Endurance

by Richard Chizmar

  Vlaav’s angiomas purpled. “I can’t perform this procedure. I’ve never excised grafts this small before.”

  “Don’t start popping those pustules in my sterile field.” I softened that with, “Just be careful, and start cutting.”

  Doing this on a smooth-skinned being would have been out of the question, given the inevitable postoperative dermal contractions. On a Terran, visible bumps would be left wherever a plug had been placed. FurreVa’s surface scale layer, however, would camouflage the effect completely.

  “Why are you doing this for her?” my resident asked me after we’d been working for an hour.

  “Everyone deserves a chance for a normal life, Vlaav.” I centered a graft plug and lifted my head to check the match. “Even a Hsktskt.”

  Vlaav did a remarkable job in repairing the damage to the neck patterns. Once I had the face and outer jaw finished, I sterilized the outer surface of the grafts and had the Hsktskt female moved to an isolation area. Zella agreed to keep her sedated and under constant monitor.

  As we stripped out of our surgical gear, I went over the prognosis with Vlaav and discussed the possible postoperative complications to watch out for.

  “The dentary implants look like they’ve taken, but how stable are they?” he asked as we shrugged into fresh tunics.

  “It will take a couple more weeks for them to take completely. She’ll be on a soft diet until then.”

  Zella reappeared, her vibrissae quivering. “Back, that slope-browed one is. Kill her, he says he’s going to.”

  Great. I slipped a syrinpress into my tunic pocket. “Come on, Vlaav. Let’s go deal with this beast.”

  FlatHead stood over the unconscious FurreVa, his rifle pointed at her new face.

  “OverCenturon.” I dried my hands and stared at his ugly face with bland indifference. “Come to volunteer your time as an infirmary aid?”

  His tongue shot out, then slid back with a hiss. “She released you from the confinement pit.”

  “Yes.”

  “Without any authorization. To do”—he gestured toward her face—“this.”

  “Actually, I talked her into it.” What had FurreVa gotten me into now? “You know, I really can’t stand to go a week without performing some kind of surgery. Call me obsessive-compulsive.”

  He activated his weapon. “This time she dies.”

  “Do you have authorization for that?” One baleful eye swiveled toward me. “No, I suppose that’s not important right now. All right. How can I persuade you not to ruin all this nice work I’ve done? Do you want to take me back to SrrokVar? I’ll go. Just put the rifle down.”

  “No.” He moved a step back from the berth. “Not to SrrokVar. To the arena.”

  “And this arena is …?” All he did was raise the weapon again. “Fine. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Leave her alone.”

  FlatHead didn’t give me time to leave instructions with Zella and Vlaav, and I hoped my resident would remember everything I’d told him about FurreVa’s case.

  “I heard you took a couple of kids to SrrokVar,” I said as I walked out of the infirmary. “What’s the matter, couldn’t find anyone your own size to pick on?”

  “So it is true. You have some pathetic affection for them.”

  I turned around. “Who told you that?”

  “They’re fodder now.” He shoved me forward. “Keep walking.”

  I could still hear Jgrap passionately vowing to die rather than live without Kroni. Oh, God. “They were just kids, you repulsive scum.”

  He gave the small of my back a vicious jab with his rifle. I bit my lip against the sharp pain. Somehow, some way, I promised myself, I was going to see him in the same shape.

  I was marched out to a section I knew was the guards’ barracks, another place I’d never visited.

  “Mind telling me what this arena is for?”

  “Slave challenges. I will enjoy watching you bleed.”

  I bet he would. “What kind of challenges?”

  “Physical combat. One species against another.” He gave me his version of a leer. “The thin-hided ones don’t last long.”

  Behind the guard barracks an enclosure lined with high, plasteel walls had been erected. GothVar led me into it through a narrow, guarded opening and secured the panel behind us.

  “Fresh skin,” he called out.

  Hsktskt guards sat in rows on eating benches pushed back against the walls. They were hissing and shouting at two slaves who appeared to be strangling each other. One was an aquatic life-form with suction-padded tendrils; the other a gargantuan insectile being with sharp, gleaming mandibles. Old and fresh blood made spattered marks on the crystal beneath their feet.

