by neetha Napew
“What is the obsession with blue?” the female Omorr asked me as she declined the traditional Jorenian kiss of welcome from the workers. “Is it not bad enough their skin resembles that of an asphyxiated corpse?”
“Omorr have such an edgy sense of humor,” I said to the workers as I hustled the harpy and her friends past them. “Half the time you think they’re serious.”
“I am!” Garphawayn said. Then she added in a tight voice, “What is this thing?”
Alunthri had come around the corner. In its arms were two kittens, who were batting at each other with their paws. “Small nephews, you must not fight with one another.” The Chakacat lifted the kittens up to its shoulders, where they began batting at its whiskers. “Hello, Cherijo. I tracked these two for Duncan. He said they slipped out of your quarters this morning.”
Lady Cestes sneezed explosively. “Take them away! At once.”
So much for making more introductions. “Would you mind taking them home for me, Alunthri?”
“Of course. Fare you well, Lady Omorr.” Politely, it whisked the cats in an opposite direction.
“Lady Omorr.” Garphawayn made a contemptuous sound. “I thought Chakacats were well-versed in proper forms of address. Why does it not wear a collar and leash? It should be in an animal carrier, along with its litter.” She made another grand gesture. “Go and lock it up immediately. We shall wait here.”
“Garphawayn.” I took a deep breath. “No matter what you’ve heard, Alunthri is a free and sentient being. We treat all sentient beings with equal respect on this vessel. I hope I can count on you to do the same.”
Her brow ridges elevated. “You can actually count? I am astonished.” She stomped past me. “I trust in your tireless pursuit of respect and equality that you will not feed us from a bowl on the floor.”
Alunthri appeared from around the corner, and beckoned to me. “Is that Squilyp’s bride?”
I glowered. “If she lives that long.”
I barely got them to Medical before half the crew considered declaring group ClanKill. Luckily, Squilyp was not only finished with his surgical case but had changed into his finest garments. He looked handsome and nervous.
No way is he marrying this bitch.
“Senior Healer.” I stepped aside and gestured toward The Harpy from Hades with a casual hand. “The Lady Cestes, Garphawayn.”
Flushed nearly purple, my Omorr colleague barely kept his gildrells from flaring as he surreptitiously tugged at the front lines of his tunic. “Greetings, adorelee, negotiator. Honored members of the Cestes household.” He bobbed a couple of swift bows, then stared at Garphawayn as if she were a goddess.
“Hmph.” The goddess looked him up and down a few times, then turned her back on him and whispered something to her negotiator.
“You were not present when the adorlee kindly graced this vessel with her presence.” Lemesen tucked her three arms into a complicated, huffy mesh. “Not an auspicious beginning to negotiations, Lord Maftuda.”
Lord Maftuda? In spite of myself, I choked back a laugh.
“Forgive my tardiness and neglect.” Squilyp was almost stammering. “In my duties I am sometimes required to step outside protocol and treat the suffering. I will take measures to assure it will not happen again.”
“Speaking of inauspicious beginnings, Senior Healer”-I did a little arm-folding of my own-“it would go a long way in smoothing things over with the crew if you explained Jorenian protocol to the adorlee. In detail.”
He leaned over to murmur, “She’s already insulted someone?”
“Everyone she’s spoken to so far. Including me.”
“Surely we are not going to be required to remain in this facility?” Garphawayn regarded the patient berths with faint horror. “In communal sleeping areas?”
“No, this is only for patients. I would be honored to escort you to your quarters,” the Senior Healer assured her.
As the Omorr delegation bounced past me, Squilyp following up behind, I leaned over to murmur, “Don’t kick her in the heart. You’ll break your foot.”
That got me a dirty look. “She’s only shy.”
“Right. So are bone saws.”
“Adoren!” The female Omorr stood waiting beside the door panel to the main corridor. “I should like to see my quarters today, if it would not be too inconvenient.”
