by Kit Walker
"I'm one of a handful of telian defectors living in the Protectorate." Laela says. "We tend to draw attention."
The elevator cab arrives; once Laela and Asha shuffle inside, the doors close and the cab starts to descend. To Asha's great disappointment, there aren't any windows.
"So," Asha says. "You're a defector."
"Left the Hierarchy when I was nineteen." Laela rubs the back of her neck, where a metal implant is attached to her spine. There are others like it all over her body, rigged up to some kind of harness. Asha hasn't asked what the harness is for, because she hasn't come up with a way to broach the subject that isn't supremely awkward. "Anyway," Laela continues, "you're not so weird, compared to me. You just look like a Sentinel."
Asha looks down at her and raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"Not up close, but from across a room? Sure." Laela snickers. "Everyone we passed was avoiding eye contact and trying not to look guilty. It was great."
•
"Why are we stopping?"
"Sorry." Asha shakes herself out of her reverie and jogs a little to catch up with Laela. "I'm still a little — this is an alien planet. I'm on an alien planet."
Laela looks around and gives a disdainful sniff.
Dagrun's surface is dry and dusty and — despite the sun beating overhead — a little chilly. Many of the roads aren't paved, and the buildings are squat metal boxes that look like they were all churned out of the same factory.
The alien population is less diverse down here. Most of them appear to be the same species: vaguely human-shaped, broad and sturdy, with shaggy fur, beards, and short curved horns.
Laela catches Asha staring and says, "They're marcor."
"What?"
"The species. They're called marcor." Laela stops at an intersection and glares up at a street sign. She's led them into a neighborhood that's mostly cramped residential blocks, bars, and — judging by the flashing neon signs — brothels.
"Are you sure the hospital is around here?" Asha says.
"We're not going to the hospital," Laela says. "The hospital is for company employees only. You can still get treated there, if it's an emergency, but you'll need to sell some organs to pay off the bill."
"'Company'? What company?"
"Whichever mining company runs this place. I can never remember which one it is." Laela starts walking again, leading Asha around the corner. "Dagrun is a resource colony. There are hundreds of worlds all over the Protectorate that look just like this. The mining companies drop their workers in, strip out anything valuable, and leave once everything's — hey!"
A young marcor wearing a red scarf pushes Laela out of the way and charges across the street, lowering his head and tackling another marcor with a purple bandana tied around one arm. The other marcor fights back, slugging his attacker in the eye, and all the bystanders around them hurry away as fast as they can.
"Shit." Laela takes a second to regain her balance. "Don't make eye contact. Come on."
Asha glances at Laela, then back at the scuffle. "A fight just broke out in the middle of the street and you want to walk away?"
"I sure as hell don't want to get involved, so — no, no, stop, what are you—?"
Asha sticks her fingers in her mouth and lets out a loud, piercing whistle. "Hey!" She waves her arms over her head. "Knock it off!"
The two fighters pause, take one look at Asha, and bolt in opposite directions.
Laela stares at Asha, stunned, then bursts out laughing.
Asha says, "Did that actually work?"
"Like I said." Laela reaches up and pats Asha on the shoulder. "You look like a Sentinel."
•
The clinic is indistinguishable from the other buildings around it, except for the lack of garish neon and the flickering, cracked screen on the front door that reads:
FREE CLINIC
Drop-ins Welcome
The Doctor is IN.
The waiting room is spartan, a little shabby, and completely empty.
Asha looks around. "Is there a bell? Do we take a number?"
From further inside the clinic, a voice shouts, "Give me a second! I'll be right with you!"
The door on the far side of the room opens, and a young man stumbles into the waiting room. He's well over six feet tall, and would look more or less human if it weren't for his face: yellow eyes, heavy brows, pointed ears, and long, sharp canines combine to give him a carnivorous appearance that is severely undermined by the fact that he's wearing pink scrubs. There's a tablet in the man's clawed hands, which he's still fiddling with when he says, "Just so you know, I'm running low on antibiotics. If you're here for any, uh, personal problems, you might have to go to the hospital instead."
