The Pursuit

by Diana Palmer

  “Yes, indeed. We have at least two broken limbs, and three of our members were badly burned when the first eruption occurred in the darkness,” he told Jasmine.

  “Not to worry, sir,” she said gently. “I can take care of them.”

  He left her to it. She worked her way through the burn victims, whose injuries were more urgent, to the sedated members of the party who had broken bones. Those were mended, as well. The banks of her wrist scanner were almost empty when she finished. She had extra ampoules in her waist kit, but she hadn’t had to use those.

  “They’re all stabilized,” she told the officer. “I could use an ambutube for the worst of the burn victims, but he’ll make it back to the ship without danger. I’ve sedated him as well, to deal with the pain. Once aboard, the doctor and I can do skin grafts to treat the burns.”

  “Excellent work, Dupont,” the officer said with a smile. “Load them up,” he told the rest of the party.

  It was a tight squeeze, but they managed to get everyone on the ship, which they boarded minutes before the volcano below erupted with new vigor and completely wiped out the camp where the archaeological group had worked.

  “We even managed to save their samples and documentation,” Jasmine told the doctor. She shook her head. “I suppose we all get lost in our work from time to time.”

  The doctor chuckled. “Remind me to tell you about the time I was treating an Altairian for a burbvine inflammation when a meteorite hit a few hundred meters behind me and buried us both.” He glanced at her. “I’ll save that for another day.”

  She grinned. “I’ll look forward to it, sir.”

  * * *

  JASMINE GREW QUICKLY into her role as Cularian specialist aboard the flagship Kreskkom. The captain was promoted to admiral and went to command a lesser squadron out near the rim. Gossip was that he’d finally rubbed Chacon the wrong way with his advice on a new treaty. Jasmine wasn’t sorry to see him go. Admiral Baklor had come aboard soon after Jasmine’s assignment, and she liked him. He was a no-nonsense military leader with a flair for command. No sense of humor, sadly, but he was fair and his men respected him.

  Jasmine and Rusmok were able to get at least two liberties together on Benaski Port, where they traded tales of bravery and drank a lot.

  When she was on her own, aboard ship, Jasmine kept to herself. Neutering drugs were used not only by the humans, but by Rojoks as well to keep fraternization to a minimum in the close confines of ships in space. A relationship gone wrong could lead to turmoil and issues of morale that worsened. It was a wise precaution. Besides, she had no inclination to set up housekeeping with any Rojok, not even Rusmok, whom she adored.

  Her stubborn mind would keep going back to Mekashe and those wonderful days aboard the starliner on the way to Memcache. Life had been sweeter than honey, exciting, wonderful. She grieved for him. Over the years, the bitterness had receded very little. She understood that he was obligated to the emperor, that he had to fall in line with his employer’s position. But it didn’t negate the sting of his betrayal. She’d done nothing to justify such a harsh punishment from the Cehn-Tahr government.

  She’d mentioned that to Rusmok during one of their liberties. He’d agreed that what she’d said seemed very mild to cost her father his position. The Cehn-Tahr were rigid in their behaviors, he added, but not that rigid. Perhaps the minor alien diplomat she’d insulted had been a personal friend or something.

  He’d added another thing offhand that niggled at her brain. He’d said that while Rojoks used genetic engineering to modify their strengths, they hadn’t been as drastically changed as the Cehn-Tahr had. It puzzled her, that comment. She’d started to question him when his shipmate had signaled that they were ready to lift, and the conversation had been lost in hurried farewells.

  What had he meant, that the Cehn-Tahr were changed? They looked as human as Jasmine, except for the eyes. He might have meant some internal changes, organic ones. Probably that was it.

  But in the long run, it made no difference. Jasmine held a bitter resentment for the Cehn-Tahr. She refused to go on any away missions that would require her to treat or even interact with Cehn-Tahr, risking court-martial for her stance. Luckily for her, the admiral hated Cehn-Tahr no less than she did, and he overlooked her attitude. Fortunately, there were relatively few missions that even brought the Rojok fleet into contact with any Cehn-Tahr unit.

