Beyond Varallan (31 page)

I paused outside the Medical Bay door panel. Smoothed my damp hair. Straightened my tunic. Walked in. My expression dared anyone in my path to make a comment. Any comment.

No one seemed to notice. Nurses smiled dreamily back at me. Patients gave me knowing looks. Only the Omorr acted normally.

“This berth’s linens need to be replaced,” Squilyp said.

I looked over the top of his chart. “Weren’t they changed this morning?”

“Yes, but there is a soiled area”—he pointed to a tiny speck—“here.”

“You’re nearly blind, Squilyp, and you can still see that?” His gildrells flared. “Okay, okay. I'll get your berth sheets changed.” I finished my notations. “Everyone behave themselves while I was gone?”

“Yes.” The Omorr shifted uncomfortably. “One of the residents told me…” he peered at me and tried again. “Did you really have to…”

“That’s my business.” I wasn't going to get into this with Squilyp. “Don't look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you. I can't see you,” the Omorr said, all innocence.

Behind me, a nurse let out a startled yelp. I turned my head just in time to watch a scanner fly across the ward and smash into a hundred pieces against the plasteel wall panel.

“Get away from me!”

The nurse who had been scanning Phorap Rogan was backing away, holding his chart in front of her like a shield. His sedation had worn off, and he had worked one arm out of his restraints.

Ah, perfect. “Excuse me for a moment, Squilyp.”

I marched over, taking Rogan’s chart from the nurse as I passed. When I got to my former colleague's berth, I smiled. “Hello, Phorap. Feeling better?”

Oily lidless eyes stared at me with utter loathing. “You.” He hissed. “Don’t touch me!”

“ ’Fraid I have to. You beat up the only other qualified practitioner on this ship yesterday. Want to explain why you did that?”

The noxious odor of his body intensified. “Of all the ships in the universe, why did I have to board the one with
you
on it?“

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” I put the chart aside and caught his arm. He was pretty strong, but physical therapy had fortified my hands and arms. “Did the League send you after me, Rogan? Who are you working with?”

He wasn’t going to confess. “Release me!” We wrestled for a moment before I got him secured once more. “Remove these restraints at once!”

“Settle down, Rogan.” My stomach rolled as I scanned him thoroughly. Maybe I should start wearing a breather around him, I thought. “Hold still, you’re screwing up my readings.”

“How dare you?” he shouted. “I’d rather be crippled than let you examine me!”

“That,” I said, “can be arranged.” I gestured to the horrified nurse. “Start cleaning him up. Don’t unstrap him under any circumstances. Oh, and bring me his latest lab work. I want to review it before I sedate him.”

Rogan continued to shriek at me. I looked around the ward, searching for something that would solve this problem. Spotted the physical therapy room. I went in, picked up the hand manipulators and returned to Rogan’s berth. His curses were elevating in volume by the moment. When his four lips spread to their widest, I thrust a large therapy plasball in his mouth. As a gag, it functioned beautifully.

“Thank you, Senior Healer,” the nurse said. She gazed at Rogan with visible distaste.

“You’re welcome.” I patted one of Rogan's straining shoulders. “Remember what I said, Phorap. Be a good boy. Let the nurse give you a bath. Think of it as your contribution to the health and welfare of the other patients.”

The ball muffled his squeals of outrage. I’d have to make a database entry on alternative uses for physical therapy equipment. Too bad I hadn't thought of it while Rogan and I were back on K-2.

“Senior Healer?” One of the nurses hovered, and gave me a sweet smile.

I’d probably have to put up with this nonsense the whole way to Joren. “What?”

“The elderly Furinac patient wishes to speak with you.”

Evidently Reever had finished programming the linguistic database, for my vocollar immediately translated the Patriarch’s speech.

“Doctor Torin,” he greeted me once I’d reached his berth. His color was better, but he looked tired. Major surgery was hard on elderly beings. Their immune systems took longer to accomplish the healing process. “My thanks for your skill in saving my life.”

“My thanks for not panicking when things got weird.” I scanned him. His organs sequence looked good, and the peritoneum was only slightly inflamed.

He inclined his head in Rogan’s direction. “I see our passenger has proved to be much less cooperative.”

