by neetha Napew
“He has all the experimental data.”
I smiled. “I am the experiment.”
Whatever they pumped into my veins worked. The effects of three days without food or water soon disappeared. The cranky nurse refused to give me my chart, so I had to guess it was the standard salineIglucose shock cocktail. Within hours I regained enough strength to walk out of Medical to join Colonel Shropana for lunch. I snagged my chart from the nurse without asking and tucked it under my arm on the way out.
“Hey, Colonel.”
Shropana waited in the outer corridor for me, and glanced at the chart I carried. “Is there a problem with your treatment?”
“I’ll make a list after I read the physician’s notes.”
The galley was regulation freighter design, which meant it was a big open room with a bunch of tables and benches. Everything was in stanissue League colors (unpainted grey alloys), and even more depressing than the stark confines of their Medical section. I could smell the mingled odors of a hundred meals, none of which appealed to me.
“Ever think of hanging a few botanicals around here?” I asked the Colonel. “Maybe a picture or two?”
“The League discourages reminding space-bound troops of the pleasures of planetary service,” Shropana replied.
“Pity. This place is killing what’s left of my appetite.”
The crew scattered like frightened mice as we approached a smaller series of tables reserved for the officers. One brave soul lingered, evidently meaning to offer his assistance. Shropana’s steady gaze sent him scurrying along after the others.
“Do they always do that?” I asked.
The Colonel nodded. “I never have to wait for a table to become available,” he said.
I made my mouth go round and pressed a hand to my heart. “Why, Colonel. A League Commander who can actually make a decent joke. I’m stunned.”
“Call me Patril,” he said, at ease with my sarcasm now. “What can I program for your meal?”
I wouldn’t let him serve me. Being polite was one thing, but the man commanded sixty League cruisers and God knew how many troopers. Him waiting on me was a bit ridiculous. Plus I didn’t want him slipping some unknown substance into my food or drink. To my surprise, the main menu included a complete selection of native Jorenian recipes.
“You have food stores from Joren?”
“Synthetics. Even with those, your Senior Healer refused to eat anything that was not prepared in classic Jorenian style.” The Colonel sighed. “It took days to adjust the prep units to that woman’s specifications.”
“Oh, so that was where you got the recipe programs.” I programmed the d’narral, waited a moment, and removed the result. I tasted it carefully. “Yep. This is Tonetka’s, all right. She never uses enough safira.”
We returned to the table with our trays and sat down. With my peripheral vision, I saw Joseph Grey Veil approaching us. I casually picked up the fork on my tray (the Colonel wasn’t ready to trust me with knives, I noted) and poked the steaming vegetable mound. Shropana watched my creator approach without a word to me.
I made a humming sound as I tasted it again. “I think she overcooks it a little, too.”
“Really?” The Colonel pretended interest.
“Here, try some.” I offered a forkful to him. He sampled it with a great show of concentration. That’s right, indulge the little lab specimen, I thought. “Too limp, right?”
“Well, perhaps-“
“I would speak with you, Cherijo,” Joseph Grey Veil said, all preemptory arrogance. Like he had a right. I saw him place a hand on the table beside my tray. Felt him hanging over me. My, wasn’t he confident?
Joseph forgot who I’d been living with for the last year.
I immediately turned the fork and rammed the sharp tines through the back of his hand. I never felt this surge of feral satisfaction before. Maybe there was something to that Jorenian tradition of violent revenge. His scream was a top note of joy to my ears.
My creator fell back, clutching his wrist, using language I’d never heard issue from his prim lips before. Guess Joseph had picked up a few bad habits, too. Colonel Shropana half rose from his seat, then slowly sat back down. I used my napkin to blot up the small drops of blood from my side of the table.
“Sorry, Patril,” I said, the epitome of courtesy. “You were saying?”
Shropana gestured to the two guards that shadowed him everywhere and pointed to the fallen Joseph Grey Veil. They helped the wounded Doctor to his feet and escorted him from the galley. I saw all of this from the corner of my eye, and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. The Colonel rose and got another fork for me.
