Endurance (31 page)

Yet being with Noarr, I felt that same sense of déjà vu, as if I’d come home after a long, exhausting journey. Who cared if we came from two different worlds?

“You do not answer me, woman.”

I was getting tired of the “woman” thing. No. To be honest, I wanted to hear him say my name. Just this once. “Cherijo. Call me Cherijo.”

He put his mouth at the curve of my throat, and slid his tongue against my skin in a slow, sensual caress. “Does it matter, Cherijo?”

Not every species indulges in kissing. So for an answer, I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his cheek. His grip tightened briefly, then he gently set me aside.

“I would take you with me if I could.” He grabbed on to the cord and pulled his hood back over his head. “I’ll come back as soon as it’s safe.”

“Yes. All right.” I needed desperately to believe him, so I summoned up a confident grin. “You know where to find me.”

He nodded. “Always.”

Oddly enough, it wasn’t Noarr who released me from the pit, but my former patient FurreVa. The retrieval clamps tugged me out of the pit before I saw her, so I wasn’t prepared for the grim visage and gave a startled cry.

“Doctor.” She removed the clamps and surveyed me. “You appear to be healed from your ordeal.”

“So far, so good.” I glanced around and saw no other Hsktskt in the immediate vicinity. “Why are you letting me out?”

“I wish to undergo the final reconstructive surgery.” She gave me what could be called an appealing look, if you ignored the bared fangs and lashing tongue.

I frowned. “I thought you weren’t interested in getting your face fixed.”

“My decision was too hasty. I now have an opportunity … if I am to secure a mate for my brood …” Her claws traced over the still-visible groove in her scales.

I’d been experimented on, terrorized, and thrown in a pit, and Helen was only worried about what her new boyfriend thought of her face. Good to know I meant something to my friends.

Not that FurreVa had ever considered me a friend.

“You have someone in mind?” Not that it was any of my business, but if the groom was FlatHead, I was going to talk her into staying single.

“Yes. Can you make me appear as a normal female?”

I gave her an ironic glance. “That was the whole idea in the first place. Come on.”

My long absence hadn’t stopped the medical staff from functioning. I saw when I walked in with the Hsktskt female. Good to know they could work on their own now.

Pmohhi turned, screamed, and dropped an entire batch of newly sterilized instruments. “Creation, she’s still alive!”

Zella’s tail knocked over an infuser array. “Doctor!”

“Cherijo—I mean—Dr. Torin—” Vlaav’s hemangiomas turned a bright, vivid scarlet, and he gave me a sheepish grin. “It’s good to see you’re intact.”

“Reports of my dismemberment have been greatly exaggerated,” I said, and glared at the nurses. “And since when did you two turn into clutzes? Pick up that gear, Pmohhi. Zella, I want you to prep for surgery. You too, Vlaav.”

I made quick rounds. Most of the meningitis patients had been discharged. Those patients I recognized from the crying chambers I noted to remain on indefinite inpatient status. I wouldn’t willingly allow any of them to go back if I could stop it.

“Are you sure you are feeling well enough to perform this procedure?” Vlaav asked me at the cleansing unit.

“I’m okay.” Mostly. The burns on my arm and chest had healed, and my wrist was sore but flexible. “Any problems while I was gone?”

“Some. More prisoners have escaped. A pair were discovered in the sanitation room by OverCenturon GothVar.”

Trepidation set in. “Two Forharsees? The young ones?”

“I believe so. They were taken to the restricted area.”

Jgrap and Kroni, in the crying chambers. Neither of them would last very long. This had to be stopped. I used my knee to switch off the biodecon port. “When we’re done with this, I’m going to see TssVar. I may not come back, so you may have to handle the follow-ups. Pay attention.”

“But—but—” The Saksonan looked appalled. “I’ve never done any reconstructive procedures before.”

“You will now,” I said with a grim smile. “Welcome to Plastic Surgery 101.”

FurreVa stretched out on one of the exam tables, and I scanned her thoroughly. The bone grafts and soft tissue repairs had healed well, and near-total brain function had been restored. All that remained was cosmetic work, but that was in some ways the trickiest part.

Hsktskt facial derma contained the same muscle and mucosal tissues as warm-blooded life-forms, but hardly any fat layer existed. Also, the arrangement and pattern of scales presented a problem—the markings destroyed by FurreVa’s injury had to be restored to a near-natural appearance, or she would never appear “unscarred” to other Hsktskt.

Vlaav observed as I reopened the keloid groove from brow to jaw and checked the muscular and neuro-repair sites.

“I’m using small, deep-epithelial grafts from appropriately shaded markings here, like this”—I made the first cone-shaped incisions on her right lower appendage, lifting the scaled-topped plug and placing it directly into the open granulated facial tissue—“and transferring them, one by one. The missing subcutaneous fasciae will be filled in, and the scale patterns reestablished.”

“That will take hours.”

“I work fast, Doctor. So will you.” I handed him the spare lascalpel and pointed to the other appendage. “You can do the neck area. Match the markings on the opposite side as closely as you can. And keep your arm joints out of my way while I work on her face.”

Vlaav’s angiomas purpled. “I can’t perform this procedure. I’ve never excised grafts this small before.”

“Don’t start popping those pustules in my sterile field.” I softened that with, “Just be careful, and start cutting.”

Doing this on a smooth-skinned being would have been out of the question, given the inevitable postoperative dermal contractions. On a Terran, visible bumps would be left wherever a plug had been placed. FurreVa’s surface scale layer, however, would camouflage the effect completely.

“Why are you doing this for her?” my resident asked me after we’d been working for an hour.

“Everyone deserves a chance for a normal life, Vlaav.” I centered a graft plug and lifted my head to check the match. “Even a Hsktskt.”

Vlaav did a remarkable job in repairing the damage to the neck patterns. Once I had the face and outer jaw finished, I sterilized the outer surface of the grafts and had the Hsktskt female moved to an isolation area. Zella agreed to keep her sedated and under constant monitor.

As we stripped out of our surgical gear, I went over the prognosis with Vlaav and discussed the possible postoperative complications to watch out for.

“The dentary implants look like they’ve taken, but how stable are they?” he asked as we shrugged into fresh tunics.

“It will take a couple more weeks for them to take completely. She’ll be on a soft diet until then.”

Zella reappeared, her vibrissae quivering. “Back, that slope-browed one is. Kill her, he says he’s going to.”

Great. I slipped a syrinpress into my tunic pocket. “Come on, Vlaav. Let’s go deal with this beast.”

FlatHead stood over the unconscious FurreVa, his rifle pointed at her new face.

“OverCenturon.” I dried my hands and stared at his ugly face with bland indifference. “Come to volunteer your time as an infirmary aid?”

His tongue shot out, then slid back with a hiss. “She released you from the confinement pit.”

“Yes.”

“Without any authorization. To do”—he gestured toward her face—“this.”

“Actually, I talked her into it.” What had FurreVa gotten me into now? “You know, I really can’t stand to go a week without performing some kind of surgery. Call me obsessive-compulsive.”

He activated his weapon. “This time she dies.”

“Do
you
have authorization for that?” One baleful eye swiveled toward me. “No, I suppose that’s not important right now. All right. How can I persuade you not to ruin all this nice work I’ve done? Do you want to take me back to SrrokVar? I’ll go. Just put the rifle down.”

“No.” He moved a step back from the berth. “Not to SrrokVar. To the arena.”

“And this arena is …?” All he did was raise the weapon again. “Fine. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Leave her alone.”

FlatHead didn’t give me time to leave instructions with Zella and Vlaav, and I hoped my resident would remember everything I’d told him about FurreVa’s case.

“I heard you took a couple of kids to SrrokVar,” I said as I walked out of the infirmary. “What’s the matter, couldn’t find anyone your own size to pick on?”

“So it is true. You have some pathetic affection for them.”

I turned around. “Who told you that?”

“They’re fodder now.” He shoved me forward. “Keep walking.”

I could still hear Jgrap passionately vowing to die rather than live without Kroni. Oh, God. “They were just kids, you repulsive scum.”

He gave the small of my back a vicious jab with his rifle. I bit my lip against the sharp pain. Somehow, some way, I promised myself, I was going to see him in the same shape.

I was marched out to a section I knew was the guards’ barracks, another place I’d never visited.

“Mind telling me what this arena is for?”