  * * *

  IT WAS LATE AUTUMN, as Enmehkmehk designated the season of falling leaves, when the Kreskkom was sent as part of a joint task force to put down a vicious attempt at conquest of a member planet of the Tri-Galaxy Council. A combined force of renegade Rojoks and humans, with an Altairian general, had planned to grab rich mineral wealth on Terramer, known as the Peace Planet in honor of settlements made by many member governments.

  The assault was on a mountainous island continent with rich stores of emerillium, a mineral used in power cores by many worlds, among them the Rojok. Jasmine was included in the away team, along with two Cularian interns, because there were Rojok field personnel involved in defense of the compound.

  She made sure that the drug banks in her wrist scanner were filled and that its software was updated and calibrated before she strapped on her chasat and her extra medical supplies and darted into the lander.

  “There will be Cehn-Tahr on this mission,” Tollek teased. He’d been assigned to the flagship only a few standard weeks earlier. Jasmine was fond of him, so she took the teasing in stride.

  “If they step in front of chasat fire, they can call for their own medics,” she quipped.

  “There will be an interplanetary incident, in such case.” Tollek chuckled. “The Cehn-Tahr force is Holconcom.”

  One of the younger recruits glanced worriedly at Tollek. “Is that true?”

  “Never mind. I will make sure that they do not eat you. At least, until I am positive that you are dead,” he promised the younger alien, and chuckled.

  But the other member of the unit wasn’t smiling. He looked genuinely concerned. “I was a child on Merabak when the Holconcom came, at the end of the Great Galaxy War,” he said uneasily. “I have never seen such carnage. None of the bodies were recognizable.”

  “You exaggerate.” Another soldier laughed. “The Holconcom are nothing more than a commando unit.”

  “Have you ever seen them fight, Deksos?” was Tollek’s somber reply.

  “Well, no,” the alien confessed. “But gossip always makes things seem worse than they are.”

  “The Holconcom is the most feared battle group in the three galaxies, and I assure you that their reputation is not exaggerated,” said the young recruit. “For a time, when the humans among them were first settled aboard the Morcai, the commander forbade his men to fight as they always had, for fear of terrorizing the humans. But this new commander puts no such restraint on them. He does this, we are told, with the emperor’s blessing. It is how they maintain order among their extended colonies. And it serves to demoralize their enemies.”

  “Who commands them now?” Tollek asked curiously.

  “We know nothing about him. They never allow the names or ranks of their crew to be publicized. We only know that he is Alamantimichar.”

  “The Royal Clan?” Tollek asked, surprised.

  “All their military and political positions are Clan based. The emperor himself was the first leader of the Holconcom. He was succeeded by his son, and then his grandson. Their new commander certainly has Clan status, or he would not lead them.” Deksos hesitated. “Gossip says that he was a recruit when the Holconcom was captured by our people and taken to Ahkmau. He has been a member of the group since its inception.”

  “He was at Ahkmau?” Tollek said heavily. “He must hate us.”

  Deksos laughed. “It is said that he hates everyone,” he replied. “Except his men. And they would die for him.”

>   “He must be a superb leader, to command such respect even from humans.”

  “This one would hate him on sight,” Deksos teased Jasmine, who had been hanging on every word. “She has no use for Cehn-Tahr.”

  “Except as subjects for vivisection,” she returned, tongue in cheek.

  They both laughed.

  “I hope they have their own medics,” she said as the ship began its descent. “Because no matter what, I’m not working on any Cehn-Tahr!”

  “If they dispute this, we will simply tell them that you are a funny-looking Rojok, Dupont,” Tollek said with a grin.

  She laughed, as she was meant to. She did hope that the rescue would be simple, without any complications like the sort that often arose as the result of a combined command.

  * * *

  THERE WERE MANY WOUNDED, but Jasmine’s main concern was the equivalent of a four-star general in the Terravegan Strategic Space Command, an officer named Lanak. He had been a member of Chacon’s personal staff before he was given command of the defense unit here on Terramer. There were few officers whom Chacon valued more.

