hundred Valium.
The bottle was empty, apart from a little dust.
Idris never took Valium. Idris never took anything.
“IDRIS!” I pulled him upright again and slapped him harder and harder. “Idris, wake up for Christ’s sake.”
But he only grumbled far away and collapsed again, smiling.
I hovered piteously. Ringing the alarm would betray him. But not to ring…
After a few minutes, I rang.
Running feet; the swing doors crashing. Four Paramils dived in, skidding on their bellies along the polished floor, blasters held ready. I stood absolutely still; they wouldn’t waste time asking basic questions, like who’d rung the alarm. To them, alarm meant enemy. They backed me against the wall, again searching me with tiny, expert hands. Emptied my pockets and tumbled the contents pointlessly on the floor. Jabbered to each other, swift and alert, in Gurkhali. Began checking window fastenings…
“He’s taken something, you idiots!” I made the mistake of turning round. There was a searing pain up the side of my face and I was lying on the floor, my mouth filling up with warm salt-sweet blood. The Paramil looked down at me with empty eyes, pushing my upper lip back with the barrel of his blaster, to inspect what damage he had done.
Idris snored on thunderously. Surely even Paramils wouldn’t mistake that for normal … his eyelids were fluttering in a way nothing like life. Between flutters, one eye hung half-open, showing only white.
White-coats flooded into the hall. One after another, they tried to shake Idris awake. One after another, they told latecomers how they’d tried to shake him awake. Achieving nothing. Where were their great brains now?
I jumped up. “Get the medics—he’s taken Valium or something.”
The blaster hit me again, on the other side. My head turned into a pain sandwich. I fell down again, and the forest of legs between me and Idris got thicker and thicker.
“Get the medics,” I tried to shout. But it turned into a pool of bloody spit and a broken tooth on the floor, the spotless floor. I tried to get up, couldn’t.
Suddenly, there were medics; a long, smooth-wheeled white trolley. It took six white-coats, slipping and gasping, to lift Idris onto it, and still his huge, brogued feet hung ridiculously over the end.
They were taking him away. I tried to follow on hands and knees, but a Paramil boot pushed me over on my back again.
“Look—I only found him—he was collapsed already— / rang the alarm!” I seemed to go on saying it forever, till some white-coat took the responsibility of sending the Paramils packing. They shrugged and moved off smoothly, still the perfect team.
Two Techs actually put their arms round me, to help me up. If Techs went on touching people like this, there’d either be a mass love-in or a mass nervous breakdown…
“You should get your mouth seen to,” said one, like it was my fault. “There’s blood all over the floor. …”
“Those Paramils are incompetent bastards,” I shouted, spitting little pink spots onto his own immaculate coat.
“You’re all incompetent bastards.” Then realised with a horrible shock that what I was screaming was true.
But they just stared, till I reeled off to sick bay, keeping myself upright by sliding along the wall. Behind, I could hear their voices calling, “Why did he do it—he had everything to live for? Why? Why? Why?”
They sounded like a flock of terrified hens.
A medic in green barred my way with hairy arms.
“You can’t go in there.”
“He’s my MATE.”
“Sit down. What have you done to your mouth?”
“Damn my mouth. I’ve got to see him. Is he all right?”
Inside, I heard Idris groan. Only a groan, but it was Idris.
“They’re stomach-pumping him.”
Idris made belching sounds, like after a heavy lunch on Sunday afternoon.
“He’ll be all right—we know what we’re doing. Were you with him? He took Tryptozol, didn’t he?”
“Valium. That’s what it said on the
The bottle was empty, apart from a little dust.
Idris never took Valium. Idris never took anything.
“IDRIS!” I pulled him upright again and slapped him harder and harder. “Idris, wake up for Christ’s sake.”
But he only grumbled far away and collapsed again, smiling.
I hovered piteously. Ringing the alarm would betray him. But not to ring…
After a few minutes, I rang.
Running feet; the swing doors crashing. Four Paramils dived in, skidding on their bellies along the polished floor, blasters held ready. I stood absolutely still; they wouldn’t waste time asking basic questions, like who’d rung the alarm. To them, alarm meant enemy. They backed me against the wall, again searching me with tiny, expert hands. Emptied my pockets and tumbled the contents pointlessly on the floor. Jabbered to each other, swift and alert, in Gurkhali. Began checking window fastenings…
“He’s taken something, you idiots!” I made the mistake of turning round. There was a searing pain up the side of my face and I was lying on the floor, my mouth filling up with warm salt-sweet blood. The Paramil looked down at me with empty eyes, pushing my upper lip back with the barrel of his blaster, to inspect what damage he had done.
Idris snored on thunderously. Surely even Paramils wouldn’t mistake that for normal … his eyelids were fluttering in a way nothing like life. Between flutters, one eye hung half-open, showing only white.
White-coats flooded into the hall. One after another, they tried to shake Idris awake. One after another, they told latecomers how they’d tried to shake him awake. Achieving nothing. Where were their great brains now?
I jumped up. “Get the medics—he’s taken Valium or something.”
The blaster hit me again, on the other side. My head turned into a pain sandwich. I fell down again, and the forest of legs between me and Idris got thicker and thicker.
“Get the medics,” I tried to shout. But it turned into a pool of bloody spit and a broken tooth on the floor, the spotless floor. I tried to get up, couldn’t.
Suddenly, there were medics; a long, smooth-wheeled white trolley. It took six white-coats, slipping and gasping, to lift Idris onto it, and still his huge, brogued feet hung ridiculously over the end.
They were taking him away. I tried to follow on hands and knees, but a Paramil boot pushed me over on my back again.
“Look—I only found him—he was collapsed already— / rang the alarm!” I seemed to go on saying it forever, till some white-coat took the responsibility of sending the Paramils packing. They shrugged and moved off smoothly, still the perfect team.
Two Techs actually put their arms round me, to help me up. If Techs went on touching people like this, there’d either be a mass love-in or a mass nervous breakdown…
“You should get your mouth seen to,” said one, like it was my fault. “There’s blood all over the floor. …”
“Those Paramils are incompetent bastards,” I shouted, spitting little pink spots onto his own immaculate coat.
“You’re all incompetent bastards.” Then realised with a horrible shock that what I was screaming was true.
But they just stared, till I reeled off to sick bay, keeping myself upright by sliding along the wall. Behind, I could hear their voices calling, “Why did he do it—he had everything to live for? Why? Why? Why?”
They sounded like a flock of terrified hens.
A medic in green barred my way with hairy arms.
“You can’t go in there.”
“He’s my MATE.”
“Sit down. What have you done to your mouth?”
“Damn my mouth. I’ve got to see him. Is he all right?”
Inside, I heard Idris groan. Only a groan, but it was Idris.
“They’re stomach-pumping him.”
Idris made belching sounds, like after a heavy lunch on Sunday afternoon.
“He’ll be all right—we know what we’re doing. Were you with him? He took Tryptozol, didn’t he?”
“Valium. That’s what it said on the
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