Beyond Varallan

by S. L. Viehl

  Well, no one had spilled the beans about me ignoring that suicidal bent of theirs, I thought.

  He gestured to me. “Please, Healer, join us now.”

  I walked up and saw Adala holding a beautiful circlet of some sort of twisted golden alloy. When I drew close enough, she placed it on my head.

  “The Mother of All Houses blesses you, ClanJoren,” Adala intoned solemnly.

  ClanJoren? What was that?

  “To be known as ClanJoren is to be honored by all of the Houses on Joren,” Xonal said. “Wherever you journey on this world, the HouseClans will welcome you.” He handed me a lovely fiber scroll bound with yiborra cord.

  “With honor and gratitude for your service to our world, ClanJoren.”

  While everyone was calling their blessings from the crowd, I considered this new twist. I had an official title now. Okay. I could deal with that.

  “As with all those blessed by the Mother, the Healer is now considered a genitor,” Xonal said. “This night she bonds, and thus the newest HouseClan will begin. We salute HouseClan Reever.”

  I saw Duncan Reever rise and approach the dais. They had planned this, I decided. All of it. Without telling me a damn thing. Now we weren’t just getting married, we were starting a whole new HouseClan. That only happened once or twice every century on Joren.

  “Nice going, Reever,” I said close to his ear as he bent to kiss my cheek. “We are never going to get off this world.”

  “We will discuss it later.”

  “You’re damn right we will, ClanFather.” What did that make me? ClanMother? Cherijo Torin-Reever? ClanJoren? I’d never be able to get it all out in the same breath.

  The celebration would last for days, I’d discover later that evening. Reever and I were toasted, Squilyp was toasted, the Mother of All Houses was toasted. Then Adaola and Barrea, who unknown to all of us had been having a torrid romance, announced their Choice.

  “I never even suspected,” I said to my ClanSister, who sat with the new Senior Engineer at our table. I passed a jug of some very potent floral wine over to Squilyp, who was doing his best to polish off the dregs of another. I was surprised to learn he ate and drank as elegantly as he hopped. The gildrells performed each function with very dainty, graceful precision. When he wasn’t drinking floral wine, that is.

  “How are you doing, Doctor?”

  He peered at me, his dark eyes slits of amusement. “Better than I was on that dais up there, Doctor.”

  “I thought Omorr are like Oenrallians, and can’t get intoxicated,” I said.

  Squilyp shook his head and nearly fell off his chair. “Naturally we can get intox . . . intoxi . . . int . . . drunk,” he said, then fell off his chair. Two of my sympathetic relatives helped him up and escorted him to his rooms. As he departed, he waved all three appendages back at me.

  “Better take Squilyp some analgesics in the morning,” I told Adaola as I waved back.

  “Did he hit his head when he fell?” she asked, concerned.

  “No. But he’ll feel like he did when he wakes up.”

  At that point, my adopted ClanParents appeared at the head of our table. “Dear ones,” Adala said, and gazed down the rows of family members with affection. “It is time to escort those who will bond.”

  That was me and Reever. I rose to my feet, only to find Adaola, Adala, and a half dozen other female relatives lifting me up in their arms. When I jerked my head around, I saw the men doing the same to Reever.

  “Don’t drop me,” I said as we were carried off from the great communal room. “Terran bones don’t bounce the way Jorenians’ do!”

  In a very formal, ceremonial procession, Reever and I were carried across the chamber grounds to the towering, floral-covered structure where we would be bonded.

  At the small entrance, we were lowered down to the ground and placed to stand next to each other. Xonea appeared before us, and placed yiborra grass garlands around our necks.

  “May the Mother give you children,” he said. “May she bless your path together from this day until eternity comes.” Gently, Xonea touched my cheek with his hand, and leaned forward. “Be happy, Cherijo,” he added, for my ears alone.

  Reever drew me in through the small entrance, and those assembled outside sealed the opening with armfuls of loose flowers. We were alone, in total darkness, when a small light overhead glowed into life.

  “Oh, look.”

