Beyond Varallan

by S. L. Viehl

  “Cherijo, the other morning, when I threw you—” He faltered, then his voice dropped to a low mutter. “I have never hurt a female in my life.”

  “Am I supposed to thank you for starting with me?”

  “We cannot continue in this fashion.”

  I placed our servers on the table. “No, we can’t.”

  He came to the table. Took my hands. His expression was anger and torment and need, all wrapped together. “Cherijo. Why is this happening between us?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t ask me. I’m no psych therapist.”

  “I honor you.”

  Well, at least he didn’t say it like I spit on you this time. I was about to suggest a separation when the door panel chimed.

  “Ignore it,” Xonea said when I tried to move past him.

  “You’re the Captain, remember? We can’t.” I broke free of his grip and went to the door. The panel slid open to reveal Phorap Rogan waiting outside. “On the other hand, maybe you were right, Xonea. What do you want, Rogan?”

  He walked in right past me. “Captain, I was hoping to have a word with you.”

  “Dr. Rogan,” Xonea greeted him.

  “The ultimate oxymoron,” I muttered.

  My roommate gave me a calculated glance. “Would you care to join us for a meal interval?”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” I said. “Let him have his word and then he goes.”

  Rogan faked an anguished expression. “You can see Dr. Torin has a great deal of prejudice against me.” His helpless little shrug made me snort. “I hope her Terran bigotry will not influence you in regard to your decision.”

  “What decision?” I recalled Rogan’s last threat. “Oh, no.

  You’re not putting him to work in my Medical Bay.”

  “It is not your Medical Bay,” Xonea said. His voice was soft but rich with triumph. “You yourself stated we are grievously understaffed in Medical.” He turned to the half-human. “I will permit you to work as a physician for the duration of your journey with us.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Rogan’s four lips parted in a repulsive grin. “You’re a wise man.”

  “I resign,” I said.

  “Resignation refused,” Xonea replied. “Excuse us, Dr.

  Rogan. You may report to Medical tomorrow and review your shift schedule with the Senior Healer.”

  “Thank you again, Captain.” Rogan nodded, and smiled even wider as he passed by me. “Doctor.”

  I almost spit on him then. My bad Terran blood. I waited until the door panel slid shut, then I secured it.

  “I know you’re getting back at me for sabotaging your meeting this morning.” I stayed by the door panel, unable to look at Xonea. “What you don’t know is how dangerous that man is. You’re putting people’s lives at risk.”

  “Dr. Rogan has already explained your personal aversion to him. You need more staffing, he is a doctor—”

  “He is a quack,” I said, turning around, my fists clenched. He wanted a battle, by God, he was going to get one. “That bastard nearly killed the first patient I saw on K-2 because he couldn’t be bothered to follow procedure. His work is slipshod and neglectful. Hell, calling what he does malpractice would be a compliment. As for his personal aversion to me, did he tell you how many charges he invented and filed against me with the ruling Council on K-2?”

  “No, he did not,” Xonea said.

  “Did he mention he was partially responsible for spreading the contagion that resulted in the deaths of over seven thousand colonists?” I advanced toward him. Xonea shook his head. “How about the time he led a mob into the hospital to kill me and a ward full of infected patients?”

  “Cherijo—”

  “No? Here’s one more item about your new staff physician: Rogan appeared before the ruling Council one last time before I left K-2. You should remember him. You were there.” I thought for a minute as I stopped in front of him. “No, now that I think about it, you and the others came in after Rogan had testified.”

  “I did not know he was there on your behalf.”

  “He wasn’t. Rogan testified against me.”

  We stared at each other. Xonea looked faintly sick now. I didn’t enjoy it as much as I’d thought I would, especially when I saw the very real pain in his eyes.

  The physician behind my eyes spoke to him first. “You’re showing all the symptoms of an aggravated ulcer, Xonea. Get Squilyp to run the series on you, soon.”

  “Cherijo—”

  “Another suggestion. Step up your investigation into the murders, before this maniac finds another way to signal the League. And get Rogan off the ship. I guarantee that will prevent more mercenary attacks.”

  He frowned. Obviously he hadn’t thought of that.

  “I’m leaving,” I said. “But when I come back to these quarters in a few hours—with all due respect, Captain—I want you and your junk gone.”

  After my fight with Xonea, I walked all the way down to the observation ring on level twenty-eight. The plasteel panels retracted to reveal transparent alcoves. It was probably the most breathtaking view of space available on the ship.

  I didn’t see a damn thing. I sat and stared at the pale reflection of my own face on the shielding.

  A sudden surge of power rumbled through the hull of the ship. Here, three levels below Main Engineering, the engines were plainly audible.

  I ignored them.

  The situation with Xonea was becoming intolerable. Maybe it was starting to affect him. The deep core of anger seemed to be growing within him every day. A core that could erupt into violence at any moment.

  I missed Tonetka. Would any of this have happened if she was still alive? Probably not. The Jorenian woman would have never allowed Rogan in her Medical Bay. She had always taken charge and remained in control. I was wasting my time trying to fill her shoes.

