Eleya had left them hours ago. Neya took the opportunity to inform him of how the negotiations were going - smoothly but slowly - and relayed a message from Carbon, who was understandably happy that he was alive and conscious. True to how Eleya had explained it, they were not trying to push the deal through quickly - this was just a step that the Tsla’o had decided to take on their own. Definitely nobody all hacked up and waiting for organs on their ship!
On the upside, the Confederation seemed to be buying it. They had been forthcoming with several pallets of more generic first aid equipment as a show of good faith - enough to outfit all the shuttles onboard the Sword with current generation trauma kits, and a few dozen spares. They had come aboard earlier in the evening, been cataloged, and distribution had begun, including a couple of kits to the sickbay.
They used one with a Human regenerator - Alex double checked it - to fix his incisions up. Things had already started to heal so there was still a scar, and it still looked awful, but the bone was fused and the protective plate wasn’t necessary anymore. Which was good, because the drugs they were giving him for pain management were not only keeping him awake, but they were a very effective diuretic. He was hobbling to the bathroom hourly.
This is also when Alex found out that Tsla’o had a somewhat different view on nudity. There were no hospital gowns, just confused looks when he asked for one. His pants were still being cleaned, apparently there was some issue with the bloodstains. He’d settled with wrapping a folded sheet around his waist like a towel. Alex wanted to call it a kilt, but it clearly wasn’t, and he didn’t know how to put one on anyway. Sheet skirt it was.
Neya fell asleep during one of these trips across the hall, her legs stretched out under the table to the other chair, head tipped back and wheezing softly. Her tail rested on the ground and he could hear it twitching and dragging across the floor on occasion, another reminder that he had accumulated a big pile of questions for Carbon.
At least he had reading material. The fact he had asked for books about history and gotten ones that seemed historical bothered him. The metal binding and worn leather smelled familiar and alien all at once, and for the first time since he had come aboard he was struck by how much of an outsider he was here. Yes, he had known that he was the stranger in this place, but holding a book that he was sure that no other Human had ever heard about, let alone seen, crystalized that in his mind. Made it tangible.
Maybe he’d be the only Human who ever would see them. Better not miss the opportunity. He pulled on a too-tight pair of gloves and undid the clasp, the front cover easily opening, the first page faded to an almost normal paper color from the usual blue that he had seen the Tsla’o use so far.
It was slow going, his Amp took extra time to digest the fancy script before handing him a translation. Stylistically, it reminded him of those ancient illuminated manuscripts, if the scribes had stayed a bit more restrained in their decorations. The first book started with a week-by-week overview of the first Dynasty during the first age. The Tsla'o didn’t have a concept of months, just ten day weeks. For the most part, it was not exciting. Tax revenue came in, someone made a formal complaint about a land dispute, there was a funeral.
So on and so forth.
It wasn’t the driest book he’d read, but mostly only because of what had been added in the margins, notes about things that had been relevant at some point, or sometimes what appeared to be offhand comments made by the scribes. There were a couple of things that must have been real zingers, based on reactions added around them. The Tsla’o symbol for ‘ka’ and their equivalent for an exclamation point - a stack of three little circles - was a frequent one. He had some guesses about the meaning.
Now and then something would be scratched out with a comment appended next to it. Usually indicating the original was in bad taste. Once it was just ‘that was my father’ with an untranslatable word next to an inheritance dispute. The original comment had been obliterated with a neat rectangle of ink, making it unclear if it was the deceased, or one of the people who had brought the dispute before the law.
Alex was taking frequent breaks, always surprised to find he wasn’t waking Neya up. The machine his chest catheter was hooked up to made an angry beep when disconnected - his finger on the button to silence it immediately - and it made a more friendly beep when he hooked it back up. Swapping the hydration IV bottle for a fresh one came with its own set of quiet noises. Not drinking anything was weird, but he also didn’t feel thirsty. Made it easy to ignore.
He’d try to sleep, too, but the medication was phenomenal at keeping him awake. Alex would have paid money for this stuff in college, there were no other side effects he was aware of - his brain and body felt normal, all things considered. It might be a bit different with a real heart, though.
This pattern continued through to morning, when a nurse rolled a cart with more supplies in, the sound of a quiet conversation about his intravenous nutrition packet finally waking Neya up. Alex would have preferred real food, but the doctors wanted him to keep up with the IV on the off chance the talks fell through and they would have to slap some cloned organs back in him the old fashioned way, so they wouldn’t have to wait for him to have an empty stomach.
