by Doug Farren
The next day, he reported to the director's office as scheduled. Upon entering the room, he noticed the lighting was low and the Director was not alone. The tall lithe form of an Omel sat quietly to his left. An older woman of human descent with light brown skin sat next to the Omel.
The Omel are the biological wizards of the Alliance. Their homeworld is a low gravity, low light planet. They are a very tall, thin race, averaging just over two meters in height. Their long arms terminate in six slender, frail-looking fingers. They have an elongated head with large eyes, small ears and a thin nose. The distinguishing feature of the Omel is their translucent skin giving them a very red appearance. An Omel's surface blood vessels can be easily seen.
"Please take a seat Mr. Wilks," the Director said. "This is Biomaster Tzel and Doctor McKinsey. Mr. Tzel specializes in human physiology. Doctor McKinsey is the psychologist assigned to follow your progress."
Tom took a seat and composed himself. What was an Omel Biomaster doing here? Had he been medically disqualified from becoming a cyborg?
"You are now at the half-way point at the academy,” the Director continued. “We are beginning to schedule the string of surgeries for your class to give you your cybernetic abilities. The purpose of this meeting is to present you with all the facts so you can come to a final decision as to whether or not you wish to proceed with the conversion surgery. I want to make it perfectly clear that the final decision is yours. You can change your mind at any time. If you decide the risks are too great, your curriculum will be altered so you can be trained to serve the Peacekeeper organization in other capacities. Do you have any questions before Mr. Tzel begins?"
"None Sir," Tom replied, relieved.
The biomaster leaned slightly forward in his chair. “The extensive medical tests you have been subjected to since your arrival at the academy has indicated that you should have no problems with any of the conversion operations." Tzel spoke in perfectly pronounced Galactic Standard.
"Although you are familiar with the process, I am required by law to explain it to you again. The first operation will involve your lower limbs. Both of your legs will be completely replaced by cybernetic equivalents. This type of surgery is not difficult and we are not expecting any complications. The new limbs will remain deactivated until the fusion of the nerve endings with the control circuits is complete. Although this process will be artificially enhanced, it will still require about two weeks.”
Tzel turned and ever-so-slightly dipped his head toward Doctor McKinsey. It was obvious the two had been working together for some time and had probably given this same speech hundreds of times. "It has been our experience,” she took up the narrative, “that the first conversion operation is crucial in determining whether or not psychological problems will develop as a result of the conversion process. Some people react negatively to the removal of parts of their own bodies. This reaction will eventually cause insurmountable problems if the conversion process is continued.”
"After the nerve fusion is complete,” Tzel continued, “the cybernetics will be activated at a level simulating the response of your normal limbs. You will train with the cybernetic legs for about a week. Another operation will then be performed to replace your non-dominant arm. A similar recovery and training period will follow. A third operation will then replace your dominant arm.
"A long period of recovery is then used to ready your body for the final operation. Because of the extreme complexity of the surgery involved, there is a 1.1% failure rate for humans. Death is exceptionally rare but failures can result in partial, or in extreme situations, total disability of the individual. This final operation will replace several major vital organs and will reorganize the structure of your body.
“Your skeletal system will be replaced or reinforced with duralloy to allow your cybernetics to operate at full power. The biolink with your ship will be implanted and your eyes and ears will be replaced. You will be kept in a medical coma for two weeks until your newly implanted cybernetics can be activated. You will remain in the hospital for an additional two to three weeks to ensure you are fully recovered.”
“There are risks,” the Director said. “And there is no shame in deciding not to proceed. Do you have any questions?"
Tom sat in thought for a few moments, then asked, "What happens to the cybernetics if I become disqualified before reaching stage four?"
"Good question," Swenson replied. "Your original biological limbs are placed in cryogenic storage after removal. This allows us to reverse the process up to a certain point. After the final conversion operation, reversal is not possible; however, no fully converted Peacekeeper has ever been dropped from the program."
"My reproductive organs…"
"They will remain fully functional," the Biomaster replied.
"I see," Tom said, very much relieved. "When will I undergo the first operation?"
Swenson looked at Tzel, then back to Tom and said, "We will begin with your Rouldian classmates. Their conversion process is significantly more difficult than other species, even for Omel biomasters. The schedule is flexible but I would say you should expect your operation to be scheduled in about four weeks."
Chapter 10
Tom paused in the doorway and peered inside the recovery room. Lashpa was lying on her side on a massive bed covered by a light sheet. She was facing the door and he could see that her eyes were closed. Her breathing was slow and steady. A huge IV bag was hanging on a hook and the room smelled strongly of antiseptic. Not wanting to disturb her sleep, he started to turn around but stopped when she quietly spoke in her native language. Reversing his steps, he approached the bed.
“How’s my favorite dragon doing?” he said, laying a hand on the ridge above her eyes.
Lashpa took a deep breath and then expelled it in a low rumbling growl that sounded more like a giant cat’s purr. “Kashtreecker,” she said, or at least that’s what he heard her say. A good portion of the Rouldian language involved frequencies he simply could not hear.
