by S. L. Viehl
In contrast, Salo and Darea discussed ordinary events of the day. Planned future schedules. Even disagreed over the amount of some spice Darea favored in her prep programming. Fasala wasn’t left out, either. She was asked about her day at school. What work she had accomplished. The activities she enjoyed with her friends. Darea actually apologized for it as I later helped her clear the table.
“Your pardon, we did not converse with you very much. We always use meal intervals to remain knowledgeable of one other’s activities.” She made an embarrassed gesture. “As you can guess, we do not often have guests.”
“I loved it,” I said as I sterilized the servers and handed them to her to be replaced in storage. “You have nothing to apologize for. I envy you your family.”
Darea glanced fondly at her bondmate and child. They were reading a display primer, Fasala laboriously forming the words, Salo regularly praising her efforts.
“They are my world.” She looked back at me. “What say you of having children with Xonea? You would be an exceptional ClanMother.”
I was exceptional, that much was true. I shook my head. “It isn’t possible now.” Or ever, I added silently.
“Xonea honors you, Cherijo.”
“Xonea needs a good kick in the—” I bit my lip, then tried again. “Xonea wants what Xonea wants.”
“He is a warrior,” Darea said, as if that excused everything.
“So is your bondmate. How would your relationship with Salo be, if he . . . got physical when you argued?”
“I am warrior-trained as well.” Darea’s eyes danced. “Salo and I would alternate occupying berths in the Medical Bay, I think.”
We giggled together like girls.
“ClanMother? Healer?” Fasala piped up from the living area. “What do you find amusing?”
“Your ClanFather,” we answered her at the same time, and giggled again.
“Darea,” Salo said her name with a warning rumble in his chest.
“My bondmate displays his warrior’s pride for your benefit,” Darea said as we finished up in the preparation area. “He is not half so dignified, or so fierce, when we are private.”
Fasala was sent off to bed soon after that. The little girl would have protested more, but enormous yawns weren’t backing up her claim to be wide awake. I wished her pleasant dreams.
“Sometimes I do not,” the child confessed. “I dream of the time I was hurt with my educators. I am still afraid of that place on level fourteen. Even walking past it frightens me.”
Fasala needed to face her fear, I realized, not tiptoe past it.
“Tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you and I go back there together? You’ll feel better when you see there’s nothing there to hurt you, and I bet it will make the nightmares go away.”
“Will they, Healer Cherijo?”
“Sure.”
I found myself being ferociously hugged by small arms flung around my neck. For a traitorous instant, I imagined she was my child.
Salo carried Fasala back to her sleeping platform. I would have left myself, but Darea asked me to remain.
“I—we would like to show you something, Senior Healer,” she said. Her bondmate had returned to the living area and frowned when he heard that. “Salo, you said I might tell someone of it.”
He ran six fingers through his dark hair. “I said you might tell, Darea.”
“Please. Healer Cherijo will appreciate the curious nature of this.” She pretended to think for a moment. “Of course, I could tell your ClanCousin Tareo. He often finds amusement in—”
“Tell anyone—show anyone—but Tareo.” Salo groaned. “I beg you.”
Darea jumped up and hurried out of the room. A moment later she returned, carrying a rather bulky, fabric-draped object in her arms.
“Do you remember the sentient crystal given to us while we sojourned at Garnot?”
I nodded. “It was truly the loveliest thing I’d ever seen.”
Salo appeared supremely embarrassed as Darea placed the object on the deck in front of us. She placed her hand on it and looked ready to burst from excitement.
“The crystal we chose was shaped like our ClanDaughter. Do you remember it?” I nodded. “When we returned to the ship, I placed it on a display stand near our sleeping platform.”
“Thank the Mother.” Salo scowled. “To think it could have been in this room, for all who entered to view!”
Darea glared at him, then turned back to me. “Healer, the crystal did not retain its shape. We believe it wishes to continue to be impressed by our thoughts.”
“Really? What did it do? Make itself into a big question mark?” I asked.
“No. It did this.” Darea removed the cover with a flourish.
What had once been a beautiful crystal statue of Fasala had changed into a precise replica of Darea and Salo. They were standing together, holding each other. They were also both completely naked.
“What say you?” Darea asked me. “Is it not beautiful?”
“Um, yes. Beautiful.”
“This was an embrace Salo gave me last night,” Darea said. “The crystal changes each day.”
“How . . . nice.” I leaned toward Salo and murmured, “Now I see why you were glad it was in the bedroom.”
“She would put it in the center of the galley for all to gawk at, if I had not stopped her,” he muttered back. “This is not the worst of it. You should have seen what it shaped three nights ago.”
“Don’t tell me,” I said. “I have a great imagination.”
“With this meddlesome rock, you need not have one at all.”
Kneeling down beside the crystal, I put out a hand and held it an inch above the surface. I could feel warmth radiating from it.
“What makes it retain heat?” I asked Salo.
“I do not know, but the radiant heat is not harmful. I have examined it with every instrument I possess.”
“Take my hands,” Darea said, and joined her fingers to mine to encircle the crystal. “We will impress it together, you and I, Healer.”
