New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer returns with the next edge-of-your-seat installment of The Morcai Battalion series.

Rhemun, commander of the Cehn-Tahr Holconcom, has worked tirelessly to get where he is—and he’s not going to let any human drag him back down. Especially not Lt. Commander Edris Mallory, whose very presence aboard the Morcai serves as a too-painful reminder of a past tragedy he can neither forgive nor forget.

But Mallory has secrets of her own—ones she can’t afford to see come to light. Frantic to protect herself, she flees, abandoning her position. When Rhemun learns of her devastating situation, he realizes the all-consuming feelings he’s harbored for her may not be hatred. But in a vast universe rife with peril, is it already too late?

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer

“Palmer proves that love and passion can be found even in the most dangerous situations.”

—Publishers Weekly on Untamed

“You just can’t do better than a Diana Palmer story to make your heart lighter and smile brighter.”

—Fresh Fiction on Wyoming Rugged

“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“The popular Palmer has penned another winning novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense.”

—Booklist on Lawman

“Diana Palmer’s characters leap off the page. She captures their emotions and scars beautifully and makes them come alive for readers.”

—RT Book Reviews on Lawless

The Morcai Battalion: The Rescue

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

I honestly thought I would never see this day. To have a fourth novel in my Morcai Battalion series in print seems like a fantasy. Since the original was published in 1980, I tried for many years to get it back in print. I had no idea that it would be over twenty-five years before that happened.

I would like to thank my former Harlequin editor Tara Gavin for working so hard to help me get a spot for The Morcai Battalion at the former Harlequin imprint Luna Books. I would also like to thank Luna Books editor Mary-Theresa Hussey for giving me a chance to see the first book back in print. I owe these two editors a great debt for their kindness and their support. Thank you for believing in these books, against all odds. You both paved the way for me to get a three-book contract for new Morcai novels, of which The Rescue is the first.

In this book, I finally get to tell the bittersweet story of Rhemun, former Captain of the Cehn-Tahr Imperial Guard, now Commander of the Holconcom, and Dr. Edris Mallory, who replaces Dr. Madeline Ruszel as Cularian Medicine internist on the flagship Morcai. Edris is harboring a secret that could cost her her life, and Rhemun is her worst enemy. Only time will tell how the two of them resolve their conflict, and whether or not it will put Edris’s life on the line. You’ll have to read the book to find out. :)

On a final note, in my dedication in Wyoming Brave, the autumn 2016 release, I accidentally omitted the names of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of my late brother-in-law, Doug Kyle. Here they are. Grandkids: Joshua and Angel McLendon, Chelsea Armour, Kaitlin Armour, Wayne Armour, Jr., Kylie Armour, Torrington Kyle and Justin Kyle. Great-grandchildren: Jordyn and Nolan McLendon, Breana and Gracie Taouis.

They’re all terrific people, by the way, and all gorgeous. We miss Doug, but his legacy lives on in these young ones.

To the many kind and supportive people who kept my hopes up all the long years between the publication of the original book, The Morcai Battalion, in 1980 until the reappearance of the revised novel in 2007. You know who you are. Thanks for sticking with me for so long!

To Harlequin: thank you for taking a chance on my novels in a genre I’m not known for! And for that new three-book contract. If any of you ever need your car washed or your floor swept, here I am! Honest!

To new readers: thank you for taking this book home with you. I never forget that without my readers, I am just a former reporter with a word processing program. I hope you find something in the novel that you like. Check out the latest news on my websites: www.themorcaibattalion.com and www.dianapalmer.com. You can also find me on Twitter under @cehntahr, which is my gaming handle. I’ve played “Destiny” on Xbox One since it released, and “World of Warcraft” on Zangarmarsh and Hellscream servers for over eight years.

To my family: thank you for all the long years that you loved me in spite of my work. I know it was a sacrifice for you, as well as me, that I had to spend so much time at the computer. I hope you know that I love you more than anything in the world. I always will.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE VOICES IN the medical bay aboard the Cehn-Tahr Holconcom ship Morcai were growing louder as the discussion progressed. Techs nearby were straining unashamedly to hear the outcome. Dr. Edris Mallory was small, blonde, blue-eyed and stubborn. Her opponent, Rhemun, was the new commander of the Holconcom. He was tall, with long, curly black hair down to his waist. Like all Cehn-Tahr, he had catlike features, predominantly his eyes, which changed color to mirror his mood. Right now, they were brown. Threatening.

“We must have a better allocation of space aboard the Morcai,” Rhemun said in stiffly formal Standard. “Your sick bay has very few patients...”

“Begging your pardon, sir, it has quite a number of patients,” she shot back, her cheeks faintly rosy with temper.

“Prove it,” he said with a smug look.

“Delighted.” She slammed a data padd against his broad chest.

“Mallory,” he cautioned.

“Sorry, sir, my hand slipped.” She didn’t give him a bland smile with the lie, as her predecessor, Dr. Madeline Ruszel, would have. But he got the point.

He looked at the padd with irritation. It did prove her point. Her sick bay had logged over one hundred visits from the Cehn-Tahr aboard ship in a week’s time. In fact, Dr. Strick Hahnson, who took care of the humans aboard, had logged twenty fewer visits than Mallory.

He glared at her. His distaste for humans was painfully apparent to everyone aboard, but especially to Mallory, whom he rode mercilessly. She didn’t understand his ongoing prejudices, but she caught the brunt of them. He seemed to go out of his way to make her life miserable. She couldn’t think of a single serious infraction lately that would explain it. Of course, their mutual antagonism had a long history, all the way back to his first appearance aboard the Morcai when, as head of the kehmatemer, he accompanied Cehn-Tahr Emperor Tnurat Alamantimichar on a rescue mission to save Dr. Ruszel’s life after a failed mission. She and Rhemun had been instantly antagonistic toward each other. Sadly, his appointment as Dtimun’s replacement aboard the Morcai hadn’t done a thing to reduce the friction.

“Very well,” he said curtly. He handed her back the padd. “You can keep your present location, for the time being, until I can think of something more suitable.”

“You could always have me set up shop in one of the cargo pods, sir,” she returned, still standing at strict attention.

