by neetha Napew
I tried to joke my way out of my nervousness. That would mean tearing your clothes off and throwing myself on top of you.
His mouth curled on one side. Not this time.
I didn’t have to fake a yawn as I stripped down and lowered the optic emitters. Reever did the same on his side of the room, then we both climbed into bed. I snuggled up beside him, trying to figure out how I was going to see what he wanted to show me. Well?
Roll over and look at the wall panel above your head.
I rolled and looked. Something, a tiny something, sparkled against the polished alloy surface. As what it was sank in, I forgot to feel tired. I reached up, but Reever grabbed me and rolled me under him.
You can’t remove it.
The hell I can’t. I tried to push him off.
Sauilyp signaled me about Qonja. Joren may be planning to enter the League/Hsktskt conflict. If they do, they would be fools not to make use of you and me, and our particular knowledge of either side.
I went still as the implications of what that meant flooded inside my head. No. They wouldn’t. Xonea wouldn’t do that to us.
Recording drones don’t implant themselves. He stroked my arm. Unless... are you sure Joseph is dead?
I watched him die. My numbness wore off as I looked through the door panel toward Marel’s room. It would be simple to use our daughter to ensure our cooperation-but I couldn’t believe the Torins would do that. The Ruling Council, on the other hand... We have to get off this ship.
Reever lifted his head and looked down at me. Not until we know who did this, and what they want.
The next day, Reever found seven more drones, using some kind of structural analyzer he “borrowed” from Engineering. They were in every room, even Marel’s. We decided to do nothing immediately-actually, Duncan decided that. I was personally in favor of ripping them out and stuffing them down Qonja’s- or Xonea’s-throat.
His argument was logical: If we don’t learn why they have us under surveillance, we may walk into another trap.
Fine. Just remember, until those things are out of here, we don’t get to do anything but sleep.
Alunthri stopped by our quarters to see Juliet and Jenner’s new family a few days later. Marel, who had appointed herself both godmother and guardian to the kittens, warned the Chakacat not to handle the kittens just yet.
“Makes Juweeyed berbous, Mama says.”
“Your mama is right.” Alunthri crouched down beside the storage unit and peered into the kittening box. “A fine litter. My small sibling must be proud.”
“Your little brother keeps trying to crash the maternity ward,” I told Alunthri as I brought over a server of its favorite beverage, cafe au lait, heavy on the au lait. “I had to reprogram the door panel to keep him out.”
Hearing that made Marel demand to go and console the sulking Jenner, so I signaled Fasala and asked her to come by and pick up my daughter for a visit. Already a few inches taller than me, Darea’s daughter had grown back the hair she’d lost from radiation exposure two years before, and was turning into another Jorenian beauty.
“How’s your ClanMom and ClanDad?” I asked her when she arrived.
“Very well, Healer, but perhaps more fatigued than is usual.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “At least, they tell that is the reason they spend so much time in their bedchamber of late.”
I hid a smile. “Old people like us get tired easily.”
After the girls left, Alunthri lingered, talking about its work on cataloguing the different types of artistic expression from around the galaxy, and the anticipation it had for our sojourn on Taerca. It inquired about Dhreen, and I filled it in on his condition, Ilona’s pregnancy, and the whole strange conversation with the Oenrallian communications officer.
“Why would he reject his own child when it obviously represents a solution to his people’s dilemma?” Alunthri’s confusion made its ears flick back and forth. “And why would Plaak show no interest in your information about Ilona’s pregnancy?”
“Beats me.”
We sat for a time in silence, until I noticed my friend’s colorless eyes straying back to the storage unit. “Is something bothering you, Alunthri?”
Whiskers twitched. “Oh, no, Cherijo. I was simply... thinking. It is good that Jenner bred Juliet. Many of the crew would enjoy having domestic companions of their own.”
“Nice try, but that’s not it,” I guessed.
Alunthri grimaced, baring its small, sharp teeth for a moment. “You know me too well.”
