Zero's Heart - Mina Carter Page 0,2

of them had involved being in a doctor’s office having a conversation like this. But she also hadn’t thought her military career would be over and she’d be forced to work for a second-rate outfit like Tarantus Station.

“We knew it was a long shot.” She squashed the bitter disappointment and wondered if the doctor would offer any alternatives. Without an end to her condition in sight, she couldn’t afford to pay for his services long. Not without financial help from her… yeah, she wasn’t going there. So not going there.

She didn’t glance down at her leg or the supporting brace hidden beneath her clothing. She supposed she should be grateful that exo-supports were easy to hide. None of her staff knew about her little… issue. That was the way she wanted to keep it. She didn’t want whispers behind her back or the pity when they looked at her. Which was the main reason she’d told none of them about her military service.

At least the support was nothing like the archaic scaffolding of yesteryear. It ached liked a bitch, but she ignored it. She lived with pain every day. It wasn’t getting any more attention just because of a little bad news.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Archer, but it’s a little more complicated than that.” The doctor, a small, neat little man with a dapper dress sense, regarded her steadily over the rim of his glasses. Such eyewear was unusual. Most people opted for nano-surgery to correct visual problems. Perhaps he had a condition that meant it wouldn’t work?

She dragged her attention back to his words. Words she really didn’t want to register because then she would have to…

“What do you mean it’s a little more complicated?”

There, the words were out. The ones she hadn’t wanted to voice.

The doctor’s expression shifted subtly, and her heart sank. She recognized that expression. It was the standard “soften the bad news” expression common to doctors the galaxy over. Crap.

“I’m afraid the results of your last round of tests were somewhat concerning,” he said gently. “The neuro-implant sites are beginning to deteriorate.”

She sucked a breath in, forcing herself to remain calm. They’d told her during her initial surgery the implants would last forever. They’d lied. The devices merged to her nervous system had never been produced with longevity in mind. The manufacturers had cut corners, counting on the soldiers being dead long before the implants gave out.

“Okay,” she nodded, not looking forward to another round of surgeries and mentally totting up what she had saved and how long she could afford to be in recovery. Good medical care was expensive, and she needed the best. “How long do I have? I’ll have to arrange some time off for the replacement.”

“I’m sorry to say it’s a little more serious than that, Ms. Archer,” the doctor said, his expression grave and sympathetic. “Your implant sites have already deteriorated beyond the scope of reconstructive surgery.”

She froze.

“I’m afraid once your implants fail, that will be it. You will lose the use of the limb.”

Eris didn’t catch the rest of the conversation as she left the doctor’s office. Oh, she knew he had apologized profusely and that she’d tried to ease his concerns…. Yes, she’d always known it was a long shot… the damage was too old… she was aware there was counseling available... He’d tried to soothe her, saying at least she wasn’t active service anymore because one more trip in a suit would finally paralyze her… but she hadn’t been mentally present for any of it. Her only goal was getting the hell out of there before she could break down and scream.

Finally, she was free and clear, ducking down a side corridor. Once she was alone, away from the hustle and bustle of the station corridors, she leaned against the metal wall, closing her eyes. A single tear sneaked past her clamped eyelids. She breathed deeply, forcing the frustration and panic down.

She could do this. She had to. She’d known this day would come. Ever since the first of them had developed problems in the field with their armored suits, they’d all known this day would come. The day when their implants finally stopped, and they were nothing more than cripples.

She turned, her back against the metal, and leaned her head against the wall. She’d trained so long and hard to get into the Armored Infantry. To be one of the chosen few to operate a Scorperio portable tank suit in the field. Ironic really, that something designed