"No," he said. "I apologize—"
"Don't," Radimir said. "You've only been there ten minutes, and Paige and I have been keeping an eye on you."
"Ten minutes!"
"And everything's under control," Radimir said. The Harat-Shar smiled. "Alet, we're psychiatry in a crisis care setting. As important as we all know the mind is to the body's health, we are very much a support function here. The ER healers-assist and doctors… they have to get where they're going immediately. Most of the time we have to wait on them to do our job. So if you need to sit for a while to catch your breath, you can. No one's going to die because you were late." He paused, then splayed his ears. "All right, I suppose there are maybe a few times that might not be true. But they're going to be vanishingly small and there are three of us working the shift. One of us can get there in time. All right?"
Jahir drew in a breath, tried not to be alarmed at how raw his throat felt, and how much his chest hurt. "All right."
"Good. Now if you could check on Bed Twelve, they've asked for some counseling support there."
Having stumbled onto a solar system with two habitable planets, the Pelted had settled the Seersana-Karaka'A system first before continuing on and spreading out to found the other homeworlds that would become the Alliance Core; that made it an old and busy system, thick with settlements stretching from the interior worlds out to the welcome station near the heliopause. Vasiht'h had traveled to Seersana from a less settled part of the Core and thought the process had inured him to the scale at which the Alliance operated, and like most Pelted he took that scale for granted.
The first time he saw an Alliance starbase, he stopped short and sat so abruptly he kinked his tail under his hind end.
One of the flight attendants paused beside him and said, "First time?"
"Yes," Vasiht'h managed. "Are you sure that's not a planet?"
The man smiled. "Absolutely. It's no trouble to program the smart paint, so they give every starbase a unique exterior pattern as a navigation aid. All of us come in on computer-guided courses, but having multiple checks is always good."
"It's so big," Vasiht'h murmured. "And so busy."
"Just wait until we get closer." The man grinned. "We're still about three hours out. We won't recall everyone to their seats until we're only fifteen minutes from docking. Enjoy the show, alet."
"I will." And he meant it. From the tags hanging off the starbase it was roughly the size of a moon, and it was dotted with the bright shells of habitats, green and blue and brown and white under glass, like gemstones, the colors crisp against the vacuum. The surrounding paint had been streaked out with multiple lines and colors, leading to other habitats and facilities. In addition, several thick lines, gold or diamond-like, ran the length of the base. It was frankly beautiful, and it was surrounded in ships. Not just the commercial liners Vasiht'h had become accustomed to seeing on his own brief journeys in and out of Seersana-Karaka'A, but merchant and trade vessels of every size from single-person concerns to vast bulk freighters. Luxury ships for the wealthy shared space with pleasure cruisers, some small enough to mount solar sails. And cutting in and out of this constant traffic were the sleek ships of the Alliance's naval Fleet, and not just the little couriers that might dip in and out of a system like Seersana-Karaka'A… but the dark broad shadows of battle- and warcruisers, sliding into and out of the base for refueling and maintenance.
For almost three hours, Vasiht'h sat in front of that window wall, watching the starbase swell until it filled the glass from end to end. The tags on the coating popped into and out of view as new ships and features became visible, and there seemed to be no end to it.
And this… this was his home. His birthright, if all he'd been told growing up was to be believed. Humanity may have engineered the first Pelted… but the Pelted had left them and made the Alliance, and all this infrastructure had been largely in place by the time humanity returned to space and found their creations had outstripped them in technology, in numbers, and in vision.
Vasiht'h had always known all this in his head. He prided himself on being someone who lived mostly there, where the storms of passion that afflicted other species might leave him untouched. It had taken one very rare alien to show him that he could feel things as strongly as any other person, that this was not necessarily something to be avoided.
And the sight of Starbase Veta overwhelmed him emotionally in a way he would never have predicted. He felt the Goddess's hand in it, in just how much the Pelted had overcome to evolve into the people who could do something like this.
