This would make the thirteenth sample he’d tested in total, and the results remained the same. The aging didn’t appear to be speeding up, slowing down, or changing in any way. His cells continued to grow larger, dividing less and less frequently, and his tissue continued to atrophy.
Cavalon figured Rake had a hard time accepting it because outwardly, Griffith seemed fine. After getting another round of fluids and noshing down a couple MREs, he’d hopped out of the cot like he hadn’t just been delivered a death sentence. Then, he’d insisted on joining Rake’s little adventure to restart one of the atlas’s defunct beacons.
That conversation went something like: “That’s ridiculous. You’re dying.” “Exactly, I’ve got nothing to lose.” “You’re sick. You just had a stroke!” “I’m fine. Watch.” Then Griffith put Jackin in a headlock and refused to let go until Rake agreed to let him come. It was a little funny, actually.
However, even though Griffith acted okay—because many of the outward signs of aging that take time to manifest weren’t going to affect him in the short-term, like loss of muscle mass and graying hair—he was not actually okay. At any point, his cellular degeneration could catch up with him, and a vital organ could be overtaxed and give out. Which accounted for his seizures earlier—the increased deterioration had met a breaking point, causing the signals in his brain to stall. And it could happen again just as suddenly.
Yet there the man sat, hurtling toward fuck-only-knows-where right along with them, as if he wasn’t about to keel over at any moment. But if it was how Griffith wanted to spend his last hours, and Rake was okay with it, then who was Cavalon to argue.
Jackin had insisted on coming as well, and currently shared the cockpit with Emery. Mesa and Rake had taken up shop in the crew quarters to look through the atlas’s menus for anything they may have missed about the beacon they were on their way to “repair.”
Cavalon certainly hoped Mesa had prepared to go full-on Savant, because he didn’t have the first clue how to repair Viator-tech anything. Yet Rake still brought him, maybe because he’d been able to partially read the schematics on the atlas, or simply so he could continue testing Griffith. He really hoped it wasn’t because she thought he might be useful in fixing the beacon.
He dropped the newest blood sample into the side of the cystoscope, and a few moments later, took the headset off, shaking his head. “More of the same. Sorry.”
“Thanks,” Griffith said, his low voice an intimidating rumble. “You really don’t need to keep checking, though.”
“Rake wanted me to.”
“I know. She can be … insistent. Let’s forego more checks, though, if it’s all the same to you. I’m not sure I want to spend my last hours being poked by a doctor.”
Cavalon let out a short, breathy laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not a doctor.”
Griffith scratched at his thick beard and gave a half smile. “Coulda fooled me.”
“Just genetic engineering. Some pre-med. Definitely not a doctor, though. I assure you.”
“Wait, weren’t you the astromechanic that fixed the warp drive?”
Cavalon swallowed. “Uh, yeah.”
“And the same guy who figured out how to recharge that warp core?”
“Yeah.”
“And you helped Quin clear those Drudgers?”
Cavalon opened his mouth to ask who “Quin” was, but caught himself as he realized the man had meant Rake. “‘Helped’ is a bit generous, but yeah.”
Griffith’s brow raised, and he seemed a little impressed. “Good man.”
Cavalon blinked. He didn’t know how to react to that. This guy intimidated the shit out of him, but he’d just complimented him. It felt weird.