Earthrise (Her Instruments Book 1)

by Hogarth, M. C. A.

  Irine and Kis’eh’t cheered. Reese would have joined them but wasn’t sure opening her mouth would have been a good idea.

  From the lift, a baritone said, “So is it safe to come out now?”

  “Hey, Hirianthial! Looks like we made it out alive!”

  “Good to hear. And here is my runaway.”

  Reese stared at the man’s gray leather boots and hated them. Did they have to be so finely polished? They weren’t even scuffed. Even the pewter buckles were unmarred. The Eldritch crouched over her and the open concern in his eyes irritated her as much as it worried her.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I take you back to your hammock,” Hirianthial said so softly he must have intended only her to hear.

  “Preparing to Well away,” Sascha said.

  Reese licked her upper lip and chanced a few words. “Think I could handle that.”

  The Earthrise shook so hard Reese flew forward into Hirianthial, who caught her before sliding back against the lift.

  “What was that!” Kis’eh’t shouted.

  “A parting blow,” Sascha said. “Their weapons still work, I guess. Doesn’t matter because... three, two, one, we’re gone!”

  The smooth hum beneath her thinned away until the Well Drive’s nigh silence took over. Reese waited long enough to ensure they’d made it into folded-space before vomiting onto Hirianthial’s brocade tunic and fainting completely away.

  “How far are we from Starbase Kappa?” Hirianthial asked, running a hand over Reese’s chest. The black knot over her had become so thorny sensing it brought tears to the corners of his eyes. He wished fervently for a real medical scanner, one capable of penetrating to the tissue level he needed. It could be that she was worsening but not in danger yet... or she could be dying. Reading her aura wouldn’t give him the specifics he needed to make surgical decisions.

  Of course, he had no operating room to fix any surgical problems, so perhaps it was for the best.

  “We’re about six hours out,” Sascha said.

  “Can we get there faster?”

  Irine unharnessed herself and crawled over. “What’s wrong?”

  “She needs medical attention,” Hirianthial said. “Soon.”

  “Aren’t you medical attention?” Irine asked. Her brother glanced over the back of his chair and added, “How soon?”

  “Now would be best,” Hirianthial said. “And while I appreciate your confidence, a doctor without tools isn’t much use in a situation like this.”

  “Well, we’re not going to be able to get there now,” Sascha said. “The best I can do is shave an hour or two off the total.”

  Hirianthial said, “That would not be a poor idea. In the mean, I’ll try to keep her stable until we arrive.”

  “Try?” Sascha asked, eyes round.

  “This isn’t a broken bone,” Hirianthial said, slipping an arm beneath Reese’s shoulders... carefully, so very carefully. Her entire body was a tangle so taut he feared aggravating it.

  “We can push the drive,” Sascha said. “Cut it down to four hours.”

  “That might also blow out the drive,” Kis’eh’t said. “Bad enough that we lost the cargo crane and probably something else in that last shot. But to lose the Well Drive? It won’t matter if Reese survives whatever’s wrong with her, she’ll blow up from new stress the moment she finds out.”

  Hirianthial put his other arm beneath Reese’s knees and lifted her into his arms. He hadn’t paid much attention to the bouncing and jerking of the ride, but it had taken a toll. Getting to one knee made him realize his joints were not those of a youth’s anymore.

  It didn’t hurt as much as Reese’s body was hurting.

  “Look, how serious is this?” Kis’eh’t asked, feathered ears fanned closed. “I thought she just had some sort of ulcer.”

  “She does,” Hirianthial said. “The problem is she has more ulcer than esophagus, and it might be rupturing.”

  “Might?” Kis’eh’t said.

  “Without a real scanner I can’t be sure,” Hirianthial said. “But I would guess that if it’s not rupturing it’s very close.”

  “That sounds serious,” Irine said, her eyes as wide as her brother’s.

  “It is serious,” Hirianthial said. He couldn’t quite bring himself to frighten them beyond that. “I’d appreciate being able to deliver her to appropriate facilities as quickly as possible.”

  Sascha searched his face, then turned in his seat. “Right. We’re pushing the drive.”

