The Human Pet: A Sci-Fi Romance

Part 36

Tarak

A scourge nurse glares at me from the door. "That bed is not approved for a large scourge, such as yourself."

I growl.

She puts her hands on her hips. "Do you want to get a medical release for your pet? Then I suggest you get out of her bed."

Why is the nurse so upset with me? If the doctors hadn't done surgeries that neither I nor my pet had approved, then I wouldn't need to crawl into bed with her. Since I do want her released from medical, I cooperate: climbing out of the bed, staying silent, and pretending to pay attention while the nurse proceeds to give me detailed instructions for Kayla's post-surgical care.

During the nurse's presentation, a robot rolls into the room. This robot is similar in stature to a human, although its head resembles an upside-down bucket. Luminous blue eyes the size of plates blink at me. I eye this robot suspiciously—between the robot's large head and eyes, I'm sure some Hydra official designed this robot like this to hide a camera inside it.

The moment the nurse stops speaking, my fingers twitch. "Can I take my human home now?"

"Yes," says the nurse. "Take this med tech robot with you. It will help you with your pet's care."

I don't like the idea of taking that metal abomination to my home, but since I will do anything to get my Kayla out of this place, I agree.

Kayla's brow furrows when I go to lift her out of the bed. We've gone through this so many times that I know by her expression what she wants, which is to walk. I need to hold her, and she can't speak, so my preference wins. I pull her into my arms and smell her hair. Finally...

"For optimal recovery and health, early ambulation is recommended post-surgery," says a tinny voice.

I turn my head toward the source of the sound. It's the annoying robot, already yammering orders at me.

I start to step around the robot, but the scourge nurse adds, "Commander Tarak, we are sending this robot with you to optimize your pet's outcomes. You do want what is best for your pet, don't you?"

I grumble, but I set Kayla on the floor. She has a wide grin like she's won. I growl at the robot, but I offer Kayla my hand. Together, we leave the facility with the med-tech robot rolling behind us.

The moment I enter my apartment, I initiate my pet-care protocols. Post-surgery care requirements will make everything more complicated, though. Kayla watches me, eyes brightening while I take out her berries, but then her lips pout when I smash them.

"Sorry, Kayla, only soft foods," I say while I let her lick the pulp from my fingers.

The med tech's luminous blue eyes are blinking at me. I know it wants to tell me that I am not following the exact protocol (feeding her by hand without elaborate washing), but the robot stays silent this time. Maybe the robot is smart.

Next, I make sure Kayla drinks down her prescribed antibiotics, and then I bundle her up in blankets, hold her in my arms, and get ready to put her into my bed.

The tinny voice of the med-tech robot interrupts. "For optimal care, human pets should have between 8-10 Earth-hours sleep per day. By my calculations, if you go to bed now and do not rise until the preset awakening time that I have extracted from your wall unit, your pet will have 16 Earth hours of sleep. Oversleeping can lead to fatigue, cognitive impairment, and–"

Who cares what the robot says? This is my pet, and I say she needs cuddles and care. Getting her into bed is the best way for me to do this.

"Silence," I tell the robot, but when its bright blue eyes flash at me several times, I worry. Is this robot recording me? Will this robot report me for not complying with the protocol?