An Officer’s Duty (62 page)

His mouth opened and closed. For a moment, Duj was utterly speechless, then he flipped open the lid of his arm unit, no doubt to call up her file.

“You’ll find what you seek under my religious affiliations,
sir. As you will see, I am listed in my Service file as an ordained priestess of the Witan Order, Zenobian Sect, as duly registered on my homeworld. By charter, all duly ordained members of the Zenobian Sect, whether they’re naturally psychic or simply trained, must undergo basic psi training as well as religious instruction. To maintain their rank in the Order—including my rank—we must undergo the same yearly ethical exams required of all duly registered psychics…whether or not we have any.

“By the
Terran
charter, as a psychic, I am required to be registered with a duly authorized organization. Such as the Witan Order, which includes its subsects. By the Space Force charter, I am required to list proof of that registration on my Service record…which I have done…and by both charters, I am required to undergo yearly ethical examinations. Which are all on record with my Order, undertaken and filed every nine to eleven months, depending on when I could meet up with my examiners. Those examinations place me
well
within the mandatory once-a-year examinations required by law.”

He swapped his attention between her file and her face as she spoke, a frown pinching his dusky brow.

“For the record, sir—and you can subpoena those records from the Zenobian Sect, if you like,” Ia added, “I have undergone yearly ethical testing since I was a young child. Admittedly I had to have my fellow psis come out from Sanctuary to meet with me for my yearly examinations once I enlisted, but I have been duly examined each and every year…and I
have
passed my ethical examinations, each and every year. Any court—civilian
or
military—would be forced to drop that charge the moment they looked at all the facts of the matter. Fatality One does not apply, sir.”

“But you cannot deny that you have
hidden
your abilities from your superiors,” Admiral Duj countered.

Ia flicked another glance at the Solarican. “Not from all of them, sir. But with respect, sir, that’s a matter of internal security. It is not something that should be discussed while I am under constant surveillance by foreign medical service—and before you try to arrange it, Admiral, no, I cannot be moved back to the
Mad Jack
just yet. I cannot even walk to the head on my own without the risk of falling down, right now.”

“Sepsis is too danngerrous to meddle with durinng the
rrrecovery phase,” the Solarican doctor growled. Admiral Duj turned to face the felinoid as he continued. “If she is not fully curred before leaving our constant surrveilllance and care, she could rrrrelapse and
nnot
know it untilll it is too late. I will
not
be the doctorrr who allowed the Herrrro of the Banquet to die because I did nnot do my job.”

“Doctor Miian is considered one of the foremost specialists in Human medicine within the entire Blockade Fleet,” Ia stated quietly. “Even among Human doctors, he has a stellar reputation for successfully treating our kind. As soon as the medical staff realized how bad my condition was, they put him on my case, as well as five of the others. Any doctor on board the
Mad Jack
who knows anything about
this
doctor’s reputation would agree that we’re in extremely competent hands…and they will tell you that in cases of OTL-accelerated bacteremia sepsis, there is
no
such thing as being too cautious or too careful.”

“We arrre still growinng her a new pair of kidneys, and have alrrready replaced her spleen,” Miian stated, lacing his claw-tipped fingers in front of his chest. He licked his lips and attempted to speak more clearly in Terranglo, though some of the rolled consonants still came through. “The next trransplant will take place in two days. Thenn she will undergo a two-day rrrecovery period before beginning physical therrapy. Given she is a heavyworrlder like us, the rrrecovery rate is more than double the stanndard, as we will be moving her to the grrravity acclimation ward to slowly help her rrregain her strength. Her healllth must be carrrefully monitored to make sure she does nnot rrelapse.”

Duj glanced between the Solarican in the doorway and the Human on the bed. His two aides were carefully looking elsewhere, trying not to catch their superior’s attention. Duj finally focused his attention on Ia. “Do not assume you will escape that interrogation, Lieutenant. You
will
recover.”

