Page 78 of Dark Chains: First Link
Kian estimated that the Eight could take twenty at most. It was better than zero and worse than all of them, and the math of it twisted his gut.
He pushed it aside. There would be time for that particular grief later. Right now, he had to focus on what was actionable.
"Last item on the agenda." Kian looked around the table. "The Guardians and Drova need to fly back to Safe Harbor right after Arezoo and Ruvon's wedding."
"I'll coordinate the logistics." Onegus rose to his feet, and Toven and Lokan followed him out.
Kian turned to Turner. "Anything I missed?"
"The waterproof casings need to be fabricated by Thursday to allow for testing. I have a manufacturer who can deliver. The assault drones will be delivered to Safe Harbor by Friday, and the submarine arrives on Saturday and docks at Safe Harbor for crew familiarization."
"What about the EMP? What are we using to deploy that?"
"A drone."
Kian lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't know that was possible. I thought we needed a jet for that."
"Apparently not." Turner rose to his feet, put his yellow pad in his briefcase, and walked out the door.
30
NAVUH
The wheelchair had been promised for Monday, and Navuh had spent an unreasonable portion of that day staring at the door and anticipating the moment when it would open, and someone would wheel in the device that represented the first expansion of his world beyond the boundaries of this bed.
It wasn't as if he had much else to look forward to.
It hadn't arrived on Monday.
Now it was Tuesday, and he couldn't wait for the nurse to come in so he could complain about it.
The things he looked forward to these days were truly pathetic.
The nurse entered his room carrying his breakfast tray. "Today is your day."
"For what?"
"For getting out of this room. The wheelchair arrived last night. It's waiting in the corridor." She set the tray on the adjustable table. "It was too late to bring it in."
"Too late for what? I don't sleep, Gertrude. I lie here and stare at the ceiling or at the damn television because there is nothing else to do. Midnight would not have been too late."
"Too late for me." She smiled. "I wanted to be done with my day." She lifted the cover from his plate. "Eat your breakfast. After that, we'll get you into the chair."
He ate because he needed the nutrients, not because he had any appetite. The food was the usual bland assortment of protein and vegetables designed for recovery. No seasoning worth mentioning, no consideration for the fact that he had refined tastes because he had spent thousands of years eating meals prepared by the best cooks.
Once he was done, Gertrude cleared the tray and disappeared for several minutes. When she returned, she was pushing the wheelchair ahead of her. It had padded armrests, a footrest, and large rubber wheels. Functional. Institutional.
"Ready?" Gertrude asked.
"I've been ready since yesterday. What do I need to do?"
"Nothing. I'll do everything."
She positioned the chair beside his bed and locked the wheels. Then she pulled back his blanket, swung his legs over the side of the mattress, and before he could prepare himself for the indignity of what came next, she slid one arm beneath his knees and the other behind his back and lifted him.
She just picked him up.
His body was gathered up by the unreasonably good-looking nurse as if he weighed no more than a blanket. His legs hung uselessly, his arms had no leverage, and the hospital gown,which was the only thing he wore, rode up on one side, exposing his thigh.
