Freelance On The Galactic Tunnel Network, E. Foner [the unexpected everything txt] 📗

good enough for me,” M793qK said. “You’re as healthy as one can expect for a Human.”

“Are you sure?” Ellen asked. “Like you said, he was dead just a few hours ago.”

“And last night you were a lush. Sometimes I even amaze myself.”

“What’s he talking about?” John asked. “Is that the elective surgery you mentioned? I thought you were getting the thing on your foot fixed.”

“Do you require cosmetic surgery?” M793qK asked Ellen immediately, a gleam coming into his multifaceted eyes. “I offer a quantity discount.”

“That was just a bad-fitting pair of shoes,” the freelancer responded, “and thank you for violating doctor-patient confidentiality. Did it ever occur to you I might not want everybody knowing the details about my procedure?”

“Doctor-patient what?” the beetle rubbed out. “Surely I mentioned that everything that happens in this office is holographically recorded for training purposes, but I reserve the right to sell it to the Grenouthians if anything amusing happens.”

“What’s going on, Ellen?” John asked, getting to his feet and taking her hand. “I know I gave you plenty of grief about your drinking but I’ve seen a lot worse.”

“Now you tell me,” Ellen complained, but then she shook her head. “You weren’t the only one I heard it from, it just took me a few years to believe it. My editor has always supported me, but I could see in his eyes that he thinks I have a problem. Anyway, the doctor says his work can’t be reversed.”

“I didn’t say I can’t reverse it,” M793qK objected. “I said that I won’t reverse it. Even a part-time reporter should be more precise.”

“Freelance,” Ellen retorted. “And if you’re going to split hairs, your exact warning was that if I wanted to start drinking again, I’d have to find another Farling physician who knows as much about primitive biology as you do.”

“There aren’t any Farling physicians who know as much about primitive biology as I do,” the beetle doctor told her. “I thought you would be able to draw that conclusion from the context.”

“Did you let him mess with your brain?” John asked, staring into Ellen’s eyes.

“The doctor didn’t touch my brain,” she reassured him. “I came in a couple of days ago and let him take samples from my intestines and he—altered them.”

“Altered?” M793qK scoffed. “I completely re-engineered your gastrointestinal tract and I’m applying for a patent. The samples I removed were for experimentation so I could program a swarm of nanobots to make the required changes at the cellular level. I finished deploying the nanobots just before the popsicle package arrived.”

“The what?” John asked.

“Stasis pod,” Flower explained. “The doctor has a low opinion of Dollnick life-preserving technology. We agreed to disagree.”

“You let the Farling poke holes in you to take samples and now he’s filled you with Gem nanobots?”

“No scars,” Ellen boasted, pulling up her blouse and showing off her abdomen. “And since you’re the one who let the cat out of the bag, Doctor, you explain it to him.”

“Alcohol enters the bloodstream by way of the gastrointestinal tract,” M793qK said. “The nanobots are targeting the glands which excrete the glycosylated proteins that coat the walls of the stomach and intestines to create an alcohol-proof version.”

“I don’t understand,” John admitted.

“That doesn’t surprise me. Have you ever gone hiking with those boots on?”

“Sure.”

“Do they keep your feet dry in the snow and the mud?”

“They’re waterproof.”

“And Ellen’s mucous will be alcohol-proof as soon as the nanobots finish their work.”

John looked from the Farling to Ellen. “So you’re going to keep on drinking but you won’t get drunk? Somehow, that doesn’t seem ideal.”

“The re-engineered mucous keeps the alcohol from reaching the capillary system by absorbing it first and immediately beginning passage for evacuation,” the Farling said. “The volumetric relationship is approximately ten-to-one.”

“You mean, if she tries to drink—”

“I’ll be in the restroom all night passing copious amounts of mucous,” Ellen said wryly. “The doctor offered me several other options, but they were all worse.”

“Welcome back from the dead,” the captain said, entering the med bay with a fruit basket. “Compliments of Flower and EarthCent Intelligence.”

“Woojin,” John greeted him. “I haven’t seen you since the last conference on Union Station.”

“It’s getting awfully crowded in here,” the doctor interrupted the reunion. “Why don’t you all go and catch up elsewhere, Captain. I have a patient coming in any minute.” The Farling buzzed something at the gryphon and added, “You should feed Semmi more protein or her growth spurt might be delayed.”

“Growth spurt?” John asked.

“Of course. You didn’t think she was an adult, did you?”

“Come, I’ll take you to the private cafeteria,” the captain said. “Thanks for saving him, M793qK. You know I’m good for the bill.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” the doctor grumbled.

Woojin led his guests to the nearest lift tube, and then to the small cafeteria that Flower set aside for aliens traveling alone, most of whom had second jobs with the intelligence services of their respective species. “You have a guest on the way,” he informed John.

“Who?”

“A Huktra agent named Myort. He parked in Flower’s bay just a few minutes ago.”

“He must be coming for Semmi,” John said, and he was struck by the fact that rather than relief, all he felt was disappointment.

“I don’t know about that part, but I have something for you as well,” Woojin said, and handed over a ring.

“My poison detection ring. I sure could have used this a few hours ago. Where did you get it?”

“A tough cookie named Liz showed up here while the doctor was bringing you back to life. She said that right after you visited her at the Borten asteroid belt, she found out that the miners being brought into the system were working without proper cosmic radiation shielding and they’ve started getting sick.