by neetha Napew
After I breached the peritoneal layer, the Furinac contracted an internal plate of cartilage, allowing me to inspect what served as his digestive system. Two of the quartet of greyish organs were ruptured in a dozen places. A small portion of the large intestine was also punctured. I described what I saw as I suctioned out the dangerous fluids and matter that had accumulated in the compartmental cavity.
There was a profusion of buzzed humming from the Furinac once Reever was through interpreting.
“The Patriarch would like to know if the organs can be saved,” Reever asked me. “Proper consumption of his native diet requires the preservation of all four stomachs. He says he is old and has few pleasures left.”
I surveyed the organs, then shook my head. “Can’t do it. I’ll try to clone the damaged organs, and replace them at a later time. Best I can do.”
The elderly Furinac sighed just like a human once he heard this translated.
“A change in diet beats dying,” I said.
The Patriarch indicated through Reever that I should proceed. My right hand slipped on the lascalpel as I lifted it. I couldn’t feel it anymore.
“Damn.” I flexed my left fingers, they weren’t much better. I had been trained to operate ambidextrously, but that wasn’t going to help. I looked at Reever. “We have a bit of a problem, Duncan.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t have enough sensation in my hands to perform this procedure.”
Everyone within the sterile field stopped what they were doing for a full five seconds.
“Calm down,” I said to the room at large, “We’ll find a way.”
Reever looked at the team. “What about one of them? Can they take your place?”
Tonetka, Squilyp, and I constituted the full staff of surgeons for the Sunlace. A few of the more experienced residents were doing some simple procedures, but none had graduated to the level of cutting required for this kind of work.
On the other hand, if we didn’t do this now, the Furinac would die. I turned my face toward the display panel just beyond the sterile field.
“Squilyp, can you hear me?”
His reply was low but audible beyond the field static.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“If you have any bright ideas, now’s the time.” I thought for a moment. “If I guide you with my voice, could you do the procedure by touch?”
“An interesting proposition,” the Omorr said. “I have a better one.”
“Don’t be shy.”
“You made a comment about borrowing someone’s hands. Could Linguist Reever lend you his while you share a cortical coupling?”
A radical idea. A great one, too. I looked at Reever. “Can we do that? Operate on the Patriarch using my mind and your hands?”
Reever’s eyes went from me to the open thorax and exposed organs, then to his own hands. He swallowed hard before he said, “Yes.”
Why, he’s squeamish, I thought. How cute.
“Just think of it as helping the handicapped.” I turned my head toward the console. “Squilyp, I’m giving you a raise in compensation. Major credits. You can have the desk, too.”
I explained what we were doing to my team members while Reever translated my proposed solution to the Patriarch. I had no idea how he explained that the Furinac’s surgeon couldn’t use her own hands, but somehow he got the message through. The Patriarch agreed. Reever turned to me. His eyes were dull green above the edge of his mask.
“Whenever you’re ready, Doctor.”
“Remember to let me do my job while we’re linked. I need full control of your hands.” I crinkled my eyes in a surgical-room smile. “Relax, Duncan. I know what I’m-you’re-doing.”
We linked. I raced into Reever’s thoughts impatiently. He was feeling nauseous, which made me nauseous.
Cut it out. Now is not the time to decide you don’t like touching squishy things. I reached out with my mental hands, and felt him guide me to his. Through my eyes, I watched as I lifted Duncan’s hand to the lascalpel. His fingers shook a little. Get a grip. Can’t do that when you’re in someone’s abdomen, you’ll cut out something important. Just relax and enjoy yourself.
You enjoy doing this? Reever seemed crabby.
We grasped the lascalpel and angled it over the Furinac.
It’s the great love of my life. Now, we’re going to make the first incision. I have to give instructions to the team, so just let me use your hands and stay out of the way.
Once the surgical team adjusted to the idea, they were only too happy to slap instruments into Reever’s gloves. He jumped at the feel of metal striking his palm the first time.