  “Sascha—”

  “Kis’eh’t, if she eats me for lunch when she wakes up at least she’ll be awake to do it. Bryer? You awake down there?”

  “Awake, yes. Astounded also.”

  “Reese is sick. We’re redlining the drive to Kappa.”

  “I will pamper it like a colicky child.”

  “Thanks,” Sascha said.

  Hirianthial turned to the lift and was surprised to find Irine in his way.

  “Can I help?” the tigraine asked, squeezing the end of her tail. Her aura pulsed in rhythm with her accelerated heart rate.

  “Of course,” Hirianthial said.

  He carried her to her quarters with Irine silent at his heels. The tigraine keyed the door open for him and he laid Reese in her hammock with Allacazam, who turned an alarmed orange once he bumped Reese’s side.

  “I know,” Hirianthial murmured, petting the Flitzbe. “Irine, would you be so good as to fetch the kit that’s in the clinic?”

  “Right,” Irine said and scampered away.

  In the silence and the dark, Hirianthial filled a small bowl with lukewarm water and began removing Reese’s soiled vest. The lead gray of her aura, choked with black knots, promised she’d stay unconscious long enough for him to take the equally soiled pants off as well, but knowing how she’d react if she discovered he’d unclothed her kept him from doing more. That and the comment about impropriety, a claim so unusual in the multicultural Alliance that it both charmed and discomfited him. He’d become accustomed to the libertine—by Eldritch standards—mores of the outworlders, and anything more conservative reminded him strongly of home.

  “You’re getting the nasty stuff off?” Irine asked as she entered. “Why don’t you let me do it? At least that way when she asks who put her in her nightgown you can honestly say it was me.”

  “A fine idea,” Hirianthial said, taking the kit from her. He turned his back as the tigraine began pulling off Reese’s pants. The inadequacy of the kit proved a useful if unfortunate distraction. What he wanted was a complete medical scanner and the tools to act on its findings; first aid kits were not equipped to handle Reese’s problem. If her esophagus ruptured, nothing short of surgery could save her, and no drug in this kit could retard the process....

  Except... what had the charge doctor on Tam-ley said once? Something to do with mucus? Hirianthial rubbed a temple. “What’s in your larder, Irine?”

  “Our—what? Our galley? I don’t know, what do you want to eat?”

  “Not food,” Hirianthial said, trying to pin down the memory. He’d started losing track of things by the time he hit three hundred despite the mental disciplines he’d learned to prevent it... remembering things now so long removed from his young adulthood was a challenge. He tapped a finger on the edge of the kit, trying to remember. Not cream, but... ah! “Do you have powdered milk?”

  “Everyone carries powdered milk,” Irine said, mystified. “Do you want some?”

  “Please. Bring it in the package.”

  Irine left, taking her perplexed aura with her. Hirianthial hoped they had what he needed and returned to the drug stock. Like every kit, it held the red vial in the corner mold, more than enough for several score emergency doses. Even with his stopgap measure, using the vial’s contents would better Reese’s chances. He doubted she would like it, and he absolutely wouldn’t apply it without her consent.

  He’d have to wake her for the makeshift palliative, anyway.

  Irine
had gotten Reese into her nightgown, a lace-edged affair sewn of ivory cotton so fine it neared translucence and long enough to tangle at her ankles. It suited her, which made little sense to Hirianthial; she’d also suited her brightly-colored vests and jumpsuits. He sat beside the hammock on a stool, monitoring her through her aura’s hissing crawl until Irine arrived with a single-serving box in hand.

  “You look confused,” she said.

  “Do I?” Hirianthial asked, taking the box.

  Irine nodded. “If it’s about the nightgown, you’re not the only one who thinks it’s funny. She reads romance novels too.”

  “We all have to pass the time somehow,” Hirianthial said, reading the ingredient list. He allowed himself the smallest breath of relief and noticed his shoulders losing their tension. “Thank you, Irine. I think you found your captain her four hours.”

  “You mean... it... she could... “

  “She’s in a bad way,” Hirianthial said. “This will tide her over.”

