“So you work as a nurse around here, huh?” Ratcatcher joked, narrowing her beady eye at a surge of light. “Love the uniform.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” Liam asked, dodging a whipping slash of her tail. “You’re too slow!”
“I prefer the term medical brother-in-training,” Rowen replied, pocketing the flashlight. “And no, Liam, Eliza, and I are friends and classmates; we’re not dating.”
“Well, you should,” Liam announced. “Or are you racist against mutants…” Joanna Vong slapped a palm over her son’s mouth, forcing a smile as Johatan chuckled.
Liam snatched a Rubik’s cube used by Ratcatcher for working out her fingers, sent it in a spin, stopped it with a press of a finger, and immediately put it back together. The boy continued to sit on the edge of his seat, filling the room with the sounds of the moving cube and his fingers reassembling it back into the pattern. Despite his cheeky attitude, Ratcatcher knew he was worried. For one thing, Liam preferred taking things apart to putting them back together. Furthermore, he placed the tip of his tail in his mouth almost mechanically, not realizing it until Mom warned him to stop licking dirty things.
Rowen ran a series of tests on Ratcatcher, checking her reaction and coordination. He used a small hammer to tap under her kneecaps, ran a metal thing down her leg, and asked if she could feel the cold. Thank the Planet, everything was normal here. The medical brother removed needles and sensors from her and put an oversized helmet on her head, checking the brain activity. Lastly, he tested her physical strength.
“Well, I have good news and…”
“Good, only good news!” Ratcatcher interrupted Rowen.
“Sucks to be you; I am giving you both.” Rowen smirked. “The good news is, there’s no trace of the filth in your vein. Vasily was plagued by every disease imaginable; compared to him, you got off scot-free. Pus clogged his lungs, and it took several operations to stop necrosis.”
“How is he?” Ratcatcher asked.
“Weak, hungry, and happy. Back to you.” Rowen took her finger. “I mean, I ain’t a professional; I’m just here to run tests. The proper doctors will give their verdict once someone is free from treating the crowd down here. But the bottom line is this: The Barjonis doctors worked overtime to save your life. Most of your muscles, skin, and organs were cloned in haste. Meaning your reflexes and physical attributes are all at the level of a Normie.” He raised a pen, asked Ratcatcher to focus on it, and levitated it from left to right, moving too fast for her to keep track of it. “See? Your ocular muscles are weaker, and so is your ability to follow the object moving left and right…” The pen suddenly moved to her nose, and Ratcatcher widened her eyes, surprised by a tingling pain in her temples. “… or getting closer or farther is greatly diminished. Sorry for the unpleasant sensations.” Rowen massaged her temples. “They result from contradiction. Your brain knows it should be able to do something, and yet the body fails.”
“Is this permanent?” Joanna asked, letting go of her son. “I don’t know much about physiology, but I had heard about a scandal involving a baseball player in a non-augmented league who had used drugs to strengthen her eye muscles. This means they can’t be trained, right?”
“Don’t worry!” Rowen waved his hands. “Abnormals’ bodies return to their natural state, provided sustenance. That hunger Lizzie suffers is her body’s demand for building material to bring the inefficient muscles back to their level. In a few months, she’ll be as good as new. But for now, keep in mind that you are just an exhausted, normal human being, Lizzie.”
“A normal human who has a tail,” Liam said.
“Yep,” Rowen agreed.
“Who you refuse to date,” Liam accused him.
“What do you even know about dating?” Ratcatcher asked him.
“Based on all the historical dramas and TV shows I watched? More than you’ll ever know, virgin.” Liam’s blunt response drew chuckles from her, Rowen and Dad, and a hush from Mom. “What? She is a virgin, right? Cause she never had sex. Wait, is she…” Johatan burst out laughing, grabbed his son by the arm, and apologized to the trainee, who shrugged and patted the young boy.
“You said Wivin gave me her blood.” Ratcatcher looked down her arm. Thin. She tensed the muscles, lifting a single small knob. “Does it mean that I am part Troll now?” Her eyes flashed. “Can I regenerate now?”
“If it had worked that way, there’d be blood farms all over the world.” Rowen sent the report to the doctors. “No, their blood is simply comparable to all known blood types of Normies and Abnormals.”
