Chapter Fifty-Three

Seven felt the light above her face before she saw it. Her fur tingled with its warmth, and the air passing through her lips tasted of blood and alcohol. Aches and strains stiffened her arms, and her chest felt tight and itchy.

Her eyelids reluctantly parted, and the light burned her eyes. After she blinked out the tears and turned her head, she saw a heart-rate monitor and a table. Scalpels, needles, and forceps glittered in the harsh LED light, and empty blood bags were pressed into a neat stack on the other side.

Seven's eyes widened as she whipped her head around. She couldn't see the head and shoulders of the doctor stooped over the other operating table, but she could see Admin Colson's face, eyes closed and the skin on his forehead peeled back to reveal a metal casing. The doctor reached inside with a delicate pair of pliers and a blunted needle. Their hands moved with careful grace, never making an errant twitch as the implements went halfway into Colson's skull. After ten minutes, the doctor extricated their tools, wiped sweat off their brow, and turned towards Seven.

Though Celeste wore layers of hairnets, safety goggles, and a surgical mask, Seven recognized her sharp blue eyes. Celeste smiled, but through the fabric of the mask, it was a pink smear.

"Good, you're awake. Do you remember what happened?"

Seven furrowed her brow. Everything after getting slashed was hazy, but she still remembered the offer N had made her. Recalling her wounds, she craned her head as far forward as she could manage. The fur on her chest was shaved off, and the exposed, pale flesh was criss-crossed with black stitches.

"Most of it. What happened?"

"Fisher picked up Colson's emergency beacon," Celeste said. "You're both lucky it survived the EMP. When Fisher saw your wounds, he sent scouts inside, and none of them made it out alive." She grimaced. "The mission was called off, but it hardly matters after the casualties the WK took."

Seven rose from the table. Her legs trembled beneath her, but she walked over to Admin Colson's bed with the help of a rolling IV stand. His chest was peeled back, revealing a metal interior full of motherboards, coolant systems, wires, and tiny machines.

"What happened to him?" she asked.

Celeste glanced at her and set her tools on a table. "The EMP overloaded many of the circuits in his chest cavity, preventing his motor functions from working properly, damaging his power core, and disabling the software that regulated his internal functions."

"No, I mean, what made him this way?" Seven gestured at Colson's gaping, robotic chest cavity.

"Ah. Well, six years ago, Colson failed a mission, and our boss offered him a choice: die, or get cybernetic enhancements. The original plan called for an internal computer and a robotic eye, but the thermal output in the area damaged the tissue in his face. We replaced that with synthetic components, but he suffered an allergic reaction. We had to replace the lymph system, and with it the cardiovascular. The new heart couldn't deliver enough blood to his brain. He went into cerebral hypoxia, so we had to replace that too." Celeste shrugged and said, "I think you get the picture."

Seven took a closer look at his chest. There was a vague suggestion of a synthetic stomach that was connected to his mouth, with batteries and bundles of wires wrapped around it. Fans and cooling vents replaced his lungs, and in place of a heart, he had a block of motherboards studded with transistors.

"So, is he human?" Seven asked.

Celeste smiled. "That's for philosophers to decide. We salvaged what we could of his mind, since his computing skills would make operating his new body a lot easier, but I know there's a lot of memories that got damaged in the process. No different than our own brains, I suppose." She mulled it over and said, "You thought he was human, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Then maybe that's all that matters." She picked up a tablet and brushed through a few emails. "You better get back to your quarters. Shower, put on a fresh uniform, and get something to eat. You're scheduled for a meeting in eighty minutes."

The showers in her room were equipped with half a dozen showerheads, each spraying powerful jets of water that drenched her thick mat of fur. She scrubbed herself thoroughly. Red stains mingled with the white suds that circled down the drain. The gashes on her chest stung, but the stitches held. She searched for other cuts before realizing that her fur was soiled with old blood.

Once the shampoo ran white off her body, she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Thick clumps of black fur, caught in the trap at the drain, sealed in the water. She pried the trap free, taking care to pull up all the hair with it, and flung it in the garbage. A fresh plastic trap replaced the old one. She checked the floor and removed the few specks of fur she found.

Compared to the thick padded robes of the White Knights, her Admin uniform felt uncomfortably exposed. Even wrapped in illusion, unseen eyes watched her.

Seven called Blacksmith and arranged to meet with him over lunch. Ten minutes later, the swarthy, stony-jawed man knocked on her door, carrying a giant metal tray laden with steaks, seafood, chopped berries, and four bottles of cola.

"It's good to see you again Commander," he said. "I asked permission to visit you in the hospital, but I was informed that you were in critical condition."

Seven didn't know how much they were told, so she said, "I'm still healing, but my duties don't permit me to stay in bed all day."

Blacksmith nodded and set the tray on her table. Seven picked at the plates while Blacksmith gave her a run-down of her squad's missions and incomes. When he asked her opinions, she told him to stop buying more munitions and funnel funds into gambling dens.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked.

Seven shrugged. "The White Knights are finished."

Blacksmith frowned at her and cut into a thick steak. Dark-red juices gushed from the meat and soaked the plate.