Steady, Duncan. I leaned closer to the first stomach, clamped off and ready for removal. Here we go. Whatever you do, don’t jerk the lascalpel.
The operation went on for three more hours. I had to work slowly. Reever’s untrained hands were capable but unaccustomed to the fine manipulation required. I felt his muscles cramping as we completed the last of the excisions.
Tell the Patriarch to release his internal plate. I pushed the lascalpel away with Duncan’s hand, and asked one of the team to close for us. That’s it. You can end the link-
The world tilted, disappeared. I was in a dark, silent place. The sounds of a child crying made me whirl around.
Reever?
I saw an image of a little boy, dressed in nothing more than a filthy rag twisted around his hips. His pathetically thin body rocked back and forth. A mass of scabbed, infected gashes covered the back of the child’s hands.
Duncan?
The image dissolved, reshaped itself. A taller, older version of the boy got to his feet. He was wearing a surgical gown. Furinac blood stained his gloves.
No. 1 didn’t mean to remind you of this. Duncan, I’m sorry.
Cherijo, I’m glad I was useful to you. I didn’t want the Patriarch to die. But don’t do this to me again.
We were back in the surgical suite, staring at each other. Reever excused himself as soon as I deactivated the sterile field.
“Doctor?” It was the Omorr, sounding anxious. I gave him a summary of the operation as I cleaned up. When I came out in main Medical, Adaola was waiting for me.
“Security cannot move Dr. Rogan to detainment for the moment, Senior Healer,” she said. “Captain Pnor wishes Xonea to remain in isolation.”
With all the uproar over Rogan, the Furinac and Squilyp, I’d forgotten about Xonea. “What for?” The nurse made an I-don’t-know gesture. “All right. But I want him kept in restraints at all times.”
Adaola nodded. “May I ask what happened to Linguist Reever?”
“It’s complicated,” I said. I looked around, but didn’t see Reever anywhere. “Where is he?”
“He departed. I offered an antiemetic to him, but he refused.”
“An antiemetic?”
“Why, yes, Senior Healer. I thought it would be helpful, considering the way he vomited when he came out of surgery.”
I monitored the Furinac for a few hours, then left him in the capable hands of Adaola so I could catch a sleep interval. There would be very few of them for me from now on. I’d be the only physician on duty until Squilyp recovered from Rogan’s attack.
I programmed an alarm for four hours and dropped on my sleeping platform. Four seconds later, the alarm went off. Well, it felt like four seconds.
I dragged my lethargic body off the mattress and into the cleanser. Of course my display’s emergency signal chose that moment to activate. I muttered dire threats against Jorenian tech as I left a trail of wet footprints across the deck.
I punched the keypad. “What?”
Sale’s image appeared. “Senior Healer, Xonea has requested your presence. Captain Pnor will permit a supervised interview.”
Pnor could go talk to him. I had patients to see to. “Tell him I’m busy.”
“Healer.” Salo tried to sound stern. “This is the only opportunity you will be given to speak to Xonea.”
“Why?”
“Xonea will explain.” Before I could say anything, Salo leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It is important, Cherijo.”
“I can’t do this over a channel?” Salo shook his head. “Okay. I’m on the way.” My brows drew together. “Just exactly where is detainment, Salo?”
“Level twenty-seven.”
Twenty levels down. Most of the gyrlifts were still out of operation. This had better be good.
Some time later, my tired legs stopped at level twenty-seven’s barricaded entryway. Two very large, armed crew members stood guard. No congenial kidding around here, I discovered as I was permitted access. Those pulse rifles meant business.
Xonea’s cell was a large, empty area, probably used for cargo storage most of the time. There weren’t a lot of reasons to detain a Jorenian. When there were, it wasn’t for the long term.
I strode up to the mesh barrier and halted where he could see me. “You rang?”
Xonea rose from the bunk he was lying on and approached the barrier. He looked terrible.
“Aren’t they feeding you?” I asked.