“Might as well get it over with and tell me now.”
It regarded me with evident discomfort. “Cherijo, I- I wonder, if I wished to have elective surgery, would you be willing to perform it on me?”
I put down my server. “How elective?”
“As you are aware, my species is hermaphroditic. I am nearly of breeding age myself. Your tale of Dhreen reminded me of a decision I must soon make.” It paused, and stroked a paw across the rim of its server. “I have been considering sterilization.”
“God, why?”
“I was born free, but my life in the wild only lasted a few weeks. The Chakaran pelters who captured my parent terrified me. I almost did not survive the incarceration.” It gazed across the table, and that haunted expression nearly broke my heart. “Cherijo, I could not bear that to happen to my own young. The thought of my children being hunted and sold into slavery appalls me.”
I reached out and covered one of its paws with my hand. “You’re not on Chakara and you don’t have to go back. We won’t let anyone hurt you or any young you might have.”
“Xonea would say, ‘Much changes along the path.’ “
“Xonea is not a philosopher. He told me so himself.”
Its whiskers twitched. “You had Squilyp perform a tubal ligation on you after you miscarried Marel.”
“I didn’t have any choice.” After Squilyp had transferred Marel’s fetus to a prototype embryonic chamber, he’d performed the procedure to assure I’d never get pregnant again. “My immune system won’t allow me to carry a child full-term. You don’t have that problem.”
“Even if I breed, you cannot guarantee our safety, Cherijo. If I am captured by slavers again, I will be sold on the open market, to the highest bidder. So, too, will any progeny I possess.” It paused. “Surely now that you have Marel, you understand how I feel.”
The Chakacat and I had always shared a special bond. Being declared a nonsentient piece of property had that effect on people, I guess. I may have gambled, having Marel, but obviously Alunthri wasn’t willing to throw the dice. And yet I couldn’t bear the thought of sterilizing my friend. “Then don’t breed yourself.”
“After a certain period, the choice will no longer be mine. I will reproduce, whether I wish it or not.”
So Alunthri was in the same boat as Squilyp. Nothing like Mother Nature to throw a wrench in your single life.
“We still have a certain time frame to work within, right?” I asked, and Alunthri nodded. “Then I want you to really think about what you’re asking me. If you’re still bent on doing this, then I’ll perform the sterilization.”
It gave me a small, feline smile. “Thank you, my friend. It is a comfort to know that in this, I have a choice.”
Some choice.
“To breed or not to breed. That is the question.”
Squilyp looked up from the electroniscopic scanner. “What is that? Chaucer?”
“Shakespeare, slightly corrupted.” I tossed an instrument into the tray and sighed. “All right, scratch hyper-cellular batch number two-oh-seven. Microcellular breakdown initiated at”-I glanced at the display- “fourteen hundred hours, twenty-two minutes.”
The previous two hundred and six attempts to replicate the hypercells had also failed to remain cohesive, and the ineffectual results made me want to drop kick a few cultivation containers across the lab.
If Joseph Grey Veil had achieved hypercellular cohesion, then surely I coul
d duplicate his success. After all, I was practically his duplicate.
The Omorr hopped over and studied the slowly liquefying glop in my culture dish. “Your report detailed a description of how the cells began replicating once they had been injected into Reever’s kidney. How long did it take?”
“It was instantaneous-as soon as the seed cells were implanted, new ones started popping up, right under my scope.” I shoved the dish aside. “Okay, we need to switch gears. What are we doing wrong?”
“It could be the extracorporeal testing.” Squilyp’s gildrells undulated as he scanned the dish. “Why are you making puns about breeding?”
“Seems like that’s all everyone on this ship wants to talk about-you’re arranging a marriage so you can be a dad, Alunthri wants to be fixed, Dhreen claims his entire planet is sterile, and Ilona’s pregnant with a baby who shouldn’t exist. I feel like I’m running a maternity crisis advisory service.”
