Free The Price of the Stars: Book One of Mageworlds by Debra Doyle, James D. MacDonald Page B

with something Ari couldn’t catch. The headache and vertigo were hitting him now with redoubled force, and a deafening roar filled his ears. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat, and was only dimly aware of the aircar’s increasing speed.
    There’s more to this than mixing beer and brandy , he thought with an effort. The aircar heeled sharply, throwing him sideways against the safety webbing. He groaned.
    A hand—cool and professional—touched the side of his face. “You’re worse off than Munngralla,” Llannat Hyfid’s voice said from behind him. “Why didn’t you tell us you’d been hit?”
    “Wasn’t.” After his head stopped echoing the syllables, he added, “Thought it was the beer.”
    “If you’re drunk,” said Llannat, “I’m a Magelord.”
    *He’s not drunk.* The grumble of Munngralla’s Forest Speech was almost inaudible through the roaring in Ari’s head. *But it was the beer.*
    The hand dropped away from Ari’s face. He sensed, rather than heard, the Adept turn back toward Munngralla.
    “Poison? Which one?”
    *Mescalomide.*
    “How do you know—never mind. We’ll handle it.”
    “Mescalomide’s a blood agent.” Jessan’s voice, oddly faint and worried. “He needs a stimulant.”
    “He needs a complete blood change. What we’ve got is a stimulant.”
    “I know, I know … damn!”
    The aircar heeled again.
    He heard Llannat’s voice. “Keep this damned thing steady for a few seconds, will you?”
    The aircar leveled off, and Ari felt Llannat’s fingers pushing up his sleeve. Something cold and sharp pricked his skin, the arm ached for a second or two, and then the chilly sharpness withdrew. Almost at once, his head began to clear.
    If I don’t die in the next few minutes, he thought, I’m going to spend the next few weeks feeling truly rotten .
    He opened his eyes and squinted at the control panel. He could see the readouts, all right, with an unpleasant, stimulant-induced clarity. “We’re not doing too well.”
    “You’re not doing so good yourself,” said Llannat. “You’re close to checking out on us.”
    “I’ll try not to.” He ignored the dull ache in his skull and focused on the control panel. “Right now, we’re all in bad shape.”
    “I know,” said Jessan quietly. “I’m not good enough to shake them, either.” He paused, and then asked, “Are you up to handling the controls?”
    Ari shrugged, and wished he hadn’t—the motion made his headache worse. “I could give it a try, if you don’t mind a rough ride.”
    Llannat grabbed his shoulder. “You’re in no condition—”
    But Jessan was already unbuckling his safety webbing. “Give him another shot of stimulant. I’m no Adept, but I have a bad feeling about those guys behind us.”
    Ari slid into Jessan’s vacated seat. He glanced at the controls and readouts, barely noticing Llannat swearing under her breath as she pushed up his other sleeve and jabbed the needle into a vein. The Sarcan scoutcars used by the Medical Service had the same instrumentation and basic airframe as the Sadani armed scouts; right now he wished this particular Sarcan had a Sadani’s gun as well. “One of you better get on the comm link and start yelling for help.”
    “I already tried,” said Llannat. “No joy. Somebody’s jamming our frequencies.”
    The row of lights on the lock-on indicator under the long-range scan went out, then turned on again one by one.
    “Somebody’s also lighting us up with fire control,” said Ari. He checked the location of the pursuit on the Position Plotting Indicator scope. “Stand by!”
    He tilted the aircar’s nose toward the zenith and fired the jets up to maximum. The little aircar stood on its tail and headed skyward.
    The Thrust Level Indicator lights shone amber as Ari struggled to gain altitude. On the long-range scanner, the image of the pursuing craft overshot the point where the medical aircar had begun its climb, and skidded