Beyond Varallan

by neetha Napew

It was useless to order him back to his berth. “She’s stable, pain-free and recovering like a pro.” I exchanged a look with Sberea. “Would you like to go in and see her?”

  “Yes.” Salo demonstrated his thanks by ignoring his injuries, picking me up and hugging me. “I will never be able to adequately express my gratitude, Healer,” he said. “Never.”

  “You could start by not breaking my spine,” I said, voice muffled against his broad chest. I was returned to my feet at once.

  “Your pardon.” Salo straightened the edge of my tunic the same way he would for Fasala. Then he pressed his brow to mine, a gesture usually reserved for immediate family members. I was touched. “I will find the words someday. Until then, my life is yours.” He went in to see Darea.

  Sberea stared after him. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a warrior pledge his life to anyone but another warrior before.”

  I pressed a hand to my lower spine, and groaned. “It’s better than having them come after you in surgery.”

  After I wrote up my procedural notes, I returned to Sberea’s office and we spent another hour talking shop. After I related the story of Roelm’s secretive basket weaving and Tonetka’s reaction, Sberea wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.

  “I can see her image even now,” he said, and sighed. “I will miss that old woman more than I can tell you.”

  “Me, too.” To keep from blubbering myself, I checked out his office. The combination of efficiency and grace made me sigh. Plenty of space to hold a conference, work on charts, or interview a patient. Woven tapestries on the walls and airily woven furnishings gave it a comfortable, warm feei. “Did you design this space yourself?”

  He shook his head. “My bondmate did, some years ago. I lost her to the stars just before the Sunlace left on its survey jaunt.” His white eyes gleamed. “You know, of course, we celebrate death instead of mourning it.”

  “Yes. And I’d love to know why,” I said. “I can’t find a single rational explanation in the database.”

  Sberea smiled. “You know how fiercely protective we are of our kin.”

  I sputtered out a laugh. “Boy, do I.”

  “Before the HouseClans formed, it was a matter of survival. A threat to one’s kin was a threat to the tribe. Our species developed this unreasonable ferocity as part of the process of proliferation.” He made an elegant gesture. “What is the greatest threat toward the proliferation of a species? Death. Can one take revenge for what is a natural process?”

  “No,” I said. “But you don’t have to like it.”

  “Our people were unable to change that integral part of their character, Cherijo. That is why we had to develop a separate concept of death, or risk madness and even extinction. Thus, death is celebrated with joy.”

  “And everyone stays sane.”

  “Most medical practitioners, by their constant exposure to injury and illness, have developed a different view. We try to encourage our patients to embrace life.”

  I smiled sadly, thinking of Yetlo. “I’ve resorted to accidental sedation and death threats, myself.”

  A knock at the door panel startled me, and I turned around to see Reever through the viewer.

  “Another human?” The Senior House Healer was curious.

  “My... Chosen, Duncan Reever.” I made the introductions. “Duncan, this is the Director of the medical facility, Senior HouseClan Healer Sberea.”

  Reever nodded politely to the Jorenian. “A pleasure to meet you, Senior HouseClan Healer. I regret I must ask Cherijo to leave with me now.”

  “Ah, yes, the celebration commences,” Sberea said, and rose to his feet. “Please visit us again, Cherijo.”

  “Thank you, Sberea. I’d like that very much.”

  As Reever and I left, I squinted at the rapidly darkening sky. Sunset on Joren bathed the world in gold and crimson light. “We’d better hurry or we’ll be late.” I surveyed him. “Where did you go?”

  “Dhreen is discreetly arranging our transport. He wanted me to look over the vessel being offered by the Jorenians.”

  “What’s it look like?”

  “Small, but fast. We will need both if we are to evade the League’s mercenaries.”

  “Don’t make an announcement to any of the Torins,” I said. “They won’t be too happy to hear I’m leaving almost j as soon as I got here.”

  “I agree,” Reever said as we walked by the ceremonial bonding grounds. The chamber being erected in our honor was reaching the dimensions of a small mansion. “Have you changed your mind about the bonding ceremony?”

