Stardoc (7 page)

Dloh was pretty nice. The nurses must have told him about my blunders, but he hadn’t said a word about them. Maybe I’d found an ally. And I needed one, badly. I was tempted to leave Trauma before I further embarrassed myself, but I forced myself to stay until shift change. I wasn’t a coward, and Mayer was wrong.

For the rest of my voluntary shift, Dr. Dloh shared the medsysbank he used. That helped me get through the remaining cases without any more disasters, although I still had problems when the data didn’t seem to correlate with my personal diagnosis. A few times I had to rely on instinct and theory, and make an educated guess.

The patients were at times shocking in appearance, but most were humanoid, or close to it. I began to see an anatomical standard among my fellow colonists - a superior cranial-sensory case, main torso, and regular appendages. They also had the usual complaints requiring emergency care. Infants and children generally had infections in every possible orifice (and a few I’d never dreamed of). Older siblings and young adults comprised most of the accidental injury cases. Minor lacerations, sprains, and broken bones were common among the construction workers, transport officers, or those assigned to agricultural projects.

Since the elderly or diseased were uniformly barred from immigration, there weren’t any cases of chronic or degenerative disorders. No upwardly mobile colony wants aging dependents on their hands. I noted the universal reluctance to discuss family history, too. Who wanted to have their resident status revoked due to genetic handicaps?

In turn, I seemed to fascinate my patients.

“You have a pretty coat.” One furry child tentatively touched my coiled braid as I extracted a spiny burr from her flank. “Why have you removed the rest of it?” I explained the (to her) bizarre fact that Terrans grew most of their hair on their scalps. “Don’t you get cold?”

“Terrans have smooth skin,” another patient said when I cautiously checked his damaged femoral muscles.

His leg was covered in thick octagonal plates of thorny exocartilage. “Reminds me of some of the hides we use for garments on my world.” He eyed me as if sizing me up as a jacket.

“I’ve never met a Terran female before,” a small, ornithic man chirped. His throat was inflamed from his unsuccessful efforts to capture a consort. I prescribed a soothing syrup and less singing to the ladies of his species. He gave a strained warble and tried to put a wing around my shoulders. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in cross-species mating?” Thanks, I replied, but no thanks.

Others weren’t exactly enchanted.

“Are you immature?” One towering, heavily bosomed matron with postpartum cramps demanded to know.

“Not that I’m aware of,” I said, my lips quirking as I added, “I’m sure I can be patronizing at times.”

She peered at me suspiciously. Several of her five chins quaked when she said, “My newest litter’s runt is twice your size!”

Two of my potential patients took one look at me, made an abrupt turn, and walked out. I signaled the charge nurse each time, who informed me the patients had requested to see another physician. A non-Terran physician, was the implication.

Thanks to men like my father, there were going to be instant prejudices against me. Maybe they were afraid I was going to spit on the exam floor in traditional Terran fashion.

“That takes care of the last chart,” I told the charge nurse thirteen hours later. I was bone-tired, itching from a mishap with a dermal applicator, and convinced I’d made the stupidest decision of my life. “Any objections if I take the rest of the day off?”

“You’re to report to HQ for orientation tomorrow, then work Beta Shift here,” the central display audio snapped back at me. Then, on a somewhat softer note, T’Nliqinara added, “Go get some sleep, Doctor.”

Dr. Rogan intercepted me just before I reached the main entrance. He smiled hatefully, while his skunklike odor reached new levels of offensiveness. I breathed through my mouth to keep from retching on his footgear.

“Shift over? Did you find you need anything now?” Sneering spoiled the phony concern.

I shrugged. A list came to mind: an explanation for my father’s activities, a hot water bath, three days of sleep, a gallon of hot fudge poured over a vat of vanilla ice cream. I said none of those things. I suspected Phorap Rogan had absolutely no sense of humor.

There was still a lot medical science couldn’t cure.

“I can handle it, Doctor.”

“Can you?”

I nodded, too tired to continue the useless verbal sparring, and despite my efforts, about to vomit from the stink.

“But thanks for asking,” I said as I brushed past him.

