“Is he…?” Saying the words won’t make it true or untrue, but the sight is so odd it seems incorrect to actually ask.
“A cyborg?” the woman asks as if it’s nothing. “Yeah. Given the state of you, I assume you’ll keep this to yourself. You don’t look registered to me.”
I shake my head, feeling a little stupid. It’s…weird. Not that he’s unregistered. Not that something evidently happened to him—probably the ship crash in the nearby forest, now that I think about it. But that he’s just…sleeping here, in some human woman’s house, like he’s perfectly comfortable with it. I’ve never met another unregistered number who actually settled down with any human. Even the sane ones are loners. Maybe he isn’t settled down. Maybe he’s laying low until he heals.
That crashed Amerov ship looked old like it’s been there for a few years at the bare minimum. Maybe the atmosphere out here breaks down old vessels more than other planets and has sped up the deterioration, but it takes a long time for a ship, particularly an Amerov ship, to start rotting holes in it.
His scars look old, too. Pale and, though about as healed as mine, considerably less visible given the nature of them. His eyes obviously are still original, or if they’re prosthetics, they were tailored in a way mine never got a chance to be.
It feels wrong just to stand here with my mouth open, staring at him, but I don’t know what to say. I click my jaw shut and glance at Yvonne. Her eyebrows are pulled together, but she at least doesn’t look so stunned. She’s probably never met an unregistered other than me. Maybe she assumes all the stories are untrue and most of them are like me. She’d be vastly incorrect. But I doubt she grasps the oddity of the situation.
“I’m Lex,” the woman says, holding a pale metal container in her hand. “You look like you have about a thousand questions.”
“One or two,” I agree.
For a moment, I entertain the idea he’s trapped here, for whatever reason this random woman could have to want to trap an unregistered number. But he’s just laying there. Comfortable, not tied up in any way, obviously fine sleeping in front of her. Sure, I suppose he could be drugged, but I can’t imagine where a civilian would get the kinds of medications needed in high enough doses to keep a cyborg knocked out for any length of time. Why would he do that? He’d wake up and know he’d been drugged, and he’s untied. The likelihood of such a situation makes no sense.
The alternative is that she’s helping him in some way, after the ship crash most likely, and that he feels safe around her.
“Is he…alright?” I ask, struggling to find a good way to phrase the question and settling on the simplest version.
“Yeah, he’s just crashed. Sleeps like a rock. If you shout he’ll wake up.”
I take a few steps toward him, not wanting to be threatening but interested in the wildness of the situation. He’s a fairly average number, not greatly enhanced as far as I can tell. He has metal in his face, obviously, which isn’t always given, but that could be from any number of circumstances. He probably wasn’t very high-level. His muscles look soft, features not so cut as any number on active duty. If he’s been recovering from injury and resting, even the enchantments given to our muscles will eventually soften. I don’t have to work out to stay in shape, but if I was badly injured enough I stayed relatively action-free for a few years, I’d soften up.
He’s maybe a little shorter than me, though it’s difficult to tell while he’s laying down, and not very threatening. Though he is asleep. Maybe he’s nasty when he wakes up. Somehow, I doubt it. I feel like this petite woman wouldn’t appreciate a bad attitude, especially from someone she’s helping.
“How programmed is he?” I ask, only to realize how that sounds and amend, “Is he unregistered? He doesn’t want to go back to Amerov?”
Lex smiles a little. “If you would like to stay and talk, bring your friend in and we can get him worked on, then I’ll explain as much to you as you want. He’ll wake up in an hour or so anyway.”
I suppose that’s not an unreasonable request. Suddenly, I don’t feel nearly so bad about all this. I can’t imagine a situation where she’d be able to keep this guy here against his will, and if she has an unregistered number here, apparently this planet would come down on her hard. If unregistered numbers can’t even land here legally—I wonder how Captain feels about this planet basically barring his creations from entry, he probably doesn’t listen, not with his power—I can’t imagine the trouble she’d get in if they found him here with her. Even if she wanted to let the authorities know we’re here for the money, she’d have a hell of a time with it considering she’s harboring this number.
“Aaron?” Yvonne asks, and I realize how long I’ve been silent.
“Er…yeah, um, let’s talk to La and Zane. Maybe we should bring him in here. There’s not much space in my ship.”
“I saw you had some sort of animal with you,” Lex says. “I saw its heat signature, but couldn’t figure out what it was.”
“Um…come out and meet him.”
Lex raises her eyebrows but shrugs as I finally back away from the sleeping number, stepping back out onto the porch. Yvonne’s gaze is on me, but I don’t know what to say. I’m barely wrapping my brain around the strangeness myself, I’m not going to be able to articulate it for her.
I wave at Bat to bring the ship closer. Anya crawls back into the airlock, and the ship hums to life a minute later, hovering over the grass and what few dogs who haven’t calmed down and are still running about, landing near the steps.
“What’s going on?” Lalia asks, leaning against the circular airlock, eyebrows knit together, not coming down. Bat peeks around her ankle.
“Well…” I’m not certain how to say this succinctly. “Unregistered numbers are illegal here, along with all cyborgs, and uh…Lex here appears to already have an unregistered number under her watchful eye, so we might as well add another to the list.”
Lalia looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
With the last month, I wouldn’t be surprised if that actually ends up happening.
