Endurance

by Richard Chizmar

  “Yes, the OverCenturon’s report was most expansive,” the Hsktskt said as he tore the front of my tunic open. “I will begin here, where the flesh is thinnest.”

  Helplessly I tried to beg, but there wasn’t any air left in my lungs to carry the sounds.

  Heat, burning into me. Pummeling hands ripping. Smoldering fabric tearing. No gloves on my hands. Black, charred tissue. White gleam of bone—

  SrrokVar etched something into my right breast, then forced an endotracheal tube into my throat when I wouldn’t breathe on my own. He took a moment to administer more stimulants, which prevented any hope of unconsciousness. The hand-laser’s beam trickled down my abdomen, melting through the layers of skin, branding a path from sternum to navel.

  Whatever pain receptors I had were so overloaded that they no longer functioned. Fear seized control and for a long period I was only aware of the stench and the soft puffs of breath from the Hsktskt’s partially open jaws.

  I realized dimly when it was over, when they took me from the table and stapled my limbs into some upright pylons just beyond the equipment. SrrokVar jabbered something, but I couldn’t make it out. I only roused briefly when I saw Gael and Wonlee dragged into the center chamber. I moaned something, tried to clear my head.

  SrrokVar removed the tube and waited until I breathed naturally before speaking. “HalaVar will be displeased, I fear, unless I gain your willing confession. Tell me what happened to the Aksellans, and I will release you.”

  “Drop … dead.”

  “Begin with the Terran.”

  He kept me awake and made me watch as he tortured my friend on the traction rig. Gael was trough, but even he couldn’t hold out against the merciless counterweights. In the end, he screamed and begged anyone to make it stop.

  “Well, Doctor?”

  Through Gael’s shouts of agony, I saw Wonlee staring at me, and the small shake of his head as they hooked him up to the grav-hoist.

  I couldn’t do this anymore. Noarr, forgive me. “Y-y-y-yes, I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Good.” He gestured to the guards to continue, then caught my incredulous gaze. “In the event you are considering deceiving me.”

  It was harder to hurt the Lieutenant. SrrokVar marveled over the flexibility of his infrastructures as the hoist and rings jerked and pulled at his limbs. Won never made a sound, even when the splintered end of one arm bone pushed out through his spiny flesh.

  “An amazing creature,” the Hsktskt said as the centurons hauled the two unconscious males from the chamber. “Now, give me the information I require.”

  Tears streamed down my face as I opened my mouth to explain what we’d done.

  “Lord SrrokVar.” A detachment of centurons surrounded me. “OverMaster HalaVar has directed we remove the Terran and place her in solitary confinement.”

  Despite SrrokVar’s protests, they took me from the crying chambers and through the main compound to the confinement area. I was lowered down into one of the pits, where I collapsed and stared at the hatch above me for hours.

  This particular pit was even wider and deeper than the last one, but lit from below with a soft, diffused glow. No handy escape tunnel hatch to be found this time, either. One of the guards lowered food and water twice a day to me, but I hoarded half of every nonperishable, just in case they decided to forget about me again. One of the water containers served as an awkward, though welcome, waste receptacle.

  Stimulants wear off eventually. In my case, it took three days. During the endless hours of forced wakefulness, I remained as still as I could and tried to rest. Tried to forget what I’d endured. And yet my eyes continued to return to the hatch, wondering when Reever or SrrokVar would send someone to take me back.

  On the third day I finally threw off the last of the drugs, and slept. Faceless voices whispering wordless wounds of comfort filled my dreams.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Arena Games

  I could have slept for a week, but judging from the number of ration caches dumped around me, it was more like two rotations. Hunger and a certain amount of nameless relief caused me to eat my way through three of them before remembering I was saving food. Reluctantly I put aside what wouldn’t spoil from the last cache and relieved my pressing physical discomfort.

  “I could use a couple of blobs around here,” I muttered, and jumped when my voice echoed around me. Whoa. That hadn’t happened the last time I’d been in confinement. Though this pit was at least twice as deep, I decided, eyeing the distance to the hatch. Perhaps that explained the sound effects.

