S. L. Viehl - Stardoc 02 - Beyond_Varallan

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Beyond Varallan
S. L. Viehl
stardoc ii
EBook Design Group digital back-up
edition v1 HTML
April 22, 2003
This file is valid XHTML 1.0 Strict
Contents
•PART ONE: Departure
•|1|2|3|4|5|6|
•PART TWO: Explorer
•|7|8|9|10|
•PART THREE: Disclosure
•|11|12|13|14|15|
•PART FOUR: Betrayer
•|16|17|18|19|20|
First published by Roc, an imprint of New American
Library, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.
First Printing, July 2000
Copyright © S. L. Viehl, 2000
All rights reserved
Cover art by Alan Pollack
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents either are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For my son, Michael Edward Viehl.
May you alway choose the path less
traveled.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my terrific editor, Laura Anne Gilman,
and my friend Holly Lisle, for all your wisdom, guidance,
and most of all—patience!
I’d also like to thank Chris Ryan for his invaluable
insight and advice on fighting techniques and the honest
realities of hand-to-hand combat.
PART ONE:
Departure
CHAPTER ONE
The Sunlace
^ »
I will give no deadly medicine to anyone if asked, nor
suggest any such counsel.
—Hippocrates (460?-377? B.C.)
Hippocrates never got smacked in the head by a
patient, I thought as I ducked to avoid a wildly swinging
counterweight. That, or he’d kept them all in restraints.
My first patient, Engineer Roelm Torin, had been
admitted to the ship’s inpatient ward late yesterday. He
wasn't happy about it, either. According to the nurses, he
had already destroyed an infuser array, knocked his berth
monitor over twice, and kept all the other patients awake
half the night with his grumbling.
I grabbed his traction rig before the blue-skinned
patient kicked it off the berth mounting. “Good morning,
Roelm.” I performed a visual examination and adjusted the
rig’s clamp. His left leg, while plainly mobile, was badly
swollen. “Feeling a little restless?”
“Your pardon, Healer.” Roelm made a swift,
apologetic motion with one six-fingered hand, then turned
to address the Omorr making a chart notation. “Release
me.”
I looked over at the ship’s senior surgical resident, too.
Squilyp had gone and started rounds without me. Again.
The Omorr never glanced up from his data entry. “That
is not possible, Engineer Toriri.”
“We’ll see,” I said, purposely contradicting him.
That got my rival’s attention, and Squilyp's round, dark
eyes glared at me. I was a few minutes late for my shift.
My braid, still damp from my shower, hung over one
shoulder. He'd probably make note of both crimes.
In contrast, Mr. Punctuality appeared immaculate and
authoritative as ever. Despite his pinkish derma, Squilyp’s
green resident tunic actually looked good on his tall, lanky
frame. Not that I planned to tell him that. I didn't like the
pompous little ass. Since I was in line to be Senior
Healer—the job he wanted—Squilyp didn't like me.
That had been the status quo for nearly two months
now, since I’d joined the crew of the Jorenian star vessel
Sunlace. I’d agreed to replace the retiring Senior Healer,
Tonetka Torin, but there were problems. I was Terran, not
Jorenian, and had only a year's experience treating
nonhumans. I was also a fugitive with a bounty on my
head.
Hardly a sterling resume.
I held out my hand. “Chart, please.” The Omorr
shoved it at me. “Thanks, Squilyp.” I gave him a broad,
friendly smile. He hated that even more than my untidy
hair.
“Dr. Grey Veil.” Squilyp didn’t call me Healer. I'm sure
he called me plenty of names, but not Healer. “My latest
scans are annotated.”
They’d be perfect, too. Squilyp ranked first among the
Sunlace’s five surgical residents, for good reason. I’d
never seen him make a single error on the job. The
Omorr's knowledge of procedure rivaled that of the
diagnostic array.
The known universe would collapse before this guy
ever screwed up.
“Did you run a hematology series?”
“Of course.” The hundreds of gildrells that covered the
Omorr’s oral membrane muffled his offended tone. The
white, prehensile filaments measured half a meter long, and
tapered from a thick base to slender, fingerlike ends. I'd
never seen Squilyp eating or drinking. That wasn't a big
priority for me.
