Beyond Varallan (4 page)

“The stardrive!” Roelm’s eyes bulged as he grabbed at my sleeve and came close to breaking my arm. “There is something wrong with the transductors! I could hear it as we transitioned!”

CHAPTER TWO
Two Sides of Wanting

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S
quilyp hopped off in disgust while I took care of our frantic mechanic. Intimidation and a mild tranquilizer worked just fine. Still, I’d never seen anyone work up to a near-seizure over something that was—what? An engine rattle?

The drug calmed Roelm. So did my threats to put him into sleep suspension. He agreed to my suggestion and let me relay a message for him to the S.O.

From Ndo’s reaction when he got my signal, I gathered the way the stardrive rattled was fairly important.

Ndo dispatched an entire engineering crew, to check out Roelm’s claim, then had me set up a terminal by the Engineer's berth. Relays flew fast and furious between Medical and Operational. Only the threat of plasteel restraints kept Roelm from tearing off his suspension harness and going down to inspect the engines personally.

The remainder of my shift was filled with the usual duties. I supervised the residents. Ignored the Omorr’s irritating sneers and patent condescension. Gave orders to the nurses as they made the daily evaluations. Thought up unique excuses, should Xonea press the “stop by my place” issue. Performed afternoon rounds.

As she was improving, I updated Fasala’s condition from critical to serious. She woke up once, and I removed the dermal regenerators for a few minutes so her ClanParents could each give her a careful embrace.

“She is always so impatient to explore,” Darea said to me as her hand smoothed Fasala’s tangled black hair back from her small brow.

“Ring…” Fasala, who had fallen back asleep, muttered under her breath. “Ring… light…”

“What is this ring and light?” Salo asked.

“Probably nothing.” I scanned the child and made a chart notation. “She’s talking in her sleep.”

“Fasala has an abundant imagination,” Darea said, and straightened the pillow beneath the small head. “Her enthusiasm to explore springs from that, I fear.”

“She needs to temper such enthusiasm,” her ClanFather said. Salo Torin worked on the Command level as the Senior Communications Officer. Like Xonea, he also wore the warrior’s knot that symbolized combat experience. Both men, according to Tonetka, had served together during several Varallan conflicts. Despite the tough appearance, I suspected this quiet man was as shaken up over Fasala's injuries as Darea.

Squilyp bounced by the berth and stopped when he saw me working on Fasala’s chart. He got there in time to hear the last part of our conversation.

“An extended interval of discipline will do much to curb her inappropriate behavior,” the Omorr said. “Punishment often discourages children from repeating thoughtless acts.”

I saw the identical reactions of Fasala’s ClanParents as they swung around, and shook my head sadly.

Squilyp, Squilyp. This was not going to be pretty.

“You speak of
punishment
? With my ClanDaughter here as she is?” Darea rose, every muscle on her substantial frame tensed. An assistant in the subexecutive level, she hardly resembled an administrator now. If there had been a pointy object within her reach, Squilyp would have had it sticking out of some part of his body.

“Omorr.” Salo took a step toward the resident. His six-fingered hands knotted into very large, resident-flattening fists. My vocollar didn’t translate the rest of what he said, much to my secret disappointment. Squilyp's gildrells twitched and he backed off a good meter. Fasala's Clan-Father smiled.

I was enjoying this a little too much, I thought. Time to break it up before we finished with Omorr smeared all over the decking.

“Okay, Mom, Dad.” I stepped between them and the intended victim. Jorenians were wonderfully nonviolent beings, except when someone threatened their kin. Then they made the Hsktskt look like League Armistice Envoys. “Calm down.” I looked over at Squilyp. His derma was turning as white as his gildrells. “Resident, go check on those patients at the far end of the ward.”

“I just examined those patients.”

This was the thanks I got for saving his miserable hide?

“Do it now, Squilyp, or you’ll end up in surgery as a patient.” I even gave him a push with one hand to start him hopping.

“Squilyp needs a refresher course on Jorenian HouseClan protocol,” I said to Salo and Darea. “I’ll schedule him for one as soon he untangles his foot from his gildrells.”