"You're the doctor?" Laela blurts out.
The man lets out a long-suffering sigh, still typing. "Yes, I'm the doctor. This is my clinic. I can show you the paperwork, if you want."
"That won't be necessary," Asha says quickly.
At the same time, Laela says, "A dhovar doctor?"
"Yes," the doctor replies, with strained patience. "It's not as unusual as you might think." He pauses, looks up, seems to notice Asha and Laela for the first time, and adds, "Definitely not as unusual as a telian and a Sentinel in the same room."
Asha raises her hand. "Not a Sentinel, actually."
"Well, this conversation is a disaster." The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath. "Let's start over. My name's Vaz. And you are ...?"
"Asha Reed," Asha says. "My extremely rude friend is called Laela."
"Wait, 'friend'?" Laela says.
"Fine. 'Extremely rude associate.'"
Laela opens her mouth to reply, probably with something vulgar, but Vaz interrupts: "What can I do for you?"
"My translator might be acting up," Asha says. "Could you take a look?"
"Sure," Vaz says. "Follow me."
•
The back of the clinic is a large space that looks like it was once a warehouse. Parts of the room have been sectioned off by screens and curtains, and the whole setup is surprisingly clean and well-lit.
Vaz leads Asha to an exam table and gestures for her to sit. "Now, when you say your translator's 'acting up' ...?"
"Headaches." Asha hops up onto the edge of the table. "Well, just the one headache, really. I've had it ever since the implant went in."
"How long ago was that?"
"About a week ago."
"And who installed the implant?"
"A space trucker with about as much medical training as a lifeguard."
"I ... see." Vaz types something in on his tablet. "And what did you say your species was?"
"I didn't," Asha says. "I'm a human."
Vaz looks up from the tablet, perplexed. "I don't think I've ever heard of that species."
"Long story." Asha shifts uncomfortably on the table. "Is this going to be a problem?"
"Maybe," Vaz says. "I'll run some scans, and we can go from there."
Vaz moves to the metal arm is attached to the exam table. There's a light on the end of it; Vaz points the light at Asha's head and hits a button. The arm begins sweeping back and forth, working its way down Asha's body.
Meanwhile, Vaz drags a supply cart over to the table, retrieving a glass rectangle about the size of his hand. He holds it up next to Asha's head until it beeps, then frowns at the readout. "Your implant is a Cavaris 7-220."
"And that's bad?" Asha guesses.
"The entire 7-200 line was recalled due to abnormally high rejection rates," Vaz explains. "Rejection was most frequent among users in high-stress environments. Have you been under a lot of stress recently?"
Asha takes a deep breath. "I was part of a mission that turned out to be a catastrophic failure, two of my colleagues were killed right in front of me, I'm stranded god knows how many light years from home, and everyone I ever knew or loved is dead."
Vaz stares at her for a long moment. "I suppose that's a 'yes.'"
&nbs
p; "Yeah."
Vaz picks up the tablet again. "I need to replace the implant as soon as possible. Does tomorrow morning work for you?"
"To cut my head open again?" Asha says. "Sure, why not?"
The metal arm stops moving and beeps. "Scans are finished," Vaz says. "I think we're done here, for now."
"Great." Asha hops down off the table. "See you tomorrow, I guess."
"See you then." Vaz has already turned his attention back to the tablet, puzzled by whatever he's reading.
•
Once they get back to the Wayfarer, Asha heads for deck two. She passes Ysal's quarters on the way to her own, hesitates, then stops and knocks on the door.
From inside, Ysal says, "Asha?"
Asha taps the control panel, and the door slides open. "How did you know it was me?"
"Laela does not usually bother to knock."
Ysal's quarters are significantly larger than Asha's. The bed is the same size, though; Ysal's managed to fit most of her long limbs onto the mattress, but her head and tail are left dangling over the edge.
In addition to the extra space, Ysal also has a video screen set into one wall. On it, a brightly-colored alien that looks a bit like a chicken is reciting something dramatic.
