Stardoc

by S. L. Viehl

  The dead were counted, and the number announced with solemn gravity: 7,380. Less than ten percent of the population, someone said, then wisely shut up. I took a moment between patients and washed my face in cold water. No one commented about the redness of my eyes.

  A week into recovery, I found myself being escorted from the Recovery facility by two bulky orderlies. They claimed Dr. Mayer had ordered me to take a day off. I told them not to be idiots, there was too much to do. I could continue to take rest periods at the FreeClinic between shifts, as I had been.

  They, naturally, didn’t listen to me.

  Alunthri and Jenner had remained isolated from the turmoil, but I knew the Chakacat had been monitoring events over the display. It was relieved to see me, and offered to prepare a meal.

  “I can’t eat now,” I said as I collapsed. “Maybe later . . .”

  I woke up a rotation and a half later. When I moved, it felt like someone had beaten me with a large, blunt object while I’d slept. My soiled clothes were clinging to me. I smelled worse than I looked. Even my mouth tasted foul.

  I sat up and saw the Chakacat was sleeping in its room, curled up with Jenner. The door panel chimed, and I answered it without moving from the bed.

  “Who is it?”

  “A moment of your time, Dr. Grey Veil.”

  Reever got in only because I didn’t have enough ambition to get up and key the panel lock. “Cherijo.”

  “Reever.” I made myself get off the sleeping platform, and closed the door to Alunthri’s room so we wouldn’t disturb it. “I was just going to get cleaned up.”

  Given the fact he’d seen me naked twice now, it seemed ridiculous to be modest with him. He hadn’t just seen me naked, he’d touched me, carried me, even had sex with me. I was a physician, I reminded myself. Above this sort of silly embarrassment anyway.

  “Turn your back,” I said. To my relief, he swiveled away, and I began stripping off my filthy clothes.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  Ridiculous. Embarrassed. Even with his back to me.

  “Fine.” I stepped into my cleanser unit and went to work. The plas enclosure was opaque with humidity by the time I’d finished. I opened the panel to reach for a towel and found Reever standing there, holding it out. He looked at me—all of me—as I snatched it away and glowered at him.

  “Do you mind?”

  “No,” he said, and turned his back to me again.

  I dried the excess moisture from my skin and shrugged into a light robe, then vigorously cleaned my face and teeth. After that, I sat down on my sofa, the biggest and softest furnishing besides my bed.

  Reever waited, still not looking at me.

  “Okay, I’m dressed. Let’s get it over with.”

  He swung around. “I would like to apologize. For what happened between us in the Isolation room.”

  “Apology accepted.” I closed my eyes and leaned back. “Now, please leave.”

  “I had no control over the Core.” Reever sat next to me. I sensed the scarred hand reaching toward me, and my eyes opened.

  “If you want to keep those fingers,” I said, “get them away from me.”

  “You will not resolve this.”

  “Resolve? What’s to resolve? It’s over. Anything else?”

  “Joey.”

  I grabbed his tunic then, grabbed it with tight fists. One jerk brought that handsome, inhuman countenance close to mine.

  “The only person who ever loved me gave me that name,” I told him, teeth bared. “Don’t use it again, Reever. Ever.” I let him go. “Let’s go back to the apology, I liked that better. Why apologize for something that wasn’t your fault?”

  “I hurt you.”

  “Not really. Try again.”

  “I was forced to infect you by the Core’s control.”

  “Really? Is that what you thought you were doing? By the way, I’m immune to the Core.”

  “They did not know your enhanced immunities would destroy them. I was to maximize the transmission, or kill you.” His eyes changed color, the blue darkened. “I would not cooperate.”

  “Maximize the transmission? Was that why you licked my wound? What was the next phase? Spit some of that yellow stuff down my throat?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad I missed that. So you raped me instead. Tried to infect me in a more civilized fashion. How magnanimous of you.”

  “I didn’t rape you. I tried to help you.”

