Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Jerrok just holds me tighter, practically squeezing me against him, and I know he's nervous.
Someone stomps out of the back rooms. "I'm coming. Hold yer keffing sac." A moment later, a large male alien ducks out of a back room, sending more parts clattering, and then unfurls himself to his full height.
It's a mesakkah, but he looks like no mesakkah I've ever seen before. He's big and bald, and a large portion of his skull on the left side is covered in an enormous metal plate. The horn on the other side of his head is gone, filed down to nothing, and the entire right-hand side of his jaw is silver, matching the plate on the side of his head. As he straightens, I see he's wearing little more than a harness over his chest, but his skin looks as if it's three different shades of blue, and I wonder just how much of him is prosthetic and pieced together.
He's more than slightly alarming looking, his eyes hard, and I instinctively step closer to Jerrok.
The man's gaze rests on me for a moment, and then on Jerrok. "Shouldn't parade your human around on this station, friend. It ain't safe."
"Sophie goes where she wants," Jerrok replies. "And she's well protected."
I put my hand on Sleipnir's head, just to make sure my bossy pet is there. He is…and he's licking the nearest metal object as if he's a kid in a candy store. Discreetly, I nudge him with my boot, trying to get him to stop.
"I've brought a friend that needs your services," Alyvos says, gesturing at Jerrok.
The alien man that must be Zakoar of the Broken Back just grunts. "I figured as much. Didn't think you were here for social visits." He crosses his arms over his chest, and as he does, I notice his bare arms practically…glitter…with even more metal just under the skin. It makes me wonder what that's all about, but I don't suppose I care much. I just need him to help Jerrok. Zakoar glances over at Jerrok. "Well?"
Jerrok strides forward, and as much as I want to cling to him, I stay where I am. I watch as he takes a small, hand-sized case out of his pocket and sets it on the counter. He pushes it toward Zakoar with his good hand. "What can you do with that?"
Zakoar flips the lid open and pulls one of the credit chips out. They're stacked in there, like thick playing cards, and I know all of them are unmarked and untrackable—and therefore a hot currency amongst the pirate types. The alien grunts, glancing up at Jerrok. "I can do a lot with this, but not all at once. You wouldn't survive it." He pulls out a stack and sets it down on the counter, then closes the box and pushes it back toward Jerrok. "Start with one. If you like my services, you can come back and spend the rest some other time."
I'm a little disappointed that Jerrok can't get everything done today, but I appreciate that this Zakoar guy is cautious. He's not going to try to do more than Jerrok can handle comfortably, and for some reason, that eases a lot of my fears.
"Arm first," Jerrok says. He pulls the bag off his shoulder and sets it on the counter. "I need it reattached."
Zakoar takes the arm out of the satchel and studies it for a moment. His lip curls. "You want this piece of shit back on you?"
"You got any better options?" Jerrok retorts.
"As a matter of a fact, I do." Zakoar opens the box of credits, takes out another stack and pockets them, then nods in the direction of the back of the shop. "Follow me."
As he turns, I see that his spine is a lattice of metal bars and tubes that weave in and out of his skin. I suck in a breath. Zakoar of the Broken Back, indeed.
84
JERROK
I flex my new hand, marveling at it.
The fingers move fluidly, without effort. The wrist turns fully. The fist I make is tight. Nothing creaks, and best of all, there's not an endless wave of feedback feeding into my head of circuits going offline, or system errors. It's all…quiet. I woke up from my sleep and there was…no pain.
My arm was back…and better.
"It do for you?" Zakoar asks in a terse voice, putting back several of his tools.
"Best prosthetic I've had yet," I admit, still marveling at how…easy moving my hand feels. I didn't realize how much effort the other one was until I got the new one. With my other hand, I touch my shoulder, marveling at the fact that there's no exposed wiring, no new ugly ripples of scar tissue. Even the skin tone matches close to my own.
Zakoar grunts. "Not much of a compliment there. Whoever gave you those parts should be in prison."