Beyond Varallan

by S. L. Viehl

  Shocked, I took a half-step back. “My God.”

  Roelm’s cheerful face was grotesquely distorted. Eyes swollen shut. Features bloated. Upper torso bruised from resuscitative efforts. His abdomen was so severely distended that dark striae scarred his flesh with jagged purple streaks.

  “Ascites?” I’d never seen a case this bad before. Any form of edema sometimes caused excess fluid to accumulate in other parts of the body—especially the abdomen—but not like this. Not so fast. I pulled on a pair of gloves before I touched him. “What happened?”

  “Roelm left the Medical Bay and went to check the engines. Xonea found him in the eleventh level corridor,” the Senior Healer said. “By the time he was brought here, airways had constricted. Full respiratory and cardiac arrest occurred moments later.”

  “Brain scan?” I asked, carefully palpitating the lower torso. The tissues were so flooded that my fingers left dents in his flesh.

  “Clear. No hemorrhaging. It must be anaphylactic shock.”

  “Not like any case I’ve ever seen.” I checked the rest of the body, then stripped off my gloves. There was nothing more I could do until the postmortem.

  An autopsy would be performed, but not for a rotation. Jorenian custom prohibited disturbing the body during the time when they considered the “shreds of the soul” might remain within. Personally? I thought it was stupid. Dead was dead.

  “You’re running full toxicologies?” I asked.

  “Yes.” Tonetka gently touched Roelm’s cheek. “He made me his Speaker yesterday, Cherijo. It was as if he knew.”

  That meant Roelm had confided his last request to Tonetka. It was a heavy responsibility. One she was obviously not taking well, I discovered over the next hour, as she dropped instruments, misplaced several charts, and snarled at anyone who spoke to her. Eventually I talked Tonetka into going off duty and had one of the nurses escort her to her quarters.

  I reported to Ndo and requested he make the announcement to the crew. Arrangements for the death ceremony would be scheduled by the Captain. I reviewed the current ward status and made rounds. Every patient except Fasala had witnessed Roelm’s tragic end. No one had much to say. The nurses were unusually solemn. Even Squilyp seemed subdued, for a change.

  My youngest patient was still sleeping when I reached her berth. Darea sat beside her, her expression still stiff with shock.

  “I take it you were here, too,” I said, and the Jorenian woman nodded. No matter how much they celebrated the death of a HouseClan member, watching someone die wasn’t easy. Especially as violent an end as Roelm had come to. “I’m sorry. I liked him very much.”

  “I honored him as well.” She glanced at Roelm’s body, which was being prepared for removal to the morgue.

  “How fares Tonetka?”

  “She’ll be all right.” I deliberately changed the subject.

  “I see Fasala’s vitals read near normal levels now. That’s a good sign.”

  “She remains on the path.” Darea’s eyes were haunted. I could see this ClanMother wouldn’t celebrate her own child’s death. “Thank the Mother.”

  “The Mother should thank you,” was my observation. “Fasala senses you’re here. That security promotes healing faster than anything I can do.”

  “You are kind, Healer Cherijo.” She watched as Squilyp hopped past us, and her expression hardened. “Unlike that one with the mouth.”

  I updated Fasala’s chart and went back to Roelm’s berth once the postmortem prep of the body was completed. I repeated the non-intrusive exams, and came to an immediate conclusion.

  If the man had died of anaphylactic shock, I was an Omorr.

  Roelm’s lymphedema had been a minor annoyance. I checked the pharmaceutical logs. The diuretics Tonetka used were standard. I accessed his medical history and found he had been prescribed the very same medication only a year before.

  It was true that certain allergies could manifest themselves in the body at any time. True or not, I was suspicious. Protocol demanded our entire supply of the drug be removed for contamination analysis, so I pulled the stores to be tested and had a fresh batch synthesized.

  That was when I noticed my smallest patient’s agitation. Darea had disappeared, probably off to get a meal tray from the galley.

  “Fasala?” I went to her berth and gazed down at her. She’d been restlessly tossing and turning. “Is something bothering you?”

  The white eyes widened. “Oh, no. I feel very well, Healer Cherijo. All my injuries have healed. There is no pain.”

