“A terror bird with fangs, an herb that I hope is edible because it smells wonderful, and a new-to-me mammal.” Rigi found the marked place in her second sketchbook and opened it, then held it up to the hologram recorder. “There were six adults plus two apparent juveniles. They form defensive circles when threatened.”
“Hmm. Where were they?”
“On a relatively steep, grassy hillside in the first range of hills west of the new settlement, ma’am.” She heard the shwif shwif sound of Dr. Xian paging through a holo-display, probable a mammal listing. “Makana avers they are not wombows, and I’m inclined to believe him. They might have hoofs, but I could not get close enough to tell.”
The xenoarchaeologist muttered to herself, “No, no, that’s mis-listed, no, no, perhaps… not really, how odd.” The image on the display split down the middle, one side continuing to show Dr. Xian and the other half with the image of a very small mammal. “This is also from Verdina, from an island near the western coast. But it is only twenty centimeters tall.”
“These were most certainly more than twenty centimeters at the shoulder, ma’am. Another case of stress-dwarfism, perhaps?”
“If so it is the worst case I’ve seen. Or someone failed to follow the care instructions and dried them over high heat,” she chuckled.
Rigi smiled, shaking her head a little. She had no idea how ancient the joke was, but it remained true.
“Oh, while you are on screen, the lawsuit against you, Micah, Lexissol, and Makana is proceeding. The local representatives of Mr. Petrason’s legal council have begun taking statements and depositions. You will likely get a message demanding your appearance at the most inconvenient time possible in the least likely location available.” Dr. Xian rolled her eyes. “Twits. Especially given that Makana was not even present at the time of the find.”
Rigi did not roll her eyes, although she wanted to. Nor did she heave a heartfelt sigh of frustration and irritation. “I will be expecting one, then. Thank you for the warning.”
“Many, many centuries ago, there was a phrase in the language that became the root of Common ‘to bomb them back to the stone age,’ meaning to inflict such military damage that a culture lost all traces of higher civilization. It appears that such an event really did happen on Shikhari, but a certain individual or group of individuals refuse to believe it possible.”
“And they have not seen the reports on the incident a local year and a half ago,” Rigi stated.
Dr. Xian shook her head. “No, because that news is being kept most quiet by the military until they can finish determining just what the attackers were, meaning basic biology, and until they can finish taking apart the drive and nav systems.” She snorted, but quietly. “I’ll stick with long-dead items and individuals, thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The excavations at Strahla City are well underway, and in case you were wondering, we have yet to find evidence of the other half of the wombow statue.” She wrinkled her short, flat nose. “I refuse to speculate on the significance of sculpting the rear-half of a three-meter-tall wombow. That, alas, does not stop my associates from coming up with theories. And names.”
Rigi bit the tip of her tongue. Kor had announced the back half to be the perfect likeness of his twin brother, now chief Elder of the Staré of Sogdia and NovMerv. “I shudder to imagine.”
“Would that I only had to imagine. So,” she rubbed her palms together. “Please send me scans of your drawings when you have the opportunity, and keep me informed of any further finds. Do you have the forms?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I will have to get into the upload queue and that may take some weeks.” Rigi wasn’t certain what was being sent back to whom that required so much time and data, but as of two weeks ago, the civilian waiting time was four weeks. It would be faster to wait until she returned to NovMerv and send them from the house. More had been knocked out of kilter in the comm net by the alien attackers than the military and crown were letting on, or so she suspected.
“Whenever you can. Xian of the University out.”
Rigi waited for the three flashes that confirmed the end of the comm, logged out, and signed out with the unit’s keeper. The woman made a note on her list, Rigi initialed it, and she and Martinus returned to the shelter tent.
There, to her mild chagrin, she found Mrs. Chang and Mrs. Bulogich waiting for her. “I’m sorry ma’am,” Rigi began, half-curtsying to the major and senior captain’s wives. “I had a scheduled comm appointment and did not receive word of your planned visit.”
