by Diana Palmer
She shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to. But it’s intriguing. We know so little about their culture, their behavioral traits. We know a lot about Rojoks, but they have reptilian DNA. Cehn-Tahr are supposed to be descended from felines.” She gave him a wry look. “I’m no geneticist but I’m not stupid, either. They have eyes that change color...nobody else in the galaxies does. And they may have feline traits, but the only way you get galot DNA is to be injected with it.”
He put a finger to his lips. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“Strick, we’ve been friends for a long time,” she persisted. “Can’t you tell me anything?”
He averted his face. “Some mysteries are best left unsolved,” he said flatly. “Now how about giving me your opinion on this new treatment for Altairian flu?”
Diverted, she turned to the virtual display. Since there was no way to satisfy her curiosity, she let the subject drop. For the time being. Privately, she wondered about the window her commanding officer had given her into his culture, something he’d never discussed with her in almost three years. It had been intriguing, and flattering, that he shared the remembrance ceremony with her. She really wondered why, when it was such a breach of custom. As she’d promised, however, she hadn’t said a word to Hahnson about that, even if she had picked his mind on Cehn-Tahr mating habits.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE WAR, LIKE all wars, had periods of monotony and boredom. It also had sudden spurts of urgency. This was one. The Rojoks had landed an advance force on a planet in the Dibella system and were preparing a staging area for a far larger command. Lagana was the largest continent on the planet; a rich source of clean water and foodstuffs, of which the Rojok supply lines were desperately in need.
Dtimun called in all off-duty personnel and set a course for the planet. The Dibella system was a link in a chain leading to the home planets of the Tri-Galaxy Council members. The advance, which was small at the moment, had to be stopped and the staging area destroyed. Lawson, for once, didn’t oppose the commando mission. Madeline had wanted to take Edris Mallory along on the mission, even if she’d had to conceal her on board. But once the Morcai put down on Lagana, the Dibella system’s fourth planet, she was glad she hadn’t. It was no milk run. There was a considerable Rojok presence in a staging area near one of the continent’s major cities—although on this jungle world, that meant a population of less than two hundred souls. The Rojoks obviously planned a takeover here, and had just landed troops with that intention, in two makeshift camps. The resources of the planet were extensive.
Dtimun called a briefing before the Holconcom left the ship. He pulled up a virtual map in the center of the room and indicated the Rojok staging area.
“We must destroy their communications equipment first. Jennings.”
“Yes, sir!” the human comm chief said, saluting.
“This will be your job. Coordinate with Komak’s forward unit.”
“Yes, sir!” Jennings grinned. On a human ship, he’d never have been allowed in combat. Communications personnel of Jennings’ command rank were not allowed on away missions in the Terravegan military. But here, duty descriptions were different. He loved these assaults; odd for a communications guy, Madeline thought amusedly.
Dtimun glanced at her and his eyes flashed green as he read the thoughts in her mind.
“You must take your bodyguard with you,” Komak told the C.O. abruptly.
Dtimun gave him an odd look.
Komak didn’t back down. “You must.”
Dtimun sighed. “Very well.” He indicated the four Holconcom who performed that function. “You will come down with me.”
The ranking officer in the small unit saluted.
Madeline found it unusual that Dtimun agreed to Komak’s suggestion. Often, the younger Cehn-Tahr had premonitions about difficult missions. Apparently, he had one about this one. Strange, because it was such a small Rojok command. But, Madeline thought, might as well err on the side of caution. She studied Dtimun covertly as he outlined the order of battle. She recalled him in sweeping robes at the Altair embassy. He had looked...very nice.
His eyes shot around and pinned her.
“Sorry, sir,” she thought at once, and forced her mind back to military thoughts. These irrational flashes were starting to get the better of her.
* * *
THEY HAD HOPED to land undetected, but the Rojoks had new state-of-the-art sensors and they worked. The minute the scout ships touched down, the Rojoks were waiting for them.
The onslaught was fierce. Two Rojok squads armed with kremoks, the new rapid-firing plasma rifles that fried internal organs, tore through the human infantry like fire through forests. Madeline saw two soldiers she’d served with since basic training go down, dead before they hit the ground. She checked them, anyway, but it was far too late for any medical technique to bring them back other than as clones, a living death in Terravegan society. She rose and moved quickly to the sound of plasma fire, forcing herself to be professional, not to let her emotions get the better of her. She had to tend to the living.
The medical research facility on Camcara was developing a counterweapon, a chemical screen that would be woven into the newest uniforms issued to the SSC. Madeline had adapted the technology for the Holconcom and Dtimun had authorized the addition and made it standard issue. But the uniforms were still in quality control tests.
Some of the commando squads were still using the older chasats, and one of those units had wedged itself between Dtimun and his bodyguard in the thick, muggy green jungle of vines and plants that covered this continent. Madeline cursed as she tried to move past a tangle that resembled a spiderweb. Then she remembered the illegal Gresham she’d tucked in the small away kit over one shoulder. She pulled it out and activated the power pack. With that, she cut through the vegetation in no time. She pressed ahead. The urgency grew as she heard the thum-thum sound of chasat fire close by.
