Beyond Varallan
                    S. L. Viehl
                        stardoc ii

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                        Contents
         •   PART ONE: Departure
         •   |1|2|3|4|5|6|
         •   PART TWO: Explorer
         •   |7|8|9|10|
         •   PART THREE: Disclosure
         •   |11|12|13|14|15|
         •   PART FOUR: Betrayer
         •   |16|17|18|19|20|



   First published by Roc, an imprint of New American
Library, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.
  First Printing, July 2000
  Copyright © S. L. Viehl, 2000
  All rights reserved
  Cover art by Alan Pollack

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE
   This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.


     For my son, Michael Edward Viehl.
     May you alway choose the path less
                 traveled.


                 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  Many thanks to my terrific editor, Laura Anne Gilman,
and my friend Holly Lisle, for all your wisdom, guidance,
               and most of all—patience!
     I’d also like to thank Chris Ryan for his invaluable
 insight and advice on fighting techniques and the honest
             realities of hand-to-hand combat.



                 PART ONE:
                  Departure

               CHAPTER ONE
                The Sunlace
                                                    ^»

  I will give no deadly medicine to anyone if asked, nor
suggest any such counsel.
  —Hippocrates (460?-377? B.C. )

  Hippocrates never got smacked in the head by a
patient, I thought as I ducked to avoid a wildly swinging
counterweight. That, or he’d kept them all in restraints.
   My first patient, Engineer Roelm Torin, had been
admitted to the ship’s inpatient ward late yesterday. He
wasn't happy about it, either. According to the nurses, he
had already destroyed an infuser array, knocked his berth
monitor over twice, and kept all the other patients awake
half the night with his grumbling.
   I grabbed his traction rig before the blue-skinned
patient kicked it off the berth mounting. “Good morning,
Roelm.” I performed a visual examination and adjusted the
rig’s clamp. His left leg, while plainly mobile, was badly
swollen. “Feeling a little restless?”
   “Your pardon, Healer.” Roelm made a swift,
apologetic motion with one six-fingered hand, then turned
to address the Omorr making a chart notation. “Release
me.”
  I looked over at the ship’s senior surgical resident, too.
Squilyp had gone and started rounds without me. Again.
   The Omorr never glanced up from his data entry. “That
is not possible, Engineer Toriri.”
  “We’ll see,” I said, purposely contradicting him.
  That got my rival’s attention, and Squilyp's round, dark
eyes glared at me. I was a few minutes late for my shift.
My braid, still damp from my shower, hung over one
shoulder. He'd probably make note of both crimes.
   In contrast, Mr. Punctuality appeared immaculate and
authoritative as ever. Despite his pinkish derma, Squilyp’s
green resident tunic actually looked good on his tall, lanky
frame. Not that I planned to tell him that. I didn't like the
pompous little ass. Since I was in line to be Senior
Healer—the job he wanted—Squilyp didn't like me.
   That had been the status quo for nearly two months
now, since I’d joined the crew of the Jorenian star vessel
Sunlace. I’d agreed to replace the retiring Senior Healer,
Tonetka Torin, but there were problems. I was Terran, not
Jorenian, and had only a year's experience treating
nonhumans. I was also a fugitive with a bounty on my
head.
  Hardly a sterling resume.
   I held out my hand. “Chart, please.” The Omorr
shoved it at me. “Thanks, Squilyp.” I gave him a broad,
friendly smile. He hated that even more than my untidy
hair.
   “Dr. Grey Veil.” Squilyp didn’t call me Healer. I'm sure
he called me plenty of names, but not Healer. “My latest
scans are annotated.”
   They’d be perfect, too. Squilyp ranked first among the
Sunlace’s five surgical residents, for good reason. I’d
never seen him make a single error on the job. The
Omorr's knowledge of procedure rivaled that of the
diagnostic array.
  The known universe would collapse before this guy
ever screwed up.
  “Did you run a hematology series?”
   “Of course.” The hundreds of gildrells that covered the
Omorr’s oral membrane muffled his offended tone. The
white, prehensile filaments measured half a meter long, and
tapered from a thick base to slender, fingerlike ends. I'd
never seen Squilyp eating or drinking. That wasn't a big
priority for me.
  “Good.” I reviewed the rest of his notations. “Nice
work.”
  His gildrells stiffened as though I’d yanked on them.
“Excuse me.”
   The Omorr stalked off. He had four limbs, but used
three like arms, leaving the fourth to stand on and hop
around with. It should have looked silly, but Squilyp
moved with what I could only call a stately bounce.
   Like me, the Omorr was something of an oddity. On
his homeworld, touch healing and ceremonial prayer were
the preferred methods of medical treatment. Yet he never
attempted to use his spade-shaped appendage ends (no
fingers, just incredibly dexterous membranes) to
touch-treat a patient. Squilyp also had a bit of an
obsession with cleanliness. Mere dust motes seemed to
aggravate him. Almost as much as I did.
  Oh, well, I thought. Can’t expect everyone to adore
me.
  “Healer Cherijo!”
    I turned to my patient. Roelm pushed himself up, too
quickly, and impatiently jerked his leg. Before I could grab
it, the traction rig crashed onto the deck.
  Roelm’s white eyes—Jorenians had no detectable
pupils or irises—widened as he looked from the ruined
equipment to the sight of the Senior Healer stalking toward
his berth. “Healer, aid me to convince Tonetka this was
none of my doing.”
   I got the usual crick in my neck as I greeted the Senior
Healer. I’d become resigned to feeling like a dwarf ever
since I'd boarded the ship. Nearly everyone, including my
boss, was at least a foot taller than me.
   “One more mishap, and I vowed to put you in
restraints,” Tonetka said, and gave the rig an ominous
look. “I shudder to think Pnor trusts you to keep the
stardrive operational.”
   Roelm’s chin jutted. “Which I cannot do, unless you
release me!”
   The Senior Healer muttered something rude. The
patient growled something back at her. I had no idea what
they said. The flat, square-linked vocollar I wore around
my neck wouldn’t translate Jorenian profanity. I'd been
told it had little equivalent in any language.
   “Why don’t I take a look at the leg?” When Roelm
made an impatient sound, I patted his shoulder. “Let me
do a proper evaluation, Roelm. The boss will fire me if I
don't.” I picked up a scanner. “Relax.”
   Tonetka kicked the rig out of her way. “You may wish
to sedate him first.”
   One side of my mouth curled. “I don’t think that will
be necessary.”
  She moved beside me to observe. “More scans?”
   I nodded across the ward toward the Omorr. “Just in
case Mr. Wonderful missed something.” I performed
three passes over the leg, then studied the readings.
  Roelm tried to get a look at my scanner display.
“Well?”
  “Well, if you were on my homeworld, I might think this
was a form of filariasis,” I said. “The readings are
consistent.”
  The big man frowned. “What is that?”
   “Swelling caused by parasitic worms that block the
lymphatic vessels. Very nasty,” I said, deadpan. Roelm’s
skin rapidly acquired a greenish cast. I took pity on him.
“Luckily, it isn't that.”
  “Thank the Mother.” Roelm closed his eyes and
exhaled dramatically. One of his big, work-roughened
hands pressed over the twelve-valve heart in his chest.
   I said aside to Tonetka, “Surgical history?” She shook
her head. “Okay.” I put his chart down. “Tell me what
you’ve been doing over the last few days, Roelm.”
   He looked indignant and virtuous. “I have been
inspecting the port thrusters, every shift.”
   Yeah, right. Jorenians worked hard, and played harder.
Then there was all that warrior-training stuff they did in
between. He’d either injured himself on the job, gotten
clobbered during combat training, or done something even
stupider off duty in the dimensional simulators. I picked
probable idiocy number three.
   “Try out any new programs during your recreational
interval?” I asked. “Wrestling some swarm-snakes,
maybe? Rappel down any Andorii cliff-plateaus?”
  “I made two visits to the environome, both for—” He
paused. “Nothing physically strenuous.”
  “Come on, Roelm,” I said, prompting him with a roll of
my hand. “Details, give me details.”
   “I merely sought to increase my manual dexterity. The
program employed fine manipulative skills. My work
demands that I keep my fingers… flexible.”
   I considered this. “Flexible like… grav-rowing down
the white-water rapids on Radonis?”
   “No.” He hunched down. If his shoulders got much
higher, they’d be covering his ears.
   “You did not think to attempt blade dancing?” Tonetka
asked, horrified.
  Our patient simply shook his head again and looked
more miserable than ever.
   I sighed. “Roelm, don’t make me walk all the way over
to that environome and access your program.”
  “You will laugh at me.”
  My boss and I exchanged a glance.
  “We won’t,” I said. “Physicians' oath. Right, Senior
Healer?”
  Tonetka nodded vigorously.
  “Very well.” Roelm looked around and lowered his
voice to a whisper. “I have been learning how to weave.”
   “Weave where?” My boss moved closer, ready to
throttle him if necessary. “Between blade dancers?”
  I could barely hear him now. “I have been weaving
baskets.”
     “What? You mean—” I bit my lip. “Oh. Right. Baskets
.”
  Here we’d been thinking Roelm had tried to half-kill
himself in some intense physical challenge. In reality, he
had been teaching himself the gentlest—and definitely the
most feminine—of Jorenian art forms.
     “Yes,” he said. “Baskets!”
   Tonetka whirled away just as I caught the expression
on her face. I stepped between her and Roelm, so he
wouldn’t see her shoulders shaking, and cleared my
throat.
  “Well, that sounds nice, Roelm.” If this got out, he’d
never live it down. “Um, very interesting.”
   “It is not amusing,” he said. “A male can learn such
skills as easily as a female.”
   A cough that didn’t do much to cover a laugh burst
from the Senior Healer. I jabbed her in the back with my
elbow. My calm, understanding expression never
wavered.
   “Of course they can,” I said. Tonetka snorted and I
elbowed her again. “What else have you been doing?”
     “No more than is usual. Eating. Sleeping. Working.”
  That reminded me of what he’d said before. “Describe
how you inspect a thruster.”
   He elaborated. The Sunlace’s colossal engines required
careful maintenance and regular inspections. As a
supervisor, Roelm directed most of the stardrive
operations, and routinely inspected the work performed
by his subordinates. Not surprising. He’d been one of the
ship's primary designers.
    From what he told me, a new design concept required
him to perform several comparison tests on the thrusters.
I recalled what I knew of the equipment from the lengthy
tour I’d been given during my first week.
   “Roelm, when you were running these tests, did you
have to balance yourself against the edge of the access
panel?” He nodded. “On one leg, maybe?” Another nod. I
lightly patted his swollen limb. “This leg?”
   “Yes, but—” He stopped and looked sheepish. “I did
spend an extended interval in such a position, recalibrating
the directional relays and checking circuit tolerances.”
  Tonetka had gotten over the giggles. Now she glowered
over my shoulder, “How extended?”
  Roelm made a weak gesture. “A double shift.”
   My boss tossed Roelm’s chart up in the air and stalked
off. I caught it neatly when it came down, then made the
appropriate notation.
   “Well, that explains where the edema came from. We’ll
keep your leg elevated for now. The diuretics will reduce
the swelling.” I tried to look stern. “No more twisting
yourself into a pretzel for a whole day, Roelm.”
  “What is a pretzel?”
  I laughed.

   Tonetka didn’t appear at all amused when I entered her
office. She shoved aside a touchpad onto which she had
been pounding data. White eyes glared in the direction of
the Engineer's berth. Then she exploded.
  “That stubborn t’lerue!”
  I closed the door panel, sat down, and calmly
completed my chart entry while she vented.
   “Males will be males,” I said when she started to run
out of bad words I couldn’t understand. “It's the reason
the female of most species invariably lives longer.”
  “Hmph. I should like to divert his path.”
   That constituted a declaration of ClanKill, or—in
Jorenian idiomatic terms—a death threat. I knew she
wasn’t serious. Tonetka often blustered to vent her
frequent frustrations.
  “Give him a day or two on a restricted diet,” I said.
“That should teach him a lesson.”
   “He’s fortunate we don't perform amputations in this
age.” Tonetka rubbed her fingers against her brow. A
reluctant chuckle escaped her. “Weaving. Mother of All
Houses.”
  “Think of it as great blackmail material,” I said. “He
could be your devoted slave from now on.”
   “At the very least. Ah, well. Here are the current
cases.” She indicated a short stack of charts. “Roelm
constitutes the only new admission. We should prepare
for transition in a few hours. I want to put Hado back in
sleep suspension.”
   Tonetka and I had performed open-heart surgery on
Navigator Hado Torin a few weeks before. Despite his
steady recovery, his condition remained guarded. The
extra precaution of putting him in a sleep suspension field
before the Sunlace dropped out of dimensional
füghtshielding would protect his still-healing cardiac
organ.
  “Are we getting near that planet Captain Pnor told me
about?” I asked. “Ness-something?”
   “NessNevat. You haven’t been accessing your relays
again.”
  “I keep forgetting.” No, I didn’t.
   “Program an alarm,” my boss said. “As Senior Healer,
you will be required to review intership communications
daily. Even,” she said when I tried to interrupt, “the ones
to which you do not desire to respond.”
   I rolled my eyes. “If you only knew how many times I
get invited to someone’s quarters for a meal interval…”
   “You are a popular member of our HouseClan.”
Tonetka had no sympathy for me. “As Terrans say, get
used to it.”
   That was the whole problem. My life had never been
this complicated before. On my homeworld, for example,
I worked, ate, and slept. After I’d left Terra and
transferred to Kevarzangia Two a year ago, I made a few
friends I never had time for. Worked. Ate. Slept.
   However, here on the Sunlace, I found myself up to
my eyebrows in nice, sociable Jorenians who had
absolutely no intention of leaving me alone. Ever since I’d
been formally adopted by HouseClan Torin, I'd been
under siege.
   They signaled me constantly. Invited me to eat, talk, or
spend recreation time with them. Stopped by my quarters
to chat. Would have stayed and sung me to sleep if I’d
asked.
   My biggest problem? Guilt. I suspected all the attention
I was getting sprang from sympathy over the death of my
Jorenian lover. I was considered a widow in the crew’s
eyes. Yet Kao's death had been my fault.
   Then there was the Allied League of Worlds’ failure to
recognize me as a sentient being over the matter of my
being a genetic construct—a clone. That ruling had
ultimately prompted Joren to rescue me from K-2, adopt
me, then break off all relations with the League. Added to
that was the bounty the League had put on my head,
which constituted more credits than a raider could make in
ten lifetimes. Half the mercenaries in the galaxy were
probably out hunting for the Sunlace by now.
  In light of all that, I felt the HouseClan should resent
me. They thought I should just ignore the whole distasteful
business, and stop by for a meal when I was free.
   Eventually (I hoped) I’d get used to it. The Sunlace
was currently en route to Joren. HouseClan Torin’s
homeworld, in the Varallan Quadrant. Since the journey
would take a revolution, equal to a standard Terran year, I
had ample time to adjust to my new family. Or to get off
the ship.
  “Caution.” Tonetka's vidisplay sounded an alert.
“Multiple incoming emergencies.”
  The Senior Healer and I dropped what we were doing
and hurried out into the bay. Squilyp intersected our path.
A pair of female educators limped in, carrying an
unconscious child between them.
   They were a mess. Shredded garments. White eyes
wide with shock. Serious lacerations all over them. A
spattered track of greenish Wood on the deck trailed
behind them back to the gyrlift panel.
   “Here.” Tonetka helped them place the limp little girl on
an open exam pad. Her experienced eye evaluated case
priority in a blink. “Cherijo, the child. Squilyp, with me.”
  I performed a visual first. She had a minor head
wound, dozens of“ shallow contusions, and a few deep
ones, all on the front surfaces of her body. Her
powder-blue skin felt cool and clammy; her respiration
sounded jerky and labored. A quick pass of my scanner
revealed the rapid drop in her blood pressure.
   “I need hands over here!” I yelled as I put aside the
scanner, then yanked a thermal cover over the child. One
of the junior residents joined me at the exam pad, and
monitored while I quickly sterilized, masked, and gloved.
   I checked the child’s airways, and found them
mercifully clear, “She's in shock. Oxygen, stat.” The
resident took care of that while I attached a fluidic infuser
to the small arm.
   “Uhhh…”
   “Easy, sweetheart,” I said as her eyelids fluttered,
“You’re going to be fine.” My gaze shifted to the resident,
who adjusted the monitor's sensors from adult to juvenile
levels. “What's her name?”
   “This is Fasala Torin.”
   “Fasala.” My hand lightly stroked her brow. “Honey,
can you hear me?”
   “Yes…” Dull with pain, the child’s eyes opened.
  Her gaze made a tight knot form in my chest. Had
mercenaries attacked the ship again, without an alarm
sounding? What else could have done this? Fasala
couldn’t be more than five years old. Just a kid. Bleeding
because of me?
   “Heal… er… hurts…”
   I could agonize over the possibilities later. She needed
me now. “It’s okay, honey. We're going to take care of
that.” To the resident, I said, “Twenty-five cc's of
pentazaocine.”
   After administering the painkiller, I watched the
monitors. The vise on my lungs eased as her levels began
to stabilize. Although Fasala slipped back into
unconsciousness, the immediate danger of traumatic
shock was over.
   She wouldn’t die. I wouldn't let her.
   The resident rapidly prepared an instrument tray while I
ran a second scan series. By then the shallow head wound
had stopped bleeding. That was odd; the shallow ones
usually gushed like fountains. I frowned when I saw none
of the other open gashes were bleeding, either. Jorenians
had wonderful physiologies, but their blood didn’t
coagulate this fast. Especially not with multiple breaches
of the subdermal cartilage layer,
  “Tonetka?” I called out. “She’s stopped bleeding. For
no apparent reason.”
  “This one as well,” Squilyp said.
   “Scan the lacerations for foreign material,” Tonetka
said. I glanced back and saw her bent over one of the
educators with a magniviewer. “Do either of you see
anything?”
   Squilyp’s gildrells flared with agitation as he scanned
the other female. “I cannot find visible debris here,” he
said, and glared down at the moaning patient. He probably
thought she was hiding it from him.
  Tonetka addressed the educator she was treating. “Tell
me, ClanCousin, what caused these injuries?”
   “I do not know, Senior Healer.” Pain made the
patient’s voice sound reedy. “Fasala did not return from
our group environome activity. We found her an hour ago,
on the fourteenth level. The interior buffer…” Her eyes
closed briefly. “It shattered.”
   I knew vaguely what an interior buffer was—some sort
of security barrier inside the hull that prevented accidental
decompression. Too bad I couldn’t apply some of that to
the Omorr's mouth.
   “That’s impossible!” I heard Roelm Torin yell from his
berth across the ward. “No buffer could—”
   At the same time, the Omorr said, “Interior buffers are
indestructible. No—”
  “Quiet!” Tonetka cut both men off, then asked the
educator, “How many others were injured?”
  “Only the three of us.”
  “You are certain it was the buffer?”
  “I felt it implode back on us.” The educator shuddered.
“As if we had been slashed by a thousand unseen knives.”
  Squilyp stopped probing his patient and stared at the
educator in horror.
  Roelm gasped. “Mother of All Houses.”
  I guessed that meant these buffer things did shatter.
The constriction in my chest started to loosen. Maybe it
hadn’t been from an attack on the ship. Plus Squilyp was
actually wrong about something. The known universe was
going to collapse. Right there in front of my eyes.
   “Cherijo, Squilyp, set your scans for adaptable sonic
alloy debris in the wounds,” the Senior Healer said.
   “What, exactly, is ’adaptable sonic alloy debris'?” I
asked.
    “It’s what they make buffers out of,” Squilyp said,
overjoyed that he knew something I didn't. “Sonic-based
matter. It will not be visible to your eye, nor can you feel
it. Use the most sensitive setting.”
   Invisible, untouchable debris. Lovely. Could this
possibly get any worse? “When we’re done here, I hope
someone will explain this stuff to me,“ I said as I
recalibrated my scanner’s range.
   Sure enough, when I made another pass the display
revealed innumerable tiny shards lodged in each laceration.
Tightly meshed together, which explained the coagulant
effect—the ghost-debris had sealed off the wounds.
When I applied my probe tip, the debris immediately
surrounded it. Like sticking a finger in water.
   “Any suggestions on how to remove something I can’t
feel?“ I asked. ”Or grab?“
  “Roelm?” Tonetka raised her head to consult him.
“What is used to fit the alloy during construction?”
    “Resonant harmonicutters,” the engine designer said.
   My ears perked up at that. “Resonant?” I glanced over
:
• the edge of my mask at the engineer. “You mean you
cut :•• these buffers with sound?”
   My terminology made Roelm look pained. “They are
sonically fitted to each vessel.”
   Same difference, I thought, then addressed my boss.
“Tonetka, remember when I told you about the ultrasound
diagnostic imaging once used on my homeworld? We can
adapt something like that to remove these shards.”
   “Ultrasound?” Squilyp sneered at the archaic word.
“Why don’t you simply hack them out with amalgam
blades?”
  I ignored him. It was easy, I’d had lots of practice.
“We can modify our scanners to emit a low-spectrum
sonic field.”
   Tonetka saw where I was going. “The buffer alloy will
vibrate, but how will we extract the shards?”
   “Connect your dermal probes to the scanners,”
Roelm's called out. “Calibrate them to match the alloy's
frequency.“
   The Omorr resident nodded his approval to Roelm.
   “Buffer alloys are self-restorative. The nature of the
matter is to be attracted to itself.” He then gave me a surly
look.
  Yeah, I thought, the dumb unqualified Terran does it
again. Doesn’t it just make you want to scream?
  The resident assisting with Fasala urged me in a low
voice to make haste.
   Once I’d modified my scanner, I connected a dermal
probe to it and started on one of the larger wounds. A low
sound like tinkling glass hummed as I probed the gash.
Gently I tugged, and felt something slide from Fasala’s
flesh.
   Green blood flowed at once. Got it. A pass with an
alternate scanner revealed no more shards in the site. I
held up my gloved fist. Saw nothing on the surface of the
probe.
   “Uh, Roelm?” I raised my head and held up the
instrument. “How do we dispose of stuff we still can’t see
or touch?”
   “Seal the probe in a vacuum.”
  It took fourteen more probes before the child’s
wounds were completely shard free. Sealed vacuum
containers littered the deck. As we worked, a nurse
summoned a team from Environment Operations to
remove the dangerous shrapnel.
   I finished first, so the unhappy task of signaling
Fasala’s ClanParents fell on my shoulders. I broke the
news to Darea and Salo as gently as I could. Both were on
their way to Medical as soon as my signal terminated.
   Once I was assured the Senior Healer didn’t need help
with the educator (Squilyp would have slit his membrane
junctures before asking for my assistance), I went to talk
to Roelm. He was staring at Fasala, whose critical-care
berth was only a meter away from his.
   We both got to watch Darea and Salo rush in and hurry
to their child’s side. Salo turned pale the moment he saw
her. Darea pressed her fist tightly against her mouth.
   “Roelm.” I sat down and patted his good leg to get his
attention. The accident might not have been due to my
presence on the ship, but I wanted some more details.
“Tell me about these buffers.”
   Glad for the distraction, Roelm explained the theory
behind Jorenian ship construction. How the long,
uninterrupted spiral design was so great for
interdimensional jaunting. He used terms like “subatomic
constants,” and “spontaneous symmetry.”
  Quantum mechanical construction, I discovered, was
about as riveting as a hematological abstract.
   At last the engineer got to the important part. Evidently
the exterior hull, while incredibly resilient, could still be
breached by extreme forces, such as multiple displacer
blasts. When that happened, the ship’s interior adaptable
sonic alloy mantle, commonly referred to as “the buffer,”
immediately sealed itself over the rupture. No matter how
big it was.
   “Not today,” I said.
  “Buffers cannot be shattered.” Roelm was insistent. “It
would require the complete destruction of the ship.”
   “This one did. You saw those wounds.”
   He muttered and pressed a huge hand over his eyes.
Engineers didn’t like it when you messed with the
universal principles of matter and interaction.
   “Cherijo.” Tonetka gestured wearily for me as she
transferred the last educator to a berth.
   I left Roelm and joined her. “How are we doing?”
   “The women will recover. Fasala?”
   “She’s stable,” I said, glancing over. Salo was kneeling
beside his ClanDaughter and holding her small hand. His
other arm was around Darea, whose face was pressed into
his tunic. “We'll have to watch her, though.”
  “Keep her on close monitor. I must report to
Command Level. Captain Pnor requires my presence.”
   Squilyp hopped over to join us. He was only nice to
one person in the Medical Bay, for obvious reasons.
“Senior Healer, you need to rest.”
  I resisted the urge to make a kissing noise. Barely.
   “After I make my report to Pnor.” She was curt;
Tonetka disliked being treated like a doddering old
woman. Too bad Squilyp hadn’t noticed that. “Have the
accident site on level fourteen secured immediately,” she
said to me. “Tell Ndo I demand a full investigation be
conducted at once.”
   The Omorr cleared his throat. Or had a moment of
flatulence. It was a tough call. “Senior Healer, surely you
don’t believe—”
   “It matters not what I believe!” she shouted at him.
“No more of our ClanChildren will be carried in here
bleeding!”
   “Of course.” Nervous, gildrells twitching, the surgical
resident hopped away.
   Probably off to sterilize some already clean part of the
facility. I wondered if the Omorr had a term in their native
language for “obsessive-compulsive disorder.” Or
“insensitive jerk.”
  “Cherijo!”
   “Sorry.” I shook my head. I’d been so busy glaring at
Squilyp I never saw the data pad Tonetka was holding out
to me.
   “The statement from the educator.” She thrust the data
in my hands. “In the future, attend to me, not the surgical
resident, when I am speaking to you!”
   Tonetka was right. We couldn’t fool around with this
situation, not with all the curious kids on board. I needed
to focus on that. Not the insensitive jerk.
  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll see to it right away.”
  As I rose, she put a hand on my arm.
   “Your pardon, Cherijo.” She lifted her fingers to push
them through her disordered hair. The purple streaks of
age seemed more pronounced. “You would think after all
these revolutions, I would learn to distance myself from a
pediatric case.”
  I gently put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I
hope you never do, boss.”
   I signaled the Ship’s Operational Officer, Ndo Torin,
and relayed Tonetka's orders. I quoted her using the same
tone and expression she'd used to singe my eyebrows off.
It was the simplest way to let the S.O. know The Senior
Healer Was Not Happy.
   Ndo, who was second in command on the Sunlace,
vowed to conduct the investigation personally. I didn’t
blame him. Tonetka in a rage was awe inspiring.
   “How is Fasala?” he asked. Like all Jorenians, he was
very protective of the kids, and appalled to learn of what
had happened to her.
   “Serious, but stable. Salo and Darea are with her. We’ll
take good care of her, Ndo,” I said. “Let me know if you
need any further data from Medical.”
  “I would also like to interview the two educators after
we inspect the damaged cargo section. Thank you,
Healer.”
   I made rounds and kept a close watch on Fasala’s
vitals. Poor kid. Her small, motionless body huddled in
the center of the berth. Her ClanParents said little, and
didn't move an inch away from her side.
   I kept thinking about how I’d feel, if she was my child.
Kao and I might have had a little girl like that. If I hadn't
killed him, trying to save his life.
   After discovering I was the result of a highly illegal
genetic experiment, I fled Terra for the multispecies
colony on Kevarzangia Two. There I had worked as a
FreeClinic Trauma physician, and fallen in love with a
Jorenian pilot named Kao Torin.
  A mysterious epidemic decimated the colony. I didn’t
become infected, but thousands did, including Kao.
Quadrant cruisers arrived to enforce planetary quarantine.
The colony erupted into hysteria, then violent anarchy.
Thousands died. Plans were made to sterilize the planet.
  During the worst of the chaos, Kao stopped breathing.
  In desperation I injected my lover with my own blood,
which revived him and destroyed the contagion. However,
my genetically enhanced plasma went on to attack Kao’s
own cells, and eventually killed him.
  I’d live with that forever.
   The Jorenians didn’t blame me for what I'd done.
Instead, they seemed to want to help me get over it—even
Xonea Torin, Kao's ClanBrother. Xonea and my
Oenrallian friend, Dhreen, spent plenty of off-duty hours
with me, the two pilots making it their mission to keep me
busy. Xonea tried so hard to be the brother I'd never had.
   Speak of the Jorenian. Xonea appeared at my side, his
large frame tense as he spotted the unconscious child and
her distressed ClanParents.
  His gaze went to Fasala’s head wound. “She will live?”
  I nodded, lifted a finger to my lips, and led him off to
Tonetka’s office, where we could talk in private. Xonea
immediately eliminated at least half the available space.
Maybe because his shoulders were as wide and solid as a
deck support strut. Or the two and a half feet he had on
me.
  Kao had been almost as tall, I thought, then thrust the
image away.
   My ClanBrother was still wearing his uniform, which
meant he had come here directly off shift. The silver tunic
complemented his dark azure skin. A warrior’s knot
secured the long, straight black hair at the back of his
neck. Like all the Jorenian males, he didn't wear any
ornaments. They didn't have to.
   Compared to him, I resembled a scrawny child. Like
the Jorenians, I had black hair, but mine possessed a
silvery sheen theirs didn’t, the same “grey veil” passed
down from a distant Native American ancestor. My pale
Terran flesh made me appear ghostly beside my
sapphire-skinned ClanBrother. We looked a lot like
disproportionate, negative photoscans of each other.
  I gave him an abbreviated report on the child’s
condition.
   “She is so young,” he said, then gave me a thoughtful
look. “You are blaming yourself for this.”
   Another annoying thing about Jorenians. They were
incredibly perceptive. “Not really,” I lied.
   He didn’t buy that. “The ship was not under fire when
this happened, Cherijo. There have been no League
vessels within a light-year of our position since our last
transition.”
  “A mercenary vessel—”
   “Would still show up on our perimeter scanners,” he
said.
   “All right.” I scowled at him. “It wasn’t my fault.” I
didn't say this time, but Xonea picked up on that as well.
  “Cherijo. You must release Kao to his journey.”
   Easier said. “We did that, Xonea. Remember? I gave
part of the eulogy.” I had nearly cracked into a heap of
small pieces doing it, too.
   One big hand settled on my shoulder. “We sent his
body to the embrace of the stars. Yet his memory remains
with you.”
  “I’ll never forget him.” What was wrong with his
memory? It was all I had left. The stars weren't getting it.
   “No.” Xonea’s hand tightened, then drew away. “I do
not believe you will.” He made a graceful gesture that was
the Jorenian equivalent to shaking his finger in my face.
“Only know, Healer, you cannot walk two paths.”
   Jorenian journey philosophy was full of little gems like
that. “You cannot walk two paths” (make up your mind);
“select the journey to complement your destination”
(make up your mind and decide where you want to go);
and the ever-popular “a wise traveler knows his direction”
(do you even know where you’re going, stupid?).
   What else could be expected from a species whose
idea of a good time was to travel a thousand light-years?
For no particular reason, either. The mood hit them and
wham!, they were firing up a stardrive.
  “Don’t worry. I'll stick to one path, Xonea.”
   “You are my worry.” Xonea gave me a chiding look.
“I remain your ClanBrother, Cherijo.”
   In the usual Jorenian roundabout way, he was saying I
didn’t have to be so touchy, and I wasn't alone.
“Thanks.”
  He glanced back through the viewer at Fasala. “What
made those wounds on her?”
   “One of the educators claimed a buffer shattered on
level fourteen. I know, I know.” I stopped him with my
hand before I got another lecture on astroengineering.
“The adaptable sonic alloy can’t be breached or
smashed.” I thrummed my fingers on the surface of the
desk. “Xonea, we spent a good hour picking pieces of
this indestructible buffer out of those three patients. What
is going on?”
   Xonea regarded me steadily. “A buffer does not simply
collapse. It never shatters.”
  Even the laws of science bent, on occasion. “If the hull
panel was breached, why didn’t the buffer explode
outward, into space?” I asked.
   “The buffer would contract and reform. Any weakness
would be immediately arrested by the self-restorative
nature of the alloy. Here, I will show you.”
   Xonea used Tonetka’s display to key up a component
schematic on the alloy, then programmed it to display the
buffer under breach conditions. The simulation resembled
something trying to make a hole in a thin sheet of water.
   One long blue finger pointed to the screen. “See how
the weak point is drawn inward at once? The expanse
closes in upon itself. No alloy material is separated or lost.
Nothing may penetrate the buffer thus.” He advanced the
simulation, and showed me how the buffer instantaneously
reformed over whatever had tried to make a hole in it.
   “Wouldn’t a breach cause at least some of the alloy to
detach?”
  “No. Sonic-based alloy bonds at the subatomic level.
Nothing can separate it except—”
   I remembered the term Roelm had used. “A
harmoni-cutter?”
   “Yes.”
  My fears about the mercenaries resurfaced at once.
“What about a sonic-based weapon?”
   “There are none in existence, to my knowledge.”
Xonea collected weapons, so he’d know that.
“Harmonicutters require tremendous power to operate,
more than any star vessel could generate alone. It would
require planetary resources. The buffer did not shatter.“
   We weren’t anywhere near a planet. So it hadn't been a
League attack. “I personally removed fourteen containers
of that stuff from Fasala's wounds. Believe me, Xonea,
you lost a good-sized chunk of your impervious alloy
today.” He straightened and made a gesture of frustration.
“Yeah, I know exactly how you feel.”
   I studied my friend’s face. At that moment, his
resemblance to the man I'd loved had never been more
acute. Soften the chin, add a few laugh lines, and he could
have been Kao's twin. If only… no, I wouldn't do this.
Kao was dead.
  “Caution,” Ndo’s voice said from the console panel,
“Transition in fifteen minutes.”
   “I have to see to the patients.” I rose to my feet, and
his hand reached out to catch mine.
   “Cherijo, I would speak to you further.” His fingers
skimmed up my arm, briefly touched my cheek. An
affectionate gesture between Jorenian siblings, one he
made often. “What say you meet me at my quarters later?”
  His quarters? With the way I felt right now, thinking
about Kao, missing Kao, wishing Xonea was Kao?
“Maybe.” Over my dead body.
  “I will see you then.”
  I hurried past him. Later was a flexible word. It could
mean hours. Or days. Or months.
   When Captain Pnor relocated the ship from one spacial
dimension to another, the transitional effect created stress.
Stress some of our patients, like Fasala and Hado, didn’t
need. I joined the residents and nursing staff as we raced
to prepare our more fragile cases. Once that was done, I
strapped myself in next to Fasala's berth as an extra
precaution.
    I never liked transition. The first time I’d gone through
it, a League ship had disrupted the flightshield. The
Sunlace’s, altered molecular structure had allowed them to
momentarily focus a containment beam around me.
They’d tried to pull me out as the ship transitioned.
Luckily, the attempt had failed.
   Unfortunately the resulting strain had caused me to
suffer a cerebral seizure and two consecutive myocardial
infarctions. Not an experience I cared to repeat. I closed
my eyes as the colors and shapes around me began to run
together.
  A moment later, we were clear. I went first to Fasala,
who emerged from sleep suspension with no ill effects.
My hands stopped shaking almost at once. Neither Darea
or Salo commented on the fact I had bitten my lower lip
hard enough to make it bleed.
   “Doctor,” Squilyp called from Roelm Torin’s berth.
The big Jorenian thrashed wildly under the Omorr's
restraining grip. “He was trying to release the support
braces harness again,” the surgical resident said when I
got there.
   I grabbed one big arm and hung on. “Did you ask him
what’s wrong?” He gave me the usual haughty glare. “Oh,
for crying out loud, Squilyp. You have to talk to them
sometimes! Roelm?” When I could get it close enough, I
ran my scanner over him. “What is it? Are you in pain?”
  “The stardrive!” Roelm’s eyes bulged as he grabbed at
my sleeve and came close to breaking my arm. “There is
something wrong with the transductors! I could hear it as
we transitioned!”


            CHAPTER TWO
           Two Sides of Wanting
                                                «^»

  Squilyp hopped off in disgust while I took care of our
frantic mechanic. Intimidation and a mild tranquilizer
worked just fine. Still, I’d never seen anyone work up to a
near-seizure over something that was—what? An engine
rattle?
   The drug calmed Roelm. So did my threats to put him
into sleep suspension. He agreed to my suggestion and let
me relay a message for him to the S.O.
   From Ndo’s reaction when he got my signal, I gathered
the way the stardrive rattled was fairly important.
   Ndo dispatched an entire engineering crew, to check
out Roelm’s claim, then had me set up a terminal by the
Engineer's berth. Relays flew fast and furious between
Medical and Operational. Only the threat of plasteel
restraints kept Roelm from tearing off his suspension
harness and going down to inspect the engines personally.
    The remainder of my shift was filled with the usual
duties. I supervised the residents. Ignored the Omorr’s
irritating sneers and patent condescension. Gave orders to
the nurses as they made the daily evaluations. Thought up
unique excuses, should Xonea press the “stop by my
place” issue. Performed afternoon rounds.
   As she was improving, I updated Fasala’s condition
from critical to serious. She woke up once, and I removed
the dermal regenerators for a few minutes so her
ClanParents could each give her a careful embrace.
   “She is always so impatient to explore,” Darea said to
me as her hand smoothed Fasala’s tangled black hair back
from her small brow.
  “Ring…” Fasala, who had fallen back asleep, muttered
under her breath. “Ring… light…”
  “What is this ring and light?” Salo asked.
  “Probably nothing.” I scanned the child and made a
chart notation. “She’s talking in her sleep.”
   “Fasala has an abundant imagination,” Darea said, and
straightened the pillow beneath the small head. “Her
enthusiasm to explore springs from that, I fear.”
   “She needs to temper such enthusiasm,” her
ClanFather said. Salo Torin worked on the Command
level as the Senior Communications Officer. Like Xonea,
he also wore the warrior’s knot that symbolized combat
experience. Both men, according to Tonetka, had served
together during several Varallan conflicts. Despite the
tough appearance, I suspected this quiet man was as
shaken up over Fasala's injuries as Darea.
  Squilyp bounced by the berth and stopped when he
saw me working on Fasala’s chart. He got there in time to
hear the last part of our conversation.
   “An extended interval of discipline will do much to
curb her inappropriate behavior,” the Omorr said.
“Punishment often discourages children from repeating
thoughtless acts.”
   I saw the identical reactions of Fasala’s ClanParents as
they swung around, and shook my head sadly.
  Squilyp, Squilyp. This was not going to be pretty.
   “You speak of punishment? With my ClanDaughter
here as she is?” Darea rose, every muscle on her
substantial frame tensed. An assistant in the subexecutive
level, she hardly resembled an administrator now. If there
had been a pointy object within her reach, Squilyp would
have had it sticking out of some part of his body.
   “Omorr.” Salo took a step toward the resident. His
six-fingered hands knotted into very large,
resident-flattening fists. My vocollar didn’t translate the
rest of what he said, much to my secret disappointment.
Squilyp's gildrells twitched and he backed off a good
meter. Fasala's Clan-Father smiled.
   I was enjoying this a little too much, I thought. Time to
break it up before we finished with Omorr smeared all
over the decking.
   “Okay, Mom, Dad.” I stepped between them and the
intended victim. Jorenians were wonderfully nonviolent
beings, except when someone threatened their kin. Then
they made the Hsktskt look like League Armistice Envoys.
“Calm down.” I looked over at Squilyp. His derma was
turning as white as his gildrells. “Resident, go check on
those patients at the far end of the ward.”
  “I just examined those patients.”
  This was the thanks I got for saving his miserable hide?
   “Do it now, Squilyp, or you’ll end up in surgery as a
patient.” I even gave him a push with one hand to start him
hopping.
   “Squilyp needs a refresher course on Jorenian
HouseClan protocol,” I said to Salo and Darea. “I’ll
schedule him for one as soon he untangles his foot from
his gildrells.”
   My little joke didn’t make a dent in the thick aura of
anger emanating from Fasala's ClanParents. They eyed
each other, with that silent form of communication
Jorenian bondmates lovingly shared. Only now it seemed
much more ominous.
   “Darea, Salo,” I said, and my sharp tone got their
attention. “He’s insensitive and ignorant, but he's not a
threat to Fasala. Stop it.”
   All those bunched blue muscles relaxed a degree. Darea
glanced at her ClanDaughter. That gave me an idea.
  “Concentrate on your child. She needs to be lo—” I
hastily recalled there was no such word as love in their
language. “She needs both of you.”
   I took a cautious step, placed my hand on Fasala’s
brow, hoping to draw their attention away from the
Omorr.
  “Salo, would you lift her for me?” I asked. “I want to
change her bedding. Good. When we’ve done that, Darea
can help me put the dermal regenerators back on line.”
  The nurses and I kept the couple busy for the next half
hour, while their tempers cooled down. Their stares at
Squilyp, however, remained lethal.
   Tonetka came into Medical to relieve me. I could have
kissed her. Between Roelm’s ceaseless agitation over the
engines and Fasala's parents being prepared to jump
Squilyp at any moment, my nerves were frayed. I updated
her on each case, and we examined the child together. She
ordered the Omorr go off duty a half-shift early and
compose a formal apology to Darea and Salo, then asked
me to join her in her office.
   “I spoke to Pnor about the buffer. He agreed with
Roelm that it could not be breached so,” the Senior Healer
said as she sat down at her desk. “You can imagine his
surprise when the Environment Operations Station
reported extracting over a kilo of buffer alloy from our
containers.”
   “So the educators were right.” Xonea wasn’t going to
be happy to hear that.
   “The site has been closely inspected. There was no hull
breach or plate damage. The buffer is intact. It is as if it
never happened.”
   I described Roelm’s wild reaction after transition, and
she decided to have the Captain interview the engine
designer personally.
   “I have little knowledge of engine design or tolerance.
Pnor will sort this out.” Tonetka completed her notes.
“Now, regarding your upcoming sojourn.” She handed me
a data pad. “Here is a list of your assigned objectives.”
   My first diplomatic mission. Lovely. “Couldn’t you
send Squilyp to Ness-whatever instead of me?”
  “NessNevat.” She made an impatient gesture. “Squilyp
has created enough difficulties at present. He stays here.”
  “Okay.” I watched her smother a yawn. “Want me to
stick around for a while?”
   “No, I am well,” Tonetka said, then sighed. “I look
forward to returning to Joren. I can think of nothing better
than basking in the radiance of our sun, and compelling
my mate to cook for me.”
  “Sounds great,” I said. “Maybe I’ll join you.”
  The Senior Healer snorted. “I do not care for the
warmth of mercenary pulse fire.”
   The careless remark stung, but I only sighed. If I
wasn’t the most wanted being in the galaxy, I certainly
took second place. “Good choice.”
   “Forgive me.” Tonetka made an embarrassed gesture.
“I did not think before I spoke, Cherijo.”
  “It’s okay. Besides, even if I left the ship with you, I'd
have to eventually find another job.”
  A nurse signaled from the ward and indicated that
Roelm wished to speak with Tonetka.
  “Now that gives me an idea,” I said, and grinned.
“Maybe I’ll find a new vocation. Something like… basket
weaving.”
   “I would not consult Roelm Torin about your
proposal,” Tonetka said. “His pressures would remain
permanently in the red range.”

   Jenner woke me early the next morning, the usual way.
Fifteen pounds of Terran Tibetan temple cat landed on my
chest. I opened my eyes and got the Imperial Glare.
  “Hungry, Your Majesty?”
   Jenner’s silver fur rippled as he drew himself up and
thumped his haunches down on my rib cage. I could
almost hear his disgusted thoughts. After nine years of
training you, you still have to ask?
   “All right, all right.” I made him his breakfast and a
server of tea for me. Once he’d wolfed down his portion,
my pet padded off to find a comfortable perch. “Hey,
don't wreck my favorite chair.”
   Jenner ignored me and jumped up on it. Was your
favorite chair. It’s mine now. He began kneading the
cushion with his paws, preparing for the first of his
hundred or so daily naps.
   “Don’t push your luck, pal,” I said. “I'll make you take
a feline exercise program. You're getting fat, you know.”
    His large blue eyes became indignant slits. It’s not fat,
it's muscle.
  “I see you… running laps around a track.” I grinned.
“Being chased by Terran hounds.”
   I got my chair back.
   After a light meal, I dressed and I headed out for the
launch bay. I still got lost in the spiraling turns of the
vessel’s expansive twenty-eight levels. Some crew
member always found me and sent me in the right
direction. They treated me the same way they would a little
kid. It was understandable. I was roughly the same size as
Fasala Torin.
 Fasala. She had come close to being cut to pieces.
What had happened to make that buffer explode?
   I kept mulling over the possibilities throughout my shift
that day. Still lost in thought as I came off duty, I turned
to enter the gyrlift, and walked into the only other Terran
on board the Sunlace. Startled, I backed into a corridor
panel and bumped my head.
  “Reever!” Automatically I rubbed the sore spot on my
skull. “That’s it. I'm going to strap a proximity alert
beacon on you.”
   “Perhaps you should wear the device.” His voice
sounded as bland as his expression. “Your lack of
attention invariably causes such incidents.”
   Tall, fair-haired Duncan Reever was a handsome
specimen of Terran male, if you skipped the unemotional
face and cold eyes. As usual, he was wearing uninspiring
black garments. In one hand he carried the portable
database unit he was upgrading to allow our vocollars to
continue to function away from the Sunlace.
   Reever, who had been K-2’s Chief Linguist, had come
on board the Sunlace after my rescue. He’d offered his
services to Captain Pnor in exchange for transport to the
Varallan Quadrant. Since he was a telepathic linguist, and
knew or could learn every language of every species the
Sunlace might encounter, Pnor had welcomed him with
open arms.
   I, on the other hand, wasn’t so crazy about the idea.
Reever's main motive for joining the crew, I suspected,
had nothing to do with getting a free ride, and a lot to do
with me.
  “Are you trying to be funny?” I asked.
  Reever simply gestured for me to proceed him into the
gyrlift. He was always so calm, so controlled. I could
smack him just for that.
   The gyrlifts whirled around the outer hull spirals,
transporting crew members from one end of the ship to
the other. The concept that you could walk one corridor
and tour the entire ship from top to bottom always
confused me. Apparently Jorenian engineers had planned
vessel construction very cannily. How the tech involved
worked was far beyond the limits of my attention span.
  It worked, that was the important thing.
   The Sunlace resembled an elongated Terran nautilus
sea shell in design. The hull was one big, revolving
corkscrew, while the vessel’s stardrive had the capability
of boring through dimensional barriers. That enabled the
Captain to whisk the Sunlace away from any threat in a
hurry.
  A shame I couldn’t do the same thing whenever Reever
showed up.
   I shouldn’t have felt that way about another human
being, but Reever wasn't exactly an ordinary Terran. He'd
been born and raised in space, and had traveled
extensively around the galaxy with his parents. During his
childhood, something had happened that prevented him
from displaying normal human emotion. Or maybe he
never learned how. Reever didn't exactly gush at length
about himself.
  He turned to me. “You are scheduled for the sojourn to
NessNevat.”
   “Yeah, I am. Have you ever been on this planet
before?” I hated to make small talk. I was lousy at it.
   “You haven’t been accessing your relays again.” At my
blank look, he frowned. “I sent you a concise briefing on
the planet's native inhabitants.”
   “I’m so sorry.” A lie. “I've been busy.” The truth.
“Why don't you give me the short version?” Wishful
thinking.
   “According to available commerce reports, the
NessNevat are humanoid, warm-blooded, five sensory,
verbal, highly intelligent life-forms.”
  “Why are we relying on traders for data?”
   “They have had the only contact with this species. The
information appears to reflect relatively accurate
accounts.”
   I didn’t question his opinion. Duncan Reever's parents
were the first intergalactic anthropologists to leave Terra.
He knew more about alien species than anyone on the
ship. I'd never even met a nonhuman until I'd left Terra.
   He continued briefing me. Knowing him, I’d eventually
hear the entire textdata on the NessNevat, down to how
many crops they planted per season, or whatever. I held
up one hand when he took a breath. “Never mind. Why
are we stopping here?”
   “The NessNevat species are not on the Jorenian
database. The Captain considered our close proximity to
be an excellent opportunity to make initial contact. The
planet is one of the few in the region with compatible fuel
sources, as well.”
  “Sounds great.” I stopped the gyrlift at level ten.
“Excuse me, I’m going to get something to eat.”
  Reever followed me out. “I’ll join you.”
  Lucky me.
   Located three levels below the Medical Bay, the Galley
was a popular gathering spot for communal meals and
conversation. Although a portion of the crew (like me)
usually dined in their quarters with their families (unlike
me), others preferred a more sociable atmosphere. Part of
the level was sectioned off and used as a recreation area. I
spent considerable time there losing my credits to Dhreen
and Xonea at the whump-tables.
  Reever and I went to the prep units, and selected our
meals. The usual post-shift tension, combined with
worrying over Fasala, had ruined my appetite, so I chose
something light.
  “Healer Cherijo.”
   I glanced over my shoulder to see a tall, stunning
Jorenian woman walking toward me. I didn’t know her
name, but judging by the color of her tunic, she was one
of the teachers. Since I couldn't make a clean getaway, I
set down my tray and waited.
   A Terran gazelle bounding across the Serengeti would
have looked knock-kneed compared to this goddess. My
envy of the natural, graceful beauty of the female Torins
was a familiar pang now. They were both ethereal and
earthy. Long-limbed. Generously curved.
   Oh, to be honest, they were all goddesses.
   This one possessed exquisite features: feathery black
brows, slanted white-within-white eyes, lush lashes, an
aristocratic nose, and sculpted lips. Emerald gem clips
studded her thick crown of intricately coiled raven tresses.
Her embroidered aquamarine tunic was immaculate. More
green gems winked at her ears, wrists, and fingers.
  I could hate her without much effort, I decided.
“Hello.”
    I got the usual supple gesture of salutation in return. I
couldn’t do that, either. Not without extensive remedial
training.
  “Ktarka Torin,” she said, introducing herself.
“Educator, Talot Province.”
   The Jorenians liked to give me name, occupation or
rank, and birthplace when we chatted for the first time. I
had no idea why. “What can I do for you. Educator
Torin?”
   Ktarka smiled at Reever, who stood waiting next to me.
“I desire but a moment of your time, ClanCousin. The
educator staff would very much like to give you this.“ She
thrust a small folded package into my hand. ”A token of
our appreciation.“
    I unwrapped it. Inside was a pendant, the kind Jorenian
females sometimes wore attached to their vocollars. The
dark, polished stone felt cool against my fingers as I
touched it. I knew better than to refuse. Jorenians were
very sensitive about things like personal gifts. “This is
gorgeous, Educator. Thank you.” And why was I getting
it?
  She took it and attached it to my vocollar. “You devote
much time to the children, Healer. The teaching staff has
been negligent in expressing our gratitude.”
   All I’d done was play some games with them and put
together a sandbox for the littlest ones. “You really didn't
have to do this. I think I have more fun than the kids do.”
   She adjusted my vocollar, then smiled. “You are as
generous as you are wise.” With another fluidic gesture,
she returned to her table, where four more educators sat
beaming at me.
   “The crew has grown extremely fond of you,” Reever
said as he dialed up a strange-looking concoction of
vegetables and protein for himself.
  “No kidding.” I gave the educators a little wave.
    We sat down and I eyed his meal. Whatever he had
programmed resembled organic refuse. It smelled worse.
It couldn’t be a Jorenian dish. Their noses weren't as
sensitive as mine, but they still functioned.
  “What’s that?” I asked.
   “Serada baked with shredded nyilophstian root. A
favorite of mine from childhood.”
  “Your childhood where?” I leaned over and sniffed.
Yep. I’d smelled nicer backed-up disposal units. “A
waste-recycling facility?”
   “No.” He didn’t elaborate. Reever was an expert at
that.
  “I need to program a meal for you sometime, Reever.
Remind me.”
   My own selection smelled great, but was too hot to eat
immediately. While it cooled, I sipped my herbal tea and
nibbled on a synwheat cracker. The silence went from
there to noticeable.
  I tried again. “So, what’s the problem?”
  “There is no problem I am aware of.” he said, giving
me another of those enigmatic looks.
  “You just felt like having a meal with me?”
  “I desired your companionship.”
   “Uh-huh.” I tasted my dish once more. The prep unit
had successfully incorporated my recipe program. It was
delicious. He still wasn’t talking. “Well, here I am.”
  “Yes.”
   This was going to be as challenging as performing open
cranial surgery while wearing a blindfold. “Did you have a
particular topic you wanted to talk about?”
  “Yes.”
  Make that a blindfold and one hand tied behind my
back. “What is it?”
   “I would like to know your impressions of the
Jorenians.”
  That was innocuous enough. “They’re an interesting
people. Great to work with. Extremely friendly. Why?”
   Reever lifted his server of tea and gazed over the rim at
me. His eyes were nearly as dark as mine today. I didn’t
look into them for very long. A soul could get lost in
there.
  “Would you prefer less attention from the crew?”
  I shrugged.
    Reever swallowed. Replaced the server. Took a bite of
his baked garbage. He chewed it and swallowed again. A
faint line appeared between his light brows. “This is not as
I recall. My data must be in error.”
  “At least. Here, try mine.” I held out my spoon.
   He looked like a man being asked to sip hydrochloric
acid.
   “Liquified synprotein, reconstituted vegetables, and
carbohydrates. A dash of sodium chloride. Go on,
Reever. Try it. It has to be better than that stuff.”
  Cautiously he tasted it, and his eyes widened.
  “Good?”
  “What do you call that?”
   “Chicken noodle soup.” I gestured toward the prep
console. “Go dial some up for yourself. I left the program
on the main menu.”
   He left and returned a moment later with his own bowl.
The serada was summarily disposed of. I was glad I
didn’t have to smell it anymore.
   My turn to initiate polite conversation. I noticed his skin
tone was paler than it had been on K-2. No botanical
gardens for Reever to dig in on a ship. At last! A neutral
topic. “What have you been doing these past weeks,
Reever?”
  “Extending the linguistic database. Exploring the ship.
Interacting with the crew.” He finished his soup in record
time. I was impressed. Not one slurp. “And you,
Cherijo?”
   “The same, work, finding my way around, making
friends. Though I keep getting lost and everyone wants to
be my friend.” The intense way he watched me made me
self-conscious. I lifted a hand to smooth my hair, then
dropped it. “Stop doing that.”
   “Stop doing what?”
   “Staring at me.”
   “I’ve missed you, Joey.”
   The words hung between us. His fair head inclined as
one of the crew greeted us in passing. I tried to think of a
witty reply. Encountered a blank wall.
  “Reever, I—” I downed the rest of my tea in one gulp.
“You always do this to me.”
   “What do you mean?”
   My lips thinned. “We get to a certain point in the
conversation, then you get enigmatic and call me Joey.”
And here I’d put all that effort into making polite small
talk, too.
   “I have no demands. Only a request.”
   Oh, this I wanted to hear. “What?”
   “Will you spend some off-duty time with me?”
   Now I was getting suspicious. I knew what part of me
Reever was really interested in. The convoluted grej stuff
between my ears.
   From the first moment we’d met on K-2, Reever had
repeatedly established a connection between our minds.
Through that telepathic link, he could completely paralyze
my body, and access my long-term memories. That was
how he'd discovered I was a genetically engineered clone.
   This ability of his didn’t thrill me. In fact, after the first
time he'd done it, I'd punched him out.
   Reever claimed he’d never achieved that type of link
with another human being before. He could even do it
without touching me. Another first. The unique connection
we shared was, beyond a doubt, the only attraction I held
for him.
  Or was it? Suddenly I felt rather warm.
   He repeated the question. “Will you spend some time
with me?”
  “Doing what?”
   “Cherijo.” One badly scarred hand crossed the small
gap on the table and took my wrist. I pulled back
automatically, but he held on. “No. I won’t force you to
link with me.”
   “Good idea. You wouldn’t look good with lukewarm
chicken noodle soup all over your face.” I let my hand
stay where it was, for the moment. Why was it so damn
stuffy in here? “Just what do you want, Reever?”
  “I am human,” he said, while his thumb moved back
and forth over my knuckles.
   The small, intimate gesture had the most embarrassing
effect on me. I could literally feel the color creeping up my
damp neck. “Uh-huh. And?”
  He threaded his long fingers through mine. “We share
more than you will admit, Cherijo.”
   Okay, I knew what he meant. Although I’d been
created in an embryonic chamber, I had the same natural,
healthy urges of any human female. Reever knew that from
personal experience.
  I felt a trickle of sweat inch down my cheek. “I take it
you want more than just the pleasure of holding my hand.”
  “Yes.”
   He’d had more than that already. Reever, manipulated
by the Core life form, had attacked me in an isolation
chamber back on K-2. Assault quickly turned into a weird
kind of seduction. I didn’t cherish the memory of what
Reever and I had done on top of that exam pad. That
didn’t mean I'd forgotten what it had felt like. In fact,
parts of my body were reacting in much the same way
right now.
   I cleared my throat. “You’re interested in the more…
biological stuff.” What was wrong with me? I was acting
like a overly hormonal adolescent.
  “Yes,” he said again.
   You’re not a virgin, I reminded myself, so quit acting
like one. Kao and I had spent one glorious night together,
the memory of which I would cherish forever. All Reever
had to offer were one-syllable answers. I need a lot more
than that.
  “You refuse.” His hand began to withdraw.
   Feeling distinctly reckless, I decided it was time to
ignore my pride and Reever’s lack of human emotion. I
needed him. Certainly that was more important than pride
now. In fact, it was all I could think about.
  I snatched his hand with mine, and forced my fingers
back through his. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
   The words came from him, with great difficulty. I could
almost hear them being dragged out, kicking and
screaming not to be uttered. “I want you to be with me, to
share your experiences. I want to know you, to talk to
you. I want to touch you. I want to link with you. I
want—”
   “Okay.” I wanted some of the same things. Especially
that touching part. “Good enough.”
   His fingers tightened between mine. “You will spend
time with me?”
   That was one way to put it. Could he sense the way I
was burning up inside? Was that sweat beading above his
lip? “Sure.”
  The cold eyes warmed a degree or two. “Thank you.”
   “You’re welcome.” I felt shaky, but there was no
backing out now. Every nerve ending in my body was
demanding some attention. What a relief not to have to
think about it. I slipped my hand from his and rose from
the table.
  “When can I see you again?” he asked me as he stood.
   He needed an appointment? Unmanageable demands
surged inside me, overriding what was left of my usual
caution. “Come back to my quarters with me. Now.”
   I don’t know who was more shocked. Reever, who
had admitted he wanted me, or me, the amateur
seductress. I tried not to ruin my suave moment by taking
back my offer the moment it left my lips.
   Duncan looked like I just kicked him where it hurts
Terran males the most. His pupils enlarged. When he got
the words out, they were raspy. “You are sure?”
   Did I really have that kind of effect on him? “No.” I
held out my hand. I thought that was better than shrugging
off a corner of my tunic and fluttering my eyelashes.
“Come on.”
   We walked back to level nine and stopped at my
quarters. Before I could open the door panel, he took my
shoulders and turned me around. I stared at the collar of
his tunic, and bit into my lower lip.
  “Cherijo. Don’t be afraid of me.”
   Did I want to have sex with him? Yes. Did I want him
to play the protective male calming the hysterical,
near-virginal female? No. I had some pride left.
Somewhere. Not to mention enough heat streaking
through my vessels to melt an infuser tube.
   “I’m not afraid of you.” I hauled him by the arm into
my rooms. Jenner greeted us with a casual yowl as he
scampered out into the corridor. I adjusted the lighting,
then leaned against the wall panel for a moment, dizzy with
need.
   This was wrong. Wrong. I needed a distraction. A
delay tactic. My head examined. Why was I doing this? It
was him, definitely him. Every time Reever came near me,
every nerve ending went on full alert. What could I do to
keep him away until my head cleared…? My prep unit!
“Would you like something to eat? Drink?”
  “We just had a meal.”
   Okay, maybe my disc collection would buy me some
time until I got my libido back under control. “Do you like
Terran historical music?”
   He was right behind me. “I have no preferences,” he
replied, and moved closer.
  “What about archaic jazz?”
  “I’ve never heard any.” Each word puffed a breath
against the nape of my neck.
   I swallowed a groan. “Sit down. Jazz is the only audio
art form ever produced on Terra.” I selected a disc.
“We’ll start with Miles Davis. He played the trumpet like
an angel.”
  He didn’t sit down. He started touching my hair.
“Angels are characters in religious mythology.”
   I let myself enjoy the feeling of his fingers against my
scalp. “Wait until you hear Miles. You might change your
mind.” Davis’s subtle syncopation colored the air with
cool, dark sound. Reever's hand gripped my waist. No,
don't do this, I thought, and swiftly turned to my prep
console. “Would you like a drink?”
  “No”—he started coming at me again—“thank you.”
   “Well, I could use a server of tea.” He knew I was
stalling and knew I knew he knew. My thought patterns
were beginning to degrade. Fast. “Did you know on Joren
they brew some varieties of saltwater vegetation and—”
  “Cherijo.” His hands touched me again. This close, I
could smell him. Clean, masculine, familiar. Human.
“Calm yourself.”
  There wasn’t a system in my body that was functioning
normally. “I'm calm.”
   “I am not,” he said. I could feel his heartbeat
accelerating just above my left shoulder blade.
   “You, Reever?” Humor was my last resort. Panting
ruined the effect, though. “You’ll ruin your reputation.”
  Too late. His hands bracketed my wrists. “Link with
me.”
   “Are you sure about the drink?” Frantic to prolong the
inevitable, I began babbling. “You haven’t tried my Terran
blend. Do you like rosehips and camomile?” I felt the
intimate sensation of his mind reach out to me, and closed
my eyes. “Maybe some coffee—”
  “Joey.” His thoughts flowed over the edge of my
consciousness. “Let me in.”
  I had never liked this telepathic thing. Reever somehow
completely incapacitated my will as he connected my
mind to his. He took me in his arms, and swept me into a
waltz as Miles Davis’s trumpet played like angels crying.
   He was making me dance. You can’t waltz to jazz, I
thought.
    Why not? His voice spoke inside my head. It is music,
is it not?
  It wasn’t like I had a choice. Okay, maybe we can. I
moved closer to the warmth of his body. Why did you
want to link with me first?
  Duncan pressed his cheek against the top of my head.
Your thoughts were turbulent. I thought it would calm
you.
  I lifted my gaze. You can read me without a link?
   His lips briefly collided with mine. Shock made me
stumble. Reever boosted me over his feet with a fancy
twirling motion. Just dance with me, Cherijo.
    We danced for some time, while Reever did something
to settle my thoughts. What thoughts I let him have a peek
at. I had learned early on to block him from the parts of
my mind I didn’t want him snooping around in. I'd only
reached into his mind voluntarily once during the epidemic
on K-2. I wondered if I would ever get the nerve to do it
again.
  The jazz recording came to an end. Duncan twirled me
one last time down the length of his arm and back, until
our bodies pressed together.
  I want to be with you. His hand stroked my hair. In all
ways.
  I could think of one particular way. End the link,
Duncan.
  Of course.
   We stood in the center of my quarters, locked in a
close embrace. For the first time I wondered how much
control Reever’s mind had over mine. Had we really spent
the last hour just waltzing!
   We’d been doing something. I was perspiring freely.
My respiration was rapid and shallow. He showed similar
signs of arousal. His arms tightened around me. I felt his
heart hammering against the swelling mound of my breast.
   “Thank you.” His breath warmed my mouth. My thighs
clenched against the subsequent inner throb. He broke off
the airy kiss and let go of me. “I will leave—”
   Leave? I grabbed him and pulled him back to me. “I
don’t think so.” My fingers tangled in his light hair and
brought his head down to my level. My mouth did the
rest.
   A Terran kiss was a curious thing. I could understand
why some offworlders found it extremely disgusting.
When Reever kissed me, however, revulsion wasn’t an
issue. Neither was any other coherent thought. Our lips,
like our bodies, matched perfectly. I wanted more. So
much more.
   Beneath my fingers, his hair felt silky and alive. I
pushed one palm over his chest, irritated by the garments
that kept our skins from touching. His kiss deepened until
my throat arched. My fingernails dug into his shoulder.
His arms pressed in, removing the last small spaces
between us.
  “Cherijo.” He wrenched his mouth from mine.
  Oh, no, I thought, grabbing his head and pulling him
back down. We were created for this. Male, female. The
two sides of wanting. And I needed my other half. Now.
   Something bizarre and ferocious instantly ignited
between us. I heard fabric tearing. Felt the coolness of air
on my exposed skin. Then his hands. Oh, God, his hands.
  “Duncan.” I clutched at him, dizzy, desperate.
“Please.”
   He dragged me to my sleeping platform. Maybe I
dragged him. I didn’t know. Didn't care. We got there.
Now I wanted his body over mine. Needed it. More than I
needed to breathe.
   “Joey.” He didn’t appear indifferent anymore. He
looked ravenous. Hard hands shoved me back on the
mattress. He stood over me as his narrow blue gaze
burned down the length of my body.
  “Come here.” I held out my arms.
   He moved so fast I didn’t have time to blink. Reever's
weight suddenly forced me down, down into the slowly
adjusting mattress. His hands were on my breasts, then his
mouth. The rigid length of his confined erection pressed
between my thighs. Yes, yes, that was what I needed.
What I wanted more than anything. The way he felt,
moving against me. He reached, pulled my face up to his.
Sounds spilled from my throat, hummed against his
mouth.
  “Cherijo.”
  I shook my head, caressing him with my lips. “Don’t…
don't say anything.” I didn't need a cargo hold of words
now. I was more than willing.
  His head lifted. His long frame went rigid.
  “What?” I was breathless, still moving under him.
“What is it?”
  Now he shook his head, as if to clear it. “No, Cherijo.”
  I couldn’t have heard that right. “No what?”
  His hands hurt me. “No more mindless seductions.”
   Mindless? Seductions? My overloaded nerve cells
made it hard to put the words together. They made no
sense.
   Then they did. He was referring to the only time we’d
had sex. When the Core (by rendering him mindless) had
forced him to take me. To rape me, however reluctantly.
My lungs expelled a ragged breath. Reever was comparing
this to that!
  “Have you lost your mind?”
  “Is this all you want? To have intercourse with me?”
His voice was absolutely frozen. So were his eyes. I must
have hallucinated all that heat before. Maybe he’d spiked
my chicken noodle soup when I wasn't looking.
   Wanton desire became cold-blooded fury. “Right
now? Of course not, Reever. I thought we could discuss
the League negotiations in the Tuyhui Quadrant. What the
hell do you think?”
   “What sort of stimulant did you program into the prep
unit?”
  I stared at him, aghast. He thought I’d spiked his soup.
“None!”
  “Then you merely want to have sex?”
  Ah, I got it. He needed a bunch of words. “Yeah, I
do.”
  “Do you expect to find satisfaction in this?”
  “Do you expect to be breathing in another five
minutes?” I struggled. “Get off me!”
  He kept me pinned beneath him. “Why me, Cherijo?”
  “Good question!”
  “Why not one of the Torins?”
   “Take your damn hands off me.” When his grip
loosened, I shoved him away and rolled off the mattress.
“God, Reever, you know how to choose your moments.”
  I stalked over the viewport and stared at the stars. I
was trembling. Duncan Reever had me trembling.
  “Why don’t we do this another time?” Never again.
Ever. I'd commit suicide first. No, I'd kill him, then I’d
commit suicide.
   “What is wrong with you?” he said. “You are never like
this.”
  “How would you know?” I got snide. “The only time
you had sex with me, an alien life-form had to take over
your brain first!”
   “I could do this.” He sounded cruel; another first. “I
could touch you, take what you offer. I could use your
body, Cherijo, until you couldn’t move from that bed
from exhaustion.”
   I glanced over my shoulder. Saw behind the mask of
his face. All that passion simmering. Waiting. He denied
me that.
  I jerked my head back toward the viewport. Made my
voice as nasty as his. “Promises, promises.”
   “Cherijo. Look at me.” When I didn’t, he came up
behind me and spun me around. “I could do all those
things, but that is not why I came here.”
 “Oh, really? Funny, I thought that was the whole idea.
Why are you here?”
   He only shook his head. “I won’t be used as a
substitute.”
   “As a substitute for what?” I pushed him away from
me, and flung my hand toward the sleeping platform, “Do
you see anyone there, Reever? No. Heard of me sleeping
with anyone else? For your information, I’m not.“
  “The Jorenian males remind you too much of Kao
Torin.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake!” I pushed a handful of loose hair
back. “Jorenians bond for life, remember? No wedding,
no sex. I get involved with someone, next thing you know,
I'll be picking out names for our kids!”
  “A Torin would expect you to bond with him.”
  Was he deaf? “Yes. Yes!”
   “So to avoid commitment, you chose to take me as a
lover instead.”
   That wasn’t the case at all. So why did my jaw drop
open? Had I chosen Reever because I’d feel no
obligation? Because he was human, not Jorenian? No. He
was twisting my emotions to suit his perceptions.
Obviously this was the wrong approach. Maybe reason
would work better than screeching.
  “Look, Reever, we’re adults. We can make this
work—”
   “Based on what?” Reever folded his arms. “You have
no feelings for me.”
  I could have lied, but I didn’t. “I—care about you.”
   “You don’t know me.” He walked to the door panel,
then paused. “Notify me when you are interested in more
than my physical convenience.”
  It was a great exit line. Out he went.
   I was unexpectedly, absolutely enraged. An empty
server flew at the door panel, but it had already closed. I
picked up another server and tossed it anyway. The
crashing sounds they made were music to my ears.
  I wanted to tear something apart. I wanted to hammer
something into dust. I wanted to—
   Sit down and figure out why the hell I had completely
lost it.
   I reached for my scanner, sat on the edge of my
sleeping platform, and ran an initial series on myself. My
heart, pulse, and respiratory levels registered well over
normal range. I was angry; it could be due to the
sympathoadrenal response.
  Or maybe I had been drugged.
  The prudent thing to do would be to go down to
Medical and run a blood series on myself. Only the Omorr
would immediately stick his nose in what I was doing and
want to know why. No, forget that. I’d run the series
when he went off shift.
   Why would anyone want to drug me, anyway? The
Jorenians had adopted me, welcomed me, practically
smothered me in friendship.
  I fell back on the mattress and thought about Reever.
This had to be another of his telepathic manipulations.
Only he didn’t want me without the words. Why hadn't he
just made me say them?
   Eventually I calmed down. Memorized the swirly
patterns on the upper deck. Closed my eyes.

         I floated in a sea of warm, black fluid. An
      intricate web held my body suspended. I liked it
      here. It was warm and safe. Much better than
      how Reever had left me.
         Unexpected light pierced that eternal night. I
      closed my eyes against it. Pain shimmered
      through my curled limbs as one of the strands
      pulsated, and something entered my body. I felt
      myself changing, emerging from the safety of the
      darkness. My mind formed its very first conscious
      thought.
        This is wrong.
         As if in response to my thoughts, more strands
      flexed, and agonizing jolts bombarded my small
      bones.
         Small. I was so small. Helpless. The pain I felt,
      it was shaping me. I would fight it. Defeat it.
         Another chamber. Here the dim glow to the air
      was soft gold. I was myself again, and breathed in
      relief. What a nightmare.
        What was that?
         I wasn’t alone. I couldn't see the presence in
      the dream with me, but I knew it was there. The
      nightmare hadn't ended, but had somehow…
      shifted.
        “Here. I am here.”
         The low voice whispered, offering comfort to
      me. I inched toward the sound. Was it Reever,
      come to taunt me here as well as on the other
      side? Let him try to link with me. I’d knock a hole
      through that enigmatic brain of his.
        “I can help you.”
        The sound of that voice was determined.
      Dangerous.
        The words swirled around me as it chanted my
      name, over and over. I should have been lulled
      into acquiescence. The first nightmare was too
      fresh, though, so I remained on guard.
         Hands reached out, touched me—

   I jerked out of sleep with a shriek. Sweat made dark
patches all over my undershirt. Dread curled in my
stomach. Throwing up had enormous appeal at that
moment. I rubbed my eyes and breathed deeply. Reever
had to stop doing this to me.
  No. It wasn’t Reever. I remembered now.
  The hands in my dream had been six-fingered.


            CHAPTER THREE
             HouseClan Call
                                                «^»

  I threw myself into my work after the confrontation
with Reever. Even ran a series of blood tests the following
morning, but nothing unusual showed up. Which proved
nothing except that I hadn’t been drugged with any
identifiable chemical substance.
   Reever avoided me. Whenever I saw him, I merely
turned and walked into an available gyrlift. We were being
very civilized. It was a big ship. Both of us had plenty of
responsibilities in our respective positions. We could do
this all the way to Joren.
  “Priority direct relay for you, Healer Cherijo.”
   I walked over to the main display and acknowledged
the signal. “Forward it through to the Senior Healer’s
office for me, please.”
   I grabbed a server of tea from the ward prep unit on the
way in, closed the door, then activated Tonetka’s display.
The vid screen glowed and coalesced into an image of a
sleek, well-groomed blond woman. “Ana?”
   “Hello, Dr. Grey Veil!” K-2’s Administrator smiled as
she scrutinized me thoroughly. “You're looking very well
for an escaped League criminal with an outrageous
amount of credits on your head.”
   I laughed with delight. “Ana Hansen, how in the
universe did you manage to make a direct relay to the
Sunlacel”
   “Commander Norash owed me a favor, and the
Jorenians were happy to help. We arranged a signal
rendezvous before you left orbit. So tell me, how are
you?“
   I quickly related some of the events since my rescue
from K-2, leaving out the latest clash with Reever.
  She was astonished to learn I had been adopted by
HouseClan Torin. “This makes you Dr. Cherijo Torin?”
   “Among other things,” I said, and took a sip from the
server. “Namely, ClanDaughter, ClanCousin,
ClanNiece…”
   She beamed with pleasure. “Just what you needed. One
big family.” I could debate that, I thought, but decided
instead to tell her about replacing Tonetka once we
reached Joren. “Quite an honor,” was her reaction.
   I winced. “Please, don’t say that word. The first week I
was on board, I said something about what an honor it
was to be working with the crew. Apparently my wording
translated to a licentious proposal to three different males
standing nearby.”
   “Did any of them hold you to it?”
   “Happily, no.”
  “Too bad,” she said. “Speaking of males, how is
Duncan?”
   I tried to find out, I thought sourly, but he got cold feet
on me. Irritation made me flush, and I tugged at my collar.
“He’s working as the ship's linguist.”
   “Any… progress between you two?”
  “No.” Time to change the subject. To anything but
Reever. “How are things at your end of the galaxy?”
  “The League cruisers pulled out of orbit some weeks
ago, when it finally became apparent you weren’t coming
back.”
   Idiots. “Takes them awhile to catch on, doesn’t it?”
   She nodded. “Your old nemesis Phorap Rogan was
dismissed at the same time. Rumor has it he returned to
his homeworld.”
   “The patients declare a colonial holiday?” I finished my
tea and set the server aside.
   “Some wanted to.” Ana tried to look official, but the
grin spoiled the effect. “Dr. Mayer sends you his regards.
He asked me to say that should the League’s decision
ever be reversed in your case, he will allow you to be
Chief of Staff while he spends a few years on Caszaria's
Moon.”
   I laughed. I couldn’t imagine the taciturn surgeon ever
relaxing on K-2, much less a resort planet. “How are the
colonists? Has everyone settled down?”
  One of Ana’s slim hands rubbed her brow for a
moment. “Those who are left, yes. We've had a general
exodus. More than half the population transferred out as
soon as Pmoc Quadrant lifted the last travel restrictions.”
   That was a shame. “Colonial Admin had to figure that
was going to happen.” Surreptitiously I rubbed my damp
palms on my trousers, and wondered if Squilyp had been
fooling with the environmental controls again.
   “We planned for it, but the need for key staffing has
become critical. We now need construction workers as
much as medical personnel. No one, naturally, wants to
transfer in. We hope, with time, the panic will fade.” She
grew serious. “What about your situation, Joey? Will you
be all right with the Jorenians? Are you happy?”
  “I’m satisfied with my position. Happy…” I grimaced.
“Who wants to look over their shoulder forever?”
   “Keep your chin up,” she said. “If you need help,
remember you still have friends here. Whether you return
to Pmoc Quadrant or not.”
   We didn’t say it. We both knew this might be the last
time we had direct contact with each other.
  “Thanks, Ana. I’ll try to stay in touch.”
   “Thank you. Tell Dhreen and Alunthri I send my
greetings. Oh, and give Jenner a hug for me.” Tears
sparkled in her eyes. “God bless and safe journey,
Cherijo. I will be thinking of you, always.”
  The traditional Jorenian farewell seemed appropriate.
“Walk within beauty, Ana.”
   I terminated the relay. Before I turned from the console,
a signal from Operational came in. Ndo’s image appeared
on the screen, his broad features etched with tension.
   “Alert status,” he said. “Medical, prepare for
emergency transition. Assemble medevac teams, report to
level eighteen, launch control.”
   A couple of the nurses came over as I acknowledged
the signal. “What is it, Ndo?”
  “NessNevat has been attacked by raiders. Make haste.”
Ndo’s relay abruptly terminated.
   Getting the patients prepped took time. Residents,
nurses, and the Senior Healer appeared in rapid
succession. I looked up from Fasala’s suspension cradle.
Tonetka seemed worried.
   “We’ve got to get the berth harnesses in place,” I said,
sweeping my hand toward the last of the unsecured
patients.
   The Omorr resident bumped into me as he bounced
by. “Doctor! Didn’t you hear the announcement? We
have to hurry and make preparations!”
  “Don’t get your gildrells in a knot, Squilyp.” I felt like
smacking him with something hard and heavy. “This is
why we have all those endless drills, remember?”
    We managed to strap all the patients in protective
harnesses just before the ship’s transitional thrusters fired.
I turned to locate a spare harness. Squilyp, who was
already strapped in, gave me a derisive glare. What a little
paragon of caution he was.
   “See? Nothing to worry about. I bet that had to be a
record—” I found myself flat on my face, watching the
deck below me ripple and reshape itself. “Forget what I
said.” I groaned, and pushed myself up on my elbows as
the Sunlace transitioned.
   Through the distortion of reality, the Omorr looked like
a big blob of white corkscrews. Corkscrews that were
jiggling with laughter.
   “You can get up now, Healer.” Tonetka was too polite
to laugh at me, once the transition was over. “Perhaps I
will increase the number of drills we perform.”
  “The Doctor could apply some off-duty time to
remedial training,” Squilyp said. Always the helpful
resident.
   I’d like to apply something flat, wide, and adhesive to
his gildrells, I thought. I held my head and stood up
carefully. “I'll never complain again. Long as I live.”
Which I hoped would be until I was a little old grey-haired
genetic construct.
   “Remain still, Cherijo,” the Senior Healer said, and
performed a brief scan. She frowned slightly. “Your vitals
are registering above normal parameters. Norepinephrine
levels are also unusually elevated.”
   “It’s just the sympathoadrenal response, Tonetka.” I
straightened my tunic. “Terrans exposed to sudden,
unexpected stress generally enter a hypermetabolic state.”
  “As you say, Cherijo.” She didn’t look entirely
convinced, but we had other things to do. “Come, we
must perform rounds.” To the residents, she said,
“Prepare the field packs. Allow enough supplies for
possible heavy casualties.”
   The Senior Healer made sure we had enough staffers to
cover the ward, then she and I performed quick rounds.
Squilyp and another resident sorted what equipment we
would need. The supplies were divided among the
medevac team. I shouldered my heavy pack with a
grimace. The Omorr must have put an extra fifty kilos in
mine.
  “Caution,” the Medical Bay display announced.
“Medevac launch will depart Sunlace in ten minutes.”
   We took the gyrlift down eleven levels, where one of
the launches was waiting for us. Other teams were still
loading their shuttles with relief supplies and equipment.
   “Have you received reports from the surface?” Tonetka
asked once she was inside the launch. I stowed my pack
before shrugging into a harness rig. The pilot turned
around, and the interior light revealed a thatch of orange
hair with two small, red hornlike protrusions. It was my
Oenrallian friend, Dhreen.
  “No signal from the colonists,” Dhreen replied, and
punched in the initiation codes. The launch engines
hummed into life.
   Squilyp leaned forward. “What about the raiders?”
   The Oenrallian, who had long ago transported me from
Terra to K-2, shrugged. “A trader reported that ships were
attacking the colony,” Dhreen said. “Probably a passing
route jaunter who saw them firing on the planet from
orbit.”
   The Omorr looked pained. “A trader? Surely more
reputable sources could have provided information.”
  “Nothing wrong with traders,” Dhreen said.
   “They’re the worst sort of opportunists.” Squilyp's
gildrells bristled. “Always looking to profit from the
suffering of others. Why, once I knew this—”
   “Uh, Squil?” I interrupted him. “Want to guess what
Dhreen was before he joined the crew?” The Omorr’s
eyes widened as he glanced from the unsmiling Oenrallian
to me. “Exactly. So… you were saying?”
  “Nothing,” he mumbled.
  Dhreen winked at me. I felt much better.
   The launch shot out of the flight bay and into open
space. Below us the looming sphere of the planet swelled
into view. It was a placid-looking world. Land masses
solidly paved the outer surface in a myriad pattern of
green and brown topography. Small blue circles indicated
water sources, probably former sites of ancient meteor
collisions.
   I noticed that Dhreen was scanning the immediate
sector continuously. Slipping from my harness, I went to
the helm and quietly asked him about it.
   “Standard procedure after raider attacks,” he said, his
oddly pitched voice equally low. “Loot haulers sometimes
hide close by, wait for rescue to come in, jump them as
well.”
   “According to the reports, this species is principally
involved in agricultural trade,” Tonetka said behind us.
“Who would attack such a world?”
  Dhreen’s cheerful voice iced over with contempt.
“Scum looking for easy takings.”
   It took only minutes to descend through the upper
atmosphere, and clear the last distance to dock. En route
we used the time to check our equipment and review
medevac protocols.
  “Triage must give priority to salvageable cases,”
Tonetka made the grim reminder. “Remember to enlist the
aid of any native healers whenever possible. We come to
assist, not to offend.”
   I thought I was tough, that I’d seen the worst. I'd been
a surgeon on Terra for nearly nine years, and after that had
survived a planetary epidemic on K-2. I discovered I
hadn't. After we landed, one glance through the viewport
made my stomach turn.
   NessNevat’s Central Transport had been completely
razed. The smoldering ruins of a dozen vessels
surrounded our launch. Craters pitted the docking pads,
like the footprints of a rampaging titan. No one responded
to Dhreen's request for landing clearance. The Oenrallian
pilot still performed standard decon procedures before he
permitted us to disembark.
   “I’m jaunting back up to the ship to ferry another
team,” he said when I passed by the helm. His spatulate
fingers pressed mine briefly. “You owe me another round
of whump-ball, you know. Have a care, Doc.”
  I squeezed back. “You too, pal.”
  When the outer hull doors parted, the stench of death
and destruction welcomed us. Among other things.
  “Mother of All Houses,” one of the staffers muttered.
  “Monstrous.” The Omorr choked out the word.
“Monstrous.”
  For once I agreed with him. “You’re right, Squilyp.
There were definitely monsters here.”
   Motionless, mutilated bodies littered the ground,
dismembered body parts flung around them like parts of
broken toys. Blood gleamed dark and wet. It was
everywhere. Pooled under the bodies. Splashed over
ruined equipment. Blended with the spilled fuel that oozed
past our footgear. Blood that was red, like mine.
   There were no rescue efforts being made by the
natives. No signs of life. Nothing moved but drifting
smoke on a warm, fetid breeze. That came from the fires
burning both around Transport and in the distance. A lone
warning claxon echoed an eerie wail.
   I shifted my pack as I scanned the horrified faces of
the medical team, then caught the boss’s eye. We often
had moments of perfect empathy. This was one of them.
  Time to get busy.
   “Okay, people, we’ve got work to do,” I said. “Let's
go over the plan one more time.”
   My announcement drew the team’s attention away from
the massacre and jolted them out of their initial shock.
Faces cleared. Backs straightened. Eyes sharpened. The
Senior Healer took it from there.
    “We will set up our triage station where we find the
highest concentration of survivors. I will see to the use of
existing facilities. The Engineers will build a temporary
hospital if necessary.” She turned to me. “Cherijo, your
first priority is getting an area secured for the surgical
cases. Squilyp, supervise triage until we can set up sterile
fields. Let us make haste.”
   Whoever did this had no concept of mercy or
surrender. All around us were the scorched scars left from
heavy pulse fire and displacer blasts. What wasn’t burned
was blown to rubble. I was so mesmerized by the
widespread destruction that I stumbled over one of the
bodies.
  Looking down, I bit my lip to keep from groaning.
   Up close, the inhabitants of this world were even more
pitiful. Red-blooded mammalians, from the look of their
furry bodies. They were smaller than me. Benign faces.
Little muscular development.
  I remembered what Dhreen said. Easy takings. The
butchers.
  “Over there,” Tonetka said, and pointed.
   Several small, fearful faces peeked at us from the
shadows of a partially collapsed structure. As we walked,
we kept our hands open to show we carried no weapons.
  “Where the hell is Reever?” I said under my breath.
   “He’s on the next shuttle. Keep a pleasant expression,”
Tonetka said. “Smile, nod, beckon to them. It will ease
their fear.”
   The survivors slowly crept out of hiding to get a better
look. We stopped and stood still as they drew close.
Tonetka spoke softly to them as her graceful hands
moved in soothing patterns.
  “Come, we are friends, here to help you. Come, we
have medicines, we will bind your wounds, we will
comfort you.” She kept smiling as her eyes met mine.
“Cherijo. You are closest in size to these beings.
Approach one of them, very slowly, please.”
   I moved cautiously toward the largest one, who was
only half my height. These survivors were a lot smaller
than the other victims we’d seen.
  “Hi, there. My name is Cherijo. We’re here to help
you.” I kept smiling. “Come on, I won't bite. I promise.”
   This one displayed an apprehensive smile and moved
within inches of me. One small paw tentatively touched
my blue tunic. I didn’t try to touch it, afraid it might
scamper off. It turned its head and spoke to the others.
Their native tongue was a rapid, uneven stream of throaty
mutters and yips.
  “They sound like they’re growling,” Squilyp said.
   “No, look at their eyes,” Tonetka said, her voice still
entreating and gentle. “They’re simply afraid.”
   The little paw trembled as it curled around my fingers. I
caressed the silky fur.
    “So soft,” I said, then it dawned on me. “Tonetka.
These are the children.” This one had a bad burn across
the shoulders. “He’s wounded.” I took a scanner from my
pack, very slowly, and let the child hold it to see that it
wouldn't hurt him. I made a quick scan, and my mouth
tightened to a flat line. “Someone shot him with a pulse
rifle.”
   Tonetka approached now. The little one curled up next
to me and squinted up at the huge Jorenian. She made
soothing sounds as she examined the child’s wound. The
other survivors lost their fear and gathered around us. All
of them had suffered nearly identical wounds. Tonetka
used her hands to point to all the burns, then to show we
didn't understand how they had been hurt.
   All but one of the children stretched out on the ground,
paws behind their heads. The one left standing
pantomimed shooting them in the back by sweeping an
imaginary weapon from right to left. The ones on the
ground rolled over and writhed, then went still.
  “The raider who shot them didn’t realize he missed the
back of their heads,” I said. “They faked him out.”
   We were grim as we helped the children back up. The
Omorr suggested treating this group, but Tonetka shook
her head.
  “Not here. Look. They want to take us to the others.”
   The largest was pointing to one of the few buildings left
standing just outside Main Transport. Other shuttles had
landed by now. I saw Reever sprinting across the docks
with his team to catch up with us.
  About time.
  “Senior Healer,” he greeted Tonetka, then turned to me.
“Doctor.”
   “Linguist Reever.” My boss smiled with relief. “I am
very glad to see you.”
   In order for our vocollars to work outside the confines
of the Sunlace, a portable terminal was normally brought
from the ship and set up on the planet. However, since the
Jorenians had made no previous contact with this species,
it was useless.
  Reever was going to be a very busy guy.
   The children led us to the other survivors. It was slow
going, because we had to stop along the way to check the
bodies. There were plenty of stops. They were all dead.
The kids began whining miserably as they apparently
recognized some of the corpses.
   Here in what had been a city, there was no breeze to
take away the smell of death. Sweat beaded my brow as
the temperature continued to rise. I hoped the climate on
this world wasn’t too warm. The odor would be the least
of our problems.
   The airless interior of what had once been a storage
facility was crowded with the injured. Many, I saw, were
already dead or dying. The living coughed and growled
their pleas through raw throats as they had for days. We
found no power, water, or food supplies. Puddles of
blood and waste were everywhere. The stench was as
thick as the bodies.
   It soon became apparent there were no medical
professionals among the survivors. What supplies they
had before the attack were evidently gone or destroyed.
The wounded themselves were terrified of us, and fought
when we tried to examine them.
   “Linguist Reever.” Tonetka’s hands made a gesture of
frustration. “We must relay our intentions. Will you
interpret for us?”
   “Of course.” Reever listened as the Senior Healer
quickly outlined the emergency aid plan. He then
approached one of those still ambulatory and made a
gesture known throughout the system as one of peace and
friendship. He reached, took one small paw. The small
creature gazed up at him.
   They remained locked in a still, silent regard for some
time. Then Reever growled. The survivor did. too. That
went back and forth for a minute. At last Reever released
the creature’s paw and went directly to the Senior Healer.
   “I have informed him of our intentions. Their computer
core was damaged during the assault on the colony. This
one believes enough information remains to download
their linguistic files into our database.”
   “We also need access to medical data, if possible,” I
said.
   The Omorr, who had been hopping between the
puddles of filth, got indignant. “Why must we access
native data? They are warm-blooded, mammalian life
forms. Even you, Doctor, can surely handle—”
  “Squilyp?” The Senior Healer’s sharp voice cut off the
Omorr's sneering. “Shut up.”
  I managed—only just—not to applaud.
  “I will transfer the data personally,” Reever said.
   “Good idea,” I said, knowing Reever had the expertise
to handle the task. “Did the NessNevat tell you what the
city’s population level was before the attack?”
  “Several hundred thousand,” Reever replied.
   “Not so good.” I looked around and made a swift
estimate. “There are only about five hundred here. Where
are the others?”
  “These represent the only survivors on the planet.”
   Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at
Reever. Even Squilyp, which ruined his grand thumping
exit.
   “This is all that remain?” Squilyp’s gildrells arched in
surprise. “The trader indicated—”
   “The trader was wrong,” Reever interrupted him. “The
native population has been exterminated.”
  “How can you be so sure?” I wanted to know.
   “I have seen such assaults in the past. All of the
colonists were herded to this immediate area, then
systematically massacred.”
   “That’s preposterous!” Tonetka said. “Anyone knows
that raiders only take what they can trade!”
   “This wasn’t a raid,” he replied. “It was an assault by
the Hsktskt Faction.”

