Heir of G.O'D. Revelations by Harper Maze

Author:Harper Maze [Maze, Harper]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Dystopian Sci-Fi
Publisher: Harper Maze
Published: 2020-06-11T16:00:00+00:00

-18-

Now that the moment’s here, I’m not sure how I feel. Beyond the door is someone who can perform a realworld miracle and allow me to see. But what if the engineer can’t do it? Or, as Denver says, he works for Sol-Corp or another corporation. What if this is all a ruse by some snert looking to cash me in?

I brace myself, my hands searching for the locket that I don’t actually wear realworld, and follow the others inside. The trace of antiseptic I detected earlier is so thick inside the room that it makes me sneeze. The clomp of our boots on the floor changes as we step from concrete to tiles.

“Keep back!”

I stop immediately and duck down, my arms wrapped around my head. Mika’s large hand slips under my arm and lifts me up. “It’s okay, Ana. He’s set up a mobile clinic in the room, all sterilised and shiny. Only, Omar was going to walk in there with his dirty boots. I reckon the medic was about to have fracking kittens.”

“Better. Be careful, cleanliness is essential young man. Is that the patient?” By his accent, I’m guessing Celal is from the eastern Med area, Turkey or perhaps Syria.

“Yeah,” Denver replies before I can speak.

“Good. Bring her closer, put her on this sheet and have her put this on.”

“I can hear you,” I say, somewhat disgruntled by his attitude. I’m blind, not helpless. I allow Mika to guide me forward until we’re walking on some sort of crinkly plastic that covers the floor. Mika steers me to a chair.

Someone with gnarled fingers lightly grasps my wrist and scans the ID implant chip until it bleeps. “G@n@le0, correct?” I nod, still disgruntled by the engineer’s attitude. “Change your boots to these covers and wear this gown.”

“Please,” I mumble. After three attempts I can’t unfasten the laces, partly Denver’s fault for tying them too tight, but mostly because my hands won’t stop shaking. “Fracking knots. Denver can you help, please?” More shuffling, and then Denver’s familiar touch as he raises my foot against his thigh. “What’s it like?”

“The tent? It’s a mobile medic tent, transparent sides, with a medical chair inside and a trolley full of fragile-looking tools. There’s an assistant too.”

I’m still quivering, but Denver’s touch is reassuring. “Can you come in with me?”

“It is not possible,” Celal says in a clipped tone, like a small yapping dog. “The room must remain sterile.”

“Denver, why don’t you lose the gun and put one of those suits on,” Musa says. “Will that do, Celal?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Good. Come, Ana. You need to wear one too.”

Whatever it is that Denver’s wearing crinkles with every movement. It reeks of chemicals, a bit like my container toilet, but sharper and more caustic. I ease my feet into the legs of the suit and pull the plastic onesie over my clothing. Denver finishes dressing himself, tucks my hair inside the suit and settles the hood over my head. Sometimes he can be so caring and tender (but mostly he’s a grade-A-grouch).

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