Stardoc

by S. L. Viehl

  “So I’ll get fired.” Exasperation was turning into bravado. “Maybe I’ll open a restaurant.”

  I must have rattled him with that, he appeared horrified. “That is absolutely unacceptable, Cherijo!”

  Was that my Father, shouting? “Dad.” I was tired, and getting depressed. “I appreciate your concern. I know how much you—love me.” Another lie. I knew exactly how he felt about me, and love wasn’t involved.

  “You will not listen to reason,” my father said as he inspected me one last time.

  I couldn’t stop myself from saying what I did next. “I’m sorry, Dad.” He was already turning away from the screen. “Bye, Dad.” The signal terminated.

  It hadn’t been too terrible. Having open-heart surgery minus anesthetic would have hurt more. Maybe. I stood under the heated port of the cleanser unit for a long time before I hauled myself out and got dressed. I trudged over to my food station.

  “Breakfast.” My selection of bread, tea, an omelet, and fruit preserves appeared palatable. The only problem was my appetite, which my conversation with Dad had killed. He usually had that effect on me. So did the prospect of my next shift at the FreeClinic.

  “What if I’m wrong?” I asked.

  It wasn’t going to be difficult to adapt to this world, the job, my colleagues, and the patients. It was going to be damn near impossible. On Terra I’d been at the top of my field. Here I’d have to work hard just to avoid malpractice.

  I could resign from my contract. There was always an open-return clause, in case someone changed their mind. My father could never be sure I’d discovered his secret, especially if I destroyed the evidence.

  My food cooled, then congealed. Jenner appeared and sniffed at the rim of my tray, then regarded me patiently. My cat loves me, I told myself. Even if it’s only for my food.

  “By all means.” I indicated the plate, even though I knew he’d gorged himself last night. “Help yourself.” He delicately devoured the meal, then curled in my lap and allowed me to stroke him absently with my palms.

  “Dad called,” I told him, and his wide blue eyes blinked warily. “He wants us to come home.” It sounded almost beguiling as I said it aloud. Home.

  My cat yawned, leapt from my lap, and crept under the sofa for a nap. Obviously the suspense wasn’t killing him. I glanced at the display, then jumped to my feet.

  “No! I don’t believe it!”

  I was about to be late for arrival orientation.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Taboos, Duty, Chickens

  I reached HQ Administration just in time to make an extremely late entrance into the orientation auditorium. My arrival was observed by every one of the three hundred new transfers, who watched as I walked through the doors.

  The wrong doors.

  I discovered I was standing behind the presentation platform, directly in front of the audience. I did what anyone would do: pretended I was invisible, and hurried around the podium to find an empty seat.

  The speaker of the moment, a willowy Terran woman, paused in mid-sentence, then waited patiently until I dropped into a space in the front row. She smoothly continued her speech while I tried to tell myself my face wasn’t as red as it felt.

  “The Colonial Militia will take into account your newly arrived status when enforcing minor ordinances, but all inhabitants are required to adhere to the Colonial Charter without exception.”

  I wondered why the huge room was so quiet. There were additional administrators positioned at satellite points around the speaker, translating her speech in different nonverbal forms. Yet the only sound I heard was the blond woman’s voice. Why wasn’t anyone using their wristcoms?

  “My empathic sense tells me you’re all eager to get started with your group orientation.” She could read minds? That was a rare ability among Terrans. “Please remember, our origins may be different, but as a community we can achieve success.” Her bright gaze swept the room. “The key is not in our diversity, but in our united strength. Thank you for your attention.”

  As she stepped down from the platform, I watched her. Had to admire the way she had delivered her remarks. Firm but cordial. The lady knew how to talk.

  More administrators descended from the sidelines, separating the audience into smaller groups they subsequently escorted from the meeting. The only other Terran I saw present was the blondhaired speaker. She wove a graceful, steady path toward me through the thinning crowd. My interest was met by a direct smile.

  “Dr. Grey Veil, welcome to Kevarzangia Two. I’m Administrator Hansen.” Up close, I saw she was my senior by perhaps twenty years. Big deal, she looked great. Careful grooming gave her an unshakable sophisticated air. Hair, makeup, fingernails, all perfect. The amber tunic she wore was superbly tailored. My own hastily donned garments, still creased from packing, looked grubby by comparison.

  “Sorry I’m late, Administrator,” I said as I rose to my feet. “I missed the general transport, and had to walk over from housing.” Actually, I’d sprinted most of the way, but she didn’t need to read my mind to figure that out.

  “Please, call me Ana. Our first priority will be to requisition a glidecar for you, after the orientation.” She frowned at my damp brow. “Unless you’d prefer the exercise.”

  “No, thank you. And it’s Cherijo.” I enjoyed physical exertion, but not that much. “Where do I report from here?”

  “I’ll be your escort, and review the entire program with you,” Ana said. “I pulled rank on my assistant when I saw you were listed for this session.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I was originally assigned as liaison for a large group of Rilken construction workers.” She smoothed a long-fingered hand over her hair, then her voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. “They are half a meter tall, have viscous skins, and invariably try to look up my skirt.”

  Imagining this refined woman surrounded by a hoard of small, over-inquisitive aliens made me laugh. She chuckled, too. Maybe under all that exquisite poise was someone I could relate to, after all.

  One of the other administrators passed us, followed by a queue of gangly creatures draped in heavy sheets of thermal insulation. The new arrivals ogled us with arching, curious eye stems. I could imagine what they were thinking. Hey, everybody, look—a couple of Terrans! Hideous little things, aren’t they? Be careful not to get too close—they have a tendency to spit.

  An odd smile curved Ana’s lips before she resumed her formal expression. “Here.” She held out her hand. Sitting on her palm was a tiny, flesh-colored lump. “You’ll need to wear this tympanic insert at all times outside your personal quarters.”

  “What’s it for?” I asked as I retrieved it. Tympanic meant I had to stick it in my ear. I wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect.

  “Your TI translates all languages on record with our database, and provides the means to trace you to any location on the planet.”

  “Quite an improvement over the wristcom.” I admired the small device before inserting it. No wonder the auditorium had been so quiet. It fit comfortably, and in a moment I wasn’t aware of it at all. “Why don’t we have these on Terra?”

  “No demand.” A moment of mutual silence acknowledged the absurdity of that fact. “So tell me, how was your first day on K-2?”

  Awful. Depressing. Exhaustive. “Fine,” I told her instead.

  Ana’s cheeks dimpled. “Your thoughts aren’t exactly what I’d call ‘fine.’ ”

  I supplied a shrug. “It was . . . difficult.”

  “It can be. My first day on planet was just short of a disaster, too.” Aware we were drawing even more attention, Ana added, “Let’s continue this in my office. Follow me, please.”

  As we walked through the building, I answered her polite inquiries about my trip, refraining from making any unfavorable comments about the previous day. That kept me busy blocking thoughts about, oh, nearly every experience I’d had since walking down the docking ramp from the Bestshot. Being around an empath
was a pain. In a few minutes we arrived in the central administrative unit.

  Ana’s office was large and attractively furnished. Antique chairs and side tables were an inviting note, especially the genuine fabric upholstery. The overall feeling was warmth and comfort. She had a small collection of ancient statuettes from our homeworld. The displayed artifacts reminded me of my father’s collection of Navajo pottery. He was the official shaman for the Native Nations of North America. One of a zillion honorary positions he held. It got him a lot of pottery for nothing.

  “They’re from Hopi, Anasazi, and other tribal civilizations,” Ana said. “I was born and raised in Colorado, but I traveled all over the old Southwest region to acquire them.”

  I admired a small sculptured version of Kokopelli, then gestured around me. “You have a gift for design.”

  “This is my home away from housing.” She smiled with satisfied pride. “I contracted shipment of every single item I possessed before I transferred.” Her eyes were expressive as she added, “Pmoc Quadrant is not known for its conveniences.”

  “I wish I’d thought of that,” I said, recalling the regulation stanissue furnishing my own quarters. Not that I could have smuggled more of my own stuff out of Dad’s house without alerting the drone staff.

  “Please, make yourself comfortable.” I sank into a cozy, beige armchair as Ana went around her desk. She pressed a button on her central display and requested coffee, glancing at me for my preference.

  “Tea, if you have it,” I said. I’d never developed a taste for the bitter brew so many Terrans loved. She added that to her order, then sat back. Her survey was calm and unhurried.

  “Since you skipped this session yesterday, I gather you’ve found the FreeClinic and living quarters.” Ana waited as a slim humanoid subordinate entered and served a tray of steaming beverages to us. “Thank you, Negilst.”

  “Herbal?” I asked, and Ana nodded. I savored the flavors of cinnamon and rose hip tea while the administrator sipped her dark brew. How had she managed to get homeworld provisions?

  “I bartered for a kilo of real Columbian beans, among other Terran delights,” she said answering my unspoken question. “It was worth a month’s supply of floral concentrate.”

  “Perfume for coffee.” I considered this absently.

  “The Rilkens don’t need any more stimuli than I already give them,” she said, her lips curving slyly. “They aren’t among those who consider Terrans hideous, and likely to spit.”

  Served me right, I thought, and chuckled. “Touché.” I set down my server and asked the most obvious question. “How did you end up here—”

  “—so far from Terra?” Ana finished for me. She reached across her desk and turned around a small photoscan, which showed her in a wedding tunic standing next to her husband. He was smiling and handsome, and not entirely human. “My mate, Elars, was refused permanent resident status.”

  There was a shade of old pain in her voice as she added, “He was killed ten years ago, during a transport accident at the colony where we lived, on Trunock.” She smiled sadly. “After Elars died, I couldn’t imagine returning to Terra, and Trunock held too many memories. So here I am.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” Damn my father.

  “It was a long time ago.” With both hands she lifted a bulging disc holder and passed it over the desk to me. “On to happier subjects. Here’s all the hard data you’ll need to familiarize yourself with as quickly as possible. Sociopolitical structures, historical overview, community service criteria, the lot.”

  “You did say happier?”

  She grimaced at my gentle quip. “I know, but it’s mandatory for new arrivals. Please pay specific attention to the Charter outline; it’s a priority as you can’t claim ignorance of Colonial law after one-fifth revolution. Dull and boring, I’m told, but in your line of work you’re probably used to that sort of data.”

  I sighed. “We doctors live for it.”

  “Splendid. Now, let’s address your status.” She inserted a disc into her desk terminal. “You’re contracted as a medical physician to the colony, assigned to the FreeClinic Trauma Center.” Ana studied the display for a few moments. “You have quite an impressive background, Doctor.”

  “Cherijo. If you call me Doctor, I have to make a chart notation.”

  “Of course.” She skimmed through my transcripts. “Test scores and educational records consistently off the scale. Graduated first in all your classes. A distinguished practice on the homeworld. Honors and awards in educational and professional areas.” Her curious gaze made me squirm a little. “You’re quite the prodigy.”

  “I was lucky, my father is also a physician.” My hands were clenched, and I forced them to relax as I kept my thoughts innocuous. “His guidance was responsible for most of my achievements.” If you could call what he’d done to me guidance.

  She frowned. “I see you’re the only new transfer we’ve been able to procure for the FreeClinic in this position for over two revolutions. I had no idea staffing was so low.” She gave me an apologetic glance. “I’m afraid you’re the first physician I’ve ever in-processed. I’ll have to follow up on this.” She made a note on a data pad.

  “Two years?” I said, then muttered, “No wonder there’s no line at Arrivals.”

