Stardoc (13 page)

“T will follow that method of treatment which, according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous, I will give no deadly medicine to anyone if asked, nor suggest any such counsel,’ “ I read out loud.

The chiefs eyes darted over to his copy of the Hippo-cratic Oath, the pledge that all Terran physicians swore to uphold. His lips were getting white now.

“Excuse me, Dr. Mayer.” I got to my feet and strode out of his office. And walked promptly into Duncan Reever.

It was, well, unnerving. I let out a yelp and jumped back. He registered my response by arching a light eyebrow.

“Dr. Grey Veil,” he greeted me, no inflection coloring his voice. I shoved my way past him and marched down the corridor. “Doctor?”

I didn’t expect him to trail after me as I strode out the main entrance. K-2’s twilight was deepening from olive to emerald, while the moon ring glowed like a broken necklace of pearls. I paused, glanced over my shoulder and made an exasperated sound. For a telepath, Reever was incredibly dense.

“What do you want, Chief Linguist Reever?”

“I’ll walk with you,” he said. Like he was conferring some kind of significant honor.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, then walked off. He kept pace with me until I lost the last of my patience. I halted and turned on that fathomless gaze. Managed to avoid shouting. Barely. “Reever, go away!”

“You’re walking in circles around the FreeClinic,” he felt he had to point out.

“I know.”

“You’re upset.”

“There’s a keen observation.” I pushed a handful of dark hair from my eyes. “Anything else?”

“One of my subordinates was present during your treatment of the Hsktskt raiders,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” I had forgotten about the translator, and now felt a little ashamed of my outburst. “He was wonderful.”

“I’m pleased to hear that.”

“More than wonderful. To be honest, our success was due in large part to his excellent skills and performance under adverse conditions. You should give him a raise in compensation.” There, I’d made the appropriate comments. He would have to be satisfied with that.

He wasn’t. “It was reported that the female Hsktskt named you as designate to the dominary infant.”

“So?”

“You invited a significant honor on yourself.”

“Invited?” I was incredulous. “Believe me, Chief Linguist, I didn’t ask her to name her kid after me.”

“In Terran terms, such a distinction would rank with that of a godmother, Doctor.”

My foot began tapping the ground. “I’m still missing a point here. If there is one.”

“Being that infant’s designate virtually guarantees you’ll never be taken as a Hsktskt slave.”

What was he trying to insinuate? That I - “For God’s sake, Reever, I wasn’t given a choice at the time!”

“Weren’t you?” he asked. “You brought five more Hsktskt killers into existence.”

First Mayer, now this. “I treated a female giving birth,” I told him. “Under extreme duress, I might add, but that doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No, Reever. It doesn’t.” I moved in. “I would have treated her no matter what happened. Threat or no threat. While the colony was under attack. Even if her mate began executing the others.” I made sure I had his full attention, our eyes locked, my face a mere inch from his. “With my last breath, Reever, I would have delivered those five Hsktskt killers.”

The chief linguist nodded as though satisfied. He lifted his hand, and trailed the tips of his fingers over my rumpled hair. The gesture baffled me. “You would be unyielding to the end.”

“Leave me alone, Reever.”

I stalked off, and was relieved to see he didn’t follow me. It took a few moments to collect myself before a nagging inconsistency emerged from my muddled thoughts. Something the charge nurse had said during the delivery of the Hsktskt quints.

“No one knows much about them,” T’Nliqinara had stated. So how did Duncan Reever know all this stuff about their “godmothers”?

PART Two: Application

Colonial Security did investigate the incident involving the two Hsktskt intruders. Thoroughly. For an entire day it seemed like anyone with a security clearance took a shot at grilling me. After all that, it was officially concluded that no Charter violation could be cited against me.

My clearance didn’t sway the popular opinion held by enforcement and defense officials. Namely, that my actions during the treatment of the Hsktskt female had been reckless.

“Doctor, you medical people aren’t trained to operate under hostage situations,” one of higher-ranking Militia felt obligated to point out. “You should have left the decisions to the on-site negotiator.”

“I’m trained to deal with crisis,” I said, a distinct edge to my voice.