He transferred the data from the scanner to a chart. “The Chakacat wishes to be sterilized?”
“It’s the potential slavery thing. Can’t blame it. Happily, sterilization seems to be very low on everyone else’s priority list.”
“We all envy you your child, you know that.” He studied the scan results. “Why don’t we try injecting the cells into a training torso?”
“Using real cells on simulated flesh won’t do it. The cellular foundation crumbles unless we employ simulated hypercells, and I don’t trust fake versus real. We need to know exactly what the actual cells are going to do to Dhreen.” I frowned. “I can’t figure out why everyone is jealous of Marel. You should try keeping that kid clean and in one spot.” I gnawed my bottom lip. “Wait a second. How many spare parts have you got stockpiled in the transplant bank?”
“Several hundred, mostly Jorenian. Why?”
“What if we take a common, cloned organ, deliberately injure it, then introduce hypercells extracted from Reever’s kidney?” I grinned as his dark eyes widened. “It would be as close to experimenting on a live subject as we can get.”
The Omorr shuddered slightly. “I can’t imagine any sane physician actually consenting to experiment on living organisms.”
Since most of the medical progress on Terra until two centuries ago had been achieved exactly via that method, I grimaced. “Let’s try this with a Jorenian liver.”
I left Squilyp to set up the next stage of the experiment, and performed quick afternoon rounds with Adaola. Yarek was ready to be discharged, and promised to return for follow-ups and stay away from bladed weapons for the time specified in his release orders.
“Don’t make me block your access codes from all the environomes,” I warned him as I handed him his tunic.
“Do not fear, Healer.” Yarek gave me a broad grin. “My bondmate has assured me she will do the same, should I become reckless.”
I smiled back. “Who do you think gave her the idea?”
A signal came in from Command as I was preparing to return to the lab. Reever’s expression remained blank, but his grim tone spoke volumes.
“Cherijo, we have found a number of ships disabled and floating in space. Energy signatures indicate a battle recently took place in this region. Our sweep has picked up multiple weak life signs from five of the vessels.”
Weak meant wounded. “What kind of ships, and how many still alive?”
“Military. Four League attack strafers, and the remnants of a Hsktskt scout ship. Perhaps two dozen wounded.” He patched through the readings to my screen. “Advise the Senior Healer to prepare two medevac teams.”
“Only two?” Eight people couldn’t cover five different ships in a hurry.
“Armed security teams will escort you.”
Normally I would have given him a hard time about that, but we were entering the aftermath of a battle. The wounded were soldiers and almost certainly prepared to defend themselves. “Remind them we’re there to help, not slaughter. I need you with us.”
“I’ll meet you in launch bay.” He paused. “Be cautious, Cherijo.”
Squilyp and I swiftly put together the medevac teams, handed out protective vests and communication headsets, and only argued briefly about who was going on the shuttle. I put Vlaav in charge of one team and took command of the other myself.
“I can assess the wounded as well as you can,” the Omorr pointed out in a huff.
“Yes, but I can’t organize triage here as well as you, and neither can Vlaav.” I wouldn’t insult his Omorr-hood by reminding him that if a soldier shot me, I’d survive, while he likely wouldn’t. “Besides, I haven’t seen my husband all day.”
“Very well, but take Wonlee with you.”
The Esalmalin was already hoisting my field pack over his spiny shoulder. “We should wear side arms.”
“That sort of defeats the purpose of medevac, Won.” I picked up a thermal proximity scanner, in case some of the wounded were hiding. “Better have the nurses start synthesizing some Hsktskt plasma; we haven’t got any stocked.” I watched Qonja preparing a pack, and my mouth tightened. “See you in a little while.”
Both teams departed the Sunlace on the same shuttle, which was the largest one the Jorenians had available. Xonea manned the helm himself, while Reever explained the flight plan.