My little joke didn’t make a dent in the thick aura of anger emanating from Fasala's ClanParents. They eyed each other, with that silent form of communication Jorenian bondmates lovingly shared. Only now it seemed much more ominous.

“Darea, Salo,” I said, and my sharp tone got their attention. “He’s insensitive and ignorant, but he's not a threat to Fasala.
Stop it
.”

All those bunched blue muscles relaxed a degree. Darea glanced at her ClanDaughter. That gave me an idea.

“Concentrate on your child. She needs to be lo—” I hastily recalled there was no such word as
love
in their language. “She needs both of you.”

I took a cautious step, placed my hand on Fasala’s brow, hoping to draw their attention away from the Omorr.

“Salo, would you lift her for me?” I asked. “I want to change her bedding. Good. When we’ve done that, Darea can help me put the dermal regenerators back on line.”

The nurses and I kept the couple busy for the next half hour, while their tempers cooled down. Their stares at Squilyp, however, remained lethal.

Tonetka came into Medical to relieve me. I could have kissed her. Between Roelm’s ceaseless agitation over the engines and Fasala's parents being prepared to jump Squilyp at any moment, my nerves were frayed. I updated her on each case, and we examined the child together. She ordered the Omorr go off duty a half-shift early and compose a formal apology to Darea and Salo, then asked me to join her in her office.

“I spoke to Pnor about the buffer. He agreed with Roelm that it could not be breached so,” the Senior Healer said as she sat down at her desk. “You can imagine his surprise when the Environment Operations Station reported extracting over a kilo of buffer alloy from our containers.”

“So the educators
were
right.” Xonea wasn’t going to be happy to hear that.

“The site has been closely inspected. There was no hull breach or plate damage. The buffer is intact. It is as if it never happened.”

I described Roelm’s wild reaction after transition, and she decided to have the Captain interview the engine designer personally.

“I have little knowledge of engine design or tolerance. Pnor will sort this out.” Tonetka completed her notes. “Now, regarding your upcoming sojourn.” She handed me a data pad. “Here is a list of your assigned objectives.”

My first diplomatic mission. Lovely. “Couldn’t you send Squilyp to Ness-whatever instead of me?”

“NessNevat.” She made an impatient gesture. “Squilyp has created enough difficulties at present. He stays here.”

“Okay.” I watched her smother a yawn. “Want me to stick around for a while?”

“No, I am well,” Tonetka said, then sighed. “I look forward to returning to Joren. I can think of nothing better than basking in the radiance of our sun, and compelling my mate to cook for me.”

“Sounds great,” I said. “Maybe I’ll join you.”

The Senior Healer snorted. “I do not care for the warmth of mercenary pulse fire.”

The careless remark stung, but I only sighed. If I wasn’t the most wanted being in the galaxy, I certainly took second place. “Good choice.”

“Forgive me.” Tonetka made an embarrassed gesture. “I did not think before I spoke, Cherijo.”

“It’s okay. Besides, even if I left the ship with you, I'd have to eventually find another job.”

A nurse signaled from the ward and indicated that Roelm wished to speak with Tonetka.

“Now that gives me an idea,” I said, and grinned. “Maybe I’ll find a new vocation. Something like… basket weaving.”

“I would not consult Roelm Torin about your proposal,” Tonetka said. “His pressures would remain permanently in the red range.”

Jenner woke me early the next morning, the usual way. Fifteen pounds of Terran Tibetan temple cat landed on my chest. I opened my eyes and got the Imperial Glare.

“Hungry, Your Majesty?”

Jenner’s silver fur rippled as he drew himself up and thumped his haunches down on my rib cage. I could almost hear his disgusted thoughts.
After nine years of training you, you still have to ask
?

“All right, all right.” I made him his breakfast and a server of tea for me. Once he’d wolfed down his portion, my pet padded off to find a comfortable perch. “Hey, don't wreck my favorite chair.”

Jenner ignored me and jumped up on it.
Was your favorite chair. It’s mine now
. He began kneading the cushion with his paws, preparing for the first of his hundred or so daily naps.

“Don’t push your luck, pal,” I said. “I'll make you take a feline exercise program. You're getting fat, you know.”