“Ruszel!” She heard the ranking member of Dtimun’s four-man bodyguard unit in the tissue-thin monitor pasted just behind her ear.
“Yes!” she spoke into the matching monitor that rested like part of the skin at her lips.
“The commander has been hit!”
For an instant, the world went black. She was very still. “Critically?”
“Unknown. We saw him go down. Afterward, he did not move. We cannot get to him from our position. He has not answered our comms.”
“Where is he?” she asked tautly.
He gave coordinates. She didn’t speak to her comrades, who were mopping up the Rojok attack force. She motioned her medics toward three wounded Cehn-Tahr and then, with her heart racing at her throat, she sprinted toward the position where the commander was located. She didn’t dare think about his injury. With his greatly modified strength, if he was unconscious...!
Terror welled up in her. She didn’t see where she was going, she only ran, seeing the coordinates in the ether display that popped up from its concealment at the corner of each eye, produced by a film of circuitry which she wore over her corneas. She followed the blip, her illegal Gresham ready to fire. She wasn’t going to be captured. The C.O.’s life might depend on her, if he was still alive.
If he was still alive. She felt the words, like knives. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be! She realized suddenly that if he died, the light would go out of the world. There was nothing that would make up for his loss.
Forbidden thoughts, she told herself, and she must clamp down on them at once. She was a doctor, and a patient was waiting. That was what she needed to be thinking about.
She rushed through a cover of native vegetation and saw the commander flat on his back with two Rojok soldiers standing over him, chasats drawn.
She yelled, commanding their attention before they could fire. As they turned, surprised, she
took them down in a heartbeat with two quick blasts and never even paused to check, to make sure they were no longer a threat. She was a dead shot, especially under combat conditions, having been battle-tested as a child.
“Sir!” She slid onto her knees at his side, her wrist scanner already busy, searching out clues to his condition. “Sir?”
The members of his bodyguard suddenly came running from the direction of the worst fighting. Their uniforms were torn and one had a bloody arm.
“Why did you leave him?” she raged at them from a face as red as her hair. “Your job is to protect the commander, not to act as regular combat troops!”
In her mind a familiar, furious voice made itself heard. “Remember who you are, madam!” it demanded.
Her eyes turned to his. They were open, brown with pain and anger, but open and alive. She was shaking. She hadn’t even realized it.
“Remember who you are,” the angry voice sounded again in her mind. “Pull yourself together! You disgrace the uniform with this display of hysterics.”
She forced her mind to work, her body to relax. Her face reverted to its usual serene expression. “I beg your pardon,” she told his bodyguard in her usual, measured tones. “I spoke out of turn. We lost some of the Terravegans in the first wave, two of whom I had served with for years. It...affected me.”
“No apology is necessary, Ruszel,” the ranking bodyguard officer spoke for all of them. “We were pinned down in a gulley and could not get to the commander in time. Had you not been armed, the Rojoks would have killed him.”
“What...Rojoks?” Dtimun gritted as she opened his tunic and revealed a penetrating chest wound. “And what do you mean, had Ruszel not been armed?” he demanded, his angry voice gaining strength.
Madeline, busily working on his wound, tried to look invisible.
“Two Rojoks were in the act of killing you when Ruszel fired on them,” the officer said respectfully.
“You were armed?” he demanded of her.
She ground her teeth together as she pulled out another tool and began to repair the cellular damage. “So court-martial me.”
“I intend to!” he shot back. “How many times must I tell you that medics are not permitted weapons in combat? It draws fire from the enemy directly to you!”
“She saved your life, sir,” the eldest of his bodyguard interjected solemnly.
“Yes. And that’s twice...” Madeline began with defiant humor.
“Silence!” he growled. He tried to sit up while she was still working on him.
She pushed him back down. “Stay there!” she grumbled. “I can’t mend tissue on a moving target!”
The bodyguard stood rigidly, waiting for the explosion. To their amazement, the commander only made a sound in his throat and lay back down in the grass while Ruszel’s deft hands reduced the wound.
“After all the time and effort I put into saving your life at Ahkmau, I’m not letting some stray Rojoks take you out,” she muttered as she worked.
“We have already agreed that you most likely repaired me in such fashion that I will never function properly again,” he reminded her.
She made a face. “You could look for years in the Tri-Fleet and not find another Cularian medicine specialist who could operate on you under combat conditions.”
He didn’t answer. The rigid lines of his face began to relax. Madeline realized belatedly that he had been concealing the extent of the pain. It must have been horrific, she reasoned, considering the extent of the damage.
She finished the sutures and applied a sterile bandage. “You’re lucky that the Rojok hit your lung and not your heart,” she said absently.
“Your misfortune,” he replied, touching the invisible bandage with the tips of his fingers. “You have been warned repeatedly about flouting the regulations forbidding weapons to medics. This time you will pay the price.”
She got to her feet, trying not to notice the broad, muscular chest with its thick wedge of black hair confronting her as he followed suit.
“You’ll file charges,” she said nonchalantly, “the board will ask for my side of the story, I’ll call your bodyguard as witnesses and everybody will note that you would be dead if I hadn’t disobeyed orders. You’ll lose your case, I’ll get a commendation, and the Tri-Fleet will foot the bill for all the legal wrangling.” She gave him a smug look from twinkling green eyes.