Ysal lifts her head and says, "Pause." The chicken freezes in place.
"Sorry," Asha says. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"It is of no concern. Do you require my assistance?"
Asha hovers at the threshold of the room, rocking on her heels. "Can I hang out in here? I don't really want to sit alone in my room right now."
Ysal blinks slowly at her. "Of course."
There aren't any chairs, so Asha settles on the floor, back propped up against the bed. Ysal says, "Resume," and the video starts playing again.
After a few minutes, Ysal says, "Laela tells me that you intend to domesticate the rodent we encountered this morning."
"'Domesticate' is kind of a strong word," Asha says. "It's not like I'm teaching her tricks."
Meanwhile, on-screen, the chicken waxes poetic about betrayal while the camera repeatedly cuts away to shots of a little girl chicken dancing in a field. Asha can't quite parse it.
It doesn't seem to be holding Ysal's interest, either. "Were you able to determine the cause of your headaches?" she asks.
"Yeah," Asha says. "Faulty translator implant. New one's going in tomorrow."
"Excellent."
Asha clears her throat. "And, uh ... this doctor we found. Vaz. Laela called him a 'dhovar.' Please tell me that's a species and not something super rude."
Ysal cranes her head around to regard Asha intently. "Yes. That is the appropriate species name." She cocks her head to the side. "How did Laela react?"
Asha thinks it over. "She seemed ... surprised? Like, genuinely surprised that this guy is a doctor. It was kind of uncomfortable, actually."
"Has she informed you of her current political situation?"
"She told me she's a defector, if that's what you mean."
Ysal nods. "The dhovar were once part of the Telian Hierarchy."
"'Once'? Not anymore?"
"They were incorporated into the Hierarchy during the war, as a soldier class," Ysal says. "After the war ended, the dhovar campaigned for self-governance. The dissent was too widespread for the telians to suppress, so they exiled all dhovar from Hierarchy space. The dhovar homeworld is, unfortunately, within Hierarchy space."
"Let me get this straight," Asha says. "The telians conquered the dhovar, used them as cannon fodder, and then kicked them off their own planet when they rebelled?"
"That is largely accurate." Ysal lets her head dangle over the edge of the bed again. "Within the Hierarchy, dhovar are considered inherently violent. Aggressive. Dangerous. And Laela's efforts to rid herself of the Hierarchy are an ongoing process."
"What about the dhovar? What happened to them?"
Ysal exhales through her nose. "My people opened our borders to the dhovar. We offered them a home on our planet."
"Really?" Asha sits up a little straighter. "I mean, good for you, but why?"
"We felt responsible," Ysal says. "But many dhovar did not accept the offer, or were unable to make the journey. Over the years, they became ... scattered." She pauses. "I think I would like to meet this doctor."
•
Vaz is distantly aware that it's past midnight, but he's far too busy familiarizing himself with Asha Reed's scans to worry about it. He needs to be thorough; with his luck, her species will turn out to have some obscure biological quirk that could complicate the procedure tomorrow.
An alert pops up on the tablet's screen, reminding him to get at least four hours of sleep. Vaz is about to hit the 'ignore' button when his keen hearing picks up the sound of someone tapping on the window.
He hurries out into the waiting room. There are two marcor outside: a short, grizzled man propping up a boy barely out of adolescence. Both of them have purple scarves tied around one wrist.
Vaz unlocks the front door and ushers them inside before locking up again. "Aldegar? What's wrong?"
"Bumped into the Razors on our way back to the shuttles," the old marcor snarls. "They stabbed Edric."
The boy is barely standing and nearly unconscious, and his clothes are soaked with blood. Vaz takes over from Aldegar, easily lifting Edric, carrying him into the back room, and depositing him on an exam table.
Aldegar crosses his arms, eyebrows raised, clearly impressed. "Ever consider joining up with the Hand? Properly, I mean. We could use a dhovar enforcer around here."
