Afterburn

“I have had enough of this.” Jadaira tore open the front of her thermal chest wrap. “My mother is too blind to see what that Terran is doing, and by the time she does it will be too late.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Haven’t you seen the way he puts his fins all over her? How he’s constantly touching and hovering and nudging at her?”

“Captain Argate has hands, not fins, and he is Teresa’s friend.” Onkar caught the belly wrap she threw at him. “Jadaira, you know that sort of touching among land-dwellers is considered casual and acceptable. He’s not attempting to court her.”

The Terran male’s presence had been very conspicuous during the week they had spent in the outer currents. Noel Argate was an early riser, and occupied the vessel’s control tower in the early hours of daylight, but turned the helm over to a crew member as soon as the others came on deck.

Onkar had been a little disturbed at first by the unusual amount of attention Argate had given Jadaira’s stepmother. The captain, who otherwise was quite professional in his dealings with the crew and researchers on board, showed a marked inclination to spend much of his work and personal time in the company of the Terran woman. Unlike most ’Zangians, Onkar understood the need for monogamy in an intimate relationship, and in his mind had permanently paired Teresa Selmar with Dairatha mu J’Kane. Seeing Argate with her only made Onkar worry again about the future of his bond with Jadaira.

It soon became obvious that Argate was friendly toward Teresa because they shared a common history. Often Onkar heard the Terrans indulging in what they called reminiscing, which seemed to involve remembering the worst moments of one’s adolescence and laughing a great deal. He also saw no overt sign of mutual sexual interest, despite the touching, and suspected that while Argate might be amenable to the idea, Teresa was yet preoccupied with the hunt and thoughts of Dairatha.

Jadaira had observed the same things as he had, but her reaction was completely different. She seemed to resent Argate’s affection for Teresa, and her dislike of him deepened with each passing day. Now, after seeing the Terran male take Teresa into a loose embrace up on deck, his mate was seething with rage.

“I won’t let him do this to her.” Jadaira jerked on her flightsuit. “If he can’t keep his fins—hands—to himself, then I’ll break his wrists.”

“Oh?” She looked up at him. “Are you forgetting your low success rate with stopping me from doing as I wish, and how hard I can thump you in the head?”

He thought she was adorable when she was angry, which was a good thing, because Jadaira was seldom anything else these days. “This is where I must tactfully remind you that you are pregnant and not responsible for the rapid changes in your emotional state. May I do that without you thumping me in the head?”

Onkar waited for an opportune moment to speak with Argate, which came later that day, just before the two ’Zangians were to make their usual afternoon dive. Teresa was busy outfitting Jadaira with a special sonar harness, which would help extend the range of the ship’s scanners. Argate, who had come down from the control tower, went below, and Onkar followed.

Onkar noted the barely perceptible tremor in the Terran male’s voice, and wondered if it was fear. His size often intimidated land-dwellers, but he had not realized the captain was one of them. “I would speak to you privately, if you have a moment.”

Onkar waited until the Terran had closed the hatch and settled himself on a chair behind the room console. Since sitting was uncomfortable for a ’Zangian, he remained standing. “You and Teresa Selmar have been spending much time together since we departed the coast.”

“Your friendship does not please my mate, but you are probably aware of that.” Onkar knew Jadaira had not bothered to conceal her disgust. “She is very protective of Teresa.”

“She expressed a desire to bite you several times this morning.” Onkar watched the other man’s face. “As you Terrans do not use your teeth the way we do, and considering the thinness of your derma, I persuaded her to abandon the idea.”

“You have been touching her stepmother. Rather a great deal, and without concealing it,” Onkar said. “We ’Zangians reserve that sort of contact for mates. Jadaira still sees Teresa as being her father’s mate, so you can understand her anger.”

Argate’s facial skin turned pink. “Frankly, I don’t. Teresa and I are friends. We’re both Terran, both unattached. With all due respect, Subcommander, what we choose to do together is our business, not your mate’s.”

“There are no secrets among ’Zangians.” Onkar had a few of his own, but this was not the time to bring up the reasons for being exiled from his own natal pod. “We dwell together all our lives, so our relationships are perhaps more intense and intimate than those of your species.”

