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Timka hauled him to the shelter. The tall spikes of the guard ring were kicked over, more than half of them with the caps knocked off and carried away, the hard packed earth was clawed into tatters, but the shelter stood where they'd left it, somewhat frayed and Page 36 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html dusty but intact. The small clearing was empty. Skeen unsealed the entrance, Timka dumped her burden on the floor of the common room and shifted to Pallah to rid herself of the man's stink. Burn gabbled and clawed at the floor, managed to get onto hands and knees and started crawling toward the entrance. "Idiot," Timka said, "doesn't he realize he's been rescued?" Face twisted with distaste, she put her foot on his flank and pushed him over. "Obviously not." Skeen was bending over the sensor board, waking up the facilities of the shelter. "We're going to need plenty of hot water and the medkit." She sneezed. "Djabo's drippy nose, not just for him." She shivered. "A bit more and I'm coming down with pneumonia. Ti, you think you could set up the water comber? We all need baths. Here." She gave the small combox to Timka. "You mind? Go talk to the Lander, she'll get things ready for you, tell you what to do if you run into trouble. I want to get some hot soup ready. And there's enough water for me to clean the boy up some so your tender nostrils won't be offended." She gave Timka a weary smile to take the sting out of her words. "Lifefire, yes." Timka closed her fingers about the combox, concentrated and grew a covering of short thick fur. "I'll bring the medkit." A last glance at the feebly scrabbling form, then she left. Skeen touched the back of her hand to her own forehead, grimaced as she felt the warmth there, acknowledged the boiled onion feel to her eyes and the prickle at the back of her nose. No help for it, she was in for a bout of coughing and sneezing and general misery. Ananile shots to retard aging, regrowing limbs and organs, meddling with genes, but still no cure for the common cold. She yawned, stretched, slouched across the room to the kitchen nook, sidestepping as Burn reached for her ankles. She dialed hot broth and a tubful of water. Sipping at the broth she ambled back to Burn, wrinkled her nose at the stench rising from him. The bruises were coming up nicely, plum purple with tinges of red and ocher. The rain had washed some of the mud and blood away but streaks and stains of both wound about his body in a lazy calligraphy of violence. He was quieter now, weaker. She emptied the mug of broth, wiped her mouth and knelt beside him; setting the mug on the floor, she twisted her fingers in black hair that felt distractingly like her own when it was long unwashed and turned his head so she could see his face. . She stopped breathing, closed her eyes but couldn't erase the image. This was her uncle as she remembered him, maybe a little younger, a little leaner. Opening her fingers, she let his head thud down, she couldn't bear to touch him a moment longer. They kept telling me he looked like me, I couldn't see it, not in the fots. Ay, Djabo Djabo, Mala Fortuna, I can't& She swallowed, her throat pricking with the developing cold, her eyes prickling with tears she refused to shed. He muttered, his hand came round and slapped down on her knee. She struck it away and started to get to her feet, changed her mind and settled back. Shivering convulsively, she forced herself to look at him. Slack mouth moving, half open eyes glistening wetly, swollen nose. Tongue clamped between her teeth, she lifted his head again and examined his face more carefully. He wasn't as much like her uncle as she thought, not really. Not when she took his features apart. Her stomach stopped knotting and she could breathe again instead of gasping. She set his head down, more gently this time, got to her feet. Poor young Rostico Burn, kicked about and left to welter in his gore. Time and more than time to clean him up a bit. She took him by the wrists and dragged him into the bathroom. By the time Timka got back with the medkit, she had him cleaned up and stretched out on a pair of towels. He was unconscious, breathing hoarsely, his pulse thready and uncertain. Timka passed her the black box and stood behind her, staring down at Burn. "Now that you've got him washed up, he looks worse." "Hmm. I've about used all the water in the reservoir." "If that's a hint& " Skeen moved her shoulders impatiently, opening the kit. Timka scratched at her thigh. "Lander says the sky has been buzzing since Page 37 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html morning, but there's no sign she's been noticed. Those were supposed to be fugitives, weren't they? It looks to me like they are in oddly close touch with the Kliu if that's so." "Mmm." Skeen was working down the man's back, spraying every cut, scrape and bruise with a whitish mist from a small squat can. She paused a moment to rub the back of her hand across her nose, waited out a sneeze, then she was at work again on the lacerated flesh. She heard Timka go on talking then her voice fading; when she finished with Burn's backside, she rolled him over and straightened up and sat on her heels, shutting her burning eyes, letting herself feel the aches and rheums that tilled her body. After a moment she looked around, but Timka was gone. She shrugged and went back to work tending the boy's hurts. Not really a boy, she thought, he'd reject the term with vociferous disgust, but he couldn't be more than a third of her age. And I'm feeling every year, this fuckin' cold, this Djabo-cursed world that never lets up. I swear, once I get off here, I swear by my soul or what's left of it, I'll never set foot on a heavy world, it's g or less for me, for sure. She set the kitprobe to dealing with the pneumonia flooding his lungs and the rest of the ailments inflicting his inside and went to check the water supply. Timka had managed, with or without the Lander's help. The reservoir was filling quickly. She drained off a tubful into the heating chamber and started the pulser. With the prospect of a hot bath sparking a new surge of energy, she finished bandaging the boy, muscled him into one of the bunks and set the heaters going. The kitprobe was buzzing softly, steadily, not throwing one of its hiccupping fits; that meant most of the infection and the illness was cleaned out of his system and what he needed now was what he'd get, uninterrupted sleep. Something she wouldn't mind for herself after the bath. For sure, after the bath. She didn't want to leave before dark, not after what Timka said about the sky sweep. Even with Lipitero's shields there was always the possibility one of those flying eyes would pop up close enough to get a good look at them; the Lander wasn't invisible, far from it. She went back into the bathroom, stripping as she walked, smiling with pleasure as the heat from the radiators and the steam rising from the tub began to work on her stuffed head and sore body. Timka lounged in a pneumatic chair, stun rifle across her knees; she was back [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |