Starbridge

by A. C. Crispin

  Mahree didn't know what to say; this was a new Yoki, one she had never seen before, implacable and hard. "Here, honey, slip this on," the Cargo Chief said, holding out a clean patient's gown.

  A few minutes later, Simon's howls abruptly ceased.

  When Rob Gable finally walked into the room, he had the

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  look of a man who has seen his most cherished dream destroyed before his eyes, but as he came toward Mahree he mustered a reassuring smile.

  "Hey ..." he said gently. "How you feeling, hero?"

  Taking her hand, he held it in both of his, his fingers sliding down to her wrist to feel her pulse.

  "I'm fine," Mahree said, trying to pull her hand away. "All I need is some rest, Rob. You don't have to--"

  "Let me be the judge of that, okay?" he said absently, his gaze intent on her face. He ran his fingers gently over her head, sliding them through her hair.

  "Hmmmmm."

  "I'm fine!" Mahree protested as he began passing a portable bioscanner quickly over her head and torso. She colored deeply as his fingers brushed against one breast, but the doctor didn't notice--he was too intent on shining a light in her eyes so he could check her pupil response. "Tell me when you see two fingers," he ordered, holding up his forefinger, then moving it toward her nose.

  "Now," Mahree said immediately. "I told you, I'm fine."

  "Bullshit. You're seeing double," he corrected her without rancor. "Are your ears ringing?"

  "No. Well ... just a little. Honest, I'm okay."

  "Breathe," he said, ignoring her, moving the scanner slowly over her chest and back again. "Deeply, now."

  Mahree took a couple of breaths, then began to cough weakly. The pain in her head made her whimper despite herself.

  "Hmmmmmm . . ." He checked her pupil response again. "You're a very lucky kid. By rights, your brain ought to be scrambled, but you've only got a touch of concussion." He gazed at her intently. "Bet you've got one hell of a headache, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "I want you to rest here in the infirmary for the next couple of days, where I can keep an eye on you." He turned away to rummage in a cabinet. "Here, this should help the pain."

  Mahree meekly downed the medication, then took a drink from the cup Yoki held out. Swallowing triggered another coughing spell.

  "You're coughing because of the decompression," Rob explained.

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  "Can I have some more water?" She sipped gratefully. "Thanks. How's my aunt?"

  "Resting comfortably. Raoul is with her. She'll be fine in a few weeks, after a couple of hours a day on the regen unit."

  "And Simon?" Mahree asked.

  Rob shook his head grimly. "Sedated. Raoul's ordered me to freeze him as soon as possible. He appears to be experiencing a ful -blown psychotic episode. He's paranoid and delusional."

  "That asshole's wrecked everything," Yoki said viciously. "Too bad he didn't shoot himself. We're going to go down in history as the people who screwed up the First Contact, and it's all Viorst's fault. Damn him to bloody hell."

  Yoki's voice was so cold and flat that Mahree knew she meant the curse literally.

  The doctor sank down onto the edge of Mahree's couch, his whole body sagging. "Take it easy, Yoki. Simon's not responsible for his actions." He ran his hands through his hair, biting his lip. "Shit. It's really my fault. I should've advised Raoul to order Simon into hibernation before we ever entered this system."

  Mahree's heart went out to him. "You couldn't have known he'd react like that, Rob."

  "I should never have taken the chance," the doctor insisted angrily. He clenched his fists impotently. "But I could've sworn he was getting better!

  Adjusting! I never dreamed he'd react the way he did!"

  "What's done is done," Yoki snapped. "Sitting here beating yourself up about it isn't very useful. Pull yourself together."

  Mahree glanced up at the older woman, shocked by her brusque tone of voice. How can she talk to him like that if she loves him? She realized suddenly that Yoki was not in love with Rob Gable, and never had been.

  "Nobody could've predicted this, Rob," she said, touching his arm comfortingly.

  He shook his head fiercely, not looking up. "That's not the point, Mahree.

  The point is that I knew Simon was xenophobic and had paranoid tendencies, and I should never have allowed him anywhere near the Simiu.

  I'm to blame for this ... for Jerry's death, too."