“Cherijo, thank you for coming.” He began to reach through the barrier, then saw my face and dropped his hand. “Before I go, I would express my regret over what I have done. You were correct. You never invited my Choice, and did everything to discourage it. Your pardon would mean much to me.”
“You’re forgiven,” I said. “Before you go where?”
“Captain Pnor has informed me of his ruling.” Xonea pressed one huge hand against his flat belly, and winced with a spasm of pain. “I am banished.”
“Banished?” My jaw dropped. “For what?”
“Pnor believes I intend to divert your path. That I would have, when I confronted you in Medical.” Another spasm made him take a quick breath.
“What’s wrong with your stomach?” I demanded, automatically looking around for a first aid kit. “And don’t say it’s nothing. That’s the third or fourth time I’ve seen you grab it like that.”
“It does not matter. Whatever is wrong will soon be of no consequence. I am banished.”
“So apologize and promise you’ll never do it again.”
“It makes no difference, Cherijo. It is decided.”
“This is crazy.” Xonea Choosing me was bad enough, but banishing him because the Captain thought he was trying to kill me? “Pnor’s wrong. I’ll tell him he’s wrong.”
“He will not reverse his ruling.”
“Don’t you people have due process?” At that, Xonea looked mystified. “Never mind. I won’t let him do this. Not without some kind of trial. Can’t I...” I recalled how I’d felt under the same circumstances. Saw the glimmer of expectancy in his white eyes. “What?”
“Pnor cannot banish me if I am shielded.”
I recalled the clause from the database. Suspected offenders Chosen by a member of the victim’s HouseClan after the offense has been committed may be thus shielded from judicial action...
“Let me get this straight. You want me to go to Pnor. Tell him I Choose you. Then you’re shielded until we reach Joren. Have I covered the entire plan?”
He turned away from the mesh. I felt a little ashamed of myself. Xonea had done the same thing to protect me, when Pnor had suspected I was involved in the murders.
“Look, Xonea, I-“ Oh, the hell with it. “I’ll go and see Pnor now.”
His shoulders tensed. “You will?” He pivoted, hope erasing the etched despair on his face.
I held up a hand. “There are conditions. No bonding chambers, no vows, no kids. When we reach your home-world, we go our separate ways.” Before he could start giving me his opinion, I shook my head. “I don’t care what the rules are. I’ll go along with this until we get to Joren. Then it’s over.”
He obviously didn’t like it, but nodded. “Agreed.”
I found the Captain after a brief search of Engineering and made my request. Pnor took me back to his office and at once tried to talk me out of it. For an hour. He talked about HouseClan traditions and deviant behavior and a hundred other reasons to throw my ClanBrother off the Sunlace.
“He will expect to claim his Choice,” the Captain added, just for good measure.
We’d just see about that part, I thought, and shrugged.
“Once free, he could easily kill you.”
“Captain, Xonea shielded me when you thought I was the killer.” I stood up. “He deserves the benefit of the doubt, just for that.”
Pnor was bitterly convinced he had made the right decision. “He meant to divert your path, Cherijo. Xonea deserves banishment.”
“In your opinion,” I said. “On my homeworld, we believe people to be innocent until proven guilty.”
“A naive concept,” someone else said.
I turned around to find Duncan Reever standing behind me.
“Did our voices carry well enough for you to hear everything this time?” Reever nodded. I glanced back to the Captain. “I checked the judicial database. You can’t stop me.”
“Xonea will be restricted to quarters,” Pnor said. “If you Choose, that will be your quarters, Senior Healer.”
Oh joy. Maybe I’d sleep in Medical for a few weeks. “Thank you, Captain.” I grasped Reever’s arm and tugged him out of the office with me. “I need to talk to you.”
I found a deserted alcove and pulled him into it with me. It was small and we had to stand close together. The warmth of his body met the chilled surface of my skin.
“Duncan, we’ve had this conversation before.”
“Yes.” His eyes turned wintry grey, gleaming like a frozen Terran lake. I couldn’t get through that cold remoteness now. Maybe it was a form of protection. Maybe Reever needed to feel nothing for me. Fine.
