“Who would like to begin?” The man met the gaze of each lorienok in the room.
Silence.
A girl—the lorok who’d chided the boy about reading her manual—stepped forward. “She’s an adult female human named Reshna, animal companion to the commander. She had an appointment scheduled for later today, but several accidents occurred to expedite her visit: a twisted ankle, a cut on her forearm, and an inability to hold her bladder.”
The girl stepped back, filling her place in line.
“Very good, Joennel. What reasons could Reshna have for wetting the floor?”
Silence.
“Come now. I’ve never known any of you to be shy. Yes, this appointment is occurring earlier than expected, but it’s our duty to Reshna, the commander, and all of Onik to come prepared with ideas. So let’s hear them.”
A shorter silence and then, “Nikarok lukai?”
“Rolorak osir?”
“Weak nirarai muscles?”
Delaney glanced back and forth at the students as each offered up what she assumed were their guess diagnoses. Her stomach curdled.
“Brinon Kore’Onik, could she just be scared?” Joennel asked.
Silence.
“Well, she is a new animal companion,” the girl insisted. “They sometimes mark territory in new homes, but from the commander’s statement, it sounds like maybe she was just nervous in a new place with a new owner.”
The man, Brinon Kore’Onik, nodded. “Very good, Joennel. Let’s find out, then, shall we? What’s first on—someone other than Joennel, please.”
A boy stepped forward. “Temperature. Blood pressure. Physical examination. And…and measurements?”
“Very good, Roerik.”
Joennel shuffed.
“Let’s begin. Same assignments as yesterday.”
A chorus of groans.
“Come now, practice makes perfect.” And then under his breath, Brinon murmured, “Lorien knows you need the practice.”
Delaney’s heart skipped a beat, and then they were on her, all two dozen hands. One opened her mouth to examine her gums and tongue. A second flashed a light in her eyes, while a third palpated her stomach. Another secured a cuff around her upper arm. It inflated uncomfortably, to the edge of pain, and then released. The boy glanced at his tablet—101/72, if she recalled Lori numerals correctly—referenced her manual, made a note, and patted her head.
“Good girl,” he muttered.
Delaney blinked. An adolescent Sasquatch alien had just recorded her blood pressure.
One of the girls was taking measurements, documenting the length of her hair, the circumference of her neck, the length of her arms, the swell of her breasts, her waist, and lower still—yep, there she goes—the folds of her privates, and finally, her legs.
Someone slid something into her anus.
Delaney froze. Her heart leapt up into her throat. Their hands were suddenly prison bars—confining, punishing, suffocating. She couldn’t breathe past them. Her body began to tremble, which one of them noted, and then she threw up.
The students nearest her leapt out of range and then pounced forward, one taking samples directly from the floor and another reexamining her mouth. The boy palpating her stomach, looking the most concerned, picked up a device from a tray table and scanned her belly.
The something was removed from her anus. It suctioned free with a wet pop.
A hot rush of tears rolled down her cheeks. She moved to wipe them, but the chains cut short her movement on a toll of sleigh bells.
Roerik held a tube to her cheek and bottled a sample.
Brinon approached her from behind with another device tucked unobtrusively at his side. “Joennel, will you distract her as I treat her ankle? Thank you.”
Delaney craned her neck back, trying to get a better look at the device in Brinon’s hand. The other animals were happy, she reminded herself, but she couldn’t stop trembling.
“No, let’s not use food. She’s too nervous. It may upset her stomach again. And everyone else, stay where you are. Let’s give Reshna some breathing room. Joennel, what else can you do?”
“Tidokai and litork nulistorak.”
“Yes, that’s right. Go ahead.”
Delaney braced herself.
Joennel inched forward from the other students, her gaze shifting warily from Delaney to the stain on the floor and back to Delaney, as if at any moment, Delaney could aim her sick at her. Smart cookie, that Joennel. But with Brinon Kore’Onik watching, Joennel acted against her better instincts and approached. She raked her fingers through Delaney’s hair, gently massaging her scalp with her fingertips and being extra careful with her claws—as per her manual’s detailed instructions in the “How to Best Pet” chapter.