  Yoki sighed, and made an effort to be conciliatory. She put a hand on her lover's shoulder and gave it a slight shake. "C'mon, you're being too hard on yourself, honey. You told me yourself you haven't had any actual psychiatric counseling experience

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  outside what you did in school. You're young. You made a mistake. It's something we've all done."

  Rob jerked his head up as though he'd been slapped: "What the hell does my age have to do with it?" he demanded, furious.

  Yoki took a step back, her mouth tightening. "Sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

  "Yeah, you did," Rob said, his voice deadly quiet. "And, damn it, you're probably right. But you shouldn't have said it."

  The Cargo Chief shook her head, her eyes no longer meeting his.

  "Uhhhhh . . . listen, we're all upset, right now. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

  Rob said nothing as she walked out. Whatever was between them, Mahree thought, it's over now. She supposed she ought to feel selfishly glad, but she didn't. She just felt numb.

  After a moment, the doctor drew a deep, shuddering breath, then raised his head. "Excuse me," he muttered. "I ... uh ... I'd better . . . check on Joan."

  Mahree put a hand on his arm, holding him back. "You okay?"

  He swallowed. "Yeah. I'm ... sorry. You shouldn't have had to witness that.

  Yoki and I ... well ..." He shrugged. "The worst thing about it is that she's right. I am young, and I didn't have the experience to make a judgment in this case. I should've admitted that to myself, and to Raoul, and insisted Simon be frozen, just in case."

  Tears were glistening in his eyes as he finished, "And now, because of me, Jerry is dead. This thing with the Simiu, it's all ruined. I'll never forgive myself." He gulped, blinking, and a tear slid down his cheek. He wiped it away, embarrassed and angry. "Excuse me."

  "Rob," Mahree said gently, through her own tears, "you have to forgive yourself. You made a mistake, yes. But Jerry's death was an accident. And Yoki may not have expressed herself very tactfully, but she was right. You've got to accept what happened, you've got to get past this, or you're not going to be any good at all to us in the coming days. And we're going to need you, we're going to need you badly. Understand?"

  He nodded. The motion caused another tear to fall.

  Mahree reached over and picked up his hand. The clenched fingers slowly relaxed, then curved until they gripped hers tightly. "I thought I was so smart," he said bitterly. "I thought I could

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  cure Simon, but I couldn't, any more than I could cure so many of those people during the Plague."

  He gave a short, ugly-sounding laugh. "So much for the Boy Wonder. Talk about hubris . . ." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, still clinging to Mahree's hand like a lifeline. They sat there silently for a while, then Rob turned to look at her. "You know, that was the bravest thing I ever saw, what you did today."

  She gave him a shaky smile as she brushed her own tears away. "I didn't think about what I was doing," she said. "I believe it only counts as courage if you have time to think about it before you do it."

  He looked down at their clasped hands. "Bullshit. That Simiu owes you his life. And I owe you something, too. If you hadn't been here just now, I--" He shook his head and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know what I would have done."

  Mahree gripped his hand, hard. "Bullshit," she said, deliberately copying his own words. "You don't owe me anything. We're friends, and friends help each other out, don't they
?"

  Rob nodded, then reached over to hug her. Mahree rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes with a sigh.

  After a moment he stirred, then gently let her go. "I'd better check on Joan, and I've got to prep Simon for hibernation. I'll be right next door, so if you need me, buzz me, okay?"

  She nodded. "Okay."

  "It's been over a week," Raoul Lamont said heavily, "and they still aren't speaking to us. I'm beginning to wonder whether we shouldn't just disengage our moorings and get the hell out of here."

  Rob sighed. He'd been forced to wonder the same thing as the days crept by. Dammit, there must be something we can do. Some way to make them listen to us.

  He glanced around the circle, seeing the strained faces of Joan, Paul, and Mahree as they all sat huddled around the largest table in the galley. "Maybe Paul and I should make another attempt to talk to the guards at their airlock,"

  the doctor suggested. "If we could only speak to Rhrrrkkeet' personally--"

  "You've tried that twice, Rob," Joan Atwood pointed out. "Those guards aren't wearing voders, so you can't ask to see anyone." The First Mate's face still showed the marks of pain and stress, and her arm was in a repressor-field sling. "They've

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  cut us off, face it. We definitely ought to get out of here while the getting's good."

