Beyond Varallan

by S. L. Viehl

He sighed. “Go. Damage yourself again. I see my career being based on treatment of deranged Terrans with a multitude of self-inflicted injuries.”

  I knew better. “Thanks, Squilyp.” I patted his cheek and hopped off my berth. “Did you hear the Captain’s announcement about the sojourn?”

  “Yes. What I do not understand is why we must wear formal garments. Or why my presence is required, as you are determined to go yourself.”

  “Darea, Fasala, and Salo are being transported down to their homeworld facilities. Most of the crew is getting off so they can land the ship and have it repaired. Do you see yourself having much fun at the vessels docks?”

  “No, but formal garments . . . ” He winced. “They are not very flattering on me.”

  “Stand next to me at the reception,” I advised him. “I look worse.”

  Joren was the seventh planet in a single-star system. I expected it to be as big as Kevarzangia Two. It was bigger. I expected it to be as cultured and sophisticated as Terra. It was better. When the Sunlace transitioned and began to orbit above the planet, I stood at the viewport for a long time.

  From space, it was a lovely, multicolored ball of rainbow pigments and thin cloud “rings.” Irregular dark patches marked the oceans that divided the land masses into distinct continents. One sea stretched from polar cap to polar cap. Kao’s family lived next to it, on the north shore of Marine Province.

  Joren loomed like a giant next to the tiny Sunlace. Here was the place I’d heard so much about, and I began to get nervous about going down there.

  “Sojourn team Alpha, report to launch bay immediately,” my display announced.

  I was ready. I put on the stupid tentlike sojourn robes (for good reason, I reminded myself) and hoisted Jenner’s carrier from the deck. I took a peek through the grid.

  Blue eyes stared back at me sullenly. I don’t want to go on a sojourn.

  “I can’t leave you here,” I said. “We’re not coming back to the ship. The rest of our stuff will be transported down tomorrow.” I looked around my quarters. I had spent close to a year living here. In spite of all the terrible things that had happened, I was going to miss it.

  Reever, Squilyp, and Xonea met me in the corridor. The Captain politely offered to carry Jenner for me. I turned my pet over to him with a sigh of relief.

  “He needs to go on a diet,” I said as I huffed and puffed. I wasn’t feeling weak. Jenner was getting fat. That was all.

  “Why are you taking the animal?” the Omorr asked me.

  “The Jorenians have never seen a Terran cat before,” I replied. That much was true.

  Dhreen piloted the launch down to the planet with his usual deftness. I found myself wedged between Adaola and Xonea, trying to ignore the plaintive yowls coming from my beleaguered pet.

  “Marine Province is very beautiful during this cycle,” Adaola said.

  “Prepare for final docking sequence,” Dhreen called back.

  Squilyp looked uncomfortable and was more quiet than usual. Reever, sitting next to him, seemed content to stare at me. I avoided the now blue eyes. I hadn’t forgotten the time we almost didn’t make it back from a sojourn.

  He’d held my hand as the mercenaries fired on our launch. What was it he said? Don’t worry, it will be quick.

  I had kissed him, before yanking a breather over his face.

  The blue eyes darkened, and I knew he’d picked up my thoughts, remembering the same moments.

  “Biodecon complete. Sojourn team may disembark.”

  Dhreen’s announcement startled me out of my mesmerized stare. Reever got to his feet, looking very sophisticated in his formal black robe.

  I got up and looked down. Nope. No difference. I still resembled a small tent with feet.

  Xonea opened the hull doors, and we filed down the docking ramp into what surely had to be Heaven in terrestrial form.

  The huge sky was a rose color, too dark to be pink, too pale to be red. The only red was the solar sphere passing from one horizon to the other. Straight lines of cloud marched in symmetrical columns around the scarlet sun. Clouds that were every color of the rainbow, and more.

  “Welcome!” a chorus of voices called.

  I glanced down from the amazing show overhead to see a large group of Jorenians waiting at the other end of the ramp. They were dressed in HouseClan Torin blue.

  “Relatives?” I asked Xonea.