Looking around, he saw her vocoder lying on a table. Picking it up, he turned it on and placed it on the bed next to her.
“Thank you,” she said, raising her head a bit. “I am in pain but it is manageable.”
Glancing at the sheet, Tom asked, “May I?”
“Certainly,” she replied, grabbing the sheet and lifting it.
Tom took the edge and finished pulling the covering back. He was surprised to find that all four of her powerful legs were gone. In their place were black pieces of metal barely sticking out of her body—the socket where her new legs would eventually be connected. As part of the surgery, the scales surrounding the socket had been removed. A sympathetic pang of pain exploded in his stomach when he saw how raw and red the exposed skin looked.
“Have you seen the doctor yet?” he asked, worried.
“There was one here when I woke up,” she replied, lowering her head to the mattress. “The surgery went well. No complications.”
“I’m surprised they replaced all your legs,” Tom said, gently pulling the sheet over her. “Isn’t that a bit radical?”
“Legs are first,” she replied, closing her eyes. “I just happen to have four instead of two.”
Tom could tell by the sound of her untranslated voice that she was tired. “I’ll let you get some rest,” he said, putting his hand on the side of her jaw.
Lashpa opened an eye and put her palm against the side of Tom’s face. Her dinner-plate sized hand felt like a warm softball glove against his skin. He could feel the point of one of her talons pressing against the back of his neck. “Thank you for checking on me. I appreciate it.”
“Get some rest,” he replied, taking her hand and placing it back on the mattress. “I’ll come back later.”
Tom was sure she didn’t hear his last sentence. Both her eyes were closed and she was gently snoring as he quietly backed out of the room. Turning around in the doorway, he almost collided with a nurse who was about to
enter the room. “She’s sleeping,” he told her.
“I still need to look in on her,” the nurse, a very tall Omel with long, flowing hair, replied. “Rouldian skin doesn’t heal very well, especially when the scales have been removed. Friend of yours?”
Glancing back into the room, he replied, “Yes…yes she is. A very good friend.”
Giving his shoulder a squeeze, the nurse nodded and said, “Give her another day to recover. She’s going to be fine.”
True to his word, Tom returned the next day immediately after his last class. Lashpa was more alert and doing much better. Her recovery seemed to be coming along nicely. By the third day she was gaining strength and the pain seemed to be lessening, but four days after the surgery Tom arrived to find a crowd of people in her room. “What’s going on?” he asked a nurse.
“She’s picked up an infection,” she replied. When pressed for more information, the nurse claimed she didn’t know anything more.
Tom tried to get into the room but was stopped by one of the staff. “You can’t come in here right now,” he politely but firmly told him.
“She’s my best friend,” Tom argued.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot say anything more without—”
“It’s okay,” Tom heard Lashpa’s vocoder say. “You have my permission to give him any information he wants.”
Tom craned his head but could only catch a glimpse of her before the nurse gently guided him out the door. “She has contracted an infection around the surgery of her left hind-leg,” the nurse explained, closing the door behind her. “If the infection cannot be stopped, her body will reject the implant. It could also spread to other organs. We are dealing with the problem.”
Tom had a horrified thought. “She didn’t catch something from me did she?”
The nurse shook her head. “No. We’ve identified the pathogen as one she has carried within her for years. It is treatable but she will need to remain isolated for a few days.”
“Thank you,” Tom felt relieved. “Do you think it would be okay if I call her later?”
“I think she would appreciate it. Give us a few hours before you call though.”
Tom went back to his room but was unable to study. He passed the time by watching an old science fiction movie. As soon as the movie ended, he put in a call to Lashpa. She answered immediately, “Hi Tom, it’s good to hear from you.”
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“Some sort of infection,” she replied. “I can’t remember what the doctor called it but I guess it used to be a fairly common disease among my people. It’s been eradicated on most Rouldian planets although apparently not on Fanish. It hides out in the bone marrow until the immune system is compromised then it attacks.”
“Will you be okay?”
“The doctors say they caught it in time. I’m afraid you won’t be able to visit me for a few days though. We’ll have to be satisfied with visiting by phone.”
The two friends chatted for a while longer before bidding each other goodnight. Worried, Tom called her every day. Her infection cleared up and he was allowed to visit her in person. Finally satisfied that she was on the road to a full recovery, he returned to visiting her every other day.
“I won’t be able to visit you any more,” he sadly informed her one morning. It had been 27 days since she had her surgery and the doctors were promising to activate her legs any day now.
After moving a rook clear of a trap he had been setting up for the past four moves, she asked, “Why not?”
“Good move,” he replied, nodding his head in approval. “I’ve been scheduled to have my first operation tomorrow morning,” he said, a huge grin appearing on his face.
“Ah! Then it will be my turn to visit you.”
“As long as the doctors give you the okay,” Tom replied. He moved a bishop into position, trying to set up another complex trap he could spring in a few moves. Lashpa had proven to be a very fast learner and she was now playing at the level of a grandmaster.