  “Powdered milk?”

  Hirianthial fetched a bowl and filled it with a shallow puddle of water, then poured the entire box into it. He gloved a hand and swirled the result with his fingers, praying that it would work as well as the charge doctor had claimed. The man had been excellent at finding unusual solutions to problems; Hirianthial had watched him pioneer countless peculiar methods but hadn’t actually witnessed this one in action. “The milk from one of the herdbeasts used commonly in powdered milk isn’t all that different from mucus. It should coat Reese’s esophagus long enough to get her to Kappa.”

  “We just have to wake her up,” Irine said.

  He nodded. “There’s something in the kit for that.” The solution in the bowl began to resist his stirring. “I think we’re ready. Hold this, please.”

  Irine grimaced at the bowl. “She’s going to have to drink this?”

  “Eat it, more like,” Hirianthial said.

  “I thought it was supposed to have more water in it.”

  “We don’t want it too dilute,” Hirianthial said, loading the AAP. He smoothed back some of Reese’s errant braids, then gave her the smallest possible dose to bring her back to consciousness. He waited, monitoring her colors as they began to flicker through the black and gray of her aura.

  Finally—”Ohhh.”

  “Boss, it’s us,” Irine whispered on the other side of the hammock. In the dark, the tigraine’s pupils were swollen and flashed green when she blinked.

  “Don’t talk,” Hirianthial added. “We’re going to give you something we want you to swallow and some water to wash it down. It’ll make you feel better.”

  Reese tipped her head down once. He brought the bowl to her lips and slid his fingers through her braids again. This time he was expecting their texture. Her skull seemed small in his hand, though. He’d lost enough patients to trust his instincts and his perception of her frailty worried him. “Here. Drink.”

  Reese sputtered on the first swallow.

  “Come on, boss, do it for us,” Irine said. “How are you going to yell at us if you can’t talk?”

  That bought them a third of the bowl. Hirianthial let her have water and watched with concern as she let her eyes flutter shut. After a few breaths, she resumed drinking. Her aura remained a knotted black and as she drank he sensed it worsening. Consciousness would not serve her. Reese finished off the bowl and Hirianthial let her have a few more sips of water before putting them aside.

  “I have some questions I must ask you,” Hirianthial said. “I want you to save your strength, so if you have anything to say make it simple.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Reese whispered.

  “You’re very unwell,” Hirianthial said. “When we reach Starbase Kappa you need to go into surgery to repair the ulcer in your esophagus.”

  She didn’t speak but a flame of yellow alarm made it through her aura’s thorns.

  “Your condition is serious,” Hirianthial said. “The solution you just drank will help keep you from getting worse, but remaining conscious is an invitation to trouble. I would like your permission to dose you with slowsleep.”

  Fear jumped through the crevices of her pain. “It’s only for four or five hours,” Hirianthial said. “The dose will be low and I’ll be monitoring your condition continually. You’ll feel as if you’re drifting off to a sleep full of vivid dreams. When you wake up, you’ll be done with the operation and your body will be better than new.”

  “Don’t like slowsleep,” Reese said, eyes wide.

  “Please, boss. We won’t let anything happen to you,” Irine said, taking Reese’s hand.

  “She’s right,” Hirianthial said. “I won’t let anything happen to you. This is just a precaution to make the operation go more smoothly once we reach the base.”

  “I’ll be okay?” Reese whispered.

  “You’ll be okay,” Hirianthial said, softening his voice.

  Reese bit her lip, then nodded once.

  Hirianthial leaned back and pulled out the vial and the syringe. As he loaded it, he said, “As a matter of formality I need to ask if you have a healthcare proxy. Understand that I’m required to ask whenever administering a dose of slowsleep.”

  Her anxiety level spiked, thorns spitting black sparks off her aura. He rested a hand on the edge of the hammock and said, “A five-hour dose of slowsleep isn’t dangerous. Trust me, Theresa. You won’t come to any harm.”

  She swallowed, then said, “Don’t have a proxy. You’re the doctor. You decide for me.”

