Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. It is a draft; there are mistakes, many misspellings and sometimes long periods of no updates. copyright: ion fyr 2025
Luc was right in front of her, looking concerned behind the plastic and metal spikes coming from his lower face. His mask, his breather, was small compared to hers, it was small compared to all of his people’s masks. It was little more than a mouthguard–the kind sucked on by rugby players, but with jutting small pipes, and similar nostril plugs, bound together and secured by a strap around the head.
“Keep your mask on until we get inside.” She interpreted. She could only understand half his words. if it weren’t for his eyes it would have been down around a dismal quarter.
The inside they were talking about was not the garage, apparently. Through a set of double doorways, that Nila would have called an “airlock”, they went, with Luc’s churlish men pushing Nila’s floating cart down a wide, dingey hallway.
After what seemed like two thirds of an hour, though it was likely less, Etelka, Luc and Nila with her litter-bearers arrived at a new place.
Etelka could tell it was underground, or at least beneath the city proper, as the walls looked very old and ran with water (creating a stream along the right juncture of floor and wall.
The light was intense, and with the cue from the others more experienced here, she took her mask off when they did, massaging her cut cheeks, hoping her face wasn’t marred.
The were met by a dark-skinned woman, Sindi or Parsian, who had long black hair and a face punctuated by a prominent nose and kind eyes. She wore a white coat, which, from time immemorial, has represented doctors of medecine or at least doctors of labwork, a tailcoat of prestige, even among the illicit.
“Doctor,” Luc oozed.
Etelka found herself jealous. Luc never talked to me like that, then wondered if her jealous was somehow misplaced. Did she want Luc to talk in such a way to her? Suddenly, confronted with feelings, urges that she didn’t expect, Etelka pushed them down into their own little hat box, like the ones in her closet.
“Luc,” she said. It was matter of fact. No surname. This irritated Etelka, who desperately wanted to know more about his past.
Luc responded with information that seemed to be just a confirmation of what he had already said. She had not seen him telling anyone of Nila’s injuries from the time they arrived until now. This doesn’t mean that he did not.
Nila was wheeled into what can only be described as an operating theatre. Etelka followed, but when the insectoid medical robotics were removed, she held down her stomach contents and left the theatre for the safe space of the hallway.
The hirelings, as she had considered them before, headed out in a line, apparently back to the truck. Etelka, finding nowhere to sit, slid down the wall adjacent to the door to the operating theater, to the floor, where exhaustion overcame her.
A gentile hand nudged her shoulder. Her eyes opened in slits to find Luc crouched low. “Did you sleep he asked?”
She nodded and rubbed her eyes, before running her fingers across her bundled and dusty hair. “A little, I think.”
“I sent our new Pool to my club. I’ve got rooms. He’ll be safe there at the moment, but I want to have him examined by Dr Daytime’s staff tomorrow.”
Etelka could see that he was probing her for her opinion. at the moment she had none. “That seems like a wise plan.”
Ion Fyr 