Nuna leads the way to the medical ward. I cradle my busted hand and focus on her footsteps before me. As I follow her steady pace, I allow my mind to stew, concocting a list of possible ways to break the news to my crew.
Option one: There's no NOHA for us. Sorry.
Option two: We're totally fucked. Sorry.
Or my favorite, option three, the eloquent combination of the two: Hey, I know we were hoping for a second lease on life on a new planet, but here's the thing—we're totally fucked... sorry.
None of it works. Riveting speeches were never, ever my forte. I inspired my men and my scavenger assets by yelling. Lots and lots of yelling.
I bite the crescent thumbnail off my unharmed hand. How the hell am I going to do this?
We approach the medical ward and then pass right by it.
"Wait, aren't we going to get my hand looked at?" I hold my busted right arm up even though she isn't looking at me.
"Yes. Captain Moon is insistent you see his personal surgeon."
"Oh." I drop my arm.
We pass pristine corridors in white, silver, and blue where HMS Valediction medical staff bustle about. They smile and fix their gazes on my bloody hand. As we walk by, they shrug and continue their business. Their uniforms are sharp white, a strange opposite to the dirty khaki scrubs of the medics on Level 2 or the bloody maroon of the HHP techs in the URE. A few don the white coat Knuckles is so fond of wearing. Maybe these medics are closer to the ones we had on Earth. It's strange to think that this ship that's hundreds of light-years from its home-planet observes the traditions of its heritage better than the underground dwellers did. For a group so far away, they held onto Earth in so many ways we didn't.
And they're happy.
We turn left and emerge into an empty hallway. One unassuming silver door stands alone in the passageway.
Nuna presses one of the silver buttons on her uniform lapel. "Captain, we have arrived."
The door slides right, exposing the thick darkness beyond. A cold chemical wave riding the woosh of the sliding door smacks me, making me recoil. It stinks of preservatives. Its stinging pinch is unnatural. Innately, I know it's nothing I should be smelling.
Without fear or any hint of trepidation, Nuna enters. I follow.
We descend a set of stairs that end at an illuminated platform. There's a silver table in the middle—a naked, long, metal table wide enough to hold two bodies. Drains situated in the corners tell me exactly what this table is. Checking behind me, I view what is obviously an operation theater. The stairs form seats for the spectators of whatever body-horror theatrics happen here.
"Is this really necessary? I don't need actual surgery, do I?" I cradle my fist closer to my chest, the dried blood smearing against my blue coveralls.
"I'd like to show you something," Moon's voice slices the darkness. He appears under the bright overhead lights, the shadows distorting his face, making him more ominous than I've ever seen him before. His gruesome smirk twists his features, reflecting light from his gold eye.
Nuna backs away. Before retreating up the stairs, she claps a hand on my shoulder and whispers, "Listen to him, but, most importantly, listen to your heart. Do nothing that you would regret."
A chill courses up my spine. I stand my ground on the platform under the hot light until the door closes behind Nuna. It's only me, Moon, and this silver slab between us now.
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.
Metal plates and bolts pepper the expanse of his back that aren't consumed by rash or scale. I touch one. He flinches.
"What happened to you?" I trace the line of his scales again.
"I've improved myself." He steps back far enough to remove his glove and let me watch the heat from his hand distort the air around us. "I'm not taking off my trousers, so use your imagination to figure out the rest."
"What do you mean, improved?"
He puts his glove back on. "When I was aboard the Olympi, Juno incessantly reminded me how frail my original form was in comparison to the multitude of dangerous beings out in the universe. If I stood any chance at surviving, I would have to make improvements. If I was to be her protector..."
I step closer to him again, pressing my finger against the leathery patches on his abdominals. "How can your body stand this? I mean, how hasn't this killed you?"
He drops his hand and looks away, his black hair falling to curtain his eyes again. "It's not my body that has suffered the most in this process."
"You've replaced your natural skin with alien skin. How is that possible?"
"Grandel is good at what he does."
"He did this to you?"
"He did."
"All of it?"
Moon nods. "I left the Olympi long ago and have only returned three times. Once for Juno's recipe, once for Nuna, and once for him."
Grandel haunts the end of the table. He doesn't move. I notice the bands around his tentacles—they're tight enough that his flesh puffs around them.
"Why is he a prisoner?"
Moon shrugs. "I never said we had a healthy relationship."
"I don't understand why I'm here." I back up fully until I'm on the other side of the table again.
Moon leans forward, extending his green and orange forearms on the silver surface between us. "These are skins that regulate cell regeneration."
I step back farther. "They what?"
He points to the gray patches on his right bicep. "This makes me impervious to extreme temperature shifts."
I'm a quiet audience as he lists off the different functions of each patch of skin. When he turns around and presents the strand of scales running down his back, I can't look away.
"These are my favorite," he tilts his head back to get a good look at me. "Enchanting, aren't they?"
I nod.
"They were Juno's favorite too. Heightened sensory perception. I can hear you breathe from miles away—smell you when you're buried underground and I'm patrolling the stratosphere—taste your sweat in the air when I'm flying another ship. When I touch you, I can feel each particle of your being dance for me."
In the center of his neck, a jewel as colorful as a diamond sparkles in the sea of scales. "What's that?"
