know, hard to believe, but once doctors used to do this. It was a big deal.”
“Really?” Nigel tried to keep some interest in his voice, despite the fact that he could remember when doctors injected one with needles and thought eating meat was bad for you.
“Now a flush job’s just, uh …”
“Maintenance?”
“Yeah, right. I mean, I like to work with my hands, real on-line stuff, but this jacko—no offense, y’know, I mean I ken you need it, but it’s like being a hairdresser or somethin’.”
“You were an engineer.”
“Fact. Now they got me tracing plasmapheresis and slappin’ fixes on hormones and—”
“How’d you like a spate in the drive tubes?”
She came out of her fixed anthology of gripes and looked at him. Until now he had been another anonymous customer, another plug-in for the medmon. “Well, shit, sure I’d tumble to that, only—”
“I believe I might be able to get you on the crew.”
“Who says?”
“I do; I’ll take it up with Ted Landon.”
“You could do that? I mean, it’s tough to get—”
“Of course. I can see this is bloody tedious. Must be dreadful, particularly for folk like me, who’re just the same old thing, piping it through the medmon.”
“You know it.” She brightened and her thin face filled with interest. “You could maybe get me workin’ with that team? I mean, just cleanin’ the tubes would be, you know, interface solid state, lots of fieldwork and some lab stuff, too, I’d—”
“Fine. You seem the sort who should be set free of this.” He would have waved an arm in mute demonstration, but he made the attempt and found motor control gone. “Feel like a zombie.”
“Here, we’re nearly through.” She flipped a switch and he could move his right arm.
“Seems a pity I have to use up someone’s time to do this—the monitoring, the patching, so on.”
“Yeah. You should be able to handle it yourself. How come you’re not on self-serve medmon?”
“Ted’s being careful. Wants to monitor all the old scruffs like me.”
“Jeez. Just makes more work.”
“Precisely.”
“Frap, if you could get me into engine work—”
“Think you could put me over onto self-serve? I mean, it’s a dreadful waste.”
“I guess so.”
“Good. I’m not going to make a mistake where my own health is concerned, after all.”
She looked at him. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Thanks, very.”
He relaxed. Relays thumped and sensation returned to his chest and arms. He hated dealing with people the way he had just done, but at times there seemed no way out.
Nigel was in a good mood. He and Carlotta and Nikka had spent the evening playing sambau on a traditional board. He had lost heavily, giving up a month’s worth of household chore time to Nikka and some ship credit to Carlotta. Unfazed, he kept up a stream of bad puns and unlikely stories.
“What’s got into you?” Carlotta asked. “Been skoffing those disallowed drugs again?”
“Nothing so mundane.” He winked and thumped his chest “You see here a revitalized son of Britain.” He paused, weighing whether to go on. Then: “I got on self-serve.”
“Oh, good,” Nikka said mildly.
Carlotta said, “Translation: now nobody’ll know how fast he’s falling apart.”
“Correct! A man’s enzymes are not suitable points for snooping by program directors and similar riffraff.”
Carlotta asked, “How’d you do it?”
“Moment of opportunity. Talked the medmon attendant into it.”
“Um. The attendant’s got the right—decentralized authority and all …” Carlotta said, frowning. “But a simple systems review will catch it.”
“That’s where you come in.” Nigel watched her expectantly as she arched an eyebrow. “You’ve got plenty of comm-systems lackeys. Surely you can exempt me from their small-minded scrutiny.”
The two women glanced at each other and laughed. “So
that’s
—”
“The old razzmatazz,” he said lightly.
“Nigel, you want me
“Really?” Nigel tried to keep some interest in his voice, despite the fact that he could remember when doctors injected one with needles and thought eating meat was bad for you.
“Now a flush job’s just, uh …”
“Maintenance?”
“Yeah, right. I mean, I like to work with my hands, real on-line stuff, but this jacko—no offense, y’know, I mean I ken you need it, but it’s like being a hairdresser or somethin’.”
“You were an engineer.”
“Fact. Now they got me tracing plasmapheresis and slappin’ fixes on hormones and—”
“How’d you like a spate in the drive tubes?”
She came out of her fixed anthology of gripes and looked at him. Until now he had been another anonymous customer, another plug-in for the medmon. “Well, shit, sure I’d tumble to that, only—”
“I believe I might be able to get you on the crew.”
“Who says?”
“I do; I’ll take it up with Ted Landon.”
“You could do that? I mean, it’s tough to get—”
“Of course. I can see this is bloody tedious. Must be dreadful, particularly for folk like me, who’re just the same old thing, piping it through the medmon.”
“You know it.” She brightened and her thin face filled with interest. “You could maybe get me workin’ with that team? I mean, just cleanin’ the tubes would be, you know, interface solid state, lots of fieldwork and some lab stuff, too, I’d—”
“Fine. You seem the sort who should be set free of this.” He would have waved an arm in mute demonstration, but he made the attempt and found motor control gone. “Feel like a zombie.”
“Here, we’re nearly through.” She flipped a switch and he could move his right arm.
“Seems a pity I have to use up someone’s time to do this—the monitoring, the patching, so on.”
“Yeah. You should be able to handle it yourself. How come you’re not on self-serve medmon?”
“Ted’s being careful. Wants to monitor all the old scruffs like me.”
“Jeez. Just makes more work.”
“Precisely.”
“Frap, if you could get me into engine work—”
“Think you could put me over onto self-serve? I mean, it’s a dreadful waste.”
“I guess so.”
“Good. I’m not going to make a mistake where my own health is concerned, after all.”
She looked at him. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Thanks, very.”
He relaxed. Relays thumped and sensation returned to his chest and arms. He hated dealing with people the way he had just done, but at times there seemed no way out.
Nigel was in a good mood. He and Carlotta and Nikka had spent the evening playing sambau on a traditional board. He had lost heavily, giving up a month’s worth of household chore time to Nikka and some ship credit to Carlotta. Unfazed, he kept up a stream of bad puns and unlikely stories.
“What’s got into you?” Carlotta asked. “Been skoffing those disallowed drugs again?”
“Nothing so mundane.” He winked and thumped his chest “You see here a revitalized son of Britain.” He paused, weighing whether to go on. Then: “I got on self-serve.”
“Oh, good,” Nikka said mildly.
Carlotta said, “Translation: now nobody’ll know how fast he’s falling apart.”
“Correct! A man’s enzymes are not suitable points for snooping by program directors and similar riffraff.”
Carlotta asked, “How’d you do it?”
“Moment of opportunity. Talked the medmon attendant into it.”
“Um. The attendant’s got the right—decentralized authority and all …” Carlotta said, frowning. “But a simple systems review will catch it.”
“That’s where you come in.” Nigel watched her expectantly as she arched an eyebrow. “You’ve got plenty of comm-systems lackeys. Surely you can exempt me from their small-minded scrutiny.”
The two women glanced at each other and laughed. “So
that’s
—”
“The old razzmatazz,” he said lightly.
“Nigel, you want me
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