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  StarDoc

  Beyond Varallan

  Endurance

  SHOCKBALL

  A StarDoc Novel

  S. L. Viehl

  ROC

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand,

  London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood,

  Victoria, Australia

  Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue,

  Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2

  Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182–190 Wairau Road,

  Auckland 10, New Zealand

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:

  Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England

  First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.

  First Printing, November 2001

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3

  Copyright © S. L. Viehl, 2001

  All rights reserved

  Cover art by Alan Pollack

  Designed by Ray Lundgren

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  Printed in the United States of America

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION, PENGUIN PUTNAM INC., 375 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10014.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Some people share the changes in your life;

  others change the way you live it.

  Best friends are the ones who do both.

  For the first novelist I ever met,

  the gentlest soul I’ve ever known,

  and the best friend I’ve ever had,

  Marilyn Jordan.

  Table of Contents

  Part One: Maternity

  Chapter One: Nascent Inanity

  Chapter Two: Separations

  Chapter Three: Endamaged

  Chapter Four: The Inevitable

  Chapter Five: Dancing with Christopher

  Part Two: Paternity

  Chapter Six: Leyaneyaniteh

  Chapter Seven: Choices

  Chapter Eight: Topside

  Chapter Nine: Many Mistakes

  Chapter Ten: Desperate Bargain

  Part Three: Consanguinity

  Chapter Eleven: Not To Be Trusted

  Chapter Twelve: Centerfield

  Chapter Thirteen: Dolts to Fix

  Chapter Fourteen: A Promise to Keep

  Part Four: Equity

  Chapter Fifteen: Initiation

  Chapter Sixteen: Twins

  Chapter Seventeen: Change of Course

  Chapter Eighteen: The Grandfather of All Monsters

  Chapter Nineteen: Game Sphere

  Chapter Twenty: A Gift for Duncan

  PART ONE

  Maternity

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nascent Inanity

  … I will impart a knowledge of the art to my own sons and to those of my teachers, and to disciplines bound by a stipulation and oath….

  —Hippocrates (460–377b.c.)

  Hippocrates never had to coach a green cutter, I thought as I looked at the bloody mess on the table. Otherwise, he’d have imparted his foot up a certain eager beaver’s southern orifice.

  “You used a laser to do this? Not a hacksaw?”

  The Saksonan across from me huffed. “You’re not amusing.”

  “Neither is this.” I gloved, masked, then scanned the entire disaster. “Stomach is history. Ditto on both kidneys. Large intestine is ruptured in three, make that four, areas. Spleen is”—I used a pair of forceps to extract and hold it up for a better look—”totaled. Nice work, Vlaav.”

  Thousands of dermal hemangiomas swelled, making the Saksonan appear like a bristling strawberry. “It’s not my fault!”

  “It never is.” I dropped the tattered organ back into the abdominal cavity. “Let’s see, cause of death would be exsanguination, or traumatic shock induced by lack of anesthetic.” I placed my instrument on the discard tray. “Congratulations, Doctor. You’ve successfully murdered your first surgical patient.”

  “You said I was doing a postmortem this morning. I didn’t realize it was still alive until I started the abdominal exploratory.” With an impatient, three-fingered yank, Vlaav tore off his mask and threw it on the deck. “And this is not my first surgical patient.”

  “If you want to have more, here’s a new rule: never cut anyone open until they are under general anesthetic, or you make sure they’re not breathing.”

  “Dr. Torin? Dr. Irde?”

  We both turned around. Former League Lieutenant Wonlee stood just outside the exam room with a tray of food. He’d adapted a loosely woven garment as an orderly’s tunic to accommodate the thousands of sharp spines covering his body. For some odd reason, they were all standing on end. His hands went lax, and the tray hit the deck.

  “You butchered him,” Wonlee said in a strangled voice.

  The Lieutenant had been a medic, once upon a time, but he’d never done a surgical rotation. Vlaav and I were fairly well splattered with synplasma from the death throes, and I guess the sight of the body was, to an inexperienced layman, rather disturbing.

  “It’s not a him, Won. It’s a training torso.” When that didn’t sink in, I punched a console button and the botched surgical simulation disappeared. “A dimensional, simulated facsimile. Not a real person.”

  “Oh.” Wonlee took a deep breath, and his spines settled back down. “What happened to it?”

  I stripped off my gloves. “Dr. Irde learned how not to conduct an appendectomy.”

