by S. L. Viehl
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 good-byes. 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 I 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.