by G. R. Lyons
* * *
THAT NIGHT, they were halfway home when Graeden came to a stop in the middle of the street.
“What's up, Grae?” Jase asked.
“Just dawned on me,” he said, “I'm not sure if I'm supposed to stay here or go live with her now.”
“I vote you go live with her,” Jase replied quickly, raising his hand. “What? Dude, no offense, you're my oldest friend and all, but there's no way I'm listening to you get laid every night.”
Leni groaned.
“In that case, I second Jase,” Quinn muttered, gesturing at Jase and Leni. “Listening to these two that night was awful. Damned thin walls in that apartment.”
They all shared a chuckle and resumed walking.
“Do you think Zevic will have a heart attack once he learns there's only three of us living here now?” Jase asked as they reached their front door.
Quinn sighed whimsically. “One can only hope.”
Graeden went to his room, packed his suitcases, bid his friends goodnight, and walked over to Zhadeyn's apartment. He let himself in and set his bags down by the door, but saw no signs of anyone there until he heard water running.
“Zhadeyn?” he called, tightening his jacket around himself as he wandered down the hallway.
All the rooms were empty until he reached the master bedroom and found the washroom door closed. He slowly opened the door and peeked inside.
“Zhadeyn?”
From behind the shower curtain, Graeden heard a yelp and something hitting the bottom of the tub.
“Coming!” she said.
“Slow down, take your time,” Graeden said, peeking around the shower curtain. Zhadeyn scrambled for a bar of soap, her hair not even fully wet yet, as though she'd just started.
“Zhadeyn.”
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him, hugging herself.
“I meant to be done before you got home,” she said in a breathless rush. “I wanted to warm the room up for you.”
“May I join you?”
She stopped her hurried scrubbing, looking down at her hands with a frown. “Of course.”
“Zhadeyn,” he said, and waited until she looked at him. “May I join you?”
She blushed and looked away, then slowly moved her gaze back to his face. The furrow in her brow slowly faded, and she nodded.
Graeden hurried out of his clothes and jumped into the shower, hugging Zhadeyn back to his chest as they stood under the hot water, shivering.
“Is it always this cold here in the evenings?”
She nodded again. “We're shifting north.”
“Ah. So is Agoran. They say we may actually see snow next winter.”
Graeden chuckled as Zhadeyn shivered in his arms.
“When was the last time it snowed here?” he asked.
She shivered again, staring blankly at the wall. “Eleven years ago. They said we were closer to Falsin than we'd ever been.”
“What's wrong?”
Her breath caught in her throat and she shook her head rapidly.
“Deyn, what is it?”
She shook her head again and snatched up the bar of soap, rubbing it over his skin. “We had a bad Collision that year.”
Graeden opened his mouth to argue against her washing him, but when she started massaging his muscles in all the right places as she did so, he changed his mind.
“Were you hurt?” he asked instead.
Zhadeyn paused for a moment, nodded, and went back to scrubbing, somehow managing to do it while keeping her gaze averted.
“You can look at me, you know,” he said with a laugh, but she only blushed and looked away. “Hey, come here.”
He took the soap away from her and pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly while she went very still.
“Where were you hurt?” he murmured.
Zhadeyn shook her head and pulled away. “It's fine now.” She took a step back and rung out her hair. “I need to make your dinner.”
“Deyn, wait,” he said, but she jumped out of the shower, whisked a towel around her body, and hurried out the door. Graeden leaned back against the wall with a sigh, then lingered in the shower until he was over-warm, such that the chilly apartment felt comfortable once he was dressed for bed, and went looking for his wife.
Zhadeyn set a plate on the table and stepped back, glancing at him shyly as he approached.
Graeden stopped next to the table and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Aren't you going to join me?”
She hesitated, then disappeared into the kitchen and slowly came back out, carrying another plate. Without making a sound, she set the plate down in front of the other chair and slowly mimicked him as he sat down.
She watched him expectantly, so Graeden took a bite while she pushed her food around with a fork, and he groaned with pleasure.
“Gods, this is good,” he said, stuffing another bite into his mouth, and looked over to see Zhadeyn smiling slightly to herself as she began to eat. “You know, everything we've had to eat the whole time we've been here has been just awful. Overcooked, undercooked, tasteless. But this is amazing.”
Zhadeyn frowned and shifted slightly away from him.
“What's wrong?”
She nodded at his plate, setting down her fork as she murmured, “I know it's illegal but I did it to please you.”
“What's illegal?” he asked, and saw her flinch as though bracing herself for punishment.
“The herbs,” she whispered. “I found them just outside town. No one saw me, but…” She paused and cowered back even more.
“Zhadeyn,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand. She flinched, then looked at their hands curiously before she looked up at him. “You're not in trouble.” He brought her hand to his lips, then let her go as he asked, “Why is it illegal?”
She drew her hand back slowly, shrugging as she answered, “The Elders said there are more important things to do, for the good of society. It's illegal to even grow herbs and spices, and the Elders say it's better to focus on maintaining the corn fields.”
