by Viehl, S. L.
“Unless the sojourn requires us to do otherwise, we will work standard three-shift rotations,” I told my staff. “As we have no patients at present, your first assignment is to run diagnostic checks on all of the equipment. I know Senior Healer Squilyp likely had you do that before we left Joren”—I noted the wry smiles all around—“but the stress of launching and transitioning has been known to cause random equipment malfunctions. We don’t want to assume everything is working; we want to be certain of it. Do you have any questions?”
One nurse lifted her hand in a polite gesture. When I nodded to her, she said, “Very little information on the oKiaf is available from our database, Healer Jarn. Is there a comparable species we can study in order to better prepare for the jaunt down to the planet?”
“The Skartesh and the oKiaf possess nearly identical physiologies,” Jylyj said, startling me. “You may access my medical records, or request data from Kevarzangia Two. The physicians at the colony’s free clinic have treated thousands of Skartesh refugees.”
I didn’t know whether to admire or suspect the Skartesh for recommending the medical staff contact K-2 for more information on his species while making his own records available to them. He either had nothing to hide or had hidden the truth so well he presumed they would never discover it.
Before I could comment on his generosity, a voice from the bay com panel announced that the ship would be transitioning in five minutes.
Like my former self, I had trouble staying conscious during the interdimensional jumps the Jorenians used to shorten the length of their sojourns. I ended the meeting and asked a nurse to accompany me to one of the isolation rooms, where I occupied a berth and had her restrain me.
Jylyj appeared and looked down at me. “What are you doing?”
“Sparing myself some bruises.” At his blank look, I added, “I often lose consciousness during ship transitions. This spares the crew much of the trouble involved with reviving me.”
“Have you ever determined why you faint during transition?” he asked, taking out a scanner.
“Squilyp and I have both tried, to no avail. The Omorr thinks it has something to do with my brain chemistry.” I frowned as he initiated a cerebral scan. “We have not yet transitioned, so that is useless.”
“The technology the Jorenians use for transitioning first releases a modified phase-energy pulse to create a dimensional aperture.” He switched on a pen light and checked my pupils. “You may be sensitive to the effects of the pulse.”
I blinked. “No one else faints or sees the ship turn into a swirl of color.”
“No being undergoing a dimensional transformation preserves its sense of spatial relation.” He spoke absently as he scrolled through the scan.
“I read no signs of injury or infection, and yet your white-cell count is elevated.” He scanned me a second time. “It is still increasing.”
“My immune system has been enhanced to respond more aggressively than the average Terran’s.” I felt the vibration of the Sunlace’s engines growing stronger, and closed my eyes as I braced myself. “Whatever happens, don’t code me.”
I felt Jylyj bending over me a moment before the sickening slam of the ship’s transition took over my senses and sent them into overload. My stomach dropped as the unpleasant sensations of reality bending and twisting around me grew unbearable. I felt something else—a touch on my face—before the stress and nausea rendered me unconscious.
When I next awoke, I still felt the vibrations of the engines, although now they were subsiding. The Skartesh no longer stood beside the berth, but had been replaced by one of the senior nurses.
She flinched with surprise when I asked her to release the restraints. “Your pardon, Healer Jarn. We were told you would likely remain unconscious for several hours.”
My brow felt very warm, and my stomach clenched slightly with a remnant nausea that vanished as soon as the nurse released me and I sat up. “How long has it been?”
She glanced at her wristcom. “Three minutes, forty seconds since the ship completed transition.”
I had been healing faster than my former self; perhaps I was adjusting to transition better. I got up, walking slowly until I felt sure I had regained my equilibrium, and then washed the sweat from my face at the scrub unit. As I used a linen to dry myself, I remembered Jylyj’s comment about my white-cell count and performed a quick blood scan. All of my counts read at normal levels.
White cells did not vanish in a few minutes; once created by the body they remained present and active in the bloodstream for days. Either the Skartesh had made a mistake or he had lied to me.
I glanced around the room and asked the nurse, “Where is the scanner that Healer Jylyj used on me?” She handed it to me, and I checked it for the last set of readings.
The display showed nothing. The unit’s memory core had been erased.
The Sunlace’s interdimensional jump had moved the ship from Joren to a region just outside the Saraced system located on the opposite side of the quadrant. It would take another three days’ travel to reach oKiaf space, where we would hopefully make contact with the local authorities and obtain permission to conduct a survey on-planet.
I used the time to work with the staff in medical and prepare the supplies needed for the jaunt to the planet.
Hawk proved invaluable to me as he spoke of tribal medical practices and made suggestions on how the survey team should dress and conduct themselves around the oKiaf. I conducted several meetings with the rest of the staff, during which I had him relate what he knew of tribal medicine.
“In most primitive societies, healing the sick and injured among the tribe is performed by a single male or female who serves as the group’s shaman,” Hawk explained during one such meeting. “The oKiaf have been exposed to advanced technology, so it is unlikely their healers have remained dependent on native treatments and religious rituals. Yet these will still be important to the people, and may be incorporated with what technology they continue to use.”
