Endurance

by Richard Chizmar

  The drone only offered my hematological stats. At length.

  I folded my arms. “Did you check between my toes, too?”

  “Microbiological assessment detected no dangerous microorganisms. Augmented antibodies detected. Unclassified genetic material detected. Origin of detected irregularities unknown.”

  What the hell had Joseph been pumping into me all those years? “I guess you did.”

  “Conclusion: this is a twenty-nine-year-old woman in excellent health.”

  “Bravo.” I clapped twice, slow and loud. “Took you long enough.”

  “Hematology analysis, categorical results: CBC—6.45; RBC—5.0; Hemoglobin—15.95; Hematocrit—45.7; MCV—”

  “Discontinue individual test results,” Reever said, and the drone shut up. “Prepare the laser application.”

  “Application of what?”

  He moved away from the console and toward me. “All prisoners must maintain a PIC—physical identification code.” I jumped off the pad. “Resume your position, Cherijo.”

  He wanted to brand me. Like some agri-pharm range animal. “Not in this lifetime, pal.”

  Reever halted. “Permanent individual identification sequences—”

  I’d almost made it to the door panel when he caught me. A hard arm snaked around my waist. The other blocked my hand just before I raked my fingernails into his face. Reever carried me back to the circle, but it took some effort. I fought him with every ounce of strength I had.

  “No!” I gasped as two metallic columns rose out of the deck. Reever positioned me between them, let go, then stepped away. Before I could move, two viselike extensions snaked cold metal clamps around my arms and pelvis. One clamp undulated outward, jerking my right arm up and away from my body.

  This wasn’t going to happen. “Don’t you dare brand me with some slaver code, you pig!”

  Reever returned to the console. “Stop struggling,” he said. “You will harm yourself.”

  “Oh, and you won’t?”

  Above me, a laser rig descended from a slot in the upper deck. I heard the power supply hum as the unit charged. My eyes went wide.

  He was actually going to burn me with that thing. “Reever!”

  Reever approached me, a syrinpress in his fist. I fought the steel embrace even harder. “This will prevent you from feeling any pain.”

  Pain. Good suggestion. I waited until he got close enough, then whipped my head forward and smashed it into his face as hard as I could. The instrument flew from his hand and clattered to the deck. The impact sent Reever staggering back a few steps.

  I’ll have a headache, too, once these spots stopped dancing in front of my eyes, I thought. A tight knot of pain began to swell just above my right brow. Well, I’d asked for it, might as well enjoy it.

  I did, for about ten seconds, until the laser activated.

  Searing heat rolled over my forearm. I swore at the top of my lungs and jerked at my arm, but the detainment device held. Thus immobilized, I had to watch as the laser carved a line of short, curving furrows from my wrist to my elbow. With each new mark, new pain flashed up my arm. The cauterized vapors collected in my nose, until I had to stop yelling and choke back my own bile.

  Smoke. Flames. Children crying. I couldn’t see where they were. Tonetka … the children … walls of fire between us … “Go back!”

  It didn’t take very long. Only forever. By the time the laser shut down, the only things keeping my shuddering body upright were the clamps.

  The memories of what had happened on the Sunlace danced inside my eyelids.

  “Why did you do that?” Reever had gotten to his feet, and now his hands were on my face, tilting it up.

  I jerked my head away and looked down. Third-degree burns, nearly six inches long and four inches wide, formed an intricate series of symbols in my flesh.

  “Why, Cherijo?”

  I gazed up at him, saw the icy rage with something like relief. He still cared. I could use that. “Eat … waste … and … d—”

  I passed out before I could finish expressing my heartfelt wishes.

  CHAPTER TWO

  What Goes Around

  I groaned, lifted my head, and squinted through decidedly gritty eyes. Too dark to tell where I was. But I could smell a hint of cinnamon and rose hips, and felt the familiar texture of Jorenian linens.

  Herbal tea stores and my own bed. The old quarters I’d been assigned on level six. As close to heaven as I was going to get on the Perpetua.

  “Bad dream.” All that shrieking had brought back my sore throat. “Give me some lights.”