It was a calculated insult. He lifted his chin. His cat-eyes were still an angry brown. “You push too hard, Mallory,” he said in a deceptively soft tone. “I have no love for humans, as you well know. Do not tempt me to have you replaced.”

“I’m sure the commander would enjoy that,” she said, averting her eyes. “However, I should point out that the only Cularian specialists at the Tri-Fleet Medical Authority at the moment are all assigned to permanent duty elsewhere.”

“There are new classes graduating yearly, however,” he returned, and his chiseled mouth approximated a very human smirk.

“Also true. Sir.”

His eyes narrowed. He glared at her, as if the very sight of her offended him, angered him. He wanted to tell her why he hated humans so much; he wanted to tell her about his son, about the ragged tatters of his life that a human was responsible for. But Cehn-Tahr were forbidden to speak of personal matters with outworlders.

It was just as well. He wanted no personal conversations with this female, who reminded him so painfully of the past.

He turned on his heel while she was snapping to a salute and walked away.

* * *

EDRIS LET OUT a shaky sigh. She was afraid of Rhemun. It wasn’t because he had authority over her. It wasn’t even because he was her own personal devil. It was because he made her feel things that she was forbidden by law to feel. She hid it as best she could, reciting multiplication tables in her head to keep her mind on the subject at hand, and not on how very attractive he was. She’d learned that trick from Madeline Ruszel, who used it to keep the former commander of the Morcai, Dtimun, out of her head.

Mallory knew that Rhemun couldn’t read minds, of course. That was a trait only of the Royal Clan. But keeping her mind on work instead of her commander required all the mental tricks of which she was capable.

At least she’d saved her space here.

Tally, one of her medics, stuck his head around the corner. “Are we staying?” he asked in a whisper.

She laughed softly. “We’re staying. At least, for the time being, until he can decide on a better place to put us.”

“Like the cargo hold?” her assistant Tellas asked from beside her coworker, laughing out loud. “That was priceless, Dr. Mallory!”

She laughed softly. “I’ll get in trouble again.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine why he dislikes me so. I guess it’s because we started off on the wrong foot, even before he turned a pot of soup over on my head.”

“He what?” Tellas exclaimed, choking back laughter.

“See, there was this disagreement,” Edris related, “when Dr. Madeline Ruszel was recuperating at the Imperial compound on Memcache. I thought she needed healthy vegetables and our new commander thought she needed meat for protein. There was a slight altercation.” She made a face. “I threw a soup ladle at him.”

They almost doubled over laughing. “Oh, my goodness, and he didn’t demote you?”

“He couldn’t,” she pointed out. “At the time he was head of the kehmatemer, the emperor’s personal bodyguard. Anyway, he took exception to having an object thrown at him, so he turned a whole pot of soup over on my head.” She sighed. “It took forever to get the grease out of my hair.”

“Did he get in trouble?”

She grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “Dtimun raked him over the coals and threatened him with the emperor. It was...”

“Nothing to do, Dr. Mallory?” a deep, irritated voice came over the intership frequency. It was almost purring.

She swallowed. She’d forgotten the damned AVBDs, the devices that were always listening, watching, aboard ship, to discourage potential spies.

“Sorry, sir.” She stood at attention, as if he were actually physically present.

“Back to work.” The circuit closed.

She rolled her eyes at the others, who gave her a thumbs-up and went back to their jobs. They were still grinning.

* * *

EDRIS SLEPT BADLY. There was a mission the following day, or what passed for a day in space. The unit was to rescue a pod of colonists on an outlying planet who had barely withstood an attack from Rigellian pirates bent on conquest. The colony was located on a princely node of emerillium, which the pirates wanted badly. They planned to drive away the largely unarmed colonists and claim the mines for their personal wealth.

However, the Cehn-Tahr Empire had sent the colonists there, and it took a dim view of pirates, in any case. So the Holconcom were requested, as the nearest vessel, to protect the settlers and solve the problem.

“Probably, it will only take a glance at us to send them running,” Edris told her medics, “and I doubt we’ll be needed.”

“Considering how the Holconcom fight, I agree,” Tellas said quietly.

Edris had rarely seen the Holconcom fight, and there were rumors that no human except Engineer Higgins had ever seen the way they went into combat before the Cehn-Tahr were combined with Terravegan humans from the lost SSC ship Bellatrix. She’d once asked Higgins about it. He’d excused himself on the matter of urgent business. He’d been very pale.

She did at least know the true form of her alien colleagues. Dr. Ruszel had persuaded Dtimun, after they bonded, to share it with the humans of the Holconcom. He’d done that, with great reservations. He’d been afraid that the humans would no longer want to serve with them, if they knew the truth.

But no one had been afraid. Their service with the Cehn-Tahr in the prison camp at Ahkmau had made them more family than comrades, removed all the intangible barriers of custom and behavior. So the true appearance of the Cehn-Tahr, who had some decidedly feline characteristics from the centuries of genetic tampering, had hardly created a ripple in them.

Personally, Edris thought Rhemun was the handsomest creature she’d ever seen, of any species. His nose was a little broader than a human male’s, and he was immensely larger and more powerful, but in a crowd of humanoids, he would hardly have stood out except for his impressive presence. The differences were minor and not immediately noticeable, and the Cehn-Tahr had no tails or fur. Well, there was the strip of fur that lay alongside the spine, and which was never spoken of with outworlders, but that was the only real fur on their bodies. Edris only knew because of something Ruszel had once let slip, but she’d been sworn to secrecy.

She turned over in her narrow bunk, wishing her mind would go to sleep so that she could. She dreaded the confrontation. She was used to combat medicine, or as used to it as an overly sensitive woman could ever get. When she’d joined the military, after washing out as a breeder, she’d washed out of combat school with the lowest grade in the history of the Academy. She’d been given a berth in a degree program in Cularian medicine instead, which had kept her mostly on Trimerius. She’d worked for years to get her certification after a minor accident had caused some small loss of motor function. She’d never expected to end up in a combat unit like the Holconcom. She wasn’t expected to actually fight, but her profession did occasionally put her on the front lines.

