Beyond Varallan by S. L. Viehl Page A

happened?”
    “Come.” She hauled me over to the berth, where members of the medical staff were disconnecting monitors and removing life-support equipment. The techs stepped out of the way as I reached over and drew the sheet back.
    Shocked, I took a half-step back. “My God.”
    Roelm’s cheerful face was grotesquely distorted. Eyes swollen shut. Features bloated. Upper torso bruised from resuscitative efforts. His abdomen was so severely distended that dark striae scarred his flesh with jagged purple streaks.
    “Ascites?” I’d never seen a case this bad before. Any form of edema sometimes caused excess fluid to accumulate in other parts of the body—especially the abdomen—but not like this. Not so fast. I pulled on a pair of gloves before I touched him. “What happened?”
    “Roelm left the Medical Bay and went to check the engines. Xonea found him in the eleventh level corridor,” the Senior Healer said. “By the time he was brought here, airways had constricted. Full respiratory and cardiac arrest occurred moments later.”
    “Brain scan?” I asked, carefully palpitating the lower torso. The tissues were so flooded that my fingers left dents in his flesh.
    “Clear. No hemorrhaging. It must be anaphylactic shock.”
    “Not like any case I’ve ever seen.” I checked the rest of the body, then stripped off my gloves. There was nothing more I could do until the postmortem.
    An autopsy would be performed, but not for a rotation. Jorenian custom prohibited disturbing the body during the time when they considered the “shreds of the soul” might remain within. Personally? I thought it was stupid. Dead was dead.
    “You’re running full toxicologies?” I asked.
    “Yes.” Tonetka gently touched Roelm’s cheek. “He made me his Speaker yesterday, Cherijo. It was as if he knew.”
    That meant Roelm had confided his last request to Tonetka. It was a heavy responsibility. One she was obviously not taking well, I discovered over the next hour, as she dropped instruments, misplaced several charts, and snarled at anyone who spoke to her. Eventually I talked Tonetka into going off duty and had one of the nurses escort her to her quarters.
    I reported to Ndo and requested he make the announcement to the crew. Arrangements for the death ceremony would be scheduled by the Captain. I reviewed the current ward status and made rounds. Every patient except Fasala had witnessed Roelm’s tragic end. No one had much to say. The nurses were unusually solemn. Even Squilyp seemed subdued, for a change.
    My youngest patient was still sleeping when I reached her berth. Darea sat beside her, her expression still stiff with shock.
    “I take it you were here, too,” I said, and the Jorenian woman nodded. No matter how much they celebrated the death of a HouseClan member, watching someone die wasn’t easy. Especially as violent an end as Roelm had come to. “I'm sorry. I liked him very much.”
    “I honored him as well.” She glanced at Roelm’s body, which was being prepared for removal to the morgue. “How fares Tonetka?”
    “She’ll be all right.” I deliberately changed the subject. “I see Fasala's vitals read near normal levels now. That's a good sign.”
    “She remains on the path.” Darea’s eyes were haunted.
    I could see this ClanMother wouldn’t celebrate her own child's death. “Thank the Mother.”
    “The Mother should thank you ,” was my observation. “Fasala senses you’re here. That security promotes healing faster than anything I can do.”
    “You are kind, Healer Cherijo.” She watched as Squilyp hopped past us, and her expression hardened. “Unlike that one with the mouth.”
    I updated Fasala’s chart and went back to Roelm's berth once the postmortem prep of the body was completed. I repeated the non-intrusive exams, and came to an immediate conclusion.
    If the man had died of anaphylactic shock, I was an Omorr.
    Roelm’s lymphedema had been a minor annoyance. I checked the