Dream Called Time (4 page)

There I found all the information they were trying to keep from me: records of my whereabouts and activities, surveillance of my personal quarters both on the ship and on Joren, field reports on my movements and sojourns, and enough audio and video to keep me staring at a monitor for several months. Three enormous files contained all the known details from my visits to oKia, Trellus, and Vtaga.

My, my, my.
I had no memory of any of it; the slave girl had been in possession at the time. She’d illegally trespassed on oKia, gotten herself marooned on Trellus, and nearly started a civil war on Vtaga. But to her credit, she’d discovered a new form of crystal, stopped an alien butcher, and cured a plague.

She’d also brought Reever back to life on Vtaga after SrrokVar—now, there was a name I’d never wanted to hear again—had killed him.

I had hoped to get in a third day of study before they came for me, but the Omorr wasn’t known for his patience. He used a medical override to bypass the locking mechanism on my door panel and hopped in with the oKiaf and a Jorenian nurse in tow.

“Power down that terminal,” he told me. “You are coming with me to Medical.”

“I’m not deaf.” I switched off the monitor. “You don’t have to shout.”

“I am not . . .” He exhaled and inhaled before speaking in a softer voice. “Forgive me. I am deeply concerned about you.”

“Why?” I faced him. “I’m fine.”

“You are anything but fine,” he snapped. “You have shunned all interactions with the crew. You have not answered a single signal sent to these quarters. You are irrational, antisocial, and displaying obsessive-compulsive behavior.”

I folded my arms. “Squilyp, we both know that’s just me, even on a good day.”

“I disagree. I believe you are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.” He took a medical case from the nurse and opened it. “What would you classify a patient who for days refused to leave a computer terminal or sleep?”

“A busy insomniac who doesn’t want to talk to anyone.” I smiled. He turned a beautiful shade of dark rose pink whenever he was agitated. “I promise, I am not on the verge of an emotional collapse. How do you know I haven’t been sleeping?”

“Deeply traumatic events such as you have endured often trigger such breaks.” He removed a syrinpress and dialed up a dosage of something on it.

“No, that’s not it.” I glanced around my quarters, the quarters my ClanBrother had so thoughtfully arranged for me. “I didn’t think to check for recording drones. You must have gotten quite a show whenever I cleansed. When did Xonea decide to sanction gross violations of personal privacy?”

“We thought it prudent to keep you under close monitor,” the Omorr said, “in the event you required assistance.”

“No one wants to see me naked anymore.” I released a theatrical sigh and turned to Shon. “If the Senior Healer tries to sedate me, I will be leaving, and you’ll have to take him back to Medical and surgically remove that syrinpress from his esophagus. Are you up for that, or should I explain the extraction procedure to you first?”

“Enough of this, Cherijo.” Squilyp was shouting again.

Shon stepped between us. “Senior Healer, please.” He regarded me. “Cherijo, the captain has received orders to return at once to Joren. To do so, he must make two interdimensional jumps. Now.”

I’d never handled dimensional transitions very well. “That’s the real reason you wanted me back in Medical?” I asked Squilyp.

“Yes,” Shon answered quickly for him.

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” I slipped on my footgear.

Squilyp bided his time, following me to the lift and entering it along with the oKiaf and the nurse. All three of them tried to visually assess me while trying not to be obvious about it. Considering how small the lift was, that took some doing.

“I’ve been taking regular breaks to eat and cleanse,” I said mildly. “I’m not experiencing any weakness, sensory disruption, or pain. No headaches, vision problems, new memory loss, or any other abnormal or unusual symptoms, either. So quit worrying.”

“I do not worry,” Squilyp snapped. “Are you giving yourself stimulants in order to remain awake?”

“No. I haven’t felt tired.” It was partly true. Something was driving me now, something big and dark and seething, and I didn’t care to shine an internal light on it. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll probably lose consciousness as soon as the ship transitions. Then you can poke and prod me as much as you like until I wake up.”

