Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 55551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
I haven’t scented fear on her once in all the time I’ve known her. Suddenly, she stinks of it. I wrap her up in my arms and hold her tight, hoping the comfort will alleviate some of the distress.
“The doctor is here, my alpha,” Sona intones over the intercom not long later. “Would you like him in the medical bay? Or would you like him here, in your…” he sniffs. “Bedroom?”
Doc Xotic is highly capable when it comes to healing injuries sustained in combat, and he comes with some pretty impressive tech, but I am worried he will not be able to help this human, who is now whimpering softly in my arms, and clinging to me with weak fingers.
I ignore Sona’s disapproval and carry her down to the surgery. The alpha’s residence has a fully equipped medical bay to rival any hospital on the planet. She will not get better care elsewhere.
The doctor is a mature saurian with gray skin and scaling, plenty of thick plates over his head, and a tail that ends in a vicious set of six-inch spikes. He’s a natural defensive tank, and that has served him well during his work in a great many conflicts.
“I’ve got a human,” I say rather unnecessarily, as it’s pretty obvious what she is.
“So you do,” he says, extending his arms for her. I hand her over. This is probably the only creature on the planet I’d willingly allow to touch her. Besides Avel, I suppose. Regardless, there is a small moment’s hesitation as I feel her weight leaving my arms.
“What’s happening here?”
I tell him all the details I can remember as he takes her and settles her gently on a medical bed that dwarfs her several times over and begins the most careful examination I have seen. She is staring around, her eyes wider than they have ever been, and she is emitting pheromones of the kind I have not scented on her before. The human who was not worried whatsoever when she went flying off a cliff and nearly plunged to oblivion is suddenly terrified.
“Stay still. There you go. That’s right. Let me listen here.”
She is letting the doctor do his job, which is probably the first time I have ever seen her cooperate. It’s odd. Eerie.
“I believe I have heard of this phenomenon before. Let me find the document…”
He holds her down, one hand on her chest while he goes through a small tablet pulled from his pocket. It is essentially an almanac of all medical knowledge, and I suppose it makes sense he would consult it, though I do always feel unsettled when a medical professional starts researching a condition in front of me.
“Yes,” he says. “I believe what we have here is an unexpected triggering of the human fear response. It is harmless, though it looks and seems dramatic. It passes in relatively short order, though generally speaking the effects can sometimes be felt for quite some time due to the ongoing psychological stresses associated with the experience, or repeated triggering of the stimulation.”
“Hm,” he says, looking up from the text. “Must be a warmblooded thing.”
“What’s the treatment?”
“Well, we can give her drugs to try to manipulate her brain chemistry. Or…”
“Or?”
“We can talk to her.”
“Talk to her? We can either moderate her brain chemistry with drugs, or we can… talk? Those two things seem very, very different.”
“Humans are interesting creatures, their emotions and physical state are moderated by their social interactions and the way they feel about themselves. Their self perception. They are not as logical as we are. Warmblooded creatures are wild.”
“Hm,” I say. “So you’re telling me that there’s two main points of view. That the perception is bad because the chemicals are bad, and or the chemicals are bad because the perception is bad. In some humans it’s more one than the other, in some it’s both? How can they tell?”
“They can’t. So the treatments generally involve tackling both potential causes in the hopes that one or the other will be effective.”
At this point, Suli clears her throat.
“It’s not my thoughts. And its not my chemistry. It’s my brain chip. It’s broken. I need a new implant. I’m not going to be okay until I get a new one.”
That’s a series of words that makes even less sense than the absence of them.
“Explain.”
She is looking much more like her usual self now, assuming you do not look in her eyes. The expression in those big round orbs of hers is immensely vulnerable.
Sullivan
Thorn looks at me with a calculating gaze, his big alien arms folded over his chest. I see the scales rippling with the little motions of his muscles as he makes a concerted effort to stay calm. This is not something I ever thought I’d have to explain to anyone, but I guess now that I am broken, I don’t have much choice.