It wasn’t what she wanted for her life. Her hunger for a child had led her to apply to a government breeder colony, where she’d tried desperately to be accepted. But she had recessive genes—obvious in her blond hair and blue eyes—and recessive genes were right out of fashion at the moment. The bureaucrats in the Familial Requisitions Ministry decided from generation to generation which traits should be passed down and which suppressed. In this generation, only dark-haired, dark-eyed children were wanted. Edris would mess up the works with her sloppy recessive genes. So she’d been turned down, and the only venue left to her was medical service attached to the military.

She wasn’t a military sort of person, really, but she was a physician. So she became a frontline consultant in Cularian medicine, and agreed to the mental neutering, which was usually done at the age of six. While Edris had been in medical school, and not serving in active military, it had been deferred. But once she went into a combat position, the neutering was requisite. It was dangerous in a woman of twenty-two, and sometimes ineffective, but she’d faced it bravely. She had two strikes against her already: she’d failed to be chosen as a breeder and she’d washed out of combat school. One more mistake and she’d face Reboot, the most secret and terrifying fate possible to a Terravegan. She couldn’t think about that. She didn’t dare.

She could manage this assignment. Dr. Ruszel had trained her well. If only Edris didn’t have the painful lingering legacy of an incident in medical school that had caused minor brain damage. Dr. Hahnson knew, and Dr. Ruszel. They’d shielded her from discovery, which would have meant washing out of medical school, and again facing the reality of Reboot. Fortunately, the doctors assessing her for breeding status hadn’t bothered with her neurology, except a cursory look at its base cellular structure, because her coloring had already cost her any real consideration. They hadn’t told her at the time, of course. She’d found out only later, when Dr. Ruszel had asked for her records and told her the truth.

The brain damage was very minimal, but she was slow. She would always be slow. Rhemun had already called her onto the carpet for it, during a rescue hop. She’d taken the punishment, days of detention and black marks on her record, without argument. But he was watching her, always watching, waiting for her to make a mistake so that he could punish her by having her decommissioned, thrown out of the Holconcom. It would be the end of everything. He didn’t know what the consequences would be for her. Probably, she thought sadly, it wouldn’t bother him in the least if he did.

She rolled over, closed her eyes and forced her mind to shut up. Soon, she was finally asleep.

* * *

SHE’D EXPECTED TO be put down in a combat zone; she thought she was prepared for it, but her wildest imaginings of horror hadn’t prepared her for what she saw.

Most of the victims were children. The anguish almost paralyzed her when she saw the small victims tossed into a common grave, uncovered, because the fighting was still going on. She stared at them with anguish on her face.

“Mallory!” Rhemun’s deep voice called. “Get to work!”

She turned, the pain so intense that he hesitated when he saw it. He knew about her history, her child-hunger. It disturbed him, so he didn’t dwell on it. He motioned her toward the action with a curt gesture and averted his eyes. The sight of the children bothered him, as well. It brought back the pain of losing his son.

Edris ran toward him, dodging bursts of gunfire from plasma weapons, and rolled to the ground near a couple of refugees, one of whom had third-degree burns on his arm.

“Not to worry,” she told him in Jibbet, the dialect of Altairian that these people, with their manner of dress denoting their Clan status, would speak. “I can heal him.”

“You speak...Jibbet,” the woman exclaimed. “No human speaks Jibbet!”

Edris smiled as she went to work. “I speak several very rare dialects,” she said without conceit. “Yours is quite beautiful.”

The woman touched her fingers to her mouth and then to the center of her chest, where the Altairian heart was located. She smiled. It was a gesture of perfect trust, perfect acceptance. Edris smiled again and began to heal the burned flesh of the woman’s spouse.

He relaxed as her pain meds eased the anguish of the wound. “I am farmer,” he said in halting Terravegan. “I will lose leg...”

“You will not,” she replied. “You honor me, by speaking my tongue.”

He managed a terse smile. “As you honor we, by speaking that of us,” he replied brokenly.

“You will not lose your leg,” she replied. “I will regrow the tissue.”

“You can do such?!” he exclaimed.

She nodded, and continued to probe the damaged cells with a regenerative gel. Soon, the horrible gash that had almost amputated his leg began to close, cleaning itself of necrosis as it healed, until the skin was as blue and as perfect as it had been before he’d been wounded.

He cried out, delighted. He got to his feet and stood up, without pain or loss of function. His purple eyes had great tears in them. “Thank you! Many gratitudes! You are great female,” he choked. “My Clan is your Clan, forever.”

She put her hand to her lips and then to her own heart. “You give me great honor.”

The woman hugged her. “You are Web Clan. Never forget.”

Edris smiled. “Thank you. I promise, I won’t forget.”

* * *

SHE WENT FROM patient to patient, doing whatever she could to mend the horrible effects of the radiation the pirates were using in their plasma weapons.

“Somebody should shoot them,” she muttered as she finished the last suture on an elderly man.

“Are you finished?” Rhemun asked curtly. “We must move on.”

“I am, sir.” She smiled at her patient and fell in, behind the other Holconcom, as they advanced to the next pivotal point in the assault.

* * *

SHE FELL A little behind, stumbling over a piece of ship wreckage, and as she started to run to catch up with her comrades, a man stepped out of nowhere, one of the cold-eyed Rigellian pirates with a stolen chasat leveled at her chest.

Without thinking, she pulled her Gresham and fired. She gasped as she realized that she’d forgotten to lock the setting on stun. The pirate looked at her with wide, disbelieving eyes as he clutched his chest, groaned harshly and fell backward.

“Oh, no!” She ran to him, bent on saving him. But his eyes were open and dust was already settling on the pupils. They were dilated. Fixed. He was dead. One quick check with her wrist scanner confirmed that catastrophic damage had been done to his internal organs. Nothing could have been done for him, even on the ship.

Her face contorted. She shivered. She’d killed a humanoid. She’d killed someone!

“Mallory! Fall in!”

She heard Rhemun’s deep voice, but as if in a dream. She was on her knees, staring helplessly at the man she’d just killed. She couldn’t seem to move, to drag her eyes away.

“Come on!” Rhemun snapped.

