by L. E. Horn
She mentioned the matter to Hannah while they were on patrol. The redheaded Healer just shook her head and laughed. “If he feels that way, he’s just going to have to suck it up. We are the only females with him in this jungle. If he wants human scenery to ogle, we’re the only option going.”
This topic struck too close to Lianndra’s heart for her to treat it lightly. Her genetic changes often made her feel more animal than human. I wouldn’t blame any human male for not wanting to interact with me.
“Maybe he’s not interested in women,” Lianndra muttered.
Hannah sobered as if recognizing what bothered her. “It’s too bad if he isn’t, ’cause we are gorgeous, hairy or not.”
Lianndra had to smile. She and Hannah abandoned their clothing weeks ago. Both Healers used their new cellular manipulation abilities to control each body hair. By growing and interweaving the hairs, they could afford themselves the same modesty as clothing without the branch-snagging side effects. They could even weave their hair over their slave collars, disguising the bright metal to keep it from catching the sunlight.
When the Fang kidnapped her, Hannah had been in first year medicine. Despite her enslavement, she remained cheerful and outgoing. After a comparison of their lives as slaves, it became clear Hannah must have Danced on a different Mothership from Lianndra, which was why they’d never met before. Over time, Lianndra came to appreciate that. Although the redheaded Healer appeared carefree on the surface, Hannah possessed an inner core of steel that revealed itself in brief glimpses. Her new friend even stood up to Drake, politely questioning his decisions. The captain seemed surprisingly tolerant of such interruptions, answering the questions before issuing his final orders.
Lianndra wouldn’t have dared question the dark-haired Aussie captain. She noticed, however, that her friend always picked her questions with care, never commenting on any of Drake’s important decisions. Lianndra understood Hannah didn’t undermine Drake’s choices, but helped him to build the group into an effective team by increasing communication. Hannah seemed to have inexhaustible energy reserves, a valuable trait during the long hours of swinging through the dense forest.
Even without the closeness their situation forced on them, Lianndra and Hannah would’ve become friends. They often viewed the world in similar ways. Although Lianndra remained quieter and more reserved, Hannah had come through the slave experience with her optimistic personality intact. Having Hannah as a friend helped ease Lianndra’s loneliness, but she often missed Andrea.
Back on the Mothership, Andrea mentioned she’d also received the same so-called vitamins that triggered the mutation. Lianndra wondered if they turned Andrea into a Healer too. Compared to the thousands of slave soldiers on the front lines, the FHR divisions were not plentiful, and each division possessed only two Healers. Perhaps not all women responded to the orange liquid, or maybe they didn’t survive the resulting mutation process.
Or maybe they don’t consider all Dancers worthy, so some aren’t given the orange gunk to begin with, thought Lianndra.
The ranges of the FHR divisions never overlapped. As a result, Lianndra and Hannah hadn’t met the other FHR Healers. Even if Andrea was in the jungle, Lianndra might never find her.
So far, their world revolved around the small group of humans. Although Hannah socialized with the men, Lianndra rarely fraternized with the soldiers and kept to herself. With the Healers in the trees all day, most communications relayed through Drake. It created a gulf between the soldiers and the Healers that even Hannah’s efforts could not bridge.
Her insecurity made Lianndra aware of how the soldiers sometimes stared as the women walked through the camp. The looks were not always pleasant. It didn’t help that Hannah was indifferent to nudity. She concentrated on covering the basics and didn’t worry about anything else. Lianndra didn’t think the redhead’s nonchalance to her seminude state reflected the men’s feelings. The Healers might not appear as typical human females but they were a long way from Earth.
“Lianndra, you don’t like the men looking at you, and you don’t like Drake not looking at you,” Hannah commented to her, keeping it light but sounding mildly exasperated. “Face it—after a while the jungle isn’t exciting to watch, unless it’s trying to kill you. They have to look at something so why not us?”
Hannah had a point. Maybe I am being too sensitive. Plus, Drake brooked no nonsense in the camp, intervening if the men tried anything with the Healers.
