Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“This way is my private apartment and Beelie,” she said.
“Beelie?” Torin asked but then shook his head when she started to explain. “Never mind—the aid kit?”
“This way,” she said again.
Through the second door, Torin found himself in a snug little private apartment. There was carpet on the floor and holo-wall synths so you could make them look like windows. Right now they were set to appear as though you were staring out the window of a space ship, cruising through a nebula. The furnishings were plush, if somewhat faded and outdated, and glow globes clustered around the ceiling, shedding golden light over everything.
But what really caught Torin’s attention wasn’t the furnishings or even the holo-synths. Sitting right in the middle of the living area was a perfectly enormous automaton—an early kind of robotic life form which had a crude kind of sentience. Some even said they had emotions though extremely limited ones.
“This is Beelie,” the girl said, nodding at the automaton. It was gold-plated and had a tiny round head with glowing blue eyes atop an enormous round midsection that looked like a huge golden ball. Three smaller balls were set in the base of the larger one, allowing it to move in all directions by rolling.
Torin estimated that this kind of robotic life form hadn’t been made anywhere for the past seventy cycles at least, but he had more urgent matters on his mind.
“The kit?” he said, reminding the girl.
“Yes, of course. Beelie,” she said, turning to the automaton, “Go get the medical aid kit and bring it to the main guest bed chamber. Come on,” she added to Torin. “This way!”
She led him out of the living area and down another long hallway with openings for several rooms. Finally she showed him into a chamber with a massive bed. It looked big enough to hold three or four people, but there was no one else here besides the girl and the automaton—at least not that Torin had seen.
“You can lay her down there,” the girl said. “I’ll go get some hot water and towels.”
She ran lightly out of the bed chamber while Torin laid the limp form of his partner carefully down across the enormous bed. Sky stirred slightly and he felt a rush of hope.
“It’s okay, Darlin’—everything is going to be okay,” he muttered—trying to reassure himself as much as her while he ran his hands over her body, searching for the wound.
He found it when he came to her right inner thigh—the black mesh suit had been slashed and her entire leg was sticky with blood.
“Gods!” Torin groaned when he saw the long, deep gash in the flesh of her thigh. It was still sluggishly oozing blood and he was afraid maybe an artery had been nicked.
“I’m back!” The voice behind him made him turn his head to see the girl holding a stack of worn but clean towels and a bowl of steaming water.
“Good—dip a towel in water and hand it to me,” Torin ordered.
The girl put the stack of towels and the basin down on a nearby dresser.
“Do you have any medical experience?” she asked him.
“What? No—that is, nothing but some combat training,” Torin admitted. He wished he had the natural ability some Kindred males had to heal their mate’s wounds, but he didn’t.
“Then you’d better let me.”
Gently, the little female pushed him aside and began washing away the blood. Sky shifted slightly and moaned quietly as she did this, but still didn’t wake up.
“She’s lost a lot of blood—her boot is full of it,” the girl remarked. “I can seal up the gash, but I’m afraid I don’t have any blood sub for a transfusion.”
Torin had questions—how did she know what she was doing and who was she? Mistress Hottalot hadn’t said anything about the rightful ruler of the Sacred Seven having medical training—but he was too worried about Sky’lar to ask at the moment.
At that point, the enormous automaton came rolling into the room, its rounded golden sides scraping slightly against the doorframe.
“The aid kit you requested, Mistress Mirabella,” a soft, urbane voice issued from it, sounding faintly hollow. An arm extended from one side of the golden ball with a small case gripped in one claw.
“Thank you, Beelie,” the girl said and took the kit from him. “Put pressure on her leg while I get the wound glue ready,” she told Torin, who did as she asked.
She had the kit open and was preparing a glue-wand in a moment.
“Can you seal everything with that?” Torin asked anxiously. “I was afraid she might have a nicked artery—there’s so much blood!”
“Don’t worry—I know the rest of this place is antique, but my kit is top of the line,” the little female promised him. “I can seal everything with this—even the artery. It doesn’t just ‘glue’ things together, you know—it actually encourages the correct structures to stick together on a molecular level. So the ends of the artery will knit themselves together without sticking to something else they shouldn’t stick to.”