  Minutes passed. Then the larger combatant wrestled the aquatic under his thorax and collapsed on top of it. Inky fluid oozed out from beneath the victor’s carapace. GothVar added his voice to the guards’ clicking cheers, then pushed me into the center of the arena.

  “New fodder for the champion!” he shouted.

  Some of the other guards yelled their protests. From what they said, apparently I wasn’t expected to present much of a challenge.

  The huge insect creature stared at me, and from the glaze over its eye clusters I could tell it was in pain. As it hauled itself off the aquatic, I saw a crack in the underside of its abdomen, and the protruding end of something black sticking out. The aquatic lay motionless.

  “Do you speak Terran?” I asked, and the big bug cocked its head. “No, I didn’t think you did.”

  I didn’t move as it came closer, rubbing its mandibles together as it scrutinized me. One snap of those and some vital part of me would end up next to the wounded aquatic.

  What to do now? I held out my hands, palms up, and took a step forward. One of the life-form’s legs lashed out and swept my feet out from under me. I landed on my back, and looked up to see it positioning itself over me. Planning to squash me, too. Now I could see the nether wound clearly. The aquatic had lodged some kind of spine into the victor. A poisonous one, I’d bet—most of them were.

  It didn’t sit on me. It just stood there.

  Maybe it didn’t understand Terran, but it could have recognized my physician’s tunic. I stopped thinking about dying and lifted my hand to touch the undamaged carapace, and gently probed the wound.

  “Have to get this out,” I said, and curled both hands around the protrusion. A humming roar emerged from the mandibles as I extracted the short spine and tossed it aside. Copious bleeding commenced, and I tore a handful of fabric from my tunic, wadded it up and used it to staunch the flow.

  My opponent released a high-pitched sound that hurt my ears, then lost its footing. I rolled out from under it just before it collapsed completely. By the time I got to my feet, centurons were dragging both the dead aquatic and wounded insect being from the arena.

  FlatHead stood watching me, his tail curling and lashing with agitation.

  “Take it to the infirmary, they may be able to save it.” I straightened my tunic and folded my arms. “Is that all?”

  “Send out the Husras.”

  The Husras turned out to be an amorphous protean creature who extruded itself from an aperture and remassed in front of me. In its own way it was beautiful—transparent cellular walls displayed a glittering, protoplasmic interior with a fascinating arrangement of internal organs. Sensory organ pseudopods sprouted from different areas as it took a look at and smell of me.

  For a moment I simply admired the being, until it arranged the majority of its bulk into a burly, multiple-limbed form that mimicked the Hsktskt upper torso. This lion had no thorn for me to pluck from its paw, and it didn’t speak Terran either.

  Time to move.

  As I skittered away from it, my opponent flowed its lower portion across the arena to pursue me. The guards began shouting again, calling out suggestions that ranged from ridiculous to obscene. I saw GothVar watching intently, and decided I’d have to resort to the syrinpress. I reached into my
pocket and calibrated what I needed by touch.

  This had better work.

  A snaking pseudo-limb caught me by the waist and started dragging me toward an enlarging pit in the transparent surface. Before it could ingest me, I thrust my hand into the newly formed mouth, and shuddered as cold, viscous flesh closed over it. I triggered the syrinpress, and hoped the large dose of muscle relaxer would do the trick.

  For a moment the Husras simply remained there with my arm in its mouth; then it slowly began losing control of its shape. The Hsktskt guards voiced their fury as the being melted into an unconscious puddle around me.

  I caught GothVar’s furious gaze, and assumed a pleasant demeanor. “Now can I go?”

  Not yet, Doctor.

  The Hsktskt came at me with his rifle poised to fire, but I had no more ability to move, than I had to get Duncan Reever out of my skull.

  “OverCenturon. Release the Terran.”

  GothVar didn’t. He threw down his weapon, lifted a limb, and smacked me off my feet. Before he could do more damage, Reever’s guards hauled him back away from me. I found myself sitting calmly back up and lifting my hand to take Reever’s outstretched fingers.

