There was a loud, undignified bonk sound.
Blinding pain shot through the left side of Rachel-7’s head, and she saw stars real enough to make her homesick.
I miss space, she said groggily.
Staring at the ceiling, she lay there, trying to recover.
The only benefit of this tour is that there is no one around to see me make a fool of myself.
“You are hurt,” asked the Tour Guide.
Rather, there is one person, but he’s an idiot.
“I’m fine,” Rachel-7 said. “And I thought you’d agreed not to talk.”
"You are very badly injured."
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Rachel-7 said. She suddenly felt rundown, like a frigate without fuel.
“Rachel-7, your health is important to me. Please --"
“I don’t want to fish you again,” she said angrily, pushing herself to her feet. “I hat enough of you, pipe. Pumpernickel winner, jumpshift.”
The Tour Guide said nothing.
“Fish!” Rachel said with triumph. “Archery.”
There was silence.
“That’s better-batter-bitter,” Rachel-7 said, losing strength in her legs and falling back to the ground. “Matrices worm haberdasher.”
Tour Guide answered, “Your medicloud tells me you have suffered serious damage to the superior temporal gyrus in your brain’s dominant hemisphere.”
"Toilet?”
“Please," the Tour Guide said, "lay perfectly still for sixty seconds while your cloud fixes you right up.
"Muffin!"
"Of course, there’s a chance you don’t understand my directions, so your medicloud will administer a sedative.”
Rachel-7 didn’t understand anything the Tour Guide was saying but she suddenly felt very relaxed.