  “Relatives,” he said. “The pair waving so energetically at you are my ClanParents.” Which made them Kao’s ClanParents. Mine, too, for that matter.

  They were a handsome couple, and abandoned formality to race up the docking ramp with eager, open arms. Kao’s family squashed me in a sort of group hug between his ClanParents and Xonea and Adaola. What choice did I have? I hugged them back. By the time they were done demonstrating their affection, my tent-robe was a little wrinkled.

  “You are so tiny!” Adala, the ClanMother said. A handsome, sturdy woman, she looked too young to be the mother of three adults. She was right, too. I barely cleared her waistline.

  “Such exquisite coloring,” Xonal, the ClanFather, said. He was even taller than Xonea and had nearly solid-purple hair. When he smiled, I saw Kao as he would never be—a mature man.

  The couple addressed the rest of the sojourn team. “We welcome you all,” Adala said. Xonal beamed as he took Jenner’s case from my hand and carried it down the ramp for me.

  “They know we’re not engaged anymore, right?” I muttered to Xonea.

  An odd expression flickered over his features. “They know.”

  Before I could get specifics on just what our ClanParents knew, we stepped down onto Jorenian soil.

  The few simulations of this world I’d accessed on the ship paled next to the reality. Everything was sharper, clearer, more overwhelming. The stretch of purple sea flavored every breath with salt and moisture. Colors, from scarlet flowers to sapphire skins, shone deeply and vitally alive. Even the air seemed more like a deliberate caress than the usual mix of oxygen/nitrogen/carbon dioxide/helium /water vapor gases against my skin.

  Here was my adopted world. Where the plants sang. Where huge families dwelled together in tight-knit, serene communities. Where the ruling Houses were as benevolent as they were wise.

  So why was I itching to run back up that docking ramp and hide in the launch until it was time to go?

  “Senior Healer?” Squilyp looked like I felt—ill and ready to leave. “Do you feel it?”

  “The effects of the additional gravity,” Reever said. “Terra has 14.7 pounds per square inch, Omorr has 13.8 pounds psi. The Sunlace maintains pressures at exactly 14.3 pounds. The atmospheric pressure here is at least 16.7, two pounds over what you’re used to, Cherijo. More for you, Squilyp.”

  “No wonder they’re so strong out in space. Walking around the ship must feel like floating to them.” I groaned as my ears popped. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Me first,” my Resident murmured. His gildrells were hardly moving when he spoke.

  “You will grow accustomed to it. Come,” Xonea said. “We will take you to our pavillion, and there you can rest.”

  Reever didn’t seem affected by the change at all.

  “You’re human,” I said to him when we arrived at a large, beautiful, shell-shaped structure that served as headquarters for HouseClan Torin. “Why aren’t you turning green?”

  “I spent two years on a world with twice this atmosphere,” he replied. “This is vaguely irritating compared to that experience.”

  “I bet.” One of the many relatives I now had gestured toward a suite of rooms, and I groaned in relief. “At last. See you later, Reever.”

  The rooms were spacious and simply furnished, with the style of Jorenian minimalism I was beginning to appreciate. There were square-shaped vases of many different flowers, all in the exquisite shades of HouseClan Torin blue. Furnishings were fashioned from dried, woven plant fibers that looked airy but were surprisingly strong. Even the
fabrics covering the cushions of the chairs were soft and sank deliciously beneath my fingers. I opened Jenner’s carrier, and he darted out.

  I’m going to get even with you for this, he glared at me before he darted under a chair. I was too tired to go after him.

  I didn’t realize Reever had walked in behind me until he closed the door to the bedroom I had entered. I stopped my direct path to the sleeping platform and whirled.

  “I appreciate the offer of company, Reever, but—”

  “These quarters have been assigned to both of us,” he said. “I’m told they are reserved for those who have recently Chosen.”

  “Why would they—” My jaw dropped. “You told them we were getting married?”

  “No. I believe Xonea did.” He crossed the distance between us and invited me to sit down on the bed. I flopped on it, falling on my back and burying my face in my hands.