It made sense enough to him and he wanted out of there as quickly as possible, so he relented. The saline IV bottle got swapped out with something that looked like milk but obviously wasn’t, and away the nurse went.
The day progressed very much as the night had, but now Neya was sitting in the edge of his vision, held in rapt attention by his reading. She’d leave now and then, sure. Stepping out for breakfast, lunch, and then dinner. But she always came back, sat in the chair that faced him with her tablet propped up so he couldn’t see the screen. Every now and then there’d be another update about the negotiations. Things were looking good, overall.
After these brief, honorific-laden conversations, she seemed like she wanted to say something more. There was always a moment after she was done speaking where it looked like she was about to continue but just sank into her seat again and clammed up. He could see her eyes shift from the screen to him regularly. They hadn’t gone back to her tablet like normal this time. It felt like she was studying him.
“Do you need help with something?” Alex didn’t look up from the book laid out on the little fold-away dining table. He’d hit a whole half-page writeup about an altercation at the mid-winter festival. Fines had been handed out. There was a joke about wine casks and raw spiders in the margin that he didn’t understand in the slightest, but it apparently killed with the intended audience.
She jumped at the sound of his voice. “I am sorry, my lord, what did you ask? I was... checking to see if there was any news about the negotiations.” She patted the tablet resting on the little round table and sounded like she had not been doing that at all.
“It’s nothing. Where you’re sitting, it looks like you’re staring at me.” He flipped a page that was largely uninteresting, revenue that hadn’t been important in hundreds of years. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”
“Seven, Prince Sorenson.” Neya sounded both relieved and a little pleased with herself.
He rolled his eyes. “And that?”
“Only four times, your honor.” Ok, very pleased with herself.
Alex laid back on the bed with a sigh and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve made it expressly clear how uncomfortable that makes me, correct?”
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“Yes sir, you have.” She nodded, once again serious.
“Then why do you keep doing it?”
“I had hoped that you might get used to it or begin to find it endearing. In addition, it is inappropriate for me not to, sir.”
“Even if I, as an Honorable Lord Prince, tell you not to?” Alex was getting exasperated. She started over again with the titles every time they spoke.
She tapped her index fingers together - Alex had determined this was her tell for being nervous - and studied the wall behind him very hard. “I think it is best that I continue to do so, sir.”
“So... someone told you to be particularly formal with me?”
“I- it is not for me to say, sir.” Tap tap tap.
There were not a lot of people on board that would provoke that sort of response, that he knew of. “Eleya told you to?”
She pulled a leg in and tucked it under her body, shaking her head. “I cannot disregard her orders, sir. She will know if I do.”
“I get it, she’s the top d-” He closed his mouth so fast his teeth clicked together. “She’s the Empress. Nothing you can do about that. Just... just keep it simple, none of this lord or prince stuff.”
“Thank you, sir. I will do that from now on.” She did not look or sound enthused by this solution.
“Good. Can you help me with this? There’s a word I can’t translate.” He waved her over, flipping back a few pages and angling the book towards her. He mostly just didn’t want her over there moping, partially because he felt responsible for that and it was just as distracting as the staring.
“Of course.” She hopped out of her chair and inspected the pages laid out before her. “Sir.”
“Right here.” Alex pointed out a note scrawled in charcoal, loose symbols slopped across the margin. “It looks like a play on Emperor Khaevi’s name, they changed the vi to va. I know it’s kind of minor, but I’m curious because the word isn’t in my dictionary.”
“Oh, that.” Neya blanched and shook her head, embarrassed. “It is a particularly vulgar term, sir. Though it may not have been so explicit when it was originally written.”
“Poor guy. Must have been teased mercilessly by the other kids.”
“If I recall, he did later kill many-” They both looked to the tablet, still sitting on the table, now chirping insistently.
Neya abandoned him immediately to check on it.
He didn’t blame her, per se. If their positions were somehow reversed, as unlikely as he found the idea, there’d probably only be one person calling and he’d want to answer it right away too. Though, Alex supposed, his mom would probably be checking in. She’d love to visit someone while they were on the mend.
The call connected before he had more time to ruminate on missing his parents. “Princess Tshalen, it is wonderful to see you again. I hope your day has been kind?”
“Neya, please.” Carbon’s voice carried out of the tablet, a little weary and a hint of annoyance in it. Alex was familiar enough with her regular voice that he could appreciate how good the translator was at relaying details like that.