“Good.” I reviewed the rest of his notations. “Nice
work.”
His gildrells stiffened as though I’d yanked on them.
“Excuse me.”
The Omorr stalked off. He had four limbs, but used
three like arms, leaving the fourth to stand on and hop
around with. It should have looked silly, but Squilyp
moved with what I could only call a stately bounce.
Like me, the Omorr was something of an oddity. On
his homeworld, touch healing and ceremonial prayer were
the preferred methods of medical treatment. Yet he never
attempted to use his spade-shaped appendage ends (no
fingers, just incredibly dexterous membranes) to
touch-treat a patient. Squilyp also had a bit of an
obsession with cleanliness. Mere dust motes seemed to
aggravate him. Almost as much as I did.
Oh, well, I thought. Can’t expect everyone to adore
me.
“Healer Cherijo!”
I turned to my patient. Roelm pushed himself up, too
quickly, and impatiently jerked his leg. Before I could grab
it, the traction rig crashed onto the deck.
Roelm’s white eyes—Jorenians had no detectable
pupils or irises—widened as he looked from the ruined
equipment to the sight of the Senior Healer stalking toward
his berth. “Healer, aid me to convince Tonetka this was
none of my doing.”
I got the usual crick in my neck as I greeted the Senior
Healer. I’d become resigned to feeling like a dwarf ever
since I'd boarded the ship. Nearly everyone, including my
boss, was at least a foot taller than me.
“One more mishap, and I vowed to put you in
restraints,” Tonetka said, and gave the rig an ominous
look. “I shudder to think Pnor trusts you to keep the
stardrive operational.”
Roelm’s chin jutted. “Which I cannot do, unless you
release me!”
The Senior Healer muttered something rude. The
patient growled something back at her. I had no idea what
they said. The flat, square-linked vocollar I wore around
my neck wouldn’t translate Jorenian profanity. I'd been
told it had little equivalent in any language.
“Why don’t I take a look at the leg?” When Roelm
made an impatient sound, I patted his shoulder. “Let me
do a proper evaluation, Roelm. The boss will fire me if I
don't.” I picked up a scanner. “Relax.”
Tonetka kicked the rig out of her way. “You may wish
to sedate him first.”
One side of my mouth curled. “I don’t think that will
be necessary.”
She moved beside me to observe. “More scans?”
I nodded across the ward toward the Omorr. “Just in
case Mr. Wonderful missed something.” I performed
three passes over the leg, then studied the readings.
Roelm tried to get a look at my scanner display.
“Well?”
“Well, if you were on my homeworld, I might think this
was a form of filariasis,” I said. “The readings are
consistent.”
The big man frowned. “What is that?”
“Swelling caused by parasitic worms that block the
lymphatic vessels. Very nasty,” I said, deadpan. Roelm’s
skin rapidly acquired a greenish cast. I took pity on him.
“Luckily, it isn't that.”
“Thank the Mother.” Roelm closed his eyes and
exhaled dramatically. One of his big, work-roughened
hands pressed over the twelve-valve heart in his chest.
I said aside to Tonetka, “Surgical history?” She shook
her head. “Okay.” I put his chart down. “Tell me what
you’ve been doing over the last few days, Roelm.”
He looked indignant and virtuous. “I have been
inspecting the port thrusters, every shift.”
Yeah, right. Jorenians worked hard, and played harder.
Then there was all that warrior-training stuff they did in
between. He’d either injured himself on the job, gotten
clobbered during combat training, or done something even
stupider off duty in the dimensional simulators. I picked
probable idiocy number three.
“Try out any new programs during your recreational
interval?” I asked. “Wrestling some swarm-snakes,
maybe? Rappel down any Andorii cliff-plateaus?”
“I made two visits to the environome, both for—” He
paused. “Nothing physically strenuous.”
“Come on, Roelm,” I said, prompting him with a roll of
my hand. “Details, give me details.”
“I merely sought to increase my manual dexterity. The
program employed fine manipulative skills. My work
demands that I keep my fingers… flexible.”