   Four hours later, as I was preparing for my eleventh
surgical case, the Jorenian database finally accepted the
NessNevat linguistic download. We knew because our
vocollars began translating the sounds our patients were
making into words.
   Under my hands, the adolescent with severe cranial
fractures got particularly eloquent.
  “Mother… Mother… take me back… to your…
womb… End… this… Mother… do not… leave…
me…”
   “I liked the growling better,” I muttered under my
mask. The nurse next to me repositioned the instrument
tray so she could stroke a gentle gloved hand over the
boy’s furry brow.
   “I am here,” she lied to him. He couldn’t understand
her, but the sound of her soft voice calmed him. “I will
make the pain go away.”
  My thought exactly. “Put him under.”
   Squilyp and the other surgical resident were set up a
few meters away from us. Engineering had installed
remote generators which created two large sterile fields
and powered the portable laser rigs. Through the
containment static, I heard the Omorr swear now and
then. Tonetka appeared regularly, monitoring both of us.
A nurse told me the Senior Healer was coordinating all the
relief efforts while simultaneously treating the minor
surgical cases.
   I had refused her offer to replace me and only
requested the nurses be rotated every five cases. I told
Squilyp to do the same, which he didn’t like. He had an
unpleasant tendency to view nurses the same way he did a
lascalpel: You only replaced it when it couldn't function
any longer.
  The NessNevats’ voices drifted from the open area
beyond our temporary surgery, mourning the dead, crying
out from pain. I knew many would die. Tonetka, Squilyp,
and I were the only surgeons, and there were simply too
many critical cases.
  Reever’s cool voice kept echoing inside my head. This
wasn’t a raid. It was an assault by the Hsktskt Faction.
   That kept me cutting as fast as my hands could move.
   Hours crawled by. I worked. Nurses came and went
like the patients. I learned the rather limited extent of the
Omorr’s repertoire of curses. Sweat made my gear cling
to every inch of my skin. The lascalpel hissed. The odor
of singed fur and cauterized tissue filled my head.
  The same stench the Hsktskt had smelted, as they fired
upon the colonists.
   Much later, after I’d finished closing the center incision
on a NessNevat with internal injuries, the Senior Healer
appeared. I noticed her standing across the table from me
in a fresh mask and gloves. Over my shoulder, I saw
Squilyp and the other resident were already gone.
  I pulled the laser up and out of the way. “Checking up
on my work, boss?”
   Her white eyes were tired, her once-immaculate tunic
ruined. “I am replacing you, Healer. Stop and rest for an
interval.”
   The Hsktskt hadn’t rested while they were here. “I’m
fine.”
   “You’ve been performing surgery for seventeen hours
without ceasing.”
   “Is that right?” My nurse nodded. I started the post-op
scans. “I’m up for another seventeen more. Go on,
Tonetka, take a rest yourself.”
   “It is not a matter of discussion, Cherijo. Until I retire,
you remain my subordinate,” she said, and plucked the
scanner from my hand. “Go. You may not have another
opportunity for some time.”
   With a helpful push from the nurse, I stepped away
from the table. “Okay. Thanks.”
   My legs were numb from standing in one place for so
long. I hobbled out from surgery into the general hospital
area. Several of the nurses stopped me to consult on
post-op cases. So far my patients were stable or
improving. Once I was satisfied, I slipped out of the
building into the ruins of what had been the NessNevats’
largest settlement.
  Until the Hsktskt showed up.
    The nurses had brought me bits and pieces of
information while I operated. The death toll stood at
approximately two hundred thousand. Search teams were
still sweeping through the formerly populated areas, but
evidently Reever’s theory was right, they hadn't found
anyone still alive. A special construction crew had been
sent down from the Sunlace to excavate the mass graves
that would be needed.
   An estimated ten thousand more natives had been taken
from the planet. Slaver goods, if they survived the Hsktskt
preference for raw flesh, and the jaunt to
Faction-occupied space.
   The survivors numbered only eight hundred fifty-two.
Most of those were children who had evidently hidden in
nooks and crannies during the assault. It was theorized
that their weaker life signs hadn’t registered on the
Faction's proximity scanners.
  Or perhaps, I thought, the bastards couldn’t be
bothered and had just left them here to die.
  I sat down on a battered section of wall.
   It wasn’t a wall anymore. Not since the Hsktskt had
stopped by.
  A year ago I’d delivered five Hsktskt infants during a
hostile visit by two of the Faction to the FreeClinic on
K-2. At the time, I'd gone so far as to help the reptilian
warriors leave the planet without violence. In gratitude, the
female had promised to name one of the young after
me—the equivalent of being made a Hsktskt godmother.
  Godmother to the Hsktskt. Godmother to the butchers
who had done this.
  Somehow I didn’t think the NessNevat would
appreciate my dubious honor. Had the pair I'd helped
taken part in this?
   “Cherijo.”
   Reever walked up behind me. I glanced at him without
enthusiasm. “Hello, Duncan. Pull up a chunk of rubble.
I’m taking a break.”
   “You have been busy.”
  “Yeah, I have.” I stared at the dust and rings of sweat
on his black garments. “You, too.”
   He brushed at his trousers with a half-hearted swipe.
“We began to dig out the lower level of a collapsed
learning facility. As scans revealed all the children within
were deceased, we discontinued the effort.” He said all of
it without inflection. I was too numb myself to react to his
usual prosaic manner. “You called me Duncan.”
   I raised my gaze to his. “That’s still your name, right?”
   “You never call me Duncan.”
  This seemed like a really stupid conversation to be
having. “Sure I do. Just not very often. I’ll go back to
Reever, if you want.”
   “I have no preference.”
   “Maybe I should. The last time I called you Duncan,
you kicked me out of bed.” I toed a bit of scorched rock
around. “So, what else would you like to talk about? The
weather? Seems nice down here for summer, if you ignore
the smell of the decomposing bodies and the smoke from
those fires they haven’t put out yet. What do you think of
the natives? Not that there are a whole lot left. Their kids
are pretty good at fooling executioners. How about the
view? Once the crew finishes digging those graves, they
could pull down a few of these building remnants,
maybe—” I jammed my fists against my eyes. “God.”
   “Don’t blame yourself for this.”
   “Don’t waste a perfect opportunity to say I Told You
So.” My hands dropped away. I had no tears, not even for
myself. “Remember? I brought five Hsktskt into
existence. Five future Hsktskt butchers. Mayer was right. I
should have killed them, and their parents.”
   “That would make you as callous and indifferent to life
as the Faction,” he said.
   “Maybe. Then again, maybe I might be able to look at
these kids and not feel like a co-conspirator to this
massacre.” I studied my hands. There was a fine, dry
residue of powder on them from my gloves. No blood. At
least not the kind I could see. “I don’t know how to
handle this, Reever.”
  He moved closer. “Call me Duncan.”
   I had no choice. I had to laugh. The sound erupted,
raw and wild. I choked it back as soon as I could. It
seemed obscene, especially here, among these ruins.
  “Your anger and self-recrimination will not change what
has happened here,” Reever said.
   “I’m not angry.” I was a authority on the subject. It
didn't feel like this. “You've seen me angry.”
  “Yes.”
   “You had every right to turn me down.” I had put this
off long enough. “I was using you.” I stared back at the
fragments of stone below my footgear. “I’m sorry about
that. You deserve better.”
  I chanced another look at him. He was a block of stone
himself, staring back at me. In spite of my black mood,
my lips twisted. “This is where you gracefully accept my
apology, Reever.”
  “You do not—” He halted, muttered something in an
obscure language I couldn’t decipher, then added, “I will
never completely understand human females.”
   “I’m not exactly a role model,” I said, and jumped
down from the wall. “Want to take a walk? I should
stretch my legs before I head back.”
   We picked our way through the vestiges of the
thoroughfare. Avoided the broken bodies being stacked
for burial. We reached a small clearing where the supplies
were being coordinated and sorted for the survivors. The
rescue team had everything under control—Jorenian
efficiency was phenomenal during times of crisis. I looked
over some medical gear as we walked around it.
   “They’re going to need more than medicines and
food,” I said. “Most of their adult generation is gone.
They won't be able to rebuild—” Reever's hand pulled me
to a stop. “What?”
   The mask hadn’t cracked, but something showed
through it. “I would like to hold you.”
  Far be it from me to argue. “Sure.”
  We were both dirty, sweaty, and smelly, so we
cancelled each other out. The feel of his body soothed
me. His scarred hands rubbed in circles over my back. It
was a nice feeling. The first I’d had since landing on this
devastated world.
   “What are you thinking about?” he asked against the
top of my head.
   “All these children, left orphaned. Stranded. Alone.” I
heard the hitch in my voice and shuddered against him. “I
keep pushing myself past it. And I go right back again.
Want to hear something awful? I wish you’d never
updated the linguistic core. They keep calling for their
parents. Praying. Begging their dead mothers to wake up.
And all I can do is repair their bodies.”
    He was inside my mind before I said another word. I
expected to find myself paralyzed again, but this time he
let me retain control over my limbs. Or maybe he was too
tired to make me into a statue. Our thoughts entwined.
Reever’s cool, white soul cloaked me against the horrors
I'd seen.
  For a moment, I let myself snuggle against him, body
and mind. I needed this. I wish I could be like you.
Disconnect myself from all these emotions.
  They are part of you. He was remembering when we
had been this close, back on the ship.
   Maybe you should let me go. The last time we did
this, we nearly started fistfighting.
  We can be friends.
  I was dubious. Friends?
  We can try. I know what you shared with Kao Torin is
beyond us. Yet—
  I cut him off. Try your luck with one of the Jorenian
women. I’ve got to get back.
   The link ended. When I would have stepped back,
Reever’s arms held me in place. His mouth brushed over
my brow. Tenderness, from Reever. What would be next?
Smiling and laughing? And what was I doing, letting him
get this close to me?
  “Joey.” No change to the flat set of his countenance, I
saw. “When this is over, will you spend time with me
again?”
  “Sure.” As soon as I had a complete psych-eval.
  He released me. “I will walk back with you.”
    I went back and had one of the nurses drag Tonetka
out of my surgery (we referred to it as assisting the Senior
Healer). I watched my boss strip off her protective gear as
I sterilized for the next case. Weariness made purplish
shadows beneath the Jorenian woman’s eyes. It wasn't
good for a woman her age to work like this. I didn't tell
her that. I liked my head where it was attached.
    “Your color is better,” Tonetka said once she had
inspected me. “I want you to take regular rest intervals of
at least ten minutes between cases.”
  “Sure I will. The same way you have, right?” I snapped
my mask up over my face. “Go do your rounds, boss.”
   My next patient was a diminutive girl with a mangled
lower limb. The regenerators couldn’t locate a viable
vessel in the crushed leg. Gangrene had set in, causing
extensive tissue necrosis. I was forced to amputate. While
I performed the hideous necessity, the nurse sponged
sweat from my eyes. Okay. A few tears, too.
   “How old is she?” I asked, after I sealed the stump
with the laser.
  “Two and a half revolutions,” the nurse replied.
   “Damn it.” I stripped off my gloves and threw them
down. Beneath outrage, guilt quietly gnawed at me. The
nurse called for the next case. They kept coming. Terrible
burns. Broken bones. Compression damage. Massive
internal trauma. Three more amputations.
  One of the children with grievous head injuries died on
my table before I ever touched her. I had just sterilized
and turned around to find the nurse gently closing the
wide, blind eyes. It shook me down to my heels.
  She’d made it this far, only to die?
   The damage was too extensive, an inner voice argued.
No one could have survived four days of waiting for
treatment. Not in her condition.
   No one else had died on my table. I’d been able to
save them. Had my former patients come here and wiped
out these people? Destroyed hundreds of thousands of
lives? Shot this little girl in the head?
   How was I going to live with it, if they had?
   The Omorr passed by, stopped, and studied the dead
child. “What happened here, Doctor?”
   “If you need me to tell you, go back to medtech!” I
tore the mask from my face, and threw it across the table
at him.
  Squilyp seemed piqued. “There is no reason to attack
me. I’m only trying to offer—”
   I reached across the child’s body. Grabbed two
handfuls of his protective gear. Hauled him over until our
brows nearly touched.
  “What? Some more of that superior expertise? Is that
what you’re offering, Squid Lips?”
   “Release me,” he said, his coloring darkening from
pink to puce. “And my name is Squilyp.”
   I shook him once, hard enough to make him fling out
his three arm-limbs so he wouldn’t fall on the corpse. Just
so I had his attention.
   “Listen to me very carefully, Squid Lips,” I said. “You
want to be Senior Healer? No problem. Talk to Pnor, tell
him how wonderful you are. You want to impress Tonetka
with your surgical skill? Be my guest. God knows you
have enough of it. But never, I repeat, never, get in my
face about a patient I’ve just lost. Got it?”
   He nodded slowly. I let go.
   “Good boy.” I smoothed out the wrinkles I’d made in
his tunic, then gave his chest a shove. “Now, get away
from me.”
   Squilyp stalked over to his table. My nurse had
disappeared. I spent a few precious moments cleaning
some of the dried blood from the dead child’s face. She'd
been a pretty little thing. Just before I pulled the linen over
the body, I bent down over and kissed the tiny cool
forehead.
   “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
   I donned fresh gear. Shouted for a nurse. Watched as
the diminutive corpse was removed for burial. Sterilized
the table and my hands. Took the next patient.
    It went on through the night and into the next morning.
Someone kept bringing me water laced with saline and fed
it to me through a tube stuck in the side of my mask.
  I kept going. Horror and shame were great motivators.
   In the afternoon heat of the second day, I paused long
enough to inject myself with stimulants. No one objected.
I would have torn their heads off if they had. Another
twelve hours passed before I left the table. The only way
that happened was by Tonetka yelling, grabbing the front
of my tunic, and shoving me away from the laser rig.
   One of the nurses pushed me out into the central
complex. I couldn’t summon enough energy to walk. I
slid down against a broken pillar and closed my eyes
against the coming dawn.
   The medevac team didn’t notice, or they were too
scared to touch me. Didn't matter. I slept.
   The surgical resident assisting Squilyp shook me awake
so I could relieve Tonetka. I paused long enough to
remove my filthy tunic. The protective gear could only
take so much saturation before fluids seeped through to
the garment beneath. I didn’t wash the blood off, just put
clean gear on top of it.
   Three days later, we cleared the last of the surgical
cases. The medevac team had worked straight through,
halting only to drop, sleep, then get up and continue. I
took the bulk of the critical surgical cases. Squilyp and
Tonetka shared the balance.
  Two hundred of the survivors died anyway.
    Tonetka and Squilyp were hauled off by some equally
exhausted nurses. I only brushed them aside when they
tried to do the same thing to me. Although the surgical
cases had been covered, there were more problems that
needed attention. Dressings that needed replacement.
Suture sites requiring irrigation. A voice crying out for
comfort.
   So many voices, hands, eyes. All needing me. Nearly
as much as I needed to make amends.
   In the end Pnor sent Dhreen to take me back to the
ship. Jorenians were too polite to kidnap someone.
Former Oenrallian traders weren’t as tactful.
  One moment I was adjusting a dialisyzer. The next I
was being pulled from the equipment by strong, yellow
spoonfingers.
  “Dhreen!” My voice was hoarse after days of snapping
out orders. “What do you think you’re doing?”
  He tugged the scanner from my numb hand. “Time to
go, Doc.”
   “I can’t. This patient—”
   “No, Doc.” He put an arm around my waist.
   “Don’t be ridiculous. I have to—”
   “Let’s go, Doc.” He dragged me away from the cot.
   “You don’t understand, there's a—”
   “Now, Doc.”
  When I didn’t budge, he stooped, bent, and slung me
over his shoulder.
   I argued upside-down the whole way from the hospital
to Transport. I had no idea Oenrallians were that stubborn
By the time we reached his launch, I was feeling very
much put upon. And light-headed. It showed. His thin lips
twisted as he rigged me into the harness the way he would
a disobedient child.
   “Don’t grimace at me that way,” he said, looking back
from the helm before he fired the engines. “I'm just
following Captain Pnor's orders.”
   “Uh-huh.” I stared at the viewport as the chilled interior
air made me shiver. My eyes widened as I saw the ghostly
reflection of my image on the plas. I looked down. My
tunic was gone, my undershirt stiff and soiled. I couldn’t
recall the last time I sat, ate, or slept. A snarl of hair hung
around my cheeks, limp and filthy. I smelled of sterilizer
solution. Dried sweat. NessNevat blood.
   “One of the neighboring ally worlds sent replacement
relief teams. They’re arriving today. The rest of our
people will return to the ship when they land.”
   “I should have stayed,” I felt I had to point out.
   “Doc, you’re extinct on your appendages.”
   “I am not dead on my feet,” I corrected him with great
dignity. The change in temperature was making me tired,
that was all. A yawn divided my face in half. “Okay. Wake
me… when we… ge…”
   I woke up in the launch bay as we reached the Sunlace.
My body went on strike when I tried to get up from the
seat. Dhreen had to lift me out of the rigging and carry me
to the gyrlift. He got me to my quarters, then turned me
over to a nurse already waiting there.
   Things became blurry after that. My garments had to be
peeled off my sluggish limbs. My cleanser unit pounded
the filth from my flesh. Something warm and bland was
urged to my lips. The world went from vertical to
horizontal. Someone put on one of my jazz discs. A
lonely sax spilled a cascade of abstract notes. The weight
of a soft coverlet was drawn over my aching body.
   I slept, but badly. My dreams were filled with the hiss
of a lascalpel against torn flesh. The pitiful cries of
wounded children. The dead eyes of a little girl.


              CHAPTER FOUR
              Particular Deaths
                                                «^»

  Sometime during my extended rest interval, the
Sunlace transitioned out of orbit away from NessNevat
and continued the jaunt along its convoluted route to
Joren.
   My experiences left me beyond exhaustion. The first
time I woke up, I rose only to take care of my immediate
needs, then staggered back to the sleeping platform. The
second time I tried to stay conscious. My mind and body
conspired against me, and I fell asleep sitting up, with
Jenner curled in my lap.
   It was the kink in my neck that roused me the third
time. Yawning, I tried to rub out the cramped muscles
while I checked my display.
  “Forty hours!”
  I signaled the Medical Bay, and demanded to know
who sedated me.
  “No sedation was required,” one of the nurses said.
“Your labors on the planet were most adequate, Healer
Cherijo.” She told me most of the sojourn medical team,
including Tonetka, were still confined to quarters. Pnor’s
orders.
  I grinned. The Senior Healer would hate that. “What’s
your status?”
   “All cases currently list good or better condition,
Healer,” my nurse replied. She looked tired, too. “I will
confess we would appreciate your presence, however, if
you are rested.” The ship’s skeleton medical staff had
been working double and triple shifts since the teams had
left on sojourn.
  “I’m on my way.”
   I grabbed a quick meal before I left. Since I’d been
drinking my meals over the last week, my shrunken
stomach nearly balked at the solid food. As I gulped
down a server of tea, I told my belly to shut up and be
grateful I wasn't looking for another syrinpress full of
stimulant.
   When I arrived at Medical Bay, I relieved most of the
staff and put the remainder on half-shifts. The residents
had been spelling each other for nearly a week now,
covering for the sojourn and the subsequent,
much-needed rest the planet team had enjoyed. Everyone
was beat.
   Everyone except the Omorr, who had revived enough
to prepare the latest shift schedules for the nurses. I read
over what Squilyp had posted, swore, then deleted them.
The hours were so long they bordered on abuse.
  I worked out a temporary replacement roster, posted it,
and sent Squilyp a copy. If he didn’t like it, I'd be glad to
explain it to him. The same way I had the last time we
chatted.
  I made rounds, ending with Fasala, whose condition
had improved dramatically. After a quick examination
confirming that, I turned and nearly collided with the
Omorr, who had hopped up behind me.
  “Squilyp.” I made to go around him.
   “I would speak to you, Doctor.” His gildrells were stiff
as icicles. So was his tone.
  Guess he’d gotten my schedule revision.
   We retreated from the ward to Tonetka’s office in
silence. I watched as he hopped around her desk and
plopped down in her chair. Like he owned it. His three
arm-limbs folded neatly before him.
  I get it, I thought. He wants to play Senior Healer. Put
me in my place. Tell me the way it’s going to be.
Everyone has their limits. Did Squilyp know he just
pushed past mine?
   “Doctor, I received what appears to be a temporary
roster of shifts for the nurses. Half-shifts, I should say. I
was told you deleted my schedules and replaced them
with this.”
   I love it when I’m right. “Yes.” I crossed my arms and
leaned back against a wall panel. Perspiration dampened
the back of my tunic. Not surprising, given the amount of
hot air I was being subjected to.
   “Scheduling the nurses is my responsibility.”
   “Scheduling, yes. Working them to death, no.”
   He produced a dermal probe and placed it on the desk.
“I found this in my personal display. It was lodged in a
keypad seam. Perhaps you can explain that?”
   I picked up the probe. “Tonetka has a habit of doing
that when she’s in a rush to access the database. She
drops what she's holding and it ends up jammed
somewhere. Hadn't you noticed? Oh, I forgot, you're
usually tied up fawning and simpering over her.”
   His gildrells flared. Muscles tensed. Eyes glittered. The
epitome of Omorr outrage. Guess I was supposed to be
afraid.
   I yawned.
  “When I attempted to assist you during the sojourn,
you physically attacked and threatened me,” he said.
“Your behavior directly violated Healer protocol.”
  “Uh-huh.” I picked up a chart and fanned myself with it
while I made a rotating gesture with my other hand: Let’s
hear the rest of it.
   He drew himself up with dignity. “You made a
disgusting parody of my name.”
  I remembered calling him Squid Lips. The Omorr must
have accessed the Terran database to find out what it
meant. I smiled. I do have my moments.
  He rose from the chair and leaned forward over the
desk. For a moment, his stance reminded me of William
Mayer, the FreeClinic Chief of Staff back on K-2. Dr.
Mayer had chewed me out like this often enough. My
smile faded. I didn’t need this kind of grief. Not from a
conceited, callous jerk like Squilyp.
  “Have you nothing to say in response?”
  “Plenty,” I said. “Sit down.”
  “I will not allow—”
  “Sit down, Resident.” Those limits of mine really
needed some sort of warning beacon. “Or I will sit you
down myself.”
   Squilyp sat down. I pushed away from the wall panel
and walked to stand before the desk. I caressed the edge
with one hand. It was a nice desk. Tonetka had everything
arranged very neatly. Someday it was going to be my
desk.
   I shoved it forward, hard, pinning the Omorr and his
chair against the plaspanel behind him. A foreign flare of
satisfaction surged through my limbs as I saw shock
round his eyes.
   “I’ve had enough of this. Enough.” I held up a finger
for each point I made. “Your schedule was unkind and
unreasonable. Your so-called helpful assistance was
offensive and vicious. Your name is not God. Your title is
not Senior Healer. And you have absolutely no authority
over me.” I ran out of fingers.
  He’d recovered by then, and shoved the desk right
back at me. Had to admire him, he wasn't intimidated. The
moron. “You have personal issues with me, Doctor.”
   “Oh, knock it off, Squilyp!” I said. “We’re supposed
to be professionals, not two kids arguing over who gets
the biggest toy!” The door panel behind me slid open, but
I was too furious to deal with whoever was barging in.
   “I am not playing with you,” he said. Omorr sneers
were remarkably similar to the kind humans make. The
gildrells spoiled the full effect, though.
  “Doctor.” Behind me, Reever’s voice carried a distinct
warning note to it.
  As if I cared.
  “Really?” I leaned in now. “I disagree, pal. You’ve
been itching to do this since Tonetka announced my
appointment. We're going to settle this. Once and for all.”
   “You wish to permanently resolve this matter?” he
asked.
  I should have picked up on the wording he used, but I
was too angry. “Hell, yes.”
  Reever got loud. “No, Cherijo!”
   Squilyp beamed at me. Like I’d given him a present. “I
accept your solicitation.”
  “Accept my—” I was lost. “What are you babbling
about now?”
   “You have physically threatened me, and expressed
your desire for a permanent resolution. That constitutes a
solicitation.” The Omorr stood. “I accept, and will allow
you the usual period of preparation—one standard week.”
  Reever came to stand beside me, and I looked from
him to Squilyp in complete bafflement. “What?”
  “Consult the database, should you have further
questions. Good day, Doctor.” Squilyp regally bounced
out of the office.
  I sat down, staring at the empty chair behind the desk.
“What the hell is a solicitation?”
    “The Omorr refers to his species’ traditional manner of
settling disputes. The challenge to a physical confrontation
is called solicitation.”
  On Squilyp’s world, problems were settled by
challenging one's opponent to physical combat. Which
was, apparently, exactly what I'd just done. “Wonderful.”
  “Joey—”
  “Stay out of this.” I got to my feet, pushed past
Reever, and went back to work.

  As soon as I went off duty, I signaled Xonea from my
quarters, filled him in on the latest development, and asked
him to help me.
   My ClanBrother wasn’t exactly pleased. “Did you
sustain a head injury while on NessNevat?”
  “Very funny.” I glowered at the display. “Well? Are
you going to help me train for this fight, or not? Or do
you want to beat him up for me?”
   “As it was you who made the threat against the Omorr,
I cannot,” Xonea said. “Very well. I will teach you
ClanSpar. Meet me in the environome on level nine.”
  Before I could get out of there, Reever signaled me,
and offered some gruesome statistics.
   “I don’t care how many Omorr die every year in
challenges,” I said when he was done. I was changing into
an old tunic and trousers. Jorenian blood might not stain,
but mine did.
   Duncan Reever’s voice crackled over the audio.
“Squilyp is an experienced competitor. He has advised me
that he currently possesses the record for highest number
of wins in his homeworld province.”
   “So he’s a jerk and he brags. Big deal.” I braided my
hair tightly. No need for it to be flying in my face. I’d have
enough problems. Like trying to keep Xonea from
breaking my neck while we did this ClanSpar thing.
   “You are a physician with no combat experience.” He
was shaking his head, like that was a bad thing. “I will
assist you in training.”
   “There’s no need. Xonea already agreed to help me.” It
was rather insulting, all these males, offering to protect
me. I wasn't helpless. “And don't tell Pnor or Tonetka,
either.” The last thing I needed was upper management
getting involved in this mess.
   He muttered something in a strange language, then
abruptly terminated the signal.
   I hated to admit it, but Reever had a point. Physical
brawls weren’t in my job description. What sort of doctor
inflicted pain and suffering instead of alleviating it?
   A doctor who had been pushed too damn far, a hostile
inner voice replied.
   I met my ClanBrother at the environome programmed
for warrior training on level nine. Xonea initiated the
program, and indicated I precede him into the simulator.
   “So, what do I do first?” I glanced around. The
practice area was a flat three-meter square of shorn
yiborra grass.
   Xonea pointed to the center of the square. “Stand
there, Healer.” As I took position, he reached out and
encircled my waist with his hands. “Breathe.”
  I breathed.
    “No, from here.” He tapped my diaphragm. I expanded
it. Xonea eyed my torso, shook his head, then let go of
me. “Lift your arms above your head.” I did. “Now
extend this leg.” As I did that, he made a distinctly
unmusical sound.
  “What?”
   “You have less reach than our children.” Xonea walked
around me. “No significant mass. Severely limited
muscular development.” He picked up one of my hands.
“No claws.”
  “I can look really, really mean,” I said, demonstrating.
  “It is a miracle your kind evolved.” Xonea made a
double-handed gesture of extreme exasperation. “By the
Mother, even jaspforran would do nothing to aid you.”
  My brows rose. “What’s jaspforran?”
  “An herb, taken by warriors before combat. It
dampens nerve endings, focuses the mind, and enhances
aggression.”
  Lovely. No telling what it would do to a Terran. “So
show me what to do, minus the jaspforran.”
   He made me stretch virtually every muscle in my body.
When I complained, he warned me that we would be
doing this limbering stuff every half hour, to keep my
body flexible. After that, Xonea walked up to me and took
hold of my arms. The next thing I knew, I was on my
back, with Xonea straddling me.
  “You are dead.”
  “That was fast.” I groaned as he helped me to my feet.
   I also learned that there was nothing esoteric about
hand-to-hand fighting. There were no body parts that
could be used as deadly weapons, no mystical
nerve-pinches I could employ to win.
  “In ClanSpar, one strikes to ground the opponent.
Lack of body mass is your single greatest disadvantage.
Thus, you must not allow me to strike you.”
  I learned to dance backward as Xonea advanced, then
counter his attacks with simple evasive movements. I still
landed on my backside. A lot.
  “When do I get to hit you?” I said as I rubbed my
abused posterior.
  “Your profession requires you not resort to using your
hands to strike. Your Terran physiology limits you to
short-range strikes.” Xonea studied me for a moment.
“You will use your knees and elbows whenever possible.”
   “Where do I hit him?”
   Xonea went to the room display and pulled up the
database on the Omorr species. “Since Omorr genitals are
extruded only when in the throes of passion—”
   “Obviously, not around me.”
   “—you cannot strike to that area. These are the other
unprotected sites.” Xonea pointed to specific areas
displayed.
   He made me stretch again. Then we sparred.
   “You learn quickly, Healer,” Xonea said an hour later.
   “You think so?” I pushed a handful of tangled,
sweat-soaked hair out of my face. My body was bruised
in places I didn’t even know I had. “Let's hope I heal just
as fast.”

   Alunthri paid me an unexpected visit when I came off
shift the next day. I had a pretty good idea of why the
Chakacat had showed up.
   “Big Mouth spilled the beans, didn’t he?” I asked.
  “Big mouth?” The bullet-shaped silvery head cocked to
one side. “Beans?”
  I kept forgetting the vocollars translated idioms literally.
“Reever told you about the fight.”
  Alunthri nodded. “He related the situation between you
and the Omorr resident, and suggested I discuss it with
you.”
   “It figures.” I stepped back and waved a hand. “Come
on in, I’ll tell you all about it.”
   Alunthri had adopted a minimal amber garment that
allowed it the most freedom of movement. Its silvery pelt
shone with health, the sensitive ears were erect and proud.
Only months before, the Chakacat had been forced by its
owner to wear a collar and sleep on a rug on the floor. I
had taken it in. We nonsentients had to stick together.
  I smiled as colorless eyes regarded me with grave
concern. “I haven’t gone crazy, if that's what you're
worried about.” Quickly I related the details of the
confrontations with Squilyp, and how they had escalated
over time. “It was probably inevitable.”
  “But he manipulated you into making the solicitation!”
Alunthri said. Near-invisible whiskers trembled as it
added, “I am certain that if you explain this to Captain
Pnor, he will force the Omorr to nullify the challenge.”
   I toyed with the idea for a moment, then shook my
head. “No. Won’t work. Squilyp thinks if he wins, it'll
prove to Tonetka that he's the better candidate for her job.
On his world, that's how it's done.” The Chakacat's
distress over the idea of the fight was pretty obvious.
“Don't worry, I'll be fine.”
   “If you say so, Cherijo. Ah, here is my friend Jenner,
come to visit with me.” Alunthri held out welcoming arms
as my cat leapt up into its lap. “Have you come to offer
greetings, small sibling?”
  “Your little brother smelled the food,” I said. “Guard
your plate.”
  His Royal Highness glared at me. That’s enough out of
you, impudent serving wench.
   “We will share.” Alunthri offered a crust to Jenner, who
delicately sampled, then wolfed it down. “I heard of your
efforts during the relief mission for the NessNevat.”
   “Some effort.” I rose to my feet as I recalled all the
orphans left behind. “Nothing I did will bring back their
dead.”
  “Once lost, those still exist in memory.” The Chakacat
was obviously thinking about its parent and litter siblings,
which had been killed outright for their pelts on Chakara.
    I hurried to change the topic, and asked what it was
currently involved in. The Chakacat had been busy, too. I
listened as it related some details from its intense study of
Jorenian weaving.
  Hard to believe the intelligent, articulate Chakacat had
been considered nothing more than a pet back on K-2.
  “The last time I saw you, you mentioned you had some
big decision to make,” I said. “Have you decided to
switch your studies from art to something else?”
   “I’ve made my decision, and no, it is not in regard to
my studies.” Alunthri put Jenner down and went to my
display. “May I access from here?” I nodded, and its
claws swept over the touchpad, bringing up the
navigational data charts with rapid ease. “There is an
interspecies artists' colony that has been established…
here.” It used a talon to indicated the region. “It is called
Garnot.”
  “Are we planning a sojourn there?” I asked as I
examined the screen. It wasn’t that far away.
   “I made a special request of Captain Pnor.” Alunthri
touched my arm with a gentle paw. “Cherijo, I have
decided to immigrate to Garnot.”
   I was startled. “Will the colonists recognize you as a
sentient?”
   Alunthri nodded. “I have signaled the colonial rulers.
As they are not League members, I meet immigration
requirements, both for resident status and sentience. They
believe I have a great deal to offer with the scope of my
studies.”
  “That’s wonderful.” No, it wasn't. I smiled sadly. “I'm
going to miss you.”
   “And I you. If not for your help, I would still be
enslaved to the Chakarans. I do not wish to leave my
friends aboard the Sunlace, but…” Its colorless eyes
moved to the screen. The longing was unmistakable.
“Garnot is where I belong.”
   “How long before we reach the colony?” I asked.
   “Some weeks.”
   “Good. I’ll juggle my shift schedule. We can spend
some time together before we get there.” I made a face.
“If I'm not confined to a berth in Medical, that is.”
   A priority signal came over my console, and I frowned
as I switched screens. “Yes?”
   “Healer.” Xonea looked solemn and happy at the same
time, and a cold chill inched down my back. I
remembered the last time I’d seen that expression. “You
are needed here in Medical,” he said. “A path has been
diverted.”
    That meant someone was dead. My throat tightened as
I thought of the current patient roster. “Fasala?”
   “No. Roelm Torin.”

   Since all the gyrlifts were in use, I ran the two levels up
to Medical. I cursed Jorenian engineers and their stupid
ideas of construction every step of the way, too.
   Spiral bores into dimensional barriers be damned, I
thought. An internal elevator or hover lift would have been
really convenient once in a while. Like now.
   Tonetka was halfway out of the bay when I got there. It
took me a moment to catch my breath. “What happened?”
  “Come.” She hauled me over to the berth, where
members of the medical staff were disconnecting monitors
and removing life-support equipment. The techs stepped
out of the way as I reached over and drew the sheet back.
   Shocked, I took a half-step back. “My God.”
   Roelm’s cheerful face was grotesquely distorted. Eyes
swollen shut. Features bloated. Upper torso bruised from
resuscitative efforts. His abdomen was so severely
distended that dark striae scarred his flesh with jagged
purple streaks.
   “Ascites?” I’d never seen a case this bad before. Any
form of edema sometimes caused excess fluid to
accumulate in other parts of the body—especially the
abdomen—but not like this. Not so fast. I pulled on a pair
of gloves before I touched him. “What happened?”
   “Roelm left the Medical Bay and went to check the
engines. Xonea found him in the eleventh level corridor,”
the Senior Healer said. “By the time he was brought here,
airways had constricted. Full respiratory and cardiac
arrest occurred moments later.”
   “Brain scan?” I asked, carefully palpitating the lower
torso. The tissues were so flooded that my fingers left
dents in his flesh.
  “Clear. No hemorrhaging. It must be anaphylactic
shock.”
   “Not like any case I’ve ever seen.” I checked the rest
of the body, then stripped off my gloves. There was
nothing more I could do until the postmortem.
   An autopsy would be performed, but not for a rotation.
Jorenian custom prohibited disturbing the body during the
time when they considered the “shreds of the soul” might
remain within. Personally? I thought it was stupid. Dead
was dead.
  “You’re running full toxicologies?” I asked.
  “Yes.” Tonetka gently touched Roelm’s cheek. “He
made me his Speaker yesterday, Cherijo. It was as if he
knew.”
   That meant Roelm had confided his last request to
Tonetka. It was a heavy responsibility. One she was
obviously not taking well, I discovered over the next hour,
as she dropped instruments, misplaced several charts, and
snarled at anyone who spoke to her. Eventually I talked
Tonetka into going off duty and had one of the nurses
escort her to her quarters.
   I reported to Ndo and requested he make the
announcement to the crew. Arrangements for the death
ceremony would be scheduled by the Captain. I reviewed
the current ward status and made rounds. Every patient
except Fasala had witnessed Roelm’s tragic end. No one
had much to say. The nurses were unusually solemn. Even
Squilyp seemed subdued, for a change.
   My youngest patient was still sleeping when I reached
her berth. Darea sat beside her, her expression still stiff
with shock.
  “I take it you were here, too,” I said, and the Jorenian
woman nodded. No matter how much they celebrated the
death of a HouseClan member, watching someone die
wasn’t easy. Especially as violent an end as Roelm had
come to. “I'm sorry. I liked him very much.”
  “I honored him as well.” She glanced at Roelm’s body,
which was being prepared for removal to the morgue.
“How fares Tonetka?”
   “She’ll be all right.” I deliberately changed the subject.
“I see Fasala's vitals read near normal levels now. That's a
good sign.”
  “She remains on the path.” Darea’s eyes were haunted.
   I could see this ClanMother wouldn’t celebrate her own
child's death. “Thank the Mother.”
  “The Mother should thank you,” was my observation.
“Fasala senses you’re here. That security promotes
healing faster than anything I can do.”
  “You are kind, Healer Cherijo.” She watched as
Squilyp hopped past us, and her expression hardened.
“Unlike that one with the mouth.”
   I updated Fasala’s chart and went back to Roelm's
berth once the postmortem prep of the body was
completed. I repeated the non-intrusive exams, and came
to an immediate conclusion.
  If the man had died of anaphylactic shock, I was an
Omorr.
   Roelm’s lymphedema had been a minor annoyance. I
checked the pharmaceutical logs. The diuretics Tonetka
used were standard. I accessed his medical history and
found he had been prescribed the very same medication
only a year before.
   It was true that certain allergies could manifest
themselves in the body at any time. True or not, I was
suspicious. Protocol demanded our entire supply of the
drug be removed for contamination analysis, so I pulled
the stores to be tested and had a fresh batch synthesized.
   That was when I noticed my smallest patient’s
agitation. Darea had disappeared, probably off to get a
meal tray from the galley.
   “Fasala?” I went to her berth and gazed down at her.
She’d been restlessly tossing and turning. “Is something
bothering you?”
   The white eyes widened. “Oh, no. I feel very well,
Healer Cherijo. All my injuries have healed. There is no
pain.”
   I smiled. “I forget my phrasing is never as precise and
correct as yours. What I meant was, are you troubled
about something?” She nodded. “Is it about your
accident?” Another nod. I sat down on the edge of the
berth and took her hand in mine. “Want to talk about it?”
   She bit her lip, and glanced over at an empty berth near
hers. “Healer, my ClanMother told me that Roelm Torin
embraced the stars.”
   “Yes.” I wondered just how much Darea had told her
child.
   She finally blurted it out. “Was it my fault his path was
diverted?”
   “Of course not, Fasala. Roelm was…” How did I
explain this? I knew all about guilt, but not how to get rid
of it. I considered signaling her ClanParents, then plunged
on. “Fasala, someone else diverted Roelm's path.
Whoever did this will be punished. But it's not your fault.”
   “I was in the restricted area,” she said. Her lips
trembled. “It was wrong to be there. When I saw the ring
of light, I should have run away. Roelm spoke to me
about it, then he became angry and left his berth.”
   What was that all about? “Fasala, you aren’t
responsible for what happened.” The ring of light—wasn't
that what she had been muttering in her sleep? “Tell me
what you told Roelm.”
   “He wanted to know what it looked like. It was so
pretty, like a rainbow. I told him there was a terrible
sound…” Tears filled her eyes. “And then it hurt me.”
   “I know, sweetheart. It’s okay.” I put my arms around
her as she wept. I thought of the little girl I'd been unable
to save back on NessNevat. Closed my eyes and rocked
Fasala gently. This one was alive. I had to hold on to that.
  One of the nurses came up and quietly offered to signal
Darea. I nodded my approval over the small dark head.
   At last the child’s sobs slowed. I blinked away my
tears, then lifted her face and wiped hers away with my
thumbs. “There now. I always have a good cry when I
feel bad. Your ClanMother will be here soon, honey.”
   Fasala sniffed as she looked up at me. “What is
’honey'?”
    “A sweet, delicious floral extract on Terra,” I
explained. “And what Terrans call very brave, very honest
little girls.”
   “I am HouseClan Torin,” she said with pride, her tears
forgotten. “We are the bravest of all Houses.”
   “We sure are.” I tucked her sheet in around her small
body, and saw Darea hurry in the Bay. “Here’s your
Clan-Mother. Try to rest now.” I pressed a kiss against
her brow. “I'll be back to check on you soon.”
  Adaola Torin, the senior nurse on duty, asked to speak
with me in Tonetka’s office soon after that. We left the
ward and once inside, she closed the door panel.
  “This must be serious,” I said, hoping it wasn’t. My
emotions were on the shaky side already.
   The tall, perpetually cheerful woman wasn’t smiling
now. “Healer Cherijo, I—I would know if I am
responsible for diverting Roelm's path.”
   She wanted to know if she’d killed him, too? What was
going around, some kind of guilt virus? “Why do you
think you're responsible?”
   “I myself administered the diuretic just before Roelm
left Medical. It was suggested…” Her six fingers
convulsed on the edge of the desk. Plasboard splintered.
“Forgive me.” She jerked her hand away.
  I wasn’t going to reprimand her. Ever. “It's okay.”
   She smiled faintly at the Terran idiom. “Okay” roughly
translated to “smooth path” in Jorenian, which everyone
but me thought was very funny. “I was confident I used
the correct dose,” she said. “Could I have been in error?”
   Even the best nurses made mistakes. “Tell me what you
did just before you administered the drug.”
   “I scrubbed, gloved, and consulted the patient’s chart.
After that, I calibrated and checked the syrinpress twice,
as always.” She spread her hands. “Yet I was the only one
who touched Roelm. What else could have diverted his
path?”
  “Plenty.” Splinters speckled in one of her palms. I’d
have to get busy with a dermal probe right after our chat.
“Acute allergen/histamine reaction. Contaminated drugs.
Septic shock. We don't know the whole story yet. A good
nurse doesn't jump to conclusions.”
  Adaola’s chin lifted a little at that last part. “Indeed.”
   “We’ve drawn fluid samples for toxicological analysis.
If you made a mistake in dosage, the excess will show up
in the lab reports.” I tacked on my own opinion. “You are
a good nurse, Adaola. One of the best I've ever worked
with. The tests will be negative for overdose.”
  “The Omorr resident believes differently.”
   “The Omorr resident can go jump into the stardrive,” I
said.
   Some of the indecision cleared from her eyes. “My
presumption was based on opinion, not fact,” she said,
and bowed to me. “Your pardon, Healer Cherijo.”
    “None required.” I made the traditional response,
stifling a sigh. Jorenians could be so ceremonious. I was
going to strangle that damned Squilyp. “Now, let’s go
take care of these splinters.” 't
   “Splinters?” She became aware of the damage for the
first time and examined her hand. “Oh. Yes. Of course.”
   “After that, why don’t you ask Darea and Salo to take
a break, maybe have a meal together. Offer to monitor
Fasala while they do. It will reassure them to know you're
watching her.” And give Adaola time to pull herself
together, as well.
   It took a few minutes to remove the slivers of
plasboard from the nurse’s palm. After that, Darea and
Salo'reluctantly let her relieve them. One problem solved.
   I wrote up my shift summary for Tonetka’s review,
adding a note about the merits of permanently gagging the
Omorr. For the nurses' benefit and his own continued
existence.
   I left the Medical Bay after shift change. All I wanted
was a cup of tea. Some hot food. Maybe a game of toss
the yarn ball with His Majesty, if he was in the mood.
Anything to keep from thinking about the dead.
   None of that helped. The image of the lost NessNevat
child stayed with me, and followed me into my dreams.

   The next day I found out I’d personally be doing the
autopsy on Roelm Torin. The Senior Healer insisted. I
didn't protest. Tonetka wouldn't have asked unless she
was literally incapable of handling it herself.
  “Sure. No problem.” I went to put on my gear.
  Tonetka touched my arm. “You appear fatigued,
Cherijo.”
   “I didn’t sleep much last night.” I wasn't going to tell
her why. I had to find a way to deal with the guilt on my
own.
   After we prepped for the procedure, Roelm’s body
was wheeled in. The nurse manning the gurney quickly
left. No one liked postmortem exams. Including me.
   “A moment,” Tonetka said when I would have
activated the recording drone. She placed her gloved
hands on either side of Roelm’s distorted face, and bent
close. “Old friend, forgive me. I cannot rejoice in your
new journey. I cannot.”
  She was starting to worry me. “Senior Healer?”
  Her hands fell away and her expression cleared. “You
may begin, Cherijo.”
   I’d bluffed enough times to know when someone was
doing it to me. She didn't have it in her to watch me cut
open a man she obviously cared deeply for. “Why don't I
get one of the nurses in here to assist, while you—”
   She gave me that Jorenian
you’re-seriously-beginning-to-annoy-me glare. “He was
my friend, Cherijo. My ClanUncle. He would want me
here.”
  Nodding, I set the drone to record. “If you change
your mind, let me know.”
  “Proceed.”
   After squelching a sigh, I began to recite the facts for
the record: “Postmortem examination of Roelm Torin,
Jorenian male, fifty-one years in age. Body is 210.5
centimeters in length. Weight 173.5 kilograms upon
admission.” I checked the exam pad monitor. “Distention
of body is consistent with acute ascites.”
   Tonetka made the necessary dermal scans. I adjusted
my lascalpel and made the incision from throat to pelvis. I
glanced at my boss from the edge of my mask. Her brows
made a single dark slash above haunted white eyes. The
scanner shook a little in her fingers.
   “Abdominal cavity is distinctly enlarged, with marked
dermal striae.” I selected my clamps. Counted the number
of injection sites where Tonetka had administered a
battery of drugs. “Seven dermal breaches, consistent with
application of syrinpress nozzles. Four circular bruises on
upper torso, consistent with anti-mortem application of
stimulator pads.”
  The Jorenian woman made a bitter gesture.
   I switched off the recorder. “Tonetka. Come on. You
can’t keep blaming yourself for this.”
   She shook her head, reached over, and turned the
recorder back on. Sure she could.
  I clamped back the skin flaps while Tonetka prepared
the rib-extension unit. I cut through the tough inner
abdomen cavity lining. Fluid shimmered beneath the laser
in a black pool. That was odd. Jorenian blood didn’t turn
black, even when it coagulated.
  “I don’t see his ribs,” she muttered.
   “Internal viscera and skeleton are obscured by what
appears to be necrotic fluid.“ I took a sample. ”Suction,
please.“ Tonetka applied the extractor’s tip and evacuated
the fluid for what seemed like an hour.
   The internal organs didn’t appear. Neither did the
bones. We exchanged a look, and she shut down the
extractor's pump.
   “Scanning to detect current position of internal
organs.” I ran the series, then handed the scanner to
Tonetka and grabbed a surgical probe.
   Her mouth grew tight as she read the display. “This
data is in error.”
  “It better be.” Even as I said that, the instrument in my
hand indicated otherwise.
   I discarded the probe and pushed the lascalpel rig to
one side. The Senior Healer averted her gaze as I put my
gloved hand into Roelm’s body, and searched with my
own fingers. The black fluid felt thick and cold.
   “Tonetka. Tonetka.” She didn’t want to hear this, but
we had to include it in the data record. “His internal
organs are missing. His ribs. Everything. They're gone.”
    “Mother of All Houses.” Tonetka pushed away from
the exam table, and yanked off her mask. “This cannot be.
I ran full organ scans immediately after death. All were
intact, as was the skeletal structure.”
   That was yesterday’s news. I wanted to know what had
happened to this man's body today. I stripped off my
ruined gloves and sterilized my hands before donning a
fresh pair.
  Something occurred to me, a thought that made me
swallow my own bile. “Tell me you ran a biodecon scan.”
  “Several. All negative.”
  My nausea receded an inch or two. “Let’s run another
one.”
  During the epidemic on K-2, I’d watched thousands die
from a contagion that had not only been undetectable, but
sentient to boot. No matter how minute the possibility of a
pathogen was, I'd learned my lesson.
   Roelm’s readings came up contagion-free again.
However, every internal organ, along with all of the bone,
muscles, and tissue in the Engineer's body had been
destroyed. Only the tough subdermal cartilage sheath had
kept the epidermis from dissolving from the inside out,
but that was beginning to liquefy, too. A comparison with
the organ series taken immediately after death confirmed
Tonetka’s statement. Roelm had died with his body intact.
   Lymphedema didn’t do this kind of damage. I couldn't
stop thinking about the K2V1 epidemic, and scanned for
the specialized white cells that engulfed viral particles
when an immune response was triggered. The display
reflected no macrophage trace. Lymphocytes were slightly
elevated, but that could have been brought on any number
of minor conditions
  “No virus I know of could cause this kind of corrosive
damage.” I had an idea of what could. “I’ll have to
analyze the lymphocytes to be sure they weren't invaded.”
   “Have you examined the syrinpress Adaola used to
administer the diuretic?” Tonetka asked while she drew
several samples of the fluid.
   I nodded and tugged down my mask. “I’ll take another
look at it later.”
  “What do you believe you will find?”
  I stalled. “No allergy could have done this.”
  “Cherijo.”
   “All right.” I placed my scanner on a side console and
faced the Senior Healer. “I don’t think Roelm was injected
with a diuretic before he walked out of Medical.”


               CHAPTER FIVE
                 Soft Spots
                                                  «^»
  Two days later we held a ceremony for Roelm. Before
I left to attend, I discharged one educator and arranged to
have the remaining patients monitor the service via their
bedside terminals.
  Tonetka signaled to remind me to get a move on. Her
voice sounded strained.
   “Are you going to make it through this?” I asked as
soon as I saw her. She looked ready to embrace a few
stars herself.
   “I… will be well. Make haste, Cherijo, or you will be
late.”
   I checked out and hurried to my quarters to put on my
ceremonial robes. It was in one of the HouseClan shades
of blue, a dark shade that matched the color of my eyes. I
didn’t like wearing it. Out of respect for Roelm, and
because Tonetka needed support, I pulled the voluminous
garment over my head.
  My reflection made me sigh.
   The other crew members would wear similarly shaded
robes. They’d look like they always did: stately, regal, and
much better than me. Only Tonetka would wear black, the
color I associated with mourning from Terran customs.
The color of the first life, as someone told me, was
required to be worn in her role as Roelm's Speaker.
   Dying didn’t scare these people. On the contrary. In
the Jorenian culture, deaths were celebrated as the
beginning of another journey. It was a nice way to think
about it, I suppose.
  To me, death tended to be a personal insult.
   Roelm’s body would be placed in a special receptacle,
the Jorenian version of a coffin, which during the
ceremony was fired from the ship into the corona of the
nearest star. When the Jorenians said they embraced the
stars, they meant business.
  I hurried down to level ten, where the ceremonial
chamber was located. Captain Pnor must have put the
Sunlace on auto-stardrive, from the size of the crowd.
Most of the crew were assembled and waiting.
   Roelm’s ClanSiblings performed the traditional
preparations of the body first. On the center dais, they
formed a circle around the receptacle, and danced as they
wove fine, silvery strands of yiborra grass to bind the
outer panels.
   As I watched the receptacle shroud taking form, I
recalled how Roelm had been so embarrassed to admit
he’d been studying Jorenian weaving. I'd go down and
access his environome program later. That would be my
way of saying good-bye.
   The rest of the assembly chanted a harmony that I felt
throb deep in my bones. Their voices were so solemn, yet
joyous. No one wept. HouseClan Torin honored their
dead with smiles and happiness.
  I didn’t try to fake a smile. I wasn't happy.
   Once a complex web of silver encased Roelm’s
receptacle, the song dwindled away. In silence, the
ClanSiblings bowed to an oversized vid screen that had
been lowered from an upper deck. I watched as Roelm's
bondmate offered her blessing for his new journey via
direct relay from Joren.
   I had done this, for Kao. Worn the same iridescent
“journey” robe. Said the same words.
   The anguish I’d thought had begun to pass twisted like
a fresh blade inside me.
  Kao, killed by my own blood.
  The NessNevat girl, dead before I could touch her.
  Dra Torin’s voice shook as she repeated the ancient
words. “From your bondmate, your heart, can only come
what is bright and beautiful and honorable. You and I will
never lose each other…”
   As Dra continued with the ritual blessing, Roelm’s
receptacle slid into the ejection tube. As the receptacle
was fired into space, I closed my eyes.
  Roelm was gone.
   Tonetka mounted the dais to address the assembly. Her
face looked terribly strained. New, thicker streaks of
purple had appeared in her dark hair.
   My God, I thought. She’s trembling. What had Roelm
told her that could be that bad?
  “I speak for the son of this House, Roelm Torin. His
words were given to me, to be brought to those he
honored. I bring them with joy.”
  No, she didn’t. Everyone could see that.
   Duncan Reever had said those same words weeks
before, for Kao. Distracted by the memory, I scanned the
assembly for him. Was he here or had he decided to
skip—
   There. A few yards away, Reever looked back at me.
Was that sympathy in his eyes? Sure enough. I snapped
my head around, rigid and furious. He had no right to feel
sorry for me. It required a heart. He didn’t have one.
   The Senior Healer’s skilled hands bunched at her sides
as she delivered the traditional farewell. As she did, her
white eyes scanned the assembly, alighting on Captain
Pnor. The man in charge of the Sunlace must have sensed
the same thing I had, for he began to approach the dais.
Tonetka shook her head slightly, and Pnor halted. Her
voice rose, loud and strong.
   “I charge the HouseClan Torin with my last request:
Find the one who has sabotaged the Sunlace.”
   I’d never thought six hundred people could jump out
of their footgear simultaneously. I was wrong. There was
a collective gasp. Some startled exclamations. Not a single
eye moved from the dais.
   “One who is not one of us has deliberately damaged
this vessel. My warning must be heeded, or more paths
will be diverted. Find the traitor and invoke the right of
ClanKill. Farewell and safe journey. I embrace the stars.”
  All hell broke loose.
   Hands made savage gestures I’d never seen before.
Faces reflected undiluted fury. Hard voices demanded
something be done. Tonetka descended from the dais,
looking ancient and exhausted. Captain Pnor rushed to her
side.
   No wonder my boss had dreaded this ceremony. Who
wanted to enrage six hundred or more Jorenians? Against
each other, for that matter?
   I remembered Darea and Salo’s reaction to Squilyp's
verbal indiscretion, and multiplied that by three hundred.
Maybe it was time for me to get out of here. I'd lock
myself in my quarters until the Torins calmed down. Say a
few weeks.
  Someone seized my arm, and I nearly jumped out of
my footgear.
  My ClanBrother loomed over me. “Come with me,
Healer.”

   Xonea swiftly guided me from the ceremonial chamber.
I didn’t pay attention to where we were headed. I was too
relieved to be out of there, and still pondering exactly what
had just happened.
   Find the one who has sabotaged the Sunlace. A
saboteur, on board the ship? What would make him
believe such a thing? There were those engine problems
just before he’d died. But what made Roelm go from
worrying over malfunctioning transductors to accusations
of sabotage?
   My warning must be heeded, or more paths will be
diverted. If Roelm was right, certainly lives were at stake.
Find the traitor and invoke the right of ClanKill. What
did that part mean? Was he asking the entire HouseClan to
kill whoever was doing this?
   And what exactly had he meant by one who is not one
of us?
   I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I didn’t notice
the door panel that closed behind me. Xonea's voice
finally got through my preoccupation.
  “Healer.”
   Reality snapped back into focus. I looked around, and
discovered we were alone, in his quarters. The very last
place on the ship I wanted to be alone with Xonea.
    At once I chided myself. Xonea was my ClanBrother. I
was as safe here as I was in, say, Squilyp’s quarters. As
long as Xonea didn't think I was the culprit. If he did, my
life wasn't worth a vocollar franchise on Terra.
   “Nice place,” I said while prudently hovering near the
only exit.
   His rooms were arranged with the harmonious elegance
I’d come to expect from the Jorenians. Furnishings
upholstered with countless shades of HouseClan Torin
blue. Xonea's weapons collection was seriously
impressive, judging from the amount he had displayed on
the walls. That, or his quarters doubled as this level's
armory.
   Besides the guns, knives, and other virulent-looking
items, there were mementos of alien cultures. I caressed a
dense cluster of transparent nodules and snatched my
hand back as alien music spilled into the air.
  “Hey! What’s this?”
  “A singing prism from Udarc,” Xonea said.
  I saw the look on his face and took an automatic step
back toward the door panel. “Um, why don’t we do this
another time?”
  “No, it must be now.”
  “I just remembered I have to—”
  “Cherijo.” He pointed to a large divan. “Sit. I will
explain.”
   An enraged Jorenian never offered to chat, so I relaxed
and sat down. He offered refreshment. I politely accepted
a server of jaspkerry tea. He paced over to the viewport
and stared out at the stars for a long time. I sipped my tea,
and tried not to wrinkle my nose at the overly sweet taste.
Ugh, how did he stomach this stuff day in, day out? And
why was he being so quiet now?
  “Xonea.” He turned around. “What’s wrong? Besides
Tonetka's Speaking, that is?”
    He crossed the room and sat down beside me. What
little space there was on the divan abruptly vanished. This
close to him, I felt as small as Jenner. His hand rested
over mine. Another point in my favor. Jorenians did not
hold hands with someone they intended to pound into the
decking.
   “Do you know we were once a nonverbal race?” Xonea
asked.
  I thought for a moment. “Kao said something about it
once, how you evolved from a more primitive life-form.
Most species do.”
   “The first humanoids on Joren were highly skilled
predators,” Xonea said. “At first solitary, then banding
together in small familial groups for cooperative hunting.
Over time they settled into territorial tribes, and a complex
social structure developed. The first House was born.”
  I tugged at the collar of my robe. “Was that when your
people developed language?”
   “Not in the beginning. Our ancestors had no need to
verbally communicate. Nor had they ever known territorial
boundaries.” He went to his prep unit and made his own
server of tea. Too bad, I would have happily given him the
rest of mine. It was like drinking straight sucrose.
“HouseClans began clashing over land, resources, and
hunting rights. They had no method of negotiation, other
than acts of violence.”
   “So they threw rocks at each other instead of chatting,”
I said, rearranging my skirts. Maybe I should ask him to
adjust the room temperature. My ceremonial robe was
making me sweat.
   His brows drew together. “Wars are not fought with
the throwing of rocks, Cherijo. Hundreds of thousands of
our people died in the subsequent decades of conflict.”
  Now was not the time to mention Terran history.
“Sorry.”
   “Over time, our people realized the only way to achieve
lasting peace between the HouseClans was to develop
specific disciplines regarding conflict. For that, we needed
language. Joren became a united world, and never again
suffered civil war. Those disciplines have never been
forgotten.”
   “But you still have warrior-training,” I said.
   “We train as warriors, yes.” His hand tightened around
his server. “Yet there is only one reason warfare is
permitted—to defend the HouseClan.”
   “I’m with you so far.”
   He didn’t want to tell me the rest. I could sense that
much. He emptied his server with two swallows and put it
aside.
   “Cherijo, you must understand, we were a savage,
ruthless species. Hunters without parallel. It is this part of
our past that lives on in us today, when we protect the
HouseClan.”
   “Most species have similar practices,” I said, and lifted
my braid off the back of my neck. “Terrans have a
number of cultural methods of self-defense.” So what was
the big deal?
   “Do you know what an invocation of ClanKill entails?”
   I’d read a little about it; what there was in the database
wasn’t all that specific. “If I remember correctly, when
you say that to someone, you intend to kill them.”
   “Do you know the conditions under which it can be
declared?” I shook my head. He sat down next to me
again. “If an individual makes a threat against a member of
the HouseClan, in the presence of the HouseClan, a
warrior may declare the outsider as ClanKill. Roelm stated
someone has threatened HouseClan Torin. He has
charged everyone with what he could not do himself. We
will take action on his behalf.”
   Not good. “Action against who?”
  “It could not be a Jorenian.” He looked away from me.
“There are not many others left. Pilot Dhreen. Linguist
Reever. The Omorr. The Chakacat. And you.”
   So that was it.
   “Xonea, I assure you, I haven’t threatened anybody.
Dhreen, Reever, and Alunthri wouldn't do anything to
sabotage the ship. Squilyp is a resident physician, sworn
to do no harm.” I wasn't going to mention the incident
with Salo and Darea. I didn't hate the Omorr that much.
“Why couldn’t it be one of the Jorenians?”
   “You heard Roelm’s Speaker,” he said. “Tonetka
stated it was 'one who is not one of us.' ”
   “Roelm was so paranoid about the engines he
frightened a little girl, then walked out of Medical without
clearance.” I felt I had to point this out. “I don’t know if I
want to take his word on this.”
   “ClanKill is not invoked upon a whim, Cherijo. Not
when it means one of us will have to eviscerate another
being while they still breathe.”
   I got to my feet at once. “You’re joking.”
   “No.” He scowled at me. “Kao did not tell you of our
traditional response to our enemies?”
   “He never said anything about disemboweling people!”
Disgusted, I regarded a display of swords with new eyes,
then glanced back at him. “These what you use to do it?”
   “No.” Xonea extended his hand, and flexed it. Six very
sharp-looking claws suddenly shot out of his fingertips.
“We use these.”
   “How convenient,” I said. The claws retracted. Kao
hadn’t shown me that little surprise, either. I forced my
lungs to slow down, and swiped at a trickle of sweat
running down the side of my face. “You do give them a
trial first, right?”
  “No.”
  “So how do you know they’re guilty?”
  “The threat must be repeated in the presence of a
HouseClan member.”
  “That’s it?” I turned around. “That's all?”
  “It is more than enough to justify invocation.”
  “I see.” I wanted to slap him. “Someone says the
wrong thing, and you eviscerate them. Perfectly normal
behavior. What was I thinking?”
   “Cherijo.” Xonea rose to his feet, came toward me, and
seized my hand. His grip was hard enough to make me
gasp. “You must tell me if you know of whom Roelm
spoke. At once.”
  “I don’t.” I jerked my fingers away. If he didn't cut it
out, I might end up a ClanKill candidate myself. “I don't
know anything, Xonea.”
  Something strange gleamed behind his pale eyes. “I
saw your expression when Tonetka Spoke for Roelm.”
  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I flung out my arms.
“Sure, I was upset. I knew what she said wasn't going to
make everyone applaud!”
   Now his hands descended on my shoulders. Not
gently. “Cherijo, you must not conceal knowledge of the
traitor from us.”
  My teeth clenched. “I’m not concealing anything. Take
your hands off me.”
   He didn’t. “You were too eager to leave the
ceremony.”
   “You dragged me out of there, remember? Besides,
why would I want to hang around six hundred upset
Jorenians? Someone might have taken a swing at me.”
   “No one would have dared touch you!” He shook me,
hard. “Unprovoked assault has been banned for
centuries!”
  “Really? What do you call what you’re doing now?” I
yelled back. “Energetic hugging?”
   Xonea’s hands dropped away from me as though
scalded. He took several deep, controlled breaths, then
said, “I never meant to harm you.” When I rubbed my
bruised flesh, he averted his gaze. “Your pardon, Healer.”
   “Yeah, well, you’re not forgiven.” I was doing some
deep breathing of my own. “How would you like being
accused of sabotage? Did you kill Roelm, ClanBrother?”
   That really shocked him. Seven-and’ta-half feet of solid
Jorenian went absolutely still. Color drained from his face,
leaving it a chalky pale blue.
  “Never would I betray my HouseClan thus. Never.”
   “No?” To even things up, I decided to press the point,
“You do know a lot about this buffer that supposedly
never shatters. Then you haul me in here, hand me a
bunch of attitude, and accuse me of conspiracy. Just what
are you trying to cover up?”
   His hands worked convulsively at his sides. “I did not
divert Roelm’s path. I brought you here out of concern
for your safety.” He reached out, and I automatically took
another step away. “Do not fear me.”
   This, from a guy who had nearly shaken my teeth out
of my skull. “You think what you’re doing is making me
trust you?”
   “I am… anxious.” A weary hand pressed against his
eyes for a moment. “I never meant to frighten you, Healer.
Please, your pardon.”
   Although I was still mad enough to deck him, I’d take
that on face value. For now. “Okay. You're pardoned.”
  “I would never betray my HouseClan, or force myself
on another’s path.”
   “Right.” I mopped my face with my sleeve again. I’d
better finish this and get out of here; the stifling
atmosphere was unbearable. “Forget about it.”
  Xonea didn’t stop. “I cannot begin to express—”
   Damn Jorenian formality. “I got it, Xonea. You’re
innocent. I believe you.” Good thing I didn’t go around
eviscerating people who gave me a hard time. “This
unprovoked assault thing—that ties in with ClanKill,
right?”
   “No Jorenian would threaten another life-form, unless
after invocation of ClanKill. It is—” What he said was
untranslatable. It was that bad.
  “Okay, I get the picture.”
   “Our people are incapable of such deviant behavior,”
he said, looking very righteous.
  “But you think I might be capable of it. Or Reever. Or
Alunthri.” I planted my hands on my hips. “Alunthri, for
God’s sake, who never even raises its voice in anger.”
   He had the grace to look ashamed. “You are not born
to us. Our traditions are unknown to you.”
  “It wasn’t any of the non-Jorenians, Xonea,” I said.
  “It will be determined.” He made a noncommittal
gesture. “If you discover who has done this, Cherijo, you
must inform me. At once.”
   “Okay, let’s say I find out, and tell you. What happens
then?”
  “Our ways are very specific,” he replied. “The traitor
will confess before the entire House. Outsider or Torin,
ClanKill will be declared. If the traitor chooses the
cowardice of silence, then a sentence of banishment is
imposed.”
   I’d read about banishment while studying HouseClan
protocols. For a Jorenian, it meant being thrown out of the
HouseClan. Forbidden to return to the homeworld.
Shunned by all Jorenians. Forever.
   “Why would someone risk so much?” Something
suddenly clicked. “Hold on. Are non-Jorenians subject to
the same law?”
   “Yes.” He thrust a hand through the hair above his
furrowed brow. “I must speak with Captain Pnor about
the others.”
   The others and I were in trouble. Automatically I
thought of Duncan Reever, who always seemed to appear
whenever that happened. Too bad he couldn’t pop in here
now. Reever could—Reever!
  “Wait. I can’t prove I'm not the saboteur, but Duncan
Reever might be able to. He can access my memories—”
   “No.” Xonea went to one of his weapons racks. His
strong blue hand moved lovingly over a six-bladed knife
with an ornate hilt. “I believe you, Cherijo. Linguist Reever
need not be involved.”
   “That’s very generous of you,” I said. “But if I can
prove my innocence, why would you want to stop me?”
  His fingers curled over the gleaming metal. “I accept
your account. You have no reason to ask this of Reever.”
  “Xonea, he’s done it before—”
   “No! It is a violation!” Xonea’s hand flexed, and
greenish blood instantly streamed down his long arm. He
hissed and pulled his fingers away from one of the blades.
A deep gash bisected his palm.
   “Oh, great,” I said, and hurried over to him. He was
dripping all over the deck. I cradled his hand in mine and
applied pressure to stop the flow of blood. It was going
to need sutures. “Nice work. Feel better now?” I reached
down and tore a strip of fabric from the hem of my robe.
So much for my ceremonial outfit. “Let’s go to Medical
and take care of this.”
   Xonea said nothing as he walked into the gyrlift. I came
in behind him. His back was as uncompromising as his
silence. Once we arrived at the Bay, it took a few minutes
to repair the damage to his hand. Out of curiosity, I
scanned the tips of his fingers.
  “These claws of yours are actually the tips of the distal
phalanges,” I said, then carefully manipulated a finger and
watched the thin bony blade emerged from beneath the
overlying dark blue nail.
   Xonea gazed around from the exam table while I
finished dressing the sutures. “It is very quiet here today.”
   “It is. We miss Roelm. He really knew how to liven
things up.” I thought about the startling postmortem exam,
then Roelm’s mysterious accusations. “Xonea, has
anyone told you about how Roelm died?”
  “No. Captain Pnor desired the matter be kept
confidential.”
   Pnor. No wonder he had tried to climb the dais and
stop Tonetka from dropping Roelm’s bombshell. He
must have guessed it was something bad, and how the
crew would react.
   “Tonetka and I performed an autopsy on Roelm.” If
there was a saboteur on board, he may have done more
than mess with the stardrive. “He was probably right
about the sabotage. It looks like he was murdered.”

   Anger over Tonetka’s Speaking subsided, but things
were never the same after that. Captain Pnor made a very
brief announcement that Roelm's death and his
accusations would be investigated. Most of the crew
seemed restless and unnaturally quiet. Cheerful attitudes
disappeared, and everyone appeared worried or
withdrawn.
    Some of the Jorenians occasionally gave me odd looks,
or stopped talking when I walked by them in the corridor.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. One who is not
one of us.
   My problem with Squilyp didn’t allow me a lot of time
to brood over it. When I wasn’t on duty, I was training
with Xonea. My ClanBrother continued to harass me
about withdrawing the solicitation, but I was adamant. Bad
enough I had to learn how to deliberately inflict pain. No
way was I going to be a coward and back out of a fight.
  There were other problems, too.
   “Oomph!” I landed flat on my back for the ninth time
that session, and opened my eyes. Over me, Xonea stood
in the classic death-strike position. I sighed. “Okay, you
win. Again.”
   “Indeed.” I saw him tug at the warrior’s knot at his
nape, then shake his head. Thick black hair, as long as my
own, spilled down his back. He had removed his uniform
tunic a while ago, and was now wearing only a pair of
loose-fitting trousers. His respiration was accelerated, and
sweat glistened over bulging blue muscles. White eyes
stared down at me as he extended one big hand. “Get
up.”
   I was tired of getting knocked on my backside. With
my hand, I grabbed his, then lashed out with my legs and
knocked him off his feet. With a hard jerk I managed to
yank him down on the mat beside me. He rolled over, but
by that time I was straddling him, and thumped my hand
against his sternum.
  “Gotcha.” I grinned as he reflexively grabbed my wrist.
“Too late, pal. Your path is history.”
  He scowled at me. “That was not honorable.”
   “So I cheated. It worked, didn’t it?” I began to climb
off him.
  “No.” He curled an arm around me to hold me in place.
That was when I realized how intimate my position was. I
was sitting right on top of his—“The Omorr’s pectoral
bones render his chest invulnerable,” he said. “Show me
where you would strike him.”
  “Xonea.” New heat flooded my face as I tried to shift
my weight. “Let me go.”
  Instead of releasing me, Xonea made a quick move. A
heartbeat later I was flat on my back and he was straddling
me. “And if he pins you, thus?”
   “I haven’t a clue.” My new position made it even more
difficult to act nonchalant. “You win, Xonea. Let me up.”
   “Cherijo.” His hands tightened, and I felt the tips of his
claws extrude and lightly scratch my skin. I’d learned that
only happened when a Jorenian was really, really angry.
“You are too small, too frail.”
  I stared into his narrow white eyes. “For what?”
   One huge blue hand moved down the side of my body,
and rested on my hip. His thumb rubbed a circle around
my navel. “One direct strike here, and the Omorr will
divert your path.”
   That wasn’t all that was diverting me. I arched my
back, trying to dislodge his hand, but that only made the
situation much, much worse. “Um, Xonea—”
  My ClanBrother’s voice lowered to a growl. “I will gut
him if he harms you.”
  “Hey.” Now he was scaring me. “Let go.”
  He got to his feet, and I wobbled a little as I did the
same. We looked at each other for a long moment.
   I cleared my throat. “That’s enough for today.” Then I
simply turned and ran.
   Back in my quarters, I spent a long, soothing interval in
my cleansing unit while I reflected on what had happened.
I could have sworn Xonea meant to do more than show
me where Squilyp might punch me. No. Xonea was my
ClanBrother. I was imagining things. But that rage of
his—what was that all about?
  After that session, I was careful to be as impersonal as
possible with Xonea. It never happened again, nor did he
refer to the incident; he simply treated me the same way he
would a younger, exasperating sibling. Which was okay
with me.
   There was also the problem of keeping the fight a
secret. Tonetka was the first to notice how stiffly I was
moving while I was on duty.
   “What ails you, Healer?”
   I grimaced. “Overdid things during my recreation
interval yesterday.” I rubbed an aching thigh. “I think I’ll
try basket weaving next time.”
   Her sharp eyes inspected me closely. “What manner of
recreation did you indulge in?”
  “Oh, you know”—I made a vague gesture—“stretching
and that sort of thing.” That sort of thing being me getting
knocked on my backside thirty or forty times per session.
   The Senior Healer gave me a suspicious frown, but
before she could start questioning me, a nurse interrupted.
   As far as I knew, Xonea hadn’t told anyone, nor had
Squilyp, Reever, or Alunthri. Apparently it was up to me
to spread the news. Well, I wasn't going to invite half the
ship to watch the Omorr wipe up the deck with me.
According to the cultural database, I was allowed a
“second,” someone who would throw in the towel if I was
too badly hurt to surrender.
   How reassuring.
   Under the circumstances, I couldn’t ask Xonea. So I
went to Reever and requested his assistance. He didn't say
“yes” right away. He had to give me a hard time about it
first. Of course.
   At last the day of reckoning arrived.
   Squilyp was already warming up when I entered the
environome at the appointed hour. He had discarded his
resident’s tunic and wore only a brief, one-legged
garment. His limbs were longer than I remembered. His
frame bigger. His muscles larger.
    Behind me, the environome’s entrance panel parted
again. Duncan Reever, Xonea, and about twenty Jorenians
filed in. I knew Alunthri wouldn't be there, I'd asked it to
stay with Jenner for me. The Chakacat was far too
sensitive to sit and watch two beings beat the daylights out
of each other.
  Xonea had already promised to keep quiet about the
challenge. I glared at the ship’s Linguist.
  “You’ve got a big mouth,” I said as Reever strode past
me.
  “It is minuscule compared to your temper.”
  “I told you not to tell anyone!”
    “You said you did not wish the Captain or the Senior
Healer to learn of this debacle,” Reever said. “I did not
tell them.”
  He walked past me and went directly over to the
Omorr, and engaged him in a terse, inaudible exchange.
    Xonea programmed gallery seating for the spectators
before he came to me. He eyed my opponent, too. “This
is insanity, Healer.”
    “Some coach you are.” I did a few stretching
exercises, trying to look tough. Okay, and maybe a little
taller. “If you thought this was crazy, why teach me to
fight?”
   My ClanBrother turned on me. He was not a happy
Jorenian. “You did not tell me the Omorr was a champion
on his homeworld.”
  Obviously someone else had. And I ’tdidn't need three
guesses as to who: Reever, the busy little bee.
  “So?”
   “I should have never agreed to this madness,” Xonea
said, his fists as tight as his jaw. “He will divert your
path.”,
   I was sick and tired of everyone telling me how
wonderful Squid Lips was. “Maybe not.” I bent and
placed both my palms on the floor before I straightened.
Only a week ago, I couldn’t have done that. “If I win, do
you think I'll get his title?”
  Xonea hauled me close to him by grabbing the back of
my neck and flexing half a muscle. “Do not do this,
Cherijo.”
  I knocked his hand away. “What’s the matter with you?
This is what you've been training me for.”
  “I am your ClanBrother.” Now he grabbed my upper
arm. “I cannot permit harm to come to you.”
  “This is my fight, big brother.” I clenched my teeth to
keep from grinding them. “And just for the record, I don’t
need your permission.”
   “If he harms you, I—”
   I pried his hand off. “Will do absolutely nothing, pal.”
He had that never-touch-my-kin-or-you-die look on his
face. I jabbed my finger against his chest to emphasize my
next words. “Not… a… thing.”
  Xonea swore, then stalked off to the gallery. Reever
had a word with him. They both glanced back at me, and
appeared ready to challenge me themselves. Nice to know
my friends were worried. Everyone settled into their seats.
Reever took his position a few feet away from me.
   I waited while Squilyp completed the final programming
sequence for the challenge. The dimensional imagers
hummed, and the environome’s simulators shifted around
us.
   This had to be a chunk of the Omorr homeworld. Hills
of cobalt rock rose around us. Clear, feathery plant life
sprang up in thin bunches. Overhead, birdlike creatures
circled, their pink-feathered wings sweeping through the
cold air. The scavengers had beady black eyes, and large,
sharp beaks fringed with short gildrells.
   Family members, maybe?
   Another Omorr hopped between us, startling me for a
moment. This one was draped in ceremonial vestments.
Very realistic for a programed simulation. Right down to
the Omorr sneer I got as the rules were decreed.
   “A solicitation has been made,” the
computer-generated Omorr said. “To Squilyp of Maftuda,
by the Terran Cherijo Grey Veil. Our beloved son has
accepted. All Maftuda praises Squilyp, who has never
been defeated, who has—”
   “Enough ego to fill a cargo hold,” I said. “Can we get
on with it?”
   The simulated Omorr’s gildrells stiffened in simulated
outrage. “No weapons are to be used. No outside aid is to
be enlisted. Failure to adhere to the restrictions will result
in automatic forfeit. The challenge is met when one of the
combatants capitulates, becomes incapacitated, or dies.”
   Squilyp rubbed his membranes together as he stared at
me. No doubt he was savoring the thought of my Terran
blood all over his nice program.
   “Does the solicitor wish to withdraw?” the Omorr
simulation asked. I shook my head. He turned to Squilyp.
“Does the solicited wish to withdraw?” My opponent
made a quick, negative gesture. The Omorr simulation
bowed to both of us. “Take your places. At my signal,
you may begin.”
   I moved to my mark. Squilyp hopped to his a few
yards away. That put me directly in front of the gallery. I
saw that Reever had his arms crossed over his chest, and
looked a little pale. My big brother Xonea was poised on
the edge of his seat.
  All this confidence in me was overwhelming.
   On a whim, I faced the gallery and held up a clenched
fist. “Morituri te salutamus.” We who are about to die
salute you.
  Reever now looked pale and faintly disgusted.
  “What does that mean?” Squilyp called out. His
vocollar wouldn’t translate—antediluvian Terran Latin
wasn't in the ship's linguistic database.
  “It means I’m going to enjoy this,” I yelled back.
   A high, fluted sound vibrated through the air. I stepped
forward. Squilyp began hopping toward me.
   We met in the center, faster than I’d expected. I
ducked as one of his long limbs swung over my head, and
spun around to find him almost on top of me. I crouched
and drove my right elbow into his thorax. Too high. I
caught the bottom half of his pectoral bone, which was
like hitting a plasteel wall.
   I felt a breeze as another limb barely missed my face,
then lashed back and caught me with a solid blow. My
right cheekbone exploded with pain. I fell, rolled with the
impact, and came up on the balls of my feet.
   That hurt. My right eye began to tear. A bad sign. If it
swelled shut, it was going to cut my range of peripheral
vision in half. Not to mention ruin my pretty face for a few
days. Maybe I should have gotten some of that jaspforran
herb after all.
  “You dance like hypoglycemic child,” Squilyp said as
he hopped after me. “Hold still and fight.”
   “You mean, give up and let you stomp on me?” I
replied, circling to the left. “That how you win all your
fights?”
  “I win”—he grunted as he lashed out with two limbs,
and I narrowly avoided the whiplike
membranes—“because I am the best!”
   “Better work on that insecurity complex of yours,
Squid Lips,” I said. Then I dropped. Somersaulted out of
his reach. Landed on my feet.
  Squilyp was right there, in my face. I danced
backward.
   The Omorr grabbed a membraneful of my tunic, and
ripped part of my sleeve before I wrenched away. He
stared at the ragged swatch of fabric he held, and that was
when I turned and kicked him in the jointed midsection of
his single leg. He began to lose his balance, then righted
himself.
   “Is that the best you can do?” he said, pretending it
didn’t hurt as he started after me.
   My face felt gigantic, and profoundly ached. I whirled
away and came around him, eyeing a section on his back.
Had to be there. Swiftly I moved in, lifted my leg and
drove my knee into his spine. Two of his limbs smashed
into me before I could avoid them. I was tossed through
the air to land painfully on my side some three feet away.
  “Joey!”
  That had to be Duncan. No one else called me that.
   He’d knocked the wind out of me. I heard the Omorr's
hopping step and rolled away. Voices were starting to
rise. I looked over at the gallery. Reever still stood on the
sidelines. So did Xonea. They were arguing while Reever
held Xonea's upper arms. Holding him back.
  Men. They made a lousy cheering section.
   “Stop… and I will… spare you,” Squilyp wheezed,
drawing my attention back to the fight.
  Spare me? Oh, sure, and then he’d give me a big kiss
and say all was forgiven. Had to get up and get moving.
  My arms shook as I pushed myself off the floor. I
squinted at the Omorr as my vision doubled for a
moment. Two muscular frames glistened with sweat. A
whole roomful of gildrells quivered with labored breath.
One more shot, I thought as I stood. If my knees would
hold.
   “Spare me?” I said as I backed away. “Mercy from…
the grand champion… of Omorr?”
  “Terran fool.” He gasped for air as he pursued me.
“You have lost!”
   If he hit me one more time, I agreed silently. I’d struck
two of the few places he was vulnerable. I'd have to risk a
final attempt. I watched him, saw how he was tiring. The
Omorr don't usually move much when they fight. They
just stood together and pounded on each other until one
of them fell or died. Like two statues—
  That was it!
   I stopped, assuming an aggressive, stationary stance
the way one of his people would. He looked startled, then
eagerly hopped closer. This was his style of fighting. He’d
demolish me in no time. Just another meter, then—
   It was a suicidal leap, but it worked. I collided with the
Omorr in mid-hop, knocking him off-balance. At the same
time, my right fist plowed into his gildrells. I put all the
force I could muster behind that punch. He waved his
limbs wildly, but it was too late. He fell with me on top of
him. The back of his head slammed into the simulated
stone beneath us. I rolled off and out of reach. He half
rose, then collapsed and went still.
   My right hand was lacerated, and numb from the jolt. I
couldn’t see clearly out of my right eye. Still, I bent down
over him and put my hand on the pulse point in his upper
thorax. Rapid but steady Omorr rhythms beat in the organ
that served as his heart and liver. Some of his gildrells had
ruptured and were oozing white-pink streaked blood.
   Suddenly I was yanked back by a powerful arm.
Xonea’s big hands reached for Squilyp. His extended
claws indicated he was ready to find each and every soft
spot the Omorr possessed. And remove them.
  I grabbed the closest wrist. “No, Xonea!”
   “You are bleeding,” the Jorenian said with a hiss. “
Bleeding!”
  “So is he!”
  “I will divert his path!”
   “If I wanted it diverted,” I said as I lunged in front of
my ClanBrother, protecting the Omorr with my own body,
“I’d have done it myself. Now back off. Back off!”
   Reever was suddenly there, putting himself between us,
murmuring something low and musical. I sat back and
watched as he somehow calmly convinced the big pilot
not to disembowel my unconscious opponent. Xonea
stalked off. The ship’s Linguist turned to me. “Are you all
right?”
  “Been better,” I said. I couldn’t smile. My face hurt too
much. “Signal Medical for me, will you? Let them know
we're bringing a patient.” I touched my cheek gingerly.
Looked at the blood on my fingertips. “Make that…
two…”
   Good thing he grabbed me. Didn’t need another head
injury, I thought, and passed out.



