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“Alistair Turner,” Serihk confirmed, hissing the name out as though the loathing in his voice might poison the man himself. “Because it always comes back to the damn Turner men.”
Sazahk pressed his lips together. One simple thing he’d asked of his all-powerful brother and all the great Emissary Serihk did was fume and scoff. “I have had very pleasant experiences with both Oliver and Dominic Turner.”
Serihk ceased his pacing to give Sazahk a dry look. “You always have had an impeccable taste in companions.”
Sazahk’s aching weariness burned up into frustration at the slight to the cartel that had taken him in and he leapt from his stool. “If that’s everything, Serihk, then, as pleasant as it always is to see you and receive these wonderful reminders of my inferiority and constant capacity to disappoint, I need to eat food that does not come out of a tube, and I need to wash off this dirt that is likely mutating my genes as we speak.” He stormed toward the door, no longer caring about the klah’eel stationed on the other side of it. “I can’t provide you a report, and you can’t provide me Dominic Turner, so?—”
“I can provide you your implant.”
Sazahk’s feet stuck to the ground.
The words sank in slowly and as they did, Sazahk’s heart pounded in his chest.
He swallowed. “My implant?”
“Your implant,” Serihk said clearly.
Sazahk looked over his shoulder and met his brother’s eyes.
“And a pardon as well.” Serihk walked around a lab table to stand beside him. “You’ve held up your side of the bargain. You’ve aided your country in this crisis with the Insects. And we all know you’ll be an even greater asset once you’ve been made whole again.”
Whole again. To get a piece of his mind back. And a pardon. Vindication. Security. Freedom. Sazahk searched his brother’s face. “Where are the strings attached?”
“No strings.” Serihk shook his head. “Your implant. Re-inserted. Your criminal record wiped.”
“Access to the Archives?”
“Re-instated.”
Hope, cautious and frightened, flickered in Sazahk’s chest. He’d given up on ever getting that part of himself back a long time ago. He’d thought he’d live out the rest of his days crippled. He hadn’t accepted it, exactly, but he’d considered it the most likely outcome. Even when the Senate had approached him with the deal offering him his implant in exchange for returning to study the Insect threat, he hadn’t adjusted his prediction. He hadn’t dared.
Serihk’s cheeks darkened with pink and he lay a long hand on Sazahk’s forearm. “The procedure can be performed as soon as you arrive on Tazal Station.”
Sazahk jerked his arm away. “Why do I need to go to Tazal? The procedure can be performed here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sazahk. It can’t be performed here.” Serihk glanced around at the lab, and through his eyes, Sazahk saw the thin layer of yellow dust that settled on everything throughout the dry compound. “They’re cutting open your brainstem.”
Sazahk’s scar spasmed with pain and he barely resisted grabbing it. “On Qesha then. Our cities have the best hospitals in the sector. You can hardly argue that?—”
“Your implant is already on Tazal. There’s no point in wasting time flying you and it to a hospital on the other side of the planet when we can simply fly you to it.” But then Serihk hesitated, a mere moment, a single twitch of his eyebrow to give him away, and Sazahk jumped on it.
“And something else.” Sazahk clenched his fists as he studied his brother’s face. He’d pushed his colors away like he always did when he was hiding something, or trying to be in control. “You want me on Tazal, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sazahk, fine. And also I want you on Tazal.” Serihk’s jaw ticked. “That is where the negotiations are taking place and I need you on hand to brief the politicians on why they need to allow the Insects to settle, why here, and why now.”
Sazahk shook his head as he stepped back. “I don’t want?—”
“By the goddess, Sazahk.” Serihk ground his thumb and forefingers into his temples again. “You wanted your implant, I’ve gotten it for you. You wanted to study the Dead Zone and the Insects, and I’ve gotten that for you. Can you please just show up and do your part?”
Sazahk’s hands shook, and he tangled his fingers behind his back before Serihk saw them. He didn’t want to be on Tazal Station, stuck on an inescapable floating war machine stuffed full of people who saw him as a monster that needed to be controlled while they held him down and cut him open again. “I?—”
Serihk dropped his hand from his face. “I’ll arrange for your Klah’Eel squad to go up with you. Will that help?”
Sazahk pictured Patrick and Fal’ran striding ahead of him, Bar’in at his side, and Tar at his back, and his fingers stopped shaking. He nodded.
“Good.” Serihk’s posture loosened, and he dipped his chin. “I’ll have a transport ship sent for you tomorrow morning.”
The weight of exhaustion crashed onto Sazahk’s shoulders. He’d barely returned. He’d walked through the gates less than an hour ago, and he’d be departing again in half a day?