  “This can’t be right.” She stared at the screen. “According to my data, Drs. Mayer, Rogan, Dloh, Crhm, and mu Cheft constitute the entire resident physician staff at this time.”

  “Who’s staffing your clinical positions?”

  She checked. “Nurse practitioners, interns, and one Omorr healer who takes care of the more . . . superstitious patients.”

  I shook my head. It couldn’t even be called a skeleton crew.

  “What’s the current population level?” I was afraid to hear the answer.

  Ana accessed her data base again. “As of today—74,014.”

  A silent indicator flashed on her desk console, and she excused herself for a moment. While she spoke to her caller, I worked it out. It was a staggering figure. I put down my tea and waited until she was finished with her call.

  “You know what this means if you have any sort of serious emergency. Crisis allotment would be more than twelve thousand per doctor.” I didn’t know whether to be outraged, terrified, or try to signal Dhreen to get me the hell off this planet. “Ana, if there was an epidemic—”

  “We’d be helpless, I know.” She deactivated her terminal and proceeded briskly. “I’ll make a point of bringing this to the attention of the Council. Until we procure more physicians, we’ll manage.” She popped the disc out, and inserted another. “I’ve also given you an annual projection for your schedule. Except for today, you’re on Alpha shift this week.”

  “Days?”

  “Yes. Beta is mids, Cappa swings. You’ll be given time off in direct relation to patient caseload. Probably four on, one off, but I can’t promise you’ll always get your off days. Insufficient staffing makes schedules subject to change.”

  “I understand.” I really couldn’t demand more. “You said you’ll see about personal transport for me. Who do I see if I need anything else?”

  “Each housing facility has a resource manager—you’ll be meeting yours today, when we stop by your building. All requests are customarily handled by them. There is the Bartermen Association, as well.”

  “I’ve heard these Bartermen mentioned. Who are they?”

  “Many races prefer barter to monetary systems. A group of beings formed an organization to meet this need.” A faint expression of distaste touched her features. “The organization isn’t officially sanctioned, but the Militia have enough to do without chasing down unauthorized traders.” Ana gazed at her coffee, now wistful. “To think, I’ll have to sacrifice another liter of scent for my addiction to this. Ah, well. Now, there are other matters to discuss.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’ve told me all the good news first?” I asked.

  “You mu
st be empathic yourself, Cherijo. There are, of course, issues I must address regarding personal conduct, community service, and the much-talked about and ever-popular subject of contractual compensation.”

  “Taboos, duty, and income,” I said.

  “Exactly. First item: All colonists’ personal conduct is subject to chartered ordinance including specific guidelines against cross-cultural transgressions.”

  Live and let live, I thought to myself.

  “You’ve transferred to a colony inhabited by beings from many different worlds. As with any community, neighbors and coworkers often find themselves at cross-purposes. An Irdoffa security officer, for example, may want to praise his six thousand spiritual essences at the top of his lungs.”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  “Not if it happens in the adjacent quarters to yours, say, in the middle of your rest interval. If he refuses to stop, you can’t go over and get into a physical altercation with him.”

  “I just sit there and listen to all six thousand praises?” I was skeptical. Rest intervals were scarce enough in my line of work. I was personally in favor of Live and Let Sleep.

  “No. You file an immediate grievance with your assigned administrative officer—that’s me, by the way. No matter what time of occurrence, day or night. I then personally contact the Irdoffan and charge him to cease and desist.”

  “If he doesn’t?”

  “I contact the Militia, and have him removed and charged with a Charter violation.”

  There’s always the accidental collision with a syrinpress full of sedatives, too, I thought. “What if he does agree to stop?”

  “I direct that in the future he practice his praising in one of the soundproof rooms at the Cultural Center.”

  “Good system,” I said, “but I bet it doesn’t work all the time.”

  “No, it doesn’t. We then go to the Council, and file a formal protest. Should their ruling not be heeded—and this has only occurred twice during my time here—the transgressor’s permanent residence status is revoked. Compulsory escort offplanet, etc.”