Delaney relaxed incrementally, not from the petting—which did admittedly feel pleasant—but from the knowledge that Brinon and all his students, or at the very least Joennel, had read her manual. Keil had said they would, that it was required of all physicians to read the care manual of an animal companion before practicing medicine on it, but Keil hadn’t foreseen his murder, so really, everything he’d anticipated was suspect.
Brinon snapped something around Delaney’s ankle. It hurt but only because her ankle was injured, and whatever he’d secured to it was uncomfortably tight.
“That’s set for a lorok!” One of the students leaned as far forward as his body would allow while keeping his feet firmly planted.
“Yes. And why might I choose our setting for Reshna?”
Silence.
“Because her limbs are similarly shaped?” a boy guessed. “So the device is a good fit physically.”
The device around her ankle, already uncomfortably tight, was growing tighter. Delaney took a deep breath. They read my manual, she reminded herself.
“Yes, very good. I wouldn’t want to use a device that didn’t fit properly. But why use our calibration?” Brinon asked.
More silence.
The device was heating. The chains connected to Delaney’s wrists resumed their rattling.
Joennel started petting with both hands.
“Why do we use the same calibration to heal, let’s say, injuries to both lombowatts and pourpites?”
“They both have scales,” one of the students tried.
“Yes, on the right track. How about you, Roerik? What do you think?”
“Hmm.” Roerik rocked back on his heels. “They both have split tongues too.”
Joennel shuffed. “They share the same mukar,” she grumbled.
Brinon glanced aside at her. “I don’t hear you giving Reshna any tidokai nulistorak, Joennel.”
Joennel stiffened, then resumed her smooth petting. “Such a pretty girl, Reshna,” she said, her voice suddenly singsongy. “So pretty and doing so well. Your ankle will be healed soon. A pretty ankle for a pretty girl.”
Delaney stifled the urge to snort. She’d never been so pretty to so many people before becoming a pet.
Brinon returned his attention to the other students. “Reshna is classified in our mukar.”
Joennel sighed, but quietly this time and without breaking her singsong encouragements.
“Just as lombowatts and pourpites have similar physical features, Reshna here, a human, has similar features to us. We both have hair, skin, lungs that breathe oxygen from air, mammary glands, and, although we won’t know for certain until we can breed her with another human—”
Delaney’s head whipped up at that, the throbbing discomfort and burning at her ankle suddenly forgotten.
Joennel jumped back a pace at the sudden movement.
“—I can say with some certainty that Reshna here will develop a placenta to feed her offspring in embryo and likely nurse them with milk after birth, same as a lorok. Does anyone know why this is significant?”
Crickets.
“Come now! Mukar classifications were developed for breeding purposes, to aid our domestication specialists in harvesting animal
companions that could produce offspring, thereby providing new breeds without the time and expenses of an exploration mission. The basics of …”
Brinon droned on, but Delaney couldn’t think let alone continue to translate. Even with the bone-deep shock of realizing she would be bred like a brood mare, she couldn’t concentrate past the pain any longer. Her ankle was on fire, being incinerated from the inside out. Delaney fisted her hands and struggled against the restraints. They jingled merrily.
Stop. Please, stop!
She bit her tongue against the words, and a whimpering whine escaped instead. She couldn’t beg them for mercy—what were third-degree burns compared to having her brain incinerated?—but she couldn’t remain quiet for much longer. She couldn’t, and with Brinon Kore’Onik’s careless comment about breeding still grating in her mind, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Joennel cleared her throat. “She’s becoming increasingly upset.”
“Should we ask the commander to join us?” Roerik asked.
“Owners only attend appointments if their companion is at risk of dying,” Joennel reminded him.
“Well, look at her.”
Seriously?
“She’s fine,” Brinon Kore’Onik assured them. “Joennel, please increase your tidokai and litork nulistorak.”