“Teresa is not a ’Zangian.” This time Argate did not show fear, but resentment. “She belongs among her own kind.”

Here was the infamous Terran prejudice of which Onkar had heard so much. It did not surprise or disgust him as much as it concerned him. A person who felt superior to all other species could not be trusted in a position of authority, and on this expedition Argate was shown the same deference as Teresa was.

“Teresa is certainly old enough to make her own choices,” Argate told him. “I only want what’s best for her, and I’ll do what I can to make that happen. Why don’t you explain that to your mate?”

“Once I thought I could dictate what I thought was appropriate for my mate,” Onkar said carefully. “Strong emotion often makes us feel we have the right to do so, in order to protect the objects of our affections. Fortunately, Jadaira taught me that there can be no true love without absolute trust.”

“She does not know you, Captain.” Onkar didn’t like the quickness of the Terran’s temper, or his defensiveness. “If you intend to make a place for yourself in Teresa’s life, you should be aware of the affection she and Jadaira have for each other, and respect it. Teresa may not have whelped Jadaira, but she is still her mother, and she still shares a strong bond with Jadaira’s father.”

“Yes, I heard about him. He dumped Teresa the moment she refused to let him dictate to her.” Argate raised one of his eyebrows. “I guess he’s not as enlightened about controlling a mate as you are.”

“His relationship with Teresa is over, and so is this conversation.” Argate got to his feet. “If your mate can’t accept things the way they are, then maybe you two should go back to the coast and leave us alone.”

There was one good thing about being his size, Dairatha mu J’Kane thought as he paced the expedition vessel. He didn’t need thermal wraps to stay warm in the frigid outer currents. He was getting hungry, however, for this far out there was only scant feed available. If Teresa and her band of brainless mouth-breathers didn’t soon abandon this hunt, Dairatha might have to.

The only pleasure he had was riding under the vessel’s changeable hull, which was a thin, biomalleable alloy that was watertight yet easily permeated by sound. Through it he could overhear every conversation held belowdecks. At first he had only listened for Teresa’s voice, and any indication that Jadaira and Onkar were entering the water. He had to make himself scarce when his daughter and her mate swam—he didn’t want to explain his presence to anyone—but the water was too cold for Jadaira, and they seldom stayed downside long.

The sound of Onkar’s voice had drawn his curiosity, however. The former rogue rarely spoke to anyone except Jadaira, and Dairatha found himself curious to know what had Onkar talking so much. Dairatha had risen beneath the ship and listened carefully, following the conversation between his daughter’s mate and Argate, the Terran male whom he’d seen several times with Teresa.

He didn’t become enraged until he heard Onkar explain why Jadaira felt angry enough to bite Argate. You have been touching her stepmother. Rather a great deal, and without concealing it.

Dairatha had been completely unaware of this. Of course, he had to stay out of sight of the deck most of the time, except at night, so that no one spotted him.

Argate had become angry with Onkar. We’re both Terran, both unattached. With all due respect, Subcommander, what we choose to do together is our business, not your mate’s.

So the Terran male was possessive of Teresa. It was interesting that Argate would feel that way, considering that he had only spent a few weeks in her company. Dairatha wondered how he would feel if he found himself dragged over the side of the deck and plunged three hundred feet below the surface. Will he bubble, or squeak?

Yet what had brought on a killing rage was what Argate had next said about Dairatha’s former mate. Teresa is not a ’Zangian. She belongs among her own kind.

Dairatha didn’t care if the Terran male was xenophobic or, like the Skartesh, a separatist. Most Terrans despised off-worlders, from what Teresa had told him over the years. What made his hide go black was the implied intention behind Argate’s last statement. She belongs among her own kind. Argate was her own kind. With Argate was where she belonged.

Dairatha had endured Teresa’s jealousy for a decade. He had tolerated it because he knew it was born out of love for him. Now the dark, possessive feelings were coursing through his mind, twisting and boring into his calm. Who did this male think he was, putting his hands on Teresa, laying claim to Teresa?

If Dairatha had had any doubts, they were dispelled by one of the last things the Terran had said to Onkar. I only want what’s best for her, and I’ll do what I can to make that happen.

