Quid Pro Quo (Administration Series) by Francis Manna

Author:Francis, Manna [Francis, Manna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: QuarkXPress, ebook, epub
ISBN: 1934081426
Publisher: Casperian Books LLC
Published: 2012-11-11T00:00:00+00:00

***

By the time Warrick opened the door, Toreth had managed to rally slightly. He looked around, which wasn’t so bad if he did it slowly, and smiled. Warrick stood in the doorway, completely and carefully dressed. He’d even taken the time to brush his hair, Toreth noted absently. Even so, he looked less than thrilled to see Toreth. “Since the odds are very heavily against my being able to carry you upstairs, you’d better stand up,” he said icily.

Toreth eventually managed to struggle to his feet as Warrick watched impassively. Once they were inside, he deigned to lend aid to the extent of an arm around Toreth’s waist, waving the guard away when he approached. The silence as they went up in the lift was deafening, and continued until they reached the flat. After they went inside, Warrick propped him carefully against the wall while he closed and locked the door. Then he took hold of Toreth again and pointed down the other end of the hall.

“What?”

“The toilet is over there.”

“I don’t—”

“Toreth, I have unpasteurized curd cheese in my fridge which is less green than you. If you throw up on my floor, you are going back out of that door. Now, move.”

He nearly began to protest, but whether it was the power of suggestion, or the change from the cold outside to the warm flat, or simply the night catching up with him, Toreth realized Warrick was right. He made a grab for Warrick’s shoulder and missed. Warrick caught him before he fell, muttering something Toreth didn’t catch, but which sounded uncomplimentary. “I think I’m—” Toreth put his hand hastily over his mouth and swallowed heavily.

“Oh, hell!”

They made it the length of the hall just in time. Warrick stood around for a few minutes, making doubtless witty and biting comments that Toreth was too busy being miserably sick to appreciate. Then he left him to it.

By the time his stomach had convinced itself there was absolutely nothing left to get rid of, embarrassment had begun to steal over him. He couldn’t even remember why he’d thought it might be a good idea to come here. He leaned on the toilet wall for a while, trying to decide whether he was up to creeping out of the flat and finding a taxi. In the end he concluded that if he did he would probably end up spending the night face down in the street. Fine if you were eighteen. Not so good at…thirty-two. Instead he made a poorly coordinated effort to clean up the toilet. It was the best he could manage but, he reflected, Warrick was unlikely to be a believer in the saying “it’s the thought that counts.” At least outside the sim. Toreth washed his hands and face, rinsed the taste of stomach acid and second-time-around whiskey out of his mouth, and went in unsteady search of his reluctant host.

He found him sitting at a table in the kitchen, watching an antique coffee brewer. Steam was beginning to waft the smell of coffee across the room.

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