Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,39
moving the arm – encased in blue, now, buzzing. Sweat gleamed on his face, and Tris’s hand spasmed on his shoulder.
“Francis?” he asked, low, rough, so worried. It would have been sweet at another time. Now, it only told Rose that if something went wrong, they’d have a fight right here in the med bay.
She didn’t – nor did she seem to hear. The glow got brighter – too bright to look at it, and Gallo’s new arm seemed to change. It blurred, and shifted –
And then Rose had to close her eyes against a sudden, bright flare of light. A hard pulse of energy pushed out through the room – like the night Beck went to hell; some breach in the mortal plane that rippled out like a blast wave; shoved her back into the wall – no, into someone. Someone tall, and hard, and strong. Lance, she knew, without looking. She recognized his arms, heavy and sturdy with muscle, as they went around her waist and held her upright.
The light faded, as fast as it had appeared.
Rose opened her eyes, the edges of her vision dancing with sparks, and found everyone else in the room regaining their balance in the wake of the energy pulse.
Morgan stood with her hands clasped together, looking serenely at her patient.
Tris gripped Gallo’s good arm with both hands, one at the elbow, one at the shoulder, fingers knotted in the fabric. He looked ready to drag him down off the bed and cover his body with his own, a human shield.
But there was no need.
Gallo held his prosthetic up in front of his face; gazed at it with open-mouthed wonder. The panels were closed – no, there were no panels, now, just smooth, now-shiny black metal, articulated at the wrist, and down the length of each finger. He closed his hand into a fist, and the response was immediate, and smooth. No whirring servos, no click of artificial joints working against one another. He opened his hand again, rolled his wrist, gave a thumbs up, and then shot the bird, and then laughed, delighted. The limb moved just as a human one would.
Rose stepped forward, and Lance’s arms fell away. “Can I?” she asked Gallo, making an aborted reach.
In answer, he took her hand in his. The metal was smooth – impossibly smooth, and warm as human skin.
“Oh, wow,” she murmured, drawing another laugh from him.
He ran his thumb across her knuckles, and said, “I can actually feel the texture of your skin.”
“Here.” Dr. Hodgkin pushed his way in and took Gallo’s forearm into a careful grip. “Is there any pain?”
“No.” Gallo’s smile was of the uncontainable sort. “There was a kind of sting, at first. Like when you electrocute yourself.”
Gavin snorted. “Oh, well, as long as it was only that.”
Hodgkin probed the prosthetic. “It’s warm.” He sounded more than a little awed himself.
“I strengthened the internal connections,” Morgan said, voice quavering with fatigue. She was gray-faced, now, Rose saw, swaying slightly. When she blinked, her eyelids were slow to reopen. “There aren’t wires any longer; the limb will react just as a real one. It’s warm. He can feel sensation as normal. It will be as strong as the other – perhaps stronger. There will be no need for maintenance.”
Hodgkin’s fingertips traced smooth metal, searching for panel openings no longer there.
“Morgan,” Gallo said, still smiling, his tone profoundly grateful. “Thank you. You have no idea.”
Morgan nodded, and her too-pale face twitched like she might have attempted a smile.
Rose put hands on her shoulders. “Here, let’s get you back to your room so you can lie down.”
“Thank you.”
“What about all this?” The guard holding the restraints thrust them toward Rose, the chains clinking together.
“She’s not allowed to roam the halls without security measures,” Captain Bedlam said, sternly.
“She can barely stand up,” Rose said, and urged her toward the door. “What can she do?”
“I’ll go with them,” Lance said. He jerked a nod toward the three terrified guards. “Go back to your regular posts. I can handle this.”
Bedlam sighed, but didn’t argue further.
A path cleared to the door, and Rose managed to get Morgan out into the hall and headed in the right direction without any more obstacles. She was keenly aware of Lance’s quiet, steady tread behind them.
“The process was more complicated than I anticipated,” Morgan said as they walked. “Healing is not my specialty.” She tripped, and Rose