“Healer, I gain respect for you by the day.” He handed me the new utensil. “You make Jorenian warriors seem subdued in comparison.”
“Not really,” I replied. “The only interest I have in someone’s viscera is repairing damage to it. In Dr. Grey Veil’s case, however”-I let my voice go flat-“I can make an exception.”
The heavy features darkened. “You are determined to keep him at bay?”
“Among other things.”
“I applaud your perseverance, although I can’t condone your methods or intent.” The Colonel sipped some of the noxious-smelling beverage he’d chosen. “I thought the Terran Hippocratic Oath required you not to deliberately inflict harm on other human beings.”
“I don’t consider that thing I just stuck my fork in to be human,” I said.
There were no further interruptions. Colonel Shropana ate sparingly. When he thought I wasn’t looking, he gave me odd looks. It didn’t bother me. I happily demolished the d’narral. I liked the way Tonetka programmed it, soggy layers and all.
We finished our meal, and two crew members rushed to clean up after us. Being a Commander did have its perks. From the galley, Shropana took me on a tour of the enormous troop freighter. I wasn’t surprised to find out it was nearly ten times the size of the Sunlace.
“Command levels and engineering sections are off-limits, I’m afraid,” the Colonel said. “I am willing to give you freedom to access the rest of the ship, including our medical facility. Your consultation will be more than welcomed by our staff physician.”
I suppressed the urge to snort. I’d play consultant. In his dreams. “Where are we headed? Terra?”
The Colonel was convincingly regretful. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, although Dr. Grey Veil insists his research can only be carried out on your homework!.”
“You’re not giving Dr. Grey Veil what he wants? My, my. He’ll have a terrible tantrum. You may have to put him in sleep suspension to keep him from developing an embolism.”
Shropana cleared his throat. “We are coordinating our jaunt and will leave orbit tomorrow to return to the Pmoc Quadrant.” We passed a trio of engineers in the corridor. They flattened themselves against the plaspanel walls to get out of the way. “Fendagal XI will be the site of the League Conference in regard to your future.”
That was news. “The entire League is holding a conference just for me?”
“You’re the only genetically enhanced Terran in existence.” He gave me a thorough survey. “Your unique DNA makes you of vital importance to every member of the League.”
“I hope they’ve heard the story about the goose who laid the golden eggs,” I said.
By that time we had reached level fifteen, where League tech programmers were busy maintaining and monitoring the huge ship’s internal systems.
Chamber twelve, level sixteen, Tonetka had said. I had to get that far today. I didn’t know if I’d have a fork handy the next time Joseph Grey Veil tried to put his slimy hands on me.
“What’s on the next level?” I asked. Acting nonchalant was easy. I did it with patients all the time.
“Communications, resource management, and our gymnasium and recreational imagers.” He counted off each with a claw. “I understand you are an excellent simulation programmer.”
“I prefer reality these days,” I said. My lips curled. “Still, can’t be too picky, can I?”
“I’d hardly call you indiscriminate. Come. I’ll show you some of the best the League has to offer its members on extended space jaunts.”
Level sixteen, like the rest of the ship, was extensive. I counted eleven chamber entrances down the starboard side of the corridor and made note of the twelfth. The gymnasium. Perhaps they had given Tonetka routine access to it? What kind of weapon could she have hidden there? Had to be something small she could conceal on her person. I couldn’t anticipate finding a large calibre displacer rifle. I could always dream, though.
The Colonel steered me toward the simulator room, which was equipped with a sophisticated array of dimensional imagers.
“Show me something you’ve enjoyed in the past,” he said.
Probably all part of Joseph’s test. “Sure.”
The tech fell short of the Jorenian environomes, but it was adequate enough. I programmed a simple loop I’d once spent a great deal of time in while I lived in my creator’s house.