  “This is not happening to me.” I peeked through my fingers. “Let me guess. They want us to follow Jorenian tradition?” He nodded. “Have they already prepared the usual week-long celebrations?” Another nod. “And you intend to go through with it?”

  “You made your Choice public, Cherijo.”

  “Why is it always my fault?” I dropped my hands. “Okay. You can stay here and sleep on the sofa. But I am not, repeat, not bonding with you.”

  “You may have no other option.” He got up and went to the triangular set of windows overlooking the sea view. The rosy light from outside softened the harsh set of his features. His lips curled in an imitation of a human smile as he pointed at something. “Look.”

  I squinted against the strong light and saw a group of Jorenians putting the finishing touches on what appeared to be an enormous heap of flowers and vines.

  “What is that?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

  “Our bonding chamber.”

  Adala interrupted our discussion to inquire if we desired to dine in our rooms or join the communal feast. I had put down Jenner’s food and water, but had no success in coaxing him out from under the sleeping platform. Adala thought he simply needed time to adjust to the alien atmosphere.

  I was sure he was plotting his revenge campaign.

  “After the succession ceremony, we will be celebrating your Choice, Cherijo,” my adopted ClanMother said. “I have been told the arrival of our HouseClan’s vessel has spurred ten more Choices. Xonal and I will be on the chamber grounds for the next month in preparation!”

  Her protests didn’t fool me. Like most moms, I bet she loved the fuss and ceremony.

  “I’d like to have permission to visit your medical facility before the ceremony begins.” I glanced at Reever. “With my . . . Chosen.”

  “Ever the dutiful professional.” Her white eyes shone with pride. “Of course, a ship’s Senior Healer would do no less. You are free to do exactly as you wish.” She held up a finger. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Adala,” Reever said, seeing me fumbling for a reply.

  “Call me ClanMother,” she said, and stared at his eyes. “Why, they change color!”

  “A human mutation.” I quickly pulled Reever out of our rooms, then called back over my shoulder, “We’ll see you at the ceremony, ClanMother.”

  We walked down through the lower level and out of the main house. “You’ve got to stop doing that,” I said.

  “Doing what?” Reever asked me.

  “That color-changing thing with your eyes.” I peered into his face. “They’re green again.”

  Reever didn’t comment on his annoying habit. “Where is the medical facility?”

  “Over there.” I pointed to a smaller building set back from the HouseClan colony. “Xonea showed it to me earlier.”

  “There is something I must do before the ceremony. I will meet you later.” He abruptly turned and headed off in the opposite direction.

  Was I relieved to have some time to myself? Yes.

  From what I saw, the Medical Facility was even finer than the ship’s accommodations. Out of courtesy, I went first to the facility director’s offices. A smiling administrative assistant escorted me to see the Director, an older man named Sberea, who embraced me like a long-lost daughter.

  “I have received many, many signals detailing your work, Healer Cherijo.” Sberea released me with a smile. “Tonetka thought you the most gifted surgeon she had ever known.”

  “She probably grumbled about how stubborn and opinionated I am, too,” I said. Feeling the usual intense depression that thoughts of Tonetka always brought on, I asked after my three patients.

  Sberea insisted he take me to them himself. As we walked to the inpatient wards, he discussed the individual cases with me.

  “Salo continues to improve. I was astonished by your work, especially to the spleen. Few Jorenian surgeons would have attempted that operation.” We halted by Salo’s berth, and Sberea offered the chart for my inspection. Since the big man was sleeping, I made only a quick scan to confirm he was rapidly healing without complications.

  From there, Sberea and I made our way to the isolation chamber. Until Fasala’s weakened immune system was stronger, she remained quarantined to prevent potentially lethal infections.

  “Greetings, Senior Healer, Cherijo.” Darea put down the book she was reading to Fasala and both walked over to the transparent chamber barrier.