                 PART TWO:
                   Explorer

                CHAPTER SIX
                 Hired Guns
                                                «^»

  After the challenge, Squilyp spent the next four days
in a medical berth. He sulked, but otherwise behaved
himself.
   I spent a day stuck in a berth myself. Despite a
fractured cheekbone, facial lacerations, assorted bruises,
and a splendid black eye, the damage healed in record
time. Genetically enhanced immune systems had their
uses. My rapid recovery gave the Omorr one more thing
to brood about.
  None of the crew had much to say to either one of us
about what had happened. Not all the Jorenians refrained
from commenting, however.
   When Squilyp and I were brought in, the Senior Healer
regarded us both with astonished disbelief. Her arched
brows and open mouth were the first things I saw as I
regained consciousness. The Omorr, I was pleased to see
through the only eye that worked, was still out for the
count.
   “What say you?” she was saying to Reever. “This was
deliberate! They inflicted these injuries on each other?”
   Tonetka was, well, furious. When she decided to speak
to me again, it was to inform me that if I ever repeated this
stunt, she’d personally divert my path. Gave me all the
gruesome details about how she'd do it, too. Then she
followed that up with scalding opinions on my lack of
restraint, supervisory skills, and common sense.
   I could have told her Squilyp had tricked me into the
challenge. I didn’t. It was as much my fault as his, so I
silently accepted the reprimand.
   Reever came back to check on me the first day. I
thought that was rather sweet. For about two minutes.
   “You are far too reckless,” he said. He went on to tell
me all the reasons why I shouldn’t have won the
challenge.
   “But I did win, Reever. My warrior training paid off.”
   “You need more training in personnel relations,” he
said.
   “Your mouth needs a few sutures!”
   Xonea never showed up. Dhreen stopped by and
mumbled something about a whump-table and the
surprising capacity for flight it had in the hands of a
Jorenian in full rage.
   I went directly to my quarters after I was released from
Medical. Jenner greeted me at the door panel with distinct
suspicion.
   “Don’t you recognize me?” I asked. “I'm the one who
feeds you.”
   Jenner’s fur rose as he peered up at my swollen,
bruised face. Maybe, he seemed to say before he turned
and stalked off, tail held high. When I would have stroked
his back, he darted out of reach. Then again, maybe not.
  “Do I look that awful?” I asked as I closed the door
panel.
   Large blue eyes blinked at me. You have no idea,
stranger.
   I checked my console, then sat down and watched the
stars through my viewport for a while. Eventually Jenner
decided I wasn’t an imposter in a bad mask, and jumped
up on my lap.
  So it is you. He sniffed at me. Where have you been,
anyway?
  “Making a major mistake,” I said.
  His whiskers twitched. This is news?
   To his credit, His Majesty allowed me to cuddle and
stroke him and never once objected to the tears that made
damp circles on his soft fur. I held him for a long time,
and came to the conclusion that the worst thing about
regret was it never came before you did something really
stupid.
   The next morning I reported for duty. The exhaustive
relief efforts on NessNevat had created a considerable
backlog in the patient schedule and adminwork, and we
spent the next week getting Medical back in shape.
Routine cases of minor injuries or illnesses came and
went. Tonetka thawed enough to argue over patients with
me again. Even Squilyp was his old, obnoxious self,
although he pointedly avoided me now.
   The only difference I noticed was a marked change in
the nurses. Before the fight with Squilyp, they had
practically tripped over themselves to be helpful and
friendly. Their attitudes now ranged from puzzlement to
skepticism. They watched me when they thought I wasn’t
looking. A couple of them openly avoided me altogether.
   I knew what they were thinking. A physician was
supposed to repair damage—not inflict it. Someone who
deliberately administered a beating might have no problem,
say, sabotaging the stardrive. Or murdering the man
who’d uncovered it. For the moment, there was nothing I
could do but hope Pnor would find the saboteur. Soon.
  Not everyone was avoiding me. Alunthri and I spent
more time together as the ship got closer to Garnot. We
were having tea one afternoon when my door panel
chimed. I opened it to find Fasala and her educator Ktarka
waiting to pay me a visit.
  “Come in,” I said, waving my hand. “Alunthri is here.
Hey, maybe we should have a party.”
   Ktarka and her pupil greeted the Chakacat and sat
down with us. The child was disappointed when Jenner
decided he’d had enough and fled to hide under my
sleeping platform. I called him silly names until her smile
reappeared. I was glad to see the healthy appetite she
displayed when she spied the morningbreads and tea.
  “If it won’t spoil your next meal interval, help
yourself,” I said. Turning to Ktarka, I asked what kind of
beverage she preferred. The Jorenian woman was
watching Fasala plow into the goodies. I had to repeat my
question before she made a startled sound.
   “Forgive me.” Her hands danced apologetically as she
gave me a rueful smile and nodded toward the little girl. “I
find no end to my astonishment that Fasala has made such
a quick recovery.”
   “Educator Ktarka came to see me every day in Medical
Bay.” Fasala beamed at her teacher. The woman made a
modest gesture and accepted my offer to try some Terran
herbal tea Dhreen had smuggled off K-2 for me.
   “Very interesting blend,” she said. “On Joren, we—”
The cup in her hand dropped and smashed on the deck as
the Sunlace suddenly, violently destabilised.
   “Get down!” I stumbled, but managed to catch Fasala
before she hit the decking. I rolled with her and held on
until the ship’s stabilizers restored balance. Ktarka took
her from me and I hurried to my com panel.
  I pounded the display, to no avail. My signal to Ship’s
Operational wouldn't go through. I rerouted to Medical
Bay, and one of the nurses responded. I could hear
Tonetka shouting in the background.
  “What happened?” I demanded
  “We’re under attack. Mercenary vessels. Several levels
have been compromised. Healer—”
  The League had found us. Dear God. “I’ll be there in
two minutes.”
  I flung an apology over my shoulder and ran out of my
quarters. Halfway to Medical, the ship pitched violently
once more, which tossed me into one of the wall panels.
    I didn’t have time to feel the pain. I ran. Along the way
I stopped twice to check on crew members sprawled in
the corridor. One had only some minor lacerations and
bruises. The other, a helm officer, had a dislocated
shoulder. I swore under my breath as I realized it was
Hado Torin.
  “I thought you wouldn’t be cluttering up Medical
anymore,” I said as I checked him over. His repaired heart
was functioning normally, but it certainly didn't need the
additional strain.
   “Your pardon, Healer,” Hado replied. “It was not my
intention to return, I assure you.”
   No, he’d just had the bad luck to be on the same ship
as me. “Do you know what's happening?”
    “There are five mercenary vessels currently engaging
the ship. Levels one, two and three have been seriously
compromised. Secondary command has been transferred
to level nine.”
   Five of them firing on us. Three levels rendered useless
already. They wouldn’t stop until they got me. Joseph
Grey Veil had predicted as much.

          Any planet that gives you sanctuary will be
       invaded. Any ship you travel on will be targeted.
       Anyone who helps you will be considered an
       accomplice and eliminated. You will be hunted
       down like an animal until you are apprehended.

  I should have stayed on K-2. Or gotten off the ship as
soon as we’d escaped the League. Why had I thought I
could outrun them?
   “Healer?”
  I looked down at Hado’s pain-etched face, and cursed.
Now was not the time to do this.
  “Hold on.” I braced my feet and took hold of his limp
arm. “This is going to hurt.”
   The navigator flinched as I quickly manipulated the
joint back in place. I would have hauled him along with
me, but he refused.
  “Go, Healer, there are more badly wounded. I will
make my way shortly.”
   I got to Medical. There were bloodstained bodies
everywhere. Nurses running scans, applying dressings,
calling for assistance. The main display politely
announced more injured were on the way. And the facility
was half-filled with bodies already.
   How many more would be carried in? How much more
suffering on my account? I moved forward, and
something made me slip. I caught myself before I looked
down at the floor. It was slick with something green.
  I froze. Stared at the Jorenian blood on my footgear. It
was all over the decking. Everywhere.
   Tonetka hurried past me, her hands inside the chest
wound of a big Jorenian male, performing open heart
massage. The gurney he was on was being pushed into
surgery. “Cherijo. Thank the Mother.”
  Her voice snapped me out of my trance, and I caught
up to her. Though she must have seen the horror and
shock on my face, Tonetka didn’t mince words. “Adaola
has triage. Scrub.”
   I prepped and ran into surgery. The Senior Healer
stepped back as I took over for her and continued the
cardiac massage. She didn’t wait to observe me, but
returned to the ward. By the time the team had their
equipment on line around me, the patient's heart was
beating on its own.
   “Initiate sterile field,” I said. My hands were
steady—the only part of me that wasn’t trembling. “Get
the setup over here.”
   One nurse took position next to me with an instrument
tray, while a second went to the other side of the table.
   “Stats,” I demanded, and performed the visual. His
chest was a mess. How many crew members would end
up like this? On this table? Someone gave me his readings.
“Scanner.”
   I passed the instrument over my patient and saw the
heart was intact. The two-sided liver Jorenians possessed,
however, was in bad shape. If I didn’t get into his chest
right away, we were going to lose him. I yanked the
charred shreds of his tunic aside.
  “Speaker,” the patient was muttering. “Bring my…
Speaker.”
  “Put him out!” I said, positioning the lascalpel at the
chest wound’s lower edge.
   Incredibly, both nurses stepped back from the table.
One bowed her head and started praying out loud. The
other shut off the field generator.
   “What are you doing?” Outraged, I looked from one to
the other. “Reinstate that field! You, get over here and
help me!”
  One obeyed. The other stared at me without
comprehension. I couldn’t believe she just stood there.
   “That means you, too!”
   The white eyes widened innocently. “He asks for
eternity, Healer.” She actually turned and began to walk
out again. “I will get—”
   “Get your ass back over here!” The appalled nurse
reluctantly returned to the table. I activated the sterile field
myself. “Assist me.” I elbowed the instrument tray toward
her. “Clamp!”
   It took some fast, fancy cutting, but I located and
stopped the hemorrhaging vessel. All that was left was to
put the liver back together as fast as my hands could
patch. The next case was wheeled in before I closed.
   “Not yet!” I positioned the lascalpel. Squilyp pulled it
from my hand. We looked at each other for a moment.
The surgical suite was dead silent.
   A perfect time for him to sneer at me. He’d be more
than justified, this time.
  “Go,” he said, stepping up to the table. “I’ll close for
you.”
   Astonished, I nodded and stripped off my bloody
gloves. Then I turned on the mutinous nurse. She seemed
dazed as she looked from me to the patient she had tried
to walk out on.
   “You.” I pointed to her, then jabbed my thumb toward
the door panel. “Out.”
   She gave me a reproachful frown. “Healer, I meant no
disrespect.”
   “You froze up on me,” I said. “I don’t need that in
here. Go help with triage.” As she started to hand me
some kind of Jorenian philosophical nonsense, I shook
my head. “Forget it. Get out.”
   Another series of blasts rocked the ship. Then the main
display announced we were going into transition. At once.
   “Hold on!” I shouted to the Omorr, who thrust the
laser aside and pinned the patient with his three limbs. I
braced myself over mine and felt a sickening drop as the
Sunlace bored into another dimension.

   A day later, I was in Tonetka’s office. Neither of the
surgical patients who had been on the table during
transition showed any ill effects from the dangerous
dimensional shift. Nor had any of the other thirty
casualties suffered repercussions. That wasn't what I was
pacing back and forth about. The Senior Healer trudged in
and gave me a disgruntled frown.
   “I ordered you off duty.” She rounded the desk and
dropped into her chair. Her tunic was still splattered with
green blood.
   “We need to talk.” I came to a halt in front of her desk.
“Five patients died yesterday, Tonetka.” I knew every one
of their names. I’d examined each body. Knew I'd never
forget their faces.
  “I know.”
  I picked up a chart. Thumped it down in front of her.
“This one didn’t have to.”
   Tonetka sat back in her chair and sighed before she
studied the chart display. “Bola Torin, abdominal injuries,
multiple fractures, Speaker requested.” She gazed blandly
back at me. “I see no issue here.”
   “Didn’t you hear me? He didn't have to die. Bola bled
to death.” She nodded. I couldn’t believe it. “He bled to
death here! In a berth! No one touched him! He was left
to die!”
  “He died because he chose to.”
  I reared back. “What?”
  “Bola refused all aid. He requested only his Speaker.”
   “Bola refused—” Confused, I sat down. “The patient
refused treatment?”
   “It was his right.” At my blank look, Tonetka
explained. “In our culture the path is predetermined solely
by the one who travels it.”
    So it was some kind of religious thing. Great. “You’re
telling me suicide is okay with you people.”
   The Senior Healer nodded. “It is our custom, Cherijo.
Should that decision be to embrace eternity, we cannot
bar the path.”
   Religion was one thing, but this man’s life could have
easily been saved. “How could Bola be relied upon to
make a rational decision? He was in shock!”
   “We do not judge such decisions, Cherijo, we merely
respect them.”
    “So you respect an injured man’s desire to bleed to
death.” I leaned forward. “Tell me, what other charming
customs do you have that I don't know about? I already
know the one about disemboweling an enemy while they're
still alive. Do you ritually sacrifice children to some deity
every now and then? Torture someone if they get sick of
the color blue?”
  “Of course not.” She sounded exasperated. “Cherijo,
why are you so angry?”
  “Five people are dead, Tonetka. Thirty more injured.
All because I’m on this ship. I'm not Jorenian, so don't
expect me to sing and dance about it.”
   “You belong to HouseClan Torin, Cherijo,” Tonetka
said. “You must respect our customs.” Her voice gentled.
“You must not hold yourself accountable for this incident,
either.”
   I’d hold myself accountable for whatever I damn well
felt like. But that wasn't the issue. “Your custom violates
everything I believe in as a physician. We're trained to
provide care and save lives. Whatever it takes.”
   The Senior Healer frowned. “Your Terran philosophies
do not nullify one hundred thousand years of Jorenian
tradition.”
   We’d just see about that. “Tell me something, Tonetka.
When I'm Senior Healer, will I have to respect the wishes
of these suicidal patients?”
   A flicker of something crossed her face. “You may try
to persuade them to embrace life.”
   I recalled the long discussions Tonetka once had with
Hado Torin before we performed his surgery. How frantic
she had been to keep him from dying. Her reaction to
Roelm’s death.
   “You feel the same way I do,” I said. “You try to talk
them out of it, don’t you? That's what you did with
Hado.”
  “If I can.” She rubbed her eyes. “Sometimes I do not
hear their requests. I am traveled, my tympanic nerves are
aged.”
   I stared at the chart. “Except yesterday.” I looked up
and through my pain saw her own. “You didn’t know
about Bola until it was too late, did you?” She made an
eloquent gesture. “The nurses did this. One of them tried
to do the same thing in surgery.”
  “Did you prevent her from getting a patient’s
Speaker?”
  “Prevent her? I practically decked her!”
   “Then you will be officially reprimanded by me for
violating Jorenian custom. Consider it done.” The Senior
Healer rose and indicated the door. “Now go to your
quarters and get some rest.”
   I left Tonetka’s office, but rest was out of the question.
At least until I decided what I was going to do.
   I could stay on the ship, but if the mercenaries had
found us once, they’d find us again. My presence directly
endangered the crew. I could find a non-League planet,
get off the ship, and hide there—but my presence would
endanger those people.

         Any planet will be invaded. Any ship will be
      targeted. Anyone who helps you will be
      eliminated.

  There was only one choice, after all.
   I spotted Ktarka Torin through the viewer of one of the
isolation rooms, and went to see what she was doing. On
the berth inside the room was a Terran male.
  “Who is this?” I asked.
   “One of the mercenaries,” Ktarka replied. “He was
attempting to board the ship when the Sunlace
transitioned. They found him on level two, unconscious,
with minor injuries.”
   He was lucky to be alive. I noted the tough, sinewy
body and the shaggy mane of dirty hair. His relaxed
features retained harsh, brutal lines of experience. A
hunter. One of the many who had been coming after me.
  “Has he regained consciousness?”
   “No.” Ktarka indicated the locking restraints that held
the mercenary pinned to the berth. “When he does,
Captain Pnor wishes to interrogate him. Do you know
him?”
   Jorenians assumed everyone in a species was either
related or acquainted with each other, as they were. “No, I
don’t.” I picked up his chart and made a note to be
informed when he regained consciousness. I wanted to
know just how many more ships the League had sent after
me. “He looks mean.” I looked at the Jorenian's weary
face and touched her shoulder. “So why are you here?”
   “My co-workers and I volunteered to assist with the
injured,” Ktarka said. “Adaola asked me to monitor this
one. The nurses are very busy, and no one wishes…” She
made a diplomatic gesture.
   Nobody wanted to help those responsible for the
deaths of five Torins. I could understand that. I wondered
why no one had done the same to me, since I was one of
the responsible parties.
   A nurse passed by the isolation room. Her angry gaze
bounced from the unconscious man’s face to mine. I
decided to call her in to relieve Ktarka, but before I could
speak, the woman abruptly turned away.
   Well, that answered my question, and hurt, more than I
cared to admit. “I have to get out of here before the boss
chases me out, Ktarka. Thanks for your help.”
    From my quarters, I signaled the temporary command
level and inquired after the condition of the ship. It wasn’t
good. Displacer fire had rendered the upper three levels of
the ship unfit for use. Level one was nearly completely
destroyed. Half the gyrlifts were nonoperational. We were
all going to be walking a lot for the next few days.
  In return, I reported the death toll, complete casualty
numbers, and details on the patients in serious condition.
Every name created new weight on top of the five already
crushing my heart. By the time I was done, I knew what I
had to do.
   “May I to speak to the Captain?” I asked the duty
officer, and was told he was unavailable. “Please ask him
to signal me as soon as possible.” I recalled the injured
Terran. “What are you planning to do about this
mercenary we’ve got over in Medical?” The Jorenian only
smiled and flexed his hands. “Never mind. I don't want to
know.”
   Jenner jumped up and snuggled next to me as I curled
up on my sleeping platform’s soft pillows. His cool nose
nuzzled my hand. I stroked him absently.
  “Hey, pal. You hungry? I’ll be…”
   I fell asleep instead. My dreams were immediate and
ugly. Filled with faceless demons pursuing me wherever I
ran, finding me wherever I hid. Their hands snatched at
me, tearing my tunic, pulling at my hair. Rough, frightening
voices called my name, laughed at me. I ran until I tripped
and fell. Then they crowded all around me, their sharp
teeth glittering.

         “No escape, lab meat.” One of the hideous
      things leaned close. “You’ll never get away. Now
      get up. Get up—”

  “Get up.”
  I opened my eyes. A Terran stared back at me over the
edge of a surgical mask. The rim of a pulse rifle barrel sat
on the bridge of my nose.
  “Get up now.” It was the mercenary Ktarka had been
monitoring. Somehow he had gotten into full surgical gear
and walked out of Medical. “Slow and easy.”
   I moved carefully, sliding off my sleeping platform to
stand up. I was only wearing an undershirt and briefs. He
pulled off the head gear and mask while he took a long
look.
  “Well, well, well. You’re going to earn me a tidy little
bounty, Dr. Grey Veil.”
   There was probably no chance of me taking him
off-guard, as I had Squilyp. That rifle he held trained on
me never twitched an inch. My display was too far away
to reach and signal for help. If I tried to use voice
commands, I suspected he’d knock me out.
   My shoulders sagged. I could go quietly, I thought, and
be done with this.
   “Very nice.” He moved closer, reached out and
grabbed my breast. I concealed my revulsion with
indifference. “Pity I don’t have time now. Maybe when we
get back to my ship.”
   No. I wasn’t going quietly. Not with this animal. “Don't
get your hopes up.”
   Brutal fingers squeezed until the pain made me inhale
sharply. “That’s right, Doctor. I'm in charge. Remember
that.” He let his hand fall away. “Get some clothes on.”
  I pulled on the first garments that came to hand. Jenner
was nowhere in sight. Had he done something to my cat? I
couldn’t ask. If Jenner was hiding, he was safe.
   “Where are we going?” I asked.
   “Shut up and get over here.”
   I tugged on my footgear and approached him slowly.
When I got within a foot, he grabbed my braid and used it
to pull me up against him. The pulse rifle pressed against
the back of my head. There was Jorenian blood on him; I
could smell it. Who had he hurt or killed to get out of
Medical?
   Ktarka.
   “Maybe I do have enough time,” he said, and ground
his hips against mine. “The old man doesn’t care what
shape you're in. Only that he gets you back on Terra.”
    It took every ounce of strength to remain motionless as
he jammed his mouth over mine. His thick tongue
squirming against my clenched teeth made me want to
vomit. He groped my breasts with bruising greed. I kept
still and didn’t fight him. He raised his head at last, plainly
disappointed.
   “Have to work on you,” he said. “You’ve been with
these blue-skinned freaks too long.” One calloused hand
forced my thighs apart, and he rubbed his fingers back
and forth in a grotesque caress. “Forget how it feels to
have one of your own kind between your legs?”
  Honesty is the best policy. “I’d rather mate with a
Hsktskt.”
   He backhanded me across the face with his fist, then
grabbed the front of my tunic to keep me upright. Blood
began to trickle down my chin. My teeth must have cut
into my lip when my head snapped back.
   I met his gaze, then deliberately spat bloody saliva at
his feet. “Two Hsktskts.”
   “Come on, you stupid bitch.” He shoved me in front of
him. “We’re leaving.” I walked through the door panel
and turned to enter the gyrlift, but he yanked me back.
That was when I saw Ktarka, huddled against the corridor
wall. Blood and lacerations masked her features. Before I
could go to her, the barrel of his rifle jammed into my
side. “No.” The Terran yanked the educator to her feet.
“She can still walk.”
   He must have used her as a hostage. “They’ll kill you,”
I said.
  “Not if it means the two of you die first.”
   As we moved down the empty corridor, my heart
pounded in my ears. I could only hope no one would
cross our path. The crew would react to the threat, and he
in turn would shoot them where they stood. Come to think
of it, why was the corridor so deserted? With half the
gyr-lifts down, we should have been wading through
Jorenians.
  “How did you get loose?” I asked him.
  “I had some help,” the mercenary said, then chuckled.
   Who would have helped him? The saboteur? I tried
once more to turn back to Ktarka, but his weapon
prodded me again. “Did you have to beat her?”
  “I should have killed her, but I was in a hurry.”
  He was a dead man. “What’s your name?”
  “Did I forget to introduce myself?” He chortled again.
“Call me Leo.”
   “Leo, listen to me. You don’t have a prayer of getting a
launch off this ship.”
  “I got on it, didn’t I?”
  “Let me go. I’ll negotiate for you.”
  “Shut up.”
  We reached level eighteen. Still no sign of the crew.
Leo was openly suspicious as he shoved me through the
launch bay entrance. Inside, there were a dozen empty
vessels, but not another soul.
   “Where are they hiding? In the launches? Behind the
cargo bins?” He swung around, eyes frantic, reacting to
the echo of his own voice.
   “If you leave Ktarka behind, they’ll let you go,” I lied.
After the Jorenians found out he'd attacked one of their
own, they'd jaunt across the universe to get their claws on
him.
  “Get in that one.” He pointed to the launch nearest the
huge pressure-lock doors, and followed me, dragging a
semiconscious Ktarka with him. We were almost to the
boarding ramp when Duncan Reever stepped out from
behind the thrusters. His empty hands were held open to
show he carried no weapon.
  “Mercenary.”
   Leo targeted Reever at once. “Tell the rest of them to
come out!” he said. Sweat trickled down the sides of his
face as he shoved me forward with a hard hand. “Get in
the launch!”
   I looked past Reever and saw a figure behind one of
the launches. Another shadow appeared between the
launch and the hull. I quickly averted my eyes.
  “There is no one else here,” Reever said. “I will escort
you from the ship.”
  “I don’t need you!” Leo shouted. “Just her!”
  “Who will pilot the launch?” Reever asked.
  “She will!”
  “I don’t know how to fly one of these things,” I said at
once. “And Ktarka is in no shape to do it.”
   “If you take the helm, she’ll try to incapacitate you,”
Reever said. “Leave the injured woman behind. Take me
with you. I'll serve as pilot.”
   “Get in the launch with them.” He thrust the
now-sagging body of the educator at Reever. “No tricks.”
He aimed the rifle at my head. “Or I blow her brains into
space.”
  I reached out to Reever with my mind. Silently, he
completed the connection.
  Are you crazy? I demanded. Get out of here!
   Remember the Dervling? Reever moved to stand next
to me.
   You’re going to get us all killed, you idiot. I let down
the barriers that kept Reever from complete access. Felt
him draw on the strength of our combined minds. Saw the
false image he projected directly into the mercenary’s
thoughts.
  Leo’s eyes widened. Reever's mental projection made
him think the three of us had disappeared into thin air. He
hurried right past us and climbed into the vessel.
  “Where are you?” With a roar of fury, the mercenary
jumped out of the empty launch.
   Reever thrust Ktarka’s limp body into my arms. What
he did then I could never describe with words. It wasn’t
like anything Xonea had ever taught me, either. It was
better. Faster. Scarier. He whirled in some kind of supple,
inhuman roll. His hands moved faster than my eye could
follow. There was a brief flicker of light, and Leo’s rifle
was in Duncan's hands. The mercenary collapsed,
writhing in pain.
    Two Jorenians appeared a moment later. Hado, his arm
still in a sling, his face contorted with rage. Beside him
was Adaola, trying to hold him back.
   “Stay away, both of you.” I carefully eased the
educator down and made a quick examination. She’d
been beaten badly, but she'd live. I went to the mercenary,
then glanced up at Reever. “Where did you hit him?”
   Reever kept the weapon in his hands trained on the
fallen man’s head. “I didn't.”
   I pressed my fingers to Leo’s straining throat and put
one palm over his heart. His blood pressure was dropping
fast. Pulse rate fluttered erratically.
   “Get a medical team down here.” I pushed the Terran
into a prone position. His abdomen was so rigid that my
palm couldn’t compress it. “Relax, I'm not going to—”
   Leo’s eyes bulged. He let out a long, agonized scream.
I watched in disbelief as his abdomen swelled out several
inches in as many seconds. His breath caught in a horrible
gurgle. His chest fell under my palm and didn't rise again.
  “By the Mother of All Houses, I mark this mercenary
as my ClanKill,” Hado said, and started toward us. My
eyes widened as I saw him rip the sling from his injured
arm. The navigator’s claws sprang from his fingertips.
   I couldn’t let Hado gut the man. What had Xonea said
about this? I protected the mercenary with my body, and
faced the enraged Jorenian.
  “No, Navigator Torin. I shield this one.”
  Deep confusion replaced the murderous mask. “Why,
Healer?”
  “We’ll chat about it later. Reever, put down that rifle
and get over here.”
  I showed him how to lock his hands and do the
compressions. Then I covered Leo’s mouth with mine.
   We continued cardiopulmonary resuscitation. It didn’t
help. By the time the team arrived, the mercenary was
dead.

   Reever helped me to my feet after I finished checking
Ktarka. She had cracked ribs, severe facial contusions,
and almost certainly a bad concussion. Hado was
disappointed when I wouldn’t allow him to make the
mercenary into something he called ClanSign.
   “What’s he talking about?” I asked the nurse as we
transferred the educator onto a gurney.
   “It is what is done with the body after ClanKill,”
Adaola replied, her voice low and cold. “Ritually
displayed, as a warning to those who would likewise
threaten the HouseClan.”
   “Right. Well, you’re going to have to wait, Hado. I
need the body for an autopsy.” I picked up the discarded
sling and rewrapped the navigator's arm. “After I'm done,
you can do whatever you like with him.”
  Hado regarded the dead man with seething pleasure.
“My thanks, Healer.”
   I went down to Medical with Ktarka’s gurney while
Reever arranged to have the mercenary's body removed.
Once I had her stabilized and resting as comfortably as
could be expected, I left Adaola to monitor her and
reported to Command. Reever caught up with me in the
corridor along the way.
  “You are making your report to the Captain?”
  “I’m not sure what to tell Pnor,” I said, not counting
what I'd planned to propose about ending the League's
pursuit. “Reever, are you positive you didn't hit him?”
  “I merely disarmed him.”
  Right. That was like saying I was good with knives.
   Pnor remained unavailable, so I reported the incident to
the S.O., who recorded my statement in a hurry. When
that was done, Ndo said something about the engines and
disappeared. Reever had vanished sometime during my
interview.
   I’d forgotten to thank him, I realized. Again. I'd have to
signal him later; I had to get to Medical and get some
answers.
   Because the mercenary wasn’t Jorenian, Tonetka could
perform the autopsy immediately. I assisted.
  “Internal organs are even now beginning to liquefy.”
My boss stripped off her gloves and passed her hands
under the sterilizer. “It is the same as it was with Roelm.”
   I insisted on running full pathogenic scans, which came
up negative across the board. As they had with Roelm. It
didn’t make sense. I'd been there, watched him go down.
Nothing had touched him, except Reever, and he couldn't
have inflicted this kind of damage. If Hado wanted to use
the body, he'd better work fast.
   Then it occurred to me that whatever killed Leo may
have been administered prior to his attempted abduction.
“Who was the last nurse to make a chart notation?” I
asked.
  Tonetka checked. “Adaola. She took his vitals a few
minutes before he escaped.”
   She had also been the last person to touch Roelm
before he died. That was an unhappy coincidence. “Did
anyone see anything suspicious?”
   “Not to my knowledge.” The Senior Healer studied the
lab results. “Hematology shows no trace of toxin. I
cannot think of a compound that could do this kind of
damage, and yet not show on our scans.”
   I’d learned my lesson about physical evidence on K-2
from a pathogen that mimicked the tissue it inhabited in
order to escape detection. “Perhaps it resembles digestive
acid.”
  “The enzyme levels would be escalated.”
   “True.” I thought about it for a moment. “Maybe it
isn’t something the men were injected with.”
   Tonetka raised her head. “What else could it be? Any
external force would leave massive epidermal damage.”
   “Let me check something.” I went over to access the
database. She finished cleaning up and joined me at the
console.
  “You are comparing tissue scans from Roelm and the
mercenary. Why?”
  “There has to be a common denominator.”
   “It will take time to determine it. One is Jorenian, the
other human. Even the blood chemistries are completely
different.” She reached past me and switched off the
terminal. “That is quite enough, Healer. Go and rest. It has
been an eventful day for you.”
  That it had.
   I went back to my quarters, and spent a half hour under
my cleanser. It didn’t remove the memory of Leo's touch,
or the beating Ktarka had suffered on my behalf, but it
kept me busy. Once I was dressed, I signaled Reever.
  He seemed surprised by my relay. “Yes, Doctor?”
   “I’m sorry, Reever. I forgot to thank you for what you
did today.” I pushed my damp hair off my brow. “I'm
very glad you showed up when you did.”
   “I was happy to be of assistance.” He seemed to be
more interested in watching my fingers as I fastened my
tunic.
   I should tell him what I’d decided to do, I thought. Yet
the words didn't come out that way. “Where did you learn
to do that thing you did to disable the mercenary?”
  His gaze rose to meet mine. “You don’t want to
know.”
  Before I could reply, Reever terminated the signal.

   Hado did something with Leo’s body; I didn't try to
find out the particulars. I'd overheard a conversation
between two nurses about various methods of ClanSign,
and that was enough for me. I kept busy attending to the
crew members injured in the attack.
   Leo’s brutality had one positive effect. The crew's
animosity toward me disappeared, and they began treating
me like one of the family again. The change was a relief,
but it didn't make me forget about my decision. When the
Captain returned my signal, I politely made my request.
With equal courtesy he refused to grant it.
   “I cannot allow you to do this, Healer. Not until matters
currently under investigation are resolved.”
   I pressed him for a commitment. “And when they are
resolved? What about then?”
  Pnor reluctantly nodded.
   To expedite matters, I immersed myself in analyzing all
the available data on the two dead men. Someone on
board the ship had killed the engineer and the mercenary.
How they’d been murdered was still unknown. Over the
following weeks, I ran every test I could think of, and
every comparative analysis possible between the two
men's medical records. I came to the conclusion that
whatever killed them wasn't a known viral, bacterial,
chemical, or organic agent.
   That trimmed the possibilities down to a weapon. But
what sort of weapon turned a living body into slush? That
and thoughts of the future kept me pacing the deck far
into the night.
   Determination became obsession. I forgot to take meal
intervals. Weight I didn’t need to lose melted off me. The
lack of sleep made me look haggard, too. Still I kept at it,
and mainly ignored the renewed, sympathetic concern
from the crew.
   One afternoon, while I was completing some chart
notations, the Senior Healer appeared early to relieve me.
She put one of the residents in charge of the ward and
took my arm.
  “Come,” she said. “I have something I wish to show
you.”
   Grumbling a little about not finishing rounds, I followed
Tonetka out of the Medical Bay. We took the gyrlift down
to level nine. Outside the environome, she activated the
panel viewer.
   Inside, a dozen children were making the finishing
touches on a huge tower of intricately shaped celebration
breads. Beside them a half dozen educators were
preparing tables and seating for a large group.
  “What’s the occasion?” I asked.
  “I accessed your personnel data file,” Tonetka said.
“On Terra, today is the fourteenth of July.”
  “It isn’t.” My heart sank, and I groaned. “You didn't.”
  She keyed open the panel and pushed me inside with a
gentle shove. “I will join you later, after rounds.”
   As soon as they saw me, the children shouted, “Happy
Birthday, Healer Cherijo!”
   The kids led me to the place of honor at the head of the
table. Ktarka Torin stood there, arranging servers and
smiling at me. There was still a slight stiffness to the way
she held herself, and some faded bruises on her face.
  “How are you feeling?”
  She ducked her head and made a graceful sweep of
one hand. “It is nothing.”
   After what she’d been through, I didn't blame her for
not wanting to discuss it. Especially with the person
who'd caused the whole mess. I glanced around me, not
quite sure how to handle this sudden outpouring of
benevolent kindness. Running and hiding was pretty
tempting. “Tonetka talk you into doing this?”
   “On Joren we do not celebrate the beginning of this
path as humans do,” the other woman said,
misunderstanding me. “However, as you have
accommodated our customs, so we wished to do the
same.” Everyone gathered around us. “We wish you a
joyous day of birth, Healer Cherijo.”
  “Yes, joyous birthday, Healer!” one of the kids said.
   “Happiness always!” another called. Then more voices
chimed in, until I gave up, rolled my eyes, and held out my
arms.
   “Okay, okay.” I laughed and hugged as many children
as I could hold at once.
   “We have made the wax sticks you light with flame for
the breads,” one of Fasala’s classmates told me. “Do all
Terrans set their food on fire before they eat it?”
   The thought of that strange custom produced a great
deal of giggling.
   “No, that isn’t right!” an older child said. “They only
set fire to the round baked thing they call a cake!”
   “We are sorry we do not have a cake, Healer,” Ktarka
said. “There was no program on the database for such.”
  “This is perfect.” I spied the pile of gaily wrapped
packages by my seat with some dismay. “Presents, too?”
  From behind the crowd of kids I saw Xonea, Dhreen,
and Alunthri enter the environome.
   “Everyone is here now, Healer, can we begin?”
   “Sure.” Maybe I could sneak out at some point.
   I sat down, and eyed the formidable tower of breads.
Ktarka carefully lit the small candles, which nickered and
glowed as the environome darkened.
   The children’s voices swelled into a classic rendition of
“Happy Birthday.” I had to blink back tears as they
finished.
   “Extinguish the fires, Healer!”
   “No, impatient one, she must entreat her gods first!”
   “Yes, yes, entreat your gods, Healer Cherijo!”
  I closed my eyes, and wished the Captain would grant
my request, today. Then I leaned over, and with a show of
much huffing and puffing, blew out all twenty-nine
candles.
  There was a burst of Terran-style applause. I saw
Xonea watching me, and tried out a tentative smile on him.
He returned it. That was a pretty nice birthday gift in itself.
We’d been avoiding each other since the challenge.
   Where is Reever? that traitorous inner voice asked. I
told it to shut up.
   Everyone took their places as Ktarka and I portioned
out the beautifully made breads. Dhreen cheerfully passed
around fruit beverages for the children, but insisted I
sample the vintage Terran spicewine he had brought as his
gift to me.
   “It will produce bristles on your bosom,” he said.
   After a profusion of joking and laughing, and eating
every delicious morsel, the kids pressed me to open my
gifts. One by one I was solemnly presented with delightful
handmade articles. Ornaments for my hair. Beautifully
woven baskets. An extensive disc collection of Jorenian
poetry from the educators. A special blend of floral tea
from Ktarka. Even a whimsical plassfiber sculpture of
Jenner.
   Alunthri gave me a tiny dimensional imager, which I
held in my hand and examined, puzzled. The Chakacat
activated a tiny switch on the bottom, and a small
projection of a NessNevat child appeared. This one was
happy, healthy, and smiled at me.
   “Remember there is no great misfortune, Cherijo,
without some small benefit,” Alunthri said. “The
NessNevat will thrive again.”
   I had no idea what the small benefit was, but I hugged
my friend, and the big cat didn’t say a word about the wet
patch my cheek left on its fur.
   Adaola and the other nurses on duty had sent a
gorgeous yiborra grass basket they had all worked on. It
was filled with real flowers that, according to Xonea,
Adaola grew in her quarters as a hobby. Xonea’s gift, the
alien prismatic nodules I'd admired in his quarters, trilled a
lovely handful of notes as soon as I opened the package.
  One present had no label, but when I opened it I knew
who had sent it.
   “Is that to aid cleansing, Healer?” one of the kids
asked.
   “No,” I said, and put the elegant brush and comb set
aside. “It’s to keep my hair tidy.”
  When Tonetka joined us a short time later, she handed
me a metallic cylinder.
  “For you, with my wish that your path continues in
beauty,” she said.
    I opened the tubular case. Inside was an actual paper
scroll. I carefully unrolled it. The smooth surface was
filled with the beautiful but incomprehensible pictographs
of Jorenian written language.
   “I hope these are not my marching orders,” I said.
  Ktarka leaned over my shoulder to see, then shook her
head.
  “No, Healer.” Her cheek brushed against mine for a
moment as she gave me a quick hug. “It is a deed of
naturalization. You are now a citizen of Joren.”
  My jaw dropped into my lap. My boss looked smug.
   “I assured the Ruling Houses you would bring honor to
us,” she said, and made an airy gesture. “As you say, no
big deal.”
  On the contrary. “I’m Jorenian now?”
  “As much as if you were born Torin,” Tonetka said.
She laughed. “May the Mother of All Houses help us.”


             CHAPTER SEVEN
               Art and Soul
                                                   «^»

  My birthday would have been perfect, if I hadn’t
accessed my relays after the party. When I returned to my
quarters, I made myself a server of Ktarka's tea, then
accessed my display. After the surprise party, I'd
expected a few signals.
  A few? My intership file was packed.
  Some of the crew had a good idea of what a birthday
was. “Greetings on the anniversary of your nativity—”
  Others stuck with conventional blessings. “May the
Mother of All Houses grant you prosperity—”
  A few seemed to think I’d given birth myself. “Healer!
Joyous time of delivery—”
  Then there was the good old standby, journey
philosophy. “We wish your path commencement
commemoration to be smooth and trouble free—”
   I had a good time until I found one relay originally
routed to Ship’s Operational. I checked the file, but there
was no tag. Odd. Probably a mix-up, I thought, and
signaled the S.O.
  “Ndo, I think I’ve received one of your relays by
mistake.” I transferred the relay to his terminal.
  The second in command made an embarrassed gesture
and transferred it back to me.
   “Your pardon, Healer Cherijo. I did not label it as I
meant to contact you first. Since the attack, however, we
have been busy.” Operating Command from the lower
level while crews worked to repair the badly damaged
upper levels had kept everyone on double shifts. “This
relay was originally meant for you.”
  “Where did it originate?” I asked.
  “It was transmitted by one of the mercenary ships,”
Ndo said. “From your parent, Healer.”
   I toyed with the idea of destroying the relay without
ever accessing it. “Thank you, Ndo.” I terminated the
signal and sat at the display for a while.
  My parent. Well, that was one word for him.
   Dr. Joseph Grey Veil began his career as a brilliant
surgeon, then went into research, developing new and
better techniques in thoracic surgery. Over the years, his
work (mainly creating cloned, disease-free organs for
transplant patients) had saved millions of lives.
   For years I had believed my “father” had dedicated
himself to the preservation of life. He had. Just as long as
they were human lives.
   Joseph Grey Veil had organized a group of fellow rabid
xenophobes and had the Genetic Exclusivity Act passed
as World Law. Through his efforts, nonhuman immigrants
were forever prohibited from settling on Terra.
   His place in history secured, Joseph decided to apply
his genius to one more project. He wanted to create the
perfect human. The ultimate physician.
  That’s where I came in.
   Joseph Grey Veil created me by cloning his own cells. I
wasn’t the first of his prototypes, but so far the only
successful one. Nine other clones had been created before
me. None of my “brothers” had developed properly in
Joseph's experimental embryonic chamber.
  That was a shame. I’d hated being an only child.
   My creator had extensively refined my DNA, changing
my gender and fine tuning just about everything else. Nine
months later he became daddy to a seven-and-a-half
pound bouncing baby girl. He even named me with the
project’s acronym: Comprehensive Human Enhancement
Research ID: J Organism—C.H.E.R.I.J.O.
  That was twenty-nine years ago, today.
    I took a deep breath and pulled up the relay. An austere
face appeared on my display. Joseph Grey Veil was an
attractive, if somewhat remote, Terran male. His
silver-black hair (like mine) was kept short and perfectly
groomed (unlike mine). He didn’t like his slight stature
(like me), because he worked hard to maintain his
over-developed physique (unlike me).
   Women were initially drawn to him. Some even lasted a
few minutes in his company. My creator limited himself to
two topics of conversation: What a Genius I Am, and My
Future Brilliant Plans. No wonder he had resorted to test
tubes for procreative purposes.
   Curiosity proves lethal to many life-forms. Jenner had
enough sense to scamper out of sight when I played back
the message.
   “I send this message for the nonsentient designated
Cherijo Grey Veil.” Joseph’s attitude hadn't changed. By
claiming I was nothing more than an experiment, he had
convinced the Allied League of Worlds to help him
recover his “property.”
   “I am informed many among the crew of the Sunlace
were injured during the recent recovery attempt by League
loyalists.”
   “Recovery attempt? League loyalists?” I scoffed. “Is
that what they’re calling unprovoked attacks by
bounty-hungry thugs now?”
   He didn’t respond to that. It was a prerecorded
relay—he couldn't. “You must realize the risk you present
to the Jorenians,” he said. “Your oath as a physician
directs you to do no harm. Surrender to any Allied League
world. I will personally negotiate on your behalf.”
  “I’d enjoy that. About as much as Anteberran Orifice
Disease.” I studied the image. He looked remarkably calm
and unruffled. Not a sign of weakness. But something…
   I stepped closer to the display. Something wasn’t right.
His eyes seemed strange. I expected the usual “I'm God,
you're clay” sneer. But my creator had changed. This
Joseph Grey Veil looked almost… feverish.
    His message continued. “Your willing surrender would
ensure the League’s magnanimity. As long as my field
trials continue, you may expect to be lavishly rewarded.”
   “What I want won’t fit in a culture dish,” I said. Okay,
so he couldn't hear me. I couldn't help myself.
   “Your cooperation would guarantee you virtually
limitless compensation.”
   “There you go,” I said. “When in doubt, fling credits.”
  He paused for a moment. Ah, there was that superior
smirk I hated more than anything in existence. I’d almost
missed it.
  “Twenty-nine years ago I took you from an embryonic
chamber. You owe me your life.”
   “Joe, you remembered my birthday. I’m touched.”
   The feverish glitter in his eyes intensified. “Come back
to me, my dear child.”
   My jaw sagged. The man I once considered my father
had never called me my dear anything. Never. He was
either drugged, or losing his mind. I didn’t know which to
root for.
   “Disembark on any League world. Your allies will not
be prosecuted. I will allow—”
   Allow? God, he loved that word, didn’t he? I
terminated the relay and keyed my console to erase the
message. That was progress. His last message had made
me so mad I'd destroyed an entire console.
   Before I moved away, a general announcement was
made. The Sunlace was preparing to transition, and begin
orbit around the planet Garnot. Alunthri’s new home, I
recalled. We were there already?
   I waited out the transition, and subsequent brief
disorien-tation. All at once I felt exhausted, drained of all
emotion, and barely made it to my sleeping platform.

          “Comprehensive Human Enhancement
       Research ID: J Organism,” my creator’s voice
       hissed.
          I was thrust into blinding light. Through a
       fluid, distorting wall, I looked at a slightly
       younger version of Joseph Grey Veil.
          “My finest achievement.”
         I knew this place. I looked around the huge
       bubble I was floating in. Everything seemed
perfect normal. I lived here. This was the place of
new beginnings, something told me. The passage
to…
   Suddenly the fluid began to drain rapidly from
the capsule. I felt myself clawing at my face,
unable to breathe in the liquid that kept me alive.
Hard hands pulled my tiny body into cold
emptiness. My eyes were scalded by merciless
light. A tube was roughly inserted into my tender
mouth. Cold, metallic-tasting air filled my lungs. I
pushed it out at once.
  “Yes, yes,” a voice said. “Breathe.”
  “Give her to me.”
   The woman’s voice penetrated my terror. I felt
myself moving. Through blurred eyes I saw a
familiar set of features. Wonderfully gentle hands
cradled me against a yielding breast. The tube
was adjusted, supported.
   “Cherijo,” she whispered. A finger caressed my
face. “Yes, little one, you are safe. You made the
passage.”
  “Put it down on the table so I may begin the
examination.”
  “Her, Joseph.” The woman sounded angry.
“She’s a little girl.”
   “It’s a clone,” he said. “Until we know it will
survive, it is foolish to form an emotional
attachment.”
   I managed to open my eyes. I looked from the
woman’s taut, unhappy face to the cold visage
and large hands of the man reaching for me. The
tube was removed. I open my tiny mouth. Drew
my first voluntary breath. Used it to scream.
   The dream twisted, changed abruptly. I was
dragged from the terrifying lab to another
familiar place. I was in the benign and
comfortable chamber again. The light was dim
and the air soft against my skin. Something warm
seemed to draw me forward, leading me into the
shadows.
  “Outcast,” a beautiful voice said. Hands
      stroked my hair and face. “Belonging to no one.”
        I felt the pain of my loneliness and isolation at
      once multiplied tenfold. My tears were smoothed
      away by a soft caress.
         “I don’t want to be alone,” I said.
        “That is what brought us together. I will kill
      anyone who tries to hurt you. Nothing will ever
      harm you again.” Lips touched mine. When I
      would have jerked back, the hands held me fast.
      “No, let me show you the path.”
        The hands became more insistent as they
      moved down my body. The alien touch didn’t
      arouse me. I felt my skin crawl, and pushed the
      hands away.
         Fingers curled into fists. “You dare?”
         Something slammed into me, over and over and
      over—

  “Stop it!”
  I was sitting up in bed, shouting.
   Jenner peered at me from under “our” favorite chair.
Stop screaming already! His eyes were huge and
frightened. I got out of it!
   The vivid quality of the nightmare shook me. Made me
nauseous. I scrambled off the bed, hunched over with the
memory of the pain. I had to get clean again. Wash away
the nightmare. Ignoring the bruised sensations, I stumbled
to my cleanser unit and proceeded to scrub myself
thoroughly.
   My door panel chime rang repeatedly, forcing me to
leave the stall. I dried off quickly and pulled on a robe.
  Xonea stood outside. “Cherijo.”
  I knotted the belt of my robe securely and checked to
make sure nothing was on display. “What are you—”
  “You were heard crying out.”
  “Oh. Sorry. I had a nightmare.”
  “May I come in?”
  “Of course.” I stepped aside. I was shocked to see
Captain Pnor following him. “Captain?” What was he
doing here? I confronted the two Jorenians uneasily.
Xonea kept staring at my wet hair and state of undress. He
seemed almost revolted.
  I started with Pnor. “Sir? Is there a problem?”
  “Healer,” Pnor said, his expression stern. “You know I
would never violate your privacy.”
  My privacy?
   “We were coming to speak with you, and encountered
Hado Torin. He reported while passing your quarters he
heard you cry out, several times.” The Captain looked
around, as if trying to spot someone else.
  “I’m fine.” No, I wasn't.
  “Pnor, you see how she is,” Xonea said. Fierce white
eyes peered down at me. “You felt defiled, did you not?
That was what compelled you upon waking to cleanse
yourself?”
    “Yes, but…” I stared at my bare toes. I don’t know
why I felt so ashamed. It wasn't as if taking a shower was
illegal. This wasn't making any sense. Why couldn't I
focus?
  My ClanBrother didn’t let up. “In this nightmare you
spoke of, Cherijo, what happened to you?”
  “I don’t know, exactly. I could feel six fingers—”
   “Mother of All Houses.” Pnor turned away from me.
“It cannot be.”
   Xonea hissed something my vocollar decided not to
translate. Pnor faced him. They looked ready to start
swinging at each other. Which made even less sense.
   “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” When
neither man answered or broke their deadlock stare, I
rubbed my eyes. “Look, it was just a bad dream—”
  “Someone violated her.” Xonea’s huge hands became
even bigger fists. “Of our House, Pnor.”
  The Captain only shook his head.
  I stared at Xonea. “Violated who?”
  He glanced at me. “Hurt you while you were
unconscious.”
  “Wait a minute.” I noticed his rigid shoulders, then the
way Pnor had his fists clenched. To keep the claws from
emerging, I guessed. What the hell was going on here?
“Hurt me? How?”
  “There will be physical signs,” the Captain said.
“Perhaps an infuser mark, if drugs were administered.”
   I turned my back on both men and jerked at my robe.
Sure enough, there were several big bruises already
darkening on my breasts and thighs. A yank at my sleeve
revealed I’d also been injected in the forearm with
something very recently. There were no indications I'd
been raped, but I'd still have to have an exam to be sure. I
wrapped my robe tightly and belted it again.
   “Someone broke into my quarters, drugged me, then
assaulted me, didn’t they?” Pnor didn't respond. “Didn’t
they?”
  Xonea rubbed his hand against the back of his neck.
“Yes.”
   I started pacing. I’d just gotten out of the cleanser, and
I wanted to go straight back in. And stay there. For a
week.
  Someone had come into my quarters. Come in here.
Drugged me. Violated me. My skin crawled. I began
compulsively rubbing my palms against my arms. A
horrible iciness descended over me.
  Whoever had done this was going to pay.
   Pnor never stopped watching me. Xonea, on the other
hand, went to the viewport, as if he couldn’t bear the sight
of me. Xonea's collection. Yes, that was what I needed.
Something that would inflict a great deal of pain. Slowly.
“I want a weapon.”
  Xonea turned around. “I will attend to your defense.”
As he said that, the Captain made a strange gesture I’d
never seen before. Xonea returned it with another odd
motion.
  “I can defend myself.” My body shook as I wrapped
my arms tightly around my abdomen. “What now?”
  “There is little data we have on such an—aberration,”
Pnor said. “You will need a physical examination, and
counseling, Healer.”
  “Space counseling. I want some answers.” Brave
words. My legs gave out and I sat down. “How could
anyone do this to me?”
   In a strained voice, Pnor told me the rest. How during
the nonverbal period in their long history, Jorenians used
fear as a weapon. Especially to subjugate captives.
   “Male captives were often tortured,” Pnor said. “For
females, however, it was much worse. No greater
dishonor could be imposed on a Jorenian female than to
force her to mate with her captor.”
   When I didn’t say anything, Pnor made a suggestion.
“Perhaps you would feel more at ease speaking with one
of our females—”
    “No!” For some reason, I didn’t want any of the
women on board to know about this. I tugged the lapels
of my robe together under my chin. It was completely
irrational, yet I was adamant. “No,” I said in a more
controlled tone. “I'll have Tonetka perform an exam, then
I'll talk to Reever.”
   Xonea went back to staring out the viewport. Pnor
frowned at his back before he addressed me again.
  “Healer, while we respect your outrage and pain, we
must put an end to this quickly. A deviant who assaults an
unconscious female is a highly disturbed individual. One
who presents a danger to the entire HouseClan.”
  “Has this happened to anyone else?” I asked.
  All at once the Captain wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Not to
our knowledge.”
  “I’m confused now. Why were you coming to talk to
me?”
   “Healer, there has been some discussion of your
involvement with the death of Roelm Torin and the
mercenary.”
   “Some discussion?” I glanced at Xonea. “What sort of
involvement, Captain?”
   “You had direct contact with both victims. As a healer,
you possess both knowledge and opportunity to inflict
such injuries. You performed both autopsies, during
which evidence as to cause of death could have been
overlooked or eliminated.”
  “You think I killed them?”
  “It is possible.” The bald truth didn’t do wonders for
my ego. Pnor went on. “Your behavior of late has been…
piratic. Many crew members have witnessed you display
extreme aggression. Your challenge to the Omorr is one
example.”
   My emotions had been on a roller coaster lately, I
thought, and cringed a little. Still, that didn’t merit this
kind of accusation. “Having a bad temper doesn't
automatically make me a killer, Pnor.”
  Now the Captain looked at me. “You will have to be
questioned further, Healer.”
  “I understand.” The hell I did. “Am I permitted to
continue working in Medical, or are you going to restrict
me to quarters?”
   “Cherijo,” Xonea said, with a note of warning.
  “I have no direct evidence against you, Healer,
however”—Pnor frowned—“your activities will be closely
monitored until this matter is resolved.”
   At least he hadn’t taken my work away from me. Yet.
  “There is another procedure that must be followed
now,” the Captain said. “Xonea will… help you with what
must be done.”
   “What if he was the one who did this?” I asked.
  Xonea looked as though I’d punched him in the mouth.
He spoke like it, too. “I am not the one who assaulted
you!”
  Pnor seemed even more uncomfortable. “Allow Xonea
to… explain our custom. Perhaps, in time, you will
remember something about the identity of your attacker.”
  I’d been drugged, I reminded myself. “What if I can't
remember who it was?”
  “Aberrant behavior such as this is rarely confined to
one case.“ The Captain made a disgusted gesture. ”The
deviant will repeat this act again, in time.“
   “Thanks,” I couldn’t help saying. “That'll help me
sleep nights.”
   Pnor left, his shoulders hunched.
   “Okay.” I looked up at Xonea. “What’s this custom
thing? Is it as much fun as transitional training?”
   Xonea sat next to me and took my cold hands between
his. “I would rather endure a thousand diversions to my
path than harm you, Cherijo.”
   “I know that.” I watched him rubbing my fingers with
his. “What’s wrong? You look a little pale.”
   His hands tightened. “I am disturbed over what has
occurred.” He smiled a little. “What do you always say?
Relax.” He did something with his hands, inverting his
palms so that his fingertips rested on my inner arms.
  I could relax later. No one was going to break into my
quarters and drug me for their sick pleasure. “Tell me
what we’re doing here, Xonea.”
  Big blue hands covered mine. “You honor me,
Cherijo.”
   I shuddered. Kao had said the same thing, the first and
only time we had made love. I remembered Kao touching
me. His skin, like damp azure silk, smooth and resilient
under my hands.
   Xonea lifted my hand. The same odd, textured
HouseClan symbol was hidden beneath his black hair, just
below the left ear. It was shaped like a dark, soaring bird.
I had once had one, when Kao Chose me. It had faded—
  The large hand guided my fingers to my throat.
  “My HouseClan symbol,” I said as I felt it. Absently I
smiled. “I told him… it looks like…”
  “Come, Cherijo. Etarra nek t’nili.” He said it again.
“Come with me to the eternity we share.”
  I snapped out of the trance. This was wrong. This
wasn’t some kind of game plan to catch a rapist.
HouseClan symbols didn't just regenerate for no reason.
  Xonea was Choosing me!
  “No.” I jerked my hands from his. “What have you
done?”
   “I have Chosen,” Xonea said. He was there, pulling me
into his arms.
  “No, Xonea!” I struggled to free myself. “Take it
back!”
   “Hear me,” he said, and shook me once. I stared up
into the hard white gaze. “This was the only way. I could
make no other Choice.”
  “The hell you couldn’t!” I yelled. “How could you do
this? For God's sake, I'm supposed to be your sister!
Damn it, let go of me!”
   Xonea released me. The shift made me sway on my
feet. His hands shot out to steady me. I pushed him away.
   While working as a Trauma physician on K-2, I’d been
Chosen by Kao. It was something all Jorenians were
supposed to do when they attained emotional and physical
maturity. Some bizarre internal time clock went off, and
they Chose a bondmate.
  But this had nothing to do with that. It was all wrong.
   “I refuse. No, wait.” Their laws were pretty
complicated. “What happens if I refuse?” He didn’t
answer me. “Tell me!”
  “I am obliged to break the Choice. My life is forfeit.”
  I stared at him. “Are you telling me you have to kill
yourself?”
  “Yes.”
   Now I saw why the Captain had selected his words so
carefully. “Pnor knew this, didn’t he? You both knew.
This was what those strange gestures were about.”
  “You have been violated. By Choosing, I can protect
you, and be ClanFather to your child.”
   Oh, my God. If I’d been raped as well as beaten, I
could be pregnant. I shoved the thought aside. One
disaster at a time.
   “You knew I wouldn’t let you kill yourself,” I said.
“Everyone knows how I feel about the ritual suicide you
jorenians seem to love so damned much. I'd cut my own I
throat first!”
    He didn’t say anything. He didn't have to. I'd guessed
lit all.
  “Get out of my quarters.”

   The next day, I stood at the launch bay doors with
Reever, Alunthri, and a group of Jorenians. Xonea had
elected to remain on board the Sunlace. I’d told him
earlier that I'd either go along with this shotgun wedding,
or shoot I him in the head. My decision was pending.
   I don’t think my ClanBrother was worried about getting
together with his Speaker.
   We had landed on Garnot and were waiting for the last
of the biodecon scans to be completed. I hadn’t
mentioned to anyone that I was now, in Terran terms,
engaged to be married. Or the fact it was because
someone had beaten me (I hadn't been raped, I'd learned,
after Tonetka performed a thorough exam). Only Xonea,
Pnor, and my boss knew.
  “No bugs detected. You’re clear to disembark,”
Dhreen called from the helm.
   A large reception party of many different species was
waiting to greet us at the bottom of the docking ramp.
Most dressed in the flamboyant garments artists seemed
to love.
   The Jorenians dispersed, giving out their traditional kiss
of welcome. Reever and I lagged behind. Alunthri
disappeared at once into the group, re-emerging only to
look back at us.
  “We’ll follow you!” I called out. The Chakacat waved.
The next moment it was exchanging views with a
menacing-looking creature that resembled a gigantic snake.
  “Well, what do you think, Reever?” I asked.
  “I am not an artist,” he said.
   “Me, neither.” I glanced at him. “By the way, thank you
for my birthday gift.”
  He eyed my smooth hair. “You’re welcome.”
   The planet Garnot itself wasn’t very impressive. The
vista seemed almost bland—all beige soil, indifferent
vegetation, and drab skies. The very neutrality of the place
worried me, until I saw the sprawling Main Transport
complex. Constructed of a silver-white stone chiseled to
throw off a million tiny flashes of light, the structure was
dazzling. And that was just the first of many.
   We followed the crowd to the main settlement, where
more unique buildings lined the glidepaths and walkways.
All of them were astonishing, as though the most beautiful
structures from a thousand worlds had been transplanted
here.
   The crowd poured into a central towering stone edifice.
Inside the ornately carved doors, a bewildering collection
of art covered virtually every inch of available surface:
paintings and pictographs. Sculptures. Dimensional
imagers. Even light and sound creations that appeared
seemingly out of thin air.
   Once inside, the Garnotans crowded around Alunthri
as a beautiful chime sounded, and they all bowed to the
Chakacat.
  “We welcome our newest colonist, Alunthri of
Chakara,” the snakelike being said. “Garnot rejoices in
you!”
    For the next hour we circulated among the colonists.
Alunthri eventually found me and Reever watching an
immense sculpture reform itself at the mental command of
its creator.
   “Cherijo, have you seen—” It paused as it saw my
indulgent smile. “Forgive me. This must seem most
frivolous to you both.”
    “Nonsense,” I said. “I may take up telepathic sculpting
myself. If Reever ever teaches me some of his brain
tricks.” Reever made a sound that underlined his disbelief
in my attainment of such a goal. I ignored him. “Well,
what do you think of this place, Alunthri?”
   “I have no words.” The colorless eyes scanned the hall
with emotion too overwhelming to be categorized. “Only
that without your friendship, I could never have come
here.”
  I ruffled its brow fur affectionately. “Be happy, pal.”
   Darea and Salo joined us. They admired the towering
crystal sculpture, then the sculptor made them an unusual
offer.
   “The crystal is partially sentient,” he said. He was a
stout, benign-looking humanoid with three metallic
ornaments piercing one angle of his wedge-shaped face.
“It only allows itself to be shaped by a compatible mind.”
  “A picky crystal,” I said.
    “Would you care to try to impress your thoughts upon
it?”
  “Not me.” I didn’t want to scare the colonists.
   He made the same offer to the Jorenians. Salo and
Darea conferred quietly for a moment, then accepted.
They mounted the platform with the artist as a small
crowd began to gather.
   “Join your hands thus.” He moved Salo into place, then
showed Darea how to stand opposite. “Concentrate on
each other, and the crystal. Allow it to see your inner
vision.“
   We watched. At first the two Jorenians seemed
self-conscious, then something marvelous happened. The
huge colonnade began to undulate. Elongating shoots
stretched out, swirling around the Jorenians. They
remained silent, only their hands touching, eyes closed,
faces serene.
  “Look,” I said to Alunthri. “It’s forming something.”
   One portion of the crystal began to weave a beautiful,
complex net that formed a spherical dome. Inside it,
transparent matter swelled into larger, more bulky shapes
that refined themselves into statues. I recognized Fasala
playing with other Jorenian children. Birds flew around
them. Yiborra grass sprang up under their feet. Flowers
appeared.
   In the center, the crystal formed an exact copy of Salo
and Darea. His hands cupped her face. Her arms were
twined around his waist.
  Guess they didn’t need the word love after all.
  “Glorious.” The sculptor breathed the single word in
awe.
   Salo and Darea opened their eyes, and glanced around
them in blank astonishment. The crystal had obligingly left
an aperture for them to duck out of, and allowed others to
walk in and admire the new sculpture.
   The artist was so delighted he insisted the couple take a
piece of the sculpture back to the Sunlace. A blushing
Darea chose the statue of Fasala. Salo seemed a little
embarrassed as he joined us.
  I nudged him with my elbow. “Nice going, big guy.”
   “I did not know it would do all… all…” He gestured
helplessly. “That.”
   When the couple were drawn into conversation with
another admiring colonist, I looked at Reever. “Want to
take a walk?”
  “Yes.”
  We slipped out and down the main glidecar path to an
open field, where several artists demonstrated their skills
on a myriad of projects. Smiling faces greeted us along
the way.
   “I see why they chose this world for their colony,” I
said. “It’s perfect: one big, blank canvas for them to paint
on.”
  “It can hardly detract from their efforts.”
   I waited until we had left the artists behind us, and were
walking through a woods of some rather insipid-looking
trees before I spoke again. “I need to tell you something,
Duncan.”
   He pointed to a fallen trunk, and we sat down. I was
careful to keep a space between us, unsure of what his
reaction would be. I never knew with Reever.
   “Something happened to me yesterday.” Briefly I filled
him in on the assault. His expression never changed, but
his eyes darkened as I related the part about Pnor’s
suspicions, and how I'd been drugged and beaten. “I
wanted you to know. You of all people would
understand.” When he put an arm around me, I stood up
at once. “There's more.”
  Reever got up, too. “It is not your fault, Joey.”
   “What happened while I was drugged, no. What
happened when Pnor left and Xonea…” I made a seesaw
motion with one hand. “I should have realized—the way
he was acting—but I was still pretty shaken up, and—”
  “Cherijo.” He put a finger on my lips. “Just tell me.”
  “Xonea Chose me.”
   His hand fell away, and he stepped back. I remembered
the last time he looked like this. I’d knocked him on his
backside in a gnorra grove on K-2. He turned away.
   “Reever, I didn’t ask him to do it. He thinks he can
defend me this way, or something.”
  “I understand.” He sounded uninterested.
  “The only way Choice can be broken is if Xonea
commits suicide.”
  “I know.” Not very sympathetic.
  “I can’t let a man die because he wanted to protect
me!”
  “Of course not.” Didn’t he feel anything?
   “Duncan!” I grabbed him, made him turn around and
face me. His features were in the usual blank mask. “Talk
to me!”
  Carefully he removed my hands from his tunic. Then he
walked back toward the colony.
   I sat down on the tree trunk. So much for explaining
things to Reever. Dull, crumpled leaves fell around me.
  I knew just how they felt.

   The balance of our sojourn on Garnot went smoothly,
although Reever avoided me like a virulent contagion.
Dhreen noticed all the tension, but thankfully for once
didn’t comment. Before we boarded the launch to return
to the Sunlace, Alunthri took me aside and pressed
something in my hands.
  “To remember me,” the Chakacat said, and added a
neatly wrapped ball of string. “For my little brother.”
    I hugged Alunthri, smoothed a hand over the back of
its silvery head, then ran to the launch. Reever, I noted,
had seated himself as far away from me as possible, next
to some trader who had arranged passage to the next
system. Reever never once met my eyes as Dhreen piloted
the launch back to the ship.
   I didn’t know why he was so furious. I was the one
being forced into marriage, not him.
   The lump in my tunic pocket brushed against my
forearm, and I withdrew the small object Alunthri had
given me. It was a pouch, with a garment pin inside. It had
been designed to represent two faces: mine and
Alunthri’s. When I turned it over in my hand, I saw it had
been fashioned from the license and inoculant chips the
Chakacat had once been forced to wear.
   I tightened my hand around the beautiful symbol of our
friendship. Sniffed a lot. Tried not to burst into tears.
   Once we were back on the Sunlace, I disembarked
quickly, not waiting for the others. I couldn’t face
spending the entire day in my quarters, either. I needed
something to do, so I took the gyrlift to Medical.
  Most of the cases acquired in the aftermath of the
mercenary attack were ready to be released or were
already discharged. I made rounds with Adaola, reviewing
cases I had already memorized. The Omorr resident was
sterilizing a batch of instruments, and nodded to me as I
walked by.
   Pnor was right; I’d been too aggressive on more than
one occasion. I thought about all the bridges I had burned
in the last day. Maybe it was time to mend one.
   “Squilyp?” He looked up from the biodecon unit. “Got
a minute?”
   He hopped along with me to Tonetka’s office. Once
inside, I pulled out a chair in front of the Senior Healer's
desk. I was gratified to see he did the same. Maybe this
would work.
   “You aren’t scheduled for duty today,” Squilyp said.
   “No. I was restless and needed something to do.” I
glanced back at the ward through the viewer. “You
probably feel the same way when you start sterilizing
everything in sight.”
  He made the equivalent of a Terran shrug. He wasn’t
going to help me, but then, it wasn't his job.
   “Squilyp, I owe you an apology.” That got his
attention. “I’ve said some things to you I regret. Done
some things, too. Like the fight.”
   “You won the solicitation fairly.”
   “It shouldn’t have happened.” I got up, thrust my
hands in my tunic pockets. This sort of thing was hard for
me. “I'm a physician, sworn to heal. By hurting you, I
violated my oath.”
   “I provoked you into making the solicitation.”
   I swung around and faced him. “I didn’t have to
accept, Squilyp. I could have called the whole thing off.”
   “You have your pride.”
   “And you have yours. What I’m trying to say is, I'm
sorry. I'd like to start over with you. Clean slate.”
   He cocked his head to one side. I guessed clean slate
didn’t exactly translate into Omorr, from the puzzled look.
  “Forget the past,” I said. “You and I are colleagues.
Let’s start acting like we are.”
   “I see.” The Omorr hopped up, approached me
slowly. “So you expect me to disregard the hostility
between us?”
   “Yes.” Was he going to take a swing at me? There was
nowhere for me to go now. I was in the perfect position
for him to regain his title.
  “You consider me a colleague? An equal?”
   “Squilyp, I’ve never worked with a more gifted
resident. There are doctors who would sacrifice a limb to
have your abilities. Your work is flawless.” I watched as
he extended one of his limbs toward me. “However, if
you don’t think it's possible—”
  “On your world,” he said, “is it done like this?”
    He was picking up my hand with his membrane, curling
it gently around my fingers. “What?”
  “A gesture of friendship?”
   “Oh. Yes. This is how it’s done.” We shook our
respective “hands.”
  “Thanks, Squilyp. I really do appreciate this.”
   “I don’t understand Terran ways,” he said, his gildrells
undulating slightly. Up close like this, they weren’t too
terrible. Actually, they gave his face a sort of elegant
beauty, like a flowing white beard. “Yet I know sincerity
when I see it, Healer.”
   He’d called me Healer. Relief had me grinning. “You
can still call me ’Doctor,' if you like.”
   “And you—you may call me… Squid Lips… if you
care to.” His strained expression indicated the enormity of
the concession he was making.
   “When I do, it will only be because you’re driving me
crazy,” I said, and patted his shoulder. “I'd like your
opinion on one of the patients. I'm seeing more drainage
than I like from his chest wound. Want to take a look?”
    “Of course. There is something I wish to ask you,
first.”
  “Sure.”
   “When you have some off-duty time, will you
accompany me to an environome?”
  I was confused. Here I’d thought we'd settled things.
“Why?”
   “I would like to practice challenge moves with you.
That last assault you made—” He shook his head. “Who
taught you to fight like that?”
  I thought of Xonea, and my lips flattened. “My
Chosen.”
  Squilyp gaped. “You are to be bonded?”
   “Not if I have anything to say about it.” I shook my
head when he would have asked more. “Long story. Let’s
go examine that patient.”

  I spent a surprisingly successful shift working with the
Omorr. We disagreed on a few cases, but now it was
more like the arguments Tonetka and I had. A sense of
mutual respect went well with the bickering.
   I could really like Squilyp, I thought, as I trudged into
my quarters. Jenner was waiting for me, and scented
Alunthri on the ball of twine I tossed him. He even ignored
his food dish for a full five minutes to pat the ball around.
   Once my pet abandoned me for a nap, I made myself a
server of tea, then went to my console to access the
cultural database. Pnor’s investigation, as far as I knew,
had yielded no new information on the killer. Maybe I
could turn something up.
   The very rare cases of murder in modern Jorenian
history had usually been committed by offworlders. Every
killer had been caught and nearly all of them declared
ClanKill. Three suspects on record who’d refused to
confess to their acts had been banished from Joren
forever. One of them, a native Jorenian, had killed himself
as soon as the sentence had been handed down. I
downloaded the case file so I could study it further.
   The Jorenian involved had apparently returned to the
homeworld after several years of imprisonment on an alien
world for some unspecified transgression. From the time
of his release and subsequent reunion with his HouseClan,
he displayed violent and irrational behavior that indicated a
state of severe psychosis. When he learned his bondmate
had petitioned the Council to have their bond dissolved
and him committed, he killed her. Later, he refused to
admit to the crime. Since there had been no witnesses, a
sentence of banishment had been decreed.
  A few moments later, the mentally ill male had
committed suicide in front of the Ruling Council.
   I could see why Xonea found it hard to believe a Torin
had killed Roelm and the mercenary, when the only case
involved a deranged psychotic. Still, it was proof that a
Jorenian was capable of murder. And psychotics could
successfully conceal their illnesses, sometimes for years.
   The question was, which Jorenian? Why would one of
the crew kill Roelm, an engineer, and Leo, a Terran
mercenary? There didn’t seem to be any connection, other
than the fact that both had been confined to Medical
shortly before they were murdered.
  I’d have to give it more thought.
   As I scanned through the available data on their judicial
process, I also learned Pnor could have put me off the
ship, just by simply suspecting I was involved in the
murders. So why hadn’t he done that? Then I came
across a very interesting paragraph.

         Suspected offenders Chosen by a member of the
      victim’s HouseClan after the offense has been
      committed may be thus shielded from judicial
      action until such time as the case can be presented
      before the Ruling Council on Joren.

    So Xonea had another reason for making his Choice.
Anger swelled inside me. Why hadn’t he mentioned this
little clause? I got up to adjust the envirocontrols, then
went back to check the rest of his story.
   Offworlders had also been responsible for every
recorded case of rape. Pnor’s disbelief was justified then.
Unbonded victims had been Chosen within hours of the
assault. Pregnancies as a result of rape were even more
rare, the records indicated only seven. It was my guess
that the children were never told.
  I didn’t need Xonea to protect me, not from murder
charges or a rapist. Just what would it take to break this
Choice?
   There was no divorce, and no case of a Chosen
breaking the Choice due to unwilling participation. Given
the Jorenian attitudes toward sex, I thought as I
deactivated the console, their monogamy wasn’t
surprising.
   I couldn’t seem to relax, so I secured the door panel
and injected myself with a mild barbiturate. Just as I
prepared to drop on the sleeping platform, my display
panel chimed.
  “What is it?” I asked, fighting the artificially induced
cocoon of sleep.
  “Message from Ship’s Operational.”
   I dragged myself over to my display and accepted the
signal. It was S.O. Ndo.
  “Healer. Forgive me for disturbing you.”
   “No problem.” I yawned behind my hand. “What’s the
problem?” Boy, that sounded bright, I thought sluggishly.
Nothing destroys your vocabulary faster than a good dose
of drugs.
   “I am preparing my formal report on the mercenary
attack,” Ndo said. “I need to clarify some aspects of your
statement with you.”
  “Can we do this tomorrow, S.O.? I’m beat.”
  He nodded.
  Good. I’d had quite enough for one day.
   I scheduled a time to meet with him and programmed
an appropriate alarm signal. Jenner was waiting on the
mattress for me when I fell into it.
   I thought of Xonea, Reever, Alunthri, and Squilyp.
Results were evenly divided. I’d like to throttle Xonea, I
thought. Reever probably wanted to do the same to me.
I’d said good-bye to Alunthri, my old friend. Now I had a
potential friendship with Squilyp.
   A small, rough tongue rasped against my cheek, and I
fell asleep.


             CHAPTER EIGHT
              For the Children
                                                 «^»

  Let’s review your report one more time.”
   S.O. Ndo was methodical, precise, and unaware I had
a massive headache. A large, horrible instrument of torture
pounded at the back of my skull, from the inside.
Barbiturates had that effect on me. Not even two
scalding-hot servers of floral tea had helped.
   Morning-afters. Universally to be avoided.
  “Of course.” I carefully recounted everything I could
remember from the moment I woke to find the mercenary
Leo standing over my bed.
   I was at the point of “Reever managed to disarm him,
there was a flash of light, and then—” when Ndo
interrupted.
   “A flash of light? That was not in your report.”
  I frowned. I hadn’t put it in my report. The only lights I
ever concerned myself with were medical optic scanners,
and the ones that made it possible to walk around my
quarters without banging into things.
   “Sorry. Yes, there was a light or something that
flashed, just for a moment. I thought it was from an
internal scanner.” Even as I said that, I realized how silly it
sounded. Jorenian scanners didn’t produce light. “I really
didn't think about it.”
   “Describe how it appeared to you.”
   I concentrated. “Reever had linked with me to project a
false image. The projection fooled the mercenary into
believing we were inside the launch already. When he
came back out, Reever took his rifle and stepped back.
Then there was this bright flash of…“ I halted. ”Not a
flash. Something else.“ I shook my head, frustrated.
”Why can’t I remember?“
   “It is understandable. You were under extreme duress.”
Ndo appeared sympathetic, but I heard the same
frustration in his tone.
    “Why are you concerned about the light? Do you think
it had anything to do with—” My eyes widened as I
remembered. “Fasala saw some kind of light, too. Just
before her accident in the cargo bay. A ring of light!”
   “That is what you saw?”
  “Yes! It wasn’t a flash, but a perfect circle.” I was
excited as the image finally sifted to the top of my sluggish
memory. “Large, perfectly circular, about two meters in
diameter. White with a prismatic edge. It couldn’t have
lasted more than a tenth of a second.”
   “Two meters?” Ndo seized on that. “You’re certain of
the dimensions?”
  “Of course. Why?”
   “The damage to the buffer was calculated to be the
same area, given the amount of alloy recovered from the
injured.”
  “You’re kidding.” I sat back in my chair. “It could
have been the same thing Fasala saw, then.”
  Ndo nodded as he keyed the information on his data
pad.
    I speculated out loud. “So what do we have on the ship
that creates a two-meter circle of light, slices through
adaptable sonic alloy, and dissolves living bone and
tissue?”
  “Nothing,” Ndo said as he continued entering the data.
   While I waited, I went over the shift when Fasala had
been brought in. Squilyp and I had argued over how to
detect the buffer shards. Roelm had said something…
  “The Engineer described equipment used to fit the
buffers on ships. He said the technology was based on
sound.”
  “Harmonicutters.’
  “Do you have any those laying around somewhere?”
   Ndo shook his head. “They are too large. The vessels
they are used on must be docked in specially designed
bays in a specific region on our homeworld.”
  “There is no such thing as a portable harmonicutter?”
  “Not to my knowledge.”
    That wasn’t exactly a no. “How does a harmonicutter
work?“ Ndo gave me a slightly exasperated look. ”Please,
it’s important.“
   “It produces continuous, high-intensity energy, Healer.
Rather like your surgical lasers, only a harmonicutter uses
sound instead of light. Its sonic beam converts raw alloy
material into the dimensions required on the particular
vessel being fitted.”
  “This sonic beam, is it composed entirely of sound
waves?”
  “Yes.”
   In the past, extracorporeal shock-wave lithotripsy, or
ultrasonic waves, had been used to break up kidney and
upper ureteral stones on Terra. The primitive procedure
often caused mild to moderate cellular damage at the entry
and exit points.
   This harmonicutter was obviously much more
powerful. If used on a living being, would such focused
sonic energy have a more lethal effect? It would explain
the absence of any toxin and why their insides had been
turned into liquid, too.
   “Roelm and the mercenary could have been murdered
using a sonic beam of that intensity,” I explained my
theory to Ndo.
   “A harmonicutter is not as focused as a laser, as the
energy it generates is utilized on immense areas. A
harmonicutter used as you describe would destroy
everything within at least a ten-meter radius. You and
Linguist Reever would not have survived.”
  Okay, so my theory had some holes in it.
  “Tell me something. Who on board the Sunlace would
know how to operate a harmonicutter?”
   He looked thoughtful. “Most of our engineers and
senior helm staff. Roelm, of course. Xonea, Captain Pnor,
and myself as well.”
  No help there, that was about a hundred people. Too
many to make a viable list of suspects. I pushed a tired
hand through my hair.
   “S.O., may I continue this discussion with you after
I’ve had time to think about it?” I was feeling distinctly
ridiculous, fighting off a continuous wave of yawns.
Surely I hadn't overdosed myself. Had I?
   “Of course.” He rose and offered his hand as I
struggled from my seat. “Are you feeling ill, Healer?”
   “I’ve had better days, Ndo. Thank you for your
patience.”
  I trudged off to the gyrlift and took it up to my
quarters. Dhreen was waiting for me just outside my door
panel. He tried to talk me into a game of whump-ball. I
yawned in his face.
  “Too tired,” I waved my hand. “Later.”
   “Does this have anything to do with the fact you and
Reever aren’t speaking to each other? Again?” Dhreen's
guileless eyes glinted.
   “None of your business.” I barely had enough energy
to key myself in. The door panel closed behind me. I was
in trouble, I thought. My sluggish brain finally processed
the fact that this was not a natural weariness.
   Nothing could make me this tired. I’d been drugged
again.
  I reached up and hit the comm panel with an awkward
swipe.
  “Xonea…” I fell back and slid down the wall. “Alert…
Xon—”

         He was hurting me again. The man with the
      hard hands, who relentlessly probed my body. I
      screamed and writhed until I thought my lungs
      would burst.
         “Resistance test gamma-fourteen negative,” he
      said. “No signs of contagion.”
         “Shall I prepare the next series, Doctor?”
        The dark blue eyes looked down at me. “Give
      me the nasal probe. I want to check the sinuses.”
         “If she sounds snotty, it’s because she's been
      crying for an hour, Joseph!”
         The woman pushed him out of the way and
      took me in her arms. She wrapped my naked body
      in something soft and warm while she glared at
      the man.
         “Margaret, put her down.”
         “You’re hurting her.”
         “She will not remember any of this.”
         “You hope she won’t.” The woman cradled me
      close, and my shrill screams died as I nuzzled
      instinctively at her breast. “When was the last
      time you fed her?”
         “We must keep her stomach empty until the
trial is complete.” The man made a curt sound.
“It will not harm her to go without nourishment
for a twenty-four-hour period.”
  “Give me a bottle.”
  “Put her down and leave, Margaret.”
  “And if I don’t?” she demanded. “What are
you going to do, Joseph? Starve me, too?”
  “Put her down!”
  My body was wrenched from the woman’s
arms, and I heard her scream blend with mine.
  Take control of the dream, Cherijo.
  Take control.
  Take take take—
   I was standing in a chamber, my breath
burning in my chest. The presence hovered there
in the depths of the shadows, just out of reach. I
tried to take control, to leave that place.
   “You think you can control me, little one? Me!”
The laughter was chilling. “I could crush you
with a thought.”
   “Then do it.” I centered my consciousness and
drew strength from the sense of power it gave me.
“Get it over with.”
   “You know nothing of power. Watch and
learn.”
   Before my eyes a window appeared, one that
displayed the level where I had just been
interviewed by Ndo. He was still there, looking
over my report, frowning and making notes on a
touchpad.
  “He resents his place in the succession, but
would never reveal it to Pnor.”
  “Leave him alone!”
   “Look at him. Ever loyal, steadfast Ndo, who
has yet to Choose, yet to make a child. He thinks
he knows something, but his arrogance blocks
insight.” The voice lowered, became almost
gleeful. “Let me show him the true inner path.”
  I saw a ring of light form in mid-air behind the
      S. O. He jerked back, falling from his chair as the
      light shattered over his body.
         “Stop it!” I shouted.
         “It is done. Now he will know the emptiness I
      feel.”
        I watched in horror as Ndo collapsed in
      convulsions. He was dead in minutes.
        “You killed Roelm and that mercenary, didn’t
      you? You bastard!”
          The presence turned on me. Smashed into my
      mind. I couldn’t shield myself from the pounding
      fists. The shrill voice shrieked disjointed
      accusations, punctuated by more blows.
         “You let him… believed you… killed for you …”
         Another presence was there. Something vague,
      far beyond the battering hands. The other spoke to
      me.
         Cherijo. Wake up. You must wake up.
         “… make you wish… never born …” the first
      one was screaming. I couldn’t take much more. I
      reached out, desperate to escape.
         Cherijo. Wake up. Wake up!

“Cherijo!”

  Someone slapped me, hard.
  “Wake up!”
   I fell out of the dream, and found myself in a
convulsive state. Pain clutched at me. I curled up in a fetal
position, automatically trying to protect my injuries.
Literally every single inch of my flesh throbbed in agony.
My eyes fluttered open when six-fingered hands touched
me.
  Xonea rolled me onto my back. I was on the deck.
Then the world went black.
   The next thing I knew the big pilot was running,
carrying me in his arms. I fought to keep my eyes open.
  “Ndo?” Strong hands kept me from getting loose.
“Ndo! He’s in trouble!”
   “Be calm, Cherijo. You are injured.”
   I fell unconscious again, and woke up on an exam
table. The Senior Healer was leaning over me.
   “Tonetka? Ndo!” I tried to hurl myself off the table.
Xonea’s face appeared on the other side. Now his hands
held me down. “I have to—”
   “Remain still, Healer.” Tonetka opened my tunic and
performed a brisk, thorough examination. Xonea averted
his eyes, while I glanced down. Saw more bruises forming
on my pale skin. A lot more.
  “Tonetka.” She met my gaze. “What the hell
happened?”
    “You were beaten,” Xonea said, his voice low and
filled with dangerous menace. Now he looked, memorizing
each mark.
   I sagged back on the exam pad. “Then it’s too late.”
   “Too late?” Tonetka echoed.
   “Ndo. He’s dead. Whoever did this killed him.”

