Stardoc (8 page)

Now it was time to deal with the unpleasantries. I tapped the panel and watched as the familiar face coalesced onto my screen.

Dad could have been considered attractive, in a remote sense. Silvered-black hair. Austere features.

Short in stature, like me. A mild obsession with exercising, which had built up his physique. Women found him interesting, until he opened his mouth. I stopped wondering why he had to pay someone to be my mother a long time ago. To Dad, you were either a colleague or a potential patient. That’s all.

When he was severely agitated, he tended to curl his upper lip a little. At that precise moment, he looked like he was sneering at me.

“Daughter,” he said with a trace of outrage and reproach coloring his voice, “I have been attempting to contact you for more than ten Terran stanhours.” And he was none too pleased about being put on the equivalent of interstellar hold, I saw that right away. “I cannot fathom this reckless decision to transfer without my consent.”

“Hi, Dad. I’m fine. How are you?”

“I am currently revising my estimation of your maturity level,” he said. The scornful upper lip practically folded over on itself.

“I’m sorry I left without informing you of my plans.”

“Your apology is accepted.” Uh-huh, I thought. Right. About as much as my escape. “The journey was uneventful?”

“Of course. Interstellar travel is quite safe now.”

“Yes, regular transport vessels are.” He abandoned the polite line of inquiry at once. “You, however, were not booked on any of them.”

“I obtained passage on an independent starshuttle.”

“The name of this independent vessel...?”

“If you really want to know, Dad, you’ll find out.” I wasn’t going to help him bar Dhreen from Terra.

“Don’t take your anger out on an innocent bystander.”

“I did not say I was angry, daughter.”

“Dad, you look like you’re ready to detonate.”

My observation seemed to force him to forego whatever tactful entreaties he had left to make. “Cherijo, you will return to Terra immediately.”

Here was the fun part. For the first time in my life, I was going to stand up to Joseph Grey Veil: Tyrant.

Genius. Demi-god of Terran medicine. It really wasn’t that hard. After all, he was fourteen light-years away. “No, Dad.”

He didn’t like that. At all. “What did you say to me?”

“You heard me. I’m staying.”

The dark blue eyes became slits. “I will have you brought back.”

“I’m over the age for consent to transfer, Dad. You can’t.” This was beginning to feel pretty good, if I ignored the fact my stomach was turning into a calcified lump.

“You were not trained in the finest medical institution on Terra to waste your talents on some anonymous multispecies border colony.”

My father carried around about five thousand years of nearly undiluted Native American DNA in his cells, one reason for his arrogance. I ought to have known - I was capable of the same behavior, on occasion.

“How I choose to practice medicine is my decision, Dad.”

“Your decision?” The Great Man hissed. Actually hissed. “Who brought you into existence? Who assured you had the finest education? Who-“

“You chose my career for me. You decided that I would become a surgeon. You decided how I should practice. You set up my practice.” You, you, you.

“A father does no less for his only child,” Dad said, regaining a margin of stoic dignity.

“You did a lot more than that. Take my patients, for example. You might have mentioned that you personally examined every single case before I saw them.”

“Are you implying-“

I didn’t have to fake the sigh. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“It is true that I prescreened your cases.” He conceded that much, taking the “it was for your own good”

approach. “Junior practitioners benefit from close guidance.”

“Junior practitioners,” I echoed. “Hello? Dad? I’ve been a surgeon for more than seven years now.”

“That is no reason to resent my supervision, Cherijo. I have five times your experience.”

In his opinion he was Dr. God, and I wasn’t worthy to kiss his footgear. Dad was beginning to sound very much like Phorap Rogan.

“Please.” I squeezed my eyes shut, shoving back the need to lash out. Not now. “Spare me the excuses.”

“When you return, I will allow you-“

“You aren’t listening. You aren’t in charge of me any more. I’m an adult, and I’ll do exactly as I please.”

“On an alien world, in a primitive settlement? I cannot begin to imagine the hazards, the possibilities for disease. It cannot compare to Terra in the slightest degree.”

“For your information, Kevarzangia Two’s colony is not a collection of scavenged plasbrick huts.” Well, mostly, I guessed. “The facility is quite... innovative.”

