Page 11 of The First Omega Made
“We’re good to go.”
Within a minute, Noel and Vil hauled the limp body of an orange-scaled male into my office, slumping him onto the examination table.
I wordlessly went to work taking samples, throwing in an IV with nutrients and electrolytes to stimulate him. “Merriel, photostereoscope.”
“On it.” Merriel threw a new window up as the lens above the table whirred, the iris of it adjusting.
“About like any other N0 series.” I glanced his body over and focused on the hearts. They didn’t beat, which boded ill for waking him. “Noel— Nevermind. Vil, chest compression.”
Vil pushed ahead and braced his palms, strategically lining them up over each of the male’s hearts.
I watched the screen for a long few seconds as Vil pumped his chest until the two hearts sputtered to life.
Noel stepped back, his face full of more expression than I’d seen in a long time. It was as if he was a child again, a distinctly chastened look. I needed his help, but that pitiable expression combined with my uncertainty as to how Vil would react to Noel touching an alpha was all the motivation I needed to not test it.
As Vil retreated, I got my first real study of the male—strong jaw and fierce build. He could have gone toe-to-toe with Vil in size, but his face had a certain sharpness to it. Pale skin that transitioned to earthy orange scales pinkened as he took his first breath, a braying sort of thing that exposed too-sharp teeth. And underneath the chemical odor of him lay the faintest scent of raw male that made something in my body react.
“Merriel, ventilation tier two.” I focused on the creature, limp and cold. Danger radiated off of him, but I couldn’t shake that sense of submission.
Noel, for his part, frowned and stepped back, uncertainty in his eyes. A scent caught my nostrils—no, not a scent. It was an undetectable odor, something in the air that spoke of fear and discomfort. How I caught it, I wasn’t certain, but I was with Noel.I don’t like it.
I gathered my composure as soon as the ventilation kicked on and pulled a fifty-cc syringe from the RPC, the needle that metallic colorfully-sheened titanium hybrid I could easily penetrate hybreed skin with.
I snapped a pair of gloves in place and prayed my nails didn’t break the tips. I’d need to find a solution if they kept sharpening.
“If you’re squeamish, look away. Noel wasn’t this deep under.” I sterilized the patient’s chest and, when confident everyone had turned their heads that needed to—I slammed the needle down into one of his lungs. I drew the plunger and grimaced as blood and fluids filled the barrel of my syringe, translucent magenta with a golden swirling hue.
I emptied the syringe and chucked the barrel and needle into the RPC before gathering another, working in succession as Noel joined in, washing up and gloving. At the tips of each of his glove, he twisted the end into a knot and double gloved as if he’d done it before.
I watched with curiosity as he studied the photostereoscope’s image and frowned, pushing a needle into the alpha’s chest and mimicking my actions on another lung lobe. He had such a gentle and precise touch that it was hard to rebut any attempt he made to step into my sphere of specialty. Med school was no comparison to an eidetic memory and hyperfocus from a perpetual lab rat allowed unending access to medical documentation and self-experimentation.
“Vil. Compression,” Noel said as he pulled the plunger and brought up pink foam. “Once he starts coughing and his pupils pin, yeet him into the quarantine.”
“Yeet?” I paused mid-pull on a syringe as Vill worked awkwardly around us to do chest compressions.
“Throw. With great intent and vivacity.” Vil pushed hard and was rewarded by a deadened pop—likely a rib snapping.
I pulled another syringe and brought up mostly air, pink foam sputtering in before I whipped the needle out and threw it into the RPC right as the male on my table took a deep, rattling breath.
Noel lifted a lid, watching as a thin ring of white in a pool of all black held stable. When the coughing started, it took only a few seconds before Noel jumped back.
As if on cue, the male’s entire body bowed, tail thrashed, and pink foam sputtered over pale lips. Through the mire, broken words sputtered free, words that made my ears buzz.
“Quarantine!” Noel whipped his tail around and grabbed me by the waist as he knocked the syringe to the ground. It skittered across the floor, and we made it a few feet away in time for Vil to bear-wrestle the male into his arms and toss him unceremoniously into quarantine with a deafening clang of the door.
Noel’s tail slowly unwound, falling to its neutral sway behind him. The tip gave a sharp twitch. “Kaksa.”
“More Mater Terraisms?” I glanced over at Noel, who remained still and focused on the quarantine room’s door.
“My mother tongue. It means I do not like him. He smells wrong.” Noel scratched at his shoulder and rubbed his arms in a subconscious way. “I need a shower. Soon.”
“As soon as possible, pet.” Vil rotated his shoulder and stared into the window of the room with a fang-riddled sneer.
The male within thrashed and fought, slamming against the door as hissing splutters of syllables rung out.
“He’s gone mad, hasn’t he?” I opened the intercom from within the room and dialed the volume down to a respectable level.
“No. He is angry. Merriel, access database two of Naleucian prima. His dialect is different from what I know but I understand most. Translate.” Noel stepped farther away from the quarantine door as his brow furrowed.