  Rob sighed and slumped down on the base of his spine, turning his hands palm upward in a gesture of surrender. "I don't agree, but, frankly, I'm out of suggestions as to what we should do."

  "I think we ought to wait a few more days," Paul Monteleon said. "They'll have to talk to us again, even if it's only just to tell us to beat it." In the overhead light, his face bore new lines, and his faded red hair looked even thinner. The star sapphire he wore in his left earlobe winked dully.

  "Besides," he continued, "Mahree's working on a message we can transmit to their communications center at the station, and it ought to be completed soon."

  "What does it say?" Joan demanded.

  Paul shrugged. "Ask Mahree."

  All eyes fastened on the girl, who sat twisting her hands together in her lap, obviously uncomfortable. "I ... uh ... it's complicated," she said slowly.

  "Getting the right wording is pretty delicate. It... it's kind of a cross between an explanation and an apology. I don't want to discuss it until it's finished."

  "Do you think we might be able to transmit it tomorrow?" Raoul asked.

  She shook her head, looking trapped. "I ... well, for various reasons, I won't be able to send it unless I can speak to my friend Dhurrrkk', first. Maybe they'd let me in if I went."

  Lamont shook his head again. "No. I don't think that would be wise. I think we'll just have to wait until they make the next move." He narrowed his eyes as he took in her dark-shadowed eyes, her fined-down features. "You don't look well, cherie." He turned to Rob. "You sure she's recovered?"

  The doctor nodded. "Physically, at least. I released her from the infirmary day before yesterday, so she could attend Jerry's memorial service. She's under orders to take it easy for a while," he added, then looked around the table at his comrades. "Truth to tell, none of us is looking real perky."

  Raoul shrugged. "Yeah. Well, I think we should--"

  "Captain!" Azam Quitubi interrupted from the door of the galley. "The First Ambassador is in our airlock, requesting to be allowed to speak to you."

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  Raoul's bushy eyebrows rose nearly to his receding hairline. "She is? Well, bring her to the galley immediately!"

  Moments later, the Simiu official entered, attended by two other aliens Rob thought he recognized. Raoul hastily knelt so that he was eye-to-eye with the First Ambassador, then made the greeting gesture, as did all the other humans present. "Honored Rhrrrkkeet'," the Captain said, and paused, obviously at a loss.

  Slowly, reluctantly, it seemed to Rob, the Simiu contingent returned the greeting. It was a moment before Rhrrrkkeet' spoke. "Honored CaptainLamont," the First Ambassador began. "It is unfortunate that we must now converse upon distasteful topics, but there is no remedy for it."

  "I understand," Raoul said. "I want you to know that we deeply regret what happened."

  The Simiu envoy nodded. "We also regret. But 'regret' is useless unless it provides incentive to reparation and the restoration of honor. Both our peoples have been dishonored by the ill-considered actions of our subordinates."

  "Uh, yes," Raoul agreed. "How is Honored Khrekk' doing?"

  The F.A. looked distinctly uncomfortable. "There is no honor to attach to Khrekk's name until suitable reparations can be decided upon and enacted."

  "You mean, Khrekk' has dishonored himself?" Raoul asked. "Then he is alive?"

  Rhrrrkkeet' nodded. "Naturally, he has dishonored himself! The aggression display and property damage performed by Khrekk' was utterly forbidden--an act of utmost thoughtlessness. As to his physical body, it is completely recovered from the effects of your"--she glanced away and seemed almost ready to gag-- "your . . . weapon."

  Raoul glanced over at Rob, who was closest to him. He turned off his voder.

  "What now?" he whispered.

  "Leave the subject of Khrekk' alone. It's obviously a sore spot," Rob said.

  "We need to find out what these 'reparations' are that she mentioned."

  "How should I phrase that?"

  The doctor thought for a moment. "Say that you hope that both our peoples may regain our mutual honor, so we may continue to grow in friendship for each other."