“As you wish, Carbon.” She relented far more easily than when Alex asked, and that was a little annoying.
Alex pondered listening to their ongoing conversation, just sitting here and twiddling his thumbs while they probably talked about him like Neya couldn’t just rotate the tablet a little. It’d been too long since he’d talked to her anyway. Fuck it. “HI CARBON,” he shouted from across the room. “HOW’S IT GOING?”
Neya’s head snapped up and looked a little mortified, eyes wide as her ears and antenna lowered tight against her head. Carbon’s laughter filtered out of the speaker. “Since he is awake perhaps I can speak to both of you at once.”
They gestured back and forth a few times, eventually settling on Alex coming over there. He’d not taken his sheet skirt off to facilitate being able to go to the bathroom without flashing his watcher, the bed only came up to thigh level on him and it beat constantly asking for a little privacy. He sank into the largely unused second chair, leaning over the table to get his head in the shot.
“Did they not give you clothing?” Carbon inquired immediately. According to the little window displaying the outgoing video, she could see half his chest too.
“They did not. Apparently they have been having trouble with the bloodstains, and the shirt got cut up to get me out of it.” He shrugged. “Honestly pretty low on the list of important things right now.”
Carbon sighed. “Neya.”
“I will ensure he has a set of clothing by morning.” She replied, picking up the direction of the conversation with ease.
“Thank you. Make sure it is human-compatible. I should have some patterns from the CPP in my personal storage, in the files related to the Kshlav’o project.” She looked between them with tired eyes and relaxed visibly, a smile warming the corners of her mouth. The background bore a significant resemblance to the secure diplomatic quarters they’d had on McFadden station with different furniture, which wasn’t a big surprise. She was engaged in actual diplomatic efforts right now, and he couldn’t imagine her making a call somewhere that wasn’t private anyway. “He has a preference towards more utilitarian designs.”
“And thank you, that’s very thoughtful.” Alex had been 90% sure he was going to end up walking out of the sickbay in ill-fitting Tsla’o clothing until now.
“Of course.” The smile grew before she finally replied to his original question, “oh yes! It is going very well.”
Alex arched an eyebrow and nodded. “Oh yeah? Care to elaborate?”
“The deal has been done. The Confederacy had sales documents drawn up from shortly after the disaster - they had been certain we would have purchased it then - so little adjustment was needed. Dates, prices, delivery location.”
“Did you get what you wanted?”
“What I want was not discussed here.” There was a little gleam in her gaze that she tempered quickly. “The team I am working with felt the deal was equitable. Previous generation mediboard technology rights for a few thousand tons of more exotic ores and materials.”
“Are you sure?” Alex was more familiar with the problems the Tsla’o were having with the whole ‘homeworld is unusable’ thing than most Humans. But a few thousand tons of anything seemed... excessive. “Particularly for last generation gear.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Mining has not been severely impacted by the disaster, unlike many other industries. We have been stockpiling with the expectation that someday, it will be needed. This does not greatly impact those reserves.”
Neya nodded in agreement on the edge of his vision. “Alright. And the fact it’s not current gen?”
“Having worked with the ‘cutting edge’ equipment recently... The main difference seems to be repair speed, not quality.” Carbon paused and looked away for a moment, pensive. “It will get the job done, and that is the most important thing.”
Damn did he want to hug her when she looked like that. “Sounds good to me. When are you coming back?”
“In the morning. They’ve sent along the files already, but we are receiving a few physical beds as well, and will be transporting them back with us.” A faint smile came back as she turned her gaze back to the camera. “I hope that is not too long for you?”
“I’ll figure it out somehow.” He looked over at Neya, “anything else we need to discuss? She looks tired.”
The pale Tsla’o shook her head. “No, I am just pleased to know that you were successful. I agree with his assessment, you do look tired.”
“You are correct, I am exhausted.” Carbon leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "All of this has been draining.
“Go get some rest. We’ll be here in the morning.”
“I expect it.” Carbon said, a weak smile propping up her tired eyes. “Goodnight, both of you.”
They echoed that sentiment back, and Carbon closed the link, the screen going dark for a moment before the application kicked back to its dialing screen.
Neya had that expectant look again, a question ready to go that she had not spoken. Maybe she needed a little bit of encouragement. Alex looked over and gave her a nod, like some sort of royal might to an underling who wasn’t sure if they were allowed to broach a subject.
“You...” She faltered for a moment before resolution filled her bright purple eyes. “You really love her, don’t you?”