   I was confined to a berth in Medical Bay. Again.
   “Anaphylactoid purpura,” Tonetka said a day later.
“Severe ecchymoses and petechiae. Three reasons you
will stay in that berth, Healer, until I advise you
differently.”
   “We’ve done this before, remember?” I said. “I won
last time.”
   She clutched a scanner and passed it over me. “The
last time you were my patient, you did not have ruptured
blood vessels over virtually every centimeter of your
epidermis!”
   “No, I had a stroke and two heart attacks. That was a
lot worse than a couple of bruises.”
  Tonetka muttered something that the nurse next to her
overheard. The younger Jorenian woman’s eyes rounded.
“Senior Healer!”
    “She’ll never do it,” I told the nurse. “And if she tries,
I'll thump her.”
  “I would be greatly entertained by such an attempt!”
Tonetka said.
   A resident came over, brave enough to enter the fray.
“Senior Healer. Healer Cherijo. You are disturbing the
other patients.”
   “See?” I glared at her. “You’re disturbing the other
patients. Now give me my clothes, so I can get up and
strangle you myself.”
   “I should have induced a coma!” Tonetka said. Was
that gesture she made a nonverbal obscenity? “Divert your
path with your Terran stupidity. I will dance at your death
ceremony.” She stalked off to her next patient.
   The news confirming Ndo’s death had left both
Tonetka and me with frayed tempers, I thought, and
sighed.
  “Pig-headed old witch.” I shrugged at the wide-eyed
nurse. “What’s worse is she's probably right.”
   Later, one of the residents offered me an analgesic for
my bruises, but I refused. My mind was muddled enough.
I didn’t want to take a chance and slip into another
unprotected sleep.
   The next time I might not wake up.
   The crew heard, of course, and many stopped by to
visit me. The Senior Healer spent more time that day
chasing HouseClan Torin out of Medical than she did
examining the patients. The only thing I was allowed to
receive was a package.
   “What’s this?” I turned the slim box over in my hands.
   “Our passenger from Garnot sent it for you,” the
Senior Healer said. “Dhreen related the nature of your
injuries to him, and he wished you to have this.”
  I opened the lid, and removed a thin, golden cuff.
“Wow. Nice bauble.”
   “One he claims will heal the body and soothe the soul.”
   “If it does, you’ll be out of a job,” I said, admiring the
pretty thing. I slipped it over my hand, but it was a little
too big for my wrist.
   “Traders will say anything to peddle their wares,”
Tonetka said as she examined me, then instructed one of
the residents to cover the ward until the Omorr reported
for his shift.
   “Hey, where are you going?”
   “I have a class today with the primary students.”
Tonetka often scheduled time to teach the Jorenian
children. She was an expert in a number of subjects,
including (of course) journey philosophy. She held up an
old, wicked-looking blade. “Today I am presenting facts
for the children about prehistoric medical practices and
instruments.”
   “Ugh. That looks sharp. I wouldn’t pass it around.
Here.” I removed the bracelet and placed it around her
wrist. “You like? You wear. It doesn't fit me, and I'll just
lose it or something.”
   Once Tonetka had departed, I managed to talk one of
the nurses into procuring a terminal for my use by making
a solemn and soon-to-be-broken promise to access it for
no more than an hour or two.
   “The Senior Healer will be most upset if she finds you
at work when she returns,” the nurse said. “Then you will
begin insulting each other and disrupting the
ward—again.”
  “Don’t worry.” I winked at her. “I'll take all the blame
and the insults.”
   I retrieved all pertinent records pertaining to Fasala’s
injuries, the mercenary attack, and the deaths of Roelm,
the Terran Leo, and Ndo.
   The facts would begin to correlate, I thought, if I kept
shuffling them around. Roelm, Leo, and Ndo had each
died of identical symptoms from as of yet unidentified
causes. Fasala and the two educators had been injured,
not killed. The only thing the dead victims had in common
was that they were male. Fasala and the educators
weren’t, and their wounds were completely different, too.
  I was comparing medical histories when Xonea
appeared and sat down beside my berth.
   “Healer, you are looking well.”
   “I thought Jorenians didn’t lie.” I looked terrible, and
he knew it. “Any progress?”
    “The Captain has discovered no evidence connecting
the attack on you and Ndo’s death,” he said, and glanced
at the data on my terminal. “You are comparing medical
charts?”
   “I had hoped to find some similarity in their profiles.” I
removed the charts on Fasala and the two educators and
concentrated on the dead men. “Roelm and Ndo were
Jorenian, approximately the same age. Yet Roelm was
much heavier than Ndo. The Terran mercenary was older
than both, but weighed much less. They were killed in
different parts of the ship. Roelm and Leo were
surrounded by different people. Ndo died alone. He was
murdered at his Command display, wasn’t he?”
   “Hado found his body exactly where you said it would
be,” Xonea said. Absently, he rubbed one hand across his
abdomen. “Do you recall anything else?”
   “Only that I have no idea why I wasn’t killed, too.” I
switched off the terminal and put my head back. “Tonetka
believes whatever killed the men couldn't have caused my
injuries.” Xonea was staring oddly at me. Again. “What?”
   “It has been suggested that your injuries prove you
were involved with Ndo’s murder,” he said. “That Ndo
inflicted them upon you in self-defense.”
  “Just who is spewing this waste?” I demanded.
   “Captain Pnor will not say. There is more I may do to
prove your innocence, with your… cooperation.”
  I’d heard this kind of proposal before. Last time it got
me engaged. “Define cooperation.”
  “The one who assaulted you will try again. Allow me to
guard you.”
  “Guard me?” An image of Xonea dogging my heels
made me frown. “I don’t see you following me around all
day.”
  “You can be monitored while you are on duty. I will
watch over you by sharing your quarters.”
  “You mean, move in with me? I thought you needed to
bond with someone for that.”
   “Full bonding is not required. It is the only way I can
protect you.”
   I sat up straight again. “I told you before, I don’t need
a baby-sitter.”
  That didn’t make him happy. “You must do this,
Cherijo.” He stood. “You are my Chosen.”
  There was nothing that equaled Jorenian arrogance.
Except me. “That doesn’t make me your property, fly
boy.”
   “Under HouseClan law, you must obey me.”
   I’d never heard that before. “Space your HouseClan
law!” I slammed my hand onto the terminal keypad,
scrambling the data.
   “It is our path, Cherijo,” he said, then grimaced and
pressed his hand against his stomach again.
   “Your path is giving me a headache, and you an ulcer!”
   Before Xonea could reply, an explosion rocked the
Sunlace. This one was much more violent than the
tremors caused by the mercenary attack. I was flung from
my berth onto the floor. Xonea covered me with his body.
His massive weight forced the breath out of my lungs.
   “Alert,” the display panel announced. “Hull breach on
levels five, six, eighteen, and twenty-eight. Internal buffers
compromised. Levels will be secured. Evacuation must
commence.”
  “The League must have tracked us from Garnot.”
Xonea pulled me up with him.
   I stripped the monitor ports from my arms and called
for the staff. Everyone in Medical mobilized around us.
   “I want all senior residents to stay put,” I said.
“Squilyp, you’re in charge.” The Omorr nodded. “Set up
for heavy casualties. You four emergency teams, take the
gyrlifts to the nearest level you can get to the
compromised areas. Xonea, which level has the greatest
concentration of crew members?“
   “Level six. The sub-executive bays and educational
facilities are located there.”
   “No.” I paled. “Tonetka. The kids.”
   After dividing up the teams, we grabbed our emergency
packs and raced out. More turbulence rocked the ship. I
stumbled several times along to the way to the level above
Medical. Xonea always managed to grab me before I hit
the deck.
   Xonea and I entered level six ahead of the team. Heat
and a sudden, dense cloud of noxious smoke enveloped
us. From the emergency kit I carried I pulled out two
breathers and handed one to Xonea. I looked over my
shoulder to assure the nurses were masking as well.
   “Keep your hand on my arm!” Xonea’s voice was
muffled by the mask. I nodded and grabbed onto his
sleeve. He led me through the blinding fumes to the first of
the children's classrooms. The door panel was jammed.
When Xonea started to force it open, a burst of flames
made him snatch his hands away.
   “Look!” I shouted, pointing through the open gap.
Over the fiery wall we saw a group of small bodies
huddled in a tight mound. Two educators were shielding
the children from the fire with their own bodies. One of
them was Ktarka Torin.
  Evacuation units kicked in at last. They removed
enough smoke from the level corridor to let us take off
our breathers.
   “Emergency controls are operational,” Xonea said. He
keyed the exterior deck panel. I wiped the filthy sweat
from my face on my sleeve and saw a square aperture
open in the upper deck just inside the classroom door
panel. “This will extinguish the flames.”
   Thick streams of chemical foam cascaded from the
slot. It worked—the flames were smothered at once. That
left smoke, which was as deadly as fire.
   “We’ve got to clear the air,” I told him.
   “I am purging the room through the exchange
dampers,” he said as he rewired the panel controls. I
didn’t wait to watch him, but strapped on my breather.
After I grabbed my pack, I kicked aside some smoldering
debris, and stepped inside.
   The children had to be checked first. All of them were
coughing heavily. I handed out breathers as I made a
quick scan of each child for lung damage and burns. The
educators were calm and kept reassuring the children. I
would have never guessed both women had
second-degree burns on their backs, a fact I discovered
right after I’d dealt with the kids.
   Ktarka’s eyes were still filled with panic as she tried to
hold the singed shreds of her tunic over her breasts. I
patted the part of her shoulder that wasn't injured as I
passed my scanner over her.
   “Hold on, lady,” I said. She gave me a confused stare.
Shock was starting to set in. “You’ll be just fine.” One of
the nurses appeared beside me, a syrinpress in her hand. I
injected Ktarka with pentazalcine and helped the nurse get
the educator to her feet.
  “Healer—” Ktarka began, then coughed violently.
   We both stumbled against each other when the
Sunlace’s hull was battered with a fresh wave of displacer
fire. The nurse supported Ktarka from the opposite side
as she sagged. It took a few minutes to maneuver her limp
body out the door panel and gently down on the deck.
We went back for the other educator and the kids.
  Once the classroom was evacuated, I turned to the
nurse.
   “Have the women taken to Medical.” I pointed to the
children who were in respiratory distress. “These four,
too.” I went to the only functional corridor display, and
routed a signal to Medical.
   Squilyp’s face appeared. Behind him, I saw the staff
trotting in different directions. “Doctor?”
   The ship rocked wildly again. I grabbed the sides of the
console and held on. “I’m sending you two adults, both
with second-degree burns. Four kids on oxygen. Gyrlifts
are down, so they'll be on gurneys. Check everyone for
inhalation exposure and toxins. Set up for more burn
patients.” I felt the transitional thrusters many decks below
throb into life. “What's your status?”
   “The ward is full. Three serious, one critical. I’m
prepping for surgery.” The Omorr looked over his
shoulder and yelled at a nurse, “Move those low priorities
out in the corridor!“ He looked back at me. ”Adaola is
taking triage—“
   “Caution,” the display interrupted. “Emergency
transition.”
   “Get those patients prepped. Don’t be exemplary
today, Squil,” I said. “Be quick. Go!”
  He nodded, and I terminated the signal.
  “Cherijo?”
   At Xonea’s call, I left the nurse to take care of the
patients. The rest of the classrooms we could access were
empty, he told me when I caught up with him. The
Jorenian stood before an insurmountable pile of rubble
blocking off the corridor leading up to level five.
  Transition into another dimension began without
warning. Once reality untwisted, I found myself on the
deck, sprawled next to Xonea. I rubbed a hand over the
new bruises on my hip.
  “Nothing I love more than emergency transition in the
morning,” I said.
   “Launch bay has been destroyed,” Xonea told me as
he helped me up. He nearly doubled over before he
propped himself against one wall panel.
  “What is it? Are you hurt?”
    “No, I am just winded. Here.” In his hand was a
scanner. The display showed a concentration of some
fifty life-forms behind the blockage.
  “Can you raise anyone on level five?”
   “No response. We must find a way through this. Heat
levels are rising on the other side of the obstruction.”
  I knew the gyrlift was useless. “What about the
emergency controls?”
  “The panel has been badly damaged.”
   I spotted a gap in the debris level with the upper deck.
It was too small for Xonea. One skinny human might
make it, though.
  “Can you lift me up there?” I pointed.
  He shook his head. “It is too dangerous.”
  “Then I’ll climb.”
  “You cannot do this. Cherijo!” He took my arm to hold
me back.
   “Let me go,” I said, and shook myself loose. Both our
faces were coated with blackened sweat. Every bruise on
my body throbbed. The stench from the lingering fumes
made me dizzy, so I kept my breathing light and shallow.
Then I saw a group of crew members entering the
corridor. They were wearing envirosuits.
  “You!” I yelled at the smallest one, and waved him
over. “Take that off and give it to me.”
  As the crew member obligingly stripped out of the suit,
Xonea fumed.
  “This is madness!”
  “You can try and stop me.” I tugged the oxygen unit
from the back of suit. There was no way I could fit
through the gap with it on, and even if I did, the fire would
probably cause it to explode. With no air supply, I’d have
to make it a quick climb. “Or you could work on what's
left of the emergency controls while I climb over through
there.”
   His mouth was a hard, colorless line. “Your hands will
be burned.”
   I discarded the gloves—they were so big I’d never get
a handhold while wearing them—and fastened the
over-large suit as tightly as possible. “Don't worry, I'll
live.”
  “What about oxygen?”
  “I’ll hold my breath.”
  He yanked me into his arms, and held me for a
moment. My face barely reached the lower vault of his
chest.
  “Come back to me, Cherijo,” he said.
    I nodded, then donned the head covering. At my
thumbs-up, big hands encircled my waist, and Xonea
lifted me over his head. Wish I had that kind of strength.
Surly patients would no longer be a problem.
   I thrust my body forward into the gap. The skin on my
fingers and palms split as I grabbed torn metal.
  “Ahhh!”
   As my body fell against the rubble, hot spots seared
through the suit, burning me. I clenched my teeth against
another cry. Had to keep moving. I ducked my head in
and bent my elbows, my shoulders scraping the sides of
the gap. I heard a ripping sound, and felt the back of the
suit tear from my neck to my waist. So much for the
envirosuit. With a grunt, I hoisted myself through.
   Smoke. Flames. The stench of destruction. The sound
of children crying made me claw my way forward.
Something hot and jagged pierced the suit and stabbed my
right thigh. I jerked my leg away, felt the blood pulsing
from the wound. Artery?
  “Help us!” a familiar voice shouted.
   I squinted and tried to see where they were. Black,
billowing smoke made the air into a thick fog. Above me,
ruined deck plates had burst, spilling deadly lengths of
live, writhing component wiring. All around me crimson
and orange flames crackled and flared, creating a deadly
barrier. One I had to get through. Now.
   There. Fifty yards away, Tonetka was herding the
children back from the danger zone. Painfully I crawled
down the steep debris pile, until a solid wall of flame
barred my path.
  “Go back!” Tonetka shouted.
    After ruining a perfectly good envirosuit? Not a chance.
I tucked my hands under my arms, curled up, and pushed
myself into a tumbling roll. Incredible heat burned through
the suit and seared my flesh as I hurtled through the fire.
   When I landed on the deck below, my suit was
burning. The children screamed in terror. Tonetka quickly
beat out the flames and pulled the smoldering material
from my body.
  “Your path could have been diverted!” the Senior
Healer shouted as she yanked me to my feet.
  I coughed convulsively. “You okay?” I asked, when I
could breathe again.
    The children were in good shape. Some had minor
burns, but the majority were simply scared. My boss
hadn’t fared as well. Tonetka was covered with
lacerations. Dust greyed her hair, and her usually
immaculate tunic was a tattered rag. She'd torn up most of
it to bind the children's wounds. Dark splotches marred
the smooth blue skin of her face.
  “What happened to you?” I demanded.
  “The corridor panels collapsed on me.” She pointed
back to the debris pile. “The children were able to pull me
out before the fire started.”
  I turned my head, trying to locate a way out. Then I
saw it, and gasped. “Mother of All Houses.”
    Behind the Senior Healer, an entire section of the hull
had been blown out into space. The invisible buffer was
all that stood between us and the killing vacuum.
   “We have to get them back through that gap.” I pointed
where I had come from. Tonetka was already busy
binding my leg with a strip of her tunic. She straightened
to gauge the opening. At the same time, a disjointed com
signal announced that the section buffer field was
weakening. As if we needed more problems. “Let’s get
the flames out first.”
  Tonetka shook her head. “The extinguishing equipment
won’t work. I have tried manual override, but the backup
panel malfunctioned.”
   I looked around for something we could use. I spied
the classroom equipment. “That,” I pointed to a large
plastic tub.
  “It is too small, and will melt,” Tonetka said.
   I nudged the lid up and pushed it aside, revealing the
hundred pounds of clean, sterile sand inside. I knew it
would be there. After all, I was the one who had explained
the Terran concept of a sandbox to these kids.
   “We can pour it on the flames,” I said. “It will
extinguish even the chemical fires. Get some of the bigger
students to help us.”
   We passed out containers to the older children and
formed a Terran bucket brigade. Tonetka and I took up
positions by the fires. The kids passed full containers of
sand down to us. We emptied them on the flames and
passed them back. In a few minutes, all that was left was
smoldering components and a heap of sand-covered
debris.
  “That’s it,” I said. “Let's get them out of here!”
   Tonetka nodded, and gestured to the children. “Listen
carefully now. Wrap your hands with strips of your
clothing. Do not touch anything for very long. Move as
quickly as you can.”
   She tried to examine my ruined hands, but I yanked
them away.
   “Later. We’ve got to move, now.” I turned toward the
opening and shouted, “Xonea! We’re sending the kids
through! Get ready!”
  “Ready!” a distant, muffled voice called back.
   It took both of us to boost each child up to the gap. As
their weight fell against my burned, broken hands, I said
some words I hoped the kids would forget. We kept
hoisting them up. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Finally we pushed
the last child through.
   I turned to Tonetka. “Let’s see how well you can
climb, old woman.”
  She eyed the gap. “Piece of bread.”
   “Cake. Piece of cake.” It hurt to laugh. “Wait till you
get to the top. Come on, let’s go.”
  “You must go first, Cherijo.”
  “Age before beauty.”
  “You won’t be able to climb with your hands. I will
have to lift you.”
  I looked down. So much for my surgical career.
“You’d better not drop me.”
   Tonetka cradled my face with her hands, and gazed
into my eyes. “I bless the Mother for the day you became
our ClanDaughter.” She even kissed my forehead.
   I scowled up at her. “Yeah, I honor you, too, you
stubborn old battle-axe. Now give me a boost.”
   I was the same size and weight as most of the kids, but
Tonetka had to push me up by herself. With a string of
curses my vocollar ignored, she thrust me up to the gap.
   Large hands were waiting to pull me through—Xonea’s
and Hado's. I made it without bruising my already abused
body too much. Xonea saw my hands and leg, and
cursed. As soon as my feet touched the lower deck, I
turned and called out to Tonetka.
  “Come on, Senior Healer!”
  Hado put a hand on my shoulder. “Healer Cherijo. You
must come away from this area, now.”
   A strange sound and subsequent vibration shuddered
through the level. Had the mercenaries somehow followed
us? The huge pile of rubble shifted, as if it was sliding
over, away from us.
  It was collapsing. On top of the Senior Healer.
  “Tonetka!” I screamed, but Xonea was helping Hado
pull me away. “Hurry—we’ve got to—” My hands
wouldn't work right, I couldn't get them off me. “What are
you doing? Help her!”
  Hado looked at the opening with a sad expression.
“She cannot fit through the gap.”
  “I’ll make her fit!”
   “Cherijo!” Xonea shook me. “You must see to the
children!”
   Small cries of pain finally penetrated my fury. I grabbed
the front of my Chosen’s tunic as best I could, and thrust
my face close to his. “Listen! I don’t care how you do it,
get her out of there!”
   Xonea nodded. I let go. He went back to working on
the panel with Hado.
   One of the nurses sprayed my wounds with skinseal,
against what she told me was her better judgment. I
ignored her. I gloved while I bit back a shriek of pain, then
went to treat the wounded. Four entire classes of children
had been rescued. Most were suffering from shock, minor
burns, and smoke inhalation.
   More injured were brought out from a collapsed
section. They were educators who had been in a planning
session when the attack occurred. Two were dead. Three
more died on the deck as we tried to keep them breathing.
Their bodies weren’t just burned, they were charred.
   Crew members from all over the ship assisted in
removing the critical cases on litters. When those ran out,
the injured were simply carried off in strong Jorenian
arms. I had just stabilized one of the children for the move
when an ominous rumble shook the deck. The sound of
tearing alloys ripped through the air. I glanced toward the
obstruction, saw it shaking, and ran.
  “Tonetka!”
   Xonea and Hado stood a few feet from the pile of
rubble, still fiddling with the emergency controls.
  “Get her out of there!” I screamed at them.
  “We cannot. The buffers are too weak.” Xonea caught
my arms. “They have already begun to reform. She has
chosen her path!”
  “The hell she has!”
   Another vibration shook the level, then the rubble
collapsed and disappeared out into space. All that was left
was a huge, empty hole.
   “No!” I shoved Xonea away from me and ran up to the
buffer. Debris floated just beyond the gap in the hull. I
pounded on the invisible wall, making my gloves split,
leaving bloody splotches hanging in mid-air.
  A strong arm hauled me away. “She is gone, Cherijo.”
   “No!” I looked over at the navigator, who was closing
the access panel. He shook his head. I wrenched myself
around until I faced Xonea. “Why didn’t you get her
out?”
  “I tried.” He lifted his hand toward my face.
  “Don’t touch me!” I pushed him away.
  Hado spoke up then. “She begins a new journey,
Healer.”
  That made me snarl, “Oh, shut up!”
  The navigator inclined his head. “I regret your pain.”
   “And you.” I turned on Xonea and thumped a bloody
fist against his broad chest. “You’ll just plan another big
party, won't you?” Snarling had become ranting. I didn't
care. “Maybe her body will get pulled into a star, and you
can save yourself a grass shroud!”
  “Doc.” Dhreen put himself between us. His
spoon-shaped fingers settled on my shoulders. Troubled
amber eyes peered into mine. “Don’t do this.”
   I pushed Dhreen to one side, and advanced on Xonea.
Once I got close enough, I pulled back my arm, and let it
fly. My shredded glove made the slap sound louder than it
was. My bloody handprint glowed against his blue face.
  “I’ll never forgive you for this,” I said. “Never.”
  Then I walked away.


              CHAPTER NINE
              A Matter of Honor
                                                  «^»

  Dhreen kept Xonea away from me. That extended his
life expectancy. It was nice for me, too. I wasn’t sure how
much more punishment my hands could take, and my
hands were needed elsewhere.
   Someone brought up fluidators and foam cradles. We
used them for the worst of the burn victims. Nurses kept
coming at me, babbling about my injuries. I shoved them
away. Yelled when that didn’t work.
  Others weren’t so concerned.
   “What have you done?” A furious ClanMother who’d
just arrived on the scene pulled me away from one of the
children I was treating and backed me up against a panel.
“Have not enough been harmed? Now you cause our
children to suffer?”
  “I’m sorry. I never meant anyone to get hurt.”
   “Show your contrition.” She gave me a shove. “Leave
us.” Then she picked up the child and carried him away.
   Someone touched my arm, and asked if I was all right.
I wasn’t. But I needed the pain. Wanted it. God, I
deserved it.
   I coordinated moving the last of the injured from level
six down to Medical, then followed. Patients overflowed
into the outer corridors. The least-seriously wounded sat
on the deck, patiently waiting to be seen. A few got to
their feet when they saw me. I told them to sit back down,
waded through the labyrinth of bodies, and limped into the
Bay.
   What should have been chaos was simply a busy,
crowded triage. Squilyp was one hell of a manager. The
patient roster was the first thing I checked. My injuries
weren’t bothering me that much. The envirocontrols
simply needed adjustment.
   I read the names that had been entered. So far we had
nearly a hundred casualties. I read each name, felt each
one burn into my mind. I’d done this. I was accountable
for every single entry.
   Duncan Reever’s name wasn't among the wounded. I
told myself it didn't matter. When I looked up and saw
him standing in the entrance to Medical, my eyes closed
briefly.
   Of course it didn’t matter. Not now that I could breathe
again.
  “Cherijo?”
   His eyes were green, I decided. Not blue. Not happy,
either. He came across the busy ward toward me. The
tunic he wore was filthy. He’d probably been helping with
the evacuation. His hands were a mess, the old scars
latticed with dozens of new wounds. I'd done that, too.
   How was I going to tell him what I’d only just figured
out?
   “Reever.” His hands didn’t feel that wonderful as he
took hold of me. I didn’t breathe in just to smell his scent.
“Better have one of the nurses look at you.”
  “What have you done to yourself?”
  He was yelling. Reever never yelled.
  “I’ve been busy.”
  “Nurse!”
   The pain was making it hard to concentrate. Why was
he gripping me so tightly? “I have patients to see to,” I
told him. “So take your messy hands off me, if you
would, please.” I couldn’t claim he was soiling my tunic.
All the smoke and blood hadn't left it very sanitary.
   He released me, and my knees decided to get cute. The
thigh wound I’d forgotten about was throbbing so hard I
nearly moaned out loud. No, I had to keep moving, that
was all. I limped over toward the sterilizer array. After a
disaster like this, the surgical cases would be endless.
  “Healer Cherijo?” someone said.
   I thrust my hands under a sterilizer. So I was glad
Reever was alive. The bloody wounds and skinseal had
glued the gloves to my flesh. Hadn’t I saved his life back
on K-2? I activated the unit with my knee. I had a vested
interest in his survival. The sterilizer spray stripped the
glove and skinseal material from my fingers. If I couldn’t
imagine life without Duncan Reever around, it was no
big tragedy. A million hot needles of pain flashed up my
arms.
  Behind me, Adaola screeched, “What are you doing,
Healer?”
   “Scrub… bing…” I looked down, saw the gleam of
white shining through blackened, tattered flesh. My hands
were in shreds. The ends of splintered finger bones were
sticking out here and there. “Oh.” Stupid me. Should have
expected they would be this bad. Where was the damn
skinseal?
  The nurse grabbed my wrists and jerked my hands
away from the unit. “Iolna! Here, with me!” she called
over her shoulder.
   I tried to tug free, but it was useless. Adaola could have
squashed me like a bug with one finger. Not to mention
the fact the agony of my hands increased a thousandfold
with every passing second. I’d better find some skinseal
and a syrinpress.
   “Let go of me, please.” I tried to be polite. Sweat ran
freely down my face. Why couldn’t I find a nurse who
would follow orders?
   “Healer, we must treat your wounds.”
   Reever hovered on the other side of me now. They
guided me over to an exam table, then Duncan lifted me
like a little kid. Honestly, the stuff I had to put up with,
just because I was short. He spotted the binding Tonetka
had wrapped around my thigh, and touched it gingerly.
   “Her leg,” he said. Why did he sound so upset? It was
just a little jab. I tried to sit up. “Don’t move, Joey.”
   The other nurse appeared, her eyes wide as she looked
at my hands, then my leg. I felt blood start to pulse from
the wound again as they cut away my trousers. I peered
down my body. The fabric, stiff with dried blood, had
temporarily sealed the wound.
   “Artery plug!” Adaola said.
   “If you’d left it alone you wouldn't need one,” I told
her. “Just seal it and let me up.”
   Neither of them listened. They were fiddling with me,
scanning me, being a general nuisance. Here I’d thought
Jorenian nurses so efficient. Now the hole in my leg
became a new well of torment. This was going to make
standing in surgery a little difficult. Well, I'd just use a
stool or something.
   “I’m all right. Seal the damn wound and get me another
pair of gloves.” I glowered first at the nurses, then Reever.
“Aren't you people listening to me? Move!”
   “Of course. Healer,” Adaola said.
   She had the smallest set of bonesetters in her hands.
   Just what was she planning to do with those?
   “Now, Adaola!”
  I found out Jorenians do lie. Before I could defend
myself, the other nurse had a syrinpress in her large blue
hand and pushed it against my throat. The sedative went
to work instantly. I stared helplessly up at Reever.
   “The patients… Have to… help… the…”
   “I know.” His hand touched my brow. “I know.”
   Blackness.
   I woke up briefly while they were prepping me for
surgery. Felt the pain, though it was distant and
nonthreaten-ing. Adaola’s eyes narrowed over the edge of
her mask as she bent down to me.
   I had to know. “How… bad?”
   The mask rippled as she replied. “The femoral artery in
your leg is completed severed. You have second- and
third-degree burns on both hands, as well as severe
lacerations and tissue damage. There are twelve separate
fractures of the phalanges and metacarpals; three are
compound.”
   “Squilyp… operating?”
   “Yes, Healer.”
   I got out two last words before I went under again.
   “No… amputations.”

   Post-op Jorenian nurses were efficient, competent, and
dedicated individuals. They didn’t take any nonsense from
their patients. Even those who usually gave the orders.
   “Healer, will you lie down!” Iolna said from her
position at the vitals display. For the tenth time. She
forgot to say “please,” too.
   I sank back on the pillow. My lips were as thin as my
patience. I had been out of surgery for more than six
hours. Most of my meds had worn off. I was conscious,
rational, and in a considerable amount of pain. Now all I
wanted to know was exactly what that Omorr had done to
me.
   “Signal Squilyp,” I said. For the tenth time.
   “By the Mother.” Iolna didn’t normally use Jorenian
swear words, but I could see it was becoming a
temptation. “Resident Squilyp is taking a rest interval.”
   He could sleep later. “Signal him anyway.”
   “Healer. Please.” The reproachful tone was worse than
the all the “by the Mothers” she kept scolding me with.
  “Oh, all right.” I sulked, then brightened. “Time to
change my dressings?”
  “No.”
  “There could be signs of infection.” I was hopeful.
“Let’s check.”
  She cursed softly. “You have antibacterial dressings
on both hands.”
  “I think I can feel some serious keloids forming.”
   “Healer Cherijo.” The nurse thrust aside my chart and
came to the berth. “I know you are distressed, but you
cannot remove the dressings. You cannot check for
infection. There has not been time for scars to form.”
  “I’ll think of something,” I muttered.
   She heard. “I have checked the human database. There
is nothing you have not thought of. Please.”
  I could pull rank. After all, Squilyp worked for me
now. The reason for that made my temper abruptly
evaporate. “Sorry.”
   Another six hours passed before I saw Squilyp’s
handiwork. By the time the big moment arrived, I was so
impatient I would have cut the dressings off myself. I
would have done it, too, if I didn't have nearly every finger
in a bonesetter. Adaola, the replacement post-op nurse,
gently unwrapped my hands. Iolna had already gone off
duty, muttering to herself as she left about gags and
sedatives.
  The Omorr, who looked almost as bad as he had after
our fight, bent over me and performed a visual scan. He
made a non-committal sound that puffed out his gildrells.
   “Well?” I was flat on my back and couldn’t see a damn
thing.
  “Scanner,” he said to Adaola. She placed it in his
membrane. “Status?”
   He was ignoring me. Typical doctor-patient arrogance.
I should have known. I was an authority. Just not on this
side of it.
   “Extremely ill-tempered, demanding, and prone to
frequent outbursts,” the nurse said. “Otherwise she’s
making an excellent recovery.”
   Ill-tempered? Demanding? I tried to pick my hands up
to check them myself, and found Adaola had strapped my
arms with berth restraints. Outrage made me jerk against
them.
   “Remain still, Doctor,” Squilyp said. He was examining
my right hand while making multiple passes with the
scanner.
   “If someone doesn’t start talking to me,” I told the
group at large, “I'll make the worst patient you've ever
treated seem like a recreational interval!”
  “You are the worst patient I’ve ever treated,” the
Omorr told me.
  “That’s right. Go ahead and insult me, now that I can't
smack you,” I said. “I won't be stuck in this berth forever,
Squid Lips.”
   Squilyp moved from the right hand to the left. The
scanner hummed. My nerves frayed. The nurses were
giving each other these weird, troubled looks.
  “How is she?” I heard Duncan Reever ask.
   I lifted my head and peered eagerly past the green and
blue tunics. “Reever!” I forgot we weren’t speaking to
each other anymore. “You're human, you have to be on
my side. Do something. Challenge Squilyp!”
  He came to stand next to Squilyp. They exchanged a
completely masculine look. It pushed me to the
about-to-scream level in my frustration.
   “Is she becoming difficult?” Reever asked while he
gazed at me. The same way he would a slide smear under
a ’scope.
  “Becoming?” The Omorr let out one sour chuckle. “
Becoming?”
   The ship’s linguist nodded. “Her temper is swift to
flare.”
  “Swift?” My voice squeaked. “I’ll have you know,
Duncan Reever, I am being restrained!”
   “That’s because you won't hold still,” Squilyp said. I
muttered something they didn't teach you in Medtech. He
glanced from me to Reever. “Has she always been this
rude?”
  “Since the moment I met her,” Reever said.
  “That’s it.” I still had legs that worked. Basically.
“Unstrap me. Now.”
   To my complete astonishment, Squilyp nodded to
Adaola, who released the arm restraints. Despite my
previous impatience, I didn’t lift my hands up. I couldn't.
  “You did get my message about not cutting off my
hands, right?” I asked the Omorr. He didn’t reply as he
made a chart notation.
   I closed my eyes. Tried to control my breathing. I
wasn’t afraid. I was just going to wait a little while before I
looked. A decade or two.
  Reever reached over, grasped my wrist, and lifted my
hand. “Open your eyes, Cherijo.”
   I did. I saw my hand. My swollen, burned, sutured,
splinted, but undeniably whole hand.
   It looked bad. Awful. Revolting. I’d never seen
anything so beautiful in my life. Bonesetters ensured I
couldn't move my fingers. Who cared? They were still
intact. Still attached.
   The burns appeared to be the most serious damage.
Deep red and promising a wealth of pain, once the rest of
the meds wore off. I turned my hand, then raised the
other.
  “I thought I had third-degree burns,” I said. I saw
nothing to indicate Squilyp had performed any skin grafts.
   “You did,” Adaola said. “Twelve hours ago.”
  The Omorr handed her my chart. “Remarkable. I’ve
never seen anything like it.”
  There was a lot more he’d never seen decorating my
DNA. Now was not the time to update him on that.
   “What about the fractures?”
    Squilyp held up his scanner so I could see the display.
It showed three transverse breaks, and innumerable
hairline fractures. No bone chips. No tissue missing.
Ligaments and tendons all accounted for. He pointed to
the most severe site.
  “I pushed this proximal phalanx back into your finger.”
He pointed to another area. “This metacarpal as well.” He
went on to describe the areas where third-degree burns
had eaten away sizeable chunks of flexor and extensor
muscle tissue. He scanned my hands once more. “Even
your keratin flaps—”
  “Fingernails.”
  “—your fingernails have begun to grow back. I
removed all of them, Doctor.”
   I checked. Small half-crescents were sprouting at the
ragged end of each finger. Humans rarely regenerated a
nail once it had been surgically removed. To achieve this
would have taken a miracle—plus about three weeks of
healing—times ten fingers.
   Squilyp dismissed the nurses, then regarded me
thoughtfully. “I would appreciate your telling me exactly
what you are, Doctor Torin.”
  Uh-oh. I stared at my hands. “Apparently, very lucky.”
   “But not human. Or not like any human I’ve ever
treated.”
  Reever and I exchanged a glance. Although everyone
knew I was being hunted by the League, the facts behind
my creator’s genetic tinkering were known only to the
Captain, Tonetka, and Reever.
   “It’s a long story,” I told the Omorr. “One I'd like to
tell you someday. For right now…” I lifted a shoulder.
“Let's skip that.”
   “I see.” He completed his chart notations with no sign
of visible irritation. “I’ll be back to check on you during
my next rounds. Stay in the berth.”
  “Yes, sir.” I managed a clumsy salute. He nodded and
went on to the next patient.
   Reever was the only one left. He looked exhausted.
The color of his skin had a grey cast to it. Both eyes were
slightly sunken and rimmed with red.
   The words spilled out of me. “I thought you were mad
at me.”
  “I was. I am.”
  He wasn’t going to give an inch. As usual. Not that I
warranted any better. “Then why are you here?”
   The fair head tilted to one side. “I am trying to imagine
you as the mother of Xonea’s children. I find I cannot do
that.”
   That should have made me lose my temper, but it
didn’t. “Me, too.” I thought of all the Jorenians wounded
in this last attack, and became even more dejected. “I have
got to get out of here.”
  He misunderstood me. “Tonetka is gone. These people
need you more than ever.” He cast an uncertain glance at
my hands.
   “Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same thing,” I said. “Not
much future for a surgeon who can't hold a lascalpel, is
there?”
  “You will heal.”
  My injuries would. I had serious doubts about my soul.
“What about you?”
  He studied my berth panel. “I’ve requested that
Captain Pnor allow me to disembark on the next
non-League world we reach.”
   “What?” I jerked, causing fresh needles of pain to
radiate from my hands. Then I sat back and closed my
eyes. “You don’t have to do that, Reever.”
  “It is the wisest course of action.”
   “I know,” I said. When I opened my eyes, Reever was
gone. Which saved me from telling him I planned to
surrender to the League as soon as Pnor would let me off
the ship.

   It took a week to convince Squilyp to release me, and
then only by using some fairly dire threats. He refused to
permit me to work, and made a few threats of his own
when I tried to insist.
   “I’ll be back in the morning,” I said as I headed for the
corridor.
  “I’ll notify Security,” the Omorr called after me.
   As it happened, Ktarka Torin was being discharged at
the same time, and we walked out together. Most of the
gyrlifts remained inoperable, but I welcomed the chance to
stretch my legs.
   “I don’t know about you,” I said to the educator as we
walked down the corridor, “but I was beginning to hate
that berth!”
  “I feel the same… relief.” She made a tentative
movement of her shoulders, and winced. “Such inactivity
is almost as unpleasant as the burns were.” She glanced at
my bandaged hands. “Have your wounds mended,
Healer?”
  “Not yet, but I’m getting there.” I wasn't going to
complain about my bandaged fingers. Not when so many
had suffered much worse. We arrived at my quarters.
“Would you like to come in for a server of tea,
Educator?”
   An hour later, we were on our third server of Terran
chamomile, Ktarka listening as I related some of the
highlights of my year as a colonial trauma physician.
   “You did not,” Ktarka said after I’d described the
tense encounter with Rogan and a mob of rioters during
the K2VI epidemic.
   “I did.” I smiled. “You should have seen how fast that
room cleared out.”
  “Surely you did not open the containment barrier?”
   I shook my head. “Just the sound of releasing that first
latch was enough.”
   “You are so… composed, Cherijo,” she said with a
shade of envy. “No matter what the crisis.”
   “Composed? Me?” I snorted. “I’m usually yelling at
everyone.” I put down my server, and watched Jenner as
he curled up next to my guest. “You've got yourself a
slave for life now.”
   Ktarka stroked his pelt. “He is a gentle creature.”
Jenner raised his head so she could scratch under his chin,
then eyed me. Keep this one around, will you? “What are
your plans for the future, Healer?”
   “I’m not sure.” I lied. “How about you? Will you be
staying on board the Sunlace, or getting off at Joren?” I
asked.
  Her hand froze. The beautiful face went absolutely still.
  “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to pry.”
   “My Chosen remains on Joren,” Ktarka said. “I cannot
return.”
   “Your Chosen?” Once bonded, young Jorenian
couples were practically inseparable. “Don’t you want to
be with him?”
   “You do not know my history.” I shook my head. She
placed her server down carefully. “No Torin would speak
of it. My dishonor shames them.”
   Dishonor? Now there was a bad word among the
Jorenians. Majorly bad. “Ktarka, if it’s none of my
business, say so.”
  “No, I will tell you.” She made a bleak gesture. “When
my time to Choose arrived, I was in Marine Province,
among HouseClan Torin. As it was an honorable House, I
remained to make my Choice.“
  I didn’t understand all the who-got-Chosen-by-who
complexities of Jorenian culture, but nodded anyway.
   “I knew I had found my Choice when I met Konal
Torin.” She rose gracefully to her feet and stepped around
the sofa to head for the viewport.
   Funny how when Jorenians got upset, they
automatically went for the view. “Konal must have been a
special guy.”
  “Konal was my Choice,” she said. “I was young, and
wished to surprise my new family, so I told no one of my
decision. Not even Konal.”
  “What happened?”
  “There was a celebration. I stood and spoke of my
heart.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “I Chose
Konal.”
  I was with her so far. Which made it even more
confusing. “Ktarka?”
   She turned around. Raw suffering drew tiny lines
around her mouth and eyes. “Some days before I made
my Choice, Konal had Chosen another.”
  “Oh, no. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
  “The Choice banns were not given to me.”
  “Choice banns?”
  “They announce the Choice, and the time of the
bonding ceremony.”
  “That’s it?” She was exiled from the homeworld
because someone screwed up the wedding invitations?
“Excuse me for being blunt, but why are you still alive?”
  “I attempted to divert my path, and failed. My dishonor
and my cowardice shamed my ClanParents.” She rested
her hands on the back of the sofa. “HouseClan Torin
adopted me, and Captain Pnor offered me a position so I
could leave Joren. I have been content here.”
  “Do you still have to honor your Choice?”
  “Until Konal dies, or I do, yes.”
   “But you don’t have to kill yourself, right?” She
nodded. I began imagining how many ways I could inflict
pain on Xonea Torin. As a physician, I knew where all the
best nerve endings were located. There were a lot, too.
  “This is absolute nonsense.”
   “I Chose.” Ktarka said it the way the other Jorenians
did, with that hushed reverence.
   “Just when I think I’m beginning to understand your
people, Ktarka, I find out I don't.” I stood up, went to
her, and gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “I'm
sorry. The whole business stinks.”
   One dark eyebrow arched. “Why say you this? I made
the Choice, and brought dishonor on my name.”
   “Why didn’t they make Konal go?” I asked. “After all,
it was partially his fault. He didn't tell you about his
Chosen.”
  She looked shocked. “I did not know you would
understand.”
   “Believe me, I know all about inauspicious Choices.” I
went on to tell Ktarka about what Xonea had done to
protect me.
   “Without your consent? How can you remain so calm?
I would divert his path!” she said, then made an
embarrassed gesture.
   I smiled. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of giving in
to him. Xonea is going to find out, up close and personal,
just how stubborn Terran females can be.”

   Medical leave, I decided, was a subtle form of torture.
And that was only on the second day after my release.
Squilyp had signaled me to report for my first physical
therapy session. An hour later, I decided the Omorr
wasn’t trying to take my place, only drive me insane.
  “Squeeze the spheres, Healer,” Adaola said.
   We were sitting in the therapeutic room. I held a soft
plas ball in each palm. I curled my fingers, then uncurled
them.
  “Again.”
   I’d had about enough of this. “How many agains am I
looking at here, nurse?”
  She pursed her lips and consulted my chart. “One
hundred repetitions for each hand.”
   I squeezed. Pretended one was Xonea’s head. The
other Squilyp's. Something popped.
   “Healer.” Adaola took the deflated remains of each ball
from my hand, and studied them for a moment. “Perhaps
we should try weaving.”
   There were more death ceremonies to get through.
Seven crew members had died during the attack. Six
Jorenians, including Tonetka. We’d lost the trader from
Garnot, too. He had been taking a tour of the Sunlace just
before the mercenaries struck. He and his guide had been
blown out into space with most of level five.
   I appeared at each death ceremony. Watched the ritual
binding. Listened to the Speakers. I couldn’t be happy
they were dead. Not when I was to blame for each and
every one of them. When it came time to honor Tonetka,
however, I locked myself hi my quarters. Not even Dhreen
could coax me out.
   It was spineless of me, but I couldn’t celebrate the fact
that she was gone.
   The power grids on level five were gone, destroyed by
displacer blasts. The mercenaries had attacked and
damaged four more levels. It was believed they were
trying to disable the ship. Most of the areas they fired on
were usually unoccupied. All except level six.
   Although I tried to avoid him, Xonea eventually
cornered me one morning on my way to therapy.
  “Senior Healer.” He wouldn’t stop calling me that.
  I wasn’t quite as polite. “What?”
  “Captain Pnor has requested your presence.”
   Since the first four levels of the Sunlace were
inaccessible, Pnor had been relocated, too. The Captain’s
command and Ship's Operational were now working out
of level twenty-one, in the middle of Engineering.
   The few functional gyrlifts were occupied, so walking
down eleven levels took some time. Xonea didn’t make
conversation, for which I was grateful. Adaola wouldn't
be happy if I destroyed all her physical therapy while
dislocating my ClanBrother's jaw.
   We found Captain Pnor in the center of the crowded
level, discussing hull tolerances with one of the structural
engineers. He looked up and nodded at us.
  “Good. Come with me, if you would, please.”
   We followed him to the Senior Engineer’s office.
Xonea closed the door as I sat down. Pnor had that same
grim look I'd seen the last time these two had made
decisions concerning me.
   I’d wait, see what he had to say. If I liked it, no
problem. If I didn't, Squilyp could be Senior Healer a little
sooner than I'd planned.
  “Thank you for coming.” He was courteous, as always.
“How are your hands?”
  “Better.” I eyed Xonea. He knew what this was all
about. I could feel it.
  “Senior Healer, new evidence has been brought forth
about the murders of Roslm, the mercenary, and Ndo.”
  “What evidence?” I asked.
  Pnor inclined his head to Xonea, who produced a tiny
object from his tunic pocket. He handed it to me. It was
about the same size as my thumbnail.
  “Cherijo, have you ever seen this before?”
  I studied it, then shook my head. The design was
something like a wristcom, but much smaller. I handed it
back to my ClanBrother. “What is it?”
   “A transdimensional beacon,” Xonea said. “Calibrated
to transmit encoded signals.”
    I glanced from him to the Captain. “Where did you find
it?”
   Pnor folded his hands on his desk. “On level six, near
the site where you rescued the children. In the”—he
consulted a data pad—“sandbox you made for the
primary class.”
  What?
   “This was also discovered.” Pnor handed me another
data pad. The screen displayed a statement about the
attempt to abduct me, written in my own words.
    “Ndo used this during my interview,” I said as I handed
it back. “He was working on it when he was killed. Was
this with the beacon?”
  “No. Whoever killed him must have removed it.” He
gave me a measuring look. “The data pad was found in
your quarters.”
   For a moment, all I could do was gape. Then I focused
on what the Captain had said. “Whoever? Don’t you
mean me?”
   “I searched your quarters after you were assaulted,”
Xonea said. “The data pad was placed there after the
search, but before your release from Medical.”
   I stared at the dead man’s instrument. “Put there to
frame me.”
   Xonea nodded. “Both items, I believe, were placed
thus to implicate you as a traitor and murderer.”
   “I can see why someone would want to frame me for
the murders, but what reason would I have to signal the
League?”
   “Perhaps the saboteur has formed an alliance with the
League,” Pnor said. “Your affection for our children is
well-known. Perhaps he planned the attack on them,
suspecting you would insist on leaving the ship
afterward.”
  “It worked,” was all I could say.
  “Whoever has done this is insane,” Xonea said.
  Yeah. That was my diagnosis, too.
   Pnor wasn’t finished. “I do not believe you guilty of
sabotage or murder, Senior Healer. Yet I cannot ignore an
opportunity to reveal the one who is.” He made an
eloquent gesture. “You will allow Xonea to… share your
quarters.”
  This baby-sitting business again. “I don’t need a guard,
Captain.”
  “If you refuse, I must make it a direct order.” Pnor
sounded strained to his limits. “There is no alternative.”
  “I disagree.” I regarded Xonea. “You didn’t tell him
about Reever's telepathic abilities, did you?”
   “No.” One big blue hand made a cutting gesture. “I will
not allow it.”
  “I don’t recall needing your permission.” I turned to
Pnor. “Duncan Reever is a telepathic linguist, Captain. He
can access my memory and determine if I retained any
subconscious impressions of my assailant.”
  “No,” Xonea said. One big blue hand wrapped around
my arm. “I will not permit you to be violated again.”
   “It’s not a violation.” Why was he acting like such a
jerk? Didn't he want my name cleared? Why wouldn't he
want Duncan to uncover the truth? “It's a solution.”
  My ClanBrother wasn’t listening. “Captain Pnor gave
you an order. I will occupy your quarters and protect
you.”
   I eyed the Captain. “I’m not refusing his order. I'm
offering a viable option.”
   “HouseClan law is explicit,” Xonea said, his voice
losing its musical lilt. “You must—”
  My temper blew.
   “I don’t have to do a damn thing, pal.” I pried his
hand from my arm and got up. “I refuse your Choice.”
Xonea made a furious sound that didn’t translate. “Your
second-in-command needs a refresher course in courtesy,
Captain. That, or a muzzle.“
  “Enough!” Xonea shouted, folding his arms over his
abdomen. “You will comply or I will embrace the stars!”
   “Oh, no, you won’t.” I sprang the trap. “Guess what I
found out? You don't have to kill yourself if your Chosen
refuses. Why didn’t you tell me that?”
   “You know nothing about Choice!” He sounded
furious and, wonder of wonders, suddenly couldn’t look
me in the eye.
  “Really?” I wondered if he’d been counting on that.
“Ktarka Torin would disagree with you. She filled me in
quite a bit about the subject.”
  Pnor gaped for a split second before recovering his
composure. “Cherijo, Ktarka is an exceptional case.”
  “Oh? And I’m not?”
   Xonea thrust himself away from me and slammed out
of the office. Pnor and I watched him go.
   “My ClanNephew honors you, Senior Healer.”
   “Your ClanNephew can’t have it his way, so he's
throwing a tantrum.” Or was it something more menacing
than that? I wondered. I caught Pnor's pained expression
and sighed. “Believe me, this is the only logical solution.”
   “It would be much simpler if—” The Captain searched
for the right words.
    I beat him to it. “If I just shut up and played the good
little Jorenian wife-to-be?” My foot tapped the floor.
“Sorry to spoil your plans. I have no intention of further
jeopardizing the safety of the crew, simply to act as bait
for a killer. Nor will I let Xonea commit suicide when he
doesn’t have to. Let's make this simple, Captain. Grant
my request. Put me off the ship so I can surrender to the
League.”
  “I cannot.” Pnor looked regretful. “You are the only
connection we have to the traitor.”

   After a second, confidential conference, this one with
Duncan Reever and Captain Pnor (minus Xonea), we
decided to conduct the link immediately. Pnor worried
that my “fiance” might storm in and start inflicting bodily
harm on Reever. In deference to my condition, the
Captain insisted that we perform the link in Medical.
  I agreed. Reever didn’t react. Squilyp simply thought it
was a bad idea.
  “Cortical coupling?” The Omorr looked askance. “I
wasn’t aware humans were capable of such functions.”
  “We aren’t,” I said. “Normally. Reever and I are…
exceptional.”
   “A dangerous method of investigation.” The Omorr
accessed the database from his display. “Reever must
project his RAS impulses directly to your brain stem.” He
tapped an appendage on the side panel.
   “Assuming that’s how he does this link thing, my brain
stem will be fine. I’ve suffered no ill effects from previous
encounters.”
   “What is RAS?” Reever asked.
   “An acronym for the reticular activating system,”
Squilyp replied. “The RAS is made up of conductors in
the brain stem reticular formation. They receive sensory
neuron impulses from the periphery and relay them to the
thalamus. The thalamus sends them all to all parts of the
cerebral cortex.”
  “In other words, if you stub your toe, the RAS tells
your brain it hurts,” I said.
  The Omorr gave me a dirty look.
   “I see.” Reever leaned forward and examined the
display. A dimensional schematic of the human cerebral
cortex rotated slowly as Squilyp studied the data. “I did
not realize it was so complex.”
   “It is not simply entering the brain. For you to access
Doctor Torin’s mnemonic accumulation, you must
identify and use the specific neuronal chains involved. If
you can locate them in the subconscious mind.” Squilyp
keyed something on the touchpad. “Here.” He highlighted
a section of the display. “I believe the specific memories
may be located in or near the hypothalamus.”
  I sat down next to the Omorr. “I see why you don’t
want us to do it.”
  “Exactly.” Squilyp peered at the display. “If you do, I
must closely monitor both of you.”
   I Reever cleared his throat. “Could one of you explain?
In less technical terms, perhaps?”
   I translated for him. “Reever, a part of the human brain
serves as a connection between the psyche, or mind, and
the soma, or body. It’s called the hypothalamus. Certain
parts of that work as reward centers for primary drives,
like drinking or eating. It is also responsible for
maintaining emotions and keeping the body in a waking
state.“
  “Where is the danger in accessing this hypothalamus?”
   “By accessing the hypothalamus, you may stimulate
cho-linergic and adreneric fibers, which release NE, or
norepi-nephrine and ACh, or acetylcholine. They’re two
of the chemical transmitters that regulate the central
nervous system. Too much of either one could kill me.” I
consulted the display again. “Access the limbic system,
Squilyp. I want to see something.”
  When the display enlarged a sagittal view of the brain, I
highlighted the five vital areas.
   “Here’s where I want you to oversee the link. Calibrate
the neurotracer to monitor at the cingulate gyrus, isthmus,
hippocampal gyrus, uncus, and hippocampus. Watch for
fluctuations in neuron activity. Scan continuous vitals on
both of us, too.”
   “I still believe it is an unsafe procedure.” The Omorr’s
gildrells fluttered with exasperation. “How can I break this
coupling between you?”
    “Direct cortical electristim.” I waved my hand as
Squilyp began to protest. “I know, I know, it’s
dangerous. It's also the only way you can interrupt the link
if one of us loses control.”
   “Cherijo?”
   Again I gave the short version to Reever. “Squilyp is
going to be monitoring us by tracing the activity in my
‘emotional brain.’ If my levels spike on the neurotracer,
he’ll know I'm in trouble. He’ll use low-voltage stimulation
to disrupt my brain waves. That should break the
connection, and prevent my NE or ACh levels from killing
me.”
   Reever’s mouth compressed. “Shock treatment?”
   “Not exactly, but close enough.” I got up and called
for a nurse. “Let’s get started. I want to get this over
with.”


                CHAPTER TEN
                No House Divided
                                                «^»

   The Omorr and two nurses spent several minutes
hooking me up to a neurotracer, monitor portals, and
everything else Squilyp could think of. Reever got a vitals
band wrapped around his wrist. That was it. Didn’t seem
very fair.
  We reclined on two exam tables, me on my back
because of all the hookups, Reever on his side facing me.
I looked over at him. His hair was getting long, I thought.
It fell past his shoulders now, thick and light. My fingers
itched as I recalled how soft it felt. Vivid blue eyes swept
over me as Duncan made his own scrutiny.
  “What?”
  “You are still too thin,” he said.
   “Oh, really? Well, you need a haircut.” Squilyp bent
over me and checked everything for the fiftieth time. I
pushed his membranes away. “Quit fussing, Squil. Get on
with it.”
   “Doctor…” The most confident surgical resident on
the ship actually hesitated. “Are you sure you want to do
this?”
    “Positive. You don't want to know what the alternative
is.”
   “Very well.” The Omorr gave a terse series of
instructions to the nurse by the monitoring equipment,
then turned to Reever. “You may begin.”
   My eyes closed as I settled back. I heard the hum of
the monitors, the quiet voices of the nurses in the
background. A plopping sound, as Squilyp hopped over
to the neurotracer. A sense of being paralyzed, then—
  Cherijo.
   It was Reever. Inside my head. Just beyond the barriers
I had unconsciously erected.
  You’re getting very good at this, I thought. Too good.
  Yield to me.
    Now came the hardest part for me. I had to yield my
mind to him. Complete and total surrender. I’d only done
it twice before.
  Yield to me, Cherijo. We must hurry.
   With a mental kick, I knocked down the wall between
us. Duncan flooded me like a sweeping, white-fringed
ocean wave. He sank into my mind, farther than before,
until I almost lost the tangible thought-connection between
us.
  Duncan?
   Yes. I am here. Try to remember the first time the
presence came to you.
   A gold-glowing, silent chamber swallowed me. I wasn’t
alone. Couldn't see who else was there, but I felt it.
  Yes. You are in the first dream state. Turn around.
Look for the presence.
  Shifting. Pivoting. Searching.
  “Cherijo…”
  Low, beseeching voice.
  You know this person, Reever thought.
  I ignored him and floated toward the sound.
  You thought it was me. Became angry. Wanted to…
He made a strange sound. Knock a hole through my
brain?
  I didn’t respond. I couldn't. My heart slammed against
my ribs as the nightmare sank over me.
  “… help you.”
   The presence swirled around me. Wanted me. Wanted
to get inside me. I’d felt that same kind of desperate,
irrational desire before. But from who?
   Reever, I finally sent out a desperate plea. Get me out
of here.
  I see hands reaching for you. Jorenian hands.
  Yes. Whatever. Get me out of here, now!
   Duncan came up all around me. His arms enclosed me,
cradled me, protected me against the hands. Those
horrible hands that had beaten me, over and over. So
much anger.
  It’s all right, Joey. Hold on to me.
  Duncan? I felt him leading me from the chamber into
another.
  I will stay with you. Experience it with you.
   My perception of the chamber changed. Here the
familiar, benign light seemed cold and chilling. The air that
I once thought so soft was smothering. Warmth flooded
the chamber. I felt as though I were being immersed in a
vat of congealing blood.
  “Outcast…”
   It was crooning to me. Stroking my skin with its
fingers. I shuddered violently; even being battered was
better than this.
  There is love, Duncan thought, his arms still around
me. Love that has been denied. The love you refused.
   The only person I’d refused lately was… Xonea.
   Belonging to no one… weeping for an end to the
loneliness… was that me, or the presence? Or both of us?
   Reever! I turned my face from the seeking lips,
reaching for the pure, white light that came from Duncan.
   You must face your attacker, Cherijo.
   The hands held me in place. I was squirming, trying to
free myself. Something about me being little, and being
shown the path. Low, amused laughter.
   Look, Cherijo. See the face of who violates you.
   I couldn’t look. I had to get out of here—
   A powerful surge of energy blasted me out of the link.
   “Doctor!”
   Squilyp held me down on the exam table. I could feel
my body heaving and twisting, and couldn’t control it.
Just as suddenly as I was jerked out of the link, the seizure
ended. I collapsed on the table, trying to catch my breath.
   “Give me her stats!” Squilyp yelled at a nurse.
   “BP 225 over 97, Heart rate 140.”
   No wonder my head was buzzing. If my vitals didn’t
level out, I'd have a stroke. How much electristim had the
Omorr administered?
  “Norepinephrine in the red range,” the nurse said.
“Epinephrine also elevated.”
   “Fifty ccs valeumine!”
   I felt the syrinpress at my throat, then the immediate,
soothing effect of the tranquilizer. My heart rate slowed,
my muscles went lax, my blood pressure dropped. The
feelings of extreme anxiety and shame seemed to be
evaporating, too.
  Drowsy from the drugs, I opened my eyes and saw
Duncan next to me. He was holding my hand.
   “Hey.”
   “She’s conscious,” he said over his shoulder, before
turning back to me. “Squilyp would like to know how you
feel, Doctor Torin.”
   “Tired. Glad it’s over.” I tried to keep my eyes open.
“Find out who it was, Duncan?” He shook his head. “We
will. Next… time.”
  The Omorr’s face appeared. “Doctor?”
   “Report.” I tried to sound like a Senior Healer. Ruined
it when I added, “Please.”
   “We traced the beta wave patterns to the
hypothalamus. Two separate sets swept from the
precentral gyrus of the cerebrum’s frontal lobe.”
   “He means you were in my brain,” I said to Reever in a
stage whisper. The meds were making me goofy.
   “Activity in the hypothalamus rose dramatically. You
began relaying impulses back and forth. Axon terminals at
synapses and neuroaffector junctions subsequently
increased production by a factor of ten. Acetylcholine,
norepinephrine, and gamma-aminobutyric levels went
immediately into red range.”
   “You found the memories just where Squilyp said
they’d be,” I said. “Triggering the memories released too
many chemical transmitters. My central nervous system
overloaded.”
  “Why is she not in a coma?” Reever asked the Omorr.
  “I don’t know,” he replied as he shone an optic light in
my eyes. I scowled and tried not to blink. “Perhaps
because there were synthetic amounts of both AChE and
COMT bombarding the hypothalamus.”
  “What?” That cleared some of the valeumine fog from
my brain. “You shot me up with artificial enzymes?”
   Squilyp snapped off the light and helped me sit up.
“No, Doctor, I did not. Linguist Reever is not the only
person interested in stimulating your synapses. The
enzymes were released shortly after Reever initiated the
cortical coupling. I located two dormant pockets of the
same in your upper digestive tract.”
   “Time-released neurotransmitters.” I held my
now-aching head with both hands. “This gets more weird
by the minute.”
  “What does that mean?” Reever demanded.
  I gave him a weary smile. “It means someone dosed me
with enzymes that artificially stimulate my brain.” Which
explained all the unexpected mood changes I’d been
experiencing. No wonder I'd been so hot and edgy all the
time. “I want them neutralized, Squilyp.”
   The resident nodded. “I will run a full hematological
series, then administer the proper counteragent.”
  Reever helped me down from the exam table. That was
when Xonea burst into the Medical Bay, thrusting staffers
out of his way as he headed straight for us.
  Xonea, who’d wanted to protect me. Who'd Chosen
me. I'd refused him. Angered him.
   Just as I’d refused and angered the one in my
dreams.
   “Duncan?” I pulled half a dozen hookups from my
head. Adrenalin surged in my veins, counteracting the
tranquil-izer. “Go out through the emergency panel.
Now.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him around the
platform.
   “Cherijo!” The commanding tone halted us both in our
tracks.
  I turned around slowly. “Xonea.”
   “You allowed him to violate you.” My ClanBrother’s
black hair streamed wildly down his back. He carried one
of the multibladed swords from the display in his quarters
in one of his huge fists. From the look on his face, he
meant to use it.
   “Reever.” I didn’t take my eyes off the enraged
Jorenian. “Get out of here. Find some help.”
  Only one person could stop two-hundred kilos of
rampaging, homicidal Jorenian male. His Chosen.
Unfortunately, that was me.
   The Omorr hopped between me and the huge Jorenian
pilot. Squilyp faced slow death by dismemberment, just to
shield me and give Reever time to escape. I’d have to give
him a raise, if any of us survived this.
  My resident appeared very calm. “May I help you, Pilot
Torin?”
   “Yes.” He raised the fan-shaped blades and leveled the
tips at the Omorr’s thorax. “Remove yourself from my
path.”
   I glanced behind me to make sure Reever was gone. He
was. “Get out of the way, Squilyp.” The Omorr looked
back at me. His gildrells were stiff and bristling. “It’s
okay. Call Ship's Operational. Ask them to send someone
up here.” Not that they'd be able to do much. Maybe
assist in scraping up my remains off the deck.
   “She’s been badly injured and is still recovering,”
Squilyp said to Xonea. “If you even attempt to harm her, I
will challenge you, here and now.”
   Xonea nodded once. The Omorr reluctantly hopped
out of the way. Now I faced the consequences. I never
expected it would be carrying a sword with seven—no,
eight—blades on it.
  “Problem, ClanBrother?” I asked.
   Xonea looked around me. The lines around his nose
tightened. “So the coward has fled.” A flicker of pain
crossed his face for a mere second, then was gone.
   “I assume you’re referring to Linguist Reever. Yes,
he's gone. What's this for?” I waved a hand at the sword.
“You want to hack me up with that thing?”
   “I defend my ClanSister,” Xonea said with a distinct
snarl.
   “Reever wasn’t hurting me, Xonea,” I said. The meds
kicked in unexpectedly, and a thick fog muddled my
senses. What timing. “Uh, before you kill me… would
you mind…”
   “Cherijo!” The sword dropped from his hand and
clattered on the deck. I stumbled back against the exam
table. Strong blue hands caught me, lifted me.
   Squilyp was there in an instant. He began another vitals
scan. “BP and heart rate are too low. Doctor, you must
rest now.” He gave Xonea a look that said this was all his
fault.
   “Good idea.” My fingers curled under Xonea’s. I was
too tired to fight him anymore. Let him do whatever he
wanted to me. I'd sleep through the whole unpleasant
experience.
  “Once the drug wears off—” the Omorr began to say,
and Xonea cut him off with a growl.
  “She has been drugged? Again?”
   I listened as the Omorr explained the aftereffects of the
link. Everything seemed to be dwindling down into a long,
dark tunnel.
  “Did he touch her? Did he harm her?”
  “I would never harm her.” That was Reever.
  My eyelids agreed to open one last time. Duncan and
Dhreen were at the door panel behind Xonea. So were
about twenty of the crew. Reever had brought the whole
cavalry. Captain Pnor stepped up beside Duncan when
Xonea swiveled.
   “Xonea?” He studied his ClanNephew’s face. “Explain
how you knew the Senior Healer and Linguist Reever were
here performing this cerebral connection. Why you came
here armed.”
   Pnor was trying to make him repeat the threat, I
realized, so ClanKill could be declared. Xonea’s sword
was kicked somewhere out of the way; I heard it slide
across the deck.
   “No. I will not explain.” Xonea released my hand and
stepped toward Pnor. “That is a matter of honor.”
   Pnor seemed deeply disgusted. “I dislike being
manipulated.” He turned and made an efficient gesture.
Three huge Jorenians approached Xonea, took positions
on either side and behind him. No one touched anyone
else. Jorenians were like that. Without another word the
four exited the Medical Bay.
  The Captain came to me. “Senior Healer, I regret this.”
  “Talk to him, Pnor,” I said, my voice slurred. I
couldn’t stop yawning. “Something is wrong with this.
With him.”
    “Linguist Reever tells me you could not identify the
killer.”
  I shook my head. “Tried. Couldn’t…”
   The Captain pulled a coverlet over me and tucked me
in like a child. “Rest. We will talk soon.” He disappeared.
  “Squilyp?”
  The surgical resident came to my berth. “Yes,
Doctor?”
  “Administer… stimulate… four hours.”
   “But, Doctor—”
   “Just… do it… Squid Lips.” I smiled, and fell asleep.

   I didn’t dream—the drugs prevented that—but simply
slept the deep, serene slumber of childhood. It was
wonderful. My over-taxed body and confused mind were
happy to shut up and leave me alone.
   I woke up when the Omorr dutifully administered an
amphetamine. Artificial vitality sizzled in my veins as I sat
up and threw aside the cover. Squilyp made a
disapproving noise as he began to strip the monitor
portals from me.
   “I dislike stimulating your norepinephrine levels,” he
said. “Especially after the incident during the cortical
coupling.”
   “You have another cure for complete exhaustion?” I
rubbed the back of my neck. “Did you determine how
much was introduced to my system?”
   “Enough to kill you several times over, had it not been
separated and encapsulized. I neutralized both while you
were unconscious.”
   “Good, then I can get out of here, right?”
  He ignored the question and began scanning me. “Any
anxiety?”
   “Just the normal amount,” I replied. Actually, I was
worried about Xonea. Something about the confrontation
with him didn’t make sense. He'd seemed out of control,
completely irrational. I defend my ClanSister, he’d said.
Could he have been following instinct, rather than reason?
Acting exactly like any other, rather overprotective
Jorenian big brother kicked into overdrive?
   “Delusions?”
   “Of grandeur? Probably. Otherwise, no.”
   The Omorr persisted. “Hallucinations? Tremors?”
   “No, Mommy,” I said. “Can I go and play now?”
   Squilyp put down his scanner with a decided thump.
“I’d like to be your parent. I'd restrict you to your
quarters for another month.” He removed the last of the
hookups and helped me down from the exam table.
“Xonea has been placed in detention.”
  “Has Pnor formally charged him with anything?”
  “I don’t know.”
  I’d have to speak with the Captain, but that could wait.
“Where is Reever?”
   “Linguist Reever left two hours ago, but did not
indicate his destination.” The Omorr fussed over me,
straightening my tunic, checking my eyes again. “You
seem to have recovered. If you experience sudden mood
changes, dizziness, or any other odd sensations, report
back here at once.”
  “Yes, sir.” I touched his membranes. “Thanks,
Squilyp.”
   “For enticing me to commit malpractice? Save your
gratitude, Doctor.” He sounded brusque and
embarrassed, which made me want to hug him. “Go now,
before I am tempted to confine you to a berth.”
  I left Medical and went looking for Reever.
   The best method of determining the location of a crew
member on the Sunlace was by accessing the vocollar
transmitter. Each device had an autonomous frequency.
By tracking that particular signal, you could pinpoint
someone’s whereabouts.
   The problem was Reever wouldn’t wear a vocollar. A
man who spoke a ka-zillion languages didn’t have to. I
started at his quarters and worked from there. It took
some time. Most of the crew tried to be helpful. Many of
them wanted to thank me for my efforts during the last
attack. One of them, the ClanMother who had attacked me
on level six, actually apologized.
   “Your pardon, Senior Healer.” She made a gesture of
supreme embarrassment. “I saw only my ClanSon’s
injuries. Only later was I told how you saved him and the
other children from sharing Tonetka's path. I thank the
Mother that you came to us.”
   “Your ClanSon should have never been hurt in the first
place,” I said. “That was my fault.”
   She gave me an odd look. “And if it were mine? What
say you if these mercenaries pursued not you, but me? Or
my bondmate? Would you wish us to leave the ship?”
  I frowned. “Of course not.”
  “You would protect us, would you not?” She smiled.
“As you protected the children. As we will protect you,
ClanCousin. No one may divide the House.”
   That gave me something to think about for the next
eleven levels.
   Eventually someone told me they’d seen Reever
heading into environome six. When I got there, the
entrance was secured. There was a program in progress, I
saw, and frowned. It wasn't as if I could knock, I thought,
and accessed the door panel circuits. My inept fiddling
quickly shorted out the locking mechanism, and the door
panel slid open.
   Just wait until someone gave me a hard time about my
lack of tech ability next time, I thought, and walked in.
   I was standing in a Trauma Assessment center. There
were dozens of patients waiting to be seen. Behind the
main display, a towering, vermillion, insectile form sorted
through charts and rapped furiously on a touchpad.
  “T’Nliqinara?”
   I stepped back until my shoulders hit the simulated wall
of the FreeClinic on Kevarzangia Two. Two humans
strolled past me and never noticed. One of them was
Duncan Reever.
  The other one was me.
  “Another altercation with Dr. Mayer?” Reever asked
my duplicate.
   “You could call it that,” she replied. She looked
grumpy. Sounded grumpy. I didn’t act like that. Did I?
Her exotic eyes narrowed as she glanced at him. “Were
you listening at the door?”
   “It wasn’t necessary. Both of your voices carry quite
well.” Reever halted. “Pause reenactment sequence.” The
environome's imaging systems stopped the simulation.
Everyone froze. “Return to last inquiry by Doctor Grey
Veil.” The program ran backward for a moment, then
restarted.
   “You could call it that,” the other Cherijo repeated.
Same tone, same sideways glance. I studied her. My nose
wasn’t that beaky looking. Was it? “Were you listening at
the door?”
  “No,” Reever said. “I needed to speak with you. May
I—”
   My twin ignored him and walked away to speak to
T’Nliqinara at the Assessment desk. Reever stood there,
looking as frustrated as I'd ever seen him.
  So this was when he showed emotions. When my back
was turned.
   My double returned at last. “Okay, Chief Linguist, I
can give you exactly one minute,” she said as she picked
up a stack of charts. Oh, give me a break. What was he
using to project this? A pompous ass imager? “What do
you want?”
  “Yes, Chief Linguist,” I said. “Just what exactly do you
want?”
   Reever whirled around. His usual bland mask cracked
as his jaw sprang open in stunned disbelief. My arms
crossed as I stared back at him.
   “Terminate program,” he said. The other Cherijo and
the K-2 FreeClinic vanished. “I secured that door panel.”
   “I overrode your security code,” I lied. Well, I had,
sort of. “Mind telling me what this is all about, Reever?”
  “It is an exercise to practice human behavior.”
  “Uh-huh.” I walked over and made a circle around him.
“You look pretty human to me.”
  “Your invasion of my privacy is inappropriate.”
   “I’m not feeling too fond of you myself right now,
either.” I planted myself in front of him. “Why the
simulation, Reever? After all, you've got the living,
breathing version of Doctor Grey Veil on this ship. God
knows you're not the sentimental type.”
   “As I told you, practice.” He went to the display,
tapped a few keys. “Access Reenactment Sequence R-l.”
I saw a vid of the Trading Center on K-2. I was walking
with Ana Hansen. Reever was sitting just outside Cafe
Lisette.
  “That’s the first time we met.”
  He nodded. “I have successfully resolved the conflict
during this encounter. Instead of questioning you about
your genetic heritage, I make general, nonintrusive
comments and offered you a welcome to the colony.
Your simulated reaction was much more favorable.”
  “Nice to know it worked out for you.”
   “Access Reenactment Sequence R-2.” Now a vid of
my encounter with Reever outside William Mayer’s office
was displayed. “Here you were quite upset after arguing
with the Chief of Staff. Rather than making what you may
have considered at the time provocative remarks, I offered
my services as a sympathetic confidant.”
   “Let me guess—my simulation cried all over your
shoulder.”
   “Actually, we shared a brief meal interval and had a
pleasant conversation. Later, after Karas died, you came
to my quarters.”
   “Right.” I reached over and terminated the access. I
didn’t want to know what else he had been doing with my
simulation. Especially in his quarters. “Reever, do you
know why I left Terra?”
  “You discovered the illegal activities Joseph Grey Veil
was involved with—”
  “And I didn’t want to be an experiment anymore.” I
swung a hand at the imager console. “Sound familiar?”
  He had the good sense to look faintly guilty.
  I took pity on him. “You can’t go back and fix the
past, Reever. You have to live with your mistakes, and
move on.” A painful lesson I'd only just learned myself.
   “As I have indicated, I am merely practicing methods
of successful conflict resolution.”
   He had a lot to learn about his own species, but this
wasn’t the way to do it. “Duncan, being human means
making mistakes. There is no perfect encounter, no ideal
conversation. We don’t get to practice. Part of the
process is messing up and learning from that.” I eyed the
display. “Have you programmed a reenactment of every
interactive problem in your past?”
  “No. Only those encounters which involved you.”
  I never got to ask why—the environome display
emitted an emergency signal.
   “Senior Healer, Linguist Reever. Report to launch bay,
level eighteen. Disabled Furinac transport vessel is being
retrieved. Expect casualties.”
  “Good thing we’re close,” I said as we hurried out of
the environome. I grabbed his sleeve. “This conversation
isn't finished, Duncan.”
  “I did not expect it would be.”
   Our path intersected with the medical team on the way
to the retrieval. I ripped off my bandages and took one of
the emergency packs.
   Iolna looked startled. “Senior Healer, are you
certain—”
  I waved my mostly healed hand at her. “See? It’s a
miracle. Let's move.”
   The launch bay on level eighteen was still being
repaired from damages acquired during the last attack. In
spite of this, Ship’s Operational had managed to send out
two launches. They were now towing the crippled
transport in to the landing pad. Hundreds of tiny craters
scored the Furinac vessel's hull plates.
   “Displacer fire?” I wondered out loud as we waited for
clearance to approach. Engineers in protective gear were
already crawling over the ship, scanning for dangerous
radiation leakage. Had the League taken a shot at the
Furinac, too?
   “Meteor swarm,” someone said. “Must have flown
directly into it.”
   The Furinac had barely made it out alive, from the look
of the transport. I counted three cracks in the hull that
looked deep enough to compromise the internal
compartments. One of the engines was so badly battered
it was literally hanging on by component wiring alone. A
gaping hole between the thrusters was all that remained of
the stardrive. Cracked viewports also indicated the interior
pressure may have been breached.
   “How many on board?” I asked one of the waiting evac
team.
  “Four that we scanned as alive.”
   “The flightshield generator has been ejected,” one of
the engineers said as he removed his helmet. “No radiation
present.”
   While the evac team worked to get the damaged hatch
open, I set up a triage area and got our equipment ready.
With a hissing screech, the damaged vessel’s hull doors
parted at the center seam. A yellow hand thrust through
the gap.
  “Help! Help me!”
   The voice sounded familiar. I approached the transport
with the rest of the medics. Reever gave me an enigmatic
glance.
  “Friend of yours?” I asked him.
    The engineers forced the door panels to open wider. At
last a corpulent humanoid stumbled out and fell down,
face-forward on the docking ramp. His garments were
filthy. The stench of his body drifted over to us within
seconds.
  I knew that smell. It couldn’t be. Fate wasn't that cruel.
   As the medical team entered the transport, I bent down
next to the injured being on the ramp. It took a minute and
substantial effort to get him turned right-side up.
   He stared at me, his lidless eyes bulging at the sight of
my face. Around the two orbs, deeply scored parallel
grooves held thousands of miniature, grey, writhing
polyps. His skin was bright jaundiced yellow. He smelled
a lot like a Terran skunk.
   “You!” he shrieked. His four lips gaped over pegged
teeth, making his sparse mustache separate.
  “Hello, Phorap,” I said.



               PART THREE:
                 Disclosure

            CHAPTER ELEVEN
            Aiding and Abetting
                                                 «^»

  Phorap Rogan, M.D.,” Squilyp read out loud as he
joined me at Rogan’s berth a few hours later. He looked
down at my unconscious nemesis and wrinkled the derma
around his nostrils. “He needs cleansing.”
   “Among other things,” I said. Once I’d finished making
my notations, I handed the chart to the Omorr. “You're
his primary. My condolences.”
   “I thought we were friends now.” Squilyp sounded
testy.
   “We are. Doctor Rogan has refused to allow me to
treat him,” I said, pointing out the patient’s emphatic
statement listed at the bottom of the chart. “We have an
unpleasant history.”
   “I see.”
   I studied Rogan’s polyp-pocked face. What were the
odds that a transport carrying one of my worst enemies
would become critically damaged just as it came within
range of the Sunlace? No, it couldn’t be a coincidence.
  “Come into the office.” I still couldn’t call it mine. “I
need to review this mess with you before I go off shift.”
   We went through the charts as I summarized what my
old nemesis had told the Jorenians before he’d passed
out.
   “Dr. Rogan and the four other patients were en route to
the Furinac homeworld when the pilot lost power. The
flightshield became unstable, so they dropped out of light
speed and found themselves in a meteor swarm.”
  Squilyp skimmed the outline of my report. “What
happened to the fifth occupant?”
   “The pilot was killed by what appears to be a power
surge from the helm controls. The Furinac passengers
were injured while presumably guiding the transport out of
the meteors.”
   “Presumably?”
    “We’ve downloaded the transport's database, which
included all medical data for the species, but the linguistic
files were damaged. Reever's working on it.” I didn't like
having to rely on Rogan's word for anything, but until
Reever repaired the problem, we had no way to
communicate with the others. I handed the Omorr one
chart and added, “Keep close monitor on this one. He's
the oldest of the group, and won't take much more
systemic stress.”
   Squilyp nodded and reviewed the patient’s chart
display. “No sign of internal bleeding.”
   “Keep him on oxygen feed, just as a precaution.” The
Furinac had no lungs. Their species breathed through
spiracles, small holes on either side of their exoskeletons.
  Squilyp switched off the chart and regarded me. “This
Rogan—he’s going to be a problem, isn't he?”
   If he was working for the League, that was a given. I
nodded. “He was discharged from his position back on
K-2. Phorap has a bit of a God complex.” I refrained
from commenting how well Squilyp might relate to that
personality quirk. “He’s also incompetent, irresponsible,
overbearing, and last but not least, extremely fragrant.”
   “Not for long,” Squilyp said. “I will personally
supervise his daily cleansing regime.”
   “Just don’t underestimate him. And let me know if
anyone stops by to visit him.” Though I doubted our killer
would be that stupid, I thought, and winced as I flexed my
throbbing fingers.
  “How are they?” The Omorr leaned over and curled his
membranes around my wrists.
   “Stiff. Too bad I can’t borrow someone else's hands
for a few days.” I may have healed in an amazingly short
time—something I really didn't want to think about—but
my normal range of motion was slow to return. I also had
recurring periods of temporary numbness. I demonstrated
my lack of dexterity for him and added, “You'll be the
only one manning the lascalpel for a while.”
  He manipulated my joints and checked each finger.
“Not for long. The regenerative properties of your
metabolism are nothing short of miraculous.“
  “Yeah, well, that won’t help if we need to start cutting
on one of those Furinacs,” I said. “Study the database.
See if there are any miraculous qualities to their
physiologies.”
  He gave me one of his old, lofty glares. “I already
have.”
  “I should have known.” I grinned. “Mr. Wonderful.”
   We made rounds before I finished out my shift. Adaola
reported that despite the language barrier, the Furinac
patients were being cooperative. Rogan was still
unconscious. I left the Omorr to run the ward, and went to
my quarters.
   My console practically hummed with relays. I muted
the audio and ignored it in favor of a lengthy cleansing, a
quick meal, and an hour with Jenner.
   You’re certainly in a good mood. My cat surveyed me
as he lost interest in pawing at the strip of fabric I dangled
for him.
  “Guess who we rescued today?” I asked him as I got
up and accessed my display.
  His Majesty’s head raised for a moment. The big one
who looks like me?
   “Nope. Dr. Phorap Rogan.”
   His blue eyes closed. Oh. Him.
   A direct relay waited at the top of my com file. I didn’t
recognize the tag, and made a quick wish that it wasn't
Pnor waiting to talk to me about Xonea. I reactivated the
audio and tapped in an inquiry.
   “Direct relay through transdimensional transmitter,
signaling on all frequencies.”
  Bad news. Whoever was sending this was not on the
Sunlace. I sent a quick signal to Communications.
   “Yes, Senior Healer?” Salo Torin was on duty. I
explained the odd relay. “I can monitor your console
while you accept the signal,” he told me. “Do you suspect
the League?”
   We’d rescued a suspiciously stranded Rogan, and now
someone wanted to chat with me. It had to be the League.
“Yes, I do. Can the signal be used to locate the Sunlace if
I do?”
   “Possibly.” Salo took a moment to check his
equipment. “It is being transmitted on a scattered
dimensional pulse. I will ensure our return signal matches
their transmission. It will read as an echo, nothing more.“
   I thanked him and then accessed the relay.
   Joseph Grey Veil’s face appeared on the screen.
   “Cherijo.”
  I was astonished, and verified the signal once more. It
was being transmitted direct relay from wherever Joseph
Grey Veil was currently located. “How long have you
been relaying this signal?”
   “I have kept an open channel since the last attempt to
retrieve you from the Jorenian vessel.”
    “Hear that, Salo?” I asked, knowing the Jorenian was
listening in from his console. “Take a good look at this
monster. He’s the one who killed our people and burned
our kids.”
  “I have killed no one,” my creator said.
  “Did you send Rogan after me?”
  “I do not know anyone named Rogan.”
  This was a waste of oxygen. “What do you want?”
  “How many children have to die before you surrender,
Cherijo?” He was a master of delivering guilt. I should
have known, I’d been swallowing it most of my life.
  No one may divide the House. “How many more do
you plan to murder?” I shot back.
  “My dear—”
  He was dearing me again.
  “I am not ‘your dear.’ I am your clone. Your creation.
God, your sister, but not your dear anything!”
  He tried the dignified approach. “You are my dream for
humanity.”
   “Yeah?” Despite the guilt I felt, at that moment I knew I
could never surrender to him. He’d use what he learned
from me to destroy humanity's natural progress. And
Terra would let him. “Well, it's about time you woke up.”
   “We can exchange insults, or we can reconcile this
intolerable situation. The future safety of your colleagues
depends on it. The League has found the Sunlace on
several previous occasions. We will find you again.”
  “Salo, are you still monitoring?”
  “Yes, Senior Healer.”
   “Good. Tell Dr. Grey Veil what Jorenian warriors do to
those who threaten members of their HouseClans.“ I
smiled at my creator. ”Be specific.“
   Salo was happy to oblige. At length. For a quiet man,
Salo was an experienced, creative warrior. One who truly
enjoyed protecting and avenging his HouseClan.
  Eventually, after a few abortive attempts to interrupt, a
much paler Joseph Grey Veil terminated the direct relay.
  Salo broke off his ghastly litany at once and addressed
me. “Was I specific enough?”
   “Yep.” I was a little shaken myself. I had no idea a
Jorenian warrior could do that many things with the
viscera they tore out of a living being. With their claws.
“Thank you, Salo.”
  “My pleasure, Senior Healer.”
   I asked him to copy the relay record to the Captain. I
sent Pnor my own signal detailing my suspicions about
Rogan and his possible connection with the murderer. The
rest of my relays were mostly expressions of gratitude
from the crew members who hadn’t personally thanked
me after the last assault. There were also relays from
Reever, Xonea, and Dhreen. I sighed and accessed each
one.
   Dhreen challenged me to a game of whump-ball and
promised to spot me ten points, seeing as I was
“handicapped.” Reever wanted to see me; Xonea
requested the same from detainment. The two plagues of
my existence could wait. I changed and went to find the
Oenrallian.
   Although most of level ten was currently being used as
a temporary school, the games area remained available for
use. I found Dhreen there, finishing a game with one of the
other pilots.
  “Doc!” He tossed a whump-glove in my direction. “I
was beginning to think you’d never get out of Medical.”
  The other pilot and I smiled at each other.
  “How many credits has he hustled you for?” I asked.
  “Doc!” Dhreen said, looking wounded.
   “Too many,” the pilot told me as he stripped off his
glove and hung it on a dry-rack. “Pilot Dhreen has all the
Gods of Luck in his hands.”
  “That, and those devious little spoon-fingers,” I said.
  The pilot departed and I began to set up for a new
game. Dhreen circled the table, pretending to eye the
angles while he really looked me over. “How are your
hands?”
   “Terrible.” I flexed my digits, miming pain and stiffness
I didn’t feel. “Spot me fifteen points.”
  “Doc, that would be giving it away.”
  “I thought you were my friend.”
  Dhreen shook his head. “Not for fifteen points.”
  “Fourteen.”
  “Twelve.”
   “Done.” I pulled on the whump-glove and chalked the
contacts. The game required skill and strategy in order to
direct thirty-three small, brightly colored globes into a
series of geometrically aligned pockets. I was getting
pretty good at it, too. “Darks or lights?”
  “Darks,” Dhreen said.
   I set up my first shot. The light-colored globe spun out,
banked twice and sank into appropriate pocket. “Dhreen,
do you plan on staying with the Sunlace?’
   He considered my question while I sank my second
globe. “For now.”
   “But not forever. Damn.” I missed a vital angle and the
bank on the third globe sent it hurling into the others,
scattering the table. “Your shot.”
   Dhreen tugged on his glove and took position opposite
mine. The dark globe he selected banked perfectly and
sank at once. “Once we reach Varallan, I thought I’d see
what sort of transport they build out there.” He made his
second shot even faster than the first. “I miss the Bestshot
.”
    Dhreen’s vessel, the Bestshot, had been destroyed after
he’d been infected with the Core, had tried to leave K-2,
and crashed. I didn't have the same fond memories. It was
a miracle that refuse heap had ever maintained a stable
flightshield.
  I watched him sink globes three, four, and five. “If you
keep this up, I may finance the transport personally.” I
waited until he was set to make the sixth shot. “Would
you take me with you?”
   “What?” His globe skittered across the table, missed
the pocket, and nearly bounced off onto the deck. Dhreen
straightened and stared at me. “Did I hear you
accurately?”
   “Yeah.” Two light globes were in an excellent position
for a double-drop. I took careful aim and executed the
intricate shot. Both globes sank.
   Dhreen groaned. “You’ve been practicing.”
   “For weeks,” I said. “Well? Will you?”
  The Oenrallian frowned as he watched me chalk my
contacts again. “I thought you liked being the ship’s
Doc.”
   “I do.” I sank another globe. “And I don’t.”
   “Females.” Dhreen ran his fingers through his bright
orange hair, scratching around his horn-shaped
almost-ears. “You never give a linear answer to an direct
inquiry.”
   My fifth shot was not as precise, but a whump-ball
table allows for minor deviations. It teetered on the rim of
the pocket, then slipped over it.
    “You want a straight answer? Okay.” My sixth globe
tore across the table and slammed into the pocket. “I’m
tired of people I like risking their lives and dying for me.” I
missed the seventh globe.
   “Is that factual? And what am I?” Dhreen repeated his
sixth shot. This time the globe found the pocket. “A
Larian Flatworm?”
   “Of course not. I’m not asking you to bond for life,
just give me a ride.” I looked through the viewport at the
distant pinpoints of the stars. Although what that
ClanMother had said to me made me feel better, I knew I
couldn't stay on the Sunlace, or Joren. It was simply too
dangerous. If an idiot like Rogan could find me, other,
smarter beings would. “There has to be a place where
they won’t find me.”
   A dark globe made a triple bank, rained my potential
seventh shot, and sank. He was insulted.
   “Running won’t resolve anything,” Dhreen said.
   “Yeah, but think of all the fun we could have.”
  The display put out an audio signal. “Caution.
Personnel emergency. Senior Healer, report to Medical.”
   “Wonderful.” I tossed my glove on the dry-rack and
went to the panel. “Confirmed. I’ll be there shortly.” I
turned to Dhreen. “Your game, my friend.”
   “One more shot,” Dhreen said. “I sink mine first, you
stay on board the Sunlace. You sink yours first, I’ll
transport you. No charge.”
   I eyed the remaining globes and pulled my glove back
on. “I see myself staying on board the Sunlace.”
   “Maybe not.” Dhreen grinned. “You said you’ve been
practicing.”
   We set up quickly, aimed and shot. Dhreen’s dark
globe careened rapidly across the table. Mine banked
once and intercepted his, knocking it out of alignment
before the light globe fell into a pocket.
  “That’s an auto-penalty!”
   “No, that’s how you sink a globe before your
opponent can,” I corrected him, and slapped his glove
with mine. “Thanks for the game and the free jaunt. I'll get
back to you about the arrangements.”
  Dhreen glared. “I should have left you in that tavern
back on Terra.”
   I took the gyrlift up to Medical, where the nurses were
waiting for me. One had Phorap Rogan in restraints.
Another was holding an optic scanner over Squilyp’s
bleeding, swollen face. The rest of the ward was in an
uproar.
  “Quiet!” I took the scanner from the nurse and
examined the Omorr myself. “What happened?”
   “Need to talk to you.” Squilyp’s voice was thready
with pain. “About the Furinac.”
   “The Furinac can wait. Hold still.” There were
crescent-shaped wounds all over his brow, cheeks, and
eyelids. The display reflected traces of a chemical
compound that was particular corrosive to unprotected
Omorr flesh. “How the hell did you get a face full of
dermal sanitizer, Squilyp?”
  “Your friend Rogan doesn’t like me, either,” he said.
   I sucked in a quick breath. The curved wounds
suddenly made sense—they were the same size and shape
as a spray nozzle. His eyes were a mess. Tiny ulcers were
already forming on the damaged corneal plates. Blood in
the aqueous humor obstructed most of the retina. I
doubted he could see an inch past his gildrells.
  “How many times did he hit you with the topical
applicator?”
   “I lost count.” Squilyp winced as I tilted his head for a
different angle on the injuries.
   “What was he doing with the instrument in the first
place?”
   “He grabbed it out of my hand,” the Omorr said. “One
minute I had initiated his cleansing, the next he had an arm
around my neck and started hammering on me. He’s
stronger than he looks.”
  “What is that thing doing here?” I heard Rogan shriek.
    “Excuse me for a moment. Nurse!” I flapped my hand
at the nurse restraining Rogan and got her attention.
“Sedate that man.”
   “You cannot prescribe for me!” Rogan screamed. “I
refuse treatment! You are not a sentient!” The nurse
jammed a syrinpress against his thick neck. “No! No!
She’s trying… to kill… meee…”
   “Thank you, nurse.” I went back to examining my
resident. “What did he think you were scrubbing him
down with? Acid?” I put the scanner aside and tilted the
Omorr’s head up. I peered at the blistered flesh intently.
Contact burns made his derma look bloated and raw.
“Tell me someone flushed your eyes out immediately.”
   “They did.” One of his membranes brushed my arm. “I
will recover. That is not the problem.”
   “Resident, Senior Healer.” A nurse appeared on the
other side of the table. “The Furinac’s condition has
begun to deteriorate.”
   I looked from Squilyp to the nurse. “Which Furinac?
The old one?” She nodded. Great. Just great. Rogan had
just blinded the only competent surgeon on the ship. “Get
me the chart.” I turned back to the Omorr. “This the
problem you were talking about?”
  “Yes. The Furinac’s monitor went off the same time
Rogan did.”
  “How bad?”
  “Bad enough. You may have to operate.”
  The elderly Furinac displayed signs of moderate
abdominal pain. I couldn’t interview him; the linguistic
database had not been completely updated. Reever
needed to put in some overtime.
   “Get the Ship’s Linguist down here,” I said. “Tell him
to run. And notify Security. I want Rogan moved to
detainment.”
   I rescanned the patient. His abdominal wall had gone
into spasm. Palpitating it was impossible—his exoskeleton
was hard as plasteel. I read no evidence of peristalsis,
which meant his intestinal muscles had stopped working.
That was bad. The Furinac’s thick peritoneum was badly
inflamed. I calibrated the scanner and ran an organs
sequence. When I saw the results displayed, I nearly
dropped the scanner.
  “Nurse!”
  Two of his stomachs and part of his intestinal tract
were perforated. Digestive acid, bacteria, and
unprocessed food had been slowly seeping into his
abdominal cavity for hours. I stripped off my gloves once
Adaola appeared. She took the scanner from me and
gasped at the display.
   “Prep him,” I said. “Fast.” I turned and raised my
voice to a near-bellow. “Surgical team! Two minutes!”
   I checked on Squilyp once more before I scrubbed.
The dermal neutralizer was working, but it would take the
regenerators a few days to heal the damage to his eyes.
  “The Furinac?” he asked me.
    “Peritonitis,” I replied. “He needs a double
gastrectomy and a partial colectomy, minimum. I’ve got
to get into his belly and take a look.” At his frown, I
added, “He's got four stomachs. Don't worry. He'll make
it.”
  “I’m not concerned about the number of stomachs,
Doctor,” the Omorr said. “Your hands.”
  Well, there was that, too.
   “I won’t drop the lascalpel, I promise.” I finished my
scan and leaned closer. My voice dropped to a whisper.
“If I do, you can have the big desk.”
  “I don’t want it.”
   “That’s a first,” I said. It was still so easy to get his
gildrells bristling. “Okay, okay. Rest now. I'll have a nurse
bring you regular updates.”
   “Patch my berth terminal into surgery, if you would,”
he asked. “I can’t observe, but I can listen in.”
  Reever appeared as I was sterilizing for the procedure.
  “Did you receive my relay?”
   “Not now.” I didn’t have time to have a conversation. I
thrust his hands under the sterilizer. “Stop squirming.
When you're clean, gear up.”
  “I beg your pardon?”
   “Put one of those on”—I nodded to the racks of
surgical gowns—“and a mask and gloves.” One of his
eyebrows arched. “You’re going into surgery with me.”
  “For what reason?”
   I nudged the sterilizer with my knee and shook off my
hands. “Furinac physiology is a bit unusual. We can’t put
this species under sedation.” I gloved and masked. “I
need you to translate for me while I operate.”
   Reever reluctantly donned the surgical gear. I directed
my team to their positions while a nurse wheeled the
patient in.
   Furinacs were long-limbed, thick-torsoed humanoids
with dark, plated exoskeletons. I suspected if one crossed
a horse with a giant beetle, something like a Furinac would
result. The patient, whose proboscis was quivering with
pain, looked at me with large, multifaceted eyes.
   “How are you feeling?” I asked. Reever translated, his
voice taking on a distinct insectile buzz.
   Furinac language reminded me of Dr. Dloh, an arachnid
colleague I’d worked with on K-2. The patient hummed
something in a weak reply.
  “The Patriarch is experiencing considerable pain and
some anxiety,” Reever said. “He would appreciate an
explanation as to why you want to access his thorax.”
   “Tell him we have to operate.” I explained the threat of
peritonitis and what I planned to do to circumvent it.
Reever relayed the information. The Furinac nodded his
fuzzy, silvered head. “I know I can’t sedate you
completely, nor can I access your gastric compartments
without your help. We'll be doing this together, Patriarch.”
  Once this was translated, the elderly being relaxed and
made an affirmative gesture with one of his limbs.
   “Sterile field,” I said. A bioelectric curtain surrounded
us. “Administer the neuroparalyzer.” I couldn’t sedate
him, but I could make sure he didn't feel any more pain.
“Keep his spiracles oxygenated.” I pulled down the
lascalpel and glanced at Reever. “Ask the Patriarch to
release his abdominal hinge-plates.”
   The Furinac extended the twin sides of his exoskeleton,
which I draped and secured out of the way. The soft,
vulnerable underbelly gleamed white in the stark light. I
gripped the lascalpel, my fingers feeling like sticks.
  I can do this, I thought.
  “Suction.”
   I made the first incision. The Furinacs have almost no
abdominal muscle sheathing, so I penetrated the fat layer
quickly.
  “Clamp.”
  Beneath it, the inflamed peritoneum stretched, bulging
and purple. A sickly odor rose from the exposed tissue.
   “Tell the Patriarch I am beginning the gastropic
inspection.”
   After I breached the peritoneal layer, the Furinac
contracted an internal plate of cartilage, allowing me to
inspect what served as his digestive system. Two of the
quartet of greyish organs were ruptured in a dozen places.
A small portion of the large intestine was also punctured. I
described what I saw as I suctioned out the dangerous
fluids and matter that had accumulated in the
compartmental cavity.
  There was a profusion of buzzed humming from the
Furinac once Reever was through interpreting.
   “The Patriarch would like to know if the organs can be
saved,” Reever asked me. “Proper consumption of his
native diet requires the preservation of all four stomachs.
He says he is old and has few pleasures left.”
    I surveyed the organs, then shook my head. “Can’t do
it. I'll try to clone the damaged organs, and replace them at
a later time. Best I can do.”
  The elderly Furinac sighed just like a human once he
heard this translated.
  “A change in diet beats dying,” I said.
    The Patriarch indicated through Reever that I should
proceed. My right hand slipped on the lascalpel as I lifted
it. I couldn’t feel it anymore.
   “Damn.” I flexed my left fingers, they weren’t much
better. I had been trained to operate ambidextrously, but
that wasn't going to help. I looked at Reever. “We have a
bit of a problem, Duncan.”
  “What is it?”
   “I don’t have enough sensation in my hands to perform
this procedure.”
  Everyone within the sterile field stopped what they were
doing for a full five seconds.
  “Calm down,” I said to the room at large, “We’ll find a
way.”
  Reever looked at the team. “What about one of them?
Can they take your place?”
   Tonetka, Squilyp, and I constituted the full staff of
surgeons for the Sunlace. A few of the more experienced
residents were doing some simple procedures, but none
had graduated to the level of cutting required for this kind
of work.
  On the other hand, if we didn’t do this now, the
Furinac would die. I turned my face toward the display
panel just beyond the sterile field.
  “Squilyp, can you hear me?”
  His reply was low but audible beyond the field static.
  “Yes, Doctor.”
   “If you have any bright ideas, now’s the time.” I
thought for a moment. “If I guide you with my voice,
could you do the procedure by touch?”
   “An interesting proposition,” the Omorr said. “I have a
better one.”
  “Don’t be shy.”
   “You made a comment about borrowing someone’s
hands. Could Linguist Reever lend you his while you
share a cortical coupling?”
  A radical idea. A great one, too. I looked at Reever.
“Can we do that? Operate on the Patriarch using my mind
and your hands?”
   Reever’s eyes went from me to the open thorax and
exposed organs, then to his own hands. He swallowed
hard before he said, “Yes.”
  Why, he’s squeamish, I thought. How cute.
   “Just think of it as helping the handicapped.” I turned
my head toward the console. “Squilyp, I’m giving you a
raise in compensation. Major credits. You can have the
desk, too.”
   I explained what we were doing to my team members
while Reever translated my proposed solution to the
Patriarch. I had no idea how he explained that the
Furinac’s surgeon couldn't use her own hands, but
somehow he got the message through. The Patriarch
agreed. Reever turned to me. His eyes were dull green
above the edge of his mask.
  “Whenever you’re ready, Doctor.”
   “Remember to let me do my job while we’re linked. I
need full control of your hands.” I crinkled my eyes in a
surgical-room smile. “Relax, Duncan. I know what
I'm—you're—doing.”
  We linked. I raced into Reever’s thoughts impatiently.
He was feeling nauseous, which made me nauseous.
   Cut it out. Now is not the time to decide you don’t like
touching squishy things. I reached out with my mental
hands, and felt him guide me to his. Through my eyes, I
watched as I lifted Duncan’s hand to the lascalpel. His
fingers shook a little. Get a grip. Can’t do that when
you're in someone's abdomen, you'll cut out something
important. Just relax and enjoy yourself.
  You enjoy doing this? Reever seemed crabby.
  We grasped the lascalpel and angled it over the
Furinac.
   It’s the great love of my life. Now, we're going to make
the first incision. I have to give instructions to the team,
so just let me use your hands and stay out of the way.
   Once the surgical team adjusted to the idea, they were
only too happy to slap instruments into Reever’s gloves.
He jumped at the feel of metal striking his palm the first
time.
   Steady, Duncan. I leaned closer to the first stomach,
clamped off and ready for removal. Here we go.
Whatever you do, don’t jerk the lascalpel.
  The operation went on for three more hours. I had to
work slowly. Reever’s untrained hands were capable but
unaccustomed to the fine manipulation required. I felt his
muscles cramping as we completed the last of the
excisions.
   Tell the Patriarch to release his internal plate. I
pushed the lascalpel away with Duncan’s hand, and asked
one of the team to close for us. That’s it. You can end the
link—
   The world tilted, disappeared. I was in a dark, silent
place. The sounds of a child crying made me whirl
around.
  Reever?
   I saw an image of a little boy, dressed in nothing more
than a filthy rag twisted around his hips. His pathetically
thin body rocked back and forth. A mass of scabbed,
infected gashes covered the back of the child’s hands.
  Duncan?
   The image dissolved, reshaped itself. A taller, older
version of the boy got to his feet. He was wearing a
surgical gown. Furinac blood stained his gloves.
   No. 1 didn’t mean to remind you of this. Duncan, I'm
sorry.
   Cherijo, I’m glad I was useful to you. I didn't want
the Patriarch to die. But don't do this to me again.
   We were back in the surgical suite, staring at each
other. Reever excused himself as soon as I deactivated the
sterile field.
  “Doctor?” It was the Omorr, sounding anxious. I gave
him a summary of the operation as I cleaned up. When I
came out in main Medical, Adaola was waiting for me.
  “Security cannot move Dr. Rogan to detainment for the
moment, Senior Healer,” she said. “Captain Pnor wishes
Xonea to remain in isolation.”
  With all the uproar over Rogan, the Furinac and
Squilyp, I’d forgotten about Xonea. “What for?” The
nurse made an I-don't-know gesture. “All right. But I want
him kept in restraints at all times.”
  Adaola nodded. “May I ask what happened to Linguist
Reever?”
   “It’s complicated,” I said. I looked around, but didn't
see Reever anywhere. “Where is he?”
   “He departed. I offered an antiemetic to him, but he
refused.”
   “An antiemetic?”
   “Why, yes, Senior Healer. I thought it would be
helpful, considering the way he vomited when he came out
of surgery.”

