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Scientist Milik chafed my numb wrists. I groaned again and smiled at her,
attempting a look of piteous gratitude. The ridged exotic face was almost
incapable of expression, but her blue lips lifted slightly at the corners.
"This man is in no state to endanger anyone," Woritak said, tucking the
reference book into his smock. "He is not only partially paralyzed from a
stun-dart graze, but he also suffers from trauma
to his ribs, kidney damage, and massive contusions of the dorsal musculature
and dermis."
"How long to patch him up?" the assassin inquired insolently.
"Two minutes to administer an antidote to the stun-dart. Ten to stabilize the
cracked and broken ribs with injectable bonebrace. Embrocation apparatus will
dissipate the infusion of blood in the subcutaneous tissue and minimize pain
and swelling from the contusions another ten minutes. His kidney must heal
itself, although one can insert an indwelling antibiotic dispenser to preclude
infection. One minute to accomplish that. Total treatment time, twenty-three
minutes."
"Then get going." Elgar found a stool and perched on it, the blaster propped
on his crossed legs.
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Woritak's assistants collected the appropriate repair gear and he put them to
work. Scientist
Milik, who didn't seem to be part of the medical establishment, yet was
obviously Somebody, fetched a flask of cool water and held it while I sipped
through the tube. The medic pumped a shot into my neck artery and the
paralysis abated.
"Hang in there, Frost," Milik said to me. "You'll feel almost as good as new
in a little while."
I thanked her and she went away.
Woritak stuck needles into my ribs and slowly the acute pain vanished, leaving
only leftover aches from my encounters with the lacertilian and Bron's
trail-stompers. The hit man watched, looking stone bored, as a lepido painted
my bruises bright red, then positioned a longish apparatus like a tanning
light above my back and switched it on. I felt the contused flesh tingle.
"Don't move," Woritak said. "The machine's ministrations result in an odd
sensation, but it will not cause distress. One must now go to procure your
antibiotic." He left the room. The stolid lepidos continued to monitor the
bruise eradicator. They hadn't uttered a sound.
I said to Elgar, "Did you know we were here on Cravat all the time?"
"What do you think?" His voice was contemptuous.
"Which one of the Rampart board members blew the whistle on me Cousin Zed?
Ollie
Schneider? Are Dunne and Rivello in on the Galapharma scam, too?"
"Why should you care? You're finished whether you live or die."
"I suppose your boss has to decide whether to deep six me or do a Haluk refit
job and plug me into the same cockamamy game plan as Eve."
He gave a noncommittal shrug. His blue eyes were more opaque than ever. "It'll
all be decided after your interrogation. I couldn't care less myself. But
after all the trouble you've given me, I
don't mind telling you it'd be a giggle to see you turn lepido."
"You're working for some sick puppies at Galapharma, Bron. And some mighty
stupid ones,
too. Do you have any idea what could happen to the galactic political
situation if the Haluk achieve human-style stability?"
"None of my business. I don't make Concern policy."
"You just follow orders," I said archly. "It's Alistair Drum-mond and the
other Concern CEOs who make secret decisions to sell high technology to a
hostile alien race, breaking the laws of the
Commonwealth and putting humanity at risk."
"The Haluk aren't hostile. Not when you know which buttons to push. They can
be downright chummy. Generous, too." He eyed me satirically. "Why, a man
properly full of cosmic brotherhood wouldn't even mind his sister marrying
one."
Before I could decide whether this was more than an insult, Physician Woritak
returned.
He folded the lamp apparatus away from my back and did a diagnostic scan.
"Excellent. The contusions are satisfactorily reduced. Please attempt to turn
over onto your back."
I accomplished the maneuver gingerly. There was no pain, except for the
low-level kidney ache.
"Are you able to sit up?"
I could and did, with only a bit of wooziness, causing the metallic blanket to
slide to the floor.
"Hold still for insertion of the renal antibiotic," the doctor said. He poked
me with something.
"The internal dispenser will dissolve when its function is accomplished. Your
treatment is now concluded. All of your injuries are ameliorated. After
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sleeping for a few hours, you should be quite fit."
"He can sleep after he sings," Elgar said. "Get him some clothes. Can he
walk?"
"Certainly not. We can provide an antigrav invalid chair, however."
One of the orderlies dressed me in a set of lightweight green scrubs, similar
to those worn by the doctor, while the other fetched the chair. At Elgar's
orders, they immobilized my arms and legs with strong padded straps, detached
the chair's small control pad, and handed it to the assassin.
Elgar said to Woritak, "One last thing, Physician. Come to the security rooms
in an hour and bring a sedative for the prisoner. By then, he'll need one."
The Haluk doctor clapped his hands soundlessly in assent. The lepido-style
gesture must have conveyed less than wholehearted enthusiasm because Elgar
said, "Your attitude will be reported to your superiors ... When you come with
the sedative, be sure to leave your translator behind."
"As you wish," said Woritak.
Elgar activated the chair's control pad, turned on his heel, and left the
hospital room. I trundled along after him like Mary's little lamb, headed for
the slaughter.
Chapter 19
I woke up coughing, with water running out of my mouth, down my chin, and onto
my neck.
My aching head rested on something soft and warm.
"Stop," I moaned. "Choking."
"I'm sorry. I was trying to wake you. You've been unconscious for a long
time."
I tried desperately to climb to my feet. "Must help Eve... get her out of the
damn tank... Ivor!
Oh, God, Ivor... Mimo! Call the patrol... send every cruiser in the zone!"
"Hold still. Don't try to get up. It's all right."
"I told the bastard everything. Everything..."
Strong arms held me in a tight embrace. I heard a voice murmur soothing
inconsequentialities, saying over and over again that my perfidy wasn't my
fault. My frantic, disjointed thoughts melted into a paroxysm of shamed
weeping. Objectively, I knew that emotional breakdown is an inevitable
postinterrogation syndrome. The knowledge didn't help. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]