  The console didn’t respond to my hoarse command. I struggled off the sleeping platform and stumbled through the dark to manually activate the controls. I felt sluggish and weak—Reever must have drugged me.

  Reever did things like that.

  I reached for the panel and gasped. From my right hand up, everything hurt. When I got the lights on, I saw the burn dressing encasing my forearm.

  “It really happened.”

  I had no idea why that shocked me, but it did. He hurt me. He really, deliberately hurt me. Why? When would his treachery stop being a surprise and start being my reality?

  That pesky inner voice of mine piped up at once. Never.

  Suppuration had seeped through the antibacterial gel, making stains on the outer dressing. I’d unwrap it and have a look later, when I could find my med kit. A blue garment covered the rest of me. A basically transparent, voluminous robe, with only a few strategically placed opaque panels to preserve my modesty.

  Reever’s idea of sleepwear? Or visual titillation?

  “You’re feeling better.”

  I whipped around to find the corrupt creep sitting in one of my chairs. He looked composed and tidy, if you ignored the painful-looking bruise across his left cheekbone.

  “Why?” I held out my unmarked arm. “Want to burn the other one now, you sick bastard?”

  “All designated properties are given PICs.” He rose to his feet. “There are no exceptions.”

  “Did you brand Alunthri?” It didn’t bother me that Reever had used a laser on me. I was a big girl, I could handle that. But Alunthri—“Did you?”

  Reever nodded once.

  My jaw locked. “I’m going to kill you for that.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  He had little idea what I was capable of. I had nothing else to lose. Calmly I watched as he moved to stand before me. Let him think I was subdued, beaten. The moron. “So I’m your designated … what? Slave-girl?”

  He inclined his head. The smug gesture cost him. He didn’t have quite enough time to avoid my fist when it connected with his diaphragm, or the follow-through punch I landed against the unbruised cheek. “Cherijo—”

  I would have tackled him to the floor, but inexplicably, the interior lighting went off. I froze, resisting the recoil of pain stabbing through my newly healed wrist and my burned arm. “Lights, damn it!”

  Before I could land another blow, Reever flung me back on the sleeping platform, then landed on top of me.

  “Stop it,” Reever muttered, spreading his legs over mine. I gulped in enough air to shriek, and his hand locked over my mouth to smother the sound. At the same time, his other hand encircled my throat and clenched. “Quiet.”

  The door panel slid open.

  “Pretend you’re asleep.” Without a sound, Reever rolled off me and over the side of the sleeping platform.

  There was someone in the room with us. I could hear the thickened breathing, the shuffling footsteps as they approached my bed. Was it that rat-faced, vigilante nurse? Through my eyelashes I watched the glimmer of tiny indicator lights as the intruder lifted a pulse rifle. The slight hum of the weapon as it activated made me stiffen.

  Something Dhreen, the Oenrallian pilot who had originally helped me escape from Terra, had said to me on Furinac came back to me. Doc, what is it with you and weapon-carrying assassins?

  At that time th
e Furinac First Scion had been trying to kill me, planning to later frame me for his father’s murder. He’d ended up committing suicide by blowing his own head off, an inch from my face. It’s a gift, Dhreen.

  I wanted to pound something. Was there anyone left on this blasted ship who didn’t want to beat, poison, burn, or shoot me?

  This latest assassin moved in closer. The scent of acrid alien sweat drifted to my nose. It wasn’t the nurse—I’d have known that smell anywhere. It took every ounce of willpower to remain motionless and let him cross those last few inches. A low, soft sound disturbed the air.

  Former fleet commander Colonel Shropana was giggling.

  I don’t know why. Patril should have been rather upset with me. He’d come all the way to Varallan Quadrant on League orders to abduct me, had threatened to blow up Joren, and then had suffered the ultimate humiliation by falling for my Trojan horse trick. I’d turned him and his forty League troop freighters over to the Hsktskt in exchange for Joren’s safety.

  Considering our history? Laughing or not, he’d definitely use the rifle.

