StarDoc 09 - Crystal Healer, page 2
“It is lovely here,” I said to Reever. “Did Cherijo like it?”
“She did, although we never had the chance to spend very much time on Joren.” Reever maneuvered the vehicle around a slower-moving transport conveying cargo containers and some strange-looking equipment. “Do you remember anything of Terra?”
“I have your memories of North America and France.” I did not wish to insult his natal world, but both regions had seemed sterile, boring, and overpopulated. “We will never return there, will we?”
“No.” He sounded grim. “It would be too dangerous. We . . . Cherijo and I barely escaped with our lives the last time we were on Terra.”
The only blood family my former self could claim, aside from Marel, were the other products of Joseph Grey Veil’s illegal experiments in genetically engineering humans. I knew from her journals that Cherijo believed she had several “brothers” who, like her, had been made in Grey Veil’s laboratory, although something had gone wrong with each of them. One in particulad until Reever set her down on her feet, and then gazed up at me solemnly. “Your pardon, Mama,” she said in Terran. “I know you don’t speak Jorenian.”
“I have no doubt they will force me to learn it someday soon.” I crouched down in front of her and performed a quick visual assessment. My small, delicate daughter didn’t weigh much, but she practically glowed with good health. “You have behaved well for Salo and Darea while we have been gone?” I watched her nod. “You have studied your lessons and attended your teacher’s directions faithfully?” Another nod. “Did you kill anything interesting during your journey?”
“Mama, I told you before, we don’t use animals for . . .” Dimples appeared in her soft, round cheeks. “You know I didn’t kill anything.”
“I thought I should check, just in case.” I touched my brow to hers in Jorenian fashion. “Daddy and I missed you every day.” As her arms encircled my neck, my love for this small, beautiful creature clawed beneath my breastbone, tearing at my heart. I had never known such sweet pain as this, and I would do anything to keep feeling it forever.
It was not possible, I knew. While Reever and I had been physically altered to be virtually immortal, Marel had not. Our child would keep growing and aging until she reached the end of a normal Terran life span, when she would die—unless I did as Reever had asked me to and altered Marel’s body with chameleon cells, which, as they had for her father, would repair any cellular damage she acquired from age, disease, or injury.
I had refused to do it. Immortality had been a curse on my former self; because Cherijo had been created with an immune system that didn’t allow her to become ill or age, she had been experimented on, hunted, imprisoned, tortured, and otherwise abused. As much as I wanted Marel as a part of our lives, I would not deliberately inflict the same fate on my child.
My husband rested one of his scarred hands atop our daughter’s head. It seemed strange that two such unlikely parents had created such a glorious being. I had no memory of her, and before meeting my daughter I had existed in a strange, frozen state that did not allow me to care for anyone. Reever’s childhood, spent on one alien world after another, had deprived him of feeling or showing true human emotion.
Marel and the love she had brought into our lives were slowly righting the terrible wrongs done to us.
“Come,” I said, standing and holding out my hand. “We should not keep Salo and Darea waiting.”
Unfamiliar with the pavilion’s interior, I expected to walk into our friends’ quarters, but instead Marel led me into an enormous area well able to entertain a thousand. It had been decorated with cascading showers of purple, gold, and green flowers; baskets of fruit; and several small trees.
In the center of a web of woven yiborra grass, a single table draped with a densely embroidered cloth stood packed with enough food to keep an Iisleg hunter and his family fed for an entire season. Salo and Darea were at a prep unit, filling servers with hot, fragrant tea, and their daughter had just set down yet another platter of golden, intricately shaped breads.
“Is the rest of the HouseClan joining us?” I asked Marel as I admired the bounty.
She grinned up at me. “They wanted to. Everyone is happy that you’re home, Mama.”
The three Torins gree experime ClanMother. From her ClanFather she had inherited a calm, thoughtful demeanor that often made her seem older than she was. Only when she grinned and chatted with our daughter during the meal did I remember that she was barely halfway through adolescence.
