The Malice

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Authors: Peter Newman
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supervisor. He looks tired, bags like baby slugs sit heavy under his eyes.
    ‘Doctor, look! That was a smile. She recognised me, I’m sure of it.’
    ‘That’s hardly conclusive. It may just be a muscle spasm.’
    ‘Massassi? Massassi, can you hear me?’
    She manages a nod.
    ‘Good. That’s good. Now pay attention: you were in an accident, a serious accident. We need to talk about what happened. There are arrangements that need …’
    The words start to fall away, dropping into a chasm that opens up between them, her eyes closing.
    ‘We’re losing her. Do something.’
    ‘Her body has been under incredible strain. It’s natural that she’ll want to rest.’
    ‘But for how long?’
    ‘Difficult to say. It could be days, it could be more.’
    ‘That won’t do. We need to close the file and move on. We’ve spent too much on this already.’ The supervisor begins to pace, hands folded behind his back, reminiscent of a woodpecker strutting on a branch. Massassi smiles again. ‘I can’t go back without an answer. We need to wake her up.’
    ‘I can’t force her to wake.’
    ‘Yes, you can. Give her a stimulant.’
    ‘With the levels of pain she’s in, coupled with her medical history, I don’t advise that course of action. If I wake her suddenly, the shock to her system could be catastrophic. She needs to be stronger before she learns the extent of her injuries.’
    ‘I only need her conscious for a few minutes. Once she gives consent, you can keep her here as long as you like.’
    ‘I want it on record that I don’t endorse this action.’
    ‘Your objections have been filed, doctor. Now get on with it.’
    The doctor moves out of sight, makes adjustments.
    The feed of sedatives slows.
    Pain climbs back inside, making muscles strain and knuckles white. With it comes something else. The world resolves itself in sudden focus, lines so sharp they cut into the brain.
    ‘Keep calm, Massassi, and listen. I promise I won’t make this last any longer than it has to.’
    Her eyes lock to his, drawn to the lights starting to fizz inside the supervisor’s sockets. They have always been there, invisible to normal sight; manifestations of the man’s essence.
    But not to Massassi’s unclouded mind. Not any more.
    Unaware of how dramatic his face has become in Massassi’s eyes, the man continues, giving a speech repeated so often it has become a script: ‘You were in an accident. A serious one. As a result, Superior Class Harvester 4879-84/14 was shut down following emergency protocol. Hours of work time were lost, not to mention the cost of recovering your body, covering your shifts and ongoing medical care.’
    He pauses to smile, a practiced calming thing. Massassi notes that it does not reach his real eyes, the ones that glow behind his face. She also notes his second mouth, the one etched in light, pale, remains sour. Around the tube, Massassi smiles back. The supervisor does not note its feral edge.
    ‘I want what you want. To get you back on your feet and working as soon as possible. You’re going to need a new arm, and a partial reconstruct of your upper body. The mods you’ll need will be expensive. Now, I’ve looked at your funds and you have a lot saved up. However, with the enquiry costs and the mounting medical bills, I’m afraid there won’t be enough left to restore functionality.
    ‘But don’t worry, I’ve got a solution. If you admit full responsibility for the incident then we can turn this into a criminal issue. We’ll lower your echelon class and take full ownership of your rights until the debt’s worked off. Heavy, I know, but it will make all the problems go away. I’ve got pre-approval to fund your operation based on your work record. We could have you back on the mechs before year’s end. What do you say?’
    She tries to speak, begins to cough.
    ‘Can we take the tube out now, doctor?’
    ‘Yes, hold on.’
    A command is given and the tube recoils smoothly into the

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