He watched my piece shake out of control. He measured his chances, gears cranking behind his eyes. Don’t even think about it. I marched the last few steps, leaned over and slowly edged the wavering weapon toward his face, planting the barrel on his left eye.
He made himself small, trying to shrink deeper into the bin. I added some pressure, driving the barrel deep into his eye socket. “Who the fuck are you?”
He slunk further down into the bin, his face cringing with fear.
I smelled glue. I thought there might be an open tube on one of the workspaces nearby, but then I saw the tube poking from his shirt pocket. The tube’s cap sat crooked atop a sticky mess of spillover. Bastard was a huffer.
I gave his eye a jab. “Start talking.”
Somebody appeared at the door. I glanced up: Maria. What was she doing here?
My forearm exploded in pain. My piece fell harmlessly from my fingers. From under the loose scraps, his hand had grabbed hold of me, but it wasn’t a hand. Metal teeth dug deep, down to the bone. Blood flowed. Flesh ripped. Nerves screamed.
I howled in pain, tried to pull free.
His face shifted. Skin turned charcoal gray. Ears recessed. Hair disappeared. A forked tongue tickled my nose.
I was in a full panic. I jerked and yanked but couldn’t break free. Blood sprayed, and muscle stripped off the bone. My free hand dug at his face, fingernails sliding over beaded skin.
The sizzle of a lase-blade passed by my ear and tore through the side of the bin. Maria took another swipe at him but the bin tipped before she could land the blade. I fell and hit the floor, my mangled arm popping loose.
Half buried by scraps of bloodstained fabric, I rolled onto my back, my ruined arm quivering with waves of unbelievable pain.
He ran for the far door, Maria in pursuit.
A puddle of blood spread from my arm, warm liquid soaking into my shirt. I felt sleepy. So sleepy.
“You awake?”
I grunted.
“The doctor will be back soon.”
My eyes were open but I couldn’t see, my vision blurred and clouded. I blinked, and blinked again, but couldn’t clear the haze.
“She’s going to fix you up,” said the voice.
I tried to speak but failed, my throat seizing.
“It’s okay, Juno. Really.”
Who was that? Where was I? I tried to sit up but couldn’t. Something was holding me down. I puzzled over what it was, but my cobwebbed concentration couldn’t figure it. I tried to sit up again and felt a band pressing into my chest.
Fear took hold. I pushed harder, my lungs constricting, my face flushing with effort. My arms, my legs… I couldn’t lift them. Straps dug into my skin.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I lost it, my blurred vision turning blood red. I jerked against the restraints. “Let me go,” I shouted, my voice suddenly working again. I thrashed about, straining to bust loose.
I felt hands on my shoulders, a soothing voice. “Relax, Juno. Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
I kicked and twisted, pushed and pulled. The strap across my chest made it hard to breathe. It didn’t take long for me to run out of air, and then out of steam.
I smelled something. Perfume. Lots of perfume. So much that it almost drowned out the smell of antiseptic.
My vision began to clear. I could see Maria’s face, her eyes. “Get me out of here,” I said between heavy breaths. “Get these straps off.”
“Listen, Juno, I brought you to a doctor. Your hand got fucked up, and she’s going to fix it.”
I looked around. Whitewashed walls and industrial lighting. Maria leaned over me, her cleavage in my face, hair brushing my cheek. “It’ll be okay. She’s a good doctor. I was telling you about her before. Remember? She’s going to do some work on my sister as soon as I have the money.”
My hand got fucked up? What was she talking about?
Memories came to me. Bad memories. The little girls. Wu’s butchered wife. Wu’s flying head.
Like an overflowing toilet, the foul memories kept bubbling up. The lizard-man. My arm. Muscle hanging off exposed bone.
Was that shit real?
I didn’t want to look, but I lifted my head off the pillow and let my eyes wander slowly down my right arm. Shoulder to bicep. Bicep to elbow. Elbow to forearm. Forearm to nothing.
I sucked in a breath. Oh hell. My hand was gone. Gone.
I implored Maria with my eyes. “Get me out of here.”
“It’ll be okay, Juno.”
“Untie me.”
“Don’t be scared. You’re safe here.”
“Let me go, dammit.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Fucking untie me!”
“Stop it. Just stop it for a minute, okay? Now tell me, does it hurt?”
I had to think about it. “No.”
“See? The doctor knows what she’s doing. She blocked your pain receptors.”
“Why am I tied down?”
“You’re a fitful sleeper. You needed a transfusion, and you kept pulling out the needle. As long as you stay hooked to that IV, she thought it best to keep you secured.”
“I’m awake now. Take off the straps.”
“Let’s call the doctor.” She jabbed at a button on the wall, pumping it several times. “Let’s see what she says.”
I looked at my arm. Bandages ran from the elbow down to where my forearm ended, about halfway to where my wrist should be. I bent my arm at the elbow. Bandages bunched and wrinkled. I bent it as far as the straps would let me and straightened it back out.
“I got you a good deal,” she said. “I know price probably doesn’t matter much to you since you’ll be hauling in plenty of protection money, but I still haggled her down good.”
Footsteps echoed from the hall, quick, efficient steps. The doctor walked in. “You only need to push the button once.”
“Yes, Doctor. Sorry.”
“What are you? A damn monkey?”
Maria’s eyes twitched at the verbal blow, but she stayed silent and lowered her gaze.
The doctor turned to me. She forced an offworlder’s smile, two rows of perfectly positioned ivory. Her black hair was shot with gray, and she sported glasses that gave her a bookish air.
She sat next to the bed, indifferent eyes giving me the once-over, her smile more like a sneer. “I’d shake your hand, but…”
Not funny. I didn’t try to hide the contempt on my face.
“No sense of humor? Don’t tell me you lost your funny bone in that hand.” The joke came laced with enough condescension to make it a put-down instead of a pick-me-up.
I wasn’t buying the bitch’s getup. Offworlders didn’t need glasses. They didn’t gray. And their skin didn’t wrinkle into crow’s-feet. This whole pseudo-schoolmarm look of hers was nothing but a bullshit attempt to make herself look doctorly.
She was a fake. Offworlders were all fakes, changing their looks on a whim, shifting and morphing. Chameleons.
“You cut my hand off without asking me. You’re a butcher.”
She brushed my complaint away with a swipe of her hand. “I’m going to attach an artificial hand for you. I picked out something special.”
“I want to see it.”
“And ruin the surprise? No. I don’t do work to order. I’m an artist. Don’t worry, when I’m finished with you, I guarantee you’ll be thankful.”
“She’s right,” said Maria. “She does amazing work.”
I was not a canvas. I had to get out of here now. “Untie me.”
She acquiesced with a nod and started unbuckling. “Do you know how lucky you are that Maria brought you to me instead of one of those filthy hospitals?”
Somebody appeared in the doorway, a teenaged boy with milky eyes on chocolate skin. “Would you like some tea, Doctor?”
The doctor’s head snapped around to look at him. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
He bowed his head and blinked his cataract eyes. “My apologies.” He walked away.
She turned back to me, her eyes rolling behind her glasses. “That boy has a lot to learn if he thinks he’s going to make it as my houseboy.”