Knitters were brilliant devices when it came to bonding broken bones but you were supposed to be unconscious, because they did nothing for nerve damage, and everyone knew they hurt like a motherfucker unless you were out cold.
âNo! Please! No!â Tover screamed.
âRemember how this feels,â Savel told him. He shut the clear plastic lid of the box, trapping Tover inside.
Long ago, as a teenager, Tover had broken a toe playing soccer with other navigational trainees. After being put in a bone knitter heâd been amazed by the technology, but also curious about how it would feel to be awake during the procedure.
Now he knew how it felt. The moment the engine switched on he writhed and screamed until his voice was gone, the pain bright and hot and all-consuming. It felt like burning alive, and deep within that pain, shattering moments as bones shifted and snapped back together.
When Savel reopened the knitter, Tover sobbed, hysterical, and despite himself he promised Savel heâd do anything, anything they wanted, to please just make it stop.
Savel unfastened the straps, and Cherko leaned in behind him to haul Tover out. Toverâs bones had rebonded but the repair was fragile, and it would take weeks to fully heal. His skin was still swollen and the nerves damaged, so when Cherko reached for his arm Tover instinctively recoiled, pain shooting through his body.
âTime to work,â Savel said.
âNo, please! Please give meâ¦a momentâ¦â
Cherko roughly shoved Tover ahead of him, back to the navport in the ship cargo hold. On his knees in front of the console, Tover had to choke back his tears and concentrate on not blacking out from the pain as they yanked his barely healed arms into the port cuffs, and he let them hook on the helmet and stick the pipe in his throat again. Tover made a horrible gagging noise and couldnât breathe. They cut the wire, but it didnât matter. Fear made him vomit, and he choked until Savel barked something, and Cherko pulled the helmet off.
Tover threw up on the console.
âYouâll clean this up later,â Savel told him. He nodded to Cherko, who once again replaced the helmet. Tover pulled back, his throat constricting against the invasion.
The pain burned down his throat.
âIn front of you are three boxes. I want you to take them to the following coordinatesâ¦â
Tover tried to concentrate, his consciousness fading in and out. He was so scared his teeth chattered against the pipe in his mouth. His whole body shook.
âYou hear me, you little fuck?â Savel yelled. The helmet muted some of the anger in his tone. Savel repeated the coordinates, and Tover listened carefully. He would do whatever they asked. He couldnât get in that knitter again. He couldnât.
Without thinking about anything, he closed his eyes and hummed. His throat ached with it, and he felt his orbifold manifest and collapse, repeatedly, as his navigational cords struggled for the right vibration.
Once he had a tight orbifold around the small pallet of goods, he quickly jumped it. He sagged against the helmet strap and the pipe, exhausted beyond anything else.
Cherko yanked free the pipe. As soon as the helmet was off, Savel retied the restraint wire around his neck and patted Toverâs head.
âGood dog,â Savel said.
Tover closed his eyes and wept.
Chapter Four
âWhat do I get if I win?â
Cruz smiled mischievously as he kicked the soccer ball in a zigzagging pattern, searching for a gap in Toverâs defenses.
Tover breathed hard, hands on his knees, but he grinned. His body ached with that serotonin-rich sensation of exercise for pure pleasure. His shoes squeaked against the hotelâs gym floor. The room wasnât designed for soccer, but when Tover reserved the space for his own purposes that afternoon, Oasis staff had been accommodating, going so far as to erect a makeshift goal.
Cruzâs
âNo! Please! No!â Tover screamed.
âRemember how this feels,â Savel told him. He shut the clear plastic lid of the box, trapping Tover inside.
Long ago, as a teenager, Tover had broken a toe playing soccer with other navigational trainees. After being put in a bone knitter heâd been amazed by the technology, but also curious about how it would feel to be awake during the procedure.
Now he knew how it felt. The moment the engine switched on he writhed and screamed until his voice was gone, the pain bright and hot and all-consuming. It felt like burning alive, and deep within that pain, shattering moments as bones shifted and snapped back together.
When Savel reopened the knitter, Tover sobbed, hysterical, and despite himself he promised Savel heâd do anything, anything they wanted, to please just make it stop.
Savel unfastened the straps, and Cherko leaned in behind him to haul Tover out. Toverâs bones had rebonded but the repair was fragile, and it would take weeks to fully heal. His skin was still swollen and the nerves damaged, so when Cherko reached for his arm Tover instinctively recoiled, pain shooting through his body.
âTime to work,â Savel said.
âNo, please! Please give meâ¦a momentâ¦â
Cherko roughly shoved Tover ahead of him, back to the navport in the ship cargo hold. On his knees in front of the console, Tover had to choke back his tears and concentrate on not blacking out from the pain as they yanked his barely healed arms into the port cuffs, and he let them hook on the helmet and stick the pipe in his throat again. Tover made a horrible gagging noise and couldnât breathe. They cut the wire, but it didnât matter. Fear made him vomit, and he choked until Savel barked something, and Cherko pulled the helmet off.
Tover threw up on the console.
âYouâll clean this up later,â Savel told him. He nodded to Cherko, who once again replaced the helmet. Tover pulled back, his throat constricting against the invasion.
The pain burned down his throat.
âIn front of you are three boxes. I want you to take them to the following coordinatesâ¦â
Tover tried to concentrate, his consciousness fading in and out. He was so scared his teeth chattered against the pipe in his mouth. His whole body shook.
âYou hear me, you little fuck?â Savel yelled. The helmet muted some of the anger in his tone. Savel repeated the coordinates, and Tover listened carefully. He would do whatever they asked. He couldnât get in that knitter again. He couldnât.
Without thinking about anything, he closed his eyes and hummed. His throat ached with it, and he felt his orbifold manifest and collapse, repeatedly, as his navigational cords struggled for the right vibration.
Once he had a tight orbifold around the small pallet of goods, he quickly jumped it. He sagged against the helmet strap and the pipe, exhausted beyond anything else.
Cherko yanked free the pipe. As soon as the helmet was off, Savel retied the restraint wire around his neck and patted Toverâs head.
âGood dog,â Savel said.
Tover closed his eyes and wept.
Chapter Four
âWhat do I get if I win?â
Cruz smiled mischievously as he kicked the soccer ball in a zigzagging pattern, searching for a gap in Toverâs defenses.
Tover breathed hard, hands on his knees, but he grinned. His body ached with that serotonin-rich sensation of exercise for pure pleasure. His shoes squeaked against the hotelâs gym floor. The room wasnât designed for soccer, but when Tover reserved the space for his own purposes that afternoon, Oasis staff had been accommodating, going so far as to erect a makeshift goal.
Cruzâs
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