"A tooth."
"Ew."
"From the port-masters."
I gasp. "The translators."
He grins and nods. "I can speak any language and understand any dialect. It has been useful in our deals with the various species of the galaxy. Not to mention the thousands of abducted Earthen who hailed from countries across the globe."
The words fly from my lips before I can stop them. "Give me one."
He faces me. "I should warn you. Once you begin making upgrades, it's impossible to stop. Is this something you're sure you want?"
Nuna's words return. I get it now. Listen to him, but, most importantly, listen to your heart. Do nothing that you would regret.
The translator would be so easy. It looks like body art, piercings some of the younger boys and girls would get to decorate their bodies to be flashy for their contracted partners. I never saw the value in it. This, however, has value. I could talk to John. I would never be caught in a miscommunication ever again.
I nod. "Yeah. I want that."
Moon spins around to face Grandel. "Prepare a translator."
"But what about my hand? Isn't that what I'm here to fix?"
Moon chuckles. "That's easy. We have a salve for that. The big question is whether or not you'd like to add an enhancement that will improve your grip. Or would you like to collect and store oxygen through your hands? How about the ability to camouflage with your surroundings? Would you like to excrete your own healing salves?"
I grin. Oh, the advantages I'd have when battling Juno and her army. If I could gather all tricks and bits of skin that could make me an ultimate soldier, there's no way I could lose. There's no possible way—not when I'd be infinitely superior.
Curling my fist, ready to pound it on the table, to declare that I'd like to see the full menu of available upgrades, I take one last look at Moon.
Standing under the lights, his face disfigured by shadows, I consider his smorgasbord of improvements. I catch the permanent frown on his face. Thrown back into the room where he and I caught glimpses of what lies beneath our skin and bones, I realize it's useless.
All the improvements in the world will not fix his broken soul.
They won't do anything for me either.
"I'll pass."
"You'll pass?"
"Yeah. Just the translator."
"You don't want unlimited power? The ability to survive in impossible conditions? Strength or perception beyond anything you've ever considered possible?"
I lift my broken fist. "Just the salve. Thanks."
He scoffs. "You have no idea what you're missing."
"And I want to keep it that way. All these improvements haven't done much good for you. You're still miserable."
"Miserable?" He laughs. "You think I'm miserable?"
He shoves the table away. It crashes into Grandel who just returned with a box curled in one of his knobby tentacles. The translators fan across the ground, sparkling off the lights above us.
"Yeah. I think you're miserable. You've done nothing but treat me and your crew like vermin since I've met you. Obviously your upgrades haven't done shit for you."
He approaches until he's inches from my face. "I'm not miserable. I'm invincible."
Stooping to grab a scalpel that had clattered to the floor, he faces me.
I stand my ground. "What are you going to do? Cut me up here? Give me a reason to get one of your improvements?"
Placing the knife against his right shoulder, he cuts a deep incision straight across his body. "Nothing can beat me. I'm eternal."
Gazing at his chest, the skin peeled back, orange ooze leaks from around metal gears mimicking the bones I should have seen there. The orange and metal is too familiar.
This time I can't control myself. I cover my mouth to hide my shock. "The Xani."
He rips his skin open farther. "Do you like them now? You like them so much, you should become one. It's liberating. It's freeing to know that nothing can break this." He beats the alloy bones with his fist, the orange slime sloshing around it.
I don't feel nearly as disgusted as I should have. I've seen this kind of bravado so much, I recognize it like an old friend. "She did this to you, didn't she?"
He glares, but says nothing.
"Juno. She did this. You don't need to pretend with me. I'm not judging."
"It was my choice."
"And this is my choice. I don't want it. None of it."
Moon closes the skin over his chest. "Weak."
"Call me whatever you want. I'm not you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm fine the way I am. I don't need enhancements to make me feel like I stand a chance in this war."
"You won't live for more than five blips."
"And what, this implant is supposed to help me?" I grab the translator from Grandel's tentacle as he approaches. "How the hell is this going to do anything?"
"You'll be the first to die. I guarantee it."
"You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Weak."
I close my eyes and try to breathe evenly. "I don't care what you think."
"Dead. You might as well be dead already."
I chuck the jewel at his face. It bounces off his gold eye. "Whatever. If I die, at least I won't be as fucking hideous as you."
I spin around and storm out, leaving him and Grandel behind. Halfway up the steps, I realize I still have to deal with my hand. "Ledi! Take me to the medic's bay."
When the door swooshes to the side and light from the public corridor floods our dark operation room, Dean's soft grin greets me. "Sure thing. Follow me."
I glance back at Moon, shirtless under the theater's spotlight, Grandel wriggling at his side.
Moon snarls at me.
"Ledi, promise me. If I ever agree to any of Moon's enhancements, you'll throw me out the airlock first."
He leads us on our walk away from Moon and his house of horror. "That would kill you instantly, you know that, right?"
"Then what do you suggest?"
He makes a grunt as if considering a few options. "How about this? If you agree to one of Moon's enhancements—something that you seem to be adamantly objected to—then I'll throw myself out the airlock."
I stop, the image of Ledi in Dean's lifeless body floating through space agonizes my heart. I quell the nausea that whirls through me. "Okay. Deal."