  A metallic clunk came from across the room, and Shropana swung back around. I took the opportunity and rolled off the sleeping platform in the same way Reever had. I landed face-first on the deck, and cringed at the resounding whack. How had Reever done it so silently?

  “Torin.” Shropana kicked something out of his way. “I will make it quick. Come out where I can see you.”

  “Don’t move, Cherijo.” Reever’s voice came out of nowhere, sounding very much in charge. “Drop the weapon, Colonel.”

  For once Reever had a good idea. I stayed put and covered my head with my arms.

  Shropana cursed. The door panel opened a second time. The pulse rifle fired, causing a muffled explosion. A sibilant roar echoed the shot. Then complete chaos ensued. Furnishings flew over my head. Heavy objects crashed into plasteel panels. Bones snapped. Flesh ripped.

  “Stop it!” I pushed myself to my feet just as the lights came on and I saw who had taken care of business.

  “Shall I kill him for you, HalaVar?”

  TssVar held the Colonel suspended a few feet above the deck. Shropana’s broken body twitched with spasmodic shudders. Reever had the pulse rifle in his hands and was deactivating it. He looked from the League Commander to me, then made a gesture I’d never seen before.

  “Very well.” TssVar dropped the wounded man to the deck. The body made a distinct, wet thud.

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” I ran to Shropana. The Hsktskt had done an excellent job, I saw as I crouched down next to the unconscious man. He was very nearly dead. “Couldn’t you have just knocked him out?”

  The Colonel was a mess. Deep head wound, obvious fractures in both front and back hocks. Dark purple blood spilled from the sagging flews around his mouth and pooled on the deck beneath his blunt, balding head. When I jerked aside his tunic and palpated his abdomen, I swore.

  “Shattered ribs and internal hemorrhaging, from the feel of it.” I checked his pulse, then jerked my head toward the room panel. “He’s taching on me. Call for medevac. Now.”

  With swift movements I tore a piece of linen and bound it around Shropana’s skull. I had no case, no bonesetters, no scanner. Unless I moved fast, I soon wouldn’t have a patient.

  “Well?” I glared at Reever.

  TssVar nudged the Colonel with one huge clawed foot, making Shropana groan. “Isn’t he dead?”

  “No. Don’t do that.” I swatted at the Hsktskt’s leg. “He needs surgery. Now. I’ll have to perform a thoracotomy to see how bad it is.” If his heart would stand the strain. Since my heroes evidently weren’t going to signal Medical, I rose and headed for the console.

  The big Hsktskt got in my way. “This one tried to kill you.”

  “Not my problem.” I went around him. “Let me do my job, will you?”

  TssVar made no indication whether he was going to grant me permission to do it, but waiting for approval was never one of my strong points. Behind me, I heard him say to Reever, “I will observe her, HalaVar.”

  “As you wish, OverLord,” Reever said.

  Like I was a bug under a microscope, doing some fascinating tricks.

  “You two can stand here and chat all day,” I said, and keyed in a signal. “I’m moving the Colonel before he bleeds to death.”

  The charge nurse dispatched two orderlies and a hover gurney to aid me. Once we loaded Shropana, I trotted down the corridor alongside him, my fingers wrapped around the pulse point in his arm. His thready heart rate had seriously weakened by the time we reached Medical.

  I started handing out orders before the entrance panel slid shut behind me. “Thoracic surgical team, one minute. I need a bretyliumine infuser setup and full portable cardiac array, stat. Nurse”—the League staffer gawked when I pointed at her—“yes, you. Get your backside over here.”

  Malgat began protesting at once. I shoved him out of my face. He trailed after me, still squawking some nonsense about seniority. From the corner of my eye I saw TssVar nod to one of the centurons, who grabbed the furious physician and hauled him out of my face.

  Having the OverLord around had its advantages, I thought, then looked down at the patient. Sometimes.

  Between me and the suddenly cooperative nurse, we had Shropana prepped by the time the surgical team had assembled. I had an intern take the Colonel in, while the nurse and I geared up. She didn’t offer to help when I changed the dressing on my burned arm before I scrubbed. She just stared at my brand, then the collar around my neck.

