The Morcai Battalion: The Rescue

Rhemun was rarely concerned about the mental or physical health of a woman who reminded him so savagely of his son’s death, but even he began to notice how Mallory was acting.

He paused beside her when she finished working on her last patient. The rest of the pirates had been routed, the colonists rescued. They were ready to lift. But Mallory was obviously not herself.

Hahnson had noticed it first and alerted Rhemun. It was up to the commander of the Holconcom to deal with her. He wished he could leave it to Hahnson, but the doctor was far too fond of Mallory to manage any harshness.

Pity and compassion would do no service here, he thought, as he contemplated her mental state. He’d seen this in battle, combatants who faced the horror of war for the first time and broke under the strain. They called it battle fatigue. But it was more severe in a woman of this sensitivity. It could not be allowed to continue. He needed her. There was no replacement available until the following year, until the next graduates in Cularian medicine.

“Mallory, we must lift,” he told her curtly.

The woman she was treating, a little old Altairian woman, looked up at the Cehn-Tahr who had assumed his most human aspect—the woman was neither family nor Holconcom, so his true form was hidden from her.

“She is wounded, here.” The old woman touched her own heart.

“That may be,” he replied in Altairian, “but we must leave.”

The woman stared at him. It was a little unnerving. “You have suffered a great loss,” she said in a monotone. “But you will suffer a greater one. Your life contains another tragedy of your own making.”

“Madam,” he began, chilled by her perception.

She held up a hand. “The tragedy will lead to great joy,” she continued, her eyes blank as she recited what she saw. “And to a place in history for your branch of the great Clan.” She blinked. She frowned. She looked up at him as if she didn’t recognize him. “What did I say?”

He gaped at her. “Excuse me?”

She smiled apologetically. “I see things. Sometimes I see things. I tell them. But I never remember what I have said. Perhaps it is a blessing. You look very troubled. I am sorry. I should not have spoken. It is a curse.”

He went down on one knee. His eyes lightened. “Never rue such a gift,” he said gently. “On my homeworld, there is a great seer, one whose prophecies have all come true in the recent past. It is no curse. And I thank you for your words.”

She beamed.

Edris, who was trying not to listen, finished cleaning the old woman’s wounds. “There,” she said gently. “You’ll be fine.”

“I am grateful. Very grate...” Her eyes went blank. “A terrible time is ahead for you,” she said hesitantly. Tears stung her eyes. “Such horror, for one so kind...!” She swallowed. “You must not run. You must not leave your ship because of harsh words...!”

Edris’s eyes were like saucers. “What did you say?”

The old woman’s eyes cleared. “Have I done it again?” She sighed and shook her head. “Twice in as many minutes, perhaps I am going mad.” She laughed. “Thank you for your care. I hope that someone will be as kind to you.”

“We must go,” Rhemun said as he stood up. He turned away and raised his voice, calling for the Holconcom to get ready to lift.

Edris touched the old woman’s hair. “Thank you.” She turned away, chilled by the prediction, which she didn’t understand at all. Perhaps the woman heard voices. There were some diseases which could cause such symptoms. Then she thought of Lady Caneese, the bonded mate of the Cehn-Tahr emperor, whose visions about Ruszel had been absolutely accurate. And she wondered.

* * *

BACK ABOARD THE MORCAI, Edris went looking for Dr. Hahnson.

“May I speak with you?” she asked hesitantly.

One look at her pale, strained features caused him to turn over his latest patient to his assistant. He motioned Edris into the small cubicle that served as his office.

He closed the door and pulled some odd, white, ball-shaped device out of a desk drawer. He activated it with a sequence of touches, so that it began to glow white.

“Disrupts the AVBDs,” he told her when she gave him a puzzled look. “It also blocks telepaths.” He chuckled. “We never know when the emperor may be looking in. Now. What can I do for you?”

She sat down heavily in a chair. “I shot a man. A Rigellian. I think he must have been one of the pirates, hiding until he thought we were gone. I stumbled into him.”

“And?” he prodded when she closed up.

She bit her lip. “He...died.”

He drew in a long breath and perched himself against his desk. “I understand. I’ve only had to kill once or twice during my career. It was never easy, and I suffered long and hard for it. I’m sorry, Edris. I’m very sorry.”

