by S. L. Viehl
“I’ve never met a Terran female before,” a small, ornithic man chirped. His throat was inflamed from his unsuccessful efforts to capture a consort. I prescribed a soothing syrup and less singing to the ladies of his species. He gave a strained warble and tried to put a wing around my shoulders. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in cross-species mating?” Thanks, I replied, but no thanks.
Others weren’t exactly enchanted.
“Are you immature?” One towering, heavily bosomed matron with postpartum cramps demanded to know.
“Not that I’m aware of,” I said, my lips quirking as I added, “I’m sure I can be patronizing at times.”
She peered at me suspiciously. Several of her five chins quaked when she said, “My newest litter’s runt is twice your size!”
Two of my potential patients took one look at me, made an abrupt turn, and walked out. I signaled the charge nurse each time, who informed me the patients had requested to see another physician. A non-Terran physician, was the implication.
Thanks to men like my father, there were going to be instant prejudices against me. Maybe they were afraid I was going to spit on the exam floor in traditional Terran fashion.
“That takes care of the last chart,” I told the charge nurse thirteen hours later. I was bone-tired, itching from a mishap with a dermal applicator, and convinced I’d made the stupidest decision of my life. “Any objections if I take the rest of the day off?”
“You’re to report to HQ for orientation tomorrow, then work Beta Shift here,” the central display audio snapped back at me. Then, on a somewhat softer note, T’Nliqinara added, “Go get some sleep, Doctor.”
Dr. Rogan intercepted me just before I reached the main entrance. He smiled hatefully, while his skunklike odor reached new levels of offensiveness. I breathed through my mouth to keep from retching on his footgear.
“Shift over? Did you find you need anything now?” Sneering spoiled the phony concern.
I shrugged. A list came to mind: an explanation for my father’s activities, a hot water bath, three days of sleep, a gallon of hot fudge poured over a vat of vanilla ice cream. I said none of those things. I suspected Phorap Rogan had absolutely no sense of humor.
There was still a lot medical science couldn’t cure.
“I can handle it, Doctor.”
“Can you?”
I nodded, too tired to continue the useless verbal spar-ring, and despite my efforts, about to vomit from the stink.
“But thanks for asking,” I said as I brushed past him.
Outside the main entrance, I strolled past a long line of unoccupied glidecars and followed a path toward the Housing Transport I’d spied while with Dr. Mayer. Until I requisitioned my own personal conveyance, it was public transport for me.
I climbed on board the glidebus and stood in the crowded aisle as the big vehicle started moving. My new world beckoned to me as it swept past. Come on, Cherijo, it isn’t that bad, it said. The green stillness was enticing, and I looked forward to off-duty hours, when I could explore. The horizon began to darken, and stars appeared above the horizon to the east of the colony perimeter. The darkening green parted as an erratic stream of glowing moons caught the last rays of the suns and divided the sky. Wow. My eyes widened at the sheer radiance of the celestial show. Compared to this, Terran night skies were downright barren.
“Maybe I won’t miss Terra, after all,” I murmured to myself.
I disembarked at housing with a tide of passengers, and watched as they departed, paired off or in larger groups. Everybody knew everybody—except me. A few curious glances came my way, but no one approached. I didn’t make any overtures, either. In time, I promised myself, I would get to know them.
Right now I was ready to drop with exhaustion.
Sixteen hours after I’d stepped foot on K-2 soil for the first time, I crawled onto my sleeping platform. I was in no mood to unpack, eat, or even appreciate the comfort of the biomalleable mattress as it adjusted under my weight. Alone at last in the darkness of my new quarters, I pressed the heels of both hands over my burning, swollen eyelids.
“Congratulations, Dr. Grey Veil,” I said. “A memorable beginning. You dimwit.”