  As if answering my summons, one of the small fungi appeared, inching down the side of the pit.

  “Hi there.” The mold crawled over my leg. I reached over to stroke it—the satiny soft texture was irresistible—then opened the top of the waste container. “Hope you’re hungry.”

  Lok-Teel were always hungry. As if presented with a treat, the voracious fungus scurried over, enveloped the container and began absorbing the contents. For the first time I noticed it seemed to expand as it digested the waste products. When the slightly larger blob moved from the empty, sterilized container, and started toward my hoard of food, I yelped and grabbed the supplies to protect them.

  “Nope, sorry, this is mine.”

  Once more, it acted as if it understood me. For a moment it hesitated, then changed direction. The blob trundled over my leg and back up the wall. I watched it crawl up all the way to the top, then disappear out under the hatch.

  “What do you know? Smart mold.” I said it out loud, letting my head fall back against the quasi-quartz wall. It had to be intelligent, otherwise it would have crawled over me to get at the food. Interesting.

  A small sound pinged next to my ear, then another. Then a third. The trio of echoes sounded like words.

  “What?”

  “Know. It’s. Food.”

  I turned my face so that my ear was pressed against the cold surface. Not a sound. When I lifted my head, something vibrated between my cheek and the wall. “Hello?”

  Another series of pings. “Lo … can … hear?”

  I spoke without thinking. “Can you hear me?”

  The sound grew fainter. “Just … echo.”

  “No!” I yelled, and pressed my hands against the interior of the pit. Beneath it, the surface seemed to be humming. “I hear you! I’m here!”

  There was a moment of silence, then louder pings, as though someone on the other side was speaking slowly and carefully.

  “Can you hear me, woman?”

  Noarr. “Yes. Noarr, it’s Cherijo. I can hear you. Where are you?”

  “In the tunnels. Are you injured?”

  Yes, but there seemed no point in telling him. “No. Can you get me out of here?”

  “I am trying to find a way.” Noarr went on to tell me he was in one of the hidden passages that ran parallel to the isolation pits. Apparently some quality of the mineral in the deeper layers allowed transmission of sound waves. “You are scheduled to remain in the pit for three weeks.”

  “Good thing I have one of these blobs down here.”

  “I sent the Lok-Teel to you.”

  He sent the fungus? What does that mean? “Mind telling me how you did that?”

  “I will be back soon.”

  “No, wait.” I thought of Gael and Won, and panicked. “Go back to your ship. You may be in danger.”

  I called him a few more times, but heard nothing more. Frustrated, I slumped back against the pit, and resisted the urge to pound my head against it. Three weeks. I couldn’t sit here that long. I had to get back to the infirmary; I had to find a way to stop SrrokVar’s barbarous experiments.

  I was so busy brooding that when the hatch opened and my daily ration cache dropped down next to me, I yelped.

  “Hey!” I squinted up at the guard. “I need to speak to OverLord TssVar, right away.”

  The centuron thrust his snout over the edge. “Why?”

  “Lord SrrokVar
is torturing and killing prisoners in the crying chambers. It has to stop.” I knew what upset the Hsktskt. “Think of all the credits you guys are losing.”

  “I will relay your request to OverMaster HalaVar.”

  My fists clenched. “No, not him. Tell TssVar. He’s in charge of this dump. Don’t wait, either. Tell him now!” I yelled as the hatch closed, then I curled into a miserable huddle. “Please, please tell him now.”

  * * *

  TssVar never showed up, and the centuron refused to respond to any more of my shouted questions. Days passed. I started talking to the Lok-Teel, who paid me frequent visits. Better them than the walls.

  “How many Hsktskt does it take to change an optic sensor?” I said to the mold as it sat on my lap and flowed over my fingers. “Give up? Two. One to hold the pulse rifle—”

  Above me, the hatch opened again. That was odd. I’d just gotten my daily rations. A dark figure on a rope swung over the edge of the pit and rappelled down the wall. Only when I saw the scrolled dark cloak did the tension in my limbs ease.

  How had he gotten past the pit guard?

