Endurance
Page 1
Praise for S. L. Viehl’s StarDoc …
“Continuously surprising and deviously written and splendidly full of new characters.”
—Anne McCaffrey
“An entertaining, almost old-fashioned adventure … the adventure and quirky mix of aliens and cultures makes a fun combination.”
—Locus
“StarDoc is a fascinating reading experience that will provide much pleasure to science fiction fans…. The descriptions of the various sentient species are so delightfully believable that readers will feel S. L. Viehl has had firsthand encounters…. The lead character is a wonderful heroine….”
—Midwest Book Review
“I don’t read much science fiction, but I got ahold of StarDoc and just loved it—I hummed with enjoyment while reading it. Don’t miss this one!”
—Catherine Coulter
“Rest easy, James White. At last there’s another superlative proponent of space medicine to make you proud. With great style and panache, Ms. Viehl manages a large cast of fascinating characters, leaving no doubt that she is a major discovery in the annals of science fiction.”
—Romantic Times
“Ms. Viehl writes a riveting tale…. With more than a few surprises up her sleeve, this rising star proves herself a master storyteller who can win and hold a bestselling audience.”
—Romantic Times
ENDURANCE:
A StarDoc Novel
S.L. Viehl
ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
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First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, January 2001
10 9 8 7 6
Copyright © S. L. Viehl, 2001
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-1-101-56343-4
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Printed in the United States of America
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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For Holly Lisle,
who never ceases to amaze me—
thanks for helping me handle my own
sympathy for the devil.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank Gerry Coughlin, author of Everyday English and Slang in Ireland, whose online dictionary of the same at http://www.geocities.com/Research Triangle/8662/irish provided an invaluable linguistic resource for this novel. (And if I made a hash of it, Gerry, it’s my fault, not yours.)
Table of Contents
Part One: Incarceration
Chapter One: L.T.F. Perpetua
Chapter Two: What Goes Around
Chapter Three: Sharp Instruments
Chapter Four: Aksel Drift Nine
Chapter Five: Dire Consequences
Part Two: Indoctrination
Chapter Six: New Debts
Chapter Seven: No More Rescues
Chapter Eight: Catopsa
Chapter Nine: Twists and Turns
Chapter Ten: Namesake
Part Three: Inquisition
Chapter Eleven: Crying Chambers
Chapter Twelve: Arena Games
Chapter Thirteen: Fully Restored
Chapter Fourteen: Truth Hurts
Chapter Fifteen: Persuading the Pel
Part Four: Insurrection
Chapter Sixteen: Table Turns
Chapter Seventeen: Holding the Fort
Chapter Eighteen: Abrupt Offerings
Chapter Ninteen: The Last Captive
Chapter Twenty: Masks Off
PART ONE:
Incarceration
CHAPTER ONE
L.T.F. Perpetua
“… may it be granted to me to enjoy life and the practice of the art, respected by all men at all times.”
—Hippocrates (460?–377? B.C.)
Wishful thinking, Hippocrates old pal. My life was ruined, my practice was over, and I sure as hell wasn’t getting any respect around here lately.
“The Hanar rules over the Hsktskt Faction.” The metallic audio of the automated prisoner-orientation program droned in my ears. I’d been forced to listen to the stupid thing for days. “One maintains rank of Hanar.”
The isolation cell the Hsktskt had thrown me in was small, dark, and cold. I had no clothes. No food or water. Worse, no lavatory, only a drain in the concave floor.
You can guess how thrilled I was with the amenities.
“There are two subHanar. Should the Hanar die, the senior subHanar assumes the rank of Hanar.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
I had little else to do, but sneer at the voice, and wonder what was going to happen to me.
Some of this mess was my fault. I’d been forced to surrender to the League in order to protect Joren, the homeworld of my adopted people. The Hsktskt Faction had shown up to raid Joren shortly thereafter. Again to save Joren, I had helped the Faction capture the League fleet.
My clever strategy had backfired when I learned my new husband, Duncan Reever, had not only summoned the Hsktskt to Joren, but worked for the big lizards. The final blow came when Reever revealed he’d also captured and enslaved my large feline friend, Alunthri.
That was when I’d tried to kill him.
The door panel opened once an hour, when a Hsktskt centuron counted me. I idly wondered how I was listed on the inventory. One short, bad-tempered f
emale Terran thoracic surgeon, maybe?
The guard always flashed a light in my face. That was my cue to say something, like: “Yeah, I’m still alive” or “That you, room service?”