“Slave challenges. I will enjoy watching you bleed.”

I bet he would. “What kind of challenges?”

“Physical combat. One species against another.” He gave me his version of a leer. “The thin-hided ones don’t last long.”

Behind the guard barracks an enclosure lined with high, plasteel walls had been erected. GothVar led me into it through a narrow, guarded opening and secured the panel behind us.

“Fresh skin,” he called out.

Hsktskt guards sat in rows on eating benches pushed back against the walls. They were hissing and shouting at two slaves who appeared to be strangling each other. One was an aquatic life-form with suction-padded tendrils; the other a gargantuan insectile being with sharp, gleaming mandibles. Old and fresh blood made spattered marks on the crystal beneath their feet.

Minutes passed. Then the larger combatant wrestled the aquatic under his thorax and collapsed on top of it. Inky fluid oozed out from beneath the victor’s carapace. GothVar added his voice to the guards’ clicking cheers, then pushed me into the center of the arena.

“New fodder for the champion!” he shouted.

Some of the other guards yelled their protests. From what they said, apparently I wasn’t expected to present much of a challenge.

The huge insect creature stared at me, and from the glaze over its eye clusters I could tell it was in pain. As it hauled itself off the aquatic, I saw a crack in the underside of its abdomen, and the protruding end of something black sticking out. The aquatic lay motionless.

“Do you speak Terran?” I asked, and the big bug cocked its head. “No, I didn’t think you did.”

I didn’t move as it came closer, rubbing its mandibles together as it scrutinized me. One snap of those and some vital part of me would end up next to the wounded aquatic.

What to do now? I held out my hands, palms up, and took a step forward. One of the life-form’s legs lashed out and swept my feet out from under me. I landed on my back, and looked up to see it positioning itself over me. Planning to squash me, too. Now I could see the nether wound clearly. The aquatic had lodged some kind of spine into the victor. A poisonous one, I’d bet—most of them were.

It didn’t sit on me. It just stood there.

Maybe it didn’t understand Terran, but it could have recognized my physician’s tunic. I stopped thinking about dying and lifted my hand to touch the undamaged carapace, and gently probed the wound.

“Have to get this out,” I said, and curled both hands around the protrusion. A humming roar emerged from the mandibles as I extracted the short spine and tossed it aside. Copious bleeding commenced, and I
tore a handful of fabric from my tunic, wadded it up and used it to staunch the flow.

My opponent released a high-pitched sound that hurt my ears, then lost its footing. I rolled out from under it just before it collapsed completely. By the time I got to my feet, centurons were dragging both the dead aquatic and wounded insect being from the arena.

FlatHead stood watching me, his tail curling and lashing with agitation.

“Take it to the infirmary, they may be able to save it.” I straightened my tunic and folded my arms. “Is that all?”

“Send out the Husras.”

The Husras turned out to be an amorphous protean creature who extruded itself from an aperture and remassed in front of me. In its own way it was beautiful—transparent cellular walls displayed a glittering, protoplasmic interior with a fascinating arrangement of internal organs. Sensory organ pseudopods sprouted from different areas as it took a look at and smell of me.

For a moment I simply admired the being, until it arranged the majority of its bulk into a burly, multiple-limbed form that mimicked the Hsktskt upper torso. This lion had no thorn for me to pluck from its paw, and it didn’t speak Terran either.

Time to move.

As I skittered away from it, my opponent flowed its lower portion across the arena to pursue me. The guards began shouting again, calling out suggestions that ranged from ridiculous to obscene. I saw GothVar watching intently, and decided I’d have to resort to the syrinpress. I reached into my pocket and calibrated what I needed by touch.

This had better work.

A snaking pseudo-limb caught me by the waist and started dragging me toward an enlarging pit in the transparent surface. Before it could ingest me, I thrust my hand into the newly formed mouth, and shuddered as cold, viscous flesh closed over it. I triggered the syrinpress, and hoped the large dose of muscle relaxer would do the trick.

For a moment the Husras simply remained there with my arm in its mouth; then it slowly began losing control of its shape. The Hsktskt guards voiced their fury as the being melted into an unconscious puddle around me.

I caught GothVar’s furious gaze, and assumed a pleasant demeanor. “
Now
can I go?”