She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes that held a horror he’d never seen in them before. “I killed him,” she said in a husky whisper. “I killed a man.”

“Mallory...”

“I killed a man,” she repeated. “I took an oath, ‘Do no harm.’ But I killed him. The setting was wrong. I’ve never killed anyone in my whole life,” she added, her face contorted as she looked up at him.

He ground his teeth together. “You must do your duty, madam,” he said curtly. “Other lives are at stake! Hurry!”

She swallowed. Her eyes went back to the dead man. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Now!” Rhemun snapped.

She gathered her wits and got to her feet. She straightened into a salute. “Yes, sir,” she said formally.

He took off at a speed she couldn’t imitate, but she ran as fast as she could to the next bunch of victims.

* * *

SHE WORKED MECHANICALLY, nodding as people confided their fears, their broken lives, their losses to her. She healed wounds and comforted the grieving. But her mind held the image of the dead man.

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.

He was able to jump the chasm. Edris, however, was stuck on the other side. The Cehn-Tahr who took the Rojok into custody stared across, motioning her to jump.

She sighed. “Can you send over a levibelt, please?” she called back. “I’m afraid I can’t manage the distance—I knocked over the stone I used as a starting point.”

One of them waved. She hoped they’d send Stern or even Hahnson. But it was Rhemun who came.

He glared across the chasm. “You can jump that,” he scoffed. “It is hardly any distance at all!”

For a normal human, no. But Edris, with her gimpy motor functions, would end up dead and she knew it. For just an instant, she pictured the look on Rhemun’s face as she fell to her death. It would almost have been worth it. She grimaced.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, standing formally at attention and saluting. “I really will need the levibelt.”

He jumped across as if he’d moved only a step. “Very well. I can carry you over,” he said with long-suffering patience.

She backed away from him. “Sir...that would be unwise,” she stammered.

He frowned. “Explain that.”

She wasn’t sure how to say it without giving offense and she didn’t really want him to know how much she’d picked up about Cehn-Tahr customs—they were never shared with outworlders. But she was backed into a corner and she really had no choice.

“Sir, it would be unwise for the commander to touch me, sir,” she said stiffly.

He looked down his nose at her with pure contempt. “I see. You’ve heard that certain behaviors in my race can be triggered by touching, is that correct?”

She didn’t like the look in his eyes. “Yes, sir. Begging the commander’s pardon, sir,” she added.

“You think that I find you attractive, so that touching you would provoke me into unmilitary behavior?” he asked, almost purring.

“No...no, sir, of course not, sir.” She hated herself for wimping out.

He smiled icily. “Mallory, I find nothing attractive about you. In fact, the only emotion you provoke in me is revulsion.”

That was harsh, but she didn’t dare reply. She’d gone right off insulting him ever since he mentioned reassigning her. She was afraid of him.

He realized that. And it was unfortunate, because nothing revolted a Cehn-Tahr more than fear. It had been Ruszel’s incredible courage which had won his respect and his affection, despite her race. No Cehn-Tahr aboard the Morcai had more or better reasons to hate humans than Rhemun. Those whom he hated most were dead and out of reach of his vengeance. Mallory was close at hand, and vulnerable.

“Enlighten me, Lieutenant,” he continued. “Why should I find you attractive?”

“Sir, I beg your pardon, but I never said I was...”

“You hardly had to say it,” he shot back. “Apparently Stern finds you desirable, so perhaps I should send him to rescue you. Would that be more acceptable?”

She closed her eyes. “Sir, please...”

“Commander, we’ve got the last of them!” Stern called over, almost as if he knew what was going on there against the cliff. “Does Dr. Mallory need any help?”

Rhemun looked at Mallory as if he could have happily cut her throat. “Yes,” he said. “She could use assistance.” He turned and jumped lightly across the ledge. “Make haste,” he added coldly. “These Rojoks may be only a splinter of a larger rebel group.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stern jumped across the distance almost as easily as Rhemun had. He was a clone, but with greatly advanced genetics, courtesy of the Rojok scientists who had cloned him from his original during the attack on Terramer. He was almost the equal of a Cehn-Tahr in strength, even without the help of the microcyborgs that the entire crew wore.

“Come on, Doc, I’ll get you across,” he teased. He bent and lifted her. “Old man giving you hell, was he?”

She nodded. “Thanks for the lift, Captain,” she replied, and smiled up at him.

“Now, Stern!” Rhemun called angrily.

“Oooh, somebody’s in a red-hot rage,” Stern whispered in her ear, and she suppressed a nervous giggle.

“Coming, sir!” he called back to Rhemun with an angelic expression on his handsome face.

He landed in front of Rhemun with his soft burden, but he put her down almost at once when he registered the fury in the alien’s expression.

“My hearing, like that of all Cehn-Tahr, is acute,” he informed the captain, who was by now standing at stiff attention alongside Mallory. “Another infraction,” he added softly, “and you will be up before a court-martial panel by the end of the day. Do I make myself clear, mister?” he added.

“Clear as mountain water, sir, yes, sir,” Stern replied formally.

Rhemun looked down at Mallory with barely bridled anger. “Dismissed!”

The two of them almost ran for cover. Mallory didn’t dare look at Stern. She was trying not to laugh at the brief glimpse she’d had of his rolling eyes before they left the commander standing there.

* * *

THE CAPTURED ROJOKS were turned over to a patrol ship for transport to the second of Memcache’s moons, where prisoners of war were kept in a spacious, comfortable facility. One of the Rojoks was overheard telling his comrades about one of the humans who spoke the ancient tongue.

Hahnson wondered who they meant. He didn’t know a single member of the human crew members who could even speak more than a few words of Standard Rojok.

He’d noticed that Edris had come back aboard even more depressed than usual, which prompted him to pay her a visit in her sector.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

She glanced up from lab results on a small padd. She smiled sadly. “Not so good. The CO’s mad at me again.”

“What did you do this time?”

She shook her head. “It’s better not to discuss it,” she said. She was wary of the AVBDs. It wouldn’t do for Rhemun to catch her crying on Hahnson’s shoulder.

He understood without a word what she was trying not to say. He closed the door and pulled out that little white ball and activated it.