The ten-foot-tall, sextupedal lizards occasionally hissed something back that I couldn’t understand—they’d taken my translation headgear along with my clothes—but it never sounded like Would you care for tea, Dr. Torin?
“No thanks.” I was hanging on to my sense of humor. With a death grip. “But check back with me in an hour.”
If the guard found me sleeping during these frequent inspections, I got tepid water tossed in my face. That happened a lot since what I had roughly calculated to be the end of the second day. I caught some in my mouth a few times. Gave me something to spit back at him.
The Hsktskt have zero sense of humor, of course. Whenever I made a direct hit, the guard gave me a jolt through the detainment cuff on my left wrist. The last time he’d personally nailed me with one of his thick, snakelike limbs. So far my nasty Terran habit had gotten me numerous assorted contusions, a dislocated shoulder (which I managed to fix), and a fractured left wrist (which remained broken).
My first time being a slave. Obviously I needed some practice.
“Four maintain rank for each subHanar, and each descendent rank. Thus, there are eight Akade ministers, sixty-four subAkade ministers, five hundred twelve OverLord commanders—”
“Four thousand ninety-six Lords; thirty-two thousand, seven hundred sixty-eight OverMasters; two hundred sixty-two thousand, one hundred forty-four Masters; two million, ninety-seven thousand, one hundred fifty-two OverSeers; sixteen million, seven hundred seventy-seven thousand, two hundred sixteen Seers; one hundred thirty-four million, two hundred seventeen thousand, seven hundred twenty-eight OverCenturons; one billion, seventy-three million, seven hundred forty-one thousand, eight hundred twenty-four centurons; and eight billion, five hundred eighty-nine million, nine hundred thirty-four thousand, five hundred ninety-two free citizens.” I yawned. “I can multiply, okay?”
On top of the injuries, I was exhausted. Starved. Dirty. About to go berserk from the claustrophobia-inducing isolation. Funny, I’d always thought of myself as a loner, too. I tried not to brood over it. Most of the time I failed.
Imagining what was happening to the Chakacat didn’t help. Had they put gentle Alunthri in one of these cells? Were they beating and starving it as well? Then came the heat of a rage that no amount of water or beatings could extinguish.
Reever did this.
Duncan Reever, who’d been the chief linguist at the colony on K-2, had done a lot to me. Besides telepathically intruding on my brain and taking control of my body from time to time, he’d also raped me, helped me cure a plague, followed me when I’d escaped the League, served with me on the Jorenian star vessel Sunlace, become my confident, helped me solve a series of murders, and even saved my life.
If you overlooked the rape—which wasn’t exactly his fault—and the mind/body control thing, Duncan had been a pretty decent friend. I’d confided in him. Trusted him. I’d even been stupid enough to fall in love with him. My fingers curled around the metallic slave collar Duncan Reever had locked around my neck. That’s how he felt about me.
“Congratulations, prisoner 1471428.” That was what the automated prisoner-orientation program called me. “You have mastered the configurations of the Faction ranking hierarchy.”
“Discontinue program and go away.” My tongue had become a solid, immobile lump. Maybe I’d try swallowing some of that water next time.
“Unable to heed verbal command.” The audio was piped in through the tiny ventilation duct above my head. “Orientation is requisite for all Hsktskt Faction property.”
“Here’s what I think of your program.” I made a rather pointed gesture with my hand, yelped, then cradled my throbbing wrist. “Ouch, damn it.”
“Do you wish to make a statement regarding your attack on OverMaster HalaVar?”
“No.” Seeing Duncan Reever in a Hsktskt uniform had ripped a shuttle-sized hole through my heart. It had also completely ruined my attempt at homicide. “Want to give me another shot?”
“You attacked your assigned OverMaster.”
Cherijo. How could you?
What laughter I produced sounded awful—dehydration and lots of yelling had done a real job on my larynx. “I’m not assigned to him. I’m his bondmate.” I thought about that for a second. “Was his bond-mate. I want a divorce.”
The drone didn’t respond to my need for an attorney. “You must obey the orders of OverMaster HalaVar, and all free citizens of the Hsktskt Faction.”
“Really.” Another damn headache started pounding at my temples. I think it was just hearing that name. HalaVar. “I don’t advise you to keep that circuit open.”
“Acknowledge these instructions.”
The pain behind my eyes expanded. I’d have cheerfully amputated one of my limbs for a syrinpress of analgesics. “Check back with me when Hell freezes over.”