Graeden snorted. “Which is why everyone is sick.” She gave him a puzzled look, so he just shook his head. “Never mind. Thank you for this.” He took another bite, smiling at her. “Eat. Before it gets cold.”
It took her a moment to get past her hesitation, but once she started, they got through the rest of the meal in a companionable silence. Graeden pushed aside his plate and leaned back in his chair, and Zhadeyn immediately jumped up and gathered the dishes, disappearing into the kitchen.
Graeden rolled his eyes with a sigh and followed her.
“Can I help you with anything?”
She gave him a startled look as she stacked the dishes in the sink.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I just have to wash these, and then finish my files–”
Graeden reached over and shut off the water.
“How about you go work on the files, and I'll wash the dishes?” he suggested.
Zhadeyn gave him a horrified look.
“But…But…”
“It'll save time,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist. “I don't want you up all night working.” He paused, and saw her looking from him to the sink in confusion. “Trust me,” he said with a chuckle, “where I come from, men do wash dishes. It's not that abnormal.”
She looked at him skeptically, but slowly rested the last plate in the sink and wiped her hands. Graeden let her go, and she hurried from the room with her head down.
He took a moment to search the cupboards, then got the dishes washed and dried and the counters wiped down, and put everything away. He tossed the sponge into the sink and shut off the light, heading down the hallway in darkness, and found Zhadeyn in the small room with two beds.
She was on her knees, bent over the unmade bed, writing out something in a slow, careful hand. When she finished, she tucked the page into a file, closed it up, and set it aside, adjusting the stack
so it wouldn't topple over. She picked up one remaining file, opened it, and read off one sheet while she wrote on another.
“I thought women weren't taught how to read and write,” he said, and she dropped her pen with a gasp, looking over her shoulder at him. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”
“I didn't hear you come in,” she said, turning back to the file. “I'm almost done, I promise.”
She went back to writing, and Graeden asked, “So?”
Zhadeyn paused, then said, “I taught myself.”
“Really? That's impressive. And what exactly is it you're doing here?”
She gestured at the pages. “Making a neat copy for administration.”
Graeden knelt beside her and compared the two pages.
“Gods, my handwriting is terrible,” he laughed, looking at notes written in a messy scrawl, while her copy was immaculate. “You know, on Agoran, we have tablets—a small machine that replaces ink and paper, and can store thousands of these files on one small chip…” She gave him a curious look, and he shook his head. “I'd have to show you. But one of the nice things about them is that they can learn your handwriting, and automatically convert it into type so it's legible. They also take down dictation, which is wonderfully convenient while your hands are covered in blood.”
Zhadeyn made a face and shook herself, finishing up the last few lines and setting the file aside. She glanced at the neat stack, then around at the otherwise empty bed, and looked again, as though actively trying to find something more to do.
Graeden shook his head with a laugh. “I'm going to bed.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “You don't have to join me, but you can if you want to.”
He saw her blush as he rose and left her crouched by the bed, staring blankly at the stack of files. Graeden moved his suitcases out of the way, shut off the light, and climbed into bed, seeing the light still on in the other room but not hearing any movement.
Minutes passed, and Graeden gave up on hoping she might join him, so he closed his eyes and meditated his way toward sleep. He yawned, feeling his body grow heavy, and was just on the verge of oblivion when the darkness beyond his eyelids became more complete, and he heard Zhadeyn tiptoe into the room.
He forced his eyes open a slit and just made out her silhouette in the moonlight as she felt her way around the bed and lay down beside him, moving carefully and stretching out on her back with her arms tucked in close to her sides.
Yawning, Graeden rolled toward her, felt around for her hand, and brought it to his chest as he closed his eyes again. After a minute, he felt Zhadeyn slowly shift on the bed and settle down, and when he opened his eyes just enough to peek, he saw her facing him with her eyes closed and a hint of a smile on her face.
Feeling more content than he had in years, Graeden prayed that he might actually have a nightmare-free sleep for a change.
Chapter 19
GRAEDEN WOKE the next morning to find Zhadeyn leaning over him, her eyes closed and a look of extreme concentration on her face.
He pushed aside the multitude of praying voices, the effort becoming easier with practice, and saw her frown in confusion before she opened her eyes and started at the sight of him looking back at her.
“I've got it,” he whispered, reaching up and tracing his fingers along her jaw, drawing her down to him.
“I need…to make your breakfast,” she insisted.
“Let it wait,” he said between kisses.
“But–” she began, then gasped as Graeden brushed a hand along the curve of her breast.
He grinned as she melted against him and kissed him back.
* * *
“WHAT IS the meaning of this?”
Graeden looked up from the report he was writing and shared a look with Jase.
“Well, I was having a good morning,” Graeden muttered, then turned to face Zevic as the man stormed into the room, waving a file in their faces.
“Who authorized this surgery?” Zevic demanded, thrusting the file against Jase's chest.
Jase turned the file around and opened it, quickly scanning the contents, then thrust it back at Zevic.
“I did.”
“You did?” Zevic fumed. “You don't have the authority to–”
“With the patient's permission, I might add,” Jase said calmly.