“Bummer…” Ratcatcher pouted. It would be so cool to have the ability to regenerate an arm or a leg! “I want to see Vasily! And everyone. Is it okay if I leave the room?”
“You’d slump and fall,” Liam fired, and Dad’s hand closed over his mouth.
“Nah, he’s got a point,” Rowen said. “And normally, you’d have to use a wheelchair, but Jumail and Elina prepared just the right present for the situation…”
Ratcatcher moved her tail, curious as to what it could be. Rowen left the room, and she used this opportunity to snatch a few more huggsies from Mom and Dad and butt heads with Liam over a fresh tray of nutritious food. Alive! According to the tests, her organs are functioning normally and the weakness in her muscles can be overcome. Yes, it’s going to suck being the weakest member of the group. No doubt Carlos will tease her until the sun expires. She doesn’t even mind! Alive, alive, she is alive, and her family is here, and everyone is healthy and happy!
“We have a surprise of our own back in Iterna,” Dad said.
“What is it?” Ratcatcher asked.
“No.” Joanna stopped her husband and gave Liam a stern glance. “You promised me. No spoiling the surprise. Please.” Liam pressed a hand to his chest and imaginatively stitched his mouth shut.
Rowen returned to the embracing family, dragging a harness after himself. It was made in the shape of two metal poles standing on a platform on wheels, with a web of chains connecting the poles. And on this harness stood an exoskeleton. It wasn’t armor; the thing’s build left way too many areas exposed, and its wires and fiber muscles ran over the limbs and connected to servo motors in the joints. A single cut could have disabled an arm or a leg.
And Ratcatcher loved it at first sight. As Rowen freed the exoskeleton from the web, she stood up with the help of Dad and Liam and dressed herself in black shorts and a strapless shirt. The suit had a single generator on its back, powered not by the same wireless energy as everything else in the hospital but by an energy cell secured by a protected armored case. She turned her back to the suit as Mom and Rowen placed it on the floor.
Then she made a step back, placing one leg in the column. The metal frame closed around it, tightly pressing itself against her leg, but not causing even a lick of discomfort. Her tail found a hole in the back, and she slid the rest of her limbs in, resting on the construction and trusting it to hold her weight. Even depowered, the exoskeleton provided enough stability to keep her upright.
Rowen finished closing the makeshift suit and her tail moved, finding a launch button. The exoskeleton let out a low rumble as it powered up, and a surge of electricity touched her joints in places where the steel rings of the suit connected to tendons. The machine synchronized, and Ratcatcher took a step. At first, Dad and Mom supported her, and soon she was braving the room on her own, not exactly stomping, but not with her usual soft gait either. She stretched and bent, testing the limits of her new agility and finding them adequate.
“Catch!” Liam cried and tossed something. Dad’s arm was already in front of her nose, but Ratcatcher’s body moved almost on its own, celebrating the returning range of motion. The steel fingers caught the cube, and she threw it in the air, catching it on a finger and grinning like mad. “See? She’s adapting really well, a solid mate, I tell you,” Liam told Rowen, and she dropped the cube.
“Stop trying to marry me!” she snapped.
“Marry? I just want to give you a good time.” Liam used his tail to scratch his ear. “Like in…”
“Speaking of a good time!” Joanna picked up her son. “We still have to get you the last vaccine shot. Dear, Rowen, please keep her safe.”
“Wait! I want no more stabs!” Liam tried to break free in vain, wrapping his tail around the door, but Mom would not let him have his way. “How come you don’t need them? Lizzie, safe me!”
“Bye, Liam! Don’t forget to get some vitamins.” Ratcatcher waved to him.
“I’ll get you for this! I am so getting you for this!”
Rowen led her and Dad out of the room into the small hallway. On one side, it had doors leading to stairs where Mom dragged the struggling and whining Liam, and an elevator took up the entire other wall. The group boarded the elevator and entered the chaos of the third floor, a section dedicated to treating underage patients.
To say that it was chaos was to say nothing. Screams, laughter, the chittering of Insectones, and the roar of Malformed greeted Ratcatcher as she exited the elevator. A network of tunnels spread out from the waiting area, and nurses led caravans of children to their destinations. Young Insectones clambered over the walls. Malformed twitched nervously in their seats, watched by the hungry gaze of their elders. Hospital guards positioned themselves closer to such groups, well aware of how Malformed enforce order in their herds. Children of Normies ran everywhere, somehow managing not to get trampled or fall into the counter. Mutants exchanged greetings in deafening howls or low growls and went about their business.