“Yes, please,” Salo said. “Shape it into anything but what it has flaunted a predilection for.”
“What do I do?” I asked.
“Close your eyes,” Darea said. “Think of one you honor above all others. The crystal will interpret your thoughts into form.”
I closed my eyes, and concentrated. Jorenian honor—the closest thing to love. So who did I love? Maggie was dead. So was Kao. I wasn’t too fond of Xonea at the moment. Would it cast itself in Jenner’s image?
Darea gasped. I opened my eyes.
“A most interesting interpretation,” Salo said. If big strong male Jorenian warriors giggled, he’d be rolling on the floor. As it was, he was grinning widely.
The crystal had reformed into two figures: one male, one female. Both were in each other’s arms.
Darea was puzzled. “What are they doing?”
I looked at the precise duplicate of myself in a long gown, and Reever in formal dress. The miniatures were atop a towering cliff. Tiny waves curled in below us.
“We’re waltzing,” I said.
The strategy session was already in progress when I made an extremely late entrance. I even had an excuse—it was twelve levels from my quarters to Engineering. If the Captain wanted me on time, he’d better get the gyrlifts fixed.
Xonea looked up from his central position at the conference table and glowered at me. “Senior Healer Cherijo.”
He’d never come back to our rooms last night. Off sulking, I guessed. Probably slept in his old quarters. I waggled my fingers at him and slid into an empty seat.
“As I have indicated, the recent escalation of League hostilities against Jorenian vessels mandates a review and possible revision of our response procedures,” my Chosen said. “I would hear your comments on this.”
I made a show of stifling a yawn.
“We have not been sent from the homeworld to start a war with half the galaxi
es in the universe, Captain,” the Executive Administrator said. “Pnor’s nonaggression policy has preserved what peace remains between Joren and the League.”
Now there was a comment I could stand up and cheer for.
“For how long?” the Senior Engineer demanded. “The League has no interest in preserving the peace.”
“Violence is not the answer,” the Head of Programming said. “Half my staff was wounded during the latest assault.” He nodded toward me. “The Senior Healer can well describe the aftereffects of violence.”
That I could. In exact, bloody detail.
Xonea ignored the Programmer’s comment. “Our current policy is not protecting this ship or the crew. If the thought of violence disturbs you, what would you propose as an alternative?”
“We could try to renegotiate a treaty with the League,” the Programmer said.
“We could enlist the aid of sympathetic species,” the Head of Survey said.
I held up my hand and waved it at Xonea. “We could send me back to the League, Captain.”
All heads turned toward me. No one seemed eager to agree. And for a moment, the Captain looked ready to throttle me right there on the conference table.
“The ruling Houses have decided against further dialogue with the League,” Xonea said. He had composed himself and looked remarkably like Pnor. I had no idea he could do impressions. Maybe he could do a t’lerue for me later. “Thus, no treaty. We have enlisted the aid of species friendly to us, but can we truly depend on those who do not belong to the HouseClan?”
“What about my suggestion?” I asked.
Xonea looked pretty impressive when he flexed all his muscles like that. “No, Senior Healer. Turning you over to the League is not an acceptable alternative.”
The discussions continued. I listened as proposals were presented, discussed, and ultimately rejected. It appeared there was no viable alternative. Once this was established, Xonea made his recommendation.
“I propose we respond to League attacks in kind. No longer shall the Sunlace transition away from a skirmish with these bounty hunters. We have a considerable arsenal at our disposal. The ship’s structure can be reinforced to withstand most displacer fire. HouseClan Torin will fight back.”
Half the room erupted into frantic speech.
Salo and some of the other warriors backed Xonea. “The Captain’s plan is sound—”
Others were not so happy. “No HouseClan since—”
Xonea stood up, all seven-and-a-half feet of him. “Hear me! HouseClan Torin has been attacked. We know we will encounter more mercenaries on the path. Which of you will stand back and watch our kin die? Which of you will turn and run away?”
That definitely rallied the troops. Rumbling fury echoed around the room. Nice, peaceful administrators suddenly looked as though they wanted to gut someone. I even saw some claws emerge. Xonea appeared highly pleased with himself. His wording and delivery had been flawless.
Time for me to spoil the Captain’s fun.
“Excuse me,” I said. I had to repeat that a few times before I had the room’s attention. “There is something you’ve forgotten.”
“Please, tell us, Senior Healer.” That was Xonea. “We would hate to forget something.”
He was such a grump today, I thought. Sleeping in his old quarters definitely did not agree with him. I got up now.
“You’re saying that we should stand and fight back. That’s your whole strategy, Captain?”
“Of course not, Senior Healer,” he said. “We will—”
I whipped up my hand. “Spare me the gruesome details. I suppose you expect the entire crew to go along with this.”
“Success requires a cooperative effort,” the Senior Engineer said. He frowned at me with censure. Maybe he thought I was unwilling to enlist myself in the cause.
“I’m not trying to get out of it,” I told him. “In fact, you can’t do this without support from me and my staff.”
“Agreed,” Xonea said. “Medical will be a vital resource.”