  I smiled. “I forget my phrasing is never as precise and correct as yours. What I meant was, are you troubled about something?” She nodded. “Is it about your accident?” Another nod. I sat down on the edge of the berth and took her hand in mine. “Want to talk about it?”

  She bit her lip, and glanced over at an empty berth near hers. “Healer, my ClanMother told me that Roelm Torin embraced the stars.”

  “Yes.” I wondered just how much Darea had told her child.

  She finally blurted it out. “Was it my fault his path was diverted?”

  “Of course not, Fasala. Roelm was . . . ” How did I explain this? I knew all about guilt, but not how to get rid of it. I considered signaling her ClanParents, then plunged on. “Fasala, someone else diverted Roelm’s path. Whoever did this will be punished. But it’s not your fault.”

  “I was in the restricted area,” she said. Her lips trembled. “It was wrong to be there. When I saw the ring of light, I should have run away. Roelm spoke to me about it, then he became angry and left his berth.”

  What was that all about? “Fasala, you aren’t responsible for what happened.” The ring of light—wasn’t that what she had been muttering in her sleep? “Tell me what you told Roelm.”

  “He wanted to know what it looked like. It was so pretty, like a rainbow. I told him there was a terrible sound . . .” Tears filled her eyes. “And then it hurt me.”

  “I know, sweetheart. It’s okay.” I put my arms around her as she wept. I thought of the little girl I’d been unable to save back on NessNevat. Closed my eyes and rocked Fasala gently. This one was alive. I had to hold on to that.

  One of the nurses came up and quietly offered to signal Darea. I nodded my approval over the small dark head.

  At last the child’s sobs slowed. I blinked away my tears, then lifted her face and wiped hers away with my thumbs. “There now. I always have a good cry when I feel bad. Your ClanMother will be here soon, honey.”

  Fasala sniffed as she looked up at me. “What is ‘honey’?”

  “A sweet, delicious floral extract on Terra,” I explained. “And what Terrans call very brave, very honest little girls.”

  “I am HouseClan Torin,” she said with pride, her tears forgotten. “We are the bravest of all Houses.”

  “We sure are.” I tucked her sheet in around her small body, and saw Darea hurry in the Bay. “Here’s your ClanMother. Try to rest now.” I pressed a kiss against her brow. “I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

  Adaola Torin, the senior nurse on duty, asked to speak with me in Tonetka’s office soon after that. We left the ward and once inside, she closed the door panel.

  “This must be serious,” I said, hoping it wasn’t. My emotions were on the shaky side already.

  The tall, perpetually cheerful woman wasn’t smiling now. “Healer Cherijo, I—I would know if I am responsible for diverting Roelm’s path.”

  She wanted to know if she’d killed him, too? What was going around, some kind of guilt virus? “Why do you think you’re responsible?”

  “I myself administered the diuretic just before Roelm left Medical. It was suggested . . . ” Her six fingers convulsed on the edge of the desk. Plasboard splintered. “Forgive me.” She jerked her hand away.

  I wasn’t going to reprimand her. Ever. “It’s okay.” She smiled faintly at the Terran idiom. “Okay” roughly translated to “smooth path” in Jorenian, which everyone but me thought w
as very funny. “I was confident I used the correct dose,” she said. “Could I have been in error?”

  Even the best nurses made mistakes. “Tell me what you did just before you administered the drug.”

  “I scrubbed, gloved, and consulted the patient’s chart. After that, I calibrated and checked the syrinpress twice, as always.” She spread her hands. “Yet I was the only one who touched Roelm. What else could have diverted his path?”

  “Plenty.” Splinters speckled in one of her palms. I’d have to get busy with a dermal probe right after our chat. “Acute allergen/histamine reaction. Contaminated drugs. Septic shock. We don’t know the whole story yet. A good nurse doesn’t jump to conclusions.”

  Adaola’s chin lifted a little at that last part. “Indeed.”

  “We’ve drawn fluid samples for toxicological analysis. If you made a mistake in dosage, the excess will show up in the lab reports.” I tacked on my own opinion. “You are a good nurse, Adaola. One of the best I’ve ever worked with. The tests will be negative for overdose.”