It had been years since Dairatha mu J’Kane had challenged another male over a mate. The last time had been a face-off with several ’Zangian males over the right to chase Kyara, and no one had been able to prevail over him. Terrans evidently did not fight over their females, according to Teresa, and when they did it was with words, not teeth or bodies.

Two weeks ago Emily would never have abandoned her console to take a meal interval, but now she didn’t feel a qualm about switching the channel relayer to auto-reply. She couldn’t work around the clock, as Ana Hansen often did, without feeling as if her brain had turned to sludge. After settling several minor administrative disputes among six different species, most of which had been slimy, spiny, and not inclined to practice tact, she also felt she had earned a break.

“Bonjour, Emily.” The tall blond woman inspected her. “Your hair looks pretty, but you still wear the same colors every day. Tell these Administration people we are not all color-blind. They must use some imagination when designing tunics.”

Accustomed now to Lisette’s bossiness, Emily simply nodded and paid for the meal order. “Were you able to find those mites I asked about?”

“Bollien mites, oui. They are uncooked, but I steam the weffer roots a little; they grew dry in shipment.” Lisette handed over the neatly packed food containers. “Your Omorr will enjoy them.”

“Thanks.” Emily looped the pack strap over her wrist. “He’s really not my Omorr. I mean, we’re just friends.”

Hkyrim had told Emily where Pathology was located, but she stopped by the front reception desk at the FreeClinic to sign in. The Aksellan nurse manning the console turned out to be the large black-and-green spider who had been kind to Emily during her first day on planet, and they immediately recognized each other.

“Zo, Terran, how haz it been with you zince lazt we zaw each other?” the nurse asked after issuing her a visitor’s badge.

“It’s been a dream come true.” Not in the way she’d imagined, but Emily was adjusting and gaining new confidence day by day. “I enjoy my work, my supervisor is terrific, and I’ve made a great friend.”

“You zhould make more. Why don’t you vizit the Akzellan cooperative zometime?” The nurse showed her on a screen map where it was located. “Azk for me, Ylloh, and I will introduze you to my nezt-zizterz.”

Other people had told her that, while they were friendly and benign, Aksellans rarely made overtures of friendship toward anyone. Emily felt flattered and a little flustered. “I will, thank you, Ylloh.”

Emily made her way to Pathology, where another pleasant nurse directed her to one of the examination rooms. “I can signal Dr. Hkyrim, if you’d rather wait out here.”

Doctor? Emily hadn’t realized Hkyrim had a medical degree. “No, I’ll just pop in and say hello,” she said to the nurse.

The corridor leading to the examination rooms smelled of preservative chemicals and antiseptic, and for a moment Emily wondered if her stomach was up to seeing Hkyrim—Dr. Hkyrim, she corrected herself—performing an autopsy. I’ve seen him eat, and I’ve faced his friends. I can stand a little vivisection.

She pressed the door chime before enabling the panel, and walked in. The chemical odors were much stronger inside the large, white room. Bleeping, chiming, and buzzing sounds came from the mysterious and important-looking devices and panels that lined the walls. The Omorr was working over some sort of analysis rig; looking through a scope at something small and curled in a round clear dish.

“That’s why we call it a surprise.” She held up the pack of food containers. “Besides, I owe you a working lunch.”

“How kind of you. I completely lost track of time.” He removed the round, open-topped dish from the analysis rig. “This is a specimen of wrill, from the Western Sea. Dr. Mayer believes it is infected with an unknown parasite.”

“I am not sure what I am seeing.” He placed the dish down and added a little fluid to it before sealing a lid over the specimen. “It is the oddest thing. Judging by the damage to its head, it was killed by enlargement of its brain. It swelled so much it broke open the creature’s skull.” He glanced at her. “Forgive me. My description was not conducive to enhancing your appetite.”

“I don’t mind.” And she didn’t, really, as long as she didn’t look in the dish. “Are you hungry? Can you take a few minutes break time?”

“Yes, and yes.” Hkyrim turned back to pick up the specimen. “I will just put this . . .” He stopped speaking and stared down at his hand.

“I can come back later.” Emily made herself look at the dish. The lid was cracked in half, and some of the clear fluid from the dish had spilled onto Hkyrim’s hand.

