Beyond Varallan (8 page)

“Come, we are friends, here to help you. Come, we have medicines, we will bind your wounds, we will comfort you.” She kept smiling as her eyes met mine. “Cherijo. You are closest in size to these beings. Approach one of them, very slowly, please.”

I moved cautiously toward the largest one, who was only half my height. These survivors were a lot smaller than the other victims we’d seen.

“Hi, there. My name is Cherijo. We’re here to help you.” I kept smiling. “Come on, I won't bite. I promise.”

This one displayed an apprehensive smile and moved within inches of me. One small paw tentatively touched my blue tunic. I didn’t try to touch it, afraid it might scamper off. It turned its head and spoke to the others. Their native tongue was a rapid, uneven stream of throaty mutters and yips.

“They sound like they’re growling,” Squilyp said.

“No, look at their eyes,” Tonetka said, her voice still entreating and gentle. “They’re simply afraid.”

The little paw trembled as it curled around my fingers. I caressed the silky fur.

“So soft,” I said, then it dawned on me. “Tonetka. These are the children.” This one had a bad burn across the shoulders. “He’s wounded.” I took a scanner from my pack, very slowly, and let the child hold it to see that it wouldn't hurt him. I made a quick scan, and my mouth tightened to a flat line. “Someone shot him with a pulse rifle.”

Tonetka approached now. The little one curled up next to me and squinted up at the huge Jorenian. She made soothing sounds as she examined the child’s wound. The other survivors lost their fear and gathered around us. All of them had suffered nearly identical wounds. Tonetka used her hands to point to all the burns, then to show we didn't understand how they had been hurt.

All but one of the children stretched out on the ground, paws behind their heads. The one left standing pantomimed shooting them in the back by sweeping an imaginary weapon from right to left. The ones on the ground rolled over and writhed, then went still.

“The raider who shot them didn’t realize he missed the back of their heads,” I said. “They faked him out.”

We were grim as we helped the children back up. The Omorr suggested treating this group, but Tonetka shook her head.

“Not here. Look. They want to take us to the others.”

The largest was pointing to one of the few buildings left standing just outside Main Transport. Other shuttles had landed by now. I saw Reever sprinting across the docks with his team to catch up with us.

About time.

“Senior Healer,” he greeted Tonetka, then turned to me. “Doctor.”

“Linguist Reever.” My boss smiled with relief. “I am very glad to see you.”

In order for our vocollars to work outside the confines of the
Sunlace
, a portable terminal was normally brought from the ship and set up on the planet. However, since the Jorenians had made no previous contact with this species, it was useless.

Reever was going to be a very busy guy.

The children led us to the other survivors. It was slow going, because we had to stop along the way to check the bodies. There were plenty of stops. They were all dead. The kids began whining miserably as they apparently recognized some of the corpses.

Here in what had been a city, there was no breeze to take away the smell of death. Sweat beaded my brow as the temperature continued to rise. I hoped the climate on this world wasn’t too warm. The odor would be the least of our problems.

The airless interior of what had once been a storage facility was crowded with the injured. Many, I saw, were already dead or dying. The living coughed and growled their pleas through raw throats as they had for days. We found no power, water, or food supplies. Puddles of blood and waste were everywhere. The stench was as thick as the bodies.

It soon became apparent there were no medical professionals among the survivors. What supplies they had before the attack were evidently gone or destroyed. The wounded themselves were terrified of us, and fought when we tried to examine them.

“Linguist Reever.” Tonetka’s hands made a gesture of frustration. “We must relay our intentions. Will you interpret for us?”

“Of course.” Reever listened as the Senior Healer quickly outlined the emergency aid plan. He then approached one of those still ambulatory and made a gesture known throughout the system as one of peace and friendship. He reached, took one small paw. The small creature gazed up at him.

They remained locked in a still, silent regard for some time. Then Reever growled. The survivor did. too. That went back and forth for a minute. At last Reever released the creature’s paw and went directly to the Senior Healer.

“I have informed him of our intentions. Their computer core was damaged during the assault on the colony. This one believes enough information remains to download their linguistic files into our database.”

