by S. L. Viehl
“And if I do not have this surgery?” Darea asked.
Sberea and I exchanged a glance before I answered. “Then in all likelihood Fasala will grow up without her ClanMother.”
She visibly collected herself. “Very well. Please do not tell Salo, he will worry.” I wasn’t crazy about that—he was her mate, after all—but nodded. “And I would see my Speaker before the operation.”
I saw red at once. “You are not going to start that let-me-die nonsense, are you?”
Darea shook her head. “No. But I would like to make my wishes known, in the event I do not survive the surgery.”
“She has so much confidence in me,” I said to Sberea, then eyed my patient. “Okay, Darea. Talk to your Speaker. We’ll have a good laugh about it when you’re in post-op recovery.”
She looked back at her sleeping child. “I will wish for nothing else, Healer Cherijo.”
I sent a signal back to the pavillion informing Xonal and Adala of the impending procedure on their ClanNiece. We scrubbed while Sberea’s nurses completed the preparations. He assembled a scrub team with experience in open cranial procedures, and discharge-sterilized the surgical suite. An hour later, we were in place and ready to begin.
Darea’s shaved head was in the secluding halo that would hold it completely immobile during the delicate operation. I powered up the laser rig and made the primary incisions. That exposed the portion of Darea’s skull that I had to temporarily remove.
“Stats, please.”
The nurse rattled off Darea’s vitals, all normal.
“Here we go,” I said, and began cutting carefully inside the markers. “Clamp.” I pinned back the outer layers, cauterized two bleeders, and instructed the nurse to suction the small amount of blood from the site. The dark grey gleam of Darea’s cranium shone in the bright light. “She’s looking good.” I checked her stats again, then said, “Parietal drill.”
I made a series of burr holes in the parietal plate. Those allowed me to safely cut through the skull. Once all the holes were drilled, I placed a plasguide around them, adjusted the lascalpel, and cut out the section. I lifted the bone away and set it aside on a tray for later replacement. Darea’s brain was now completely exposed, along with a large, dark green clot.
“There’s the culprit,” I said, and carefully drained away the coagulated blood. Beneath it, I saw not one but three tiny vessels still seeping from ruptures. “Make that a trio.”
Sberea leaned close. “You’ll have to go carefully with the center vessel. That one appears to have the greatest damage.”
A gigantic crash behind us made both of us jump and swing around. Salo came hurtling through the observation panel and landed heavily on the floor. Before I could react, he was on his feet and coming at me, his white eyes slits of rage.
“Salo?” I handed Sberea the lascalpel and pushed him behind me. “Calm down.”
“My mate.” He was clutching his abdomen and breathing heavily. He looked at Darea, and growled like an animal.
“No, Salo. Darea is all right. I’m not hurting her. I’m operating on her.” I winced when he hit the sterile field, and the resulting bioelectrical charge sent him staggering backward. “Don’t do that. You can’t get through it.”
“I declare you . . . my ClanKill.” Salo thrust himself against the barrier again, and this time bounced off and collapsed.
“Salo!” I yelled when he pushed himself up. New blood stained his dressings. “Stop it!”
Behind me, I could hear suction being used. “Healer, he will not stop until he kills you, or dies,” Sberea said.
“I don’t think so.” I reached over, grabbed what I needed from the set-up tray, then deactivated the sterile field. Sberea made a startled sound. Once I’d stepped outside generator range, I immediately reinstated the field. That protected Sberea and Darea, but left me locked out with Salo.
Once he got to his feet, he immediately lunged toward me.
“Salo, listen to me.” I quickly stepped out of the way. “I wasn’t hurting her. Darea needs this operation. She—”
“You lie.” He came at me again, and this time caught the front of my gown. His claws slashed through the outer layers of my gear as he threw me to the floor and straddled me.
There was no reasoning with a rampaging male bent on protection. I got one arm up, feigning a block, and used the other to push the syrinpress in my hand against his throat.
We stared at each other for a long moment.