  I was handling this on my own, OverMaster. Get out of my brain.

  No, Cherijo. I’m not going to do that. Reever kept tight reign over my body as he helped me out of the puddled Husras and enfolded me in the curve of one arm. Out loud, he said, “Dr. Torin has agreed to become my consort.”

  The guards fell silent and looked at me. I heard my own voice emerge from my throat. “Yes. I have agreed to this.” The words were spoken without inflection. Reever could make me talk, but he couldn’t instill any faked enthusiasm.

  The hell I have, I thought with a shrill shriek of fury. You’re the last man on Catopsa I’d even consider consorting with, you self-absorbed butcher. What are you doing?

  Saving your life.

  The Hsktskt didn’t have marriage ceremonies, they had unity rituals. Reever maintained his mind control over me during the whole thing. It took the rest of that day to go through the stark, solemn series of vows and commitments, all of which we both had to utter in front of TssVar and every Hsktskt who could be spared from duty.

  By the time we were done being “joined,” I was exhausted. I’d tried ceaselessly to break free of Reever’s control, but he had superior ability and experience backing him up. He not only controlled my body and voice, but somehow got past my walls and started hammering at my mind with each vow we spoke.

  His promises were simple. “I will provide for, protect, and promote you and our young.”

  Mine were slightly briefer. “I will nurture and protect you and our young.” As long as you don’t fall asleep for the next seventy years, you cold-blooded bastard.

  That was it. It was the ritual joining and recognition phrases that had to be uttered by the other Hsktskt that took so long.

  TssVar gave a sonorous speech about the Faction hierarchy and the place Reever had occupied in it. This involved naming everyone in TssVar’s immediate family, their current assignments, and unities made with other Hsktskt lineages. He then formally recognized our “unity” and gave me the rank of OverMaster’s Mate.

  Then everyone else had to repeat basically the same thing. I noticed GothVar wasn’t present; maybe Reever hadn’t invited him to the wedding.

  I knew Reever couldn’t maintain control over me forever, and bided my time. When we left the Over-Lord’s chamber, Reever made me walk to his quarters and closed the door panel. I expected him to end the link then, but he removed the syrinpress from my tunic pocket and calibrated it.

  Oh no. I realized what his intentions were. You aren’t drugging me.

  He pressed the applicator tip to my throat and injected me with something. Until you’re ready to accept this, I have no choice but to sedate you.

  The familiar lassitude of valumine slipped into my bloodstream, and Reever released his mind and body control a moment before I fell into a heap on the floor. He picked me up and carried me to his berth.

  “Now you will listen to me.”

  “No.” The tranquilizer made my tongue feel thick. “Why should I? You’re a …”

  “GothVar’s arena slaves don’t leave until they’re dead. One of the others would have killed you eventually. SrrokVar has also expressed his desire to continue experimenting on you, to both TssVar and the Faction Hanar. This is the only way I can safeguard you now. You must agree to act as my consort.”

  I made a silly sputtering sound with my lips.

  “You refuse to see the truth.” Reever stretched out beside me and gathered my limp form into his arms. “I am attempting to protect you.”

  My eyes rolled. Protect me. I’d love to see how he treated someone he didn’t give a damn about.

  “If you fight me on this, you will be returned to SrrokVar.”

  Then you’d better get more drugs, and develop insomnia while you’re at it.

  “You’re late.”

  I shut the door panel and headed straight for the cleanser. “Things got busy.”

  My new husband watched me from the table littered with the remains of his solitary meal. I turned my back on him, stripped off my stained tunic, and stepped in under the heated jets. The past two weeks had re-established some of our old routines. Like his penchant for nagging. And mine for pretending he was invisible.

  Once I was dressed, I sat down and picked at the meal he’d warmed up for me. Yet another of his vile alien concoctions, I deducted from the taste, and dropped my utensils with a clatter.

