In the end, Casey wasn’t woken up when Cowl came around, because Cowl didn’t come around that day. Instead, Dr. Skisk was the one to wake Casey at dinner time, with a tray of food. Despite her frustrations, Casey ate in stony silence as the doctor checked her fluids and various monitoring equipment. Eating with her right hand felt strange. Every time she put her fork down, she tried to reach for it again with her left, and each failure felt like a stab in her heart.

“Is your arm still troubling you?” Dr. Skisk asked, possibly having noticed the whirring of the arm socket.

Casey just nodded her head, her eyebrows tight together. Dr. Skisk nodded back in reply. “I am sure Cowl will have a suitable replacement for you when you see them tomorrow.”

“Why not today?” Casey muttered, before limply stabbing at some vegetables. She didn’t have the energy to speak up fully.

Dr. Skisk hesitated before answering. “Helga felt as though you had reached your limit for today. Rest is more important.”

“She isn’t one of the Blessed,” Casey said. “I was fine. I can handle myself.”

If Dr. Skisk’s face could make expressions similar to Casey’s, it would have been of concerned disbelief. As it was, their antennae drooped instead. “I believe her assessment came to a different result, and she is your employer. I’m sorry, Casey.”

Casey didn’t respond, but her gloomy expression said enough. The doctor finished their checkup, let Casey know that she could call if she needed anything, and left. Thankfully, they also left a tablet for her to keep herself distracted, and so Casey spent some time crawling various news feeds, searching for any information on Ulthea’s movements. There was plenty, as usual, but eventually she realized a problem. She had no idea where Brock Station actually was.

The rest of the evening was spent with a galactic map. Brock Station orbited the planet Yogora-6532 in the Yogoro system at 6532 Galactic Units, 134° from the galactic core. The furthest reaches of the galaxy went up to 9999 GU, which placed Brock Station in a comfortable middle point. Ulthea took up a solid third of the galaxy. Casey could see how the territory expanded from the planet Ulthea-13, out into a lumpy trapezoidal shape, extending as far as 7800 GU, and spread from 240° to 15°, with  various stretching fingers of influence. It was surprising to see that many of the systems nearer to the core hadn’t been taken. In any case, it was comforting to Casey that she was further from Ulthea than she had thought. Any retribution would likely take longer to reach her friends than she would to leave. 

This relief was soon replaced with anger as she explored more of the map. She had never appreciated the true size of the galaxy before. Billions of stars and trillions of planets. So many different cultures, different people. Arts and technologies, similar in ways and different in so many others. It was beautiful. Ulthea wanted to pull them all into itself and homogenize them. A deep pit of resentment hardened in Casey’s guts and crystallized. Unity was one thing, but it had to be on everyone’s terms. Seven people alone couldn’t choose.

Stewing in this feeling, frustrated at her helplessness to do anything about it, eventually she grew tired and fell asleep, tablet still in her lap. She dreamed of glowing eyes and greedy, outstretched hands, grasping at her and everything she knew. In the morning, she was woken again by Dr. Skisk, this time with breakfast and coffee. The tablet had been moved to the bedside table.

“Good morning, Casey,” they said, placing the tray over her lap once she had sat up in bed. “Cowl will come for you once you’re done eating. Did you sleep well?”

“I guess,” Casey replied. “I’m not really hungry though.”

“Try to eat at least half,” Dr. Skisk said. “I don’t want another repeat of the time your legs were switched back on. Our prosthetic technology may not be as advanced as Ulthea’s, but it still draws from your body for power.”

Casey frowned, but ate anyway, and realized she was hungrier than she wanted to admit. Yesterday might have been more effort than she thought. Once she had finished, Dr. Skisk called for Cowl. Dread rose in Casey as she expected the whirlwind of limbs and chatter that came with the cybernetics specialist, knowing she wouldn’t have the good grace to be patient in her grief. However, when – following a gentle knock – Cowl arrived, it was with a calm air. They carried a couple of large metal chests under their deceptively skinny arms, and set up smoothly and quietly under Casey’s wary gaze, without any sudden movements. Finally, after some rummaging, they turned from one open chest, holding a cybernetic prosthetic.

“Good morning, Casey,” they said, a gentle smile on their face.

Casey was speechless at first. It was such a departure from how she knew Cowl that she didn’t know how to respond. “Um. Good morning?” she ventured.

Cowl snickered a bit at Casey’s reaction,  gliding over to her bedside. “I know when to tone it down, babe,” she said. “I heard what happened, and now’s not the time to be getting in your face. I’m just here to give you a hand.”

This last sentence was punctuated by a gentle shake of the prosthetic in their own hand, and a wink. Despite everything, Casey managed to crack a small smile at that. “Thank you,” Casey said, relief clear on her face. 

“Of course,” Cowl said, clearly pleased that their joke worked. “Now, how is the socket feeling so far? Any pain, soreness?”

“Just phantom pain, or I think that’s what Dr. Skisk called it,” Casey said.

Cowl nodded their large, serpentine head. “That’s the one. Now, this,” they said, gesturing at the arm in her hand, “is a Nuedra 340 cybernetic prosthetic arm. Simple and cheap, but reliable. Universal plug for your universal socket, and adjustable length. No touch feedback, but that’s common here. Your phantom pain won’t go away immediately, but it’ll pass much faster with this on. Ready to try?”