“This is not a formal visit, Mrs. Berbardi-Prananda,” Mrs. Chang said, studying Rigi from boot toes to poorly-restrained curls. Rigi felt as if she were back in the sixth-year class at school. “I was concerned about your recent absences from society, and merely wished to assure myself of your continued health and wellbeing.”
“Thank you, ma’am. My duties to my husband and to the university required me to absent myself from camp.”
“So much so that you are unable to care for yourself properly?” Mrs. Bulogich, in immaculate afternoon attire and a sun-shade that sported four feathers and iridescent red ribbons around the crown, did not quite sniff.
“I’m certain that Mrs. Bernardi-Prananda takes care, Alyssa, when her duties permit.” Mrs. Chang, also tidy and elegant in dark green with light blue trim, nodded to Rigi. “It would be good for you to be more present in society, dear. I would hate for rumors to begin. And really, your lack of staff does not reflect well on Capt. Prananda.”
“I fear my staff were not permitted to accompany us, with the exception of Makana. I assure you, ma’am, Capt. Prananda more than supports the household properly. He is most generous and prudent.”
The older women exchanged an inscrutable look. “You need to be more active in society, Mrs. Bernardi-Prananda. Duties permitting.” Mrs. Bulogich used almost the same tone Major LeFeu had, implying that Rigi were making up excuses to avoid “society.” Rigi felt herself flushing with anger.
“We won’t keep you any longer, dear.” Rigi curtsied again as Mrs. Chang and Mrs. Bulogich swept out of the shelter tent.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” Makana said. //Apology/distress// engulfed her. “They were most insistent, and asked me questions I did not wish to answer, or could not.”
Rigi did not sigh. She did not grind her teeth. She took a deep breath and counted to thirty by one and a half. Then she said, “I understand, Makana. I am not doing my duty as they understand it to be, and Mrs. Chan is the senior wife among the military women. She believes that it is her duty to ensure that we wives behave properly,” at least where everyone else could see them, she finished silently. She had no doubts that behind closed doors, at least a few people were not paragons of excellent behavior and marital fidelity. They were human. And some had very strange ideas about Staré and what one did around one’s staff. “They caused no harm, and your position is rather different from that of most Staré.”
“Yes, Mistress. There are rumors.” He stopped. Makana shook, as if settling his fur, but said no more.
That reminded Rigi of something. “Makana, have you heard anything about a local Staré council forming?”
His ears tipped from side to side, something she’d never seen before. “No, mistress. Some say that when first-Stamm sir returns he will give orders, but that is all.”
“Thank you.” Rigi considered matters. “I am done with everything, Makana, so you are free to rest if you choose.”
He bowed and left.
Two days, Rigi thought, two days and Tomás and Kor would be back.
8
Scouts’ Honor
Despite Mrs. Chan’s politely phrased command, Rigi did not attend the next ladies’ outing. Instead she attended to the injuries of a wounded fourth Stamm male. She’d been on her way to the outing, in fact had the group in sight and had waved back when Mrs. Stellare-Lowen waved, when she heard rapid hopping behind her. She spun around as Makana and a low S
econd Stamm female rushed toward her. Makana carried her medical bag. “Wise One, Wise One, you are needed,” the female called. “Animal injury on a scout. Fourth Stamm.”
Rigi held out her arm. Makana slid the bag’s heavy strap over it as she started walking quickly toward the Staré medical tents. She tossed Makana her sunshade. The female sped up and Rigi broke into a trot in order to pace her, Makana and Martinus following behind. “What kind of animal?” Rigi asked between breaths.
“The bird-with-fangs, Wise One, and a wagon.”
What kind of animal was a wagon? Had he fallen out and then been bitten? Had he been poisoned by the bite? If so, what kind of poison? She let her thoughts tangle and tumble as she ran, then slowed back to a barely more dignified trot. She was wearing a dark colored tunic and split skirt, and breathed a prayer of thanks that it wasn’t one of those lovely pastel dresses that would probably show blood and other Staré bodily fluids terribly. The guard at the gate saluted, letting her through without question, and she trotted to the fourth Stamm tent. “The Wise One comes,” the female called.
