Eternity Row (15 page)

It regarded me with evident discomfort. “Cherijo, I- I wonder, if I wished to have elective surgery, would you be willing to perform it on me?”

I put down my server. “How elective?”

“As you are aware, my species is hermaphroditic. I am nearly of breeding age myself. Your tale of Dhreen reminded me of a decision I must soon make.” It paused, and stroked a paw across the rim of its server. “I have been considering sterilization.”

“God, why?”

“I was born free, but my life in the wild only lasted a few weeks. The Chakaran pelters who captured my parent terrified me. I almost did not survive the incarceration.” It gazed across the table, and that haunted expression nearly broke my heart. “Cherijo, I could not bear that to happen to my own young. The thought of my children being hunted and sold into slavery appalls me.”

I reached out and covered one of its paws with my hand. “You’re not on Chakara and you don’t have to go back. We won’t let anyone hurt you or any young you might have.”

“Xonea would say, ‘Much changes along the path.’ ”

“Xonea is not a philosopher. He told me so himself.”

Its whiskers twitched. “You had Squilyp perform a tubal ligation on you after you miscarried Marel.”

“I didn’t have any choice.” After Squilyp had transferred Marel’s fetus to a prototype embryonic chamber, he’d performed the procedure to assure I’d never get pregnant again. “My immune system won’t allow me to carry a child full-term. You don’t have that problem.”

“Even if I breed, you cannot guarantee our safety, Cherijo. If I am captured by slavers again, I will be sold on the open market, to the highest bidder. So, too, will any progeny I possess.” It paused. “Surely now that you have Marel, you understand how I feel.”

The Chakacat and I had always shared a special bond. Being declared a nonsentient piece of property had that effect on people, I guess. I may have gambled, having Marel, but obviously Alunthri wasn’t willing to throw the dice. And yet I couldn’t bear the thought of sterilizing my friend. “Then don’t breed yourself.”

“After a certain period, the choice will no longer be mine. I will reproduce, whether I wish it or not.”

So Alunthri was in the same boat as Squilyp. Nothing like Mother Nature to throw a wrench in your single life.

“We still have a certain time frame to work within, right?” I asked, and Alunthri nodded. “Then I want you to really think about what you’re asking me. If you’re still bent on doing this, then I’ll perform the sterilization.”

It gave me a small, feline smile. “Thank you, my friend. It is a comfort to know that in this, I have a choice.”

Some choice.

“To breed or not to breed. That is the question.”

Squilyp looked up from the electroniscopic scanner. “What is that? Chaucer?”

“Shakespeare, slightly corrupted.” I tossed an instrument into the tray and sighed. “All right, scratch hyper-cellular batch number two-oh-seven. Microcellular breakdown initiated at”-I glanced at the display- “fourteen hundred hours, twenty-two minutes.”

The previous two hundred and six attempts to replicate the hypercells had also failed to remain cohesive, and the ineffectual results made me want to drop kick a few cultivation containers across the lab.

If Joseph Grey Veil had achieved hypercellular cohesion, then surely I could duplicate his success. After all, I was practically
his
duplicate.

The Omorr hopped over and studied the slowly liquefying glop in my culture dish. “Your report detailed a description of how the cells began replicating once they had been injected into Reever’s kidney. How long did it take?”

“It was instantaneous-as soon as the seed cells were implanted, new ones started popping up, right under my scope.” I shoved the dish aside. “Okay, we need to switch gears. What are we doing wrong?”

“It could be the extracorporeal testing.” Squilyp’s gildrells undulated as he scanned the dish. “Why are you making puns about breeding?”

“Seems like that’s all everyone on this ship wants to talk about-you’re arranging a marriage so you can be a dad, Alunthri wants to be fixed, Dhreen claims his entire planet is sterile, and Ilona’s pregnant with a baby who shouldn’t exist. I feel like I’m running a maternity crisis advisory service.”

He transferred the data from the scanner to a chart. “The Chakacat wishes to be sterilized?”

“It’s the potential slavery thing. Can’t blame it. Happily, sterilization seems to be very low on everyone else’s priority list.”

“We all envy you your child, you know that.” He studied the scan results. “Why don’t we try injecting the cells into a training torso?”

“Using real cells on simulated flesh won’t do it. The cellular foundation crumbles unless we employ simulated hypercells, and I don’t trust fake versus real. We need to know exactly what the actual cells are going to do to Dhreen.” I frowned. “I can’t figure out why everyone is jealous of Marel. You should try keeping that kid clean and in one spot.” I gnawed my bottom lip. “Wait a second. How many spare parts have you got stockpiled in the transplant bank?”

“Several hundred, mostly Jorenian. Why?”

“What if we take a common, cloned organ, deliberately injure it, then introduce hypercells extracted from Reever’s kidney?” I grinned as his dark eyes widened. “It would be as close to experimenting on a live subject as we can get.”

The Omorr shuddered slightly. “I can’t imagine any sane physician actually consenting to experiment on living organisms.”

Since most of the medical progress on Terra until two centuries ago had been achieved exactly via that method, I grimaced. “Let’s try this with a Jorenian liver.”

I left Squilyp to set up the next stage of the experiment, and performed quick afternoon rounds with Adaola. Yarek was ready to be discharged, and promised to return for follow-ups and stay away from bladed weapons for the time specified in his release orders.

“Don’t make me block your access codes from all the environomes,” I warned him as I handed him his tunic.

