CHAPTER 3
ZYREN
It has to be her.
There are no other pale humans with blonde hair in the plaza—there are no other humans at all.
She turned when I called her name.
Sylvus taught it to me, the human syllables strange and flat on my tongue. He said it would help put her at ease.
She does not appear to be at ease.
Nova is tense, wary—like a startled prey animal debating whether to flee.
I can’t blame her. A wave of instinct sweeps over me. I want to sink my teeth into her neck, my stinger into her flesh. I want my venom to drain away all thought of resistance, and I want to make her mine.
Waves of instinct like this are foreign to me.
I’m a doctor, for fuck’s sake.
Something about the intensity behind her azure eyes grabs me. There’s a strange sense of weightlessness to her—a distance between her soul and her body—as if her pale features mark her as a ghost, a creature that doesn’t entirely reside on this plane.
It would be for the better if this were somehow another human, one I can simply walk away from and try to forget, and not the human I’ve been sent here to collect by an old friend cashing in a debt.
System by system, I force my body to relax. My weight sinks back into my legs. My wings cease their vibrating. My shoulder blades slide down my spine. I take a deep breath.
“Nova,” I repeat. “Sylvus sent me here to fetch you. My name is Zyren.” I settle into the habitual, professional tone that my friends call cold. It’s the best that can be done, given the circumstances.
She blinks, as if remembering herself. “Nice to meet you.” Nova shuffles back from the edge of the platform, jaw tensing—a common tell for pain, even among those trained to hide it.
I kneel and offer her my hand. “Let me help you up.”
Her eyes glide over my tattoos, distracted, then return to my face. “It’s alright. I can manage.”
“I’d rather you didn’t have to.”
She hesitates, then places her little hand in mine. The warmth and softness…
I need to focus. I pull her to her feet, noting the pause in her breath, then scoop her into my arms. She’s average size for a human, which is to say, quite small.
A scent like fresh rain fills my senses, and my skin tingles wherever we touch.
I calm myself with measured, even breaths.
Nova goes stiff, hands bracing against my chest, holding me back. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to my office.”
“I can walk,” she snaps.
I tilt my head. “Yes, but can you fly?”
“…No.” A subtle, delicious blush spreads across her cheeks as she glances aside. Her arms slowly relax, and she allows her weight to settle against my chest.
I like how it feels. Irrelevant, I remind myself.
“Can I make you more comfortable? I can assure you it’s a short flight.”
“No, it’s… it’s fine.”
I scan her face—the tiredness behind her eyes, the tension in her brow. “You don’t seem very comfortable.”
Her lips twist in a wry smile. “This is as good as it gets.”
I nod, and my wings spring to life behind me, driving us into the air.
She gasps and slips her arms around my neck, clinging tight. She smells like spring—herbal and sweet.
I hold her tighter than is necessary, telling myself it’s to secure her and not because I suddenly find myself not entirely in control of my strength.
Despite the racing of her heart, she looks forward and down as we fly, as if tormenting herself with the height.
I weave through traffic and cut over a wide thoroughfare, then arrive at a balcony ringing a building made of wood pulp. The paper-like texture is an even, soothing tone of grey.
I use my foreleg to push aside the heavy velvet curtain across the doorway as I carry Nova inside.
The circular room is lined with hexagonal cubbies on one side and a broad open-air window on the other.
Woven rugs in beige and pale green divide the floor into three areas—a workbench near the cubbies, an exam table, and a multi-species sitting area by the window.
Dried herbs and flowers hang from the ceiling in neatly organized clusters, and I keep the more purified chemical compounds in tiny glass jars in the cubbies, all tidily labeled with brown paper labels and handwritten ink.
I set Nova on an elevated chair by the window, and releasing her makes my chest go tight.
I cast the bothersome sensation aside and step over to the workbench. “Can I get you anything to drink? Tea? Coffee?”
She laughs and runs a hand through her hair.
I glance back at her. “Yes?”
“Tea and coffee? That’s really your standard offer?”