I watched as my boss hurried off after his highly displeased intended, and wondered how much return postage it would take to send back this nasty little package.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gains and Losses
Garphawayn of Cestes decided to remain on board for a grace period of several weeks, while her entourage returned to Omorr to negotiate the marriage contract. Apparently, the final round of talks were held between their families, while the two lovebirds got to know each other.
The Senior Healer apologized to me for doubling up on shifts so he could allot the proper time for their courtship. “I will compensate everyone once the matter is settled.”
We’d just finished morning rounds, and I’d been away from his fiancée long enough to feel a little charitable. “Yep, you’re going to owe me big time. So how is it going, anyway? She loosening up a little?” Personally, I didn’t think that would happen without dunking her in an immersion tank filled with mechanical lubricant, but miracles were known to happen.
He looked pained. “Omorr females are not as... informal... as you Terrans.”
I nodded. “So she’s still complaining about basically everything that moves.”
A reluctant chuckle left him. “Or doesn’t.”
My hasband surprised me a little later that shift by reporting for his next series of kidney screens. “As you said, I have put this off long enough.”
“He must be ill, boss. He’s actually listening to me.” I prepped an exam table and checked Reever’s vitals while Squilyp scrubbed to perform the biopsy. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering to check your stats. Your readings hardly ever vary more than a few points, either way.”
“Neither do yours.”
“Yeah, but I’m genetically engineered to be perfect, while you...” An image of Joseph’s underground lab flashed through my mind, and I froze. “Chameleons.”
Reever peered down around the table. “Where?”
“No. Not the lizards. I need to do a molecular thermal spectrum. Squilyp!”
The Senior Healer appeared, freshly sterilized and masked. “Is something wrong?”
I pushed Reever down and sterilized the extraction site above his mysterious kidney before infusing him with local anesthetic. “Take the biopsy.”
As soon as the Omorr had retrieved a sample of Reever’s kidney cells, I grabbed the biopsy needle and headed for the hemoanalysis unit. Over my shoulder, I yelled, “Reever, keep that tunic off. Squilyp, do a deep systemic scan, see if his renal vein or regional lymph nodes are enlarged. Check the perinephric space for nodules and soft-tissue attenuation, and have a look at the inferior vena cava and the main renal vein while you’re at it.”
“What is it, Cherijo?”
“I think I know where the kidney came from.”
Performing a spectral analysis of Reever’s renal tissue down to the molecular level seemed to take forever, but gave me time to think about my extremely wild theory.
Did you actually do it, Joe? Did you create a chameleon?
My creator had rarely talked about it, mostly be-cause the lack of apropos technology and cohesive organic material rendered it basically theoretical. By varying the characteristics of the organic solvents encapsulated within a bioartificial organ-the kind he grew in his laboratory on copolymer scaffolding-he had reduced the time it took for the transplant recipient’s own cells to replace the neo-organ. In the process, he’d also stumbled across an interesting side effect: Transplanted “stem” cells, which stimulated the re-growth process, were in fact not replaced, but incorporated as part of the resulting engineered tissue.
&nbs
p; “I found no criteria to support carcinoma,” the Omorr said as he hopped in. “It’s not carcinoma. It’s a chameleon.”
“I am not familiar with that term.”
I told him about my creator’s original experiment, and went on from there. “If the remnant stem cells were programmed to release themselves from the copolymer prior to incorporation, they’d enter the bloodstream and reattach themselves to another diseased organ, continuing the replacement process.”
“But that would only work on twin organs.”
“Not necessarily. Take a look at this.” I pointed as the molecular data began scrolling onto the vid. “See the variations in ten percent of the cell sample? Those aren’t kidney cells. They’re the chameleons. Bioengi-neered to alter their molecular structure to match whatever organ they attach themselves to. Reever was born missing a kidney, but he apparently had enough remnant renal cells to attract the chameleons.”
“What you’re talking about is medically impossible.”