“Let me give you some advice that saves lives,” the man had the audacity to say. “The next time you’re faced with a terrorist threat, make Militia notification your first priority. Then do exactly as you’re told.”

Ana Hansen, who had come along as my personal adviser, chose that moment to pull me to my feet. She was strong, and fast, too. Before I could reply, I found myself unceremoniously pushed toward the door.

“Thank you, and please excuse us,” Ana said as she practically dragged me out of the office. Once we’d left the Security building, she released me and exhaled with audible relief.

“I wasn’t going to hit him,” I told her, rubbing the spot she had gripped so tightly. “Not very hard, anyway.”

“You know, Cherijo, for a doctor, you have an impressive temper.”

“Under ordinary conditions, I don’t,” I said. “It only comes out during certain situations - like when I’m being accused of criminal negligence. Who did that jerk think he was? I was just doing my job!”

“I believe you did the best you could in a very dangerous situation,” Ana said. “That’s all anyone can be expected to do.”

“Not according to that thick-skulled cretin-“

“- who would not have appreciated you casting doubts on the legitimacy of his birth. Or learning of your painfully low estimation of his intelligence. Or knowing the exact anatomical location on his body you thought would best accommodate his advice,” Ana said.

“I thought you only picked up thought fragments,” I said, and she gave into her laughter at last.

“My dear, an inorganic rock formation could have read what you were thinking while he was lecturing you.”

Our path intersected with one of the Terran engineers in my housing unit, Paul Dalton. By this time I had become acquainted with several of my neighbors, but conflicting work schedules kept me from forming genuine friendships. Paul, I noticed, was with someone I hadn’t seen before.

“Friends of yours?” Ana asked, following my gaze.

“The Terran lives down the corridor from me. I don’t recognize the tall blue one.”

The unfamiliar humanoid wore a pilot’s flight suit. He was a massive, well-muscled male with the most startling sapphire-colored flesh. Straight sable hair fell around strong features in lustrous wings. His eyes were completely white, no iris or pupil discernible beneath the pearly corneas. Yet from the way he was looking at me, I knew he wasn’t blind. I tried not to stare back.

Paul hailed me. “Hey, Doc!” With unremarkable coloring and an average build, the Terran engineer appeared ordinary at first glance. Until he opened his mouth. Paul had a great sense of humor, and was so popular with our neighbors I sometimes wondered if he really was Terran.

“I think you’re about to find out who he is.”

I glanced at Ana, who was beaming with evident satisfaction. She’d been nagging me lately to spend some off-duty time “enjoying myself.” Before I could stop her, she patted my shoulder and started off.

“Must go, have some work to catch up on back at the office.”

“Ana-“

She turned and made one of those graceful little waves of hers that I could never imitate, even if I practiced for years. “We can get together later this week.”

“Forget what you’re thinking,” I told her as I tugged the edge of my tunic straight. “Right this minute.”

“Who said I’m thinking anything at all?”

She didn’t fool me. “I’m too busy.”

“My dear, no one could ever be too busy for a male who looks like that!” She smiled at the approaching men before skipping off to her glidecar. Some friend she was, abandoning me like this.

I told myself I’d only stop long enough to exchange greetings, and satisfy my curiosity about the blue-skinned pilot’s identity.

“Long day patching up the sick?” Paul asked.

“Not today.” I grimaced, then teased him. “There was an interesting case I had a few days ago, though.

A Terran with a strained larynx. Reminded me of you.”

“I love it when you talk anatomy to me,” Paul said with a mock leer. “You’ll have to teach me all the good words.”

“I’ve been too busy studying structural engineering,” I said, deadpan. “I want your job.”

That made Paul’s companion chuckle softly. I looked up at him, kinking several neck muscles in the process.

“Hello, I’m Cherijo Grey Veil,” I held out my hand, palm-up, as I’d learned was the least offensive gesture of friendship on K-2 to all species. It was swallowed in a large, six-fingered grasp. His handshake was firm but careful.

“Kao Torin,” he said, his voice deep and resonate. He made a formal gesture with the other hand that must have been some type of accompanying greeting. The big pilot had noticed my surreptitious curiosity, for he added, “From Joren, in the Varallan Quadrant.”