   I monitored the Furinac for a few hours, then left him in
the capable hands of Adaola so I could catch a sleep
interval. There would be very few of them for me from
now on. I’d be the only physician on duty until Squilyp
recovered from Rogan's attack.
   I programmed an alarm for four hours and dropped on
my sleeping platform. Four seconds later, the alarm went
off. Well, it felt like four seconds.
   I dragged my lethargic body off the mattress and into
the cleanser. Of course my display’s emergency signal
chose that moment to activate. I muttered dire threats
against Jorenian tech as I left a trail of wet footprints
across the deck.
   I punched the keypad. “What?”
   Sale’s image appeared. “Senior Healer, Xonea has
requested your presence. Captain Pnor will permit a
supervised interview.”
  Pnor could go talk to him. I had patients to see to.
“Tell him I’m busy.”
  “Healer.” Salo tried to sound stern. “This is the only
opportunity you will be given to speak to Xonea.”
   “Why?”
   “Xonea will explain.” Before I could say anything, Salo
leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It is important,
Cherijo.”
  “I can’t do this over a channel?” Salo shook his head.
“Okay. I'm on the way.” My brows drew together. “Just
exactly where is detainment, Salo?”
  “Level twenty-seven.”
   Twenty levels down. Most of the gyrlifts were still out
of operation. This had better be good.
   Some time later, my tired legs stopped at level
twenty-seven’s barricaded entryway. Two very large,
armed crew members stood guard. No congenial kidding
around here, I discovered as I was permitted access.
Those pulse rifles meant business.
   Xonea’s cell was a large, empty area, probably used
for cargo storage most of the time. There weren't a lot of
reasons to detain a Jorenian. When there were, it wasn't
for the long term.
  I strode up to the mesh barrier and halted where he
could see me. “You rang?”
  Xonea rose from the bunk he was lying on and
approached the barrier. He looked terrible.
  “Aren’t they feeding you?” I asked.
   “Cherijo, thank you for coming.” He began to reach
through the barrier, then saw my face and dropped his
hand. “Before I go, I would express my regret over what I
have done. You were correct. You never invited my
Choice, and did everything to discourage it. Your pardon
would mean much to me.”
  “You’re forgiven,” I said. “Before you go where?”
   “Captain Pnor has informed me of his ruling.” Xonea
pressed one huge hand against his flat belly, and winced
with a spasm of pain. “I am banished.”
  “Banished?” My jaw dropped. “For what?”
   “Pnor believes I intend to divert your path. That I
would have, when I confronted you in Medical.” Another
spasm made him take a quick breath.
   “What’s wrong with your stomach?” I demanded,
automatically looking around for a first aid kit. “And don't
say it's nothing. That's the third or fourth time I've seen
you grab it like that.”
  “It does not matter. Whatever is wrong will soon be of
no consequence. I am banished.”
  “So apologize and promise you’ll never do it again.”
  “It makes no difference, Cherijo. It is decided.”
   “This is crazy.” Xonea Choosing me was bad enough,
but banishing him because the Captain thought he was
trying to kill me? “Pnor’s wrong. I'll tell him he's wrong.”
   “He will not reverse his ruling.”
    “Don’t you people have due process?” At that, Xonea
looked mystified. “Never mind. I won't let him do this.
Not without some kind of trial. Can't I…” I recalled how
I'd felt under the same circumstances. Saw the glimmer of
expectancy in his white eyes. “What?”
   “Pnor cannot banish me if I am shielded.”
   I recalled the clause from the database. Suspected
offenders Chosen by a member of the victim’s
HouseClan after the offense has been committed may be
thus shielded from judicial action…
   “Let me get this straight. You want me to go to Pnor.
Tell him I Choose you. Then you’re shielded until we
reach Joren. Have I covered the entire plan?”
  He turned away from the mesh. I felt a little ashamed of
myself. Xonea had done the same thing to protect me,
when Pnor had suspected I was involved in the murders.
   “Look, Xonea, I—” Oh, the hell with it. “I’ll go and
see Pnor now.”
   His shoulders tensed. “You will?” He pivoted, hope
erasing the etched despair on his face.
   I held up a hand. “There are conditions. No bonding
chambers, no vows, no kids. When we reach your
home-world, we go our separate ways.” Before he could
start giving me his opinion, I shook my head. “I don’t
care what the rules are. I'll go along with this until we get
to Joren. Then it's over.”
   He obviously didn’t like it, but nodded. “Agreed.”
   I found the Captain after a brief search of Engineering
and made my request. Pnor took me back to his office
and at once tried to talk me out of it. For an hour. He
talked about HouseClan traditions and deviant behavior
and a hundred other reasons to throw my ClanBrother off
the Sunlace.
  “He will expect to claim his Choice,” the Captain
added, just for good measure.
   We’d just see about that part, I thought, and shrugged.
  “Once free, he could easily kill you.”
   “Captain, Xonea shielded me when you thought I was
the killer.” I stood up. “He deserves the benefit of the
doubt, just for that.”
  Pnor was bitterly convinced he had made the right
decision. “He meant to divert your path, Cherijo. Xonea
deserves banishment.”
   “In your opinion,” I said. “On my homeworld, we
believe people to be innocent until proven guilty.”
  “A naive concept,” someone else said.
  I turned around to find Duncan Reever standing behind
me.
   “Did our voices carry well enough for you to hear
everything this time?” Reever nodded. I glanced back to
the Captain. “I checked the judicial database. You can’t
stop me.”
  “Xonea will be restricted to quarters,” Pnor said. “If
you Choose, that will be your quarters, Senior Healer.”
  Oh joy. Maybe I’d sleep in Medical for a few weeks.
“Thank you, Captain.” I grasped Reever's arm and tugged
him out of the office with me. “I need to talk to you.”
  I found a deserted alcove and pulled him into it with
me. It was small and we had to stand close together. The
warmth of his body met the chilled surface of my skin.
  “Duncan, we’ve had this conversation before.”
   “Yes.” His eyes turned wintry grey, gleaming like a
frozen Terran lake. I couldn’t get through that cold
remoteness now. Maybe it was a form of protection.
Maybe Reever needed to feel nothing for me. Fine.
  “Reever, I—”
   All of a sudden he grabbed my tunic and jerked. Our
bodies collided. My arms came up around him in reflex.
He muttered something, then cradled my face between his
scarred hands. Our mouths jolted together, off-center, but
he fixed that.
  Reever did feel something, after all.
  We didn’t speak when our lips parted. There wasn't
anything left to say. I stepped out of the alcove, turned
and walked away. I didn't look back to see if Reever was
watching me go. I already knew he was.
           CHAPTER TWELVE
            She Who Preserves
                                                 «^»

  I checked in with Medical, made my rounds, and
spoke to Squilyp and Adaola. Explaining things was
impossible. It didn’t matter. From the sympathetic looks I
got, it already appeared to be public knowledge. I asked
Squilyp to assist the nurses until I got back. He was polite
and pretended to believe my invented excuse.
   I went to my quarters. Signaled the Captain. Made a
few final preparations.
   This time I caught a functioning gyrlift and returned to
level twenty-seven. The two guards were conspicuously
absent. Instructions had been left on the outer display on
how to let myself into the detainment area.
  Xonea was still standing in the same place I’d left him.
His eyes, widened as he saw me walk in. I guessed he had
counted on me not coming back. He was in for a few
more surprises.
  “Cherijo.”
  “Xonea.” I pressed a few keys on the display panel,
which deactivated the barrier-locking mechanism. “Are
you ready to do this?”
  He smiled as I entered the cell and secured the barrier
once more. “You speak as though preparing to perform a
medical procedure.”
  “Surgery is a lot more fun.”
  “Perhaps.” He walked toward me. Two enormous
hands descended to rest lightly on my shoulders.
“Perhaps not.” He bent forward and brushed his lips
against the top of my head. “I am honored.”
  “Uh-huh.” I didn’t want to do this. It made me
remember when Kao had Chosen me. Aka the happiest
day of my life. “How's your stomach?”
  He ignored that and stroked my hair. “I will not hurt
you, Cherijo.”
   “Your ClanBrother said the same thing to me.” A single
tear spilled from my lashes. Oh, for God’s sake, I didn't
want to start crying now. I wanted to be clinical.
Detached. On another vessel a thousand light years from
the Sunlace. “All right.” I took a deep breath. “Xonea
Torin, I Choose you.”
  “Cherijo.” His thumb rubbed away the small droplet.
“Look at me.”
   I did. His fingers released the clasp on my vocollar,
and lifted it from my neck. He did the same with his, and
dropped them to the deck.
   “Bad move,” I said. “How are you going to understand
what I’m saying when I tell you I'm not going to have sex
with you?”
   “Sher-ee-shoh,” Xonea said, carefully wrapping his
fluid Jorenian palate around the guttural syllables. He was
speaking Terran. “Ahyee lahv hyoo.” He touched my lips
with his fingers. “Ahyee-huv ol-hways lahvduh hyoo.”
   He’d learned enough of my own language to tell me
this. Because there was no word for “love” in Jorenian.
  My first sexual experience had been with Kao,
immediately after he’d Chosen me. Since that night, I
hadn't been intimate with anyone except Duncan Reever,
and that had been under duress. Now I had Chosen
Xonea, who was expecting a wedding night.
  I needed to work on my relationships with men.
   Something cool and metallic encircled my neck. Xonea
was replacing our vocollars. His fingers went on to work
my braid loose, then released the warrior’s knot in his
hair. A thick swath of black spilled over his shoulders.
  “Did I say it correctly?” he asked me.
   “Very smooth,” I said. How could I put my refusal into
words without hurting his pride? I stalled for time. “How
long did it take you to learn how to say it in Terran?”
  His lips twitched. “A week.”
  Pleading a sudden migraine wouldn’t work. “I'm
impressed.”
  “So little you are.” He took me in his arms and lifted
me up. “I fear I will hurt you.”
   Fear was good, I thought. Maybe I could use that. By
then he was nuzzling the side of my neck. “Um… Xonea,
I need to talk to you about this.”
   “Your skin is very delicate,” he said. That faint touch
of his fingertip skimming my lips made me swallow and
close my eyes. “Terrans must bruise easily.”
  Good point. I opened one eye. “Exactly. Which is
why—”
   “I will be careful with you.” Using just that one finger,
Xonea traced a lot more of me. The hollows of my throat.
The curves of both breasts. The line of my sternum. The
slight convexity of my abdomen. The outer swell of my
thigh.
  “My Chosen.” Silky black hair fell around me, a dark
waterfall. His arms drew me in. “Mine.”
  Time to put a stop to this. Right now. “Xonea?”
  He held me in that close embrace, his lips moving over
my face.
  “Xonea. Stop.” I shivered as he buried his mouth
against my throat. “I can’t have sex with you.”
   He lifted his head. “It is the way of Choice.” Xonea
took my hands and pressed them against his chest. “You
are shy.”
  “I’m not shy.” I tried to tug free. “I'm simply not…
um, interested.”
   “I want to see your eyes.” His fingers sank into my hair
as he tilted my face. “You are still afraid of me?”
   “I did this to shield you,” I said, and slowly backed out
of his embrace. “Not to become your lover.” I turned
toward the barrier. “Captain Pnor.”
   “I am here, Senior Healer.” Pnor’s voice came from the
display channel I'd activated and left open before entering
the detainment cell.
  Xonea simply stared at me.
   “I’ve Chosen Xonea.” I watched my lover's mouth
flatten to a grim line. “I shield Xonea Torin from
banishment.”
  “As you wish, Cherijo.” The Captain sighed.
  Xonea took a step toward me.
   “Guards?” I called out. The two armed Jorenians had
returned once I’d reactivated the locking mechanism.
They now stood just beyond the cell, their backs
discreetly toward us. “You guys hear that?”
   “Yes, Senior Healer,” one said. They both left without
turning around.
  I reached up and flipped up a link cover on my
vocollar. “Record terminate.” The tiny recording drone
deactivated on my voice command. I closed the cover.
  “Why, Cherijo?”
   “To protect you.” I went over and disengaged the lock.
“I needed the recording to present to the Ruling Council.
Pnor insisted on the guards coming back. He’s still
worried you might try to kill me.” I glanced over my
shoulder. “I have to go to work now.”
  He stood there, seven-and-a-half-feet of highly upset
male. “Come here.”
   I didn’t think he wanted to give me a hug or kiss
goodbye. Still, I wasn't going to let him intimidate me. He
owed me his life, didn't he? I went to him, my chin up, the
situation completely under control.
  For maybe two seconds.
   Huge blue hands seized me and lifted me up. I hung
there suspended, my feet dangling. My pale face was a
mere inch from his.
  Okay. I was intimidated.
   “There will be no more open display channels when we
are together,” Xonea said.
  “Um, sure.”
  “Nor will there be a need for guards or recording
devices.”
   I nodded quickly. Anything to get me back on the deck
in one piece.
  “Has Pnor restricted me to your quarters?”
  Which reminded me. “Yes, but I never said—”
   “There is much you did not say.” Xonea put me back
down. “On this subject, you have no choice. Now go, or I
will claim mine.”
  I stomped out of there. No gyrlift to be had this time,
so I walked up all eighteen levels to my quarters, changed
into my physician’s tunic, and stomped back out. Up two
more levels. My injured thigh throbbed. Another reason to
be mad.
   I paused outside the Medical Bay door panel.
Smoothed my damp hair. Straightened my tunic. Walked
in. My expression dared anyone in my path to make a
comment. Any comment.
   No one seemed to notice. Nurses smiled dreamily back
at me. Patients gave me knowing looks. Only the Omorr
acted normally.
   “This berth’s linens need to be replaced,” Squilyp said.
  I looked over the top of his chart. “Weren’t they
changed this morning?”
   “Yes, but there is a soiled area”—he pointed to a tiny
speck—“here.”
   “You’re nearly blind, Squilyp, and you can still see
that?” His gildrells flared. “Okay, okay. I'll get your berth
sheets changed.” I finished my notations. “Everyone
behave themselves while I was gone?”
   “Yes.” The Omorr shifted uncomfortably. “One of the
residents told me…” he peered at me and tried again. “Did
you really have to…”
   “That’s my business.” I wasn't going to get into this
with Squilyp. “Don't look at me like that.”
   “I’m not looking at you. I can't see you,” the Omorr
said, all innocence.
  Behind me, a nurse let out a startled yelp. I turned my
head just in time to watch a scanner fly across the ward
and smash into a hundred pieces against the plasteel wall
panel.
   “Get away from me!”
   The nurse who had been scanning Phorap Rogan was
backing away, holding his chart in front of her like a
shield. His sedation had worn off, and he had worked one
arm out of his restraints.
   Ah, perfect. “Excuse me for a moment, Squilyp.”
   I marched over, taking Rogan’s chart from the nurse as
I passed. When I got to my former colleague's berth, I
smiled. “Hello, Phorap. Feeling better?”
  Oily lidless eyes stared at me with utter loathing.
“You.” He hissed. “Don’t touch me!”
   “ ’Fraid I have to. You beat up the only other qualified
practitioner on this ship yesterday. Want to explain why
you did that?”
   The noxious odor of his body intensified. “Of all the
ships in the universe, why did I have to board the one
with you on it?“
   “You took the words right out of my mouth.” I put the
chart aside and caught his arm. He was pretty strong, but
physical therapy had fortified my hands and arms. “Did
the League send you after me, Rogan? Who are you
working with?”
  He wasn’t going to confess. “Release me!” We
wrestled for a moment before I got him secured once
more. “Remove these restraints at once!”
   “Settle down, Rogan.” My stomach rolled as I scanned
him thoroughly. Maybe I should start wearing a breather
around him, I thought. “Hold still, you’re screwing up my
readings.”
   “How dare you?” he shouted. “I’d rather be crippled
than let you examine me!”
  “That,” I said, “can be arranged.” I gestured to the
horrified nurse. “Start cleaning him up. Don’t unstrap him
under any circumstances. Oh, and bring me his latest lab
work. I want to review it before I sedate him.”
   Rogan continued to shriek at me. I looked around the
ward, searching for something that would solve this
problem. Spotted the physical therapy room. I went in,
picked up the hand manipulators and returned to Rogan’s
berth. His curses were elevating in volume by the moment.
When his four lips spread to their widest, I thrust a large
therapy plasball in his mouth. As a gag, it functioned
beautifully.
   “Thank you, Senior Healer,” the nurse said. She gazed
at Rogan with visible distaste.
   “You’re welcome.” I patted one of Rogan's straining
shoulders. “Remember what I said, Phorap. Be a good
boy. Let the nurse give you a bath. Think of it as your
contribution to the health and welfare of the other
patients.”
   The ball muffled his squeals of outrage. I’d have to
make a database entry on alternative uses for physical
therapy equipment. Too bad I hadn't thought of it while
Rogan and I were back on K-2.
  “Senior Healer?” One of the nurses hovered, and gave
me a sweet smile.
  I’d probably have to put up with this nonsense the
whole way to Joren. “What?”
  “The elderly Furinac patient wishes to speak with you.”
   Evidently Reever had finished programming the
linguistic database, for my vocollar immediately translated
the Patriarch’s speech.
   “Doctor Torin,” he greeted me once I’d reached his
berth. His color was better, but he looked tired. Major
surgery was hard on elderly beings. Their immune systems
took longer to accomplish the healing process. “My
thanks for your skill in saving my life.”
   “My thanks for not panicking when things got weird.” I
scanned him. His organs sequence looked good, and the
peritoneum was only slightly inflamed.
  He inclined his head in Rogan’s direction. “I see our
passenger has proved to be much less cooperative.”
   “Your passenger is a pain in the posterior,” I said. This
was my chance to find out how the Furinac were involved
with Rogan and the League. “How did he end up on your
transport?”
   “My pilot brought him on board at the last world we
visited.” Air puffed indignantly through his spiracles.
“Had I some forewarning of his distaste for personal
hygiene, I would have never permitted it.”
   I could just imagine having to put up with the stench in
such a small vessel. “Rogan must have offered your pilot
some hefty credits to take him on your jaunt.”
  “He paid the standard passage rate, I believe.” The
Patriarch’s rainbow-jeweled eyes moved to the other
Furinacs. “My people are recuperating?”
   “They’re all doing very well.” I had already checked
them during my rounds. I placed a hand on one of his
upper appendages. “I have to tell you there was one
casualty. Your pilot was killed just after you entered the
meteor swarm. I'm sorry for your loss, Patriarch.”
  “Thank you.” The Furinac made a slow, mournful
buzz. “He was a good man.”
   Or had conspired with the League to find me. Only
Rogan knew for sure. “When you’re feeling better, our
crew will be glad to make any ceremonial arrangements
you would like.”
   “It is appreciated, Doctor.” He examined me curiously.
“I’ve never met a Terran before.”
  Fortunate man. “Not quite what you expected?”
   “I was told your species has a habit of ejecting saliva
frequently. Yet I have not observed you indulging in this
practice. Is it only done on your homeworld? A means of
marking territory, perhaps?“
   I laughed. Xenophobic Terrans had a habit of spitting
whenever they ran into alien species. “That’s one way to
put it. Sorry to disappoint you. I'm not what you'd call…
a model Terran.”
  “One can’t select one's species,” the Furinac said. He
made a buzzing, chuckling sound. Laughter is almost
universal. “I have one request, if it is possible.”
  “Sure. What do you need?”
   “An opportunity to speak with your ship’s
commander. It is of vital importance that my people and I
reach Furin as soon as possible.”
   “Is there some sort of emergency we need to know
about, Patriarch?” I asked. Or some kind of League
rendezvous?
   He sighed. “I had hoped not to reveal myself, but
timing is of the utmost importance. Furinac criterion for
sovereignty requires I not be absent from our world longer
than a certain period of time.”
   “Sovereignty?” I echoed. “You mean you’re
the—the—”
  “Yes, my dear. I am the Patriarch of Furin.”
   “I see. Urn, nice to meet you.” All thoughts of League
conspiracy went out the viewport. I tried to look like I did
this regularly. “May I ask what you were doing on such a
dinky little transport?”
   “I sometimes travel using less conventional means.” He
seemed embarrassed. “One wearies of pomp and
ceremony.”
   Speaking of ceremony. “Should I address you by a
certain title?”
  “Patriarch is acceptable, Doctor.”
  “Great.” I smiled. Inside, I fumed.
   Reever needed to work on his direct translations. The
elderly Furinac wasn’t just a nice old gentleman with
pretty eyes and a pleasant demeanor.
  He was the ruler of an entire world.

   Captain Pnor agreed to transport the Patriarch and his
group to their homeworld, and even proposed to do the
same for Phorap Rogan. I had a few things to say about
that, but no real evidence to offer the Captain about my
archenemy’s possible involvement with the League. I
relayed the news to the elderly Furinac before my shift
ended.
   As I walked down the corridor to my quarters, I
thought about our very important dignitary. To think, I
had performed surgery on a being who governed the lives
of millions. With Reever’s hands, no less.
  Good thing we hadn’t dropped the lascalpel.
  At my quarters, I opened the door panel, walked in,
and nearly ran straight into my new roommate’s chest.
“Oh. Hello.”
  “Greetings, Cherijo.” He looked pretty happy to see
me. “How was your shift?”
    “Long. Tiring. I need to get some sleep.” I began
stripping off my tunic, then froze. He was watching me
undress. “Do you mind?”
  “No.” He gave me a guileless smile.
  “Xonea.”
  A dark eyebrow arched. “We are Chosen, Cherijo.”
   I didn’t have to be modest, I thought, I am a
physician. Used to this sort of thing. So I turned my back
when I stripped the rest of the way. It didn’t mean I was
overly modest. I just didn't want to give Xonea any ideas.
Swiftly I pulled on a soft undershirt I liked to sleep in and
looked back at my new roommate.
  He wasn’t even paying attention to me. Jenner sat in his
lap, his neck arched as Xonea scratched under his chin.
   Disgusted with the state of things in general, I thumped
food and water down on the deck for His Majesty, Jenner
leapt down at once and made a beeline for his server.
Xonea chuckled.
   It was all a little too domestic for me. I stomped over to
my sleeping platform and yanked the coverlet back. I’d
have to get a bigger one now. I didn't think this one was
rated for a two-hundred-kilo Jorenian. My tired muscles
sang their pleasure as I stretched out. I put one arm over
my eyes. So much had happened. Now there was this big
blue man in my quarters to stumble over.
   I felt the other side of the mattress depress, felt hands
drawing me back. Xonea’s arms cradled me against him.
   “Sleep,” I said in a mumble.
   “Yes, Cherijo.” He stroked my hair. “Go to sleep.”

   Everything changed after that. I wasn’t used to changes
in my life. Well, the rare times I had a life outside of my
work. The only constant companion I’d ever had after
Maggie had died was Jenner. My cat didn't demand more
than occasional stroking, some light conversation, and
regular feedings. I suspected Xonea would want a lot
more.
   I had no idea.
   “Xonea?”
   I tripped over a container positioned directly inside the
door panel to my quarters. I regained my balance and
kicked it to one side. Absolutely the stupidest place to put
something.
   There were more containers. Masculine garments were
tossed over the ends of my furnishings. Vid and audio
discs were stacked all on the deck. I hated clutter more
than I hated dirt. Dirt you could get rid of. Clutter liked to
breed.
   “Xonea!”
   My new roommate appeared, fresh from the cleanser,
briskly drying his hair with a towel. He wore only trousers.
I’d discovered over the past week that Xonea enjoyed
walking around half-naked. Especially when he knew I was
coming off shift.
  For once I was too annoyed to gawk at his glistening
chest. I gestured at the mess. “Where did all this junk
come from?”
  “This junk is mine,” he said as he jerked me into his
arms and hauled me up against him. “I’ve missed you.”
   I wanted to kick him. “You just saw me this morning.”
   “That was hours ago.” His lips began descending.
   “Xonea, put me dow—” He kissed me, hard and quick.
“Down. Now.” I straightened my tunic as soon as my feet
touched the deck. My blood simmered, but I ignored it
for the moment. “All this stuff is yours?”
   Some of the larger containers were in various stages of
being unpacked. Then I noticed the walls.
   “Oh, no. No!”
   “Cherijo—”
   “Absolutely not!”
  Some of the humor cleared from his eyes. “I only
wished to add to the decor.”
   I went over and flung my hand at an enormous display
of archaic energy pistols. “With guns! I have to live in
rooms decorated with guns?”
  “Not only guns.” He got all dignified and Jorenian on
me. “I haven’t put up my bladed weapons yet.”
   “That’s supposed to be better?”
   “My collections are very old and valuable.”
  “To who?” I was getting shrill. “Mercenaries?
Raiders? The Hsktskt?”
   “Cherijo.”
   My foot started tapping. “Take them down.”
   His arms folded. “We must come to an amicable
agreement as to the disposition of our living space.”
    So did mine. “This was my living space first, pal. Pack
it up, or I’ll throw them in a disposal unit myself.” I didn't
smile so much as bare my teeth. “With great pleasure.”
   He looked pained, sighed, then went over to one wall
and began disassembling the ghastly collage. “You are a
stubborn female.”
   “You have vile taste in interior decor.” I went to the
console and checked my relays. There were a million, as
usual. “Another thing. Why don’t you ever clear out some
of these console relays?”
  He made a huffy sound. “They are your relays.”
  “Oh, give me a break. You know they’re just another
couple hundred well wishes for our fruitful union, eternal
honor, and all that other rubbish the HouseClan spouts
whenever someone Chooses.”
   “That is unkind, Cherijo.” He put down the
large-barreled stun emitter he was holding with a thump. I
winced. Did he keep them all charged? “They are happy
for us.”
   I skimmed the list. “Deliriously happy, from the looks
of this. Well, I am not in the mood.” I switched off the
display. My stomach demanded some attention. “Whose
turn is it to make dinner?”
  “Yours.”
  Jenner jumped up on the mattress and draped himself
over Xonea. With lazy satisfaction, both males watched
me prepare our meal.
   “Pasta and seafood alfredo for me.” I placed one dish
on the table, then a much larger server beside it. “D’narral
with safira spice for you.” I checked the stores. “What
goes with d'narral? A light or a dark tea?”
  “Light,” Xonea said.
   That would be jaspkerry, his favorite. Which reminded
me—“Hey, did you report to medical and have that
internal-scan series performed, like I asked you to?”
   “I will, soon.” He pulled on a tunic and came to the
table.
   “Your stomach could be developing ulcers from the
stress. It’s nothing to mess around with, Xonea. Make an
appointment, will you?” I sat down. “Would you mind
getting the tea, please?”
   He didn’t mind. For a male, Xonea was quite
domesticated. He did his part to prepare meals, sterilize
our garments, and keep the equipment sanitary. I couldn't
complain, I thought, then my gaze fell on his belongings
cluttering up the deck. Oh, yes, I could.
  He offered me a server of the light floral tea I was
becoming addicted to, and sat down beside me. “What is
pasta?”
   “It’s sort of like t'fer root. Only in small, shaped
pieces.” I held out a fork with a small portion, which he
tasted. He chewed it slowly. “Well?”
   “T’fer is not so insubstantial. The alfredo, that is the
pink-and-white topping?”
   I took a sip of tea before I answered. “Alfredo is a
style of preparation—with a cream or white sauce. The
pink things are the seafood part.”
   He shrugged and started on his d’narral, which he had
already explained was the heart of a giant
tree-flower-something on Joren.
   “Too much safira?” The spice, I discovered, was very
similar to Terran cinnamon. It had to be used in small
amounts or it became overpowering.
    “No, it is excellent.” He ate with the same frank
enjoyment he did everything else. Xonea, like most
Jorenian males, consumed massive amounts of everything.
It took a cargo hold of calories to fuel their massive
bodies. I could never keep up with his appetite. When we
finished the meal, he began to clear up. “You are weary,
Cherijo. Go, lie down.” He gave me another of those
intimate smiles. The ones that made me really nervous. “I
will join you shortly.”
  “I’m not so tired.” I did not want to get into bed with
him. Not until he got that look off his face. “Why don’t
we listen to some jazz?”
   One dark brow rose. “We listened to your music last
night.”
   “Okay, then we’ll play toss-the-yarn-ball with Jenner.”
   “Jenner is weary of that.” He dropped the dishes into
the sterilizer. Something broke. “If you do not wish to
share your sleeping platform with me, say so.”
    “Xonea…” I watch him stalk off to the viewport. Damn
it. He was becoming more irritable by the day. Well, being
confined to quarters was enough to shorten anyone’s
fuse, I guessed. I could only hope what was left of
Xonea's would last until we reached Joren.

   The Sunlace transitioned and went into orbit above the
Patriarch’s world a few days later. I was scheduled to
escort the ruler, along with a sojourn team, for a brief visit.
Once I'd learned the Furinacs' shuttle logs supported the
Patriarch's story, and no League ships had been spotted
within a light year of the system, I actually looked forward
to the trip. Captain Pnor also made a rare exception and
joined the launch party.
   The Omorr’s eyes had healed and he was back on
duty, so I left him in charge of the ward. Rogan had been
discharged from Medical, but on my advice Pnor had
confined him under guard in his quarters. Although I was
sure the guards could handle the smelly little twerp, I told
Squilyp to put Rogan into sleep suspension at the first
sign of trouble.
  I was the last to arrive at the launch bay (as usual) and
came to a skidding halt when I saw the team assembled.
Duncan Reever was quietly conferring with one of the
Furinacs. He didn’t look up as I approached.
   We’d been avoiding each other since we said our
goodbyes. I recalled what he'd told me the first time it
looked like I'd have to Choose Xonea. A dull ache
knotted under my sternum. Was this the non-League
world he'd asked Pnor to leave him on?
  The Patriarch greeted me with a friendly buzz. “Doctor
Torin! I’m glad to see you could join us.”
   “Punctual as ever,” Dhreen said in a low voice as I
entered the launch. I nudged him with my elbow and sat
next to my distinguished patient.
   “How are you feeling?”
   “Very well now.” He patted his abdomen. “The new
organs are working perfectly.”
  By combining Terran know-how and Jorenian tech, I
had cloned replacement organs from the cells of the
damaged originals a few weeks after his initial surgery.
Squilyp performed the double-transplant while I observed.
   The Patriarch began describing an amusing incident that
happened at his palace, which I gathered was roughly
about the size of the Sunlace. My thoughts drifted as we
launched and began the descent to the planet. The past
few weeks had been quiet, a nice respite from the
near-continuous chaos we’d endured on board the ship
since leaving K-2.
   The journey to Joren was nearly half over. Soon I’d
have to talk to Dhreen again. Find a way to remind Xonea
1 had no intentions of spending the rest of my life with
him. We'd made a bargain, and I planned to hold him to it.
   Xonea had been really agitated lately. Maybe I could
make that little announcement from Dhreen’s new
transport as we were leaving Joren.
  “Senior Healer?”
  We were already at Furin Main Transport, I realized,
yanked out of my reverie. Captain Pnor was waiting for
me at the launch doors. Everyone else was already out.
That will teach me to daydream, I thought.
  I got up and shouldered my medical pack. Time to go
and meet the natives.
   Outside the launch was an impressive docking ramp,
carpeted with a rich, brilliantly worked tapestry. The
Patriarch and his party were strolling down, being greeted
by loud buzzing and cheering. I looked beyond the ramp
and caught my breath.
   There had to be a hundred thousand Furinacs there,
standing, waving, and shouting to their ruler.
   Beyond the incredible mass of people, the majestic city
of Cuot rose to ponderous heights. The city’s carefully
landscaped terraces supported row after row of
cylindrical structures, each topped with a gilded,
pear-shaped dome.
   The most striking feature of Cuot was the style of
architecture. There wasn’t an angle in the entire city, I
thought as I walked down with Pnor. All structures curved
in concave and convex lines, making the dwellings appear
to be flowing up out of the lush, manicured botanicals.
   Someone broke from the crowd and rushed up to the
Patriarch. The Furinac dropped down and prostrated
himself before his ruler, weeping. He was dressed in an
elaborate, bejeweled garment and wore a number of gaudy
rings around the base of his proboscis.
   “Oh, He Who Is Above Us All! We were signaled of
your injuries! We wept for your pain! We praise your
strength in recovering! We bless your determination in
returning to us!”
   The Captain and I stopped next to the ruler, who made
a graceful sweep of one appendage and bobbed his head
in a potentate’s regal manner.
    “Who is that?” I looked down at the Furinac, who was
still kissing the docking pad.
   “My heir, First Scion.” The Patriarch regarded the
prostrate figure with paternal pride. “Most devoted, is he
not?”
  “Uh-huh.” That was definitely devotion in my book.
   The heir raised his head a mere inch from the pad. His
face rings jingled. “He Who Is Our Life’s Blood, Who Is
the Center of All Joy, may this insignificant one ask a
question of Your Magnificence?” The Patriarch's head
bobbed again. “Is this She Who Saved Your
Omnipotence by Her Skill?”
   Oh, brother. If the Furinacs were going to call me that,
I’d be standing here forever just listening to Junior say Hi.
   “Yes, First Scion. I introduce to you She Who
Preserves All Life, Dr. Cherijo Torin. It is Dr. Torin who
assured I would live to see our people again.” He made
another sweeping gesture, and his heir got up from the
ground. “Dr. Torin, this is my heir, He Who Has the
Future to Rule, First Scion of Furin.”
   The First Scion threw himself at my feet. “I beg you!
Allow me to espouse you! Of all I can give, only this is
suitable for She Who Has Brought Our Beloved Patriarch
Home!”
  My eyes went from the Furinac at my feet to Captain
Pnor to the Patriarch. “Sorry, what does he want?”
  The Patriarch looked smugly satisfied. “He wants to
marry you.”
   It was only a ceremonial proposal, I quickly
discovered. That was still enough to make me very
nervous while anywhere near the First Scion. During the
subsequent ceremonial welcome and reception, I smiled a
lot, said little, and stuck close to the sojourn team. Captain
Pnor found the Furinacs’ extremely formal reception
fascinating. Jorenians loved pomp and ceremony.
  We had to stand through everything. I found it made
my feet hurt.
  From the reception, we were taken into a huge chamber
where a feast had been prepared. Feast? There was
enough food weighing down the banquet platforms to
feed half the planet. Of course, half the planet showed up
for the feast, so that worked out well.
   I was given a seat of honor, at the Patriarch’s right
hand. Not that I got to use it right away. We stood there
while a prayer of Sanctification was made. A very long,
flowery, repetitive prayer. By the time we sat down, the
Patriarch was beginning to look tired. My footgear felt like
lead casings. I glanced sideways at the being who ruled
millions.
  “May I ask you a personal question, Patriarch?”
  He bent his head toward me. “Of course.”
   “Do you really like all this—this”—I waved my hand at
the elaborate decorations, crowded room, and sumptuous
mountains of food—“stuff?”
   He buzzed a quiet chuckle, and shook his head. “No, I
do not, Dr. Torin. However, when I was First Scion, and
my Patriarch ruled Furin, the ceremonies lasted twice as
long.” His buzz became a soft whisper. “It is also why I
enjoy traveling by much less conventional methods, and
visiting other worlds with less—stuff.”
  I grinned at him. “So I won’t be thrown in a Furinac
dungeon for my less-than-formal attitude toward you,
Your Magnificence?”
   “Please, Doctor.” He looked pained. “Your casual
friendship has been an absolute joy for me!” He sighed. “I
fear I am not anticipating the next month with pleasure.”
  “Why not?”
  “It takes that long to go through all the ceremonial
welcoming,” he said.
  A month of all this, every day? I had an idea. “Want
your doctor to fix that?”
  He beamed at me. “Would you?”
   “I trust you’ll keep me out of the dungeon if I mess this
up,” I said, and got to my feet. I clapped my hands,
effectively silencing every voice in the room. “Good and
loyal subjects of the Patriarch! I wish to address you
regarding His Magnificence's health!”
  You could have heard a pin drop after that.
   “As you know, the Patriarch underwent two major
surgeries during his journey with us,” I said. “His recovery
has been remarkable.” I could see they wanted to cheer,
so I held up my hand. “As His Magnificence’s Surgeon, I
must insist your ruler be allowed as much rest as possible.
The healing process takes a great deal of strength, and he
must conserve his now.” I scanned the room and noted
the rapt faces of the Furinacs, all fixed on their sovereign.
They really did love the old guy. “My standing orders are
for the Patriarch to remain resting, quiet, and most of all,
undisturbed. Will you assure that my orders are carried
out?”
   The buzzing cries of joyous agreement nearly shorted
out my vocollar. The Patriarch grasped my hand and
tugged me down close to his proboscis.
  “For this gift, my dear Doctor, I may marry you
myself!”
   I escorted the Patriarch almost immediately from the
banquet to his City Palace a short distance away. We were
accompanied by an armed honor guard of hundreds. The
Royal Conveyance, a Furinac version of the glidecar,
hummed through the air. Other Furinacs, who I was
amazed to find were fully capable of sustained flight on
their own, hovered in precise patterns around their
sovereign’s vehicle. Captain Pnor, Reever, and Dhreen
came along in a second vehicle.
   While the First Scion spouted an endless litany to the
glory of my intelligence, compassion, and beauty, the
Patriarch and I shared the view and exchanged brief
conversation whenever his heir took a breath. When I saw
the City Palace, I whistled.
  “Nice house,” I said to the ruler.
   “Glad you like it,” he replied. He was enjoying himself
immensely, even (to the barely concealed horror of his
heir) using my abbreviated forms of speech. “Wait until
you see the Royal Chambers.”
   Royal they were. Half the interior of the palace was
devoted to the Patriarch’s quarters. But I didn't pay
attention to all the luxurious surroundings at first. My
elderly patient’s strength was waning fast.
  I helped him past all the staff (another thousand or so
devoted subjects) and got him to his bed. Once he
dismissed the First Scion, we had a few moments alone.
   “You are a clever and innovative young female, Dr.
Torin. I shall remain in your debt for the balance of my
existence.” He buzzed with relief as he sank back on his
dais, equal in size to our launch. I climbed up, crawled
across and knelt next to him so I could run a few scans.
    “Your vitals are good, but not where they should be.” I
put the scanner aside and checked his abdomen.
“Everything is healing well, and will continue to, if you
listen to your doctor and rest.”
   “I suppose you would refuse to become my adopted
Second Scion, too,” he said. I pulled the immaculate
linens over him. “Wouldn’t you?”
   “I’ve already been adopted by the Jorenians,
Patriarch.” I shuffled backward until I found the edge of
the immense dais and got to my feet. “Thanks for asking,
though. Get some sleep now. I'll stop in to check on you
in a few hours.”
  “My eternal thanks, Doctor.”


         CHAPTER THIRTEEN
           The Third Suicide
                                                «^»

  Outside the Royal Chamber, a few dozen guards and
personal staff members were waiting, along with Pnor,
Dhreen, and Reever. The Captain was deep in
conversation with one of the Patriarch’s attendants.
Dhreen hovered near one of the thousands of bejeweled
panels curving around the Patriarch's door, closely
appraising the inlay.
  Reever was waiting for me.
   “Please see that the Patriarch is not disturbed,” I told
the guards, then strolled down the wide, endless corridor
winding toward the back of the City Palace. Reever kept
pace with me. When we were out of listening range, I
glanced at him. “Are you staying?”
   “I have considered it.”
   We passed several portraits of the Patriarch and his
ancestors, each nearly twenty meters high and ten meters
wide. The material used as paint had a faint metallic glitter
to it. On closer examination, I realized precious stones
had been ground up and used as individual pigments.
   “That gives new meaning to the term priceless.”
   Reever simply waited without comment. We walked
on.
   “The Patriarch could probably use a linguist on his
staff. The accommodations are beyond luxurious.” He
wasn’t saying anything. “They'd probably even give you
your own palace to call home.”
   “I have no home.”
   We had reached a darkened portion of the corridor
when Reever put a hand on my elbow and pulled me to a
halt. There was only one reason for that. Immediately I
flattened a hand against his chest.
   “I can’t, Reever.”
   His hand hovered just above my hair. “Just this once.”
  I didn’t fight the link, but I didn't help him, either. His
hands came around me, spreading over my back to press
me against him. I just stood there, my head tucked
beneath his chin, wondering where the words were that
would tell Duncan Reever how I felt about this whole
mess.
   I’ve missed you, Duncan. I didn’t know why I thought
that. It seemed to come out of nowhere.
   You and Xonea will find happiness, Cherijo.
   Hardly. I’m leaving him when we reach Joren. I felt
him stiffen in shock. I don’t love him, Duncan. I only did
this to keep him from being put off the ship. Did you
really expect me to stick around and have his kids?
   I did not know your plans.
   I’m leaving the Sunlace when we reach their
homeworld. Squilyp will be ready to take over as Senior
Healer by then. Dhreen agreed to get a transport and
take me wherever I want to go.
   Where?
  Somewhere the League can’t find me. I reached back
and pressed my fingers to his cheek. Want to come with
us? With me?
   Cherijo. He turned me around. I want to tell you…
   Something intruded on the connection we shared, and I
frowned. Duncan? Did you hear that?
   Yes. Someone is approaching us.
   Our link faded away as we stepped back from each
other. I heard a faint click and electronic hum. A guard?
Reever stepped in front of me, shielding me with his larger
form.
   “Show yourself,” he said.
   The Patriarch’s heir emerged from the shadows. “Step
aside, Terran.”
   I stood on my toes and peeked over Reever’s
shoulder. The Furinac looked a lot different from the
devoted heir who only hours before had begged me to
marry him. Matrimony might not be a part of his agenda
now. I wasn't sure why I felt that way. Maybe it was the
large pulse rifle Junior held, aimed directly at Reever's
skull.
  Reever didn’t flick an eyelash. “First Scion, may I help
you?”
   “Step aside!” The Furinac gestured with his weapon.
   “I think not.”
   “Silence! Give the woman to me at once!”
   I’d been a little too trusting of the Furinac. “I'm not his
to give, First Scion.” I stepped to the side and came
around Reever. “Why do you want me?”
   “Cherijo.” He grabbed my arm. “He means to kill you.”
   That was my impression, too. The Furinac raised and
sighted down the barrel of the rifle now pointed at my
skull. I put out my hands, palm up, the universal gesture
of friendship. It was definitely time to start making friends.
   “First Scion, have I offended you in some way? Why
are you doing this?” And how much was the League
paying him?
  “I’d like to know, too.” Dhreen suddenly materialized
out of nowhere, to the right of the heir. He wasn't armed,
but his sudden appearance seemed to stun the Furinac.
Dhreen gave me an exasperated look. “Doc, what is it with
you and weapon-carrying assassins?”
  “It’s a gift, Dhreen,” I said.
  Reever frowned. “Perhaps the Patriarch’s heir will be
good enough to explain why he feels he must murder the
physician who saved his parent's life.”
  “Yes! You saved him!” The heir flung the words at me.
  That puzzled me. “Of course I did. What did you
expect me to do? Let him die?”
   “Why did you have to save him? You could have let
him go with dignity!” He flicked the firing mechanism to
ready. “Now all my plans were ruined!”
   “Preserving life is my job, First Scion.” I used the
soothing tone I would have with a terrified patient. “Why
don’t you tell us about these plans of yours? Maybe we
can help sort the whole thing out.” And nail whoever was
killing people on board the Sunlace.
   “You already have the evidence, do you not?” The
barrel of the weapon shook slightly. “It took months to
convince him to leave Furin. Hire men to track his
movements. Arrange the transport accident. All that work
and time and investment—for nothing!”
   It had nothing to do with the League, after all. Some
devoted heir he was. Maybe if I could prod him a little,
Junior would get loud enough to attract some attention.
Some of those ten thousand guards had to be hanging
around here somewhere.
   “He’s your parent, First Scion, and obviously loves
you very much,” I said. “How could you even think of
harming him?”
   “He has outlasted his rule!” the Furinac screeched. “I
should be Patriarch now! If I wait for him to die, I will be
too old and sick to rule! As he is now!”
   That was more like it. If Junior kept this decibel level
up, the whole Palace staff would come running. I gave him
my best confused look. “But why kill me? Why not go
shoot him?”
   “She Who Preserves All Life.” The Furinac sneered.
“When they find your body with that of my dead parent,
they will call you Assassin Who Wore a Cloak of Lies.”
  “No, Scion. That is what you shall be called.”
   The Patriarch’s heir gasped, his proboscis bobbling as
he turned his head. Out of the shadows stepped the
Patriarch himself, Captain Pnor, and a group of armed
guards. No one looked very happy or welcoming now.
  “Put down the weapon,” one of the guards said.
  First Scion made a sort of buzzing yelp of dismay. The
weapon in his hands swung from me to the Patriarch to
me again.
   “Hi, Patriarch.” I had to get the rifle away from this
idiot before someone got a hole blown through them.
“Thought I ordered you to stay in bed.”
   “Doctor Torin, Linguist Reever, Pilot Dhreen.” The
elderly Furinac didn’t sound shaken at all. “I must
apologize for my heir's discourteous manner and reckless
behavior.”
  “Do not distress yourself, Patriarch,” Reever replied.
“No harm has been done.”
   “Distress yourself, Patriarch,” I said. I wasn’t as
detached as Reever. “If you hadn't shown up, a lot of
harm might have been done by Junior here.” Still might be
done.
   “Yes. Doctor, I confess I am as much responsible for
this as my heir. At the reception, I mentioned to several of
my people that you and Linguist Reever had evidence as
to the identity of an assassin.” The old ruler was doing a
great job of faking calm confidence. I could see his
appendages trembling. All part of the job, I guessed. “I
had my suspicions, but to discover the attempt on my life
was orchestrated by my own child…” He stared at his heir
and shook his head slowly.
  First Scion looked ready to weep. Or shoot someone.
Probably both.
   “How did you know someone was trying to kill you,
Patriarch?” I edged a step toward First Scion as he stared
blindly at the old ruler.
   “We examined the shuttle thoroughly after the
accident,” Reever said for him. He glanced at me. Saw
what I had in mind. He turned back to the heir, and moved
a step so that his body blocked the movement of mine.
“You arranged to have the flightshield generator
sabotaged, didn’t you?”
   “It should have destroyed the ship!” Junior said. What
a prince.
   “Apparently the pilot discovered the malfunction just
prior to failure,” Reever said. “He transitioned, ejected the
generator before it reached critical mass, and deliberately
flew into the meteor swarm.”
  “Too bad he perished,” Dhreen said, watching me, too.
“Sounds like my variety of jaunter.”
  Another few feet and I would be within reach of the
weapon. If only the First Scion wouldn’t remember he
wanted to shoot me first.
    “The pilot did so on my orders,” the Patriarch said.
“We did not know if the generator had genuinely failed, or
had been deliberately sabotaged in order to render the ship
vulnerable to attack, or kill me. In my position, I must
assume the worst. I very much regret the sacrifice of his
life.”
   “A dangerous way to camouflage a crippled vessel.”
Captain Pnor made an eloquent gesture, drawing First
Scion’s attention now. I loved it when men were
supportive and worked together. Especially when I was
trying to disarm someone. “A most effective method, as
well.”
   “It does not matter!” The heir finally cracked. “Your
rule is finished, Old One Who Should Be Enriching Our
Soil! I will end it mys—”
   Last chance. As the heir swung back in my direction, I
threw myself forward. I hit the rifle just as he fired. Impact
angled the barrel up toward the domed ceiling. A loud
boom echoed as the energy pulse hit. Gilded masonry
dust rained down on us in a glimmering shower. We
wrestled the weapon between us.
   “Let go!” I yelled.
   I heard guards running toward us. Great. I was about to
be squashed between the good guys and the bad guy.
   “I will kill you!”
   “You—had your—chance!” I hooked my leg around
his lower appendages and threw myself forward. The rifle
fired again. My face was so close to the beam I felt the
heat sear my cheekbone. We went down together, both of
us landing on our sides.
   He lunged. I dodged, and narrowly avoided being
stabbed in the throat by his sharp proboscis. So he didn’t
want to play fair. Fine.
   I slammed my elbow into the crevice between his
hinge-plating. Junior screamed, but didn’t let go. The end
of the rifle was between our faces. I jabbed him again,
trying to avoid his digestive compartment. No way was I
going to operate on this jerk.
   “Give it up!” I said, rolling on top of him. I wasn’t
heavy enough to keep him pinned, but he was weaker
now. His breath rasped through his spiracles with an
audible whistle. I managed to press the weapon closer to
his face than mine.
   “The Doctor is correct, Once Scion,” I heard the old
ruler say. “Release your weapon.”
  “Once Scion?” The heir’s tone buzzed with new
horror.
   “Daddy’s upset with you, Junior,” I said. I kept him
down, but he had a death-clutch on the rifle. Guards
swiftly formed a ring around us. No one tried to interfere.
The business end of the weapon was still too close to our
faces. “Do what he says, maybe you can be Prince again.”
   “I will be Patriarch,” he said.
   “No, pal,” I said, jerking on the weapon. No effect. “If
you want to get out of this one, think floor-kissing. Lots
of floor-kissing.”
   “She Who Preserves All Life,” the former heir said,
then buzzed out a faint chuckle. “I will deny you this one.”
His appendage slipped down the rifle case. “And
tomorrow you will be dead.”
    I couldn’t take my hands off the rifle. I heard the
triggering mechanism click.
   “No!” I screamed.
   The Patriarch’s heir jammed the nozzle beneath his
proboscis. As the weapon fired, I jerked my face away
and squeezed my eyes shut.
   His head exploded, an inch away from mine.

   That night Reever put aside his squeamishness and
helped me remove the dead heir’s remains from my upper
torso. He stayed with me, too. I suppose all the vomiting I
did was the reason. Patiently I explained I wasn't the
squeamish type. I just had a problem combing brain and
exoskeletal matter out of my hair.
   I was in good shape, considering I’d nearly had my
head blown off. One proximity burn on my left
cheekbone. An empty stomach. Nerves that were
shattered. Otherwise, I was just peachy.
  I fell asleep watching him watch me. When I woke the
next morning, he still occupied the same chair beside my
bed.
   “Are you well?” he asked me, sounding tired. I
nodded. He rose and left. Well, Reever never was one for
a profusion of words.
   We departed Furin that same day. It was a decidedly
silent sojourn team that made our very brief farewells,
minus all ceremony, and returned to the launch.
   I was as quiet and blank-faced as Reever. Having
someone’s face blow up under your nose left a sobering
impression. Pnor seemed more disturbed by the First
Scion's muttering about my dying after him than anything
else.
   Even Dhreen didn’t say much, until something slammed
into the launch. Then he cursed. If we hadn't been wearing
our rigging, the impact would have sent all of us flying
across the cabin.
   “Sunlace, sojourn launch is under attack!” Dhreen
began weaving and dodging through multiple
yellow-orange blast beams. “Sunlace, advise!”
   “Dhreen, four additional mercenary vessels converging
on your position!” Xonea’s voice came over the helm
console.
  What was Xonea doing at the helm?
   My ClanBrother snapped out more orders. “Sunlace
will intercept in three minutes—you must divert to
emergency route now!“
   “Execute crash-landing procedures!” Pnor said to the
team as he released his rigging. He took position behind
Dhreen, who was frantically compensating for the
attacking ship and attempting to avoid the others closing
in.
   The rest of us prepped the launch by rigging anything
that moved with extra restraints. The launch was rocking
wildly now. We had to anchor ourselves to the overhead
grips to keep our balance. Once geared up, we strapped
ourselves back into the rigging.
   Pnor was bending over the display, speaking in a low,
urgent tone to Xonea.
   “Reever?” I said. He had moved to sit next to me. “Lie
to me. Tell me we’re going to make it.”
   He dipped his head and murmured, “Don’t worry, it
will be quick.”
      “Lie to me anyway.”
   Displacer fire was getting heavier. Pnor had closed the
viewports and was giving the Oenrallian navigation
coordinates from the helm display. The launch shuddered
violently when something slammed into the port-side hull
panels. An automated warning rang out.
  “Caution. Launch hull tolerance range has been
exceeded. Caution. Launch hull tolerance range has been
exceeded.”
   The hiss of our interior atmosphere escaping into space
was immediate and loud. After a brief argument, Pnor
switched places with Dhreen. The Oenrallian was swearing
in his native language when he came back to don
emergency gear.
   “That stubborn old scrapper!” Dhreen said as he slid
the pack straps over his shoulders. “Thinks he can outfly
me!”
      “He is the Captain,” Reever said. “He can.”
  “Hull breach!” the display’s audio blared. “Emergency
measures! Hull breach! Emergency measures…”
   “Put your breathers on!” I yelled over the audio loop to
the others. I turned, hooked an arm around Reever’s
neck, and kissed him. His lips were cold against mine.
Then I yanked his breather over his face. I turned to the
helm. “Captain!”
   He didn’t respond. Pnor was too busy flying through
the mercenaries’ salvos. He also wasn't wearing any
emergency gear.
   I released my rigging, grabbed a pack and stumbled
toward him. At that moment, a heavy blast struck the
launch squarely, throwing me into an interior component
panel. The burn on my left cheek exploded with pain. Hot
sparks rained down over me.
   The starboard hull plate was slowly bulging out. I heard
the Jorenian alloys screaming, connectors tearing. Had to
get to him—had to—
  “Pnor!” I screamed with my last breath.
   The hull plate crumpled. The sudden change in
pressure discharged the launch’s artificial atmosphere into
space. I would have been sucked through the gap myself,
but someone grabbed my hair and the back of my tunic
and hauled me back. My breather was shoved down over
my face.
  Pnor.
   I looked at the helm display, and saw in horror that the
Captain had harnessed himself to the seat. He was still
guiding the launch, though his body was spasming
violently.
   Gravity was gone. My body floated weightless above
the launch deck. When I turned my head, I saw Reever
was holding on to me. He was the one who had pulled me
back. Where there had just been a twenty-foot section of
hull was now a jagged-edge hole. Through it, I saw the
looming profile of the Sunlace.
  Were we going to make it?
  The launch careened against the bay portal, then slid
over the threshold, skidding over the Sunlace’s deck.
Gravity reinstated itself and I fell, hard.
   Reever held me up. I had my breather off and was at
the helm in another heartbeat.
   Pnor had managed to guide us in just before
decompression burst his lungs. Green blood streamed
from every orifice. His hands were still clenched over the
controls.
  The Captain was dead.

   There was no time to grieve, the ship was still under
attack. Xonea had taken over command, operating from
level twenty-one. He took the news about Pnor without a
blink. I didn’t have time to wait for a reaction, or find out
why my confined-to-quarters ClanBrother was suddenly
running the ship. After a quick scan to assure the sojourn
team had suffered no ill-effects, I ran to Medical.
   The bay was in a state of controlled bedlam. I found
Squilyp, who stopped shouting out orders long enough to
report.
   “Casualties are coming in from all decks. They’re not
being particular about where they hit us this time. We
should be transitioning right about—”
  Reality twisted. We both found ourselves, along with a
number of nurses, on the deck.
   “—now,” he said, and groaned.
  “We better step up the practice drills,” I said, and
pushed myself up on my elbows.
  “There is blood on your face.” The Omorr nodded at
my cheek.
    The burn from the rifle blast had split open when I’d
tried to get to Pnor. I swiped at it with my tunic sleeve.
“Remind me to make you go on the next sojourn.”
   “Your team arrived without incident?”
   “We made it. All but the Captain.” My raw voice
earned me a grimace of sympathy. “Come on.” I helped
him up. “How many have been brought in so far?”
   “Twenty. There will be more.” He indicated the serious
cases that were separated from the minor injuries. “These
four first.” He grabbed my arm when I would have started
for them. “One of them wants to die, Senior Healer.”
  Not on my ward. “Keep the nurses out of there for
now.”
   Two of the four required surgery at once. I shouted for
the teams to prepare and scanned the other two. They
could wait. I sedated them and went to the first surgical
patient.
   Squilyp told me a feedback had created an explosion in
the huge banks of tech that ran the ship’s automatic
functions. The data programmer's face and arms were
horribly burned, and she had massive respiratory damage.
   “This is Healer Cherijo,” I said as I bent close to her
ravaged face. “We’re going to take you into surgery.
Don't be afraid, we're going to help you. Blink once if you
understand.”
   She blinked her scalded eyelids once. I administered
sedation, then moved to the next patient.
   He was groaning miserably. A terrible gash across his
torso revealed half his internal organs. White eyes opened
when I touched him.
  “My… Speaker…”
  “Is busy fighting mercenaries,” I said. So this was the
one who wanted to die. “What is your name,
ClanCousin?”
  “Yetlo…”
    “Yetlo, I’m going to take care of you. You are not
going to embrace so much as an optic light today. Got
it?”
  “My… right…”
  “I have decided to render my assistance,” a familiar
voice said from behind me.
   I closed my eyes briefly. “One second, Yetlo.” I
straightened and turned. “Get out of my Medical Bay.
Now.”
   Rogan stood there, cleaner than I’d ever seen him. Not
that it made a big improvement.
   “You need help. Your resident can’t keep up with the
injured.”
   “The day I consider you help, Rogan, tell them to
shoot me into a star, all right? Leave.”
  “Doctor.” Squilyp joined Rogan. “We could use the
hands.”
   I eyed the Omorr. “Fine,” I said. “Then he’s your
responsibility. He does not assess patients. Let him suture
and dress wounds. Keep a nurse on him while you're in
surgery to make sure he doesn't screw that up.”
  Rogan didn’t like that, and opened his four lips to tell
me so. The Omorr grabbed him and pulled him away.
  “Thank you, Senior Healer,” Squilyp called out over
Rogan’s protests.
  “You’re not welcome,” I called back. I bent to Yetlo
again. “As you can see, I have enough problems without
you wanting to die on me, ClanCousin. What do you
say?”
  He looked stubborn. “I… want… my… Spe—” His
head lolled to one side as he lost consciousness.
   “Oops.” Had I accidentally administered the sedation
before he could tell me what he wanted? It seemed I had.
What a shame. Perhaps Yetlo had been asking for a
speech therapist. A nurse appeared beside me, already
geared for surgery. “Prep him.”
   “He asked for Eternity, Senior Healer.”
   Another one. I drew myself up to my full height and did
an imitation of Joseph Grey Veil.
   “He didn’t ask me, nurse. Prep him, now.”
   While I was scrubbing, Xonea sent an emergency signal
to Medical and had one of the residents pull me out of
prep. I trotted over to the display, already scowling. The
strong, glowering face staring back at me didn’t improve
my mood.
   “What?”
   “Status report,” Xonea said. I gave him a brief outline
of the casualties and indicated I was going into surgery.
“Your hands?”
  “I’ll be fine.” I wasn't so sure, but I wasn't going to tell
him that. “Next time you want status, talk to one of the
nurses.”
   “I wanted to see you were unharmed.” He smiled
briefly. “Command out.”
   Surgery was a bit crowded. Squilyp and I operated
simultaneously on the two critical patients, our tables side
by side. We shared the scrub team between us, enabling
more staffers to deal with the overcrowded ward outside.
   I had to repair fissures in Yetlo’s chest cavity and clean
up shards from a half dozen broken ribs. After a quick
scan, I found a sizeable bone shard lodged in the wall of
his heart. This was not my lucky day.
   “How are you doing?” I said to the Omorr.
   “I’ve performed a lobectomy where her alveoli were
scorched,” he replied. “Her bronchus on the remaining
side is compromised in three areas. The tracheostomy
tube will have to be permanent.”
  “Trach’s gone?”
  “What’s left isn't viable.”
   “Preserve tissue samples. We’ll clone the fibrous and
muscle tissue the same way we did those Furinac
stomachs.” I swore under my breath as I visually located
the bone shard. As it was now, there was only a vestige of
cardiac hemorrhaging. Removing it would be like taking a
cork from a bottle. “Yetlo, you are really beginning to
aggravate me.”
  Squilyp’s dark eyes looked up over his mask at me.
“Heart?”
   “Yeah. He’s got a chunk of rib bone stuck in the right
ventricle. I yank it out, he’s going to rupture on me.“ I
straightened and let the nurse blot the sweat from my eyes.
”We're looking at another four hours here with the
open-heart procedure.“ I turned and gave the team
instructions to begin cooling Yetlo down. Once we put
him on the heart/lung supplanter, I could work on the
damaged ventricle.
  “I can cover the ward,” the Omorr said.
   “I’m not worried about that.” I flexed my hands
painfully. “You may have to take over cutting for me.”
   Squilyp stared at my hands. “Can you leave your
patient for a minute?”
    “Yeah.” I had finished repairing the damage internally,
all but the heart. “Start reducing body temperature,” I said
to the scrub nurse, and stepped around the table.
  The Omorr gave orders to the assistant beside him. She
began suctioning blood from his patient’s chest cavity.
My eyebrows elevated when he stripped off his gloves
and hopped over to me.
  “Did I accidentally challenge you to a fight again, or
something?” I asked.
  “No.” He looked amused. “Give me your hands.”
  I held up my bloody gloves. “My hands?”
  “Yes. Remove the gloves first.”
   Puzzled, I did as he asked. His membranes took hold
of my fingers. His flesh felt odd, almost hot as he touched
me.
   “Uh, Squilyp? What’s going on?” I could see me
making some kind of accidental betrothal here. I seemed
to be an expert at that.
    “Close your eyes. I’m going to heal you.”
    I scoffed out some air. “In your dreams.”
  “I mean it.” He sounded peeved. “You know my
people practice touch healing. Close your eyes.”
   Reluctantly I shut my eyelids. His touch was growing
uncomfortably hot now. “This hurts,” I said. “Don’t you
think I have enough problems?”
   “Shut up.” He said something my vocollar didn’t
translate. “Visualize your hands as they were before the
injuries. Remember what you could do with them.”
   I pictured myself performing surgery on Hado Torin.
Then my fingers had flown so fast I’d extracted and
replaced a cardiac valve in less than three minutes.
   “Yes. There is the power. I can sense it,” he
murmured. I peeked through my lashes. His gildrells
flared, and made snakelike undulations. “I enable you with
your power.”
    “Squilyp—”
    “Believe.”
    The word seemed to echo in my chest. Believe. Believe
.
   Okay. I believed. Only my hands were burning again. I
sucked in a quick, sharp breath, and squeezed my eyes
shut.
    “The pain is the healing,” he said. “Take the pain. Make
it yours to command. Force it back where it came from.”
   I concentrated. The scrub teams were whispering,
distracting me. “Quiet, people.”
   I saw my hands in Hado’s chest. Saw his heart being
repaired. I could have that again. I had to have it.
   The burning sensation faded. Neuropraxic tingling
remained in its wake. The tingling became a warm,
pleasant flush. Squilyp released me. We opened our eyes
and stared at each other.
  My hands should have been numb, so I looked down
and shook them, then flexed my fingers in dumbfounded
shock.
   “It worked.” My head snapped up. “Squilyp, it
workedl” To prove my claim, I reached over and picked
up a clamp and twirled it through my fingers. The
instrument became a smooth, blurred circle of movement.
    He nodded and looked at his own membranes. “Belief
is a power unto itself.”
  “If that’s all it takes,” I said, grinning, “then why did
we bother going to medtech?”
   “Beliefs require faith. Certification boards do not.”
   I laughed. Leaned over. Kissed him right smack on the
gildrells. I never knew the Omorr could blush.
   Thirty-six hours and ten operations later, I let the
nurses chase me from Medical and stumbled down two
levels to my quarters. My rooms were darkened when I
opened the door panel. Cautiously I peeked in to see if
Xonea had left a new gauntlet of obstacles for me to trip
over.
   Jenner padded over and gave me the once-over. Late
again? He raised his chin to my tired fingers, and sniffed
at me. There’s blood on your hands. Big blue eyes
regarded me solemnly. Why don’t you ever bring home
your kills for me to share?
   I sat down in a chair, trying to work up enough
ambition to head for the cleanser. A nerve in my neck
twitched, and I rubbed my hand over it. Everything
seemed fuzzy. I should have turned on the lights.
   A low whisper startled me. “Cherijo?”
  “No, it’s a half-ton Hsktskt killer. Got any weapons?” I
was too weary to do more than stand and start peeling off
my tunic. “Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up.”
   Twelve warm blue fingers were suddenly undressing
me. Xonea didn’t adjust the lighting as he helped me out
of my tunic.
   “I can’t see anything,” I said as he dressed me in my
favorite undershirt. Yawning became a chore.
   Smooth lips gently touched my injured cheek as he
placed me on the sleeping platform. His hands stroked
down my back.
   “I’m really tired,” I said, hoping that would be enough
to convince him to leave me alone.
   “I know, little one,” his low voice whispered. “I will do
everything.”
   Little one? Xonea never called me that. Suddenly a
hand was between my thighs. The other on my breast. Hot
breath scalded my face.
   “No.” I struggled, and the caressing fingers became
cruel and bruising. “No!”
  A fist slammed into my face.
   I was pitched out of the sleeping platform onto the
floor. Everything went grey for a few seconds. I heard
running steps. The door panel opened and closed. No, I
couldn’t let him get away, I thought, and pushed myself
up on my elbows. The door panel opened and closed
again. The interior lights snapped on.
  “Cherijo?” Xonea saw me on the floor. “Cherijo!”
   When he reached for me, I cowered. Gentle hands
carefully lifted me to my feet. That was when I realized I
was shaking all over.
  “Xonea.”
   He pressed me against his chest, tucked me under his
chin. Slowly he rocked me in his embrace. “You are safe,
Cherijo. You are safe now.”
   The only thing I could say I repeated, over and over. “I
thought it was you. I thought it was you.”

   No one challenged Xonea’s right to assume command
of the Sunlace. Pnor’s ruling, I learned, became void at
the moment of his death. Someone else would have to
accuse Xonea of trying to kill me before he could be
removed from command. No one did that, either.
Apparently my Choosing Xonea had convinced the crew
the whole banishment thing had been a mistake.
   Since Xonea suspected the Furinac First Scion had
betrayed our position to the League, our convoluted
course to Joren was immediately altered and recharted.
His first official act as Captain. His second was to
schedule all Senior crew members for a strategy session. I
was to report to the meeting as well.
  Xonea told me about it as I was getting dressed for
work.
  “What about the murderer, and Rogan? What are you
going to do about them?”
  “Defense planning must take priority.”
  I didn’t agree. “Xonea, you can't ignore this problem
and hope it'll go away.”
  “I will deal with it.”
   I wasn’t going to pick a fight with him. “All right. But I
don't know why you need me to attend this meeting. Ship
defense isn't my area of expertise.”
  “Your input will be valuable.”
   “What input? All I can say is stuff like, ‘Don't stand
there bleeding when you get hit, report to Medical.’ ” I
pulled my tunic straight and sat down at my vanity
console to attack my snarled hair. “I'm not a combat
veteran, like some people I know.”
   “Stop. You are making it worse.” Xonea came up to
stand behind me and took the brush from my fingers. “As
Senior Healer, your presence is mandatory.”
  I sighed and sat there as he patiently detangled my
knots.
  “What sort of strategy are we talking here?”
   He chose his words carefully. “There is a main item to
my agenda: our current response to the League threat.
Pnor felt swift retreat alone was the appropriate response
to these mercenary attacks.”
  “And you don’t.”
   “No. The Sunlace was commissioned by our
HouseClan primarily for extended deep-space survey. The
ship is not, however, defenseless. I will invite opinion on
our current procedures, and propose changes.“
  He might have sounded all Captainish saying that, but I
knew what was behind the words. After all, the man had a
warrior’s knot in his hair. Pnor, I suddenly recalled, had
never worn one.
  “Changes that include fighting back.”
  “If the Senior crew members agree,” he said, “yes.”
  “Hooray for democracy. I may have something to
contribute to this meeting after all.” Such as how many
more casualties we could expect if the Sunlace did return
fire. “Where and when are you having this meeting, so I
can be sure to be late?”
  “Tomorrow morning before your shift begins. You will
not be late. I will escort you myself.”
  “Gee, Captain, what’s next? Time drones?”
   His lips quirked as he separated my now-smooth hair
into three sections. “If necessary. You do seem to have an
abhorrence to punctuality.”
   “I have an abhorrence to a lot of things.” I shivered as
the frightening assault replayed in my mind. “What are we
going to do about last night?”
   His eyes met mine in the mirror. “I will assure it does
not happen again.”
  “You can’t baby-sit me forever.”
   “I will find the traitor,” he said. His hands skillfully
wove the long black strands into a braided cable. A rather
tight cable. “Until then, you will not be left alone.”
   It was time to be blunt. I waited until he took his hands
off my head. I liked my hair attached to my scalp.
“Xonea, we need to access my memories.”
  “You were drugged,” he said.
   I bit my lip, then jumped in the rest of the way. “Reever
was able to get to them once before. He can do it
again—”
  Xonea grabbed my braid and used it to pull my head
back. Upside-down, he still looked furious. “No. I forbid
you to do this.”
  “You’re being unreasonable, Xonea. Reever—”
   “No!” Xonea shouted. I found myself yanked out of
the seat and spun around. “Duncan Reever did not
Choose you. I did!”
   So he was angry. He wasn’t alone. “Choice has
nothing to do with this!”
   A muscle in his jaw twitched as he glared down at me.
“Stay away from him, Cherijo.” Dark rage transformed his
features. Maybe becoming Captain made him think he
could order me around. He needed a wake-up call.
  “You don’t own me, Xonea.”
  “You will do as you are told!”
  “How many more people have to die before you do
something?”
    He flung me away from him. Not a shove. Not a push. I
literally flew through the air, and landed on the sleeping
platform ten feet away. What the hell was wrong with him?
Getting the wind knocked out of me didn’t improve my
mood. As soon as I could, I sat up to blast him.
   Too late. Xonea was already out the door.
   I shoved myself off my bed and locked the door. A
few moments later, the door panel chimed. Sorry for
tossing me across the room, was he? I went to the
console, slammed my fist into it, and planted myself in
front of the opening door.
   Darea stood there with Fasala.
   “We thought to invite you and Xonea for a meal…”
Darea looked over her shoulder. Apparently my raging
roommate had passed her in the corridor. “Perhaps
another time—”
   “No. I mean, come in, please.” I stepped aside, and
forced a smile for Fasala’s sake. “You know how it is
once the honeymoon is over.”
   Darea looked puzzled. “What is a honeymoon?”
  “What I’m not having today. Come in, sit down for a
minute.”
   Jenner, who had been hiding during all the fireworks,
came out to inspect my visitors. Fasala went into raptures
at once, and soon the pair were playing a vigorous game
of catch the toy mouse. I smiled at their antics.
  “We would not have intruded on your privacy, had we
known, Senior Healer,” the Jorenian woman said.
   “It’s okay. I just don't think Xonea and I will be
accepting invitations to visit anyone in the near future,” I
said. “I suppose you and Salo never argue.”
   “On the contrary. My bondmate can be extremely
obstinate, nonverbal, and often forgets to equally
participate in parenting activities.“ She made a short,
rather direct gesture. ”I merely remind him I am his mate,
not his drone.“
   I tried to imagine Salo and Darea quarreling. “Are your
furnishings made out of plasteel?”
   “No,” she said, and smiled. “There have been rare
incidents of… damaging them. It is better than harming
each other.”
   Maybe Xonea should talk to Salo. He could have
seriously injured me with that thoughtless little toss. “Your
Senior Healer sincerely agrees.”
   “It is part of the bond. Salo is a fine warrior and
communications officer, but there are moments he is
simply a man,” Darea said. “As I am sometimes sorely
lacking in patience.”
   “I could use some lessons on how to live with a
Jorenian man.”
   Darea stood and beckoned to Fasala. “Come to our
quarters after your shift concludes,” she said. “Xonea
need not accompany you. You may observe how I live
with Salo and still maintain my sanity.”
  “I accept,” I said on impulse. Some of my furnishings
were going to end up damaged, I thought, if I didn’t try
something.
  I walked my visitors out to the corridor. No sign of
Xonea. After confirming a time with Darea, I went to
work.
   Medical Bay was operating at full capacity. I walked in
to find Rogan in deep discussion with one of the nurses.
Apparently he was very interested in knowing the
hierarchy structure of the Sunlace. He was muttering
words like “incompetent” and “mutant specimen.” He
didn’t realize a Jorenian was usually too polite to comment
on inappropriate or rude behavior from someone
considered a guest. When he saw me, he went into
auto-sneer.
  “Dr. Torin,” Rogan said. And here I thought he was
going to address me as incompetent mutant specimen.
  “Squilyp?” I yelled as I stood there and watched him.
The Omorr appeared from the ward and looked from
Rogan to me.
  “Senior Healer?”
  “Status report, please.”
   Squilyp recited the bed count, various stages of
recovery of the critical patients, and projected discharges.
   “You have a problem working a half-shift more on
rotation?” I asked the Omorr. He shook his head.
“Good.” I addressed the nurse. “Nurse, go change
someone’s dressing.” Then I turned to my smelly
problem. “Dr. Rogan, your services are no longer
required. Thank you for your assistance during the crisis.
Get out.”
   “I will apply to the Captain for a medical position,” he
said as he strode past me. His polyps were whirring
madly, making a sly, whispering hiss drift behind him. “He
should be informed I have twice your experience. We
shall see who gets out then, Doctor.”
    Rogan as Senior Healer? I’d blow up the damn ship
first. Something of what I felt must have shown in my
expression. Nurses scattered. Patients pretended
unconsciousness. Even the Omorr took a nervous step
backward.
   “Oh, relax!” I said to Squilyp. “Let’s take a look at
Yetlo. Might as well let everyone who wants to take a shot
at me do it now.”
   Yetlo Torin was making excellent progress, considering
I’d patched up a hole in his ventricle big enough to fly a
starshuttle through. The jagged chest wound showed no
signs of infection. His surgery had been completely
successful. All indications of a full recovery.
  Well, there was one hitch. He still wanted his Speaker.
   “My… right…” he croaked the words out as I passed
the scanner over him. “Bring… Speaker…”
  Beyond my shoulder, the Omorr suddenly got very
busy checking the already perfectly functioning monitor.
  “Yetlo. Your scans look very promising. Odds are
you’re going to be just fine.”
  “Speaker…” he said.
    Stubborn man. “Yetlo, as your physician, I’ll go out on
a limb and guarantee you will recover. You'll recover if I
have to sit and hold your hand until the day you're ready
to walk out of here. Satisfied?”
  He frowned at me. “Why… deny… me?”
   “Why?” I pursed my lips and consulted the deck
overhead. “I don’t know, maybe it's because I dislike my
patients committing suicide. Especially after I've spent six
hours with my hands in their chests. Call it my little quirk.”
   I could see he didn’t understand. I didn't understand,
either. What was so alluring about death? It came soon
enough for most beings. I'd seen two men kill themselves
already. I had no intention of letting Yetlo become number
three. Enough was enough.
   I put a hand on his healing chest. Beneath my palm, his
repaired heart beat slow and strong. “Feel that? It’s life.
Should something so precious be so easily disposed of?
Don't throw it away, Yetlo. Embrace your life.”
   When he would have spoken, I pressed a finger to his
lips.
   “Senior Healer,” Squilyp said. He sounded nervous. I
glanced back, and saw a whole row of Jorenian nurses
standing beyond him. They were whispering back and
forth.
   Not this again.
  Adaola stepped forward. “Senior Healer, this patient
has repeatedly expressed his wish to embrace the stars.
We cannot disregard his request.”
   “Watch me,” I said, and turned back to Yetlo. If
reason didn’t work, maybe blackmail would. I grabbed his
hand and pressed it against my throat. “Feel that, Yetlo?
That's my life. I love my life.” I bent closer. “I’ve never
wanted to give up my life.”
   “You are… not… me…”
   “I know that. But, if you Jorenians are right, what’s the
point in prolonging my life? Death is just another journey.
You’re not making this one alone. If you divert your path,
I'm going with you.”
    Squilyp made a strangled sound. One -of the nurses
stifled a small cry. Patients who could hear me began
sitting up in the berths. Yetlo’s hand tensed under mine.
   “That’s right. If you die, pal, so will I. In fact, why
should I wait for you? I’ll go first.“ I stared into his
widened eyes as I called out, ”Nurse! Bring me a
syrinpress.“ I smiled at Yetlo. “Have you ever seen a
perfectly healthy human die of a myocardial infarction,
Yetlo? Watch this.” I turned my head when the nurse
arrived at my side, and took the instrument. I deliberately
dialed an overdose of heart stimulant. “This little shot will
make my heart speed up until it bursts. I’m told it's a very
painful way to die.“
  “No…” The Jorenian moaned.
  “Think of it as a preview. When I’m dead, you can
have some.”
   “That’s enough, Doctor!” The Omorr tried to take the
syrinpress out of my hand. I smacked Squilyp's
membranes away and put the instrument in Yetlo's hand.
With my own behind it, I guided the nozzle to my throat.
  “That’s it, Yetlo. All you have to do is press the button
under your thumb. Go ahead, do it.”
   “Please…” He tried frantically to pull his hand away
from my neck.
   I held it firmly in place. “What’s the matter? It's a
simple procedure. I'm telling you I want to die. Just press
the button and watch.”
  “Healer…”
  “Press the goddamn button!”
  “I… can't.” All the color was gone from his face.
   “No?” I pretended to be surprised. “It's not that
simple, is it? To help someone to die, when you know
how easy it is to let them live?” I let go of his hand. The
syrinpress fell to the deck. With my palms, I framed his
face. “Now you know how I feel when you ask me for
your Speaker.”
   His hand curved around my neck, and he pulled me
down against him. He was shaking. So was I, for that
matter. When I lifted my head, I saw tears streaming down
his temples into his dark hair.
   It appeared the score would be Cherijo—one, the
stars—zero.
  “Still want your Speaker?” I asked. He shook his head
and openly sobbed. I stood and turned toward the ogling
nurses. “Everybody see that?”
  Everybody nodded.
   “Good. Squilyp.” The Omorr was so intent on Yetlo’s
tears that he looked at me, dazed. “Let's move on to the
next case.”
  I marched to the adjoining berth, and picked up the
chart. Sniffed. Blotted my face with the edge of my
sleeve. Squilyp hopped up alongside me.
   “Senior Healer, that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever
seen a physician do.” His gildrells undulated madly. “Also
one of the smartest. No one suspected you were bluffing.”
   I switched the chart to display and sniffed again. “Who
said I was bluffing?”
   By the end of my shift, Yetlo was showing remarkable
improvement. Maybe it was the return of his will to live.
Maybe he was terrified he might accidentally die and be
responsible for my suicide anyway. Whatever the reason,
his vitals never looked better. I’d have to write an article
on Death Threats as an Alternative Method of
Postoperative Therapy for Jorenian Surgical Patients.
  My surgical resident spent a lot of time muttering to
himself and staring at me when he thought I wasn’t
watching. I suspected he wanted to request a transfer to
another ship with a more rational Senior Healer.
   Poor Squilyp. Working for me was going to give him a
permanent gildrell-twitch.