  “I don’t know what you ate for the first three decades of your life—dirt, probably—but I like food. Simple, nourishing food. As in something I can actually swallow.” I shoved the plate away. My voice had risen to a near-shout, not that I cared. “If you’re going to waste your time preparing our meals, for God’s sake use the Terran recipes I’ve programmed for my stuff.”

  Reever sat back. “You lost another patient.”

  “Two of them.” My lips drew back from my teeth. “Cerebrovascular complications, attributed to bacterial meningitis. Then your cretinous lizard pals removed the bodies before I could perform autopsies. Again.”

  Whatever was killing the handful of prisoners I lost each week remained unidentifiable. I’d run microanalysis on everything they ate, drank, or touched. I tested prisoners in adjoining cells. I’d found exactly zero.

  I wasn’t as angry about the patients I’d lost as I was over their bodies being removed without my authorization. There was also the last signal I’d received before going off shift. “TssVar disapproved my request to vaccinate all the prisoners. For the fourth time. Why?”

  “He does not believe it is merited. There have only been twenty deaths.”

  “Only twenty deaths. I see.” I took a sip from my server, then threw it across the chamber and watched it burst against the wall. “So, what you’re saying is, only when hundreds of prisoners die of meningitis will I be allowed to start vaccinating the live ones. That’s logical. Let a contagion spread out of control, then try to contain it. Gee, I can relive the K-2 epidemic all over again.”

  “What happened on Kevarzangia Two was vastly different, Cherijo.”

  “Just for your information, I reported GothVar’s private little sporting arena to the OverLord, too.”

  “The Hsktskt regard physical challenges as a form of recreation. TssVar will likely wish to attend some of the bouts.”

  “That’s pretty much what he said.” I went over and flopped on the berth we shared. “Have I mentioned lately how much I hate these lizards? And you?”

  “You said something to that effect this morning, before leaving for your shift.”

  “Oh, good.” I closed my eyes. “Thought I’d forgotten.”

  “I arranged to have someone come here tonight to see you.”

  Probably one of his Hsktskt pals who didn’t want to report to the infirmary. “I’ll see he, she, or it in the morning. I’m go
ing to sleep.”

  Exhaustion sent me into dreamless sleep. It didn’t last very long, though. Reever woke me up by shaking my shoulders and whispering my name.

  “Knock it off,” I said, yawning as I rolled away from his hands.

  My husband didn’t roll me back over toward him. He shoved me off the side of the berth. I hit the hard floor with a screech.

  “Reever! Are you crazy? What—”

  “Listen.”

  I shut my mouth and heard a low hiss a few feet away. The sort of hiss a Hsktskt infant made when it was hungry.

  Scampering claws clattered across the chamber toward the other side of the berth, where Reever was crouching. By my reckoning there were three of them. That didn’t make sense, the only baby Hsktskt on Catopsa belonged to FurreVa, and she … was still recovering from surgery in the infirmary.

  “Someone let FurreVa’s young loose in here.” I edged backward until my shoulders hit the wall. “You’re the expert, Reever. Talk to me. How do we handle this?”

  “Keep them away from your face and throat.”

  “Oh, good advice.” I concentrated on the odd, hitching noises coming from the infant near my feet. Respiratory distress syndrome, from the sound of it. Premature infants often had recurrent bouts of breathing arrest and apnea, and this one was no exception. I doubted it would go into respiratory arrest before it tore my heart out, however. “Whatever you do, don’t kick or hit them. Their lungs won’t take that kind of abuse.”

  “Climb.”

  I reached back for a handhold, and that’s when the first infant jumped at me. Underdeveloped as it was, it still had plenty of teeth to use while tearing up the front of my tunic. I pushed it away as lightly as I could, whirled, and started climbing up the crystal outcroppings until I reached the top of the chamber’s dome.

  Two of the infants appeared at the base of the wall, and looked up at me with large, hungry eyes. Small claws extended and encircled the lowest crystal outcropping.

  “Urn, Reever”—I shifted my grip and looked along the wall toward my husband—“looks like they can climb, too.”

  Alunthri chose that moment to walk through the chamber door panel.