“Your passenger is a pain in the posterior,” I said. This was my chance to find out how the Furinac were involved with Rogan and the League. “How did he end up on your transport?”

“My pilot brought him on board at the last world we visited.” Air puffed indignantly through his spiracles. “Had I some forewarning of his distaste for personal hygiene, I would have never permitted it.”

I could just imagine having to put up with the stench in such a small vessel. “Rogan must have offered your pilot some hefty credits to take him on your jaunt.”

“He paid the standard passage rate, I believe.” The Patriarch’s rainbow-jeweled eyes moved to the other Furinacs. “My people are recuperating?”

“They’re all doing very well.” I had already checked them during my rounds. I placed a hand on one of his upper appendages. “I have to tell you there was one casualty. Your pilot was killed just after you entered the meteor swarm. I'm sorry for your loss, Patriarch.”

“Thank you.” The Furinac made a slow, mournful buzz. “He was a good man.”

Or had conspired with the League to find me. Only Rogan knew for sure. “When you’re feeling better, our crew will be glad to make any ceremonial arrangements you would like.”

“It is appreciated, Doctor.” He examined me curiously. “I’ve never met a Terran before.”

Fortunate man. “Not quite what you expected?”

“I was told your species has a habit of ejecting saliva frequently. Yet I have not observed you indulging in this practice. Is it only done on your homeworld? A means of marking territory, perhaps?“

I laughed. Xenophobic Terrans had a habit of spitting whenever they ran into alien species. “That’s one way to put it. Sorry to disappoint you. I'm not what you'd call… a model Terran.”

“One can’t select one's species,” the Furinac said. He made a buzzing, chuckling sound. Laughter is almost universal. “I have one request, if it is possible.”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“An opportunity to speak with your ship’s commander. It is of vital importance that my people and I reach Furin as soon as possible.”

“Is there some sort of emergency we need to know about, Patriarch?” I asked. Or some kind of League rendezvous?

He sighed. “I had hoped not to reveal myself, but timing is of the utmost importance. Furinac criterion for sovereignty requires I not be absent from our world longer than a certain period of time.”

“Sovereignty?” I echoed. “You mean you’re the—the—”

“Yes, my dear. I am the Patriarch
of
Furin.”

“I see. Urn, nice to meet you.” All thoughts of League conspiracy went out the viewport. I tried to look like I did this regularly. “May I ask what you were doing on such a dinky little transport?”

“I sometimes travel using less conventional means.” He seemed embarrassed. “One wearies of pomp and ceremony.”

Speaking of ceremony. “Should I address you by a certain title?”

“Patriarch is acceptable, Doctor.”

“Great.” I smiled. Inside, I fumed.

Reever needed to work on his direct translations. The elderly Furinac wasn’t just a nice old gentleman with pretty eyes and a pleasant demeanor.

He was the
ruler
of an entire world.

Captain Pnor agreed to transport the Patriarch and his group to their homeworld, and even proposed to do the same for Phorap Rogan. I had a few things to say about that, but no real evidence to offer the Captain about my archenemy’s possible involvement with the League. I relayed the news to the elderly Furinac before my shift ended.

As I walked down the corridor to my quarters, I thought about our very important dignitary. To think, I had performed surgery on a being who governed the lives of millions. With Reever’s hands, no less.

Good thing we hadn’t dropped the lascalpel.

At my quarters, I opened the door panel, walked in, and nearly ran straight into my new roommate’s chest. “Oh. Hello.”

“Greetings, Cherijo.” He looked pretty happy to see me. “How was your shift?”

“Long. Tiring. I need to get some sleep.” I began stripping off my tunic, then froze. He was watching me
undress
. “Do you mind?”

“No.” He gave me a guileless smile.

“Xonea.”

A dark eyebrow arched. “We are Chosen, Cherijo.”

I didn’t have to be modest, I thought,
I am a
physician. Used to this sort of thing. So I turned my back when I stripped the rest of the way. It didn’t mean I was overly modest. I just didn't want to give Xonea any ideas. Swiftly I pulled on a soft undershirt I liked to sleep in and looked back at my new roommate.

He wasn’t even paying attention to me. Jenner sat in his lap, his neck arched as Xonea scratched under his chin.