  “The Omorr resident believes differently.”

  “The Omorr resident can go jump into the stardrive,” I said.

  Some of the indecision cleared from her eyes. “My presumption was based on opinion, not fact,” she said, and bowed to me. “Your pardon, Healer Cherijo.”

  “None required.” I made the traditional response, stifling a sigh. Jorenians could be so ceremonious. I was going to strangle that damned Squilyp. “Now, let’s go take care of these splinters.”

  “Splinters?” She became aware of the damage for the first time and examined her hand. “Oh. Yes. Of course.”

  “After that, why don’t you ask Darea and Salo to take a break, maybe have a meal together. Offer to monitor Fasala while they do. It will reassure them to know you’re watching her.” And give Adaola time to pull herself together, as well.

  It took a few minutes to remove the slivers of plasboard from the nurse’s palm. After that, Darea and Salo reluctantly let her relieve them. One problem solved.

  I wrote up my shift summary for Tonetka’s review, adding a note about the merits of permanently gagging the Omorr. For the nurses’ benefit and his own continued existence.

  I left the Medical Bay after shift change. All I wanted was a cup of tea. Some hot food. Maybe a game of toss the yarn ball with His Majesty, if he was in the mood. Anything to keep from thinking about the dead.

  None of that helped. The image of the lost NessNevat child stayed with me, and followed me into my dreams.

  The next day I found out I’d personally be doing the autopsy on Roelm Torin. The Senior Healer insisted. I didn’t protest. Tonetka wouldn’t have asked unless she was literally incapable of handling it herself.

  “Sure. No problem.” I went to put on my gear.

  Tonetka touched my arm. “You appear fatigued, Cherijo.”

  “I didn’t sleep much last night.” I wasn’t going to tell her why. I had to find a way to deal with the guilt on my own.

  After we prepped for the procedure, Roelm’s body was wheeled in. The nurse manning the gurney quickly left. No one liked postmortem exams. Including me.

  “A moment,” Tonetka said when I would have activated the recording drone. She placed her gloved hands on either side of Roelm’s distorted face, and bent close. “Old friend, forgive me. I cannot rejoice in your new journey. I cannot.”

  She was starting to worry me. “Senior Healer?”

  Her hands fell away and her expression cleared. “You may begin, Cherijo.”

  I’d bluffed enough times to know when someone was doing it to me. She didn’t have it in her to watch me cut open a man she obviously cared deeply for. “Why don’t I get one of the nurses in here to assist, while you—”

  She gave me that Jorenian you’re-seriously-beginning-to-annoy-me glare. “He was my friend, Cherijo. My Clan-Uncle. He would want me here.”

  Nodding, I set the drone to record. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

  “Proceed.”

  After squelching a sigh, I began to recite the facts for the record: “Postmortem examination of Roelm Torin, Jorenian male, fifty-one years in age. Body is 210.5 centimeters in length. Weight 173.5 kilograms upon admission.” I checked the exam pad monitor. “Distention of body is consistent with acute ascites.”

  Tonetka made the necessary dermal scans. I adjusted my lascalpel and made the incision from throat to pelvis. I glanced at my boss from the edge of my mask. Her brows made a single dark slash above haunted white eyes. The scanner shook a little in her fingers.

  “Abdominal cavity is distinctly enlarged, with marked dermal striae.” I selected my clamps. Counted the number of injection sites where Tonetka had administered a battery of drugs. “Seven dermal breaches, consistent with application of syrinpress nozzles. Four circular bruises on upper torso, consistent with anti-mortem application of stimulator pads.”

  The Jorenian woman made a bitter gesture.

  I switched off the recorder. “Tonetka. Come on. You can’t keep blaming yourself for this.”

  She shook her head, reached over, and turned the recorder back on. Sure she could.

  I clamped back the skin flaps while Tonetka prepared the rib-extension unit. I cut through the tough inner abdomen cavity lining. Fluid shimmered beneath the laser in a black pool. That was odd. Jorenian blood didn’t turn black, even when it coagulated.