If
I woke up. No one questioned the possibility that the slave girl might come back instead, but they were all thinking it. So was I.

My calm demeanor was as much an act as my rational attitude, but they didn’t know that, and I didn’t want to go through transition alone. If I was strapped into a berth in Medical and something did go wrong, Squilyp was my best chance of surviving it.

I felt something soft and very warm touch my hand, and looked down to see Shon’s paw curling around my fingers. His fur was much finer and silkier than it looked, and his body heat topped mine by a good ten degrees. I also became aware of how good he smelled: like trees and earth and growing things. I felt like wrapping him around me, but the icy cold was deep inside me, where all that lovely warmth couldn’t reach.

I took my hand from his. If I was going to handle this, I couldn’t depend on the kindness of strangers. Especially one who had been in love with
her
, not me.

I hung on to that frigid calm until they put me in a berth in an isolation room and a nurse began to attach monitor leads to my head and chest. Then my muscles went on strike, first stiffening and then knotting as I began to tremble.

“Leave us,” the Omorr said as he scanned me.

I saw the oKiaf and the nurses go. “I’m all right.”

“No, you are not.” He checked his scanner and sighed. “Try to relax.”

By that point the berth was shaking along with me. “Se-se-seizure?”

“Your heart rate and respiration have doubled, you are perspiring heavily and presenting involuntary rapid fine tremors, your glucose level is dropping, and your glands are attempting to compensate by releasing a substantial amount of adrenaline into your bloodstream,” he said. “You are having an anxiety attack.”

How wimpy of me. “S-s-sorry.”

“Your recent activities have resulted in a serious B complex deficiency, which is contributing to your condition. I am giving you a vitamin booster to augment. Please do not shove the instrument down my throat,” he added as he infused me and then finished wiring me to the equipment.

I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering until the anxiety crested and then slowly dissolved. “Sedatives would have worked just as well.”

He sighed. “Over the last years you have become immune to them.”

But not to anxiety, evidently. The receding adrenaline left me feeling abruptly exhausted. “Would you do something for me, Senior Healer?”

“As long as it does not require you to leave this berth.”

“If I don’t wake up this time,” I said carefully, “put my body in stasis until you can figure out how to bring me back.”

“Cherijo—”

“Please.” In spite of my best efforts to control my emotions, I felt a single tear roll down my cheek. “Don’t let some alien take over my body again, Squilyp. Please. I’m begging you.”

Squilyp did something very un-Squilyp then: He sat on the edge of the berth, pulled me up, and wrapped all three arms around me. “I promise.”

He didn’t let me go, so shortly thereafter when reality was sucked into a dizzying swirl of colors, I was still in his arms. As my tired brain upended itself, a wistful sadness filled me, and I wished I’d asked Squilyp to send for Reever. Despite what had happened, I regretted that the last words we’d exchanged had been angry and bitter.

As bitter as the words I’d said . . . that I had signaled . . .

Memories began pouring into my mind, a series of vivid sensory flashes that blotted out the disorienting effects of the ship’s transition. I was back on the Rilken ship, jaunting toward the
CloudWalk
, only this time something was different. I saw myself on the deck, blood all over my face. The League soldier who had hit me lay across me, unconscious. I had to push him off and roll him to one side so I could reach the main console and initiate a relay. I watched myself doing those things, and felt as if I were doing them at the same time.

League command vessel, this is Dr. Cherijo Torin. I have to speak to Colonel Shropana immediately.

I didn’t receive a response, so I switched relay channels and repeated the request, but that made no difference. The console began picking up transmissions between League ships, however, and I saw myself listening to them, and then attempting to signal first the Jorenians, and then the League command vessel.

No one would respond to my relays. My transceiver had been partially damaged; all I could do was listen.

The Rilkens’ viewer displayed the
CloudWalk
as it fired on an approaching transport—a drone transport, according to the signals I’d overheard—programmed to provoke the Jorenians into an attack. I watched myself change tactics and try to send a signal to the Jorenians.