“We also need access to medical data, if possible,” I said.

The Omorr, who had been hopping between the puddles of filth, got indignant. “Why must we access native data? They are warm-blooded, mammalian life forms. Even you, Doctor, can surely handle—”

“Squilyp?” The Senior Healer’s sharp voice cut off the Omorr's sneering. “Shut up.”

I managed—only just—not to applaud.

“I will transfer the data personally,” Reever said.

“Good idea,” I said, knowing Reever had the expertise to handle the task. “Did the NessNevat tell you what the city’s population level was before the attack?”

“Several hundred thousand,” Reever replied.

“Not so good.” I looked around and made a swift estimate. “There are only about five hundred here. Where are the others?”

“These represent the only survivors on the planet.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at Reever. Even Squilyp, which ruined his grand thumping exit.

“This is all that remain?” Squilyp’s gildrells arched in surprise. “The trader indicated—”

“The trader was wrong,” Reever interrupted him. “The native population has been exterminated.”

“How can you be so sure?” I wanted to know.

“I have seen such assaults in the past. All of the colonists were herded to this immediate area, then systematically massacred.”

“That’s preposterous!” Tonetka said. “Anyone knows that raiders only take what they can trade!”

“This wasn’t a raid,” he replied. “It was an assault by the Hsktskt Faction.”

Four hours later, as I was preparing for my eleventh surgical case, the Jorenian database finally accepted the NessNevat linguistic download. We knew because our vocollars began translating the sounds our patients were making into words.

Under my hands, the adolescent with severe cranial fractures got particularly eloquent.

“Mother… Mother… take me back… to your… womb… End… this… Mother… do not… leave… me…”

“I liked the growling better,” I muttered under my mask. The nurse next to me repositioned the instrument tray so she could stroke a gentle gloved hand over the boy’s furry brow.

“I am here,” she lied to him. He couldn’t understand her, but the sound of her soft voice calmed him. “I will make the pain go away.”

My thought exactly. “Put him under.”

Squilyp and the other surgical resident were set up a few meters away from us. Engineering had installed remote generators which created two large sterile fields and powered the portable laser rigs. Through the containment static, I heard the Omorr swear now and then. Tonetka appeared regularly, monitoring both of us. A nurse told me the Senior Healer was coordinating all the relief efforts while simultaneously treating the minor surgical cases.

I had refused her offer to replace me and only requested the nurses be rotated every five cases. I told Squilyp to do the same, which he didn’t like. He had an unpleasant tendency to view nurses the same way he did a lascalpel: You only replaced it when it couldn't function any longer.

The NessNevats’ voices drifted from the open area beyond our temporary surgery, mourning the dead, crying out from pain. I knew many would die. Tonetka, Squilyp, and I were the only surgeons, and there were simply too many critical cases.

Reever’s cool voice kept echoing inside my head.
This wasn’t a raid. It was an assault by the Hsktskt Faction
.

That kept me cutting as fast as my hands could move.

Hours crawled by. I worked. Nurses came and went like the patients. I learned the rather limited extent of the Omorr’s repertoire of curses. Sweat made my gear cling to every inch of my skin. The lascalpel hissed. The odor of singed fur and cauterized tissue filled my head.

The same stench the Hsktskt had smelted, as they fired upon the colonists.

Much later, after I’d finished closing the center incision on a NessNevat with internal injuries, the Senior Healer appeared. I noticed her standing across the table from me in a fresh mask and gloves. Over my shoulder, I saw Squilyp and the other resident were already gone.

I pulled the laser up and out of the way. “Checking up on my work, boss?”

Her white eyes were tired, her once-immaculate tunic ruined. “I am replacing you, Healer. Stop and rest for an interval.”

The Hsktskt hadn’t rested while they were here
. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been performing surgery for seventeen hours without ceasing.”

“Is that right?” My nurse nodded. I started the post-op scans. “I’m up for another seventeen more. Go on, Tonetka, take a rest yourself.”