Rigi ducked through the held-open door-flap, stopping long enough to let her eyes adjust. A voice grumbled, “I don’t need a wise one, I need a medic.”
“I’m certified for Staré and human emergency care,” Rigi replied in Staré.
“Oh! When they said Wise One I assumed they meant Korkuhkalya,” a human, Sergeant Phongsam, blurted. “This is Kortala Andat. He was bitten, then run over. Twice. You take the limbs. I’m trying to clean this and see how much damage was done. A proper surgeon will be here as soon as he finishes with one of the civilians in the settlement.”
Rigi saw the protective aprons and set her bag beside the dispenser, and pulled on a half-gown that covered her clothes and arms to the cuffs. She sprayed her hands with cleaner, then sprayed proper gloves onto her hands and put a mask on. Whatever had bitten Andat had taken a chunk out of the back of his left shoulder. He also had a compound fracture of that arm, and tread-marks on what she could see of his pale gray abdominal fur and the inside of his right leg. A Staré nurse was monitoring his vital signs and adjusting fluid flows. Rigi nodded. “Can you hold him while I image the arm?”
“Affirm.” Sgt. Phongsam stopped his cleaning long enough to steady the shoulder. Rigi rolled the imager over, set the timer, and moved so she could hold the rest of the limb clear. The bones visible through the flesh seemed relatively intact—not too much shattering and chipping—a good sign for a decent chance of repair without complications. The imager pinged and the two humans returned to their tasks. As a Staré orderly moved the imager out of the way, Rigi cleaned the wound as best she could, then misted it with clot spray to slow the bleeding. She opted to use a cloth bandage rather than a spray-on, and covered the wound to keep it clean, then set a brace around it and locked the brace temporarily to keep the pieces from moving more than necessary.
Andat’s leg felt whole, but Rigi called over the imager, changing the setting to “project” and “simple scan.” Indeed, he’d been fortunate, and his leg bones were intact, although he’d probably have a miserable muscle bruise and some tenderness in his hip. The hip, as she thought about it, seemed odd, and Rigi shifted the scanner, resetting it for soft tissue inflammation. “Partially torn hip ligaments, stretched tendons, right inner hip. Bones intact, no dislocation visible.” Even so, he was not going to be hopping anywhere for several weeks.
“We have a reading on the toxin,” a voice said in Staré, then repeated in careful Common.
“Give it to me,” the sergeant ordered as Rigi tried to decide what to do about the leg. She glanced at the monitors, saw that the patient’s vitals and pressures remained stable, and decided to not worry about his abdomen for the moment. “That explains— I need twenty five ccs of—” Rig tuned him out as she started gently moving the injured joint, arranging the leg so that she could get an inflatable support under it to hold it still for now, in case the surgeon opted to roll the patient onto his belly while he worked on the shoulder instead of having him held upright in a Staré-frame.
“I’m here, I’m here, what now,” a cranky-sounding human demanded. “Torn pouch, broken ear, what a day.” He stopped and took in the scene. “A challenge!” Dr. Mattox nodded once. “Leg?”
“Torn hip ligaments and stretched tendons, sir, no major tearing or dislocation.” Rigi pointed, “Compound fracture of primary and secondary radii, wound is cleaned and slo-clot spray was applied before bandage and brace. Images are available. Abdomen appears bruised but has not been scanned.”
“And the shoulder, Sergeant?”
“He was bitten by one of those giant birds, sir, the one with fangs. The toxin shows as a tissue digester. Appropriate general anti-toxin has been applied around the bite and the rotten tissue has been excised. Damage appears to have stopped spreading and wound is clean. Some ligament and tendon damage, major muscular damage, and wound contamination.”
“So our bird did not brush his beak between meals I take it,” the surgeon murmured very quietly as he gowned and gloved. “Sergeant, if you will continue to assist. Klip, take the vitals. “Rodna, two orderlies. You, abdominal scan please, just to be certain. Thank you, Mrs. Prananda, you are dismissed.”
“Very good, sir.” Rigi ducked out of the way as a human technician brought a different scanner, one that could be used with a Staré support-frame. She stripped off the half-gown and mask and put them in the appropriate bins, peeled off the gloves and disposed of them into the little combustor, collected her bag, and went to file her report.
