Obligations

by Cheryce Clayton

  “There is a live human in this tent!” shouted one of the security people before Morgan could hear if the officer could imitate the word.

  Old dreams surfaced with memories long suppressed, and she wanted the fantasy to be over, but she was unwilling to make the effort to dispel it herself. She made no attempt to enter the tent and see the other human.

  “And this one.” Another security officer stood in the doorway of a different tent, and Morgan knew she didn’t want to see, to have her false hope destroyed.

  “Spread out. And remember, “American”!” Morgan leaned against Neavillii as her people began searching the thirty or so nearby tents. She felt strangely alert as more calls of discovery echoed around her. Ten, then twelve, then twenty humans were discovered alive in the immediate area. But it soon became obvious that there were no survivors beyond the first ring of tents. And the mystery remained, because none of those found was even remotely ambulatory.

  “Do not move anyone; they might have a bone injury. Send for my personal doctor,” Morgan said, and had to struggle for the proper Sansheren inflections. “We are still missing one,” she said to Enrico as she sat holding his hand. The hours passed, and Morgan found herself feeling guilty for his physical state, as well as uneasy toward the other humans who were in the tents. She made no attempt to see the humans, but instead waited to hear that the one who kept them alive was himself alive. The sky darkened, and, with the light, hope of finding him dimmed, but Morgan insisted her people continue looking and ordered her aircar to light the ground for the searchers.

  #

  Neavillii watched as Morgan drifted to sleep with the rising of the sun. Neavillii called for a blanket to cover Morgan.

  “We have found another human,” a voice echoed over Neavillii’s communication unit, and she nodded to Enrico as she stood.

  “Have the aircar pick me up,” she said to an aide and made no move toward Morgan.

  “Yes, my Lady,” the aide replied.

  “I would join you, Lady,” the old soldier from before said.

  “Your name?” Neavillii asked as they walked toward an open area of ground beyond the tents.

  “Banessa,” was the reply.

  “I will speak with my spouse on your behalf,” Neavillii said, and placed a hand on the other’s shoulder as the aircar landed.

  “I sought no such generosity, my Lady,” Banessa said. “But I accept it with honor.”

  “I made no promise,” Neavillii cautioned the Houseless soldier as they climbed into the back of the aircar.

  “And I asked no commitment,” Banessa replied with a smile as the craft rose above the camp.

  “Where is she?” Neavillii asked as she climbed from the aircar and spoke with those already on the ground. The aircar rose up, its spotlight rivaling the dim sun.

  “Up the hill to your left, and then down behind the rocks,” the pilot of the aircar answered from above, and Neavillii wondered who’s communication unit was broadcasting. She watched with amusement as the older soldier discreetly thumbed her unit off. There was no static click to indicate a closed line.

  “I see the rocks, we are on our way. Any sign of movement since you spotted her?” Neavillii asked and thumbed her unit off with a click. She and Banessa began climbing the steep hill with the other searchers.

  “None,” the pilot said from above. “Banessa, you will want to move farther left.”

  Neavillii did not respond, saving her breath for climbing.

  “This is no hill,” muttered one of the climbers.

  “I see her body.” Banessa was the first up the hill.

  “Look at her legs!” Neavillii stood and stared at the body below them. What may once have been a strong human was skeletally thin with both legs missing just below the knee. The exposed stumps were bloated and black. Two small cans were tied to a rope that was clenched in one hand, and farther down the hill a small stream could be seen glinting in the aircar’s light.

  “The amputations were not sealed,” Banessa whispered in agreement.

  “Here, contact camp,” Neavillii said and handed her communication units to another searcher. “We will need a stretcher and a medic; we will risk moving her.” It was over fifty feet to the ledge that the human lay sprawled upon, and Neavillii felt herself age as she climbed down the nearly sheer rock wall.

  “She cannot be alive,” the mutterer from before said.

  Chapter Six - Sheresuan - 2004

  “Please!” Morgan tried to stand perfectly still. She was nearing the day when the group she apprenticed with would have to choose their career line and find a Sponsor: Sansadee, Tamsatel, or Gulardee.

