s a little more complicated than that.” The doctor, a small, neat little man with a dapper dress sense, regarded her steadily over the rim of his glasses. Such eyewear was unusual. Most people opted for nano-surgery to correct visual problems. Perhaps he had a condition that meant it wouldn’t work?
She dragged her attention back to his words. Words she really didn’t want to register because then she would have to…
“What do you mean it’s a little more complicated?”
There, the words were out. The ones she hadn’t wanted to voice.
The doctor’s expression shifted subtly, and her heart sank. She recognized that expression. It was the standard “soften the bad news” expression common to doctors the galaxy over. Crap.
“I’m afraid the results of your last round of tests were somewhat concerning,” he said gently. “The neuro-implant sites are beginning to deteriorate.”
She sucked a breath in, forcing herself to remain calm. They’d told her during her initial surgery the implants would last forever. They’d lied. The devices merged to her nervous system had never been produced with longevity in mind. The manufacturers had cut corners, counting on the soldiers being dead long before the implants gave out.
“Okay,” she