Once inside the simulation, Shropana stopped and admired the detail. The damp, heated air was filled with the sounds of a dozen different birds and twice that many animals creeping about the dense undergrowth. The tropical rainforest, canopy soared three hundred feet above our heads.
“Well done, Healer.” Shropana’s smooth skin was already beading with sweat.
“Not really. The parameters could be more defined.” I pulled aside a low frond, revealing a solid block of green where there should have been shoots and root clusters. “I can get most of the leaves and trunks right, but I always screw up the details.” I inclined my head. “Half the birds are indigenous to North America, not the Amazon basin.” A large, amiable white bear ambled past us. “Did I mention how much I liked polar bears?”
Shropana grinned. All those little daggerlike teeth made me shudder inside. “It is good to know the most-developed being in existence makes mistakes, too.”
“Is that what he told you I am?” I made a tsking sound with my tongue. “I don’t think the theory culminates in fact. Like my program here.” I reached out my hand, and my polar bear reappeared. The triangular black nose snuffled my palm. “On Terra, a real version of this would be dining on my hand, not licking it. We’d also have to be in the Arctic, not Brazil.”
“Healer, I suspect you can twist theory into any fact you desire,” Shropana said, patting the rump of the placid creature.
“Or maybe I’m not so brilliant.” I went to the control alcove and terminated the loop. The rainforest disappeared. “The League has spent a great deal of valuable time and resources based on-what? The wild promises of one mad scientist.”
He spread his hands. “What he promises could change the nature of existence on many worlds.”
“For who? Tell me, Colonel, do you believe the League will make the technology that created me available to say, a crop cultivator? How about a data input clerk? Someone on subsistence? Or do you think they’ll reserve genetic enhancements for the inner circle of power?”
He shook his head. “I cannot answer. The League directors make policy. I am simply a soldier.”
“Good point. Maybe the soldiers will benefit the most. Imagine what could be done with an army that was genetically programmed to never stop fighting. They’d never have to eat or sleep. Never have to be pensioned off. Just fight until they drop.”
Shropana didn’t like that. I suspected he was far more intelligent than he wanted anyone to know. That might be valuable to remember when I put my escape plan into action. Smart men had a tendency to think too much.
“Let’s see your gymnasium,” I said. “I’d like to get some exercise. My sweat glands are shriveling.”
Once inside the gymnasium, I pretended to be fascinated with the weight-resistant equipment and began planning a vigorous exercise regime.
Shropana excused himself. “I have duties to attend to. Please remember to avoid all prohibited areas.” grunted as I pressed a heavy tension coil between my hands. “Will do.”
“Enjoy yourself.” He left.
I kept working my protesting muscles as I examined the room. The League probably hadn’t wasted recording drones on Tonetka while she exercised. I suspected I didn’t merit the same luxury, but they’d already screwed up once. I touched the pendant that still hung around my neck. The idiots had never even checked it.
Where could she have hidden it?
Visual inspection revealed nothing but a profusion of equipment, a cleanser unit, diagnostic console-I nearly dropped the weights.
The image of Squilyp and me arguing in Tonetka’s office popped into my head. “Tonetka has a habit of doing that when she’s in a rush to access the database,” I’d told him. “She drops what she’s holding and it ends up jammed somewhere.”
I casually finished examining the last machine and strolled over to the diagnostic console. I slipped under the scanner and ran a cardiac series on myself, the whole time searching the upper console board with my eyes, looking for the gleam of Jorenian alloy.
No, I thought, she wouldn’t have jammed it into an open seam. She wanted to keep it safe, for later retrieval. Where could it be? I sat down and scooted the chair forward until my legs were beneath the edge of the console. I let one hand fall in my lap as I leaned forward to study the displayed results of my scans. My hidden fingers danced lightly underneath the console recess.
Cold, sharp metal bit into my thumb. I controlled a yelp and the urge to snatch my hand back. Carefully I felt along the opposite, blunt edge until I knew how it was placed, then tugged it free.
