by S. L. Viehl
It took two hours for me to repair the damage to the raider’s spleen, which thankfully proved much more resilient than most humanoid species. Cat remained silent and moved only to hand me the instruments I needed, for which I was grateful.
“That’s it,” I said as I finished closing. “I’ll need to keep him on close monitor for the next day, but barring complications he should survive.” I pulled down my mask and saw how the Omorr’s gildrells poked out from under his. “What is wrong?”
He pulled the bloodied gloves from his membranes and dropped them on the table. “Nothing, except that you just came here, cut open that man, and rearranged his insides like you do it every day.”
“During the rebellion, I did at least two or three splenectomies every week. I think I could do them blindfolded.” I realized how callous I sounded and gave him a rueful look. “I am sorry. I should have warned you about the nature of field surgery. It can seem quite brutal.”
“Brutal? You saved his life. None of us could have done it, even if we’d wanted to. I am beyond impressed.” Cat regarded the state of my surgical shroud. “Yours is a messy business, though, Doc.”
Now that the raider was no longer in danger of bleeding out, I could go back and deal with the others. I instructed Cat on how to use the drednoc to bring my patient back to the treatment room, and then headed there myself. But as I stepped out of the air lock, I saw my husband, pale-faced but standing on his own, waiting beside the control panel.
“What are you doing here?” I went over to him and found myself in his arms. “Duncan.”
“I am all right, Waenara,” he assured me, kissing the top of my head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve watched you being a surgeon.”
“I am putting you in restraints the next time you are wounded,” I snapped. I turned and tucked my arm carefully around his waist. “Come back to the treatment room. I barely had time to look at you properly. Are you in pain?”
On the way there, Reever said, “I’m not wounded, but I have an interesting new scar across my ribs.”
“Yes, I saw it.” And now I had to explain to him why. “Duncan, I need to talk you about all the medical tests I’ve run on you since we left Akkabarr.”
He nodded. “You said the results were favorable. “
“Not exactly.” I groped for the right words and found myself making excuses. “I was going to tell you about this while we were away on this sojourn, but then we crashed here and, well, the right moment never presented itself.”
“It’s what Joseph Grey Veil did to me after I was stabbed on Terra,” he said. “Those cells he put inside me. They’ve changed me, haven’t they?”
Only one other person knew the truth about the chameleon cells. “Did Squilyp tell you this?”
“Cherijo said the cells were responsible for my kidney regenerating. My eyes healed very quickly after the battle during the rebellion. And they preventedme from dying on Vtaga when SrrokVar’s drone stabbed me through the chest.”
I stopped outside the treatment room. “The chameleon cells Joseph Grey Veil implanted in you have infiltrated every part of your body. Evidently they remain in a dormant state until they’re stimulated by sickness or injury. Then they replicate and replace the dying cells. Since they can mimic any cell structure in your body, they can repair any damage done to it.”
His hand touched my cheek. “You were afraid to tell me this?”
“What Cherijo’s—what my creator did to you was wrong,” I said. “He had not tested the cells properly; he used you like a test animal.”
He didn’t seem concerned. “He did the same to you.”
“You don’t understand, Duncan. There could still be complications.” My voice hardened. “I don’t understand how she could let him experiment on you.”
“I was dying, Jarn. As much as I despised Cherijo’s father, he saved my life. He may have greatly increased my life span as well, is that not so?”
“If there are no complications, and the cells continue functioning as benevolent symbiotes,” I said, “your wounds will heal, you will not be susceptible to disease, and you will not age.”
“Whatever happens”—he took my hands in his— “you are not to blame for what was done in the past.”
The tension eased from my chest. “You’re taking this very well.” So well that I wondered if I should risk telling him about my experience in the solitude room.
“All you must do now is replicate the process Joseph used to create the cells,” Reever said. “You have plenty of time before Marel reaches maturity and needs them.”
I felt bewildered. “Why would I put chameleon cells in our daughter? She is in perfect health.”
“We conceived her before Joseph Grey Veil implanted the cells in me,” Reever said. “If Marel has not inherited the gift of your genes, her life span will only be that of an average Terran.”
“As it should be,” I said, very carefully. “Duncan, you and I are no longer Terran. I doubt we could even be classified as human. I cannot recreate the chameleon cells, and I am certainly not infecting Marel or anyone else with them.”
He stepped back. “So you would have us outlive our own daughter, when we could share our gift with her?”
“Our gift?” Anger made my hands clench. “Have you forgotten all that has happened since Cherijo escaped her creator and fled Terra? She has been hunted, tortured, imprisoned—enslaved—all because she cannot die. How many others have died trying to obtain the secret of her immortality for themselves, or to protect Cherijo from those who would take it? Duncan, this gift has been like a curse upon her soul. It terrifies me to think that Joseph inflictedit on you. And now you would have me do the same thing to our daughter? The three of us will never be safe again.”
“No.” Reever took hold of my shoulders. “You are wrong. No one knows about Marel. We will not let anything happen to her.”
My heart felt like a stone in my chest. “No, we will not, because I will never replicate the process. If you cannot accept that our daughter will live a normal life span, then we should give her to the Torin. With them, she can live her life among other mortals, and you will not have to watch her die.”