"No, thank you." Vaz grabs his trauma shears and cuts Edric's shirt away from the wound. There's a long gash across the right side of the patient's chest, more of a slash than a stab.
Aldegar isn't nearly tall enough to peer over Vaz's shoulder, but that doesn't stop him from trying. "Is he gonna live?"
"Yes," Vaz says, "if you stop distracting me." He grabs a sterile cloth, folds it up, and presses it against the wound, as hard as he can without asphyxiating the patient. "You should've taken him to the hospital."
"Too far," Aldegar says. "And too risky. Razors all over the place."
The bleeding appears to have stopped. Vaz wipes the blood away, then grabs a handheld scanner and runs it over the patient's chest. "No internal damage, but he's lost a lot of blood. And I don't have the supplies for a transfusion."
"You need blood? I can get you some blood."
"Please don't."
Aldegar scratches his beard, deep in thought. "The Razors should thin out by morning," he finally says. "We can take him to the hospital then."
Vaz puts the scanner away. "I'll bandage him up and wait for you to get back."
Aldegar claps Vaz on the arm. "Sorry to ruin your night, kid."
"Part of the job," Vaz replies wearily. "Stay safe."
Aldegar nods and ducks out the back door.
•
"Jesus," Asha mutters. "It's like a can of sardines in here."
"I am unfamiliar with this idiom," Ysal says. "In what way are the occupants of this elevator comparable to tiny fish?"
"Forget it."
They made the mistake of leaving with the morning rush, which explains why Laela didn't want to come with. She's back on the Wayfarer, overseeing the handover of a palladium shipment. By the time Asha and Ysal left, Laela was approaching the crescendo of her customary screaming match with the delivery crew.
The elevator is absolutely packed. Ysal does her best to tuck her elbows in and take up as little space as possible, but the other occupants of the cab still regard her with sidelong glances and keep their distance. Well, for a certain value of 'distance.'
"You'd think they'd never seen a big alien lizard before," Asha says.
"It is likely that they have not," Ysal replies. "Sivari rarely leave our homeworld. In fact, I have not encountered another of my species since I left Aviri."
"Huh," Asha says. "Is that why you hang around with Laela all the tim
e?"
"I spend time with Laela because she is my friend." Ysal's posture shifts, and she pulls her elbows in a little more. "But I admit that there is comfort to be found in shared strangeness." A quiet moment passes. "Asha?"
"Yeah?"
"You are standing on my tail."
"Oh, shit. Sorry."
•
Vaz unlocks the clinic's front door a little after dawn and starts setting up the operating area for Asha Reed's procedure. He quickly loses track of the time, and it's only once he hears the front door open that he realizes two hours have passed.
Aldegar sidles into the back room. "Good to go?"
Vaz points him in the direction of Edric's bed and turns his attention back to sterilizing his instruments.
"Everything all right?" Aldegar says.
"Busy," Vaz replies.
Aldegar nods and ambles over to wake Edric.
The front door opens again. Vaz stands and heads back out into the waiting room. "Hi, I just need a few more — oh."
A lean, powerful marcor woman almost as tall as Vaz — and with a red ribbon tied around her left horn — puts her hands on her hips and says, "You were expecting someone else?"
"Actually, yes." Vaz moves to block the door and, hopefully, the woman's view of the back room. "I have an appointment in a few minutes, Ragna, so unless this is an emergency—"
"No emergency," Ragna says, with a reassuring smile. "A few of my boys saw Aldegar sniffing around your clinic last night. I just wanted to make sure the Hand wasn't giving you any trouble."
"No trouble," Vaz says quickly. "None at all."
"Good." Ragna's smile widens into a grin. "If you ever have any problems with them, let me know. We've got your back, Vaz. Half the Razors would be dead by now if it weren't for you." She pauses. "You sure everything's okay? You seem nervous."
Vaz shrugs. "Didn't sleep much last night. I'm fine."
From behind Vaz comes the distinctive sound of someone falling out of a hospital bed and swearing.
Vaz squeezes his eyes shut and sighs loudly.
•