Burn the Sun by A.I. Martin

Author:A.I. Martin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A Martin Books

PART SEVEN

THE CHOICE

I PACE THE SMALL LAB; the only sound is the sloshing of water as Isha rinses a small cloth. She presses it to Helia’s forehead, and crackles of electricity dance along the fabric.

“We should vote,” Detra says.

“There isn’t a choice.” Roger’s tone is harsh.

“There’s always a choice,” I correct him, and his hate for me tangles deeper into his tense shoulders.

“You’d let her die?” he spits.

“You remember my life is tied to her, right?” I pause my pacing to stare him down, trying to get a handle on the erratic energy he’s throwing around.

“Boys,” Lennie says sternly, limping over to Helia’s bed and inspecting the damage for the thousandth time. “The truth is, if we wait too long, we’ll lose too much.”

“We meet up with the Circuit ship in a few days. They can help her. She needs to hold on a bit longer.” I’m stalling, but not for the reason they think I am. I’m not against the amputation, not even a little bit. I am against Rakor using me, hanging Helia’s life above my head as a means of manipulation.

Roger lunges forward, and I tense every muscle trying to keep his feeling from tangling with my own.

“She’s dying!” He gestures to her as if he’s shocked we can’t see it. “I don’t want to make this choice for her any more than you do—”

“You love making choices for her.” I can’t help the words from slipping out, and Isha turns a hard stare at me.

“Dex!” she hushes me, and I’m pissed I let him get to me. Roger ignores me, and his all-consuming energy eases a bit. He must be trying to pull it in.

“If we wait for the Circuit, the infection could destroy the joint. We can maintain maximum limb use if we can preserve her elbow.” Lennie rolls her arm, the blackened flesh crystalizing halfway up her forearm. “If she loses the joint use, her recovery and relearning time will be lengthened. Her brain and her prosthetic will take longer to communicate.”

“That is if the fever doesn’t kill her.” Roger mumbles, and my control snaps. I’ll do anything to crush him, to destroy him, to make him shut the fuck up. I spring forward, startling everyone with the sudden movement. I yank at the surgical tray still in the corner of the room, grabbing a small silver case. A portable sterilizer. I flip it open and shove it into Roger’s chest.

“Then go for it if it’s so simple. All you gotta do is cut, right?” I snarl, low like a dare.

Roger stares at the scalpel and then at Helia. Finally, he settles on me, everything changing about his demeanor. I shake the case, the long silver blade glinting under the harsh light.

“You don’t have to worry about nerves or muscle or how to snap a bone. Or hey, how about how much bone to leave? How is the prosthetic going to be made? Or would you rather a hatchet?” I get angrier with every word refusing to acknowledge my own fear.

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