  My fingers dug sharply into my palms, leaving dents. “I didn’t need your brand of help, Reever.”

  “I had no alternative. They would have killed you.”

  “I don’t know if a near-rape is canceled out by a death threat. I’ll have to think about it.”

  His eyes were so dark I couldn’t discern the pupil anymore. “It was more than the Core attacking you, Cherijo. I wanted to do those things to you. You wanted me to do them.”

  “Wrong.”

  “You wanted me,” he said.

  “It’s been nice chatting with you, Reever. Get out.”

  With that inhuman abruptness, he rose. His scarred hands grabbed my arms, pulled me to my feet.

  “When I was a child, my parents left me on a world where native behavior was strictly governed by ritual disciplines. I was there for weeks.”

  “Really.” I considered the places where I could kick him that would inflict the maximum amount of pain. There were a lot of them. Decisions, decisions. “You can let go of me anytime now, Reever.”

  He displayed the back of one hand. “You wondered about this, why I never had the scars removed. My parents told me to observe the inhabitants, who had agreed to give me instruction. During my first ritual, I was placed in a chamber with ample provisions, and my trainers. When I became hungry and reached for food, they used a blade on the back of my hand to discourage me.”

  My blood chilled. I felt my eyes widening.

  “When I was thirsty, they did the same. I was not permitted to eat or drink. The discipline lasted five rotations.”

  “Oh, God,” I said, the words hurting my throat. The scars seemed to burn into my flesh. “How old were you?”

  “Six. I learned quickly. Their own progeny often lost many digits.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a parody of a smile. “When my parents returned, they were very excited. I had undergone a ritual that had never been documented before. They wanted all the details for their database.”

  “How could they? How could—” I halted, confused. “Reever, I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this.”

  “I think of the ritual often now,” he said.

  “Why?” All of this was making me feel very ill at ease. “Get the scars removed, Reever, and forget about it.”

  He just shook his head, let go of me, and left.

  I watched him slide the door panel closed behind him. Only then did I feel something wet on my cheek, and wiped it away with the smooth, unscarred back of my hand.

  PART FOUR:

  Resolution

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  That Which Recovers

  After the epidemic, a temporary detainment center was constructed for the first time in colonial history. The Council didn’t give it a name. I couldn’t blame them.

  Colonists who had gravely violated the Charter during the crisis were kept there, awaiting trial. Others, like one radical group who attempted to burn a grove of gnorra trees afterward, were also incarcerated.

  “Epidermal singeing,” Ecla said as a Security officer brought in one of the extremists, an Yturi, to my exam room. The soot-covered Yturi was insistently vocal, enough to make me toy with the idea of gagging certain patients prior to treatment.

  “We have to burn them all down, don’t you see?” it hissed as I probed its normally oily outer derma. Flakes of what had been hair and skin drifted like black dandruff to the floor. “They will exterminate us unless we do it first!”

  “The Core are not interested in leaving th
eir gnorra trees,” I said as I carefully removed the charred ash over its skin.

  “They are a pestilence!”

  “They were here first,” I said in a reasonable tone. “And intend to coexist peacefully with us.”

  The Yturi gave me an unpleasant smile. “Not if my friends can find enough thermal pruners.”

  The Bartermen Association was busier than ever. Cruisers were still enforcing planetary quarantine until the Pmoc Quadrant Council was assured no possible spread of contagion might occur. Everything in short supply was on the prime list of Bartermen appropriations.

  “They offered me a new glidecar for all our containment suits,” one orderly said to me.

  Another shrugged. “I gave them mine. Not like we’re going to need it now.”

  Three of our better ventilators disappeared outright, and I demanded Security post guards around Trauma. I was told to file a complaint. When I tried to do that, I was informed that I must have documented proof that the Bartermen were stealing our equipment.

  “Documented proof? You’re telling me that unless I have photoscans of the little weasels helping themselves to FreeClinic property, you can’t do anything about this?”

