inquired.
“To walk to the galley and pick out what I want,” Quinn growled.
“Ain’t going to happen, Sir,” Andrews denied. “I don’t think the ‘bots would allow it even if I did.”
Quinn turned his head and looked at the cybots then let out a string of curses in Cengusian. He pivoted his right ankle and winced. “Damned knee still hurts,” he complained.
Parks frowned. “It shouldn’t.” He checked the final diagnostic but everything appeared normal. “Maybe it’s just the muscle complaining from being in a rigid position for so long, Milord.”
The Phantom grunted. He was lying there mentally twiddling his thumbs, his eyes narrowed, a muscle working in his jaw. “Roast bovine,” he said. “Rice with gravy. Green beans with potatoes, a carafe of Chrystallusian tea and bread.”
“I’ll get right on it, Milord,” Andrews declared.
“What about Breen?” Quinn asked.
Parks glanced over at him. “What about him, Milord?”
“How often do they have meals together?”
The med tech rolled his eyes. “Every night, I believe, and twice on Dé Domhnach ,” he lied.
The Phantom lifted his head and stared over at Parks. “You’ve got to be kidding! That often?”
“Sir,” Parks said, releasing a long breath. “I don’t have any notion how Doc spends her off time. Will you please stop asking me?”
Narrowing his eyes dangerously, Quinn lowered his head to the soft pillow Parks had provided for him now that he was no longer lashed to the sled. “I need to walk around,” he complained.
“I’d rather you not do that until the doc has a chance to look you over since you’re complaining about your knee hurting,” Parks said. He came over to hand Quinn a pair of loose white pajama bottoms.
“She knows every gods-be-damned inch of my body already,” Quinn stated, “and then some.”
Parks blushed. “All the same, Milord. Let’s wait until she comes back.”
“She thinks she’s going to get rid of me but she’s sorely mistaken,” the Phantom muttered. “What time is it anyway?”
Parks glanced up at the Coalition Mean Time clock. “1610, Sir.”
“How long does it take the woman to eat?”
“She’s been gone less than an hour, Milord,” Parks said.
Quinn said something under his breath then eased himself into a sitting position. He wasn’t going to take another chance of falling off the sled this time. Gingerly, he swung his legs over the side. “Damn,” he snarled. “It still hurts.” He tried lifting his right leg, the strain of the movement showing on his face. He grumbled as he struggled to get the pajama bottoms on.
“I don’t understand that,” Parks said, and once more he looked over the TAOS diagnostics.
With a loud explosion of breath, Quinn pulled his legs back up on the sled and stretched out again. “What if I’m crippled for life?” he asked.
Andrews came back in with Quinn’s supper. “Captain Jaborn is having a fit wanting to know when we can send Captain Quinn back over to the Borstal .” He came to stand beside the TAOS unit. “Sir, would you like me to put this on my desk for you?”
“You going to carry me over there?” Quinn snapped.
All three men jumped as one of the ‘bots came thumping toward them. Parks and Andrews moved back, their eyes wide as the cybot advanced on Quinn then slid its massive arms under the Phantom’s back and legs and lifted him carefully, stepping back then turning toward the desk Andrews had indicated.
“My gods-be-damned knee hurts like hell, Primä One,” Quinn complained.
“ S’doogh lhiam, Chiarn Scaan, ” the cybot replied again.
“It should be sorry for doing all that damage to you,” Kendall said from the doorway.
With infinite care, the ‘bot lowered Quinn to the chair beside the desk then straightened up and moved back to where it had been standing, taking up position beside its companion.
“Did you enjoy your fucking meal?” Quinn hissed.
“That comes later this
“To walk to the galley and pick out what I want,” Quinn growled.
“Ain’t going to happen, Sir,” Andrews denied. “I don’t think the ‘bots would allow it even if I did.”
Quinn turned his head and looked at the cybots then let out a string of curses in Cengusian. He pivoted his right ankle and winced. “Damned knee still hurts,” he complained.
Parks frowned. “It shouldn’t.” He checked the final diagnostic but everything appeared normal. “Maybe it’s just the muscle complaining from being in a rigid position for so long, Milord.”
The Phantom grunted. He was lying there mentally twiddling his thumbs, his eyes narrowed, a muscle working in his jaw. “Roast bovine,” he said. “Rice with gravy. Green beans with potatoes, a carafe of Chrystallusian tea and bread.”
“I’ll get right on it, Milord,” Andrews declared.
“What about Breen?” Quinn asked.
Parks glanced over at him. “What about him, Milord?”
“How often do they have meals together?”
The med tech rolled his eyes. “Every night, I believe, and twice on Dé Domhnach ,” he lied.
The Phantom lifted his head and stared over at Parks. “You’ve got to be kidding! That often?”
“Sir,” Parks said, releasing a long breath. “I don’t have any notion how Doc spends her off time. Will you please stop asking me?”
Narrowing his eyes dangerously, Quinn lowered his head to the soft pillow Parks had provided for him now that he was no longer lashed to the sled. “I need to walk around,” he complained.
“I’d rather you not do that until the doc has a chance to look you over since you’re complaining about your knee hurting,” Parks said. He came over to hand Quinn a pair of loose white pajama bottoms.
“She knows every gods-be-damned inch of my body already,” Quinn stated, “and then some.”
Parks blushed. “All the same, Milord. Let’s wait until she comes back.”
“She thinks she’s going to get rid of me but she’s sorely mistaken,” the Phantom muttered. “What time is it anyway?”
Parks glanced up at the Coalition Mean Time clock. “1610, Sir.”
“How long does it take the woman to eat?”
“She’s been gone less than an hour, Milord,” Parks said.
Quinn said something under his breath then eased himself into a sitting position. He wasn’t going to take another chance of falling off the sled this time. Gingerly, he swung his legs over the side. “Damn,” he snarled. “It still hurts.” He tried lifting his right leg, the strain of the movement showing on his face. He grumbled as he struggled to get the pajama bottoms on.
“I don’t understand that,” Parks said, and once more he looked over the TAOS diagnostics.
With a loud explosion of breath, Quinn pulled his legs back up on the sled and stretched out again. “What if I’m crippled for life?” he asked.
Andrews came back in with Quinn’s supper. “Captain Jaborn is having a fit wanting to know when we can send Captain Quinn back over to the Borstal .” He came to stand beside the TAOS unit. “Sir, would you like me to put this on my desk for you?”
“You going to carry me over there?” Quinn snapped.
All three men jumped as one of the ‘bots came thumping toward them. Parks and Andrews moved back, their eyes wide as the cybot advanced on Quinn then slid its massive arms under the Phantom’s back and legs and lifted him carefully, stepping back then turning toward the desk Andrews had indicated.
“My gods-be-damned knee hurts like hell, Primä One,” Quinn complained.
“ S’doogh lhiam, Chiarn Scaan, ” the cybot replied again.
“It should be sorry for doing all that damage to you,” Kendall said from the doorway.
With infinite care, the ‘bot lowered Quinn to the chair beside the desk then straightened up and moved back to where it had been standing, taking up position beside its companion.
“Did you enjoy your fucking meal?” Quinn hissed.
“That comes later this
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