Beyond Varallan (25 page)

“Konal was my Choice,” she said. “I was young, and wished to surprise my new family, so I told no one of my decision. Not even Konal.”

“What happened?”

“There was a celebration. I stood and spoke of my heart.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “I Chose Konal.”

I was with her so far. Which made it even more confusing. “Ktarka?”

She turned around. Raw suffering drew tiny lines around her mouth and eyes. “Some days before I made my Choice, Konal had Chosen another.”

“Oh, no. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“The Choice banns were not given to me.”

“Choice banns?”

“They announce the Choice, and the time of the bonding ceremony.”

“That’s it?” She was exiled from the homeworld because someone screwed up the wedding invitations? “Excuse me for being blunt, but why are you still alive?”

“I attempted to divert my path, and failed. My dishonor and my cowardice shamed my ClanParents.” She rested her hands on the back of the sofa. “HouseClan Torin adopted me, and Captain Pnor offered me a position so I could leave Joren. I have been content here.”

“Do you still have to honor your Choice?”

“Until Konal dies, or I do, yes.”

“But you don’t have to kill yourself, right?” She nodded. I began imagining how many ways I could inflict pain on Xonea Torin. As a physician, I knew where all the best nerve endings were located. There were a lot, too.

“This is absolute nonsense.”

“I Chose.” Ktarka said it the way the other Jorenians did, with that hushed reverence.

“Just when I think I’m beginning to understand your people, Ktarka, I find out I don't.” I stood up, went to her, and gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “I'm sorry. The whole business stinks.”

One dark eyebrow arched. “Why say you this? I made the Choice, and brought dishonor on my name.”

“Why didn’t they make Konal go?” I asked. “After all, it was partially his fault. He didn't tell you about his Chosen.”

She looked shocked. “I did not know you would understand.”

“Believe me, I know all about inauspicious Choices.” I went on to tell Ktarka about what Xonea had done to protect me.

“Without your consent? How can you remain so calm? I would divert his path!” she said, then made an embarrassed gesture.

I smiled. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of giving in to him. Xonea is going to find out, up close and personal, just how stubborn Terran females can be.”

Medical leave, I decided, was a subtle form of torture. And that was only on the second day after my release. Squilyp had signaled me to report for my first physical therapy session. An hour later, I decided the Omorr wasn’t trying to take my place, only drive me insane.

“Squeeze the spheres, Healer,” Adaola said.

We were sitting in the therapeutic room. I held a soft plas ball in each palm. I curled my fingers, then uncurled them.

“Again.”

I’d had about enough of this. “How many
agains
am I looking at here, nurse?”

She pursed her lips and consulted my chart. “One hundred repetitions for each hand.”

I squeezed. Pretended one was Xonea’s head. The other Squilyp's. Something popped.

“Healer.” Adaola took the deflated remains of each ball from my hand, and studied them for a moment. “Perhaps we should try weaving.”

There were more death ceremonies to get through. Seven crew members had died during the attack. Six Jorenians, including Tonetka. We’d lost the trader from Garnot, too. He had been taking a tour of the
Sunlace
just before the mercenaries struck. He and his guide had been blown out into space with most of level five.

I appeared at each death ceremony. Watched the ritual binding. Listened to the Speakers. I couldn’t be happy they were dead. Not when I was to blame for each and every one of them. When it came time to honor Tonetka, however, I locked myself hi my quarters. Not even Dhreen could coax me out.

It was spineless of me, but I couldn’t celebrate the fact that she was gone.

The power grids on level five were gone, destroyed by displacer blasts. The mercenaries had attacked and damaged four more levels. It was believed they were trying to disable the ship. Most of the areas they fired on were usually unoccupied. All except level six.

Although I tried to avoid him, Xonea eventually cornered me one morning on my way to therapy.

“Senior Healer.” He wouldn’t stop calling me that.

I wasn’t quite as polite. “What?”

“Captain Pnor has requested your presence.”

Since the first four levels of the
Sunlace
were inaccessible, Pnor had been relocated, too. The Captain’s command and Ship's Operational were now working out of level twenty-one, in the middle of Engineering.