There are no living beings on that launch,
I shouted.
They are trying to provoke you into an attack. Cease fire.

All I heard in return was a satisfied male voice issuing an order to respond and destroy the
CloudWalk
.

ClanLeader Teulon, listen to me,
I pleaded.
You have to stop this right now. It’s nothing but a ruse. My husband and my daughter are on your ship. Shropana knows that. He’s doing this to get to them. To get back at me. Listen to me, please.

League ships began swarming around the Jado vessel. The viewer glowed brighter and brighter as explosions of pulse fire burst all around me.

No, please, Teulon. You have to cease fire. There are too many of them. Cease fire, for God’s sake—

I saw but didn’t see the League soldier rise up behind me. I kept sending my frantic transmissions until the viewer filled with white light, and the
CloudWalk
’s stardrive imploded.

The light blinded me just as the soldier clubbed me in the head.

I regained consciousness on what I assumed was the cargo compartment on the League transport. My head ached, and the restraints they’d put me in were cutting off the circulation to my hands and feet, but I was alive. They’d posted a heavily armed humanoid male as my guard; he was a canine species with narrow black eyes, a prominent muzzle, and brown-pelted skin. He wore combat-fitted body armor and looked as if he’d enjoy shooting me.

I knew Reever and Marel were not dead, but the part of me reliving this experience didn’t. I couldn’t breach the distance between our minds, and reassure myself. I could only feel the rage building again.

The Jorenians will come for you. Do you know what they do to anyone who harms their kin?

Keep your orifice shut.
He had a magnificent set of sharp denticles.
Or I will gag you.

I didn’t know what he had been ordered to do, but I could guess. The hostility in his black eyes made his threats into promises. If I pushed hard enough, he might lose control and do more, perhaps even execute me early. Which was fine with me. I didn’t want to live anymore, not without my family.

Your commander just wiped out an entire HouseClan,
I told him.
Since there are no Jado left now, the Jorenian Ruling Council will designate the dead as ClanJoren. Do you know what that means, murderer?

He came up to me and backhanded me.
I have not killed anyone. Be silent.

It doesn’t matter. Every HouseClan on the planet will be coming for your commander. Your fleet.
I spit out some blood onto the front of his chest plate.
And you.

Let them come. They may join their kin in death.
He didn’t sound quite as ferocious now.

They won’t be coming alone,
I promised.
While you and the Hsktskt have been playing war games, the Jorenians have been forming their own coalition with other neutral species. The treaties have included pacts of mutual protection against the League and the Faction. This massacre will not go unanswered. They’ll call on their new allies as well as their old friends, most of whom have just been waiting for any decent excuse to move against the League. They’ll disable your fleet. Then the Jorenians will board the ships and declare the crews ClanKill.
I leaned forward, straining against the restraints.
They’ll hold them down, one by one, and use their claws to eviscerate them alive.

He took an involuntary step back.
How could you know any of this? You are a fugitive from Terra. You are not even classified as a sentient creature.

Is that what they told you?
I asked sweetly.
Whatever the League thinks of me, the Jorenians adopted me. And after I saved their planet from an invasion, they made me a member of their Ruling Council.

You were told not to interact with the prisoner,
a familiar voice said.

I looked past the guard and saw the ugly, gloating face of one of my oldest enemies.
Shropana.

Now you understand why you should have killed me when you had the chance, Cherijo.

Cherijo.

Cherijo.

“Cherijo.”

I opened my eyes, and saw my face reflected in something dark and shiny. When I blinked, the mirror image didn’t do the same. Only when cracks began spreading over it did I realize that I was seeing my face, encased in black crystal, and it was being slowly crushed.

I screamed.

Three

“It was only a bad dream,” I told Squilyp as he removed the monitor leads from my temples. “Or a hallucination, caused by the effects of the jump. Maybe I saw your face and thought it was something else.”

