Beyond Varallan

by S. L. Viehl

  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 Salo’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 t
hought. 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.