by neetha Napew
“How are you doing?” I said to the Omorr.
“I’ve performed a lobectomy where her alveoli were scorched,” he replied. “Her bronchus on the remaining side is compromised in three areas. The tracheostomy tube will have to be permanent.”
“Trach’s gone?”
“What’s left isn’t viable.”
“Preserve tissue samples. We’ll clone the fibrous and muscle tissue the same way we did those Furinac stomachs.” I swore under my breath as I visually located the bone shard. As it was now, there was only a vestige of cardiac hemorrhaging. Removing it would be like taking a cork from a bottle. “Yetlo, you are really beginning to aggravate me.”
Squilyp’s dark eyes looked up over his mask at me. “Heart?”
“Yeah. He’s got a chunk of rib bone stuck in the right ventricle. I yank it out, he’s going to rupture on me.” I straightened and let the nurse blot the sweat from my eyes. “We’re looking at another four hours here with the open-heart procedure.” I turned and gave the team instructions to begin cooling Yetlo down. Once we put him on the heartIlung supplanter, I could work on the damaged ventricle.
“I can cover the ward,” the Omorr said.
“I’m not worried about that.” I flexed my hands painfully. “You may have to take over cutting for me.”
Squilyp stared at my hands. “Can you leave your patient for a minute?”
“Yeah.” I had finished repairing the damage internally, all but the heart. “Start reducing body temperature,” I said to the scrub nurse, and stepped around the table.
The Omorr gave orders to the assistant beside him. She began suctioning blood from his patient’s chest cavity. My eyebrows elevated when he stripped off his gloves and hopped over to me.
“Did I accidentally challenge you to a fight again, or something?” I asked.
“No.” He looked amused. “Give me your hands.”
I held up my bloody gloves. “My hands?”
“Yes. Remove the gloves first.”
Puzzled, I did as he asked. His membranes took hold of my fingers. His flesh felt odd, almost hot as he touched me.
“Uh, Squilyp? What’s going on?” I could see me making some kind of accidental betrothal here. I seemed to be an expert at that.
“Close your eyes. I’m going to heal you.”
I scoffed out some air. “In your dreams.”
“I mean it.” He sounded peeved. “You know my people practice touch healing. Close your eyes.”
Reluctantly I shut my eyelids. His touch was growing uncomfortably hot now. “This hurts,” I said. “Don’t you think I have enough problems?”
“Shut up.” He said something my vocollar didn’t translate. “Visualize your hands as they were before the injuries. Remember what you could do with them.”
I pictured myself performing surgery on Hado Torin. Then my fingers had flown so fast I’d extracted and replaced a cardiac valve in less than three minutes.
“Yes. There is the power. I can sense it,” he murmured. I peeked through my lashes. His gildrells flared, and made snakelike undulations. “I enable you with your power.”
“Squilyp-“
“Believe.”
The word seemed to echo in my chest. Believe. Believe.
Okay. I believed. Only my hands were burning again. I sucked in a quick, sharp breath, and squeezed my eyes shut.
“The pain is the healing,” he said. “Take the pain. Make it yours to command. Force it back where it came from.”
I concentrated. The scrub teams were whispering, distracting me. “Quiet, people.”
I saw my hands in Hado’s chest. Saw his heart being repaired. I could have that again. I had to have it.
The burning sensation faded. Neuropraxic tingling remained in its wake. The tingling became a warm, pleasant flush. Squilyp released me. We opened our eyes and stared at each other.
My hands should have been numb, so I looked down and shook them, then flexed my fingers in dumbfounded shock.
“It worked.” My head snapped up. “Squilyp, it workedl” To prove my claim, I reached over and picked up a clamp and twirled it through my fingers. The instrument became a smooth, blurred circle of movement.
He nodded and looked at his own membranes. “Belief is a power unto itself.”
“If that’s all it takes,” I said, grinning, “then why did we bother going to medtech?”
“Beliefs require faith. Certification boards do not.”
