Rachel had only been working on humans. The Changed were so numerous, and of so little relative worth or so it seemed, that only their human officers were given treatment for wounds. Changed either survived them or died.
Rachel turned on the spigot and ran her hands and forearms under the water. The one good thing about this camp was that New Destiny had installed running water in the hospital. On the other hand, it was cold and getting blood off with cold water was a pain.
She turned her head at a flicker in her peripheral vision, frowning at Conner who, as always, was followed by his monstrous elf-thing.
“Pity you couldn’t save the leg,” Conner said, glancing at the casualty.
“I said you weren’t going to get my best work if you pissed me off,” Rachel replied, coldly, turning her back and ignoring him. He wanted to see her suffer. He could kill her, he could rape her, but she was damned if he was going to see her sweat.
There was another flicker in her peripheral vision and a distinctive “swish-thunk.” She spun around and the Changed was just about done wiping his sword. The New Destiny officer’s head had not even had time to roll off the blood-spattered surgery table. It did, as she watched, and struck the ground with a sound like a broken melon.
“You SON OF A BITCH!” she screamed, picking up a scalpel and throwing it at him as hard as she could.
Conner leaned slightly to the side to let the wandering missile pass and smiled maliciously as the elf-thing caught it in midair and stepped forward.
“No, Roc,” Conner said, holding his hand up and laughing. “Let her get it out.”
“Do not waste my time!” Rachel snapped. “Do whatever you’re going to do to me. Torture me, rape me, kill me, whatever. But don’t waste my time!”
“But that,” Conner said, gesturing at the headless corpse. “That was a waste of your time. We have no need of crippled officers. One more mouth to feed.”
“You people are too much,” Rachel said, turning back to the sink and scrubbing her hands furiously. She grabbed a towel and gestured at him, half angrily and half in amazement. “You’re a fucking idiot, do you know that? Not just a fruitcake, that goes without saying, but an idiot!”
“Why am I an idiot?” Conner said, calmly, tilting his head to the side as if her opinion was of enormous interest to him.
“Do you know who Herzer Herrick is?” Rachel said, throwing the towel in a basket and taking off her apron for a new one.
“Oh, yes, paramour of yours, isn’t he?” Conner replied, smiling.
“No,” Rachel said. “Your oh-so-puissant intelligence is off on that score. But would you say he’s useless to the UFS?”
“No,” Conner replied. “Quite useful, actually.”
“And did you know he was missing a hand?” Rachel asked, gently.
“Yes,” Conner replied.
“IS HE ANY LESS USEFUL WITH ONE HAND?” Rachel shouted, throwing her hands up and then pointing at the corpse. “Do you know anything about that person?”
“Other than the fact that he has no head,” Conner said. “no.”
“So you don’t have any idea if he might have been of use to you,” Rachel said, throwing her hands up. “He might have been a whiz at logistics! A master of sorting out intelligence and finding that one clue that wins the battle! But you don’t know! And now, you never will! Because you cut his head off! A tisket, a tasket, a head in a basket! That is why you’re an idiot, not to mention a FRUITCAKE.”
“Miss Ghorbani, you suffer under a misapprehension,” Conner said, smiling faintly. “The misapprehension is that anyone in New Destiny cares. Oh, not about your opinion, that, as you said, goes without saying. No, rather about the fate of one individual, no matter how potentially able. Are you familiar with the saying ‘Quantity has a quality of its own’?”
“Stalin,” Rachel said. “My father loves to rave about its stupidity. He especially cites the reality of Zhukov.”
“Who is Zhukov?” Conner asked. “For that matter, who is Stalin?”
“You see?!” Rachel snapped. “You’re an idiot. You’re quoting things you don’t even know the genesis of! You don’t know the reality surrounding them or to what it directly related! It wasn’t a general quote it was about a particular weapon! And if you’re going to apply it to people, the falsehood of the statement is directly associated with the original person who said it!”
“So… who is Zhukov?” Conner said, politely.
“Ack! I’m not here to teach you ancient history,” Rachel snarled. “I’ve got more butchery to perform. I suppose you’d prefer that I concentrate on those who aren’t too far gone and won’t need a lot of recovery?”
“Yes,” Conner replied. “More or less. You’re not going to tell me who Zhukov is, are you?”
“Go look it up!” Rachel snapped.
“Russian general,” the elf-thing said, sibilantly. “Commanded the Siberian Army during the early stages of the Phase Two of the First Planetary War. Later commander of the whole army. Possibly saved Russia. That is arguable.”
“If Zhukov hadn’t mobilized his Siberians, Moscow would have fallen,” Rachel snapped.
“Russia had lost Moscow before,” the elf-thing replied. “It destroyed Napoleon.”
“Completely different situation,” Rachel said. “Even with the partisans, the Germans had the logistics to hold it through the winter, easily. And by the end of the winter, they would have held Murmansk as well and taken Stalingrad. The only thing that kept them from doing that was Zhukov.”
“They didn’t have sufficient security for their supply lines,” the elf argued.
“Excuse me,” Conner said.
“They could draw them, were drawing them, from units from Eastern Europe,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “No, it was the Siberians…”
“EXCUSE ME!” Conner shouted. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“The Russian Winter Campaign of 1942,” the elf-thing replied.
“That tells me so much!” Conner snapped.
“What are you?” Rachel said, looking at the elf-thing.
“I am Roc,” the elf-thing replied.
“I said what not who,” Rachel said, thoughtfully.
“What am I?” Roc asked Conner.
“You’re my bodyguard,” Conner snapped.
“I’m a bodyguard,” the elf-thing said, turning back to Rachel.
“Like hell,” Rachel said, musingly. “You’re one hell of a violation of protocols is what you are. I assume the Lady hasn’t found out, yet. Pity. Be interesting when she finally opens Elfheim back up. She flipped her lid when they made the wood-elf prototypes. She’s going to find a new meaning of mad when she finds out about this… thing.”
“That is besides the point…” Conner said, showing the first real signs of anger.
“Not in your case,” Rachel said, happily. “Just knowing you’re anywhere near one of these things is going to make you a special treat for the Lady. She’s had thousands of years of experience in coming up with nasty things to do to people. I’m sure she’ll pull them all out for anyone associated with… that,” she finished, pointing at the elf. “And why the hell is he a bodyguard when he’s the first thing I’ve found in this crowd that doesn’t have his head screwed into his ass? At least he knows who Zhukov is.”