“So, is this your pet now?” I ask Cleve when I join him and Mrs. Fuzzy in the hallway outside the medical center.
“Uh, I wasn’t planning on it,” he replies. “You want to keep her?”
“I’m in no condition to take care of an animal right now,” I point out, glancing down at the arm secured to my chest.
“Do you want to keep her?” he presses.
“No,” I answer quite directly this time. I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a pet. And it’s not like I have any kind of stable home life here.
Cleve shrugs. “As far as I’m concerned, she’s Corazon’s,” he declares.
I chuckle at that. “Maybe Chloe needs a hunting wolf beetle,” I suggest, only half in jest.
The woman herself comes around the corner then. “Oh! Welcome back,” Chloe greets us levelly. Her eyes drop to ground level. “Is this your wolf beetle?”
“Not really,” Cleve says. “Are you in the market for one?”
“I don’t want to pay for a wolf beetle, no,” Chloe tells him. “Do you have those items I asked you to pick up?”
“Yes. They’re up in the rover. Except…” Cleve voice drifts off.
“Hey, maybe this wolf beetle could make up the difference,” I tell him sotto voce.
“Well, I had everything, but we did have to use some of the ammunition to make a bomb,” Cleve admits to Chloe. “For a siege worm. So maybe you can take a wolf beetle—”
“Did you blow up a siege worm?” Chloe asks. There’s interest in her voice, not surprise.
“Not successfully,” I tell her, gesturing up and down at myself with my right hand.
“To be honest, I think it just pissed it off,” Cleve adds.
“Yeah, that tracks,” Chloe says.
“It did slow it down,” I point out.
Cleve acknowledges that it was effective in that regard and then peddles the wolf beetle again. “But if you would like a wolf beetle, I present to you Mrs. Fuzzy. She’s a very good girl.”
“We’ve been calling her that,” I say, “but that’s only been for a few days, so—”
Chloe scoops up the wolf beetle and gives the creature a quick look over. “No, you’re correct,” she says. “I’ll give her a try.” She sets Mrs. Fuzzy back down on the ground and starts to lead her away by the leash.
“But!” Cleve calls out after her. “If it doesn’t work out, talk to me before you eat her.”
“Noted. Will you want some?”
“No, I just think we could rehome her. I don’t think she’s for eating.” Chloe nods in acknowledgement. “I’ll head up to the rover to unload your stuff,” he tells her. “Catch up with you later.” Chloe strides off with her new pet, and Cleve turns to me. “Why don’t you go rest,” he suggests. “Is there anything that you need to have happen?”
I let out a long breath, mulling that over. “There’s a lot that I need to have happen. But probably we should both be involved in any discussions with Roze about, you know, the approaching army.” I run my hand over my stubbly chin. “I can’t think of anything I need arrangements made for. I need to just… go get cleaned up some.”
“Okay, yeah. You go rest. I’ll unload the rover, check in on Louisa, and see what the teenagers are up to.”
I nod. “Okay, but if you’re going to go talk with Tenoch about any Progenitor tech type stuff, come get me.” They might be able to tell us something more about my new boutonniere if they’ve learned anything about Progenitor technology over the years. I don’t want to give up the miasmic aggregator, but I’d love to understand it better. “It seems like such a long time ago, but we were in a Progenitor space ship—or underground bunker?—less than a week ago. Someone here at Data Haven is likely to be interested in Takuto’s download.”
“Oh, right! I should share that with Roze. And I have the soap!”
“Yeah, and I have sketches of their skeletons.”
“Right. But for now, go rest,” Cleve reiterates. “I’ll check in on you once I’ve gotten the rover unloaded.”
I follow Cleve’s advice… eventually. Rest is not the first thing on my mind, though. If I’m going to convince anyone that Data Haven needs to directly act against Morgan Industries, I need to look presentable. With my ruined clothes from Earth sitting in a pile next to me, I flip through the design patterns for a more accommodating outfit. The 3D printer can’t produce real linen or wool, of course, but it can approximate them. Anything with sleeves is out for now, so I pick a plain white tank top over which I can wear a poncho. It’s the simple kind with a slit for the head in the middle of the blanket. The real style is in the geometric patterning that reminds me of decorations in my abuela’s cluttered apartment. And I can still fasten my Progenitor brooch over my heart. For pants, I select a relaxed pair with drawstrings, something looser than slacks that I should be able to manage one-handed.
With the new wardrobe worked out, I clean off the dirt and blood from the long road, careful to keep my splinted arm dry. Shaving takes a long, long time, but I manage to get it done without needing a second hand. And though I am not usually one for makeup, I apply some now, using concealer to neutralize the color of the bruises along the left side of my face and then layering golden brown foundation over that.
When Cleve does finally show up at my room to check on me, I haven’t gotten much physical rest, but I feel so, so much better.