“Nothing can hear through that, not even telepaths,” he reminded her. “Spill it.”

“I jumped across a crevice to treat a wounded Rojok and the rock displaced, so I couldn’t jump back. The CO offered to ferry me across, but I wouldn’t let him touch me.” She winced. “He just went ballistic...”

“Humans aren’t allowed to know such things about them,” he pointed out. “They’re very protective about their private behaviors, especially mating behaviors.”

“Dr. Ruszel told me that,” she replied. She drew in a long, heavy breath. “I know that if Cehn-Tahr males touch females, sometimes it triggers the mating cycle, even if I’m not allowed to know it. I wasn’t sure if it was the same for females of other races...”

“It is,” he interrupted.

She frowned. “I wasn’t trying to insult him,” she began.

“And how did he arrive at the idea that you had?”

“He hates me. He hates humans, but especially me,” she corrected. “He was insulted that I would think myself attractive to him at all.”

“I see.”

She lowered her eyes, almost in shame. “It’s probably not noticeable to anyone except Cehn-Tahr,” she began slowly, “but I...react...to him.”

He frowned. “React?”

“Outbursts of pheromones,” she said stiffly. “I know he can probably smell them, and that just makes it worse. Do you have something that inhibits hormone production?” she added plaintively.

“You get those at the same time you’re mentally neutered for service,” he began.

“Yes, but I tried to get into a breeding camp, remember? They did reject me but when they gave me the drugs later, I purged them, because I thought the board might reconsider my application. Bad move. Very bad move. Can you...?”

He sighed. “Yes. I can give you something. But there may be problems down the line. A lot of servicewomen who take them later in life have allergic reactions after a time.”

“It doesn’t matter about later, just right now,” she replied. “I don’t want to make things any worse than they already are.”

“Okay, kid,” he said gently. “I’ll have my assistant bring them over when we get through talking. I noticed that it was Stern who ferried you over the chasm,” he added with a grin.

She laughed. “Yes. Oh, I had such a flaming crush on him when I first came aboard the Morcai.” She shook her head. “In a way, I wish I still did. He’s mourning for the woman he lost all those years ago, so it wouldn’t be a problem.” She looked up with a grimace. “Why am I getting a case on my hateful commanding officer? Sheer cussedness, you think?”

“You can sure pick them,” he pointed out.

She grinned. “It’s like people who hate cats, and cats always want to sit on them, you know?”

“He is a cat...”

“He has cat genes,” she returned. “Besides, he doesn’t want to sit on me. He wants to get rid of me. Maybe curtailing my pheromones will help.”

“Maybe.” He wasn’t sure of that. No medicine known to science could completely override the human body’s natural response to stimuli of that sort. Mallory had to know it.

He picked up the white ball. “Just try to stay out of his way. Maybe, eventually, he’ll grow fond of us.”

“Oh, sure.”

He made a face and walked out.

CHAPTER THREE

NOT SURPRISINGLY, THINGS got decidedly worse on the Morcai after Mallory’s involuntarily action on the cliffside. Rhemun gave her hostile glances every time he saw her.

He seemed to be the only Cehn-Tahr in the entire Holconcom who disliked her. Even old Btnu was kind, and he had enough reasons of his own not to like humans. Edris had heard that Btnu had been involved in a conflict with Alkaasar, the Cehn-Tahr who had rebelled against the empire and died as a result of it. An aggressive, and apparently mentally unstable, human advisor had provoked Alkaasar into a battle he couldn’t win. But Btnu liked the little blonde doctor.

So, sadly, did Mekashe, Rhemun’s friend. He came to see Edris often in her cubicle, just to talk. He was curious about humans and their social groups. He found endless questions about Terravega and the medical corps. He was always smiling, always in a bright mood. Edris warmed to him.

But he had a peculiar habit of trying to give her things. She didn’t understand why he was so intense about it. He offered her everything from virtual pets to virtual flowers. She always refused, because the very intensity of his gift-giving made her uneasy. He was good-looking and kind. It didn’t matter. Her emotions were centered on one very unpleasant member of his species, one who didn’t want her interest.

Rhemun noticed Mekashe’s visits to the sick bay.

“Why does he come here so often?” he asked Mallory coldly. “Mekashe is in perfect health.”

“He’s interested in Terravegan customs, sir,” she replied, standing at attention.

“Yes?”

She swallowed. His tone was openly hostile. “He’s curious about humans.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Let me give you some advice, Lieutenant,” he said quietly. “Never accept anything from him.”

She stared at him uncomprehendingly and flushed. “I...well, he’s very kind,” she began hesitantly, “and I don’t want to hurt his feelings. But I can’t, I mean I don’t, accept gifts from him. Ever. Sir.”

He lifted his chin. The way he looked at her was unnerving. She couldn’t quite decide what that look really was. It was possessive. As if she belonged to him and Mekashe was trespassing. What an odd, and stupid, thought. She closed her mind on it at once. He hated her. She didn’t need words to push that point home.

“I cannot speak to him about it,” he said stiffly. “It is a breach of custom, a social taboo. But you must continue to refuse any gifts offered.”

“I already do. Sir.”

He nodded. “Very well. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir.” She saluted and almost ran from him.

He couldn’t tell her that the giving of gifts was a prelude to courtship, or that Mekashe, unlike his own Clan, had accepted all the genetic modifications that Dtimun had. If Mekashe attempted to mate with the little blonde human, he would kill her.

As much as he disliked Mallory, he was also fond of Mekashe. They had been friends since boyhood. He didn’t want the death of Mallory to lie heavily on Mekashe’s conscience for the rest of his long life. Of course, that was why he was concerned. He turned and walked back toward the bridge. It was on Mekashe’s account that he was concerned. Only that.

* * *

THE ENDLESS DRILLS continued aboard the Morcai. Rhemun timed the men on their response and rated them when they fell short of his idea of perfection.

“This is difficult for the men,” Btnu cautioned gently. “Dtimun did this, but only at first, when the unit was formed after Ahkmau.”