The fear of a possible epidemic, or even several, spreading as a result of the Chosen Prince’s wanton destruction worried all the Great Nations enough, and the Barjonis medics worked overtime administering the once-forbidden outside of Iterna vaccines. Tried and tested by Rho Biomedical, they would push the immune systems of the youngest patients to the limit. As a side effect, most of the children here would gain a natural immunity to some sedatives, but that was a sacrifice Lord Steward was willing to make.
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Construction sounds boomed through the cacophony of various languages and roars. Workers were busy remodeling several cabinets, leaving a spacious place for the doctor but, for some reason, boxing in a would-be patient. Ratcatcher raised her eyebrows in surprise, and a group of children almost crashed into her.
A young, dark-skinned woman bearing golden mechanic implants and dressed in the white-and-green uniform of a street guide prevented the collision. Her palm stopped the running kid and sent him to a waiting nurse, then she turned in one smooth motion, redirected two more children of her group into open doors, checked that the other four were still with her, prevented an Insectone girl from dropping her candy, grabbed a Normie child’s hand as he tried to run away, wiped a girl’s nose, and typed something on the terminal. The guide had done it all almost simultaneously, never letting her charges out of her sight. A humming drone accompanied the woman, flying over her shoulder and filming her nonstop.
The guide narrowed the horizontal slits of her eyelids and a hint of anger appeared in her purple eyes. She closed to Ratcatcher, pointing a finger at her, and spoke in an unknown language, raising her voice enough for Dad to step forward. Rowen noticed her confusion and handed Ratcatcher the black bead of a translator device.
“Don’t even know our language, eh, Iternian?” the woman asked, struggling to keep her rage bottled. “I’m stuck in here because of you.”
“Who… what did I do?” Ratcatcher asked uncertainly, trying to remember if she had ever met the woman.
“Don’t play coy, girl! You set me up, and then I was given a choice: do community service or spend the morning hanging from the wall. Thought you’d ruin me? Hah!” the guide laughed victoriously. “Think again, Iternian! My ratings have tripled since I was assigned to keep the children safe, and the Governor himself had approved my program to draw attention to the children’s needs... Yes, what is it, Merry?” she asked softly as a little girl tugged at her jacket.
“I’m afraid to go to the dentist. Let’s go back to the orphanage; my tooth doesn’t hurt that much,” the girl whispered.
“We are all afraid of dentists, Merry.” The guide knelt down, hugging the girl with one hand and typing furiously with the other. “But unless treated, your tooth will go bad, and then you’ll be in the hospital for days and miss all the fun games. Would this be any good?”
“No,” the girl admitted.
“Then let’s tough it up, and I’ll promise you all a pizza. Deal?” the guide asked, drawing cheers from her small group.
“The market!” Ratcatcher laughed, recognizing the woman at last. She looked way different in the official uniform and had short hair. “Now I remember. You look after the children? Way to go, miss, you are fantastic!” She gave a thumbs up.
“I don’t know what you are playing at, girl, but I won’t be tricked again,” the guide said, examining the trainee carefully. The guide’s terminal beeped, and she stood up, hurrying the children ahead. “You’ve made an enemy for life, Eliza Vong!”
“But… what even is your name?” Ratcatcher looked at Dad, who shrugged and put a hand on her shoulder.
Yeah, the world is full of weirdos. She dropped the worries and followed Rowen, trying her best not to stop or trip over any of the younger patients. He explained that the Governor had assigned mentors, older adults who had proven responsible enough to look after the orphans. These mentors would guide them to adulthood and beyond. Acting Governor Abel was also reaching out to every corner of the nation, pleading for aid.
The Insectoid Commune responded first, offering to adopt most orphans. Insectones did not care if the orphans looked different and had already hired several construction companies to help convert parts of their towers into something suitable for the gentle ones, as they called the children. The crusaders and templars answered next, offering to take in potential recruits. Acting Governor Abel declined their offer, claiming that the nation would not force any child into service or to accept any faith. He accepted the offers of the Insectones and the Sunblade and Wintersong households, who planned to build a series of first-class orphanages in the city for the right to develop recently discovered mines.