  Vlaav peeled his off at the same time. “You
said to do an autopsy. I swear on my mother’s deities.”

  “Your mom wouldn’t appreciate you swearing. And schedule yourself for an auditory scan. Your hearing stinks.” A strange odor reached my nose, and I glanced at the deck. I’d smelled nicer things in a biohazard container that hadn’t been emptied for a month. “What is that stuff?”

  “Your dinner.” Won started cleaning up the mess. “The Captain said you’ve neglected to take any meal intervals today.”

  Lately the Captain had been acting like my mother. “So he made you come and force-feed me for a change.”

  That got me a “now, Doctor” look. “Since I was reporting for my shift, I offered to bring it down for him.”

  I took a step back and gulped. “You programmed it, right?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, the Captain prepared it personally.”

  Personally. “Excuse me.” I ran.

  After I finished vomiting into the nearest disposal unit, I sat back against the lavatory wall panel and pressed a damp cloth against my hot face. The maniac who constantly tortured my senses with his alien concoctions was going to pay for this. Big time.

  The lavatory door panel slid open. “You are ill again.”

  Speak of the Captain.

  “You’re cooking again.” I took the hand he offered, and let him pull me to my feet. Then I thumped him on the chest, just out of principle. “So this is all your fault.”

  The Captain was a Terran, like me. He disdained a uniform in favor of his usual black, unornamented tunic and trousers. Some things had changed since we’d met—like his blond hair, which he had let grow and now wore tied back in a queue. There were all kinds of new muscles on his long, swimmer’s body, courtesy of training with the Hsktskt and the Jorenians.

  Other things hadn’t changed. His personality remained as chilly as ever. So did his expression. Carved masks had more life to them. But now it didn’t bother me. I knew what was behind Duncan Reever’s mask.

  “You promised me you’d stay away from the prep unit.”

  “As you assured me that you would only work standard shifts.” He slipped an arm around my waist and guided me to the cleanser unit. “Why are you covered in blood this time?”

  “Simulated blood.” I bent over the basin and vigorously cleaned my teeth and rinsed my mouth, then I checked my reflection. Still a short, dark-haired, blue-eyed Terran. Maybe a little thinner than usual. I splashed my face with cold water. “Vlaav had another go at a Terran torso on the training simulator.”

  He folded his arms and leaned against the wall beside me. “And?”

  “And the torso lost.” I groped for a towel. “Make a note—if I ever need surgery, don’t let him near me. You do it.”

  “Hold still.” Reever held me by the shoulder and blotted my face like I was a messy little kid. “You are trembling. You must eat, wife.”

  He liked calling me that. Pleased and annoyed, I blew a piece of damp hair out of my eyes. “You don’t run my life, husband.”

  Two badly scarred hands cradled my face, and before I could say another word I got thoroughly kissed. Reever raised his head after my pulse skyrocketed and I started wrinkling the front of his tunic.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Pregnant.” I grinned as his hand went automatically to my abdomen, and spread over the tiny life growing in there. His fascination with the baby aroused all kinds of feelings in me. Not strictly of the maternal variety, either. “Stop that. You’re befuddling me.”

  “Cherijo.” His palm made slow circles on my stomach. “Come back to our quarters with me.”

  I wanted to. Even after two months of living with Reever, I still hadn’t quite made up for lost time. But then there was Vlaav. “Not now. I need to talk to my resident about taking a refresher course in Why We Employ Anesthesia Before We Cut.”

  “Do it tomorrow. Come back with me now.” His mouth landed on mine again, long enough to make me really wrinkle the front of his tunic. Against my lips, he said, “I want to sleep with you, beloved.”

  “Oh really?” Vlaav could practice sterilizing instruments. “Then you shouldn’t have kissed me like that.”

  I dragged him off to our quarters.

  Several hours later, I left our sleeping platform and went to check on the ship’s status. I didn’t want to wake Reever, so I left off the lights and audio. I pretended I wasn’t sick to my stomach, and covered in a glassy sweat. But I was.

  The nightmares did that to me.

  This time I hadn’t relived the horrors of the past. No, this bad dream had sprung from a signal I’d received from the Sunlace earlier that day. The latest batch of test results weren’t too promising. Squilyp, the Omorr Senior Healer on the Jorenian ship, wanted to perform another series. No drastic decisions about what to do could be made yet.

  Mostly because I hadn’t told Reever about the problem.

