Power Play - Anne McCaffrey [94]
“Seasonal blizzards?” Von Clough’s eyes bulged as he saw what was slanting past the window area, as thick and earnest a snowfall as the season ever provided.
Clodagh cocked her head at von Clough, smiling her beautiful smile. “Since these are probably more like what Farringer’s used to, you might ask the cube builder to send him one. Meantime, we’ll get him started mendin’.” Low mutters of disapproval were exchanged among the lesser minions while von Clough sputtered with renewed outrage.
“But—we’re in attendance on the secretary . . .”
“Now, don’t fuss,” Clodagh said irrepressibly. “You can use his space launch to come visit whenever you want.”
Farringer Ball tried to insert a comment, but a bout of coughing took over; the discreet dials on the back of his invalid chair started to dance about.
Clodagh took a bottle from one of her capacious pockets, uncorked it, and then produced a carved wooden spoon. Before his medical advisers could protest, Clodagh had slipped a dose into Ball’s mouth. He swallowed. Instantly the cough began to subside and weakly Ball waved a hand in gratitude.
“Is this what Colonel Maddock took?” he asked, when he regained his breath, with something of the air of a schoolboy asking his grandmother about mythical animals.
Clodagh nodded. “Can’t beat it.”
Obviously swallowing his pride, von Clough executed the barest of civil bows to Clodagh and held out his hand for the bottle.
“What may I ask are the constituents of this preparation?”
Clodagh shrugged again. “This ‘n’ that,” she said vaguely. “Important thing is, it works pretty fast. Long-term results take more time, though.”
Von Clough uncorked the bottle and delicately sniffed, blinking at the aromatics that caressed his nostrils. Then he looked at Ball, who was still recovering from the spasm of coughing, although his breathing was less ragged with every passing moment.
“Amazing. Really remarkable.” He passed the bottle to one of the minions.
“We’ve been tryin’ to tell you,” she said, as if talking to a child who’d just burned himself. “Petaybee’s good for most people. Hardly anybody gets sick ever. If you want health, it only makes sense to go someplace healthy.” Her conviction and clarity in the face of so much pretension and general dog crap made Adak want to cheer.
“ ‘Struth, too,” he said, whether anyone cared for his opinion or not.
23
“Neva Marie? Looks like we got ourselves a situation here.” Johnny Greene spoke calmly and soothingly enough to quiet any of the savage beasts who were circling. “We’re up to our collective asses in planet rapers, polar bears, and pumas, so to speak . . . How many what? . . . Oh, planet rapers? Oh, a couple hundred, or maybe a little less . . . Nope, sorry, I’m not going to count the polar bears and pumas for you. Let’s just say there’s enough, shall we? . . . My position is about—ummm—a hundred and fifty miles south-southwest of Bogota, pretty much in the middle of nowhere special. It’s flat, it’s dark, and me, Mr. and Mrs. Ondelacy, and the town council, as well as little ’Cita Rourke, got ourselves surrounded first by these planet rapers, then somehow or other got our position reinforced by the polar bears and the pumas and other associated species. It’s dark. It’s cold. We want outta here muy pronto . . . I damn-sure know I drive the only winged beast in the vicinity but we need help fast. I don’t care how. There’s too many here to take out and I don’t have the fuel to run a ferry service between here and Bogota and I, er, rather suspect the planet rapers would take it ill if I tried to leave without them. Besides, goodness only knows what they’d do to the polar bears . . . Well, I don’t know what you’re supposed to do, sweetheart. Call Adak to call Sean and see if he’s got any bright ideas. If Oscar O’Neill hasn’t left the planet yet, maybe he could lend a hand . . . Call Loncie’s kids and tell