“I’ll have to see his face every day for the rest of my life,” she said, as if in a trance. “He looked so shocked. I tried to do something, to save him.” She lowered her eyes. “But there was nothing I could do.” She made a futile little gesture with her hands. “I’ve never killed anyone.”

“Listen, kid, it goes with the job,” he said gently. “I know that sounds harsh, but we are combat medics...”

“The oath we take says ‘First, do no harm,’” she interrupted.

“Why did you shoot him?” he asked patiently.

“He was about to shoot me,” she stammered.

“And you think your conscience would be fitter if you’d allowed yourself to die?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t...know how to deal with it.”

He made a face. “We don’t have grief counselors aboard. Well, except doctors,” he added.

“Yes. Not even an interfaith chapel. Nothing.” She swallowed. “I don’t suppose military Cehn-Tahr are religious, anyway.”

“You’d suppose wrong,” he said wryly. “They’re deeply religious, in their own way. They have a deity, Cashto. You may see small statues of him from time to time...”

“The catlike busts, with glowing green eyes?” she asked, curious. “They’re religious objects?”

“That’s right. Even Dtimun had one in his quarters.”

“I didn’t realize...”

“They’re very like humans,” Hahnson said with a smile.

“Except for the new CO,” she said heavily. “You’d insult him by even saying that.” She frowned. “Why does he hate us so much?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Dtimun let something slip once to the effect that Rhemun had suffered a personal tragedy that was somehow associated with humans. But I don’t know anything about the circumstances.”

“How odd that he’d end up commanding an interracial group like ours.”

“Their command structure is largely Clan-related,” he said. “I don’t understand exactly how it works, but Rhemun was next in line for command of the Holconcom. He didn’t have a choice.”

“The men don’t like him.” She sighed. “He’s put up more backs than a cat at a dog fight.”

He laughed out loud. “Please, don’t say that where he can hear you. I’d hate to have to repair the damage.”

She smiled with faint mischief. “Shame on me.”

“You get a good night’s sleep,” he said. “Let your assistant handle anything that comes up if there’s an emergency.” He sobered. “I can tell you that time really does make the difference. In a few days, the worst of the pain will ease. You’ll get used to it.”

“I suppose I don’t really have a choice about that,” she agreed heavily. “Thanks for listening.”

“I’ll always do that. Anytime you need an ear.”

She smiled. “I owe my career to you. They’d have washed me out in a heartbeat if they knew how much damage that accident did to my brain.”

“I only altered a couple of neurological profiles,” he said with twinkling dark eyes. “No big deal.”

“It was for me. You and Dr. Ruszel kept me safe.” She grimaced. “If the CO ever finds out, he’ll wash me out of the service, you know.” She looked up with wide, worried blue eyes. “I’ll be up for Reboot...”

“I will never let that happen,” he said firmly. “I promise.”

“Yes, but...”

“Mallory, you’re the best friend of the wife of the heir to the Cehn-Tahr Empire,” he pointed out. “Do you really think she’d ever allow you to end up in Reboot?”

She stood up. “It would depend on circumstances, I guess. But I can hope.”

“Meanwhile, lots of rest. And take a sedative,” he instructed. “I don’t usually approve of them, but in this case, it’s necessary.”

She smiled. “Okay. Thanks.” She hesitated and turned back. “This elderly woman, she was a seer. She said something to me about the future, about horror looming, that I shouldn’t run from harsh words...”

“Seers are a dime a dozen on these fringe planets—you know that.” He smiled. “Lady Caneese is the only person I ever knew who was accurate with her predictions. I shouldn’t worry about warnings from strangers.”

She laughed. “I suppose you’re right. Well, thanks again.”

“My pleasure.”

He turned off the mute sphere and opened the door. “Lots of rest. I’ll make it an official diagnosis. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

She turned and walked slowly to her quarters. Hahnson waited until she was out of sight before he made his way to the bridge.

CHAPTER TWO

RHEMUN WAS DISCUSSING a new navigation program with Holt Stern when Hahnson joined them on the bridge.

Back when Holt was captain of the Bellatrix, even with the usual military formality, Hahnson would have thought nothing of greeting his commander with a smile. Here, on the Morcai, it was like boot camp. Military formality was the order of the day. Nobody used first names. Nobody acted in a chummy fashion.