The fiery sting of my eyes wasn’t due to tears, or lack of them. The cause was from a ridiculous accident with the last patient I’d treated that day. How I managed to turn a dermal applicator backward and spray myself with topical anesthetic was still a mystery. There was no permanent damage. Just a lingering irritation to remind me of what had been, I had to face it, a depressing ordeal.
I was beginning to enjoy torturing myself. I couldn’t have made a worse start if I’d tried. Laying there in the dark, I mentally relived every single miserable incident, highlighted by Mayer’s belligerence, Rogan’s hostility, and Dloh’s warning about both of them.
“Idiot,” I muttered. Whether I was referring to myself, or Phorap Rogan at that moment was debatable. No doubt a similar term could be used by the FreeClinic staff to describe me.
I accepted my humble status as a new arrival, and I could swallow my badly battered pride until I gained some experience; everyone had to start somewhere. What troubled me the most were the conflicts with my supervisor and colleague. I’d never handled that kind of naked animosity before, except sometimes from—
“Jenner.”
I rolled off the bed as soon as I spied his carrier. The latch was uncoupled, the small door flung open. Empty. Damn, damn. I kept swearing under my breath as I searched my quarters.
“Jenner? I’m here now. Come out, pal.”
Not a sound in reply, no sign of him at all. Where could he be? As I hunted through my rooms, tears finally stung my reddened eyes at this last confirmation of my inadequacy.
Nice going, Cherijo, I thought. Run away from home, screw up first day on the job, now you lost the cat.
The chime of my door panel rang, interrupting my search, and I reluctantly went to answer it. When the door slid open, I saw the lustrous form of a slim, silvery being holding one equally silvery, disgruntled feline.
“Yours?” I was asked. I was too relieved to do more than nod. I held out my arms, and Jenner leapt gracefully into them. He butted urgently against my fingers while I stroked his head.
“Jenner.” I buried my face in his fur. “Oh, thank God. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“All the doors are keyed to release domesticates upon any audible signal, unless you modify the setting.” The husky voice was pleasant and even. “I found him wandering around the corridors.”
“Thank you so much.”
“I tried to communicate, but I was unsuccessful. I tracked his scent path to this dwelling.”
“Jenner is just a cat. I mean, he’s nonverbal.”
“He was distressed, I believe, from the sounds he was making.”
“Suns.” I hugged him closer, feeling even worse. “I just arrived today, and reported immediately to work. I forgot all about him.”
“I understand.” This acknowledgment was rich with irony, and drew my attention from my precious pet.
Jenner’s rescuer was slightly taller than me, but much leaner. I couldn’t tell if it was female or male—or androgynous, as some alien races are. The thin torso, limbs, and bullet-shaped skull were all covered with a short, platinum pelt. Delicate, pointed ears flickered whenever I spoke. It wore an intriguing series of folded strips of metallic fabric, attached to a filigree necklace studded with small multicolored gems. Two mild, colorless eyes studied me in turn.
“I’m Alunthri,” it said.
“Is that your name, species, or planet of origin?”
“It is my name. You’re from Terra?”
“Yes. Dr. Cherijo Grey Veil.” Suddenly conscious of my impolite behavior, I stepped back. “Won’t you come in, please?”
“Perhaps another time.” Alunthri nodded toward Jenner. “Your companion needs your attention at present. Welcome to the colony.”
“Thank you. Are we neigh
bors?” Alunthri’s tapered head tilted to one side, while the small ears flared. Something wasn’t translating. “Your quarters,” I said. “Are they close by?”
“My owner’s quarters are located in a parallel wing.”
“Your owner?” Now I was confused.
“I, too, am a companion. Like your Jenner.”
All at once I realized the necklace Alunthri wore was a collar, bearing standard animal inoculant and license chips.
Alunthri was a pet. A giant, talking, alien kitty cat.
“Well, I appreciate you finding him.” I was very uncomfortable. It was understandable. I was used to speaking to a cat, not getting answers back from one.
“You are welcome. Please remember to adjust your panel settings.” Alunthri stepped back and twitched its nearly invisible whiskers. “Fare you well.”
