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I look down at Jerrok in his tube, the stump of his shoulder bandaged. He ripped off his own arm to protect me, and it's a sight I'll never get out of my head as long as I live. Now he has to pay for it, though, because no one knows how to reattach a prosthetic arm and get it working again. Even the med-bay computers, advanced as they are, won't help.
"Jerrok has to go to Three Nebulas," I tell Zoey. "We can't go back to his station yet."
"3N? Why?"
I give her a calm look. "Because we're going to take his credits and get him a new arm."83SOPHIEHeading to Three Nebulas Station is a little intimidating. I'm going as myself, not hiding under my ooli mask. Instead, I'm going as Jerrok's pet, and Tarekh and Alyvos both are accompanying us as we visit Zakoar of the Broken Back.
Jerrok protests the thought of us going out of our way just for his arm, but I am utterly adamant and insist upon it. We're helping the others, they can help us. That's how these things work. And late at night, when we're in bed together, I catch Jerrok touching the stump at his shoulder. I know what this means to him, and I intend on seeing it through. He won't insist for himself, so I'll insist for him.
This time, when we head through the station, it's different than the one we visited near Jerrok's home. Sleipnir absolutely will not leave my side these days. If we try to close him into a room by himself, he gets utterly destructive and wild, so it's better to just have him with me at all times. That means he sleeps with one paw on my hip, and even now on the station, he's at my side, wearing the world's smallest collar and hissing at everyone that walks too close.
We have a lot of room to walk around on 3N. No one wants to get too close.
Really, that's fine with me. I know parading Sleipnir around feels like asking for trouble, but he's so protective of me that we can't leave him behind and I like having him with me. Plus, we're all armed to the teeth for this visit. I've got a blaster of my own at my belt and two knives tucked into my boots. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
Even so, I'm a little on edge. Not because I'm afraid for my own safety, but because I'm worried Jerrok's hopes are going to be up and we won't be able to get him the help he needs. I glance over at him. He's got a pack slung crosswise over his body, and his old prosthetic is in it. His empty sleeve is pinned up, and though he hasn't said anything, I sense he feels awkward without his arm. He's been quiet and pensive lately, and it's been days and days since we've had sex, thanks to Sleipnir's clinginess. It's stressful, but I'm with Jerrok through good and bad. If this Zakoar guy can't help him, we'll figure something else out. I'm not giving up on Jerrok. Not now, not ever.
I want to hold his hand, but I know I can't. He's got it resting at his belt, just in case he has to pull a blaster out, so I just move a little closer to him to let him know I'm here. He glances over at me and smiles, and I feel his tail tuck into my belt, as if he's going to hold me close no matter what. I'll take it.
The crowds of Three Nebulas watch us with interest, several murmuring at the carinoux as we walk past. I see faces of all kinds here, aliens of all shapes and sizes wander past, and there's a chatter of voices in a hundred dialects. Somewhere in the distance there's reedy music playing, and as I pass by a cantina, a naked human woman dances and gyrates in a window, a slim golden chain attached to one ankle. I pause to look at her face, wondering if she's someone I knew, but Alyvos takes my arm and steers me back toward our group. "You can't save them all, Sophie."
I know that. It's one of the hardest lessons I've learned out here in space. Still, my heart goes out to the woman in the window, and I hope her master is kind to her.
"This way," Tarekh says, glaring at a cloaked merchant that wanders too close.
Jerrok puts an arm around my waist and pulls me against him, and I wonder if it's for my benefit or his. I hold onto his belt as we duck into a shop with a scrawl of alien language written across the door and no other decoration. Inside, it's dark and crowded, machinery parts hanging from every conceivable surface and from the ceiling like the world's ugliest wind chimes. They clank and rattle against each other as the men duck inside, and Alyvos heads to the counter, banging a fist on it.
