Page 46 of Throwing Fire

Myhre shakes her head. Pats my shoulder. “The skimmermalfunctioned and a neg cell blew. I’ve read the forensic report. It was an accident.”

“This was not a fucking accident,” I growl at her. “They picked us up at the Night Market or at Payton’s, they followed us, and they hit our skimmer with a fucking rocket?—”

“Snow, be reasonable. I’ve read the report. There was no evidence of impact. Where would anyone on the Clouds even get a rocket? You know how tightly weapons are regulated. A neg cell malfunctioned. It was a commercial skimmer. They’re barely maintained. The taxi company is taking full responsibility?—”

She’s really pissing me off now. “They can take whatever fucking responsibility they want. I know what I know. It was not an accident. It was not a malfunction. Kez and I were shot down and I want everyone home. Right. Now.”

She takes her hand off my shoulder. Purses her mouth. “If that’s what you want?—”

“That’s what I want. Now, Myhre. Stop fucking around. Get Kez and Chiara back now. Call themnow.”

Her mouth thins down to a dark line and her eyes go as dead as an orclas’s. I’ve never seen her wear that expression before. I don’t care. I don’t care if I’m hurting her feelings. I don’t care if she thinks I’m out of my fractured skull. I want Kez and Chiara home safe.

She rises stiffly. “I’ll call Doctor Jacklan.”

I slam my hand down on the edge of the cradle. The goo around me ripples with the impact. “Call Kez! Right now!”

Myhre gives me an extremely rigid bow. “Forgive me, sir, I should have said that I will call Doctor Jacklan after I call Miz Kerryon.” She turns on her heel and stalks out of the dim little cube.

I sink back down into the goo. Arguing with Myhre’s made my head pound and bright sparks shoot behind my right eye. Fuck.

Doc Jacklan makes my head pound even harder when he leans over the cradle and shines a bright light into my eye a minute later.

“Dammit,” I growl.

“Apologies, Mister Snow,” Doc Jacklan says. He’s got a slowdrawl, which I find irritating. I’ve met him before. When Kez and I first showed up to take the reins, he gave us physicals. Company policy, Myhre said. He tried to stick a tracker in my arm. Said that was Company policy, too. I nearly shoved it up his ass before Kez stopped me. I didn’t think much of him then and the intervening two weeks have not improved my opinion. Doc Gray would have patched me up so my damn shoulder and damn hip and damn head weren’t still aching like a damn motherfucker.

“I advise you to rest, Mister Snow. Your body needs time to recover.”

I’ll rest when I’m somewhere safe. Not being poked and prodded by a Tyngaling who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow. I’ll rest when Kez is beside me, not out wandering the streets where some other greedy wannabe can take a shot at her. “Fuck your advice. Get me moving.”

Doc Jacklan’s left eye twitches, but he controls his expression and nods to a palm-top-toting underling standing behind him. “Prep Mister Snow to move.”

“Yes, sir.” She scuttles forward and begins messing with the cradle I’m lying in. Doc Jacklan walks out of the cube, his steps shortened by irritation. I don’t give a fuck. I don’t want him treating me. If I’d had any choice about it, I’d have stayed in Tiv and let Doc Gray patch me up. But it was too risky with Civil Patrol on the way.

There’s clicking and vibration beneath me, which I feel like mini jackhammers in my temples, despite the goo. Then I feel lift. Like a rapid descent: that sinking feeling in my gut and pressure in my sinuses. Goo slides under my back. The cradle rises under my back and shoulders, pushing me up into a sitting position.

I look down at my legs for the first time and realize that the medsuit I’m wearing ends at my waist. Below the waist, I’m submerged in the translucent goo. But I can see through the goo pretty clearly, and so could Myhre when she was sitting beside me. The idea of her sitting there and staring at my limp dick while I wasunconscious pisses me off only slightly more than seeing the red, open flap of flesh down my right side from waist to thigh.

Then something moves, and I realize that what I thought were just flecks in the goo are tiny white ‘bots. Crawling aroundinsideme.

“What the fuck?!” I growl at the medtech.

She pops her head around my shoulder. “What’s wrong, Mister Snow?”

“Why am I lookin’ at ... whatever the fuck I’m looking at?!” I’m not even sure what I’m looking at. Looks like a fucking autopsy.

“Doctor Jacklan will?—”

“Fuck Doctor Jacklan.”

“Oh, well, I’m not fully certified yet, I mean, I’m just a trainee, so I shouldn’t be telling you?—”

“Tell. Me. Now.”

“Oh, okay. Well, your hipbones were shattered. I mean, not just shattered. Crushed. Almost pulverized. The calbots are rebuilding them. They’re at eighty-five percent already. Another forty minutes and we’ll be able to close you up. You really shouldn’t move until then.” There’s a hint of reproach in her voice. But it’s just a hint.

“What’s your name?” I ask.