“If you had about four more limbs, I do confess I’d have a different first offer. But you’re neither my first nor only human patient.”
Her expression is sharp, evaluating. “ICSS rules disallow mentions of tea or coffee. They don’t permit it on the city ships anymore.”
“Strange, ICSS rules also disallow any and all communication with an outlaw like Sylvus.”
A subtle smile pulls at her lips. “I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”
I nod, preparing some of the glass equipment I use for extracting medicinal components from plant matter.
That’s exactly what brewing coffee is, so the equipment works quite well.
I activate an induction plate to heat a beaker of water while I grind a handful of coffee beans to a precise grain size using a mortar and pestle.
Once I’ve settled those in a filter and set a mug out to catch the resulting brew, I return to Nova.
She rubs her arm, but her fingers pause when I return to her.
“Why am I here?” she asks.
I like her directness. I don’t like that she doesn’t know the answer. “Did Sylvus not tell you?”
She shakes her head.
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Ah. That explains a lot. My apologies for my forwardness, then. I’m a physician, as you may have gathered.
I specialize in non-Arthropoid sapients, which is something of a rarity here on Zairion Prime.
I look after all the hucows under Sylvus’s care, should they need anything, though they’re all quite hale.
Since your application mentioned chronic pain, he wanted me to complete a preemptive physical exam. ”
“I could save you the trouble and show you my medical records. I’ve had every conceivable test, tried every therapy, sampled every drug. Legal or otherwise.” The words are delivered lightly, with a wry shrug.
I can guess at the years of suffering they hide.
The hot water has made its way through the coffee grounds, filling the mug with dark liquid.
I fetch it and offer it to Nova. “I won’t torture you by asking you to explain it all again. I only ask for a bit of patience. You’ll find my methods are… different from those of the ICSS physicians.”
She raises a brow as she takes the mug. “Please don’t be offended, but I have no patience for ‘alternative healing’ either. All it’s ever been to me is false promises.”
I settle down across from Nova. “I can assure you I’m no charlatan. While I do make use of the placebo effect, it’s only with the consent of my patients.”
Nova’s brow furrows, and her fingers touch behind her ear—where her neural implant lies. “The way you talk about this stuff… It’s… I mean, clearly, things are translating that I wasn’t expecting to. People don’t usually know what I mean by ‘alternative medicine.’”
I clear my throat and say in her language, with some labor and a thick accent, “I speak some English. I fear my vocabulary skews heavily toward technical medical terminology, however.”
Nova’s eyes widen with surprise—brilliant, striking azure—and her brow furrows deeper.
“I won’t subject you to my accent,” I say, returning to my native tongue. “But I’ve read quite a few authentic human medical tomes.” To illustrate, I reach back into my cubbies for a copy of Grey’s Anatomy and hand it to her.
She flips through the yellowed pages. “This is impossible. The ICSS only saved those records digitally, and then they archived most of them when the statistical variance was deemed too high…” Then her expression suddenly brightens.
“Sylvus also smuggles Earth artifacts, doesn’t he?
Far more made it off the planet than we were ever told. ”
Something like a thrill vibrates in my chest. “Clever girl.”
Her blush deepens, and I want to press my lips to it.
She clears her throat. “Funny you should say that; it’s similar to a line from—I’m blanking on the name; it’s been a long time…”
“Jurassic Park?” The words come out thickly accented, but in their original form, since there’s no translation in my tongue.
A strange expression crosses her face. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Jurrasic Park. It was my favorite as a kid. Sylvus has movies too?”
“Quite a few. His hucow particularly enjoys them.”
Nova stiffens slightly. “Right. His hucow… We should probably start the exam.”
“There’s no rush.”
“I don’t want to waste your time.”
“I assure you it’s no waste, but whatever makes you more comfortable. First, I’m going to assess your pain levels.”
“Probably a four,” she says automatically. “Which I suppose translates to seven or eight by normal-people terms.”
“No, no. Not like that.”