I reminded him about the Core, the sentient pathogen which had nearly wiped out the colony on K-2. That single-celled organism had possessed the ability to mimic their hosf’s native cells, down to the chemical signatures. “And, aside from xenobiological examples, the Terran body cannibalizes millions of cells every second. We grow a new gastric lining every four days, new skin every four weeks, and regenerate our livers in six. Even our skeletons are completely replaced every revolution. It’s not hard to believe Joe found a way to replicate, then alter the natural process. God knows, I’m a shining example of that.”
The Omorr studied the vid screen. “How long do these chameleon cells remain viable?”
“I don’t know. The original plan was to have them degrade like blood cells. Feasible for one hundred and twenty days, tops.”
“Then they should not be present in my body.”
We both turned around to see my bare-chested husband standing behind us. When I saw the color of his eyes-the same shade ice crystals had when they formed on steel-I swore under my breath. “Reever, we don’t have conclusive evidence of any of this. I need to do more tests.”
“You have the biopsy sample.” He pulled his tunic over his head. “I must report for duty.”
“Duncan-“ I got up from my chair, but he was already gone. “Damn it. I didn’t want him to hear it that way!”
“Adoren!”
Garphawayn hopped through the main entrance to Medical and planted herself in the center of the bay. Squilyp sighed before going over to greet her, but she was having none of that.
“Do you realize it has been two hours since we were to dine together in that communal trough area?”
Adaola came over to stand beside me. “The Senior Healer’s Chosen?”
“Uh-huh.” I finished downloading the remainder of the data on Reever’s kidney. “Looks like something that would eat her own young, doesn’t she?”
“Healer!” The intern tried to sound scandalized, but ruined it by giggling. “She is very loud with her opinions, I think.”
“Yeah. The sonic cannons are getting jealous.”
The female Omorr was still ranting about proper meal intervals and how much she disliked being kept waiting while I tried to signal Reever. His assistant in Command promised to pass along my messages, so I concluded he was actively avoiding me.
Finding out Joseph had experimented on me had made me run away from Terra. What would it do to my husband?
In frustration, I went to work on the other scheduled cases, and noticed that one member of the sojourn team had still not come in for his physical. “Signal Hawk for me, if you would, and have him report to Medical immediately.”
“I tried to do so, several times this week,” Adaola told me. “He has not responded to any of my relays.”
I hadn’t seen him around the ship lately, either. Stubborn Terran males were almost as annoying as their female Omorr counterparts. “Okay, let me go round him up. I’ll be right back.”
Politely, I waited until Squilyp’s fiancée paused for breath before I let the Senior Healer know where I was headed.
“Very well,” Squilyp said. “I will wait until you return.”
“I have been kept waiting long enough! Send one of the servants!” Garphawayn motioned toward the nurses.
“They’re not servants,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Why don’t you sit down for a few minutes until I get back? I’m sure your mouth could use a rest.”
“How dare you!” The pink-faced Omorr went purple. “I refuse to take that sort of insolence from you, you-“
“Rude, ungracious, unpolished, discourteous, and impolite Terran female. I know. You’ve told me. Frequently.” I stalked off to the door panel. “Good thing we’re not getting married, huh?”
I calmed down by the time I reached Hawk’s quarters, and even felt a little ashamed of myself. My personal dislike of Garphawayn wasn’t making things easier for Squilyp, who had evidently fallen head over heel for her. It was possible Lady Cestes was feeling defensive, being alone on a ship surrounded by strangers. I pressed the door panel chime, wondering if some candid girl talk might help make the Omorr lady feel a little more at home.
If that doesn’t work, I can always sedate her.
No answer from Hawk. I checked the panel, and saw from the interior sensor sweep that he was inside. Why wouldn’t he answer the door? I punched in audio, and said, “Hawk? It’s Cherijo. Let me in. I want to talk to you.”
There was no response. Fearing the worst, I input my emergency medical override code, and manually keyed the door to open.