“A FreeClinic!” He spat the word out. “I cannot believe you wish to exchange a prestigious surgical position to be a - a colonial alien practitioner!”

“Yeah, well, surprise, surprise.”

He practically choked on his next words. “It is an insult to my name.”

“No, Dad, it’s what I want to do,” I said. I wouldn’t have called my father a snob, or a fanatic; it would have insulted those groups. I was sure someone would eventually invent a worse term. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

My father considered this for a long moment. Then he attacked. “Consider the patients. You have no experience with nonhuman races.” You don’t know what you’re doing, and you’re going to kill someone in the process.

“I’ll continue my education,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Your assignment could be revoked,” my father said. Would he try to use his influence to get me back? I wouldn’t put it past him. “New colonies cannot devote more than a rudimentary effort to retrain their physicians.”

“So I’ll get fired.” Exasperation was turning into bravado. “Maybe I’ll open a restaurant.”

I must have rattled him with that, he appeared horrified. “That is absolutely unacceptable, Cherijo!”

Was that my Father, shouting? “Dad.” I was tired, and getting depressed. “I appreciate your concern. I know how much you - love me.” Another lie. I knew exactly how he felt about me, and love wasn’t involved.

“You will not listen to reason,” my father said as he inspected me one last time.

I couldn’t stop myself from saying what I did next. “I’m sorry. Dad.” He was already turning away from the screen. “Bye, Dad.” The signal terminated.

It hadn’t been too terrible. Having open-heart surgery minus anesthetic would have hurt more. Maybe. I stood under the heated port of the cleanser unit for a long time before I hauled myself out and got dressed. I trudged over to my food station.

“Breakfast.” My selection of bread, tea, an omelet, and fruit preserves appeared palatable. The only problem was my appetite, which my conversation with Dad had killed. He usually had that effect on me.

So did the prospect of my next shift at the FreeClinic.

“What if I’m wrong?” I asked.

It wasn’t going to be difficult to adapt to this world, the job, my colleagues, and the patients. It was going to be damn near impossible. On Terra I’d been at the top of my field. Here I’d have to work hard just to avoid malpractice.

I could resign from my contract. There was always an open-return clause, in case someone changed their mind. My father could never be sure I’d discovered his secret, especially if I destroyed the evidence.

My food cooled, then congealed. Jenner appeared and sniffed at the rim of my tray, then regarded me patiently. My cat loves me, I told myself. Even if it’s only for my food.

“By all means.” I indicated the plate, even though I knew he’d gorged himself last night. “Help yourself.”

He delicately devoured the meal, then curled in my lap and allowed me to stroke him absently with my palms.

“Dad called,” I told him, and his wide blue eyes blinked warily. “He wants us to come home.” It sounded almost beguiling as I said it aloud. Home.

My cat yawned, leapt from my lap, and crept under the sofa for a nap. Obviously the suspense wasn’t killing him. I glanced at the display, then jumped to my feet.

“No! I don’t believe it!”

I was about to be late for arrival orientation.

I reached HQ Administration just in time to make an extremely late entrance into the orientation auditorium. My arrival was observed by every one of the three hundred new transfers, who watched as I walked through the doors.

The wrong doors.

I discovered I was standing behind the presentation platform, directly in front of the audience. I did what anyone would do: pretended I was invisible, and hurried around the podium to find an empty seat.

The speaker of the moment, a willowy Terran woman, paused in mid-sentence, then waited patiently until I dropped into a space in the front row. She smoothly continued her speech while I tried to tell myself my face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“The Colonial Militia will take into account your newly arrived status when enforcing minor ordinances, but all inhabitants are required to adhere to the Colonial Charter without exception.”

I wondered why the huge room was so quiet. There were additional administrators positioned at satellite points around the speaker, translating her speech in different nonverbal forms. Yet the only sound I heard was the blond woman’s voice. Why wasn’t anyone using their wristcoms?

“My empathic sense tells me you’re all eager to get started with your group orientation.” She could read minds? That was a rare ability among Terrans. “Please remember, our origins may be different, but as a community we can achieve success.” Her bright gaze swept the room. “The key is not in our diversity, but in our united strength. Thank you for your attention.”

