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Or maybe die on you. I'm a wreck. Half paralyzed. Got bashed all to hell in
the jungle when a humpy fell on me. Your little toe-taps busted something else
for sure."
He patted my dripping, burr-cut head in mock sympathy. "Too bad. You just hang
in there, Cap'n. I'll have a medic look you over in a short-short. You won't
die. Not before your time."
He addressed the smirking human trooper. "Chalky, you and Guido go on ahead
with Timikak.
Put the woman in one of the lockups. I'll decide what to do about her later."
"What about the gorilla?" Chalky inquired, flipping his thumb at Ivor's
motionless form.
Bronson Elgar considered for a moment. "Superfluous to requirements. Take him
to the number five sump and throw him in."
"Sump?" I croaked apprehensively.
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The assassin grinned. "Part of the cavern's drainage system. It flushes into
an underground river. Very useful for garbage disposal."
"You fucking bastard!" I lunged at him feebly.
Nonchalantly, he hit my forehead with the heel of his hand. I fell back onto
the trolley, enveloped in pain so extravagant that it almost smothered my
fury, frustration, and grief.
"Carry on," Elgar said to my Haluk guard. "I'll keep the prisoner covered."
The wheeled cart began to roll again and Bron walked beside it. I lay half
conscious on my most severely wounded side, unable to turn over, making
involuntary noises with each shuddering intake of breath. We moved off the
ramp onto the cave's main floor, past the field-
shielded enigma of the genetic-engineering complex, and into a side runnel
where bright light shone from an open door.
Another mechanically translated voice spoke loudly. "Don't bring that
unsanitary conveyance in here, you fool."
My Haluk guard was apologetic. "Your pardon is besought, Physician Woritak."
A tall male gracile appeared in the doorway. He wore a green smock and pants,
a coif thing that concealed his hair, and a translator lavaliere. Hung on a
cord around his elongate neck was a diagnosticon device identical to the one
that had been used on me by Dr. Fionnula Batchelder of
Manukura Community Hospital.
Physician Woritak said, "This, presumably, is the expected patient."
"Yes," said Elgar. "Just get rid of the stun-dart drug so we can interrogate
him."
I was so far gone that I hardly cringed.
The physician grunted obscurely. "What kind of interrogation?"
"Human psychotronic machines, of course," Elgar snapped. He muttered something
under his
breath about frigging thumbscrews, red-hot pokers, and iron bloody maidens
being more attractive options, unfortunately unavailable.
Old-fashioned torture would have given me at least a faint hope of lying. But
nobody lied to the machines.
"Stand aside, Commander Elgar," said the Haluk doctor, "so that a preliminary
examination can be accomplished."
"There's no need for that. Just treat the stun paralysis."
"Not until one assesses the patient's general condition."
"Sweet shit. Well, be careful. He's dangerous."
Woritak bent over me and began waving the diagnosticon above my head and body.
When he came to my left arm, the medicuff emitted a warning squeal. The Haluk
gave a start of surprise, palpated the thing through my envirosuit, then spoke
into some sort of wrist communicator.
"Scientist Milik, your presence is required in the hospital annex
immediately."
Two hulking lepidos, also gowned in green, stood respectfully behind Physician
Woritak. At a gesture from him they picked me up as gently as they could,
considering my bound condition, put me on a gurney cot on my stomach, and took
me into a well-lit chamber full of exotic equipment.
I presumed it was a Haluk-style emergency room.
The lepido orderlies used old-fashioned vibe knives to cut away my
vomit-splattered suit and then my underclothes. Any confidence I might have
had in Haluk medicine took a nosedive when
I saw the doctor summon an e-book from a wall terminal and begin tapping
through it and reading intently. I hoped the title wasn't
Ten Easy Lessons in Human Repair.
When I was naked but still bound at the wrists and ankles somebody covered me
with a warm sheet of quilted plasfoil. Bron watched without expression, his
blaster under one arm. He had dismissed the armored Haluk guard.
A gracile of lesser stature, who looked female to my bleary gaze, entered the
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room. She wore a white coverall, and around her wasp waist was a utility belt
with important-looking technical gadgetry. When she spoke, her voice was
guttural and low-pitched. "What is it, Physician
Woritak?"
"Milik, what in the name of the Life-giving All-Healer is this device on the
human patient's arm? It squeaked when the diagnosticon scanned it."
The female had the lepidos turn me slightly to get a better view of the
medicuff. I groaned on general principles.
"It's a measured-dose infusion unit," she said, "intended to provide
palliatives and other drugs during convalescence. The human is recovering from
some serious dysfunction.
This tiny screen is a pathognomonic monitor that will indicate the condition
being treated."
She prodded one of the armlet pads. Out of the corner of my operational eye 1
could see words scrolling.
Milik nodded. "Yes. He's recovering from whole-body radiation exposure.
Apparently ninety-
two percent healed. Colleague, one strongly advises that these wrist
restraints be removed at once. They are impeding the human's blood circulation
and interfering with the cuff's therapeutic function."
"Negatory," Elgar said brusquely.
"The word does not translate," said Woritak.
"No, goddammit! Frost stays tied up."
"Frost?" said Scientist Milik. "Is that his name?"
"Never mind who he is. Just get busy with the treatment."
The Haluk physician said, "Technician Avelok, release the patient's arms and
legs at once."
With one stride he invaded Bronson Elgar's personal space, seeming to dare him
to do anything about it, and pointed a very long middle finger at the hit
man's nose. It was a gesture that signified "fuck you" in any culture,
although the translated voice remained level and uninflected.
"Listen well. Nobody countermands the medical orders of this one in this one's
own hospital. Do you want the patient treated or do you not?"
Bron took a step backward, glowering, and hefted his Harvey. To my surprise,
he gave in. "All right. But if the ties go off, I'll have to stay and keep an
eye on him."
"You are welcome to do so," the doctor said, "provided that you do not impede
our work."
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