The doctor stepped back and regarded Malone's head with something like pride. "There," he said. "You'll be all right now."
"A concussion?"
"Sure," the doctor said. "But it isn't serious. Just take these pills—one every two hours until they're gone—and you'll be rid of any effects within twenty-four hours." He went to a cabinet, fiddled around for a minute, and came back with a small bottle containing six orange pills. They looked very large and threatening.
"Fine," Malone said doubtfully.
"You'll be all right," the doctor said, giving Malone a cheerful, confident grin. "Nothing at all to worry about." He loaded a hypojet and blasted something through the skin of Malone's upper arm. Malone swallowed hard. He knew perfectly well that he hadn't felt a thing but he couldn't quite make himself believe it.
"That'll take care of you for tonight," the doctor said. "Get some sleep and start in on the pills when you wake up, okay?"
"Okay," Malone said. It was going to make waking up something less than a pleasure, but he wanted to get well, didn't he?
Of course he did. If that Cadillac thought it was going to beat him…
"You can stand up now," the doctor said.
"Okay," Malone said, trying it. "Thanks, Doctor. I—"