“Watch out for this one, Kao,” Paul said. “She’ll demand your medevals, if you let her.”

“I’m still reading up on the aberrations in yours, Paul,” I said, and smiled up at the big pilot. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You’re off duty now?” Kao inquired, and I nodded. “Would you join us for a meal interval?”

Paul groaned, rolling his eyes to the upper atmosphere. “I can’t take him anywhere,” he said. At my arched brow he laughed, and Kao Torin assumed a long-suffering demeanor. “This fly boy,” my neighbor said, “is responsible for breaking more hearts in the Pmoc Quadrant than I am.”

“You’re in luck, then,” I said, giving Kao a grin. “I’m a surgeon, I can repair them.”

Both men laughed, and we agreed to continue on together to the Trading Center, and dine at Cafe Lisette. Over the past weeks I had made slow but steady progress with Lisette herself by my repeated patronage. When we arrived, she greeted me with a sort of distant benevolence.

Like Jenner, she wasn’t a pushover. You may not have liked it, but you had to respect it.

Over fragrant servers of real wine (produced from K-2’s extensive vineyards) and deep bowls of Lisette’s delectable version of coq au vin, we chatted easily. The discussion revolved around a prevalent topic among colonists: What do you miss the most from the homeworld?

“A real beef steak,” Paul said. “With barbecue sauce and smoked legumes on the side.”

“I’d trade everything I own for a tub of vanilla ice cream, a barrel of hot fudge, and a spoon,” I said, and added a wistful sigh. “What about you, Kao Torin?”

“There is something I do yearn for,” he said as he contemplated his goblet of amber wine. “My ClanMother’s morning breads. I never properly appreciated her light touch with baking as a youth.”

After I prompted him, he went on to elaborate about his homeworld. Joren was situated thousands of light-years away, in the distant Varallan Quadrant. I’d never heard of the system or quadrant, much less his planet. Kao’s people had evolved from what he described as nomadic warrior clans into a technically advanced race of insatiable explorers.

“My race enjoys exploration. Jorenians are scattered throughout this sector and many others.” He made another of his curious hand gestures, and I wondered if his language was part corporeal. Not even Ana could do something that fluidly harmonious. “My HouseClan travels the fringe systems, where there is more unknown to us.”

“You must like the challenges,” I said. “Are most of your people explorers, or pilots?”

“Pilots, course plotters - any helm position is favored. We have a natural sense for navigation, which is useful when instrumentation fails.”

“Do Jorenians customarily contract their services?”

“No, we have our own vessels. We contract our services as part of-“ He searched for a term, then asked, “Introduction to other species?” I smiled and nodded. “It can be as stimulating as exploration.”

Kao looked thoughtfully at my tunic.

I glanced down, too. “Did I dribble something on myself?”

“The colors you wear are that of my HouseClan.” He briefly touched on the complex use of colors by Jorenians to differentiate kindred, rank, and occupation. “Your HouseClan - people - are born healers?”

I frowned for a moment as I thought of my father. “A few are, but it takes years of education before we qualify as physicians on Terra. The same way Paul studied to become an engineer.”

Kao shot a sardonic look at Paul. “Paul claims he never had to study.” He went on to describe some amusing anecdotes about Paul when he first transferred to K-2, then Paul retaliated with some rather outrageous accounts of Kao’s own reputation.

“Truce!” I threw up my hands, and laughed. “Are you sure you two are friends!”

Kao nodded solemnly, while Paul laughed.

“Doc, I wouldn’t think of getting on his bad side,” the engineer said. “Jorenian warriors are notorious for pursuing their enemies. To the end of the galaxy, if need be. I won’t tell you what they do when they catch them.”

I didn’t like hearing that. “Your people still practice offensive warfare, Pilot Torin?”

“No, Healer. Most of my people are trained as warriors, but only in defense of the HouseClan. We are a very peaceful species.”

“Don’t let him fool you, Doc,” Paul said. “The reason they’re so peaceful is no one in their right mind would ever cross a Jorenian.”

“That is the right of-“ Kao began in serious tones, then realized he was being needled. “My friend reminds me I must improve my knowledge of verbal banter.”