  The Security officer was sympathetic, but adamant. No matter how grateful everyone was to me, the Bartermen were for the moment the sole source of supply on K-2. No one wanted to risk offending them for fear of the Association declaring a trade strike.

  The Militia shut down most of the common areas and declared a curfew on the younger portion of the population. The kids were getting into more than the usual mischief. It didn’t help that most of the culprits had been orphaned by the epidemic.

  That wasn’t the only bad news.

  “In order to assure our colony is free of the contagion, all colonists will be tested for Core life-forms,” K-Cipok read the directive to me.

  “Tested?” I actually stopped working, I was so surprised. “Why do they want us to do that? No one is getting sick anymore.”

  The nurse’s hooves shuffled. “I guess they’re not going to take your word for that, Doctor.”

  Dr. Mayer later confirmed the same.

  “Are they kidding?” I asked him. “Test nearly seventy thousand colonists? We can’t handle the post-bug cases we have already!”

  The chief was worried, too. There was no test in existence that could rule out the presence of the Core, who were virtually undetectable. He was convinced PQSGO wasn’t going to take our word for it, either.

  Fortunately, the Botanical Research Department finally found a way to tag the elusive life-form through specialized thermogenetic analysis. Biodecon equipment could be adjusted to perform the test, which gave us the means to end the quarantine.

  Recovery remained a slow process. Our shifts stretched to impossible hours. I often performed more than thirty separate minor surgeries during one rotation.

  More issues emerged. Many of the recovering colonists were frantic to leave K-2, and I couldn’t blame them. One group stole a shuttle, which instigated a tense standoff with the cruisers in orbit. Everyone was extremely unhappy. Administration had to conduct hurried negotiations with the colonists, while Security had to calm down trigger-happy Quadrant enforcers before the shuttle came within firing range. Somehow they got the shuttle to return. No one was injured, but it had been close.

  Others had more specific agendas. Dr. Rogan, who unfortunately survived the epidemic, amassed a contingent that petitioned to have Drs. Mayer, Dloh, and myself removed from duty.

  I’d give Rogan credit. He was a jerk, but at least he was a dedicated, consistent jerk.

  The Council delayed ruling on the petition until after the quarantine was lifted. It didn’t make me feel better. I knew Rogan’s machinations only too well, and those who lost loved ones to the epidemic were still looking for a scapegoat. There was also the matter of my less than tactful conduct the last time I went before the Council. Had I really called them sniveling cowards? Maybe no one would check the data records.

  I was tired. I could drown out the complaints of patients, work myself into a stupor, pretend to look omnipotent when my feet were killing me. It was my last encounter with Duncan Reever that still bothered me. At the oddest moments I recalled the sensation of his hands on my hair, or the way he’d looked at me before walking out of my quarters. Guilt plagued me as much as the memories. Kao was still recovering from the contagion, and there I was, constantly thinking about Reever.

  Guilt became panic when Kao’s condition began to mysteriously retrogress. I ordered tests, snapped at nurses, even had an argument with mu Cheft, who was in charge of the case. Why wasn’t he doing this, why had he done that? I made such an ass out of myself that eventually the ’Zangian had an orderly to haul me out of there.

  It was Dr. Crhm who finally isolated the cause behind the Jorenian’s decline. When I received its findings, I sat down and stared sightlessly at the data pad for nearly a quarter hour.

  “Kao.”

  I dropped the report and hurried off to the wards. When I arrived at his bedside, he smiled up at me.

  “Healer Grey Veil,” his lyrical voice was thin. He frowned when he saw my eyes. “What has happened?” When I searched for the words, his hand crept over mine. “Tell me, Cherijo.”

  I broke down Dr. Crhm’s report to terms he could understand. Not that it took a genius to figure out what was happening. My blood had killed the Core and cured him of the contagion. Now it was working on Kao’s own tissues, infiltrating them like a poison on a cellular level. Several internal systems were already compromised.