  The interior of the dome-shaped structure was carpeted with flower petals of every shape, all the identical shade of rose. It represented the sky, the marching cloud columns symbolized by streaks of petals in other hues—green, blue, yellow, and violet. More pools of violet petals surrounded us—the Marine sea. I spotted several baskets heaping with enough provisions to feed an army.

  “It’s like our own little world in here,” I said.

  There were no furnishings, only a small, sectioned-off unit that on later inspection revealed a cleansing unit, lavatory, and a week’s supply of clean garments for both of us.

  Reever didn’t seem impressed. “Appropriate description.”

  “So now you’re my . . . husband.” I tried out the word. It felt strange on my lips. “Sounds like something strapped on a strained joint for support, doesn’t it?”

  “Wife is no better. In Svgana, that word means small, poisonous snake.”

  “I’ll have to remember that, if we ever jaunt to Svgan.” The light above began to dim. I was feeling a little desperate, and looked around. “Hungry? There’s enough food here to feed the entire HouseClan.”

  “No. I’m not hungry.” He took my hand, and I jumped. “Calm yourself, Cherijo. Here.” He guided me to mound of flowers. “Sit down.”

  I knew what that petal heap was meant for, and it wasn’t sitting. “No, thanks. I think I’ll just . . . stand here for now.” Three minutes down, six days, twenty-three hours, and fifty-seven minutes to go.

  “Are you afraid of being alone with me?”

  Despite the fading light, I could still see his face. Not that it helped. “No.” His arm came up around my shoulders. “Uh—Duncan?”

  Before I could ask him just how he felt about me, the mound of flowers blocking the entrance shifted, then started falling away.

  “Your pardon, Healer Cherijo, Linguist Reever.” Xonal stepped inside. “You must return to the pavillion at once. Marine Province security grid has detected several battle cruisers entering orbit.”

  “What kind of battle cruisers?” I asked as we hurried back to the main complex.

  “According to the defense monitors, they are League troop freighters.”

  Celebration had been replaced by organized chaos, I saw as we entered the pavillion. Children were being herded into sub-surface shelters. Warriors were distributing arms. Every console was being used to monitor reports from planetary defense command.

  “How much time do we have before they attack?” I asked Xonal. A sudden explosion from outside gave me my answer. “Do you have an emergency medical facility?”

  Xonal nodded, and pointed to a passage across from us. “The wounded will be brought there, through underground shafts.” One of the warriors came up to him and murmured something. “Excuse me, Healer. I must respond to a signal from the Ruling Council.” He hurried off to a nearby console.

  I turned to Reever, who was discussing something with two of the older Torins, and touched his arm. “Duncan, I have to go.”

  He nodded, then pressed his palm to my cheek. “Be careful.”

  I descended into the sub-surface medical shelter, which was a maze of emergency supplies, equipment, and temporary berths. Nurses were already setting up instrument trays and laser rigs. I checked in with the harassed Senior Resident supervising the setup, who was only too happy to let me take over surgical preparations.

  More muffled explosions went off as we got ready. We were nearly done when a huge blast thundered just above us.

  “Displacer fire,” one of the nurses beside me said. He
r blue skin paled. “They must have targeted the pavillion itself.”

  We hurried to the surface access passage, only to find it completely blocked off.

  I looked down the opposite tunnel. “Is there another way out of here?” The nurse nodded. “I’m going up to see what’s happened.”

  One of the residents and a couple of nurses went with me. When we emerged a few hundred yards from the main pavillion, I gasped. The night sky was brilliant with flares of red, illuminating the huge building, which had partially collapsed.

  “Did everyone get out of there?” I yelled to someone taking cover behind what was left of my bonding chamber.

  “No!” a voice shouted back to me.

  I could see HouseClan members rushing to pull the injured from the structure. Some badly wounded were being carried from the site toward us. We ran to assist them. Somewhere along the way Adaola and Barrea joined us.