  He was in pretty bad shape. While she waited for an ambutube, Jasmine set about treating the worst of his injuries. His stomach and esophagus had sustained damage which would have proved fatal if he’d had to wait much longer for help. It was going to be touch and go, because she suspected internal bleeding. Her sensors were less than efficient in the electrical storm that was raging around them. Odd storm, too, she thought distractedly, because it came without rain. Just lightning and thunder, and lots of strikes near their hastily erected triage camp.

  “How about my ambutube?” Jasmine asked a passing corpsman.

  He was running. He didn’t break stride. “Sorry, ma’am, but we’ve got complications! There are four insurgent ships incoming, and our transport just went up in smoke!”

  “What?” she exclaimed.

  She keyed her communicator ring. “Sir,” she began. “I’ve got a badly wounded, high-level patient...!”

  “We’re going to do all we... Look out!”

  There was an explosion, and then static. Jasmine looked up. In the distance, there was a blue-hued fireball where their ship had been sitting.

  “Was that our ship?” Tollek exclaimed.

  “Yes!” the corpsman panted, returning in a two-man skimmer. “The Jebob landing ship is gone, crew and all. There’s one last transport, but it’s for troops only, and we have orders to rendezvous with it in five standard minutes! Run!”

  “But my patient...!” Jasmine shot at them.

  “We’ll send help,” Tollek promised. “Let’s go!” He waved the corpsman onward.

  Jasmine stood by her patient, shell-shocked, as she watched her unit tear away toward the last of the landing ships, where an officer was motioning frantically for them to hurry.

  She looked down at the unconscious, barely stabilized Rojok general. “Now what?” she asked herself dully.

  * * *

  THERE WAS ONE attempt to contact her. She recognized the admiral’s adjutant, but he was quickly cut off and his garbled speech replaced by intermittent static with only one or two recognizable words.

  As if to punctuate the dire situation, she looked up and saw an odd-shaped copper ship—no, a landing skimmer—putting down near her. It bore no markings, as SSC or Rojok vessels did. Not even its color gave it away. It wasn’t blue, so it couldn’t be a Jebob or Altairian lander.

  While she watched, it put down and a slit opened in the hull. Three humans and two Cehn-Tahr in red uniforms poured out of it, weapons in hand.

  There was a skirl of Cehn-Tahr. Jasmine’s jaw tautened. The uniforms were impossible to mistake. That was a Holconcom lander.

  Even as she thought it, the Cehn-Tahr in charge waved an arm in her direction, and a big, husky blond human came loping toward her with another human right behind him.

  “Do you require assistance?” the human asked in a kind, gravelly voice.

  “No, sir, I do not,” she said, glaring past him at the two Cehn-Tahr who were apparently the ranking officers. “I’m waiting for a Rojok transport to pick us up.”

  The blond man’s eyebrows arched. “A human?”

  “Dr. Jasmine Dupont,” she said coldly.

  His expression went from pleasant to ice-cold in seconds. So did that of the second human. “Your patient?” he asked.

  “General Lanak,” she replied, surprised by the hostility. “He was a member of Chacon’s personal staff before he was assigned to duty with the admiral’s flagship.”

  There was a buzz of conversation coming from the older human’s ear. He hesitated, listened and then replied in Cehn-Tahr.

  “You speak that language?” Jasmine asked curtly.

  “We all speak it,” he replied. “We’re citizens of the Cehn-Tahr Empire. I’ve just been informed that a squadron of attack ships is inbound. You need to come with us...”

  “I will not,” she said icily. “I’d rather die than set foot in a Cehn-Tahr vessel!”

  “That would be your choice. But I advise you not to make it for your patient,” he added, nodding toward the unconscious Rojok. “Chacon will hold you directly responsible if General Lanak dies. And I will be pleased to quote you verbatim if I’m called to testify at your court-martial.”

