Beyond Varallan

by S. L. Viehl

  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 . . . erratic. 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 throat first!”

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. I’d guessed it 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 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 twine
d 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—”