A faint waft of smoke swept over my face as the panel slid to one side, revealing complete darkness. I squinted, trying to see. Were the optic emitters malfunctioning? “Hawk?”
The door panel slid shut, about the same time a strong hand grabbed me by the throat and hauled me inside. “Did they send you?”
I clawed at his fingers, trying to get enough oxygen to reply. “Hawk... let... go...”
Abruptly he released me, muttered something, then switched on the lights.
I rubbed my throat and blinked. The hataali stood naked but for a stained piece of linen wrapped around his hips. He’d yanked out most of his chest feathers, judging by the condition of the swollen, bleeding follicles, and smeared himself with a moldy-looking yellow substance. The smell of that, combined with his body odor and oily hair, told me he hadn’t deconned since returning from Taercal.
I should have checked on him days ago.
The interior of his quarters matched his filthy, haggard appearance. Remnants of meals had been left out to rot. A huge dry painting covered most of the floor, but this one had been formed from bits of his own feathers and-was it possible? his own blood.
“Hawk? It’s Cherijo. Are you feeling sick?” I took out my scanner as I went toward him.
“You’re one of them.” His arm lashed out, and knocked my scanner out of my hand. The instrument clattered to the deck. “I’m not going to let you eviscerate me.” He whipped his head to one side and addressed an empty space. “Quiet!”
“Okay. No eviscerating today. Got it.” Warily I backed up and grabbed my scanner. “Hawk, do you know where you are?”
“I am at the beginning of the end of the world,” he told me. “Abandoned to the yei of the water and the fire.”
The yei were Navajo demons and monsters. Was he hallucinating? “You don’t remember being on a Jorenian star vessel?”
His hoarse voice lowered to a whisper. “That is what the yei wish us to think.” He reached up to his chest, and plucked out a feather, handing it to me as if bestowing an expensive gift. “That is the trap of the water and the fire. You are very small for a yei.”
“I’m not a monster, but I know they come in all sizes.” The doctor inside me started taking assessment: limited or no contact with reality. Disordered speech. Self-inflicted wounds. I had to keep him talking. “These yei, why are they doing this to you?”
> “They hate me.” Tears ran down Hawk’s dirty face. “They intend to sacrifice me on the altar to their gods.” He backed into a wall, then slid down it to sit on the deck. His voice went flat. “This is the way of the end of the world.” His lips continued forming the words silently: the way of the end of the world, the way of the end of the world.
“Why would they do that? You haven’t done anything wrong.” I moved closer, activating the scanner. “You’re a nice guy.”
“They took me from my father and my people.” He looked over at the empty space again. “Stop whispering!” Then he spoke to me again. “They thirst for my blood because it is the key to everlasting life.” Hawk watched me pass the scanner slowly over him, this time showing no fear and only perfunctory interest. “What is that?”
“A protection against the yei,” I told him as I studied the display. No fever, though his dopamine and serotonin levels were off the grid. No injury to the frontal cortex lobes-yet. “Are you hearing these demons, or can you see them, too?”
Suddenly he straightened and gave me a haughty look. “I see all the yei gathering here. I have heard their plans for destruction of the universe.” He slumped back and went back to saying/mouthing words. “I keep watch over them, because I am the only one who can stop them.” The only one who can stop them, the only one, the only one.
“How do you feel about that?” Without a comprehensive blood series, I couldn’t determine if he’d resorted to drugs. They were a very real possibility-he may have brought something with him from Terra, for ceremonial purposes. “Does it make you angry or sad?”
“No.” He sounded remarkably calm, for a man who was in the throes of a severe psychotic episode. “I feel only resolve.”
Hawk had all the classic signs-delusions, false beliefs, multiple-sensory hallucinations, thought disorder, and blunted emotions. With time and a few tests, I might be able to determine whether he was suffering from organic psychosis or had developed a functional schizophreniform disorder.
If he doesn’t kill himself or me before we leave this room.