Read Online Necessity's Child (Liaden Universe®) by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
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into the sink to be washed.
Then he went to tell Ali to call the clinic and let ’em know he was on his way over.
* * *
The Patroller was a short, slight woman with snow-blue eyes who talked off-world Terran with an accent like Boss Nova’s. One of the Scouts of which they suddenly had a surplus, he figured, and gave her a nod. “Mike Golden, Boss Nova’s office.”
“Isphet bar’Obin,” she answered. “Blair Road Patrol.” She showed him the card signed by Tommy Tilden, Blair’s Boss Patroller, and he nodded.
“You talk to these yoyos yet?”
“I thought it best to wait,” she said, “as the Boss has an interest.”
The Boss only had what he’d left her on the house noteboard, but that wasn’t something Patroller bar’Obin needed to know.
“Let’s see what they know, then,” he said, and led the way down the short hall to the patch-up room.
There were three streeters in the big room, each at their own station; each being tended by a med tech. There were three clinic security posted at points around the occupied stations, guns and annoyance showing.
The streeters were sadly familiar: Hank Regis, with his right hand in a splint; Mort Almonte, with his nose at a funny angle; and Danny Ringrose, swearing and sweating while the tech took stitches up a long, deep cut in his arm. By rights, there should’ve been two more, but maybe Parfil and Dwight had gotten lucky.
Mike sighed and headed for Hank, not because he was the brightest—that’d be Danny—or the most talkative—that was Mort—but because he was the one most able to be informative at this particular point in time.
“Hey, Goldie. How’s the tame streeter?”
“Healthier than you are, seems like,” Mike returned, stopping a few steps short of the gurney where Hank sat, legs swinging. Mike crossed his arms over his chest.
“Yeah, well, sometimes there’s accidents,” Hank said. “Got any smoke, Goldie?”
“Sorry.”
Hank shrugged. “Never was much use.”
Mike felt Patroller bar’Obin shift at his side, but she didn’t say anything, which made her brighter than Hank. On the other hand, who wasn’t?
“So, what happened to your hand?”
“Broke the thumb. Damnedest thing—sure been a lesson to me.”
Right.
“How’d you happen to break it?”
“Banged it against something harder than it was. Want I should show you?”
“That’s okay.” He jerked his head toward Mort. “How ’bout your pard, there?”
Hank snickered. “Ran into a pot.”
Mort turned his head carefully and gave the three of them a glare, but didn’t say anything.
“A pot?” Mike asked.
“S’right, a pot. Did a sight o’damage, that pot, but we got it settled at the end.”
“Shut up, Hank.” That was Danny, his voice stretched and angry.
Mike moved over to his station, leaving Hank to the Patroller, and peered over the med tech’s shoulder.
“That’s a nasty slice,” he commented.
“Cut m’self shaving,” Danny snarled. “What’s up with you, Goldie?”
“Just payin’ a social call. Heard you come in from the warehouses. Bosses are gonna be renovatin’ there, real soon. If there’s teeth—or pots—that need flushin’ out first, it’d be good to know.” He thought for a second, then added, “Reward for information.”
The tech did something that made Danny hiss and swear, arm jerking against the webbing that held it taut.
“Stop that!” the tech snapped. “You stay still or I’ll knock you out!”
“I’ll stay still,” Danny said through clenched teeth. “Get on with it, woman.”
“Think I’m darning a sock?” she said, bending to her task again.
“So,” Mike insisted, drawing Danny’s attention back to him, “what’s up there to look out for, Danny?”
The other man bared his teeth. “Nothing, now. We took care of ’im for ya, Goldie. Mean little sumbitch. Still breathin’ when we left him, but I’m betting that didn’t last long.”
The tech must’ve hit Danny with some
Then he went to tell Ali to call the clinic and let ’em know he was on his way over.
* * *
The Patroller was a short, slight woman with snow-blue eyes who talked off-world Terran with an accent like Boss Nova’s. One of the Scouts of which they suddenly had a surplus, he figured, and gave her a nod. “Mike Golden, Boss Nova’s office.”
“Isphet bar’Obin,” she answered. “Blair Road Patrol.” She showed him the card signed by Tommy Tilden, Blair’s Boss Patroller, and he nodded.
“You talk to these yoyos yet?”
“I thought it best to wait,” she said, “as the Boss has an interest.”
The Boss only had what he’d left her on the house noteboard, but that wasn’t something Patroller bar’Obin needed to know.
“Let’s see what they know, then,” he said, and led the way down the short hall to the patch-up room.
There were three streeters in the big room, each at their own station; each being tended by a med tech. There were three clinic security posted at points around the occupied stations, guns and annoyance showing.
The streeters were sadly familiar: Hank Regis, with his right hand in a splint; Mort Almonte, with his nose at a funny angle; and Danny Ringrose, swearing and sweating while the tech took stitches up a long, deep cut in his arm. By rights, there should’ve been two more, but maybe Parfil and Dwight had gotten lucky.
Mike sighed and headed for Hank, not because he was the brightest—that’d be Danny—or the most talkative—that was Mort—but because he was the one most able to be informative at this particular point in time.
“Hey, Goldie. How’s the tame streeter?”
“Healthier than you are, seems like,” Mike returned, stopping a few steps short of the gurney where Hank sat, legs swinging. Mike crossed his arms over his chest.
“Yeah, well, sometimes there’s accidents,” Hank said. “Got any smoke, Goldie?”
“Sorry.”
Hank shrugged. “Never was much use.”
Mike felt Patroller bar’Obin shift at his side, but she didn’t say anything, which made her brighter than Hank. On the other hand, who wasn’t?
“So, what happened to your hand?”
“Broke the thumb. Damnedest thing—sure been a lesson to me.”
Right.
“How’d you happen to break it?”
“Banged it against something harder than it was. Want I should show you?”
“That’s okay.” He jerked his head toward Mort. “How ’bout your pard, there?”
Hank snickered. “Ran into a pot.”
Mort turned his head carefully and gave the three of them a glare, but didn’t say anything.
“A pot?” Mike asked.
“S’right, a pot. Did a sight o’damage, that pot, but we got it settled at the end.”
“Shut up, Hank.” That was Danny, his voice stretched and angry.
Mike moved over to his station, leaving Hank to the Patroller, and peered over the med tech’s shoulder.
“That’s a nasty slice,” he commented.
“Cut m’self shaving,” Danny snarled. “What’s up with you, Goldie?”
“Just payin’ a social call. Heard you come in from the warehouses. Bosses are gonna be renovatin’ there, real soon. If there’s teeth—or pots—that need flushin’ out first, it’d be good to know.” He thought for a second, then added, “Reward for information.”
The tech did something that made Danny hiss and swear, arm jerking against the webbing that held it taut.
“Stop that!” the tech snapped. “You stay still or I’ll knock you out!”
“I’ll stay still,” Danny said through clenched teeth. “Get on with it, woman.”
“Think I’m darning a sock?” she said, bending to her task again.
“So,” Mike insisted, drawing Danny’s attention back to him, “what’s up there to look out for, Danny?”
The other man bared his teeth. “Nothing, now. We took care of ’im for ya, Goldie. Mean little sumbitch. Still breathin’ when we left him, but I’m betting that didn’t last long.”
The tech must’ve hit Danny with some
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