They found Vasily in a small room at the far end of the hospital. Vasily was resting on the bed, examining his own hand. “Get Well” cards decorated one wall in his room; an empty tray shared a table with the working terminal, displaying some sort of underground map.
Scales covered Vasily. Ratcatcher remembered him from before the first Numbers attack, and the medical procedure had saved his life at the cost of undoing the cosmetic surgery. Gray scales covered the boy, and a thin membrane covered the space between his fingers. The tips of his claws no longer fit into his fingers, and the already familiar foam covered their tips. Vasily’s elegant nose was gone, replaced by a triangular hole, and his lips became rough and fat.
“Hey.” He made a smile, raising his arm to wave. “Look who decided to wake up!”
“What can I say? I hate lagging behind.” Ratcatcher hugged him, trying to be as careful as possible. “Vas… how are you? If…”
“Everything’s ok.” He patted her on the back of the head. “I decided to keep the appearance.”
“You did?” Ratcatcher asked.
“Yep.” He sat, using her for support. “Can’t promise I won’t be running to a bio-sculptor in the future, but eh, the scales don’t really bother me. Guess having your life threatened several times does wonders for changing a worldview, eh?”
Before Ratcatcher could say anything, someone else knocked on the door, and Dad opened it, stepping aside just in time to avoid the rushing crowd. Elina, Carlos, Edward, and Esmeralda barged in, hugging her and Vasily and asking how they were doing. Augustus entered next, and in the corridor outside loomed Jumail, too big to step inside without ruining the door. He moved a leg inside, and Ratcatcher shook it.
Alive. Phew. She sat on the bed and started answering questions.
****
There was one more thing Ratcatcher had decided to do prior to leaving Stonehelm. Once learning about him, Ratcatcher asked Augustus to escort her to the military hospital, deciding to let Dad and Mom have a brief rest in a hotel. Elina promised to look after Liam, and Ratcatcher walked over Stonehelm’s streets, still clad in her exoskeleton armor.
The last few days were good. She had slowly built up the muscles in her arms by adhering to Augustus’ training regimen. Rowen was right; hunger haunted her day and night; she gulped down kilograms, gaining weight. Her body itched. Muscles continued to grow under her skin, restoring the pleasant to her eyes bulges, and physical exercises helped her spirit and built enough stamina for her to stand on her own strength. But long travels were taxing.
The guards at the military hospital searched them for weapons and let them in, assigning a Troll as an escort. He led them away from the prison cells holding the criminals brought in by Bertruda and her soldiers, for she was true to her word.
Slavers camps burned. Elegance hewed through the arms and legs of its master’s enemies, leaving pools of blood in its wake. Heavily armored and wielding oversized shields, the knights of the Mountaintop household blocked escape routes, enduring the crashes of heavy armored vehicles. Their guns barked in answer, ripping gaping holes in the cars and tearing the people inside to bloody shreds. Those who survived were now being healed in Stonehelm, to be tried later. Most of them would be hanged either way, but the president-elect insisted on conducting the trial.
But they weren’t visiting a criminal right now. Ratcatcher forced herself to remember it. There were also victims here, but not all from the military. Someone who was violated, twisted, and made to commit the most heinous acts. Lord Steward had already announced a full pardon for these souls, and now priests tend to them to prevent any self-harm. Not all succeeded.
He sat in a small box-shaped room, just tall enough for his bald head to touch the ceiling. Chained metal gauntlets covered his arms and legs, hiding the claws inside, and the long scorpion tail was fastened to a wall, the poisonous stinger hidden by a special leather scabbard.
Hustler… No, the man whose body Hustler was using raised his head, studying Ratcatcher through three gray eyes. His body was pale. Lord Steward did what he could to restore the people whose brains he had saved during the battle, but he did not know their natural color. If the man was to be believed… No. Ratcatcher corrected herself. This person had red skin once. And he will have it again.
“They have told me that your name is Eliza. Eliza Vong,” the man whispered. His voice was broken, quiet, nothing like Hustler’s jeering.
“Yes,” Ratcatcher said in an even voice. Hatred burned inside her, reminding her of the broken people in the tower, the dead in the factory… This was wrong. He did nothing to her. “And you are?” Hate She had never hated anyone so much. It frightened her how much she wanted to lunge at the man and beat his face again and again until the skull cracked, and gray matter showed up.