“According to the equipment, you never lost consciousness.” He brushed some hair out of my eyes. “And I do not think my countenance, distorted or not, could have frightened you enough to cry out like that.”

I hadn’t described to him what I’d seen. It was bad enough that I had to remember it. “Whatever it was, it’s over. Forget about it.” As soon as the last line was off me, I swung my legs over the side of the berth. “Are we there yet?”

“The ship will be landing on Joren within the hour. You are not leaving Medical until it does.” The Omorr handed me a stack of ceremonial garments. “If you feel well enough to get up, you can get dressed.”

“I’m not wearing this. I look ridiculous in Jorenian robes.” As I realized why he’d given them to me, I dropped them on the berth. “Oh, no. You didn’t tell them I woke up.”

“The captain signaled the planet before we transitioned. The entire HouseClan has assembled to celebrate your return. You are supposed to be surprised by this.” He didn’t smirk or even sound amused. “There are others waiting on planet who also wish to meet with you.”

Uh-oh. “What others?”

“A diplomatic party from Vtaga. That is all Xonea told me,” he added, before I could ask. “I will send a nurse to obtain some garments from your, ah, from Reever’s quarters.” He gave me a sympathetic look before he hopped out.

I thought about using the isolation room terminal to signal Command and tell Xonea what I thought of his surprise party, but I was too busy trying to understand why an entourage of Hsktskt had been allowed on planet.

The last time the Faction had sent its representatives to Joren, it had been strictly for the purposes of invading it, stripping it of its resources, and enslaving the populace. I’d traded Shropana and an entire fleet of League ships to stop that from happening. Thanks to Reever’s own devious machinations, I’d also been enslaved myself, although eventually I’d freed myself and the League prisoners, and destroyed the Hsktskt slave depot on Catopsa in the process.

But that was no longer the status quo, as I knew from accessing Xonea’s secured files. Jarn had helped end the war between the League and the Faction, and then she’d cured a devastating plague on the Hsktskt homeworld. She’d even convinced the lizards to revoke the blood bounty they’d put on my head after I’d destroyed their flesh-peddling prison outpost.

“If I’m supposed to feel grateful for what she did,” I muttered, “everyone is going to be very disappointed.”

The nurse showed up with fresh garments, none of which I recognized. “Do you need assistance, Healer?”

“No, thanks.” I shook out the tunic and trousers, both of which were in a shade of ivory that I never wore. The material smelled of unfamiliar organics: transfer from a musky plant or herb. Maybe it was some sort of perfume the slave girl had worn to make herself smell nice.

Had she done it for Reever? What else had she done for him? Was that how she had stolen him from me? With some weird alien sex?

A complicated, strapped contraption fell to the floor, and I picked it up. It didn’t belong to me. “What’s this?”

“It was left folded atop your undergarments,” the nurse said. “I assumed it belonged to you.”

“Why would I need all these straps?” It must have been Jarn’s, but what kind of woman-hating culture had she come from, to have to bind herself up in something like this?

At second glance it didn’t appear to be a body rig; it was more like a harness to be strapped across the shoulders and chest. Odd pockets and flaps had been sewn in the straps, and when I opened one, I discovered it was a sheath for a small, smooth-hilted blade.

I took out the dagger and examined it. “This looks like a weapon.” I checked the other pockets, which held a variety of other knives—twenty in all. “Jesus Christ. What is this thing?”

The nurse smiled uneasily. “I would say it is a blade harness, Healer.”

“I’m a physician,” I pointed out. “We don’t use weapons. We clean up the mess they make.”

“The harness belonged to Jarn,” Reever said as he came into the room. He turned to the nurse. “Would you excuse us, please?”

“As you wish, Linguist. Healer.” The nurse practically ran out of the room.

“Hello, Duncan.” I took out one of the slave girl’s longer daggers and held it up to the light. “Omorrforged, perfectly balanced.” I didn’t have to test the edge, which bore marks indicating it had been honed down to a lethal sharpness that would cut like a lascalpel. “This looks like one of yours.”