“I don’t know, but it is invading my cells. Please give me that vacuum container there,” the Omorr said, and pointed to a nearby container. When Emily did, he took it and moved away. The discoloration was creeping up from his membranes and over the skin of his hand. “Seal the door, and don’t touch me.”

While Emily secured the panel, Hkyrim placed the dish in the container and withdrew his blackened hand before sealing it. Holding the appendage away from his body, he thrust it under the scope and looked at it.

“A silver writing device with an emitter tip, next to the chart on the exam bench.” Hkyrim moved from the scope to stand beside a large, transparent tank.

Frantically Emily located the lascalpel and brought it to him, but he didn’t take it from her. “Should I signal for help?”

“There is not enough time,” Hkyrim said. “You must do this for me. I cannot be sure I will stay conscious long enough.”

“I can’t.” She stared at the device in her hand and shook her head. “I’ll get a doctor—someone who knows how to—”

“You are not going to die.” Emily fumbled with the device until she found the enable switch and the emitter glowed bright white. “Where do I cut?”

“Above the infection site, here.” He pointed to a spot above the dark swelling, and then held his arm over the tank.

Emily had to stand close to reach the arm, and for a moment thought she might faint. Something touched her cheek—one of his gildrells—and gave her a gentle caress.

There was no time to think, only to act. Emily pointed the lascalpel at Hkyrim’s arm and switched on the cutting beam. She felt him jerk as the laser sliced through the top layer of his derma. One of his arms clamped around her waist as she reached the four arm bones. It seemed to take forever, but the instrument was precise and efficient. A few seconds later the infected appendage fell from the cauterized stump and dropped into the tank.

What she had done, and the smell of burning flesh, made Emily gag, but she turned off the lascalpel and turned to him. “What do I do now?”

She supported his weight as they secured the amputated hand, and then helped him over to the exam bench. Only after Hkyrim had thoroughly examined the stump of his arm under the scope did he straighten. “There are no more of them present. You are an excellent cutter, my friend.”

“Tell Mayer it was nanites,” he said, his voice a whisper now. “Signal the Emergency Room. Don’t let them open the containers.” His eyes rolled back, and he sagged against her.

Teresa saw twin plumes of water spout into the air off the port bow—a signal from Dair and Onkar that they had found something—and called up to the control tower. “Cut the engines.”

After a week of cruising the empty sea Teresa was glad to suit up and climb into the inflatable. The days and nights of being on board and watching the empty monitors had started wearing on her nerves; she wasn’t used to spending this much time dry. Noel refused to let her dive, though, insisting on the ’Zangians doing the scouting under the surface.

“It’s for the best, Terri,” he had told her. “If something happens, they can both jump out of the water and onto the boat fast. You’d be weighed down by your gear.”

“What are you doing?” He looked angry. “We don’t know what they’ve found yet. Let one of the researchers go.”

Dair cleared the water from her gill vents. “We found a wrill island about a quarter kim east of here,” she said. “There’s a dead mogshrike on it.”

Teresa slipped on her headset and relayed this back to the ship’s com officer, then asked, “You’re sure it’s dead?”

Teresa pressed her lips against a smile. ’Zangians had such an instinctive aversion to the injured or dead that usually they would do anything to avoid them. No wonder both of them looked pale as powder.

“Can you hang in long enough to take me to it?” A dead specimen wasn’t what she had hoped for, but given their failure to find any live ’shrikes, it might have to suffice.

Onkar slipped one of the inflatable’s lines over his sloped shoulder. “I’ll guide you there. Jadaira, go back on board the vessel.”

The big male’s bicolored eyes shifted to Teresa. “Have I ever expressed my gratitude to you for raising my mate to be so independent and stubborn that her head might as well be made of rock?”

“No, but I’ll take that as a thank-you,” Teresa said, and laughed as she started up the inflatable’s small propulsion unit.

The wrill island wasn’t technically an island, but an enormous pile of discarded carapaces; one of the oddities in the outer currents. In certain areas, wrill blooms in molt would swarm and shed simultaneously. Their old exoskeletons would form hills beneath the surface and, where the bottom was shallow enough, would rise above the surface. Eventually the currents would whittle away the pile until it vanished, but until they did, the shells formed a tiny island.

