denied.
“What did you do?” she persisted. “I’ve given him every opiate I possess, but nothing has completely contained the pain.”
He looked down at her with curious, pale blue eyes. “I convinced his mind to forget the pain,” he said simply. “It is a technique we employ with our own military. You may have noticed that we carry no medical complement.”
“But what if someone is critically injured?”
He didn’t reply at once. “We have methods of treatment that are somewhat advanced,” he said at last.
She wanted to press the issue, but Komak appeared in the doorway, his eyes a twinkling green. “Strickhahnson wishes to borrow a fledelwongmatzel ,” he said with a nicely imitated human grin.
Madeline’s eyes bulged. It was a very naughty word.
“Nos hac malcache!” Dtimun shot at him.
The irrepressible alien didn’t react to the harsh tone. “It is Terravegan,” he explained to his superior officer. “It means…”
“Never you mind what it means!” Madeline said shortly. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, Hahnson needs his mouth washed out with soap.” She saluted and marched out the door.
“It is a curse of some magnitude,” Komak elaborated. “The human physician also threw a large object at a tech who questioned his orders.”
Dtimun chuckled, a trait he’d picked up from humans over the years. “He has improved with age. When we knew each other many years ago, he threw the techs themselves.”
“These humans, they are fascinating, are they not?”
“They are volatile and unpredictable,” Dtimun replied. “Stern must be carefully observed, at all times. There is something…”
Komak nodded. “I, too, feel it,” he said, the humor going into eclipse. His elongated eyes narrowed and grew dark blue. “There is a Rojok pulse here.”
Dtimun moved a step closer. “You must never speak of such intuitions in front of the others,” he said firmly. “Much less reveal that you feel them.”
Komak sighed. “We keep so many secrets,” he said.
“To reveal them would be catastrophic,” Dtimun replied. “Especially for you.”
“I live and die at your command,” he said with a smart fist to heart salute. He grinned.
“One day,” Dtimun threatened, “I will make soup with your bones.”
“You will become the first cannibal of your Clan, and my ghost will avenge me,” he shot back.
Dtimun’s eyes burned dark brown.
Komak held up both hands, palms out. “I know, we never speak of Clans. Forgive me. I shall return to duty immediately. I would make very bad soup.”
The boy saluted again and ran for his life.
Dtimun moved back to the ambutube that contained the young Altairian. The boy’s eyes opened. Dtimun placed his hand over the boy’s heart and stared into his eyes with a deep blue gaze. After a minute he nodded. The child smiled faintly and once again went to sleep.
On his way back to the bridge, the C.O. stopped in the kelekom sector. One of the operators, the current supervisor, gave him a worried look.
“The kelekoms have been following the Rojok pursuit,” the operator told him. “The Rojoks have modified their sensors to detect our faint heat signature. They have turned and are approaching.”
Dtimun drew in a long breath. “Who commands the pursuing fleet? Is it Chacon?”
The operator shook his head sadly. “It is one of their most fanatical captains,” he replied. “The kelekoms infer that our capture would mean Ahkmau almost immediately.”
“Keep me informed,” Dtimun replied quietly, and left them. As he started down the long corridor, he felt a sudden, stark pain in the center of his breastbone, between his two hearts. He stopped, caught his breath and managed to regain his composure before approaching crewmen saw any weakness in his posture. So it was beginning now, a year too soon. And at the worst possible time. He must speak to Komak quickly, in order that the chain of command would be intact if the worst
“What did you do?” she persisted. “I’ve given him every opiate I possess, but nothing has completely contained the pain.”
He looked down at her with curious, pale blue eyes. “I convinced his mind to forget the pain,” he said simply. “It is a technique we employ with our own military. You may have noticed that we carry no medical complement.”
“But what if someone is critically injured?”
He didn’t reply at once. “We have methods of treatment that are somewhat advanced,” he said at last.
She wanted to press the issue, but Komak appeared in the doorway, his eyes a twinkling green. “Strickhahnson wishes to borrow a fledelwongmatzel ,” he said with a nicely imitated human grin.
Madeline’s eyes bulged. It was a very naughty word.
“Nos hac malcache!” Dtimun shot at him.
The irrepressible alien didn’t react to the harsh tone. “It is Terravegan,” he explained to his superior officer. “It means…”
“Never you mind what it means!” Madeline said shortly. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, Hahnson needs his mouth washed out with soap.” She saluted and marched out the door.
“It is a curse of some magnitude,” Komak elaborated. “The human physician also threw a large object at a tech who questioned his orders.”
Dtimun chuckled, a trait he’d picked up from humans over the years. “He has improved with age. When we knew each other many years ago, he threw the techs themselves.”
“These humans, they are fascinating, are they not?”
“They are volatile and unpredictable,” Dtimun replied. “Stern must be carefully observed, at all times. There is something…”
Komak nodded. “I, too, feel it,” he said, the humor going into eclipse. His elongated eyes narrowed and grew dark blue. “There is a Rojok pulse here.”
Dtimun moved a step closer. “You must never speak of such intuitions in front of the others,” he said firmly. “Much less reveal that you feel them.”
Komak sighed. “We keep so many secrets,” he said.
“To reveal them would be catastrophic,” Dtimun replied. “Especially for you.”
“I live and die at your command,” he said with a smart fist to heart salute. He grinned.
“One day,” Dtimun threatened, “I will make soup with your bones.”
“You will become the first cannibal of your Clan, and my ghost will avenge me,” he shot back.
Dtimun’s eyes burned dark brown.
Komak held up both hands, palms out. “I know, we never speak of Clans. Forgive me. I shall return to duty immediately. I would make very bad soup.”
The boy saluted again and ran for his life.
Dtimun moved back to the ambutube that contained the young Altairian. The boy’s eyes opened. Dtimun placed his hand over the boy’s heart and stared into his eyes with a deep blue gaze. After a minute he nodded. The child smiled faintly and once again went to sleep.
On his way back to the bridge, the C.O. stopped in the kelekom sector. One of the operators, the current supervisor, gave him a worried look.
“The kelekoms have been following the Rojok pursuit,” the operator told him. “The Rojoks have modified their sensors to detect our faint heat signature. They have turned and are approaching.”
Dtimun drew in a long breath. “Who commands the pursuing fleet? Is it Chacon?”
The operator shook his head sadly. “It is one of their most fanatical captains,” he replied. “The kelekoms infer that our capture would mean Ahkmau almost immediately.”
“Keep me informed,” Dtimun replied quietly, and left them. As he started down the long corridor, he felt a sudden, stark pain in the center of his breastbone, between his two hearts. He stopped, caught his breath and managed to regain his composure before approaching crewmen saw any weakness in his posture. So it was beginning now, a year too soon. And at the worst possible time. He must speak to Komak quickly, in order that the chain of command would be intact if the worst
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