         CHAPTER FOURTEEN
          Part of the Connection
                                                 «^»

  After final rounds I went directly to my quarters to get
cleaned up. I was looking forward to the meal with Salo,
Darea, and Fasala. My anticipation had nothing to do with
the argument I’d had with Xonea. Nothing at all.
   Xonea walked through the door panel as soon as I’d
finished dressing. He appeared quite formidable in his new
Captain's tunic. Jenner streaked across the desk and did
his best to wrap himself around Xonea's ankle. I resisted
the urge to salute. He picked up Jenner and studied me.
  “Why are you wearing that garment?”
  I glanced down at the red dress Ana Hansen had given
me long ago during my tenure on K-2. “Why not? I like
it.” I did a small twirl, making the bottom half flare out
around my thighs. “What do you think?”
   He leaned back against a wall panel and cradled my cat
against his chest. Narrow white eyes noted the fact I had
put sparkling red accessories in my ears and around my
wrists. My silver-sheened dark hair was piled on the top
of my head.
   “You look beautiful,” he said as he stroked Jenner. A
familiar expression of discomfort passed over his strong
face, and I glared at him.
  “You still haven’t gone for that internal scan yet, have
you?” He shook his head. “It's going to look very odd
when the Senior Healer's roommate keels over from an
untreated, perforated ulcer.”
  His mouth curled. “I am sure you will endeavor to save
me.”
   Maybe not. “Of course I would.”
   Xonea gestured toward my outfit. “Is this your method
of apologizing for provoking this morning’s altercation?”
   The man had thrown me across a room and thought I
should apologize. One simply had to admire that kind of
gall.
   “No.” I stuck the last pin in the sleek coil. Stepped
back to check my appearance in the mirror panel one last
time. “Feed Jenner for me, will you?”
   I walked past him toward the door. Six fingers stopped
me with little effort. There was a dangerous set to his
features, one I’d seen earlier. Jenner shot out of Xonea's
arms with a yowl.
   “Where are you going?”
    I smiled brightly. Picked his hand off my arm. Dropped
it the way I would a soiled glove into a disposal unit.
   “Out.”
   Xonea didn’t follow me. I was almost disappointed.
We could have had a rip-roaring fight right there in the
corridor. Let the crew in on our little secret. I wondered
who they'd side with. The defiant little woman, or her
abusive ball-and-chain.

   Darea and Sale’s quarters were on level twelve. I
arrived just in time to greet Salo as he came off duty. He
gestured for me to proceed him, then held out his arms for
the little girl who came barreling past me. Fasala flung
herself on Salo.
   “ClanFather!” She squealed as he picked her up and
tossed her in the air. The little girl was caught, kissed, and
returned to the deck. Darea came to her bondmate at a
more sedate speed, but her greeting was as warm and
loving as their daughter’s.
   All three turned to give me belated and apologetic
greetings.
  “Okay, okay,” I said, and laughed. “Consider me
welcomed!”
   “Your pardon, Senior Healer,” Salo said.
  “Please, call me Cherijo,” I replied. “If you keep calling
me Senior Healer, I’ll have to make chart notations!”
  They all laughed as we walked inside. Salo excused
himself to get cleansed and changed for the evening meal.
   Fasala proceeded to haul me at once to her room. I
was shown each of her HouseClan flags, the vast selection
of toys she kept in a tidy storage compartment, and her
favorite sleep cuddler, a stuffed fabric t’lerue.
   “So that’s what they look like.” I examined the
benign-looking model of the ponderous creature. Fasala
explained that on Joren, the slightly dull-witted t’lerue
often planted itself in front of a reservoir and would not
move sometimes for months. I recalled Tonetka calling
Roelm a t’lerue several times, and smiled sadly.
  Darea chided Fasala for monopolizing me and escorted
me through the remainder of their quarters.
   “You’ve got a beautiful dwelling,” I said as Darea gave
me the tour. Family quarters were arranged to render both
efficiency and privacy: A large living and dining area were
combined, while separate bedrooms were partitioned on
either side with their own individual cleansing units.
   Salo, I learned, was an amateur geologist. He had a
display case full of interesting specimens from a dozen
worlds. Darea, in keeping with her profession, collected
actual paper documents and showed me a shelf of real
books.
   “I’ve never held a book in my hands before,” I said as
Darea urged me to examine one ancient volume. I was
afraid to touch it. Fasala bounced on my lap and flipped
open the old animal-skin binding.
   “Look, Healer, see?” She pointed to a bewildering
block of Jorenian pictographs. “This says, Be aware
always, for the path changes beneath your feet.” She
grinned. “Our HouseClan once made such odd things. It
was all they had to preserve their knowledge.”
   “Primitive idea, isn’t it?” I said, carefully tracing a
fingertip over the dried, pressed leaf of plant pulp. “My
people used books in ancient times, too.”
   Fasala frowned. “But… we are your people, are we
not, Healer Cherijo?”
  Darea and I exchanged a glance.
   “Yes, Fasala, you are my people. But I was born on a
planet called Terra. Before I was adopted by HouseClan
Torin, I was Terran.”
   “You won’t go back there, will you?” the little girl
asked. “Perhaps we can make your skin blue, and remove
the spots from your eyes. Then you will belong to us.”
   She was precious, I thought. And thoroughly confused.
“My skin will never be blue, honey. Nor my eyes white.
But I’ll tell you what: It doesn't matter. Because I am
Jorenian in here.” I tapped my chest.
   “Oh.” Fasala thought this over, and smiled. “Smooth
path, Healer Cherijo.” It was “okay” with her.
   I was invited to the dining area for tea while Fasala was
sent for her nightly cleansing. Darea refused to let me
assist with the preparations for the meal. Instead, I was
made to sit while she chatted over her shoulder about
popular Jorenian recipe programs. Something that smelled
delicious quickly emerged from her food unit.
   “You are hungry?” she asked as she placed the heavy
server of steaming vegetables on the table.
   “I can’t remember the last time I had a meal interval,” I
said. I was permitted to assist Fasala with her evening
chore of setting places for the meal. Salo emerged just as
Darea placed ice-cold servers of znobell juice at each
plate.
  “At this time we entreat the Mother,” Fasala whispered,
slipping her hand in mine after we sat down. “You have to
close your eyes. My ClanFather says the words to offer
our thanks for bounty and togetherness.”
   “Got it,” I whispered back.
   “Mother of All Houses, this day we are indebted to you
as all days before and to come,” Salo said. “For this meal,
our friends and family, we give thanks. Smile upon our
House forever.”
  Fasala nudged me. “You can open your eyes now,
Healer Cherijo.”
   The meal, the main course of which Darea called
g’loho dibnarra, was incredible. I had to take some
programming lessons from this woman. I particularly
enjoyed the dessert, which was a frozen, edible flower that
was eaten one petal at a time. The sweet, delicate
confection melted on my tongue like a candied snowflake.
   “Don’t give me the recipe program for the dessert,” I
said. “I'd outweigh Salo in a week!”
   Another enjoyable aspect of the evening meal was
simply watching the family interact. I remembered the meal
intervals I had taken with my creator for years. Drones
served our every need back on Terra, so all I had to do
was sit, eat, and listen to Joseph Grey Veil lecture me on
some aspect of Terran medicine.
   In contrast, Salo and Darea discussed ordinary events
of the day. Planned future schedules. Even disagreed over
the amount of some spice Darea favored in her prep
programming. Fasala wasn’t left out, either. She was
asked about her day at school. What work she had
accomplished. The activities she enjoyed with her friends.
Darea actually apologized for it as I later helped her clear
the table.
  “Your pardon, we did not converse with you very
much. We always use meal intervals to remain
knowledgeable of one other’s activities.” She made an
embarrassed gesture. “As you can guess, we do not often
have guests.”
   “I loved it,” I said as I sterilized the servers and handed
them to her to be replaced in storage. “You have nothing
to apologize for. I envy you your family.”
  Darea glanced fondly at her bondmate and child. They
were reading a display primer, Fasala laboriously forming
the words, Salo regularly praising her efforts.
   “They are my world.” She looked back at me. “What
say you of having children with Xonea? You would be an
exceptional ClanMother.”
  I was exceptional, that much was true. I shook my
head. “It isn’t possible now.” Or ever, I added silently.
   “Xonea honors you, Cherijo.”
    “Xonea needs a good kick in the—” I bit my lip, then
tried again. “Xonea wants what Xonea wants.”
   “He is a warrior,” Darea said, as if that excused
everything.
  “So is your bondmate. How would your relationship
with Salo be, if he… got physical when you argued?”
  “I am warrior-trained as well.” Darea’s eyes danced.
“Salo and I would alternate occupying berths in the
Medical Bay, I think.”
   We giggled together like girls.
   “ClanMother? Healer?” Fasala piped up from the living
area. “What do you find amusing?”
  “Your ClanFather,” we answered her at the same time,
and giggled again.
   “Darea,” Salo said her name with a warning rumble in
his chest.
   “My bondmate displays his warrior’s pride for your
benefit,“ Darea said as we finished up in the preparation
area. ”He is not half so dignified, or so fierce, when we
are private.“
   Fasala was sent off to bed soon after that. The little girl
would have protested more, but enormous yawns weren’t
backing up her claim to be wide awake. I wished her
pleasant dreams.
   “Sometimes I do not,” the child confessed. “I dream
of the time I was hurt with my educators. I am still afraid
of that place on level fourteen. Even walking past it
frightens me.”
  Fasala needed to face her fear, I realized, not tiptoe
past it.
   “Tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you and I go back
there together? You'll feel better when you see there's
nothing there to hurt you, and I bet it will make the
nightmares go away.”
  “Will they, Healer Cherijo?”
  “Sure.”
   I found myself being ferociously hugged by small arms
flung around my neck. For a traitorous instant, I imagined
she was my child.
  Salo carried Fasala back to her sleeping platform. I
would have left myself, but Darea asked me to remain.
   “I—we would like to show you something, Senior
Healer,” she said. Her bondmate had returned to the living
area and frowned when he heard that. “Salo, you said I
might tell someone of it.”
  He ran six fingers through his dark hair. “I said you
might tell, Darea.”
   “Please. Healer Cherijo will appreciate the curious
nature of this.” She pretended to think for a moment. “Of
course, I could tell your ClanCousin Tareo. He often
finds amusement in—”
   “Tell anyone—show anyone—but Tareo.” Salo
groaned. “I beg you.”
   Darea jumped up and hurried out of the room. A
moment later she returned, carrying a rather bulky,
fabric-draped object in her arms.
  “Do you remember the sentient crystal given to us
while we sojourned at Garnot?”
   I nodded. “It was truly the loveliest thing I’d ever
seen.”
   Salo appeared supremely embarrassed as Darea placed
the object on the deck in front of us. She placed her hand
on it and looked ready to burst from excitement.
  “The crystal we chose was shaped like our
Clan-Daughter. Do you remember it?” I nodded. “When
we returned to the ship, I placed it on a display stand near
our sleeping platform.”
  “Thank the Mother.” Salo scowled. “To think it could
have been in this room, for all who entered to view!”
   Darea glared at him, then turned back to me. “Healer,
the crystal did not retain its shape. We believe it wishes to
continue to be impressed by our thoughts.”
  “Really? What did it do? Make itself into a big question
mark?” I asked.
   “No. It did this.” Darea removed the cover with a
flourish.
  What had once been a beautiful crystal statue of Fasala
had changed into a precise replica of Darea and Salo.
They were standing together, holding each other. They
were also both completely naked.
  “What say you?” Darea asked me. “Is it not beautiful?”
  “Urn, yes. Beautiful.”
   “This was an embrace Salo gave me last night,” Darea
said. “The crystal changes each day.”
  “How… nice.” I leaned toward Salo and murmured,
“Now I see why you were glad it was in the bedroom.”
   “She would put it in the center of the galley for all to
gawk at, if I had not stopped her,” he muttered back.
“This is not the worst of it. You should have seen what it
shaped three nights ago.”
  “Don’t tell me,” I said. “I have a great imagination.”
    “With this meddlesome rock, you need not have one at
all.”
   Kneeling down beside the crystal, I put out a hand and
held it an inch above the surface. I could feel warmth
radiating from it.
  “What makes it retain heat?” I asked Salo.
  “I do not know, but the radiant heat is not harmful. I
have examined it with every instrument I possess.”
  “Take my hands,” Darea said, and joined her fingers to
mine to encircle the crystal. “We will impress it together,
you and I, Healer.”
  “Yes, please,” Salo said. “Shape it into anything but
what it has flaunted a predilection for.”
  “What do I do?” I asked.
   “Close your eyes,” Darea said. “Think of one you
honor above all others. The crystal will interpret your
thoughts into form.”
  I closed my eyes, and concentrated. Jorenian
honor—the closest thing to love. So who did I love?
Maggie was dead. So was Kao. I wasn’t too fond of
Xonea at the moment. Would it cast itself in Jenner's
image?
  Darea gasped. I opened my eyes.
   “A most interesting interpretation,” Salo said. If big
strong male Jorenian warriors giggled, he’d be rolling on
the floor. As it was, he was grinning widely.
  The crystal had reformed into two figures: one male,
one female. Both were in each other’s arms.
  Darea was puzzled. “What are they doing?”
   I looked at the precise duplicate of myself in a long
gown, and Reever in formal dress. The miniatures were
atop a towering cliff. Tiny waves curled in below us.
  “We’re waltzing,” I said.

   The strategy session was already in progress when I
made an extremely late entrance. I even had an excuse—it
was twelve levels from my quarters to Engineering. If the
Captain wanted me on time, he’d better get the gyrlifts
fixed.
  Xonea looked up from his central position at the
conference table and glowered at me. “Senior Healer
Cherijo.”
   He’d never come back to our rooms last night. Off
sulking, I guessed. Probably slept in his old quarters. I
waggled my fingers at him and slid into an empty seat.
  “As I have indicated, the recent escalation of League
hostilities against Jorenian vessels mandates a review and
possible revision of our response procedures,” my
Chosen said. “I would hear your comments on this.”
  I made a show of stifling a yawn.
  “We have not been sent from the homeworld to start a
war with half the galaxies in the universe, Captain,” the
Executive Administrator said. “Pnor’s nonaggression
policy has preserved what peace remains between Joren
and the League.”
   Now there was a comment I could stand up and cheer
for.
  “For how long?” the Senior Engineer demanded. “The
League has no interest in preserving the peace.”
  “Violence is not the answer,” the Head of Programming
said. “Half my staff was wounded during the latest
assault.” He nodded toward me. “The Senior Healer can
well describe the aftereffects of violence.”
   That I could. In exact, bloody detail.
   Xonea ignored the Programmer’s comment. “Our
current policy is not protecting this ship or the crew. If the
thought of violence disturbs you, what would you
propose as an alternative?”
   “We could try to renegotiate a treaty with the League,”
the Programmer said.
  “We could enlist the aid of sympathetic species,” the
Head of Survey said.
   I held up my hand and waved it at Xonea. “We could
send me back to the League, Captain.”
   All heads turned toward me. No one seemed eager to
agree. And for a moment, the Captain looked ready to
throttle me right there on the conference table.
   “The ruling Houses have decided against further
dialogue with the League,” Xonea said. He had composed
himself and looked remarkably like Pnor. I had no idea he
could do impressions. Maybe he could do a t’lerue for
me later. “Thus, no treaty. We have enlisted the aid of
species friendly to us, but can we truly depend on those
who do not belong to the HouseClan?”
   “What about my suggestion?” I asked.
   Xonea looked pretty impressive when he flexed all his
muscles like that. “No, Senior Healer. Turning you over to
the League is not an acceptable alternative.”
   The discussions continued. I listened as proposals
were presented, discussed, and ultimately rejected. It
appeared there was no viable alternative. Once this was
established, Xonea made his recommendation.
   “I propose we respond to League attacks in kind. No
longer shall the Sunlace transition away from a skirmish
with these bounty hunters. We have a considerable arsenal
at our disposal. The ship’s structure can be reinforced to
withstand most displacer fire. HouseClan Torin will fight
back.“
   Half the room erupted into frantic speech.
   Salo and some of the other warriors backed Xonea.
“The Captain’s plan is sound—”
  Others were not so happy. “No HouseClan since—”
   Xonea stood up, all seven-and-a-half feet of him. “Hear
me! HouseClan Torin has been attacked. We know we
will encounter more mercenaries on the path. Which of
you will stand back and watch our kin die? Which of you
will turn and run away?”
   That definitely rallied the troops. Rumbling fury echoed
around the room. Nice, peaceful administrators suddenly
looked as though they wanted to gut someone. I even saw
some claws emerge. Xonea appeared highly pleased with
himself. His wording and delivery had been flawless.
  Time for me to spoil the Captain’s fun.
   “Excuse me,” I said. I had to repeat that a few times
before I had the room’s attention. “There is something
you've forgotten.”
  “Please, tell us, Senior Healer.” That was Xonea. “We
would hate to forget something.”
   He was such a grump today, I thought. Sleeping in his
old quarters definitely did not agree with him. I got up
now.
  “You’re saying that we should stand and fight back.
That's your whole strategy, Captain?”
  “Of course not, Senior Healer,” he said. “We will—”
   I whipped up my hand. “Spare me the gruesome
details. I suppose you expect the entire crew to go along
with this.”
   “Success requires a cooperative effort,” the Senior
Engineer said. He frowned at me with censure. Maybe he
thought I was unwilling to enlist myself in the cause.
  “I’m not trying to get out of it,” I told him. “In fact,
you can't do this without support from me and my staff.”
   “Agreed,” Xonea said. “Medical will be a vital
resource.”
   “Glad to know we’re appreciated.” I walked to the
center of the room. “I know you want to make all these
big, bad battle plans, but there's one small detail you've
forgotten. What about the kids?” Everyone went still.
“Yeah, remember the kids?”
  “Explain your meaning!” Xonea demanded.
  “Captain, the Sunlace is not a troop freighter. We have
more than two hundred children on board. Last time I
checked, most of them aren’t old enough to qualify for
warrior training.“
   “Do you question our ability to protect our children?”
Salo asked. Not in a friendly tone, either.
   “Absolutely not,” I replied. “Your devotion toward the
youngest members of this HouseClan is nothing short of
slavish. That isn’t the point.”
   I slipped a disc in the display module at the center of
the room. I’d spent half the damn night working on it,
they'd better pay attention.
   “I’m telling you that you can’t protect the kids.”
   Dimensional imagers projected an imaginary battle
between four ships. The graphics were very realistic,
thanks to some tips from Squilyp on adjusting the
holopicells. Little blue figures inside the ships actually got
blown to bits when a direct hit was achieved. You could
even make out green blood and tiny dismembered blue
limbs.
   “Observe, if you would, a simulated counter-offensive,
where you stand and fight rather than withdraw and
escape,” I said. “This conjectural scenario is based on
hard data gathered from all mercenary attacks since we left
K-2 orbit.”
   I identified the components. “Here you see the Sunlace
under attack by three mercenary vessels.” I pointed to the
League vessels as they were destroyed, one by one. “Note
the number of direct displacer hits the mercenaries are
capable of making prior to the destruction of their
vessels.”
   “Your data is inaccurate,” Xonea said. “We will
reinforce the hull.”
   “No, it isn’t,” I replied. “This model of the Sunlace
already has the proposed structural bolsters in place.”
   “How could you know what we plan to do with the
ship?” Xonea demanded.
  I gave him a dazzling smile. “I’m touched that you used
my name, but you need to think of a new password for
your sensitive data files.”
   A few unwilling chuckles had Xonea dropping back
down into his chair.
   “Go on,” he said.
   “Thanks.” I pointed to three different levels on the
display model where the Sunlace was badly damaged.
“Projections show total loss of life here, here, and here.
That’s, oh, say a hundred Torins, give or take a few.“
With a few key taps on the module console, I rotated the
image of the cripple vessel. ”Fifty percent more casualties
on these five levels. Half of them will die.“
  I ended the simulation and inserted a second disc. This
one was the clincher.
   “This is a mock-up of what Medical Bay would look
like after such an attack. At current staffing levels and
equipment availability, we could not meet demand.”
   Everyone stared at the realistic drama the computer
played out. Bodies littered the deck. Nurses ran from
berth to berth. The residents and I performed surgery
without sterile fields. Lots more blood and body parts.
Life sized this time.
   “We would treat the salvageable cases as top priority.
In my experience, that category seldom includes children.
Young bodies rarely tolerate as much punishment as
mature ones.” I projected a list of the names. “These
individuals were not chosen at random by the computer.
Death ratios are based on the routine locations of crew
members, and which portions of the ship the mercenaries
are likely to attack. More than seventy-six percent of the
dead would be under the age of sixteen.”
  I enlarged the list until it filled the center space. “How
many of you see the names of your own children?”
   The room was silent.
   “If you survived the firefight, and any subsequent
injuries which could not be adequately treated by
Medical,” I said, “you would have the joyous task of
shooting ninety-four dead children into some stars.” I
switched off the module, gathered up my discs, and
addressed the pale blue faces staring at me. “Which of
you will stand back and watch our kids die?”
   No one said a word, so I walked out. The meeting
adjourned soon after. I heard later the vote had been
unanimous.
  No change of policy.

   When my shift ended, I thought about going down to
the galley, or challenging Dhreen to a rematch at the
whump-tables. I sighed as my feet took me to my quarters
anyway.
   I barely got through the door panel before Xonea
started cursing at me in Jorenian.
   “Hello, honey, I’m home,” I said as I set down a stack
of charts I'd brought with me. He was pacing back and
forth in front of the viewport. “Things sure were busy at
work. How was your day?” Another burst of violent
swearing. “Sorry to hear that. Well, relax and put your feet
up. I'll make us a nice dinner.”
   “Your tongue shall divert your path someday,” Xonea
said. Must have been hard to get out, too. Clenched teeth
did not allow much in the way of articulate speech.
   “That, or one of your policy changes,” I replied. I went
to the prep unit and eyed the main menu thoughtfully.
“Are you in the mood for kcdarak, or some utolla? I see
you’ve been drinking jaspkerry tea. Does that go with—”
  He turned me around. Not gently, either. “I am not
hungry.”
   “I am.” I stood unresisting beneath his brutal grasp.
“And don’t even think about tossing me across the room
again. You got lucky last time. My body isn’t built to take
that kind of abuse.”
  “Who are you to interfere with my policies? You are
not the Captain of this vessel!”
   “You’re right, I'm not.” I wasn't yelling. Yet. “Nor am I
your drone, sparring partner, or punching bag. Now take
those big blue hands off me, pal.”
   He let go and I went back to preparing our meal. The
baked syntrout I was programming for myself would
probably choke me, but I wasn’t going to let Xonea know
how angry I was. With a glance over my shoulder, I saw
him standing by the viewport again. This time he was
staring out into space.
   “Cherijo, the other morning, when I threw you—” He
faltered, then his voice dropped to a low mutter. “I have
never hurt a female in my life.”
   “Am I supposed to thank you for starting with me?”
   “We cannot continue in this fashion.”
   I placed our servers on the table. “No, we can’t.”
  He came to the table. Took my hands. His expression
was anger and torment and need, all wrapped together.
“Cherijo. Why is this happening between us?”
   I shook my head. “Don’t ask me. I'm no psych
therapist.”
   “I honor you.”
   Well, at least he didn’t say it like I spit on you this time.
I was about to suggest a separation when the door panel
chimed.
   “Ignore it,” Xonea said when I tried to move past him.
   “You’re the Captain, remember? We can't.” I broke
free of his grip and went to the door. The panel slid open
to reveal Phorap Rogan waiting outside. “On the other
hand, maybe you were right, Xonea. What do you want,
Rogan?”
  He walked in right past me. “Captain, I was hoping to
have a word with you.”
   “Dr. Rogan,” Xonea greeted him.
   “The ultimate oxymoron,” I muttered.
  My roommate gave me a calculated glance. “Would
you care to join us for a meal interval?”
   “No, he wouldn’t,” I said. “Let him have his word and
then he goes.”
   Rogan faked an anguished expression. “You can see
Dr. Torin has a great deal of prejudice against me.” His
helpless little shrug made me snort. “I hope her Terran
bigotry will not influence you in regard to your decision.”
   “What decision?” I recalled Rogan’s last threat. “Oh,
no. You're not putting him to work in my Medical Bay.”
   “It is not your Medical Bay,” Xonea said. His voice
was soft but rich with triumph. “You yourself stated we
are grievously understaffed in Medical.” He turned to the
half-human. “I will permit you to work as a physician for
the duration of your journey with us.”
   “Thank you, Captain.” Rogan’s four lips parted in a
repulsive grin. “You're a wise man.”
   “I resign,” I said.
  “Resignation refused,” Xonea replied. “Excuse us, Dr.
Rogan. You may report to Medical tomorrow and review
your shift schedule with the Senior Healer.”
  “Thank you again, Captain.” Rogan nodded, and
smiled even wider as he passed by me. “Doctor.”
  I almost spit on him then. My bad Terran blood. I
waited until the door panel slid shut, then I secured it.
   “I know you’re getting back at me for sabotaging your
meeting this morning.” I stayed by the door panel, unable
to look at Xonea. “What you don't know is how
dangerous that man is. You're putting people's lives at
risk.”
  “Dr. Rogan has already explained your personal
aversion to him. You need more staffing, he is a
doctor—”
   “He is a quack,” I said, turning around, my fists
clenched. He wanted a battle, by God, he was going to get
one. “That bastard nearly killed the first patient I saw on
K-2 because he couldn’t be bothered to follow procedure.
His work is slipshod and neglectful. Hell, calling what he
does malpractice would be a compliment. As for his
personal aversion to me, did he tell you how many
charges he invented and filed against me with the ruling
Council on K-2?”
   “No, he did not,” Xonea said.
   “Did he mention he was partially responsible for
spreading the contagion that resulted in the deaths of over
seven thousand colonists?” I advanced toward him.
Xonea shook his head. “How about the time he led a mob
into the hospital to kill me and a ward full of infected
patients?”
   “Cherijo—”
   “No? Here’s one more item about your new staff
physician: Rogan appeared before the ruling Council one
last time before I left K-2. You should remember him.
You were there.” I thought for a minute as I stopped in
front of him. “No, now that I think about it, you and the
others came in after Rogan had testified.”
   “I did not know he was there on your behalf.”
   “He wasn’t. Rogan testified against me.”
   We stared at each other. Xonea looked faintly sick
now. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I'd thought I would,
especially when I saw the very real pain in his eyes.
  The physician behind my eyes spoke to him first.
“You’re showing all the symptoms of an aggravated ulcer,
Xonea. Get Squilyp to run the series on you, soon.”
  “Cherijo—”
   “Another suggestion. Step up your investigation into
the murders, before this maniac finds another way to
signal the League. And get Rogan off the ship. I guarantee
that will prevent more mercenary attacks.”
  He frowned. Obviously he hadn’t thought of that.
  “I’m leaving,” I said. “But when I come back to these
quarters in a few hours—with all due respect, Captain—I
want you and your junk gone.”

   After my fight with Xonea, I walked all the way down
to the observation ring on level twenty-eight. The plasteel
panels retracted to reveal transparent alcoves. It was
probably the most breathtaking view of space available on
the ship.
   I didn’t see a damn thing. I sat and stared at the pale
reflection of my own face on the shielding.
   A sudden surge of power rumbled through the hull of
the ship. Here, three levels below Main Engineering, the
engines were plainly audible.
  I ignored them.
   The situation with Xonea was becoming intolerable.
Maybe it was starting to affect him. The deep core of
anger seemed to be growing within him every day. A core
that could erupt into violence at any moment.
   I missed Tonetka. Would any of this have happened if
she was still alive? Probably not. The Jorenian woman
would have never allowed Rogan in her Medical Bay. She
had always taken charge and remained in control. I was
wasting my time trying to fill her shoes.
   The engines quieted down. I spent another half hour
staring at the stars, wondering what the hell I was going to
do. Then someone joined me.
  “Cherijo.”
  I wasn’t surprised to hear Reever's voice. He usually
showed up at some of the worst moments in my life.
  “Go away, Reever.” I wanted peace and quiet.
Hopefully the engines wouldn’t start screaming again.
  “Why are you here?” His reflection appeared behind
mine on the shielding. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
  “Which did you hear about?” I asked. “Rogan, or
Xonea?”
  “Both.”
   I smiled. My reflection smiled back. Reever’s didn't
twitch a nerve cell. “Then you already know why I'm
here.” My smile faded as the engines made a transition. At
least they weren't as loud as before. That sound…
   He stepped closer and sat down next to me. The heat
from his body reached mine. “That is not why I am here.”
   “It doesn’t matter.” I hunched away from him. “I'm
leaving the ship. Getting off on the next non-League world
we come to.”
  “That would be Dr. Rogan’s homeworld.”
  “The second non-League world we come to.” If the
engines lasted that long.
  He moved an inch closer. Now I could smell his skin.
“Cherijo, it is never as hopeless as you may think.”
    He was right. It was worse. “The voice of experience.”
I frowned. The engines… what was it about that sound
that bugged me so much?
  “I am here, am I not?”
   I turned my head to glare at him. “Very funny.” His arm
came up around me, and I let my head rest on his
shoulder. “I’m terrible company right now. You really
should go.”
  His scarred hand tightened on my upper arm briefly.
“There is something I have to tell you.”
   Something in his voice warned me I wasn’t going to
like it. I sat back up and faced him. “You’re not getting off
on Rogan’s homeworld, I hope.”
  “No. I was sent to find you. There has been—”
  That sound! The same thing had happened after Fasala
and the educators had been injured. After Roelm’s death.
After the mercenary had been killed. I had been
unconscious at the time, but I felt sure the same surge
occurred after Ndo died. That meant—
  “God, Reever, someone’s been murdered,” I said.
“The same way the others were.”
  “How did you—”
   “Come on.” I got up and started running. He caught me
before I could reach the next level. “Let me go, Reever.
I’ve got part of the connection now! I have to tell—”
   “Cherijo. Listen to me. You need to hear this first.” He
took me in his arms.
  “What?”
  “It is Yetlo Torin.”
   “No.” I pushed my hands against his chest, struggling
free. “Nothing’s wrong with Yetlo. I just left him a few
hours ago. He's fine.”
  “He was murdered, Cherijo.”
   “No!” I shouted as I grabbed the front of his tunic. “I
just left him! He was doing fine, he wanted to live! I
swore I’d—” I broke off with a strangled sound, and
buried my face against him.
    Reever stood there with me for a long time, holding me,
saying nothing. When I finally regained my composure, I
lifted my head from his damp tunic.
  “Let’s go.”
   Medical Bay echoed with silence. No one looked at me
as I swept down the ward to where Yetlo’s body lay. His
outer derma had the same strange striae as Roelm's had,
with a grisly addition. The stress of whatever killed him
had torn his chest wound wide open.
  “Senior Healer.” Squilyp appeared with Yetlo’s chart.
  “Report.”
   “Yetlo was complaining of discomfort and trouble
sleeping,” the Omorr said. “I gave orders to administer the
painkiller you prescribed an hour after you left the Bay.”
  “Who administered the dose?” I demanded.
   “Adaola, under my supervision. We finished making
rounds, and were treating outpatient cases when Yetlo’s
monitor went on full alert.”
   Outpatient cases? “How many walk-ins did you have in
here?”
   Squilyp looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps twenty. I had
scheduled them in a group, to afford the most efficient
processing and treatment.”
   “I want a list of everyone who was on this ward,” I
said. “What happened after his monitor went off?”
   “I began resuscitation at once, of course, but it was too
late. Tissues were flooded, possibly due to a reaction to
the narcotic. Convulsions and heart failure were nearly
synchronous. He died without ever regaining
consciousness.”
  “Did you or the nurses see anyone do anything?”
  He shook his head.
   Reever accompanied me to the office. Squilyp
followed after he retrieved the list of outpatients. Once the
door panel closed, I sat down on the edge of the desk and
rubbed my reddened eyes before I consulted the list.
  “Tareo, Ralrea, Hado…” I continued to read the names
until I reached the last one. “Is this everyone who was in
Medical today, Squilyp?”
   “No, Senior Healer. There were several others who
reported for treatment,” the Omorr said. “Dr. Rogan
unfortunately did not make the proper chart notations on
the patients he treated, so I am unable to provide a
complete list.”
  Another reason for me to kill Xonea. “Gentlemen, we
have a problem.”
   “What of Pnor’s investigation? Was nothing
discovered?” Squilyp asked.
    “Pnor found no evidence to identify the killer.” My
fingers began thrumming on the desk top. “I have. There
is a link between the power surges in the engines and
every one of these killings. That, and a two-meter ring of
light that mysteriously appears and disappears.” I looked
from Squilyp to Reever. “Yetlo is the last person who
dies this way. I will take this damn ship apart piece by
piece to find this maniac if I have to.”
  “How can you find someone when you don’t know
who it is?” the Omorr asked.
  “We’re going to try accessing my memories again.
You, me, and Reever.”
  “The Captain has forbidden it,” Squilyp said. “He was
most specific.”
   “The Captain has no authority over my mind. We’re
going to do this, right here, right now.”
   “Doctor, at least give me time to set up one of the
surgical suites as an isolation area. The last time we
attempted this, there was an unpleasant aftermath.”
   And the unpleasant aftermath was now running the
ship. “Locks on the doors are good,” I said. “Reever?”
   “Perhaps Resident Squilyp can requisition some
weapons,” Reever said. “I should not wish to encounter
the Captain when he is in an emotional state again.”
  “If no one makes an announcement,” I said, “we don’t
have to worry about ugly scenes. Agreed?” Both men
nodded. I focused on my resident. “How long to set up,
Squilyp?”
  “I will need an hour.”
  “Great. Let’s do it.”


           CHAPTER FIFTEEN
           Breaking the Choice
                                                 «^»

  We made arrangements to convene at the surgical
suite in an hour. I left Squilyp to settle the ward down for
the night. Reever had already disappeared.
   Rather than returning to my quarters and facing the
sight of Xonea moving out, I trudged down eighteen levels
to level twenty-five. It was the lowest of the four levels
providing access to the enormous engines and stardrive
array. I found a number of engineers examining one of the
huge housings. They looked like ants swarming over a
giant barrel. One noticed me and hurried over.
  “Senior Healer?”
   It was Barrea, one of the men who was injured during
the last attack. He had to shout to be heard over the sound
of the exposed engine.
  Broken arm, torn shoulder ligaments, my brain recalled.
“How’s the arm, Barrea?”
   He appeared delighted that I remembered his case, and
rotated the limb carefully. “Still stiff, but much improved!”
   I beckoned to him and we walked far enough away to
be heard without the yelling. “Barrea, did you report to
Medical for outpatient treatment today?”
   He removed his protective headgear. “No, I am not
scheduled to report for three more days.”
   “Good.” That meant he wasn’t present when Yetlo was
murdered, and it would be reasonable to assume he wasn't
involved. “I need your help.”
  He was surprised. “Of course, Senior Healer.
Anything.”
   “A short time ago I heard a sound coming from this
level. The engines sounded like they were screeching.”
  “We experienced a power overload.”
  “What was that caused by?”
 Barrea looked sheepish. “I do not know, Senior Healer.
We cannot explain the power fluctuations as of yet.”
  “But it’s happened before, hasn't it?”
  He nodded.
  I counted names: Fasala, Roelm, Leo, Ndo, and now
Yetlo. “Five times before?”
  “How could you know that?”
   “A lucky guess,” I lied. “Can you describe—in
nontechnical terms—what has happened during each of
these incidents?”
  Barrea tilted his head as he considered my question. “I
can theorize, if that is acceptable.”
  “Great. Go ahead.”
   “The engines draw power from the absorption grid and
primary energy exchangers.” He went to a console and
waved for me to join him. On the display, he brought up a
schematic of the Sunlace. “Here.” He pointed to the
ship’s interior. “Each level of the ship forms an outer part
of the central fuel core.”
   I peered at the display. “Are those circular symbols the
transductors?”
   He seemed surprised I knew the term. “No, they are
transductor junctions.” He pointed now to cylindrical
tubes leading to and from the junctions. “These are the
transductors.”
   “What do they do?”
   “Transductors supply energy forms demanded by ship
operations. The junctions are where raw fuel is converted
before it floods the transductors.”
   “How big are these junctions?”
  “They range in size, according to load and demand.
They can be as large as twenty meters in diameter, or as
small as—”
   “Two meters?”
  He nodded. I managed to maintain my composure.
“Go on, Barrea. Tell me the rest of your theory.”
    “We believe that energy is being drained from the
transductors. It goes in a definite cycle. Very little power
is lost, and slowly at first. The power drain grows greater
and more rapid over a period of time.“
  “What would happen if the power was drained all at
once?” I asked, already sure I knew the answer.
   “The engines would cease operation at once.”
  “Okay.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “What happens
next?”
   “Once the engines are nearly drained of energy, the
unidentified tap seems to heal itself. Power floods back
into the cold engines, making them strain to compensate.
The result is the sound you heard.”
  “You don’t know what's doing this?” I thought I did,
but I couldn't tell him that. Not yet.
   “No, Senior Healer. We believe it may have something
to do with the unexplained buffer breech in level fourteen
some weeks ago.”
   “Why is that?”
  “We discovered some sonic-based matter in the
engines themselves after that incident. The matter was
identical to the shards removed from the three females
who were injured.”

  I related all I had learned from Barrea to Squilyp and
Reever a short time later in Medical.
   “Sit still,” the Omorr said as he attached the monitor
terminals to my head.
   “But don’t you see the connection? The smallest of
these transductor junctions match the diameter of the light
ring that flashed just prior to the murders.”
   “What has this coincidence of size have to do with the
loss of power to the engines?” Reever asked.
“Transductor junctions cannot generate power surges or
breaches in the sonic alloy.”
   “Whatever is being used to kill our people apparently
requires a tremendous amount of energy. Let’s say the
murderer can tap into the ship's own power and drain it
off from the engines. Barrea told me the engines would
shut down if the power was drained all at once. So the
killer has to do it gradually—siphon it off a little at a time.”
   “Where would the power be stored during the draining
process?” the Omorr asked.
   My fingers flicked. “Tech details. Who cares. Let’s say
the killer stockpiles the energy until he has enough to do
this thing that kills the victim. After he attacks, the drain
stops. The engines go into an immediate surge. Hence the
engine rattle Roelm heard after the attack on Fasala and
the two educators.“
  “An interesting theory,” Reever said. “For which you
have no evidence.”
   “Your support is appreciated, Reever.” I glared at him.
“What I can’t figure out is how the transductors are
involved. This two-meter circle of light, does it come from
them? Or is it supposed to be some sort of. artificial
junction? Does it convert the power? Focus it?”
  “Doctor.” Squilyp sounded pained. “We must begin.
Oblige me by tabling this discussion for the moment.”
   I obliged. “Did you secure the doors?”
  “Yes, for the third time.” He checked the monitor
connectors and stroked his gildrells. “You are certain you
want to do this?”
   “No one else is going to die.”
  “Cherijo,” Reever said from the exam table next to me.
“Calm yourself.”
  I remembered something else. “I forgot to tell you
about the stuff Barrea found in the engines.”
   “Not now, if you please,” the Omorr said. “We can’t
leave the ward unsupervised for too long. The nurses are
already suspicious.”
   “Oh, all right. I’m ready.”
  “NE levels are reading normal,” Squilyp said as he
checked the monitor display. “Limbic system neurotracer
portals functional. Initiating continuous vital scans.”
   “Be prepared to apply cortical electristim.” I lay down
face-up. Reever turned on his side toward me. “Let’s go.”
  The Omorr took his position by the monitor. “You
may initiate the coupling.”
   Cherijo.
   Reever, I thought back. I didn’t even blink this time.
   We improve with practice. Yield to me now, Cherijo.
  As we had before, Reever and I entered the recesses of
my memory. It wasn’t as frightening this time.
  Think of the third visitation. When you were injured.
Remember, you are in control.
   Someone had said that to me before.
   Xonea’s voice.
   Take control of the dream, Cherijo.
   Take control.
   Take take take—
   I was back in the golden, glowing chamber. I couldn’t
breathe right. It was there. I could feel it wrestling with me
for control of my mind.
   Look at the presence, Cherijo. See the face of your
attacker.
  Laughter mocked Reever’s quiet command. “You think
you see me, little human?”
   It was different this time.
   Reever? I called out, unsure of what to do.
  Face your attacker.
  I squashed the fear and turned back to the presence.
My words were the same as they had been before. Get it
over with. Again I watched as Ndo’s busy image
appeared.
   “Pnor never knew Ndo’s envy. Ever loyal, steadfast
Ndo. Now only a speck on the face of a star. The one,
true path.”
  The ring of light. The shattering attack. Ndo’s collapse.
The convulsions. Death.
  I’ve been here, seen this. Come on out and face me.
   “You are braver than before, little one. Remember our
last encounter? I enjoyed watching your body writhe
beneath my fists.” The voice gloated. “Almost as much as
I enjoyed caressing you.”
  You’re a sick, twisted monster.
  “Oh, yes.”
  I watched as an image of Yetlo appeared. He never
opened his eyes, but deep inside me I sensed he knew he
was dying, and fought for his life.
  Yetlo. You did understand.
  “You corrupted him. Diverted him from the true path. I
gave him his greatest wish.”
  You murdered him!
  Cherijo, you must open your eyes.
  “Yes, little one. Open your eyes.”
  Anger gave me the last push I needed. I opened my
eyes.
   Xonea stood before me. His open hands dripped with
green blood. “Here I am, my Chosen.”
  Xonea?
   “What say you, Cherijo? Is this not what you wanted?
The truth?“ He came toward me. ”I am here for you, my
Chosen. Here to divert your path.“ For a moment, he
seemed to hesitate.
   Reever was trying to break through some barrier
between him and the two of us. Cherijo, it is not Xonea.
  Sure looks like Xonea to me. I wasn’t going to let him
get away with this. He'd played me for a fool more than
once. I went toward him, and was surprised to see him
take an uncertain step backward.
  What’s the matter? Afraid of the little Terran now?
  “I will crush your bones to dust,” my ClanBrother said.
   I reached with a mental hand and grabbed the front of
his tunic. With a tremendous effort I tried to swing my
other arm, but he jerked out of reach. A handful of fabric
remained in my fingers. The tear revealed a jagged purple
mark over his heart.
   Xonea doesn’t have a birthmark on his chest. I came
at him again. Who the hell are you?
  “Death.”
   Reever broke through the barrier and thrust himself
between us.
  Remove this false image, he ordered the presence.
Reveal your true face.
   “Not yet,” the voice whispered. Xonea’s image melted
into a yawning, empty hole. “But soon. For now, here is
something with which you can remember me.”
   This time Reever shouted as we were jolted from the
link back into reality.
  Cherijo!
  “Doctor!”
   My eyes opened. The Omorr was pinning Reever to the
exam table as he went into violent convulsions. I rolled off
and tried to help him. Forgot about the hookups. I ended
up sprawled painfully on the deck. By the time I untangled
myself and stumbled to Squilyp, he had sedated Reever.
   Someone began pounding on the outer side of the
surgical suite’s doors.
  “Visitors,” the Omorr said.
  “Cherijo! Open this panel!”
  “My ex-roommate.” I sighed. “You got those weapons
Reever asked about, right?”

   I’d never realized what a propensity for claustrophobia
I had. Or that I knew that many bad words. Of course, I'd
violated my superior's orders before. I'd just never been
thrown in jail for doing so.
   Captain Xonea took his sweet time in coming down to
the detainment cell. By then I knew it was approximately
forty-feet wide. Thirty-feet long. Twenty-feet high. Driving
me nuts.
   I heard my two guards speaking quietly to someone,
then Xonea appeared outside the barrier.
  I stopped pacing. “This your idea of poetic justice?”
  He turned his head. “Deactivate the locking
mechanism.”
   I thrust my hands in my tunic pockets. “Don’t I get to
speak to my judicial advisor before you start beating me
up?”
  Cool white eyes inspected me. “No.”
   “Ha, ha, ha.” I sat down on the edge of the rock-hard
sleeping platform. “Go ahead, Captain. Yell your head
off, slap me around, whatever you want. It won’t change
the facts. I've done nothing wrong.”
   “You knew my orders regarding unauthorized psychic
experimentation, Senior Healer,” he said. He stayed by the
barrier. Xonea was becoming a careful man. Maybe there
was hope for him. “You disobeyed me.”
  “Yep. I did. How is Reever? Is he okay?”
  “He has recovered. Why did you disobey me?”
   “To find out who the killer is, Captain. And we did.” I
rubbed my eyes. “Though Reever says I’m wrong.”
  “Who was it?”
  I dropped my hand. “You.”
   The astonished horror on his countenance almost—
almost—made up for what he’d done. The indignity of
being arrested and escorted from Medical. Being pushed
in a cell and locked up. Almost, however, was not good
enough.
   “Did you beat me? Try to rape me?” I rose. “Did you
kill Roelm and Ndo? Did you kill Yetlo?”
  “No!” Xonea said. He backed up against the barrier.
Knocked into it with his shoulders. Guess he was
appalled.
  “No? You had plenty of motive,” I said. “Everyone
knows how jealous you are where I’m concerned. Maybe
you saw them all as a threat. Whoever has been attacking
me obviously has an obsession with me. You nearly got
yourself exiled for the same reason. This monster enjoyed
hurting me. You tossed me across a room just the other
day.“
  Xonea dug his hands into the barrier mesh, fighting for
control. “Cherijo, I would embrace the stars before I
would harm you.”
   “Sure you would. That’s why I'm currently enjoying
these luxury accommodations, right?”
   The Captain-of-the-Sunlace mask slid back over his
face. “You are being detained for violating my orders.”
    “Oh, yeah. Almost forgot. The first time Reever and I
tried to access my memories and reveal the killer’s
identity, you stormed into Medical You never did tell Pnor
how you knew we were linking. Same thing happened
today.”
  “That is not how I knew what you were doing!” he
shouted. “The information came to me through another
source. I did not tell Pnor because it was a matter of
honor!”
  That was more like the Xonea I knew and wanted to
push out a pressure lock.
   “One of the nurses, I suppose.” I dropped back on the
platform and reclined. The deck above me had seventy-six
individual panels and a small stain to the right of the third
cross section of rows fourteen and fifteen. “You’ve had
one of them keeping an eye on me.”
   “I cannot discuss the matter with you.” His voice
drifted closer. Soundless as always, Xonea crossed the
thirty feet of deck until he stood next to the bunk. He
looked bigger and meaner and more handsome than ever.
“Cherijo. Do you remember when you came to me here?”
  “This conversation is over.” I closed my eyes. “Go
away, Xonea.”
  He knelt beside the platform. “I was prepared to die.
You shielded me.”
  “I have lousy judgment.”
  One big hand reached out, encircling my throat. “When
you came back from Pnor, and I touched you—”
  My eyes flew open. “Forget it, Xonea.”
   Fingers began releasing the front fasteners on my tunic.
“I did not wish to stop touching you.” He pushed his
hand beneath the open edge. “You pledged yourself to
me.”
  “Get your hands off, now.”
   He didn’t. He was so close I could feel the heat coming
in waves from his huge body. He wanted me. Maybe
locking up a woman tickled his libido.
  “I honor you, Cherijo. I desire you more than my life.”
  “Well, I hate to disappoint you pal, but—” I yanked his
hand off my breast and sat up. “Desire someone else.”
  The warrior replaced the lover. He seized me, hauled
me off the platform, dragging me up every hard inch of his
body.
  “You want me,” he said. “I can see the change in your
eyes. Feel the heat of your body.” He buried his face in
my throat. Anger made his claws emerge. “You will be
mine.”
  He wanted to get rough? Fine.
   I put my lips next to his ear. “Maybe I’m still warm
from being with Reever.”
   This time a sleeping platform didn’t break my fall. My
face did. I flew through the air, bounced off the
detainment cell wall, and slid to the deck. Shock and pain
made it hard to breathe.
  Maybe my mouth would get me killed one day.
   I touched my face with trembling fingers. Blood was
running from my nose, mouth, and four shallow gashes on
one cheek. Those claws were really sharp.
   “Cherijo.” Now Xonea was picking me up, his face all
distorted. As if he was the one who had gotten up close
and personal with the plaspanel.
  “Guards,” I called out, wincing as that made the cut on
my lip split wider.
  The guards appeared outside the barrier. When they
saw what Xonea had done, they jerked open the access
door and hurried inside.
  “Captain, the Senior Healer needs to be taken to
Medical,” one of them said. He looked ready to shoot
Xonea in the head.
  “I will take her.” The other one actually raised his rifle
toward Xonea. “Release her, Captain.”
   It was an excellent opportunity to instigate a mutiny. Or
observe my guards as they gutted the commander of the
ship.
   “No,” I said to both of them. I had deliberately
provoked him, knowing how angry he was. “I’ll be all
right. Get me a first-aid case, and get him out of here.”

   Squilyp and Reever came for me not fifteen minutes
after the guards escorted Xonea from my cell. Both
reacted to the sight of my bleeding face. The Omorr
exclaimed loudly and pushed the guards out of his way.
  Reever simply stood, quiet and watchful. His eyes had
never been that color before, I thought. Raw ice crystals
had more warmth.
    “I’m okay,” I said when the Resident crouched down
and began scanning me. “Just some bumps and bruises.”
I let him clean and dress the lacerations, then reached for
Reever. “Give me a hand, will you?”
  Scarred hands carefully lifted me from the deck. I
hadn’t moved since I landed there. I didn't want to know
what was broken and what wasn't. I moved my arms, legs,
head, and bent over. No fractures. Lucky me.
   “We’ll take you to Medical,” the Omorr said.
   “Can’t.” Talking hurt my face. “I have to stay here. I
violated the Captain's orders.”
   “The Captain ordered that you be released.”
   “He did? How considerate.” I’d been giving the entire
situation a great deal of thought. I looked at Squilyp and
gingerly touched the dressing on my face. “How good are
you with cardiac electristimulators?”
   The Omorr looked confused. “I’ve used them dozens
of times during training sessions.”
   I turned to Reever. “I want to access the cultural and
judicial databases in Medical. I need you to find
something for me in the Jorenian HouseClan laws and
traditions.”
   He inclined his head in agreement. “How does this
relate to cardiac equipment?”
  “I’ll tell you after we find the data I need.”
  We took a newly repaired gyrlift back up to Medical.
Squilyp gave me a status report on the ward. Reever
wouldn’t let go of my arm. We passed a number of crew
members, who reacted with varying degrees of concern
and anger when they saw my face.
  The mutiny might just happen without me saying a
word.
   “Clear an exam table,” I told Squilyp. “Prepare for a
cardiac case. I want you to make a full vid/audio record of
this procedure. Set up the monitor over there.”
   Before he could ask me the dozen questions that order
provoked, I took Reever into my office and shut the
panel.
  “Access the databases.”
  “What, specifically, are you searching for?”
   “Laws governing the Jorenian right to Choose. I need
to know exactly what is required to break a Choice.”
   Reever accessed the judicial database, cross-referenced
with cultural, and found the applicable laws within
minutes. I stood beside him and read it for myself. I was
right.
   “Download this”—I pointed to a case
reference—“onto a disc.” I told him the rest of what I
wanted done and suggested he get Salo to help. He didn’t
say a word until I finished and tried to go back out to the
ward. Reever pushed past me and blocked the way.
  “I cannot permit you to do this,” he said.
  Now he was telling me what to do. “Get out of my
way.”
  “Cherijo, you cannot—”
  I pointed to the gashes on my cheek. “Look at me,
Reever. I could have lost an eye. Or half my face. It ends,
now.”
  He put his hands on my shoulders. “I want to stay with
you.”
  “Okay.” I let out a breath. “I’d like that, too.”
   We walked back out to the cardiac berth Squilyp had
just completed preparing. I climbed up on it.
  “Senior Healer!” The Omorr sounded horrified. “Are
you experiencing angina? What—”
  “Power up the stimulator, Squilyp,” I said as I strapped
my legs into the restraints. “Adaola?” I called out. “Are
you on duty?”
  The nurse appeared at the berth side. “Here, Senior
Healer. What has happened to your face? Why are you—”
   “I need two Jorenians.” I waved at another nurse, who
hurried over, then addressed her and Adaola. “You are
my witnesses. You may be required to testify before the
ruling Houses as to what you see here today. Do you
understand?”
  Both nurses nodded. I turned my attention to the
Resident.
   “Squilyp, I want you to charge up and hit me with a full
stim.”
   The Omorr nearly toppled over from shock. “That will
stop your heart!”
  “I know. Once my heart has stopped, pronounce my
death, wait three minutes, then revive me.”
  “Absolutely not.” Squilyp dropped the hookups and
hopped backward. “I won’t do it.”
   “Okay.” I turned to Reever. “Reever, you have to make
sure the monitor reaches—”
    “Stop it!” the Omorr shouted, and grabbed my arms
with his membranes. “You’re insane if you think I'm going
to let this man kill you!”
  The two Jorenian nurses came to my aid then. “The
Senior Healer has the right to embrace die stars,
Resident.”
  I grinned at them. “I never thought I’d like that damn
custom, but it does have its uses. Now either you do it,
Resident, or Linguist Reever does. You know my survival
chances are a lot better if you handle the procedure.”
   “I know I should save myself some grief and not revive
you,” he muttered as he took position by my berth. His
dark eyes were tormented. “You’re sure about this,
Doctor?”
  “It’s the only way I can free myself of Xonea.”
  When Adaola heard what I said, her eyes widened.
   “Adaola. You were the one feeding Xonea the
information about me and Reever, weren’t you?” I asked.
  “He is my ClanBrother, Senior Healer,” she said. “I
could not refuse him.”
  Well, learn something new every day, I thought. She
and Xonea had kept that from me.
   “That makes you Kao’s ClanSister, right?” She
nodded. “Then you're my ClanSister, too. Do you
think-you extend some of that loyalty to me today?”
Evidently ashamed, she nodded once more. “Good. All
right, people, see you in a few minutes.” I nodded to the
Omorr. “Anytime you're ready—”
  “Wait.” Reever bent over me. His lips felt cold against
my ear. “Come back to me, Cherijo.”
   Ironically, Xonea had said the same thing the last time I
risked life and limb. “I will.”
   I stared at the deck above me when Squilyp charged
the stimulator. I was doing the right thing. Heard the hum
of the electric as the terminals descended. This wouldn’t
kill me. At least, not permanently. Convulsed as the
power slammed into my chest. On second thought…
  My heart stopped.
   At the very last moment, I felt the cold presence
infiltrating my mind. I couldn’t fight. Couldn't move.
  “Now you will die, little one.”
    Everything around me grew very small and insignificant.
Just on the edge of my field of vision, a woman appeared.
I tried to move my head to see her clearly. She was
smiling, and held out her arms.
  “Joey. Come to me, baby.”
  “Maggie.” Had I really told Squilyp to stop my heart?
“Maggie, am I dead?”
  “Shhhh, no, baby.”
   The berth, Medical Bay, and everything I knew was
gone in a moment. I went deep within myself, to a place
no one could ever touch. Not even the killer. How I knew
that was a mystery. But Maggie was there.
   There was no color or shape to the well of darkness I
had fallen into. Only a warm security that I wrapped
around me like an affectionate embrace. And Maggie’s
voice, soothing as she eased away the pain.
  “It’s okay. I won't let you fall, kiddo. It's okay.”
   When I was an infant, she had done the same. I knew
this place. What I didn’t know was how it was possible
that I shared it with a dead woman.
  The subliminal implants—had she put more in my
mind? What were they for? What reason would she have
had to do this to me?
   “Always with the questions!” Maggie’s rich contralto
spilled over with laughter. “I think a damn drone makes
less enquiries!”
  “Maggie. What’s happened to me? Why am I here?”
   “That mop-faced pink guy was able to start your heart
again. Problem is, someone interfered, messed with your
brain waves, and you never regained consciousness. In
reality, you’re in a deep coma.”
  “That stinks.”
   “Yeah, it does.” I could hear her blowing out smoke
from one of the illegal cigarettes she thought I never knew
about. “So what are you going to do about it?”
   “Can’t we talk somewhere else?” I shuddered. “This
place is giving me the creeps.”
  “Voilá,” Maggie said.
   I was back on Terra. In the house of Joseph Grey Veil.
In my old room.
   Maggie stood there, as if still alive. She dusted off the
mantel and scowled at a regal photoscan of my creator.
Same old Maggie. She wore a gaudy tunic that was a little
too tight. Lots of accessories. Her silver-streaked red hair
glowed like a traffic drone signal.
   I sat on the edge of my sleeping platform. A glance
down found a childish body dressed in pajamas. My hair
hung down my flat chest in two long braids. Bemused, I
held up one chunky dark cable.
  “Trying to turn me back into a kid, Maggie?”
   “I liked you when you were ten. You weren’t trying to
be your father back in those days.” She reached over,
picked up a doll, and tossed it across the room at me. I
managed to catch it. “Remember Crissy Credits?”
   I examined the toy. “Yeah, I do. She came with her
own credit chip and miniature shopping center.” I fingered
the doll’s bright blond curls. “You bought this for me.”
   “Do you remember what Joseph gave you for your
tenth birthday?”
   I snorted and put the doll aside. “My first scanner. He
made me practice using it on you. I identified that ingrown
toenail with it.” I smiled, then winced at the flare of pain
that produced. “You were my first surgical patient.”
  “Goddamn it.” She planted her hands on her hips.
“What did that oversized blueberry ape do to your face?”
  My fingers touched my cheek. “Long story. Why don’t
you tell me why you brought me here?”
   “You brought you here. Once your heart stopped, the
subliminal memories I implanted began to surface. It’s
important, Joey. Stop looking at me like that.”
   “I can’t believe you stuck all this junk in my mind.” I
sighed. “So what gem of wisdom are you going to hand
me this time?”
   “Wisdom?” Maggie chuckled. “Is that what you think
this is? Oh, no, honey. I’m no teacher.”
   “You were a great mom.”
   Her smile trembled a little. “Yeah, well, I tried. It wasn’t
hard; you were a sweet kid. Now, listen to me carefully. A
lot of those blueberry people are depending on you.
You've got to stop this nutso who's killing them.”
   “How?”
  “Use your head, not your heart. It’s like a dimensional
puzzle game. You have the pieces. Put them together.”
  It seemed like we had only been speaking for moments,
but suddenly I became aware of the passage of time.
   “I’ve got to go back, now.” Another sensation
penetrated, a mind battering against the walls of the
darkness. “Duncan.”
  “Now, him I like,” Maggie said. “He has great eyes.
How does he do that color-changing thing with them?”
   “Maggie. Please.” I stopped and concentrated for a
moment. “How could you like his eye color? You died
before I ever met Reever.”
    “You always think in such categorical patterns, Joey.
When you get on this side of creation, you can lecture me
all you want about existential paradoxes. Now go back.
They think you’re dying.”
   “Am I?”
   “No, baby. You won’t die.”
   I opened my eyes. “Ma… geee…” I croaked.
   Adaola shrieked and dropped a chart down on the bed
beside me. A moment later, Squilyp appeared. His
gildrells stiffened like a bunch of exclamation marks.
   “If you ever try that again, Healer, I will stop your heart
for good!”
   “ ’Sokay… Squid… Lips…” My voice slurred, as
though my speech center had been damaged. “Ho…
long?”
   “Thirty-seven hours since you entered deep coma.”
   “N-not… c-coma…”
   I slid into the shallow darkness of natural sleep, and I
spent a long interval there before I sensed another voice
calling to me.
   Cherijo. Cherijo.
   Duncan.
   I felt disoriented. Disconnected from my body. Barely
able to contain the frantic thoughts pouring into my mind.
   Out of my… Are you in pain…? What went wrong?
   Maggie. I managed a ghost of a chuckle. Subliminal…
implants… long story. I smelled something warm and
male close to my face. Heard the steady rhythm of a
human heart. Felt the stroke of a gentle hand on my hair.
So tired.
  Then sleep, Cherijo. You are safe. I will stay here with
you until you wake up.
   I slept with my cheek against his chest, cradled in arms
that kept me safe.

  Two days later, Reever accompanied me to the
Captain’s office, along with Adaola. I carried the discs
with the signals Salo had received, statements from
Squilyp and the other Jorenian nurse, along with a copy of
my chart.
  Xonea got to his feet when we entered, every inch the
polished, professional Jorenian ship commander as he
made a formal gesture of greeting.
  “Senior Healer. Are you recovered?”
   We were going to be polite, were we? “My nose wasn’t
broken, and my face won't be scarred,” I said. “My ribs,
however, still twinge now and then.”
  That put a dent in his composure. “I regret what
occurred in the detainment cell.”
  I didn’t blink an eyelash. “I'll bet you do.”
   “I attempted to see you several times,” he said. The
slight change of tone revealed a flicker of anger. “I was
not allowed to approach your berth in Medical.”
  Just as I’d ordered. “Then you met my personal
guards. Nice guys, don't you think?”
  He didn’t appreciate my humor. “It was unnecessary to
post guards, Cherijo. I will not touch you in anger again.”
   “Don’t make promises you don't intend to keep,
Captain.” I placed the discs on his desk and activated a
recording drone. “I am Senior Healer Cherijo Torin,
presently meeting with Captain Xonea Torin, on board the
Jorenian survey vessel Sunlace. Witnesses to this meeting
are ship’s Linguist Duncan Reever, and Senior Nurse
Adaola Torin.”
   “You seek some sort of litigation against me?” Xonea
sat back down.
   “Captain, this”—I leaned over and nudged one disc
toward Xonea—“is the audio/vid record of my death. I
present this data as proof conclusive that at the time and
date specified, my heart stopped functioning and I was
declared dead.”
  “Declared dead?” Xonea asked.
   Adaola stepped forward. “Senior Healer Cherijo chose
her right to embrace the stars. Her path was diverted as a
result of cardiac failure induced by electristim.“
  “Indeed?” Xonea made a show of looking me over.
“For one who has embraced the stars, you appear very
animated, my Chosen.”
   “Correction.” I nudged another disc toward him. “I
died, and according to Jorenian law twelve, applications
thirty-three through forty-seven, remained dead long
enough to meet the criteria to break Choice. I am no
longer your Chosen.”
  Xonea’s breath hissed out. “No.”
   “Let me quote: ‘Only the death of either Chosen can
break the bond.’ I died. The bond's broken, pal.”
  “You are still alive!”
   “There is a historical precedent,” Reever said. “A
Jorenian female of HouseClan Vaseran Chose a male
shortly before he became grievously ill. At one point, his
heart arrested. Although he survived, the resulting damage
was considerable. His Chosen was permitted to Choose
another, based on the fact that her bondmate’s path had
been diverted, and she could not accompany him.”
   “I know that case!” Xonea swept the discs from his
desk with one flick of his hand. “The Vaseran male was
paralyzed and catatonic. It was a merciful ruling so the
female could have children and a normal life.” His hair
shimmered as he swung toward me. “You are not
crippled, my Chosen.”
   “No, I’m not. Which is why Salo sent a
transdimensional signal to Joren three days ago.” I
stooped and picked up one of the discs he had shoved
off the desk. “The case was brought before the Ruling
Council. Here's their judgment. Want to guess what they
said?”
   “No.” He sat down, his eyes wide as he stared at the
disc. “It cannot be possible. I Chose you. You are mine.”
   I put my hands on his desk and ducked until I was in
his line of sight. “Not—any—more.”
 Xonea stared at me. “I will simply Choose you again.
What say you now, Senior Healer?”
  “You can’t,” I replied. “I've already been Chosen by
someone else.”
  At his cue, Reever moved to my side and took one of
my hands. “Cherijo and I have discussed plans to be
married. In Terran tradition, that is equal to Choosing.”
  “It cannot be thus!” Xonea bellowed.
  I pointed to the data from Joren. “We asked the
council for their opinion on that subject, too. They agreed.
You can’t Choose me again, Xonea. Reever got me first.”
   Adaola watched as her ClanBrother covered his face
with his hands. Her reserve broke at last and she went
around the desk to put her arms around him.
   “Leave us, if you would,” she said, her dark head close
to Xonea’s. “I will talk with him now.”
   Reever and I marched out. Only when the door panel
closed did I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Do you
think he believed that last part?”
  Reever waited until we walked past a couple of crew
members before he answered. “I dislike lying to the
Captain.”
  “You didn’t lie. You said we discussed getting married.
You just didn't tell him I turned you down.”
  “Such an omission is still wrong, Cherijo.”
   We could debate this all day, but I had work to do. “I
have to get back to Medical. Rogan is probably trying to
kill off half the patients,” I said. “Do me a favor. Don’t go
to Xonea and start confessing, okay? I'd hate to think I
went through all that for nothing. And one more thing.”
  “What is it?”
  I reached up and touched his cheek. “Thanks, Duncan.
You’re a true friend.” I hurried off.
   Medical was in smooth operation by the time I reported
for my shift. Squilyp had managed to supervise Rogan
and keep him busy while at the same time ensuring none
of our patients suffered. He also arranged the schedule so
that I rarely if ever worked the same shift with Rogan.
  The Omorr had been apprised of our plans and was
waiting anxiously to hear the result of my meeting with
Xonea.
  “It worked. It’s over,” I said. “Adaola is up there
consoling him now.”
  “He must be devastated,” Squilyp said.
  “He’ll live.” I picked up the chart of our burn patient.
“Well, someone looks ready to get out of here today.”
   The programmer, whose name was Lalona, slipped to
her feet and stretched. It was wonderful to see her face
and derma restored to their former flawless condition. “I
am more than ready, Senior Healer. Give me leave, and I
will vacate this berth before you can blink!”
   “Seems no one appreciates the luxury of being cared
for by the finest trained professionals in the universe,” I
said in disgust. “All right, Lalona, get out of my Medical
Bay.”
  She thanked us both before she left. Squilyp, I saw,
watched her go, and didn’t hear a word I said until I
nudged him with my elbow.
   “What?” The Omorr’s pink skin flushed puce around
the gildrells. “I beg your pardon, Senior Healer. What did
you say?”
   “I said she’s a very pretty woman.” I studied the way
his membranes contracted nervously. “You like her, don't
you?”
  “I have come to care very much for her.”
   “Well, what are you waiting for?” I grinned and waved
a hand toward the door. “Go get her and ask her to share
a meal with you.”
   “I would.” He puffed out some air through his gildrells.
“Unfortunately, Omorr and Jorenians are not compatible
species.”
  “What a shame.” It really was. “There’s no way you
and Lalona could…?” I trailed off delicately.
  “No. Even if I could Bond with a Jorenian, I could
not…” He averted his eyes. “I must consider an Omorr
female for purposes of intimacy. Perhaps someday, when
my work does not require so much of my time.”
  “You can still be friends with her, right?”
   He shook his head. “It is better that I maintain some
distance from her; my attachment will fade.”
  “I’m sorry, Squilyp,” I said. And I was.
   We reviewed the day’s schedule and caseload. Most of
the patients were reporting for routine treatments, now that
the injured cases had been cleared and discharged. Lalona
had been the last of those recovering from the mercenary
attack.
   “Where’s Rogan?” I asked just before the Omorr went
off shift.
   “Didn’t you know? We'll be transitioning in a few
hours, when we reach his homeworld system. He's getting
ready to leave the ship.”
   “Oh. Right.” I really needed to start accessing my
relays more often. “What’s it called?”
  “Ichthora.”
   “Sounds like the right name. What are the natives
called? The Ickies?”
  “Ichthori.”
   “Hmmmm.” I flipped a chart to display when it
occurred to me there was more involved with dropping
Rogan off on his homeworld than merely assuming an
orbit. My head snapped up. “Why the hell are we sending
a team down with him?”
  “Captain’s orders.”
   We’d just see about that. “Tell me you're on the
sojourn roster.”
  Squilyp shook his head.
   “Wonderful.” I tossed the chart aside and went to stare
through the ward viewer. “With my luck, the entire planet
will be populated by Rogans. The Captain has a real sense
of humor.” I swung around. “Well, there’s no way
I—Squilyp? Squilyp!”
  He had hopped out so quietly that I hadn’t heard him,
and made a clean getaway.



                PART FOUR:
                  Betrayer

           CHAPTER SIXTEEN
             Rogan’s Move
                                               «^»
  Xonea ignored the ten signals I sent to him about the
sojourn. Guess he was still mad at me for dumping him.
Salo and Reever were on the team, along with Dhreen and
a couple of anthropologists. I agreed to go only if I could
take one of my personal guards with me.
   “There is no need for additional security,” Salo said,
trying to reassure me. “The Ichthori are a peaceful people.
We will meet them, perhaps share a meal, and learn more
of their culture.”
   “Yeah, well, if Rogan turns out to be the Crown Prince
of the Icky People, I want someone with weapons at my
back. Just to be on the safe side.”
   Ichthora, according to the database, listed tech trade as
their main source of income. Salo had orders to keep
bartering to a minimum, as the Sunlace had an
overabundance of technology. From the way Rogan
talked about the place, I expected some superbly modem,
highly developed world populated by geniuses and paved
with soaring alloy edifices.
  We landed in a swamp.
   I looked out of the viewport as the team prepared to
disembark. “There are pools of water out there on the
Transport docking pad,” I said. “We’re sitting in one of
them.”
  “Biodecon results are negative,” Dhreen called. “I’m
opening the hull doors.”
   “Close them,” I said a moment later, covering my nose
and mouth with my hand. Ichthora was a world of rotten
vegetation, estuaries of yellow, muddied water, and dense
islands of stunted trees. It also smelted like it. “Please.”
   Thick, steamy heat accompanied the stench, while
insects began buzzing in through the open doors. I
couldn’t resist the urge to swat at them. Rogan shouldered
his one case and gestured toward the docking ramp.
  “After you, Dr. Torin.”
   “I’ll stay in the launch, thanks.” I had no desire to go
wading through the muck out there. I waved my hand at
the swarm of tiny insects circling around my head.
“Where are the envirosuits?”
  Salo and Reever took positions on either side of me.
Each grabbed an arm and made me get up. They walked
me down the ramp the way they’d escort a prisoner.
  “Where’s my guard?” I asked.
  “Directly behind you, Senior Healer.” my guard said.
  “Shoot these men.”
  Salo chuckled. “It is not so bad, Senior Healer.”
   “Oh, yeah? I happen to know a human’s sense of smell
is more developed than a Jorenian's is. So don't try to tell
me it’s not that bad.” I looked toward the perimeter of the
Transport area, and saw at least a dozen bodies lying
facedown in the shallow pools. “Oh, my God!”
    I would have run toward them, but Reever grabbed me
first.
  “There is nothing wrong with them,” he said.
“Observe.”
  I watched as the facedown bodies twitched, then
moved a few inches. One raised on elbow-shaped fins and
awkwardly dragged itself from one pool to another.
   “These people trade tech?” I glanced around. “They
can’t even walk!”
  “Native Ichthori do not manufacture or deal in tech.”
Rogan gave me a lofty sneer. “Half our population is
made up of offworlders who have mated with natives.
They are the ones who produce and trade.”
  That made more sense.
   Rogan gestured at some of the partially submerged
figures. “My family has gathered to greet us.”
  I had to ask the obvious. “What are they doing?”
   “Why, they’re feeding, Doctor.” Rogan looked at one
of the empty pools with what could only be called greed.
His case dropped to the ground. “Excuse me.”
   A moment later he, too, had joined the Ichthori and was
facedown in the mud.
  I turned to Salo. “I am not sharing a meal with these
people.”
   That wasn’t the only strange revelation. Rogan's
physical appearance did little to prepare me for Ichthora
and its bizarre inhabitants. Compared to his nonhuman
relations, he was erudite. Gorgeous. Perfumed.
    I endured the long, very uncomfortable hours of the
sojourn. Barely. I played Senior Healer, perspired freely,
swatted insects, and stepped over the most of the natives.
I did not partake of their diet, which they dredged from
the swamp mud at the bottom of the tidal pools that
littered the surface of the planet.
  There was no sign of the League, but that didn’t make
me feel any better.
   “Just where is all this highly developed tech?” I said to
Reever. We had to pick our way through the pools of
sludge and step over yet another filter-feeding Ichthori.
   He pointed up, and I raised my eyes. The thickets of
what I thought to be trees were actually organically formed
structures, topped by a series of funnellike platforms that
connected each group. Apparently the offworlder
inhabitants lived in them. Their Ichthori mates used
adapted hover lift technology to ascend, then slid from
one “tree house” to another on their bellies.
   The lethargic mud-dwellers made very little attempt to
communicate with us. Reever attempted to translate some
of the bubbling and snorting sounds we heard now and
then. Apparently all they cared to talk about were the best
spots to feed on the insect larvae and microorganisms that
constituted the bulk of their diet. They must spend most
of their lives on their bellies. Which explained Rogan’s
intense dislike of remaining vertical and active.
   After feeding with his family for an extended period,
Rogan returned and agreed to gather some of the
“leaders” of the Ichthori to meet with us.
   While we waited, I idly gathered some round, speckled
stones that were piled around the base of each tree. The
prettiest specimens I slipped into a pocket for the ship’s
geologist to examine later.
   It took Rogan a long time. Very few of the non-Icthori
inhabitants were willing to leave their climate-controlled
tree houses to socialize with us. I couldn’t blame them.
  One squat, block-shaped Ramotharran trader passing
by us stopped to chat. I had to find out why any sane
humanoid would want to stay on this godforsaken planet.
  “What keeps you here?” I wiped the back of my hand
over my brow. “It can’t be the heat, smell, or the bugs.”
  He gave me a shrewd look. “Do you know how an
off-worlder usually ends up staying here? They impregnate
one of the Icthori.”
   “But how—never mind, I don’t want to know,” I said
at first, then my curiosity got the better of me. “Of
course… in the interests of science… okay, tell me.”
   “Happened to me my first trip here,” the Ramotharran
said. He pointed to one of the natives who had
inexplicably turned over. From the diamond-shaped
orifice on the thorax, I could tell this one was a female.
Her face was, well, not as much face as it was mouth.
Elongated versions of the polyps Rogan possessed
heavily fringed a central aperture. A big, four-lipped,
gaping aperture.
   Too bad the Captain didn’t make the trip this time, I
thought. I'd love to see Xonea give her the traditional kiss
of peace. She’d probably suck his whole head in.
   “Watch now.” The trader nudged me, his protruding
black eyes grim. “Here comes a male.”
   Another native crawled over to the female, slid over
her, and remained still for a moment. Then the male slid
off and crawled away.
  “He just inseminated her,” the trader said.
  “Did he?” That was it? Crawl on, wham, crawl off,
we’re having a baby?
  “Yes. She’ll flip back over now.” And she did.
  “Do the Ichthori generally mate in public?”
   “They’re not what you'd call a modest people. Nor do
the females pass up any opportunity to get—”
   “I see,” I said. “You say something like that happened
to you? You—er—crawled on to one of the females?”
    “Not likely.” He snorted. “I slipped in the mud, was all.
Landed right on top of the wrong side of my mate. It was
all over before I could say a word.”
  “Your mate?”
    The Ramotharran nodded and heaved a sigh. “Ichthori
law requires an offworlder to mate with an Ichthori female
if he impregnates her. I thought about denying the
paternity charge, but as you can see…“ he waved a hand
behind him.
  A young Ichthori crawled up to us. He raised his
flattened skull, and between the polyps I saw two bulging
black eyes staring at me. A rudimentary nose sniffed.
  “The boy is undoubtably mine.”
   “Hello.” I smiled at the child, who tried to imitate my
facial expression. The Ramotharran sighed again. “He
seems, um, very bright.”
   “Oh, sure, he’s developing far ahead of the other
full-blooded Ichthori young. It's only…” He spread his
hands. “Can't exactly toss a romlo ball back and forth
with him.”
  “I guess you get used to living here after a while?”
  The trader’s one nostril flared. “I used to be a
geologist, until that happened.” He nodded toward his
son. “I went into trade just to have excuse to get off this
miserable sludge ball occasionally.”
   A bubbling sound interrupted our conversation. I
looked down to see one of the adult Ichthori clinging to
the trader’s leg, the notched fins clutching his boot. Her
mouthace remained buried in the mud below our footgear.
   “My mate,” he introduced me. My vocollar wouldn’t
translate the sounds he made into anything but bubbles.
   “Hello,” I greeted her. I noticed a swollen sac
protruding from one of her legs and frowned. “That’s a
bad tumor she's got there.”
    “It’s not a tumor,” the Ramotharran said, and gave his
mate a glum look. “It's our second child. At least, I think
it's mine.”

   We took a lift to one of the larger tree-house structures,
where six of the Ichthori leaders (all clearly half-strains)
had assembled. In our honor, the half dozen males had
propped themselves in a half-slouch on some benches and
invited our party to be seated. All six wore standard wrist
corns.
   There was no table between us, nor did the Ichthori
wear any manner of garments. I got an up-close view of
the anatomical varieties that offworld gene strains had
afforded. The mud stains on my tunic sleeve, I quickly
decided, were much more riveting.
   One large, green-yellow Ichthori with less facial fringing
than his colleagues stood for a moment. He had three
pairs of visual organ stalks protruding above his feeding
polyps. Unlike the others, he wore a sort of girdle that
didn’t cover anything but sported a number of bladed
weapons.
   “Krugal,” he said, and pointed a flipper/hand toward
the triple clusters of broad nipples on his chest. I darted a
look down. Yep, three of everything else, too. “We hear
you want to talk.”
   Salo, as the appointed Jorenian representative, stood
and made a brief bow. “We are honored you have taken
time to speak with us.”
   Krugal plopped back down and waved at Salo. “We
have fed well today. There was nothing better to do. Tell
us, have you come to trade, or simply marvel at life on our
world?”
   Marvel? My jaw sagged. Did this bottom feeder
actually use the word marvel!
   “Our interest lies largely in surveying and recording
data about Ichthora,” Salo said, his expression diplomatic.
“We will have to return to our ship very soon.”
  Yesterday couldn’t be soon enough for me, I thought.
   “Sit, sit. Our kinsman Phorap”—Krugal nodded
toward Rogan—“tells us you travel to Varallan. That is
quite a distance from our divine Ichthora. Why not stay,
enjoy the pleasures of our world? Life is good here.” His
eye stalks bobbed, their ends glowing bright red.
   Salo sat down. Diplomacy was beginning to wear on
him. The good life on Ichthora, I suspected, had very little
in common with a Jorenian’s view of the same.
  “We thank you for your gracious offer of hospitality.
However, as our people have responsibilities, we must
depart.” Salo made an eloquent gesture. “I am certain you
understand.”
  “No, I don’t,” Krugal said, and yawned. I wished he
hadn't. Who would have guessed teeth could sprout all the
way back there? “That blue skin of yours is unusual. Can
we buy you from your Captain?”
   It took a lot to shock a Jorenian warrior, but that did
the job. “Our crew is not for sale.”
  Krugal didn’t stop there. His six red eyes inspected
Reever, then me. The Ichthori leader grinned. If you could
call what he did with that gaping hole a grin.
   “Terrans don’t often visit Ichthora. We would
welcome the opportunity to learn more about your
species.”
  Reever shook his head. “No, thank you.”
  I was no diplomat. “Not even if you drugged me.”
  “Dr. Torin bears the burden of being a true Terran,”
Rogan said. “She is a hostile xenophobe.”
  “You always say such nice things about me, Phorap.” I
gave him a sweet smile.
   Salo rose. “Our time, as I have indicated, is limited. If
you will excuse us, we will complete our surveys and
return to our vessel.”
  “Sell her to me,” Krugal said.
  Salo looked from me to the Ichthori. “What say you?”
    “The Terran female—she is not one of your species.
I’ll buy her from you. Name your price.”
  “Salo, let’s go,” I said, rising to my feet. My guard and
Reever flanked me.
   “I must refuse your request,” Salo said through his
teeth. “Excuse us.” He looked at Dhreen, who had just
entered the structure. “Pilot, prepare the launch for
departure.”
  “No,” Rogan said, and got up at once. He held a small
weapon in his hand, and pointed it toward me. “None of
you are leaving Ichthora just yet.” His four lips stretched.
“Except the good Doctor.”

   “I’m going to kill Xonea when we get back to the
ship,” I said as Reever's fingers plucked at the knotted
vines around my wrists. “I knew Rogan had it in with the
League. I knew it.”
  Reever sighed. “I cannot do this if you keep twitching.”
  “I’m not twitching, I'm agitated.”
   “Stop being agitated. Krugal said he would return
shortly.”
   We stood tied together, back to back, locked in one of
the small chambers away from the center of the colony.
Salo, Dhreen, and the others had been hauled off to
similar structures. They left me and Reever tied together
on Rogan’s orders.
   “Keep the humans together,” he told some alert-looking
half-strain Ichthori. About a dozen of them had come in
with weapons and taken all of us hostage. “Krugal wishes
to interrogate them both.”
   That had been two hours ago. Now Reever was
patiently loosening the last of the intricate knots binding
my wrists to his.
   “Hurry.” My own patience was in short supply. “He’ll
be back any minute.”
   “It is almost done. There. Try to pull free.”
   I strained, and my wrists slowly separated. Quickly I
worked them from the vines until I was free. The return of
unrestricted circulation made numbing pain shoot up both
arms. I whirled around and began working at untying
Reever’s hands. Too many knots, not enough time. I
looked around the interior for anything I could use as a
weapon.
   “Krugal is coming,” Reever said.
  I turned, put my arms behind my back, and pressed up
against him. My fingers continued plucking at the knots.
   “Whatever you do,” I murmured, “don’t let him know
I'm loose.”
   Krugal slid through the door and propped himself in
front of us. His body left a trail of slick brown mud. The
swamp smell rolled off him. He appeared highly pleased
with himself.
  “I’ve fed well tonight in celebration,” he said as he
awkwardly rose to his vertical stance.
   “How nice,” I said. “Celebrating what?”
  He shuffled over until he was only a foot from me. His
body wasn’t the only thing that was erect. “Our triumph
over you, my kinsman's enemies.”
   “We saved your kinsman’s life, and brought him here
to Ichthora,” Reever said. “Do you consider those the
actions of an enemy?”
  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, and rubbed his
handlippers together. “Phorap says the League will pay
handsomely for this female.” He stepped closer to me,
which made it necessary for me to breathe through my
mouth.
   “Leader Krugal, the beings you believe to be your
friends are dangerous,” Reever said. “They will take Dr.
Torin without paying the Ichthori.”
   “Then we will tie some of them up until they do.”
Krugal didn’t seem concerned. He studied the way my
tunic fastened. “You know, I've never had a Terran
before.”
   “Don’t hold your breath, lover boy,” I said, and let go
of Duncan's hands.
   He laughed. “She is eager to fight. Good. That adds
zest to the play. Our females are too passive.” His flipper
reached for my tunic.
    Just before he touched me, I swung my fist out. I drove
it low, hard, and directly into the three things Krugal
seemed to treasure most.
   “Aarrggghh!”
   I followed through with my other fist. Air bellowed
from his lungs. A strange, high-pitched whine emerged
from his fringe.
   “How’s that for zest?” I asked as he sank down to the
flooring. I waited until I saw his eyes stalks wilt, then bent
to retrieve one of the blades on his belt. “I'll just borrow
this for a moment.”
   With a rapid series of slashes I cut Reever’s hands
free.
   “You’re very capable with a blade,” he said, and
rubbed his arms briskly.
   “Trained to be.” I handed the knife to him. After I took
the belt from Krugal’s unconscious body, I slung it over
my shoulder. “You never know when you're going to be
somewhere without a lascalpel.”
   After we tied up and gagged the Ichthori leader, we
slipped from the small chamber. Confident, indolent, and
negligent to the bone—if they had any—the Ichthori
hadn’t even bothered to post guards. We went from tree
to tree until we found and released every member of the
sojourn team. I turned Krugal's belt over to Salo.
   “You left him unconscious?” he asked. He had pulled
out one of the blades from the belt and was fingering it
with a lover’s caress.
   “Not now,” I said, and grabbed his arm. “We’ve got to
get to the launch and get the hell off this planet. Rogan
signaled the League mercenaries and offered to sell me to
them. They're coming.”
   It took nearly an hour before we located the launch in
the darkness. No one attempted to stop us or even
question why we were loose. What few Ichthori we
stepped over simply kept on feeding or snoring or
whatever it was they were doing. Perhaps Krugal hadn’t
been missed. Maybe rio one cared if their hostages
escaped.
  Or not.
  “This is too easy,” I said to Reever.
  My suspicions were confirmed when I saw the launch
was waiting with the hull doors still open. I grabbed Sale’s
arm and waved Dhreen over to us.
   “Dhreen?” I whispered. “Did you secure the launch
after we disembarked?”
  “Of course I did, Doc,” he whispered back.
    “It is a trap.” Salo said something else to the other
Jore-nians, too low for my vocollar to translate. He pulled
all the blades from Krugal’s belt and distributed them,
then turned to me, Dhreen and Reever. “We will board the
launch. Stay here and keep watch. The natives move
quickly, when they have reason to.”
   Salo and the others melted into the shadows. Reever
indicated a sheltered spot by a tree and we huddled there.
Dhreen took position on the other side of the launch. A
choked cry, cut off in the middle, floated from the launch
cabin, and I winced.
   “The Ichthori are coming,” Reever said, and pointed. A
long line of prone bodies were crawling through the muck
toward us. In the middle of them was one figure, walking
upright.
   “Rogan.” I started toward him. Reever jerked me back
into the shadows.
  “No, Cherijo. We must warn Salo.”
  I nodded with regret. I had a knife, Rogan still
breathed. Life wasn’t fair. “I'll go, Reever. I don't think
you want to see Salo's handiwork.”
   With as fast a sprint as I could manage, I avoided the
tidal pools and crossed the distance to the launch.
Cautiously I looked inside. And immediately regretted it.
“Oh, my God.” Salo paused for a moment. Large pools
of blood covered the deck around his feet. I swallowed
hard. Remembered not to look at what the other Jorenians
had done.
   “Excuse me, Salo.” I averted my eyes from the grisly
thing hanging limply from his big hands. “We’ve got
company.”
   Salo dropped the dead body of the mercenary he was
… decorating, and wiped the excess blood from his
strong hands on the front of his victim’s tunic. “We have
to but dispose of the bodies, and we can depart.”
   “Hurry,” I said, then climbed back down the docking
ramp- I waved toward Reever, then hurried around the
launch to find Dhreen.
   I saw him struggling with an Ichthori female who had
attached herself to his leg and was trying to pull him down
into the mud. I kicked her, yanked his arm, and pulled him
free of her grasp.
   “No time for romance, Dhreen,” I said, pushing him in
front of me toward the launch. “We’re leaving.”
   He shuddered with relief, “j Jxmt time.”
   “We want the Terran,” I heard Rogan shout. “The rest
of you can go. Leave her.”
   Oh. good. I didn’t have to leave this waste heap
without getting a shot at Rogan after all.
   Silently I motioned to Dhreen. “Here.” I handed him
one of the smooth round stones I had picked up near the
tree houses. “Watch.”
   I dropped down and dug my hands in the brown muck.
Dhreen imitated my actions. When we were armed, we
darted across the open ground for the shuttle.
   Pulses of energy smashed into the mud all around us.
Rogan was only a few meters from us now, firing at our
legs. Didn’t want to damage the merchandise, I thought.
We danced around the beams, but it was obvious we
weren't going to reach the launch.
  “Surrender!” Rogan yelled.
   “Okay! We surrender!” I called, approaching Rogan
slowly. I kept one hand behind my back. Just a little
closer. “I give up! Let the others go!”
  “Krugal is very unhappy, Doctor Torin. You may be
on your back for days.” Rogan leered. We were close
enough now to catch a whiff of his stench.
  “I don’t think I’m going to assume that position,
Phorap,” I replied. I nodded to Dhreen. “Now!”
   We volleyed our mud balls directly at Rogan. Mine hit
him in the head with a solid thunk. Dhreen’s curving pitch
delivered his to the side of Rogan's thick neck. The heavy
rocks we had packed in the center of each sphere did the
job, and Rogan landed facedown in the muck. He wasn’t
going to be feeding for a couple of hours.
   The prone Ichthori swarmed around Rogan, making
bubbling snorts and trying to prop him up. Dhreen and I
raced for the hull doors. The engines were already firing.
Two of the team members literally dragged us through the
closing panel.
  “We have them, Salo!”
   Dhreen and I were thrown to the bloodstained deck as
the launch ascended sharply upward. When we cleared the
upper atmosphere, the Oenrallian caught my hand and
squeezed it with his spatulate fingers before he helped me
up.
  “Thanks, Doc.”
   I squeezed back. “You’ll have to teach me that curve
pitch someday.”
  We arrived back at the Sunlace in time to see the crew
making final preparations for transition. Salo and I
exchanged a few words before I took a gyrlift to Medical
Bay.
   Squilyp barred my path before I had taken six steps
through the door panel. “Doctor! What has happened?”
   “Did you prep the patients for transition? I—” I glared
at him. “Get out of the way, Squid Lips.”
  “You are filthy,” he said, his dark eyes eloquent.
  I looked down. Ichthora muck covered my tunic.
“Squilyp-”
  “I can smell you, Doctor.” He shuddered. “The
bacteria alone…”
   “Okay, okay. I’ll go get cleaned up. Get the patients
ready.”
   I ran down to my quarters. Jenner hissed as I darted
inside.
  “Just me, pal,” I said as I stripped off my clothes and
jumped into the cleanser. Two minutes later, I stepped
out, free of dried mud and dripping all over the deck.
  “Here.”
   Reever stood there, holding out a towel. I snatched it
from him. Dried off fast. Wound it around me. Thought
of where I’d like to hurt him.
  “My door chime not working?” I asked.
   “I didn’t use it,” he said as he sat down. I pulled my
clothes on, awkwardly keeping the towel in place until I
was covered. I had gotten used to living alone again, that
was all.
  “Why?”
   The door panel opened before he could reply. Xonea
stood just outside, along with Salo.
  “That is why,” Reever said.
  “May we come in, Senior Healer?”
   “Sure,” I said. “Invite some of the crew. We’ll have a
party.” Neither man reacted to my sarcasm. “Aren't we
supposed to be transitioning right about now?”
  “We cannot leave yet,” Xonea said. “Fasala Torin is
missing.”