Augustus put a hand on her shoulder.
She always believed herself to be above any racism and thought herself being able to treat another person with an open mind. Here she was failing that test, understanding how the people back at Scrapyard must’ve felt toward her people. Fear. Even now she was afraid of Hustler, afraid of what the man could do or the suffering he could have caused if he hadn’t been put to rest. That fear threatened to lead her down a dark path. She took it as a warning and promised herself to be better.
“Jeremia. Jeremia of… It doesn’t matter.” The man looked down. “My people are gone. Some killed by the Hierarchy, others rendered apart by the Condemned. My father mounted the defense. We had barricaded ourselves behind high walls, and beat back the first onslaught. Then the sickness came, picking us off more surely than the enemy fire. In my arrogance, I thought of myself as a savior, someone to stop that nightmare, and I sneaked out, only to be caught at his throne. He remade me, and I brought death to my home. And now my people are no more.”
Ratcatcher listened to him, saying nothing.
“They say we are not to blame.” The man raised his hands and rang a chain that linked the gauntlets. “But I remember everything. Every lie from my lips, every plan, the dead trampled under my feet, families ruined, and plagues unleashed. I did it…”
“No you did not,” Augustus interrupted him. “A sentient virus that reversed your every value into those better suited to serve the Chosen Prince controlled your mind. You are no more to blame for your actions than a victim of chemical or mind controlled brainwashing.”
The man shook his head. “I asked them to let go of me so I could set things right. My jailers refused. They seek to help me. Me, who has brought nothing but ruin to their lands. There are no excuses I can make, no amends I can make to atone for what I did. I have nothing left to live for.”
“Wrong,” Ratcatcher snapped. She stepped to him and took Jeremian by his gauntlets. “Wrong, wrong, so utterly incorrect! You are the last of your people. At the very least, it is your duty to record their history, traditions, and culture for the world. And not only that! Do you think your father, mother, and everyone else in your town would be happy to see you die? Wrong. They’d want you to live and be happy. The memories of your people must not vanish. You must not vanish.” She bit her tongue, almost telling him to help others. In his vulnerable state, the man might take that as an order. If Jeremia ever chose that path, it would have to be of his own free will, not out of a need to make amends, or the chains of guilt would never fall from him.
“You don’t need to say this.” Jeremia tried to pull his arms away, but she held him. “I am the one who tried to kill you and threatened your friends…”
“Huster did it.” Ratcatcher smiled. “And I promised to see him broken and gone, and I saw it through. There is no Hustler before me, but Jeremia. Nice to meet you, sir. Live. Don’t make your people sad. There was plenty of this already. And some in the future. No need to add to it; try to find a way to be happy if you can. There is so much to see in the world. Live and don’t blame yourself, please.”
She had no idea if her words had any effect. Jeremia just looked at her, impassive, too shocked by the sheer weight of the atrocities done through the use of his hands. But not by his choice. This was an important distinction. And Ratcatcher forgave him.
There was nothing more to say. Other cells held similar prisoners. Some howled and raged in their restraints. Others sat in a catatonic trance, unable to cope and whimpering for release. The Oathtakers’ mental clinics were understandably overcrowded because of the war, and the government had to make a choice: either keep these people as prisoners or face the consequences of releasing them.
Two days later, Ratcatcher sat on Iterna’s plane, listening to Carlos’ jokes, and eating cake with the rest of her group. It was time to go home, and this time, their families were by their side.
She admired Stonehelm through the illuminator. Jagged ruins still littered some of the city’s outlying areas; a desert of death-yellow sands, carved by dried-up rivers and open canyons, advanced on its walls. And yet, through it all, the people inside still lived, some struggling to take another step toward a new day, others helping those around them. All non-mortal wounds heal, and all scars fade in time. And as the sun rose over the city, she wished its people would never know war again.
There was nobility in other nations. Yes, the Three Great Nations are rivals today, but what of tomorrow? Perhaps a great war awaits them all. However, Ratcatcher believed in a better outcome based on the cooperation shown.
And, spotting the first terraforming vehicles coming from the Oathtakers’ mainland, she made a promise to return here when the place is nurtured back to life.