Part 35 (1/2)

Nurse Farrow straightened up from her work of loosening the straps on the manipulator. ”Sorry,” she said in a cool, crisp voice. ”I didn't know that. This is usually my job. It's a rather delicate proposition, you know.” There was a chill of professional rebuff in Farrow's voice.

It was the pert white hat and the gold pin looking down upon the gray uniform with no adornment. Catherine looked a bit uncomfortable but she apparently had to take it.

Catherine tried lamely, ”You see, Mr. Cornell is my fiancee.”

Farrow jumped on that one hard. ”I'm aware of that. So let's not forget that scholars of medicine do not treat their own loved ones for ethical reasons.”

Catherine took it like a slap across the face with an iced towel. ”I'm sure that Dr. Thornd.y.k.e would not have let me take care of him if I'd not been capable,” she replied.

”Perhaps Dr. Thornd.y.k.e did not realize at the time that Mr. Cornell would be ready for the Treatment Department. Or,” she added slyly, ”have you been trained to prepare a patient for the full treatment?”

”The full treatment--? Dr. Thornd.y.k.e did not seem to think--”

”Please,” said Farrow with that cold crispness coming out hard, ”As a nurse I must keep my own opinion to myself, as well as keeping the opinions of doctors to myself. I take orders only and I perform them.”

That was a sharp shot; practically telling Catherine that she, as a nurses' helper, had even less right to go shooting off her mouth.

Catherine started to reply but gave it up. Instead she came over and looked down at me. She cooed and stroked my forehead.

”Ah, Steve,” she breathed, ”So you're going for the treatment. Think of me, Steve. Don't let it hurt too much.”

I smiled thinly and looked up into her eyes. They were soft and warm, a bit moist. Her lips were full and red and they were parted slightly; the lower lip glistened slightly in the light. These were lips I'd kissed and found sweet; a face I'd held between my hands. Her hair fluffed forward a trifle; threatened to cascade down over her shoulders. No, it was not at all hard to lie there and go on thinking all the soft-sweet thoughts I'd once hoped might come true--

She recoiled, her face changing swiftly from its mask of sweet concern to one of hard calculation. I'd slipped with that last hunk of thinking and given the whole affair away.

Catherine straightened up and turned to head for the door. She took one step and caved in like a wet towel.

Over her still-falling body I saw Nurse Farrow calmly reloading the skin-blast hypo, which she used to fire a second load into the base of Catherine's neck, just below the shoulder blades.

”That,” said Farrow succinctly, ”should keep her cold for a week. I just wish I'd been born with enough guts to commit murder.”

”What--?”

”Get dressed,” she snapped. ”It's cold outside, remember?” I started to dress as Farrow hurled my clothing out of the closet at me. She went on in the meantime: ”I knew you couldn't keep it entirely concealed from her. She's too good a telepath. So while you were holding her attention, I let her have a shot in the neck. One of the rather bad things about being a Mekstrom is that minor items like the hypo don't register too well.”

I stopped. ”Isn't that bad? Seems to me that I've heard that pain is a necessary factor for the preservation of the--”

”Stop yapping and dress,” snapped Farrow. ”Pain is useful when it's needed. It isn't needed in the case of a pin p.r.i.c.king the hide of a Mekstrom. When a Mekstrom gets in the way of something big enough to damage him physically, then it hurts him.”

”Sort of when a locomotive falls on their head?” I grunted.

”Keep on dressing. We're not out of this jungle yet.”

”So have you any plans?”

She nodded soberly. ”Yes, Steve. Once you asked me to be your telepath, to complete your team. I let you down. Now I've picked you up again, and from here on--out--I--”

I nodded. ”Sold,” I told her.

”Good. Now, Steve, dig the hallway.”

I did. There was no one there. I opened my mouth to tell her so, and then closed it foolishly.