  “I would have died, had you not given of yourself to me,” he said. That unshakable Jorenian tranquillity only made me feel worse. Illness had drained his skin of its brilliant color, and his white eyes were deeply sunken. “That I am still alive I must see as a gift from you.”

  I squeezed his hand. Some gift. “We’ve sent a transmission to the Varallan Quadrant. Someone on your homeworld will advise us what to do.” I kept my grip firm so that he wouldn’t feel me shaking. “You know we don’t have much on Jorenian physiology in our database. I’m sure your people can help us reverse this effect.”

  “And if they do not, my heart?” he said, already slipping away. “Will you . . . forgive . . . yourself . . . ?”

  “No.” I put his hand down and turned away from his unconscious form. “No, Kao, I don’t think I’ll be able to do that.”

  When I returned to Trauma, I found yet another summons from the Council waiting for me. It was too much. T’Nliqinara snorted rapidly as I told her what to transmit back to the Council chambers in response.

  “Doctor, that sort of language is a direct violation of the Charter,” my charge nurse said, then gave her version of a wicked grin. “I’ll relay your message personally.”

  Halfway through that shift a Security team entered the exam room, carrying weapons. I looked up from the child I was treating. All the guns were pointed at me.

  “Put those down. You’re scaring the kid.”

  “We have orders—”

  I sighed. “I know.” I sent the child out and regarded the team. “Do you have any idea how many patients are waiting out there in Assessment?”

  The officer in charge shrugged. “You received a summons, Dr. Grey Veil. We’re only assuring you respond to it.”

  “Oh, just go ahead and shoot me now!” I said.

  They didn’t have to. They were bigger and stronger than me. I did manage to signal the MedAdmin office before I was half dragged from the facility.

  “Tell Dr. Mayer I’ve been forcibly removed from the clinic. The Council sent a whole team this time. Oh, and I’ll need representation. Again.”

  The new Council was up and running, at full bureaucratic throttle. When the Security detachment dumped me in their chambers, I was ignored. Apparently the five new members couldn’t decide what portion of the Charter prohibited the use of native materials to repair housing units. A real riveting debate. I was just star
ting to nod off when a human voice called my name.

  “Dr. Grey Veil.” The chief Council member was Terran, oddly enough. He was a middle-aged man who wore the dark green jumper I’d seen on researchers at the Botanical Project. “John Douglas,” he introduced himself. The balance of Council members included three other humanoids and one native ’Zangian. “We would like to begin by extending to you our personal thanks for your past and ongoing endeavors through this crisis.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “Can I go now?”

  “A serious charge has been filed with the Council, one that pertains to your status as a practicing medical physician.”

  Rogan? I thought uneasily. Then I saw the chief linguist enter the chamber, carrying with him, of all things, a container of golden gnorra resin.

  “Ah, here is Chief Linguist Reever, who has filed the charge.”

  Reever had filed a charge against me?

  The chief linguist placed the container carefully on a table and addressed the board. “Council members.” He inclined his head, then glanced at me. “Doctor. I am here to interpret on the behalf of the life-forms known as the Core.”

  No one looked surprised but me.

  “What?” I pushed my chair back and stood up to face Reever. “What does the Core have to do with this?”

  “We will proceed,” John Douglas said, and motioned for both of us to sit down. “First the Council will affirm their individual commitment to treating this case without bias. Given the nature of the recent epidemic, it is vital that such statements be recorded prior to presentation of evidence and rebuttal.”

  That meant I had to sit there for another hour. Listen to each Council member tell me how grateful they were for my work during the epidemic. And how despite said gratitude, if I was found guilty, they’d throw the book at me.

  I didn’t know what was worse—listening to the bureaucrats or knowing the chief linguist was trying to get me barred from practicing medicine. Or why I felt hurt by the knowledge that Reever would do such a thing.

  Negilst, Ana Hansen’s assistant, entered the chamber and hurried to my side. “Administrator Hansen is with the Quadrant Inspection Team,” I was told in a whisper. “I was sent to assist you until she can join us.”