When at last he returned to his seat and strapped down for the final approach, he had wet eyes. Was it ridiculous that he could feel pride in the accomplishments of his own people? That a mound of metal could make him cry? And yet, he knew what Jahir would say. Jahir would probably have found the sight of Veta as riveting as he had.
Vasiht'h used the last fifteen minutes of the journey to start reading about starbases in general and Veta in particular. He'd anticipated spending the entirety of his layover fretting about the delay. To discover he was looking forward to it was a pleasing surprise.
Chapter 5
When the alarm woke him, Jahir found himself on the couch with no memory of returning from his shift. He stared groggily at the data tablet on the coffee table and then forced himself upright enough to shut it off. Had he eaten? He couldn't recall. He'd gone to the roof of the hospital again to look at the lights; that much he remembered. But staggering back to the residence was the limit of his recollections. He rubbed his face and wondered how long it would take for the acclimatization to begin working... and then, resigned, he went to shower, change, and report for the physical therapy and then his shift.
On his arrival, Radimir peered at him and said, "You're on the beds first today."
"I am more present than I look," Jahir said. "I pledge it."
"Mmm. Well, you should have some coffee anyway. Paige brought in a bottle of it from one of the local roasters. Oh, and Griffin'll be by later to check in with you." He lifted a brow. "You've been keeping him updated, I hope?"
"Ah—I admit I have been busy settling in."
Radimir snorted. "Don't make that mistake twice."
"No," Jahir said, chagrined. "And I shall apply myself to Paige's offering, and thank her at first opportunity."
"You do that, alet."
The coffee was in fact, ambrosial, from its earthy, complex scent to the subtlety of its flavors and aftertastes. He neither sweetened nor adulterated it with the slim silver pitcher of cream beside it before heading into his rounds. He was not yet accustomed to the pace of the crisis care setting; many of his patients were gone, either discharged or whisked to other departments for further care, and he remained on call for those but practically his role was subordinated to the healers-assist in those departments—something for which he was profoundly grateful, as it saved him the trouble of frequent—and long—walks to other buildings.
In their place, he had new patients, and he tended to the newcomers before reaching the one who hadn't yet left. He entered the room with the human male and found him in much the same position, face still slack. Glancing at the halo-arch's monitors brought him precious little information, so Jahir reached a hand for the man's arm. He hesitated, questioning the impulse, and then closed the distance, expecting to be assailed, and instead... instead there was nothing. Just a sepulchral stillness that felt incredibly wrong from a living person. If he concentrated, he could sense a sludge beneath it, with the occasional flicker, like the dying embers of a fire. But the impression was so distant he had to work for it, and when he rose out of the trance he was not alone.
"Did you feel anything?" Healer Jonsen asked. Whatever pique had afflicted the healer the previous day was notably absent; today the Hinichi looked tense, but not aggressive. Hopeful, Jahir thought.
"I wish I could give you any news at all," Jahir said. "But I fear I see no cause for optimism."
"Neither do we," Jonsen said. "We've been unable to locate a next of kin from anything he had on him, and treaty stipulations with humanity prevent us from doing a DNA look-up without record of permission. I'm afraid he's going to die here, and no one will ever know why, or what happened to him."
"Is there nothing more to be done?"
"Oh, there's plenty that could be done." Jonsen looked down at the patient, and his ears flipped back. "Our first course with this is to support the return of the physical body to health and then see if the mind comes back with it. If that doesn't work, we can try more invasive techniques. But honestly, the body doesn't like us messing with its own treatment plan."
"I had a teacher so tell me once," Jahir murmured, remembering KindlesFlame's lecture on the subject.
"If we had a next of kin to consult, the choice would be easier. For us, anyway, because it would be up to them. Or if they had a preference on file. Since neither of those apply, we'll have to make the decision ourselves."
"Could he not be moved upstairs?" Jahir asked.
