And that quick, crisp voice cutting in, “What about the kid?”
“Him? He’s some scrapper. Got a head on him, too. Just shaken up a lot when that last blowup hit us, but he’s still in one piece.”
Kimber! That had been Kimber asking about him. But Dard hadn’t strength left to raise his head and look for the pilot.
“We’ll patch up Tremont first and send him under. You two will have to wait a while. Give them the soup and that first powder, Lui—”
Again Dard was given a drink-this time of hot steamy stuff which carried the flavor of rich meat. After it there was a capsule to be swallowed.
Bruises and aches-when he moved his body he was just one huge ache. But he straightened up and tried to take an interest in his surroundings. Santee, his shirt a few rags about his thick hairy shoulders and arms, squatted on another pull-down seat directly across from Dard. Along the passage outside there was a constant coming and going. Scraps of conversation reached them, most of which he did not understand.
“Feelin’ better, kid?” the big man asked.
Dard answered that muffled question with a nod and then wished that he hadn’t moved his head. “Are we going along?” he shaped the words with difficulty Santee’s beard wagged as he roared with laughter. “Like to see ’em throw us off ship now! What made you think we weren’t, kid?”
“No room- Kimber said.”
Laughter faded from the eyes of the man opposite him.