  The Gulardee were soldiers, medics, and mechanics; they were also the spaceship pilots and crew. Fierce and loyal with little room for debate, they followed orders and risked their lives without pause. They were everything Morgan wanted to be and was afraid she would never be. The Tamsatel were cooks and maids, seamstresses and nannies, and even though Morgan knew they were vital members of society, she feared being labeled as one. Feared the dead-end life with little imagination and no hope of real independence. The Sansadee were the politicians, rulers, and elite. Everyone wanted to achieve at least one rank within the Sansadee, to prove themselves capable of leadership. To be of the Ninth rank was to have self-determination, to be of the Tenth was to be desired, few held the Eleventh rank, and fewer still the Twelfth. Morgan knew she was not born Sansheren, and would never be a leader; she held her breath and focused on the dream of space ships and finding Earth.

  Representatives from each of the major trades of Tamsatel and Gulardee were in attendance at Neadesto’s court, watching as the twenty youths demonstrated their skills in fighting, cooking, medicine, repair work, and carpentry. If one of the apprentices showed a flash of brilliance in a given field, the representative would motion the apprenticed to sit beside her.

  Morgan offered her selection of food and was awaiting her mentor, Neadesto’s, opinion. With fists clenched tight, Morgan resisted the urge to rub at the face makeup her teacher, Neavillii, had given her that morning. “So no one will question your maturity,” Morgan remembered the former spacer saying.

  “What, dear, do you call this dish?” Neadesto asked from where she stood beside the platform with a puzzled look upon her face. She poured liquid from a spoon back into a serving bowl.

  Morgan took a deep breath and stepped forward to try and explain. “It is from my first House, my father. There, it is called soup.” Morgan, nineteen years old and on an alien planet, wanted nothing more than to please the Sansheren leader who had saved her life and adopted her.

  “Soup,” the Sansheren repeated in phonetic English. “The miniature bowls and spoons you made for your carpentry exhibit. Very unusual and creative, we thought,” Neadesto nodded to a representative sitting on one side of the court as if to conclude a previous conversation. “Now we understand the nature of them. But what meat did you use that required such a strenuous boiling? Surely it has enough flavor to be served on its own?” and with the same puzzled look as before, Neadesto began ladling out the bits of meat and noodles she could locate.

  “Soup is to be drunk as well as chewed. This one is called Chicken Noodle,” Morgan said, and hoped Neadesto did not see her hand shake as she took the serving spoon to add liquid to the bowl.

  “This is but one recipe you have recreated from memory, intriguing. What are the noodles frightened of, drowning?” Neadesto politely ignored Morgan’s nervousness as she poked around the bowl, still unwilling to sample the fare.

  “Chicken is also the name of an easily frightened bird on my first planet. I substituted Alkefro,” Morgan explained. “It is customary to add a few biscuits at a time and then eat them with the meat and noodles. This adjusts the amount of liquid to taste.” Morgan took another deep breath and proffered a plate of hard, dry yellow wafers.

  “Then there was a reason for these, I am relieved,” Neadesto said with a smile. “When I saw them I
feared that you were unsuccessful in learning the art of cooking. They crumble easily enough, and the odor of this soup is quite pleasing, like something a father would offer a sick child. Very well, I will not be frightened of a bird, I will taste it.” Neadesto brought a spoonful of cracker, noodle, and broth to her mouth and sucked the liquid off.

  “Perhaps a little less liquid,” Neadesto said, and added several more crackers. “But a most soothing treat. Everyone, come and try this soup my lovely apprentice has made for us.” Neadesto gestured her court to the platform.

  Morgan watched with relief as the others begin sampling the soup. She forced her face still as she realized that the thin lips and sharpened teeth of the Sansheren Court made it impossible to sip delicately.

  Chapter Seven - Bystocc - 2012

  “But I have already told your most beautiful person, I have no skill to operate on the most wonderful Morganea’s species. And these I am not even sure are the same species. They have differences…”

  The medic’s voice roused Morgan, and she sat up where she lay on the ground. She stretched to release the lingering aches in her back and was left with a dull throbbing headache. Lack of sleep or lack of food, and neither soon available. She paused to hand Enrico the blanket that covered her as she pulled her shoes back on.