“Fasala was Marel’s size when we first met Cherijo,” Darea said as she, too, watched the girls. “Soon she will be a woman, walking her own path. During our journey she told us that she wishes to go to Omorr to study planetary engineering. She wants to someday help build new worlds for those who have lost theirs.”
World building had become a critical industry since the war between the Hsktskt and the Allied League of Worlds. Both sides had decimated and destroyed hundreds of planets during their battles; thousands of species had been displaced as homeless refugees.
“That is a noble and useful ambition,” I said. “Just before we left Trellus, the colonists gave us an Aksellan planetary mining map. It is handmade and very old. Perhaps Fasala would like to see a scan of it? I can transmit a copy to your quarters.”
“That would be of great interest to her. She spends most of her time studying maps and star charts.” Darea’s mouth tightened before she took a sip from her server of tea.
I knew that look. I saw it on my own face whenever Marel did something to worry me. “You are not entirely happy with Fasala’s plans.”
“In truth, I cannot bear to think of her so far away from us,” the Jorenian woman admitted. “If something were to happen to her while she is studying on Omorr, it would take weeks for us to reach her.”
I would have pointed out that the Omorr were an honorable species, and especially protective of children, but I knew she didn’t distrust them. “When Reever and I left Marel with you, I could not relax. Even as I know you and Salo regard her as if she were Fasala’s sibling, the little one is my child. My head knows that she was safe with you, but my heart still believes that no one can protect her as well as I.”
“Yes. That is exactly what I feel.” Darea set down her server with a small thump. “We create these children in honor, and bring them into our world so that we may fulfill our Choice. Then but a few, paltry revolutions later, we must allow them to leave us and walk their own path.” Her jaw set. “How did our ClanMothers manage to do it?”
“I cannot say.” I did not have to remind her that neither I nor my former self had been born to a living woman, for she immediately remembered and made an apologetic gesture. “No, Darea, I am not offended. I was never a child except in my mind. Our headwoman, Daneeb, would tell the new skela who were cast out of the iiskar and came to us to live in the now rather than memory or hope. That to dwell on what was, or what may be, diminishes our appreciation for what is.”
The tight lines around Darea’s mouth eased, and her expression turned thoughtful. “She was right. All we truly ever have is what is.”
Neither Reever nor I were particularly hungry, not after the troubling reception we’d been given at Main Transport. Still, I tried to eat as much as possible. On my homeworld, to waste food was unthinkable. I was gratified to see that the Torins, with their enormous Jorenian appetites, made short work of the feast.
Darea spoke only of their journey until the two girls excused themselves to attend to feeding the small cats, Jenner, Juliet, and th.” Hrow some of her fierceness for what lay ahead.
“Who sits at the feet of Shanea Torin?” a deep voice said. A tall, older male with a full head of purple hair stopped before my bench. He wore the colors of the Torin with a length of woven silver cloth draped from his right shoulder to his left hip, an indication of his rank. Attached to his belt was a cylinder I recognized as a scroll case, in which important handwritten documents were carried.
He smiled down at me with genuine pleasure. “Ah, it is my favorite healer. Welcome home, ClanDaughter.”
“I thank you, ClanLeader Torin.” I rose and tried to make a formal gesture of respectful greeting, but found myself in his affectionate embrace. I returned it, gingerly, before stepping back. “I was just preparing to leave for the medical facility.”
“Please an old man and speak with me first.” He gestured toward the bench.
I sat, feeling uneasy. As well as being the Torin ClanLeader, Xonal Torin was Xonea’s sire. I had met him only a few times, but I knew from Reever’s memories that Xonal and Cherijo had been very close. Talking with him might be as hazardous as crossing a dripping snow bridge.
“We have not had the chance to speak privately since you were returned to us,” he said, studying my face. “Darea explained to me about what happened to Cherijo on Akkabarr. I understand that you are a different person, one named Jarn. May I use that name for you?”