Drake might be their controller, but the Fang controlled him. She didn’t know how the man felt about being a slave, but he ran things efficiently and fairly despite the Fang influence. She and Hannah might yet have cause to be grateful for Drake.
A LARGE FRONTLINE UNIT CONSISTING of Zraph provided an early healing experience. Zraph were so tough that this unit stayed in the fight even with many injured. When the unit heard Drake’s FHR division was close, they marched to meet them behind the lines.
Zraph were temperamental creatures, even more so when wounded. To protect his Healers, Drake guarded each one with his armed soldiers as the women worked. An injured Zraph was often immune to collar control, so the Healers’ value meant the captain would willingly sacrifice a Zraph to protect them.
Lianndra found her agility useful when climbing the huge bodies to reach the injuries or when ducking or dodging to avoid the occasional swing of the club-like arms. Hit with a series of cluster bombs, the unit of Zraph suffered extensive shrapnel damage. Foreign object removal required her to push the objects out of the body as she healed the injury path left behind. The soldiers helped with the larger pieces, pulling them out as the Healers worked.
Such injuries were not as common as knife or sword wounds. The Gryphon fought with primitive weapons, although they sometimes used lasers, grenades, and bombs salvaged from the Fang fighting units. Lianndra felt grateful the bombs, at least, weren’t commonly used. Shrapnel wounds could be difficult to heal.
She practiced controlling her patient’s pain. Lianndra explained the process to Drake, who questioned her when he first saw her attempt it. He permitted her to continue when he recognized the advantages of a pain-free Zraph while healing.
Now she used the creature’s bulky arm to lever herself upward. She flattened her body on the muscled chest of her patient and braced the craggy head between her hands. Looking into the four primary eyes, she wondered how the creature visualized her. Lianndra let herself drift into the alien’s mind. The first time she’d tried this, she’d done it to Hannah. It was much more confusing with an alien mind, not to mention dangerous. She risked connecting too deep, getting lost in the maze of alien physiology. Lianndra tried to keep the contact as superficial as possible.
She searched for the pain receivers within the brain. So far, all the creatures she’d worked on possessed them. The actual characteristics of the receivers differed between species. Lianndra located the nerves running from the injuries to the brain first, then she slipped through the cellular barrier encasing the brain’s protection system. From there she followed nerves until she found the pain transmitters.
In the Zraph’s case, she’d worked on a few at the barracks so she knew where to look. The creature grew quiet as she blocked the nerve synapses with dams of scar tissue. With the healing complete, she would have to push those cells aside so the transmitters regained their normal function. Then she had only a few seconds to complete another task, the one for which the Fang rebels had prepared her.
Her mind raced to the side of the neck where the collar entered the brain. I must be careful to keep my fingers from tracing the path of my thoughts. Neither Drake nor the Zraph’s Fang commander could suspect what she did.
Quick as lightning, she found the collar’s microfiber net in the brain. She sculpted cells, placing a protective buffer of nonconducting scar tissue between the delicate brain network and the nodes. It took a light touch because a clumsy effort could trigger the node that enabled the collar to kill.
&n
bsp; Each creature differed. Due to the incredible resilience of the Zraph physiology, the fiber network within their brain was extensive. Lianndra worked to complete the task before anyone grew suspicious.
She removed her hands from the creature’s head just as the Fang commander paced alongside her particular Zraph. Moving past the great chest, Lianndra worked on a huge gash across the creature’s arm. Beyond the Fang commander Drake looked on, his weapon slung across his chest. Across the clearing, Hannah finished with her Zraph, glancing Lianndra’s way as she slid down the creature’s side.
Lianndra caught the barest wink before the redheaded Healer headed off to her next patient, trailing three soldiers as protective detail.
Mission accomplished, Lianndra thought.
