cinder || dnf

chapter seven

Dr. Phil Za dragged his finger across the portscreen, scanning the patient's records. Male. Thirty-two years old. He had a child but no mention of a spouse. Unemployed. Turned cyborg after a debilitating work-related accident three years ago, no doubt spent most of his savings on the surgery. He'd traveled all the way from Tokyo.

So many strikes against him, and Dr. Za couldn't explain that to anybody. Sticking his tongue out between his teeth, he raspberried his disappointment.

"What do you think, doctor?" asked today's assistant, a dark-skinned girl whose name he could never recall and who was taller than he was by at least four inches. He liked to give her tasks that kept her seated while she worked.

Dr. Za filled his lungs slowly, then released them all at once, changing the display to the more relevant diagram of the patient's body. He had a mere 6.4 percent makeup- his right foot, a bit of wiring, and a thumbnail-size control panel imbedded in his thigh.

"Too old," he said, tossing the port onto the countertop before the observation window. On the other side of the glass, the patient was laid out of the lab table. He looked peaceful but for madly tapping fingers against the plastic cushions. His skin grafting barely covered the prosthesis.

"Too old?" said the assistant. She stood and came to the window, waving her own portscreen at him. "Thirty-two is too old now?"

"We can't use him."

She bunched her lips to one side. "Doctor, this will be the sixth draft subject you've turned away this month. We can't afford to keep doing this."

"He has a child. A son. It says so right here."

"Yeah, a child who'll be able to afford dinner tonight because his daddy was lucky enough to fit our subject profile."

"To fit our profile? With a 6.4 percent ratio?"

"It's better than testing on people." She dropped the portscreen beside a test of petri dishes. "You really want to let him go?"

Dr. Za glared into the quarantine room, a growl humming in the back of his throat. Pulling his shoulders back, he tugged down on his lab coat. "Placebo him."

"Pla- but he's not sick!"

"Yes, but if we don't give him anything, the treasury will wonder what we're doing down here. Now, give him a placebo and submit a report so he can be on his way."

The girl huffed and went to grab a labeled vial from a shelf. "What are we doing down here?"

Dr. Za held up a finger, but the girl have him such an irritable look that he forgot what he'd been about to say. "What's your name again?"

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly. I've only been your assistant every Monday for the past four months."

She turned her back on him, her long black braid whipping against her hip. Dr. Za's eyebrows drew together as he stared at the braid, watching as it wound itself up, curling in on itself. A shiny black snake rearing its head. Hissing at him. Ready to strike.

He slammed his eyes shut and counted to ten. When he opened them again, the braid was just a braid. Shiny black hair. Harmless.

Pulling off his bucket hat, Dr. Za took a moment to rub at his own hair, blonde with a few grays and considerably less full than his assistant's.

The visions were getting worse.

The door to the lab opened. "Doctor?"

He jolted and stuffed his head back into the hat. "Yes?" he said, grabbing his portscreen. Li, another assistant, lingered with his hand on the doorknob. Dr. Za had always liked Li- who was also tall but not as tall as the girl.