Casey took a skeptical look at the new arm. Cheap seemed to be the word for it, at least to her eye. A skeleton frame in the shape of an arm, with what seemed to be some light metal plating to give it form and protect the electronics inside. The hand had a similar covering, but still gave the impression of function over form. Rubberized pads were laid along the palm and the tips of the fingers for a better grip. The plating was painted a dark grey, a few shades lighter than the Ulthean grey of Casey’s legs, but the parts that made up the skeleton were gleaming metal alloy, visible at the joints.

Noticing her expression, Cowl said, “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, babe. We might not have synth muscle, but cybernetics companies around here have been doing this for decades, some for centuries. I hand picked this one for you myself. Nuedra makes solid, hardy limbs, and you won’t be in debt for life over it, like another pair of prosthetics you got.”

“If you say so,” Casey said, still unsure. “How much does it cost?”

“Nothing,” Cowl said with a shrug. “Helga footed the bill for this one.”

Casey’s snout wrinkled. “She’s already done enough for me. How much is it? I’ll pay.”

“Don’t insult her by paying for a gift,” Cowl said, tapping Casey’s nose with a bony finger. “What she does with her money is her business.”

After a moment, Casey sighed. “Okay. Let’s try it.”

The prosthetic had a strange feeling to it, once it had been plugged into Casey’s shoulder and adjusted to match the length of her right arm. To Cowl’s credit, it worked straight away, moving with only a faint sound of turning servos and clicking joints. What was strange about it was how disconnected it felt, in comparison to her legs. It didn’t lag behind her thoughts or move in jerking motions like she expected, but she felt nothing but the weight of the thing on her shoulder. Her legs always had some feeling of muscle tensing and release, at least where they connected. The Nuedra simply did as Casey wanted without any feedback.

This led to some teething trouble. Cowl ran her through some exercises to get used to the new arm, which turned out to be far stronger than her right, leading to Casey accidentally bending the rail of her hospital bed as she tried to leave it. While it was impressive, she knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. Some exercises were simple, like touching her nose from an extended position, or pressing colored buttons on a board as they lit up. Balancing a dowel on her palm turned out to be a struggle without the feedback of touch, but she eventually managed to do it for at least half a minute on sight alone. However, one exercise – picking up a rubber ball that went ‘Ouch!’ when it was gripped too hard, dubbed ‘Bruisey’ by Cowl – proved especially difficult, and Casey quickly grew frustrated at her repeated failures. It seemed so delicate. Even the lightest squeeze made it cry out. After twenty whole attempts and failures, Casey got fed up and smacked it off the table. The ball bounced off of the wall (‘Ouch!’) and rolled along the ground to stop at her feet. 

“I think that one was a little too hard, babe,” Cowl said, picking the ball up off of the ground. They dusted it off and put it back on the table in front of Casey. “This little guy believes in you. Take as many tries as you need.”

Casey glowered at the ball, then took a deep breath, and let it go. It took another hour, but with Cowl’s encouragement and her own stubbornness, she managed to finally pick up the little ball without it making a peep. Exhausted and immensely proud, she took a deep breath and sighed.

“Baaaaabe, you did it!” Cowl exclaimed, clapping two sets of hands in a one serpent round of applause. “Now, do that three more times, and you’ll take it with you to practice every morning. Ten minutes a day, alright?”

Casey gave Cowl a vanishingly rare smile. Its juxtaposition to the darkness under her eye accentuated how tired she looked. “I will,” she said. 

 The next three successes came much faster. A few more exercises were practiced and given as regular activities for Casey to practice. Drinking water. throwing another ball, and catching it as it bounced off a wall. Eventually the morning passed, and the lunch hour came around. It was time for Cowl to leave.

“I do mobile work as well,” they said as they packed up their equipment, many hands working precisely. “I heard you’re leaving. If you need maintenance or repairs, give me a call, and I’ll meet you anywhere in my area.”

Casey was lost in thought, watching her hand open and close, seeing the mechanical tendons tug at metal fingers. She still didn’t like the feel of it, or lack thereof. When Cowl gave her shoulder a light poke, she looked up. “Sorry?”

Cowl looked as though they were about to repeat themselves, but thought better of it. “Just call me if you need anything else, babe,” she said. “Don’t isolate yourself, okay? Grief needs company to heal.”

“Um. Sure,” Casey said, feeling like she needed the exact opposite. “Thanks again.”

With a quick peck on the cheek from the large serpent, Casey was left alone in the medbay. Dr. Skisk came in a few minutes later to run a few final diagnostics, then, deciding Casey was healthy enough now to leave, discharged her with a reminder to take things slow. Bruisey Ball was shoved into a back pocket, and she trudged her way down to her quarters, constantly fiddling with her new arm. The clicking and whirring, while quiet, grated at her. Getting used to it would take a while. Finally she got to her room. Casey disconnected the prosthetic and placed it on her desk, then – forgetting in her self reflection that she had a passenger – she sat down heavily on her bed.

“Ow!”

‘Ouch!’