  She felt ruffled, but she wasn’t confident enough to keep arguing. If no relief ship was coming, the general would die. His injuries required more treatment than she could give with a medi-scanner. Her pride was smarting. This human was very unpleasant and frankly hostile. Her remarks about the Cehn-Tahr seemed to have set him off.

  “I don’t want...!” she began.

  There was a curt command in the human’s ear, in a deep and harsh tone.

  “Yes, sir,” the human said at once. He turned back to Jasmine. His dark eyes were cold. “The commander says that if you don’t want to come with us, we aren’t to force you.”

  “How kind of him,” she said sarcastically.

  He didn’t blink. “Back in my day, a doctor’s primary obligation was the saving of life. Any life. Apparently they don’t teach ethics in medical school these days. Sit on your pride, Doctor, and I use the title loosely. Your patient will pay for it with his life.” He turned on his heel. “Jones, round up the others and see if you can find me some Vegan touch serum for that little one over there.” He indicated a small child with a deep gash in his arm, stoic and uncomplaining nevertheless.

  “Yes, sir, Doc. I’ll carry the little boy aboard.”

  “Thanks, son.”

  “You’re a doctor?” she asked.

  “Strick Hahnson, human life sciences,” he returned. “If you’ll excuse me, I have patients to get aboard.”

  He turned without another word and stalked off, leaving Jasmine alone with her stiff attitude and a dying patient.

  * * *

  SCANT MINUTES LATER, the lander was loaded and ready to lift.

  None of the crew came near Jasmine. She realized belatedly that they had every intention of taking off without her.

  She panicked as she realized finally what she was doing. She was condemning an innocent man to death.

  “Doctor...” She searched for his name in her memory. “Dr. Hahnson,” she recalled, wondering why the name sounded so familiar. “We’re coming with you. Do you have an ambutube...?”

  Hahnson didn’t answer her. He sent two corpsmen over to carry the patient into the lander and place him gently on a bunk. Jasmine climbed in behind them. She noticed that not only the doctor was glaring at her, the other humans and the two Cehn-Tahr were glaring, as well.

  She averted her eyes. Well, she had no more consideration for them than they had for her. She sat down beside her patient and checked his vitals while the pilot sped up into the atmosphere with the small craft.

 
* * *

  IN THE DISTANCE, she saw the Cehn-Tahr flagship Morcai. It was saucer shaped, copper hued, enormous. Inside, when they boarded, she was surprised at the width of the corridors. Several men could have stood side by side with arms outstretched without touching either side of the glowing walls.

  The temperature was chilly, much cooler than a Rojok ship, and she noticed that personnel ran from post to post. All of them.

  She would have asked questions, but nobody spoke to her. The corpsmen had an ambutube waiting at the airlock. Her patient was placed gently inside and the controls activated that would place him in stasis with the necessary drugs to help his body heal.

  She started to thank Hahnson, but he’d already gone. The other human who’d come off the lander with him escorted Jasmine to sick bay. Rather, to the Cularian sick bay, where a medic named Tellas was caring for several Jebob and an Altairian who looked as if they’d suffered traumatic burns.

  Tellas looked up, but he didn’t speak. He went right back to his work.

  “This is Tellas,” the human told Jasmine. “I’m Jones, Ensign Jones. I’m part of the commander’s personal bodyguard. You already met Dr. Hahnson.”

  The human wasn’t as hostile as the others had been. She managed a smile. “Yes.”

  “Your patient has been placed in the back of the infirmary, there,” Tellas said, indicating the berth with a jerk of his head. “Your temporary quarters are adjacent to it. The cabin has a synthesizer to provide you with whatever meals you prefer. Linen for the bed is in the closet in your bathroom.”

  Tellas walked off before she could question him further.

  “Everyone’s so friendly,” she said blithely.

  Jones stared at her. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but your name rings around here like a gong. Everybody knows who you are and what... Well, never mind. It would probably be best if you stay in your quarters when you aren’t with your patient. Just to keep things calm.”

  “I didn’t have any intention of wandering the corridors looking for a fight, Ensign,” she replied coolly. She frowned. “I know I’ve heard Dr. Hahnson’s name before, somewhere.”