HMS Valediction

Chapter 29

I face him. "What am I doing here, Moon?"

"Ledi," he says. "Release Grandel."

"Yes, sir." After Ledi's brisk response, the gears of a nearby door crank. I watch Moon who watches me with equal inquisitiveness. He studies me, searches me with the steady gaze of his brown eye. I don't break our gaze. Not until the door finishes clanking and the slurp of a creature's movement against tile draws my attention away.

Grandel appears. Slimy and drooping, we wags his terra-cotta tentacles in the listless way someone might wave away an unappealing meal. When he slurps closer to the table, his disfigured limbs make me gag. Hardened pustules cover every inch of his hide like crumbly, molded cheese in blood-orange.

"Lorn, this is Grandel." Moon gestures to the monster with an open hand. "He has been my surgeon for a long, long time."

"Pleasure," I say, my eye contact with Moon unwavering. "So, how is he going to fix my hand without any hands of his own?"

"Grandel is very talented with fixing. But his true skills lie elsewhere." Slowly, Moon removes his coat and drapes it over the operating table.

My gaze lowers to his chest. His skin is completely hidden by fabric—the black shirt and long sleeves cover his torso. His customary black gloves meet the end of his sleeves, hiding his wrists.

But I've seen what's under them. I've seen his skin that burns.

My gaze snaps up to his again. He's showing me everything.

Grabbing the hem of his black shirt, he pulls it over his head. Once free, he shakes his hair loose from his face. Raking a hand through the thick black strands, he pulls in back, bunching it on top of his head and exposing his entire face—his gold-plated eye and organic brown, his black eyebrows and chiseled chin. I see the full tattoo on his neck. Complicated circles and lines tell the story of his hundreds of reprimands and the many hours he spent in prisons across the galaxy.

My scrutiny lowers. It takes all the self-control I possess to not cover my mouth or gasp out-loud at the mismatched being before me.

Lifting his chin and puffing out his chest, Moon invites me to study his body.

His naked torso is anything but bare. The quilted patterns of his skin rise and fall with patches of alien textures. The terrain mesmerizes me. Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm on the other side of the table reaching to touch his chest with my unbroken hand.

He faces me, one hand on the operating table, the other still holding his hair back so I can get a full view of his face.

My fingers run over the cold, rubbery orange and green-spotted skin on his forearm. His biceps are taut and gray like smooth concrete. They're soft and silky in comparison to the stony, marbled green and gray skin striping his shoulders and pectorals. On the left of his chest, a pus-green slate of gel creates a window to his heart. The edges around it flake like a salty crust. His heart doesn't beat. It rests behind the gel like it's there for display only.

He's not really alive.

 Heat radiates from his hand that rests on the table. I don't realize how close I am until I realize I have a clear view of the blue scales down his neck and back. I've seen them before. Up close, they're hypnotizing. They glisten off the overhead light, shimmering in deep violet and navy like a pool of motor oil after a storm. I run my hand down the side of his neck, luxuriating in how cold and wet they are. To my surprise, they rise, spiking under my touch. My finger passes over a single jewel at the base of his neck.

I catch Moon's cautionary gaze in my peripherals. He tenses but allows me to continue exploring. 

The scales run down his back and below his pants. Red, puffy skin surrounds the scales like rashes that have been unattended for too long.