Stardoc (9 page)

“They’re from Hopi, Anasazi, and other tribal civilizations,” Ana said. “I was born and raised in Colorado, but I traveled all over the old Southwest region to acquire them.”

I admired a small sculptured version of Kokopelli, then gestured around me. “You have a gift for design.”

“This is my home away from housing.” She smiled with satisfied pride. “I contracted shipment of every single item I possessed before I transferred.” Her eyes were expressive as she added, “Pmoc Quadrant is not known for its conveniences.”

“I wish I’d thought of that,” I said, recalling the regulation stanissue furnishing my own quarters. Not that I could have smuggled more of my own stuff out of Dad’s house without alerting the drone staff.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” I sank into a cozy, beige armchair as Ana went around her desk.

She pressed a button on her central display and requested coffee, glancing at me for my preference.

“Tea, if you have it,” I said. I’d never developed a taste for the bitter brew so many Terrans loved. She added that to her order, then sat back. Her survey was calm and unhurried.

“Since you skipped this session yesterday, I gather you’ve found the FreeClinic and living quarters.” Ana waited as a slim humanoid subordinate entered and served a tray of steaming beverages to us. “Thank you, Negilst.”

“Herbal?” I asked, and Ana nodded. I savored the flavors of cinnamon and rose hip tea while the administrator sipped her dark brew. How had she managed to get homeworld provisions?

“I bartered for a kilo of real Columbian beans, among other Terran delights,” she said answering my unspoken question. “It was worth a month’s supply of floral concentrate.”

“Perfume for coffee.” I considered this absently.

“The Rilkens don’t need any more stimuli than I already give them,” she said, her lips curving slyly.

“They aren’t among those who consider Terrans hideous, and likely to spit.”

Served me right, I thought, and chuckled. “touche.” I set down my server and asked the most obvious question. “How did you end up here-“

“- so far from Terra?” Ana finished for me. She reached across her desk and turned around a small photoscan, which showed her in a wedding tunic standing next to her husband. He was smiling and handsome, and not entirely human. “My mate, Elars, was refused permanent resident status.”

There was a shade of old pain in her voice as she added, “He was killed ten years ago, during a transport accident at the colony where we lived, on Trunock.” She smiled sadly. “After Elars died, I couldn’t imagine returning to Terra, and Trunock held too many memories. So here I am.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Damn my father.

“It was a long time ago.” With both hands she lifted a bulging disc holder and passed it over the desk to me. “On to happier subjects. Here’s all the hard data you’ll need to familiarize yourself with as quickly as possible. Sociopolitical structures, historical overview, community service criteria, the lot.”

“You did say happier?”

She grimaced at my gentle quip. “I know, but it’s mandatory for new arrivals. Please pay specific attention to the Charter outline; it’s a priority as you can’t claim ignorance of Colonial law after one-fifth revolution. Dull and boring, I’m told, but in your line of work you’re probably used to that sort of data.”

I sighed. “We doctors live for it.”

“Splendid. Now, let’s address your status.” She inserted a disc into her desk terminal. “You’re contracted as a medical physician to the colony, assigned to the FreeClinic Trauma Center.” Ana studied the display for a few moments. “You have quite an impressive background, Doctor.”

“Cherijo. If you call me Doctor, I have to make a chart notation.”

“Of course.” She skimmed through my transcripts. “Test scores and educational records consistently off the scale. Graduated first in all your classes. A distinguished practice on the homeworld. Honors and awards in educational and professional areas.” Her curious gaze made me squirm a little. “You’re quite the prodigy.”

“I was lucky, my father is also a physician.” My hands were clenched, and I forced them to relax as I kept my thoughts innocuous. “His guidance was responsible for most of my achievements.” If you could call what he’d done to me guidance.

She frowned. “I see you’re the only new transfer we’ve been able to procure for the FreeClinic in this position for over two revolutions. I had no idea staffing was so low.” She gave me an apologetic glance.

“I’m afraid you’re the first physician I’ve ever in-processed. I’ll have to follow up on this.” She made a note on a data pad.