Akhmau was a sore spot. He had not shared that horror with the crew, so he didn’t have the comradeship with the humans that Dtimun had forged. He was an outsider. They let him know it in many ways, most of which involved referring to their time in the Rojok concentration camp. It irritated him when the humans did it, but he hadn’t expected his exec, Btnu, to join in.

His eyes narrowed over darkness. “We must have adequate response time. It might mean the difference between victory and defeat. When I captained the kehmatemer, these drills were conducted daily.”

Btnu cocked his head in a very human way and even smiled. “I know, sir,” he said gently. “But you were a bodyguard unit. Infantry. This is mechanized cavalry. They are different disciplines. As well, the kehmatemer was a very small group of men. We have hundreds aboard ship.”

Rhemun didn’t fly at him. He felt like it. “We might say that the difficulty is on both sides, but it remains that we must perform efficiently in combat.”

“On that point, I agree,” Btnu replied. “However, I will remind you, respectfully, that Dtimun led his troops more by affection and respect than by command alone.”

Rhemun’s jaw tautened. “I have no wish to befriend them.”

“I know your past. The humans do not. You judge them by a tragedy. They are not evil. They have courage and good hearts.”

“A human was responsible for my father’s death,” Rhemun said coldly. “A human killed my son.”

“Yes.” Btnu went closer and put a hand on Rhemun’s shoulder, as a fond father might. “But these humans did not.”

Rhemun felt cold. The memory of the past was covering him up, like ice. He never smiled. He never laughed. His heart was dead. And he was imprisoned here with the humans on a ship in space, because of his Clan status, because he was next in line to command the Holconcom. He wanted to go back to the emperor’s bodyguard, but there was no escape.

“I do not belong here,” he told Btnu, the words dragged out of him.

“You will belong here,” the older Cehn-Tahr said quietly. “But first you must make the effort to earn the humans’ trust.”

Rhemun didn’t reply with words. But he sighed, and nodded curtly.

Btnu smiled and went back to work.

* * *

THEY WERE ORDERED to Ondar, to pick up refugees from an ongoing conflict between a mixed culture community and a group of renegades who opposed Chacon’s entry into the Tri-Galaxy Council with all the member worlds of Enmehkmehk’s empire. The renegades struck unexpectedly, and efficiently, taking supplies, equipment, and sometimes even people when specializations were needed for some project.

Nobody could track them down, because they had no fixed base. The refugees were in a camp outside the largest city-state on the continent. This was where Madeline Ruszel had first encountered Tnurat. Edris had heard the story many times, so that she could almost picture it in her mind before Rhemun set the medical staff down in the camp and she saw the reddish landscape for herself.

“Prepare the refugees for transport,” he told Edris and her staff. “Hurry. The renegades strike quickly, and thanks to their depredations, they have equipment that equals our own.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, saluting him without quite meeting his eyes.

She led her medics into the camp, performing triage as she went along. There were only a couple of serious cases. One was a young Altairian boy who had suffered plasma burns when he ran unexpectedly between a Rojok and a colonist who were exchanging fire. The other was an elderly Altairian female with a concussion. Edris took care of the boy while Tellas, her assistant, treated the concussion.

Mekashe and several other soldiers who formed Rhemun’s personal bodyguard unit had come down with them.

Ensign Lawrence Jones, the young blond weapons specialist, had accompanied them because of his prowess with a sensor cannon.

He paused beside Edris. “Ma’am there’s a signal I can’t read,” he said.

She glanced at his monitor unit and grimaced. “That’s a casualty,” she pointed out. “See the life signs? It’s Cularian, too.” She looked past him. “Who’s missing?”

“Not sure, sir. I don’t see Mekashe, though,” he added worriedly. Like Edris, he was fond of the commander’s friend.

She finished healing the boy’s wounds, smiled at him and reassured him in Altair that he would heal and be whole again.

“You speak Altair?” Jones asked, grinning. “It’s really hard to learn, Ma’am.”

She smiled at him. “Really hard,” she agreed. “I’m so slow that it takes me forever, but I’ve picked up quite a few languages in the past few years, even some that are an archaic form.”

“I’m slow, too, Ma’am. Don’t feel bad.”

She nodded. “It’s okay, Jones. You’re doing great.”

“Thanks.” He glanced over to where the commander was just entering one of the scout ships. “He’s going back to the ship to relay our progress to the military command,” he told her. “We’re having some comm issues on the ground. It’s intermittent but it’s causing him to be short-tempered. More short-tempered,” he added under his breath. He shook his head. “I wish he didn’t hate us so much.”

She sighed. “You and me both, Jones.” She got to her feet. “I’ll have one of the air techs fly me over to the source of that signal. Darn, it’s gone again. No matter, I saved the coordinates. If it’s Mekashe, I’ll send up a flare. You be watching, okay?”

“That’s an affirmative, Ma’am. Please be careful.”

She grinned. “You do the same.”

* * *

A FEW MINUTES LATER, Edris wished she hadn’t ordered the scout to leave her in the clearing. She’d been certain from the readings that a medical emergency loomed nearby—most likely one of their Cehn-Tahr crew who’d gotten separated from the rest of the landing party. It might be Mekashe who was missing. The sensor reading indicated a wounded person, a wounded Cularian person, in this vicinity. The sensors had suddenly fallen prey to an electromagnetic interference of unknown origin, however, so it was impossible to use a robot probe to find the victim. She’d started to follow the sensor trail when her unit began malfunctioning. It was almost, she puzzled, as if the signal had been wiped out by some sort of jamming device. It was quite possible that the renegade Rojok unit could still be camped near the refugees. They would certainly have jamming devices.

She checked her wrist sensor again. It was almost useless. At least the drug banks would work if she found an incapacitated soldier here. She only wished she’d taken more time and refilled the med banks first. As usual, she’d jumped in too quickly, without enough preparation. It was a fault she’d tried to correct over the years. Her head injury from years ago was still causing problems, even now.

Well, it would mean some walking, to use her eyes and ears to search for a patient. But if it was Mekashe lying there injured, it would be worth the effort.

A sudden, sharp sound made her turn her head. She heard a voice speaking an ancient dialect of Rojok, which only a few outworlders, including Edris, could even understand.

“Holconcom!” it rasped. “Shoot!”

