Beyond Varallan (32 page)

“Light,” Xonea said.

That would be jaspkerry, his favorite. Which reminded me—“Hey, did you report to medical and have that internal-scan series performed, like I asked you to?”

“I will, soon.” He pulled on a tunic and came to the table.

“Your stomach could be developing ulcers from the stress. It’s nothing to mess around with, Xonea. Make an appointment, will you?” I sat down. “Would you mind getting the tea, please?”

He didn’t mind. For a male, Xonea was quite domesticated. He did his part to prepare meals, sterilize our garments, and keep the equipment sanitary. I couldn't complain, I thought, then my gaze fell on his belongings cluttering up the deck. Oh, yes, I could.

He offered me a server of the light floral tea I was becoming addicted to, and sat down beside me. “What is pasta?”

“It’s sort of like t'fer root. Only in small, shaped pieces.” I held out a fork with a small portion, which he tasted. He chewed it slowly. “Well?”

“T’fer is not so insubstantial. The alfredo, that is the pink-and-white topping?”

I took a sip of tea before I answered. “Alfredo is a style of preparation—with a cream or white sauce. The pink things are the seafood part.”

He shrugged and started on his d’narral, which he had already explained was the heart of a giant tree-flower-something on Joren.

“Too much safira?” The spice, I discovered, was very similar to Terran cinnamon. It had to be used in small amounts or it became overpowering.

“No, it is excellent.” He ate with the same frank enjoyment he did everything else. Xonea, like most Jorenian males, consumed massive amounts of everything. It took a cargo hold of calories to fuel their massive bodies. I could never keep up with his appetite. When we finished the meal, he began to clear up. “You are weary, Cherijo. Go, lie down.” He gave me another of those intimate smiles. The ones that made me really nervous. “I will join you shortly.”

“I’m not so tired.” I did
not
want to get into bed with him. Not until he got that look off his face. “Why don’t we listen to some jazz?”

One dark brow rose. “We listened to your music last night.”

“Okay, then we’ll play toss-the-yarn-ball with Jenner.”

“Jenner is weary of that.” He dropped the dishes into the sterilizer. Something broke. “If you do not wish to share your sleeping platform with me, say so.”

“Xonea…” I watch him stalk off to the viewport. Damn it. He was becoming more irritable by the day. Well, being confined to quarters was enough to shorten anyone’s fuse, I guessed. I could only hope what was left of Xonea's would last until we reached Joren.

The
Sunlace
transitioned and went into orbit above the Patriarch’s world a few days later. I was scheduled to escort the ruler, along with a sojourn team, for a brief visit. Once I'd learned the Furinacs' shuttle logs supported the Patriarch's story, and no League ships had been spotted within a light year of the system, I actually looked forward to the trip. Captain Pnor also made a rare exception and joined the launch party.

The Omorr’s eyes had healed and he was back on duty, so I left him in charge of the ward. Rogan had been discharged from Medical, but on my advice Pnor had confined him under guard in his quarters. Although I was sure the guards could handle the smelly little twerp, I told Squilyp to put Rogan into sleep suspension at the first sign of trouble.

I was the last to arrive at the launch bay (as usual) and came to a skidding halt when I saw the team assembled. Duncan Reever was quietly conferring with one of the Furinacs. He didn’t look up as I approached.

We’d been avoiding each other since we said our goodbyes. I recalled what he'd told me the first time it looked like I'd have to Choose Xonea. A dull ache knotted under my sternum. Was this the non-League world he'd asked Pnor to leave him on?

The Patriarch greeted me with a friendly buzz. “Doctor Torin! I’m glad to see you could join us.”

“Punctual as ever,” Dhreen said in a low voice as I entered the launch. I nudged him with my elbow and sat next to my distinguished patient.

“How are you feeling?”

“Very well now.” He patted his abdomen. “The new organs are working perfectly.”

By combining Terran know-how and Jorenian tech, I had cloned replacement organs from the cells of the damaged originals a few weeks after his initial surgery. Squilyp performed the double-transplant while I observed.

The Patriarch began describing an amusing incident that happened at his palace, which I gathered was roughly about the size of the
Sunlace
. My thoughts drifted as we launched and began the descent to the planet. The past few weeks had been quiet, a nice respite from the near-continuous chaos we’d endured on board the ship since leaving K-2.