“Yes, Kore’Onik.” Joennel took a deep breath, stepped forward, and resumed petting. “Your ankle is nearly healed. You’re such a good girl, Reshna. Just a few more seconds, and—”
The burning stopped—completely. No discomfort remained at all: not the lingering twinge of a burn held under cold water, not the original throbbing of her twisted ankle, not even a dull ache.
Delaney slumped in relief on the exam table, her limbs sprawled at awkward angles from the restraints.
In four years and ten months of preparation—language lessons, deportment lessons, history lessons, political and philosophical debates regarding an alien race, in their native alien tongue—Keil had apparently not prepared her for everything.
“Is she dead?”
“I told you we should’ve asked the commander to join us.”
“You killed her!
Someone gasped.
“I most assuredly did not!” This from Joennel, who then undermined all her righteous indignation by glancing hesitantly at Brinon Kore’Onik. “Right?”
Delaney closed her eyes. Her leg no longer hurt, but her brain did. It throbbed inside her skull in sync with the pounding of her heart. The mortification of her situation hadn’t killed her yet, but she could feel a heart attack or stroke coming on at any moment. Please God, let her have an aneurism and end this nightmare once and for all. She’d die naked and chained on an exam room table, surrounded by a dozen strangers, but at least it would be over. Of all the ways to go, becoming an alien’s pet on an ice planet where her owner was the one with fur certainly took the cake.
The thought was amusing, and it wasn’t the first time she’d entertained it, but it was the first time the thought made her laugh. Out loud. The chuckle started low but deep and burst in gut-wrenching waves until her abdomen cramped. Her hysteria ended on a pained groan.
“Was that a seizure?”
“Now she’s dead.”
“And you killed her.”
Joennel stomped her foot. “I didn’t, but I wouldn’t mind killing you!”
“Would someone care to take Reshna’s pulse?” Brinon Kore’Onik asked, his voice calm and so very patient. “To confirm time of death, of course.”
Delaney slit one eye open. Brinon Kore’Onik was fighting a smirk. She closed her eye and sighed to herself. She didn’t want to feel. She’d wanted that brain aneurism, damn it.
Two furry fingers tentatively pressed the pulse at the side of her neck.
Delaney opened her eyes.
The student, Roerik, jumped back with a startled squeak and then pumped the air with his fist. “She’s alive!”
All the students cheered at this declaration of her resurrection—even Joennel, who might have known better. Brinon Kore’Onik let loose that indulgent smile.
Well, she supposed Lorien did have one thing that Earth most assuredly didn’t: people who cared if she died.
“Now, who would like to heal the wound on her arm?”
A dozen clawed hands shot into the air.
Delaney groaned.
Six
“What did she eat this morning?” Brinon Kore’Onik asked.
Torek forced his face into stoic immobility, one of the first lessons he’d learned while training for the Federation all those many seasons ago. The trick was to not allow one muscle to move, not to tighten, relax, or twitch, except to blink. His facial features naturally sneered even when he smiled, and his scar made him appear angry no matter his mood. He was intimidating when he wasn’t trying to intimidate. When he tried, he was terrifying, so he wouldn’t look terrified.
He was a strong, confident, well-qualified, and battle-tested commander of the Onik Guard. He’d led men from the safety of their estate in matters of business, and he’d led them in the midst of combat against the zorel. He was victorious on all battlefields. Surely, that same lor could care for one small animal companion. People had animal companions all the time. Zana, Lorien keep her soul, had had six animal companions, and even when she was at her worst, all had thrived under her care. Anything that Zana could do, Torek could undoubtedly do better.
Such a thought, even if only unspoken in his mind, was horrid. Zana had been very dear, and he was an ass. He hadn’t always been, but lately—
“Torek Lore’Onik Weidnar Kenzo Lesh’Aerai Renaar?”
Torek blinked back from his rambling thoughts. “I fed her this morning, in a manner according to her manual.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Brinon said, smiling kindly.