She felt a sudden burning pain in her lower rib cage. “Stop! Medic, not soldier...!” she called back, in the same dialect, just before she hit the ground.

There was a scramble of feet and suddenly she was surrounded by Rojok soldiers of some elite group, all wearing black uniforms. The leader, who could be recognized by his long blond hair, stood over her with narrowed eyes. At that, he couldn’t be the ranking officer, his hair only came to his shoulders, too short for even a company commander.

“Edris Mallory,” she said, quickly using a light dose of her precious few meds to alleviate the pain. There was no time to diagnose the damage. “Dr. Mallory.”

“Holconcom,” the officer returned.

“Medic...not Holconcom soldier,” she corrected. “I was searching for a wounded person. Our sensors...” She couldn’t mention that they didn’t work; this party of Rojoks was certainly one of the rebellious splinter groups that didn’t honor Chacon’s cease-fire with the Tri-Galaxy Fleet. “Our sensors weren’t specific,” she added.

“Our leader was wounded in a firefight with one of the refugees in a camp near here,” the Rojok said. “You speak our dialect. This is unprecedented.”

“I have an affinity for languages,” she replied. “May I see your leader? I am a specialist in Cularian medicine.”

He looked even more surprised. He glanced at the others, who were uneasy and coaxed him to let her try.

He sighed and signaled his men to holster their weapons. “Yes. We will take you to him.”

It was hard to get up, even harder to walk. There was some internal damage, but not immediately life-threatening. Perhaps a slightly damaged lower lung. It was difficult to breathe normally, so it was probably the lung. The lower lobe was expendable, if necessary. Thank goodness the shot hadn’t been better aimed. She’d already used a mild sedative, just enough to get her through the worst of the pain. She got to her feet.

She followed them to a speeder, got inside, and was whisked to their base camp. It was small. There were only about ten of them. They looked shocked when their comrades came into camp with a small blonde human female wearing the uniform of their enemy, the Holconcom, but they recovered quickly when the ranking officer explained why they’d brought her to camp.

He took her to a molded plexifab hut, inside which was a tall Rojok officer, middle-aged, lying unconscious on a pallet.

Edris went to him at once and prayed that her scanner would work long enough to diagnose, and that the electromagnetic field wouldn’t interfere with the operation of her drug banks.

She grimaced, because the scanner wasn’t working properly. “There’s interference with my sensors here...” she began worriedly.

The ranking officer snapped something to a soldier, who saluted and left. Only a couple of minutes later, the sensors were working again. A jamming device. That made sense.

“Thanks,” Edris said with a glance at him. “I’m afraid we’ve lost the ability to do examinations without our tech these days. Medicine, like weaponry, is dependent on it.”

He nodded. He didn’t speak. He stood, grim-faced, while she diagnosed the condition of their leader.

She sighed and smiled. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she promised him. She went to work. It was a penetrating wound which had done damage to several internal organs and nicked his colon. She set about using her tools to do the necessary repairs.

Halfway through, he came around and groaned.

“Sorry,” she said in the dialect, and used the last of her drugs to inject a powerful painkiller. “Better?” she asked.

He looked up at her, blinked and managed a rough laugh. “Better. A Holconcom? And you haven’t killed me?”

“No, sir,” she said, with a painful smile. Her own injury was uncomfortable. “We take an oath to treat any patient, regardless of political affiliation. Besides that, I know Chacon,” she added softly.

He was impressed. “How?”

“My best friend is married to the son of the Cehn-Tahr emperor,” she said easily. “His sister is the mate of Chacon. I attended the bonding ceremony on Memcache.”

“We revere Chacon,” he said heavily. “It grieves me that he joined the Empire with that of the Cehn-Tahr.” He did not add that Chacon was a relative of his. It had saddened him to oppose the field marshal on this issue.

“It was to prevent the war from spreading,” she said simply, “and claiming even more lives on both sides of the conflict. He sits in council now with the Tri-Galaxy and has a powerful voice in making policy. He will see to it that planets in the New Territory are shared equally between all worlds, including Enmehkmehk, your own homeworld.”

He touched his stomach. “I feel the mending,” he said, surprised.

She smiled. “We have powerful medicines, and even more powerful instruments.” She closed her wrist scanner. Its drug banks were empty now.

The commander of the small unit got to his feet with a little effort, stood erect, towering over Edris, and managed a smile. “Thank you.”

She smiled back. “Saving lives is an obligation, not a kindness,” she said, quoting Dtimun, the emperor’s son who had led the Holconcom for many years.

They moved outside, and suddenly the entire camp was on alert. A red blur materialized beside Edris with his big hand around the throat of the Rojok commander. Rhemun!

“No!” She jumped between them, pushing at Rhemun’s broad chest. She grimaced at the pain. Rhemun, shocked, let go of the Rojok. Edris moved between the two aliens, to shield the Rojok with her own small body. “No, he’s a friend! I just saved his life. Don’t you dare kill him!”

Rhemun gaped at her. She’d just spoken to him unthinkingly in the dialect the Rojoks used, the ancient tongue, which he spoke but no human ever had.

The Rojok commander laughed. “So everything written of the Cehn-Tahr Holconcom is true, I see,” he mused. “Such speed is almost impossible to believe, unseen.”

Rhemun nodded solemnly. “This is almost never seen outside a battlefield. Why is my medic here?”

The commander’s lieutenant moved forward. “We brought her to treat our officer,” he said. “She speaks the ancient tongue,” he added with faint reverence.

“So I see.” Rhemun lifted both eyebrows. “Impressive,” he added, almost reluctantly.

“Odd that your commander would allow her to wander around hostile, contested territory alone,” the older commander remarked, obviously not recognizing that Rhemun was the commander. Holconcon leaders never wore rank insignia.

“He had no knowledge of her deployment,” Rhemun replied. “I came in search of her.” He didn’t add that Mallory’s absence from the camp had first annoyed him, and then concerned him, as she’d gone in the direction of a suspected Rojok camp. Instead of deploying someone to check on her, he’d come himself. He didn’t dare examine that thought too closely.

“I wasn’t supposed to come alone,” Edris told the Rojok with a grimace. “I suppose I’ll be stood against a wall and shot for insubordination.”

