Chapter 22
Aura
Wyl’s actions lately are odd. I cannot quantify how, precisely, but he seems on edge.
Despite the fact that I have completed most of the repairs that can be done while in flight, he does not retire with me to his quarters, stating that he must provide a personal voice code to obtain docking permission at the outpost. I offer to stay in the cockpit with him, but he insists that I rest.
Perhaps it is merely the fact that we must face Epigan III and his guards when this is over … likely after dealing with the lower ranks of the Galactic Authority first. With the prices already on our heads, it could certainly induce anxiety.
I have offered to go alone on this mission, as I can back up my personality drive to a separate device for later upload into a new body if anything goes wrong, but Wyl is firmly against this plan.
He maintains that he would still love me regardless of what physical form I inhabit—even if it is a body that is not sexually compatible—but he is not comfortable with me taking on the entirety of the risk in this.
The Klymani outpost is hidden within a clustered asteroid belt, and without precise navigation in a sufficiently small vessel, it is nearly impossible to locate. Galactic Authority fighters have tried and failed on hundreds of occasions.
Once Wyl receives clearance, we enter the artificial atmosphere of one among thousands of terraformed asteroids in the belt—another measure to avoid detection.
Some of the asteroids house entire civilizations of displaced races whose planets were either conquered or destroyed, while others are decoys, void of intelligent life but maintained to throw off sensors.
The homes and storefronts on the road leading from the docking yard are …
colorful. Vibrant, even if a bit mismatched.
On the same street, one can find buildings of human, Zythan, Jiinite, Hryite, and even Ssylin design—sometimes all in one structure.
Every color in every visible spectrum across the galaxy is represented on the painted walls and walkways, and every sign from workshops to restaurants to crosswalks to inns and hospitals is made up of universal symbols rather than lettering from any one culture.
Because most of the businesses in the outpost are questionably legal, the location has become infamous for its acceptance of clientele whose scruples are …
flexible. I would caution Wyl to be vigilant here, but he claims to be familiar with many of the residents.
His statement seems to hold true, as several shop owners and citizens wave and greet him as we pass.
He turns a rather interesting shade of red when we near a large brothel.
As we approach, women of different species and ages lean out the windows and call to him, begging for his return patronage.
Many of them loudly lament that he is traveling with a “sexy dame” …
I choose to ignore them and refrain from commenting, but he suddenly seems determined to explain, stammering and stuttering as he talks.
“I-it’s n-n-not what it looks l-like, Aura,” he says as sweat beads on his forehead.
“Sure, I used to, uh, frequent this establishment, but that was long before we met. I mean, of course it was before we met—We’ve been together this entire time, but …
Look, they’re just prostitutes. None of them were ever anything serious to me. ”
“I know.”+
He sighs with relief as he guides me towards the other side of the street, away from the brothel.
“I’m really sorry. A salvager’s life isn’t exactly conducive to settling down. I never thought I’d find someone worth settling down with, even.”
The mention of settling down stops me in my tracks, and I freeze in the middle of the street.
Humans historically associate settling down with permanence: permanent mate, permanent housing, a stable life …
… Offspring.
I turn to Wyl with tears in my eyes as the futility of this relationship hits me. “Wyl, I cannot settle down with you.”
Panic and fear mar his handsome features. “What are you talking about?”
At that moment, a small group of children races past us, playing with a mechanical toy. “I cannot give you that, Wyl,” I say, pointing at the young ones. “How could I expect you to settle down with me knowing that?”
He blinks in confusion and watches the children run off. “What, the toy? I mean, if you think that’s what I want, it’s easy enough to buy or build one of those things.”
I shake my head, frustrated at his misunderstanding. “The children, Wyl. We will never have any. We cannot. I cannot.”
“So?”
“The act of settling down includes producing offspring, yes? I cannot do this, so we cannot maintain a permanent relationship status.”
Wyl puts his hands on my shoulders, and I avert my gaze. I do not wish to see his disappointment.