Jenner shuddered in my arms as the door slid shut, and I rubbed my face once more against his soft coat.
“Whew! That was very weird.” I felt a renewed sense of guilt. “Pal, you’ve got to be hungry.”
The mention of Jenner’s favorite subject made him leap from my arms and prowl restlessly around my feet. Once I’d arranged a feast for him, I reprogrammed the door controls as Alunthri had advised.
Drained of the last of my energy stores, I sank down on the bed and watched my hungry cat devour his food. I’ll only lay my head down for a moment, was my last thought.
It was a shrill sound from my display panel that finally woke me up. I staggered over to the console. The interval indicator told me I’d slept almost seven hours straight. I tapped the response key.
“Incoming message from HQ Administration.”
“This is Dr. Grey Veil,” I said after a huge yawn.
The metallic features of a comdrone appeared on the vid. “Please report to the Administration Building in two hours for arrival orientation.”
“Confirmed,” I replied, reaching for the disconnect key.
But the drone wasn’t through yet. “One message remaining.”
Uh-oh. “Inquiry—point of origin?”
“Direct interstellar relay. Sol Quadrant.”
From my homeworld system. Well, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who was sending it.
My father, Joseph Grey Veil, was revered for his pioneering work in Terran transplant technology. One of his numerous contributions to mankind had been to make major organ transplants available to anyone who needed them. Anyone, regardless of credit status or social ranking. Dad had devised a method of cloning the patient’s own diseased organ, destroying invasive cells during the process, thus creating a custom-designed, healthy replacement. Millions of people owed him their lives.
“My philosophy has always been to restore genetic integrity,” Dad said once when addressing a Medtech graduation. He was invited to all of them, every year. “Cleanse the cells of aberrant or mutant DNA, and you can re-create the organ as it was meant to be.”
It was unfortunate that Dad felt the same way about people as he did mutant DNA. A decade before I was born, he and a large number of his colleagues had instigated the Genetic Exclusivity Act. The legislation, unanimously supported by the World Government, had effectively barred all alien immigrants from settling on our world.
They should have just hung a big sign in orbit above Terra: Aliens, Go Home.
Dad’s speech before the Unified National Assembly was considered one of the most powerful ever made. His opening statement had said it all: “The influx of alien species to Terra must be seen as a direct threat to the future genetic integrity of the human race.”
Steadfast, compelling, bigoted to the toenails. That was my dad.
Despite the lure of politics, it was the only time Joseph Grey Veil ever bothered to involve himself in Terra’s complex system of government. His place in history would be defined by what he accomplished as a scientist and surgeon, not as a public figure.
In the ensuing years, my father changed the way Terran internal medicine was practiced forever. Oncologists, surgeons, and hematologists worshiped him.
I didn’t. I never had. Legends made lousy fathers.
Now it was time to deal with the unpleasantries. I tapped the panel and watched as the familiar face coalesced onto my screen.
Dad could have been considered attractive, in a remote sense. Silvered-black hair. Austere features. Short in stature, like me. A mild obsession with exercising, which had built up his physique. Women found him interesting, until he opened his mouth. I stopped wondering why he had to pay someone to be my mother a long time ago. To Dad, you were either a colleague or a potential patient. That’s all.
When he was severely agitated, he tended to curl his upper lip a little. At that precise moment, he looked like he was sneering at me.
“Daughter,” he said with a trace of outrage and reproach coloring his voice, “I have been attempting to contact you for more than ten Terran stanhours.” And he was none too pleased about being put on the equivalent of interstellar hold, I saw that right away. “I cannot fathom this reckless decision to transfer without my consent.”
“Hi, Dad. I’m fine. How are you?”
“I am currently revising my estimation of your maturity level,” he said. The scornful upper lip practically folded over on itself.
“I’m sorry I left without informing you of my plans.”