It might be small. Hundreds of years old. Good only during close proximity to an enemy. But the archaic Jorenian scalpel was a weapon. Where to hide it was my next dilemma. I ran my open palm over my hair, hesitated for a moment, then smiled.
I dropped the knife in my lap. After I sucked the drop of blood from my thumb, I used both hands to release the thick cable of my braid. As I shook my loosened hair, I slipped the knife in my palm, holding it in place with my thumb. I raised my hands to my hair again, gathering the heavy mass into a bundle at my neck.
No one would question the wide, thick Jorenian warrior’s knot I now wore. They’d attribute it to my love of my adopted people.
The League believed it had me in its pocket. The biggest mistake of all.
I killed a couple of hours the next day by selecting furnishings for the quarters I had no intention of occupying for very long. Once we were out of the Varallan Quadrant, I planned to appropriate a launch and dive into an asteroid belt the same way the Potnarch’s pilot had done. They’d damage their ships in pursuit, while I made my getaway. I was planning on staying lost for good.
My abused stomach finally pleaded feebly for nourishment. I had just decided to access the new prep unit when the ship went on alert status. Curious, I opened my door panel and looked out. Warning beacons blared. Orange lights flashed. Crew members ran back and forth.
Damn. Had Xonea tried something stupid?
I couldn’t try to escape now. It would only put Joren back in the line of fire. I went to my display and signaled Shropana.
He responded after a few seconds. “Yes, Healer?”
“What’s all the excitement about?”
“We are under attack.” He turned his head and gave a sharp series of orders to someone. “Excuse me, Healer.”
“Wait! Who’s attacking?” I demanded. “Someone from Joren? Tell them I said-“
“It isn’t anyone from Joren. It’s the Hsktskt.” He terminated the signal.
The Hsktskt? Attacking a fleet of sixty League ships?
I punched the display keypad until my display showed the external view of the ship. Beyond the thick field of cruisers, a solid wall of heavily armored Hsktskt transport and attack vessels were bearing down on us.
“God.” I didn’t have to count. There were a lot more than sixty vessels out
there. Try two hundred. Three hundred. So many that I couldn’t see clear space behind them. “Looks like we’re not going to Fendagal XI after all.”
I was sure Shropana would try to negotiate with the raiders. Typical League first response. He may have even sent the initial “truce-request” signal out before the displacer fire began. Did the Hsktskt want Joren, and the other neighboring worlds in the system? Was the League simply in the way?
I saw the other fleet vessels dodging the Hsktskt attack, felt the deck rock beneath me as the displacer blasts smashed into the hull. I wasn’t afraid. I rather liked the irony of the situation.
“Blow us to Kingdom come,” I whispered as I watched the approaching tide of vessels. “Be sure you get all the Terrans.”
“Cherijo!”
My door panel was forced open. Salo stood in the opening, panting, and bleeding in several places.
“Cherijo? Are you well?”
“Salo!” I jumped up and ran to him. “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?”
He gulped in air and shook his head. “We must go.”
“You’re hurt,” I said and began assessing his injuries. “How did you get so far into the ship? Did anyone come with you?”
He tucked an arm around me and hoisted me up the way he would a child. “Your pardon,” he said, held me against him, and ran.
I didn’t have time to argue. My job was to hang on while Salo dodged the frantic crew members running past.
Salo carried me down two levels to the ruins of a launch bay. I saw Dhreen and Xonea using one of the League launches as cover while they held off a small security team with pulse rifles. Salo didn’t hesitate, but shot his way through to the launch pad. I tried not to look at the writhing, screaming bodies on the deck as he waded through them.
“I have her!” he shouted.
Xonea and Dhreen climbed back into the small, fast shuttle Dhreen had used to transport me here. Salo literally tossed me in and dove through the hull doors just before they closed.
We were out in space, dodging the crossfire between the Faction and the League before I could get up off the deck. Salo apologized profusely for his rough handling, until I smacked an uninjured area on his arm.