So Hahnson made a snappy salute. “Sir,” he addressed Rhemun, “I need to speak to you for a moment.”

Rhemun never smiled. His cat-eyes darkened to a solemn blue. “Very well.” He turned to Stern. “Keep working with that program,” he said curtly. “I will expect it to be functioning perfectly before we lift. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Holt snapped him a salute, sat back down and went to work. Hahnson, who knew his friend very well, could see the hidden irritation that accompanied the remark.

Rhemun led the way into the small cubicle off the bridge that was used for an office. He closed the door, but he didn’t sit down or offer Hahnson a seat.

“Well?” he asked curtly.

Hahnson’s dark eyes narrowed. “I’ve just spoken to Dr. Mallory,” he began.

Rhemun held up a hand. “I know that Dr. Mallory has reacted badly to an incident earlier today,” he said. “She will have to learn to cope. Even a combat medic must be expected to defend herself from attack.”

“Commander Dtimun never allowed medics to be armed,” Hahnson commented.

“I refuse to send any personnel into the field without weapons,” Rhemun replied tersely. “But as to Mallory’s condition, she must work through it herself.”

He sighed. “Yes, sir, I realize that. But Dr. Mallory has never been in combat situations until quite recently.”

Rhemun didn’t speak. He folded his arms over his broad chest and stared at Hahnson.

“She really is doing the best she can, sir,” he said finally.

“None of us has the time to shelter a physician from the harsh realities of military life,” he replied curtly. “If Dr. Mallory finds her work too tedious, perhaps she should consider another branch of service.”

“That is not an option,” Hahnson said shortly.

Rhemun raised an eyebrow.

“Dr. Mallory washed out of combat school,” Hahnson said stiffly. “Then she was rejected as a breeder...”

Rhemun’s expression, in a normally expressionless face, was faintly surprising. “A breeder?” He said the word with blatant contempt.

“It isn’t what you think,” Hahnson replied. “She was kept in a lab while they decided if her genetics were sound enough for breeding purposes. They were not.”

Rhemun’s face hardened. “An inferior genome...”

“Recessive genes,” Hahnson shot back, not caring if he had to take the loss of points on his military record. “They’re not in fashion this year.”

“Excuse me?”

“The government agency overseeing breeding decides from year to year which traits are acceptable, and as the board changes, so do the prejudices. The members of the board determined that recessive genes should be purged from the genome, so anyone who strongly depicted them was automatically rejected.”

“Explain recessive genes.”

“In a few words, blond or red hair and light-colored eyes.”

“These traits are quite admirable,” Rhemun replied. “Dr. Ruszel has beautiful coloring.”

Hahnson wouldn’t have touched that remark with a pole. He was aware that Rhemun had a soft spot for Ruszel, which had caused some problems between him and the former commander of the Morcai before Dtimun and Ruszel bonded.

“Well, the board makes the final decision, sir,” Hahnson replied tactfully.

“May I ask what those two rejections have to do with Mallory’s current situation?” Rhemun asked after a minute, obviously impatient.

“It puts her in line for Reboot if she gets a third black mark on her service record. Sir.”

“Reboot,” Rhemun scoffed.

Hahnson frowned. “You know about it?”

“Yes. I know about it.” He turned away. “Was there anything else?”

Hahnson was diverted. He hadn’t realized that anyone outside the Terravegan medical corps knew the painful, horrible truth of that process. “May I ask how the commander knows of it?” he persisted.

“I was involved in a case where it was invoked. I will speak no more of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rhemun’s eyes were dark with anger. “You humans protect your worst specimens in a manner that is repulsive to me.”

“Sir?”

Rhemun waved a hand. “Dismissed.”

“But, sir, about Dr. Mallory...”

Rhemun just looked at him. The look was enough. Hahnson saluted, turned and left the room.

How did Rhemun know about Reboot? Hahnson asked himself. And not only that, why was he so dismissive of it, if he knew the truth? It disturbed him, but he wasn’t going to try the alien’s patience by referring to it again. Meanwhile, he’d do what he could for Mallory. Which was going to be precious little, he imagined.

* * *

EDRIS MANAGED TO get herself back together, after a fashion, but something inside her would never be the same after her brush with death.