“Good Lord, that has to be a hundred yards across.” She could see the dead ’shrike, too—a huge mound beached on the north side of the island. She leaned over toward Onkar. “Bring me right up alongside the carcass.”

The two ’Zangians flanked her up to the artificial shore of the wrill island, and then swam away as soon as she had fired an anchor line into the solidly packed shell surface. Teresa didn’t blame them; the stench from the dead mogshrike was already making her own stomach turn. She secured the inflatable and climbed out, careful to find her footing on the slippery surface before approaching the carcass.

“Noel, how is the picture on your end?” she asked over her headset, which also held a small lens above her right ear that was transmitting images of everything she looked at back to the Briggs.

“Perfect,” Argate said over her earpiece, “but I’m pissed off at you for leaving the boat. This is grunt work, Terri.”

“I don’t mind being a grunt.” Teresa circled around the carcass, getting all angles of it while checking for predators. She wasn’t worried about the sterbol or gnaldorf, which would feed on whatever was hanging in the water. However, there were a few species of carrion mollusks that had shells covered in poisonous spines, and which could crawl out of the waves, and she didn’t fancy stepping on one.

“A twenty-five tonner, I think. Carcass appears to be completely intact.” She came around to the front side and saw the massive wound that had sheared off most of the ’shrike’s head. “Whoops, spoke too soon. Single head wound; ninety-five percent of the upper cranial case is gone, along with the eyes, snout, mouth, teeth and”—she leaned over to look inside the wound cavity—“brain.”

“Had to be.” Teresa studied the ’shrike’s abdomen, which was broad and heavy with feed. “Nothing else with a mouth big enough, or that would shear it off like this.” Something twitched under the ’shrike’s skin. “Stand by.”

She brought out a scanner and ran it over the carcass without touching it. The ’shrike was dead, but escaping gases from the decomposition process—always very rapid in aquatic life-forms—might have caused it to twitch. One of her more gruesome instructors back at BioTech had called the process “death farts.”

Teresa was taking a reading for bacterial infestation when the belly twitched a second time. This was more like a stretch than a twitch, however. The skin of the carcass actually rose and then deflated.

Could it be . . . ? Teresa pulled on a pair of gloves to protect her hands before reaching to touch the surface of the ’shrike’s belly. A centimeter before she did, the belly swelled outward and bumped her hand.

Teresa backed away. “Noel, this ’shrike was whelping, and the baby is still alive inside her body.” She took the blade out of her harness. “I need a tranq gun and a live specimen containment unit over her, pronto.” She also had to film every second of this. No one had ever seen a ’shrike give birth, or knew what the process was.

“I’m bringing over another inflatable with the gear we need. Terri, don’t try to take it out until I get there,” Noel said with some urgency. “Are you sure you don’t have any tranq with you?”

“Sorry, I didn’t think to bring any. Hang on.” A muffled, gnashing sound made her reach up and switch off the audio so she could hear better. The belly skin of the carcass was moving again, but not in the same way, and not as dramatically. She could see the movements beneath it growing less pronounced. At the same time, the gnashing sound continued, almost like a defective drone grinding internal gears.

The gear-grinding sound was growing fainter, the circular undulation beneath the skin almost subsiding. Gears. Gears meshed.

Mogshrikes were born with teeth and did not nurse, Teresa knew that much. So the infant ’shrike had no use for the mother after birth. And since mature ’shrikes would eat anything that moved, including other shrikes . . .

Teresa looked at the carcass. The infant’s movements were pitiful, and it was clearly tiring. Without tranqs, she could never try to bring it onto the ship, or even get in the water with it. Noel was right; they’d recover both bodies and take them back to the URD for study.

Jadaira’s birth had been like this. Kyara had actually died in labor, and Teresa had been forced to cut open her friend’s body to get the little white pup out.

Without thinking too much about it, she approached the carcass and dragged her blade along the outer edge of the area that had shown movement.

A puff of gas rose into her face, making her grimace. God, this thing stinks. If I was stuck in there, I’d eat my way out, too. She extended the incision as far as she dared, and then heard the grinding sound grow louder and stepped back again.