I laughed. Leaned over. Kissed him right smack on the gildrells. I never knew the Omorr could blush.
Thirty-six hours and ten operations later, I let the nurses chase me from Medical and stumbled down two levels to my quarters. My rooms were darkened when I opened the door panel. Cautiously I peeked in to see if Xonea had left a new gauntlet of obstacles for me to trip over.
Jenner padded over and gave me the once-over. Late again? He raised his chin to my tired fingers, and sniffed at me. There’s blood on your hands. Big blue eyes regarded me solemnly. Why don’t you ever bring home your kills for me to share?
I sat down in a chair, trying to work up enough ambition to head for the cleanser. A nerve in my neck twitched, and I rubbed my hand over it. Everything seemed fuzzy. I should have turned on the lights.
A low whisper startled me. “Cherijo?”
“No, it’s a half-ton Hsktskt killer. Got any weapons?” I was too weary to do more than stand and start peeling off my tunic. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Twelve warm blue fingers were suddenly undressing me. Xonea didn’t adjust the lighting as he helped me out of my tunic.
“I can’t see anything,” I said as he dressed me in my favorite undershirt. Yawning became a chore.
Smooth lips gently touched my injured cheek as he placed me on the sleeping platform. His hands stroked down my back.
“I’m really tired,” I said, hoping that would be enough to convince him to leave me alone.
“I know, little one,” his low voice whispered. “I will do everything.”
Little one? Xonea never called me that. Suddenly a hand was between my thighs. The other on my breast. Hot breath scalded my face.
“No.” I struggled, and the caressing fingers became cruel and bruising. “No!”
A fist slammed into my face.
I was pitched out of the sleeping platform onto the floor. Everything went grey for a few seconds. I heard running steps. The door panel opened and closed. No, I couldn’t let him get away, I thought, and pushed myself up on my elbows. The door panel opened and closed again. The interior lights snapped on.
“Cherijo?” Xonea saw me on the floor. “Cherijo!”
When he reached for me, I cowered. Gentle hands carefully lifted me to my feet. That was when I realized I was shaking all over.
“Xonea.”
He pressed me against his chest, tucked me under his chin. Slowly he rocked me in his embrace. “You are safe, Cherijo. You are safe now.”
The only thing I could say I repeated, over and over. “I thought it was you. I thought it was you.”
No one challenged Xonea’s right to assume command of the Sunlace. Pnor’s ruling, I learned, became void at the moment of his death. Someone else would have to accuse Xonea of trying to kill me before he could be removed from command. No one did that, either. Apparently my Choosing Xonea had convinced the crew the whole banishment thing had been a mistake.
Since Xonea suspected the Furinac First Scion had betrayed our position to the League, our convoluted course to Joren was immediately altered and recharted. His first official act as Captain. His second was to schedule all Senior crew members for a strategy session. I was to report to the meeting as well.
Xonea told me about it as I was getting dressed for work.
“What about the murderer, and Rogan? What are you going to do about them?”
“Defense planning must take priority.”
I didn’t agree. “Xonea, you can’t ignore this problem and hop
e it’ll go away.”
“I will deal with it.”
I wasn’t going to pick a fight with him. “All right. But I don’t know why you need me to attend this meeting. Ship defense isn’t my area of expertise.”
“Your input will be valuable.”
“What input? All I can say is stuff like, ‘Don’t stand there bleeding when you get hit, report to Medical.’ “ I pulled my tunic straight and sat down at my vanity console to attack my snarled hair. “I’m not a combat veteran, like some people I know.”
“Stop. You are making it worse.” Xonea came up to stand behind me and took the brush from my fingers. “As Senior Healer, your presence is mandatory.”
I sighed and sat there as he patiently detangled my knots.
“What sort of strategy are we talking here?”
He chose his words carefully. “There is a main item to my agenda: our current response to the League threat. Pnor felt swift retreat alone was the appropriate response to these mercenary attacks.”
“And you don’t.”