Torek gritted his teeth to prevent his hackles from visibly rising.
“She may have a sensitive stomach, more so than the rest of her breed. She certainly seems extra skittish. Then again, her nerves might have contributed to her becoming ill. It’s not unheard of in newly domesticated animal companions before they become accustomed to their new home and surroundings.”
Torek glanced at Reshna, who was sitting next to him on the couch. She’d entered the appointment with an injured ankle. Her ankle was now healed, as was the raw scrape on her neck and the cut on her forearm, but something else was obviously paining her. She was a bit of a diva, needing constant comfort and reassurance while refusing to listen half the time, but in this instance, he didn’t think her nerves were to blame for her behavior. He’d seen men return home from memorials in better spirits. Brinon Kore’Onik had come highly recommended and was well respected in his field—the best, according to some—but if Reshna could give her opinion, she looked as if she’d contest those assessments.
She met his gaze, her eyes red rimmed and bloodshot. She licked her lips, and then slowly, hesitantly, she leaned her blanket-wrapped body against his side. Her meager weight warmed his hip, and her head, with its mass of springing curls, rested against his shoulder. She immediately tensed, as if regretting the gesture, and peeked up at him shyly through her long, black lashes.
His stoic composure slipped, easing the tension in muscles he preferred to remain tense.
If she didn’t die first, she was going to be the death of him.
He raised his hand, just as slowly and hesitantly as she had touched him, and slipped his fingers carefully into her hair to massage her fragile scalp.
She closed her eyes.
Torek returned his attention to Brinon Kore’Onik and forced the menace back into his voice. “Her manual is incomplete or inaccurate.”
Brinon’s nostrils flared with ill-concealed amusement. “Is that so?”
“Yes. She has an obvious aversion to water—a phobia, perhaps—that wasn’t documented.”
Brinon’s lip twitched but settled wisely into a frown. “How was this phobia discovered?”
“I attempted to wash her last night. It’s how she injured herself.” He sighed at the ceiling. “One of the ways she injured herself.”
“I see.”
“She fought me so vehemently to avoid the washroom that she actually cut her arm on my claw.”
Brinon nodded. “It’s not uncommon for animals to have an aversion to bathing. I suggest introducing her to a pool or fountain. Her manual says that she can swim, so it may just be the prospect of bathing that she rejects, not the water itself.”
Torek cleared his throat again, focusing on the softness of Reshna’s hair to speak beyond the awkwardness of admitting ignorance. “And the urinating and vomiting? Could her manual be inaccurate about her diet as well? Perhaps—”
“Give her a week to adjust. Remain true to her diet according to her manual, and we’ll reevaluate if necessary. But I think her stomach will settle when she does.”
Brinon reached out to stroke Reshna’s cheek. She didn’t pull away, so at first, Torek didn’t notice her complete lack of reaction. She wasn’t moving at all. She wasn’t even breathing.
Torek narrowed his eyes on their interaction. He wasn’t certain what he seeing, but whatever it was, it made his stomach churn.
“Until next week, Reshna.” Brinon pulled back, faced Torek, and pressed his hand to his heart. Torek nodded, and Brinon walked away, leaving them alone in the waiting room.
Reshna finally inhaled a shaky breath.
Torek leaned over and nuzzled the top of her hairy head. “I don’t enjoy doctor visits either,” he whispered, and he imagined, even if it was just wishful thinking on his part, that her breathing steadied because of him.
Torek’s aversion to Shemara Kore’Onik’s office was ridiculous. The walls were painted a pleasant, neutral tan with warm undertones. They displayed tranquil landscapes depicting the simple beauty of Onik: the first sun beaming through ice and creating a rainbow; a gramble peeking out from its burrow, flakes of snow clinging to its quivering whiskers; the second sun setting behind the city skyline, bleeding clouds reflected blurrily in the ice moat. The furniture was comfortable, and Shemara Kore’Onik herself was a calm lorok with a gentle soul.
Beyond the Next Star Page 5