27
“—burning him out. It helps but at a terrible cost.”
“Give it to him.”
Fading in, like before. Like I’m being brought back from the dead. Which, I suppose, is pretty damned close to the truth. I wish the Oldtimer’s would make up its goddamned mind.
Heh.
“As a physician, I can’t—”
“Did you give it to him before?”
“Well yes, but—”
“Then we both know your ethics are only hanging on the wall. Do it.”
I’m still strapped in the chair, eyes pried open, staring at the white. No, not a chair. I’m flat on my back. Table. I’m staring at the ceiling. The voices spar around me. I want to referee, but I can barely follow what they’re saying. Too fast. But I finally manage to lift a hand and the noisemakers stop making noise.
“Fischer, you back with us?”
“Mr. Fischer, don’t try to sit up.”
