Free Koko the Mighty by Kieran Shea Page B

top pierced with a straw.
    “I said, would you like a drink of water?”
    Koko just stares.
    The man continues, “First off, I want you to know that you are safe. We regret having to use restraints, but I’m told you put up quite a fight earlier. Not exactly appreciative behavior to those who’ve saved you. Two of those you attacked have subdural hematomas and hairline skull fractures. Dr. Corella relayed your diagnostics and confirmed right cranial scarring area consistent with ocular implant technology. From this I must assume you are or were once a soldier.”
    Koko blinks once and says nothing.
    The man shakes the plastic container again. “Water?”
    Running her tongue over her chapped lips, Koko licks a niggling cold sore and thinks,
When was the last time I had fresh water? Two days ago?
Her circadian rhythms are all screwed up, it might be longer. Her mouth tastes like it’s been dabbed dry with sour cotton. She’s so thirsty. Reluctantly, she nods.
    The man treads forward slowly until he positions himself on her immediate right. With care, he lowers the straw to her lips and Koko draws hard. To say the liquid tastes better than kissing the astral plane would be an insult to the delusion of poets. Pure, distilled, and iodized perhaps, but then again—you never know about such things. The water could be contaminated. Koko’s bodily needs trample her suspicions like a rodeo clown. She sucks greedily until the container splutters hollow.
    So thirsty.
    The man steps back, pulls up a caster-based stool, and sits.
    “Call me old-fashioned, but I think it’s best to start with introductions. My name is Sébastien Maxx and here are the facts. Your submarine wrecked on a restricted coastal area. By restricted I mean this place is located along the northwestern portion of the North American prohibs, and there’s no good reason anyone on Earth should even be coming remotely close to these coordinates. If you cooperate, we’re in a position to assist you. We mean neither you nor your companion any harm. Now then, I’ll allow you a chance to speak. Can you tell me your name?”
    Koko rolls her eyes upward and remains silent.
    “All right, can you at least tell me where you’re from?”
    Koko licks her lips. “Well, hold on, let me think. Oh, yeah, now I remember. I’m from a little place called fuck off, ever hear of it?”
    The man calling himself Sébastien presents an unruffled, tolerant gaze.
    “Look, the storm you two just survived was gargantuan. We’ve been aware of this massive low-pressure system’s approach for days, and the fact that you came through it in one piece is nothing short of astounding. Even now the storm’s effects are producing a number of offshore waterspouts. You want to be glib? You want to be hostile? Fine, but make no mistake: you are both lucky to be alive.”
    “Is that so?”
    “It is. And the man with you, while he’s out of danger now, was very close to death.”
    Koko’s brow crinkles.
    Oh, hell—Flynn.
    “Where is he?” Koko asks.
    Sébastien shakes the empty water container. “Nearby. The wound in his leg has spread severe sepsis throughout his body and may have gone so far as to affect his cognitive functions, but is now being treated aggressively.”
    “Aggressively? Aggressively by who?”
    “Trust me, he’s in good hands.”
    “I don’t trust anyone. Doctors especially.”
    “A common sentiment.”
    “So where the hell are we?”
    “Our infirmary. This facility is part of the Commonage.”
    Koko blows out a breath and closes her eyes. “That means nothing to me.”
    “Nevertheless, it is where you happen to be.”
    Pulling together her best weapons-grade stare, Koko opens her eyes.
    “Listen,
fuckstick
—”
    “Sébastien.”
    “Listen, fuckstick.
If you consider a beating heart essential, untie me and take me to see my friend
now
.”
    Sébastien tsks. “I promise, you’ll see him in time, but first things first, all right? I need specifics. Why