“Do not fear, Healer.” Yarek gave me a broad grin. “My bondmate has assured me she will do the same, should I become reckless.”

I smiled back. “Who do you think gave her the idea?”

A signal came in from Command as I was preparing to return to the lab. Reever’s expression remained blank, but his grim tone spoke volumes.

“Cherijo, we have found a number of ships disabled and floating in space. Energy signatures indicate a battle recently took place in this region. Our sweep has picked up multiple weak life signs from five of the vessels.”

Weak meant wounded. “What kind of ships, and how many still alive?”

“Military. Four League attack strafers, and the remnants of a Hsktskt scout ship. Perhaps two dozen wounded.” He patched through the readings to my screen. “Advise the Senior Healer to prepare two medevac teams.”

“Only two?” Eight people couldn’t cover five different ships in a hurry.

“Armed security teams will escort you.”

Normally I would have given him a hard time about that, but we were entering the aftermath of a battle. The wounded were soldiers and almost certainly prepared to defend themselves. “Remind them we’re there to help, not slaughter. I need you with us.”

“I’ll meet you in launch bay.” He paused. “Be cautious, Cherijo.”

Squilyp and I swiftly put together the medevac teams, handed out protective vests and communication headsets, and only argued briefly about who was going on the shuttle. I put Vlaav in charge of one team and took command of the other myself.

“I can assess the wounded as well as you can,” the Omorr pointed out in a huff.

“Yes, but I can’t organize triage here as well as you, and neither can Vlaav.” I wouldn’t insult his Omorr-hood by reminding him that if a soldier shot me, I’d survive, while he likely wouldn’t. “Besides, I haven’t seen my husband all day.”

“Very well, but take Wonlee with you.”

The Esalmalin was already hoisting my field pack over his spiny shoulder. “We should wear side arms.”

“That sort of defeats the purpose of medevac, Won.” I picked up a thermal proximity scanner, in case some of the wounded were hiding. “Better have the nurses start synthesizing some Hsktskt plasma; we haven’t got any stocked.” I watched Qonja preparing a pack, and my mouth tightened. “See you in a little while.”

Both teams departed the
Sunlace
on the same shuttle, which was the largest one the Jorenians had available. Xonea manned the helm himself, while Reever explained the flight plan.

“We have broadcast a stand-down signal to all the ships, and shall dock with each in order of largest concentration of wounded on board.” He projected a thermalscan showing the meager life signs of the wounded and the ships they were on. “Once we establish that the vessel environment is intact, we will drop off one team, deliver the second to the next ship, then return to transfer team one’s wounded on board.” He turned to the security guards, who were carrying plenty of bladed and pulse weaponry. “Security will take point, locate the wounded, and disarm them, if necessary, before the medical team facilitates treatment.”

“That means no killing,” I said at once.

Qonja eyed the ruined vessel we were approaching through the viewport. “There may be traps set for intruders.”

“Remind me to steal one if there are,” I muttered to my husband.

“We performed a sweep for energy, chemical, and biological agents, and found no indicators. Remain alert.” At a call from the Captain, Reever went to the helm, then took over the controls while Xonea came back toward the passenger compartment.

He spoke to both security team leaders in a low voice, then came over to me. “I want you to carry this.” He pulled a lethal-looking dagger from his vest and handed it to me.

I tried to give it back. “I appreciate the thought, but no, thanks.”

“ClanSister.” He closed his fingers over mine, pressing them into the ridged hilt. “You have no claws. Humor me.”

I glanced over at my one-man fan club, who was strapping a pulse rifle over his shoulder, then heaved a sigh. “This really isn’t necessary.”

“I disagree.”

I wedged the blade in between the syrinpress and scanner hooked to my own protective vest. “But if someone tries to attack me, Won will give them a big hug. Right, Won?”

The orderly’s spines bristled. “A tight hug, Healer.”

Reever docked with the first ship, a Hsktskt scout vessel that had seen better days. Whatever kind of fight it had put up had been prolonged, judging by the patchwork of scorch marks left behind by League pulse fire. Nearly the entire stern was missing, along with the stardrive.

“Team one, packs and breathers.” I took off my harness as soon as Reever finished docking and pulled my mask over my face.

Security went in first, as ordered, then I followed with my team. As I emerged into an interior corridor, prickles of sweat broke out on my brow and upper lip.

I’m providing medical care to a bunch of wounded, eight-foot-tall, six-limbed monsters who lost twenty thousand valuable slaves and an entire base of operations because of me.

Cherijo, you have got to find another job.

Flickering optics barely illuminated the way, which wound through a gauntlet of smashed equipment and collapsing structural panels. The smell of displacer discharge residue stung my nose. Console alarms droned incessantly, while the more ominous crackle of overloaded circuitry snapped behind every wall.

“Hold.” The security team leader’s voice came over my headset, low and urgent. “Healer, take your team back to the docking bay.”

I pressed a hand to my earpiece. “Why?”

“These wounded indicate they do not wish our assistance.”

He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “Nor do we wish to add to the injuries they have already sustained.”

As usual, the Hsktskt were giving everyone a hard time.

“Wait.” To the medical team, I said, “Stay here.” Then I went ahead alone, easing past security guards until I approached the back of the leader, who was using his body to block an open doorway. I tapped his shoulder. “Let me see.”

He glanced down at me, then moved to the left. Beyond him was a large area equipped with diagnostic equipment, oversize tables and berths, and everything an onboard physician would need to treat wounded.