The Morcai Battalion: The Rescue. Diana Palmer

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