   “There was no place for her to stow away on the
launch,” Dhreen said as we checked the interior for the
third time. “I went over the storage holds myself. They
were empty, except for the gear.”
   “What about Dr. Rogan?” Reever asked. “He was
carrying a heavy pack.”
   “Not large enough,” I said. “Fasala is nearly five feet
tall, and weighs almost as much as I do. Even if she was
tied up, Rogan’s pack didn't have enough room in it to
carry her.”
  Salo appeared, carrying rifles. “Here.” He tossed a
weapon to Dhreen, then Reever. “Arm yourselves. The
mercenary fleet is approaching.”
  “Fleet?” I reflexively caught the rifle he tossed to me.
  “Twenty-two ships. Half are comparable to the
Sunlace.”
   I carefully put down the weapon. I healed people, I
didn’t shoot them. “We have to get out of here.”
   Salo nodded. “If Fasala is on Ichthora, we will come
back for her.” He said it with all the hopelessness of a
parent unable to protect his child. “I must go to Darea.”
  “I’ll go with you,” I said.
  He nodded. “She may need some… professional aid.”
   As we hurried through the corridor, we checked with
the other search teams we encountered. No one had found
a trace of the child, who had disappeared just before the
launch left the Sunlace for Ichthora.
  Darea was waiting in their quarters, in the event Fasala
came home. When Salo told her we had not found their
ClanDaughter, tears streamed down her beautiful face.
  “Is there nothing we can do?”
  Their door panel chimed. Darea shot to her feet and
had it open before I could blink. She sagged as she saw
who it was.
  “Oh, come in, Navigator.”
   Hado Torin entered, and his good arm went around
Darea. They hugged briefly, then the older man helped her
to a chair.
   “She will be found, my ClanCousin. Have no fear of
that.” Hado glanced at me. “Senior Healer, perhaps you
can leave us? I will sit with her until Fasala is found.”
  “Yes, please.” Darea nodded. Salo went to her and
would have taken her in his arms, but she stepped back.
“Go look for our child, Salo. I will wait for your signal.”
  He lifted her hand to his lips. “I will find her.”
  “Speaking of signals, has anyone checked your
console lately?” I asked.
    Salo hurried over, and scrolled through the intership
file. “No, there is—” He paused, then pulled up a
data-only screen. “There is a message here for Fasala.
From you, Senior Healer.”
   I looked over his broad shoulder. “Salo, I never sent
this.” I read through the brief message. Someone
pretending to be me had requested that Fasala meet them
on level fourteen. The exact place where Fasala had been
injured. “Has anyone checked the storage area on that
level?”
   “She would not go there,” Salo said. “Fasala knows
the area has been restricted.”
  “She might do it for me.” I was thinking of the talk I’d
had with her about facing her fears.
  Salo immediately signaled Operational. “Send a team
down to fourteen at once.”
   We ran. Two levels down from Sale’s quarters, an
impressive display of warning signs and portable barriers
barred access to the storage facility. I noticed there was
enough space for someone my size or smaller to duck
under and crawl through. One of the barriers stood
slightly askew.
   “She’s been here.” I pointed to the jostled unit. Salo
began ripping the equipment out of his path, tossing the
heavy units aside like toys. I stayed out of range until he
cleared the entrance panel.
  “Fasala? Fasala!” he shouted as the door panel slid
open. “Answer me, child!”
   I picked my way around the discarded barriers and
followed him into the storage facility. There was an eerie
hollow feeling here, where weeks ago the buffer had
shattered backward and hurt the little girl. Something was
wrong. The fine hair on my arms and nape felt the ghostly
brush of energy gathering around us.
  “Salo! We have to get out of here! Now!”
  “I must find her!”
   I saw a faint ripple in the buffer covering the repaired
hole in the hull.
   “No!” I shouted, and tackled the Jorenian. Surprise
was the only reason I knocked him down behind one of
the large cargo bins. I landed right on top of him. He
rolled me off and thrust me behind him.
   A flash of blinding light appeared above us. The smell
of melting alloys stung my nose, while a two-meter
circular section of the cargo bin began to dissolve right
next to us. I pushed myself up, and yelled as I yanked on
his arm. “We have to go! Come on!”
  We staggered away from the damaged bin. I looked
back and saw a solid beam of energy pouring from the
buffer itself into the metal where moments before we had
been standing. The beam was nearly transparent, but
hummed with menacing power. I glanced back at the
buffer.
   Just as the beam cut off, I saw a flickering,
rainbow-fringed circle of light.
   Salo hauled me out of the facility and sealed the door.
He panted and his face dripped sweat. “What was that?”
he demanded.
   “That’s what killed Roelm and Ndo,” I replied, gasping
for breath. “The same thing that hurt Fasala and her
educators.”
  “It has done something to me as well.” He lifted the
edge of his tunic, and I saw his abdomen rapidly turning a
mottled purple.
  “Medical.” I pointed to the gyrlift. “Right now.”
  “My Fasala—”
  “We’ll find her. Right now I have to see what kind of
damage that thing did to you.”
  He nodded, already pale and shaking with reaction. I
pulled one of his long arms around my shoulders and got
him into the gyrlift.
   Salo collapsed just as we reached Medical. Immediately
two nurses and Squilyp were there to help me maneuver
his big frame onto an exam pad. Adaola gasped when I
opened his tunic. His entire abdomen was badly bruised.
  “Scan him for internal damage,” I told the Omorr. “I’ve
got to signal the Captain.”
   At the display, I waited impatiently until my emergency
relay was put through. Xonea listened as I reported what
had happened.
  “Have you located the girl yet?” I asked.
  “No,” he said. “Search teams have been recalled. We
must transition now.”
  “Someone has to tell Darea,” I told him, then looked
over my shoulder. “Report on Salo!”
  “His spleen and pancreas are ruptured!” Squilyp yelled
back. “He needs surgery, now!”
   “Prep him. Surgical team, prepare for emergency
procedure!” I turned back to the display. “How long until
transition?”
  “Fifteen minutes.”
  “I can’t do this kind of surgery that fast!” I told him.
“Can you transition sooner?”
  Xonea’s mouth thinned. “Five minutes.”
  “Do it, if you want Salo to live.” I reached for the
keypad.
   “Cherijo.” I looked up at the screen. “Will he remain on
the path?”
   “Salo has Fasala and Darea. Two very good reasons to
stick to the path.” I gave Xonea a half-smile. “Not to
mention one of the best cutters in the quadrant working on
him.”
  “Keep me advised. Prepare for emergency transition.”
   I yelled at the Omorr and the surgical team, who were
frantically readying for the operation. “Hold it. The ship is
going to transition first. We need to put Salo in sleep
suspension, now.” I gestured to most of the nurses and
my resident. “Prep the patients. Adaola, you’re with me.
Move it, people!”
   Adaola and I just managed to get Salo under as the ship
transitioned. We helped each other off the deck once
reality righted itself and checked Salo.
   “He’s going into shock anyway!” Adaola cried out as
we pulled him back out of suspension. “Blood pressure is
dropping!”
   “One hundred ccs of synepinephrine,” I said as I
increased oxygen flow. Sale’s damaged tissues had begun
to flood with fluid. I injected him with the bronchodilator
drug. “Get his legs up, Adaola. That's it. Vitals look
better.” I stared at the monitor for a moment. “That's how
they died. That's why Fasala went into shock. Proximity
to the beam creates stress on the system. Direct exposure
causes the cellular disruption.”
  “Senior Healer?” Adaola asked. She looked worried. I
shook my head to clear it.
   “Never mind. Prep him for surgery. I want him ready in
two minutes.” I put down my scanner and ran into the
scrub room. My team was already geared and waiting.
The Omorr hopped in after me. “Report.”
   “Minor injuries keep coming in, but we can handle it on
the ward,” Squilyp said. “Salo?”
   “Anaphylactic shock brought on by proximity to
intense sonic-based energy. Someone tried to shoot us
with it.”
   “There is no such thing as a sonic-based weapon—”
   “Oh yeah?” I finished scrubbing and snapped on my
gloves. “I saw it, Squilyp. Salo used his body to shield
mine. It melted a damn cargo bin right in front of us.”
   The Omorr’s expression was comical. “But the only
thing capable of doing that is—”
   “—a resonant harmonicutter, I’ll guess.”
   He nodded.
   “Squilyp, I know you said these things are huge, that
they couldn’t fit one inside the ship. What if someone
found a way to make one out of available materials here
on the ship?” I put my mask and the rest of my gear on.
“Is it possible someone is using this thing to kill our
people?”
   His gildrells flared. “If they could build it, we’d see it.
It would have to be nearly as large as the entire ship.”
  “So what is almost as large as the ship that we see
everyday that could be a harmonicutter?”
   “Nothing. I’ve never seen a single piece of equipment
that size—”
   Neither had I. That was it. “Maybe we can’t see it.”
The Omorr looked at me. We were thinking the same
thought. Said the same words together. “The buffer.”

   Sale’s surgery lasted six hours. I successfully avoided
a complete pancreatectomy, by repairing the small
ruptures in both the head and body of the organ. The
Jorenian exocrine tissue was remarkably resilient; the same
damage would have killed a Terran. Once I'd salvaged the
main duct, I removed the pancreatic tail and linked the
remainder of the repaired organ with part of Sale's small
intestine.
   The larger problem during the operation was presented
by Salo’s spleen. In a Terran, the tiny organ usually
weighed no more than seven ounces. In a Jorenian, it was
five times that weight and triple the volume. Standard
procedure on Terra required a splenectomy; in adult
humans there were virtually no ill effects after complete
removal.
   My friend Salo, however, had not one but three arteries
leading into his spleen. He hemorrhaged from two of
them. Jorenian spleens not only removed worn-out blood
cells and fought infection, but also regulated their digestive
and immune systems, too. If I removed it, he would die in
a matter of days.
   Operating to repair a spleen compared to the most
delicate of neuro repairs. Once I clamped off the bleeders,
I had to work through the tiny forest of arterial branches,
suturing the torn lymph tissue itself. I imagined sewing a
sponge back together without leaving any stitch marks.
This ranked slightly below that. I was working against time
as well. We had lowered Salo’s body temperature, but the
spleen would not survive being cut off from the blood
supply very long.
   “Tissue looks healthy,” I muttered as the nurse blotted
my brow. “Salo may be a nice guy and regenerate some
of this on his own.” I finished repairing the torn arteries
and released the clamps. A near-black color returned at
once to the pale organ. In this species, black meant
healthy. “Looks good.” I inspected the remainder of his
open abdomen. “Anyone have an objection to me closing
this patient? Anyone really brave enough to tell me, that
is?”
  Everyone chuckled.
  “Good. Let’s wrap it up.”
   After I finished suturing the long surgical incision down
the center of his torso, I stripped off my gloves and
rubbed the back of my neck.
  “Move him into post-op,” I said. “I want two nurses
monitoring him until he regains consciousness.”
   I went out to the scrub room and cleaned up before I
returned to the ward. I was surprised to see Xonea there.
Adaola was running a scanner over him. I went over and
gave him a brief summary of the operation on Salo.
   “Has someone informed Darea?” I asked once I’d
finished.
   Xonea shook his head. “We could not locate her.”
   “She’s in her quarters. I left her there with Hado just
before Salo was injured.”
  “You don’t understand. While you were operating on
Salo, Darea disappeared. Just like Fasala.” He grimaced
and leaned forward, favoring his abdomen.
   “For God’s sake!” I snatched the scanner from Adaola
and checked the display. “Just what I thought. All the
stress is eating holes in your stomach.”
   “I do not require an examination!” Xonea grated, and
pushed off the table. I checked the last of the readings and
caught my breath.
   “Get back on there. Now.”
   “Cherijo—”
   “Now!” I ran the scanner over him one more time to be
sure. While he sat there, digging his fingers into the exam
pad, I went to the database display and entered the
scanner readings. What the diagnostic array returned made
me want to spit. I went back over to the exam table and
planted my hands on my hips.
  “What the hell are you doing, eating jaspforran? Are
you trying to kill yourself?”
  Xonea’s wrathful expression faded. “Jaspforran? I
have not taken any of that wretched herb. Why would I?”
   “Don’t lie to me! You've got so much in your
bloodstream it's starting to penetrate your gastric lining!” I
said. “No wonder you've been so out of control! That
stuff will… that will…” I halted at the obvious confusion
he displayed. “You really didn't eat any?”
   He shook his head.
   I ran the scanner a third time. Found nothing in his
stomach, except for traces of jaspkerry tea and the high
levels of the warrior’s herb.
   “What does this stuff taste like? Jaspkerry spice?” He
nodded. I ran the scanner over myself, then put it down.
“Well, that explains a lot.”
   “What say you?”
   “I’ll tell you later.” After I administered a mild
tranquilizer to Xonea to counter the effects of the
jaspforran, I signaled Hado. The navigator responded
from his duty station.
   “Hado? Weren’t you going to stay with Darea?”
  “I was, Senior Healer, until I was signaled to return at
once to Command Level.” He made a slightly frustrated
gesture. “In error, as it happens. I will return to her
quarters now.”
   “Don’t bother, she's not there.” The next person I tried
was Ktarka. The educator appeared to have just stepped
out of her cleansing unit.
   She smiled at the screen. “Yes, Senior Healer?”
   “Is Darea there with you?”
   “No, she is not. After I heard the news about Fasala, I
signaled her. She wished to be alone, she said.” The
Jorenian woman frowned as she tugged her towel higher.
“Has the child been found?”
   “No, and now Darea is missing.” I tried to smile
reassuringly. “Sorry, Educator. It’s a long story. I'll get
back to you when I find her.”
   “Signal me if you need my assistance.”
  Squilyp had been listening and now waited for me as I
walked from the display. “You’re going to look for
Darea?”
   “Yes. Something isn’t right about all this. Why would
two members of a ClanFamily disappear, and the third
receive serious injuries, all on the same day?”
   “Unfortunate coincidence?” the Omorr said.
   “Or they all have a connection to the killer.”
  I went directly to Salo and Darea’s quarters, to see if
Fasala or her ClanMother had returned there. The rooms
were silent.
   I went into Fasala’s room, and even checked under the
sleeping platform. Nothing but a rather dusty plasball
under there. I opened the storage containers, and even the
compartment where the child had carefully put her clean
garments. Aside from the usual contents, they were
empty.
   When I returned to the living area, I smelled a trace of
something odd. Cleanser? I stepped past the sofa, and
heard a faint squishing sound. Beneath my footgear, the
loose, fluffy weave of the area rug was damp. I bent down
and sniffed at it. The odor was much stronger. Had Darea
spilled some tea? The wet area disappeared beneath the
bottom edge of the sofa, so I pushed it back to see what
was under it.
   There were several green splotches on the rug beneath
the sofa. My fingers gingerly touched one of them.
   Jorenian blood. Wet. Fresh.
   I got to my feet and ran into the larger bedroom, calling
Darea’s name. I pulled the room apart, opening everything
large enough to contain her body. The cleansing unit was
empty. Nothing under the bed. I sagged against it for a
moment, resting my cheek on the soft coverlet. When I
opened my eyes, I saw what had happened to Darea.

   I contacted Barrea in Engineering first, then sent a
coded signal to the ship’s linguist. It took a moment to
receive his reply.
  “It will work, but why do you wish to do this, Senior
Healer?” Barrea asked over our secured channel,
   “I know who the killer is.”
   An hour later I sent out five more signals. Within
minutes, Hado, Adaola, Xonea, Ktarka, and Reever
showed up at Darea’s door panel. They looked at each
other, then at me. Adaola appeared nervous. Hado and
Ktarka seemed bewildered. Reever's expression never
changed. Xonea glared at me.
  “Come in, please.” I gestured to the empty room
behind me. “I need to speak to all of you.”
   Xonea folded his arms. “Senior Healer, I have no
time—”
   “Shut up and sit down, Captain.” I set out servers of
tea and sat down in the chair I’d set a foot back from the
rest of the furnishings. “Try the tea. It's real jaspkerry,” I
told Xonea. “I programmed it myself.”
  “Senior Healer, have you word of Darea or Fasala?”
Ktarka asked.
  “Not exactly. I came here looking for Darea, and found
some blood on the floor.” I pointed. “Right there where
Adaola is sitting.”
   The Jorenian nurse lifted her footgear at once.
    “Don’t worry. It's under the sofa. When I found the
blood, I scanned it. The DNA matches Darea's perfectly.
Is she dead?” I looked at each intent face. Not a flicker of
reaction. “Well, I suppose if I was a cold-blooded killer,
I'd hardly volunteer the information.”
  That icy formality the Jorenians were capable of settled
over my little group. They became big blue statues.
Reever stood to one side, silently watching me.
   Hado’s gentle eyes narrowed. “You believe one of us
diverted Darea's path?”
  “Cherijo, this is not amusing,” Xonea said. “If you
have information about the murders, tell me now.”
   “I’m getting to that part. Hado, let me ask you a
question: What's the first thing you do after you invent a
weapon?” The navigator appeared confused. “You test it.
In a remote place, like the storage compartment on level
fourteen. On a live subject, like Fasala Torin.”
   “No one could want to deliberately hurt an innocent
child,” Ktarka said in protest.
  “The killer had a reason for using Fasala as a test
subject.” I smiled at her. “But I’ll get to that later, too.”
  “What weapon do you speak of, Healer?” Hado asked
me.
  “The killer created a resonant harmonicutter here on
board the Sunlace.”
   “No level on this ship is large enough to contain a
harmonicutter!”
   I smiled. “You’re right, Hado, you can't fit a
harmonicutter on the ship. But you can use the ship's
buffer to store energy, and act like a harmonicutter.”
   “That kind of technology doesn’t exist!”
   “It does now. I’m no engineer, so I checked with
someone who is. A smaller device would have to be
placed on the buffer to release the power in a focused
sonic beam. Once the victim was located and targeted, a
remote unit could be used to trigger the beam.”
   “Then why wasn’t Fasala killed?” Adaola asked.
   “What the killer couldn’t predict was that Fasala's
educators would come looking for her. My theory is that
the killer tried to protect the two adult women and
reversed the power flow. The sudden stress from the
backlash made the buffer shatter.”
   I sipped my tea as I let that sink in, then continued.
   “Before the killer could try again, Roelm Torin noticed
the engine surge. Did you know Roelm was one of the
Sunlace’s original designers? He knew those engines
better than anyone. He must have figured out what the
killer was doing. He was on his way to Engineering when
he was murdered.”
  “How did you discover these facts, Senior Healer?”
Hado asked.
    “I have proof, but for now I’ll save that, too. Let's talk
about motive.” I turned to the Captain. “Xonea, you aren't
going to win any awards for self-control. And when
Reever accessed my subconscious, I saw you as the
killer.”
   “I have wronged you in the past,” he said, the words
forced and stiff. “Yet the only injuries I have inflicted have
been upon you.”
   “I know,” I acknowledged. “But that wasn’t your fault.
Someone removed the jaspkerry stores from the prep
units in both our quarters and the galley, and replaced it
with pure jaspforran.”
   “What?” He clenched his fists and struggled for
control. “By the Mother, that explains the ungovernable
rage I have been enduring.”
   “From the way that stuff affects the Jorenian central
nervous system, I’m surprised you haven't punched a hole
through the hull,” I said. “I also found micro-encapsulated
artificial enzymes had been added to my Terran tea and all
the Terran stores in the galley. They stimulated my
sympa-thoadrenal response and made me, shall we say,
slightly more aggressive than usual? The few times I had
Xonea's tea only made it worse.”
   “Who has done this?” Xonea wanted to know.
  “I’m getting to that.” I turned to the senior nurse.
“Adaola, you were on duty when Roelm and Yetlo died in
Medical. Off duty when Ndo was murdered. Plus you
were in the launch bay when the mercenary was killed.
You had access to all the victims.“
  Adaola paled, but said nothing.
   “I could see you killing Ndo because he might threaten
Xonea’s succession in some way. Or Yetlo, because you
disagreed with my decision to stop him from committing
suicide. But why Roelm? Why the mercenary? They
presented no threat or connection to Xonea. And why
would you poison your own ClanBrother if you were
trying to protect him?”
  Adaola shuddered. “I could never do such things.”
   I gave her a smile. “I know it wasn’t you, Adaola. A
killer doesn't spend double shifts watching a sick kid if
she wanted her dead, or smash a desk because she
believes she may have accidentally killed a patient. Nor
does she try to destroy the mind of a much-loved sibling.”
   “I can imagine why I am here,” Hado said. “I was a
patient in Medical when Roelm’s path was diverted, and
like Adaola, present when the mercenary was killed.”
   “Whoever did this had an unusual mark over their
heart—something you certainly have, Hado.” I watched
him press one hand to the location of the surgical scars on
his chest. “Plus you discovered Ndo’s body. You could
have taken his data pad and planted it in my quarters.” I
shook my head. “The problem is you were still recovering
from cardiac surgery when Fasala and the educators were
attacked.”
   Xonea turned toward Reever. “And the ship’s
linguist?”
   “I don’t know where he was during the other murders,
but he was there when the mercenary died,” I said. “It's
also true Reever's never been happy about you Choosing
me, Xonea, or me going along with it. I might have
suspected him, had I not been linked with him when the
killer tried to alter my brain wave patterns.” I decided not
to bring up the time when I'd offered myself to Reever,
and he'd turned me down. “It wasn't him.”
   Reever’s and Xonea's eyes met mine, then Adaola's,
then Hado's. We all turned to the only person in the room
who had not touched her tea.
  “That leaves me,” Ktarka said. She was very calm.
  “Yes.” So was I. “It does.”


        CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
            Game Over
                                                 «^»

  I have heard no evidence that would indicate my
involvement.”
   It was interesting, the way Ktarka said that. If someone
accused me of murder, I’d be screaming my head off.
Protesting my innocence. Telling everyone to stop wasting
time and go after the real killer. I might even throw things.
I didn't see myself being really concerned with the
evidence.
   “After Fasala was injured, you came up to me in the
galley and introduced yourself. Why?”
   “I merely wished to acknowledge your work with our
children,” Ktarka said.
   “Or was it that you’d just tested your weapon and
nearly killed two of your colleagues? Did you decide then
you needed someone to take the blame? Who would be
ideal? A Terran outsider who had already killed one Torin,
maybe?”
  She took a sip of tea. “Your theory proves nothing.”
   “Later, while you were in Medical gloating over
Fasala’s injuries—or trying to make another attempt on
her life, I don't know which—you must have overheard
Roelm making a fuss about the engines. After he
questioned the little girl, you followed him. Did you kill
him to protect your secret?”
  “Another groundless speculation.”
   She sure was hung up on validation. I guess that was
the usual mind-set of a murderer. How can I kill and get
away with it? Make sure there’s no damn proof.
   “After Roelm died, I had a dream. A dream that began
as part of a very calculated campaign to set me up for the
murders. But you got a little sidetracked, didn’t you?“
  Hado made an ugly sound. Xonea’s fists bulged. I
motioned for both of them to stay calm.
   “The next victim was Leo, the League mercenary. You
killed him for obvious reasons—he nearly beat you to
death.” I looked at my Jorenian nurse. “Adaola, did you
see Leo abduct Ktarka from Medical that day?”
  “No,” the nurse said. “I noticed his berth was empty
and went out into the corridor. From there I followed the
marks of blood on the deck.”
  “Didn’t you find any blood in the isolation room?”
  “No,” Adaola said.
    I turned to the educator. “You offered to help him,
didn’t you? That's why you released him and smuggled
him out of Medical. But Leo waited until you got out in
the corridor before he turned on you. Why did you let him
go? Did you want to watch him rape me, or help him do
it?”
  The Educator made a curt gesture.
   “Reever? Would you mind getting the two items I left
on Darea’s sleeping platform for me?” Reever
disappeared, then re-emerged carrying two wrapped
objects: one large and bulky, one small and flat. “Put them
on the table for me, will you?” I picked up the small one
first and unfolded it. “Do you remember this, Educator?”
  She gazed at the pendant, then at the place on my
vocol-lar where it used to be attached. “Yes.”
   “What a gift it was, too. I found out ten minutes before
you five got here that this isn’t a mere bauble. A scanner
picked up some very tiny, very interesting tech imbedded
in the stone.” I held it up for everyone to see. “The stone
itself is a genuine Jorenian antique. Centuries ago, it was
used to signify a Choice had been made.”
   My nurse frowned, bewildered. “Jorenians do not
Choose members of the same gender. They cannot
produce offspring together.”
   “Someone who could never bond because she’d
botched her first Choice wouldn't be worried about having
kids.” I leaned forward and wrapped the pendant again.
“In my second dream, the killer told me we shared our
aloneness. When I resisted the sexual overtures, I was
beaten.” I placed the pendant back on the table. “Then
Xonea Chose me. How did it feel, Ktarka, finding out
you’d screwed up again?“
  “I did not Choose you,” she said. Her voice was low
and furious. “I am Chosen; you are female. I cannot
Choose you.”
   “No, you couldn’t. Xonea already had. You decided to
play more games. You'd already poisoned everything I ate
or drank with enough artificial enzymes to keep me hostile.
So you switched the jaspkerry tea stores and assured
Xonea would be in a near-constant state of rage, too. You
killed Yetlo after I'd given him a reason to live. I didn't
understand why Ndo had to die, at first. Until I found out
where on Joren the resonant harmonicutters are used to fit
buffers to space-going vessels.”
  “The Talot province shipyards,” Xonea murmured.
   “I checked the com logs. Just before he died, Ndo
signaled you. He’d discovered you once worked in your
HouseClan's main business. Outfitting ships for
deep-space exploration. You and your immediate family
are expert engineers. Highly skilled in the use of
harmonicutters.”
   Ktarka’s hand knotted in her lap. “That has nothing to
do with these path diversions!”
  “When you were burned, you clutched your tunic over
your breasts. When I signaled you today, you covered
your upper torso. Why?”
  “I have no—”
   “I checked your medical records, Ktarka. Stabbing
yourself in the chest leaves a big, ugly scar. But you don’t
think of your botched suicide attempt as a failure, do you?
It was the day you were reborn. That's why it looked like
a birthmark to me when you pretended to be Xonea in my
dream.”
   “Stop this!” Ktarka’s beautiful face contorted with
rage.
  “You planted Ndo’s data pad to frame me, and used a
beacon to signal the mercenaries. If Pnor was still alive, he
would tell me it was you who suggested I was the killer to
him—several times. You also reported to him when Xonea
had stormed the Medical Bay while Reever and I were
linking.” I glanced at Reever. “Roelm tried to tell us the
killer was ‘one who is not one of us.’ The only thing that
sets Ktarka apart from everyone else is the fact she was
born to HouseClan Zamlon.”
   Xonea rose to his feet. “Why harm Fasala? Why attack
Salo?”
  “It’s simple.” I stared at the seething Educator. “Salo is
Konal's ClanBrother. His only ClanSibling.”
   Ktarka’s entire body tensed. Time for the big finale.
  “That’s why you joined the crew,” I said to her. “You
needed the Sunlace. Time to design and build the
weapon. Long before your little infatuation with me, you
knew exactly who you were going to kill. Salo and his
family. Your revenge against Konal.”
   “No!” she shouted, tearing at her tunic, baring her
breast and the twisted scar bisecting it. “Not revenge!
Justice! Konal shamed me! Took my family from me!”
Ktarka flung her hand out toward Xonea, Hado, and
Adaola. “Cursed be HouseClan Torin!”
   Someone had to say something. Might as well be me.
  “Game over,” I said. “You lost. Where’s Darea and
Fasala?”
   She drew back. “You dare question me?”
  “I’m going to dare to do a lot more,” I said, and got to
my feet, “unless you tell me what you did with Sale's
family. Right now.”
   “You will never find them.” Ktarka reached up and
took her pendant in her hand. “Nor will you escape my
revenge!”
   Behind my back, I gave Reever a thumb’s up. He
turned and nodded slightly toward Fasala's bedroom.
   “End this, Ktarka,” Adaola said.
   “No.” The educator’s fist tightened around her
pendant. I felt the air beginning to change within the living
area. At the same time, Dhreen silently appeared behind
the Educator. “I will show you the true inner path.”
  “Everybody down!” I yelled, jumped across the table,
and slammed into Ktarka. The combination of the Jorenian
woman’s weight and my momentum knocked us to the
deck. I rolled, snatching the pendant from her loosened
grasp and snapping it from her vocollar. It glowed red-hot
against my skin.
  “Dhreen!” I tossed it to him, and he raced out of the
quarters into the corridor.
    “No!” Ktarka tried to get up and follow the Oenrallian.
I jumped on top of her, but she thrust me aside with one
hand. I landed against Sale’s display case, shattering the
protective plass panels. My arms covered my head as I
huddled, protecting myself from the sharp shards raining
over me.
  When I eased my arms down, I saw Xonea had Ktarka
by the throat. She hung suspended a good foot above the
deck.
  He was shouting and shaking her. “Where are they?”
  “Xonea!” I got up, and the plass shards rained from
my tunic to the deck. “Don’t kill her!”
  He released her, and Ktarka dropped to the deck on her
knees. I went to her, took her by the shoulders.
  “Ktarka, it is over. Where are Darea and Fasala?”
   “I wanted you,” she said, sobbing. She lifted her hand
to touch my face. “So small, so perfect. So like me
within.” Her hand fell to the floor, then came up again.
Before I realized what she was doing, a jagged piece of
plass slashed across my face.
   Hado yanked me back, shielding me with his body.
Blood spurted from the gash under my right eye through
the fingers I pressed against it. Ktarka crawled backward
until she hit a wall panel.
  “You will never find them. This I vow.”
   She rose unsteadily, and before anyone could stop her,
plunged the knife-shaped shard into her heart.

   An hour later, Adaola finished temporarily repairing the
damage to my face. Ktarka’s body had been removed
from Sale's quarters, and I sent a grey-faced Hado to
Medical, to have a complete exam. Xonea and Reever
remained, quietly discussing options.
  “Cherijo,” Xonea said at last. “How did you discover
Ktarka was the one responsible?”
  “I got lucky.” I winced as Adaola sprayed skinseal
over the deep gash. “Ouch.”
  “It requires sutures, Senior Healer. You must return to
Medical,” the nurse said, then gazed at the bloodstained
deck where Ktarka had fallen. “I can hardly believe it
myself. She seemed so gentle a person.”
   “Hardly,” I said. “Never got to make my big finish, did
I?” I waved at Reever. “Let Duncan show you.”
   He reached over and pulled the covering from the bulky
item still sitting on the table between us. The sentient
crystal from Garnot had shaped itself again. This time, it
portrayed two figures during a terrifying assault. Darea on
her knees, arms flung out as a decidedly ungentle Ktarka
struck her from behind.
   “That’s one very smart crystal,” I said. “Maybe we can
make it a member of the crew.” Dhreen walked in, looking
satisfied. “Well?” I demanded.
  “I deactivated it, Doc. It’s over.”
  Xonea turned to me. “We must find Darea and Fasala.”
    “I shook my head. As crazy as Ktarka had been, I held
little hope of finding them alive. ”Could she have ejected
them through one of the pressure locks?“
   Xonea made a swift gesture. “We would have picked
up the ejections on our perimeter scanners.”
  “Are there any gyrlifts that have been sealed off?”
Dhreen asked.
  Reever rose to his feet. “Perhaps we should search her
quarters.”
   Xonea went with us. While he and I searched through
Ktarka’s sparse belongings, Reever went to work on her
personal console. Evidently he gained access to her
personal files, and I noticed him scrolling through screen
after screen of what looked like engineering schematics.
  I went to stand behind him. “Find anything?”
   “Ktarka was a brilliant woman. Her designs will
revolutionize Jorenian ship-building techniques.”
   “Excuse me if I don’t applaud her genius.” I peered at
the complex diagrams. “There must be a thousand places
on this ship to hide someone.” Something I saw made me
grab his shoulder. “Wait. Go back two screens.” He did,
and I pointed to a pair of long, capsule-shaped objects.
“What are those?”
   “According to her notes, they are receptacles made of
sonic alloy.”
    “Receptacles for what?” I checked the dimensions
listed. They were too small to hold any of the stardrive
equipment. “Probes?”
   “They are approximately the same size as the
ceremonial receptacles the Jorenians use for their dead,”
Reever said.
  “But why make them out of sonic alloy?”
  Xonea joined us, and I filled him in. He studied the
pods. “Ktarka could have used these to conceal the
bodies of Darea and Fasala.”
  “That doesn’t answer my question. Why put them in
sonic alloy capsules? If they're dead, why bother?”
   Reever glanced up at me. “Perhaps they are not dead
yet.”
   “Okay. We know she knocked Darea out. Then she
puts Darea in the capsule, and takes her somewhere on the
ship where she won’t be found. Maybe the same place
Fasala is.” I thought about what Ktarka had said. You will
not find them. Suddenly it all came together. “There’s
only one place on the ship we wouldn't search.”
  Xonea went still. “The power core.”
   A few minutes later, I finished making the same
proposal to the Senior Engineer. He stared at me as if I’d
lost my mind.
   “It is inconceivable, Senior Healer. No life-form could
survive more than a few minutes inside the core.”
  “Let’s take a look anyway.”
   “You cannot simply’take a look' at the core!” one of
the engineers protested. My pal Barrea, however, was
busily exercising some brain cells.
   “Inspection portals,” he said. The Senior Engineer now
stared at him. “We access them to examine the structural
constitution before we flood the core.”
  “Don’t be foolish!” Barrea's boss made a blustering
gesture. “No one could enter a fully flooded core!”
  I ignored him and turned to Barrea. “What if I was
wearing a full envirosuit?”
   Barrea nodded. “That should provide protection, for a
few minutes.”
  The Senior Engineer threw up his graceful hands.
“After which you would receive a fatal dose of radiation!”
  “I’ll hurry up,” I told him. To Barrea, I said, “Will you
back me up on audio?”
  “Even if Darea and Fasala are still alive in the core,”
Xonea said, “how can you get them out?”
   “Ktarka got them in, right? She must have accessed
one of the larger transductor junctions and shoved them
through it.”
   “No, not through the transductors. There are access
domes in the inspection portal. They are very much like
gyrlifts,“ Barrea said. ”If she put them in one of them, and
dropped them into the core…“
   “The domes are not designed for use in a fully flooded
core. They would dissolve in minutes.” The Senior
Engineer was emphatic. “This is a useless exercise. If they
were placed in the core, they are both dead.” He stomped
off in rigid indignation.
  I turned to Barrea. “Well?”
   “I’ll rig the suit myself.” He looked thoughtful. “I might
be able to fit some addition shielding, gain more time for
you.”
  “Let’s go.”
  Xonea caught my arm and kept me back as Barrea
hurried off. “I will go.”
  I made a show of looking up and down his large body.
“You’re too big. You need someone small, and fast.”
  His fingers tightened. “You will be killed.”
  I looked at his hand. “You’re making more bruises.”
  His fingers fell away from me. “I hurt you even when I
am trying to keep you from harm.”
   “You’re a warrior,” I said. “Maybe you should start
looking at some of the big, strong warrior women on this
ship.” The despair in his eyes made me stop teasing him.
“Look. What happened wasn't your fault. Ktarka had us
both pumped full of drugs.”
   “That is over,” Xonea said. “Perhaps in time you will
forgive me.”
  “I already have, Captain.” I gave him a smile. “Now let
me do this.”
  “Senior Healer?” Barrea yelled.
  Xonea nodded. I shouted back. “On my way!”
   It took time to modify the Jorenian envirosuit, but at
last I was enclosed in the bulky, heavily armored gear.
Barrea dropped the helmet over my head as we
approached the panel leading to the largest inspection
portal.
  “Testing audio relay,” I heard him say.
   “Clear signal.” I turned and waved him off. “Go back
to the monitoring station now. I’m going to open the
panel.”
  He nodded, then put a hand on my shoulder. “Gods of
Luck be with you, Senior Healer.”
  I put my thick glove over his fingers. “You’ll do just as
well.”
   Once Barrea was back behind the heavily shielded
monitoring equipment, I keyed the panel to open. The
dark plas faceplate cut most of the glare from the raw
energy streaming just beyond.
   “Entering access dome,” I said, and stepped through
the panel. I activated the autonomous unit and was
immediately enclosed in an oval ball of alloy. A
maneuvering console appeared in front of me. Barrea had
instructed me at length on how to use it. “Activating
access sequence now.”
   “Your suit’s levels are reading in the high tolerance
range even now, Senior Healer,” Barrea said over the
audio as the dome's systems powered up. “You will have
but three or four minutes before radiation absorption
begins.”
   “Okay. I’ll hurry.” I grabbed the control stick and
eased it forward. “Entering power core.”
   It was a sheer drop at first into the seething amber fuel,
until I remembered Barrea’s instructions and maneuvered
the dome to ride the power currents to the center. The
dome dipped and shuddered as it was bombarded, then
found the central stream and floated slowly upward.
  “Senior Healer? Status?”
   “Inside the core,” I replied, my voice soft with wonder.
Raw fuel swirled and undulated around me, like a fountain
of liquid gold. “Barrea, it’s beautiful in here.”
  “Do you see them?”
  That jolted me back to reality. I scanned the enormous,
twenty-eight-level tall storage unit. “No readings at lower
position. Going to ride up the stream now.”
  I used the dome’s hull plates as resistance flaps and felt
myself rising higher. I thought I saw something flicker
toward the left of the dome. I scanned. Nothing appeared
on my console.
  “Radiation levels are now at maximum,” Barrea said.
    The problem with radiation poisoning is you can’t feel
it. “I'm okay, Barrea. Still rising. Halfway to top level.”
   I spotted something there: two indistinct, shadowy
figures. As the dome drew level with them, I saw the
perfectly preserved figures of Darea and Fasala.
  “Found them. The buffer pods are connected to the
same transductor portal.” I peered through the golden
power stream. “They’re breathing!”
  “Use the grappler units,” Barrea said.
   I jabbed a gloved finger at the keypad on the console
and two large maintenance arms extended from the sides
of the dome. The mechanical grapplers, or “hands,”
opened and eased around the buffer pods.
  “Here we go.” I was getting sick to my stomach. Not a
good sign. “Retrieving Darea and Fasala.”
   Carefully I eased the grapplers back. Fasala was
unconscious, but I saw Darea staring at me, her eyes wide
and frightened. Dried blood painted her throat with green
streaks.
  “Senior Healer,” Barrea said. He sounded really
worried now.
  “Got them. Returning to inspection portal. ”
  It was harder to get the dome’s controls to respond.
The alloy that made up the small unit was beginning to
degrade. I had maybe a minute, I decided as I shot up
through the golden power stream. A docking clamp
extended as I approached the open portal. With a final
hard thrust of the control stick, I skimmed the dome over
the falling fuel streams and bounced over to the clamp.
We just made it.
   The bubble of alloy around me began to undulate. I
extended the grapplers until both Darea and Fasala’s pods
were inside the portal. The bottom of the dome
unexpectedly dissolved, and I yelled as I grabbed on to
the console. My gloves were slipping as I punched at the
melting unit.
  “Barrea!” I shouted. “The dome is breaking up!”
   “Try to climb out onto the docking clamp! I’ll pull you
in from here!”
  I didn’t climb as much as fall onto the docking clamp.
Barrea closed it around me, and the boiling power around
me pulled at my envirosuit.
  “Hurry, Barrea!”
   I swung up and into the inspection portal. With relief I
saw the aperture close behind me. I fell to the deck,
panting. Next to my helmet, Darea looked at me through
the transparent capsule. She was crying. I put out a gloved
hand, touching the surface of the pod. On the other side,
Darea flattened her hand next to mine.
  Thank you, she mouthed.
  I managed to nod my head before I fell over.

   Acute radiation poisoning was no picnic. I woke up in
Medical to find myself bent over, vomiting into a basin
held by Squilyp. His membranes were gentle but firm as
he supported my head. Once the spasms passed, I peered
at him.
  “Will I live, do you think?” I asked.
  “With my luck? Yes,” he said as he set the basin aside.
  “Salo? Darea and Fasala?”
   “All doing well.” The Omorr wiped my face and eased
me back on the berth. “You, however, are a madwoman
who needs to be forcibly detained and treated with
extensive psych-therapy.”
   “Love you too, Squid Lips.” I closed my eyes and fell
asleep smiling.
   Days passed while I slept and healed. Apart from
exhaustion, extreme nausea, and one other annoying side
effect, I recovered.
  “At the energy absorption of one joule per kilogram,”
Reever said, calculating the figures during his first visit,
“you absorbed over two hundred fifty grey units.”
   That was more than three times the amount of ionizing
radiation that would normally kill a human being.
   “I should glow in the dark, right?” I awkwardly rose to
a sitting position. I still felt weak and disoriented. “Have
you seen Darea and Fasala?” I was being kept in isolation
until Squilyp decided I wasn’t a threat to my own
recovery. Which might take several revolutions. Reever
nodded. “How are they?”
   “The child suffered a high dose of radiation, but
Resident Squilyp’s bone-marrow transplant appears to be
a success. Darea endured less exposure, but Ktarka's
attack caused her to suffer a severe concussion as well.
The Omorr tells me he expects both to fully recover.”
   “Salo?”
   “He frequently wishes he had been present when
Ktarka admitted to attacking his ClartDaughter and
murdering the others,” Reever said. “He was most
expansive. I was not aware a Jorenian warrior could use
an enemy’s internal organs to—”
  “They get pretty creative,” I agreed in a rush. “How
was Barrea able to get Fasala and Darea out?”
   “The betrothal stone pendant Ktarka gave to you was a
receiver, tuned to the voice-activated transmitter imbedded
in the one she possessed. She used it to artificially disrupt
your brain waves as well as trigger the sonic beam.“
  I wondered if she’d used it to signal the League, too.
“How do you know all this?”
   “We found her design schematics on the personal
terminal in your quarters. Barrea was able to use the
device to release Darea and Fasala.”
   “Why were the schematics on my terminal?”
   “She transferred them, just before attacking Darea.
Perhaps she planned to switch the pendants, and have you
blamed for the murders.”
  “That bitch.”
  Reever simply nodded.
   “Well, it’s over.” I nestled back against my pillows. “I
hope Xonea has done something to recognize Barrea's
efforts. The man saved all three of us.”
  “After the rescue, the Captain made Barrea Senior
Engineer.”
   “Do you approve?” a deep voice asked, and we both
turned to see Xonea standing at the door panel to my
isolation room.
  “Absolutely,” I said. “He’s more than earned it.”
  Reever rose and looked from me to Xonea. “I will go
now.”
   “No, stay, Linguist Reever,” Xonea said. “I wanted to
inform you we will be reaching the homeworld
tomorrow.”
  “Joren? Already?” My voice squeaked. “I couldn’t
have slept that long!”
   Xonea’s lips twitched. “You have. We have also risked
taking a more direct route. The buffer was not designed to
act as an energy storage unit; the ship requires a complete
retrofitting.” He inspected me with casual interest. “Do
you think you will feel well enough to join the sojourn
team?”
  “I’ll start getting dressed now,” I said.
   Reever pushed me back on the berth. “We will see how
her condition is tomorrow, Captain.”
   “Keep me advised. Cherijo”—his eyes
crinkled—“thank you. Salo will remain in your debt
forever. As will our House.” He squinted at the one
remaining side effect of my exposure. “I like the change. It
gives you a… distinguished air.“ He bowed and departed
before I could throw anything at him.
   My hand automatically went to the inch-wide, silver
streak newly appeared in my black hair.
  Reever studied me thoughtfully. “I did not think you
were particularly vain about your appearance.”
   “Shut up, Duncan.” I made a disgusted sound as I
flopped back against my pillows. “I can’t believe this. I'm
not even thirty yet!”
  “The effects of the radiation could have been far
worse,” Reever said. “Your hair might have fallen out
completely.”
    “Don’t try to make me feel better.” My fingers plucked
at the edge of my berth linen. “That reminds me. Has
Dhreen found a transport?”
  He nodded. “I have also signaled the ruling Houses, as
you requested. We can have the succession ceremony
when we land tomorrow.”
   I glared. “No one has screwed up and let it slip, have
they?”
  Reever smiled. “No one would dare.”
  The Omorr reluctantly discharged me from Medical the
next day.
   “You are still very weak,” he said as he finished the last
of the million scans he felt compelled to perform. “You
must rest, or you’ll be right back here stuck in a berth
again.”
  I made a face. “Yes, Mommy.”
   He sighed. “Go. Damage yourself again. I see my
career being based on treatment of deranged Terrans with
a multitude of self-inflicted injuries.”
  I knew better. “Thanks, Squilyp.” I patted his cheek
and hopped off my berth. “Did you hear the Captain’s
announcement about the sojourn?”
   “Yes. What I do not understand is why we must wear
formal garments. Or why my presence is required, as you
are determined to go yourself.”
   “Darea, Easala, and Salo are being transported down to
their homeworld facilities. Most of the crew is getting off
so they can land the ship and have it repaired. Do you see
yourself having much fun at the vessels docks?”
   “No, but formal garments…” He winced. “They are
not very flattering on me.”
   “Stand next to me at the reception,” I advised him. “I
look worse.”
   Joren was the seventh planet in a single-star system. I
expected it to be as big as Kevarzangia Two. It was
bigger. I expected it to be as cultured and sophisticated as
Terra. It was better. When the Sunlace transitioned and
began to orbit above the planet, I stood at the viewport
for a long time.
   From space, it was a lovely, multicolored ball of
rainbow pigments and thin cloud “rings.” Irregular dark
patches marked the oceans that divided the land masses
into distinct continents. One sea stretched from polar cap
to polar cap. Kao’s family lived next to it, on the north
shore of Marine Province.
   Joren loomed like a giant next to the tiny Sunlace. Here
was the place I’d heard so much about, and I began to get
nervous about going down there.
  “Sojourn team Alpha, report to launch bay
immediately,” my display announced.
   I was ready. I put on the stupid tentlike sojourn robes
(for good reason, I reminded myself) and hoisted Jenner’s
carrier from the deck. I took a peek through the grid.
  Blue eyes stared back at me sullenly. I don’t want to go
on a sojourn.
   “I can’t leave you here,” I said. “We're not coming
back to the ship. The rest of our stuff will be transported
down tomorrow.” I looked around my quarters. I had
spent close to a year living here. In spite of all the terrible
things that had happened, I was going to miss it.
   Reever, Squilyp, and Xonea met me in the corridor.
The Captain politely offered to carry Jenner for me. I
turned my pet over to him with a sigh of relief.
  “He needs to go on a diet,” I said as I huffed and
puffed. I wasn’t feeling weak. Jenner was getting fat. That
was all.
   “Why are you taking the animal?” the Omorr asked me.
   “The Jorenians have never seen a Terran cat before,” I
replied. That much was true.
   Dhreen piloted the launch down to the planet with his
usual deftness. I found myself wedged between Adaola
and Xonea, trying to ignore the plaintive yowls coming
from my beleaguered pet.
  “Marine Province is very beautiful during this cycle,”
Adaola said.
  “Prepare for final docking sequence,” Dhreen called
back.
   Squilyp looked uncomfortable and was more quiet than
usual. Reever, sitting next to him, seemed content to stare
at me. I avoided the now blue eyes. I hadn’t forgotten the
time we almost didn't make it back from a sojourn.
    He’d held my hand as the mercenaries fired on our
launch. What was it he said? Don’t worry, it will be quick
. I had kissed him, before yanking a breather over his face.
   The blue eyes darkened, and I knew he’d picked up my
thoughts, remembering the same moments.
  “Biodecon complete. Sojourn team may disembark.”
  Dhreen’s announcement startled me out of my
mesmerized stare. Reever got to his feet, looking very
sophisticated in his formal black robe.
   I got up and looked down. Nope. No difference. I still
resembled a small tent with feet.
   Xonea opened the hull doors, and we filed down the
docking ramp into what surely had to be Heaven in
terrestrial form.
   The huge sky was a rose color, too dark to be pink,
too pale to be red. The only red was the solar sphere
passing from one horizon to the other. Straight lines of
cloud marched in symmetrical columns around the scarlet
sun. Clouds that were every color of the rainbow, and
more.
  “Welcome!” a chorus of voices called.
   I glanced down from the amazing show overhead to
see a large group of Jorenians waiting at the other end of
the ramp. They were dressed in HouseClan Torin blue.
  “Relatives?” I asked Xonea.
   “Relatives,” he said. “The pair waving so energetically
at you are my ClanParents.” Which made them Kao’s
ClanParents. Mine, too, for that matter.
   They were a handsome couple, and abandoned
formality to race up the docking ramp with eager, open
arms. Kao’s family squashed me in a sort of group hug
between his ClanParents and Xonea and Adaola. What
choice did I have? I hugged them back. By the time they
were done demonstrating their affection, my tent-robe was
a little wrinkled.
   “You are so tiny!” Adala, the ClanMother said. A
handsome, sturdy woman, she looked too young to be the
mother of three adults. She was right, too. I barely cleared
her waistline.
   “Such exquisite coloring,” Xonal, the ClanFather, said.
He was even taller than Xonea and had nearly solid-purple
hair. When he smiled, I saw Kao as he would never be—a
mature man.
   The couple addressed the rest of the sojourn team.
“We welcome you all,” Adala said. Xonal beamed as he
took Jenner’s case from my hand and carried it down the
ramp for me.
  “They know we’re not engaged anymore, right?” I
muttered to Xonea.
  An odd expression flickered over his features. “They
know.”
  Before I could get specifics on just what our
ClanParents knew, we stepped down onto Jorenian soil.
   The few simulations of this world I’d accessed on the
ship paled next to the reality. Everything was sharper,
clearer, more overwhelming. The stretch of purple sea
flavored every breath with salt and moisture. Colors, from
scarlet flowers to sapphire skins, shone deeply and vitally
alive. Even the air seemed more like a deliberate caress
than the usual mix of oxygen/nitrogen/carbon
dioxide/helium/water vapor gases against my skin.
   Here was my adopted world. Where the plants sang.
Where huge families dwelled together in tight-knit, serene
communities. Where the ruling Houses were as benevolent
as they were wise.
  So why was I itching to run back up that docking ramp
and hide in the launch until it was time to go?
   “Senior Healer?” Squilyp looked like I felt—ill and
ready to leave. “Do you feel it?”
  “The effects of the additional gravity,” Reever said.
“Terra has 14.7 pounds per square inch, Omorr has 13.8
pounds psi. The Sunlace maintains pressures at exactly
14.3 pounds. The atmospheric pressure here is at least
16.7, two pounds over what you’re used to, Cherijo.
More for you, Squilyp.”
   “No wonder they’re so strong out in space. Walking
around the ship must feel like floating to them.” I groaned
as my ears popped. “I think I'm going to be sick.”
   “Me first,” my Resident murmured. His gildrells were
hardly moving when he spoke.
   “You will grow accustomed to it. Come,” Xonea said.
“We will take you to our pavillion, and there you can
rest.”
  Reever didn’t seem affected by the change at all.
   “You’re human,” I said to him when we arrived at a
large, beautiful, shell-shaped structure that served as
headquarters for HouseClan Torin. “Why aren't you
turning green?”
   “I spent two years on a world with twice this
atmosphere,” he replied. “This is vaguely irritating
compared to that experience.”
  “I bet.” One of the many relatives I now had gestured
toward a suite of rooms, and I groaned in relief. “At last.
See you later, Reever.”
   The rooms were spacious and simply furnished, with
the style of Jorenian minimalism I was beginning to
appreciate. There were square-shaped vases of many
different flowers, all in the exquisite shades of HouseClan
Torin blue. Furnishings were fashioned from dried, woven
plant fibers that looked airy but were surprisingly strong.
Even the fabrics covering the cushions of the chairs were
soft and sank deliciously beneath my fingers. I opened
Jenner’s carrier, and he darted out.
   I’m going to get even with you for this, he glared at me
before he darted under a chair. I was too tired to go after
him.
   I didn’t realize Reever had walked in behind me until he
closed the door to the bedroom I had entered. I stopped
my direct path to the sleeping platform and whirled.
  “I appreciate the offer of company, Reever, but—”
   “These quarters have been assigned to both of us,” he
said. “I’m told they are reserved for those who have
recently Chosen.”
  “Why would they—” My jaw dropped. “You told them
we were getting married?”
   “No. I believe Xonea did.” He crossed the distance
between us and invited me to sit down on the bed. I
flopped on it, falling on my back and burying my face in
my hands.
   “This is not happening to me.” I peeked through my
fingers. “Let me guess. They want us to follow Jorenian
tradition?” He nodded. “Have they already prepared the
usual week-long celebrations?“ Another nod. ”And you
intend to go through with it?“
  “You made your Choice public, Cherijo.”
  “Why is it always my fault?” I dropped my hands.
“Okay. You can stay here and sleep on the sofa. But I am
not, repeat, not bonding with you.”
   “You may have no other option.” He got up and went
to the triangular set of windows overlooking the sea view.
The rosy light from outside softened the harsh set of his
features. His lips curled in an imitation of a human smile as
he pointed at something. “Look.”
   I squinted against the strong light and saw a group of
Jorenians putting the finishing touches on what appeared,
to be an enormous heap of flowers and vines.
  “What is that?” I asked, already dreading the answer.
  “Our bonding chamber.”
   Adala interrupted our discussion to inquire if we
desired to dine in our rooms or join the communal feast. I
had put!down Tenner’s food and water, but had no
success in coaxing him out from under the sleeping
platform. Adala thought he simply needed time to adjust
to the alien atmosphere.
  I was sure he was plotting his revenge campaign.
  “After the succession ceremony, we will be celebrating
your Choice, Cherijo,” my adopted ClanMother said. “I
have been told the arrival of our HouseClan’s vessel has
spurred ten more Choices. Xonal and I will be on the
chamber grounds for the next month in preparation!”
   Her protests didn’t fool me. Like most moms, I bet she
loved the fuss and ceremony.
  “I’d like to have permission to visit your medical
facility before the ceremony begins.” I glanced at Reever.
“With my… Chosen.”
   “Ever the dutiful professional.” Her white eyes shone
with pride. “Of course, a ship’s Senior Healer would do
no less. You are free to do exactly as you wish.” She held
up a finger. “Until tomorrow.”
   “Thank you, Adala,” Reever said, seeing me fumbling
for a reply.
  “Call me ClanMother,” she said, and stared at his eyes.
“Why, they change color!”
  “A human mutation.” I quickly pulled Reever out of
our rooms, then called back over my shoulder, “We’ll see
you at the ceremony, ClanMother.”
  We walked down through the lower level and out of the
main house. “You’ve got to stop doing that,” I said.
  “Doing what?” Reever asked me.
   “That color-changing thing with your eyes.” I peered
into his face. “They’re green again.”
    Reever didn’t comment on his annoying habit. “Where
is the medical facility?”
   “Over there.” I pointed to a smaller building set back
from the HouseClan colony. “Xonea showed it to me
earlier.”
   “There is something I must do before the ceremony. I
will meet you later.” He abruptly turned and headed off in
the opposite direction.
  Was I relieved to have some time to myself? Yes.
    From what I saw, the Medical Facility was even finer
than the ship’s accommodations. Out of courtesy, I went
first to the facility director's offices. A smiling
administrative assistant escorted me to see the Director, an
older man named Sberea, who embraced me like a
long-lost daughter.
  “I have received many, many signals detailing your
work, Healer Cherijo.” Sberea released me with a smile.
“Tonetka thought you the most gifted surgeon she had
ever known.”
  “She probably grumbled about how stubborn and
opinionated I am, too,” I said. Feeling the usual intense
depression that thoughts of Tonetka always brought on, I
asked after my three patients.
   Sberea insisted he take me to them himself. As we
walked to the inpatient wards, he discussed the individual
cases with me.
   “Salo continues to improve. I was astonished by your
work, especially to the spleen. Few Jorenian surgeons
would have attempted that operation.” We halted by
Sale’s berth, and Sberea offered the chart for my
inspection. Since the big man was sleeping, I made only a
quick scan to confirm he was rapidly healing without
complications.
   From there, Sberea and I made our way to the isolation
chamber. Until Fasala’s weakened immune system was
stronger, she remained quarantined to prevent potentially
lethal infections.
   “Greetings, Senior Healer, Cherijo.” Darea put down
the book she was reading to Fasala and both walked over
to the transparent chamber barrier.
  “Hello, Darea.” I bent down to hold a hand to the plas
wall. On the other side, Fasala did the same against mine.
“Hi, Fasala. How are you feeling?”
   “Much better.” The little girl rubbed her head. “Only
this feels strange, Healer Cherijo. ClanMother says my
scalp is prettier than my hair was. What do you think?”
   “I think you look great, honey.” Alive was better than
anything, I thought. And her beautiful black hair would
grow back in. We chatted for a few minutes, then Fasala
went back to her berth. Sberea asked her mother a few
questions as he made chart notes.
  “She eats very well now. The nightmares… are less.”
Darea made a frustrated gesture, then rubbed her left arm
absently and continued in a lower tone, “If only I had
known Ktarka meant to… strike back at Konal through us.
All of this could have been… avoided.”
   Sberea made a commiserating sound. “She is gone
forever from us, Darea. Her own madness punished her
more than you or Salo could have.”
   I doubted that. I’d seen Salo taking a mercenary apart
before. I looked over their charts as Sberea excused
himself to take a direct signal in his office. I frowned when
I came across a notation where Darea had complained of
occasional migraines.
  “Excuse me, Darea, these headaches Sberea has
noted—are they unusual for you?”
   She nodded. “I have never had many, or with such…
frequency.”
   Darea had never been a woman to mince words, so her
new habit of searching for a phrase concerned me. So did
the way she had been rubbing her bicep before. “Did you
hurt your arm?”
   “No. It feels… numb at times,” she replied, and looked
around her. “This chamber is quite cramped.”
  “Any numbness in your legs?”
   She patted her left thigh. “This one, but like my arm…
infrequently. Why do you ask, Healer?”
    “Just checking. Would you excuse me for a moment?”
I left them and returned to Sberea’s office with Darea's
chart. “Can I discuss something with you, Senior Healer?”
  “Of course. Come in.”
   I went over his chart notations with him, and he
frowned.
   “It did not occur to me that the headaches were
unusual. She has been uneasy over Fasala’s progress, and
the enforced confinement. I believed they were wrought
by tension.” His brows drew together as he read my
notation about the numbness complaint. “Both on the left
side. She never mentioned it to me.”
   “She thinks it’s from lack of exercise. Have you
noticed the occasional aphasia she's experiencing?” He
nodded. “When was the last brain scan . .?” I flipped
through the chart display, and frowned. “She hasn't had
one since the initial eval.”
   Sberea’s wise gaze met mine. “We should perform one
at once.”


         CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
          To the Last Warrior
                                               «^»
  We returned to the isolation chamber together, and
donned envirosuits before entering. Once sealed inside,
Sberea and I scanned Darea several times. Through the
protective headgear, I saw Sberea’s reaction to the
display. Mine was the same.
   We told Darea we would return after a brief discussion,
and left her with Fasala. In Sberea’s office, he shook his
head as he transferred the scanner data onto his main
display.
  “I never saw it on any of the previous scans.”
   The image of Darea’s brain showed a crescent-shaped
bilateral extra-axial fluid collection, a mass of blood
leaking from one or more ruptured bridging veins in the
subdural space of the cranial meninges.
   “According to the database, Jorenian physiology can
render the hematoma isodense for quite some time after
the initial injury.” I checked Darea’s chart. “That made it
look so much like the rest of her brain that anyone could
have missed it.”
   “You are kind to an old man, Healer Cherijo. Will you
perform the surgery?”
  I nodded. “We’d better go tell her.”
  Darea listened carefully as I explained the source of her
headaches and muscle weakness.
   “When Ktarka struck you, it caused a rotational
movement of your brain. That stretched and ultimately
tore a blood vessel between the brain parenchyma and the
dural sinuses, inside of the dura mater.“ I indicated the
affected area on her chart display. ”Over time, the vessel
has been bleeding into the space between the dura mater
and the arachnoid, or middle meningeal layer. The trapped
blood formed a clot. We refer to it as a subdural
hemorrhage, Darea.“
  “What must be done, Senior Healer?” she asked.
   “I’m going to perform a surgical procedure called a
cra-niotomy,” I replied. “We'll drain the blood clot, then I
can repair the torn vessel. We need to do this surgery as
soon as possible.” Darea looked frightened. I hurried to
reassure her. “I've performed this procedure a hundred
times, Darea. Don't worry.”
  “And if I do not have this surgery?” Darea asked.
  Sberea and I exchanged a glance before I answered.
“Then in all likelihood Fasala will grow up without her
ClanMother.”
    She visibly collected herself. “Very well. Please do not
tell Salo, he will worry.” I wasn’t crazy about that—he
was her mate, after all—but nodded. “And I would see
my Speaker before the operation.”
   I saw red at once. “You are not going to start that
let-me-die nonsense, are you?”
   Darea shook her head. “No. But I would like to make
my wishes known, in the event I do not survive the
surgery.”
   “She has so much confidence in me,” I said to Sberea,
then eyed my patient. “Okay, Darea. Talk to your
Speaker. We’ll have a good laugh about it when you're in
post-op recovery.”
   She looked back at her sleeping child. “I will wish for
nothing else, Healer Cherijo.”
   I sent a signal back to the pavillion informing Xonal and
Adala of the impending procedure on their ClanNiece. We
scrubbed while Sberea’s nurses completed the
preparations. He assembled a scrub team with experience
in open cranial procedures, and discharge-sterilized the
surgical suite. An hour later, we were in place and ready to
begin.
   Darea’s shaved head was in the secluding halo that
would hold it completely immobile during the delicate
operation. I powered up the laser rig and made the
primary incisions. That exposed the portion of Darea’s
skull that I had to temporarily remove.
  “Stats, please.”
  The nurse rattled off Darea’s vitals, all normal.
   “Here we go,” I said, and began cutting carefully inside
the markers. “Clamp.” I pinned back the outer layers,
cauterized two bleeders, and instructed the nurse to
suction the small amount of blood from the site. The dark
grey gleam of Darea’s cranium shone in the bright light.
“She's looking good.” I checked her stats again, then said,
“Parietal drill.”
  I made a series of burr holes in the parietal plate. Those
allowed me to safely cut through the skull. Once all the
holes were drilled, I placed a plasguide around them,
adjusted the lascalpel, and cut out the section. I lifted the
bone away and set it aside on a tray for later replacement.
Darea’s brain was now completely exposed, along with a
large, dark green clot.
   “There’s the culprit,” I said, and carefully drained away
the coagulated blood. Beneath it, I saw not one but three
tiny vessels still seeping from ruptures. “Make that a trio.”
   Sberea leaned close. “You’ll have to go carefully with
the center vessel. That one appears to have the greatest
damage.”
    A gigantic crash behind us made both of us jump and
swing around. Salo came hurtling through the observation
panel and landed heavily on the floor. Before I could
react, he was on his feet and coming at me, his white eyes
slits of rage.
  “Salo?” I handed Sberea the lascalpel and pushed him
behind me. “Calm down.”
   “My mate.” He was clutching his abdomen and
breathing heavily. He looked at Darea, and growled like an
animal.
  “No, Salo. Darea is all right. I’m not hurting her. I'm
operating on her.” I winced when he hit the sterile field,
and the resulting bioelectrical charge sent him staggering
backward. “Don't do that. You can't get through it.”
   “I declare you… my ClanKill.” Salo thrust himself
against the barrier again, and this time bounced off and
collapsed.
   “Salo!” I yelled when he pushed himself up. New
blood stained his dressings. “Stop it!”
   Behind me, I could hear suction being used. “Healer,
he will not stop until he kills you, or dies,” Sberea said.
   “I don’t think so.” I reached over, grabbed what I
needed from the set-up tray, then deactivated the sterile
field. Sberea made a startled sound. Once I’d stepped
outside generator range, I immediately reinstated the field.
That protected Sberea and Darea, but left me locked out
with Salo.
  Once he got to his feet, he immediately lunged toward
me.
   “Salo, listen to me.” I quickly stepped out of the way.
“I wasn’t hurting her. Darea needs this operation. She—”
   “You lie.” He came at me again, and this time caught
the front of my gown. His claws slashed through the outer
layers of my gear as he threw me to the floor and
straddled me.
   There was no reasoning with a rampaging male bent on
protection. I got one arm up, feigning a block, and used
the other to push the syrinpress in my hand against his
throat.
  We stared at each other for a long moment.
  “Sorry,” I said.
  A moment later, the big warrior toppled over,
unconscious.
   Sberea deactivated the field just as another doctor and
two nurses appeared outside the ruined panel. “Get this
man back to his berth, restrain him, and run complete
scans. Report back to me at once if he has sustained
further internal damage.” As they removed Salo, Sberea
bent down and lifted me to my feet. “Healer, are you
injured?”
  I wasn’t, but my gear was ruined. Since we'd both been
contaminated through touch, Sberea and I had to scrub
and gear up all over again. A worried assistant monitored
Darea until we returned to the table.
   I took a steadying breath and recalibrated the laser. “All
right. Here we go.”
    Two hours later, I finished sewing Darea’s scalp back
in place and watched her monitor. She was strong; her
levels never wavered throughout the delicate procedure.
Sberea looked exhausted. I flexed my cramped hands as I
stripped off my gloves and deactivated the sterile field.
   “That’s all, people. Take her into post-op. I want her
revived in thirty minutes.” I walked out to where Xonal
and Adala were waiting.
  The ClanMother touched my arm. “How fares Darea?”
   “She made it through the procedure without a problem.
She’s going to be fine.” I looked down the rows of
inpatient berths. “Salo, however, jumped through a plas
panel and tried to kill me.”
  Xonal and Adala stared at me, shocked.
   “It’s not Salo's fault. We didn't tell him about the
surgery. Between the drugs still in his system from his
earlier surgery and the instinct to protect, he could hardly
have done otherwise.” I gave them a tired smile. “You can
see Darea in a few hours, once we're sure she's going to
remain stable. In the meantime, why don't we go tell
Fasala the good news?”
   Once Sberea and I returned to recovery and finished
the post-op examination, we roused Darea from her
drugged sleep. She automatically tried to put her hand up
to her head. I caught her fingers and gently placed them at
her side.
   “No touching, pulling, or poking,” I said. The sleepy
white eyes tried to focus on my face. “Darea, the
procedure went beautifully. I removed the blood clot and
repaired the vessel damage.” I deliberately left out the
details of Salo’s attack. “The rest is up to you.”
  She nodded. “Thank… you…”
   When Sberea and I came out of recovery, we found a
recovered Salo hovering just outside.
  “How fares my mate? Is she well? Does she feel pain?”
   It was useless to order him back to his berth. “She’s
stable, pain-free and recovering like a pro.” I exchanged a
look with Sberea. “Would you like to go in and see her?”
   “Yes.” Salo demonstrated his thanks by ignoring his
injuries, picking me up and hugging me. “I will never be
able to adequately express my gratitude, Healer,” he said.
“Never.”
  “You could start by not breaking my spine,” I said,
voice muffled against his broad chest. I was returned to
my feet at once.
   “Your pardon.” Salo straightened the edge of my tunic
the same way he would for Fasala. Then he pressed his
brow to mine, a gesture usually reserved for immediate
family members. I was touched. “I will find the words
someday. Until then, my life is yours.“ He went in to see
Darea.
   Sberea stared after him. “I don’t believe I've ever heard
a warrior pledge his life to anyone but another warrior
before.”
   I pressed a hand to my lower spine, and groaned. “It’s
better than having them come after you in surgery.”

   After I wrote up my procedural notes, I returned to
Sberea’s office and we spent another hour talking shop.
After I related the story of Roelm's secretive basket
weaving and Tonetka's reaction, Sberea wiped tears of
laughter from his eyes.
   “I can see her image even now,” he said, and sighed. “I
will miss that old woman more than I can tell you.”
   “Me, too.” To keep from blubbering myself, I checked
out his office. The combination of efficiency and grace
made me sigh. Plenty of space to hold a conference, work
on charts, or interview a patient. Woven tapestries on the
walls and airily woven furnishings gave it a comfortable,
warm feei. “Did you design this space yourself?”
    He shook his head. “My bondmate did, some years
ago. I lost her to the stars just before the Sunlace left on
its survey jaunt.” His white eyes gleamed. “You know, of
course, we celebrate death instead of mourning it.”
   “Yes. And I’d love to know why,” I said. “I can't find
a single rational explanation in the database.”
   Sberea smiled. “You know how fiercely protective we
are of our kin.”
  I sputtered out a laugh. “Boy, do I.”
   “Before the HouseClans formed, it was a matter of
survival. A threat to one’s kin was a threat to the tribe.
Our species developed this unreasonable ferocity as part
of the process of proliferation.” He made an elegant
gesture. “What is the greatest threat toward the
proliferation of a species? Death. Can one take revenge
for what is a natural process?”
  “No,” I said. “But you don’t have to like it.”
   “Our people were unable to change that integral part of
their character, Cherijo. That is why we had to develop a
separate concept of death, or risk madness and even
extinction. Thus, death is celebrated with joy.”
  “And everyone stays sane.”
   “Most medical practitioners, by their constant exposure
to injury and illness, have developed a different view. We
try to encourage our patients to embrace life.”
   I smiled sadly, thinking of Yetlo. “I’ve resorted to
accidental sedation and death threats, myself.”
   A knock at the door panel startled me, and I turned
around to see Reever through the viewer.
   “Another human?” The Senior House Healer was
curious.
   “My… Chosen, Duncan Reever.” I made the
introductions. “Duncan, this is the Director of the medical
facility, Senior HouseClan Healer Sberea.”
  Reever nodded politely to the Jorenian. “A pleasure to
meet you, Senior HouseClan Healer. I regret I must ask
Cherijo to leave with me now.”
  “Ah, yes, the celebration commences,” Sberea said,
and rose to his feet. “Please visit us again, Cherijo.”
  “Thank you, Sberea. I’d like that very much.”
   As Reever and I left, I squinted at the rapidly darkening
sky. Sunset on Joren bathed the world in gold and
crimson light. “We’d better hurry or we'll be late.” I
surveyed him. “Where did you go?”
   “Dhreen is discreetly arranging our transport. He
wanted me to look over the vessel being offered by the
Jorenians.”
  “What’s it look like?”
   “Small, but fast. We will need both if we are to evade
the League’s mercenaries.”
   “Don’t make an announcement to any of the Torins,” I
said. “They won't be too happy to hear I'm leaving almost
j as soon as I got here.”
   “I agree,” Reever said as we walked by the ceremonial
bonding grounds. The chamber being erected in our
honor was reaching the dimensions of a small mansion.
“Have you changed your mind about the bonding
ceremony?”
  I should have said no. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
   “A Jorenian ceremony would not be considered
binding under current Terran legislation.”
   “Oh, as if I’m worried about what Terra deems legal
and illegal,” I said. “Reever, I'm doing this for one reason
and one reason only.” We had reached our rooms, and he
closed the door silently. “I get the cleansing unit first.”
   I almost made it before he blocked my way. “What
reason?”
   “I want to.”
   He started backing me up against a wall. “Why?”
   “Reever…” His hands were cradling my face, tilting it
up. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see what was in his.
“I'm going to be a terrible wife, you know. My hours—”
   “You don’t have a job anymore. Why?”
   “My temper is worse—”
   “Tell me, Cherijo.”
   The door panel chimed. Saved by the bell.
  It was Adaola, looking beautiful in her ceremonial robe.
“Senior Healer, are you not ready?”
  I looked down at my formal robe. Wrinkled. Wilting.
Nope, it wasn’t even in the same neighborhood as ready.
“Give us a half hour, will you, ClanSister?”
   “Make haste!” she said as she went back out.
   “I will sterilize our robes.”
   “I was hoping you’d say that,” I said, and turned to
find myself an inch away from him. When I drew back, he
offered me a small, black box he pulled from a pocket in
his robe. I frowned at it.
  “What’s this?” I fingered the smooth, glasslike
container.
   “Open it and see.”
   I found the tiny hinge and released it. Inside, a band of
gold gleamed, intricately carved with a flowing alien
symbol.
   “A ring?” My fingers shook as I touched it.
   “On Terra, human males once gave such hand
ornaments to their betrothed.” He took it from the box
and slid it over the fourth finger of my left hand.
   I stared at the ring, which fit perfectly. “It’s lovely.
Thank you.” I was doomed, even before his arms came
around me.
   “Duncan—”
   His hands pressed me closer. “Tell me why you want
to bond with me.”
   “We belong together.” There, I’d said it. Only the
words kept spilling out of me. “I can feel it, when I touch
you, when I look at you. When I hear your voice. It
started on K-2, but I didn't understand then. You always
got under my skin, yet I never stopped to wonder why.
When I got hurt after the attack on the Sunlace, all I could
think about was finding out if you were alive or dead.
When I saw you—“ I pressed my brow against his
shoulder, shuddering as I remembered the terrified relief
I’d xfelt that day. ”I just knew.“
   Reever’s hand settled against the back of my head. He
could have linked with me, read my thoughts for himself,
but instead he simply held me.
   Finally I lifted my face. “Well? Are we going to do this,
or not?”
  “Yes.” He kissed me. “We will do this.”

   The first item on the evening’s agenda was a surprise
we'd been planning for weeks. Once Reever and I
presented ourselves at the communal great room (late, as
usual), the festivities began.
   “HouseClan Torin, live forever!” Xonal said from the
ceremonial dais. Hundreds of voices echoed the blessing.
   I looked around me. There were more ClanAunts and
ClanUncles and ClanCousins than I could count. Just one
big, happy family.
   “We initiate our celebration this night with a ceremony
of succession,” Xonea said. “Senior Healer Cherijo Torin,
rise and join me!”
   I shook out my tent as I stood, and walked with what
dignity I could manage under all that fabric to the dais.
Visions of me tripping and falling flat on my face kept my
pace slow, and my head high. When I reached the dais, I
accepted a rib-splintering hug from the ClanFather.
   “You are lovely, my ClanDaughter,” he said against the
top of my head.
   “I am suffocating,” I said into his tunic, then chuckled
as he set me back down on my feet. When I was sure I
didn’t have a collapsed lung, I stepped forward and held
out my hands.
  “I have served as the Senior Healer on board the
Sunlace for some time now,” I said. “Tomorrow my path
continues, but in another direction. In accordance with the
traditions of our people, I’ve chosen my successor.”
   I looked around the room, and saw the confidence and
pride shining on the faces of my adopted family. It was
nice to work a receptive crowd.
   “My successor is more than worthy to bear the title of
Senior Healer.” I went on to detail some highlights of my
replacement’s career, then added, “The only problem is, I
have to make him a doctor first.” I smiled down at the
Omorr. His gildrells were splayed in absolute shock.
“Squilyp, come on up here.”
   My former Resident ascended the platform with short,
nervous hops. He came to stand next to me and looked
out at the approving crowd.
   “I will get even with you for this,” he said under his
breath.
   “Dream on, Squid Lips,” I replied, just as quietly. In a
louder voice, I announced his doctorate. “Squilyp, native
of the Omorr world in the Niabac system, having
successfully completed your final year of residency on
board the Jorenian vessel Sunlace, I now bestow upon
you the title of Medical Doctor, in accordance with the
standards set forth for all humanoid practitioners.” I
pinned the small gold tunic pin that identified his title.
“Congratulations, Doctor.” I clasped his membranes with
my hands.
   HouseClan Torin rose to their feet, and in their version
of applause, gave a rousing, musical shout.
   “Now, Doctor, I am leaving the Sunlace and select you
as my successor. Will you accept the position as Senior
Healer?”
  He nodded. “I would be honored.”
   Well, that was the right word to use. HouseClan Torin
made so much cheering and noise only Squilyp heard me
as I said, “I appoint the Omorr, Dr. Squilyp, to the
Jorenian survey vessel Sunlace as Ship’s Senior Healer.” I
shook his appendage again. “Good luck, Doctor.”
   I left Squilyp on the dais and sat back down. He gave a
brief but thoroughly appropriate acceptance speech, then
joined me and Reever in the front row.
  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I nudged him with an
elbow.
   “You are most devious, Healer.” The Omorr gave me a
sly look. “Your turn.”
  I saw Sberea, Xonal, and Adala walk up to the dias.
Uh-oh.
   “HouseClan Torin, you may have heard by now of the
adventures experienced by our kin on board the Sunlace,”
Xonal said. “During their struggles, one of our HouseClan
strove tirelessly to aid our kin in moments of crisis and
disaster. Though not born to us, this woman has always
sought to preserve the honor and traditions of our
HouseClan.“
   Well, no one had spilled the beans about me ignoring
that suicidal bent of theirs, I thought.
  He gestured to me. “Please, Healer, join us now.”
  I walked up and saw Adala holding a beautiful circlet of
some sort of twisted golden alloy. When I drew close
enough, she placed it on my head.
  “The Mother of All Houses blesses you, ClanJoren,”
Adala intoned solemnly.
  ClanJoren? What was that?
   “To be known as ClanJoren is to be honored by all of
the Houses on Joren,” Xonal said. “Wherever you journey
on this world, the HouseClans will welcome you.” He
handed me a lovely fiber scroll bound with yiborra cord.
“With honor and gratitude for your service to our world,
ClanJoren.”
   While everyone was calling their blessings from the
crowd, I considered this new twist. I had an official title
now. Okay. I could deal with that.
   “As with all those blessed by the Mother, the Healer is
now considered a genitor,” Xonal said. “This night she
bonds, and thus the newest HouseClan will begin. We
salute HouseClan Reever.”
   I saw Duncan Reever rise and approach the dais. They
had planned this, I decided. All of it. Without telling me a
damn thing. Now we weren’t just getting married, we were
starting a whole new HouseClan. That only happened
once or twice every century on Joren.
  “Nice going, Reever,” I said close to his ear as he bent
to kiss my cheek. “We are never going to get off this
world.”
  “We will discuss it later.”
    “You’re damn right we will, ClanFather.” What did that
make me? ClanMother? Cherijo Torin-Reever? ClanJoren?
I'd never be able to get it all out in the same breath.
   The celebration would last for days, I’d discover later
that evening. Reever and I were toasted, Squilyp was
toasted, the Mother of All Houses was toasted. Then
Adaola and Barrea, who unknown to all of us had been
having a torrid romance, announced their Choice.
   “I never even suspected,” I said to my ClanSister, who
sat with the new Senior Engineer at our table. I passed a
jug of some very potent floral wine over to Squilyp, who
was doing his best to polish off the dregs of another. I
was surprised to learn he ate and drank as elegantly as he
hopped. The gildrells performed each function with very
dainty, graceful precision. When he wasn’t drinking floral
wine, that is.
  “How are you doing, Doctor?”
  He peered at me, his dark eyes slits of amusement.
“Better than I was on that dais up there, Doctor.”
   “I thought Omorr are like Oenrallians, and can’t get
intoxicated,” I said.
   Squilyp shook his head and nearly fell off his chair.
“Naturally we can get intox… intoxi… int… drunk,” he
said, then fell off his chair. Two of my sympathetic
relatives helped him up and escorted him to his rooms. As
he departed, he waved all three appendages back at me.
   “Better take Squilyp some analgesics in the morning,” I
told Adaola as I waved back.
  “Did he hit his head when he fell?” she asked,
concerned.
  “No. But he’ll feel like he did when he wakes up.”
   At that point, my adopted ClanParents appeared at the
head of our table. “Dear ones,” Adala said, and gazed
down the rows of family members with affection. “It is
time to escort those who will bond.”
  That was me and Reever. I rose to my feet, only to find
Adaola, Adala, and a half dozen other female relatives
lifting me up in their arms. When I jerked my head around,
I saw the men doing the same to Reever.
   “Don’t drop me,” I said as we were carried off from
the great communal room. “Terran bones don't bounce
the way Jorenians' do!”
   In a very formal, ceremonial procession, Reever and I
were carried across the chamber grounds to the towering,
floral-covered structure where we would be bonded.
   At the small entrance, we were lowered down to the
ground and placed to stand next to each other. Xonea
appeared before us, and placed yiborra grass garlands
around our necks.
   “May the Mother give you children,” he said. “May she
bless your path together from this day until eternity
comes.“ Gently, Xonea touched my cheek with his hand,
and leaned forward. ”Be happy, Cherijo,“ he added, for
my ears alone.
   Reever drew me in through the small entrance, and
those assembled outside sealed the opening with armfuls
of loose flowers. We were alone, in total darkness, when a
small light overhead glowed into life.
  “Oh, look.”
   The interior of the dome-shaped structure was carpeted
with flower petals of every shape, all the identical shade of
rose. It represented the sky, the marching cloud columns
symbolized by streaks of petals in other hues—green,
blue, yellow, and violet. More pools of violet petals
surrounded us—the Marine sea. I spotted several baskets
heaping with enough provisions to feed an army.
  “It’s like our own little world in here,” I said.
   There were no furnishings, only a small, sectioned-off
unit that on later inspection revealed a cleansing unit,
lavatory, and a week’s supply of clean garments for both
of us.
  Reever didn’t seem impressed. “Appropriate
description.”
    “So now you’re my… husband.” I tried out the word.
It felt strange on my lips. “Sounds like something
strapped on a strained joint for support, doesn’t it?”
  “Wife is no better. In Svgana, that word means small,
poisonous snake.”
   “I’ll have to remember that, if we ever jaunt to Svgan.”
The light above began to dim. I was feeling a little
desperate, and looked around. “Hungry? There's enough
food here to feed the entire HouseClan.”
   “No. I’m not hungry.” He took my hand, and I jumped.
“Calm yourself, Cherijo. Here.” He guided me to mound
of flowers. “Sit down.”
   I knew what that petal heap was meant for, and it
wasn’t sitting. “No, thanks. I think I'll just… stand here
for now.” Three minutes down, six days, twenty-three
hours, and fifty-seven minutes to go.
   “Are you afraid of being alone with me?”
   Despite the fading light, I could still see his face. Not
that it helped. “No.” His arm came up around my
shoulders. “Uh—Duncan?”
   Before I could ask him just how he felt about me, the
mound of flowers blocking the entrance shifted, then
started falling away.
   “Your pardon, Healer Cherijo, Linguist Reever.” Xonal
stepped inside. “You must return to the pavillion at once.
Marine Province security grid has detected several battle
cruisers entering orbit.”
  “What kind of battle cruisers?” I asked as we hurried
back to the main complex.
   “According to the defense monitors, they are League
troop freighters.”
   Celebration had been replaced by organized chaos, I
saw as we entered the pavillion. Children were being
herded into sub-surface shelters. Warriors were
distributing arms. Every console was being used to
monitor reports from planetary defense command.
   “How much time do we have before they attack?” I
asked Xonal. A sudden explosion from outside gave me
my answer. “Do you have an emergency medical facility?”
   Xonal nodded, and pointed to a passage across from
us. “The wounded will be brought there, through
underground shafts.” One of the warriors came up to him
and murmured something. “Excuse me, Healer. I must
respond to a signal from the Ruling Council.” He hurried
off to a nearby console.
   I turned to Reever, who was discussing something with
two of the older Torins, and touched his arm. “Duncan, I
have to go.”
   He nodded, then pressed his palm to my cheek. “Be
careful.”
   I descended into the sub-surface medical shelter, which
was a maze of emergency supplies, equipment, and
temporary berths. Nurses were already setting up
instrument trays and laser rigs. I checked in with the
harassed Senior Resident supervising the setup, who was
only too happy to let me take over surgical preparations.
   More muffled explosions went off as we got ready. We
were nearly done when a huge blast thundered just above
us.
    “Displacer fire,” one of the nurses beside me said. Her
blue skin paled. “They must have targeted the pavillion
itself.”
    We hurried to the surface access passage, only to find
it completely blocked off.
   I looked down the opposite tunnel. “Is there another
way out of here?” The nurse nodded. “I’m going up to
see what's happened.”
   One of the residents and a couple of nurses went with
me. When we emerged a few hundred yards from the main
pavillion, I gasped. The night sky was brilliant with flares
of red, illuminating the huge building, which had partially
collapsed.
   “Did everyone get out of there?” I yelled to someone
taking cover behind what was left of my bonding
chamber.
  “No!” a voice shouted back to me.
   I could see HouseClan members rushing to pull the
injured from the structure. Some badly wounded were
being carried from the site toward us. We ran to assist
them. Somewhere along the way Adaola and Barrea joined
us.
   It took time to evacuate the injured from the collapsed
wing of the pavillion. We uncovered four dead and two so
critical I knew there was no saving them. Once there were
enough people to help search the rubble, I helped carry
one of the litters back down to the medical shelter.
  Where was Reever? Had he gotten out in time?
   “Healer!” Sberea had his hands full. The nurses had
lined up the cases according to severity. All the cots were
occupied, and they were resorting to stacking litters on the
floor now. “Patient prepped in room three for you. Team
is waiting.”
   “Got it,” I said, and ran to scrub.
   Just as I finished snapping on my gloves, Xonal’s
voice rang out through the underground facility's multiple
audio consoles.
   “HouseClan Torin. There has been an attack on our
province by the Allied League of Worlds. More than
twenty ships are now in orbit, ready to recommence the
assault.” His voice went flat and hard. “Reinforcements
from other Provinces will arrive shortly. All warriors have
reported to defense stations, and we are prepared to
return fire.”
   “Bastards,” I muttered under my mask as I backed into
the makeshift surgical suite. The patient was prepped, the
team waiting. “Okay, people, what have we got?”
   “It is our ClanMother,” one of the nurses said.
   Adala lay unconscious. Scanner reading indicated
compression injuries in three major organs. The nurse
beside me positioned the instrument tray. I made the initial
incision, then held out my gloved hand.
   “Clamp.”