"Oh, he could. The question is whether we can afford it." Jonsen's smile was wry. "The beds don't come free. And if we keep him, we might displace someone with an active family, waiting for their return." He looked down at the man. "No, we'll keep him as long as we can, and then we'll have to either ship him to a different facility—where it's far more likely he'll expire—or try invasive measures. Given that the worst outcome in either case remains the same, we'll probably try something on him. Later today, I'm guessing, after the healers get together for their daily patient care conferences." He glanced at Jahir. "At which point we will either need you immediately... or not at all."
"I will do my best on his behalf," Jahir said.
Jonsen nodded. "But if you sense anything...."
"I'll be sure to communicate it."
"Good," the wolfine said, and left.
Jahir stayed a moment longer, willing himself to touch the skin of the limp wrist lying beside the patient's hip, and could not force himself to the task. Even now, the feel of that cold seemed to cling to his fingertips, tacky as the soil in a graveyard. He backed away, watching the monitors, and then went to attend to his coffee mug, left outside the room. If he used it more for the warmth than for drinking, it was still good coffee, and he was glad of it.
"I didn't know you drank coffee," Paige said when they met at the bottle. She was refilling her own cup. "I mean, you drink coffee because we all take stimulants. I didn't know you liked this stimulant in particular."
"I love coffee," Jahir said. "Also tea. Hot chocolate now and then. Kerinne, perhaps not as often."
"Kerinne's not a stimulant, though," Paige said. She held out her hand for his cup and he passed it to her, careful of her fingers. He was feeling somewhat bruised and did not want to abrade himself further. "If you like this stuff, I can bring an order more often? This shop does hot buttered coffee, if you've ever had that."
"I have not," Jahir said. "It sounds deadly."
She laughed. "Only if you're not used to a lot of fat." She glanced at him, one ear up. "I bet if you check your list of okay foods, you'll find it on there."
"Will I?" He took the cup from her, surprised. "It seems a strangely specific thing."
"Oh, the lists aren't made like that." She waved a hand. "Your healer put in specifications—nutritional targets you need to meet and compounds you're supposed to avoid—and the database will generate the list dynamically. Who'd have the time to do it otherwise?"
"I had no idea," he murmured. Then added, "Perhaps you might answer me a question, alet? How does everyone know about me?" He lifted his braceleted hand and shook it. "I was under the impression this was the only evidence accessible to those who would have wanted to know."
"And all it takes is one person who's close enough to read it," Paige said with a chuckle. "After that, the break room takes care of the rest." At his quizzical expression, she added, "People talk."
"Ah," he said, quieter.
"Don't take it that way," the Karaka'An said. "It's because we take care of one another. We like to know how we can help, if we're going to need to."
This was, he thought, another extension of the Pelted cultural attitude toward privacy, particularly in regards to health and safety. They found privacy disturbing, reminiscent of the days when they were secrets guarded by humanity who wanted to keep them for their own purposes. Berquist had explained it to him briefly on Seersana, how the privacy laws for Pelted were radically different from those for humans. And neither of them were anywhere near as fanatic about it as the Eldritch.
"I appreciate being accepted into the community," he said, because it was truth. As much as he preferred the privacy of his own kind, he was not among them anymore… and the only help he was apt to receive while out on his own was limited to the help the people around him were willing to extend a stranger.
"It was a little quicker than usual with you," Paige admitted. She smiled. "Because you're unusual. And because you're obviously fighting so hard just to be functional. We can all respect that. So if you ever need anything—"
Like a nap on the floor? He thought of Radimir and withheld his sigh. "I am grateful. And hope to be worth the effort."
She grinned at him. "So far, so good."
Two hours later, the unresponsive patient died.
Jahir was in triage when the alert went off; by the time he arrived, the emergency team had surrounded a body that had gone from limp to spastic. The Eldritch stopped abruptly in the door; the sounds from the halo-arch melded into the sounds of flesh jerking against fabric, and none of that mattered because he could sense the chaos of the man's aura from across the room. He'd always been vaguely aware of people's emotional states, but he'd never been able to feel them with such clarity without touch. And it gave him an immediate headache; colors streaked in front of his eyes, breathless and nonsensical, and he leaned against the door frame until he could marshal himself.