“We would be required to tell the truth under oath,” the chief of Dtimun’s personal bodyguard interjected. “Sorry, sir.”
Dtimun closed his uniform shirt. “Get back down there and check the Rojok camp for intel,” he growled at the officer.
The other Cehn-Tahr saluted, grinned at Madeline and led his unit back to the dwindling sounds of combat from above.
Madeline knew she was in trouble. She didn’t even have to note the color of his eyes. It was bad enough that she’d carried a Gresham. It was worse that she’d forgotten herself so completely that she’d shown her fear for the danger he was in. She toyed with complex mathematical computations, hoping they might prevent him from seeing too much.
He didn’t say anything at first. He checked his virtual combat array to see how the mopping-up was proceeding, and he noted the position and strength of the remaining Rojok troops.
“Well, I couldn’t let them kill you,” she said defensively when he finally glared down at her. “I’m a doctor. I took an oath to save lives.”
His eyes narrowed. He seemed deep in thought. Something dark and painful made shadows under his eyelids.
Suddenly, she saw shapes. Humans. No, Cehn-Tahr. And Dacerians. Rojoks, too. There was sand; a village in the deep desert of Dacerius. There was a beautiful woman with jet-black hair that fell to her hips, and eyes like almonds. She wore the thinnest of black lace veils over her nose and mouth. She was smiling. Then she was yelling, held firmly by Cehn-Tahr soldiers in royal blue uniforms. A shadowy figure was raging at a younger version of Dtimun as he held the female by the arm. She whirled, moved toward him aggressively. The shadowy figure raised his hand and grabbed something from a nearby wall. A razor-sharp golden sword sliced downward. There was an anguished shout, a short scream, blood...!
She had to sit down. The images were horrifying, even to a physician who’d worked under combat conditions.
Dtimun was scowling. “Impossible,” he said harshly, visibly shocked. “You have no psi abilities. I checked your medical records!”
She was still trying to catch her breath. That beautiful, helpless woman. The barbarians! She shivered.
“Only six other minds in the three galaxies have ever penetrated mine, and they were of my own Clan!” he bit off.
The telling reference went right over her head.
“She was so beautiful,” she murmured, feeling sick.
He turned away from her. “We must go.”
She knew she should never have spoken aloud. Now she was going to catch hell for that, too. She got back to her feet, shaky and unsettled. She checked the medical banks in her wrist scanner for something to do.
“You will never repeat what you have seen,” he said, but his lips didn’t move.
She heard him in her mind. “Of course I won’t,” she replied, and her lips didn’t move, either. “I never repeat anything you tell me in confidence.”
They stared at each other for one long moment while the realization penetrated. Now it worked both ways. He was reading her mind; but she could read his as well. She wondered how Cehn-Tahr learned how to block probing minds. Before she could ask the question, even silently, the bodyguard came down the hill with a hostage.
Madeline left the commander with his bodyguard and rushed back to the rest of the command, to see what she could do for the wounded. Hahnson was directing his own medics among the humans of the unit. Madeline motioned to h
er medtechs and started toward another small section of the jungle battlefield. The sound of weapons firing seemed unusually loud.
Her contretemps with the commander had unsettled her, or she might have noticed the ambush. She’d gone ahead to search for more casualties when she heard the snap of a fallen limb just behind her. As she turned to see who was following her, there was a sharp pain in her head and then, darkness.
* * *
“WHERE IS RUSZEL?” Dtimun asked Hahnson as he and his bodyguard joined the rest of the unit.
“Maddie?” Hahnson looked dazed. “Sir, I haven’t seen her.”
“She came this way. She must be here.”
Hahnson called one of his assistants over. “Have you seen Dr. Ruszel?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” the younger man acknowledged. “She went ahead to look for any casualties we might have missed. She’s only been gone for a few minutes...”
Dtimun was a blur of red, moving so fast that his own bodyguard was hard-pressed to close the distance between them. He looked for her in his mind. But he couldn’t find her. The lack of communication was...disturbing. His red-haired medic tended to overshoot her mandate in battle, often rushing into trouble. He recalled Chacon’s timely interference at Ahkmau during the escape of the Morcai Battalion from imprisonment, when Madeline had been treating a wounded comrade and didn’t see Rojoks creeping up on her with deadly intent. Her courage was legendary. But she sometimes had poor impulse control. He didn’t like this. It was very unusual that he couldn’t touch her mind when he liked. He did it more often than he cared to admit lately, and often without her knowledge.
He tossed a curt order to his men, insisting when they were reluctant to leave him. He had no basis for his concern, but he felt somewhere inside him that Ruszel was in trouble. She got on his nerves, she irritated him, she frequently made him furious. But if he lost her...
He put on another burst of speed as he looked for any sign of her. He found her boot prints in the soft dirt. They were joined by two larger pair. Rojoks! Her footprints vanished and those of one of the Rojoks deepened. She’d been carried out of here. But to where? If he couldn’t access her mind, he couldn’t find her!