by S. L. Viehl
“Cherijo.” He put a finger on my lips. “Just tell me.”
“Xonea Chose me.”
His hand fell away, and he stepped back. I remembered the last time he looked like this. I’d knocked him on his backside in a gnorra grove on K-2. He turned away.
“Reever, I didn’t ask him to do it. He thinks he can defend me this way, or something.”
“I understand.” He sounded uninterested.
“The only way Choice can be broken is if Xonea commits suicide.”
“I know.” Not very sympathetic.
“I can’t let a man die because he wanted to protect me!”
“Of course not.” Didn’t he feel anything?
“Duncan!” I grabbed him, made him turn around and face me. His features were in the usual blank mask. “Talk to me!”
Carefully he removed my hands from his tunic. Then he walked back toward the colony.
I sat down on the tree trunk. So much for explaining things to Reever. Dull, crumpled leaves fell around me.
I knew just how they felt.
The balance of our sojourn on Garnot went smoothly, although Reever avoided me like a virulent contagion. Dhreen noticed all the tension, but thankfully for once didn’t comment. Before we boarded the launch to return to the Sunlace, Alunthri took me aside and pressed something in my hands.
“To remember me,” the Chakacat said, and added a neatly wrapped ball of string. “For my little brother.”
I hugged Alunthri, smoothed a hand over the back of its silvery head, then ran to the launch. Reever, I noted, had seated himself as far away from me as possible, next to some trader who had arranged passage to the next system. Reever never once met my eyes as Dhreen piloted the launch back to the ship.
I didn’t know why he was so furious. I was the one being forced into marriage, not him.
The lump in my tunic pocket brushed against my forearm, and I withdrew the small object Alunthri had given me. It was a pouch, with a garment pin inside. It had been designed to represent two faces: mine and Alunthri’s. When I turned it over in my hand, I saw it had been fashioned from the license and inoculant chips the Chakacat had once been forced to wear.
I tightened my hand around the beautiful symbol of our friendship. Sniffed a lot. Tried not to burst into tears.
Once we were back on the Sunlace, I disembarked quickly, not waiting for the others. I couldn’t face spending the entire day in my quarters, either. I needed something to do, so I took the gyrlift to Medical.
Most of the cases acquired in the aftermath of the mercenary attack were ready to be released or were already discharged. I made rounds with Adaola, reviewing cases I had already memorized. The Omorr resident was sterilizing a batch of instruments, and nodded to me as I walked by.
Pnor was right; I’d been too aggressive on more than one occasion. I thought about all the bridges I had burned in the last day. Maybe it was time to mend one.
“Squilyp?” He looked up from the biodecon unit. “Got a minute?”
He hopped along with me to Tonetka’s office. Once inside, I pulled out a chair in front of the Senior Healer’s desk. I was gratified to see he did the same. Maybe this would work.
“You aren’t scheduled for duty today,” Squilyp said.
“No. I was restless and needed something to do.” I glanced back at the ward through the viewer. “You probably feel the same way when you start sterilizing everything in sight.”
He made the equivalent of a Terran shrug. He wasn’t going to help me, but then, it wasn’t his job.
“Squilyp, I owe you an apology.” That got his attention. “I’ve said some things to you I regret. Done some things, too. Like the fight.”
“You won the solicitation fairly.”
“It shouldn’t have happened.” I got up, thrust my hands in my tunic pockets. This sort of thing was hard for me. “I’m a physician, sworn to heal. By hurting you, I violated my oath.”
“I provoked you into making the solicitation.”
I swung around and faced him. “I didn’t have to accept, Squilyp. I could have called the whole thing off.”
“You have your pride.”
“And you have yours. What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. I’d like to start over with you. Clean slate.”
He cocked his head to one side. I guessed clean slate didn’t exactly translate into Omorr, from the puzzled look.
“Forget the past,” I said. “You and I are colleagues. Let’s start acting like we are.”
“I see.” The Omorr hopped up, approached me slowly. “So you expect me to disregard the hostility between us?”
“Yes.” Was he going to take a swing at me? There was nowhere for me to go now. I was in the perfect position for him to regain his title.
“You consider me a colleague? An equal?”
“Squilyp, I’ve never worked with a more gifted resident. There are doctors who would sacrifice a limb to have your abilities. Your work is flawless.” I watched as he extended one of his limbs toward me. “However, if you don’t think it’s possible—”
“On your world,” he said, “is it done like this?”
He was picking up my hand with his membrane, curling it gently around my fingers. “What?”
“A gesture of friendship?”
“Oh. Yes. This is how it’s done.” We shook our respective “hands.” “Thanks, Squilyp. I really do appreciate this.”
“I don’t understand Terran ways,” he said, his gildrells undulating slightly. Up close like this, they weren’t too terrible. Actually, they gave his face a sort of elegant beauty, like a flowing white beard. “Yet I know sincerity when I see it, Healer.”
He’d called me Healer. Relief had me grinning. “You can still call me ‘Doctor,’ if you like.”
“And you—you may call me . . . Squid Lips . . . if you care to.” His strained expression indicated the enormity of the concession he was making.