"You haven't been debriefed yet, have you?"

"I just woke up half an hour ago." Seven sliced into a fried cod, dipped it in a tub of tartar sauce, and chewed on it while Blacksmith explained everything they had found in the ruins of the White Knight hideout.

"To sum it up, there's an army of feral Pokémon led by Bruno on the outskirts of the city, and more wild Pokémon join them every day. The White Knights are presumed destroyed, along with a tenth of the city's police force and a few Lucario."

"And with this new, bigger threat, the city will be willing to negotiate with us."

"That's the meeting you're going to," Blacksmith said. "The Sages are coming in person, and they aren't leaving without our help." He chuckled and bit into his steak. "Giovanni's gonna bleed them dry."

Seven reached for another piece of cod, but all that remained were breadcrumbs. She pushed the plate aside and helped herself to a bowl of pecha berries. "Will anyone else be there?"

"The police commissioner, for one." Blacksmith cracked open a bottle of cola and chugged half of it. "The leader of the Lucario was also supposed to show up, but something changed. I don't know much else, they just told me that in case I'd need to fill in for you."

"What do you know about the Sages?" Seven refrained from saying she had met one, but her arms trembled at the mere thought of Ghestis.

Blacksmith didn't notice Seven's discomfort. "Well, of the Seven, Ghetsis, head of research and education, was the craftiest. It's a good thing we waxed him in his lab, otherwise he might spin this situation to his advantage. Gorm's the most prominent now, being in charge of the military. Then there's Bronius, in public relations, a smooth talker without a spine, and Rood… eh, the rest don't matter. Just let Giovanni do all the talking and look attentive. Alright?"

He stood, bowed, and turned towards the door. As he was halfway through the door, Seven said, "I have one more question."

Blacksmith's shoulders were so wide, had to step out into the hallway before he could turn and face her. He nodded, and Seven took a deep breath.

"What do you think of me?"

Blacksmith frowned and brought a hand up to his chin. "In what way?"

Seven hid her uneasiness by cracking open a bottle of soda and taking a sip. The carbonation and sugar overpowered her tongue, but she drank without changing her expression.

"As an Admin," Seven answered. "Is there anything that I can improve on?"

Blacksmith relaxed. His shoulders loosened, and he took a swig of soda. "If you were doing anything wrong, you'd be dead already." After a moment's pause, he glanced away. "Do I have permission to speak freely?"

Either carbonation or stress caused her stomach to roil. Seven clenched her hands and said, "I wouldn't ask if I wasn't willing to hear anything I don't want to hear."

"Alright then." Blacksmith drained the rest of his soda, stuffed the empty bottle in his pants pocket, and said, "I don't mean any disrespect, but I get the sense you're… inexperienced."

"Inexperienced how?" Seven's feared the answer, but she waited for it to fall like the blade of a guillotine.

"In management," Blacksmith said. "There's… inefficiency in the way you handle operations. Too many loads moving back and forth, personnel deployed at odd times, unbalanced budget." Blacksmith paused, and hastily added, "If it were serious, Giovanni would've removed you already. I suppose he's expecting you to grow into the role.

Seven's unease fizzled out, and she felt herself relax into her chair. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Study what the other Admins do, especially Celeste. There's a reason she manages the Team's finances."

Blacksmith bowed and vanished down the hallway. Seven picked at the remaining platters, mulling over what her second in command had said to her. He said nothing about odd behavior, or seeming out of touch with people. Perhaps no one could tell she wasn't human, like Colson.

She suppressed a shiver at the memory of his chest opened up, straightened her uniform, and locked her door. Going away from Giovanni's door, she turned a corner and found the conference room. Giovanni and Fisher were seated on the far side of the room, seated at a long table. Four empty chairs remained.

Ham and cheese slices sat on silver platters. Mounds of crackers, whole wheat and rye, salty and baked with herbs, had a bowl for each variety, and an assortment of fruits and nuts, from dried pecha and apicot berries to slivers of chesto, had tiny plates orbiting the central platters.

"Hey, good to see you're in one piece," Fisher called as Seven entered. "At least, you look like it."

She nodded and took a seat at Giovanni's right. The Rocket Boss, dressed in a sleek, gray suit with a red tie, regarded her without a word.

Seven bit into a chesto sliver and savored its dry, nutty flavor. As Seven reached for a slice of ham, the door opened. She withdrew her hand and watched the newcomers.

Seven bristled at the first to enter, a Lucario clothed in plain white robes. She could only see the tip of his muzzle, but she recognized the glossy blue fur. The second, a tall, stony man in a police uniform, adjusted his blue officer's cap and seated himself in a side seat, as far from Giovanni as the table corner allowed him.

The third froze Seven's blood in her veins. She heard him before she saw him, the rhythmic thump-tap thump-tap of his stride and cane pounding the floor. He was robed in black and gray, like a shadow from the grave, with pale-gold hair streaming in thin, wispy locks. A red eyepiece hid one eye, but the other, a striking green gem, pierced her soul with its unwavering gaze.

It took all of Seven's strength to cling to her illusion as she wondered how Ghetsis had come back to life.

Changelog

12/27/18 – minor edits