  I should have said no. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

  “A Jorenian ceremony would not be considered binding under current Terran legislation.”

  “Oh, as if I’m worried about what Terra deems legal and illegal,” I said. “Reever, I’m doing this for one reason and one reason only.” We had reached our rooms, and he closed the door silently. “I get the cleansing unit first.”

  I almost made it before he blocked my way. “What reason?”

  “I want to.”

  He started backing me up against a wall. “Why?”

  “Reever...” His hands were cradling my face, tilting it up. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see what was in his. “I’m going to be a terrible wife, you know. My hours-“

  “You don’t have a job anymore. Why?”

  “My temper is worse-“

  “Tell me, Cherijo.”

  The door panel chimed. Saved by the bell.

  It was Adaola, looking beautiful in her ceremonial robe. “Senior Healer, are you not ready?”

  I looked down at my formal robe. Wrinkled. Wilting. Nope, it wasn’t even in the same neighborhood as ready. “Give us a half hour, will you, ClanSister?”

  “Make haste!” she said as she went back out.

  “I will sterilize our robes.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” I said, and turned to find myself an inch away from him. When I drew back, he offered me a small, black box he pulled from a pocket in his robe. I frowned at it.

  “What’s this?” I fingered the smooth, glasslike container.

  “Open it and see.”

  I found the tiny hinge and released it. Inside, a band of gold gleamed, intricately carved with a flowing alien symbol.

  “A ring?” My fingers shook as I touched it.

  “On Terra, human males once gave such hand ornaments to their betrothed.” He took it from the box and slid it over the fourth finger of my left hand.

  I stared at the ring, which fit perfectly. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” I was doomed, even before his arms came around me.

  “Duncan-“

  His hands pressed me closer. “Tell me why you want to bond with me.”

  “We belong together.” There, I’d said it. Only the words kept spilling out of me. “I can feel it, when I touch you, when I look at you. When I hear your voice. It started on K-2, but I didn’t understand then. You always got under my skin, yet I never stopped to wonder why. When I got hurt after the attack on the Sunlace, all I could think about was finding out if you were alive or dead. When I saw you-“ I pressed my brow against his shoulder, shuddering as I remembered the terrified relief I’d xfelt that day. “I just knew.”

  Reever’s hand settled against the back of my head. He could have linked with me, read my thoughts for himself, but instead he simply held me.

  Finally I lifted my face. “Well? Are we going to do this, or not?”

  “Yes.” He kissed me. “We will do this.”

  The first item on the evening’s agenda was a surprise we’d been planning for weeks. Once Reever and I presented ourselves at the communal great room (late, as usual), the festivities began.

  “HouseClan Torin, live forever!” Xonal said from the ceremonial dais. Hundreds of voices echoed the blessing.

  I looked around me. There were more ClanAunts and ClanUncles and ClanCousins than I could count. Just one big, happy family.

  “We
initiate our celebration this night with a ceremony of succession,” Xonea said. “Senior Healer Cherijo Torin, rise and join me!”

  I shook out my tent as I stood, and walked with what dignity I could manage under all that fabric to the dais. Visions of me tripping and falling flat on my face kept my pace slow, and my head high. When I reached the dais, I accepted a rib-splintering hug from the ClanFather.

  “You are lovely, my ClanDaughter,” he said against the top of my head.

  “I am suffocating,” I said into his tunic, then chuckled as he set me back down on my feet. When I was sure I didn’t have a collapsed lung, I stepped forward and held out my hands.

  “I have served as the Senior Healer on board the Sunlace for some time now,” I said. “Tomorrow my path continues, but in another direction. In accordance with the traditions of our people, I’ve chosen my successor.”

  I looked around the room, and saw the confidence and pride shining on the faces of my adopted family. It was nice to work a receptive crowd.

  “My successor is more than worthy to bear the title of Senior Healer.” I went on to detail some highlights of my replacement’s career, then added, “The only problem is, I have to make him a doctor first.” I smiled down at the Omorr. His gildrells were splayed in absolute shock. “Squilyp, come on up here.”