  “Yeah, I’m a slave, too.” I secured the new bandage and shook down the sleeve of my gown. “Just like everyone else.”

  “Doctor.” TssVar walked in, looking around with interest. “This appears to be much more efficient than your center on Kevarzangia Two.”

  A supply closet would have been an improvement on K-2’s FreeClinic. I missed it anyway.

  “Here.” I handed the largest set of surgical gear to TssVar. “Put this on and scrub.” I nodded toward the sink, then turned to the attending nurse. “Help me.”

  The nurse went pale. “But—but—”

  He wasn’t contaminating my sterile field with all his Hsktskt germs. “Do it.”

  I left the two of them at the biodecon unit and entered the main surgical suite, where Shropana lay shrouded and ready for the procedure.

  “Status,” I said, and one of the surgical interns hesitantly rattled off Shropana’s vital signs. The tachycardia had leveled out. “Okay. Let’s get rolling.”

  League medical equipment might be better than K-2’s, but it hardly compared to the Jorenian tech I had worked with on the Sunlace. The same main control console governed most of the surgery’s various apparatus. I muttered to myself as I accessed the panel and activated one of the table scanners. This junk seemed to take forever to scan the body and chest cavity before it extrapolated a diagnosis.

  “Pneumothorax, right lung,” I said, reading the displayed results out loud. “Multiple fractures in both arm hocks and seven ribs. Looks like one of those pierced the gland cluster behind the cardiac organ.”

  TssVar was indeed very efficient.

  On top of that, Shropana’s heart displayed the unmistakable signs of severe coronary arterial disease. As if I didn’t have enough of a challenge to deal with. I checked the other scanner.

  “Head wound is superficial. No sign of subdural hematoma.” I inspected the laser rig as I powered it up. “All right, people, we’re going to have our hands full. He’s a myocardial infarction waiting to happen.” I checked and saw the Hsktskt standing at the back of some nurses. “OverLord, you’ll want to come inside the field perimeter now.”

  The Hsktskt quickly stepped forward. He must have remembered the last time he encountered the bioelectrical wall—also the last time he’d seen me at work, back on K-2, when I’d delivered his mate’s quintuplets. At gunpoint.

  The glamorous life of an intergalactic surgeon. Maybe I should ha
ve listened to Dhreen and opened a restaurant on K-2. “Activate sterile field.”

  The static buzz was followed by the whispered suction of the air replacement unit. I pulled down the rig and checked the settings. The beam regulator badly needed calibration, and I had to fool with the stream injector for a minute before it produced the proper bandwidth. My arm hurt, but not enough to make it difficult to handle the instruments.

  “Tell me something,” I asked no one in particular. “How is it that the League will waste untold millions of credits tracking down a single Terran female, but won’t spend a tiny fraction of that upgrading and maintaining its own medical equipment?”

  No one answered.

  “Stats.” When I got no answer, I glared at the nurse handling the Colonel’s anesthesia. “Well? Are you taking a nap over there, or what?”

  “He’s barely stable,” she said, muttering under her mask. “You should know.”

  I powered down and pushed the rig to one side. The slave brand under my gown throbbed in time with the invisible hammers on each side of my head.

  I didn’t really have the time to do this, I thought, as I surveyed the numerous insubordinate eyes watching me. However, that was one thing I learned in my first year of residency—if you wanted to be in charge, you’d damn well better act like it.

  “Okay, children,” I said, insulting the group at large. “Here’s how it works. I am the surgeon. You are the surgical support team. I ask questions. You answer me. I cut. You mop up the blood. If you won’t do that, get out and send in someone who will.”

  The League med pros exchanged glances. One of the male residents cleared his throat.

  There’s always one brave one. “You have a comment you’d like to make, resident?”

  “You turned the fleet over to the Hsktskt,” he said, glancing nervously at the OverLord. “Why should you wish to save the Colonel’s life now?”

  TssVar made an ugly sound.

  Brave, and possibly suicidal. “As I recall, you people were prepared to destroy an entire world to get me. The way I see it, we’re even. Got it?”