The journey to Joren was nearly half over. Soon I’d have to talk to Dhreen again. Find a way to remind Xonea 1 had no intentions of spending the rest of my life with him. We'd made a bargain, and I planned to hold him to it.

Xonea had been really agitated lately. Maybe I could make that little announcement from Dhreen’s new transport as we were leaving Joren.

“Senior Healer?”

We were already at Furin Main Transport, I realized, yanked out of my reverie. Captain Pnor was waiting for me at the launch doors. Everyone else was already out. That will teach me to daydream, I thought.

I got up and shouldered my medical pack. Time to go and meet the natives.

Outside the launch was an impressive docking ramp, carpeted with a rich, brilliantly worked tapestry. The Patriarch and his party were strolling down, being greeted by loud buzzing and cheering. I looked beyond the ramp and caught my breath.

There had to be a hundred thousand Furinacs there, standing, waving, and shouting to their ruler.

Beyond the incredible mass of people, the majestic city of Cuot rose to ponderous heights. The city’s carefully landscaped terraces supported row after row of cylindrical structures, each topped with a gilded, pear-shaped dome.

The most striking feature of Cuot was the style of architecture. There wasn’t an angle in the entire city, I thought as I walked down with Pnor. All structures curved in concave and convex lines, making the dwellings appear to be flowing up out of the lush, manicured botanicals.

Someone broke from the crowd and rushed up to the Patriarch. The Furinac dropped down and prostrated himself before his ruler, weeping. He was dressed in an elaborate, bejeweled garment and wore a number of gaudy rings around the base of his proboscis.

“Oh, He Who Is Above Us All! We were signaled of your injuries! We wept for your pain! We praise your strength in recovering! We bless your determination in returning to us!”

The Captain and I stopped next to the ruler, who made a graceful sweep of one appendage and bobbed his head in a potentate’s regal manner.

“Who is that?” I looked down at the Furinac, who was still kissing the docking pad.

“My heir, First Scion.” The Patriarch regarded the prostrate figure with paternal pride. “Most devoted, is he not?”

“Uh-huh.” That was definitely devotion in my book.

The heir raised his head a mere inch from the pad. His face rings jingled. “He Who Is Our Life’s Blood, Who Is the Center of All Joy, may this insignificant one ask a question of Your Magnificence?” The Patriarch's head bobbed again. “Is this She Who Saved Your Omnipotence by Her Skill?”

Oh, brother. If the Furinacs were going to call me that, I’d be standing here forever just listening to Junior say Hi.

“Yes, First Scion. I introduce to you She Who Preserves All Life, Dr. Cherijo Torin. It is Dr. Torin who assured I would live to see our people again.” He made another sweeping gesture, and his heir got up from the ground. “Dr. Torin, this is my heir, He Who Has the Future to Rule, First Scion of Furin.”

The First Scion threw himself at my feet. “I beg you! Allow me to espouse you! Of all I can give, only this is suitable for She Who Has Brought Our Beloved Patriarch Home!”

My eyes went from the Furinac at my feet to Captain Pnor to the Patriarch. “Sorry, what does he want?”

The Patriarch looked smugly satisfied. “He wants to marry you.”

It was only a ceremonial proposal, I quickly discovered. That was still enough to make me very nervous while anywhere near the First Scion. During the subsequent ceremonial welcome and reception, I smiled a lot, said little, and stuck close to the sojourn team. Captain Pnor found the Furinacs’ extremely formal reception fascinating. Jorenians loved pomp and ceremony.

We had to stand through everything. I found it made my feet hurt.

From the reception, we were taken into a huge chamber where a feast had been prepared. Feast? There was enough food weighing down the banquet platforms to feed half the planet. Of course, half the planet showed up for the feast, so that worked out well.

I was given a seat of honor, at the Patriarch’s right hand. Not that I got to use it right away. We stood there while a prayer of Sanctification was made. A very long, flowery, repetitive prayer. By the time we sat down, the Patriarch was beginning to look tired. My footgear felt like lead casings. I glanced sideways at the being who ruled millions.

“May I ask you a personal question, Patriarch?”

He bent his head toward me. “Of course.”