Outside the main entrance, I strolled past a long line of unoccupied glidecars and followed a path toward the Housing Transport I’d spied while with Dr. Mayer. Until I requisitioned my own personal conveyance, it was public transport for me.

I climbed on board the glidebus and stood in the crowded aisle as the big vehicle started moving. My new world beckoned to me as it swept past. Come on, Cherijo, it isn’t that bad, it said. The green stillness was enticing, and I looked forward to off-duty hours, when I could explore. The horizon began to darken, and stars appeared above the horizon to the east of the colony perimeter. The darkening green parted as an erratic stream of glowing moons caught the last rays of the suns and divided the sky.

Wow. My eyes widened at the sheer radiance of the celestial show. Compared to this, Terran night skies were downright barren.

“Maybe I won’t miss Terra, after all,” I murmured to myself.

I disembarked at housing with a tide of passengers, and watched as they departed, paired off or in larger groups. Everybody knew everybody - except me. A few I curious glances came my way, but no one approached. I didn’t make any overtures, either. In time, I promised myself, I would get to know them.

Right now I was ready to drop with exhaustion.

Sixteen hours after I’d stepped foot on K-2 soil for the first time, I crawled onto my sleeping platform. I was in no mood to unpack, eat, or even appreciate the comfort of the biomalleable mattress as it adjusted under my weight. Alone at last in the darkness of my new quarters, I pressed the heels of both hands over my burning, swollen eyelids.

“Congratulations, Dr. Grey Veil,” I said. “A memorable beginning. You dimwit.”

The fiery sting of my eyes wasn’t due to tears, or lack of them. The cause was from a ridiculous accident with the last patient I’d treated that day. How I managed to turn a dermal applicator backward and spray myself with topical anesthetic was still a mystery. There was no permanent damage. Just a lingering irritation to remind me of what had been, I had to face it, a depressing ordeal.

I was beginning to enjoy torturing myself. I couldn’t have made a worse start if I’d tried. Laying there in the dark, I mentally relived every single miserable incident, highlighted by Mayer’s belligerence, Rogan’s hostility, and Dloh’s warning about both of them.

“Idiot,” I muttered. Whether I was referring to myself, or Phorap Rogan at that moment was debatable.

No doubt a similar term could be used by the FreeClinic staff to describe me.

I accepted my humble status as a new arrival, and I could swallow my badly battered pride until I gained some experience; everyone had to start somewhere. What troubled me the most were the conflicts with my supervisor and colleague. I’d never handled that kind of naked animosity before, except sometimes from -

“Jenner.”

I rolled off the bed as soon as I spied his carrier. The latch was uncoupled, the small door flung open.

Empty. Damn, damn. I kept swearing under my breath as I searched my quarters.

“Jenner? I’m here now. Come out, pal.”

Not a sound in reply, no sign of him at all. Where could he be? As I hunted through my rooms, tears finally stung my reddened eyes at this last confirmation of my inadequacy.

Nice going, Cherijo, I thought. Run away from home, screw up first day on the job, now you lost the cat.

The chime of my door panel rang, interrupting my search, and I reluctantly went to answer it. When the door slid open, I saw the lustrous form of a slim, silvery being holding one equally silvery, disgruntled feline.

“Yours?” I was asked. I was too relieved to do more than nod. I held out my arms, and Jenner leapt gracefully into them. He butted urgently against my fingers while I stroked his head.

“Jenner.” I buried my face in his fur. “Oh, thank God. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“All the doors are keyed to release domesticates upon any audible signal, unless you modify the setting.”

The husky voice was pleasant and even. “I found him wandering around the corridors.”

“Thank you so much.”

“I tried to communicate, but I was unsuccessful, I tracked his scent path to this dwelling.”

“Jenner is just a cat. I mean, he’s nonverbal.”

“He was distressed, I believe, from the sounds he was making.”

“Suns.” I hugged him closer, feeling even worse. “I just arrived today, and reported immediately to work. I forgot all about him.”

“I understand.” This acknowledgment was rich with irony, and drew my attention from my precious pet.

Jenner’s rescuer was slightly taller than me, but much leaner. I couldn’t tell if it was female or male - or androgynous, as some alien races are. The thin torso, limbs, and bullet-shaped skull were all covered with a short, platinum pelt. Delicate, pointed ears flickered whenever I spoke. It wore an intriguing series of folded strips of metallic fabric, attached to a filigree necklace studded with small multicolored gems.