Herea, the second-year intern, grimaced. “Without detailed knowledge of their rituals and homeopathic medicines, anything we do is likely to offend them.”
“Their exposure to offworld practices has probably resulted in a degree of tolerance that other primitives with no outside contact would not offer,” Hawk assured her. “The important thing to remember is to go slowly and carefully with them, and always be respectful of non-harmful practices. Casting fragments of bone next to patients or painting their bodies with native pigments may seem pointless to you, but such healing rituals are often tightly bound to the tribe’s belief systems and sense of identity. As such, they give reassurance, and can even have a positive effect on the patient’s recovery time.”
I discovered the Skartesh had very stringent restrictions on the circumstances under which their healers—like the Iisleg before the rebellion, always male—could treat female patients. They required certain preparations to preserve the female’s modesty, and never completed their work without the female’s mate or a male family member present.
Jylyj also provided some helpful information by relating the observations he had made during his visits to oKia.
“It is the practice of each member of the tribe to care for their own minor injuries or illnesses,” he said. “They expect privacy for this and will not allow you to treat them.”
“So, in essence, every oKiaf is a healer.” I thought about this. “What if they are too ill or badly injured to care for themselves?”
“If their condition is more serious or they are rendered incapacitated by it, the chieftain will summon an alleviator,” the resident said. “He treats the incapacitated tribesman until they have recovered enough to take over from him.”
“Is this alleviator a trained physician?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” the Skartesh said. He spoke slowly now, as if choosing his words more carefully. “He has some skill with healing, but his primary purpose is to provide practic
al care until such time as the patient improves enough to care for himself.”
“Does every tribe have an alleviator?” Hawk asked.
Jylyj shook his head. “The alleviator who treated the tribe I visited also served ten other tribes.”
Although the resident sounded as if he knew what he was talking about, I had the sense that he wasn’t being entirely truthful. “How are such males chosen?”
“I cannot say.” He avoided my gaze.
I had not confronted Jylyj about what had happened during transition or the readings he had deleted from the scanner, but I had been keeping him under close watch.
The Skartesh preferred to work with the male staff, that much was obvious, but to the female staff he remained courteous and cooperative. Off duty he stayed in his quarters and rarely ventured out. I never saw him making use of the recreational areas or sharing a meal with others in the crew galley where most of the Jorenians congregated.
In fact, the only times I saw Jylyj voluntarily interact with others were at the medical staff meetings or in the bay during shift change. He proved to be an effective supervisor who ran medical as efficiently as Squilyp, and made a point to personally ensure that all of the daily tasks assigned to his subordinates were completed properly and on time.
To keep the staff from growing bored, and to give myself something to do, I conducted several trauma and surgical simulations in the environomes. The preset programs, which had been designed by Squilyp and based on actual emergencies that had occurred in the past, simulated everything from single operations to full-scale disasters.
One morning, after Herea and I were finishing a complicated spine injury case, one of the nurses signaled to indicate a real patient had reported to medical with compound fractures of the radius due to an accidental fall.
“This one is yours, so go and perform the initial assessment,” I told Herea. “I will join you as soon as I clear and reset the program.”
Pleased to be placed in charge of the case, the intern started for the nearest lift, but then she stopped and turned to me. “Healers at my level are required to be supervised at all times by a licensed practitioner.”
“You just restored function to all six of this training torso’s limbs,” I pointed out. “You know what you are doing. Unless you want me to hover over you while you examine the patient?” She made a swift negative gesture. “Then what are you waiting for? Go. Be a doctor.”
She grinned and hurried off.
Squilyp would have been scandalized by such an obvious violation of the rules, but I thought ensleg medical practice too often focused on protocols and not enough on the needs of the patient. Herea was the most sensible and coolheaded of the healers I had been assigned; she had repeatedly demonstrated a natural gift for diagnosing and treating all manner of skeletal disorders and injuries.
“The Senior Healer rarely uses the Tingalean torso for training purposes,” a male voice said from behind me. “Their spine cases are among the most difficult of the reptilian species to treat and repair.”
“I cannot see the sense of practice if it is not difficult.” I looked over my shoulder at Jylyj. “You finished your shift only an hour ago. You should be sleeping.”
“I was interested to see how the intern performed during the simulation,” he admitted. “I watched you both from the observation alcove.” He came to the training torso and examined the repairs Herea and I had made. “Interesting choices. Somewhat risky, as well. I would have started at the fourth lumbar and removed the bone fragment lodged in the wall of the left lung.”
“Relieving the compression injury at the primary vertebrae restored circulation to the rest of the spine, and preserved the greatest degree of limb function.” I gestured toward the monitors. “Had the patient shown any signs of respiratory distress, I would have attended to repairing the lung.”