“When I do, it will only be because you’re driving me crazy,” I said, and patted his shoulder. “I’d like your opinion on one of the patients. I’m seeing more drainage than I like from his chest wound. Want to take a look?”
“Of course. There is something I wish to ask you, first.”
“Sure.”
“When you have some off-duty time, will you accompany me to an environome?”
I was confused. Here I’d thought we’d settled things.
“Why?”
“I would like to practice challenge moves with you. That last assault you made—” He shook his head. “Who taught you to fight like that?”
I thought of Xonea, and my lips flattened. “My Chosen.”
Squilyp gaped. “You are to be bonded?”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” I shook my head when he would have asked more. “Long story. Let’s go examine that patient.”
I spent a surprisingly successful shift working with the Omorr. We disagreed on a few cases, but now it was more like the arguments Tonetka and I had. A sense of mutual respect went well with the bickering.
I could really like Squilyp, I thought, as I trudged into my quarters. Jenner was waiting for me, and scented Alunthri on the ball of twine I tossed him. He even ignored his food dish for a full five minutes to pat the ball around.
Once my pet abandoned me for a nap, I made myself a server of tea, then went to my console to access the cultural database. Pnor’s investigation, as far as I knew, had yielded no new information on the killer. Maybe I could turn something up.
The very rare cases of murder in modern Jorenian history had usually been committed by offworlders. Every killer had been caught and nearly all of them declared ClanKill. Three suspects on record who’d refused to confess to their acts had been banished from Joren forever. One of them, a native Jorenian, had killed himself as soon as the sentence had been handed down. I downloaded the case file so I could study it further.
The Jorenian involved had apparently returned to the homeworld aft
er several years of imprisonment on an alien world for some unspecified transgression. From the time of his release and subsequent reunion with his HouseClan, he displayed violent and irrational behavior that indicated a state of severe psychosis. When he learned his bondmate had petitioned the Council to have their bond dissolved and him committed, he killed her. Later, he refused to admit to the crime. Since there had been no witnesses, a sentence of banishment had been decreed.
A few moments later, the mentally ill male had committed suicide in front of the Ruling Council.
I could see why Xonea found it hard to believe a Torin had killed Roelm and the mercenary, when the only case involved a deranged psychotic. Still, it was proof that a Jorenian was capable of murder. And psychotics could successfully conceal their illnesses, sometimes for years.
The question was, which Jorenian? Why would one of the crew kill Roelm, an engineer, and Leo, a Terran mercenary? There didn’t seem to be any connection, other than the fact that both had been confined to Medical shortly before they were murdered.
I’d have to give it more thought.
As I scanned through the available data on their judicial process, I also learned Pnor could have put me off the ship, just by simply suspecting I was involved in the murders. So why hadn’t he done that? Then I came across a very interesting paragraph.
Suspected offenders Chosen by a member of the victim’s HouseClan after the offense has been committed may be thus shielded from judicial action until such time as the case can be presented before the Ruling Council on Joren.
So Xonea had another reason for making his Choice. Anger swelled inside me. Why hadn’t he mentioned this little clause? I got up to adjust the envirocontrols, then went back to check the rest of his story.
Offworlders had also been responsible for every recorded case of rape. Pnor’s disbelief was justified then. Unbonded victims had been Chosen within hours of the assault. Pregnancies as a result of rape were even more rare, the records indicated only seven. It was my guess that the children were never told.
I didn’t need Xonea to protect me, not from murder charges or a rapist. Just what would it take to break this Choice?
There was no divorce, and no case of a Chosen breaking the Choice due to unwilling participation. Given the Jorenian attitudes toward sex, I thought as I deactivated the console, their monogamy wasn’t surprising.
I couldn’t seem to relax, so I secured the door panel and injected myself with a mild barbiturate. Just as I prepared to drop on the sleeping platform, my display panel chimed.
“What is it?” I asked, fighting the artificially induced cocoon of sleep.
“Message from Ship’s Operational.”
I dragged myself over to my display and accepted the signal. It was S.O. Ndo.
“Healer. Forgive me for disturbing you.”
“No problem.” I yawned behind my hand. “What’s the problem?” Boy, that sounded bright, I thought sluggishly. Nothing destroys your vocabulary faster than a good dose of drugs.
“I am preparing my formal report on the mercenary attack,” Ndo said. “I need to clarify some aspects of your statement with you.”
“Can we do this tomorrow, S.O.? I’m beat.”
He nodded.
Good. I’d had quite enough for one day.
I scheduled a time to meet with him and programmed an appropriate alarm signal. Jenner was waiting on the mattress for me when I fell into it.
I thought of Xonea, Reever, Alunthri, and Squilyp. Results were evenly divided. I’d like to throttle Xonea, I thought. Reever probably wanted to do the same to me. I’d said good-bye to Alunthri, my old friend. Now I had a potential friendship with Squilyp.
A small, rough tongue rasped against my cheek, and I fell asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
For the Children
“Let’s review your report one more time.”
S.O. Ndo was methodical, precise, and unaware I had a massive headache. A large, horrible instrument of torture pounded at the back of my skull, from the inside. Barbiturates had that effect on me. Not even two scalding-hot servers of floral tea had helped.
