United States or Mauritania ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !


Hovan's reply changed the medic's expression. He checked the wound, cleaned it, then held the edges together and sprayed it with something cool and gray. The Traiti version of synthiskin, probably, Tarlac thought. Afterwards the medic checked and cleaned Hovan's cut, but didn't bother with any further treatment. It looked half-healed, whether or not it was.

*Aye, but it should not be for long.* *And I knew when I swore that I might have to do it,* Nevan agreed. *Until my success or failure, then.* Three days later he was far from Terra, the violet-flower tattoo on his cheek concealed by synthiskin, in a small Kanchatka-class courier ship.

"I meant what I said," Tarlac replied. "It may be a minor wound, but I know skill when I see it." He was sincere. The medic had been assured and gentle, clearly a trauma expert, and Tarlac had to assume the easing of pain in his arm could be credited to the synthiskin. That was a technique the humans had so far not developed. "He you thanks," Hovan said after a further exchange.

He went to the outer lock and signaled his success to the watchers, then carried the Sandeman to his cabin and secured him to the bunk. Then he went into the 'fresher, found synthiskin release in the medikit, and used it on the Sandeman's face, smiling as it peeled free to reveal the tattoo so familiar from news shows.

That should have been frightening, but Nevan couldn't help grinning; the feel of air on his cheek instead of synthiskin agreed with the tiny indications he could read from his captor. Owajima was disciplined, beautifully so, but not well enough to hide everything. "I'm honored to meet you, Colonel Owajima.