“Sorry,” I said.
A moment later, the big warrior toppled over, unconscious.
Sberea deactivated the field just as another doctor and two nurses appeared outside the ruined panel. “Get this man back to his berth, restrain him, and run complete scans. Report back to me at once if he has sustained further internal damage.” As they removed Salo, Sberea bent down and lifted me to my feet. “Healer, are you injured?”
I wasn’t, but my gear was ruined. Since we’d both been contaminated through touch, Sberea and I had to scrub and gear up all over again. A worried assistant monitored Darea until we returned to the table.
I took a steadying breath and recalibrated the laser. “All right. Here we go.”
Two hours later, I finished sewing Darea’s scalp back in place and watched her monitor. She was strong; her levels never wavered throughout the delicate procedure. Sberea looked exhausted. I flexed my cramped hands as I stripped off my gloves and deactivated the sterile field.
“That’s all, people. Take her into post-op. I want her revived in thirty minutes.” I walked out to where Xonal and Adala were waiting.
The ClanMother touched my arm. “How fares Darea?”
“She made it through the procedure without a problem. She’s going to be fine.” I looked down the rows of inpatient berths. “Salo, however, jumped through a plas panel and tried to kill me.”
Xonal and Adala stared at me, shocked.
“It’s not Salo’s fault. We didn’t tell him about the surgery. Between the drugs still in his system from his earlier surgery and the instinct to protect, he could hardly have done otherwise.” I gave them a tired smile. “You can see Darea in a few hours, once we’re sure she’s going to remain stable. In the meantime, why don’t we go tell Fasala the good news?”
Once Sberea and I returned to recovery and finished the post-op examination, we roused Darea from her drugged sleep. She automatically tried to put her hand up to her head. I caught her fingers and gently placed them at her side.
“No touching, pulling, or poking,” I said. The sleepy white eyes tried to focus on my face. “Darea, the procedure went beautifully. I removed the blood clot and repaired the vessel damage.” I deliberately left out the details of Salo’s attack. “The rest is up to you.”
She nodded. “Thank . . . you . . .”
When Sberea and I came out of recovery, we found a recovered Salo hovering just outside.
“How fares my mate? Is she well? Does she feel pain?”
It was useless to order him back to his berth. “She’s stable, pain-free and recovering like a pro.” I exchanged a look with Sberea. “Would you like to go in and see her?”
“Yes.” Salo demonstrated his thanks by ignoring his injuries, picking me up and hugging me. “I will never be able to adequately express my gratitude, Healer,” he said. “Never.”
“You could start by not breaking my spine,” I said, voice muffled against his broad chest. I was returned to my feet at once.
“Your pardon.” Salo straightened the edge of my tunic the same way he would for Fasala. Then he pressed his brow to mine, a gesture usually reserved for immediate family members. I was touched. “I will find the words someday. Until then, my life is yours.” He went in to see Darea.
Sberea stared after him. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a warrior pledge his life to anyone but another warrior before.”
I pressed a hand to my lower spine, and groaned. “It’s better than having them come after you in surg
ery.”
After I wrote up my procedural notes, I returned to Sberea’s office and we spent another hour talking shop. After I related the story of Roelm’s secretive basket weaving and Tonetka’s reaction, Sberea wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
“I can see her image even now,” he said, and sighed. “I will miss that old woman more than I can tell you.”
“Me, too.” To keep from blubbering myself, I checked out his office. The combination of efficiency and grace made me sigh. Plenty of space to hold a conference, work on charts, or interview a patient. Woven tapestries on the walls and airily woven furnishings gave it a comfortable, warm feel. “Did you design this space yourself?”
He shook his head. “My bondmate did, some years ago. I lost her to the stars just before the Sunlace left on its survey jaunt.” His white eyes gleamed. “You know, of course, we celebrate death instead of mourning it.”
“Yes. And I’d love to know why,” I said. “I can’t find a single rational explanation in the database.”
Sberea smiled. “You know how fiercely protective we are of our kin.”
