“Does anyone here speak CSS standard?” Jake called above the constant susurration of sound from muted voices and shuffling feet.
A few hesitated, then continued in their anxious pacing.
“See, I told you, you wouldn’t get anywhere,” Pammy whispered in his ear from behind. “They don’t want to communicate, so they won’t.”
Jake grabbed the sleeve of the first being he’d noticed hesitate at his words. “I offer you one and a half standard pay to stay for six weeks. Double that if you know how to fix the propulsion system,” he said slowly and precisely.
The being looked at his pale hand on the dark brown robe as if it were a loathsome worm. Then his ears closed over his face, shutting Jake out.
From beneath the folds of skin came a whispered, “One and a half times nothing is nothing. Double that is still nothing. We leave.”
“That’s fifty CSS credits an hour,” Jake protested.
“CSS credits are nothing. Our people on Labyrinthe Prime will not exchange them for good L dollars. We leave.”
Jake slumped in defeat.
Pammy arched an eyebrow and smiled. “Told you so. Might as well open the doors and let them board.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sissy stared at the bewildering array of signs on the post beside the tram. “I think, girls, we need to expand our exploration of the station.” She sighed. “We need to memorize each tram stop by more than . . . than . . .” How did one recognize the difference? The waiting areas leading to lifts all looked alike.
“The sign on the last tram stop said that Medbay was in this wing. The whole wing,” Mary confirmed.
“So why does the sign at this station say that Medbay is two stops back?” Martha countered.
“Have we explored this wing?” Sissy asked. Her nose detected a hint of antiseptic. She’d spent a fair amount of time in hospital back home, first clearing her lungs of dust from the quake, then for minor surgeries to replace the charcoal filters to continue the process.
Little Suzie began to cry. Sissy pulled her close. If the call from Medbay had seemed less urgent, she’d consider going back to her quarters and awaiting an escort. Presuming she could find her quarters again. Everything seemed turned around and upside down.
“You’re an important person. Why can’t they give you a comm like Jake’s?” Bella asked.
“Because I’m not part of the station personnel,” Sissy explained.
“Can’t hurt to try exploring,” Martha decided and somersaulted toward the lift. She landed neatly on a platform as it transitioned across the top to begin the downward rotation.
“If they wanted you there so badly, they’d have sent someone for you,” Mary agreed and followed Martha, just as adroitly.
“Come, girls.” Sissy took Suzie’s and Sharan’s hands and walked/floated sedately to the lift. A nod to Sarah ensured that she’d escort Bella. Marsh and Ashel would follow, never letting Sissy get too far ahead of them.
The scent of chemicals and the unique odor of illness grew strong as they progressed downward. Mary signaled them off the lift at the last level of the light-G section.
Behind Mary stood the square figure of Mr. Guilliam. He bowed slightly, his attention split between her and the door behind him.
“What’s wrong? Why are you here? When? How?” The words spilled from Sissy’s mouth.
“No time to explain. You are needed inside.” He placed a hand at the small of her back and nudged her toward the closed door marked “CCU.”
“Adrial?” Sissy didn’t want to think of another patient who might require her presence so urgently.
“No, My Laudae. It’s Laud Gregor. He had a heart attack in hyperspace. We barely found him in time.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
“Later, My Laudae. Right now, none of the Harmony physicians will operate without your written consent.”
“Surely Penelope . . . she is his daughter.”
“But in the Temple we do not always acknowledge family. Gregor certainly doesn’t. You are the only one with the authority to allow them to proceed, and take responsibility should they fail.”
Sissy paused, considering any options, trying desperately to still the panic at having to make such a frightful decision. “Who is operating?”
“The team of physicians from the Spacer vessels.”
“I want Colonel Halliday helping,” Sissy insisted. Jake had sung her praises as practical, efficient, and knowledgeable. Sissy wasn’t certain the Spacer physicians had the experience to perform delicate surgery on a fragile heart.
She pushed open the swinging door. The heavy metal moved more freely in the lighter gravity than it would in a normal wing.
“ ’Bout time someone with some sense showed up,” the CSS physician, Colonel Halliday muttered as Sissy passed into the medical unit. “My Laudae.” At the last minute Mariah Halliday nodded her head in a perfunctory bow. “Next problem is blood. No time to clone any, and your people won’t let us use any transfusions except from Temple folk. Some nonsense about mutant caste marks.” The physician rolled her eyes upward.
“Hemosynth?” Guilliam asked.
“Don’t like to use it in open-heart surgery. Natural blood of exact blood-type match is best.”
“Do what you have to do to save Laud Gregor. I grant you permission to use whatever blood you have that will work,” Sissy said.
“Sign this.” Doc Halliday shoved a clipboard with a single sheet of paper on it at her. The closely printed words ran together before Sissy’s eyes. She had trouble sounding out three of the first ten words.
“Laudae Penelope is Laud Gregor’s daughter. Will her blood type work?” Guilliam asked. He peered over Sissy’s shoulder, reading every line of the document. “You can sign it,” he whispered.
“Already tested her. She’s not compatible. Tested the boy Caleb, too. The donor at the top of the list that I have on record for the best match is General Devlin. Three of the next five are also from CSS. I need a lot of blood for this surgery.”