As he stepped closer, the emissions collapsed, and so did the man. The halo-arch began to whine, a high-pitched noise that only exacerbated the headache.
By then, it was over, and all that was left was the paperwork.
Once one of the healers-assist left, Jahir came close enough to look at the man's face. He'd seen the dead before; among his own kind with their lack of most medical knowledge, it came frequently. His own father had been one of those dead, even. And little Nieve had died in his arms on Seersana, and the memory of that lingered, a reminder that even in the Alliance, people died. But the contrast between the man's aura while he lay comatose and the state he'd projected so powerfully just before dying struck Jahir as ominous. He found his tongue with difficulty. "What do you suppose…?"
"Killed him?" One of the healers-assist shook his head. "We have no idea. Sometimes bad things happen."
His coworker snorted. "Yeah, like dying. Dying happens sometimes."
"But only sometimes," the first said with a grin as he began retracting the halo-arch and preparing the patient for his trip out of the crisis care facility. Glancing at Jahir, he said, "Never happened on your watch before?"
Nieve counted, he thought. "Yes." He glanced at the now quiescent readings from the halo-arch. "No idea at all?"
"Not that we know of. You can ask Jonsen, though, he was the attending."
"I may, at that," Jahir murmured.
The rest of his shift passed quickly, punctuated only by the sort of strange occurrences Maya assured him were normal, as in the patient who brought a bag of live fish with her; having been afflicted with gut pains halfway home from the store where she'd bought them, she detoured to Mercy without stopping to drop them off. There were the expected series of accidents, some gruesome and some merely messy—one man with a cut he couldn't keep from bleeding who left the triage room looking as if something had been butchered in it. And there were the wondrous periods of quiet where he could rest against the wall and listen to Maya sipping from her mug and swiping pages
on her data tablet.
He was grateful to hand off his work to the night shift and was contemplating whether he had the energy for a trip to the roof when Doctor Levine startled him. Not just by arriving early enough in the shift to intercept him, but by blocking his way.
"Doctor?" he asked, fighting his fatigue. "Is there something I might help you with?"
"If you have a moment?" She beckoned him after her, and resigned, he followed her to the small room in the back of the lounge that served as the shift supervisor's office. He wished Radimir was in it, but with evening handing off to the night shift, the pardine was talking with his own replacement.
"I hear you lost someone today," Levine said, eyes somber. She leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, creasing her coat.
"I would not go so far in claiming jurisdiction," he answered, his weariness making him more curt than he would have preferred. "The team lost him, I would say."
She nodded. "That's a good way of framing it. I encourage you to hold on to that. But if you have any issues later... talk to me about it. Or Griffin, if you're more comfortable with him. Losing a patient is hard. I don't want you to soldier on in stoic silence if you need help."
It was growing progressively more difficult not to stare at her. He did not question her compassion, or her ardor in presenting her case, but he couldn't help but wonder why she was so adamantly insisting that he needed help. Particularly—
—ah. Her help.
And yet, this was not her shift. How had she found out? God and Lady preserve him if she was actively monitoring his progress. Could he dare to believe she was doing the same with the other resident? He hoped so.
"Thank you, Doctor. I'll be sure to talk to someone if I feel it necessary."
"Good," she said. "Because I remember the first person who died on my watch..." She drifted off, eyes losing their focus, and he suppressed the urge to beg off before she could keep him any longer. More than anything he wanted to be off his feet and she was keeping him from his bed. She was talking again. "...and it was hard to convince myself I couldn't have done more. But there are some people it's not your destiny to heal or fix, alet. If you can't learn that lesson, you'll never make it in this profession." She lifted her brows. "And... you are falling asleep on me, aren't you."
Mindline (The Dreamhealers 2) Page 6