“I know that, sir…but it won’t be conducted by you, Admiral,” she told him. There was no need right now to keep silent on the facts of the near future, and a need to prove to the rear admiral that she knew that near future. “The Terran Space Force has already received two requests for intergovernmental recognition of my actions on Sallha, including a directive from the Empress of the Solaricans. More are coming in from the
other alien governments as we speak. Four days from now, arrangements will be made across the diplomatic channels for an Alliance-wide commendation ceremony, which will take place in eight days.

“
Six
days from now, the Command Staff of the Space Force will order me to report to them in person on Earth as soon as I am healthy enough to travel, to give them a full accounting of all my actions, and in specific, all my motivations for joining the Space Force. But I probably won’t be judged healthy enough to endure the rigors of travel for at least two more weeks beyond the ceremony, and not back to my full health for a month. Your visit is appreciated, and a testament to your willingness to defend the letter of Space Force law, sir,” she concluded, closing her eyes. “But your orders as they currently stand will
not
be the same by the time I’m healthy enough to be questioned.”

“You seem to be responding just fine to my questions right now,” he pointed out.

A snort escaped her. Ia pried open her eyes again, glancing his way. “My will is astronomically strong, Admiral, but my reserves are dangerously low. Just because I lasted all seven days of Marine Corps Hell Week doesn’t mean I didn’t pay for it by the end. I was healthy at the time, back in Basic. This time, I’m most definitely not. I have maybe ten more minutes before I’ll end up falling asleep again…and that’s pretty much all I have been doing.”

The machine whirring at her side beeped. The Solarican physician stepped around the admiral, moving close enough to read the report. “Twelve morre Terran minutes Stanndard, then this session of dialysis will be complete. Would you like anything to eat beforre your nap?”

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry,” Ia demurred.

The dialysis was important for keeping her blood clean. It even balanced her endocrine system, keeping her relatively healthy. But the on-off cycle of blood cleansing exhausted her energy reserves and left her feeling slightly nauseated. However, the doctor’s ears lowered and his eyes narrowed, fixing her with a stern look that translated fairly well across the species boundary.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. A glass of juice and some crackers.”

Rumbling in his native tongue, the Solarican doctor murmured instructions into the headset clipped around one pointed ear. “They will be herre in thrree minutes, along with cheese for prrrotein. You will eat it all, to regain your strrrength. I must check on the otherrrs soon, but you will eat firrst.”

“The others?” Duj asked, curious.

“The pyrrrokinetic is still sufferring from psi-induced feverr. Until a Human parapsychologist arrives and begins the healing of his emotional wounnds, it is all our Seers can do to contain his gifts,” Miian explained. “The sergeant is still in physical therrapy, learning how to walk with a prrosthetic while his foot is being rrregenerated, but will be released soon. The other thrree are rrecovering from sepsis trauma. Llieutenant Ia’s case was worrsened by KI shock, from exercising too many Seer gifts all at once, but she is nnot the worst of my sepsis cases. She, at lleast, is mostly intact.

“I must ask you to go now, Admirrral,” he added. “So long as yourrr Warstationn is in the same system, you will have opportunnnities to come back and speak with my patient. But forrr now, she
is
my patiennt. Yourr authority overr her has been temporarily superseded.”

Irritated but thwarted, Admiral Duj gave Ia one last, dark look and left, his aides following in his wake. The Solarican busied himself with checking her monitors as the trio of Humans left.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Ia murmured. She thought about reaching for the bed controls, but she hadn’t lied; the treatments required for her illness were wearing her out. “Could you turn the comm radio back on? I was enjoying the music.”

Doctor Miian sneezed in Solarican-style humor. “Now I
knnnow
you’re delirious. Verrry few Humans like Solarrrican-style singing.”

“I like all kinds of music,” she murmured. “There haven’t been a lot of opportunities for enjoying it in the last few years, not on Blockade Patrol. Even when we were on Leave, there’ve been precious few minutes for anything fun.”

“Funn?” he asked, checking her pulse with the pads of his fingers, mindful of his claws. “Funn, like what?”

