Page 11 of Mongrels United
Grady smiled. She’d dropped Luus into a research hole and he might take days to emerge from it. She left him alone and got back to her work.
But five minutes later, she found herself flipping back to Hyson’s Forum profile, scanning the lack of personal entries, and the very long list of business interests, and wondering again why he hosted expensive parties in the middle of the slum districts.
Talk about anomalies! Nash Hyson was a walking example. She was glad, now, that she’d turned him away. She didn’t need complications of the size he would introduce, which he would have, even if she had limited the indulgence to a single evening. There was no such thing as casual liaisons for the second most visible person on the ship.
That is, if anyone was watching the newsfeeds at all. Which the engagement numbers stated they were not.
She got back to work.
Chapter Five
Nash had seen fighters staggering about, drunk from too many hits to the head, although he had never felt the sensation himself.
Until now.
He followed the orderly down the narrow, worn passage of the hospice to where his father was being cared for, feeling just like those fighters he’d watched waver about the ring with their heads ringing and their orientation gone.
His father was dying.
The clinician had been…well, clinical. Perhaps because when Nash had arrived at the shuttered, secure building, he’d been impatient to get on with his day. It was indecently early by his standards, and now his hunger was reasserting itself, even though the irritation that had driven it away originally was still in place.
“He collapsed in the Fourth Wall marketplace,” the clinician said. “People who saw it brought him here.” Her tone implied it should have been Nash, not strangers. “We might have been able to do something about the brain and organ damage if your father had come to see us when he first noticed the symptoms.” Her lips were prim and narrow, and held straight. Her face was expressionless. She wore free print pants and tunic, both clean, but not new. She had not enhanced her face at all and her hair was pulled back with a simple clip.
“When he first noticed…?” Nash rubbed at the back of his neck. “How long has he been having symptoms?Whatsymptoms?”
That was when the clinician’s demeanor changed from neutral patience to cold indifference. “Judging by the state of decay, he would have been experiencing severe pain for years. Until we test further, I can’t establish the rate of deterioration to give you a better idea of how long he had been suffering.”
Suffering.Nash let out a heavy breath.
“But this sort of extensive, cascading damage isn’t something that happens overnight,” she added.
“How long will it take to fix it?” Hyson said.
She held still for a long moment. “There is no fixing this. The damage is too great, and his remaining organs and systems aren’t strong enough to support rehabilitation.” She paused. “I’m sorry.”
Nash realized he was staring at her. “But…he’s only ninety-four. Five.” He couldn’t rememberhowold the man was. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d consciously recalled Nason Wheelock’s age. “He’s got at least another two decades.”
She shook her head. “Not for your father. I’m sorry,” she repeated again.
Nash blew out his breath. “I don’t understand,” he said bluntly. “How did this happen?”
“That is a question I hoped you would be able to answer,” the clinician replied, her tone stiff. “As his son, you would know him best and know his undocumented medical history.”
Nash cleared his throat. “We weren’t that close,” he said carefully. “He was…when he was younger, he was a Skinwalker. Could that…?”
“We took that into account,” the clinician replied, as if he was being particularly stupid.
And hedidfeel stupid. How could he have not known his father was…what? Breaking down? Why hadn’t Nason said anything?
But Nash knew why his father had said nothing, even though he was in deep pain. It was all too obvious to Nash.
“What can you do for him?” Nash said, finally.
“We’re making him comfortable.”
Bleak words. Hopeless words.
Nash nodded. “How long?”
