Who’s the overseeing physician?
Beckman. Aileen Beckman.
She’s good. One of the best.
Guy spun on his heel again.
You’re not responsible for this, Carter said.
Why would you say that?
You take things to heart.
I am responsible. He should have considered alternatives.
Nano-temp saved her life.
How did you—never mind. Of course Carter had gotten a full report. He kept tabs on everything and had connections everywhere. Cy-Ops and the auxiliary Cybermed were under his control.
We do the best we can within the limits of our abilities. We give people chances, not guarantees.
Exactly. He was supposed to have given Solia a chance—not hinder the chance she had. He’d known the healing boost could be problematic, so he’d only given her one injection. Why hadn’t he tried something other than nano-temp first?
You need to stop beating yourself up about Truman.
This isn’t about him. But thank you for reminding me how I fucked that up, too.
We all have demons. Some days they make us stronger, some days they do a number on us. Solia’s situation isn’t your fault—nor is Truman’s death.
I gave her the nano-temp. I triggered the fucking MED.
The infantryman who’d been blown up hadn’t been any old soldier. Truman Haynes had been his best friend since childhood. They’d enlisted in the Terran military together, his buddy going the infantry route while Guy had become a medic. Truman’s unit had been ambushed. Guy had been on duty in the mobile medical unit when his friend was brought in. His injuries were serious but not imminently life-threatening. Other soldiers were in far worse condition. Truman would have survived—until Guy examined him and triggered the microexplosive device planted by the enemy.
Guy lost all four limbs and his right ear. Cybernetic surgery had saved his life and given him new arms and legs and sharper hearing. There hadn’t been enough left of Truman to piece anything together.
“Mr. Roarke?” Dr. Beckman poked her head into the hall.
The doc is here. Gotta go.
Let me know. Carter signed off.
“How is she? Did you save her wing?” Guy scanned Beckman’s face. Her expression was schooled; he couldn’t read it.
“We reattached it—” She held up her hand, silencing the whoop he would have made. “It’s too soon to tell if it will take or how much function she’ll have if it does. Solia is sedated in a stasis tank to minimize movement and to speed neural, muscular, and osteo regeneration. She received an infusion of nano-temp.”
The same robotic cells that had caused the problem.
“What are the odds of a full recovery?”
“I wouldn’t begin to—”
“Tell me.”
“Twenty percent.”
Fuck. Guy opened and closed his fists, staring at his lifelike prosthetics. “I lost all my limbs and became a cyborg! How is it Cybermed can give me two fake arms and legs, but reattaching a natural wing is a 20 percenter?”
“It’s touch-and-go for cyborg transformations, too. Half of them fail. The difference is the prosthetic limbs you received were functional at the start. Her wing was damaged, blood supply cut off. Nerves were severed. Tendons were shredded.”
“Can I see her?”
Beckman nodded. “For a brief moment. Do you know how to get to the stasis unit?”
“I can find it.” A schematic in his cyberbrain gave him an unerring sense of direction.
“Five minutes,” Beckman said. “I’ll have the unit programmed to admit you. If you overstay your time, you will be escorted out.”
“Got it.”
The entry scanner read his DNA and let him in. In a tank large enough to accommodate the span of her wings, Solia was submerged in ice-blue gel. Her natural silver pallor had grayed again, and her hair lay dull, wet, and flat against her scalp. Her wings were spread almost to full extension, surprising Guy with their length. In the air, she would appear like a graceful silver butterfly.
He gripped the edge of the tank. You have to be okay. You have to.
Life or wing. Logically, there had been one choice. If she had died, saving the wing would not have been an issue, but flying meant everything to a Faria. If the reattachment didn’t work, Solia would be devastated. He would be devastated. Guy leaned over and stroked her wet, lank hair. “I’m right here with you, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You can do this. You’ll fly again.”
You have to.
Three days later
“Solia, can you hear me? Wake up, sweetheart.”
Her body levitated at a forty-five degree angle in suspended animation, the force field holding her aloft to avoid pressure on her healing wings. Immobilizers positioned both limbs at half extension now and prevented her from moving them while healing and regeneration progressed. After twenty-four hours in the post-surgical stasis recovery tank, she’d been moved to this unit, where she’d been for two days, still under sedation until this morning.
She looked so fragile, so delicate. In sleep, her face relaxed, and her lashes curved into feathery crescents on her silver cheeks. Her natural color was almost normal. Her hair had regained its body and life and seemed to crackle.
They’d stopped sedating her, so she should be waking up. Why wasn’t she?
Guy palmed the medscreen and hacked into her records, scanning the notes. She’d received several more doses of nano-temp. Neural, muscular, and osteo regeneration was progressing, according to Beckman, who had upgraded her prognosis from 20 to 30 percent. Guy had triumphed over far worse odds on missions, and her numbers were trending in the right direction, but they were still too low for his comfort.
He erased his access signature and closed out her records. Cybermed administration could still find out he’d peeked—if they knew what to look for.
Perhaps he shouldn’t wake her, but he needed to speak to her more than anything. “Solia! It’s Guy.”
Her eyelids fluttered, and her nose wrinkled.