  He nodded. “Very well. I’m going to give you the slowsleep now. When you wake up, you’ll be out of danger. Allacazam and Irine and I will take care of you, we’ll be right here. All right?”

  She swallowed again and nodded.

  He set the syringe against her arm. A low hiss, and it was done. Irine squeezed Reese’s hand and whispered, “Do you think I should sing to her?”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” Hirianthial said, putting away the vial and AAP.

  Irine sang in a surprisingly sweet furry soprano. He recognized parts of the language as Meridan but peppered with enough foreign words that he couldn’t fully understand the song, something about wind and light. He put the kit away and watched the colors in Reese’s aura drain away, leaving only the black and gray tangle. By the time Irine finished her lullaby, Reese had succumbed to the dose.

  “Now what?” Irine asked in a soft voice.

  “Now I watch her,” Hirianthial said. “It’s rare for anything to happen during slowsleep, but most people report remembering the presence of others under the influence.”

  “Then I’ll stay too, like you said,” Irine said, and curled up on the floor. “Um, Hirianthial... will you please... I mean, you have been very cagey about Reese. Could this kill her?”

  A direct question about the health of a friend Hirianthial couldn’t dodge. So he didn’t. “Yes, it could.”

  Irine shivered. “But it’s just a stomach thing!”

  “It’s not just a stomach thing,” Hirianthial said. “It’s a bacterial infection that she’s been ignoring which has been intensified by stress to the point of rupturing her esophagus. Once that occurs, fluid can enter the chest cavity and that can kill. But we’re going to get Reese to Kappa long before then.”

  Irine was silent. Hirianthial composed himself on the stool, hooking his boot heels on the bottom rung. After a while, the tigraine said, “Have you lost a lot of patients?”

  “One is too many,” Hirianthial replied, “So the concept of ‘a lot’ is difficult to take seriously. Yes, I’ve lost people under my care.”

  “Even in the Alliance,” Irine said, ears flattening.

  “For all its technological wonders, and they are many, the Alliance is not the same everywhere,” Hirianthial said. “A woman in Terracentrus is going to get better care than a woman on a freighter in the middle of no-space. Location matters. Access to facilities matters. Money matters. Up-to-date kits matter.”

  �
�I guess some things don’t change,” Irine said.

  Hirianthial rested his gaze on Reese’s slack face. “Not easily, no.”

  The many shifts Hirianthial had spent on patient watch had taught him how to relax so deeply he encroached on sleep’s soft threshold without crossing it. In such a state he not only maintained his emotional equilibrium but could track the auras of any people in his care. Reese was close enough that her presence intruded on his, but even Irine’s registered, a sparkly, healthy gold muted now by a gray veil of worry. The colors paled as she fell asleep, coiled into a ball beneath Reese. The hammock’s webbed shadow fell over her body, cast from the dimmed overhead lights.

  Allacazam’s body created no aura, a fact Hirianthial found fascinating and enigmatic in the extreme. But the rest of the crew he could sense even through the bulkheads—not with enough granularity to assess their health and mental state, but strongly enough for him to sense their distance and that they lived. In busy hospitals he’d been overwhelmed by the amount of data his abilities had brought him without asking, and he’d learned not so much to ignore the people around him as to allow their auras to blur into one undifferentiated mass. His workplaces had developed auras of their own, the combination of thousands of patients and personnel on their business, and though he never paid attention to it he always knew in the back of his mind the “health” of his workplace.

  There were days that death and suffering had blackened the entrance to the hospital so that he hated to enter, and days when miracles sent white ripples through a floor to lighten the mood of the entire workplace. But it had been long and long again since he’d been somewhere small enough that each person cast a distinct emotional, without the blur created by his cultivated psychic myopia. He found it pleasant and drifted, a lagan tethered to those distant auras as to buoys in the darkness.

  The flare of Reese’s pain doubling brought him to the surface immediately. He slid a hand above her chest and felt the tear as if it were in his palm. With his free hand, Hirianthial punched the intercom’s bridge combination. “Sascha. Tell me we’re close.”

  “We’re just coming out of Well. Half an hour at the most, depending on how quickly they dock us.”