I considered this. “Flexible like… grav-rowing down
the white-water rapids on Radonis?”
“No.” He hunched down. If his shoulders got much
higher, they’d be covering his ears.
“You did not think to attempt blade dancing?” Tonetka
asked, horrified.
Our patient simply shook his head again and looked
more miserable than ever.
I sighed. “Roelm, don’t make me walk all the way over
to that environome and access your program.”
“You will laugh at me.”
My boss and I exchanged a glance.
“We won’t,” I said. “Physicians' oath. Right, Senior
Healer?”
Tonetka nodded vigorously.
“Very well.” Roelm looked around and lowered his
voice to a whisper. “I have been learning how to weave.”
“Weave where?” My boss moved closer, ready to
throttle him if necessary. “Between blade dancers?”
I could barely hear him now. “I have been weaving
baskets.”
“What? You mean—” I bit my lip. “Oh. Right. Baskets
.”
Here we’d been thinking Roelm had tried to half-kill
himself in some intense physical challenge. In reality, he
had been teaching himself the gentlest—and definitely the
most feminine—of Jorenian art forms.
“Yes,” he said. “Baskets!”
Tonetka whirled away just as I caught the expression
on her face. I stepped between her and Roelm, so he
wouldn’t see her shoulders shaking, and cleared my
throat.
“Well, that sounds nice, Roelm.” If this got out, he’d
never live it down. “Um, very interesting.”
“It is not amusing,” he said. “A male can learn such
skills as easily as a female.”
A cough that didn’t do much to cover a laugh burst
from the Senior Healer. I jabbed her in the back with my
elbow. My calm, understanding expression never
wavered.
“Of course they can,” I said. Tonetka snorted and I
elbowed her again. “What else have you been doing?”
“No more than is usual. Eating. Sleeping. Working.”
That reminded me of what he’d said before. “Describe
how you inspect a thruster.”
He elaborated. The Sunlace’s colossal engines required
careful maintenance and regular inspections. As a
supervisor, Roelm directed most of the stardrive
operations, and routinely inspected the work performed
by his subordinates. Not surprising. He’d been one of the
ship's primary designers.
From what he told me, a new design concept required
him to perform several comparison tests on the thrusters.
I recalled what I knew of the equipment from the lengthy
tour I’d been given during my first week.
“Roelm, when you were running these tests, did you
have to balance yourself against the edge of the access
panel?” He nodded. “On one leg, maybe?” Another nod. I
lightly patted his swollen limb. “This leg?”
“Yes, but—” He stopped and looked sheepish. “I did
spend an extended interval in such a position, recalibrating
the directional relays and checking circuit tolerances.”
Tonetka had gotten over the giggles. Now she glowered
over my shoulder, “How extended?”
Roelm made a weak gesture. “A double shift.”
My boss tossed Roelm’s chart up in the air and stalked
off. I caught it neatly when it came down, then made the
appropriate notation.
“Well, that explains where the edema came from. We’ll
keep your leg elevated for now. The diuretics will reduce
the swelling.” I tried to look stern. “No more twisting
yourself into a pretzel for a whole day, Roelm.”
“What is a pretzel?”
I laughed.
Tonetka didn’t appear at all amused when I entered her
office. She shoved aside a touchpad onto which she had
been pounding data. White eyes glared in the direction of
the Engineer's berth. Then she exploded.
“That stubborn t’lerue!”
I closed the door panel, sat down, and calmly
completed my chart entry while she vented.
“Males will be males,” I said when she started to run
out of bad words I couldn’t understand. “It's the reason
the female of most species invariably lives longer.”
“Hmph. I should like to divert his path.”
That constituted a declaration of ClanKill, or—in
Jorenian idiomatic terms—a death threat. I knew she
wasn’t serious. Tonetka often blustered to vent her
frequent frustrations.
“Give him a day or two on a restricted diet,” I said.
“That should teach him a lesson.”
“He’s fortunate we don't perform amputations in this
age.” Tonetka rubbed her fingers against her brow. A
reluctant chuckle escaped her. “Weaving. Mother of All
Houses.”
“Think of it as great blackmail material,” I said. “He
could be your devoted slave from now on.”