“I miss singing. I miss playing music simply for the pure pleasure of it. Even in the Marines, we got to sing. But not on Blockade Patrol.”
Her brow creased in memory. “Now, I can’t help but think of what I did to all those Salik throats, plucking them out like…like demented harp strings.”

“We have rrreceived a rrequest for a visit frrom a Chaplain Bennjamin,” the Solarican observed. “She says she is worried for yourrr mental and emotionnal health. She is rregistered as a psychologist as well as a prrriestess. Perhaps you shoullld see her?”

Ia sighed and stared up at the ceiling, where some Solarican nurse, in a fit of whimsy, had hung a miniature ball of string. “Perhaps I should. But not until after I’ve received my new kidn—
Ungh!
”

“What?” Miian asked, bending over Ia in concern. “Wherrre does it hurrt?”

She grimaced, unable to lift a hand to her head, thanks to the tangle of tubes strapping her down. “They’re—
oww
—playing with that damned
machine
again. Trying to figure it out. I wish they’d stop. I won’t be the only one with a headache. Every Seer and psychic within sixty
kesat
of that thing will be hurting.”

“You knnow what it is?” he asked her, ears flicking in curiosity.

“Oh, thank god, they shut it off again,” she muttered, relaxing as the headache vanished. “No, I don’t know what it is. But I do know something of what it does. That thing is more dangerous to the Alliance than even I can foresee. The only weapon we have against it…is knowledge…” Ia yawned, tiredness creeping up on her again.

“No falling asleep, Humann,” her doctor admonished her a few moments later, nudging her right shoulder. The left one was still encased in a sleeve of regeneration packs, patiently removing the last of the scars from her multiple puncture wounds. “Wake up, your snnack has arrrived.”

Dragging in a deep breath, Ia opened her eyes. She sat up a little more and reached for the items on the tray the brindle-furred nurse was swinging into place. Nauseated or not, she had to eat to refuel her body. The Command Staff would be expecting her to head their way in roughly fourteen days. She needed to be ready to travel in just under eleven.

Sipping at her juice, Ia let her mind drift back to the anti-psi machine. “I’ll need to take it with me.”

“Take what?” her physician asked as she ate.

“The machine we brought back—
Nnyam ma’fau krrruu, k’in krramzhann l’ingh rruowel mnaa
,” she added, shaping the words as best she could.

Miian snorted, watching her bite into another of the cheese-topped crackers the nurse had brought. “Yourrr accent is almost as atrocious as yourr claim. What makes you thinnk we’ll let you take it as yourrr warr-prize?”

“I destroyed an entire enemy encampment the size of this Warstation,” Ia reminded him. “I personally cut off the head of their Grand High General, an act witnessed by many of the survivors, all of whom I rescued personally. I am responsible for the deaths of hundreds of high-ranked enemy officers. I have struck a blow so hard and deep into the chest of our enemy, it will take them almost a year—a Solarican Standard year, never mind a Terran—to recover. I have done such great acts of courage and valor, I have earned the right to be ranked as a War Princess, with all the privileges, power, and wealth such a position entails by Solarican law. Even as a foreigner and an alien, I have earned that much. It isn’t official yet, but it will be. Yet all I want is that box, and at least one of the Human-shaped headsets to play with.”

“I will pass along your rrrequest,” he murmured. “But I cannnnot guarantee it will be honorred.”

“Tell them they have my personal word of honor that I will make sure all findings are shared with the Royal Seer’s Council regarding that machine,” Ia told him, picking up her cup again. The tangle of tubing forced her to move carefully, but she still managed to salute him with it. “Remind them that this is the same code of honor that made damned sure I rescued every single being that I could, backed by the same determination that blew up that installation. They have my word of honor, meioa.”

“I will lllet them know,” he murmured. “But firrrst, you must eat. That is an orrder. Even a Warrr Prinncess must obey herrr physiciann when she is ill.”

Tired but knowing he was right, Ia picked up the next cracker on her plate.