  He dropped lightly to his feet and stood towering over me.

  “And the other to terrorize the slave changing it.”

  “Noarr.” I jumped up and threw myself at him.

  Large, warm flippers ran over my shoulders and arms as he shook back his head covering. The white spiral tatoos and lack of hair on his skull didn’t bother me.

  The chance he was taking did.

  “Are you out of your mind?” I pushed his flippers away and got huffy. “What are you doing here?”

  “I told you I would find a way. You look well.” He examined me and my small collection of supplies.

  “I am. Now leave. And move your ship while you’re at it.” My glare turned sorrowful as I told him about SrrokVar’s torture chamber. “Gael Kelly and Wonlee have probably confessed to everything by now. They’ll be looking for you.”

  “I do not think they are. They have more to occupy their time, if these rumors about the invasion are true.”

  “Huh?”

  “The Hsktskt have been receiving long-range intelligence reports. It is said the League has sent three planetary fleets to liberate the slave-depots.”

  TssVar’s revelation about my creator came back to me, and I frowned. More likely the League was sending its fleets to attack the Faction territory worlds. “Is there any way you can transmit a message to the Jorenians? They may be able to help us.”

  “Perhaps.” The Lok-Teel climbed up Noarr’s cloak and tried to get into his hood, and he gently set it down. “SrrokVar is a powerful Lord. He has already petitioned the Faction Hanar to conduct further experiments on you.”

  “Marvelous.” I sat back down. “That should be entertaining.” Bravado didn’t keep me from hugging my knees to my chest, or trembling violently. “I can’t go back there.”

  “OverMaster HalaVar wants you as his mate. He will intercede on your behalf.”

  Reever might. An image of him handing a tiny Terran baby over to SrrokVar made me choke on a sob. “I don’t know which is worse.”

  Strong, muscular arms came around me. Noarr sat there and held me, doing nothing more than stroking my matted hair and murmuring softly in a language I didn’t know. Finally, I knuckled the last of the tears away.

  “Reever giving our child to SrrokVar or SrrokVar torturing me for the rest of my life. Some choice, don’t you think?”

  A ferocious expression passed over his features. “You’re a physician. Make sure you don’t get pregnant.”

  The callous practicality of his suggestion made me recoil. “God, don’t you get it? He’d still be touching me! The thought of it makes me—”

  “Ill.” A flipper settled over my mouth. “I know. The thought of anyone else sharing intimacies with you does the same to me.” A corner of his mouth quirked as he examined my face. “You’re surprised?”

  Yeah, I was.

  “I’m Terran,” I said, suddenly aware of the intimacy of our positions and the possessive way he was holding me.

  He brushed my hair back from my brow. “Does it matter?”

  In some ways, it did. Why couldn’t I develop feelings for someone of my own species, like Gael? My relationships with non-human males had wrecked my life. I’d killed Kao. Xonea had nearly killed me. And Reever—only technically human, to my mind—had made me a slave.

  Yet being with Noarr, I felt that same sense of déjà vu, as if I’d come home after a long, exhausting journey. Who cared if we came from two different worlds?

  “You do not answer me, woman.”

  I was getting tired of the “woman” thing. No. To be honest, I wanted to hear him say my name. Just this once. “Cherijo. Call me Cherijo.”

  He put his mouth at the curve of my throat, and slid his tongue against my skin in a slow, sensual caress. “Does it matter, Cherijo?”

  Not every species indulges in kissing. So for an answer, I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his cheek. His grip tightened briefly, then he gently set me aside.

  “I would take you with me if I could.” He grabbed on to the cord and pulled his hood back over his head. “I’ll come back as soon as it’s safe.”

  “Yes. All right.” I needed desperately to believe him, so I summoned up a confident grin. “You know where to find me.”

  He nodded. “Always.”

  Oddly enough, it wasn’t Noarr who released me from the pit, but my former patient FurreVa. The retrieval clamps tugged me out of the pit before I saw her, so I wasn’t prepared for the grim visage and gave a startled cry.