Disgusted with the state of things in general, I thumped food and water down on the deck for His Majesty, Jenner leapt down at once and made a beeline for his server. Xonea chuckled.

It was all a little
too
domestic for me. I stomped over to my sleeping platform and yanked the coverlet back. I’d have to get a bigger one now. I didn't think this one was rated for a two-hundred-kilo Jorenian. My tired muscles sang their pleasure as I stretched out. I put one arm over my eyes. So much had happened. Now there was this big blue man in my quarters to stumble over.

I felt the other side of the mattress depress, felt hands drawing me back. Xonea’s arms cradled me against him.

“Sleep,” I said in a mumble.

“Yes, Cherijo.” He stroked my hair. “Go to sleep.”

Everything changed after that. I wasn’t used to changes in my life. Well, the rare times I
had
a life outside of my work. The only constant companion I’d ever had after Maggie had died was Jenner. My cat didn't demand more than occasional stroking, some light conversation, and regular feedings. I suspected Xonea would want a lot more.

I had no idea.

“Xonea?”

I tripped over a container positioned directly inside the door panel to my quarters. I regained my balance and kicked it to one side. Absolutely the
stupidest
place to put something.

There were more containers. Masculine garments were tossed over the ends of my furnishings. Vid and audio discs were stacked all on the deck. I hated clutter more than I hated dirt. Dirt you could get rid of. Clutter liked to
breed
.

“Xonea!”

My new roommate appeared, fresh from the cleanser, briskly drying his hair with a towel. He wore only trousers. I’d discovered over the past week that Xonea enjoyed walking around half-naked. Especially when he knew I was coming off shift.

For once I was too annoyed to gawk at his glistening chest. I gestured at the mess. “Where did all this junk come from?”

“This
junk
is mine,” he said as he jerked me into his arms and hauled me up against him. “I’ve missed you.”

I wanted to kick him. “You just saw me this morning.”

“That was hours ago.” His lips began descending.

“Xonea, put me dow—” He kissed me, hard and quick. “Down. Now.” I straightened my tunic as soon as my feet touched the deck. My blood simmered, but I ignored it for the moment. “
All
this stuff is yours?”

Some of the larger containers were in various stages of being unpacked. Then I noticed the walls.

“Oh, no. No!”

“Cherijo—”

“Absolutely not!”

Some of the humor cleared from his eyes. “I only wished to add to the decor.”

I went over and flung my hand at an enormous display of archaic energy pistols. “With
guns
! I have to live in rooms decorated with
guns
?”

“Not only guns.” He got all dignified and Jorenian on me. “I haven’t put up my bladed weapons yet.”

“That’s supposed to be
better
?”

“My collections are very old and valuable.”

“To who?” I was getting shrill. “Mercenaries? Raiders?
The Hsktskt
?”

“Cherijo.”

My foot started tapping. “Take them down.”

His arms folded. “We must come to an amicable agreement as to the disposition of our living space.”

So did mine. “This was my living space
first
, pal. Pack it up, or I’ll throw them in a disposal unit myself.” I didn't smile so much as bare my teeth. “With great pleasure.”

He looked pained, sighed, then went over to one wall and began disassembling the ghastly collage. “You are a stubborn female.”

“You have vile taste in interior decor.” I went to the console and checked my relays. There were a million, as usual. “Another thing. Why don’t you ever clear out some of these console relays?”

He made a huffy sound. “They are
your
relays.”

“Oh, give me a break. You know they’re just another couple hundred well wishes for our fruitful union, eternal honor, and all that other rubbish the HouseClan spouts whenever someone Chooses.”

“That is unkind, Cherijo.” He put down the large-barreled stun emitter he was holding with a thump. I winced. Did he keep them all charged? “They are happy for us.”

I skimmed the list. “Deliriously happy, from the looks of this. Well, I am not in the mood.” I switched off the display. My stomach demanded some attention. “Whose turn is it to make dinner?”

“Yours.”

Jenner jumped up on the mattress and draped himself over Xonea. With lazy satisfaction, both males watched me prepare our meal.

“Pasta and seafood alfredo for me.” I placed one dish on the table, then a much larger server beside it. “D’narral with safira spice for you.” I checked the stores. “What goes with d'narral? A light or a dark tea?”