As she finished, her stomach growled, suggesting that she needed to eat soon. She’d been planning on enjoying the picnic with the other ladies, but that apparently was not to be. Rigi heaved a silent sigh, brushed some lint off her clothes, and stepped out the door of the administrative tent, blinking in the sun before she remembered that she’d tossed her sunshade to Makana.
“Mistress Rigi?” He held the hat out to her.
“Thank you.” She put it on, then looked down to confirm that her boot laces remained tied. Humans could travel the stars, terraform worlds, but not devise a boot lace guaranteed to remain secure. Shen she looked up, Tomás stood in front of her, fists on hips, with Kor at his shoulder, both of them shaking their heads. Makana bowed low to Kor.
“We have to stop meeting like this, Mrs. Bernardi-Prananda,” he informed her, then winked.
She dropped a little curtsey. “My apologies, sir, but duty before pleasure.”
“Indeed. How is my Kortala?”
“At the moment, it appears that he will live. He will be quite sore for a few weeks.”
Kor made a sound in the back of his throat, then said, “I believe he will lose his fondness for bird legs after this.”
“Or he will insist on eating nothing but bird meat, in order to achieve his revenge, sir,” Tomás said.
Kor’s ears tipped a little to the right, then back to vertical. “Perhaps.”
“If I might have the pleasure of your company?” Tomás offered Rigi his arm, which she happily accepted. Kor walked on Tomás’s other side, Martinus trotted ahead of them, and Makana followed along behind. “I’m glad you were on duty to take the call.”
“I wasn’t, not that I knew of. I was about to leave for a social outing with the other officers’ wives when a second Stamm female and Makana raced up. Makana had my bag, and I went to the fourth Stamm emergency tent from there.”
He looked at her and looked ahead. He released her arm as they came in sight of the Salnar on gate duty. The Salnar, a low fourth Stamm or high fifth, saluted and let them out into the main part of camp. “That would explain why Major Chan greeted my arrival with a complaint about ‘your wife racing past me in the most undignified manner. You really must have a word with her, Captain Prananda.’ I believe we have now had that word.”
Rigi blushed and ducked her head. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think about appearances.”
“Since you were sav
ing the life of his Kortala, no word should be necessary,” Kor opined.
“Some humans value appearance of rank and dignity over duty to others,” Tomás reminded Kor. “Especially the dignity and appearance of other people’s mates.”
Kor muttered something in an unfamiliar language. Rigi heard Makana make a choking sound, and Tomás started coughing. She did not care to know. Tomás was back, and Kor, and they could solve the mystery of the hillside.
Rigi kept quiet about her finds until after Tomás and Kor had eaten. They’d brought with them a new piece of camp furniture for the tent—a Staré seat for Kor. Makana had one of his own, but preferred to crouch-sit when Kor was present. “So, aside from scandalizing my commanding officer by racing through camp as if you were a medic with an emergency call, what news, my dear?”
Rigi sifted through the list as she poured tea. Kor had his own pot, because he added flavorings that made humans’ tongues curl in horror and their tastebuds commit self-murder to avoid being exposed to such terrors. Or so Tomás averred. What Rigi had smelled of the open jar suggested that he was only exaggerating a tiny bit. “Dr. Xian is well. The lawsuit against the discoverers of the Madonna of the Staré is proceeding and I expect to find a deposition demand once we return to NovMerv.” Rigi caught //disgust/impatience// from Kor and agreed heartily. “They still have not located the front half of, ahem, that statue. And Dr. Xian has forbidden any speculation about the meaning of a half-wombow.” If the gleam in Tomás’s eye were a hint, such speculations were best kept private for reasons of dignity, decency, and not endangering his changes of promotion. She carefully did not look at Kor.
“In more local news, Makana and I located evidence of a site beneath us, may have discovered a new medium-sized mammal, and found something truly odd. Enough so that I told Dr. Xian I would not make any reports until you and Kor could look at the site.
Woman's Work: Shikari Book Four Page 12