“Reever, I-“
All of a sudden he grabbed my tunic and jerked. Our bodies collided. My arms came up around him in reflex. He muttered something, then cradled my face between his scarred hands. Our mouths jolted together, off-center, but he fixed that.
Reever did feel something, after all.
We didn’t speak when our lips parted. There wasn’t anything left to say. I stepped out of the alcove, turned and walked away. I didn’t look back to see if Reever was watching me go. I already knew he was.
CHAPTER TWELVE
She Who Preserves
I checked in with Medical, made my rounds, and spoke to Squilyp and Adaola. Explaining things was impossible. It didn’t matter. From the sympathetic looks I got, it already appeared to be public knowledge. I asked Squilyp to assist the nurses until I got back. He was polite and pretended to believe my invented excuse.
I went to my quarters. Signaled the Captain. Made a few final preparations.
This time I caught a functioning gyrlift and returned to level twenty-seven. The two guards were conspicuously absent. Instructions had been left on the outer display on how to let myself into the detainment area.
Xonea was still standing in the same place I’d left him. His eyes, widened as he saw me walk in. I guessed he had counted on me not coming back. He was in for a few more surprises.
“Cherijo.”
“Xonea.” I pressed a few keys on the display panel, which deactivated the barrier-locking mechanism. “Are you ready to do this?”
He smiled as I entered the cell and secured the barrier once more. “You speak as though preparing to perform a medical procedure.”
“Surgery is a lot more fun.”
“Perhaps.” He walked toward me. Two enormous hands descended to rest lightly on my shoulders. “Perhaps not.” He bent forward and brushed his lips against the top of my head. “I am honored.”
“Uh-huh.” I didn’t want to do this. It made me remember when Kao had Chosen me. Aka the happiest day of my life. “How’s your stomach?”
He ignored that and stroked my hair. “I will not hurt you, Cherijo.”
“Your ClanBrother said the same thing to me.” A single tear spilled
from my lashes. Oh, for God’s sake, I didn’t want to start crying now. I wanted to be clinical. Detached. On another vessel a thousand light years from the Sunlace. “All right.” I took a deep breath. “Xonea Torin, I Choose you.”
“Cherijo.” His thumb rubbed away the small droplet. “Look at me.”
I did. His fingers released the clasp on my vocollar, and lifted it from my neck. He did the same with his, and dropped them to the deck.
“Bad move,” I said. “How are you going to understand what I’m saying when I tell you I’m not going to have sex with you?”
“Sher-ee-shoh,” Xonea said, carefully wrapping his fluid Jorenian palate around the guttural syllables. He was speaking Terran. “Ahyee lahv hyoo.” He touched my lips with his fingers. “Ahyee-huv ol-hways lahvduh hyoo.”
He’d learned enough of my own language to tell me this. Because there was no word for “love” in Jorenian.
My first sexual experience had been with Kao, immediately after he’d Chosen me. Since that night, I hadn’t been intimate with anyone except Duncan Reever, and that had been under duress. Now I had Chosen Xonea, who was expecting a wedding night.
I needed to work on my relationships with men.
Something cool and metallic encircled my neck. Xonea was replacing our vocollars. His fingers went on to work my braid loose, then released the warrior’s knot in his hair. A thick swath of black spilled over his shoulders.
“Did I say it correctly?” he asked me.
“Very smooth,” I said. How could I put my refusal into words without hurting his pride? I stalled for time. “How long did it take you to learn how to say it in Terran?”
His lips twitched. “A week.”
Pleading a sudden migraine wouldn’t work. “I’m impressed.”
“So little you are.” He took me in his arms and lifted me up. “I fear I will hurt you.”
Fear was good, I thought. Maybe I could use that. By then he was nuzzling the side of my neck. “Um... Xonea, I need to talk to you about this.”
“Your skin is very delicate,” he said. That faint touch of his fingertip skimming my lips made me swallow and close my eyes. “Terrans must bruise easily.”