Or I did. They’d kept my cell temperature at about sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Too cool for comfort, too warm to induce hypothermia. At least Alunthri had fur. My thin Terran skin was starting to develop chilblains.
If Jenner had been there, he’d have kept me warm. I’d left my Tibetan temple cat back on Joren, in the care of my adopted people. I was glad he was safe, but I still missed His Majesty terribly.
Someone had programmed the drone to be persistent. Probably Reever. “Acknowledge these instructions.”
“Isn’t the penalty for failure to comply termination?” I could always hope.
“Acknowledge these instructions immediately.”
I lay back down. I might not know what was going to happen to me, but I’d rather fight than give in. “I’d rather kiss your programmer.”
“Prisoner 1471428, acknowledge these instructions or you will be disciplined.”
“Maybe I wasn’t clear.” I put my good arm under my aching head, cushioning my skull against the hard deck. “Go fuse yourself.”
The door panel slid open. Something sailed through the air and smacked into my bad shoulder before falling to the deck. Translation headgear, I saw as I picked it up. The kind the Hsktskt made all the League captives wear. I eyed the guard—guess Mr. Joviality wanted to have a meaningful chat this time—then slipped it over my limp, tangled hair. It took awhile to fit the receiver to my right ear. Not easy to do anything one-handed.
Infolded green epidermal scales gleamed over bulky muscle as the guard trained his rifle on me. “Stand up.”
He couldn’t discipline me. My detainment cuff had shattered when he’d broken my wrist. No, this beast looked hungry.
“What for?” I squinted as he directed an optic light in my eyes. “Got the nibbles? Think I’ll go well with a nice red spicewine?”
Two of his sinuous limbs lashed restlessly at his sides. “Stand up and exit the cell.”
“Right.” I was in no hurry to become a canapé. “Make me.”
The guard enabled the sight lock and the weapon’s pulse chamber charged with an audible hum. “Comply or I will shoot you.”
He wouldn’t really shoot me. “Be my guest, you oversized scaly skinned—”
He shot me.
A single energy pulse smashed into my sternum. Impact propelled me backward along the deck until my spine slammed into the cell wall. My vision doubled, then darkened. Tremendous pain kept my lungs from expanding.
Yep, I thought, this mouth of mine just might get me killed someday. Maybe today.
Just before I blacked out, the guard bent over me and grabbed me by the length of my long, dirty hair. The mouthful of blood I spat hit him right between his frontal and parietal ridges.
My last thought was Bull’s-eye.
I woke up in Medical. Some hamster-faced nurse stood over me, taking my vitals with a scanner. My tongue hurt—apparently I’d bitten it. A fiery sensation ate a continuous hole between my breasts.
I tested my limbs, and discovered I was still naked. Plasteel restraints immobilized my wrists and ankles. Both my bruised arms had infusers stuck in them. I could feel the monitor hookups attached to my scalp and under my breasts.
“Hey!” Flat on my back and helpless were not two of my favorite positions. “Unstrap me!”
The dark fur pelting the rodent nurse’s small face bristled as she bent over me. Hamsters didn’t have long, honed incisors like the ones she sported. They gleamed between twin fans of whiskery vibrissae like white blades. I heard a syrinpress clink against the slave collar around my throat.
“It takes to kill a Terran, do you know the quantity of benzodiazepine?” she asked me.
“Not much,” I said. Oh, terrific. She didn’t have a hamster’s personality, either. “Why? Skip that class back at Medtech?”
Her blade-shaped teeth flashed as she eased the syrinpress away from my jugular. “What constitutes a fatal dose, I know.”
“Good for you.” I was such a liar. “Any chance you’re going off duty soon?”
She straightened, then called out, “Regained consciousness, the Terran female has.”
All at once I became very popular. Three of the Perpetua’s staff physicians surrounded my berth. Nurses hovered at their sides. Two Hsktskt centurons peered at me from behind them.
“Excuse me,” I said, and put my polite face on. “The Terran female would like to be released now.”
They ignored me. I endured a thorough examination, after which one of the nurses irrigated and dressed the pulse burn on my sternum with antibacterial pads.
I yelped while she scrubbed at another laceration. “Hey! That hurts—take it easy, will you?”
She didn’t. The doctors did nothing to stop her, and discussed me as though I was comatose. A second nurse strapped my wrist in a support band, while a third scanned my swollen shoulder. The trio cleaned and sealed all my myriad lacerations, too. None of them made even a pretense of gentleness, either.
By the time they were through, I was seething. God help them if they ever worked for me.