  “Hello, Darea.” I bent down to hold a hand to the plas wall. On the other side, Fasala did the same against mine. “Hi, Fasala. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better.” The little girl rubbed her head. “Only this feels strange, Healer Cherijo. ClanMother says my scalp is prettier than my hair was. What do you think?”

  “I think you look great, honey.” Alive was better than anything, I thought. And her beautiful black hair would grow back in. We chatted for a few minutes, then Fasala went back to her berth. Sberea asked her mother a few questions as he made chart notes.

  “She eats very well now. The nightmares . . . are less.” Darea made a frustrated gesture, then rubbed her left arm absently and continued in a lower tone, “If only I had known Ktarka meant to . . . strike back at Konal through us. All of this could have been . . . avoided.”

  Sberea made a commiserating sound. “She is gone forever from us, Darea. Her own madness punished her more than you or Salo could have.”

  I doubted that. I’d seen Salo taking a mercenary apart before. I looked over their charts as Sberea excused himself to take a direct signal in his office. I frowned when I came across a notation where Darea had complained of occasional migraines.

  “Excuse me, Darea, these headaches Sberea has noted—are they unusual for you?”

  She nodded. “I have never had many, or with such . . . frequency.”

  Darea had never been a woman to mince words, so her new habit of searching for a phrase concerned me. So did the way she had been rubbing her bicep before. “Did you hurt your arm?”

  “No. It feels . . . numb at times,” she replied, and looked around her. “This chamber is quite cramped.”

  “Any numbness in your legs?”

  She patted her left thigh. “This one, but like my arm . . . infrequently. Why do you ask, Healer?”

  “Just checking. Would you excuse me for a moment?” I left them and returned to Sberea’s office with Darea’s chart. “Can I discuss something with you, Senior Healer?”

  “Of course. Come in.”

  I went over his chart notations with him, and he frowned.

  “It did not occur to me that the headaches were unusual. She has been uneasy over Fasala’s progress, and the enforced confinement. I believed they were wrought by tension.” His brows drew together as he read my notation about the numbness complaint. “Both on the left side. She never mentioned it to me.”

  “She thinks it’s from lack of exercise. Have you noticed the occasional aphasia she’s experiencing?” He nodded. “When was the last brain scan . . ?” I flipped through the chart display, and frowned. “She has
n’t had one since the initial eval.”

  Sberea’s wise gaze met mine. “We should perform one at once.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  To the Last Warrior

  We returned to the isolation chamber together, and donned envirosuits before entering. Once sealed inside, Sberea and I scanned Darea several times. Through the protective headgear, I saw Sberea’s reaction to the display. Mine was the same.

  We told Darea we would return after a brief discussion, and left her with Fasala. In Sberea’s office, he shook his head as he transferred the scanner data onto his main display.

  “I never saw it on any of the previous scans.”

  The image of Darea’s brain showed a crescent-shaped bilateral extra-axial fluid collection, a mass of blood leaking from one or more ruptured bridging veins in the subdural space of the cranial meninges.

  “According to the database, Jorenian physiology can render the hematoma isodense for quite some time after the initial injury.” I checked Darea’s chart. “That made it look so much like the rest of her brain that anyone could have missed it.”

  “You are kind to an old man, Healer Cherijo. Will you perform the surgery?”

  I nodded. “We’d better go tell her.”

  Darea listened carefully as I explained the source of her headaches and muscle weakness.

  “When Ktarka struck you, it caused a rotational movement of your brain. That stretched and ultimately tore a blood vessel between the brain parenchyma and the dural sinuses, inside of the dura mater.” I indicated the affected area on her chart display. “Over time, the vessel has been bleeding into the space between the dura mater and the arachnoid, or middle meningeal layer. The trapped blood formed a clot. We refer to it as a subdural hemorrhage, Darea.”

  “What must be done, Senior Healer?” she asked.

  “I’m going to perform a surgical procedure called a craniotomy,” I replied. “We’ll drain the blood clot, then I can repair the torn vessel. We need to do this surgery as soon as possible.” Darea looked frightened. I hurried to reassure her. “I’ve performed this procedure a hundred times, Darea. Don’t worry.”