Star Wars_ MedStar 01_ Battle Surgeons - Michael Reaves [29]
"Well, yar, I kin tell ya t’ job is one o’ t’ toughest in t’ service, you bet, yar."
His Basic was rough; Ugnaughts didn’t generally bother to learn the common language of the galaxy un-less they had to, but Den had heard and understood a lot worse.
"Dem docs alla time yellin’ ’Fix dis! Fix dat!’ like they ’spect me t’pull t’ spare parts outta m’backside! Supply ain’t deegle dung on dis world, you bet. Docs," he mut-tered, staring moodily into the dregs of his drink.
The server droid rolled over and put the fresh drinks on the table. It cheeped something, and Den impatiently waved it off.
"Yes, yes, on the tab."
The droid beeped acknowledgment, then rolled away.
"You work with Filba, is that right?"
The tech picked up his new drink, gulped a third of it. "Ah. Dis good. What was I sayin’?"
"You were telling me that you work with Filba."
Zuzz shook his head. "Dem ’utts ’r worse’n humans. Fussy no-creche-fecal-retents, y’know?"
Den nodded. "Oh, I hear you, brother. Know one, know dem all."
The Ugnaught cocked a bleary eye at him. Easy, Den. He’s not drunk enough for you to start talking like you’re clade-breds quite yet.
Zuzz belched. "I mean, I’m tryin’ to zero-reset t’ whole biosensor array for Recov’ry, every single milkin’ machine, and I can’t get t’ ’utt t’spring for a de-cen’ calibrator!"
"I can’t believe it," Den said. "What scum."
"Got dat right, bloodline." He glanced around, then leaned forward. " ’Tween you ’n’ me?"
he said in a low, slurred voice. "D’ ’utt’s got somet’in goin’ on t’ side. I t’ink dem creds went into Filba’s pouch, y’know what I’m sayin’?"
"Really?"
"Oh, yar. I bin keepin’ an eye on ’im. ’E’s collectin’ sweetsap from somewhere, y’know what I mean?"
"Oh, yar, bloodline," Den said. He smiled. Filba was going to be milking sorry he had gotten in Den Dhur’s way. You could scan that and zap it to the bank.
10
It was a little thing that did it-it often was a little thing. In this case, it was a female human lab tech laughing at something the guy sitting at the next table with her had said. It wasn’t loud, but it was a happy sound, the sound of someone forgetting, for a blessed moment, the grim realities of the Rimsoo. All of a mo-ment, Jos remembered a girl from primary school, the first one he had made laugh. True, he had accomplished this by hopping about, pretending to be a Selonian with a hotfoot, but they’d both been seven years old at the time.
He stared at the food partitioned into the various compartments of the meal tray that sat before him. Though he knew he should eat to keep his strength up, he was finding it hard to work up an appetite. Oh, the food was okay-the powdered hawk-bat eggs did have a slightly gritty texture, but the shroom steaks weren’t bad, since they were local. Still, overall, it wasn’t one of the more memorable meals of his life.
Jos sighed. If not for this war, he would probably be at home, starting a practice with his father or perhaps one of his aunts or uncles-there were a lot of doctors in his family, and several surgeons-and maybe, after a hard day in the operating theater, going home to his impressive conapt in the swank Golden Beach area of Coronet. His spouse would meet him at the door; a bright, funny, sexy female companion with whom he could share his life and love. Maybe even children...
Abruptly, the food on his table held no appeal. What he wanted to do with his few precious minutes of free time was to go back to his cubicle and crawl into his cot, pull the thin syncloth sheet over his head, and sleep for a week. A month. However long it took for this blasted war to be over