Beyond Varallan

by S. L. Viehl

  “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. Um, 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.