“Of course.” It pained me to hear him ask permission for such a thing. On my homeworld, Xonal Torin would be a rasakt, the leader of the tribe. An Iisleg rasakt would not lower himself to acknowledge my existence, except to issue an order to kill me or drive me from his iiskar. “I do remember you, ClanLeader. My husband was able to transfer his memories of Cherijo’s life to me.”
“Then you will remember when the League attacked Joren,” he said. “Cherijo surrendered to them in order to prevent an invasion of our world.”
They always made her sound so noble. “That was part of her bargain with OverLord TssVar, to give the Hsktskt access to the League ships so that they could take them over and turn their crews into slaves. In truth, she surrendered herself and eight hundred other unsuspecting beings.”
The side of his mouth curled. “Darea mentioned to me that you do not much care for the woman you were.”
“I never knew her. I was born the day she died on the ice.” I met his white-within-white gaze. “My people, the Iisleg, believe in speaking plainly. The truth is that Cherijo did many things that I cannot condone, and I do not always care to be associated with decisions I would never have made. But if what I have said about her offends you, I ask your pardon. I know how much your people honored her.”
“Do not trouble yourself, Jarn.” He touched my arm in a reassuring manner. “I speak of Cherijo now only so that I might explain why my ClanSon, Xonea, is so determined to keep and exercise authority over you.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “He thinks I will invite the Hsktskt here again?”
“He blames himself for not protecting Cherijo when the League attacked. He swore to his ClanBrother, Kao, that he would never allow her to be captured or taken from us.” Xonal released a heavy sigh as his hands moved like snow drifting down from a still night sky. “Your bondmate was not the only one who suffered when you—when Cherijo disappeared. Xonea greatly honored her. If not for her bond with Duncan, I think he would have Choswidth="1em">“The scroll contains the full text of a ruling from the days before the HouseClans united,” he said, smiling at me. “It concerns the rights of an injured Torin warrior who was saved by a Varena healer.”
After leaving Marel at the Jorenian day school she now attended with Fasala and the other Torin children, Reever and I went to the HouseClan’s main medical facility. I looked back several times, wondering how quickly I might resolve the conflict with Xonea and return.
“Stop worrying about her,” my husband said as he drove away. “Marel has many friends at school, and she enjoys her lessons. All of the instructors are Torin, so if anyone threatens her—”
“Her teacher will eviscerate them with her bare hands, I know.” I gave him an exasperated look. “My concern is not about her safety.”
“Then what is?”
I couldn’t say that every time I looked upon our child, I wondered if it might be the last. “Do you think this bounty being offered for us is another trick by your friend to lure us away from Joren?”
“No. While you were gone this morning, I signaled some contacts I have.” Reever’s tone grew grim. “It would seem that my friend has taken his tricks and left the quadrant.”
“Then what he told us is true. There is someone else hunting us.”
My husband nodded. “So it would seem. Whoever is offering the bounty has taken extraordinary measures to protect their identity; the Thekka used to send that transmission was found dead shortly afterward.”
“Dead?” I was astonished. “Murdered?”
“No, he was found to have died of natural causes,” Reever said. “That is all my contacts have been able to discover.”
The lack of information frustrated me. Also, the death of the Thekka sounded suspicious; as a doctor I knew of a hundred different ways to kill someone and conceal the fact that they were murdered. A doctor. “Could it be Cherijo’s creator who searches for us?”
“No. Cherijo and I both saw Joseph Grey Veil die on Terra.” He hesitated, then added, “Jarn, if we remain on Joren, mercenaries will come for us. It is possible that they will even join forces and attempt an invasion.”
The thought of Joren being attacked—and the HouseClans’ inevitable response—made me feel sick. “How can you know that?”
He glanced at me. “It is what I did to take Cherijo from the League.”
All of his memories of that time came rushing back into my head, making it ache slightly. “Then perhaps we had better make some travel arrangements, before you are forced to do the same for me.”
