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"I'm Tar," Valentine said. "We're out of Kentucky, Bulletproof tribe."
"And another Kentucky quirt shows up looking for Ordnance medical attention," the man with the shackles observed. "They need to patrol the river better."
The vet ignored both her helper and Valentine, except to say, "Leave your guns in the truck for now. We've got a safe inside. Ahnke, come into the operating room."
She led them in past kennels filled with barking German shepherds and pointers. She unlocked and opened a gray metal door. The tiles inside smelled of disinfectant. Dr. Boothe checked to see that they were following, then turned on a light in a big, white-tiled room. A heavy stainless-steel berth, like an autopsy table, dominated the center of the room.
"It's not right to treat him in a vet office," Valentine said.
"I've got experience tranquilizing large animals. And I'm comfortable around them. I know you're worried, but he's in better hands here than in the main building. They slap bandages on and send everyone to the sanitarium in Columbus. Okay, Ahnke, on the table. Do you want to lie down? Make it easier for me to reach. You ever had a reaction to pain medication?"
"I've only had laudanum," Ahn-Kha said.
"This is better, it takes the edge off." She opened a cabinet and took out a box of pills, shook three out, and poured him a cup of water. "Pepsa!" she called. "Gunshot tray."
Ahn-Kha swallowed the pills.
A plump woman in blue cotton brought in a tray full of instruments. Valentine recognized a probe and some small forceps. The doctor removed Ahn-Kha's dressings.
"Pepsa, take a look at the legworm rider," Boothe said. "He's got some cuts on his hand. Unless you object to being treated by a vet assistant."
"I'd rather stay with my tribemate."
Pepsa gestured into a corner, and Valentine took a seat. She took up Valentine's hand and looked at the self-inflicted wounds, then got a bottle and some cotton balls.
"Does that hurt?" Boothe asked Ahn-Kha as she cleaned the wound on his neck.
"I'm not worried about that one."
"We'll get to your stomach in a moment. Neck wounds always worry me."
"He has a lot of neck," Valentine said.
"Must have been some brawl. You've got some graining."
"We walked into the wrong room," Valentine said.
"It happened in Kentucky?"
"Yes. A few hours ago."
"Uh-huh. I can still smell the gunpowder on you, Bulletproof. You two didn't get drunk and get into a fight or anything?"
Pepsa professionally dressed Valentine's wound without saying a word. By the time she was done the doctor had a light down close to Ahn-Kha's stomach, injecting him just above the wound.
"You've got a lot of muscle in the midsection, my friend," Dr. Boothe said. She probed a little farther and Ahn-Kha sucked wind. "Uh-huh. I think we can forget about peritonitis. I don't want to dig around without an X-ray."
Xanadu had no shortage of medical equipment.
"Is Pepsa a nickname?" Valentine asked as the nurse gave him his hand back. She nodded.
"Pepsa's mute, Tar. You done there, girl? Get him the forms. Put down whatever bullshit you want, Bulletproof, then we'll talk."
Valentine liked the doctor. Her careful handling of Ahn-Kha impressed him. That, and the fact that apparantly she gave a mute a valuable job in a land where disabilities usually meant a trip to the Reapers.
Pepsa led Valentine to a lunchroom. A quarter pot of coffee- real coffee according to Valentine's nose-steamed on a counter in a brewer. Above the poster a placard read "FALL BLOOD DRIVE! They bleed for you-now you can bleed for them! Liter donors are entered in a drawing for an all-expense-paid trip to Niagara Falls." Valentine filled out the forms, leaving most of the blocks empty-like the eleven-digit Ordnance Security ID, which occupied a bigger area on the form than name.
The vet dropped in and sat down, rubbing her eyes. "Calving last night, now your Grog. He'll be fine, but I will have to operate."