“But without hospital authorization? You performed an amputation without first getting proper permission?”
Graeden raised his eyebrows, looking from Zevic, who was shaking with anger, to Jase, who was making a heroic effort to stay in control.
“The man had an infected cut,” Jase explained as though speaking to a child. “He'd already been here once before and his treatment by your own doctors was insufficient. He came back feverish and dying.”
“And how do you justify going against hospital procedure?” Zevic demanded.
“I justify it by having saved the man's life!” Jase yelled.
Zevic flinched and stepped back, gaping at them.
“We'll see what the Elders have to say about this,” Zevic growled, and stormed out of the room.
Jase clenched his hands into fists, took a deep breath, and sighed.
“I'm going to kill him.”
Graeden laughed. “Get in line.”
“Pfff, right, like you could kill anyone,” Jase muttered, looking down at his next file. “I mean, I've seen you threaten people when you're angry, like that woman who stabbed her husband, but–” He looked up at Graeden and cut off. “Dude, you alright?”
Graeden stared at him, holding his breath, and made himself nod.
“I'm fine,” he bit off, and went to see his next patient.
Zevic returned an hour later, nosing into every exam. Leni and Quinn managed to bear it fairly well, but it was all Graeden could do to hold his tongue, and he saw Jase was starting to lose it as well.
“Do you mind?” Graeden snapped, throwing down his pen as he wrote up his last report before the lunch break. “I can't work with you standing over my shoulder.”
Zevic glared at him. “I need to make sure you're following procedure.”
“Yeah, I think we've got procedure down by now.”
“Clearly not,” Zevic countered, turning his gaze on Jase before looking at Graeden again. “Making decisions on your own will not be tolerated.”
Graeden stared at him until he glanced away.
“Where we come from,” Graeden said, “we're a bit more concerned with helping people than flooding them with excessive paperwork. You'll excuse us if your backlogged chain of permission slips works just a little too slowly for our liking, and for your people's safety.”
“But we are concerned with the people's safety,” Zevic insisted. “That's why we have these procedures in place, for their own good. We can't let sick people go making their own health decisions. What if they choose wrong?”
“How precisely would you know if they're choosing wrong?” Graeden asked. “You don't experience their suffering, so you can't make their decisions for them!” Zevic started to argue, so Graeden held up a hand and went on: “And besides that, most of these people aren't sick. Or, rather, they are, but not because of some illness. They're just malnourished.”
“Malnourished?” Zevic asked, blinking dumbly at him. “How?”
Graeden walked over to the growing stack of files on the counter and flipped through them, tossing them aside one by one as he said, “Niacin deficiency…iron deficiency…calcium deficiency…iron deficiency…” He paused and looked over at Zevic. “Shall I go on?”
“What does all this mean?”
“It means they need more variety in their diets. Nuts. Fish. Fruits–”
“But fruits are expensive and difficult to cultivate on this Isle.”
“So import them.”
“Are you mad?” Zevic asked. “Import them? Allow strangers to bring foreign trade here? The Elders would never allow it. People might start getting ideas.”
&
nbsp; “Then grow them.”
“But our studies have shown that corn is useful in a multitude of ways, and–”
“Damn your studies!” Graeden yelled. “Government-backed studies only ever succeed in doing one thing, and that is somehow magically deriving a result that precisely matches their propagandized expectations. I wouldn't believe your studies any more than I would believe the world is flat.”
Behind him, someone dropped a tray. Graeden turned around and saw Dr. Keisen staring at him with wide eyes.
“The world isn't flat?” he asked, looking dumbfounded. “But…But the Elders always said–”
“You, silence, and get back to work!” Zevic ordered, pointing a finger at the doctor, then turned to Graeden. “And you, stop spouting these ridiculous ideas. You don't know everything.”
“And you know less than that!” Graeden countered, fuming. “You are killing your own people with your ludicrous policies and nonsensical regulations. If you left people free to make their own choices, pursue their own interests–”
“Dr. Graeden, you are on very dangerous ground,” Zevic warned, narrowing his eyes.
“And you are a walking contradiction!”
Zevic grabbed him by the arm and hauled him off to one side of the room, lowering his voice to a fierce whisper as he said, “We brought you all here to help us, not to lecture us. Now, do your job and be silent. Stop spouting this ridiculous nonsense about freedom and choice. People aren't meant to be free. It doesn't work–”
“Yes, it does,” Graeden countered. “On Agoran, we–”
“They're meant to be told what to do,” Zevic went on as though he hadn't been interrupted. “And right now, I'm telling you to keep your gods-damned mouth shut and do your work.”
“I can't do my fucking work with all the restrictions you've put on me!” Graeden yelled, throwing up his hands. “How am I supposed to treat people without medicine, without bandages, without even the basic fundamentals of nutrition to get them off to a good start? How am I supposed to cure people of their illnesses when you won't even let me use tried and proven surgeries?”
Zevic raised his eyebrows and stepped back. “That's your problem, not mine. Figure it out.”