“Two years?” I said, then muttered, “No wonder there’s no line at Arrivals.”

“This can’t be right.” She stared at the screen. “According to my data, Drs. Mayer, Rogan, Dloh, Crhm, and mu Cheft constitute the entire resident physician staff at this time.”

“Who’s staffing your clinical positions?”

She checked. “Nurse practitioners, interns, and one Omorr healer who takes care of the more...

superstitious patients.”

I shook my head. It couldn’t even be called a skeleton crew.

“What’s the current population level?” I was afraid to hear the answer.

Ana accessed her data base again. “As of today - 74,014.”

A silent indicator flashed on her desk console, and she excused herself for a moment. While she spoke to her caller, I worked it out. It was a staggering figure. I put down my tea and waited until she was finished with her call.

“You know what this means if you have any sort of serious emergency. Crisis allotment would be more than twelve thousand per doctor.” I didn’t know whether to be outraged, terrified, or try to signal Dhreen to get me the hell off this planet. “Ana, if there was an epidemic-“

“We’d be helpless, I know.” She deactivated her terminal and proceeded briskly. “I’ll make a point of bringing this to the attention of the Council. Until we procure more physicians, we’ll manage.” She popped the disc out, and inserted another. “I’ve also given you an annual projection for your schedule.

Except for today, you’re on Alpha shift this week.”

“Days?”

“Yes. Beta is mids, Cappa swings. You’ll be given time off in direct relation to patient caseload.

Probably four on, one off, but I can’t promise you’ll always get your off days. Insufficient staffing makes schedules subject to change.”

“I understand.” I really couldn’t demand more. “You said you’ll see about personal transport for me.

Who do I see if I need anything else?”

“Each housing facility has a resource manager - you’ll be meeting yours today, when we stop by your building. All requests are customarily handled by them. There is the Bartermen Association, as well.”

“I’ve heard these Bartermen mentioned. Who are they?”

“Many races prefer barter to monetary systems. A group of beings formed an organization to meet this need.” A faint expression of distaste touched her features. “The organization isn’t officially sanctioned, but the Militia have enough to do without chasing down unauthorized traders.” Ana gazed at her coffee, now wistful. “To think, I’ll have to sacrifice another liter of scent for my addiction to this. Ah, well. Now, there are other matters to discuss.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’ve told me all the good news first?” I asked.

“You must be empathic yourself, Cherijo. There are, of course, issues I must address regarding personal conduct, community service, and the much-talked about and ever-popular subject of contractual compensation.”

“Taboos, duty, and income,” I said.

“Exactly. First item: All colonists’ personal conduct is subject to chartered ordinance including specific guidelines against cross-cultural transgressions.”

Live and let live, I thought to myself.

“You’ve transferred to a colony inhabited by beings from many different worlds. As with any community, neighbors and coworkers often find themselves at cross-purposes. An Irdoffa security officer, for example, may want to praise his six thousand spiritual essences at the top of his lungs.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“Not if it happens in the adjacent quarters to yours, say, in the middle of your rest interval. If he refuses to stop, you can’t go over and get into a physical altercation with him.”

“I just sit there and listen to all six thousand praises?” I was skeptical. Rest intervals were scarce enough in my line of work. I was personally in favor of Live and Let Sleep.

“No. You file an immediate grievance with your assigned administrative officer - that’s me, by the way.

No matter what time of occurrence, day or night. I then personally contact the Irdoffan and charge him to cease and desist.”

“If he doesn’t?”

“I contact the Militia, and have him removed and charged with a Charter violation.”

There’s always the accidental collision with a syrinpress full of sedatives, too, I thought. “What if he does agree to stop?”

“I direct that in the future he practice his praising in one of the soundproof rooms at the Cultural Center.”

“Good system,” I said, “but I bet it doesn’t work all the time.”

“No, it doesn’t. We then go to the Council, and file a formal protest. Should their ruling not be heeded -

and this has only occurred twice during my time here - the transgressor’s permanent residence status is revoked. Compulsory escort offplanet, etc.”

“You deport them?”