She saw the alien face in her mind night and day, saw the horrified expression as life drained suddenly out of him. She slept badly, even with the sedatives. Her mental state made her more likely to make mistakes. When she did, the commander of the Holconcom was always ready to pounce.

“You have marked the wrong status on two of my crew,” he growled at her when she’d presented him with the latest casualty list after a brief skirmish with renegade Rojoks on an asteroid colony world.

Edris looked at the padd and winced. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said formally, still standing at attention. “It won’t happen again.”

He glared at her. Small. Blonde. Fair. Long, almost-platinum-colored hair tortured into a tight bun on top of her head. For one split second he wondered what it would look like loosened, and hated himself even for the thought. She was the image of a nightmare figure from his past, from a tragedy that he could never speak of to the humans aboard this ship. But it gave him reason to hate them, especially this one.

She swallowed. His hatred was almost palpable. She felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t know what she’d done to create such antagonism. Well, she did snap back at him when he was at his worst. But that didn’t really seem provocation enough for the anger he directed at her.

“Hahnson tells me that you aren’t adjusting well after your...incident,” he said after a minute. He lifted his chin and a cold little smile touched his chiseled mouth. “I suggested that a change of military assignments might be applicable.”

She went pale. Her mind flashed with images of laboratories and body parts and agar in petri dishes.

Unknown to her, Rhemun saw those images. He didn’t understand them. But, then, he understood very little about humans and their mental processes. However, her discomfort gave him pleasure. He felt a brief skirl of shame at his own behavior. An anniversary was upcoming. He couldn’t share its import, but it was connected to his opinion of Mallory and her race and culture. He hated both. He hated the anniversary. His life was replete with torment, from adolescence onward. He had lost his father in a most terrible manner, in a way that shamed him and his mother even today, despite the emperor’s kindness and support. Then he had lost another, to a human’s stupidity. He closed his eyes. The pain was almost palpable.

“Sir?” she prompted, surprised at the anguish on his face.

He opened his eyes. They were dark brown, anger almost gone to rage. He hated her compassion. He didn’t want it.

He handed her back the padd. “No more mistakes.”

She saluted. “No, sir.” Her tone was subdued.

His eyes narrowed. She was still pale. Why would the thought of reassignment be so disturbing to her? That was, after all, what Reboot was. The humans didn’t punish their officers, not even for murder. They just reassigned them.

“Dismissed,” he said in a cold tone.

“Yes, sir.” She saluted and hurried away.

* * *

IT WAS ONLY going to get worse. She knew that. But she had no alternative, no place else to go. She was stuck here, Madeline Ruszel’s replacement but never an acceptable replacement to the commander of the Holconcom, who revered Ruszel and hated Mallory.

“I should have known I couldn’t make it here,” she mumbled to herself as she ran blood samples through her small lab.

“Excuse me?”

She turned as Holt Stern entered. He was really a dish, she thought, smiling—dark wavy hair and dark eyes and a glorious physique. She wished she still had the crush on him that she’d had when she first served aboard the Morcai. But her heart was tugged elsewhere, to a person who didn’t want her interest, who found her actually repulsive.

“Hey, Cap,” she said with a grin. “How’s things?”

He chuckled. She wasn’t Maddie Ruszel, but he liked her. “Rough,” he remarked with a sigh. “None of us are dancing with joy over the changes around here.” He shook his head. “I never thought a court-martial would appeal to me more than staying in the Holconcom.”

She lifted her eyebrows.

“Nobody back at Terravegan HQ knows I’m a clone,” he pointed out. “If they found out, I’d be drummed out of the service. So would Hahnson. Only use we’d be then would be in some top secret government lab.”

Sort of like me, she thought, but she only smiled. “It’s not so bad. We just have to learn to get along together.”

“Not going to happen, Doc,” he replied, leaning back against a bulkhead. “I’m not the only one who has a problem. The new CO hates humans. Didn’t you notice?”

She averted her eyes. “He’s just not used to us yet,” she said. “After all, he commanded the emperor’s personal bodyguard for decades. All Cehn-Tahr. No humans.”

“He makes his contempt for us known,” Stern said quietly. “He doesn’t even try to hide it.”

“He wasn’t with you at Ahkmau,” she pointed out. “Dr. Ruszel said that’s what made the unit into a unit.”