“Is he…?” Saying the words won’t make it true or untrue, but the sight is so odd it seems incorrect to actually ask.
“A cyborg?” the woman asks as if it’s nothing. “Yeah. Given the state of you, I assume you’ll keep this to yourself. You don’t look registered to me.”
I shake my head, feeling a little stupid. It’s…weird. Not that he’s unregistered. Not that something evidently happened to him—probably the ship crash in the nearby forest, now that I think about it. But that he’s just…sleeping here, in some human woman’s house, like he’s perfectly comfortable with it. I’ve never met another unregistered number who actually settled down with any human. Even the sane ones are loners. Maybe he isn’t settled down. Maybe he’s laying low until he heals.
That crashed Amerov ship looked old like it’s been there for a few years at the bare minimum. Maybe the atmosphere out here breaks down old vessels more than other planets and has sped up the deterioration, but it takes a long time for a ship, particularly an Amerov ship, to start rotting holes in it.
His scars look old, too. Pale and, though about as healed as mine, considerably less visible given the nature of them. His eyes obviously are still original, or if they’re prosthetics, they were tailored in a way mine never got a chance to be.
It feels wrong just to stand here with my mouth open, staring at him, but I don’t know what to say. I click my jaw shut and glance at Yvonne. Her eyebrows are pulled together, but she at least doesn’t look so stunned. She’s probably never met an unregistered other than me. Maybe she assumes all the stories are untrue and most of them are like me. She’d be vastly incorrect. But I doubt she grasps the oddity of the situation.
“I’m Lex,” the woman says, holding a pale metal container in her hand. “You look like you have about a thousand questions.”
“One or two,” I agree.
For a moment, I entertain the idea he’s trapped here, for whatever reason this random woman could have to want to trap an unregistered number. But he’s just laying there. Comfortable, not tied up in any way, obviously fine sleeping in front of her. Sure, I suppose he could be drugged, but I can’t imagine where a civilian would get the kinds of medications needed in high enough doses to keep a cyborg knocked out for any length of time. Why would he do that? He’d wake up and know he’d been drugged, and he’s untied. The likelihood of such a situation makes no sense.
The alternative is that she’s helping him in some way, after the ship crash most likely, and that he feels safe around her.
“Is he…alright?” I ask, struggling to find a good way to phrase the question and settling on the simplest version.
“Yeah, he’s just crashed. Sleeps like a rock. If you shout he’ll wake up.”
I take a few steps toward him, not wanting to be threatening but interested in the wildness of the situation. He’s a fairly average number, not greatly enhanced as far as I can tell. He has metal in his face, obviously, which isn’t always given, but that could be from any number of circumstances. He probably wasn’t very high-level. His muscles look soft, features not so cut as any number on active duty. If he’s been recovering from injury and resting, even the enchantments given to our muscles will eventually soften. I don’t have to work out to stay in shape, but if I was badly injured enough I stayed relatively action-free for a few years, I’d soften up.
He’s maybe a little shorter than me, though it’s difficult to tell while he’s laying down, and not very threatening. Though he is asleep. Maybe he’s nasty when he wakes up. Somehow, I doubt it. I feel like this petite woman wouldn’t appreciate a bad attitude, especially from someone she’s helping.
“How programmed is he?” I ask, only to realize how that sounds and amend, “Is he unregistered? He doesn’t want to go back to Amerov?”
Lex smiles a little. “If you would like to stay and talk, bring your friend in and we can get him worked on, then I’ll explain as much to you as you want. He’ll wake up in an hour or so anyway.”
I suppose that’s not an unreasonable request. Suddenly, I don’t feel nearly so bad about all this. I can’t imagine a situation where she’d be able to keep this guy here against his will, and if she has an unregistered number here, apparently this planet would come down on her hard. If unregistered numbers can’t even land here legally—I wonder how Captain feels about this planet basically barring his creations from entry, he probably doesn’t listen, not with his power—I can’t imagine the trouble she’d get in if they found him here with her. Even if she wanted to let the authorities know we’re here for the money, she’d have a hell of a time with it considering she’s harboring this number.
“Aaron?” Yvonne asks, and I realize how long I’ve been silent.
“Er…yeah, um, let’s talk to La and Zane. Maybe we should bring him in here. There’s not much space in my ship.”
“I saw you had some sort of animal with you,” Lex says. “I saw its heat signature, but couldn’t figure out what it was.”
“Um…come out and meet him.”
Lex raises her eyebrows but shrugs as I finally back away from the sleeping number, stepping back out onto the porch. Yvonne’s gaze is on me, but I don’t know what to say. I’m barely wrapping my brain around the strangeness myself, I’m not going to be able to articulate it for her.
I wave at Bat to bring the ship closer. Anya crawls back into the airlock, and the ship hums to life a minute later, hovering over the grass and what few dogs who haven’t calmed down and are still running about, landing near the steps.
“What’s going on?” Lalia asks, leaning against the circular airlock, eyebrows knit together, not coming down. Bat peeks around her ankle.
“Well…” I’m not certain how to say this succinctly. “Unregistered numbers are illegal here, along with all cyborgs, and uh…Lex here appears to already have an unregistered number under her watchful eye, so we might as well add another to the list.”
Lalia looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
With the last month, I wouldn’t be surprised if that actually ends up happening.