As she stepped down from the platform, I watched her. Had to admire the way she had delivered her remarks. Firm but cordial. The lady knew how to talk.

More administrators descended from the sidelines, separating the audience into smaller groups they subsequently escorted from the meeting. The only other Terran I saw present was the blondhaired speaker. She wove a graceful, steady path toward me through the thinning crowd. My interest was met by a direct smile.

“Dr. Grey Veil, welcome to Kevarzangia Two. I’m Administrator Hansen.” Up close, I saw she was my senior by perhaps twenty years. Big deal, she looked great. Careful grooming gave her an unshakable sophisticated air. Hair, makeup, fingernails, all perfect. The amber tunic she wore was superbly tailored.

My own hastily donned garments, still creased from packing, looked grubby by comparison.

“Sorry I’m late, Administrator,” I said as I rose to my feet. “I missed the general transport, and had to walk over from housing.” Actually, I’d sprinted most of the way, but she didn’t need to read my mind to figure that out.

“Please, call me Ana. Our first priority will be to requisition a glidecar for you, after the orientation.” She frowned at my damp brow. “Unless you’d prefer the exercise.”

“No, thank you. And it’s Cherijo.” I enjoyed physical exertion, but not that much. “Where do I report from here?”

“I’ll be your escort, and review the entire program with you,” Ana said. “I pulled rank on my assistant when I saw you were listed for this session.”

“Really? Why?”

“I was originally assigned as liaison for a large group of Rilken construction workers.” She smoothed a long-fingered hand over her hair, then her voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur. “They are half a meter tall, have viscous skins, and invariably try to look up my skirt.”

Imagining this refined woman surrounded by a hoard of small, over-inquisitive aliens made me laugh. She chuckled, too. Maybe under all that exquisite poise was someone I could relate to, after all.

One of the other administrators passed us, followed by a queue of gangly creatures draped in heavy sheets of thermal insulation. The new arrivals ogled us with arching, curious eye stems. I could imagine what they were thinking. Hey, everybody, look - a couple of Terrans! Hideous little things, aren’t they?

Be careful not to get too close - they have a tendency to spit.

An odd smile curved Ana’s lips before she resumed her formal expression. “Here.” She held out her hand. Sitting on her palm was a tiny, flesh-colored lump. “You’ll need to wear this tympanic insert at all times outside your personal quarters.”

“What’s it for?” I asked as I retrieved it. Tympanic meant I had to stick it in my ear. I wasn’t overjoyed at the prospect.

“Your TI translates all languages on record with our database, and provides the means to trace you to any location on the planet.”

“Quite an improvement over the wristcom.” I admired the small device before inserting it. No wonder the auditorium had been so quiet. It fit comfortably, and in a moment I wasn’t aware of it at all. “Why don’t we have these on Terra?”

“No demand.” A moment of mutual silence acknowledged the absurdity of that fact. “So tell me, how was your first day on K-2?”

Awful. Depressing. Exhaustive. “Fine,” I told her instead.

Ana’s cheeks dimpled. “Your thoughts aren’t exactly what I’d call ‘fine.’”

I supplied a shrug. “It was... difficult.”

“It can be. My first day on planet was just short of a disaster, too.” Aware we were drawing even more attention, Ana added, “Let’s continue this in my office. Follow me, please.”

As we walked through the building, I answered her polite inquiries about my trip, refraining from making any unfavorable comments about the previous day. That kept me busy blocking thoughts about, oh, nearly every experience I’d had since walking down the docking ramp from the Bestshot. Being around an empath was a pain. In a few minutes we arrived in the central administrative unit.

Ana’s office was large and attractively furnished. Antique chairs and side tables were an inviting note, especially the genuine fabric upholstery. The overall feeling was warmth and comfort. She had a small collection of ancient statuettes from our homeworld. The displayed artifacts reminded me of my father’s collection of Navajo pottery. He was the official shaman for the Native Nations of North America. One of a zillion honorary positions he held. It got him a lot of pottery for nothing.