Chapter 5 Em #2
Once the samples are collected, staff arrive to escort Stan and Nil out. Stan starts talking before he’s even on his feet. Nil walks beside him with the patience of someone accustomed to this energy.
“When do we get the remixed Kys?” Stan continues as they’re guided out. “Is it a Day Two perk?”
The MedBay door shuts behind them. Immediately, the noise level decreases.
Idris sets down the tray and removes his gloves. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” he says. “Needed to talk to Darius.”
“It’s fine.”
He smiles. “Let’s finish the rest of the assessments together.”
“Yes.” I nod and step closer. “Together.”
***
The remaining assessments proceed in swift succession.
Subjects One through Ten arrive in groups or alone, depending on how quickly the staff locate them.
With Idris beside me, the process is smooth.
He reads the room while I read the data.
The combination keeps the subjects moving with more ease than I could’ve done on my own.
Subject One completes his biometric scans quickly, his anxiety noted.
Subject Two fidgets during reflex testing, but his readings are decent.
Subject Three arrives with guarded posture.
When I ask about any discomfort, he hesitates and then thanks us for not serving liquor on the ship.
The comment catches me off guard. Idris responds by saying, “Gerald, this ship moves fast. But if this was a slow cruise, we’d be serving mimosas for brunch.
” Subject Three’s shoulders relax after that.
He leaves with more stable vitals than when he arrived.
The other rounds run speedily. By the time Subject Ten steps into the MedBay, the day has reached a predictable tandem. He introduces himself as Tomas before Idris can read the file name aloud.
Tomas sits down and speaks with a nervous sort of humor. “So, be honest. Are you two a couple? Is this a workplace romance I’m intruding on?”
The question’s unexpected, but I answer automatically. “We’re not a couple.”
Tomas appears amused. “Maybe you should give the good doctor a chance, miss. He seems like a catch.”
Idris lets out a laugh and shakes his head. “Em’s more than capable of making that decision herself.”
Tomas laughs too. “Fair enough. I walked into that one. Too nosy sometimes.”
When Idris prepares the needle, Tomas winces before the tip even nears his skin. Idris steadies him with a calm hand and reassuring words. The blood draw finishes fast. Tomas thanks us as he exits.
After that, the MedBay’s quiet. The equipment rests in order. The day’s assessments are neatly saved on my tablet. The air carries the sweet scent Idris brings into every room.
The chairs in front of us are empty, but there’s one that beckons me. My pulse holds some beats above baseline. My breath drags in slowly, and I sit down where the subjects sat.
At the sound of the chair scraping, Idris turns toward me. The smile on his face is still warm but threaded with curiosity pinching his brows.
I remove my lab coat and fold it across my lap. I extend my right arm toward him, maintaining a neutral expression despite the pressure building in my chest.
Idris doesn’t move at first. Confusion’s clear from his slight frown. “Em,” he says, “you’re not a participant.”
“I am,” I correct him. “I’m the thirteenth.”
He sits beside me, so close that I can feel the heat of his presence, but he hasn’t reached for my arm yet. So I place it right beside his.
His voice remains patient. “You don’t meet the requirements of your own study, Em.”
“I do meet them,” I say. “I meet them in ways none of the others can.”
“Em…” A shaky exhale leaves him, while his eyes search mine. “What do you mean?”
“I qualify. Prenatal exposure of the first formula.”
Idris stares at my outstretched arm. “I see. Thank you for trusting me with that, Em.”
His hand rises, hovers for a moment, then rests lightly on my forearm.
“What do you need me to do?” he asks.
“Take a sample of my blood, and then tomorrow, I’ll start taking the Kysergic Synesthesine we reinvented.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he says with his smile reaching his eyes this time.
He prepares the kit, movements certain after doing this all day with other subjects. His proximity proves to stabilize my nerves.
The needle enters. Idris watches my reaction. I keep my expression as neutral as possible, watching the vial fill with my blood.
After a few full vials, he removes the needle and places gauze over my arm, his thumb pressing on the pressure point. “Perfect,” he murmurs to himself.
My pulse remains elevated for several seconds longer than it should. It’s a variable worth noting, but I file it away with the rest of the feelings gathering in my chest. The files reside in my mind, safe from dwelling too long.
I stay in the chair with the gauze on my arm while Idris stands at the console connected to my tablet. The computer runs my results, each line building toward an answer I’ve avoided for years.
Prenatal exposure to the first formula of the drug. The one that altered minds before the drug became a threat. I’ve never known what it left behind in me. I’ve only theorized.
My mother took it to have enough money to raise me alone. That was the first experiment that made Kys. Now this experiment will both rewrite it and show the truth to me—if it did any damage to me before birth. I’ll finally know what’s wrong with me.
Idris stands closer to the monitor. His shoulders raise as though he’s bracing himself. The tension spreads through me in a chilly climb up my spine.
The readouts finalize one by one. My heart rate increases as the last panel loads. I prepare to see irregularities. I’ve prepared for that possibility all my life.
But Idris stands in the way. I try to distract myself, thinking of how the Adels and Song-Smiths have invested in this type of technology for my experiment. For my ambition to make Kys safe. For my own personal reasons.
Then I watch Idris’ body language change. His tension dissolves. He turns toward me with a big grin.
“Em,” he says, sounding rather thrilled, “your results are normal.”
Normal. That one word rings in my ears for several seconds. He gives me the time to process my own relief.
My eyes water at the brim. My lashes feel heavy as they flutter. Heavy breaths leave my lips.
I rise from the chair, instinctively moving toward the screen, but Idris still stands blocking my view.
His hand lifts. “You can look later,” he whispers. “Right now, we should stop working. Let me bring dinner to your room, Em.”
“I can get that myself,” I say, confused.
“It’d make me happy to do it,” he insists. “You’ve spent all day taking care of everyone else. Let me take care of you.”
He reaches for my hand, taking it tenderly in his.
“And after dinner,” he adds, “you can have me for dessert.”
My breath stops. He smiles at the sight.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. “See you in your room, Em.”
The MedBay lights dim as we step into the corridor, only to part ways. Walking toward my quarters, I let the news settle in my mind. My readings are normal. I’m…normal. What my mother had to do didn’t cause any dysfunctions in me.