You come to. The Surgeons surround you, thousands of them. You stand.
Their voices sound in your mind—the voices of the few dozen nearest to you, in unison. "Katariki has returned to Earth, destroying our portal machine. It will be many years before we can construct another."
"Right," you say. "That's…bad." Bad for you, that is, for at least a couple of reasons.
The Surgeons stand around you in silence, impassive.
And then, after a long silence, the Surgeons' voices sound in your mind once more. "Leave us," they say.
"I…don't understand."
"Leave us. Go from this place. We are not thoughtless killers. Nor do we wish to confiscate your body—to replace what you are with what we are. No, your punishment is exile. Leave us."
"Where shall I go?"
The Surgeons do not answer you, nor will they ever answer you again. Instead, they shuffle aside before you, creating a long corridor. You walk along it, until at last you are away from the bulk of their number.
You are no longer interesting. The vast horde of Surgeons moves away from you. You turn your back on them, and start walking anew.
Your life of exile on the H'ssurru'ssurri homeworld has begun.
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