“No. The Sunlace was commissioned by our HouseClan primarily for extended deep-space survey. The ship is not, however, defenseless. I will invite opinion on our current procedures, and propose changes.”
He might have sounded all Captainish saying that, but I knew what was behind the words. After all, the man had a warrior’s knot in his hair. Pnor, I suddenly recalled, had never worn one.
“Changes that include fighting back.”
“If the Senior crew members agree,” he said, “yes.”
“Hooray for democracy. I may have something to contribute to this meeting after all.” Such as how many more casualties we could expect if the Sunlace did return fire. “Where and when are you having this meeting, so I can be sure to be late?”
“Tomorrow morning before your shift begins. You will not be late. I will escort you myself.”
“Gee, Captain, what’s next? Time drones?”
His lips quirked as he separated my now-smooth hair into three sections. “If necessary. You do seem to have an abhorrence to punctuality.”
“I have an abhorrence to a lot of things.” I shivered as the frightening assault replayed in my mind. “What are we going to do about last night?”
His eyes met mine in the mirror. “I will assure it does not happen again.”
“You can’t baby-sit me forever.”
“I will find the traitor,” he said. His hands skillfully wove the long black strands into a braided cable. A rather tight cable. “Until then, you will not be left alone.”
It was time to be blunt. I waited until he took his hands off my head. I liked my hair attached to my scalp. “Xonea, we need to access my memories.”
“You were drugged,” he said.
I bit my lip, then jumped in the rest of the way. “Reever was able to get to them once before. He can do it again-“
Xonea grabbed my braid and used it to pull my head back. Upside-down, he still looked furious. “No. I forbid you to do this.”
“You’re being unreasonable, Xonea. Reever-“
“No!” Xonea shouted. I found myself yanked out of the seat and spun around. “Duncan Reever did not Choose you. I did!”
So he was angry. He wasn’t alone. “Choice has nothing to do with this!”
A muscle in his jaw twitched as he glared down at me. “Stay away from him, Cherijo.” Dark rage transformed his features. Maybe becoming Captain made him think he could order me around. He needed a wake-up call.
“You don’t own me, Xonea.”
“You will do as you are told!”
“How many more people have to die before you do something?”
He flung me away from him. Not a shove. Not a push. I literally flew through the air, and landed on the sleeping platform ten feet away. What the hell was wrong with him? Getting the wind knocked out of me didn’t improve my mood. As soon as I could, I sat up to blast him.
Too late. Xonea was already out the door.
I shoved myself off my bed and locked the door. A few moments later, the door panel chimed. Sorry for tossing me across the room, was he? I went to the console, slammed my fist into it, and planted myself in front of the opening door.
Darea stood there with Fasala.
“We thought to invite you and Xonea for a meal...” Darea looked over her shoulder. Apparently my raging roommate had passed her in the corridor. “Perhaps another time-“
“No. I mean, come in, please.” I stepped aside, and forced a smile for Fasala’s sake. “You know how it is once the honeymoon is over.”
Darea looked puzzled. “What is a honeymoon?”
“What I’m not having today. Come in, sit down for a minute.”
Jenner, who had been hiding during all the fireworks, came out to inspect my visitors. Fasala went into raptures at once, and soon the pair were playing a vigorous game of catch the toy mouse. I smiled at their antics.
“We would not have intruded on your privacy, had we known, Senior Healer,” the Jorenian woman said.
“It’s okay. I just don’t think Xonea and I will be accepting invitations to visit anyone in the near future,” I said. “I suppose you and Salo never argue.”
“On the contrary. My bondmate can be extremely obstinate, nonverbal, and often forgets to equally participate in parenting activities.” She made a short, rather direct gesture. “I merely remind him I am his mate, not his drone.”
I tried to imagine Salo and Darea quarreling. “Are your furnishings made out of plasteel?”
“No,” she said, and smiled. “There have been rare incidents of... damaging them. It is better than harming each other.”
