A stronger man never would've permitted it; he wondered if it were possible to glare at himself without the aid of a mirror. That didn't change the fact that his second thought was indecision. Made of it and plagued by it: what was the extent of Pa-5's injuries? He knew there was plenty amiss from a physical perspective.
Her legs were a distant memory, as was her left arm. Though specifics beyond that were never clarified to him, he could guess her insides were a quagmire the medical staff of both the Nyx Breaker and Ardiseg Hall had familiarized themselves with in an obsessive and thorough attempt to preserve her life.
If Pa-5 was anything like him or…he didn't realize he was gnawing on one of his knuckles until Pr-9 cleared his throat. He acknowledged him and lowered his hand. Pa-5 was as honor-driven and stubborn as the rest of humanity regarding duty and responsibility, and that meant one thing. "I shouldn't listen to this."
"I didn't prompt your opinion on ethics and privacy." When the two of them entered into more serious talks, at least Pr-9 had the tack to table the more outlandish aspects of his personality. There was one thing he possessed over Eighth Headman. "It's a binary inquiry."
His cheeks burned with a feeling he had almost forgotten. "...yes," he huffed out. His voice betrayed him, cracking halfway.
"Stop with that; remove those thoughts. You're her guardian, and even if she has full autonomy over her actions and their associated consequences by now, it won't change that you'll always guard her back."
"Speaking from experience?"
"I've never taken you to meet my grandchildren."
"You've never met Pa-5."
Pr-9 guffawed. "All the conscripts train in Ardiseg Hall before receiving their assignments. She had the freedom to visit whenever she pleased. And you had a free moment here and there during that period too, to drag her along." He rubbed his nose.
"As for mine, nobody possesses the know-how of locating you once your hours are through. How could I have wrangled you over to them?"
"There would be no wrangling. I'd have sent your backside to Io and ba--"
They lost the little humor they'd preserved. Both mirrored each other with a sigh and a hand covering their faces. Award-winning, if such an activity was still practiced. In reality, grasping and holding onto so much as a smile was more than a challenge to the Prime Beacon. Forced wasn't the right word at that point.
They were past such things. It felt downright taboo to find merriment in jests. When so many had died, were dying, nearly died, and more had not yet seen death but had unavoidable appointments, how could they make moments in life for it?
"Tell me anything good first. What has improved in Pa-5's condition since her return?"
"Let's remove the obvious from consideration: she's no longer dying." Pr-9 lifted his screen and tapped.
"Her fluid composition and blood content have stabilized. She's regained full range of motion and autonomous mobility with the aid of her cybernetics. Her staff flushed out the drugs bombarding her bloodstream, and most of their side effects are either gone or will be."
"That's it? And 'most of'? Not all?"
"What did you expect? Time is a damn funny thing. Plenty is improvable with it, but plenty deteriorates too. Your Pa-5 is unfortunately of the latter category." Pr-9 spat out a deep whistle. It reverberated off the walls and rang in the Prime Beacon's ears.
"You know, I sometimes like to imagine what would happen if I could go back to the past. If I brought with me some technologies of today, my expertise here and as an engineer, and some medical substances. Can you imagine the changes liquid sun alone would induce in the course of history? It'd become a miracle existence to those with inferior progressions of science."
"Where are you bringing this?"
"I'm getting there. Be patient, it's supposed to be something you're well-versed in." Being chided by someone a few months older stung worse than the same treatment at the hands of someone decades older. Or he never gave a damn about what In-3 thought of him from the beginning. That would explain it.
"I don't live in such times, and I'll never have the opportunity to. Here, assets such as liquid sun are much better understood. There are no miracles to find here unless you're in the practice of blind superstition." He chuckled. "We have limits, and we're aware of them. I know that's a more terrible existence to remain trapped in than if we were oblivious and free of that dark knowledge."
"What I'm saying, is we can't work miracles unto this world from nothing. Before I start listing the negatives, retain this at the forefront of your thoughts: Pa-5 really shouldn't be alive right now."
The Prime Beacon nodded. "Swell. I've surmised as much."
"'Swell'? Your endless store of fictitious vocabulary will never cease to amuse me." Pr-9 began tracing his previous steps in a circle, feet pointed in the Prime Beacon's direction no matter which way the rest of his body faced.
"The injuries Pa-5 suffered are permanent in a sense." He raised his hand, timed as the Prime Beacon's mouth trailed open. "Please let me deliver my part first."
"Ignoring all the drug cocktails mixing and for certain not matching in her bloodstream, her overuse of liquid sun on its own brought down upon Pa-5 a punishment: her body isn't healing any longer. We're reluctant to inject anything stronger than the tamest of pain management cocktails if need be during her visits."
"She's developed…to be frank, we don't know. Almost a rejection of those substances; her body works to flush it all out as soon as they're introduced, instead of absorbing them. It's nothing short of a massive strain. Are you familiar with allergies?"
He wouldn't be, if not for the data archives. "Aside from the odd case here and there, they're a non-issue for modern humanity."
"Your Pa-5 is one of those odd cases, then. There's another aspect to this. She cannot resume her body's prime condition. After a certain point of recovery, her body…stops. No new tissue growths. No cannibalizing dead cells."
"Her bone structure is brittle, though not to the point of a child's or deformities. Her internal organs haven't recovered from the worst of the bruising. Her lungs are…" He whistled again. "There's images here, but I won't let you look. I hope that won't offend."
"There's nothing wrong with that." The Prime Beacon's overactive imagination filled in the gaps well enough without visual aids. "What…what does this mean for her?"