Two mild, colorless eyes studied me in turn. ‘t “I’m Alunthri,” it said.

“Is that your name, species, or planet of origin?”

“It is my name. You’re from Terra?”

“Yes. Dr. Cherijo Grey Veil.” Suddenly conscious of my impolite behavior, I stepped back. “Won’t you come in, please?”

“Perhaps another time.” Alunthri nodded toward Jenner. “Your companion needs your attention at present. Welcome to the colony.”

“Thank you. Are we neighbors?” Alunthri’s tapered head tilted to one side, while the small ears flared.

Something wasn’t translating. “Your quarters,” I said. “Are they close by?”

“My owner’s quarters are located in a parallel wing.”

“Your owner?” Now I was confused.

“I, too, am a companion. Like your Jenner.”

All at once I realized the necklace Alunthri wore was a collar, bearing standard animal inoculant and license chips.

Alunthri was a pet. A giant, talking, alien kitty cat.

“Well, I appreciate you finding him.” I was very uncomfortable. It was understandable. I was used to speaking to a cat, not getting answers back from one.

“You are welcome. Please remember to adjust your panel settings.” Alunthri stepped back and twitched its nearly invisible whiskers. “Fare you well.”

Jenner shuddered in my arms as the door slid shut, and I rubbed my face once more against his soft coat.

“Whew! That was very weird.” I felt a renewed sense of guilt. “Pal, you’ve got to be hungry.”

The mention of Jenner’s favorite subject made him leap from my arms and prowl restlessly around my feet. Once I’d arranged a feast for him, I reprogrammed the door controls as Alunthri had advised.

Drained of the last of my energy stores, I sank down on the bed and watched my hungry cat devour his food. I’II only lay my head down for a moment, was my last thought.

It was a shrill sound from my display panel that finally woke me up. I staggered over to the console. The interval indicator told me I’d slept almost seven hours straight. I tapped the response key.

“Incoming message from HQ Administration.”

“This is Dr. Grey Veil,” I said after a huge yawn. The metallic features of a comdrone appeared on the vid. “Please report to the Administration Building in two hours for arrival orientation.”

“Confirmed,” I replied, reaching for the disconnect key.

But the drone wasn’t through yet. “One message remaining.”

Uh-oh. “Inquiry - point of origin?”

“Direct interstellar relay. Sol Quadrant.” From my homeworld system. Well, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who was sending it.

My father, Joseph Grey Veil, was revered for his pioneering work in Terran transplant technology. One of his numerous contributions to mankind had been to make major organ transplants available to anyone who needed them. Anyone, regardless of credit status or social ranking. Dad had devised a method of cloning the patient’s own diseased organ, destroying invasive cells during the process, thus creating a custom-designed, healthy replacement. Millions of people owed him their lives.

“My philosophy has always been to restore genetic integrity,” Dad said once when addressing a Medtech graduation. He was invited to all of them, every year. “Cleanse the cells of aberrant or mutant DNA, and you can re-create the organ as it was meant to be.”

It was unfortunate that Dad felt the same way about people as he did mutant DNA. A decade before I was born, he and a large number of his colleagues had instigated the Genetic Exclusivity Act. The legislation, unanimously supported by the World Government, had effectively barred all alien immigrants from settling on our world.

They should have just hung a big sign in orbit above Terra: Aliens, Go Home.

Dad’s speech before the Unified National Assembly was considered one of the most powerful ever made. His opening statement had said it all: “The influx of alien species to Terra must be seen as a direct threat to the future genetic integrity of the human race.”

Steadfast, compelling, bigoted to the toenails. That was my dad.

Despite the lure of politics, it was the only time Joseph Grey Veil ever bothered to involve himself in Terra’s complex system of government. His place in history would be defined by what he accomplished as a scientist and surgeon, not as a public figure.

In the ensuing years, my father changed the way Terran internal medicine was practiced forever.

Oncologists, surgeons, and hematologists worshiped him.

I didn’t. I never had. Legends made lousy fathers.