“Your apology is accepted.” Uh-huh, I thought. Right. About as much as my escape. “The journey was uneventful?”
“Of course. Interstellar travel is quite safe now.”
“Yes, regular transport vessels are.” He abandoned the polite line of inquiry at once. “You, however, were not booked on any of them.”
“I obtained passage on an independent starshuttle.”
“The name of this independent vessel . . . ?”
“If you really want to know, Dad, you’ll find out.” I wasn’t going to help him bar Dhreen from Terra. “Don’t take your anger out on an innocent bystander.”
“I did not say I was angry, daughter.”
“Dad, you look like you’re ready to detonate.”
My observation seemed to force him to forego whatever tactful entreaties he had left to make. “Cherijo, you will return to Terra immediately.”
Here was the fun part. For the first time in my life, I was going to stand up to Joseph Grey Veil: Tyrant. Genius. Demi-god of Terran medicine. It really wasn’t that hard. After all, he was fourteen light-years away. “No, Dad.”
He didn’t like that. At all. “What did you say to me?”
“You heard me. I’m staying.”
The dark blue eyes became slits. “I will have you brought back.”
“I’m over the age for consent to transfer, Dad. You can’t.” This was beginning to feel pretty good, if I ignored the fact my stomach was turning into a calcified lump.
“You were not trained in the finest medical institution on Terra to waste your talents on some anonymous multispecies border colony.”
My father carried around about five thousand years of nearly undiluted Native American DNA in his cells, one reason for his arrogance. I ought to have known—I was capable of the same behavior, on occasion.
“How I choose to practice medicine is my decision, Dad.”
“Your decision?” The Great Man hissed. Actually hissed. “Who brought you into existence? Who assured you had the finest education? Who—”
“You chose my career for me. You decided that I would become a surgeon. You decided how I should practice. You set up my practice.” You, you, you.
“A father does no less for his only child,” Dad said, regaining a margin of stoic dignity.
“You did a lot more than that. Take my patients, for example. You might have mentioned that you personally examined every single case before I saw them.”
“Are you implying—”
I didn’t have to fake the sigh. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“It is true that I prescreened your case
s.” He conceded that much, taking the “it was for your own good” approach. “Junior practitioners benefit from close guidance.”
“Junior practitioners,” I echoed. “Hello? Dad? I’ve been a surgeon for more than seven years now.”
“That is no reason to resent my supervision, Cherijo. I have five times your experience.”
In his opinion he was Dr. God, and I wasn’t worthy to kiss his footgear. Dad was beginning to sound very much like Phorap Rogan.
“Please.” I squeezed my eyes shut, shoving back the need to lash out. Not now. “Spare me the excuses.”
“When you return, I will allow you—”
“You aren’t listening. You aren’t in charge of me any more. I’m an adult, and I’ll do exactly as I please.”
“On an alien world, in a primitive settlement? I cannot begin to imagine the hazards, the possibilities for disease. It cannot compare to Terra in the slightest degree.”
“For your information, Kevarzangia Two’s colony is not a collection of scavenged plasbrick huts.” Well, mostly, I guessed. “The facility is quite . . . innovative.”
“A FreeClinic!” He spat the word out. “I cannot believe you wish to exchange a prestigious surgical position to be a—a colonial alien practitioner!”
“Yeah, well, surprise, surprise.”
He practically choked on his next words. “It is an insult to my name.”
“No, Dad, it’s what I want to do,” I said. I wouldn’t have called my father a snob, or a fanatic; it would have insulted those groups. I was sure someone would eventually invent a worse term. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
My father considered this for a long moment. Then he attacked. “Consider the patients. You have no experience with nonhuman races.” You don’t know what you’re doing, and you’re going to kill someone in the process.
“I’ll continue my education,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Your assignment could be revoked,” my father said. Would he try to use his influence to get me back? I wouldn’t put it past him. “New colonies cannot devote more than a rudimentary effort to retrain their physicians.”