  “Doctor.” She removed the clamps and surveyed me. “You appear to be healed from your ordeal.”

  “So far, so good.” I glanced around and saw no other Hsktskt in the immediate vicinity. “Why are you letting me out?”

  “I wish to undergo the final reconstructive surgery.” She gave me what could be called an appealing look, if you ignored the bared fangs and lashing tongue.

  I frowned. “I thought you weren’t interested in getting your face fixed.”

  “My decision was too hasty. I now have an opportunity … if I am to secure a mate for my brood …” Her claws traced over the still-visible groove in her scales.

  I’d been experimented on, terrorized, and thrown in a pit, and Helen was only worried about what her new boyfriend thought of her face. Good to know I meant something to my friends.

  Not that FurreVa had ever considered me a friend.

  “You have someone in mind?” Not that it was any of my business, but if the groom was FlatHead, I was going to talk her into staying single.

  “Yes. Can you make me appear as a normal female?”

  I gave her an ironic glance. “That was the whole idea in the first place. Come on.”

  My long absence hadn’t stopped the medical staff from functioning. I saw when I walked in with the Hsktskt female. Good to know they could work on their own now.

  Pmohhi turned, screamed, and dropped an entire batch of newly sterilized instruments. “Creation, she’s still alive!”

  Zella’s tail knocked over an infuser array. “Doctor!”

  “Cherijo—I mean—Dr. Torin—” Vlaav’s hemangiomas turned a bright, vivid scarlet, and he gave me a sheepish grin. “It’s good to see you’re intact.”

  “Reports of my dismemberment have been greatly exaggerated,” I said, and glared at the nurses. “And since when did you two turn into clutzes? Pick up that gear, Pmohhi. Zella, I want you to prep for surgery. You too, Vlaav.”

  I made quick rounds. Most of the meningitis patients had been discharged. Those patients I recognized from the crying chambers I noted to remain on indefinite inpatient status. I wouldn’t willingly allow any of them to go back if I could stop it.

  “Are you sure you are feeling well enough to perform this procedure?” Vlaav asked me at the cleansing unit.

  “I’m okay.” Mostly. The burns on my arm and chest had healed,
and my wrist was sore but flexible. “Any problems while I was gone?”

  “Some. More prisoners have escaped. A pair were discovered in the sanitation room by OverCenturon GothVar.”

  Trepidation set in. “Two Forharsees? The young ones?”

  “I believe so. They were taken to the restricted area.”

  Jgrap and Kroni, in the crying chambers. Neither of them would last very long. This had to be stopped. I used my knee to switch off the biodecon port. “When we’re done with this, I’m going to see TssVar. I may not come back, so you may have to handle the follow-ups. Pay attention.”

  “But—but—” The Saksonan looked appalled. “I’ve never done any reconstructive procedures before.”

  “You will now,” I said with a grim smile. “Welcome to Plastic Surgery 101.”

  FurreVa stretched out on one of the exam tables, and I scanned her thoroughly. The bone grafts and soft tissue repairs had healed well, and near-total brain function had been restored. All that remained was cosmetic work, but that was in some ways the trickiest part.

  Hsktskt facial derma contained the same muscle and mucosal tissues as warm-blooded life-forms, but hardly any fat layer existed. Also, the arrangement and pattern of scales presented a problem—the markings destroyed by FurreVa’s injury had to be restored to a near-natural appearance, or she would never appear “unscarred” to other Hsktskt.

  Vlaav observed as I reopened the keloid groove from brow to jaw and checked the muscular and neuro-repair sites.

  “I’m using small, deep-epithelial grafts from appropriately shaded markings here, like this”—I made the first cone-shaped incisions on her right lower appendage, lifting the scaled-topped plug and placing it directly into the open granulated facial tissue—“and transferring them, one by one. The missing subcutaneous fasciae will be filled in, and the scale patterns reestablished.”

  “That will take hours.”

  “I work fast, Doctor. So will you.” I handed him the spare lascalpel and pointed to the other appendage. “You can do the neck area. Match the markings on the opposite side as closely as you can. And keep your arm joints out of my way while I work on her face.”