Chapter 22

“I was afraid this would happen,” Doctor Cairns said, clipboard in hand as she read over the fine print. “The translator implant has irritated the skin and brain, as a result of our rushed operation, despite my and the Balokarid team’s efforts.”

Mezul was propped up in a recovery bed, and like everything human, it was too small for her, her long, digitigrade legs dangling over the end of the mattress. Lambert and Carl, and a few others of her Sala’ci crew were present too. Ruvaara was in the next room over.

“Will she be alright?” Lambert asked.

“Her body tissue is rejecting the implant in a spherical shape around the translator, and the risk of infection is troubling. You will need to clean and dress your wound everyday properly, Mezul, for the foreseeable future.”

“Can you not remove it?” Mezul asked. The Doctor pondered her question for a few seconds.

“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple. There are only a handful of cases where a human has had his or her implants removed, the procedure is more delicate than installing, and isn’t supposed to be removed. And your case is unique to put it lightly. I cannot authorise a procedure until both your medical personnel and my own are suitably experienced, the risk of further, more permanent damage is too great, even if the rejection continues to develop. We’d only make things worse at this point.”

“I understand,” Mezul replied. “Thank you, Doctor.”

Cairns nodded solemnly, her shame not directed at anyone present, it was more inward – this was exactly what she warned everyone would happen, but she still felt the blame. “Press this button here if you need anything, I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.”

With that, the Doctor left, Lambert taking her spot by Mezul’s side. He hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to her properly since the shooting stopped, and his friend seemed to know that, Carl waving the rest of the aliens to follow him.

“Come on, ladies,” Carl said. “I think these two need a moment.”

He flashed Lambert a wink, leading the posse as they filed out of the room, the door sliding shut behind them.

“This is all my fault,” Lambert began when they were alone, the alien blinking at him. Even propped up on the bed she was still eye- level with him. “I got the idea of an implant in your head, and now you’re...”

He gestured at the white wrappings around the side of her neck, the red of her blood contrasting with her blue feathers.

“Don’t give me that,” Mezul began. “I knew the risks, every Balokarid who wanted a translator did. These are the consequences, and now I must deal with them.”

“I think I’m more worried than you are,” he chuckled nervously. “Even though I’m not the one bleeding.”

“Sometimes people say things just to sound brave when they really aren’t,” Mezul said, her feathers twitching in agitation. “I’ve never been good with the sight of my own blood, I’m scared to look.”

“And ... what you said back there,” Lambert began slowly, distracted by those golden coins of her eyes. “Were you just... saying things?”

“Which part?” she asked, knowing full well what he meant, but she wanted him to say it.