Maybe Xonea should talk to Salo. He could have seriously injured me with that thoughtless little toss. “Your Senior Healer sincerely agrees.”
“It is part of the bond. Salo is a fine warrior and communications officer, but there are moments he is simply a man,” Darea said. “As I am sometimes sorely lacking in patience.”
“I could use some lessons on how to live with a Jorenian man.”
Darea stood and beckoned to Fasala. “Come to our quarters after your shift concludes,” she said. “Xonea need not accompany you. You may observe how I live with Salo and still maintain my sanity.”
“I accept,” I said on impulse. Some of my furnishings were going to end up damaged, I thought, if I didn’t try something.
I walked my visitors out to the corridor. No sign of Xonea. After confirming a time with Darea, I went to work.
Medical Bay was operating at full capacity. I walked in to find Rogan in deep discussion with one of the nurses. Apparently he was very interested in knowing the hierarchy structure of the Sunlace. He was muttering words like “incompetent” and “mutant specimen.” He didn’t realize a Jorenian was usually too polite to comment on inappropriate or rude behavior from someone considered a guest. When he saw me, he went into auto-sneer.
“Dr. Torin,” Rogan said. And here I thought he was going to address me as incompetent mutant specimen.
“Squilyp?” I yelled as I stood there and watched him. The Omorr appeared from the ward and looked from Rogan to me.
“Senior Healer?”
“Status report, please.”
Squilyp recited the bed count, various stages of recovery of the critical patients, and projected discharges.
“You have a problem working a half-shift more on rotation?” I asked the Omorr. He shook his head. “Good.” I addressed the nurse. “Nurse, go change someone’s dressing.” Then I turned to my smelly problem. “Dr. Rogan, your services are no longer required. Thank you for your assistance during the crisis. Get out.”
“I will apply to the Captain for a medical position,” he said as he strode past me. His polyps were whirring madly, making a sly, whispering hiss drift behind him. “He should be informed I have twice your experience. We shall see who gets out then, Doctor.”
Rogan as Senior Healer? I’d blow up the damn ship first. Something
of what I felt must have shown in my expression. Nurses scattered. Patients pretended unconsciousness. Even the Omorr took a nervous step backward.
“Oh, relax!” I said to Squilyp. “Let’s take a look at Yetlo. Might as well let everyone who wants to take a shot at me do it now.”
Yetlo Torin was making excellent progress, considering I’d patched up a hole in his ventricle big enough to fly a starshuttle through. The jagged chest wound showed no signs of infection. His surgery had been completely successful. All indications of a full recovery.
Well, there was one hitch. He still wanted his Speaker.
“My... right...” he croaked the words out as I passed the scanner over him. “Bring... Speaker...”
Beyond my shoulder, the Omorr suddenly got very busy checking the already perfectly functioning monitor.
“Yetlo. Your scans look very promising. Odds are you’re going to be just fine.”
“Speaker...” he said.
Stubborn man. “Yetlo, as your physician, I’ll go out on a limb and guarantee you will recover. You’ll recover if I have to sit and hold your hand until the day you’re ready to walk out of here. Satisfied?”
He frowned at me. “Why... deny... me?”
“Why?” I pursed my lips and consulted the deck overhead. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because I dislike my patients committing suicide. Especially after I’ve spent six hours with my hands in their chests. Call it my little quirk.”
I could see he didn’t understand. I didn’t understand, either. What was so alluring about death? It came soon enough for most beings. I’d seen two men kill themselves already. I had no intention of letting Yetlo become number three. Enough was enough.
I put a hand on his healing chest. Beneath my palm, his repaired heart beat slow and strong. “Feel that? It’s life. Should something so precious be so easily disposed of? Don’t throw it away, Yetlo. Embrace your life.”
When he would have spoken, I pressed a finger to his lips.
“Senior Healer,” Squilyp said. He sounded nervous. I glanced back, and saw a whole row of Jorenian nurses standing beyond him. They were whispering back and forth.
