Peter Flynn
stared as the airlock opened to reveal Connor Reese, Eltie, and Doc. Connor and
Eltie supported an additional person between them, who limped in with a bloody
bandage tied around two spots on his leg. He looked barely conscious.
“What
happened? Isn’t this our contact?”
“Indeed,”
Reese replied with his characteristic grin. “This is the first time I’ve ever
been privy to, shall we say, marine haggling.”
Flynn
looked at his first officer. “Eltie?”
“Not me,
Captain.” Eltie nodded to Doc.
The petite woman
stared up at Flynn, defiantly.
“Explanation,
Doc?”
“This
flaring starshiner was trying to string us on the price. He wanted to charge
triple for basic medical supplies.” Even angry her voice carried that musical
accent.
The five of
them headed deeper into the ship, towards the sickbay.
Feel like I’m missing something in this.
“And so?”
“So I shot
him.”
“Twice,”
Eltie put in.
Flynn got
ahead of them, then walked backwards, casting confused looks to all three. “What?”
“I believe
the intent was to demonstrate the necessity in doctors being able to acquire
adequate medical supplies,” Reese said.
“What
happened to do no harm?”
Doc
shrugged. “He’s alive; I can fix him, so there’s no permanent harm.”
Flynn
pinched the bridge of his nose and let them pass. He felt another headache
coming on. “Patch him up, and hope we never have to do business in this system
again,” Flynn said.
“I daresay,
Captain,” Reese said cheerfully, “that this alternative form of medicine might
be very useful in some of the venues where we need to negotiate a price.”
“Reese. . .
.”
“Perhaps
now is not the time for such discussions.”