LIANNDRA SAT IN THE NEAR darkness, eating a ration bar. When healing others, she used her mind to replicate cells at many times the normal rate, and her body used nutrients at an accelerated pace. Long sessions of healing drained her resources. Lianndra had yet to have a complete failure of her skills, although she’d heard it could happen.
If I can heal aliens by manipulating cells, could I alter my own? If I applied myself on a deeper level, what else is possible? The thought frightened her. Once I alter my body, how do I return to my default self? Could I get caught up in a self-perpetuating healing trance, lost forever in a maze of my own altered cells? If I accidentally altered what makes me a Healer, could I cut myself off from the power enabling me to make the changes? She gave herself a mental shake to stop herself from descending the spiral of dark thoughts. They led nowhere, discouraging her from trying anything new.
Over the last few weeks, Lianndra appreciated the changes the Fang made in her external appearance. The freedom of swinging through the trees exhilarated her. Every time she returned to the ground, however, the men’s reactions to her presence reminded her of just how different she’d become.
If only I could change my looks as needed, she thought. I’m no longer human, but perhaps I can look less like an animal.
She stared at her arms, focusing on the point where the thick golden hair thinned to the bare flesh of her wrists and hands, and battled her uncertainty. Finally, she suppressed her misgivings and laid a hand on the opposite arm, trailing her sensitive finger pads along the area where hair gave way to smooth skin. Closing her eyes, she went within the hair follicles. Cells multiplied and hair sprouted. Compared to the complex healing she’d done with the aliens, it seemed so simple. With a final tweak, Lianndra added curl and used it to weave the hair along her chosen line. Once done it looked like the cuff on a shirt, with a clear division between covered and bare skin.
Lianndra breathed. She didn’t feel any fatigue. But now she wanted to try something different, something she’d never done. As a Healer, she routinely added cells. Now she wanted to remove them. With another deep breath, she rested her hand on the cuff of hair and took the plunge.
It took many tries to get it started. She destroyed each cell by breaking the plasma membrane holding it together. This meant tearing apart the molecular bonds of the membranes, resulting in free-floating cellular debris. Above the skin, she let the leftovers lay inert as a fine powder, but within the depths of the hair shaft itself, she had to mobilize a system for clearing it out. The easiest method would be to divert the tissue’s natural fluids, using them to flush the bits and pieces out of the empty shaft. A messy task that provided the best solution for the moment.
I must think of ways to do it cleanly—perhaps by diverting the debris to the lymphatic system? Or maybe I can figure out how to store the components?
She opened her eyes to see bare, clammy, and grubby skin instead of the cuff of hair. Grubby, but hairless!
Gross, she thought, as the elation rose within her, but better than looking like an ape.
Lianndra knew this discovery had implications beyond her appearance. She’d used her mind to destroy cells rather than rebuild them. Wounds healing imperfectly could now be taken apart and re-healed. Her mind shied away from the other possibilities inherent in being able to destroy cells, and it led to thoughts better left quiet.
A soft crunch of shifting dirt and movement out of the corner of her eye alerted her to Hannah’s approach. The smaller woman gave her a questioning glance as she settled beside her. The firelight barely reached the spot where they sat, but Lianndra knew Hannah’s enhanced vision could see her hairless arm and the smile in her eyes.
Lianndra grinned. “Do I ever have something to show you.”
NOT ALL DANGER WAS DUE to the war.
A few mornings later, Hannah and Lianndra tracked a unit of Fang retreating from the front lines. Judging by the amount of blood on the trail, the unit lost a recent battle. On his comm, Drake stayed in touch with the commander who waited in a dry creek bed nearby. The enemy Gryphon troop they tangled with could also be close, which meant their FHR division must move with caution through the jungle.
Hannah and Lianndra remained on a short leash. Drake didn’t want them too far ahead in case they required the men’s protection. So they crept forward, always staying within sight.
The system might have kept the Healers safer, but it created the drawback of not giving the women much time to warn the soldiers of any danger. In fact, there were only microseconds between the moment Lianndra scented trouble and the crashing through the underbrush as something descended on the men.
