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Updated: May 5, 2025
He left the destroyer after a final promise to Morna that he would get off the meds as soon as he could, then made his way through even thicker crowds to his rented car. He spent the drive back to his ship going over his options. Things didn't look quite as unpromising as they had earlier, even though it still seemed that he would have to go back to Terra for a fresh start.
The quidine couldn't withstand active magic, it seemed; he could only hope the rest of his meds would. So far they were, and he'd had two months' practice working in spite of pain; he could keep going. He couldn't do it for long, though. He felt all right thanks to the meds, but he knew his stamina was only a fraction of what it should be; a few more exchanges, and he'd lose by simple attrition.
Diphtheria's fairly booming in your year. Packard has it now." "Nonsense! I'm all right. You meds. are always on the trail of death and disease." "I thought you said you were going to plug to-night." Charles Stuart was savagely dragging on his overcoat. "Well, I'm not, I'm going out." "You haven't a pain or an ache anywhere, have you?"
She looked at him with affectionate appraisal, and shook her head ruefully. "I can't say the same for you, I'm afraid. How long have you been on the meds?" "Almost a month," Nevan admitted.
"I will, lady," Nevan replied, grateful for her understanding. "Or a Traiti; some of the Palace Guard have given me good combat releases." "That will do." Morna smiled at him. "At least you haven't gone six months on the meds, the way you had when I first met you! But can you stay a little while? Our autochef bakes good cookies. Including chocolate chip."
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