by Viehl, S. L.
Reever helped me down and pulled me into his arms, hugging me so tightly I squeaked when I tried to breathe. “Forgive me,” he said, setting me at arm’s length. “I thought I had lost you.”
“I’m right here.” I didn’t like the way everyone was staring at me. “Are there any wounded?”
“No. None.” He kissed me.
I enjoyed the embrace, although I felt a little uncomfortable kissing my husband in front of the entire medical staff. Normally, Reever wasn’t this demonstrative; I must have scared him pretty badly this time.
“Hey.” I drew back and grinned. “I’m not going anywhere. Tell me about this crystalline being. How did it get on the ship?”
“The Lok-Teel liquefied themselves into a pool of protocrystal. The being formed itself out of their remains. I couldn’t hear it, but I think it spoke to you.” He cradled my face between his hands. “You don’t remember any of it, do you?”
“No, but it seems like I’m a little blurry on a lot of things.” I rubbed the sore spot just above my right temple. “You’re sure I didn’t hit my head on something? It feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it.”
Reever’s face turned to stone. “You know what a sledgehammer is?”
“A large hand tool used to smash holes in very hard things. Like my skull.” I probed one temple and grimaced. “Whatever they did hit me with, it worked.”
My husband grabbed my shoulders in an iron grip. “What is your name?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” I laughed, until I saw he wasn’t. “Reever, I’m drawing a whole stack of blanks here, but I do remember my name, and yours, and . . .” I looked around me and didn’t see a single familiar face. “Okay. Wait a minute.”
Reever released me, and his hands fell to his sides.
The tall, furry resident who had been scanning me on the table put one paw on my shoulder. “Don’t be afraid, Healer Jarn.”
I didn’t know who he was, but he was a little too touchy-feely for my liking. “Keep your paws to yourself, pal.” So I turned to the one face I did know—my husband’s. “Duncan, what the hell is going on? Who are these people? How did I get here?”
He didn’t answer me. “Tell me your name.”
“What, did you forget?” I laughed, but it made my head hurt. “Reever, it’s me. Cherijo. Cherijo Torin Reever. Your wife.”
He stared at me for a long time. “Jarn.” He strode out of the room.
“Right.” Utterly mystified now, I turned to the resident. “Who’s Jarn?”
About the Author
S. L. Viehl lives in Florida with her family. A USAF veteran, she has medical experience from both military and civilian trauma centers.