The few functional gyrlifts were occupied, so walking down eleven levels took some time. Xonea didn’t make conversation, for which I was grateful. Adaola wouldn't be happy if I destroyed all her physical therapy while dislocating my ClanBrother's jaw.

We found Captain Pnor in the center of the crowded level, discussing hull tolerances with one of the structural engineers. He looked up and nodded at us.

“Good. Come with me, if you would, please.”

We followed him to the Senior Engineer’s office. Xonea closed the door as I sat down. Pnor had that same grim look I'd seen the last time these two had made decisions concerning me.

I’d wait, see what he had to say. If I liked it, no problem. If I didn't, Squilyp could be Senior Healer a little sooner than I'd planned.

“Thank you for coming.” He was courteous, as always. “How are your hands?”

“Better.” I eyed Xonea. He knew what this was all about. I could feel it.

“Senior Healer, new evidence has been brought forth about the murders of Roslm, the mercenary, and Ndo.”

“What evidence?” I asked.

Pnor inclined his head to Xonea, who produced a tiny object from his tunic pocket. He handed it to me. It was about the same size as my thumbnail.

“Cherijo, have you ever seen this before?”

I studied it, then shook my head. The design was something like a wristcom, but much smaller. I handed it back to my ClanBrother. “What is it?”

“A transdimensional beacon,” Xonea said. “Calibrated to transmit encoded signals.”

I glanced from him to the Captain. “Where did you find it?”

Pnor folded his hands on his desk. “On level six, near the site where you rescued the children. In the”—he consulted a data pad—“sandbox you made for the primary class.”

What?

“This was also discovered.” Pnor handed me another data pad. The screen displayed a statement about the attempt to abduct me, written in my own words.

“Ndo used this during my interview,” I said as I handed it back. “He was working on it when he was killed. Was this with the beacon?”

“No. Whoever killed him must have removed it.” He gave me a measuring look. “The data pad was found in your quarters.”

For a moment, all I could do was gape. Then I focused on what the Captain had said. “Whoever? Don’t you mean me?”

“I searched your quarters after you were assaulted,” Xonea said. “The data pad was placed there after the search, but before your release from Medical.”

I stared at the dead man’s instrument. “Put there to frame me.”

Xonea nodded. “Both items, I believe, were placed thus to implicate you as a traitor and murderer.”

“I can see why someone would want to frame me for the murders, but what reason would I have to signal the League?”

“Perhaps the saboteur has formed an alliance with the League,” Pnor said. “Your affection for our children is well-known. Perhaps he planned the attack on them, suspecting you would insist on leaving the ship afterward.”

“It worked,” was all I could say.

“Whoever has done this is
insane
,” Xonea said.

Yeah. That was my diagnosis, too.

Pnor wasn’t finished. “I do not believe you guilty of sabotage or murder, Senior Healer. Yet I cannot ignore an opportunity to reveal the one who is.” He made an eloquent gesture. “You will allow Xonea to… share your quarters.”

This baby-sitting business again. “I don’t need a guard, Captain.”

“If you refuse, I must make it a direct order.” Pnor sounded strained to his limits. “There is no alternative.”

“I disagree.” I regarded Xonea. “You didn’t tell him about Reever's telepathic abilities, did you?”

“No.” One big blue hand made a cutting gesture. “I will not allow it.”

“I don’t recall needing your permission.” I turned to Pnor. “Duncan Reever is a telepathic linguist, Captain. He can access my memory and determine if I retained any subconscious impressions of my assailant.”

“No,” Xonea said. One big blue hand wrapped around my arm. “I will not permit you to be violated again.”

“It’s not a violation.” Why was he acting like such a jerk? Didn't he want my name cleared? Why wouldn't he want Duncan to uncover the truth? “It's a solution.”

My ClanBrother wasn’t listening. “Captain Pnor gave you an order. I will occupy your quarters and protect you.”

I eyed the Captain. “I’m not refusing his order. I'm offering a viable option.”

“HouseClan law is explicit,” Xonea said, his voice losing its musical lilt. “You must—”

My temper blew.

“I don’t have to do a
damn thing
, pal.” I pried his hand from my arm and got up. “I refuse your Choice.” Xonea made a furious sound that didn’t translate. “Your second-in-command needs a refresher course in courtesy, Captain. That, or a muzzle.“

“Enough!” Xonea shouted, folding his arms over his abdomen. “You will comply or I will embrace the stars!”