“That is not standard procedure,” he said. “Being able to walk is not as important as being able to breathe.”
“You should check the database for cases of Tingalean paralysis,” I advised him. “You will find that the post-op infection rate triples, and most die within the first year from complications related to immobility. Being able to walk, at least for Tingaleans, is what keeps them breathing.”
His expression became skeptical. “How often do you think a Jorenian healer like Herea will operate on a Tingalean patient?”
“Now that the war is over and travel restrictions have been lifted, Herea may choose to join the crew of a HouseClan exploration vessel. Tingaleans and several other reptilian species often serve on Jorenian ships.” Belatedly, I recalled that a reptilian species—the Hsktskt—had destroyed his homeworld during the war. “If you have some personal objection to treating coldbloods, you should make it known to the Senior Healer when we return.”
“I was called to healing from birth. I knew what it would be when I answered.” He came to stand behind me. “You were born to it. You know what it is to look upon a wounded enemy and only see their pain and suffering. You operated on that female with the grenade in her belly, knowing that she was sent to kill you.”
Was my ClanBrother trying to use the resident to gain my confidence? “Who told you such a thing?”
“I read the case file and did some research on the ordnance.” He shifted closer. “Given the facts, it was the logical conclusion.”
“You are mistaken.” He stood too close to me now; I could feel his breath on the back on my neck. “Am I blocking your view?” Before he could answer, I stepped aside and went around the training torso, putting the surgical table between us.
Jylyj braced his paws on the edge of the projectors, causing part of the holographic torso to disappear. “You do not care for me.”
Did he expect me to confirm or deny it? “I don’t know you.”
“They talk about you, the Jorenians. Some think you are cold because you were stranded on that ice world too long.” His dark eyes remained locked on my face. “I should tell them how foolish they are not to see beyond the mask you wear. But that would require me to discard my own.”
I didn’t like knowing the staff discussed me in my absence, any more than his tale carrying. “Be careful, Skartesh. You do not know me at all.”
“I think I do, better than most. And you have sensed it from the day we met.” He straightened. “When you tire of this charade, sadelenne, come to me. I will show you everything you deny yourself.”
In that moment, I at last understood. This was not about female subjugation or prejudice. Jylyj desired me. I knew nothing of Skartesh mating practices, but to pretend I did not know what he was about might be in his eyes a kind of encouragement. Although I would probably offend him deeply, I had to make my feelings plain, right now.
“I will never come to you. I love my husband, and there is no other for me.” I switched off the simulation projectors. “Excuse me.”
I did not look back as I left the environome, but by the time I reached medical I felt as if I had run all the way there.
The encounter with Jylyj left me feeling uncomfortable and somewhat at odds with myself. I said nothing about it to Reever, and kept the Skartesh out of my thoughts whenever we were together. I had never tried to actively hide anything from Reever—to attempt to do so when he could read my thoughts whenever he liked was pure idiocy—but I worried that he would misconstrue what had happened.
Nothing had happened. Nothing would.
Knowing that Jylyj desired me also heightened my awareness of him, and I sometimes caught myself watching him or looking for him. That was the reason I discovered the strange fascination the Lok-Teel had with the Skartesh.
Like the rest of the staff, Jylyj made regular use of the Lok-Teel to clean the decks and equipment in medical. The sentient mold, first discovered on Catopsa by my former self, lived on any sort of unwanted organic waste and excreted an astringent antiseptic substance that cleaned whatever surface it touched, making it an almost perfect housekeeper. The specimen
Cherijo had brought from the slave depot had reproduced pro lifically, creating enough offspring to provide dozens of little helpers for every Jorenian medical facility and star vessel that desired them.
The mold was cooperative, even friendly in its own way, so everyone liked it. The Lok-Teel, however, had never shown a preference for any of us—or so I assumed until the evening I saw five of them scurrying along the corridor to join another ten waiting outside Jylyj’s quarters.
Instinctively, I held back and watched, as I knew from the hour that the Skartesh would soon be exiting his quarters to report for his shift. After a few minutes the panel opened and he emerged, stopping as he saw the Lok-Teel waiting for him.
Jylyj did not kick them aside or step on them, but looked down until they seemed to sense they were blocking his path and drew back out of his way. He then walked down the corridor toward medical, and the fifteen Lok-Teel followed him.
I did the same, taking care to hang back so that I could observe this oddity without giving away my presence. At the entrance to medical, Jylyj gave the secured entrance his voice print to gain access, but stood to one side as the panel opened. Only after all fifteen of the Lok-Teel following him passed over the threshold did he go inside.
“That is a very enigmatic expression you wear,” Qonja said as he joined me. “What do you out here?”
“Have you ever noticed the Lok-Teel following anyone?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “To be truthful, I rarely notice the Lok-Teel, much less what they do. Whom have you seen them following?”
“The Skartesh, Jylyj,” I said. “He seems to attract them.”