“It is not a matter of discussion, Cherijo. Until I retire, you remain my subordinate,” she said, and plucked the scanner from my hand. “Go. You may not have another opportunity for some time.”

With a helpful push from the nurse, I stepped away from the table. “Okay. Thanks.”

My legs were numb from standing in one place for so long. I hobbled out from surgery into the general hospital area. Several of the nurses stopped me to consult on post-op cases. So far my patients were stable or improving. Once I was satisfied, I slipped out of the building into the ruins of what had been the NessNevats’ largest settlement.

Until the Hsktskt showed up.

The nurses had brought me bits and pieces of information while I operated. The death toll stood at approximately two hundred thousand. Search teams were still sweeping through the formerly populated areas, but evidently Reever’s theory was right, they hadn't found anyone still alive. A special construction crew had been sent down from the
Sunlace
to excavate the mass graves that would be needed.

An estimated ten thousand more natives had been taken from the planet. Slaver goods, if they survived the Hsktskt preference for raw flesh, and the jaunt to Faction-occupied space.

The survivors numbered only eight hundred fifty-two. Most of those were children who had evidently hidden in nooks and crannies during the assault. It was theorized that their weaker life signs hadn’t registered on the Faction's proximity scanners.

Or perhaps, I thought, the bastards couldn’t be bothered and had just left them here to die.

I sat down on a battered section of wall.

It wasn’t a wall anymore. Not since the Hsktskt had stopped by
.

A year ago I’d delivered five Hsktskt infants during a hostile visit by two of the Faction to the FreeClinic on K-2. At the time, I'd gone so far as to help the reptilian warriors leave the planet without violence. In gratitude, the female had promised to name one of the young after me—the equivalent of being made a Hsktskt godmother.

Godmother to the Hsktskt. Godmother to the butchers who had done this.

Somehow I didn’t think the NessNevat would appreciate my dubious honor. Had the pair I'd helped taken part in this?

“Cherijo.”

Reever walked up behind me. I glanced at him without enthusiasm. “Hello, Duncan. Pull up a chunk of rubble. I’m taking a break.”

“You have been busy.”

“Yeah, I have.” I stared at the dust and rings of sweat on his black garments. “You, too.”

He brushed at his trousers with a half-hearted swipe. “We began to dig out the lower level of a collapsed learning facility. As scans revealed all the children within were deceased, we discontinued the effort.” He said all of it without inflection. I was too numb myself to react to his usual prosaic manner. “You called me Duncan.”

I raised my gaze to his. “That’s still your name, right?”

“You never call me Duncan.”

This seemed like a really stupid conversation to be having. “Sure I do. Just not very often. I’ll go back to Reever, if you want.”

“I have no preference.”

“Maybe I should. The last time I called you Duncan, you kicked me out of bed.” I toed a bit of scorched rock around. “So, what else would you like to talk about? The weather? Seems nice down here for summer, if you ignore the smell of the decomposing bodies and the smoke from those fires they haven’t put out yet. What do you think of the natives? Not that there are a whole lot left. Their kids are pretty good at fooling executioners. How about the view? Once the crew finishes digging those graves, they could pull down a few of these building remnants, maybe—” I jammed my fists against my eyes. “
God
.”

“Don’t blame yourself for this.”

“Don’t waste a perfect opportunity to say
I Told You So
.” My hands dropped away. I had no tears, not even for myself. “Remember? I brought five Hsktskt into existence. Five future Hsktskt butchers. Mayer was right. I should have killed them, and their parents.”

“That would make you as callous and indifferent to life as the Faction,” he said.

“Maybe. Then again, maybe I might be able to look at these kids and not feel like a co-conspirator to this massacre.” I studied my hands. There was a fine, dry residue of powder on them from my gloves. No blood. At least not the kind I could see. “I don’t know how to handle this, Reever.”

He moved closer. “Call me Duncan.”

I had no choice. I had to laugh. The sound erupted, raw and wild. I choked it back as soon as I could. It seemed obscene, especially here, among these ruins.

“Your anger and self-recrimination will not change what has happened here,” Reever said.