   Ten hours later, I finished the last surgical case and
stripped out of my green-stained gear. I was bone tired
but still tense, waiting for the explosions of displacer fire
that never came. Xonal had only sent a signal for me to
report to defense station one when I could be spared.
   “Go,” Sberea said. “We have matters here under
control. Healers from other provinces have begun to
arrive.”
   Defense stations were cleverly hidden tactical units
which controlled orbital fortifications and ground-to-orbit
systems. I was escorted by armed guard through the maze
of corridors to the nerve center of the operation, where
Xonal was plotting the next move in repelling what
appeared to be a planetary invasion.
   Xonea stood at his side, pointing out details on the
grid. Everyone looked up when I entered. Most of the
warriors silently filed out of the room. Only Xonea
remained. The door closed, and the three of us were
alone.
  “They’ve come for me, haven't they?” I asked.
  “Yes,” Xonal said.
  Xonea was grim. “We do not intend to let them have
you.”
   I joined them at the strategy table, where he had
displayed a satellite view of the League ships hovering
above Joren.
   “I believe the attack on the pavillion was merely a way
of getting our attention,” Xonal said.
  “Nice guys. Why couldn’t they just signal us?”
   “The League has a reputation for ruthlessness when it
is crossed,” Xonea replied. “You, I fear, have crossed
them more than once.” His stony expression softened for
a moment. “Our ClanMother?”
  “Adala is in post-op, and she’s in stable condition. I
had to repair a punctured lung, among other problems.
Most of her ribs are broken.” I smiled wanly at Xonal.
“No hugs for a few weeks, okay?”
    My attention was diverted when the display on the table
flickered, and was replaced by a live vid signal.
   “Xonal,” the audio crackled as the signal was adjusted
in frequency. “ClanFather of HouseClan Torin.” The face
of an emotionless mercenary filled the screen.
   Xonal took the precaution of coding his own signal so
his location would not be pinpointed. “I am here,
cowards.”
  “Give us the Terran test specimen.”
  “That’s fairly direct,” I said to Xonea.
  “There is no Terran test specimen on this planet,”
Xonal replied. “Leave orbit at once or face
counter-assault.”
  “We will exchange a member of your species for the
Terran test specimen designated Cherijo Grey Veil.”
  “What are they talking about?” Xonea demanded.
  “You have a Jorenian in custody?” My ClanFather’s
voice acquired a deadly tone.
  The vid switched to the interior of a detainment cell.
  “Oh, my God.” My legs wouldn’t hold me anymore,
and I sagged back into a chair.
   The display showed an image of Senior Healer Tonetka
Torin, very much alive and well. She stood at the
detainment barrier, yelling her head off. There was no
audio, but I didn’t need one. I'd seen her do that too
many times to doubt it was her.
  Xonea looked ready to kill anyone wearing a League
uniform. “They must have removed her from the ship
during the attack.”
  Xonal didn’t waste time. “Release our ClanSister.”
  “Give us Cherijo Grey Veil.”
  “You have no authority to detain Tonetka Torin.
Release her at once!” Xonal shouted.
   “On the contrary. Senior Healer Torin was rescued
during an encounter with the Jorenian vessel Sunlace. We
consider our actions humanitarian. In order to release her,
we require our property be returned. If you cooperate, we
will consider the matter to be settled.”
  Xonal glanced at me. “No. Unlike your League, Joren
does not trade in living beings. We refuse.”
   “Cherijo Grey Veil. The remainder of this signal is
addressed to you.” The face on the vid disappeared. It
was replaced by the stern, austere features that were an
older, masculine version of my own.
   “Dr. Joseph Grey Veil,” I said for Xonal’s benefit.
“My creator.” I addressed the vid now. “I guess you can't
take 'no' for an answer.”
  “I am here to take you back to Terra.”
   “What I can’t figure out is how you got Tonetka off
the Sunlace. Mind telling me how you managed that,
Doctor?”
   “One of our operatives gained passage on your vessel.
He tagged you with a targeting device which allowed us to
locate and retrieve you. Unfortunately, it was discovered
after we retrieved Tonetka Torin that you gave her the
device.”
   “The trader.” I remembered the bracelet he’d sent me,
just before the attack.
  “Precisely. Our operative and your Senior Healer were
removed from the ship. By the time we realized we had the
wrong physician, it was too late.”
   “Jewelry gives me a rash,” I said. “Try something else
the next time.”
  “This is finished. Surrender to the League at once.”
   “Threatening Joren isn’t very wise, you know,” I told
him. “Our warriors will hunt you down and take you apart,
organ by organ.”
   “We will remain in orbit and continue the assault until
the Jorenians turn you over to us.”
   I eyed Xonea and Xonal. Both looked ready to do
some intestinal decorating. “They aren’t going to do
that.”
  “Thus far minimal harm has been done. That will
change, Cherijo—”
   “Minimal harm?” Xonea’s fist slammed into a console,
creating a large dent in the alloy. “Six of our people are
dead!”
  “What is six compared to six million?”
   “More than six people were harmed,” I said. “Twenty
more Jorenians are in critical condition. Twice that many
were injured during your unprovoked attack. Seven of
them are children.” I clenched my hands on the edge of
the table. “I just spent ten hours in surgery patching
together what you blew apart. Don’t talk minimal to me,
Doctor.”
  “No one else has to die.”
   “The other Provinces have mobilized. Jorenian defense
systems, I understand, are also very efficient. You’re
right. You’ll be blown out of orbit before you have the
chance to kill anyone else. Goodbye, Doctor.“
   “A warning, Cherijo. Forty more League vessels are
due to arrive within the hour. All are fully manned, heavily
armed planetary cruisers, more than enough to overload
the defense grid. Joren is, I’m told, a lovely planet. How
will it look after the surface has been bombarded with
dis-placer fire?” He sneered at me. “You have one hour to
consider your answer.”
  The vid went blank.
   Xonal suddenly looked very old and tired. “Forty more
of them. Mother of All Houses.”
   “We will fight them, ClanFather.” I noticed Xonea
didn’t say anything about defeating them. He looked
unwell.
   I didn’t feel so great myself. “No. There's only one
solution.”
  “No!” Xonea grabbed my arms and shook me. “I will
not allow you to sacrifice yourself!”
   “That isn’t your decision,” I said as kindly as I could. I
looked at my ClanFather. “Xonal, you know what I'm
saying is right.”
  Xonea released me. His hands bunched in frustration
and he dropped them to his sides. “Tell her she is wrong,
ClanFather!”
  “Xonea. Listen to yourself,” I said. “It goes against
everything Jorenians believe in.”
  “ ‘The House is greater than any one of its Clan,’ ”
Xonal quoted with great bitterness.
   I nodded. “You can’t forfeit your entire world for one
former Terran physician.”
  “I would forfeit my honor if I let you do this,” Xonea
whispered.
   “There are times for honor, Captain. This is not one of
them.” I looked down at my tunic, which was splotched
green from our rescue efforts. “I have enough Jorenian
blood on me already. Let me go.”
  I saw the stubborn denial on Xonea’s face. He was
going to be a problem.
  Salo was standing outside when I left the room.
  “What are you doing out of bed?”
  “I was told they demanded your surrender,” he said. I
nodded. “What will they do when you refuse?”
   “Forty more cruisers are due to arrive shortly. They’ll
have enough firepower to knock out surface defense
systems. They'll destroy the planet.”
   “We will not let them take you, Cherijo. We will fight
them, to the last warrior.”
  “I know, Salo. I simply can’t let my people do that.
One life in exchange for an entire world? Sounds like a
pretty good deal to me.” I reached out and touched his
sagging shoulder. “Hey, I got away from them once,
remember?”
  He said something as I walked toward the Medical
Facility. It sounded a lot like, “My life is yours.”
  Xonea and Salo were going to be a problem.

   The League was feeling rather benevolent, once they
had more than sixty ships in orbit. As a result, I was given
a standard day to put my affairs on Joren in order. I spent
the first half of it working at the Medical Facility.
   Dhreen arrived later that day with a fast, sleek transport
that was of no use to me anymore. I was doing post-op
rounds, and he came up as I finished my exam of a
patient.
   “Got a great little shuttle,” he said. He was miserable.
Flushed dark yellow. Scuffing his footgear around on the
floor. “We could jaunt out of here before they knew it.”
   “Sixty ships up there, on full scanner sweeps? I think
they’d catch us in about ten seconds,” I said. My patient
was sleeping, so I lowered my voice. “Thanks, anyway.”
  “This has a foul odor,” he muttered.
   “Yeah, I know it stinks. I can’t let them decimate this
planet, Dhreen. You know that.”
   “Cherijo.” The Oenrallian grabbed me and gave me a
hard hug. Without another word, he left.
   Reever caught up to me toward the end of my rounds.
“I must speak with you.”
  “Heard the news, have you?” He nodded, and took my
arm. “Reever—”
   “There are other Healers who can see to the patients.”
He hauled me down the ward toward the facility’s
entrance. “I must speak with you now. Come with me.”
   He led me out of the building and over to Dhreen’s
shuttle at Transport. She was pretty and looked like she
could zip between the stars. I was almost sorry I wouldn't
get the chance to jaunt on her.
   We walked up into the main cabin and Reever closed
the hull doors and secured them.
  “You’re not thinking of kidnapping me, I hope,” I said.
“Not when the fate of an entire planet rests in my two little
hands.”
  Reever leaned back against the hull to watch me. “Your
humor is—”
  “Inappropriate, I know.” I grabbed his hand and
pulled. “Come on, show me where we would have been
cooped up together for weeks at a time.”
  He led me back to the small, tidy section allocated for
our quarters. What would have happened, if I’d left Joren
with Reever and Dhreen before the League had shown up?
Would I have had a good life with Duncan? What would it
have been like? Would we have had children together?
  Now I’d never know.
   Maybe it was all for the best, but I wasn’t going back
to Terra without finding out one thing first. I glanced
around. The sleeping platform was on the small side, but it
would have to do. I went to the door panel, closed, and
secured it.
  Reever watched me. “Cherijo?”
  I sat down on the mattress and patted the space beside
me. “Come and sit down, Duncan.”
  He lowered himself next to me. “There is something I
have to tell you.”
   “Later.” I put my arms around him, and moved closer.
“I know this is hardly the time or place—”
   “You are correct.” He pushed my hands away and got
to his feet. “It is not.”
   “Your compassion is breathtaking,” I said, his rejection
making me sarcastic. “Would it really be so terrible to
grant your wife’s last request?”
  “I have negotiated space on a merchant vessel. The
Captain plans to transition before it can be detected by the
League.”
   Why did that make me feel abandoned? After all, I was
leaving, too. “Good idea.”
  His eyes were flat ice again. “Come with me.”
  “And let the League blast Joren into dust? No. I can’t.”
The offer made me feel a little better. But not much. I
wondered why I'd expected him to want to stay with me.
“Thanks for the thought.”
  “You are very loyal to these people.”
   “Who wouldn’t be?” I caught the slight change in his
expression, and frowned. “You wouldn't do the same
thing?”
  “I have no loyalties.”
  No loyalties. God, that hurt. “Then why ask me to
come with you?”
  “You are my mate.”
  “That’s right, I am.” And I had just enough time to find
out what that felt like. I stood up and began unfastening
my tunic. “Start treating me like one.”
  “Cherijo.” He strode over to me and grabbed my
wrists. “Come with me. Now.”
  “I can’t.” I jerked my hands away. “For God's sake,
Duncan, how can you ask me to turn my back on these
people?”
  “Very well.” He stepped away from me. “I must go.”
  My breath solidified in my lungs. “You’re leaving?
Now?”
  “If I do not, I will miss the launch slot.”
  Dumbfounded, I sat down on the platform. Without
another word, the man who had no loyalties, not even to
me, walked away.

   I spent my last hours with my patients after all. When
my time was nearly up, I returned to defense station one. I
found Xonal alone in the planning room, and a vid of the
mercenary leader staring up at me.
  “We have waited long enough, Doctor Grey Veil.”
   “My shuttle is leaving within minutes. You can track us
by scanner.”
   “Do not think to escape, I warn you. We will begin
surface bombardment the moment you take evasive
maneuvers.”
   “I figured you would. Don’t worry. I'll be there.” I
terminated the signal and turned to Xonal. “Keep your
defenses ready until the last ship is out of this system. I
don't trust them to keep their agreement. Dhreen will bring
Tonetka back to Joren. Tell her I'm glad—she's—” My
voice broke as my ClanFather drew me into his arms.
“Thank you for everything, Dad.”
   “Is that what Terrans call their male parent?” he asked,
and I nodded against his chest. He kissed my brow.
“Then remember me as your ‘Dad,’ my honored
ClanDaughter.”
  Adaola waited by the shuttle with my animal carrier.
   “I forgot about Jenner,” I said, hitting myself in the
forehead with my palm. Some devoted pet owner I was.
“Again.”
   “Perhaps they will let you keep him,” my former nurse
said.
   I shook my head. “No, they’d only use him to control
me.” Like Reever, I thought, had he decided to stick
around. “Tell you what, pal”—I dropped down and
looked through the front of the carrier—“you stay here. I
know a certain little girl who will love you and take good
care of you.” I held my fingers to the mesh. Jenner
sniffed, then rasped his rough tongue against them. I rose
to my feet. “Take him to Fasala. When she gets better,
she'll look after him.”
  Adaola enveloped me in a crushing hug. “The Mother
Bless You, Cherijo Torin.”
   “Kiss the baby for me,” I whispered back, patting her
flat stomach. “Go on now.”
    I climbed up the docking ramp and took one more look
at the beautiful colors of Joren. On the other side of
Transport, silhouetted against the scarlet sun, was a tall,
muscular form standing alone. I lifted my hand.
  Xonea didn’t wave back.


         CHAPTER NINETEEN
          One Way or Another
                                                «^»

  Inside at the shuttle control console, Dhreen was
preparing to launch. I strapped into the empty seat beside
him at the helm. He looked surprised.
  “Want to fly her yourself?” he asked.
   “No. just some company,” I said. “Yours will be the
last friendly face I see for a long time.”
   He initiated launch sequence and nosed the shuttle up
into the sky. The sheer density of ships hanging over
Joren made me shudder.
  “They don’t clutter around, do they?” Dhreen said, and
whistled.
  “No, they don’t.”
   “I want you to have something before you go to them.”
Dhreen withdrew a small package from his tunic pocket
and handed it to me. I unwrapped it, and made a shocked
sound when I saw it was Ktarka’s pendant, attached to an
ornamental chain.
   “Wear it. They might think it’s only jewelry.” He spent
the rest of the flight explaining the tiny mechanism inside
to me. I hung the chain around my neck and slipped the
pendant under my tunic.
  “Thanks, Dhreen.”
  “Find a power source, and it could help you escape.”
   We reached the designated exchange site, and Dhreen
signaled for permission to dock. A cold voice granted it.
Before our shuttle touched down in the enormous launch
bay, I looked for Tonetka. I saw her standing just beyond,
three guards surrounding her, more mercenaries behind
them.
   “There she is.” Why had I been worried the League
had starved or tortured her? She never looked better. “I
bet she hasn’t given them a millisecond of peace since
they kidnapped her.”
  The launch touched down. Every rifle in the bay was
now pointing at me and Dhreen.
   “Whatever you do,” the Oenrallian muttered, “don’t
insult them.”
   Dhreen escorted me off the shuttle, to be at once
surrounded by League troopers. I saw their leader
standing a little apart from the rest of his men. He was a
spare, smooth-skinned humanoid with ancient eyes and
heavy, canine features. From all the decorations on his
Commander’s tunic, I gathered he was both experienced
and important. Or needed to feel that way.
  “You want to call off your thugs?” I asked, which
made Dhreen cringe. “We’re not armed.”
   One of the men handed me a wristcom—I’d forgotten
my vocollar wouldn't work here—so I strapped it on and
repeated my request.
   “At ease, men,” the leader called out in a rumbling
baritone. His fleshy lips parted over an impressive amount
of sharp teeth as he approached me. Men got out of his
way so quickly they nearly stumbled in the process. When
we were a few feet apart, he halted and gave me a
thorough visual inspection. “You’re what all the furor is
about?”
  “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” I gave him the same
appraisal. “And you are—who? The Head League
LapDog?”
  He laughed. “They warned me about your mouth.
Colonel Patril Shropana, League Troop Commander.” He
made a shallow bow.
   “Healer Cherijo Torin,” I replied. I didn’t bow. “My
pilot, Dhreen.”
   “I’m delighted to meet you, Doctor. After hearing all
that is said about you, I must admit, I expected you to
be… larger.”
   “Really?” I sniffed the air. “I expected League Troops
to smell better.”
  “Perhaps we should continue this discussion—”
  “First things first, Colonel. You have a prisoner to
exchange.”
   “Of course.” He made a languid motion with his hand.
The guards holding Tonetka dragged her forward.
Literally dragged, for she fought them with every ounce
of the considerable strength she had, despite the bonds on
her wrists and ankles.
   “Hey, boss,” I said. “I’m glad I didn't go to your death
ceremony now.”
  “How—are you—Cherijo?” Tonetka tried to smash her
bound hands into one of the guards’ faces. They finally
had to pick her up and carry her the last few yards. “Let
me go, you—” The rest of what she said scrambled my
wristcom.
   The guards placed her on her feet. One of them handed
me the remote key, then both of them scuttled away from
her. I unlocked the tight bonds and tossed them aside.
   Tonetka flexed her arms and legs before she gave me a
stern look. “Did you save all the children?”
   I nodded. “Every one of them, thanks to you. Next
time I offer you jewelry, refuse, okay?”
  She chuckled, then glowered at Shropana. “Would the
League Commander be generous and allow me a private
moment with my colleague?”
  The Colonel nodded. “A moment.”
  She rubbed at dark bruises on her wrists as she pulled
me out of hearing range. I found myself in her arms, her
mouth against my ear. “Chamber twelve, level sixteen.
What I was to show the children before the bracelet.”
   “Uh-huh.” I hugged her tightly. “I’m glad to see you,
too.” I reluctantly drew back. “I gave your job to Squilyp.
Sorry.”
  “I am more than ready for retirement now.”
  Shropana’s voice rang out. “Your time is up, Healer.”
   Tonetka eyed the silver streak in my hair. “I would have
enjoyed hearing how you received that.”
   “Salo will tell you the story. Go now. Tell Xonea—” I
hesitated as Dhreen joined us. “Tell him I’ll be okay.”
  My old boss took Dhreen’s proffered arm. “You are
HouseClan Torin, Cherijo.” She pressed her fingers to my
cheek as I nodded. “Be strong and survive. I will think of
you every day of my life, ClanDaughter. Walk within
beauty.”
  I watched until the shuttle cleared the launch bay.
Shropana came to stand next to me. “I would like to
confirm when Tonetka safely reaches the surface,
Colonel.”
   “Of course.” Everything civilized now, he personally
escorted me to a display. I keyed in the signal myself after
the proper amount of flight time had passed. Xonal’s
weary face appeared.
  “Did they make it back all right?”
  He nodded. “Both are well, Healer.”
   “Thanks, Dad.” Colonel Shropana seemed a little too
interested in observing my ClanFather’s pain, so I
abruptly terminated the signal and looked at him. “All
right. I'm here. What next?”
  “I believe you should be asking me that question.”
  The voice was unmistakable. I swung around and sure
enough, Joseph Grey Veil stood behind me.
   He had aged. His once-dark hair was heavily silvered
now. The lines around his eyes and noses were deeper.
Erect as his posture was, he seemed smaller, too.
Probably because I’d spent the last two revolutions
around truly impressive people.
   I’d dreaded this meeting for a long time. Played it out
in my mind, over and over. Thought of what I would say.
Agonized over the betrayal that had changed my life.
   I discovered I was walking toward him. Now that the
moment had arrived, it didn’t seem frightening. I kept
seeing the dead bodies this man had left behind in his
quest to capture me. Heard the cries of all the injured
children. Smelled the decaying flesh of the dead. All in the
name of his endless pursuit of perfection.
   “Dr. Joseph Grey Veil.” I halted a foot from his
position. He was staring at the streak in my hair, the
change in my weight. I could almost hear him making
clinical notes in his head.
  He never saw my fist coming. He fell straight back, and
was unconscious before he landed heavily on the deck.
  I rubbed my bruised knuckles and walked back over to
Colonel Shropana. “What next?”
   The Colonel threw his head back, and roared with
laughter.

   I taken to my assigned quarters and left there. The
furnishings were comfortable. My favorite foods stocked
the prep unit. Even a collection of jazz recordings was
placed for my enjoyment. I noted every single album in
my collection had been duplicated, Joseph kept excellent
records.
    I had to get out of here. I accessed the door panel, but
it wouldn’t open. They had locked me in the cozy,
attractive little cage.
  Mistake number one. I spent my first hour in captivity
methodically smashing the music discs. Each and every
one of them.
  “Dr. Grey Veil?” someone called over the display.
   I ignored it. I had finished with the music discs and was
unloading all the stores from the prep unit. It was
interesting to see how much bulk food a disposal unit
could handle. I wondered if it could chew up metal and
wiring.
  “Healer?”
  They finally figured out how to address me correctly.
“What?”
    “Are the music discs and food stores not to your
liking?”
   I should have known they’d stick recording drones in
here somewhere. Mistake number two. I was mad now. I
began looking for them. The nasty little things are almost
impossible to spot.
  “Healer? Answer the inquiry, please?”
   “Where are they?” I started ripping the fabric and
underlying foam from one of the free-formed sofas. I
didn’t like the warm brown and orange tones of the decor
much, I decided. I'd grown partial to blue. “Tell me now
and you'll save yourself a bunch of unnecessary
recycling.”
  The disembodied voice sounded dismayed. “What are
you looking for?”
  I sighed. “Your surveillance devices, stupid.”
  “I cannot give you that information.”
   “Then I can’t answer your questions.” My fingers hurt,
so I stopped to rest. I turned full-circle and smiled at the
whole room. “I have plenty of time. I’ll find every single
one of them.”
  “You would do better to cooperate, Cherijo.” That was
Colonel Shropana’s gravelly voice.
   “Really, Colonel?” I started ripping again. “I didn’t
agree to cooperate with you. I just traded myself for
Tonetka.”
  “We can assure you will cooperate.”
   “Not without messing up Dr. Grey Veil’s tests. He
dislikes me performing under the influence of drugs. Ask
him about the time I accidentally took too many
decongestants when I was fourteen. I thought he’d
suspend my entertainment privileges ad infinitum.”
   No other comment was made. Guess Shropana had to
think things over, I thought, and continued ripping.
   I found the first miniature recording drone embedded in
a chair cushion. It smashed to irreparable pieces under my
footgear. It took an hour to determine there were no more
devices in the living area. I left the demolished room and
moved on to the next.
   Once I got the sleeping platform apart, I found an even
tinier device implanted at the foot of the bed. Probably
wanted to watch me snore. I immersed the unit in water,
and chuckled as it short-circuited. Somewhere in the big
League ship, I knew someone had just yanked off their
headgear. The feedback would not have been music to
their ears.
   A voice came over the display again. It sounded
pained. “Healer?”
   “I’m busy,” I yelled. I began dismantling the cleanser. I
wondered how much I'd get to destroy before they got
exasperated and came for me. Wanton destruction was
kind of fun.
   “You will not be reassigned new quarters,” the voice
said.
  “Good. Save me the trouble of having to do this all
over again.” I wrenched the cleanser port from the wall
and sure enough, found a third drone busily monitoring.
“Well, well.”
  “Healer, please cease this activity at once.”
  “No. Why put one in here? I’m not much to look at.” I
wrenched the drone out of the recess. “Naked, I mean.”
   I took this one to the overworked disposal unit. It
sputtered and made some ominous grumbling noises, but
eventually reduced the drone to small bits of metal and
wiring.
  “Vandalism is punishable under League statutes.”
  “I’m so scared. See, I'm shaking,” I said, holding up
my steady hands. “Or can't you see anymore?”
  “Are you hungry. Healer?”
   I sat down on some mounds of cushioning I had
ripped from the furnishings, curled over, and closed my
eyes.
  “Are you hungry?” the voice repeated.
  “There’s no more food in here.”
  “We can bring you more supplies.”
  “No. Thanks.”
  Shropana’s voice took over again. “Dr. Grey Veil
wishes an interview with you.”
   “If Dr. Grey Veil so much as comes within spitting
distance of me, I’ll make what I did on the launch bay
look like a love-tap.”
  “That would not be wise.”
  “Maybe I’m not as smart as he tells you I am.”
   “Your hostility will not make your stay with us a
pleasant one, Cherijo.”
   I loved the way he said that. Like this was some kind of
resort and I was on vacation. “If I wanted pleasant, I
would have stayed on Terra.”
  He produced a frustrated growl. “You are your father’s
daughter. Of that I am convinced.”
   “Thanks. I know Xonal would appreciate you saying
that.”
   I slept. How long, I had no idea. Sleeping and
destroying things composed the majority of my immediate
plans. That was how I spent the first three days of my
captivity, until I became so dehydrated I couldn’t do
much more than sleep fitfully or toss bits of shredded
fabric around while I was awake.
   They came for me, of course. Weak as I was, they still
drugged me with a mild tranquilizer. When I woke up, I
was in a medical berth, my limbs pinned down by tight
restraints. Intravenous tubes were pumping colorless
liquid into my arms.
  Mistake number three. Now I was really getting mad.
  Colonel Shropana appeared as soon as I opened my
eyes. So did a humanoid nurse, who began wordlessly
spooning glucose into my mouth.
  “Feeling better?” he asked.
  I spat the glucose in his face. “Yeah. I am.”
   Strong, claw-tipped fingers encircled my throat. “I’ve
killed men for less,” he told me.
  It was good to see the League’s Chief Jerk lose
control. I grinned as his grip tightened. “By all means.”
My laughter croaked. “Do me a favor.”
   The claws eased from my neck as he released me. “I
see.” He grew quiet as he wiped the glucose from his face
with a cloth the appalled nurse handed him. “You’re intent
on suicide.”
  “If that’s what you want to believe, sure.”
   “Will you talk to me, Cherijo?” He tried to appear
earnest and caring. It might have worked if he’d had some
prior experience, I thought. Or a lot more practice in front
of a mirror. “How can I help you adjust to this change in
your life?”
  “Gee, I don’t know.” I pretended to think it over. “Put
me off on the first non-League world the ship passes?”
   “You know I can’t release you.” The old eyes glittered
in contrast to the entreating words. “I am quite serious.
Let me help you.”
   He needed my cooperation and would now do a lot to
get it. Which is exactly where I wanted him. “Here’s a
helpful hint, Colonel. If you don't want someone to act
like a hostile prisoner”—I lowered my voice so he bent
close to catch my words—“you stop treating them like
one.”
  “You feel you have been mistreated?”
   I made my eyes wide. “Wouldn’t you? Locked up in a
cage with drone monitors all over the place? Never being
consulted as to what you want to eat, drink, or listen to?
No freedom offered whatsoever? Can you blame me for
being angry?” I even managed to work a pathetic little
throb in my voice. “How could you do that to me?”
  Shrewd, experienced Colonel Shropana fell for it. “I
had no idea you felt like this.”
   “Try detainment sometime. Come back and tell me
how you like it.” I heaved out a sad sound. “You know,
you people have spent an enormous amount of credits
tracking me down and getting me to surrender. What do
you do the minute you have me in custody? You treat me
like a large, dumb, lab specimen. The League doesn’t
send sixty ships out after just anybody, do they?”
  “No.” Now he showed some of his inner perplexity.
“To my knowledge, no mission short of full-fledged war
has required so many resources.”
   “There you go. They think I’m important. So what will
you do for me, Colonel? What do you have to offer to
entice me to even think about cooperating?”
   Talk was easy for him. Concessions weren’t. “I can
allow you to have access to most areas of the ship,” he
said, without much enthusiasm.
  “Good start.”
   “You may select your quarters, furnish them as you like
from ship’s stores.”
  “Even better.”
  “We will endeavor to give you a measure of privacy.”
  He was lying, but I nodded. Two out of three wasn’t
bad. “That's more like it.”
  “If I do this, what will I get in return, Cherijo?”
   He might be fooled, but he wasn’t stupid. I mimed his
thoughtful expression. “In return, I'll eat and drink.”
  “That’s all?”
  “That’s better than keeping me restrained, on tubes,
and getting glucose spit in your face.”
   The fleshy lips parted in a canine grimace. “You are a
very shrewd young woman. Very well. I will put these new
measures into effect immediately.”
   “Fine. When I see that you’ve done it, I'll have lunch
with you.”
  “What about your father?”
  “He’s back on Joren.”
  He corrected himself quickly. “What about Dr. Joseph
Grey Veil?”
  “If you want him to make it to the end of this jaunt in
one piece, keep him away from me.”
  “He wishes to conduct tests on you.”
  “Tell him his tests should be used as an enema.”
  “He will not accept that.”
   “Big deal. Why are you all so terrified of him? He
screwed up nine times before he got his little experiment
right.”
  “He has all the experimental data.”
  I smiled. “I am the experiment.”

   Whatever they pumped into my veins worked. The
effects of three days without food or water soon
disappeared. The cranky nurse refused to give me my
chart, so I had to guess it was the standard saline/glucose
shock cocktail. Within hours I regained enough strength to
walk out of Medical to join Colonel Shropana for lunch. I
snagged my chart from the nurse without asking and
tucked it under my arm on the way out.
  “Hey, Colonel.”
   Shropana waited in the outer corridor for me, and
glanced at the chart I carried. “Is there a problem with
your treatment?”
  “I’ll make a list after I read the physician's notes.”
   The galley was regulation freighter design, which meant
it was a big open room with a bunch of tables and
benches. Everything was in stanissue League colors
(unpainted grey alloys), and even more depressing than
the stark confines of their Medical section. I could smell
the mingled odors of a hundred meals, none of which
appealed to me.
   “Ever think of hanging a few botanicals around here?” I
asked the Colonel. “Maybe a picture or two?”
   “The League discourages reminding space-bound
troops of the pleasures of planetary service,” Shropana
replied.
  “Pity. This place is killing what’s left of my appetite.”
   The crew scattered like frightened mice as we
approached a smaller series of tables reserved for the
officers. One brave soul lingered, evidently meaning to
offer his assistance. Shropana’s steady gaze sent him
scurrying along after the others.
   “Do they always do that?” I asked.
   The Colonel nodded. “I never have to wait for a table
to become available,” he said.
   I made my mouth go round and pressed a hand to my
heart. “Why, Colonel. A League Commander who can
actually make a decent joke. I’m stunned.”
  “Call me Patril,” he said, at ease with my sarcasm now.
“What can I program for your meal?”
   I wouldn’t let him serve me. Being polite was one thing,
but the man commanded sixty League cruisers and God
knew how many troopers. Him waiting on me was a bit
ridiculous. Plus I didn't want him slipping some unknown
substance into my food or drink. To my surprise, the
main menu included a complete selection of native
Jorenian recipes.
   “You have food stores from Joren?”
   “Synthetics. Even with those, your Senior Healer
refused to eat anything that was not prepared in classic
Jorenian style.“ The Colonel sighed. ”It took days to
adjust the prep units to that woman’s specifications.“
   “Oh, so that was where you got the recipe programs.” I
programmed the d’narral, waited a moment, and removed
the result. I tasted it carefully. “Yep. This is Tonetka's, all
right. She never uses enough safira.”
   We returned to the table with our trays and sat down.
With my peripheral vision, I saw Joseph Grey Veil
approaching us. I casually picked up the fork on my tray
(the Colonel wasn’t ready to trust me with knives, I noted)
and poked the steaming vegetable mound. Shropana
watched my creator approach without a word to me.
   I made a humming sound as I tasted it again. “I think
she overcooks it a little, too.”
   “Really?” The Colonel pretended interest.
   “Here, try some.” I offered a forkful to him. He
sampled it with a great show of concentration. That’s
right, indulge the little lab specimen, I thought. “Too limp,
right?”
   “Well, perhaps—”
   “I would speak with you, Cherijo,” Joseph Grey Veil
said, all preemptory arrogance. Like he had a right. I saw
him place a hand on the table beside my tray. Felt him
hanging over me. My, wasn’t he confident?
  Joseph forgot who I’d been living with for the last year.
   I immediately turned the fork and rammed the sharp
tines through the back of his hand. I never felt this surge
of feral satisfaction before. Maybe there was something to
that Jorenian tradition of violent revenge. His scream was
a top note of joy to my ears.
   My creator fell back, clutching his wrist, using language
I’d never heard issue from his prim lips before. Guess
Joseph had picked up a few bad habits, too. Colonel
Shropana half rose from his seat, then slowly sat back
down. I used my napkin to blot up the small drops of
blood from my side of the table.
  “Sorry, Patril,” I said, the epitome of courtesy. “You
were saying?”
   Shropana gestured to the two guards that shadowed
him everywhere and pointed to the fallen Joseph Grey
Veil. They helped the wounded Doctor to his feet and
escorted him from the galley. I saw all of this from the
corner of my eye, and had to bite the inside of my cheek
to keep from laughing. The Colonel rose and got another
fork for me.
  “Healer, I gain respect for you by the day.” He handed
me the new utensil. “You make Jorenian warriors seem
subdued in comparison.”
  “Not really,” I replied. “The only interest I have in
someone’s viscera is repairing damage to it. In Dr. Grey
Veil's case, however”—I let my voice go flat—“I can
make an exception.”
  The heavy features darkened. “You are determined to
keep him at bay?”
  “Among other things.”
   “I applaud your perseverance, although I can’t
condone your methods or intent.” The Colonel sipped
some of the noxious-smelling beverage he'd chosen. “I
thought the Terran Hippocratic Oath required you not to
deliberately inflict harm on other human beings.”
   “I don’t consider that thing I just stuck my fork in to
be human,” I said.
   There were no further interruptions. Colonel Shropana
ate sparingly. When he thought I wasn’t looking, he gave
me odd looks. It didn't bother me. I happily demolished
the d'narral. I liked the way Tonetka programmed it, soggy
layers and all.
   We finished our meal, and two crew members rushed
to clean up after us. Being a Commander did have its
perks. From the galley, Shropana took me on a tour of the
enormous troop freighter. I wasn’t surprised to find out it
was nearly ten times the size of the Sunlace.
   “Command levels and engineering sections are
off-limits, I’m afraid,” the Colonel said. “I am willing to
give you freedom to access the rest of the ship, including
our medical facility. Your consultation will be more than
welcomed by our staff physician.”
   I suppressed the urge to snort. I’d play consultant. In
his dreams. “Where are we headed? Terra?”
   The Colonel was convincingly regretful. “I’m afraid
that's out of the question, although Dr. Grey Veil insists
his research can only be carried out on your homework!.”
   “You’re not giving Dr. Grey Veil what he wants? My,
my. He'll have a terrible tantrum. You may have to put him
in sleep suspension to keep him from developing an
embolism.”
   Shropana cleared his throat. “We are coordinating our
jaunt and will leave orbit tomorrow to return to the Pmoc
Quadrant.” We passed a trio of engineers in the corridor.
They flattened themselves against the plaspanel walls to
get out of the way. “Fendagal XI will be the site of the
League Conference in regard to your future.”
  That was news. “The entire League is holding a
conference just for me?”
   “You’re the only genetically enhanced Terran in
existence.” He gave me a thorough survey. “Your unique
DNA makes you of vital importance to every member of
the League.”
   “I hope they’ve heard the story about the goose who
laid the golden eggs,” I said.
   By that time we had reached level fifteen, where League
tech programmers were busy maintaining and monitoring
the huge ship’s internal systems.
   Chamber twelve, level sixteen, Tonetka had said. I had
to get that far today. I didn’t know if I'd have a fork
handy the next time Joseph Grey Veil tried to put his slimy
hands on me.
  “What’s on the next level?” I asked. Acting nonchalant
was easy. I did it with patients all the time.
   “Communications, resource management, and our
gymnasium and recreational imagers.” He counted off
each with a claw. “I understand you are an excellent
simulation programmer.”
  “I prefer reality these days,” I said. My lips curled.
“Still, can’t be too picky, can I?”
   “I’d hardly call you indiscriminate. Come. I'll show you
some of the best the League has to offer its members on
extended space jaunts.”
   Level sixteen, like the rest of the ship, was extensive. I
counted eleven chamber entrances down the starboard
side of the corridor and made note of the twelfth. The
gymnasium. Perhaps they had given Tonetka routine
access to it? What kind of weapon could she have hidden
there? Had to be something small she could conceal on
her person. I couldn’t anticipate finding a large calibre
displacer rifle. I could always dream, though.
  The Colonel steered me toward the simulator room,
which was equipped with a sophisticated array of
dimensional imagers.
   “Show me something you’ve enjoyed in the past,” he
said.
  Probably all part of Joseph’s test. “Sure.”
   The tech fell short of the Jorenian environomes, but it
was adequate enough. I programmed a simple loop I’d
once spent a great deal of time in while I lived in my
creator's house.
   Once inside the simulation, Shropana stopped and
admired the detail. The damp, heated air was filled with
the sounds of a dozen different birds and twice that many
animals creeping about the dense undergrowth. The
tropical rainforest, canopy soared three hundred feet
above our heads.
   “Well done, Healer.” Shropana’s smooth skin was
already beading with sweat.
   “Not really. The parameters could be more defined.” I
pulled aside a low frond, revealing a solid block of green
where there should have been shoots and root clusters. “I
can get most of the leaves and trunks right, but I always
screw up the details.” I inclined my head. “Half the birds
are indigenous to North America, not the Amazon basin.”
A large, amiable white bear ambled past us. “Did I
mention how much I liked polar bears?”
  Shropana grinned. All those little daggerlike teeth made
me shudder inside. “It is good to know the
most-developed being in existence makes mistakes, too.”
   “Is that what he told you I am?” I made a tsking sound
with my tongue. “I don’t think the theory culminates in
fact. Like my program here.” I reached out my hand, and
my polar bear reappeared. The triangular black nose
snuffled my palm. “On Terra, a real version of this would
be dining on my hand, not licking it. We’d also have to
be in the Arctic, not Brazil.”
   “Healer, I suspect you can twist theory into any fact
you desire,” Shropana said, patting the rump of the placid
creature.
   “Or maybe I’m not so brilliant.” I went to the control
alcove and terminated the loop. The rainforest
disappeared. “The League has spent a great deal of
valuable time and resources based on—what? The wild
promises of one mad scientist.“
   He spread his hands. “What he promises could change
the nature of existence on many worlds.”
   “For who? Tell me, Colonel, do you believe the League
will make the technology that created me available to say,
a crop cultivator? How about a data input clerk? Someone
on subsistence? Or do you think they’ll reserve genetic
enhancements for the inner circle of power?”
   He shook his head. “I cannot answer. The League
directors make policy. I am simply a soldier.”
   “Good point. Maybe the soldiers will benefit the most.
Imagine what could be done with an army that was
genetically programmed to never stop fighting. They’d
never have to eat or sleep. Never have to be pensioned
off. Just fight until they drop.”
   Shropana didn’t like that. I suspected he was far more
intelligent than he wanted anyone to know. That might be
valuable to remember when I put my escape plan into
action. Smart men had a tendency to think too much.
  “Let’s see your gymnasium,” I said. “I'd like to get
some exercise. My sweat glands are shriveling.”
   Once inside the gymnasium, I pretended to be
fascinated with the weight-resistant equipment and began
planning a vigorous exercise regime.
   Shropana excused himself. “I have duties to attend to.
Please remember to avoid all prohibited areas.” grunted as
I pressed a heavy tension coil between my hands. “Will
do.”
  “Enjoy yourself.” He left.
   I kept working my protesting muscles as I examined the
room. The League probably hadn’t wasted recording
drones on Tonetka while she exercised. I suspected I
didn't merit the same luxury, but they'd already screwed
up once. I touched the pendant that still hung around my
neck. The idiots had never even checked it.
  Where could she have hidden it?
   Visual inspection revealed nothing but a profusion of
equipment, a cleanser unit, diagnostic console—I nearly
dropped the weights.
   The image of Squilyp and me arguing in Tonetka’s
office popped into my head. “Tonetka has a habit of
doing that when she’s in a rush to access the database,“
I’d told him. ”She drops what she’s holding and it ends
up jammed somewhere.”
   I casually finished examining the last machine and
strolled over to the diagnostic console. I slipped under the
scanner and ran a cardiac series on myself, the whole time
searching the upper console board with my eyes, looking
for the gleam of Jorenian alloy.
   No, I thought, she wouldn’t have jammed it into an
open seam. She wanted to keep it safe, for later retrieval.
Where could it be? I sat down and scooted the chair
forward until my legs were beneath the edge of the
console. I let one hand fall in my lap as I leaned forward
to study the displayed results of my scans. My hidden
fingers danced lightly underneath the console recess.
  Cold, sharp metal bit into my thumb. I controlled a yelp
and the urge to snatch my hand back. Carefully I felt along
the opposite, blunt edge until I knew how it was placed,
then tugged it free.
   It might be small. Hundreds of years old. Good only
during close proximity to an enemy. But the archaic
Jorenian scalpel was a weapon. Where to hide it was my
next dilemma. I ran my open palm over my hair, hesitated
for a moment, then smiled.
   I dropped the knife in my lap. After I sucked the drop
of blood from my thumb, I used both hands to release the
thick cable of my braid. As I shook my loosened hair, I
slipped the knife in my palm, holding it in place with my
thumb. I raised my hands to my hair again, gathering the
heavy mass into a bundle at my neck.
   No one would question the wide, thick Jorenian
warrior’s knot I now wore. They'd attribute it to my love
of my adopted people.
   The League believed it had me in its pocket. The
biggest mistake of all.

   I killed a couple of hours the next day by selecting
furnishings for the quarters I had no intention of
occupying for very long. Once we were out of the
Varallan Quadrant, I planned to appropriate a launch and
dive into an asteroid belt the same way the Potnarch’s
pilot had done. They'd damage their ships in pursuit, while
I made my getaway. I was planning on staying lost for
good.
  My abused stomach finally pleaded feebly for
nourishment. I had just decided to access the new prep
unit when the ship went on alert status. Curious, I opened
my door panel and looked out. Warning beacons blared.
Orange lights flashed. Crew members ran back and forth.
  Damn. Had Xonea tried something stupid?
  I couldn’t try to escape now. It would only put Joren
back in the line of fire. I went to my display and signaled
Shropana.
  He responded after a few seconds. “Yes, Healer?”
  “What’s all the excitement about?”
   “We are under attack.” He turned his head and gave a
sharp series of orders to someone. “Excuse me, Healer.”
  “Wait! Who’s attacking?” I demanded. “Someone
from Joren? Tell them I said—”
   “It isn’t anyone from Joren. It's the Hsktskt.” He
terminated the signal.
  The Hsktskt? Attacking a fleet of sixty League ships?
   I punched the display keypad until my display showed
the external view of the ship. Beyond the thick field of
cruisers, a solid wall of heavily armored Hsktskt transport
and attack vessels were bearing down on us.
    “God.” I didn’t have to count. There were a lot more
than sixty vessels out there. Try two hundred. Three
hundred. So many that I couldn't see clear space behind
them. “Looks like we're not going to Fendagal XI after
all.”
   I was sure Shropana would try to negotiate with the
raiders. Typical League first response. He may have even
sent the initial “truce-request” signal out before the
displacer fire began. Did the Hsktskt want Joren, and the
other neighboring worlds in the system? Was the League
simply in the way?
   I saw the other fleet vessels dodging the Hsktskt attack,
felt the deck rock beneath me as the displacer blasts
smashed into the hull. I wasn’t afraid. I rather liked the
irony of the situation.
   “Blow us to Kingdom come,” I whispered as I watched
the approaching tide of vessels. “Be sure you get all the
Terrans.”
  “Cherijo!”
  My door panel was forced open. Salo stood in the
opening, panting, and bleeding in several places.
  “Cherijo? Are you well?”
   “Salo!” I jumped up and ran to him. “What are you
doing here? Are you crazy?”
  He gulped in air and shook his head. “We must go.”
   “You’re hurt,” I said and began assessing his injuries.
“How did you get so far into the ship? Did anyone come
with you?”
  He tucked an arm around me and hoisted me up the
way he would a child. “Your pardon,” he said, held me
against him, and ran.
  I didn’t have time to argue. My job was to hang on
while Salo dodged the frantic crew members running past.
    Salo carried me down two levels to the ruins of a
launch bay. I saw Dhreen and Xonea using one of the
League launches as cover while they held off a small
security team with pulse rifles. Salo didn’t hesitate, but
shot his way through to the launch pad. I tried not to look
at the writhing, screaming bodies on the deck as he waded
through them.
   “I have her!” he shouted.
   Xonea and Dhreen climbed back into the small, fast
shuttle Dhreen had used to transport me here. Salo literally
tossed me in and dove through the hull doors just before
they closed.
   We were out in space, dodging the crossfire between
the Faction and the League before I could get up off the
deck. Salo apologized profusely for his rough handling,
until I smacked an uninjured area on his arm.
  “You did a wonderful job rescuing me. Shut up.
Xonea, get me the medical pack.”
   Salo had suffered only moderate lacerations and a few
pulse burns. I cleaned him up and temporarily dressed one
bad gash. I looked up and saw Joren looming in the
viewer. “We’re going back to the homeworld?”
  “Yes,” Salo said. “Let the Faction and the League
destroy each other.”
   “Oh, I’ve no doubt the League will end up littering
space, but the Hsktskt won't stop with them,” I said.
“They're here for more than target practice.”
  “Someone signaled them directly.” Xonea sat down
beside me.
  “What?” I was aghast. “Are you kidding? Why would
anyone want to signal the Hsktskt?”
   “With the League in orbit, Joren is vulnerable. The
Ruling Houses have ordered all offworld traders be
detained until we discover who betrayed us.”
   “It doesn’t matter who did it. They'll destroy the planet
anyway,” I said. I closed my eyes. Wished I had let them
take me back to Terra a year ago.
  “We can try to evacuate as many of our people as we
can. If the ships scatter hi different directions, transit to
other dimensions, most will escape.” Xonea was bleak.
“There are not enough ships, however. Only enough for
ten or twelve percent of the population.”
  No Jorenian was going to celebrate the death of their
world.
   We landed just before the League began bombarding
the surface again. Xonea instructed Dhreen to escort me
to the underground medical facility that had been
prepared. He and Salo then hurried away to their defense
stations.
   Tonetka, Xonal, and Sberea were waiting for me. I
rushed into my old friend’s arms.
   “I thought I’d never see you again,” I told her when she
finally let me go. “Has she been driving you crazy,
Sberea?”
   “As much as she ever has, Cherijo.”
   Xonal smiled sadly at us. “Cherijo. It appears you will
be free of the League, but not for very long.”
  That was better than being a League prisoner. “Have
you started the evacuation?”
   “Yes. Members of all HouseClans have been selected
at random to take the escape vessels. They are reporting
now to their Transport assignments,” Xonal said. He
looked at Tonetka. “Your name was on the list for our
HouseClan, my ClanSister.”
  Tonetka sniffed. “Another, younger Torin may have
my position. My place is here.”
   He nodded. Displacer fire boomed above our heads.
“The League is being decimated. They have been signaling
for you, Cherijo. Their leader demands a response.”
   Shropana was a known threat, the Hsktskt only
theoretical at this point. I might be able to buy time for the
evacuees if I answered the signal. “I’d better talk to them
while I still can.”
   Xonal took me through the underground network of
tunnels to his defense headquarters, where a vid of
Colonel Shropana appeared an instant after he signaled the
League.
   “Healer. You have reneged on your bargain.”
   “I was rescued from a Hsktskt attack.”
   “You may still save yourself. I have managed to
negotiate a temporary ceasefire with the Faction. They are
willing to allow us to leave Varallan space, with you, in
return for not interfering in their raid on Joren and the
other occupied worlds in this system. That, and a
considerable amount of our available supplies.”
  “You’re a real humanitarian, Colonel. Forget it.”
   “Joren will be destroyed, by one force or another,” he
said. “Surely you can see that.”
    “I’ll die with my people. Good-bye, Colonel.” I went
to terminate the signal.
  For a moment, Shropana seemed wistful. “I enjoyed
meeting you, Cherijo.”
   “Wish I could say the same.” I cut off the
transmission. It looked like there was no way out of this.
Then something Shropana had said made me smile.
   “Xonal,” I said, turning to my ClanFather, “I have an
idea.”


           CHAPTER TWENTY
            The Last Betrayal
                                                      «^

  Several hours after I arrived on Joren, I left again with
Dhreen. Our shuttle flew directly to Shropana’s ship,
which looked battered, but remained in full operation. A
few vessels had been disabled, but the bulk of the fleet
remained intact. We were received in the same launch bay,
minus the pomp and ceremony of my last visit.
  Colonel Shropana and a small detachment stood
waiting as Dhreen landed. We climbed out of the shuttle. I
made the introductions.
   Shropana nodded to Dhreen, then turned to me. “When
you signaled, you indicated you had a specific request
before we departed.”
   “Yes. We are evacuating approximately eleven percent
of the surface population from Joren. If you allow the
refugees to accompany us to Fendagal XI, I will
cooperate fully with the League for the remainder of my
existence.”
   Shropana’s cynical eyes glowed with triumph. “I will
grant your request. We will have to disperse the Jorenians
among all the fleet ships, however.”
   “Thank you. Signal your ships to expect to receive
them in one hour.” I gestured to Dhreen. “My friend, of
course, will be staying with me.”
  “Of course. I’ll show you to your quarters.”
   “There’s no need. I remember the way.” I led Dhreen
off, keeping my head high and back straight until we were
out of sight. “Do you think he believed me?” I murmured.
  “I don’t know, Doc.” Dhreen looked ill. “I hope this
works.”
   All we had to do now was wait. We remained in my
quarters, Dhreen near the door panel, me by the viewport.
I’d offered to prepare tea for us, but Dhreen declined.
   “Last thing I want to do is regurgitate in the middle of
this,” he said. He gestured to the interior of my new
quarters. I had redecorated—everything was in shades of
HouseClan blue. “They must like you.”
  “A comfortable cage is still a cage,” I said.
   The door panel slid open and Joseph Grey Veil strode
in. Only Dhreen’s quick movement diverted the trajectory
of the server I threw, and it smashed into a wall panel.
Two strong arms clamped around me.
   “Cherijo!” Joseph visibly seethed with wrath. “You will
cease attacking me every time I approach you.”
   I fought to twist free of the Oenrallian’s hold. “Let me
go, Dhreen. I won't kill him. Not right away.”
   “Quell down, Doc.” Dhreen gave my creator a hard
look. “You should leave.”
   I kept struggling. “Five minutes. That’s all I want. Just
five minutes.”
  My creator addressed the Oenrallian directly. “Perhaps
you can persuade my daughter to change her unacceptable
behavior.”
  “I’m not your daughter!” I yelled.
   Joseph Grey Veil contemplated me with mild surprise.
“Is this your idea of complete cooperation?”
   “When the refugees are safe,” I told him. “Not until
then.”
   His arms folded. “I am weary of your childish
tantrums.”
   “Oh? What are you going to do about it? Kill someone
else?”
   “There will be a great number of Jorenian children
traveling with us to Fendagal XI,” he said. “I can arrange
to have them brought to the lab.”
  “Two minutes, Dhreen!” I struggled wildly. “Give me
two minutes!”
  My creator decided he’d said enough, or realized he
was courting serious injury. He walked back out.
   “Why did you stop me?” I yelled when Dhreen let me
go. I pushed him out of my way and ran to the door
panel. Outside, the corridor was deserted. I whirled
around. “Do you have any idea what he’s capable of
doing?”
   The Oenrallian’s pallid skin was nearly white. “We have
to maintain, Doc. At least until the launches arrive safely.”
   I flung myself down in a chair. Well, there was that,
too.
   “Don’t perspire over it.” Dhreen reached over and
patted my arm. “You'll get another chance.”
   An acid taste rose in my mouth. “No, I won’t. In a few
minutes it won't matter, I guess.” I huddled in the chair,
drawing up my knees, resting my brow against them.
   The sense of imminent catastrophe was no surprise. I’d
arranged everything. This tune, I couldn't put the
responsibility on anyone else. Not even the League.
  A signal came to my display.
   “Healer.” It was Colonel Shropana. “Please report to
launch bay. The Jorenian vessels are on final approach.”
   I stood at the side of the League Commander while the
large Jorenian launch eased into the bay. Shropana’s men
were setting up to help the refugees report in and get their
quarters assignments. The Colonel's stance was that of the
omnipotent, benevolent despot—hands folded behind his
back, spine straight, chin elevated.
    “I might earn a seat on the Supreme Council for the
success of this mission,” he said. “Delivering you, now
saving the Jorenian refugees from the Hsktskt. All I need
is to discover some uncharted world rich in mineral
deposits on the jaunt to Fendagal XI. I can store my
uniform for good.”
  “I hope you get everything you deserve,” I said with
complete honesty.
   “You have done well, my dear. Not only for yourself,
but for these people.” He nodded toward the launch as it
touched down on the docking platform.
   “I’m sure they think the same thing.” I wondered how
long it would take. Maybe another minute. “Tell me,
Colonel, do you know anything about prehistoric Terra?”
  The thick lips stretched over his teeth. “Only that your
people spent centuries trying to annihilate one another.”
  “That we did,” I said. “Terrans have always been very
good at wreaking havoc. Some of our idioms are based
on events that occurred during such conflicts.”
  “We should discuss it in the future,” Shropana said.
“My people have similar linguistic oddities.”
  “There’s one expression that comes to mind at the
moment. Do you know what a Trojan horse is?”
    “No, I don’t believe I do.” Shropana's gaze sharpened
as he noticed my expression. “Perhaps you would explain
it to me. At once.”
   “Oh, I don’t have to.” I nodded toward the Jorenian
vessel as its hull doors opened. “You've just let one land
inside your ship.”
  The Colonel’s powdery hair flew as he whipped his
head around and saw what had stepped out onto the
docking ramp. “No,” he whispered. Then, with a terrible
shout, “No!”
   The occupants of the launch streamed out into the bay.
I dropped to the deck and covered my head with my arms
as soon as weapons began firing. The Colonel seized me
and yanked me back up. His claws cut into my flesh as I
struggled to free myself.
  “What have you done?” he shrieked as he shook me.
  I gazed into his rounded, terrified eyes. “It’s called
payback, Commander.”
   He shoved me aside. I hit a wall panel and let myself
slide to the floor. Weapons discharged heavy, ceaseless
streams of deadly energy, and bodies thumped as they fell
beside the launch and all around me. I peeked through my
arms and saw Shropana charge directly into the fray. His
Commander’s tunic probably saved his life. He was
captured and disarmed in seconds.
   Once the weapons stopped firing, something picked
me up from the deck. I regained my balance and looked
around me.
   Monsters surrounded me. Ten-foot-tall, six-limbed,
nasty-looking monsters. One of the giant reptilian beings
stepped toward me. The grey uniform it wore over its
monstrous frame bore the insignia of what appeared to be
a high-ranking command officer.
  A Hsktskt officer.
   One sinuous limb aimed a rifle at my head. Huge,
lidless yellow eyes inspected me. Just like old times, I
thought, and held out my empty hands.
  “I’m not armed,” I said.
   The Hsktskt removed something from an inner fold of
his uniform and tossed it to me. It was translation gear, to
be worn on the head. I slipped it on, and positioned the
tiny receiver in front of my mouth. The fate of Joren
depended on what happened in the next few minutes.
   “I’m not armed,” I repeated. “Stop pointing that thing
at me.”
   The Hsktskt warrior’s enormous jaw dropped open,
and a thin, sinuous black tongue lashed out. “You haven't
changed, Doctor.” He barked out a series of orders and
the bulk of his troops disappeared into the bowels of the
ship. He made a curt gesture with his rifle, and Colonel
Shropana was dragged in front of me. “The fleet leader?”
    “Yes. Colonel Shropana. League Troop Commander.”
I looked at the Colonel’s colorless, twisted features. No
one had bothered to strap a translator on his head. “I'd
introduce you, Colonel, but I don't know how to
pronounce this Hsktskt officer's name.”
  “These vessels are now property of the Hsktskt
Faction,” the monster announced. He jabbed the end of
his rifle into Shropana’s belly. “I am OverLord TssVar.
Tell him to remember the name or die.”
   I told him.
   “What have you done?” Shropana said, this time
choking the words out in a raw croak. He was forced on
his knees before me by the soldier holding him.
   Diplomacy tune. I checked with the monster in charge.
“May I speak with this one, OverLord TssVar? Just to
xplain things.”
   The Hsktskt nodded.
   I turned to Shropana. “You came here, attacked my
people, held them hostage by threatening to destroy their
world unless I surrendered. I’ve just returned the favor,
times sixty.”
   “Sixty?” The Colonel closed his eyes. “The other
refugee launches.”
   “Bingo.” I pointed toward the external viewer. “As we
speak, your entire fleet is being boarded and taken over by
OverLord TssVar’s soldiers.”
   “But they are Jorenian launches!”
   “OverLord TssVar and his soldiers needed a way to
infiltrate the Fleet with minimum resistance. Jorenians are a
very hospitable people. They invited the Hsktskt to land
on the opposite side of the planet a few hours ago.“
  “The Hsktskt will invade Joren anyway,” Shropana
muttered.
  TssVar’s gear picked that up, and he didn't like it. I
could tell from the way he stuck his rifle barrel into the
Colonel's face. “Does this fool think he speaks for the
Hsktskt?”
   “The OverLord wants to know if you’ve appointed
yourself spokesman for the Faction,” I said to the
Colonel. I never thought diplomacy could be this much
fun.
   Shropana gulped and shook his head.
   “Tell the coward a Hsktskt does not violate his oath.”
   “OverLord TssVar has given his oath he and his troops
will not invade Joren,” I said. “He wants you to know the
Hsktskt keep their promises.”
   TssVar walked away to consult with one of his officers
reporting back from the initial occupation assault.
   “You see, Colonel, League cruisers are a valuable
commodity,” I told Shropana. “The Hsktskt were happy
to negotiate with me for them. They’ll get more for sixty
of your cruisers than they would for whatever was left
after the attack on Joren, slaves included. The bonus is
they won't have to kill the entire crew. They'll keep them
alive to pilot the vessels back to the Faction.”
  “Why would the butchers negotiate with you?” the
Colonel growled. “You’re nothing but a Healer! You
know nothing about war!”
  “Patril, Patril. Rule number one: Never mess with a
Hsktskt. Rule number two: Never mess with a Hsktskt’s
obstetrician.”
   That really confused him. “What has that got to do
with this?”
   TssVar trudged back over to us. The deck shook with
each heavy footfall. When he reached Shropana, the
viewport-sized eyes revolved toward me.
  “I do not need this one,” TssVar said. “I will kill him.”
   “He could be useful. Keep the others in line,” I said.
Not that I cared, one way or another. I simply didn’t want
to get League blood all over my tunic. “As you can see,
he's easily motivated.”
  TssVar appeared to be thinking it over.
  “Why is he listening to you?” Shropana asked.
   “I told you.” I smiled. An insulting grin cuts deeper
than displacer fire. “Never mess with a Hsktskt’s
obstetrician.”
  “You delivered one of these monsters’ whelps?”
   OverLord TssVar took exception to the insult. One of
his limbs lashed out and caught the Colonel across the
face. Shropana yelped and cowered away.
  “I wouldn’t talk about his children like that, if I were
you,” I said.
  “You mean—”
   “Yep.” I turned to the Hsktskt Commander. “I meant
to ask you, OverLord. How are the kids?”
   The League Fleet surrender was rapid, nearly
bloodless, and complete. All communications were
immediately jammed, so no one got a message off for
reinforcements. None of the other planets in the Varallan
system was going to signal the League. They were quite
happy with the arrangements we’d made. The Trojan
horse had worked perfectly.
   The Hsktskt stationed several officers on board each
ship to supervise the jaunt back to Faction-occupied
space. Crews were surprisingly cooperative. I discovered
why when I overheard’one Hsktskt giving orders to some
captive League troops.
   “You! Move this cargo bin or I will rip out your liver!”
the Hsktskt bellowed. All captives were now wearing the
headgear that allowed them to understand the Hsktskt
language. “You there! Your flesh looks tender! Hasten
your pace or I will dine on your fat limbs!”
   After my startling revelation, Colonel Shropana had
dissolved into hysterics. TssVar had him dragged off to
detainment.
   Soon after, I was summoned from the launch deck to
the new command center.
   TssVar sat behind a display, studying the schematics
for each of his newly acquired vessels. The soldiers with
him trudged out of the room, leaving us alone together.
  He nodded toward the seat before his desk. “Sit,
Doctor.”
   By now I felt a little nervous myself. To TssVar, I
might be just another commodity. The question was, did
he know how valuable a commodity I was?
   “My troops prefer battle, yet I favor an acquisition
effected with little conflict.” TssVar blanked out the
display he was studying and turned his huge head.
Monster and Terran stared at each other. I tried not to
fidget. “It has been some time since we last met.”
   “Not so long. It seems like only yesterday you were
jabbing a rifle at me and making a bunch of nasty threats.”
  “The sharp tongue,” TssVar said. “That I remember of
you, SsureeVa.”
  “What does ‘SsureeVa’ mean?”
   “Thin-skinned.” His jaw couldn’t bend into a smile, but
I heard the ghost of humor in his hiss.
  “What does ‘TssVar’ mean?”
  “Fearless.”
  Yep, that pretty much summed it up for me.
“So—Over-Lord TssVar—where do we go from here?”
   “League vessels will be taken to our space. Some crew
will be sold with the ships. The others will go to the
slavers.” He saw my tiny reaction and rubbed his claws
against the side of his thick neck. “You knew their fate.”
  “I knew. If you’re waiting for me to cheer with joy,
don't hold your breath, OverLord.”
   My sarcasm seemed to amuse him more than anything.
“You are a mystery to me, Doctor. Small, fragile, and
bolder than any warm-blood I have known. You are…
unique among your kind.”
  “Thanks. I think.”
   Two of his limbs lashed lazily around his massive head.
“A Terran male has been demanding dialogue with me. He
resembles you, uses some of your name.”
  “My parent. Doctor Joseph Grey Veil.”
  TssVar pressed a keypad on the console before him.
“Bring in the Terran.”
   I enjoyed watching the guard toss Joseph Grey Veil
into TssVar’s office. His limbs flailed wildly until he
landed on the deck and collapsed.
  The OverLord sighed. “Your kind are too flimsy,
SsureeVa. You there. Terran. Get up!”
   Joseph awkwardly scrambled to his feet. His wrists and
ankles were bound with short lengths of alloy chains. On
his head he wore the same headgear I had. He didn’t so
much as glance at me.
   “OverLord TssVar.” He bowed as elegantly as his
bonds allowed him to. “Dr. Joseph Grey Veil, Terran
research scientist. Thank you for seeing me.”
  “This one uses mannerly speech,” TssVar said to me.
  “He’s good at talking,” I replied.
  “What do you want, Terran?”
  “I beg a private audience with you, OverLord.”
   “He begs, too.”
   “Not for long,” I said.
   Joseph stiffened and peered down his nose at me.
“This Terran female is a habitual liar. She attempts to
create a conflict between us before I can state my case to
you.”
   “SsureeVa, you are a liar?” TssVar asked me. “I
thought you but short-tempered, arrogant.”
  “Dr. Grey Veil would have you believe otherwise.” I
wasn’t going to confirm or deny. Let my creator dig his
own hole.
   The Hsktskt Commander seemed bored. “Terran, beg
or get out.”
   “Very well.” He assumed a posture I was very familiar
with. It was the same way he stood behind a podium when
he was about to deliver a lecture or commencement
speech. I yawned. “Two years ago…”
   He gave TssVar a severely edited version of the facts.
The OverLord listened with genuine interest. When he
finished his summary of the events leading to my rescue
by HouseClan Torin, Joseph gestured toward me.
  “I have no knowledge of her activities during the past
year, but with your permission, I will continue my analysis
and turn all findings over to the Faction for their scientific
advancement.”
  Sure he would. When there were alien matchmaking
agencies on Terra.
   TssVar rose from his chair. “Terran, you may go.”
   That surprised my creator. “Will you not grant my
request, OverLord?”
  The Hsktskt looked from Joseph Grey Veil to me.
“No.”
   “Why not?” Joseph demanded.
   “You question me?” TssVar came around the desk so
fast my creator fell backward on his posterior trying to
scuttle away. With one limb the Hsktskt raised him from
the floor, then off the floor. “You claim this female your
test specimen. Your property. You wish freedom to
experiment on her again. Have I understood your
begging?”
  Joseph nodded frantically.
  “The female is the Designate of my brood. Do you
understand me, spineless one?”
   “Cherijo, what does he mean?” Joseph was frantic. I
studied my fingernails. “What is a Designate?”
  “Godmother to his children,” I said. “Good-bye, Dr.
Grey Veil.”
   TssVar tossed my creator out of his office and closed
the door panel. He returned to his console and inspected
me closely.
  “How long did he experiment on you?”
  I lifted my eyes to the yellow stare. “Twenty-seven
years.”
  “My condolences, SsureeVa.”
   I had expected the Hsktskt to be heartless butchers,
and here one was sympathizing with me. I would have
laughed, but the image of a NessNevat child appeared in
my mind. My good humor evaporated abruptly.
“OverLord, may I ask what will happen to Dr. Grey Veil
now?”
  The Hsktskt towered over me. “I could have him
gutted for you. I will allow you to decide.”
   I thought it over. It was a tempting offer. Some small
spark of humanity made me shake my head. “No. If
anything kills him, it will be his own ambition. Will he go
to the slavers along with the others?”
    “No. That tongue of his makes him of small value. Less
if I remove it. He will be my messenger to the League.” He
moved to the desk and selected a data pad from the
assortment.
  I frowned. “I didn’t know you wanted the League to be
aware of this assault.”
   “We have captured sixty of their vessels. It is an
indignity the League will not ignore. This time they will
retaliate.”
   I saw his motives clearly at once. “You’re trying to
draw them out.”
   The OverLord’s tongue lashed out quickly. “You
claimed you knew nothing about war. You are a liar.”
   “And bad-tempered. And arrogant,” I said. Time to
find out what my future held in store for me. “What will
happen to me, OverLord?”
    He seemed startled by that. “I had assumed…” His
yellow eyes narrowed. “Of course. I see the wisdom of
it.”
  “Maybe you could let me in on some of that wisdom?”
  “You will be informed. Go to the ship’s Medical
Facility. There are wounded you may tend to.”
  I rose and bowed as I had seen the other soldiers do.
He made a sweeping motion; I turned and keyed the door
panel open.
  “Doctor.”
  I hesitated.
  “My debt to you is satisfied.”
   He was telling me I would get no preferential treatment
from him anymore. “I understand, OverLord.”
   There were no wounded Hsktskt soldiers, only battered
League troopers with broken bones, pulse burns, and
plenty of lacerations and bruises. I sterilized and went to
work.
  The nurses and staff physicians weren’t openly
hostile—they were furious, not stupid. We were all
watched closely by a heavily armed Hsktskt guard.
   It took most of the day to treat the injured troopers. I
neither saw nor heard from Dhreen. I finished updating the
last of the charts. While I worked out a temporary shift
schedule for the jaunt ahead, Dr. Grey Veil made his
entrance.
   The bonds on his wrists and ankles were gone. His
escort stood by the Medical Bay guard and exchanged a
low series of grunts and clicks. Probably speculating on
how to best prepare a Terran flank roast, considering what
an ass my creator was.
   The great man wasted no time but came directly at me.
I put down the chart I was annotating and picked up a
syrinpress. In plain view, I dialed an overdose application
of sedatives and held it out like a weapon.
  “Back off.”
  He halted several feet from me. “You persist in this
hostility, even now.”
  “You wouldn’t be alive if it wasn't for me,” I said.
“Don't push your luck.”
   “I am being sent back to the League to inform them of
this incident. Your OverLord TssVar intends to provoke a
war.”
   “Have a nice trip.” I held the syrinpress steady. “Don’t
bother to write.”
  Behind him, I saw the door panel slide open and
Dhreen walked in.
  “Dhreen!” I smiled and waved to him. “Don’t let me
keep you from your journey, Dr. Grey Veil.” I allowed
myself a small, triumphant sneer. “Send my love to the
League.”
   The Oenrallian stopped when he saw Joseph turn
around. Dhreen would have made it back out the door
panel, but one of the guards stepped in his path.
  “No, Oenrallian. Come here,” my creator said.
  I glowered at Joseph. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
   Dhreen trudged over to us. He had a miserable
dark-yellow flush on his face. His eyes wouldn’t meet
mine.
  “Hey, Doc.” He gave my creator a disgusted look.
“Grey Veil.”
  “Dhreen. It’s good to see you again.”
   My breath caught in my chest. A terrible thought came
to me, and I dismissed it at once. Not Dhreen. No.
   Joseph watched the dawning horror on my features
with immense pleasure. “Yes, Cherijo. I know your friend
here very well. As a matter of fact, I hired him to work for
me, two years ago.”
  A cold, numbing dread settled over me.
    “Dhreen?” It came out of my mouth like a whimper. I
tried again. “Dhreen, tell me he’s lying. That it's just
another one of his games.”
  Dhreen opened his mouth. Closed it. Hung his head.
   I went from numb to pain. This was how it felt to have
your heart broken. It felt like dying inside. I wanted to
scream. Throw up. Weep.
   “We came to a very amicable agreement, Dhreen and
I,” Joseph said. “It cost a great deal of credits to set up
the meeting. I had to buy off all the independent pilots in
New Angeles. When you went looking for transport from
Terra, Dhreen was waiting. I paid him to take you to K-2,
become your friend, and track you.”
  “Doc, I never meant to hurt you,” Dhreen said.
  “How could you?” I whispered. Anything louder would
have ended with a shriek. “You were my friend.”
   “Why do you think he took you to Caszaria’s Moon?
Why would a trader give up a lucrative route to join the
crew of a survey vessel?”
   “I stopped reporting to him after the Bestshot
crashed!” Dhreen said. “I—I—”
   “How do you think we were able to track the Sunlace
?” my creator asked.
   “Don’t lie to her!” Dhreen shouted, and jumped at
Joseph. One of the Hsktskt guards moved quickly, and
pulled the Oenrallian back just before his spoon-shaped
fingers reached my creator's throat. “Let me go!”
  I walked up to Dhreen, and stared at his contorted face.
So young. So innocent. So deceitful. “Take him with you,
Dr. Grey Veil.”
   Joseph nodded. “He has been assigned to me as my
pilot. When we return to the League, he will get his
payment for a job well done.”
  “He’s lying, Doc! I didn't do it for that—I never—”
  “Get him out of here,” I told the Hsktskt guard.
“Please.”
   I turned my back and waited until I heard the door
panel close. I looked at Joseph. Saw the pleasure he took
in savoring my pain. “You can go now, too.”
   “I wanted you to know,” he said. “Only I cared what
became of you. Now I will return to Terra, and begin
work on the eleventh trial. You will remain a Hsktskt’s
slave.” He laughed in my face. “A fitting end to this
farce.”

   I wandered from Medical an hour later, walking the
corridors until I reached my quarters. I was still in shock
over Joseph’s revelation. When the door panel opened, I
faced the emptiness with blank eyes.
   Dhreen had betrayed me. Had been betraying me all
along. Why hadn’t I seen it? Why hadn't I known? The
signs were there.
   After the attack on Caszaria’s Moon, Reever had told
me what happened. “The Terran pretending to be a
Dervling drugged you and attempted an abduction.
Dhreen heard you scream, and fought off your assailant,
but the Terran escaped.” Or had Dhreen been helping my
assailant when Reever came in? Did he let the Terran
deliberately escape?
   Joseph Grey Veil contacting me almost immediately
after the attempted abduction on Caszaria’s Moon. “
Cherijo. The incident on Caszaria’s Moon was made
known to me.” Dhreen must have signalled him.
   Norash, the Commander of Colonial Security,
interviewing me.
   “—now this alleged attempted abduction during your
off-planet furlough… confirmed only by Chief Linguist
Reever’s account.” Dhreen had not made a statement.
Afraid he’d say too much.
   Dhreen leaving K-2, infected with the contagion. His
ship crashing. Me and the medevac team at the crash site,
pulling him from the wreckage. Yelling at him for running
away. Dhreen coughing, in agony. “Couldn’t… take the…
chance.” Of getting caught.
   The worst was the clumsy cohab proposal he’d made
after the epidemic. “I just wanted to tell you I’ve gotten a
position on one of the system long-ranger haulers… now
that the Bestshot is gone, I need steady work… you
saved my life… you’ve been a good friend… see, when I
heard the Council was trying to get rid of you… I have
cohab rights on the hauler . . .”I had been charmed, I
remembered. “We don’t have to bond for life… we've
always coexisted well… I don't like leaving you here. …”
  Yeah. I bet he hadn’t.
  I was beyond tired. When I closed the door panel, I
saw the signal indicator on my display and punched the
keypad.
  OverLord TssVar’s grim visage filled the vid screen.
  “Doctor.”
  “OverLord. What can I do for you?”
  “Report to Command.”
  “Okay.”
   I wandered back out. How I arrived at the correct level
without getting lost, I don’t know. I had a vague sense of
direction, but I really didn't care what was happening to
me.
  TssVar saw it the moment I was admitted by his private
guards.
  “What has happened?”
   “May I sit down?” I asked, and he nodded. “I just
found out one of my best friends has been betraying me
for the last two years.”
  “Who do you speak of?”
  “Dhreen, the Oenrallian pilot. Orange hair. Red horns.
Lying mouth.”
   “I am sending him back to the League with the
scientist.”
  “That’s nice.”
   The Hsktskt’s claws tapped on the desk as he lowered
his limbs. “It is not good. To be betrayed.”
  “No, it’s not.”
   “Warm-bloods make a habit of it,” he said. “Yet you
are always surprised when it happens to you.”
  My cynical smile burned on my lips. “Perhaps we
should be more like your people.”
   “That would be an improvement.” He watched me stare
at my footgear. “You display no curiosity about my
summons.”
  “Sorry.” No, I wasn’t. “Why did you want to see me?”
   “We have kept our bargain. I have the Fleet ships. The
planets of this system will not be raided.” He said it
carefully, as if making sure I understood every word of
the agreement clearly.
   “You’ve been extremely generous.” He had. After all,
he had over four hundred ships at his disposal. He didn't
have to keep any promises he didn't want to.
  “You made no bargain for yourself,” TssVar said.
   I looked up from my footgear. “No, I didn’t. You have
satisfied your debt to me by sparing the inhabitants of this
system.”
   “It is good you acknowledge that.” His hissing changed
in pitch. Became more menacing. “SsureeVa, you have
not been forthcoming with me. About your personal
value.”
  “I rarely volunteer information about myself,” I replied.
“Being on the run from the League has made me
somewhat paranoid.”
   “I would have done the same,” he said. “Yet my task
remains the same. I now know you are of infinite value to
the Faction. You will not be returning to the planet.”
   I wasn’t surprised. Joseph must have added some
interesting details to what he'd already told the Hsktskt
about me. I'd expected he would.
   “Our rules are specific,” TssVar said. “As Hsktskt
property, you have no special privileges. Yet you were
instrumental in our success. I will not require you remain
in detainment with the other captives.”
   That was nice of him. I didn’t relish getting my throat
cut while I slept.
   “Are you truly… a genetic construct?” he asked. His
tongue lashed as he said it, relishing the words.
  The truth might save or kill me. I didn’t seem to care.
“So I've been told.”
   TssVar stood. “It will be determined. Our scientists are
extremely knowledgeable.”
  I bet they were. I rose to my feet, too. “Will that be all,
OverLord?”
  “For now. You are to report to level six, chamber
one.”
  “Thank you.” I turned to go, hesitated, then swung
back around. “Tell me something, OverLord. Would you
have let me go, if I had asked that as satisfaction of your
debt?”
  “I am grateful, SsureeVa. Not foolish.”
   A new guard was waiting to escort me to my holding
cell. He snapped something around my wrist. It was the
same metallic device the other prisoners were wearing.
  “What’s this?” I held up my arm.
  “Detainment cuff. It tracks you. Disciplines you.”
   I didn’t ask any more questions. He might want to
demonstrate the discipline function. We walked briskly to
level six. The business end of his rifle never moved from
the small of my back.
   Crew’s quarters took up most of level six. The
officers, if I remembered correctly. Chamber one had
once been assigned to Colonel Shropana, according to the
panel designation.
  “You will remain here until summoned.”
   I nodded to the guard and stepped through the door
panel. Shropana must not have spent much time here. No
personal decor. Little beyond stanissue furnishings. I sat
down on a rigid, uncomfortable chair and waited.
   My thoughts bounced between relief and rage like a
plassball.
  Relief. Joren was safe.
  Rage. Joseph Grey Veil was free.
  Relief. My people would not be destroyed.
  Rage. Dhreen had betrayed me.
   I decided to take a long, hot cleansing. The throbbing
in my head made it impossible to consider sleep. If I
didn’t relax, I'd work myself right up into a tension
migraine. I doubt anyone from Medical would send me so
much as an oral analgesic.
   When I released the warrior’s knot in my hair,
Tonetka's blade dropped to the deck with a clatter. I'd
forgotten all about it. I stared at it for a moment, then
picked it up. It wouldn't hurt to hold on to it.
  I might not like being Hsktskt property.
   It felt good to be clean. I hunted through Shropana’s
stores and found a tunic that fit me like a long dress. That
was all I needed. Something to cover my flesh. I lay down
on the sleeping platform. Stared at the deck above me.
Wondered how it would be. Life as a lab specimen in
some Hsktskt research facility.
  “Doctor,” a voice called from Shropana’s console.
“Prepare to be escorted to your OverMaster.”
  “Acknowledged,” I said. OverMaster? That was news.
Apparently I was going to be put to work by one of
TssVar’s soldiers. I worked the knife into the warrior's
knot in my hair, then presented myself by the door panel.
The guard appeared almost instantaneously.
  “This way.” He jerked his weapon toward the
descending corridor.
   We walked quickly down three more levels. My fingers
felt cold, my throat dry. I wasn’t afraid. I always acted
like this when I had a rifle shoved in my back.
  “Halt.” A door panel was keyed open. “In there.”
    The rifle jabbed me. I stumbled over my own feet, and
tried to grab the corridor panel to stop from falling. The
guard misinterpreted my clumsiness for resistance. A
painful blow landed across my shoulders and drove me to
my knees. Before I could say a word, he picked me up
and tossed me into the dark chamber.
   I landed facedown, my cheek and mouth throbbing, my
upper back on fire. Why the hell had he done that? My
headgear lay askew, so the disembodied voice that came
to me sounded distant and garbled.
  “Wait a minute.” Furiously I straightened the device.
“Want to repeat that?”
  “Get up.”
   I did. The darkness prevented me from seeing much at
first. Gradually my eyes adjusted, and focused on a seated
figure at the other end of the chamber. I caught the
metallic of a Hsktskt uniform.
  “You’re the OverMaster?”
  “Yes.”
   It didn’t sound right, the voice. There was none of the
hissing or sonorous breathing the Hsktskt did when they
spoke.
  “Okay. I’m here. What now?” I squinted at the figure,
but it rose and moved back into a deep pocket of
shadows.
  “Silence.”
   Being a captive wasn’t going to be easy. All right, calm
down, I thought. Hsktskt didn't like getting socked in the
jaw. Very important I remember that.
   I heard something being tapped. A bright, blinding light
focused on my face.
  “State identity,” a drone audio announced.
   “Cherijo Grey Veil, medical physician.” They knew all
this. Why the drone?
  “Identity confirmed. Prisoner designation 1471428.
Repeat the designation for future voice recognition.”
  “Designation 1471428,” I said. My tongue felt thick,
my lips stung.
   “Correct. You are now property of the Hsktskt
Faction. All former rights and freedoms are terminated.
You have been assigned to OverMaster HalaVar. Repeat
the assignment designation.”
    “I’m assigned to OverMaster HalaVar,” I said. My face
felt hot. I raised my fingers, discovered the warm wetness
trickling from my mouth and nose. I wiped a sleeve across
my face, smearing the blood on the fabric.
   “You will obey the orders of your OverMaster and all
free citizens of the Hsktskt Faction. There are no
exceptions. Penalty for failure to comply is termination.
Acknowledge these instructions.”
   Do what they said, or die. Pretty simple. Wonder if
they had programmed the drone with standard responses.
“Acknowledged.’'
   “Prisoner 1471428, remove outer garments for physical
scan.”
   Undress? I lifted my fingers to my fasteners, releasing
them as slowly as I dared. It took a few minutes, but at
last everything dropped on the deck and I stood naked in
the light.
  “Hope you enjoy the view,” I said.
  “Do not speak unless you are ordered to!” the drone’s
audio screeched. “Commencing physical scan.”
   A thermal beam swept over me, front and back, from
crown to feet. I could feel something else scanning me,
too. The OverMaster. I wondered if he found naked
Terran females appealing. If he meant to hurt me. If I
looked like a small pale-pink appetizer in his eyes. How
hard would it be to dislocate his jaw.
  “Minor injuries detected. Epidermal contusions. Facial
lacerations.”
  If you don’t like the damage, I thought, stop knocking
me around.
  “Scan complete. Replace outer garments.”
  I replaced them.
   The light snapped off. The sudden return of darkness
blinded me again. I stood waiting for what would come
next. The time seemed endless as nothing happened.
   Don’t speak unless you are ordered to? Stand here
forever? What was this guy's problem?
  “OverMaster?”
  “Silence.”
   I felt him then. Not from the voice, but the heat growing
closer. Behind me. I didn’t dare turn around.
    “SsureeVa.” Something cooi touched my neck. I
flinched, but rammed my hands at my sides and kept still.
As still as was possible, considering I was shaking inside
like a leaf in a strong Terran wind. “My prisoner.”
   What was it about the voice? The headgear I wore only
translated the words into automated Terran. The sounds I
heard beyond the earpieces weren’t Hsktskt.
  Worse. They seemed almost familiar.
   The coolness encircled my throat. A collar of some
type snapped against my flesh. My inner shaking began to
emerge. My knees weakened, my throat went tight. I
fought for air and courage.
   “TssVar gave you to me,” he whispered against my
ear. I shuddered at the touch of his warm breath.
“Remember that, SsureeVa.”
  “Yeah, right.”
  Something nudged me between my shoulder blades.
The cold edge of a weapon’s barrel? “Walk forward.”
  I walked. I found myself in front of a viewport looking
down at a rapidly dwindling Joren. Tears stung my eyes.
  I pressed my fingers to the icy surface. “Bye, Jenner,” I
whispered.
  “You saved them. A life for a world.”
  What was he talking about?
  “Close your eyes.”
   Oh, God, what was this monster going to do to me? I
closed my eyes. Pressed my forehead against the
viewport. The sudden press of light against my eyelids
told me the darkness was gone.
  “Open your eyes.”
   I did. Joren dwindled to a small speck now. Full
lighting illuminated the room. The Hsktskt stood directly
behind me.
    I wasn’t going out with a whimper. I turned as my hand
tugged the blade hidden in my warrior's knot. If I was
going to die, the OverMaster could be a gentleman and go
first.
   I launched myself toward the blurry figure in the grey
uniform, arm up, blade high. Something knocked me
away. Something that felt like a humanoid limb. I hit the
deck, rolling over and over until my head struck an interior
panel. New pain flooded in shimmering waves over the
old.
  I rested for a moment, wiped more blood from my
mouth. Propped myself up with one hand. Tried to focus
my eyes.
  “Get up, SsureeVa.”
   My headgear lay on the deck next to me. What I heard
wasn’t Hsktskt. The OverMaster spoke to me in my own
language. I got up slowly. Carefully.
   I could be hallucinating. I’d hit my head pretty hard,
twice now. So I stood and stared until my eyes burned
from not blinking. The blood dripped from my mouth to
my tunic like tears.
  One word left my lips. Soundless. Incredulous. “You.”
   I realized why the Hsktskt negotiated with me. Why
TssVar knew so much about me. The most effective
treachery comes from the one you least suspect.
   He wore a modified Hsktskt military uniform. His fist
curled around Tonetka’s blade. No emotion animated his
flat, steady gaze.
  “You signaled the Hsktskts.”
   The drone went bananas. “Do not speak unless you are
ordered to! Do not—”
   “Terminate prisoner indoctrination program.” The
drone shut off. “Yes,” he said to me. “I signaled them.”
  “You told TssVar about the League attacking Joren.
About what my father did to me.”
  “Yes.”
   I nodded. After what Joseph Grey Veil had done to
me, it seemed silly to find myself so shocked by another
betrayal. This one, I thought, was the last. The worst.
  “Cherijo. Get up.”
   I buried my face in my arms so I wouldn’t have to look
at OverMaster HalaVar anymore. “Go to hell, Reever.”
  I heard him move across the room. A panel opened.
“Guard. Bring it in.”
   More footsteps. Something touched my hair, and I
jerked my head up. “I said—”
  I’d been wrong. That wasn't the last, or the worst. This
was. Shock shut me up. Horror made me shake.
   Reever had done the unthinkable. He’d abducted an
innocent being. Stripped it of the only freedom it had ever
known. Subjected it to its own worst nightmare. This was
beyond betrayal.
  This was obscene.
  Sad, colorless eyes looked down at me. “I am sorry,
Cherijo.”
  “Me, too, Alunthri. Me, too.”

                        —«—»—


   S. L. Viehl was raised and educated in South Florida,
where she now lives with her husband and two children. A
 U.S.A.F. veteran, her medical experience was gained in
         both military and civilian trauma centers.