Page 13 of Sky Song
“Unless you feel unwell, there’s no need to come more often.”
Another piece of wonderful news. “Thank you, doctor.”
He rose. “Thank your body for healing. And thank you for assisting with the aliens the other day.”
“No problem at all. I welcomed the distraction.”
He left the room, and Cricket stayed, waiting for the nurse to come give her the shot. She looked around his familiar office, thinking that she’d miss it a little when he released her from observation completely. How strange that she’d think that, when all she’d always wanted was freedom to live her life without a constant attachment to offices like this. It must be the happy ending that made her nostalgic.
Her gaze landed on a single personal photograph on Dr. Ragberg’s credenza. His wife Miriam smiled brightly into the camera, hugging their two little children with both arms.
Miriam was exceedingly beautiful. Cricket remembered how starstruck she’d been upon meeting her for the first time. Sick and wasting away back then, scraggly and wan and depressed about leaving Earth so suddenly and without mama, she’d looked at Miriam Ragberg and pretended that she could absorb some of her wholesome glow into her struggling body.
She still admired Miriam Ragberg’s goddess-like beauty even though she now knew that her appearance, like Yanet’s, was the result of her parents’ conscious and very expensive investment into genetic tweaking.
Generally speaking, most aspects of life on Meeus were perfect because they were forced to be so for the benefit and enjoyment of the people.
The door opened and Yanet waltzed in, a loaded syringe at the ready. “Hmm-hmm. Look who’s getting her weekly high.”
“It’s monthly now, I am happy to report.”
“Oh, really? That’s great!” Yanet produced a small band aid as Cricket pulled up her sleeve all the way to the shoulder. “Himself looked pleased as a cat, and now I know why. He really likes how far along you’ve come.” She jabbed Cricket none-too-gently.
“I’m sure he’ll be relieved to get back to his other patients,” Cricket remarked, swallowing anouch.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Yanet chatted on. “Been staying here late every night, and,” she leaned closer as she lowered her voice, “the missus isn’t too happy about that. I heard him on the phone with her - by accident - arguing about missing some family gathering again. Trouble in paradise.” She straightened up. “Those alienvisitantesended up being more work than anybody anticipated.”
Cricket hadn't been invited to interact with the alien group since they had taken that trip around Shadush and visited the Hall of Knowledge. She was glad, because the experience left her unsettled. The whole alien group was so ridiculously mismatched, so colorful and unpredictable and stimulating. And she found Lyle’s easy-going camaraderie as quietly potent as the drugs Dr. Ragberg used on her poor lungs, whose insidious strength crept into her body, drop by tiny drop.
But what of it? Nothing. She had her life here, in the peaceful confines of the well-organized Meeus, and the aliens had theirs, far-far away. Lyle, too. Not to forget, he wasn’t human, and she’d seen how poorly those kinds of relationships worked out on Earth.
Mind your business and think about mama, she silently repeated her mantra for the umpteenth time.
“I hope the symposium has been productive,” she said to Yanet to keep up the conversation. “Aren’t they leaving soon?”
“Gosh, yes, tomorrow. Tonight’s the farewell dinner. I’m not going, of course, but I wouldn’t even if they invited me. Some of the stuff they eat is revolting.” Yanet shuddered.
Tomorrow, Cricket rolled the word around in her mind as she left Dr. Ragberg’s office and went to the lab. Well, it would be best if she never saw them again. She owned up to reacting wishfully to their rambunctious otherness, and she couldn't afford to become disconcerted, to pine for something more than she had. She had gotten her most fervent wish of good health, and asking fate for anything else would be a blasphemy.
The elevator took her down to the bowels of the hospital. Quickly donning her protective garb, Cricket went right to work under the uninspiring conversation between her co-workers. Today, it revolved around Terrance’s temporary loss of his driving privileges.
“New gen riders just dropped,” he said forlornly. “Spiffy sloped rear and legit racing chops. An improved levitation, too.”
“You licensed to fly them?” Salty asked, incredulous.
“Not in the city, Salty.”
“Thank God.”
Terrance took offense. “Why are you saying that?”
“Because.”
“No, seriously. What’s wrong with me being able to fly riders?”
“Only what’s wrong with you driving them on the ground,” Salty parried.
“Oh, that’s why, because of my one accident.”
