The lab takes surprisingly little time, expedited as it is by Vaziok’s funds. That’s good.
Dronecoming is creeping up, though. That’s not good. Your anti-aging formulas can only do so much; you’re a candidate, this time around.
Your test subjects have a distressing tendency to explosively reject the deep-tissue transplants necessary to turn them from troll to apparent lusus. You’ve decided to call the procedure lusification. The failure mode can be called deliquesc- er, delusification.
That helps. Your head is clear now. You are clearly all fucked. Maybe it’s time to come clean about your other talents.
Alipes——> prevent explosive rejection of nurturallary sacs.
It’s so simple! You just have to administer a trace of the bloaterfish venom after the anticoagulant made from waspish venom. It forces the troll’s bilesacs to close down for the crucial rooting period, and if the antivenin is administered in time, it doesn’t melt the rest of their thinkpan out their ears.
Heleph——> prepare next test subject
That would be yourself, Alipes, Negaje, or Vaziok. You ran through test subjects rather quickly, and it would take at least a week that you don’t have to get more. You’re all for using Negaje, but all three others would object. So you remain silent. Alipes volunteers. That’s not good. You need him if this doesn’t work.
Heleph——> become aware of calendar
It’s been right there the whole time.
Heleph——>agree to use Alipes
VA: All right. Step into= the test bed. And do=n’t think I’m impressed by yo=ur suicidal bravery.
Negaje——> assert moirailty
You’re a professional bully. Of course you’ve got the mad doctor by the horn, and his ear bent to your mouth so you can growl sweetly, “if you fuck up my moirail, imma string you up by your shame globes and hit you with a stick until candy comes out. dig?” Then you make him nod.
Then you take a swig. Like a boss. Not your boss, obvs., he’s a classy gentleman.
SS: $top grinning, H£l£ph.
You can’t. Your tusks give the impression of a permanent grin. Your other expression is a sneer, which doesn’t feel appropriate to the joyous occasion.
VA: We’ll kno=w in two= o=r three days if it wo=rks! If it do=esn’t wo=rk we’ll kno=w much so=o=ner.
VA: Negaje. Sit down. I’m sure he’ll be fine, lo=o=k ho=w serene he is.
VA: And that is why yo=u are getting the treatment at the same time. Yay sedatives!
SS: Yay $£dativ£$ ind££d - wait, you’r£ tr£ating Jay at th£ $am£ tim£? B£for£ w£ know if it work$? No, H£l, you can’t do that. Wh£r£ ar£ my dart$, I-
Heleph——> Prepare test subjects.
Dosing Jay’s bottle with sedatives worked just as well as you’d hoped. She’s out as soon as she stands up, and Vaziok, sweet lean-muscled Vaziok, catches her and gets her onto the second surgical couch.
Lusification is a tricky business, involving sedated creatures of the correct blood type on the cusp of lusushood, Alipes’s drug cocktail, and a lot of tubes. Getting trolls to accept lusus transplants has had… interesting and informative… results, rather than happy ones, in the past, but this time you’re sure you’ve got it right.
This time you HAVE to have it right. You’ve run out of time.
No-one explodes or turns purple right away. You check pulses. You check temperatures. Re-sedate Jay’s lusus donor. You sterilize the area one last time and prepare for surgery.
It goes quietly. You pass the time pacing, because if you start making out with Vaziok you’ll miss the timing on the antivenin. And once it’s administered, if no-one starts melting or stops breathing, you’re putting Vaziok on the third test bed. Alipes has the manual of what to do for you when - yes, when - he wakes up.
Alipes and Jay start going a splotchy white towards the middle of the second night. You wake Vaziok from his doze on your lusus, and get him hooked up. He’s a huge princess about it all. Melts your fucking heart. Maybe you spend a little while making out with him, it’s no big deal, the world is just due to end any time now and you can think of no way you’d rather go but please, please, please let there be enough time for you to get all his doses into him all right.
Vaziok is under. The long wait alone begins.
The lights are fuzzy. There’s a deep electric hum in the background. You recognize Jay’s distinctive sleepy snuffle, and wonder why she’s not in her own recuperacoon. For that matter, why aren’t you?
Your tubes and delivery sacs hang slack, neatly looped up and stowed. Jay’s in the same condition, waking at about the same rate as you. Her skin is flat lusus white.
Over on the third bed, Vaziok is sleeping, tubes pumping and sacs churning. Fresh stitches show where the transplants already took place: he’s at the blood-flushing stage, a day away from where you are now.
There are energy blast burns along the far wall and ceiling, some peanut-butter-orange blood splats, and no door to the lab anymore. Heleph’s lusus has taken it upon himself to enlarge the already large hole, and is settled enormously in the sterilization chamber.
You stare at the blood splats for a moment and then sit up and ow ow ow, don’t do that, that pulls on your stitches. That was stupid anyway, Jay is right there, she’s got her eyes open already, she’s fine.
You look at your hands and marvel at how they’re so white. Heleph did it. You are, to all intents and purposes, a lusus, although if you get some grub dropped in your lap you are going to have to poison it right away.
You look over at Jay again, and attempt to say her name, but the sedative still has you mush-mouthed. Give it a second or two.
You give it a second or two, and you try again. ‘Jay? Are you alright?’
As you gingerly prop yourself up on your elbows, still examining your hands, it occurs to you that you have more arms than usual. Nope, not double vision. Heleph totally grafted on a couple extra arms while you were out. They match your originals really well. He must’ve saved ‘em for weeks.