Nova looks relieved. “Do you also hate the numbers? God, I hate the numbers.”
I hold out a hand to her, and she hesitates, then places her palm in mine.
“All you need to do is relax,” I say. “Close your eyes.”
She does so.
I lean toward her slowly until our foreheads just touch. She startles slightly, then settles, tolerating the contact.
I take a deep breath and reach out toward her mind.
Vespoids like myself are highly social sapients.
We only use our voices primarily with other types of sapient, tending toward mind-to-mind contact with each other when gathered in large groups.
Zairion Prime is dotted with such settlements, and while I do enjoy the ease of communication when I visit my family, I generally prefer the intentionality of spoken words.
Our heightened sensitivity to consciousness energy has other benefits. When in close proximity, I can sense the emotions and sensations of other sapients.
My breathing and pulse naturally sync with Nova’s, drawing the wavelength of my consciousness closer to hers.
Pain starts as a prickle around my hips, then deepens to a burn.
A pulsing ache finds the knee of my foreleg, and tension ratchets around my head, like a tight band drawn across my temples.
That tension creeps down my neck, spreading along my shoulders and sliding down my spine.
Searing nerve pain cuts through my ear, stabbing for a few moments before dissipating.
It’s as if my bones have been set aflame from within.
My breath catches, and Nova tries to pull her hand back, but I hold it firmly.
With my forehead against hers and our eyes still closed, I rest my other hand on her shoulder and gently articulate her arm. No particular movement increases the pain, but nothing relieves it either.
I do the same with each of her limbs, tracing the shape of the pain. Then I slide my fingers down her arms and legs, testing for pressure points. Her forearms sear especially bright under my touch, and even as my breath catches and my wings vibrate at the pain, she doesn’t so much as flinch.
Pain isn’t the only thing I feel. There’s also the soothing nature of my touch, the way that firm pressure and massage briefly interrupt the ache.
Then there’s a quickening of the pulse, a growing swirl of heat, an impulse to—
I quickly ease back and release the connection.
Relief floods my body as all the pain drains away. It’s a tragic kind of empathy. She’d kill for that kind of relief.
The heat, however, lingers.
Ignoring it, I murmur, “Oh, Nova. That’s truly horrible.”
She quickly picks up her coffee mug, cheeks pinker than when she closed her eyes, and glares at me. “Don’t look at me like that.”
I straighten. “Like what?”
“With pity.”
My brow furrows. “This isn’t pity; it’s sympathy.”
“I don’t want that either.”
She reminds me of the Howlings I sometimes treat: fuzzy little puffballs with squat limbs and prehensile tails. When in pain, they cower in the corner of the room, snapping and lashing out, unsure where to turn for relief.
If I can help her, she won’t begrudge my sympathy. I want to assure her, but as it stands, she’s heard too many empty promises.
“Will the hucow transformation fix it?” she asks, tone detached.
“I don’t know. Many candidates have noted improvements, but none have had pain quite as bad as yours.”
“Great.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair again. “I love being special.”
“It stands a good chance of at least improving your symptoms. But you’ll require careful monitoring to ensure there aren’t any unexpected side-effects.”
She nods. “Okay, so… kind of standard protocol, then?”
“No. Not at all. Schedules don’t generally permit the closeness of monitoring that will be required. Not to mention the level of possessiveness that’s been observed with the non-standard matches so far. Under most circumstances, your condition would prevent you from being a suitable candidate.”
The most tragic part is how little her disappointment shows. It’s not the first time she’s had her hopes dashed. “Thanks for checking me out, then. It was worth a shot. And worth it for the coffee.” She starts to slide out of her chair.
“I said, under most circumstances.”
Nova pauses, looking up at me.
She’s the most adorable little creature I’ve ever seen. That lingering heat sends my stinger twitching, but I ignore it.
Her voice is quiet, as if she doesn’t dare hope. “What are the… suitable circumstances?”
My heart thuds in my chest. “The only way this works is if you become my pet.”