“Do you really like all this—this”—I waved my hand at the elaborate decorations, crowded room, and sumptuous mountains of food—“stuff?”

He buzzed a quiet chuckle, and shook his head. “No, I do not, Dr. Torin. However, when I was First Scion, and my Patriarch ruled Furin, the ceremonies lasted
twice
as long.” His buzz became a soft whisper. “It is also why I enjoy traveling by much less conventional methods, and visiting other worlds with less—stuff.”

I grinned at him. “So I won’t be thrown in a Furinac dungeon for my less-than-formal attitude toward you, Your Magnificence?”

“Please, Doctor.” He looked pained. “Your casual friendship has been an absolute joy for me!” He sighed. “I fear I am not anticipating the next month with pleasure.”

“Why not?”

“It takes that long to go through all the ceremonial welcoming,” he said.

A month of all this, every day? I had an idea. “Want your doctor to fix that?”

He beamed at me. “Would you?”

“I trust you’ll keep me out of the dungeon if I mess this up,” I said, and got to my feet. I clapped my hands, effectively silencing every voice in the room. “Good and loyal subjects of the Patriarch! I wish to address you regarding His Magnificence's health!”

You could have heard a pin drop after that.

“As you know, the Patriarch underwent two major surgeries during his journey with us,” I said. “His recovery has been remarkable.” I could see they wanted to cheer, so I held up my hand. “As His Magnificence’s Surgeon, I must insist your ruler be allowed as much rest as possible. The healing process takes a great deal of strength, and he must conserve his now.” I scanned the room and noted the rapt faces of the Furinacs, all fixed on their sovereign. They really did love the old guy. “My standing orders are for the Patriarch to remain resting, quiet, and most of all,
undisturbed
. Will you assure that my orders are carried out?”

The buzzing cries of joyous agreement nearly shorted out my vocollar. The Patriarch grasped my hand and tugged me down close to his proboscis.

“For this gift, my dear Doctor, I may marry you myself!”

I escorted the Patriarch almost immediately from the banquet to his City Palace a short distance away. We were accompanied by an armed honor guard of hundreds. The Royal Conveyance, a Furinac version of the glidecar, hummed through the air. Other Furinacs, who I was amazed to find were fully capable of sustained flight on their own, hovered in precise patterns around their sovereign’s vehicle. Captain Pnor, Reever, and Dhreen came along in a second vehicle.

While the First Scion spouted an endless litany to the glory of my intelligence, compassion, and beauty, the Patriarch and I shared the view and exchanged brief conversation whenever his heir took a breath. When I saw the City Palace, I whistled.

“Nice house,” I said to the ruler.

“Glad you like it,” he replied. He was enjoying himself immensely, even (to the barely concealed horror of his heir) using my abbreviated forms of speech. “Wait until you see the Royal Chambers.”

Royal they were. Half the interior of the palace was devoted to the Patriarch’s quarters. But I didn't pay attention to all the luxurious surroundings at first. My elderly patient’s strength was waning fast.

I helped him past all the staff (another thousand or so devoted subjects) and got him to his bed. Once he dismissed the First Scion, we had a few moments alone.

“You are a clever and innovative young female, Dr. Torin. I shall remain in your debt for the balance of my existence.” He buzzed with relief as he sank back on his dais, equal in size to our launch. I climbed up, crawled across and knelt next to him so I could run a few scans.

“Your vitals are good, but not where they should be.” I put the scanner aside and checked his abdomen. “Everything is healing well, and will continue to, if you listen to your doctor and rest.”

“I suppose you would refuse to become my adopted Second Scion, too,” he said. I pulled the immaculate linens over him. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I’ve already been adopted by the Jorenians, Patriarch.” I shuffled backward until I found the edge of the immense dais and got to my feet. “Thanks for asking, though. Get some sleep now. I'll stop in to check on you in a few hours.”

“My eternal thanks, Doctor.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Third Suicide

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O
utside the Royal Chamber, a few dozen guards and personal staff members were waiting, along with Pnor, Dhreen, and Reever. The Captain was deep in conversation with one of the Patriarch’s attendants. Dhreen hovered near one of the thousands of bejeweled panels curving around the Patriarch's door, closely appraising the inlay.