«As you know, I need to ask you these questions. Name?»
«Kle. Losker Huloe.»
«Every time, I remind you to not use kle with me. Age?»
«Seven point-eight years.»
«Species?»
«Neda-Galida Lii.»
«How often have you been coming to these appointments?»
«Four times a year, since I was point-three.»
The doctor looked up from his clipboard. «Thank you, Doctor Huloe. I'll be back with your medication.»
Losker nodded and watched his doctor close the door. Ever since he was young, he had to come to these appointments. He was a mix, and Lii mixes never turned out well. Eio Loia, the first documented Neda-Galida, lived only one point-four years before dying. He never left the walls of his hospital room, and spent his days wondering what his life would have been like if he hadn't been born how he was—Losker read so in Loia's memoirs. Though Losker was nowhere near in as bad of condition as Loia, he still understood very clearly what it felt like to be casted out from society.
He was also familiar with some medical and physical problems that came with his condition. No gills behind his ears meant that he wouldn't normally be able to breathe underwater, but a special surgery allowed him to stuff a breather down his throat for long, necessary swims. His fingers and toes were short for a Galida, and the webs between them were thin and weak—there was no helping that particular problem. His teeth, though blunt, were not blunt nor strong enough to crush rocks—pathetic by Neda standards. His long Neda ears were all wrong for listening underwater, causing him to need hearing aids when traveling through the water. He needed medication to keep his body from refusing his gill surgery, thicken his second pair of (clear) eyelids, regular lung and heart check-ups, medication to keep his Neda nose from becoming irritated underwater, and, of course, skin products so he could easily alter between the damp air in Galida establishments, and the hot and dry air in Neda's.
Then there were also weekly individual and group therapy sessions, a bottle of antidepressants just in case, and monthly self defense session.
The doctor reentered the room with a bag full of bottles of pills, which he placed on the counter.
«Now for your physical check-ups and x-rays. Then, we'll be done.»
Afterward, Losker dumped his medicine and new breathing tube into his rover and slammed his door. Stupid, stupid, stupid. His parents were idiots. No wonder they didn't stay around after he was born. Doctor appointments four times a year, therapy classes, self defense, obscure medication, breathing tubes. A Neda and a Galida could be in a relationship, but as soon as they had a baby, they were all freaks. Vaguely, Losker wondered what his parents were doing and whether they missed him, but he quickly reminded himself that he didn't care about them.
He merged from the garage to the subtunnels and quickly made his way home, glad that the traffic had lightened. He turned down an exit street and into a three-car airlock. Losker put up his water shields as the long rectangle room filled with water. Then, the airlock opened and he drove into open water.
Majority of the Galida lived in Galie, the bustling underwater city built inside a large crater. Losker was not one of those lucky souls—at least, before the Laboratories opened. He was given, by the courtesy of the CEO, a small, dank, unhappy apartment with an unidentifiable smell located nearer to the Labs than his old ratty house above surface and on the opposite side of the city.
He loved it. The neighbors were rude, the kids did drugs, but if anything broke, he didn't have to fix it. There was actual lighting instead of sunlight, and Internet that worked in places besides a small addition to one's house that had a million antennas and solar panels on it. He didn't have to make his own cheap printer ink, or make another plate out of clay if he broke his, because a store was just down the street.
Losker was a tiny, tiny bit homesick, though. All the sneers and funny looks grated on his nerves. Still, electricity!
RRRNG. RRRING.
It was like his telephone waited for him to get home and then bombarded him will calls. He picked it up.
«Hello?»
«Hi! I represent Alioe Kitchen. We have an amazing new offer—»
«No thank you.» The telephone was replaced to its perch on the table.
Sleep sounds good, Losker thought. He looked at the bed with the yellowed sheets and took a step forward.
...But all that work he had to get done....
It will be fiiiiine!
Fre Qor gave it to him personally.
He was so tired.
But the Fre....
Work first, then sleep; it couldn't be too hard. After all, it was only a little stack of paper.
A short while later, Losker turned his stiff neck and glanced out the window. Lights that mimicked sunlight streamed in through the window, too cheery for Losker's current emotion. Was he really up all night? He glanced at the clock and jumped. He was due to check in on Ro, Laura, and Sonya in only a short while!
To use an interesting human swear: "Fuck."