The slice she had made through the ’shrike’s tough hide widened into a gap, through which the end of a small, blunt snout protruded. Blood and fluid sprayed out at her as the infant exhaled and emitted a high, bleating sound. The snout pushed out until it sank glittering, baby-size ’shrike teeth into the edge of the incision and tore it wider.

Teresa measured the distance to the water. If the ’shrike was able to eat its way out of the mother’s body, it was more than ten yards to the edge of the shell pile. It had no means of locomotion on land, and it would suffocate without water.

She couldn’t wait until Noel worked out the problem with the other inflatable. “Dair, you and Onkar get up here, right now,” she called to them. When she saw them climbing out of the water, she turned to the carcass and plied her blade again, this time creating a lateral incision the length of the abdomen.

For a moment a bloody membrane bulged out of the long gap Teresa had cut, and then it burst, spewing fluid, placenta, and an infant ’shrike the same size as Teresa onto the shells.

“Whoa.” Teresa scurried back, but she couldn’t stop staring at the newborn. It had the same coloring as its mother, but the body appeared deformed. Its mouth was wider but shallower, and it had no claspers. The domed shape of the upper head and the longer tail and fins were more like those of warm-blooded aquatics.

Teresa forgot about the malformed body parts as the baby ’shrike began snapping and writhing, choking on the air it couldn’t breathe.

“Damn it.” She looked over her shoulder at the incredulous ’Zangians. “Help me drag it to the edge.” Neither of them moved. “Now.”

The infant ’shrike went still as soon as Teresa grabbed its tail. Small eyes rolled up as it looked at Jadaira and Onkar, who flanked it and took hold of its pectoral fins.

“Watch the denticles,” Teresa told them as they began to haul it toward the water. The ’shrike didn’t move or struggle against them, but lay limp, its gill vents straining for water that wasn’t there.

“No.” She hated mogshrikes, hated what they did to other aquatics, but she wouldn’t be an executioner. “It deserves a chance to live, just like anyone.”

“That’s what the pod said about you,” Teresa said, panting the words. “They wanted me to let you die, and I knew you probably would, but I couldn’t do it.” She knuckled some sweat out of her eyes. “Why isn’t it fighting us?”

“Push it in,” Teresa said, “but don’t get into the water. I don’t want this thing taking a chunk out of you.”

The ’shrike’s eyes were rolled back into its head now, and its gill vents barely fluttered. Yet the instant water touched its hide, it began writhing, trying to work itself toward the sea.

Dair and Onkar got behind the ’shrike and, with Teresa, shoved it over the last few feet of shells and into the water.

“There it goes,” Teresa said, straightening and resting her hands on her hips to watch the ’shrike as it turned to swim off. “We did a good thing, guys. Thanks.”

“I’m sure you will.” Teresa shaded her eyes with one hand but didn’t see any sign of Noel in the second inflatable. “What’s taking them so long?”

The baby wasn’t swimming away. It was hovering near the edge of the wrill island, and it was looking up through the water at Teresa.

Onkar, who was breathing in deeply, turned around and walked a short distance away from the two women. He dropped down and began digging into the wrill shells, then rose. “Dr. Selmar, please come over here.”

Teresa could hardly drag herself from the sight of the well-behaved ’shrike, but something in Onkar’s tone made her go. She joined him at the hole he had dug in the shells. “What is it?”

Onkar bent and lifted a dark gray piece of dorsal fin out of the hole he had dug. “This belonged to a ’Zangian. It’s what I’ve been smelling since I climbed up here.”

Teresa went down on her knees and dug through the top layer of shells with both hands. Under the molt there were more ’Zangian body parts. “Here’s another dorsal fin, and a piece of a fluke.” She looked up at him. “These might be the two guards who went missing.”

Teresa shook her head, then heard the sound of an inflatable approaching and shaded her eyes. “There’s Noel. We’ll recover the remains and bring them back to the ship, Subcommander.”

The ’shrike lifted its head out of the water, opened its mouth, and uttered a sound. Teresa didn’t understand it, but the sound had a violent affect on Dair and Onkar, who stumbled back from the edge of the water.