“I am anxious to have my legs activated,” she said, studying the board. “I do not enjoy having to eliminate my bodily wastes while lying in bed—it is very embarrassing and uncomfortable.”
“I’m not looking forward to that aspect of the surgery either,” Tom replied.
“I can well imagine your displeasure, given the fact that you eliminate through two orifices whereas I have only one.”
Tom grimaced at the thought. “I am not looking forward to having a catheter put inside me.”
“It goes inside you?” Lashpa exclaimed.
The two had become such close friends that Tom did not hesitate to explain what a catheter was and how it was used. Lashpa momentarily forgot about the game while she listened. “That not only sounds very uncomfortable,” she said, “but even more embarrassing than what I’ve had to endure.”
Forty-five minutes later, Tom tipped his king over in defeat. After putting the game away, he laid his hand against the side of her massive jaw just below her eye where the leathery skin of her face was the softest. “I hope you like your new legs,” he said.
Lashpa raised her head, forcing Tom to raise his hand to keep it against her face. She looked around then dipped her head and asked, “May I…may I taste you?”
Chapter 11
Tom was stunned. He knew Rouldians chose their mates and closest friends based on a number of attributes; the most important of which were taste and smell. Although not as sensitive as hers, his nose was able to detect the slight spicy scent that seemed to originate from just behind the hinge of her jaw. For Rouldians, tasting one another was their way of cementing a relationship. His training had never mentioned anything about Rouldians tasting non-Rouldians.
Sensing his hesitation, Lashpa lowered her head and said, “I’m sorry. I did not mean to—”
Tom moved his hand under Lashpa’s jaw and gently pushed. “I would be honored,” he said, looking her in the eye.
Lashpa extended the tip of her tongue and gently touched the nap of his neck. It felt like someone had dabbed him with a hot, damp towel. She paused for a second after retracting her tongue, her eyes closed. She then tilted her head slightly, making the area just behind her jaw-hinge accessible. Tom’s mind raced as he tried to figure out how he should respond. Leaning forward, he stuck his own tongue out as far as he could and gently touched the tip to her skin. It tasted like a subtle combination of cinnamon and allspice with a hint of salt.
Leaning back in his chair, Tom noticed that Lashpa was looking at him with an intensity he had never seen from her before. Her nostrils and eyes were wide open and she was breathing rapidly as if she was in a state of panic. “Are you all right?” Tom asked.
“I…I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “Do you know what a soul-mate is?”
“Of course I do,” he replied.
“I know we are of different species,” Lashpa said, continuing to stare. “But, I have this overwhelming feeling that I have found my soul-mate. Can this be possible?”
Tom needed a moment to reflect on the ramifications of this statement. Months ago, when he and Lashpa had first met, he had experienced a sense of ease with her that he rarely felt with anyone else. Since their initial meeting, they had become very close friends—so close in fact that no subject of discussion was off-limits. Were they soul-mates? Tom didn’t see any reason why the term could not apply to a cross-species friendship.
“Almost anything is possible,” he said, after a moment. “I do feel closer to you than any other person I’ve ever met. In my book, that’s the definition of a soul-mate.”
Tom was shocked when Lashpa lifted her head high and bellowed out a single word. The vocoder did not offer a translation. What happened next surprised him even more. From up and down the hallway came a chorus of bellows all shouting the same Rouldian word. Tom became acutely aware of the fact that some sort of incredibly important event had just occurred. Not wanting to embarrass himself or make light of
what may have just happened, he remained silent and smiled.
The hallway was suddenly filled with the sound of heavy footsteps as every ambulatory Rouldian on the floor found it necessary to walk by the room and pause for a moment to look inside. Tom stood in awe as eight Rouldians briefly gazed in at them, bowing their head in a sign of respect. He was sure a few of them were surprised but none of them seemed to question Lashpa’s outburst. Within a few minutes, quiet was once again restored. He was very surprised when none of the hospital staff arrived to scold them for causing such a commotion.
“I wish I had my legs!” Lashpa said, the vocoder doing its best to impart the emotion she was feeling. “I feel like dancing.”
The thought of a 125 kilogram, 3.5 meter long Rouldian dancing around the room on four legs caused Tom to burst out in laughter. Lashpa looked at him and said, “I never thought I would join the honored few who have found their true-mate. I must tell my family. I suppose you would like to tell yours as well.”
Tom’s smile rapidly faded. “I no longer have a family.”
Lashpa instantly realized her mistake. She had learned very early in their friendship that Tom’s parents had both died in a house fire. He had adamantly refused to discuss the details of the incident and Lashpa had respected his privacy on the matter. She reached out and touched Tom’s face with the knuckle of a curled finger. “I have upset you. Please accept my apologies. This should be a day of celebration.”
Tom grabbed her forearm with both his hands. He was still trying to figure out why all the Rouldians had suddenly taken an interest in them. He was sure he had been part of some sort of momentous ceremony but he was clueless as to what it all meant. “I am happy for us,” he said, forcing himself to smile. “It's time I told you about my family—but not right now. I'll explain what happened later. Go ahead and call your family—I should go get some rest before tomorrow’s surgery.”