“We have broadcast a stand-down signal to all the ships, and shall dock with each in order of largest concentration of wounded on board.” He projected a thermalscan showing the meager life signs of the wounded and the ships they were on. “Once we establish that the vessel environment is intact, we will drop off one team, deliver the second to the next ship, then return to transfer team one’s wounded on board.” He turned to the security guards, who were carrying plenty of bladed and pulse weaponry. “Security will take point, locate the wounded, and disarm them, if necessary, before the medical team facilitates treatment.”
“That means no killing,” I said at once.
Qonja eyed the ruined vessel we were approaching through the viewport. “There may be traps set for intruders.”
“Remind me to steal one if there are,” I muttered to my husband.
“We performed a sweep for energy, chemical, and biological agents, and found no indicators. Remain alert.” At a call from the Captain, Reever went to the helm, then took over the controls while Xonea came back toward the passenger compartment.
He spoke to both security team leaders in a low voice, then came over to me. “I want you to carry this.” He pulled a lethal-looking dagger from his vest and handed it to me.
I tried to give it back. “I appreciate the thought, but no, thanks.”
“ClanSister.” He closed his fingers over mine, pressing them into the ridged hilt. “You have no claws. Humor me.”
I glanced over at my one-man fan club, who was strapping a pulse rifle over his shoulder, then heaved a sigh. “This really isn’t necessary.”
“I disagree.”
I wedged the blade in between the syrinpress and scanner hooked to my own protective vest. “But if someone tries to attack me, Won will give them a big hug. Right, Won?”
The orderly’s spines bristled. “A tight hug, Healer.”
Reever docked with the first ship, a Hsktskt scout vessel that had seen better days. Whatever kind of fight it had put up had been prolonged, judging by the patchwork of scorch marks left behind by League pulse fire. Nearly the entire stern was missing, along with the stardrive.
“Team one, packs and breathers.” I took off my harness as soon as Reever finished docking and pulled my mask over my face.
Security went in first, as ordered, then I followed with my team. As I emerged into an interior corridor, prickles of sweat broke out on my brow and upper lip.
I’m providing medical care to a bunch of wounded, eight-foot-tall, six-limbed monsters who lost twenty thousand valuable slaves and an entire base of operations because of me. Cherijo, you have got to find another job.
Flickering optics barely illuminated the way, which wound throu
gh a gauntlet of smashed equipment and collapsing structural panels. The smell of displacer discharge residue stung my nose. Console alarms droned incessantly, while the more ominous crackle of overloaded circuitry snapped behind every wall.
“Hold.” The security team leader’s voice came over my headset, low and urgent. “Healer, take your team back to the docking bay.”
I pressed a hand to my earpiece. “Why?”
“These wounded indicate they do not wish our assistance.”
He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “Nor do we wish to add to the injuries they have already sustained.”
As usual, the Hsktskt were giving everyone a hard time.
“Wait.” To the medical team, I said, “Stay here.” Then I went ahead alone, easing past security guards until I approached the back of the leader, who was using his body to block an open doorway. I tapped his shoulder. “Let me see.”
He glanced down at me, then moved to the left. Beyond him was a large area equipped with diagnostic equipment, oversize tables and berths, and everything an onboard physician would need to treat wounded.
There were also ten Hsktskt, in various physical conditions, who had taken positions around the medical bay. They held large, activated displacer rifles pointed directly at the security team leader and me.
I stepped forward, but as soon as my foot crossed over the threshold, one of the Hsktskt fired at the deck, making me jump back with a yelp.
“Stoikkkass avarillna!” the Hsktskt centuron snarled at me.
I pressed a key on my vest pad. “Reever? You’re needed.”
My husband’s voice answered a moment later. “What is wrong, Cherijo?”
“What does ‘stoikkkass avarillna’ mean?”
“Unpalatable fodder that should be disposed of at once.”
That would be us. “Okay.” I blew out a breath. “Here’s our problem. We’ve got ten Hsktskt here who need immediate treatment. They’re holding us off with guns and, judging by your translation, would like us to leave.”
Qonja stepped up behind me. “Healer, we should go-“