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“Did you see or find the rest of the skeleton?” he demands. “The books say that megalodons have two-hundred and seventy-six teeth!”
Unfortunately, you hadn’t. In all candor, the tooth had been an extremely lucky find. It wouldn’t fetch an outrageous price, but there are plenty of collectors who would’ve paid a premium. At the very least, two weeks’ worth of wages. Maybe even more to those yahoos who grind it up and snort it as some sort of miracle fertility cure.
But, you digress. Nothing larger than the tooth had been found. Besides, where would you even put the skeleton? Between your <span class="mu-i">Magellan</span> and Reggie’s <span class="mu-i">Hercules</span> you probably could’ve fit the entire mass of a prehistoric skeleton between yourselves…as powdered or splintered bones within your PUEXO storage compartments.
Tom’s hands are barely large enough to clutch the entirety of the fossil. But he gets points for effort. “I’ll save the rest for my birthday, okay mom?”
Faced with such a compromise, all Caroline does is nod. “Be sure to make your bed and wash your hands before dinner-”
“I know! I just wanna find a spot to put this first.” With that, Tom gives you another quick hug, and sprint-walks back to his room. “Thank you, uncle!”
“Don’t run!” His mother sighs, a faint smile tugging at her lips as he disappears deeper into the apartment. It seems no differently to you, the troubles with Jean are not forgotten, but distant enough from this display of childish joy. “Did you really find that by the Marduk?”
“I really did,” you reply truthfully.
She shakes her head ruefully. “Keep bringing souvenirs, and he’ll run out of space in his bedroom. Or worse, try to shoot for becoming a PUEXO pilot to find the rest of that skeleton.”
And you’d write him a recommendation letter. Not that Caroline needs to know. She’d be beside herself if Tom as much as went into five feet of water in a pool.
“…he looks better,” you manage to say. “Could use a few more pounds, though. How much are you feeding him?”
“Enough for two boys his age. Whatever’s in his body, those machines from the Old World?” Caroline asks, exasperated. “With all the work they’re doing to fix Tom, I’m not surprised that they’re hungry.”
Maybe she could’ve put it more delicately. The unpleasant image of the medical nanobots in your godson’s bloodstream suddenly becoming going full Grey Goo is a gut-churning nightmare. Even though Stolze assured you that it wouldn’t happen – the eggheads hard-coded the nanites to not cannibalize biomass from the patient they were healing.
Said patient comes skidding back out into the kitchen. Tom plants himself on the floor, looking up at you with an eager expression. “So are you staying for dinner? Mom’s making tilapia, and I wanna know everything! Where you’ve been diving, how the <span class="mu-i">Magellan’s</span> doing…can I get another ride in it now that you’re here?”
(cont.)
