Here's chapter ten volume 2.
Bobby stood behind the observation table, staring bleakly at a screen on the wall that flashed strange green writing. He couldn't even read the letters of his own species.
Why did they keep him locked up in here? Every time he tried to ask one of the guards outside the door, they merely said:
"You will remain here until further notice, My Tall One." That's all he could get out of them.
Maybe they were going to help him get to planet Irk. Maybe they had to first get some sort of clearance for him; like a kind of passport or something. Or maybe he'd done something wrong. He only wished someone could tell him what.
Suddenly the door opened, and that nervous little doctor came in. She bowed.
"Hello Doctor Jitt," Bobby smiled.
"Hello, sir. How are you feeling now?"
"I'm alright. Hey…Any word on why they're keeping me here? I mean, what's going to happen to me?"
"Well, sir, the General of this space station has given me orders to run the diagnostic on your brain probe scan. However, you are not recorded in the Irken Database, so all procedures on you are currently delayed. I must create a record for you on the database before anything else can happen."
"Ohhh!" laughed Bobby with relief. "So that's all that's going on. Phew! I thought I was in some sort of trouble or something…. Okay, well, how's the record coming?"
"I'm going to create your record right now," she said. "Please remove your shirt, sir."
"My shirt?" asked, Bobby, pulling his T-shirt off. "Why? I thought we were done with the physical."
"We are. I'm going to prep you for surgery."
"Whoah whoah wait a second. Slow down… what did you say? Surgery? For what? I'm not sick," asked Bobby, standing up with alarm.
"Oh, quite the contrary, sir. You're not sick at all; you're actually the healthiest Irken I've ever examined. Actually, you're actually healthier then any Irken ever recorded in all medical history. I've analyzed your genetic structure and you're stronger and more well-developed then the common Irken. You skin, your muscles, even your blood vessels are all, to say the least…perfect," said Jitt. "It's rather fascinating in my humble opinion. My hypothesis is that in your growing stages you were so well-nourished and well-rested that you were able to develop to your fullest capacity. That would explain your impressive height."
"Well, if I'm so healthy then why are you going to do surgery on me?" asked Bobby.
"Because, sir. You have no PAK, therefore you cannot exist to Irken society. The PAK will enable you to be recorded in our database."
"And so now…you're gonna give me a PAK?"
"Yes. But I will be honest with you, sir. Irkens receive PAKs even before they are brought to life. Your body's lived and grown thus far without one, and there is a great risk that your body will reject the foreign implant. But you will not be allowed to leave this station until you receive one, sir. "
Bobby stood, staring at this wide-eyed little green girl. Was that why they wouldn't let him leave? Maybe this PAK thing was sort of like an ID or something. But was he willing to go under the knife just to join his own species? He bit his lip. He had come too far to chicken-out now.
"Okay. Go ahead and do it," Bobby said, sitting back down on the table.
Doctor Jitt's robotic legs extended, lifting her up behind Bobby's back. She began wiping his bare back down with a foul-smelling sterilizer. Then with a marker, she wrote two distinctive x-marks on his spine. These would be the spots where she would begin to drill.
Bobby bit his lip nervously. "Doctor Jitt?"
"Yes sir?"
"Will…Will it hurt?"
"You will be awake during the entire procedure, to ensure that you don't have brain-damage. I'm going to send a thin network of wires up through your spine, throughout your squeedilyspooch, and then through your brain. Yes, I expect it will hurt. Very much."