“I told you after the rebellion,” Reever said, very softly, “the only way you will separate me from our daughter is to kill me.” He touched his side. “I think that will be rather more difficult now.”
Mercy came out of the treatment room and looked at both of us. “I hate to interrupt this tender moment or whatever you two are having, but the painkiller is wearing off the guy with the burns, and the one with the headache keeps trying to nap. Cat will be here in a minute with that raider you should have let die, too.”
“I will signal Drefan and tell him what is happening with his men.” Reever turned and walked away.
I stayed in the treatment room through the night so I could monitor the raider I had operated on. Reever never returned, but Mercy came in the morning to tell me that Drefan had signaled, insisting his men be returned to Omega Dome at once.
I expressed my opinion of his request in candid terms.
“Yeah, I think he’s an utter jackass, too.” Mercy shrugged. “But if we don’t take them back, he’s sending more of his drednocs to get them. Much as I’d like to blow up the access way between us, I really don’t need an interdome battle right now.” She sighed. “He wants you over there, too.”
I considered telling her about Tya, and then thought better of it. “Very well. I will prepare the men for transport.” I brushed some hair out of my face. “Have you seen Reever?”
“Not since he walked out of here yesterday. Did you tell him about your little spin in the fantasizer? Maybe he’s sulking.” When I shook my head, Mercy went to the console and signaled Cat. “Where is Reever?”
The Omorr replied, “He took two of our drones and returned to Gamers.”
“I want the drones back.” Mercy terminated the relay and caught my expression. “Trouble in paradise? “
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Words of resentment welled up inside me, but Iisleg women did not complain about their husbands. “We had a disagreement about our child.”
“You know, when Cat and I get into it, I lose my temper, and yell, and say things I don’t really mean.” Mercy grimaced. “He knows how I am, and stays away from me until I settle down. I’m thinking Reever does the same thing.”
I shook my head. “Reever just tells me that if I want my way, I have to kill him.”
Mercy whistled. “Whoa. He doesn’t compromise very well, does he?”
“He doesn’t compromise at all.” I gave her an exasperated look. “Why are you being so sympathetic? I thought you were angry with me.”
“I thought you were a naive, clueless kid.” She gestured toward the engineers and the raider being prepped for transport. “Way you handled them? I should have you protecting me.”
“I would make a terrible bodyguard,” I advised her, “but I thank you for the compliment.” I looked down as she handed me a wristcom. “I already have one of my own.”
“This one’s been modified with a one-touch emergency autorelay and locator beacon.” Mercy showed me the recessed slide switch. “It works off a pair of binary command crystals, which Drefan can’t monitor or jam.” She showed me a duplicate of the device around her own wrist. “I’ve got the other one.”
I knew of the crystals, which were perfectly tuned twins that responded only to each other. They were so rare as to be very nearly priceless. “Mercy, you should not have done this.”
“Too late.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, I got the crystals from an old friend who can’t use them. If you’re in trouble over at Gamers, turn it around your wrist twice to activate the beacon, and sit tight until Cat and I come and get you.”
I accompanied the patients back to Omega Dome, where they were taken to a simulator room programmed to serve as a hospital ward. Drefan glided in as I was making them comfortable.
“How are the men?”
“Stable, no thanks to your impatience.” I kept my back to him as I changed the abdominal dressings on my spleen patient. “Where is Reever?”
“He is presently beating the algorithms out of my Hsktskt combat program in a sparring chamber.” Drefan maneuvered his chair in between the berths and peered at the surgical site. “What is that very interesting-looking poultice made of?”
“A form of ambulatory mold.” I picked up the Lok-teel, which had cleaned the impurities and bacteria out of the patient’s wound, and allowed it to slide under the edge of my sleeve. “It feeds on refuse and waste, and exudes a sterile astringent.”
Drefan watched the bulge of the mold move under my sleeve. “Is it the same mold you used to change your facial features when Posbret came looking for you at Mercy House?”
I kept my face blank. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you, Ana?” His one eye shifted down to a light that began blinking on the arm of his glidechair. He tapped it and said, “What is it, Keel?”
“Posbret and his entire crew are here in main control, “ the Chakacat replied, its voice tight. “I don’t know how they got in, but they want you to turn the Terrans over to them. They say if they’re not here in one minute, they’re going to start shooting everything that moves.”
“We’ll be right there.” Drefan terminated the relay and looked up at me. “I don’t think a mask is going to fool him this time. Shall we try the truth?”
Posbret had brought at least fifty men with him this time, I saw as I followed Drefan into the control room. Keel stood in the center of the raiders, dangling from Posbret’s pudgy fist, which held the back of its harness.
Their sweat soaked their orange and brown fur as well as the air, creating a cloud of fear and fury.
I had not bothered with the Lok-teel mask, and as soon as the raider leader saw me he produced a brilliant, satisfied smile.
“You’re smart to bring the shifter to me, Games Master,” he told Drefan. “I’ll see to it that she pays for what she’s done.”
