"Christ, yes!" Farrell said. He took the prisoner's arm himself. "Doctor! We need a medic here!"
"Yes, I am here," said Ahmed Ciler, the doctor Abbado'd met before. He wore a cleverly designed chest pack that folded down into a waist-level tray to display its contents. "Sergeant Abbado? Sit down and I'll look at that."
"I think he's got a bug or something, doc," Abbado said. He swallowed. His throat felt dry and he imagined he could feel it swelling shut. "He fought us all the way. Spooks aren't like that."
No concept of honor required Kalendru to continue fighting when resistance was useless. Spooks weren't cowards. They'd risk their lives on a chance just as readily as humans would. Where there was no reason to struggle—no main body for a rear guard to protect, no greater good to be purchased at the cost of an individual's life—overwhelmed Kalendru lapsed into perfect docility.
"He fought like an animal as soon as he came to, doc," Abbado said. Ciler teased a little serum onto the tip of a probe, then stuck the probe into the analysis port on the edge of his kit. "He kicked and twisted all the way back and he knew he couldn't get away. But he'd had a laser, it's not like he didn't have any mind left."
"It'll be a minute or two before the analysis is complete," Ciler said in a pleasant, soothing tone. "I added a military database when I learned where I was being sent. It's very unlikely that any Kalendru disease would affect a human being, and of course your immune booster is proof against such an event anyway. I'm going to clean and cover the wound. This may sting slightly."
Four strikers held the Spook spreadeagled. Daye pulled off the shirt Abbado'd thrown over the bastard's head to keep him from biting anybody else. Abbado felt like a damn fool, coming in to have his "wound" treated. Plenty of times he'd hurt himself worse and never even noticed it till he sobered up the next morning.
The way the Spook acted had scared Abbado. It was like having your pet goldfish try to take your finger off. There wasn't any real danger, but something was bad wrong for such a thing to happen.
Horgen could handle 3-3. It took two strikers to get this prisoner back to the command group. Abbado would have made the bite victim one of those escorts without even thinking about it if it'd been another squad member.
There was no doubt about any of that. But the truth was, Abbado'd been scared.
"There, that should do," Ciler said. He nestled the spray can back in its niche on the tray. The sealant tingled as it dried to a flexible, transparent scab over the toothmarks.
A chime sounded melodiously. Ciler touched a button that projected a dust-mote twinkle of holographic information. He smiled.
"Everything is perfectly normal," Ciler explained to the sergeant. "Any sensations you may have are merely the result of mechanical trauma, the bite."
His smile expanded. "Or imagination, of course," he said. "And you'll be pleased to know that based on the saliva sample, your prisoner is in good health also. Though suffering from deficiency in a few dietary proteins."
"Thanks, doc," Abbado said. He stood, feeling a relief greater even than sexual climax. He could handle the things he understood. It was the shit that came out of left field that made him shiver.
Lieutenant Kuznetsov was trotting down the ramp with the interrogation kit that they'd left in storage with the rest of the gear they weren't going to need at the landing. Who the hell expected there'd be Spooks here? The prisoner might be screwy, but screwy or not, electronic interrogation would let the strikers know what they were up against from that quarter.
Dr. Ciler looked toward the crowd around the prisoner, then grimaced and gave up the obvious thought. Abbado could have watched the interrogation by echoing the image from one of the officers, but Ciler didn't have that option.
"Let's see what's happening, doc," Abbado said, putting his arm through the crook of Ciler's. "Let us through, please!"
Civilians made way without complaint. C41 didn't know diddly squat about what was going on, but the strikers were used to being in life-and-death situations with no picture bigger than that of their gunsight images. For the colonists, being dropped into the shit without a clue must be terrifying. They were ready to defer to anybody who acted like he knew what he was doing.
Which Abbado did. Abbado knew he was leading Ciler to a place where the doctor could watch a Spook being interrogated.
The prisoner was now bound and gagged with lengths of the tape used to lock pallets into a starship's hold. 3-3 didn't have anything suitable for immobilizing captives, so they'd tied the Spook's wrists with a sleeve of the same tunic they'd used for a hood.