“Wake up, sweetheart. Talk to me.”
Her eyes opened. Confusion clouded her gaze. She shifted her head from side to side. Panic flared in her eyes when she tried to move her wing but couldn’t.
“You’re in Cybermed. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
The panic and fog cleared, and she blinked. “Guy?”
He smiled. “It’s me.”
“I had the operation?”
“You did. Three days ago,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “Three days? Did it work—my wings—can I fly?”
Her muscles strained as she again attempted to flutter her injured wing.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “You need to remain still. You’re in suspension until your wing heals enough for you to use it.” He wished he could hold her hand to comfort her, but the force field didn’t allow him to touch her.
“How long will that be?”
“Another day or two, the doctor said.” Beckman hadn’t said; he’d read it in the records. Like most physicians, she probably considered herself too busy to deliver regular updates. “You’ll begin with some strengthening exercises before they’ll let you fly.”
Her lower lip trembled. “Thank you. If you hadn’t brought me here, I’d never fly again.”
He couldn’t bring himself to tell her it wasn’t a sure thing. Thirty percent will have to suffice. She’s beaten the odds before. She survived on Katnia when all the others were killed.
“You stayed the whole three days?”
He nodded. “I’ll be here until you’re ready to leave.”
“Until I fly out of here.” A smile lit up her face. Her hair sparkled. This was the healthiest he’d seen her. She was healing, even if the state of her wings was uncertain.
“Until you fly out of here,” he repeated. Dammit, she would. She would.
“Then what happens?”
“Then I’ll take you home to F
aria.” An ache settled in the pit of his stomach.
Her smile waned a bit before widening, “How is Mittzi?”
“Good. Getting into everything. She disappeared once. I found her in an air duct. I have no idea how she squeezed in there.” The ping of the kitten’s ID tracking chip had allowed him to locate her. Otherwise, she’d probably still be MIA.
Solia giggled. “You’re staying on the shuttle?”
He nodded and grinned. “I have to keep an eye on Mittzi.” He wouldn’t have left Solia’s side at all, excerpt Cybermed personnel wouldn’t let him stay overnight. They’d limited his visits to three short intervals per day.
Her cheeks dimpled, and then she sobered. “You don’t need to stay with me. I’m so grateful for all you’ve done. You have important work. I don’t want to keep you from your duties.”
“Your recovery is the most important thing. You can’t run me off that easily.”
A yellow light flashed overhead, and a loud beeping started.
Solia jerked. “What’s happening? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing wrong,” he said. “It’s my signal I have to leave. They only allow short visits.”
Even Carter hadn’t been able to bend the rules on that one. The ward supervisor who oversaw visiting hours had been adamant. He’d overstayed the warning once, and she’d threatened to deny him access privileges if it happened again. She could try. He was a cyborg. He could hack his way in—but that would cause an incident, and Carter frowned on incidents. So, Guy would play by the rules. Until he needed to do otherwise.
“It’s late evening now,” he said. “I’ll come see you in the morning, okay?”
“I’d like that.”
“Get some rest. I’ll be back soon.”
Guy adjusted his jacket and then swiped the access screen to the suspension recovery room, but instead of the door opening with a beep and green light, a red ACCESS DENIED message flashed.
Had something happened to Solia? His pulse spiked. Activating his wireless, he hacked into the system and forced his way in.
The unit was vacant. Had Solia taken a turn for the worse? Could she have hemorrhaged? Had she been brought back into surgery? She couldn’t have…died? Every horrible possibility rushed into his brain. Fingers flying over the medscreen, he hacked in.
Susp ph term. Pt trpt to rhbt. Cybermed shorthand for: Suspension phase terminated. Patient transported to rehabilitation.
Relief whooshed out in a huge sigh. Solia had transitioned to the next treatment phase. He perused the rest of the updates. No more favorable advancement in prognosis had been noted, but Beckman hadn’t downgraded her condition, either. After erasing his presence, he hightailed it across the Cybermed campus to Solia’s new location.
Wings unfettered but folded at her sides, Solia sat in bed.
“Guy!” she exclaimed with a beaming smile. “I moved my wing today!”
“You did? That’s wonderful!”
“I just finished my first rehab session. They wouldn’t let me fly, but they had me extend and curl my wing. I did a bunch of flutters. Watch—” She unfolded her previously broken wing then brought it close to her body.
“I’m so happy for you, but should you be doing that?” he chided gently. He had a hunch she wasn’t supposed to be exercising without therapeutic oversight.
Her glowing face sparkled with flashes of silver. “Well, no. I didn’t think it would hurt to bend the rules a little.”
He might be a rule breaker, but she needed to follow directions exactly to maximize her chance of recovery. Still, he didn’t want to douse her excitement or optimism. A positive, can-do attitude often determined success or failure.
“Speaking of bending the rules…” Guy peered into the corridor. The ward supervisor was engaged in a conversation at the far end. Good. He closed the door then approached the bed. “You have a special visitor.”
Solia knitted her brows. “Visitor? When? Who? Who would come to see me?”
Guy unfastened his jacket. Before he got it all the way undone, Mittzi poked her head out. “Meow?”
