Dr. Zhao seed to have expected this to happen. She settled into the chair across from Neville. Her weathered hands moved efficiently as she pulled out her diagnostic tools, the soft hum of her portable scanner filling the tense silence.
Neville sat rigidly on the sofa, hyper-aware of every pair of eyes looking at him.
"Co closer," Dr. Zhao said with a firm tone.
Neville tilted his face toward her, trying not to flinch as her gentle fingers probed his bruises. The touch was feather-light, yet each point of contact sent a sharp. He caught himself holding his breath and forced his lungs to cooperate.
Dr. Zhao humd as her scanner passed over his injuries. She recorded data that appeared in her light brain in streams of information. She noted things down with quick, efficient taps.
"You’re lucky," she said, her tone suggesting that luck had very little to do with it and more to do with Neville’s own fast self-regenerative ability of making it look like it wasn’t too grave. "Nothing broken, no concussion so far."
The "so far" hung in the air like a threat.
Neville wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but his split lip vetoed that idea. Instead, he managed a weak, "That’s good to hear."
Dr. Zhao gave him a look that suggested she could see right through his attempt to act nonchalant. She reached into her dical kit and pulled out a small mory chip. The thing was barely larger than his thumbnail.
"I already programd this," she said, pressing it hard into his palm. "Insert it into your ho care system. It will automatically remind you and the robots in your house according to your prescription during this ti."
Neville stared at the chip.
He knew that this interstellar era was really magical and super high-tech. But as an earthling, the idea of his apartnt’s basic cleaning bot suddenly becoming a dical attendant was both reassuring and vaguely horrifying. The image of the poor thing trying to shove dication down his throat at three in the morning was hard to erase from his creative mory.
Before he could respond, Dr. Zhao caught his hand and squeezed—not hard, but with unmistakable intent. Her eyes locked onto his intently.
"It will monitor you closely for twenty-four hours, so you shouldn’t be alard when a robot cos close to you all of a sudden," she said. "They’re programd for gentle care, not assassination, despite what so of my patients seem to think."
The last part was said with a pointed glance toward Bryan, who had a sheepish expression on his face. Dr. Zhao released Neville’s hand but kept her attention on him as she looked at her light brain.
"The facial bruising will heal in about a week," she said. "The split lip heals in less than three to four days. The scrapes on your knuckles might scar if you’re not careful."
Neville glanced down at his hands. His knuckles were indeed scraped raw. The skin was angry and red, with small spots of blood crusted at the edges. He hadn’t even noticed them until now, too focused on his face and the persistent ache in his ribs.
Dr. Zhao’s gaze changed, looking at him. She seed to be weighing sothing.
In the end, she glanced at Grayson before turning back to Neville. "If you really want to get better right away, you can just visit the hospital and have a twenty-four-hour dical pod treatnt."
When she ntioned ’dical pod’ with ’hospital’, Neville instantly felt trapped. After all, he really couldn’t afford to go to the hospital or risk going.
"We will cover the cost," Grayson said, his deep voice cutting through Neville’s thoughts.
"No!" Neville exclaid more forcefully than he had intended.
The offer was generous. dical pod treatnts weren’t cheap, even with corporate insurance. The technology could accelerate healing by a factor of ten, essentially letting soone sleep off injuries that would normally take weeks to nd. It was the kind of thing wealthy people did after plastic surgery or extre sports injuries, or military personnel.
But his reaction made everyone in the room turn to look at him. Grayson himself had gone still, his eyes fixed on Neville in askance.
Neville realized, belatedly, that his reaction had been far too strong. He scrambled to make an excuse, forcing his voice to sound normal. "I an, I don’t want to go."
That didn’t really help. If anything, everyone beca even more curious.
Neville couldn’t help but explain himself. "I am a little traumatized by hospitals."
It wasn’t entirely a lie. The original owner’s death provided plenty of justification.
Bryan seed to have made a reason for himself and nodded with unexpected sympathy. "Yeah, unless it’s really necessary, I also don’t want to go to the hospital."
Sarah, who had been surprisingly quiet throughout the examination, finally spoke. "But it’s still better to get cured as soon as possible."
Her tone was reasonable and practical, but Neville couldn’t really do that.
Bryan shrugged and said, "Just kill then. I’m on Hope’s side in this."
Neville shot Bryan a grateful look, which Bryan returned with a subtle nod. Then he turned his attention back to Dr. Zhao, letting his eyes do the communication.
Please, please don’t make do this. His gaze pleaded just enough to be effective without looking too pathetic.
Dr. Zhao held his stare for a long mont, then she sighed and nodded.
"Just don’t forget to insert that chip," she said, her finger pointing toward the mory chip still clutched in Neville’s hand. "Everyone always forgets."
"I won’t forget," Neville promised, curling his fingers around the chip protectively.
"I’ll just send him back myself and insert it," Liam offered, pushing off from the wall with a smile that was probably ant to be helpful but ca across as a playful threat. "Make sure it’s done properly."
Neville’s eyes darted to Grayson without aning to. He just felt the need to check Grayson’s expression at that mont. Sure enough, for a split second, Grayson’s lips pressed into a thin line, the corners turning slightly down into a frown filled with displeasure.
But Neville was also annoyed.
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