  My former Resident ascended the platform with short, nervous hops. He came to stand next to me and looked out at the approving crowd.

  “I will get even with you for this,” he said under his breath.

  “Dream on, Squid Lips,” I replied, just as quietly. In a louder voice, I announced his doctorate. “Squilyp, native of the Omorr world in the Niabac system, having successfully completed your final year of residency on board the Jorenian vessel Sunlace, I now bestow upon you the title of Medical Doctor, in accordance with the standards set forth for all humanoid practitioners.” I pinned the small gold tunic pin that identified his title. “Congratulations, Doctor.” I clasped his membranes with my hands.

  HouseClan Torin rose to their feet, and in their version of applause, gave a rousing, musical shout.

  “Now, Doctor, I am leaving the Sunlace and select you as my successor. Will you accept the position as Senior Healer?”

  He nodded. “I would be honored.”

  Well, that was the right word to use. HouseClan Torin made so much cheering and noise only Squilyp heard me as I said, “I appoint the Omorr, Dr. Squilyp, to the Jorenian survey vessel Sunlace as Ship’s Senior Healer.” I shook his appendage again. “Good luck, Doctor.”

  I left Squilyp on the dais and sat back down. He gave a brief but thoroughly appropriate acceptance speech, then joined me and Reever in the front row.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I nudged him with an elbow.

  “You are most devious, Healer.” The Omorr gave me a sly look. “Your turn.”

  I saw Sberea, Xonal, and Adala walk up to the dias. Uh-oh.

  “HouseClan Torin, you may have heard by now of the adventures experienced by our kin on board the Sunlace,” Xonal said. “During their struggles, one of our HouseClan strove tirelessly to aid our kin in moments of crisis and disaster. Though not born to us, this woman has always sought to preserve the honor and traditions of our HouseClan.”

  Well, no one had spilled the beans about me ignoring that suicidal bent of theirs, I thought.

  He gestured to me. “Please, Healer, join us now.”

  I walked up and saw Adala holding a beautiful circlet of some sort of twisted golden alloy. When I drew close enough, she placed it on my head.

  “The Mother of All Houses blesses you, ClanJoren,” Adala intoned solemnly.

  ClanJoren? What was that?

  “To be known as ClanJoren is to be honored by all of the Houses on Joren,” Xonal said. “Wherever you journey on this world, the HouseClans will welcome you.” He handed me a lovely fiber scroll bound with yiborra cord. “With honor and gratitude for your service to our world, ClanJoren.”

  While everyone was calling their blessings from the crowd, I considered this new twist. I had an official title now. Okay. I could deal with that.

  “As with all those blessed by the Mother, the Healer is now considered a genitor,” Xonal said. “This night she bonds, and thus the newest HouseClan will begin. We salute HouseClan Reever.”

  I saw Duncan Reever rise and approach the dais. They had planned this, I decided. All of it. Without telling me a damn thing. Now we weren’t just getting married, we were starting a whole new HouseClan. That only happened once or twice every century on Joren.

  “Nice going, Reever,” I said close to his ear as he bent to kiss my cheek. “We are never going to get off this world.”

  “We will discuss it later.”

  “You’re damn right we will, ClanFather.” What did that make me? ClanMother? Cherijo Torin-Reever? ClanJoren? I’d never be able to get it all out in the same breath.

  The celebration would last for days, I’d discover later that evening. Reever and I were toasted, Squilyp was toasted, the Mother of All Houses was toasted. Then Adaola and Barrea, who unknown to all of us had been having a torrid romance, announced their Choice.

  “I never even suspected,” I said to my ClanSister, who sat with the new Senior Engineer at our table. I passed a jug of some very potent floral wine over to Squilyp, who was doing his best to polish off the dregs of another. I was surprised to learn he ate and drank as elegantly as he hopped. The gildrells performed each function with very dainty, graceful precision. When he wasn’t drinking floral wine, that is.

  “How are you doing, Doctor?”

