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It wasn’t unusual to hear crying at night in Lab 8. Ileum would make the rounds before she went to bed and whenever her own nightmares kept her awake. Sometimes she’d hear the sobs and whimpers coming from one of the older girls—Peacock, frequently, or that new girl, Painwheel. But she’d long learned the older ones didn’t appreciate being woken and coddled. So she moved by, even though it made her heart ache to know they were in pain.
Not that she had much of a heart anymore.
The little ones were quiet tonight. Lent always was. She’d never seen the little boy cry or show much of any emotion. He’d been in a car crash, and his mother, a Medic from Lab 0, had begged Avian to revive him. He’d placed the living weapon Sardis in place of his heart, and it had kept him alive in the technical sense. But there didn’t seem to be much going on in his mind anymore. Still, Ileum refused to believe that there wasn’t a person inside there, still struggling to feel or think.
Sparkplug and Crawely slept in the same room as him. Both boys were soundly asleep. Sparkplug sometimes still had nightmares from his brutalization at the hands of the Medici when his father couldn’t pay off his gambling debts. Avian had fitted him with the Mech Parasite, which had consumed what was left of his body, neck, and the bottom part of his head.
Crawley was the youngest of the children, barely older than 5. He was found as a baby in a town completely destroyed by bandits, the only living being. Neither Avian nor anyone else could quite figure out why bugs had burrowed in skin or why he could telepathically control them, but it seemed some kind of parasitic relationship. Crawley almost never had bad dreams. The Lab was all he really knew.
After checking on them, Ileum went to the little girl’s room. Alice was almost eight but short for their age. They were a collection of girls who had died too young, stitched up together, body and soul. Depending on who had taken control in their sleep, they could be plagued by nightmares. Queenie and Kat seemed the most traumatized, but Alice had been in charge when Ileum had put them to bed, so they seemed to be sleeping peacefully enough.
Julia’s bed was empty. She was in the hospital wing again. The Chimera parasite that helped her survive the Skullgirl attack (unlike the rest of her family) was slowly killing her. Ileum would check on her after this.
“Ileum?” Remora whimpered.
Ileum stepped into the room. It was always a bit strange, no matter how much it happened, to see the little girl relax at her presence when she knew she looked like a monster from a horror movie. Intestines, slick and red, made up most of her body now, and she wore a mask to spare the children the worst of her. And yet, this was an improvement to what she’d been before the surgery. She went over to Remora’s bed, gently brushing her brown hair from her face.
“Not sleeping, honey?”
“I can’t,” Remora said. “It hurts.”
The Flesh Bugle parasite was an especially nasty one. They weren’t sure how it attached to a little girl not quite four, but her mother had found it disgusting enough that she sold the child to Avian and never looked back. Remora still asked about her sometimes, even after three years without even a letter. The bugles on her skin had grown large and painful, the two on her head looking especially bad. The only way to get rid of them was for Remora to rip them off and let them grow, encasing and devouring the flesh of another. Ileum had never really approved of sending any of the children on missions, especially the ones who hadn’t even reached double digits. But sometimes it was necessary. She’d see if Big Band could take Remora on a mission tomorrow.
“We’ll try and fix it tomorrow,” she promised the girl. “Do you want some medicine?”
Remora nodded. Iluem took out the bottle of pills—one of many that she carried—and picked up a glass from the nightstand. She went to the bathroom and filled up the cup with cold water. Catching her reflection in the mirror didn’t bother her anymore. It hadn’t for years. She’d grown oddly used to this strange body and this strange life. It was funny. In her old life, she’d dreamed of having children when the war was done. And now she had (counting the new ones) thirteen. They weren’t exactly normal children either. All damaged, some more than her. She went back to Remora and gave her the pill.
“That should help with the pain,” she said. “And it will make you sleepy. Give you good dreams too.”
“Mm, thanks, Ileum,” Remora muttered, curling up in ropey flesh that had taken the shape of Iluem’s arms.
“Want me to sing a lullaby?”
“No,” Remora said. “I’m too old for lullabies. But Moo-Moo wants one.”
Ileum smiled at the stuffed animal on her lap, which was not, in fact, a cow as his name would imply, but a sock monkey she’d sewn for her last Christmas. She was glad to see it was popular.
“Alright,” she said. “For Moo-Moo.”
She had a beautiful voice, once upon a time. Now it had changed, along with everything else about her. It was deeper. Wetter. But Remora relaxed in her arms, her eyes sliding shut, and in the other bed Alice stirred, only to let out a content smile in their sleep. The room, sterile and dingy as it might seem, was a place of comfort and safety tonight. Remora was asleep long before the song was over. Ileum gently laid her down, pulling the warm blankets over her sleeping form.
Julia seemed fine. She would probably be able to return to her room tomorrow. Still, Iluem doubted she would be able to sleep. It was just one of those nights. She went to the kitchen. Big Band was there. He had coffee waiting for her.
“Are they alright?”
“Remora couldn’t sleep. Her parasite is hurting her again. I gave her some medicine, and she fell asleep.”
“I’ll take her out on a mission tomorrow. Peacock too. She’s getting impatient, and Trinity knows that never means anything good.”
“Bring Marie,” Ileum said. “And Hive. Just to temper her. She and Remora could be a bad combination.”
Remora was so easily scared and cowered, while Peacock’s thirst for violence would disturb even the most hardened soldier. Marie had been keeping her in check lately, though, something Iluem had to admit she was grateful for. And Hive could always be counted on to obey orders and keep some common sense.
“Good idea,” Big Band said.
They lapsed into silence. The Lab hummed faintly, the sound of electricity running through wires and pipes heating the place. Big Band asked if she wanted more coffee, and she said yes. Sometimes he would play jazz on nights like these. She had never liked jazz before, but it had grown on her down here. Not tonight, though. There was a single bulb in the kitchen, draping them in a cynical yellow light. He started to read one of his detective penny dreadfuls. She kept crosswords in a drawer in the counter, along with newspapers. She never liked anything she read in the news, but she read it anyway.
Sometimes they would talk or play mahjong (which he always won) or backgammon (which she could win sometimes). Most of the time they just enjoyed the silence and each other's company. They were both the type of person who craved serenity, and neither of them got much of it down here. And they both were insomniacs. She was pretty sure that he loved her and that she loved him. It was nice to find a kindred soul even in this damaged body.
She took out the crossword.
“There’s a pencil in the drawer below,” he said. “I sharpened it for you.”
“Thank you,” she said.
And that was all they said that night.