I sputtered out a laugh. “Boy, do I.”
“Before the HouseClans formed, it was a matter of survival. A threat to one’s kin was a threat to the tribe. Our species developed this unreasonable ferocity as part of the process of proliferation.” He made an elegant gesture.
“What is the greatest threat toward the proliferation of a species? Death. Can one take revenge for what is a natural process?”
“No,” I said. “But you don’t have to like it.”
“Our people were unable to change that integral part of their character, Cherijo. That is why we had to develop a separate concept of death, or risk madness and even extinction. Thus, death is celebrated with joy.”
“And everyone stays sane.”
“Most medical practitioners, by their constant exposure to injury and illness, have developed a different view. We try to encourage our patients to embrace life.”
I smiled sadly, thinking of Yetlo. “I’ve resorted to accidental sedation and death threats, myself.”
A knock at the door panel startled me, and I turned around to see Reever through the viewer.
“Another human?” The Senior House Healer was curious.
“My . . . Chosen, Duncan Reever.” I made the introductions. “Duncan, this is the Director of the medical facility, Senior HouseClan Healer Sberea.”
Reever nodded politely to the Jorenian. “A pleasure to meet you, Senior HouseClan Healer. I regret I must ask Cherijo to leave with me now.”
“Ah, yes, the celebration commences,” Sberea said, and rose to his feet. “Please visit us again, Cherijo.”
“Thank you, Sberea. I’d like that very much.”
As Reever and I left, I squinted at the rapidly darkening sky. Sunset on Joren bathed the world in gold and crimson light. “We’d better hurry or we’ll be late.” I surveyed him. “Where did you go?”
“Dhreen is discreetly arranging our transport. He wanted me to look over the vessel being offered by the Jorenians.”
“What’s it look like?”
“Small, but fast. We will need both if we are to evade the League’s mercenaries.”
“Don’t make an announcement to any of the Torins,” I said. “They won’t be too happy to hear I’m leaving almost as soon as I got here.”
“I agree,” Reever said as we walked by the ceremonial bonding grounds. The chamber being erected in our honor was reaching the dimensions of a small mansion. “Have you changed your mind about the bonding ceremony?”
I should have said no. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
“A Jorenian ceremony would not be considered binding under current Terran legislation.”
“Oh, as if I’m worried about what Terra deems legal and illegal,” I said. “Reever, I’m doing this for one reason and one reason only.” We had reached our rooms, and he closed the door silently. “I get the cleansing unit first.”
I almost made it before he blocked my way. “What reason?”
“I want to.”
He started backing me up against a wall. “Why?”
“Reever . . .” His hands were cradling my face, tilting it up. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see what was in his. “I’m going to be a terrible wife, you know. My hours—”
“You don’t have a job anymore. Why?”
“My temper is worse—”
“Tell me, Cherijo.”
The door panel chimed. Saved by the bell.
It was Adaola, looking beautiful in her ceremonial robe. “Senior Healer, are you not ready?”
I looked down at my formal robe. Wrinkled. Wilting. Nope, it wasn’t even in the same neighborhood as ready. “Give us a half hour, will you, ClanSister?”
“Make haste!” she said as she went back out.
“I will sterilize our robes.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” I said, and turned to find myself an inch away from him. When I drew back, he offered me a small, black box he pulled from a pocket in his robe. I frowned at it.
“What’s this?” I fingered the smooth, glasslike container.
“Open it and see.”
I found the tiny hinge and released it. Inside, a band of gold gleamed, intricately carved with a flowing alien symbol.
“A ring?” My fingers shook as I touched it.
“On Terra, human males once gave such hand ornaments to their betrothed.” He took it from the box and slid it over the fourth finger of my left hand.
I stared at the ring, which fit perfectly. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” I was doomed, even before his arms came around me.
“Duncan—”
His hands pressed me closer. “Tell me why you want to bond with me.”