Guilliam backed up two steps. “Laud Gregor will not appreciate that. I’m not sure.”
“We can’t afford to let the High Priest of Harmony die because of some stupid prejudice. We may not like Laud Gregor, but he is one of a few fragile defenses we have against civil war and chaos back home.” Sissy wanted to stamp her foot. Not in front of her girls. “Do it, Doctor Halliday. Get Jake and the other donors down here and start your surgery with the least amount of delay.”
“Is that wise, My Laudae?” Guilliam asked. He bowed slightly.
“It may not be wise, but it is necessary.”
“Then perhaps we should swear the entire surgical team and General Devlin and the other donors to secrecy,” Guilliam said, already drafting the words on a handheld computer similar to Jake’s. “I do not believe it wise to allow anyone outside this room to know the identity of the patient. Not until I have in place the people to make a smooth transition of power in his prolonged absence from Harmony.”
He looked over his shoulder as if suspecting eavesdroppers. “Laud Gregor authorized a Media person with six hover cams to cover events in the diplomatic wing,” he whispered. “Beware of him. He reports to Laud Gregor first and Little Johnny second.”
Mac tested the medical gauze restraints on all eight of his limbs. The sticky webbing tightened with each twist until they nearly cut off his circulation.
His ears flapped involuntarily in frustration.
“You ain’t going nowhere.” The CSS guard posted at the door chuckled. He sat in a straight chair, tipping it back so that it balanced on two legs. But his feet remained flat on the deck while the back of the chair rested against the bulkhead. Deceptively casual and relaxed.
Mac would not get the jump on him, even if he could escape the restraints. Doc Halliday and Physician John had told him he needed to keep still in order for his muscles and nerves to recover.
He’d awakened from their surgical dr
ugs nearly twelve hours before. More than enough time for the healing process to progress sufficiently to release him.
General Jake wanted him for questioning.
“The little bird?” Mac asked the guard, for the tenth time. “How does she fare?”
The guard shrugged. “Don’t know and don’t care. The only good Maril is a dead Maril—even if she is only half. I lost too many friends, family, and comrades in this war to ever want to see a live Maril,” the guard snarled.
Mac kept his face bland when he truly wanted to slam two fists into the man’s face, then rip his ears off with his pincers.
He needed out. Now.
Twisting made the bandages cling tighter. He forced himself to relax his limbs. Better. The bandages withdrew a fraction. What would happen if he retracted his exoskeleton?
He concentrated on pulling his carapace back into his skin. The knife-sharp pain sent waves of dizziness through his awareness.
A little space remained between him and the restraints. He gritted his teeth and pulled again. A scream threatened to escape his throat. He fought it. One contraction, then another, rhythmically making himself smaller and smaller.
The Labyrinthian portion of his body was not made for this exercise. His Arachnoid ancestors had perfected the technique for extreme emergencies. He welcomed the pain as a sign that his nerves had reconnected and as a symbol of his impending freedom. Two more contractions and the bandages sagged free of his skin.
One more excruciating wave of pain brought sweat to his brow and flashes of red light before his eyes. But his left secondary arm pulled free.
Mac relaxed his contortions to check on the guard. His attention seemed riveted on a bustle of activity in the corridor.
Doc Halliday shouted orders. Her firm and authoritative voice cut through the babble.
The guard stood and peered out the door. He swung his head back and forth trying to take in the myriad people stomping about.
Mac used his pincer to cut the bandages on his remaining limbs.
In a single bound he leaped for the nearest ventilation duct.
“Hey, you, get back here,” the guard called.
Mac ignored him and scuttled into the dark shaft and freedom. He aimed for his nearest terminal.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jake held a surgical patch to the vein at the crook of his elbow and applied pressure. All around him, the Medbay vibrated with activity.
“Mind telling me why we’ve been ordered to donate blood?” he asked the CSS med tech who made notations on his computer as he inserted Jake’s blood into a machine.
“Emergency surgery,” the tech said, blank-faced.
“Who?” Jake probed.
“Don’t know. Sign this.” The tech shoved a clipboard in front of Jake with an old-fashioned sheet of paper on it.
Jake scanned it. A lot of the medical vocabulary went over his head. “What am I signing?” he asked, alarmed that the entire transaction hadn’t been recorded on the computer with his thumbprint recorded onscreen—or signed onscreen with a stylus. Much more efficient and less likely to get lost. Harder to forge, especially with a thumbprint and/or retinal scan.
He hadn’t seen a form like this since he’d left Harmony almost a year ago.
The ship requesting emergency docking at Medbay had been from Harmony. Someone came in from Harmony with enough importance to turn the entire Medbay topsy-turvy.
“It’s just verification that you gave blood today voluntarily and cannot donate again for ninety standard days.” The tech never raised his head from the screen.
“What about this paragraph buried in the middle that says I can’t mention to anyone except my private physician that I gave blood today?” That didn’t sound right. For centuries donating blood gave a person bragging rights—part of the campaign to keep enough on hand for emergencies. “I need to talk to Doc Halliday before I sign anything.” He guessed he should call her his personal physician.