  “They are of my species, I assure you, my good doctor Fanlelo,” Morgan called out as she stood. “The differences are not superficial, but they should not matter.” Morgan walked toward the group whose argument her awakening interrupted.

  “My lovely and patient Morganea, I fear I will kill any I attempt to cure. Especially this valiant mercenary. Her injuries –“

  “You found him! ” Morgan cut off the medic. “What are his injuries?” Morgan asked when Fanlelo waved towards a stretcher set aside from the clump of human survivors.

  “Oh most loving Morganea, I fear she is beyond help,” Fanlelo said and bowed almost to the ground. “The legs were amputated, but a seal was not established on either bone. The blood has been pooling for some time, and I am afraid it is now rotten. To raise the amputations to the hip joints is beyond my small skill,” Fanlelo said as she moved toward the cot, and Morgan felt forced to follow.

  “I do not believe human bones have veins within; remember when I broke my arm? Everyone was so afraid, and I kept saying my veins were outside the bone? Neadesto made me stay in bed for nearly two months,” Morgan said and smiled at the memory. “I think that is gangrene. You should be able to raise the amputation to the mid-thigh. There will be large veins that can be pinched.”

  Morgan forced herself to look at the injured man’s face. “He looks familiar,” she whispered to herself. Hearing the gasps around her, she realized that for the first time in many years she had misplaced an inflection.

  “I am extremely sorry, my most loving Lady,” Fanlelo cried out. “I do not think I could do the operation you suggest. If your father dies, I will not be able to live with my shame and incompetence. Would you be so generous as to raise my children?”

  Morgan looked up from the man to her physician, who was weeping. Others stood with various looks of shock and sorrow on their faces.

  “Bring me water, I would better see his face,” Morgan said without addressing the doctor’s request, and then used her banner of order to clean the man’s face.

  A human man. The sun had burned him, and his lips were split and bleeding. His hair was deep, straight black and his chest bare except for a small leather pouch on a twisted cord. His nose was prominent in his gaunt face, and Morgan was certain of his identification even before he opened his eyes in response to the water she dribbled between his lips.

  “Rest, you are safe now,” was all she could think to say in English as she stared down at the ghost from her childhood.

  Neavillii moved away from Morgan and ran to the aircar, which powered up and was gone.

  “He saved my life, I was only eleven years old,” Morgan whispered in Sansheren, not looking about to see who was listening. Her entire entourage was silent, in shock.

  “They would have raped me, he saved my life,” Morgan said, and paused for a moment when she realized her words would be misunderstood. But she was staring into Sam’s black eyes, and she knew she did not care.

  “They shot him; here, you can see the scar, and he still fought them off. I took him to the hospital, I could not just leave him,” and again she paused and dripped more water into Sam’s mouth.

  “They told us to wait; we had no money so they would get to us when they could. I called my… I called my.., the older child of my father. I asked him for help. He laughed at me. I explained that Sam had saved my life and my…sibling just laughed.” Morgan held the tears in, and wet her banner in a bowl of water Nealoie placed beside Sam. She gently wiped more dirt off of Sam’s blistered face as she continued to speak her memories out loud.

  “I called my father’s House. It was so far away I could barely hear. My mother was home; I told her he had saved my life, and I asked her to ask my father for help. For money. My mother parent laughed, and then said of course. It was a matter of honor, she said.”

  Sam closed his eyes without ever focusing, and Morgan groped at his throat for the pulse. His heart was still beating, fast but weak.

  “I sat down next to him and the medic came back out,” Morgan whispered as her hand fell from his throat. “She said he was next. He was in a lot of pain, even after they sewed him up, but they said he would not have died. They said he did not need to stay there and to go home. They gave him a shot for the pain and some pills for later. The police.., The Gulardee never came to talk to us, we waited a long time,” Morgan whispered, and Nealoie traded the dirty banner in Morgan’s hand for a clean, damp one without her noticing.