“Mittzi!” Solia cried.
Guy placed the kitten into her outstretched palms.
She hugged the purring fur ball. “You sneaked her in?”
He grinned and nodded.
“Is it…safe? I mean, I just had surgery.”
He’d considered the possibility of microbiotic contagion, especially since the staff had kept Solia in a sterile environment. “Yes,” he said. “I ran her through the decontamination unit on the shuttle.” He chuckled. “She didn’t like it much.” Mittzi had emerged from the unit, hissing and spitting and had treated him to the cold shoulder for hours. “If anyone comes, give her back so I can hide her.”
“Okay.” She grinned. “Thank you for bringing her.”
Guy pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat. Solia glowed from the inside out. Her hair gleamed as if each individual strand were a tiny thread of light. He’d met a few Faria; they were considered to be the most attractive creatures in the galaxy, but Solia’s beauty was in a class of its own. As she healed and returned to her normal state, she shone, the contrast to her grayness when he’d first found her, revealing the degree of her injury. She’d been closer to death than he’d realized.
His heart thudded. He lost a lot of people in his line of work. Like Carter had said, Cy-Ops didn’t offer guarantees, only chances, and sometimes the latter were slim. Losing Solia would hit harder than the other losses. She deserved to live and to glow and to fly.
Barring an unforeseen complication, she would survive. Beckman had notated a 99.24 percent probability of survival. Flying? Still an iffy 30 percent. Anything short of a full recovery would break Solia’s heart.
“I brought something else for you,” he said.
Solia looked up, and Guy withdrew a pendant from his jacket. A crystal reflecting rainbows of light dangled on a gossamer chain.
“For me?” She shook her head. “I can’t accept something so beautiful.”
He held up his hand. “Hear me out. The crystal hides a microtransmitter and tracking device. If you ever get into trouble, all you have to do is hold the crystal for three seconds like this, and it will shoot a signal to my brain, and I can find you.” He handed it to her. “Try it on.”
Solia fastened the necklace around her neck—and it disappeared.
“It’s gone!” She patted the bed. “Did I drop it?”
“You’re still wearing it,” he said. “Special properties render it invisible when it touches the body.”
She fingered her skin below her throat. “I feel it!” She peered down at her chest. “But I can’t see it.” She lifted it away by the chain, and the crystal materialized. “It’s like magic. Now you see it, now you don’t.”
“If no one can see it, they won’t take it from you.”
“Well, thank you.”
The kitten swatted at it.
“No, Mittzi!” she chided with a smile, and dropped the crystal. It vanished. Mittzi stared. “I’ll be leaving one way or another in about two weeks, they told me.” Her glow dimmed. “What will I do if I can’t fly?”
He wanted to promise her everything would be okay, but he couldn’t mislead her. He wouldn’t stand for someone lying to him, and he wouldn’t do it to her. “Stay positive,” he said. “Your overall recovery is much better than expected. You had a good therapy session. Just stay focused.”
“That’s sound advice. I need to do that.”
“What will you do when you leave here?” Guy asked.
“I’ll continue my work on the Farian language project.”
A pang shot through him at the idea of never seeing her again. Maybe another time, another place, they could meet up and talk about old times. By then, she probably would be mated. He delivered a burst of nanos to calm his emotional reaction so she wouldn’t pick up on it. He couldn’t offer a future, so why should he resent someone who could?
He admired he
r courage during her abduction, her tenacity to proceed with life. He would make a poor lifetime mate for a courageous but delicate Faria. A jaded cyborg, he had nothing to offer except long absences, a lack of communication, and constant worry. That kind of life could smother the strongest love. Mariah had realized that, which was why he couldn’t blame her for jilting him. He didn’t approve of how she’d done it, but the basic decision had been understandable.
He couldn’t leave Cy-Ops. He owed too many people: his buddy who’d been blown up, Carter who’d given him a second chance, and the victims he hadn’t been able to save. For each one he lost, Guy vowed to save two more. Pay it forward.
He had nothing to offer Solia, except the necklace as a token of his continued protection. He couldn’t be her mate, but he could be her protector. Wherever you are, whenever you need help, I’ll be there.
“What will you do next?” she asked.
Think about you. “Catch up with my next mission.”
“If you need to leave...”
“Hey, you can’t get rid of me that easy.” He flashed a smile. “I want to see you well.” Wanted to spend every last minute with her. There. He’d admitted it. For all the good it did. They had no future. His issues could keep a psychiatrist in business for years. His life operated on adrenalin and danger; she needed to be protected from that. He offered darkness and menace; she was lightness and hope.
“Your job must be very dangerous.”
“Sometimes, but I’m prepared.” She didn’t need to know how many times he’d barely gotten out alive.
Beneath the covers, Solia scratched a finger against the fabric. Mittzi danced sideways on the bed and then pounced. Although the kitten had scared her at first, the two had become fast friends. Maybe… “You like Mittzi a lot, don’t you?”
“She’s adorable. Very affectionate and playful.”
“How would you feel about taking her?”
“You mean…”
“Adopting her. I have to find her a home, and you two get along so well…”
“I’d love to!” Solia’s face lit up.