“I gave it to Jarn when peace was declared.” He seemed more interested in me now than he had in the environome. “She attended the injured and dying on battlefields. She was trained to carry weapons to defend herself.”

“Considering what a lethal threat injured, dying rebels can be, that’s completely understandable.” I sheathed the dagger and dropped the contraption like the trash it was. “What do you want? Your knives back?” I kicked the harness across the deck to him. “There you go.”

He bent over to retrieve the harness and slung it over his shoulder. “I did not come here to provoke you.”

“Too late.” I showed him some teeth. “And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Jarn’s still dead, and I’m not.” I turned my back on him. “You know your way out.”

He didn’t go. “We should talk.”

“Oh,
now
we should talk,” I said to the berth. “
Not
when I woke up out of a five-year walking coma.
Not
when I found out how long I’d been gone.
Not
when I went looking for my husband and he treated me like a Tingalean leper in active contagion- molt. Certainly
not
at any time over the past thirty-six hours that I spent alone in my new quarters waiting for him to drop by and reassure me that despite his behavior he was happy I’d come back. I can see how those would have been totally inappropriate moments to have a conversation.”

“I needed time to accept Jarn’s loss.” He moved a little closer. “But now I see that it was wrong of me to make you wait and suffer in solitude as I have. I apologize for my actions.”

Jarn’s
loss. Not mine. Had he ever grieved like that for me? Why did he care now if I suffered or not?

Silently I counted to ten, thinking the entire time that it was a damn good thing he was holding that knife harness and not me.

“I am glad you have returned,” he continued. “I regret that we were not able to effect the reinstatement of your personality sooner than this. You must have a great many questions about the gaps in your memory.”

“Not really. While you were busy sobbing into your pillow and sulking, I broke into Xonea’s secured files and read up on everything that’s happened since we parted ways at Oenrall. Well, almost everything,” I amended as I remembered the scent from the garments I’d never worn. “There are still some minor details that I’m sketchy on. For example, did you have sex with the Akkabarran?”

“I do not think—”

“Don’t think, darling,” I said, very softly, so that he would understand just how angry I was. “Just answer the question.”

“Yes,” he said. “Jarn and I made love. She was as much my wife as you were.”

Were.
I was still dead to him. Having that confirmed extinguished the last, tiny flicker of hope in my heart. All that remained for me to do was to make arrangements for an appropriate burial.

Here lies Cherijo’s true love,
the grave marker would read.
Stolen by an alien, slowly strangled, and left alone to rot in solitude. Also known as the definition of living hell.

A cold little voice in my head reminded me that I’d done this before, with Kao Torin. I survived that; I’d get over this. Maybe I’d visit Omorr and see if any of their single males were interested in an offworld mate. They wrote up legal contracts before they got into permanent relationships, and if they tried to leave a spouse for an alien entity, said spouse could have all their assets seized.

“Cherijo?” He sounded uneasy now.

“They’re having a party for me on Joren,” I said, stripping off the gown. “The usual overblown endless all-day, all-night revelry thing, I imagine. My
nine
-year-old daughter is there, and Squilyp says there are some Hsktskt waiting to see me, too. I’m sure I’m going to be very busy for the next several weeks.” I pulled the tunic over my head and tugged it into place. “So when we land, you should really go.”

“Go where?”

“Anywhere. Another province, planet, quadrant, galaxy, dimension, take your pick.” I turned on him. “It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s away from me.”

His eyes changed colors with his moods, and at that moment they were a bleak, dark gray. “You would have me leave you now?”

“You left me two years ago, Reever, when you and your little alien girlfriend decided to fall in love and use my body as a hotel.” I pulled on my trousers. “This will simply make it official.”

The new lines around his mouth tightened. “You forget that we have a daughter, Cherijo.”

“Oh, no,
I
haven’t forgotten anything,” I said. “Once I file for legal separation, our counselors can get together and work out an amicable split-parenting agreement.” I fastened the waistband before pulling down my tunic and adjusting the hem. “I believe the standard Terran arrangement for shared custody is three to four days per week and every other holiday on a rotational basis.”