  The engines quieted down. I spent another half hour staring at the stars, wondering what the hell I was going to do. Then someone joined me.

  “Cherijo.”

  I wasn’t surprised to hear Reever’s voice. He usually showed up at some of the worst moments in my life.

  “Go away, Reever.” I wanted peace and quiet. Hopefully the engines wouldn’t start screaming again.

  “Why are you here?” His reflection appeared behind mine on the shielding. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Which did you hear about?” I asked. “Rogan, or Xonea?”

  “Both.”

  I smiled. My reflection smiled back. Reever’s didn’t twitch a nerve cell. “Then you already know why I’m here.” My smile faded as the engines made a transition. At least they weren’t as loud as before. That sound . . .

  He stepped closer and sat down next to me. The heat from his body reached mine. “That is not why I am here.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I hunched away from him. “I’m leaving the ship. Getting off on the next non-League world we come to.”

  “That would be Dr. Rogan’s homeworld.”

  “The second non-League world we come to.” If the engines lasted that long.

  He moved an inch closer. Now I could smell his skin. “Cherijo, it is never as hopeless as you may think.”

  He was right. It was worse. “The voice of experience.” I frowned. The engines . . . what was it about that sound that bugged me so much?

  “I am here, am I not?”

  I turned my head to glare at him. “Very funny.” His arm came up around me, and I let my head rest on his shoulder. “I’m terrible company right now. You really should go.”

  His scarred hand tightened on my upper arm briefly. “There is something I have to tell you.”

  Something in his voice warned me I wasn’t going to like it. I sat back up and faced him. “You’re not getting off on Rogan’s homeworld, I hope.”

  “No. I was sent to find you. There has been—”

  That sound! The same thing had happened after Fasala and the educators had been injured. After Roelm’
s death. After the mercenary had been killed. I had been unconscious at the time, but I felt sure the same surge occurred after Ndo died. That meant—

  “God, Reever, someone’s been murdered,” I said. “The same way the others were.”

  “How did you—”

  “Come on.” I got up and started running. He caught me before I could reach the next level. “Let me go, Reever. I’ve got part of the connection now! I have to tell—”

  “Cherijo. Listen to me. You need to hear this first.” He took me in his arms.

  “What?”

  “It is Yetlo Torin.”

  “No.” I pushed my hands against his chest, struggling free. “Nothing’s wrong with Yetlo. I just left him a few hours ago. He’s fine.”

  “He was murdered, Cherijo.”

  “No!” I shouted as I grabbed the front of his tunic. “I just left him! He was doing fine, he wanted to live! I swore I’d—” I broke off with a strangled sound, and buried my face against him.

  Reever stood there with me for a long time, holding me, saying nothing. When I finally regained my composure, I lifted my head from his damp tunic.

  “Let’s go.”

  Medical Bay echoed with silence. No one looked at me as I swept down the ward to where Yetlo’s body lay. His outer derma had the same strange striae as Roelm’s had, with a grisly addition. The stress of whatever killed him had torn his chest wound wide open.

  “Senior Healer.” Squilyp appeared with Yetlo’s chart.

  “Report.”

  “Yetlo was complaining of discomfort and trouble sleeping,” the Omorr said. “I gave orders to administer the painkiller you prescribed an hour after you left the Bay.”

  “Who administered the dose?” I demanded.

  “Adaola, under my supervision. We finished making rounds, and were treating outpatient cases when Yetlo’s monitor went on full alert.”

  Outpatient cases? “How many walk-ins did you have in here?”

  Squilyp looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps twenty. I had scheduled them in a group, to afford the most efficient processing and treatment.”

  “I want a list of everyone who was on this ward,” I said. “What happened after his monitor went off?”

  “I began resuscitation at once, of course, but it was too late. Tissues were flooded, possibly due to a reaction to the narcotic. Convulsions and heart failure were nearly synchronous. He died without ever regaining consciousness.”

  “Did you or the nurses see anyone do anything?”

  He shook his head.

  Reever accompanied me to the office. Squilyp followed after he retrieved the list of outpatients. Once the door panel closed, I sat down on the edge of the desk and rubbed my reddened eyes before I consulted the list.

  “Tareo, Ralrea, Hado . . .” I continued to read the names until I reached the last one. “Is this everyone who was in Medical today, Squilyp?”

  “No, Senior Healer. There were several others who reported for treatment,” the Omorr said. “Dr. Rogan unfortunately did not make the proper chart notations on the patients he treated, so I am unable to provide a complete list.”

  Another reason for me to kill Xonea. “Gentlemen, we have a problem.”

  “What of Pnor’s investigation? Was nothing discovered?” Squilyp asked.

  “Pnor found no evidence to identify the killer.” My fingers began thrumming on the desk top. “I have. There is a link between the power surges in the engines and every one of these killings. That, and a two-meter ring of light that mysteriously appears and disappears.” I looked from Squilyp to Reever. “Yetlo is the last person who dies this way. I will take this damn ship apart piece by piece to find this maniac if I have to.”

  “How can you find someone when you don’t know who it is?” the Omorr asked.

