17 Penny #3
I closed my eyes, trying to find that peaceful place between consciousness and dreams as Thilar began inputting something into the medical computer.
After a while, he began to unfasten the front of my shirt.
I didn’t say anything. My body being out in the open was the least of my concerns.
Even so, before my breasts spilled out, he gently began to roll me over and as much as I was able, I helped until I was lying on my stomach, my back exposed to whatever instruments Luca had in her inventory.
When the computer spoke, Thilar was swift to translate.
“Would you like a sedative or—”
“I want to stay awake,” I insisted, the idea of closing my eyes and never waking up whispering in the back of my mind.
“Very well.”
Thilar began to peel my shirt back off my shoulders and then dragged it down my arms until it was removed, leaving the entire expanse of my back exposed. I pressed my lips together, trying not to think about what came next.
“The first time they had to operate, I was in a coma,” I confessed.
“Are you sure you don’t want—”
“I’m sure.”
Closing my eyes, I waited for something to happen. I heard the light hum of something electronic nearby and, in a blink, the rapid, sharp pinch of something poking me in the back startled my breath out of me.
“At least I can feel something,” I said.
“It will numb you for a short time,” he said, his fingers gently prodding my spine until he found the small protrusion hidden under my skin.
The computer continued to speak as if explaining to him what was going on. After a few moments, Thilar pulled up a small stool and sat himself beside the medical table, winding his big hand around mine and positioning himself to look me right in the eyes.
“I’m sorry I got emotional back there,” I apologized. “I get a little moody when I’m not feeling good.”
“Why apologize?”
“Because whatever is going on between you and that other guy is probably important. I don’t mean to complicate things.”
“Penelope, you are not a complication. Well, you are, but not one that needs forgiving.”
“Amelia,” I muttered, listening to the light buzzing sound of whatever was going on behind me. The faint scent of burnt flesh made me wrinkle my nose. If I had to guess, there was some kind of laser tech cutting a hole in my back.
“What?” Thilar said.
“My name. It’s Amelia. Not Penelope.”
“Why go by a different name?”
“Because, I’m hiding. The people that did this to me—the ones who put holes in me—if they knew I was alive, they wouldn’t be happy. I know things about them. That’s why they killed me.”
“Killed you?”
I nodded, feeling drowsy. “They shot me twice. One of the bullets hit my lung. The other went through my abdomen, tore my uterus to pieces, and skimmed my spine. So, no unexpected babies. No walking without an implant. I died on the operating table.”
Silence stretched between us. I was feeling a little lightheaded. Drunk on whatever had been given to me for the operation. Words were spilling out, but the way Thilar stared, I didn’t think he minded. His thumb stroked over my knuckles, back and forth, soothing me.
“I died,” he said. He lifted his wrist, showing me a tiny, diamond-shaped device that looked embedded in his skin with multiple barbs like some kind of permanent jewelry.
“This is a khof kaar. My khof kaar. It is bonded to my DNA. All monrian soldiers have one. It’s our lifeline.
Our armor. Our everything. When I was killed, it abandoned me, which is how Pek-Tol got his slimy hands on me.
He revived me on that station, collared. ”
“What does it do?”
He looked at it for a moment before dark, metallic red material began to manifest from within, tracing over his fingers like a second skin to form a glove.
“Whatever I want it to,” he explained. “It’s an artificial intelligence mixed with organic material, programmed to my electrical signature. My blood. When I am wearing it, we are reliant on each other. My body powers its operations and it provides me what I need.”
“So, you’re a battery? Monrians must have to be very strong.”
“The strongest. Kal Haiek warriors have to train rigorously to support a khof karr. We are engineered with specific traits to suit the needs of our employers.”
“Traits? Are you all different?”
“A large portion of us are designed for battle. Some for diplomacy and negotiations. They secure our contracts. Some are meant for religious purposes. They record and preserve our history. Keep old traditions and values alive.”
“Religious? What does that mean?”
He shifted in his seat and for a moment I thought he might be getting up to leave. I needed his voice though. I needed the distraction, so I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back as he started to explain.
“We have not forgotten our gods. Gods that existed before we left our home for the expanse. Akurion, the maker, gave us this life. He gave all the four races a chance. Valerians, gek’tal, monrians, and humans.”
I furrowed my brows at that. “Humans?”
“Yes, we all came from the same creator. The same DNA. We all have different names for the maker, but we are all connected. All evolved in different parts of the galaxy. All an attempt to keep an ancient, dying race alive.”
I swallowed. “Is that why you guys even entertained the idea of me getting pregnant? Do you… do you think it would have been possible?”
“Very. But monrians can control their fertility. When a monrian male comes of age, before he can be put into a rotation, he must visit Kalhor. It is our moon and it is home to the conceivers. Some of them are females of the highest pedigree, approved for breeding. Every monrian must lay with one before they receive their kohf kaar. It is a right of passage.”
“To get them pregnant?”