  Guilt had made me dream about what his reaction would be when he finally heard the news. Reever shoving me away. Reever flying off in a shuttle. Reever leaving me for good.

  Reever won’t leave. It was only a dream, let it go.

  According to the vidisplay, the L.T.F. Perpetua was close to Te Abanor, our next scheduled stop. We were halfway through our mission to return all the Catopsan slaves to their homeworlds.

  Where’s the Sunlace? I checked the external viewer and located the other ship off our port side. Hi, guys.

  My adopted family, HouseClan Torin, manned the Jorenian star vessel Sunlace. My adopted big brother, Xonea Torin, had been adamant about escorting us during the mission. Once that was over, they’d probably go exploring the galaxy again.

  I wasn’t sure if we’d tag along. League mercenaries were still hunting me, and rumor had it the Hsktskt Faction had recently put out their own bounty on me.

  That thought made me look at the third ship in our little fleet—the Truman. My creator, Joseph Grey Veil, had sent the unarmed, drone-piloted League vessel from Terra as a gift for me—some sort of gesture of truce or something. Reever and the Jorenians had thoroughly checked it out before towing it along with us. Personally I’d never liked Joe’s present, and regularly expressed my desire to see someone blow it to smithereens.

  Reever was more practical. We may need to make use of it, Cherijo.

  I cleared the screen and accessed a new file I’d been working on since we’d escaped the Hsktskt. Being pregnant made me realize how important it was for me to record the facts behind the strange twists my life had taken over the last three years.

  I want you to know the truth, lump. I spread my hand over my still-flat abdomen. You wouldn’t be able to hear the whole story from anyone else but me.

  I scanned through the entries I’d already made about what had happened from the day I’d left Terra. The file headers read like ads for one of the space operas so popular on my homeworld.

  Promising thoracic surgeon discovers she’s a genetically enhanced human clone.

  Clone escapes brilliant but insane scientist creator.

  Insane creator pursues runaway clone across the galaxy.

  I’d spent my first year of independence as a trauma physician on Kevarzangia Two, treating nonhumans. My love affair with an alien pilot named Kao Torin had collided with a race to cure a mysterious plague. The fight for my own freedom came soon after, when my creator Joseph Grey Veil had tried to reclaim me as property. HouseClan Torin had come to the rescue, just in time for me to watch Kao die in my arms. Worse, I’d killed him with a transfusion of my own poisonous blood.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. Kao, I hope you forgive me for what I did. Maybe someday I can do the same.

  The next entries covered the year I’d served as Senior Healer on the Sunlace. Where I still might be, if not for a demented killer and the Allied League of Worlds. We’d caught the killer, but the League had cornered us on Joren. The Hsktskt had arrived on the scene to make things even more interesting.

  I’d been oblivious to everything but saving Jore
n, which meant betraying the League to the Hsktskt. Finding out my own husband was a Hsktskt collaborator had shattered our marriage.

  Being a slave doctor had been about as much fun. So had enduring torture, and discovering some of the guards were actually eating the prisoners alive. Healing and befriending a disfigured female Hsktskt guard had nearly salvaged my sanity. Until she’d sacrificed her life to protect me.

  We’re almost done with this mission, I wrote in my new file. Still I think I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to atone for my mistakes.

  “As will I.”

  I jumped and swore. Reever had gotten out of bed and presently stood directly behind me. His warm palms slid over my shoulders as I frowned up at him.

  “You scared me. Cough or something next time.”

  “I apologize. What are you working on?”

  “A journal file.” I felt my cheeks burn. “It’s for the baby. What’s this ‘as will I’ business?”

  “You are not the only one with regrets, Cherijo.”

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You were great—putting your life on the line, pretending to work for the Hsktskt while you were smuggling slaves off Catopsa,” I said. “What have you got to feel bad about? Even the Jorenians forgave you, and you know how they feel about revenge.”

  He reached over, saved the entry, and deactivated the console before swinging my chair around. “Why don’t you write about your own victories?”

  I am.

  “Did you enter the data about the thousands of lives on K-2 and millions on Joren that you saved?”

  I shook my head. “That was pure luck.”

  He took my hairbrush from the vanity unit and started untangling my hair. He liked doing that. “Luck had nothing to do with the destruction of the slave depot on Catopsa.”

  “That was luck and a working relationship with a sentient crystal,” I pointed out, enjoying the soothing sensations the long, slow strokes through my hair sent over my scalp and down my spine.

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”