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"What's wrong with him?" the surgeon asked. "Aside from the obvious, I mean." "I am not certain," Joste told him. "I am not even sure I really want to know, but I must check. Give him support treatment until I can, please." Chorvak was waiting when Joste left the surgery.
Why came you here?" It was almost dark, and Joste was becoming discouraged. The man, except for sounds of pain, had remained silent. He was sprawled on the floor now, naked except for his own blood, his hands no longer bound because he no longer had hands to bind.
"You lie, human." Marguerre shrugged, awkwardly because of his bound hands, but said no more. He'd already said more than he should have; he knew the best way to avoid giving anything away by accident was to remain silent except for the required identification information. "Enough of that," Joste said. He'd not discuss females more with this perverted filth. "Now you will me truth give.
"He told me he knew what he was doing, and I believe him." "What, then?" "I cannot be sure yet . . . but he fought me as well as he was able, though he must have known he had no way to win, and I denied him the escape of death. Had he lacked honor as I thought, he would have spoken in an effort to live but he did not." Joste hesitated.
These huge gray-skinned humanoids were aggressive as hell they were nicknamed Sharks as much for that as for the facial resemblance and this one looked even less well-intentioned toward him than his guards did. "My ident code's TERHE6-2063-4121. What're you doing with my wounded?" "They are medical treatment receiving," Joste said.
Joste looked down at his burden, troubled by the man's sudden change. "He resisted me with all his will, yet now he clings to me for comfort, as a newborn clings to its mother. He seems not to know me any longer, perhaps not to know himself." "As one who has lost all memory?" the older guard asked. "I think . . . not lost," Joste said slowly.
"No, Cor'naya Joste. Under the circumstances, I do not think adoption either possible or necessary; he cannot take the blood-oath if he cannot understand it. He is a Terran, and apparently newborn by their ways, regarding you as chaya. I accept him as es'ruesten, a clan-son of N'chark by birth.
He had underestimated the man; perhaps Marguerre had spoken the truth earlier. Perhaps he had truly felt no dishonor in leading females into combat a thing that was difficult to believe, but so was his sudden change from a defiant Marine to a sobbing . . . what? "Not lost," Joste repeated thoughtfully. "Far worse, if what I begin to suspect is true.
He had to activate the conditioning or buy his death with the information the Traiti wanted. For a Marine, that was no real choice but there was one thing he wanted to make absolutely clear before he went out. "Joste . . ." "Speak, human." "You said . . . I've got no honor." Marguerre raised his head, faced the sound of Joste's voice. "Maybe not . . . your kind, I don't know.
Joste was fully aware of human frailty, and was being far gentler than he cared to, but he was still startled at the amount of blood welling from such shallow wounds. He would have to be even more careful; if he weren't, this Marguerre might bleed to death before giving him the information he needed.
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