“At the very least. Ah, well. Here are the current
cases.” She indicated a short stack of charts. “Roelm
constitutes the only new admission. We should prepare
for transition in a few hours. I want to put Hado back in
sleep suspension.”
Tonetka and I had performed open-heart surgery on
Navigator Hado Torin a few weeks before. Despite his
steady recovery, his condition remained guarded. The
extra precaution of putting him in a sleep suspension field
before the Sunlace dropped out of dimensional
füghtshielding would protect his still-healing cardiac
organ.
“Are we getting near that planet Captain Pnor told me
about?” I asked. “Ness-something?”
“NessNevat. You haven’t been accessing your relays
again.”
“I keep forgetting.” No, I didn’t.
“Program an alarm,” my boss said. “As Senior Healer,
you will be required to review intership communications
daily. Even,” she said when I tried to interrupt, “the ones
to which you do not desire to respond.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you only knew how many times I
get invited to someone’s quarters for a meal interval…”
“You are a popular member of our HouseClan.”
Tonetka had no sympathy for me. “As Terrans say, get
used to it.”
That was the whole problem. My life had never been
this complicated before. On my homeworld, for example,
I worked, ate, and slept. After I’d left Terra and
transferred to Kevarzangia Two a year ago, I made a few
friends I never had time for. Worked. Ate. Slept.
However, here on the Sunlace, I found myself up to
my eyebrows in nice, sociable Jorenians who had
absolutely no intention of leaving me alone. Ever since I’d
been formally adopted by HouseClan Torin, I'd been
under siege.
They signaled me constantly. Invited me to eat, talk, or
spend recreation time with them. Stopped by my quarters
to chat. Would have stayed and sung me to sleep if I’d
asked.
My biggest problem? Guilt. I suspected all the attention
I was getting sprang from sympathy over the death of my
Jorenian lover. I was considered a widow in the crew’s
eyes. Yet Kao's death had been my fault.
Then there was the Allied League of Worlds’ failure to
recognize me as a sentient being over the matter of my
being a genetic construct—a clone. That ruling had
ultimately prompted Joren to rescue me from K-2, adopt
me, then break off all relations with the League. Added to
that was the bounty the League had put on my head,
which constituted more credits than a raider could make in
ten lifetimes. Half the mercenaries in the galaxy were
probably out hunting for the Sunlace by now.
In light of all that, I felt the HouseClan should resent
me. They thought I should just ignore the whole distasteful
business, and stop by for a meal when I was free.
Eventually (I hoped) I’d get used to it. The Sunlace
was currently en route to Joren. HouseClan Torin’s
homeworld, in the Varallan Quadrant. Since the journey
would take a revolution, equal to a standard Terran year, I
had ample time to adjust to my new family. Or to get off
the ship.
“Caution.” Tonetka's vidisplay sounded an alert.
“Multiple incoming emergencies.”
The Senior Healer and I dropped what we were doing
and hurried out into the bay. Squilyp intersected our path.
A pair of female educators limped in, carrying an
unconscious child between them.
They were a mess. Shredded garments. White eyes
wide with shock. Serious lacerations all over them. A
spattered track of greenish Wood on the deck trailed
behind them back to the gyrlift panel.
“Here.” Tonetka helped them place the limp little girl on
an open exam pad. Her experienced eye evaluated case
priority in a blink. “Cherijo, the child. Squilyp, with me.”
I performed a visual first. She had a minor head
wound, dozens of“ shallow contusions, and a few deep
ones, all on the front surfaces of her body. Her
powder-blue skin felt cool and clammy; her respiration
sounded jerky and labored. A quick pass of my scanner
摘要：

BeyondVarallanS.L.ViehlstardociiEBookDesignGroupdigitalback-upeditionv1HTMLApril22,2003ThisfileisvalidXHTML1.0StrictContents·PARTONE:Departure·|1|2|3|4|5|6|·PARTTWO:Explorer·|7|8|9|10|·PARTTHREE:Disclosure·|11|12|13|14|15|·PARTFOUR:Betrayer·|16|17|18|19|20|FirstpublishedbyRoc,animprintofNewAmericanL...

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