Gareth was back in the dentist chair. The walls were brown, so he knew he hadn’t fallen into a nightmarish dream, reliving those few days in the other chair, being slowly eaten by the psionic drill.
Talyarkinash was in the other room, tuning things as well as she could.
She had gone as far as her extensive experience and creativity could take her, she had told him. And he believed her, having watched quietly all day as the woman alternatively calculated and cursed under her breath.
They both felt the pressure coming to a head. Angry people out there were looking for their scalps, and he had only one option to protect this woman who had come to trust a human.
“Gareth, are you ready?” she said over the intercom.
“I am,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“Stand by.”
The chair grabbed him in iron bands. Wrists, shins, chest, head. He was back in that technological iron maiden, waiting for the mad scientist to press the door shut on him.
“I wish I could say otherwise, but this is going to hurt,” she offered an early apology. “Normally, we would space the six injections out over as many days, with stops to monitor your medical condition and feed you a proper, balanced diet. But as you know, they could kick in the door at any moment.”
Lunch had been everything left over from dinner, plus a can of pasta and some canned fruit, until he felt like he would explode if he took another bite.
“I understand, Talyarkinash,” he replied. “Thank you for doing this my way. I can handle pain. I am Earth Force Sky Patrol. There is no other choice. And if it fails, keep notes so you can fix it for the next agent you recruit, because we both know nobody in the Accord can stop him.”
“I will, Gareth,” she said quietly. “And thank you for last night. I really needed a friend.”
Gareth started to say something. Started to blush. But she must have hit the button as she spoke, because something tapped him on the left shoulder, the one closer to the heart, and suddenly his entire body was on fire.
He might have screamed. Wanted to. Told his lungs and throat to carry through, but his body was no longer his to command.
Instead, Gareth was composed of a roaring fire that someone else was trying to extinguish with acid. Every nerve. Every muscle. Every neuron.
Gareth could never remember experiencing a tenth, even a hundredth as much pain. Diving across death pressure without a helmet, in order to save the ship from detonation, hadn’t hurt as much.
His eyes were on fire now, or perhaps his optic nerves were slowly being eaten by miniature piranha, one angry bite at a time.
After an eternity measured in the lifetime of stars, the pain seemed to ebb.
Gareth found he could think again. His throat was raw, but that might have been the screaming he was hoping he was able to do. His arms and legs felt like wet spaghetti sliding off a plate.
“Gareth?” the Angel of Death called his name. “Can you hear me?”
No, not the Angel of Death. Retribution, perhaps.
That would make her Nemesis, the bringer of retribution. Except that was his job.
The helmet retracted and Gareth found that he could see again.
He looked up and saw Talyarkinash’s azure eyes staring down at him with concern.
Yes, he had become Nemesis. That would in turn make her the goddess of night, Nyx.
He rather enjoyed that thought.
“Are you okay?” she seemed to be asking.
Gareth nodded and grunted, not quite willing to trust his tongue right now.
“Good,” she continued. “Because somebody just kicked in the door to my apartment, across the hallway. We’ve run out of time.”