Morning-afters. Universally to be avoided.
“Of course.” I carefully recounted everything I could remember from the moment I woke to find the mercenary Leo standing over my bed.
I was at the point of “Reever managed to disarm him, there was a flash of light, and then—” when Ndo interrupted.
“A flash of light? That was not in your report.”
I frowned. I hadn’t put it in my report. The only lights I ever concerned myself with were medical optic scanners, and the ones that made it possible to walk around my quarters without banging into things.
“Sorry. Yes, there was a light or something that flashed, just for a moment. I thought it was from an internal scanner.” Even as I said that, I realized how silly it sounded. Jorenian scanners didn’t produce light. “I really didn’t think about it.”
“Describe how it appeared to you.”
I concentrated. “Reever had linked with me to project a false image. The projection fooled the mercenary into believing we were inside the launch already. When he came back out, Reever took his rifle and stepped back. Then there was this bright flash of . . .” I halted. “Not a flash. Something else.” I shook my head, frustrated. “Why can’t I remember?”
“It is understandable. You were under extreme duress.” Ndo appeared sympathetic, but I heard the same frustration in his tone.
“Why are you concerned about the light? Do you think it had anything to do with—” My eyes widened as I remembered. “Fasala saw some kind of light, too. Just before her accident in the cargo bay. A ring of light!”
“That is what you saw?”
“Yes! It wasn’t a flash, but a perfect circle.” I was excited as the image finally sifted to the top of my sluggish memory. “Large, perfectly circular, about two meters in diameter. White with a prismatic edge. It couldn’t have lasted more than a tenth of a second.”
“Two meters?” Ndo seized on that. “You’re certain of the dimensions?”
“Of course. Why?”
“The damage to the buffer was calculated to be the same area, given the amount of alloy recovered from the injured.”
“You’re kidding.” I sat back in my chair. “It could have been the same thing Fasala saw, then.”
Ndo nodded as he keyed the information on his data pad.
I speculated out loud. “So what do we have on the ship that creates a two-meter circle of light, slices through adaptable sonic alloy, and dissolves living bone and tissue?”
“Nothing,” Ndo said as he continued entering the data.
While I waited, I went over the shift when Fasala had been brought in. Squilyp and I had argued over how to detect the buffer shards. Roelm had said something. . . .
“The Engineer described equipment used to fit the buffers on ships. He said the technology was based on sound.”
“Harmonicutters.”
“Do you have any those laying around somewhere?”
Ndo shook his head. “They are too large. The vessels they are used on must be docked in specially designed bays in a specific region on our homeworld.”
“There is no such thing as a portable harmonicutter?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
That wasn’t exactly a no. “How does a harmonicutter work?” Ndo gave me a slightly exasperated look. “Please, it’s important.”
“It produces continuous, high-intensity energy, Healer. Rather like your surgical lasers, only a harmonicutter uses sound instead of light. Its sonic beam converts raw alloy material into the dimensions required on the particular vessel being fitted.”
“This sonic beam, is it composed entirely of sound waves?”
“Yes.”
In the past, extracorporeal shock-wave lithotripsy, or ultrasonic waves, had been used to break up kidney and upper ureteral stones on Terra. The primitive procedure often caused m
ild to moderate cellular damage at the entry and exit points.
This harmonicutter was obviously much more powerful. If used on a living being, would such focused sonic energy have a more lethal effect? It would explain the absence of any toxin and why their insides had been turned into liquid, too.
“Roelm and the mercenary could have been murdered using a sonic beam of that intensity,” I explained my theory to Ndo.
“A harmonicutter is not as focused as a laser, as the energy it generates is utilized on immense areas. A harmonicutter used as you describe would destroy everything within at least a ten-meter radius. You and Linguist Reever would not have survived.”
Okay, so my theory had some holes in it.
“Tell me something. Who on board the Sunlace would know how to operate a harmonicutter?”
He looked thoughtful. “Most of our engineers and senior helm staff. Roelm, of course. Xonea, Captain Pnor, and myself as well.”
No help there, that was about a hundred people. Too many to make a viable list of suspects. I pushed a tired hand through my hair.
“S.O., may I continue this discussion with you after I’ve had time to think about it?” I was feeling distinctly ridiculous, fighting off a continuous wave of yawns. Surely I hadn’t overdosed myself. Had I?
“Of course.” He rose and offered his hand as I struggled from my seat. “Are you feeling ill, Healer?”
“I’ve had better days, Ndo. Thank you for your patience.”
I trudged off to the gyrlift and took it up to my quarters. Dhreen was waiting for me just outside my door panel. He tried to talk me into a game of whump-ball. I yawned in his face.
“Too tired,” I waved my hand. “Later.”
“Does this have anything to do with the fact you and Reever aren’t speaking to each other? Again?” Dhreen’s guileless eyes glinted.
“None of your business.” I barely had enough energy to key myself in. The door panel closed behind me. I was in trouble, I thought. My sluggish brain finally processed the fact that this was not a natural weariness.