Reever stopped the glidecar outside the main entrance to the medical facility. When I moved to climb out, he stopped me. “If we do not give Xonea what he wants, he will find a lawful reason to attack Trellus. I know you’re sympathetic, but we cannot sacrifice all those innocent people merely to protect the one responsible from your ClanBrother’s vengeance.”
“If it becomes a choice between him and the colonists, I will tell Xonea everything he wants to know,” I promised him. “But I think I can put a stop to all of this today.”
Just inside the entrance, the Torin’s Senior Healer, a tall, dark-eyed Omorr male in a modifwas fas they should have been. “You have him scheduled for an exploratory tomorrow?”
Squilyp nodded absently as he adjusted the patient’s monitor leads. “I may have missed something during surgery.”
I had operated alongside the Omorr often enough to know that he never missed anything. His meticulous methods and habits were perfection; he also had a peculiar, natural aptitude for sensing and finding potential troubles during procedures that weren’t readily apparent. The cause of the patient’s poor condition had to be from another source.
I regarded the Jorenian male, who was awake, although his eyes seemed unfocused. “Good morning, Palalo Torin. My name is Healer Jarn, and I must talk to you about your accident. I know your throat has not healed enough yet for you to speak, so I will ask questions that require only a gesture of yes or no as an answer. Can you do this for me?”
With his left hand he made a modified affirmative gesture.
“I thank you.” I paged through his chart to the initial intake report. “You were unloading containers of agricultural equipment when the platform failed, is this correct?”
He repeated the affirmative.
“Did the containers break open after they fell?” Palalo made a negative gesture. “Did they leak fuel or liquids?” Another no, but this time not as definite. “Did anything come out of the containers that fell on you?” He hesitated, and then turned his hand over and spread his fingers in a gesture I did not recognize.
“He is not certain,” Squilyp said. “He lost consciousness during the platform failure, and short-term memory loss associated with head trauma is not uncommon among Jorenians.”
I took the Omorr’s scanner and modified the settings before I passed it over the patient’s chest. The resulting readings indicated elevated levels of nitrogen. I had to increase the depth of the scan twice more before the device would identify the source: trace amounts of fungi, now lodged deep inside small ruptures in the patient’s lung tissue, which had become inflamed and closed over.
“You need not operate,” I said to Squilyp, and handed him the scanner. “Fungus has infected his lungs, but we can clear them with a change in his medication.”
“He aspirated mold?”The Omorr consulted the chart. “There was no trace of this in his blood work.”
“There wouldn’t be,” I said as I wrote up orders for the new meds and a deep-tissue breathing treatment. “This is a hybrid fungus, created specifically to prepare soil for cultivation. It breaks down old plant matter and other solids while releasing nitrogen into the soil as a by-product.”
Palalo’s eyes widened, and he made a strong affirmative gesture.
“We should have detected trace amounts in his blood work,” Squilyp said.
I shook my head. “Irrigation or immersion in liquid neutralizes and disperses the fungus; exposure to Palalo’s bloodstream would have rendered it untraceable.”
The Omorr gave me an odd look. “How did it get so deep into his lung tissue?”
“It was also designed to plant itself.” I called over a charge nurse to review the changes in the patient’s treatment before I moved to the next bed. Squilyp, however a new diagnostic tool?”
He seemed to choose his words carefully before he replied. “You used mold like the one infecting Palalo’s lungs to treat the soil on Akkabarr?”
“There is no surface soil on my homeworld, only ice. The Iisleg do not farm; they hunt.” I skimmed through the next patient’s chart and noted that the back injury the patient had sustained had responded well to corrective spinal therapy.
“How did you know what the mold was without checking the medical database?” Squilyp persisted.
“I treated several cases of the same type of infection on K-2. It’s a common complaint among agri workers. They call it planting lung.” I turned to the patient, who was sitting up with an expectant look on her pretty face. “Good morning, Tabrea Torin. You appear to be ready for discharge.”