“Yes. No exceptions.”

“Whew!” I let out a whistle.

Ana took a sip of her coffee before continuing. “It may not seem equitable compared to the legal system on Terra, but the ordinance has virtually eliminated disputes between inhabitants.”

“Who is on the Council?”

“Members are chosen at random from the population - and service is mandatory, just to note, in the event you’re called to serve. Length of service is set at one cycle, about four months in Terran terms.”

“No one can claim prejudice.” I saw the wisdom of it.

“None have as of yet. Appeals are allowed, under extreme or extenuating circumstances. However, I have yet to see an appeal granted.”

I could understand the value of simplicity with such an eclectic population. At least there was no room for corruption or misinterpretation. You broke the law enough times, you had to go. “What about my obligations as a colonist?”

“Community service provides dedicated, noncontractual stanhours and labor for the improvement and maintenance of the colony. All inhabitants are required to contribute one hundred hours per cycle.”

That would roughly be a few hours a week, I calculated. “No exceptions,” I said automatically, and Ana smiled.

“I think you’ll enjoy this feature of life on K-2. We have a wide range of ongoing projects, from instructor positions at our academy to experimental horticultural ventures. You are allowed to choose when and how you serve your quota hours.” Ana glanced at her carefully manicured hands and flexed her fingers. “I break at least two nails per service at the botanical gardens.”

Somehow I couldn’t envision myself doing the same. Working in gardens, not breaking nails. Doctors were incapable of maintaining a manicure for more than a day. “Sounds interesting.”

“It is. Just remember to watch out for a variety of the ambulatory plants called cryscacti. They tend to bump into you without warning, and the needles can leave some nasty wounds.”

So can some of the colonists, I thought, remembering the spiny patient I’d treated the day before. “Duly noted.”

“Which leaves the subject of personal compensation.”

Good. I still had very little idea of how I was going to be paid. I involuntarily pictured an ever-increasing flock of small, feathered alien birds in my quarters, and Ana burst into laughter.

“Oh, no, my dear Cherijo, we won’t compensate you with live animals,” she said after regaining control.

“I promise you that.”

“Now I know I’ll sleep well tonight.”

Ana wiped her eyes and sighed. “I can’t recall when I’ve enjoyed a session more,” she said. “On the matter of compensation, however, I will be frank with you. The colony is still in first-stage settlement.

Revenue in offworld export, the sole source of income for the Treasury, is limited, but developing.”

“What about taxation?”

“There is none. The originators of this colony were unyielding on that subject. Excise Acts of any kind are prohibited by the Charter.” Ana selected a disc and handed it to me. “Here is a copy of your salary schedule.” She named an annual sum that wasn’t going to make me the richest physician in the Quadrant, but would keep me from having to moonlight. “You will be paid in accordance with the terms of your contract, although I admit we do sometimes issue delay vouchers. The colony will exchange them at any time upon request.” Her eyes gleamed merrily. “In standard credits, not poultry.”

I tucked the disc in with the rest of them. “Just let me know if the policy changes.”

“Absolutely.” She got to her feet. “We’re nearly at lunch interval, are you hungry?”

Due to the appetite-murdering confrontation with Dad, my breakfast had ended up in Jenner’s belly. I nodded. I was starved.

“We’ll stop at the Trading Center on the way over to your housing unit,” she said. “You have to try Cafe Lisette.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

“A former administrator’s concept, teaching people to appreciate a proper croissant.”

The Administration Building and adjacent structures were strategically arranged around a cultivated expanse of ground. Inventive landscaping produced a natural maze of gardens and flower beds, which encompassed a wide ring of trade establishments. The various enterprises offered everything from exotic meals to commodities from a dozen different worlds.

“The Trading Center began as an experiment, like most of our projects,” Ana said. “Some of the colonists prefer self-employment, others wanted to import nonessentials from their homeworlds.” She nodded to a passing group of colonists, who were enjoying what appeared to be chunks of glowing black ice cream.

We halted at an authentic-looking sidewalk cafe, where a number of Terran customers were dining al fresco.