  It took time to evacuate the injured from the collapsed wing of the pavillion. We uncovered four dead and two so critical I knew there was no saving them. Once there were enough people to help search the rubble, I helped carry one of the litters back down to the medical shelter.

  Where was Reever? Had he gotten out in time?

  “Healer!” Sberea had his hands full. The nurses had lined up the cases according to severity. All the cots were occupied, and they were resorting to stacking litters on the floor now. “Patient prepped in room three for you. Team is waiting.”

  “Got it,” I said, and ran to scrub.

  Just as I finished snapping on my gloves, Xonal’s voice rang out through the underground facility’s multiple audio consoles.

  “HouseClan Torin. There has been an attack on our province by the Allied League of Worlds. More than twenty ships are now in orbit, ready to recommence the assault.” His voice went flat and hard. “Reinforcements from other Provinces will arrive shortly. All warriors have reported to defense stations, and we are prepared to return fire.”

  “Bastards,” I muttered under my mask as I backed into the makeshift surgical suite. The patient was prepped, the team waiting. “Okay, people, what have we got?”

  “It is our ClanMother,” one of the nurses said.

  Adala lay unconscious. Scanner reading indicated compression injuries in three major organs. The nurse beside me positioned the instrument tray. I made the initial incision, then held out my gloved hand.

  “Clamp.”

  Ten hours later, I finished the last surgical case and stripped out of my green-stained gear. I was bone tired but still tense, waiting for the explosions of displacer fire that never came. Xonal had only sent a signal for me to report to defense station one when I could be spared.

  “Go,” Sberea said. “We have matters here under control. Healers from other provinces have begun to arrive.”

  Defense stations were cleverly hidden tactical units which controlled orbital fortifications and ground-to-orbit systems. I was escorted by armed guard through the maze of corridors to the nerve center of the operation, where Xonal was plotting the next move in repelling what appeared to be a planetary invasion.

  Xonea stood at his side, pointing out details on the grid. Everyone looked up when I entered. Most of the warriors silently filed out of the room. Only Xonea remained. The door closed, and the three of us were alone.

  “They’ve come for me, haven’t they?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Xonal said.

  Xonea was grim. “We do not intend to let them have you.”

  I joined them at the strategy table, where he had displayed a satellite view of the League ships hovering above Joren.

  “I believe the attack on the pavillion was merely a way of getting our attention,” Xonal said.

  “Nice guys. Why couldn’t they just signal us?”

  “The League has a reputation for ruthlessness when it is crossed,” Xonea replied. “You, I fear, have crossed them more than once.” His stony expression softened for a moment. “Our ClanMother?”

  “Adala is in post-op, and she’s in stable condition. I had to repair a punctured lung, among other problems. Most of her ribs are broken.” I smiled wanly at Xonal. “No hugs for a few weeks, okay?”

  My attention was diverted when the display on the table flickered, and was replaced by a live vid signal.

  “Xonal,” the audio crackled as the signal was adjusted in frequency. “ClanFather of HouseClan Torin.” The face of an emotionless mercenary filled the screen.

  Xonal took the precaution of coding his own signal so his location would not be pinpointed. “I am here, cowards.”

  “Give us the Terran test specimen.”

  “That’s fairly direct,” I said to Xonea.

  “There is no Terran test specimen on this planet,” Xonal replied. “Leave orbit at once or face counter-assault.”

  “We will exchange a member of your species for the Terran test specimen designated Cherijo Grey Veil.”

  “What are they talking about?” Xonea demanded.

  “You have a Jorenian in custody?” My ClanFather’s voice acquired a deadly tone.

  The vid switched to the interior of a detainment cell.

  “Oh, my God.” My legs wouldn’t hold me anymore, and I sagged back into a chair.

  The display showed an image of Senior Healer Tonetka Torin, very much alive and well. She stood at the detainment barrier, yelling her head off. There was no audio, but I didn’t need one. I’d seen her do that too many times to doubt it was her.

  Xonea looked ready to kill anyone wearing a League uniform. “They must have removed her from the ship during the attack.”

