At the end of that time, at the very last minute, Juliyana brought us a pair of tickets upon a five-star cruiser to New Phoenicia.
I had given up any hope that travel would become less of a strain. Even a smooth, cushioned five-star line jump left me half-crippled and forced to move slowly.
Juliyana did not make me feel guilty about slowing her down. She trod steadily alongside me and sometimes wordlessly propped me up, especially when we reached steps.
New Phoenicia is one of the busiest travel hubs in the Empire. It was also one of the oldest. That was not what drew me to choose it as our destination, though. It was the often-overlooked fact that New Phoenicia also had a suburb in its floating city devoted to medicine and human therapy. Unlike Zillah’s World, it was not a research organization with tacked-on shopfronts. New Phoenicia was purely about profit—and they made a handsome one because their services were as good as any the military could provide.
In fact, the military often used New Phoenicia for medical services when they were at full capacity themselves. It was how I knew about the therapy complex in the first place. The hospice attached to my battalion had reached out to New Phoenicia more than once, when engaged in long, hard wars where they needed the extra capacity.
I had even suffered through being a patient there once, myself. That was long before I rose through the ranks. I was a green grunt still learning how to duck properly and keep her head down.
Amongst the hundreds of thousands of visitors per day station saw, we were two anonymous women. Well, not so anonymous in my case, for I drew the eye. Yet we could disappear in this crowd and not draw too much attention.
We took the shuttle to the therapy complex. We could have walked there, for air tubes and walkways ran all around the city. We didn’t, because I had the money, now, and I just didn’t have the energy, anymore. It had been a long few days.
Unlike the clinic on Zillah’s World, there were no human attendants in the foyer. There were discrete inquiry terminals, soft lighting and a pleasant murmur of industry from behind the doors lining the foyer.
I pulled Juliyana to one side. “I will fast-track this, but it could still be two months or more.”
“I have my orders. It will take me all that time to deal with them, anyway.”
“You’ll have to find a way of disappearing, while you find us new IDs,” I pointed out to her. It was one of the points I had not specifically discussed with her, but now I was nervous.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll find some poor sucker just emerged from his rejuvenation, and shack up with him in his hilton, while he vents all his newfound energies upon me.”
I stared at her.
“What? It keeps my name off any registration role.”
I decided she was joking. I also decided she was good enough to not have me direct her every single step.
Juliyana smiled grimly. “I can be resourceful, too, Danny.”
“I have no doubt of that, or I would not be leaving you alone out there.”
She looked surprised. “Okay, then.”
We both smiled.
Then Juliyana left. I turned to one of the terminals. After a round of introductions, which included me baring my wrist and having my serial number scanned, then the terminal welcoming me back, I told the AI what I wanted. “Express rejuvenation and inertia inoculation.”
One of the internal doors opened with a soft swish. “Right this way, please,” the terminal told me.
My nerves shrieking, I stepped through the door.
A medical aid in casual clothes, which likely would be recycled after every shift, settled into an armchair next to mine, in front of a crackling fire which was completely fake, but looked real enough to make me relax.
She asked many questions, some of them bewildering in their irrelevance. What did my preference in olives tell them?
She took no notes, so I presumed the conversation was being recorded. Or perhaps she had the new advanced implants which allowed her to take notes mentally. For all I knew, she was accessing my personal file directly and adding notations even as she sat with her hands around her crossed knee, with her foot swinging casually.
“Our records indicate you have some non-organics. One of ours, in fact. The left arm,” She frowned. “And your large toe, not ours.”
“Ever tried walking without your toes?” I asked her.
“We could regenerate the toe for you, if you want.”
I raised my brow. “Really?” Then, “Why not?”
Her foot stopped swinging. “Your implants are quite old.”
“As I’m very old, that’s hardly a surprise,”
Her smile was ghostly. “I meant they seem to be malfunctioning. Have you been getting headaches lately?”
“The better question would be how often I don’t get headaches. It would be a shorter answer.”
She nodded. “Implant replacement is part of basic rejuvenation. The only question remains, what type of implants you prefer. We have a range—”
“The best,” I said.
She hesitated.
“What implants are the Rangers using, these days?” I added.
“Those are a proprietary, limited issue licenses.”
“You have a civilian version which is as good, if not better, right? For those willing to pay for it, I mean.” I fixed her with a steady gaze.
She gazed into the middle distance for a moment. Then she nodded. “We can arrange that.”
I wondered if her implants were letting her speak directly with someone outside the room. Another version of Blankenburg, perhaps. One with the sense to let his empathetic staff deal with the patients.
Selecting a rejuvenation package is not a simple affair. By the time she worked her way through the options and variations, discussed them with me and I made my selections, a meal was served and three rounds of coffee. Decaf, of course. The staff were discrete and pleasant, leaving us strictly alone at all other times.
A pad was presented to