“We belong together.” There, I’d said it. Only the words kept spilling out of me. “I can feel it, when I touch you, when I look at you. When I hear your voice. It started on K-2, but I didn’t understand then. You always got under my skin, yet I never stopped to wonder why. When I got hurt after the attack on the Sunlace, all I could think about was finding out if you were alive or dead. When I saw you—” I pressed my brow against his shoulder, shuddering as I remembered the terrified relief I’d felt that day. “I just knew.”
Reever’s hand settled against the back of my head. He could have linked with me, read my thoughts for himself, but instead he simply held me.
Finally I lifted my face. “Well? Are we going to do this, or not?”
“Yes.” He kissed me. “We will do this.”
The first item on the evening’s agenda was a surprise we’d been planning for weeks. Once Reever and I presented ourselves at the communal great room (late, as usual), the festivities began.
“HouseClan Torin, live forever!” Xonal said from the ceremonial dais. Hundreds of voices echoed the blessing.
I looked around me. There were more ClanAunts and ClanUncles and ClanCousins than I could count. Just one big, happy family.
“We initiate our celebration this night with a ceremony of succession,” Xonea said. “Senior Healer Cherijo Torin, rise and join me!”
I shook out my tent as I stood, and walked with what dignity I could manage under all that fabric to the dais. Visions of me tripping and falling flat on my face kept my pace slow, and my head high. When I reached the dais, I accepted a rib-splintering hug from the ClanFather.
“You are lovely, my ClanDaughter,” he said against the top of my head.
“I am suffocating,” I said into his tunic, then chuckled as he set me back down on my feet. When I was sure I didn’t have a collapsed lung, I stepped forward and held out my hands.
“I have served as the Senior Healer on board the Sunlace for some time now,” I said. “Tomorrow my path continues, but in another direction. In accordance with the traditions of our people, I’ve chosen my successor.”
I looked around the room, and saw the confidence and pride shining on the faces of my adopted
family. It was nice to work a receptive crowd.
“My successor is more than worthy to bear the title of Senior Healer.” I went on to detail some highlights of my replacement’s career, then added, “The only problem is, I have to make him a doctor first.” I smiled down at the Omorr. His gildrells were splayed in absolute shock. “Squilyp, come on up here.”
My former Resident ascended the platform with short, nervous hops. He came to stand next to me and looked out at the approving crowd.
“I will get even with you for this,” he said under his breath.
“Dream on, Squid Lips,” I replied, just as quietly. In a louder voice, I announced his doctorate. “Squilyp, native of the Omorr world in the Niabac system, having successfully completed your final year of residency on board the Jorenian vessel Sunlace, I now bestow upon you the title of Medical Doctor, in accordance with the standards set forth for all humanoid practitioners.” I pinned the small gold tunic pin that identified his title. “Congratulations, Doctor.” I clasped his membranes with my hands.
HouseClan Torin rose to their feet, and in their version of applause, gave a rousing, musical shout.
“Now, Doctor, I am leaving the Sunlace and select you as my successor. Will you accept the position as Senior Healer?”
He nodded. “I would be honored.”
Well, that was the right word to use. HouseClan Torin made so much cheering and noise only Squilyp heard me as I said, “I appoint the Omorr, Dr. Squilyp, to the Jorenian survey vessel Sunlace as Ship’s Senior Healer.” I shook his appendage again. “Good luck, Doctor.”
I left Squilyp on the dais and sat back down. He gave a brief but thoroughly appropriate acceptance speech, then joined me and Reever in the front row.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I nudged him with an elbow.
“You are most devious, Healer.” The Omorr gave me a sly look. “Your turn.”
I saw Sberea, Xonal, and Adala walk up to the dias. Uh-oh.
“HouseClan Torin, you may have heard by now of the adventures experienced by our kin on board the Sunlace,” Xonal said. “During their struggles, one of our HouseClan strove tirelessly to aid our kin in moments of crisis and disaster. Though not born to us, this woman has always sought to preserve the honor and traditions of our HouseClan.”