“I am not the killer that you seek, Posbret,” I said. “Think about it. My ship crashed here three days ago. The skin thief has been attacking your colony for the last year.” I pulled down my lower eyelid. “You see? No blood around my corneas.” I tugged at my forearm. “My skin is my own.”
Some of the raiders began shifting and muttering under their breath.
“You didn’t look like this at Mercy House,” Posbret said, gesturing at my face. “The only way you could change your face and hair is if you’re a shifter.”
I considered showing him the Lok-teel under my tunic, and then thought better of it. “I didn’t think a lot of face paint and hair dye would convince you, but Mercy is quite talented with enhancing a woman’s appearance.”
Posbret’s serene brow furrowed. “You’re lying. You could have faked that crash to gain more access to us. You could be more shifters, come to help kill us. You’ll tell me the truth when I put you on the rack.” He motioned to three of his men.
Before the trio could take hold of me, I held out a medical scanner. “Here is your truth, raider. Pass it over me. It will show you that I am who I say I am.”
“You could have programmed it to give false readings,” Posbret argued. “To protect yourself.”
When Reever and I escaped this world, I was going to find a cure for paranoia. “Pass it over yourself first and see.”
Keel fell from Posbret’s fist and landed on all fours as the raider leader snatched the scanner out of my hand. He switched it on and passed it over himself and then two of his men standing nearby.
“All right, so we read normal.” He turned it toward me. “Let’s see what’s inside you.”
I stood motionless under the scanner’s beam and waited without comment for Posbret to study the results.
He frowned. “You’re Terran.” He looked up, his liquid brown eyes perplexed. “Maybe it’s the other one.”
The door panel to the control room opened, and Reever came in, his arm supporting my spleen patient.
“I am as Terran as my wife is,” Reever said, helping the raider cross the room. “But feel free to scan me as well.”
“Jhgat,” Posbret said, astonished. “I thought you were dead.”
“You left me out there to die,” the raider said, his voice harsh. “Drefan’s battle drone brought me in with the other wounded. I was busted up bad inside. “ His tired eyes shifted toward me. “She’s a patcher. She opened me up and fixed me.”
“Why would she do that?” one of the other men demanded, raising a pistol and aiming it at my patient. “She put something inside you?”
I stepped into the line of fire and let Cherijo take over. “I didn’t save this man’s life so that you could shoot him, you neurotic moron. Put down the weapon. Put it down.“
The raider slowly lowered the pistol.
I turned to Posbret and gestured toward my patient. “Are you satisfied now, or do you want to scan him, too?”
The Gnilltak’s leader shoved past his men and came to stand over me. “Why did Davidov offer four million for you?”
“The bounty has been withdrawn,” Drefan said before I could answer. “We received the signal from the Renko last night.”
“I saw the relay,” Posbret said. “Why did he offer it in the first place?”
A very good question, I thought, trying to formulate a reasonable response.
“Davidov blockaded Trellus to keep the killer from escaping,” Reever said. “He used the bounty to find us, lured us here, and deliberately stranded us. He believes that we can find your killer, and stop it.”
“We’ve been looking for the fucking thing for a year,” Posbret snarled. “What does he think you can do?”
“I don’t know,” Reever admitted. “My wife has successfully solved many crises on other worlds. Maybe Davidov believes she can do the same here. His motives are not our concern. We’ll do whatever we can to help you.”
&nb
sp; “Then you’re a fool, Terran.” The raider leader’s perfect lips formed a ghastly grin. “Because the only thing you’re going to do down here is die.”
Twelve
Once the raiders left the dome, Drefan sent a maintenance crew to repair and reinforce the air lock they had blasted out, and had two of his drones escort my spleen patient back to the simward. The games master suggested that I continue with my exams of his staff.
Reever, I saw, had disappeared again. “Would you ask my husband to signal me when he has finished in the sparring room?” I asked Keel, who nodded. I turned to Drefan. “You can come with me.”
His brows arched. “For what reason?”
“You’re the first one I’m going to examine.”
Instead of protesting, Drefan silently accompanied me to the room I had been using for exams, and deftly hoisted his body out of the chair and onto the table.
“I should tell you before we begin,” he said, “that I’m not as pleasant to look at as the Gnilltak.”
“I’m not interested in your personal beauty,” I advised him. “Can you undress without assistance? “
“It was the first skill I taught myself after losing my limbs.” He released the fasteners on his tunic, baring a wide, heavily muscled chest with a row of crude-looking dark blue symbols forming a circular pattern over his heart.
I didn’t recognize the symbols. “Is that tattoo decorative, or does it mean something?”
“This part says ‘one-one-six-nine-four-seven-one, ’ “ he told me, pointing to the upper portion of the symbols. “Slaves are not permitted the privilege of names. The two side rows are my original owner’s identification and contact code. I didn’t bring much at auction, so he didn’t bother with a locator implant.”
He spoke of his enslavement as if it meant nothing to him. “And the bottom row?”
He ran a thumb over the symbols. “Certification that my second owner set me free.”
I passed a scanner over him while I surveyed the condition of his arm and leg stumps. “Were your amputated limbs severed, diseased, or damaged?”
“They were crushed,” he told me. “An unbalanced load of raw ore fell on top of me.”