  “We’re going to try accessing my memories again. You, me, and Reever.”

  “The Captain has forbidden it,” Squilyp said. “He was most specific.”

  “The Captain has no authority over my mind. We’re going to do this, right here, right now.”

  “Doctor, at least give me time to set up one of the surgical suites as an isolation area. The last time we attempted this, there was an unpleasant aftermath.”

  And the unpleasant aftermath was now running the ship. “Locks on the doors are good,” I said. “Reever?”

  “Perhaps Resident Squilyp can requisition some weapons,” Reever said. “I should not wish to encounter the Captain when he is in an emotional state again.”

  “If no one makes an announcement,” I said, “we don’t have to worry about ugly scenes. Agreed?” Both men nodded. I focused on my resident. “How long to set up, Squilyp?”

  “I will need an hour.”

  “Great. Let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Breaking the Choice

  We made arrangements to convene at the surgical suite in an hour. I left Squilyp to settle the ward down for the night. Reever had already disappeared.

  Rather than returning to my quarters and facing the sight of Xonea moving out, I trudged down eighteen levels to level twenty-five. It was the lowest of the four levels providing access to the enormous engines and stardrive array. I found a number of engineers examining one of the huge housings. They looked like ants swarming over a giant barrel. One noticed me and hurried over.

  “Senior Healer?”

  It was Barrea, one of the men who was injured during the last attack. He had to shout to be heard over the sound of the exposed engine.

  Broken arm, torn shoulder ligaments, my brain recalled.

  “How’s the arm, Barrea?”

  He appeared delighted that I remembered his case, and rotated the limb carefully. “Still stiff, but much improved!”

  I beckoned to him and we walked far enough away to be heard without the yelling. “Barrea, did you report to Medical for outpatient treatment today?”

  He removed his protective headgear. “No, I am not scheduled to report for three more days.”

  “Good.” That meant he wasn’t present when Yetlo was murdered, and it would be reasonable to assume he wasn’t involved. “I need your help.”

  He was surprised. “Of course, Senior Healer. Anything.”

  “A short time ago I heard a sound coming from this level. The engines sounded like they were screeching.”

  “We experienced a power overload.”

  “What was that caused by?”

  Barrea looked sheepish. “I do not know, Senior Healer. We cannot explain the power fluctuations as of yet.”

  “But it’s happened before, hasn’t it?”

  He nodded.

  I counted names: Fasala, Roelm, Leo, Ndo, and now Yetlo. “Five times before?”

  “How could you know that?”

  “A lucky guess,” I lied. “Can you describe—in nontechnical terms—what has happened during each of these incidents?”

  Barrea tilted his head as he considered my question. “I can theorize, if that is acceptable.”

  “Great. Go ahead.”

  “The engines draw power from the absorption grid and primary energy exchangers.” He went to a console and waved for me to join him. On the display, he brought up a schematic of the Sunlace. “Here.” He pointed to the ship’s interior. “Each level of the ship forms an outer part of the central fuel core.”

  I peered at the display. “Are those circular symbols the transductors?”

  He seemed surprised I knew the term. “No, they are transductor junctions.” He pointed now to cylindrical tubes leading to and from the junctions. “These are the transductors.”

  “What do they do?”

  “Transductors supply energy forms demanded by ship operations. The junctions are where raw fuel is converted before it floods the transductors.”

  “How big are these junctions?”

  “They range in size, according to load and demand. They can be as large as twenty meters in diameter, or as small as—”

  �
�Two meters?”

  He nodded. I managed to maintain my composure. “Go on, Barrea. Tell me the rest of your theory.”

  “We believe that energy is being drained from the transductors. It goes in a definite cycle. Very little power is lost, and slowly at first. The power drain grows greater and more rapid over a period of time.”

  “What would happen if the power was drained all at once?” I asked, already sure I knew the answer.

  “The engines would cease operation at once.”

  “Okay.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “What happens next?”

  “Once the engines are nearly drained of energy, the unidentified tap seems to heal itself. Power floods back into the cold engines, making them strain to compensate. The result is the sound you heard.”

  “You don’t know what’s doing this?” I thought I did, but I couldn’t tell him that. Not yet.

  “No, Senior Healer. We believe it may have something to do with the unexplained buffer breech in level fourteen some weeks ago.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We discovered some sonic-based matter in the engines themselves after that incident. The matter was identical to the shards removed from the three females who were injured.”

  I related all I had learned from Barrea to Squilyp and Reever a short time later in Medical.

  “Sit still,” the Omorr said as he attached the monitor terminals to my head.

  “But don’t you see the connection? The smallest of these transductor junctions match the diameter of the light ring that flashed just prior to the murders.”

  “What has this coincidence of size have to do with the loss of power to the engines?” Reever asked. “Transductor junctions cannot generate power surges or breaches in the sonic alloy.”

  “Whatever is being used to kill our people apparently requires a tremendous amount of energy. Let’s say the murderer can tap into the ship’s own power and drain it off from the engines. Barrea told me the engines would shut down if the power was drained all at once. So the killer has to do it gradually—siphon it off a little at a time.”