“That’s not possible.” The tech still didn’t look at him.
“Why not?”
“She’s scrubbing for surgery as we speak.”
“Then I’ll use the time while waiting for her to speak to our two alien patients.”
“Not possible. Doc Halliday can’t perform surgery until all the donors sign their papers. Part of the new patient privacy laws.
“Since when?”
The tech shrugged. “I think the laws went into effect while you were on Harmony. If you haven’t been in hospital since then, you had no reason to know.”
That sounded like Harmony doublespeak.
“I think I smell Lord Lukan’s hand in this business. I need to talk to him.” Jake rose carefully from the recliner, well aware how woozy he’d feel after losing that much blood. The walls spun around him in one direction, the floor whirled the opposite way. He had to grab the edge of the tech’s computer desk to keep from falling flat on his face.
“Drink this and lie back down.” The tech handed him a glass of juice. “You won’t be getting in to talk to Lukan for a while anyway.”
“Why not?” Jake let his head sink back against the recliner, grateful that the rotating room slowed down, or his head caught up with it.
“He and Laudae Sissy are closeted with some bigwigs just come in from Harmony. There’s a ship at the loading dock next level down waiting to make a turn around jump back to Harmony. They’re ready to take the entire delegation back with them.”
Blackness crowded Jake’s vision, the recliner seemed to sink into the heavy-grav section. No! They couldn’t take his Sissy away from him.
He forced himself upright and wobbled through the maze of rooms to the lift. He’d do whatever he had to do, invoke whatever authority he could muster to keep her here.
He used his comm to summon a tram and ordered it to Control, double speed.
As the car sped away, he sank to the floor and leaned his head back, willing himself to stay conscious.
“We have no choice, My Laudae,” Lord Lukan said. He drummed the conference table with his fingertips in an arrhythmic pattern. “You have to return to Harmony. Today.”
Sissy’s heart soared. Home!
Then a shiver of anxiety trembled inside her. She had no home to return to, and little love for the officials who awaited her.
Lukan’s fingers continued to drum.
She wanted to grab his hand and still his agitation.
She could not impose peace on his mind or soul any more than on her own. He had to find it for himself. Perhaps she could aid him in that quest, and hope it would help her at the same time.
A deep note formed in the back of her throat. She hummed it briefly, then found the chord that led into a light and airy song about spring flowers and first love.
Lukan’s fingers found a pattern.
Sissy sighed with relief. Now she could banish chaos from her thoughts and say something coherent.
“My Lord, I need to stay here. This treaty with the CSS is essential to Harmony’s safety in the galaxy at large. You saw the star map. The war closes in on us, on Harmony, on the CSS. We have to finish the treaty negotiations before any of us leave.”
“We have no choice, My Laudae. With you here and Laud Gregor at death’s door, there is no Temple presence on the High Council. My brother Bevan . . .” He shuddered slightly. Then he lifted his chin and straightened his spine. “My brother is extremely conservative. Since the defeat of the Maril at Harmony VI, he sees no reason to continue the alliance. Left in charge of the Council with no moderating voice to guide him, he will recall us and retreat to the laws and traditions in place before your ordination.”
Sissy felt heavy and hot all over.
“Laudae Penelope, alternatives?” Sissy snapped.
The older woman looked up with bleak, red-rimmed eyes. “He’s my father . . .”
Useless. Sissy turned to Mr. Guilliam, not an ordained priest but the one person who kept Crystal Temple operating in an orderly and effi
cient manner. He had no authority, but he had knowledge.
“Mr. Guilliam, do you have a roster of all priests of Harmony? I would choose someone to take over the administrative details and report accurately to me. Someone with enough spiritual sense to advise the High Council and the heads of the other castes while Laud Gregor is detained on his mission to the outer colonies.”
“I can get a complete roster if I might have access to communications and a computer for five minutes,” he replied quietly.
“Granted,” Sissy said.
“Just a minute, My Laudae,” Lord Lukan interrupted. “Communications to and from Harmony must be strictly monitored to reduce the chance of contamination.”
“You mean to keep the populace in ignorance. I trust Mr. Guilliam’s discretion more than I trust . . . almost anyone else on this station.” No sense in alienating the head of the delegation. Technically he had authority over every Harmonite citizen on station. Sissy sat in conference with him strictly as an adviser, to keep the word and the spirit of the negotiations in line with Temple teachings.
“We have to consider the damage to our culture. A short-term convenience of an alliance cannot be made more important than . . .”
“Excuse me, Lord Lukan, but our culture is already changing. Revelation of the original Covenant Tablets demonstrated just how much our laws and traditions changed over the last seven hundred years. We need this alliance if we hope to retain anything resembling our Covenant with Harmony,” Sissy argued. She found her fists clenching and her feet arching with the need to smash and kick something.
“How long can we hold off the Maril at H5?” she continued. “How long before the Maril smash through our fleet and capture our colony, use it as a launching pad to take the others one by one?” She let her voice rise and grow harsh. “The Maril have fought this war for over two hundred years. They will not end it because we wish it.”
She drew a deep breath, fighting to maintain Harmony within when she knew the Goddess had deserted her.
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