  “I could not just leave him, I took him home. He saved my life, they would have raped me.” Morgan was sitting on the side of the cot, wiping Sam’s sun blistered chest with the new banner, staring at his face without focusing. All activity in the camp came to a complete halt as everyone watched their employer and Lady.

  #

  “Relax. You’re going to be fine,” a man said in English from beside the bed Sam found himself in. The gravity was light, and the room was small, free of any decoration.

  Sam woke up thinking he was dreaming, that this was a pirate ship; his panic was mildly abated at the other’s words. “Where? Who? What happened?” his voice was hoarse to his own ears, and the memory of lying on the ledge as the sun crept across the sky became superimposed over the reality of the moment.

  “You are an honored guest on the good ship Sheresuan, flagship of the most benevolent Neadesto,” the old man said, and Sam forced himself to focus on the room.

  “You talk like an orangutan. You one of their frogs?” Sam struggled to sit up as he studied the man’s reaction.

  “Not by far. I am Isaac Meyers, head surgeon of the hospital for surviving human mercenaries. Newly established. I’m also your personal physician, and personal physician to her most beautiful personage, Morganea, Arbitrator and now owner of the planet Bystocc. Tadesde abandoned the planet,” Isaac ended with a flourish and sat in a chair facing Sam. He reached into his frock pocket and pulled out a small flat bottle.

  “Tadesde left? Morganea is human? How many of my people survived?” Sam asked, but he no longer watched Isaac as the memories overwhelmed him and he was lost again.

  “Sixteen from the camp, counting you. Here, it’s brandy, Doc’s orders.” Isaac held out the flask and waited a long time before Sam took it.

  “Tim had some brandy.” Sam did not offer to return the liquor.

  “I know. This was found in his bunker. A patient of mine’s wives gave me seven bottles.” Isaac leaned forward to retrieve the bottle from Sam.

  “The patient die?” Sam demanded, and felt his eyes fill with tears as he stared straight at Isaac.

  “Yes.” Isaac offered the bottle back, and Sam felt the man watch as he tipped it back for the last swallow.
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  “Good stuff. You ever see one give birth?” he asked, and saw confusion on Isaac’s face.

  Isaac appeared to consider the question before answering. “No.” Isaac walked to the door. “Tansea, bring us a bottle, okay?”

  “There was a crippled guard left behind. I tried to help her; I brought her as much as I could bring anyone else. She made me burn her alive. She told me why, and talked the Drecos into helping. That was when the Faldebbians went into withdrawal, and I didn’t have to worry about them anymore. And then the Drecos started committing ritual suicide. They asked me to attend and record their last moments. The notes are in my tent, I need to send them to their families. Did anyone find the Faldebbians yet?” Sam asked as Tansea walked into the room with a bottle held in both of her tiny hands.

  “Yes, they were found several days ago,” she answered in English. “And you remember the last time you got drunk.” Tansea aimed her last comment at Isaac before turning to leave.

  Sam stared at her small form with no hostility, only curiosity as she walked out of the door. “Have you ever seen a Dreco warrior fight?” Sam asked, still staring at the closing door. “They won’t surrender. That group was captured when their transport craft was intercepted. They travel in some kind of suspension for the shift. Thanks,” Sam said as he accepted the new bottle and took a large drink.

  “I’ve never met a Dreco. How did you save everyone? You’re a hero, you know.” Isaac took the bottle from Sam’s limp fingers. Sam was silent for a long time, his eyes closed against the glare of the sun he could still feel beating down from the desert sky.

  #

  “Sixteen survived? I’m not a hero,” Sam said, and Isaac watched as the other man got drunk. “I held the rear; Tim had the best chance of getting the men out. I thought I was dying, so I demanded Tim run for it, and I took the rear. You know? I don’t even know if Tim escaped. I dreamed about a girl named Morgan, dreamed that she was a Sansheren, that she stopped the war and rescued us. Isn’t that crazy? Dreaming about a dead kid.”