  “I don’t see his ribs,” she muttered.

  “Internal viscera and skeleton are obscured by what appears to be necrotic fluid.” I took a sample. “Suction, please.” Tonetka applied the extractor’s tip and evacuated the fluid for what seemed like an hour.

  The internal organs didn’t appear. Neither did the bones. We exchanged a look, and she shut down the extractor’s pump.

  “Scanning to detect current position of internal organs.” I ran the series, then handed the scanner to Tonetka and grabbed a surgical probe.

  Her mouth grew tight as she read the display. “This data is in error.”

  “It better be.” Even as I said that, the instrument in my hand indicated otherwise.

  I discarded the probe and pushed the lascalpel rig to one side. The Senior Healer averted her gaze as I put my gloved hand into Roelm’s body, and searched with my own fingers. The black fluid felt thick and cold.

  “Tonetka. Tonetka.” She didn’t want to hear this, but we had to include it in the data record. “His internal organs are missing. His ribs. Everything. They’re gone.”

  “Mother of All Houses.” Tonetka pushed away from the exam table, and yanked off her mask. “This cannot be. I ran full organ scans immediately after death. All were intact, as was the skeletal structure.”

  That was yesterday’s news. I wanted to know what had happened to this man’s body today. I stripped off my ruined gloves and sterilized my hands before donning a fresh pair.

  Something occurred to me, a thought that made me swallow my own bile. “Tell me you ran a biodecon scan.”

  “Several. All negative.”

  My nausea receded an inch or two. “Let’s run another one.”

  During the epidemic on K-2, I’d watched thousands die from a contagion that had not only been undetectable, but sentient to boot. No matter how minute the possibility of a pathogen was, I’d learned my lesson.

  Roelm’s readings came up contagion-free again. However, every internal organ, along with all of the bone, muscles, and tissue in the Engineer’s body had been destroyed. Only the tough subdermal cartilage sheath had kept the epidermis from dissolving from the inside out, but that was beginning to liquefy, too. A comparison with the organ series taken immediately after death confirmed Tonetka’s statement. Roelm had died with his body intact.

  Lymphedema didn’t do this kind of damage. I couldn’t stop thinking about the K2V1 epidemic, and scanned for the specialized white cells that engulfed viral particles when an immune response was triggered. The display reflected no macrophage trace. Lymphocytes
were slightly elevated, but that could have been brought on any number of minor conditions

  “No virus I know of could cause this kind of corrosive damage.” I had an idea of what could. “I’ll have to analyze the lymphocytes to be sure they weren’t invaded.”

  “Have you examined the syrinpress Adaola used to administer the diuretic?” Tonetka asked while she drew several samples of the fluid.

  I nodded and tugged down my mask. “I’ll take another look at it later.”

  “What do you believe you will find?”

  I stalled. “No allergy could have done this.”

  “Cherijo.”

  “All right.” I placed my scanner on a side console and faced the Senior Healer. “I don’t think Roelm was injected with a diuretic before he walked out of Medical.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Soft Spots

  Two days later we held a ceremony for Roelm. Before I left to attend, I discharged one educator and arranged to have the remaining patients monitor the service via their bedside terminals.

  Tonetka signaled to remind me to get a move on. Her voice sounded strained.

  “Are you going to make it through this?” I asked as soon as I saw her. She looked ready to embrace a few stars herself.

  “I . . . will be well. Make haste, Cherijo, or you will be late.”

  I checked out and hurried to my quarters to put on my ceremonial robes. It was in one of the HouseClan shades of blue, a dark shade that matched the color of my eyes. I didn’t like wearing it. Out of respect for Roelm, and because Tonetka needed support, I pulled the voluminous garment over my head.

  My reflection made me sigh.

  The other crew members would wear similarly shaded robes. They’d look like they always did: stately, regal, and much better than me. Only Tonetka would wear black, the color I associated with mourning from Terran customs. The color of the first life, as someone told me, was required to be worn in her role as Roelm’s Speaker.

  Dying didn’t scare these people. On the contrary. In the Jorenian culture, deaths were celebrated as the beginning of another journey. It was a nice way to think about it, I suppose.