  Xonal didn’t waste time. “Release our ClanSister.”

  “Give us Cherijo Grey Veil.”

  “You have no authority to detain Tonetka Torin. Release her at once!” Xonal shouted.

  “On the contrary. Senior Healer Torin was rescued during an encounter with the Jorenian vessel Sunlace. We consider our actions humanitarian. In order to release her, we require our property be returned. If you cooperate, we will consider the matter to be settled.”

  Xonal glanced at me. “No. Unlike your League, Joren does not trade in living beings. We refuse.”

  “Cherijo Grey Veil. The remainder of this signal is addressed to you.” The face on the vid disappeared. It was replaced by the stern, austere features that were an older, masculine version of my own.

  “Dr. Joseph Grey Veil,” I said for Xonal’s benefit. “My creator.” I addressed the vid now. “I guess you can’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  “I am here to take you back to Terra.”

  “What I can’t figure out is how you got Tonetka off the Sunlace. Mind telling me how you managed that, Doctor?”

  “One of our operatives gained passage on your vessel.

  He tagged you with a targeting device which allowed us to locate and retrieve you. Unfortunately, it was discovered after we retrieved Tonetka Torin that you gave her the device.”

  “The trader.” I remembered the bracelet he’d sent me, just before the attack.

  “Precisely. Our operative and your Senior Healer were removed from the ship. By the time we realized we had the wrong physician, it was too late.”

  “Jewelry gives me a rash,” I said. “Try something else the next time.”

  “This is finished. Surrender to the League at once.”

  “Threatening Joren isn’t very wise, you know,” I told him. “Our warriors will hunt you down and take you apart, organ by organ.”

  “We will remain in orbit and continue the assault until the Jorenians turn you over to us.”

  I eyed Xonea and Xonal. Both looked ready to do some intestinal decorating. “They aren’t going to do that.”

  “Thus far minimal harm has been done. That will change, Cherijo—”

  “Minimal harm?” Xonea’s fist slammed into a console, creating a large dent in the alloy. “Six of our people are dead!”

  “What is six compared to six million?”

/>   “More than six people were harmed,” I said. “Twenty more Jorenians are in critical condition. Twice that many were injured during your unprovoked attack. Seven of them are children.” I clenched my hands on the edge of the table. “I just spent ten hours in surgery patching together what you blew apart. Don’t talk minimal to me, Doctor.”

  “No one else has to die.”

  “The other Provinces have mobilized. Jorenian defense systems, I understand, are also very efficient. You’re right. You’ll be blown out of orbit before you have the chance to kill anyone else. Goodbye, Doctor.”

  “A warning, Cherijo. Forty more League vessels are due to arrive within the hour. All are fully manned, heavily armed planetary cruisers, more than enough to overload the defense grid. Joren is, I’m told, a lovely planet. How will it look after the surface has been bombarded with displacer fire?” He sneered at me. “You have one hour to consider your answer.”

  The vid went blank.

  Xonal suddenly looked very old and tired. “Forty more of them. Mother of All Houses.”

  “We will fight them, ClanFather.” I noticed Xonea didn’t say anything about defeating them. He looked unwell.

  I didn’t feel so great myself. “No. There’s only one solution.”

  “No!” Xonea grabbed my arms and shook me. “I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself!”

  “That isn’t your decision,” I said as kindly as I could. I looked at my ClanFather. “Xonal, you know what I’m saying is right.”

  Xonea released me. His hands bunched in frustration and he dropped them to his sides. “Tell her she is wrong, ClanFather!”

  “Xonea. Listen to yourself,” I said. “It goes against everything Jorenians believe in.”

  “ ‘The House is greater than any one of its Clan,’ ” Xonal quoted with great bitterness.

  I nodded. “You can’t forfeit your entire world for one former Terran physician.”

  “I would forfeit my honor if I let you do this,” Xonea whispered.

  “There are times for honor, Captain. This is not one of them.” I looked down at my tunic, which was splotched green from our rescue efforts. “I have enough Jorenian blood on me already. Let me go.”