His hands knotted into fists. “Acting on your anger with me will not resolve anything.”

“Acting on your infidelity will.” I gathered up my hair, twisting and folding it, and secured the coil to the back of my head with a clip. “Adultery is still lawful justification for dissolution of marriage on quite a few planets, including the one we’ll be orbiting in a half hour.” I pretended to think. “In fact, I’m pretty sure that the Jorenian bondmate who cheats on his Chosen is expected to commit ritual suicide in front of the entire HouseClan to restore honor to his ex. So is his illicit lover, but, oh, right.” I eyed him. “You don’t have to worry about that part.”

A muscle flicked in his jaw. “I was not unfaithful to you in the legal sense of the term.”

“You know, you find out the most fascinating tidbits when you illegally access confidential command files,” I advised him. “For example, did you know that Jarn resigned my position from the Jorenian Ruling Council? She cited her mental condition as making her unfit to serve. The council accepted her resignation, and referred to her as Jarn in all of the documentation, some of which was video, and all of which I am sure they etched on crystal. That qualifies her as a unique being, recognized as independent and completely separate from me.” I turned on him. “So yes, sweetheart. Legally speaking, you
were
unfaithful to me.”

“I have told you the truth, and I have apologized for my behavior,” he said through his teeth. “What more do you want?”

Five years.
“From you?” I uttered a chuckle. “Nothing, thanks.”

He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. “Stop this foolishness. You are not leaving me, nor I you. We have a child. We have a life together.”

I wanted to punch him in the face. I wanted to scream. I wanted to drop on my knees and hug his legs and beg him to tell me that this was all some sort of horrible mistake. That there had never been a Jarn. That this was some sort of bizarre medical test or psychological assessment being done to determine only if I was the real Cherijo.

None of that happened. It never would. My anger dissipated abruptly, and the despair it left behind swelled. If I didn’t finish this, it was going to crush me from the inside out.

“Do you love me, Duncan? Or are you still in love with her? No.” As he tried to turn his head away, I caught his jaw. “Look me in the eyes and tell me.”

“Over time, I came to care for her. I cannot tell you when it happened, or why, only that it did. I never felt such a thing for another. It seemed as if she were truly the other half of my . . .” He stopped and cleared his throat. “It is of no consequence now. She is gone. You came first in my life. You are here again, and in time I believe that we can be together as we once were.”

“Sorry.” Because Reever understood so little about human emotion, he had convinced himself that we still had a shot at this. Somewhere under the flattening weight of my own heartbreak, I felt for him. “Not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“When you lose someone you love, they take part of you with them. You’re never the same again. You never get it back.” I went to the door panel, stopped, and glanced back at him. “I understand how you feel much better than you think.”

“You speak of losing Kao Torin.” He nodded, still oblivious to what I was saying. “Yes. That is how it has been for me.”

“I’m not talking about Kao.” For a moment I let him see my sorrow. “I know how you feel about losing Jarn because I’ve lost you.”

I didn’t glance back as I left Medical and headed for launch bay.

Joren looked exactly as I remembered it: big, wide-open, beautiful, and dazzling with color. All the colors of the rainbow streamed across the sky in the form of prismatic cloud streaks; the immense fields of silver yiborra grass stretched out in every direction around HouseClan Torin’s Main Transport facility. The air smelled of flowers, which bloomed everywhere in countless varieties and shades.

While Main Transport was a busy place, with ships landing and launching all around us, even the sight of Jorenians in their flight gear made me feel a little better. These were my people, the only species to take me in and accept what I was and still care for me like one of their own. Joren and its HouseClans were the home and kin of my soul.

I didn’t realize there was going to be an official welcoming committee until Xonea and a detachment of guards in dress uniform surrounded me.

“Cherijo.” My ClanBrother frowned at the ordinary garments I was wearing. “Where are your robes?”