The Rojok commander laughed.

“I thank you for my life,” the Rojok told her gently, and smiled. “We will tell tales of you around campfires.”

“You honor me, when I am unworthy,” she said, in the same ancient tongue.

He only smiled. He sighed as he looked at Rhemun. “Perhaps the old ones are right, and Chacon’s government will be one to support.” He shrugged. “My men and I will surrender ourselves and hope for clemency.”

“I can tell you from my own experience that Chacon is the most fair-minded of military leaders,” Rhemun told him. “He does not punish idealism.”

The Rojok smiled secretly. He did not share his affiliation with the new head of the Rojok government. The Rojok bowed formally. So did Rhemun.

“May I know your name?” he asked the little blonde human.

She managed a faint smile for him. “Dr. Edris Mallory.”

He made a stab at pronouncing it, which widened the smile.

“That’s close enough,” she said, encouraging him.

“My name is Soltok,” he replied. “I will remember you.”

“I will remember you.” It was a formal leave-taking.

The men saluted her and Rhemun. The salutes were returned. The human and the Cehn-Tahr left the camp, walking.

When they were far enough down the dirt trail to be out of earshot, Rhemun glared at her. “I gave strict orders that no one was to do foot searches down here,” he said curtly.

“Sorry, sir,” she said, and managed a salute. “There was a wounded person. I recognized the physiology as Cularian. I didn’t realize it was a Rojok. Nobody had seen Mekashe and I thought it might be him. The sensors weren’t working properly...” She stopped walking, grimaced and caught her breath. There was a lot of pain. She felt unsteady on her feet.

Her remark about Mekashe had caught him on the raw. He didn’t like her affection for his friend. He would have said something about it but her gasp caught his attention. “I smell blood,” he exclaimed, turning to her. “And cauterized flesh.”

She drew in a breath and went to sit on a large boulder beside the trail. “I was shot with a chasat.”

“What?”

She held up a hand, because he was looking back in the direction of the Rojok camp with fiery intent. “They saw the uniform and fired first. Having seen you appear in their camp the way you did, I wouldn’t have blamed them for shooting first. Holconcom have a fierce reputation among soldiers, and I don’t wear a medical insignia that’s visible at a distance. Something I’m going to recommend change for,” she added.

“How bad is it?”

She swallowed. “I made running repairs. I think I may have some minor internal damage. I have nothing left in my medical banks. I used it all on the Rojok officer.”

He drew in a rough breath. “I can carry you to the ship,” he said.

She held up a hand. “No!”

He scowled, waiting for an explanation.

“I know that the commander doesn’t find anything attractive about me, however, I am bleeding,” she pointed out. “Even if I make a breach in protocol by mentioning it, if you come in contact with my blood, it could...” She bit her tongue. She was going to catch hell anyway, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

He lifted his chin. He was angry that she’d dared to say anything to him about intimate Cehn-Tahr behaviors. They were not discussed even between males, unless they shared Clan affiliation. Even then, it required at least family status.

Here she was, an outworlder, a human, presuming to lecture him on the dangers of touching her. And not for the first time. She’d made the same remark when he started to carry her across the chasm on an earlier mission. The trouble was, she was right. That made it worse.

He rubbed the crystal on his comm ring and Hahnson appeared.

“Mallory is wounded. I cannot touch her. This is our position. Make haste.” He cut the communication and glared at Mallory.

“Sir, it’s not my fault,” she said, trying to stand at attention. “I was made aware of certain things during my time on Memcache when Dr. Ruszel delivered her son. I learned by things I overheard. I did not pry or ask questions.”

He looked down his nose at her. She was in obvious pain and he felt guilty that he didn’t just swing her up in his arms and run with her back to the refugee camp. However, she was correct. The scent of her pheromones was already disturbing. If he touched her, if he came in contact with her blood, it would almost certainly provoke a mating behavior. It was more dangerous than coming into contact with just her skin. It made him angry that she knew.

“We do not discuss such things, even among ourselves,” he snapped.

“Yes, sir. I know that, sir. I’m very...sorry, sir.” Her voice was getting weaker.

He rubbed the crystal again. “Hahnson, where the hell are you?” he demanded, sounding so much like Dtimun in a temper that Edris just stared at him.

“Five clicks away. Four. Three,” Hahnson was counting.

Two seconds later, he landed in one of the small scout ships, piloted by Ensign Jones. “Hold it there,” he told Jones. “We’ll be right in.”

He ran to Edris, examined her and grimaced. “You have a knack for accidents,” he pointed out as he extricated his tools from his wrist unit. “You couldn’t treat this yourself?”

“Used up all my meds treating a renegade Rojok.”

“And they shot you?” Hahnson added coldly. “Some gratitude!”

“His men shot me when they saw the uniform, Doc,” she replied, wincing. “We need bigger medical devices on our uniforms...”

“I’ll put in a suggestion. Hold still.”

He had to go close to work on her. Rhemun turned away. It was incomprehensible that he suddenly wanted to throttle Hahnson. A growl rose in his throat. He suppressed it by activating his comm ring and trying to get a message through to the crew at the refugee camp.

“All fixed.” Hahnson chuckled. He hadn’t noticed Rhemun’s strange behavior or he might have remarked on it.

Edris got to her feet and drew in a long sweet breath. “Thanks,” she said warmly.

“Back to the camp,” Rhemun said icily, and gestured them toward the ship.

Mekashe was waiting at one of the preformed huts. He grinned when Mallory came into view. “You went looking for me,” he exclaimed with a laugh. “You thought I was wounded and you were concerned?”

“She was wounded looking for you,” Rhemun snapped. “A loss of time and efficiency.” He glared at Mallory. “Your department would benefit from the same drills I require of command line soldiers. I’ll initiate them when we’re back aboard.” He turned to Mekashe. “We have no time for pleasant conversation.”

“Yes, sir,” Mekashe said, saluting. But he had green eyes when he glanced at Edris.

She only nodded. She didn’t want to see any more of the commander’s temper. She was uneasy enough already. He didn’t want Mekashe around her. She’d have to find a kinder way to deter his friendliness.

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