He nodded. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” he agreed. “We pulled together and the CO got us out, with a little help from a real enemy, the Rojok Field Marshal Chacon.” He chuckled. “When he took power, we thought the wars would be over forever, especially when he was given a seat on the Tri-Galaxy Council itself.”

“We didn’t consider that a lot of old, hard-line troops didn’t want what they called ‘handouts’ from the Council. They thought of Chacon as a traitor and took to the field to oppose his rule.” She smiled faintly. “How’s that for a turnout?”

“Not what we all hoped for, for sure,” he agreed. He studied her. “How’s it going?”

Everybody knew what had happened to her. The humans had been sympathetic. Surprisingly, even some of the older Cehn-Tahr had been supportive.

“I guess I’m dealing with it,” she said. “Not very well.” She looked up at him. “How do you guys manage?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “After a few years in the field, it doesn’t affect you so much. You still feel it, I mean. You just don’t dwell on it. You can’t afford to. It will get you killed. Worse, it will get your comrades killed.”

She nodded. “The CO thought a change of military assignments might be the answer.”

Stern’s face went hard. “Does he know about Reboot?”

“Yes,” she said, and he looked surprised. “He said he was familiar with it.”

“And, knowing that, he still made the suggestion?” His face was like stone. “He’s not getting rid of you,” he said shortly. “Not unless he wants to lose the whole unit.”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t push him. You guys have as much to lose as I do. I already have one death on my conscience. No more. Period,” she said firmly.

“We’d stand up for you,” he told her.

She smiled. “I know that. Thanks.”

He smiled. “What are friends for?”

* * *

THEIR NEXT ASSIGNMENT was to storm a suspected rebel Rojok base on Terramer, the former site of the Peace Planet that had failed.

Mallory was assigned to the forward unit, led by Holt Stern. But he kept her in the background, refused to let her advance with the troops.

She was treating a Rojok soldier for plasma burns when Rhemun rejoined the group, back from a scout with one of the Cehn-Tahr kelekom operators.

“What are you doing behind the lines?” Rhemun asked shortly.

She stood and saluted. “Captain Stern’s orders, sir,” she said formally.

“Pack your kit and get up with the line,” he said coldly. “Your assistant can handle the job here!”

“Yes, sir.” She didn’t bother to argue. It would have done no good.

She found a place to work just behind a line of boulders and set up a temporary prefab medical hut with one of her techs.

“Go and do triage,” she instructed. “I’ll start with the men here.”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant.”

She went to work, aware of Greshams firing and chasats returning fire all around her. The weapon fire didn’t bother her as much as the thought of having to use a weapon. She tried to concentrate on her work, but the alien’s face kept intruding.

“Dr. Mallory, there’s a man over there,” her assistant called.

She left the men with minor wounds and ran to her assistant. He was indicating a Rojok who was on a ledge, groaning loudly.

“Go take care of the abrasions in there.” She indicated the hut. “I’ll go over and look after this one.”

“It’s a long jump. Shouldn’t I go?” he offered.

Rhemun would love that, she thought, having her delegate a dangerous chore to a subordinate. It would give him real grounds to demote or reassign her. “No,” she said. “It’s okay, I can do it.”

She walked stealthily along the line of boulders, climbing up until she could see the ledge where the wounded Rojok was lying. His weapon was beside him, but when he saw Edris, he didn’t reach for it.

“D’egles M’char Cha,” she called across in the old Rojok dialect, the one that Chacon had taught her while she was tending Dr. Ruszel’s pregnancy on Memcache. “Don’t worry. I come as a friend.”

The Rojok, even through his pain, managed a smile.

She judged the distance fairly accurately, but when she went across, she dislodged the stone she’d used as a jumping point. It fell into the chasm below. She knew that she’d never be able to jump back across after she treated this poor fellow. But, she’d worry about that later.

She bent to her task. She questioned him and understood the answers as she treated his wound, which was a very bad one. A plasma blast from one of the Greshams had torn through his intestines. Untreated, the damage would have been quickly fatal.

She finished the sutures and smiled reassuringly. He would be taken to a prisoner of war camp, but nothing like Ahkmau. She reassured him that the Holconcom didn’t torture captured prisoners. There was a treaty, under which such behavior was punishable. He only nodded, relieved.