  He peered at me, his dark eyes slits of amusement. “Better than I was on that dais up there, Doctor.”

  “I thought Omorr are like Oenrallians, and can’t get intoxicated,” I said.

  Squilyp shook his head and nearly fell off his chair. “Naturally we can get intox... intoxi... int... drunk,” he said, then fell off his chair. Two of my sympathetic relatives helped him up and escorted him to his rooms. As he departed, he waved all three appendages back at me.

  “Better take Squilyp some analgesics in the morning,” I told Adaola as I waved back.

  “Did he hit his head when he fell?” she asked, concerned.

  “No. But he’ll feel like he did when he wakes up.”

  At that point, my adopted ClanParents appeared at the head of our table. “Dear ones,” Adala said, and gazed down the rows of family members with affection. “It is time to escort those who will bond.”

  That was me and Reever. I rose to my feet, only to find Adaola, Adala, and a half dozen other female relatives lifting me up in their arms. When I jerked my head around, I saw the men doing the same to Reever.

  “Don’t drop me,” I said as we were carried off from the great communal room. “Terran bones don’t bounce the way Jorenians’ do!”

  In a very formal, ceremonial procession, Reever and I were carried across the chamber grounds to the towering, floral-covered structure where we would be bonded.

  At the small entrance, we were lowered down to the ground and placed to stand next to each other. Xonea appeared before us, and placed yiborra grass garlands around our necks.

  “May the Mother give you children,” he said. “May she bless your path together from this day until eternity comes.” Gently, Xonea touched my cheek with his hand, and leaned forward. “Be happy, Cherijo,” he added, for my ears alone.

  Reever drew me in through the small entrance, and those assembled outside sealed the opening with armfuls of loose flowers. We were alone, in total darkness, when a small light overhead glowed into life.

  “Oh, look.”

  The interior of the dome-shaped structure was carpeted with flower petals of every shape, all the identical shade of rose. It represented the sky, the marching cloud columns symbolized by streaks of petals in other hues-green, blue, yellow, and violet. More pools of violet petals surrounded us-the Marine sea. I spotted several baskets heaping with enough provis
ions to feed an army.

  “It’s like our own little world in here,” I said.

  There were no furnishings, only a small, sectioned-off unit that on later inspection revealed a cleansing unit, lavatory, and a week’s supply of clean garments for both of us.

  Reever didn’t seem impressed. “Appropriate description.”

  “So now you’re my... husband.” I tried out the word. It felt strange on my lips. “Sounds like something strapped on a strained joint for support, doesn’t it?”

  “Wife is no better. In Svgana, that word means small, poisonous snake.”

  “I’ll have to remember that, if we ever jaunt to Svgan.” The light above began to dim. I was feeling a little desperate, and looked around. “Hungry? There’s enough food here to feed the entire HouseClan.”

  “No. I’m not hungry.” He took my hand, and I jumped. “Calm yourself, Cherijo. Here.” He guided me to mound of flowers. “Sit down.”

  I knew what that petal heap was meant for, and it wasn’t sitting. “No, thanks. I think I’ll just... stand here for now.” Three minutes down, six days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-seven minutes to go.

  “Are you afraid of being alone with me?”

  Despite the fading light, I could still see his face. Not that it helped. “No.” His arm came up around my shoulders. “Uh-Duncan?”

  Before I could ask him just how he felt about me, the mound of flowers blocking the entrance shifted, then started falling away.

  “Your pardon, Healer Cherijo, Linguist Reever.” Xonal stepped inside. “You must return to the pavillion at once. Marine Province security grid has detected several battle cruisers entering orbit.”

  “What kind of battle cruisers?” I asked as we hurried back to the main complex.

  “According to the defense monitors, they are League troop freighters.”

  Celebration had been replaced by organized chaos, I saw as we entered the pavillion. Children were being herded into sub-surface shelters. Warriors were distributing arms. Every console was being used to monitor reports from planetary defense command.

  “How much time do we have before they attack?” I asked Xonal. A sudden explosion from outside gave me my answer. “Do you have an emergency medical facility?”