“Glad to know we’re appreciated.” I walked to the center of the room. “I know you want to make all these big, bad battle plans, but there’s one small detail you’ve forgotten. What about the kids?” Everyone went still. “Yeah, remember the kids?”
“Explain your meaning!” Xonea demanded.
“Captain, the Sunlace is not a troop freighter. We have more than two hundred children on board. Last time I checked, most of them aren’t old enough to qualify for warrior training.”
“Do you question our ability to protect our children?” Salo asked. Not in a friendly tone, either.
“Absolutely not,” I replied. “Your devotion toward the youngest members of this HouseClan is nothing short of slavish. That isn’t the point.”
I slipped a disc in the display module at the center of the room. I’d spent half the damn night working on it, they’d better pay attention.
“I’m telling you that you can’t protect the kids.”
Dimensional imagers projected an imaginary battle between four ships. The graphics were very realistic, thanks to some tips from Squilyp on adjusting the holopicells. Little blue figures inside the ships actually got blown to bits when a direct hit was achieved. You could even make out green blood and tiny dismembered blue limbs.
“Observe, if you would, a simulated counter-offensive, where you stand and fight rather than withdraw and escape,” I said. “This conjectural scenario is based on hard data gathered from all mercenary attacks since we left K-2 orbit.”
I identified the components. “Here you see the Sunlace under attack by three mercenary vessels.” I pointed to the League vessels as they were destroyed, one by one. “Note the number of direct displacer hits the mercenaries are capable of making prior to the destruction of their vessels.”
“Your data is inaccurate,” Xonea said. “We will reinforce the hull.”
“No, it isn’t,” I replied. “This model of the Sunlace already has the proposed structural bolsters in place.”
“How could you know what we plan to do with the ship?” Xonea demanded.
I gave him a dazzling smile. “I’m touched that you used my name, but you need to think of a new password for your sensitive data files.”
A few unwilling chuckles had Xonea dropping back down into his chair.
“Go on,” he said.
“Thanks.” I pointed to three different levels on the display model where the Sunlace was badly damaged. “Projections show total loss of life here, here, and here. That’s, oh, say a hundred Torins, give or take a few.” With a few key taps on the module console, I rotated the image of the cripple vessel. “Fifty percent more casualties on these five levels. Half of them will die.”
I ended the simulation and inserted a second disc. This one was the clincher.
“This is a mock-up of what Medical Bay would look like after such an attack. At current staffing levels and equipment availability, we could not meet demand.”
Everyone stared at the realistic drama the computer played out. Bodies littered the deck. Nurses ran from berth to berth. The residents and I performed surgery without sterile fields. Lots more blood and body parts. Life sized this time.
“We would treat the salvageable cases as top priority. In my experience, that category seldom includes children. Young bodies rarely tolerate as much punishment as mature ones.” I projected a list of the names. “These individuals were not chosen at random by the computer. Death ratios are based on the routine locations of crew members, and which portions of the ship the mercenaries are likely to attack. More than seventy-six percent of the dead would be under the age of sixteen.”
I enlarged the list until it filled the center space. “How many of you see the names of your own children?”
The room was silent.
“If you survived the firefight, and any subsequent injuries which could not be adequately treated by Medical,” I said, “you would have the joyous task of s
hooting ninety-four dead children into some stars.” I switched off the module, gathered up my discs, and addressed the pale blue faces staring at me. “Which of you will stand back and watch our kids die?”
No one said a word, so I walked out. The meeting adjourned soon after. I heard later the vote had been unanimous.
No change of policy.
When my shift ended, I thought about going down to the galley, or challenging Dhreen to a rematch at the whump-tables. I sighed as my feet took me to my quarters anyway.
I barely got through the door panel before Xonea started cursing at me in Jorenian.
“Hello, honey, I’m home,” I said as I set down a stack of charts I’d brought with me. He was pacing back and forth in front of the viewport. “Things sure were busy at work. How was your day?” Another burst of violent swearing. “Sorry to hear that. Well, relax and put your feet up. I’ll make us a nice dinner.”
“Your tongue shall divert your path someday,” Xonea said. Must have been hard to get out, too. Clenched teeth did not allow much in the way of articulate speech.
“That, or one of your policy changes,” I replied. I went to the prep unit and eyed the main menu thoughtfully.
“Are you in the mood for kcdarak, or some utolla? I see you’ve been drinking jaspkerry tea. Does that go with—”
He turned me around. Not gently, either. “I am not hungry.”
“I am.” I stood unresisting beneath his brutal grasp. “And don’t even think about tossing me across the room again. You got lucky last time. My body isn’t built to take that kind of abuse.”
“Who are you to interfere with my policies? You are not the Captain of this vessel!”
“You’re right, I’m not.” I wasn’t yelling. Yet. “Nor am I your drone, sparring partner, or punching bag. Now take those big blue hands off me, pal.”
He let go and I went back to preparing our meal. The baked syntrout I was programming for myself would probably choke me, but I wasn’t going to let Xonea know how angry I was. With a glance over my shoulder, I saw him standing by the viewport again. This time he was staring out into space.