His large blue eyes became indignant slits.
It’s not fat, it's muscle
.

“I see you… running laps around a track.” I grinned. “Being chased by Terran hounds.”

I got my chair back.

After a light meal, I dressed and I headed out for the launch bay. I still got lost in the spiraling turns of the vessel’s expansive twenty-eight levels. Some crew member always found me and sent me in the right direction. They treated me the same way they would a little kid. It was understandable. I was roughly the same size as Fasala Torin.

Fasala. She had come close to being cut to pieces. What had happened to make that buffer explode?

I kept mulling over the possibilities throughout my shift that day. Still lost in thought as I came off duty, I turned to enter the gyrlift, and walked into the only other Terran on board the
Sunlace
. Startled, I backed into a corridor panel and bumped my head.

“Reever!” Automatically I rubbed the sore spot on my skull. “That’s it. I'm going to strap a proximity alert beacon on you.”

“Perhaps
you
should wear the device.” His voice sounded as bland as his expression. “
Your
lack of attention invariably causes such incidents.”

Tall, fair-haired Duncan Reever was a handsome specimen of Terran male, if you skipped the unemotional face and cold eyes. As usual, he was wearing uninspiring black garments. In one hand he carried the portable database unit he was upgrading to allow our vocollars to continue to function away from the
Sunlace
.

Reever, who had been K-2’s Chief Linguist, had come on board the
Sunlace
after my rescue. He’d offered his services to Captain Pnor in exchange for transport to the Varallan Quadrant. Since he was a telepathic linguist, and knew or could learn every language of every species the
Sunlace
might encounter, Pnor had welcomed him with open arms.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t so crazy about the idea. Reever's main motive for joining the crew, I suspected, had nothing to do with getting a free ride, and a lot to do with me.

“Are you trying to be funny?” I asked.

Reever simply gestured for me to proceed him into the gyrlift. He was always so calm, so controlled. I could smack him just for that.

The gyrlifts whirled around the outer hull spirals, transporting crew members from one end of the ship to the other. The concept that you
could
walk one corridor and tour the entire ship from top to bottom always confused me. Apparently Jorenian engineers had planned vessel construction very cannily. How the tech involved worked was far beyond the limits of my attention span.

It worked, that was the important thing.

The
Sunlace
resembled an elongated Terran nautilus sea shell in design. The hull was one big, revolving corkscrew, while the vessel’s stardrive had the capability of boring through dimensional barriers. That enabled the Captain to whisk the
Sunlace
away from any threat in a hurry.

A shame I couldn’t do the same thing whenever Reever showed up.

I shouldn’t have felt that way about another human being, but Reever wasn't exactly an ordinary Terran. He'd been born and raised in space, and had traveled extensively around the galaxy with his parents. During his childhood, something had happened that prevented him from displaying normal human emotion. Or maybe he never learned how. Reever didn't exactly gush at length about himself.

He turned to me. “You are scheduled for the sojourn to NessNevat.”

“Yeah, I am. Have you ever been on this planet before?” I hated to make small talk. I was lousy at it.

“You haven’t been accessing your relays again.” At my blank look, he frowned. “I sent you a concise briefing on the planet's native inhabitants.”

“I’m so sorry.” A lie. “I've been busy.” The truth. “Why don't you give me the short version?” Wishful thinking.

“According to available commerce reports, the NessNevat are humanoid, warm-blooded, five sensory, verbal, highly intelligent life-forms.”

“Why are we relying on traders for data?”

“They have had the only contact with this species. The information appears to reflect relatively accurate accounts.”

I didn’t question his opinion. Duncan Reever's parents were the first intergalactic anthropologists to leave Terra. He knew more about alien species than anyone on the ship. I'd never even met a nonhuman until I'd left Terra.

He continued briefing me. Knowing him, I’d eventually hear the entire textdata on the NessNevat, down to how many crops they planted per season, or whatever. I held up one hand when he took a breath. “Never mind. Why are we stopping here?”

“The NessNevat species are not on the Jorenian database. The Captain considered our close proximity to be an excellent opportunity to make initial contact. The planet is one of the few in the region with compatible fuel sources, as well.”