“Oh, no, you won’t.” I sprang the trap. “Guess what I found out? You don't
have
to kill yourself if your Chosen refuses. Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“You know nothing about Choice!” He sounded furious and, wonder of wonders, suddenly couldn’t look me in the eye.

“Really?” I wondered if he’d been counting on that. “Ktarka Torin would disagree with you. She filled me in quite a bit about the subject.”

Pnor gaped for a split second before recovering his composure. “Cherijo, Ktarka is an exceptional case.”

“Oh? And I’m not?”

Xonea thrust himself away from me and slammed out of the office. Pnor and I watched him go.

“My ClanNephew honors you, Senior Healer.”

“Your ClanNephew can’t have it his way, so he's throwing a tantrum.” Or was it something more menacing than that? I wondered. I caught Pnor's pained expression and sighed. “Believe me, this is the only logical solution.”

“It would be much simpler if—” The Captain searched for the right words.

I beat him to it. “If I just shut up and played the good little Jorenian wife-to-be?” My foot tapped the floor. “Sorry to spoil your plans. I have no intention of further jeopardizing the safety of the crew, simply to act as bait for a killer. Nor will I let Xonea commit suicide when he doesn’t have to. Let's make this simple, Captain. Grant my request. Put me off the ship so I can surrender to the League.”

“I cannot.” Pnor looked regretful. “You are the only connection we have to the traitor.”

After a second, confidential conference, this one with Duncan Reever and Captain Pnor (minus Xonea), we decided to conduct the link immediately. Pnor worried that my “fiance” might storm in and start inflicting bodily harm on Reever. In deference to my condition, the Captain insisted that we perform the link in Medical.

I agreed. Reever didn’t react. Squilyp simply thought it was a bad idea.

“Cortical coupling?” The Omorr looked askance. “I wasn’t aware humans were capable of such functions.”

“We aren’t,” I said. “Normally. Reever and I are… exceptional.”

“A dangerous method of investigation.” The Omorr accessed the database from his display. “Reever must project his RAS impulses directly to your brain stem.” He tapped an appendage on the side panel.

“Assuming that’s how he does this
link
thing, my brain stem will be fine. I’ve suffered no ill effects from previous encounters.”

“What is RAS?” Reever asked.

“An acronym for the reticular activating system,” Squilyp replied. “The RAS is made up of conductors in the brain stem reticular formation. They receive sensory neuron impulses from the periphery and relay them to the thalamus. The thalamus sends them all to all parts of the cerebral cortex.”

“In other words, if you stub your toe, the RAS tells your brain it hurts,” I said.

The Omorr gave me a dirty look.

“I see.” Reever leaned forward and examined the display. A dimensional schematic of the human cerebral cortex rotated slowly as Squilyp studied the data. “I did not realize it was so complex.”

“It is not simply
entering
the brain. For you to access Doctor Torin’s mnemonic accumulation, you must identify and use the specific neuronal chains involved. If you can locate them in the subconscious mind.” Squilyp keyed something on the touchpad. “Here.” He highlighted a section of the display. “I believe the specific memories may be located in or near the hypothalamus.”

I sat down next to the Omorr. “I see why you don’t want us to do it.”

“Exactly.” Squilyp peered at the display. “If you do, I must closely monitor both of you.”

I Reever cleared his throat. “Could one of you explain? In less technical terms, perhaps?”

I translated for him. “Reever, a part of the human brain serves as a connection between the psyche, or mind, and the soma, or body. It’s called the hypothalamus. Certain parts of that work as reward centers for primary drives, like drinking or eating. It is also responsible for maintaining emotions and keeping the body in a waking state.“

“Where is the danger in accessing this hypothalamus?”

“By accessing the hypothalamus, you may stimulate cho-linergic and adreneric fibers, which release NE, or norepi-nephrine and ACh, or acetylcholine. They’re two of the chemical transmitters that regulate the central nervous system. Too much of either one could kill me.” I consulted the display again. “Access the limbic system, Squilyp. I want to see something.”

When the display enlarged a sagittal view of the brain, I highlighted the five vital areas.