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And that was where Penny was expecting me to take her—my own private version of hell. I took a slow, steadying breath, then said, “Is that where you live?”
“Nuri does. I live in Central.”
So what in hell were she and the ranger doing in the park, at night? It made no sense. “Did Jonas say what he was poisoned with? Or how?”
“He was scratched.”
Poison had often been administered that way during the war, but I wouldn’t have thought it to be practical these days. Not when the mediscan beds could detect—and treat—all known ailments and poisons. “By whom?”
“The man.”
Suspecting I’d only get a repeat of her previous answer if I asked the next logical question, I simply said, “Let’s see what the machine says before we start worrying.”
“He’ll die,” she said, in that same solemn little tone. “You promised you’d look after him.”
“I am, trust me.”
She didn’t say anything, but it was evident she didn’t exactly trust me, either. But I guess that was to be expected, given everything she’d obviously gone through.
Nothing in the results suggested the ranger had been poisoned, so either Penny was misinformed or whatever had been used on Jonas had been created after the war and therefore was not in the system’s databanks. I set the machine to HEAL. Mechanical arms reached down from the ceiling, carefully realigning the ranger’s arm before the lasers kicked in to set it.
I turned to fully face Penny. “Why don’t we go get something to eat while Jonas is patched up?”
Her nose screwed up. “I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I am.” I gently touched a hand to her back and pushed her reluctant figure toward the door. Despite her cherub face, her skin was cool and her body skeletal. She might not want food right now, but she desperately needed it. I guided her down the hall and into the small dispensing kitchen that had once served as a break area for the staff on this level. There was only one machine working these days, and the coffee it produced was pretty vile, but it was still better than nothing. I hit the button for a strong black, then glanced down at her. “I know you’re really not hungry, but surely you could manage a small protein meal?”
She shook her head, studying me solemnly, the steadiness of her gaze oddly disturbing.
“What about something to drink? A soda? Milk?”
“You have milk? Real milk?” Her voice was surprised more than interested.
I smiled wryly. “No, not real. It’s powder-based but drinkable.”
Her nose screwed up again, and I can’t honestly say I blamed her. The powdered stuff was little more than a chemical stew, and it certainly tasted like it. But real milk was rarer than gold, and it definitely wasn’t in the price range of the average Joe in Central—even if he had a decent job and wage. And it was damnably hard to steal something that wasn’t available in the sort of establishments I could risk theft in.
I silently handed her some water, then heated a protein meal for myself, collected my coffee, and walked across to one of the small, padded benches lining the far wall. She didn’t follow, just watched me, the cup in one hand and the torn fingers on the other clenching and unclenching.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Penny,” I said softly.
“I know.”
I studied her for a moment, wondering if her unnatural calmness was merely shock or something more serious. “Why don’t you tell me how your parents died?”
“I told you, they were attacked—”
“By the man who lied to you,” I finished for her. “Do you know his name?”
She shook her head, then raised the cup and took a sip. A shudder ran through her thin frame. “That’s awful.”
“It’s recycled and does taste a little tart, but it won’t kill you.”
“I can’t drink it.” She placed the cup on the floor beside her feet, then clasped her hands in front of her stomach. “I really need to see if Jonas is okay.”
“That screen up there”—I pointed to the light screen flickering above the main door—“will let us know when the healing cycle has finished. Tell me how you know Jonas.”
“He’s my uncle.”