“Aura, I’m not going to abandon you just because you can’t get pregnant.”
“But—”
“Besides, you can make kids, just in a different way.” I finally brave a glance, and he smiles at me. “You have your dad’s files, his records of your creation. You can use those as a blueprint to make more Mark II XR droids if you want. Or I guess they’d be Mark III.”
“You are not upset that I cannot bear your genetic offspring?”
He shrugs. “XRs have organic components. Just use my cells for some of those, like PACU did with your mom’s cells. Problem solved.”
My circulatory fluid rushes to my cheeks as Wyl guides me out of the street. “You are too kind.”
“Nonsense. I’m an asshole.”
We share a laugh, and he gives me a kiss before we continue towards the android clinic.
The existence of the clinic seems strange to me, given what Wyl has told me about modern androids and what I have seen of them on the InterStellar Network.
Very few androids in this era contain organic parts, and the ones that do are quite dated, near obsolete.
I am surprised that a clinic even exists; a mechanic’s garage would be more apropos.
When we enter the clinic, an elderly human male, appearing to be more than twice Wyl’s stated age, greets us from a large armchair in the corner.
There is no identifiable reception desk, no waiting area, and only one door to a back area, though from the outside of the building, I would guess that there is no recovery area or surgical suite there.
Likely that door leads to the grey-haired man’s living quarters.
He sits next to a rusty, battered gurney and a table of instruments and fluids.
I recognize hydraulic fluid, synthetic circulatory fluid, and even organic blood products from several species that hail from this galaxy.
“Wyl, is the procedure to be performed here?” I whisper, hoping the man—the surgeon, perhaps—cannot hear me.
“Don’t worry,” he says cheerfully, raising his voice unnecessarily.
“Doc Leeds has a portable sterile field generator. See, in the corner there? It’s got a flash-bang kind of deal where it releases special ionizing particles or something.
Very high-tech, beyond my understanding, but it works. Trust me.”
His explanation does not comfort me. “If you have not met an android with as many organic components as me previously, how did you come to know this doctor?”
Doctor Leeds waves from his chair. “Hi, there, sweetheart. There’s a simple answer to that question: I patched Wyl up myself a few years ago. He fell in with some bad eggs, some Kryunn mercenaries, and it was me or die.” He chuckles. “Not exactly a hard choice to make.”
“So, my options …” I say slowly “… are you or death?”
The two men laugh, but I do not understand what is humorous about this.
I also fail to understand how Wyl came to be treated by an android surgeon. To my knowledge, there are ample physicians at the outpost who specialize in treatment of humans and other organic species. Why would he not go to one of them if his life depended on it?
While I contemplate running back out the door, Doctor Leeds pushes himself out of the chair, his joints creaking and popping with each movement.
He pats the surface of the gurney with his bare hand, then says, “Hop on up, darlin’.
I’ll get you fixed in a jiffy.” The man picks up a loose pair of gloves from the instrument table and puts them on.
I stare incredulously at Wyl; he cannot seriously expect me to trust this person!
Rather than being concerned, Wyl kisses me and strokes my cheek. “Flash-bang, doll. Don’t worry.”
Honestly, I was less worried when Wyl was operating. At least Wyl washed his hands.
“Stay with me?” I plead.
Wyl shakes his head. “Sorry, doll, but I can’t. I have to supervise the ship’s repairs. Those mechanics are good, but they’re shady as fuck. Gotta watch their every move. I only left to escort you here; I need to go back.”
“You will return, though … right?”
“Of course.” He smiles, but something about his expression is odd. I cannot determine what, however, because my concern about the surgical procedure overrides everything else. “It’s you and me to the edge of the galaxy and beyond, doll.”
I do my best to return his smile despite my doubts. “Yes. To the edge of the galaxy and beyond.”
He kisses me once more, then pats my shoulder, shakes Doctor Leeds’s hand, and exits, leaving me alone.