  Raoul turned his voder back on and voiced the suggested sentiments. As he spoke, Rob thought he detected a gleam of

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  satisfaction growing in the F.A.'s eyes. The Simiu leader nodded enthusiastically. "Then you will be willing to work with us to erase these stains on our mutual honor?"

  "Yes," said Raoul, without hesitation.

  Rhrrrkkeet's crest stood straight up. "I knew we could depend upon your honor! Do you prefer to select champions, or will those whose honor must be cleansed engage for themselves? I must tell you that Khrekk' aspires to personally restore the honor of his clan and sept, as well as his own, so he requested me to urge against the choosing of honor-vessels."

  Raoul blinked as the torrent of words raced across his screen. "Uh, oh ..." he whispered to the doctor, "Does it sound to you like she's talking about what I think she's talking about? Trial by combat, or something?"

  Rob's heart sank. "It certainly sounds like it."

  Frowning, Raoul said, "Please explain to me the method by which you are proposing this honor-cleansing, Honored Rhrrrkkeet'."

  The Simiu said slowly, "Despite the serious nature of this trespass, despite the fact that a ... weapon . . . was employed, I do not feel honor will be best served by a death-meeting. I believe instead that a strength-meeting will suffice, ending at first blooding. We will arrange an Arena-of-Honor here, aboard the station, since the quarantine our health officials have decreed for your people still holds."

  Lamont's glance at the doctor was bleak. "If I understand you," he began,

  "you are saying that the one among your people that Simon Viorst injured--

  Khrekk'--wishes to engage in physical combat with one of my people, in order to regain his honor. Is that stating it correctly?"

  "Yes, that is correct. Khrekk' wishes most to engage SimonViorst, so he will have the greatest chance to regain his honor."

  "Well, in the first place, we do not settle our problems by combat, Honored Rhrrrkkeet'," Raoul said. "And in the second, Simon Viorst is a sick man. He was not responsible for his actions that day."

  The First Ambassador's crest flattened. "He was not injured. I saw him, and there was no mark upon him!" Her nostrils flared with indignation. "How can you say that he was not responsible? Did he not hold the dishonorable instrument in his hand? Did he not discharge it at my people?"

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  Raoul turned off his voder. "She's really pissed," he murmured. "Sounds like we've broken one of t
heir most sacred taboos by simply having guns on our persons."

  I warned you about that, Rob thought, but he held his tongue, remembering that Raoul hadn't voiced a single word of blame to him, for failing to correctly evaluate Simon's mental condition. He spoke up. "Honored Rhrrrkkeet', may I speak?"

  She inclined her head, graciously. "Do so, Honored Healer- Gable."

  "In the first place, I would like to explain that Simon Viorst's illness is not a sickness of the body, it is an illness of the mind. Such illnesses make the victim not responsible for his or her own actions. They are fully as debilitating as any physical wounding or sickness."

  Rhrrrkkeet' considered his words. "We have seen cases of such nonrationality before, in our own people," she said, finally, "but only when the center-of-thinking is physically damaged. I have never heard of the sort of intangible illness you speak of. It must be peculiar to your people." She paused. "Is it caused by a microbial agent?"

  "We still don't know everything about the causes of mental illness," Rob temporized, "but if you are worrying about whether such diseases are communicable, and might possibly infect your people, the answer to that is

  'no.' "

  "I see. Well, then, an honor-vessel will have to be chosen for the combat."

  "Absolutely not," Raoul said. "My people don't settle problems in that manner."

  Her eyes flashed with anger. "Then how do you settle them, Honored CaptainLamont?"

  "We apologize. We say we're sorry. In this case, Simon is incapable of speaking for himself, so we are speaking for him."

  "Words!" she said, her muzzle wrinkling with scorn. "Only words? What reparation can they make?"

  "One of my people is dead," Raoul said tightly. "I am not risking another just to appease your concept of honor! Surely you must be able to see that we are not your physical equals! None of my people could hope to match yours in physical combat--not unless he or she were armed."

  She drew herself up. "Are you speaking of that. . . weapon? A thing such as the one that wounded Khrekk'?" She continued

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  without waiting for Lamont's answer. "Perhaps honor is served differently on your world. But we cannot countenance the use of a weapon! Such a transgression would stain our Arena forever!"