The Razorback got its name from the wicked sharp spikes covering its body. The creature may be a herbivore, but it had the temperament of an injured rhino, possessing an alarming tendency to defend itself by attacking.
It sliced through the soldiers, leaving blood and chaos in its wake; there and gone before anyone got off a shot.
Lianndra and Hannah moved instantly among the men, stemming the flow of blood, triaging those needing immediate help and those that could wait. Lianndra helped Drake up from the trampled earth where he lay. He waved her off to help the man just beyond him. The slave’s eyes were wild with pain but he still tried to struggle to a sitting position as Lianndra crouched beside him. “Easy,” she said, pushing him down. “Lie back. This might hurt, but I can heal you.”
He pulled away from her with a resentful expression. Drake had reprimanded this slave several times for inappropriate behavior around the Healers. His injury was deep. He groaned with pain more than once as she knit the tissues together, closing the skin, leaving a half-healed scar. They needed him as whole as possible so the division could keep moving.
When she opened her eyes, she noticed him staring at her in a strange way. Lianndra perspired with the heat of the midday jungle and the stress of healing. Her control over her body hair had become so automatic she seldom paid attention to it, and she had retracted her hair coverage to keep cool. This left her clad in the hairy equivalent of a bikini. While healing exhausted her, once completed, it often gave the healed a small boost of energy. Judging by the look in the stocky slave’s eyes, he felt too good.
Lianndra pushed herself upright and away from him. He recognized the movement correctly as rejection. She saw his gaze darken just before he grimaced and spat into the dirt at her feet.
That one was never a winner. She might long for human contact but not the kind he had in mind.
With the dangers posed by the jungle, the soldiers in Drake’s division required minor healing on a regular basis. Following the Fang rebellion’s orders, the Healers disabled the kill switches on their collars. Neither Hannah nor she dared to confide in any men even though they were human and friendly enough. Their internal Fara guide cautioned them to remain secret. If the Fang got premature wind of what they did, it would all be for naught. The two Healers covertly worked toward an uncertain goal. They were often unsure how their efforts would result in freedom for themselves and for every slave they touched.
Lianndra traded glances with Hannah, who gave her a thumbs-up to show they’d covered the two worst injuries. Then she turned to attend to Drake, who stood cradling wha
t looked like a dislocated shoulder. The Fang unit’s injuries would have to wait until the FHR division was ready to move.
OF ALL THE ALIENS LIANNDRA worked on, she hated healing the Fang the most.
The opinion seemed mutual. Fang preferred using technology and medtechs to heal their wounds. Unfortunately, this unit of commandos ran into a large troop of Gryphon far away from the nearest medic base or its technology.
Fang medic bases remained behind the action but were sometimes overrun by fighting when the front line shifted. Besides frequent evacuations, the medtechs often had difficulty dealing with the number of casualties. The FHR divisions alleviated this problem.
As the elite Fang soldiers, commandos functioned as special operatives used by the army to move covertly into enemy territory for a mission. They often received preferential treatment.
This unit received faulty intel leading them straight into a large troop of Gryphon. Gryphon moved so fast that any information on their whereabouts was often unreliable. Regardless, Lianndra heard that the enslaved scouts responsible for the bad intel paid for their mistake with their lives.
The old Fang before her was one of the largest Farr she’d ever seen. A body riddled with scars showed many missions completed by the veteran. His newest injury would have cost him his life if it had taken Lianndra’s unit much longer to reach them. The Fang possessed a circulatory system powered by two hearts, and as soon as Lianndra went within, she found one torn to pieces.
He’d lost a lot of blood, which Lianndra could not replace. She could only heal him, leaving the blood replenishment to his own body.
Lianndra fought to keep her fear at bay as she worked on the Farr. Those glowing orange eyes never left her face, and she hoped that this Fang shared his species lack of telepathic ability. She felt as though she had a neon rebel sign written across her forehead. The giant seemed to attribute her nervousness to his mere presence; Fang commandos did not lack ego.