Endurance

by neetha Napew

  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 female 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 mindIbody 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 bondmate. 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 un
der 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.

  The beast actually shot me.

  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.

  “The Terran female would really, really like to be released now.”

  “Leave us,” I heard TssVar say.

  Those two words from the Hsktskt Commander effectively cleared the area. The towering OverLord lumbered across the deck to stand by my berth, and began reading through my chart.

  TssVar would have made one hell of a doctor. Faced with the OverLord’s massive physique and nightmare visage, no patient in the universe would have ever given him lip.

  I could appreciate those qualities. Everybody gave me lip.

  Octagonal keratin scales bulged over wide cords of sinew and muscle as TssVar tossed the chart aside with a grim hiss. His black tongue flickered out to taste my air as he personally examined me. Hsktskt facial muscles didn’t lend themselves to much emotion, but even I could gauge the level of his contempt.

  “I have seen more attractive fodder, SsurreVa.”

  SsurreVa was the Hsktskt name he’d given me. It translated literally to “thin-skinned.” Wonder why.

  One of his clawed hands lifted the edge of the dressing on my chest. When he saw the wound, he expressed even more disgust.

  I wasn’t falling for any intimidation tactics-this whole mess was his fault. Instead I glanced down, and made a tsking sound. “Beautiful work your guards do on unarmed prisoners.”

  “You Terrans are far too flimsy.” He replaced the dressing. “We will find something else to use on you besides pulse weapons.”

  Something that didn’t damage the goods, I gathered. “That might be wise.” I wasn’t going to offer actual suggestions as to what. Plus there was something I wanted to know. “How is the Chakacat, Alunthri?”

  His lower eyelids slid up, then down. “Alive.”

  That word covered a lot of bleak territory. “Where is it?”

  “In General Detainment.” He flashed some impressive enamel. “For now.”

  Which I’d take to mean don’t press my luck. “When do I go back to my cell?”

  TssVar draped a limb along the edge of my berth, and bent toward me to examine my expression. “Have you not tired of it?”

  “Oh, no. I love lying naked in a dark, cold cell with nothing to eat or drink for days.” I showed him some of my teeth. “First vacation I’ve had in years.”

  “Indeed.” Hsktskt understood sarcasm, but rarely reacted to it. “I think you wish to hide. You did not anticipate HalaVar’s actions.”

  Actually, I’d been stunned. During the attack, Reever had used my natural hesitation to disarm me-he knew some bizarre tricks when it came to self-defense. I remembered how I’d huddled on the deck, staring up at him. Betrayed by the one man I never would have suspected of turning on me.

  You signaled the Hsktskts.

  Yes. I signaled them.

  That was when they’d brought Reever’s leverage in: Alunthri, collared and chained. That finished any hope I had of having another go at the heartless bastard. A moment later, TssVar entered, sized up the whole sad, horrifying tableau, and had me hauled off to solitary detainment.

  Reever was probably still congratulating himself at this very moment, I thought, as he enjoyed the Hsktskt hospitality suite. I had been caged like an animal. Thank God, Alunthri was in with the other League prisoners.

  Or maybe I shouldn’t feel so happy about that. What if the other captives found out the Chakacat was my friend? Me, who had betrayed them.

  I wasn’t going to brood over it. TssVar wanted to keep me alive, that was pretty obvious-the Hsktskt weren’t known for their patience. But my chances of freeing Alunthri and the two of us escaping were slim to none.

  That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try.

  “We spoke of this before,” TssVar said. “Warm-bloods often betray each other.”

  “And I said I should learn to be like you, OverLord, and trust in no one.” I tested the plaste
el restraints, which felt far too tight, effectively cutting off circulation to my hands and feet. Blasted nurses. “Take me back to my cell.” Or anywhere these League staffers couldn’t get at me.

  “When you have recovered, you may ask HalaVar,” TssVar said. “You are his property.”

  My brows rose. “I don’t think so.”

  One claw snapped a new detainment cuff on my uninjured wrist. Not gently, either. “You belong to OverMaster HalaVar.” His lipless mouth stretched in a gruesome imitation of a smile. “Unless he decides to sell you on Catopsa.”

  My regenerative physiology once again had me mostly healed within a few days. Convenient, since the Medical staffers got on my nerves in as many hours.

  During my recovery, I had plenty of time on my hands to observe how the League ran a medical department. Compared to the Jorenians, on whose star vessel I’d spent the last year, these staffers were undisciplined, unsupervised, and unbelievably inefficient.

  At first I resisted the urge to correct one of the staff for neglecting proper procedure. Eventually I gave up and simply yelled.

  “Nurse! Get a syrinpress. That man in berth nine should have had his meds two hours ago!

  “Does the patient with the limb injury have to develop gangrene before you change her damn dressing?

  “When does the primary physician intent to perform rounds? After all these people slide into comas?”

  “Calm yourself, SsurreVa.” A reptilian voice came over my headgear after one of my tirades. “You are provoked too easily.”

  I clapped my hands over the receiver against my ear and sat straight up in my berth. TssVar. “You’re monitoring me?”

  “We monitor all slaves.”

  Nice to know that now.

  I decided to stop yelling directly at the staffers. It wasn’t their fault no one cared enough to supervise them properly. No, I’d vent my spleen to the primary medical officer, someone named Malgat, as soon as he made rounds.

  That took two full rotations.

  “Where have you been?” I started in on the short, hairless humanoid when at last he appeared by my berth. “These people need some management, pronto, because...” I stared down at the syring press in Dr. Malgat’s two-fingered hand. “What is that?”