allowed yourself to die?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t...know how to deal with it.”
He made a face. “We don’t have grief counselors aboard. Well, except doctors,” he added.
“Yes. Not even an interfaith chapel. Nothing.” She swallowed. “I don’t suppose military Cehn-Tahr are religious, anyway.”
“You’d suppose wrong,” he said wryly. “They’re deeply religious, in their own way. They have a deity, Cashto. You may see small statues of him from time to time...”
“The catlike busts, with glowing green eyes?” she asked, curious. “They’re religious objects?”
“That’s right. Even Dtimun had one in his quarters.”
“I didn’t realize...”
“They’re very like humans,” Hahnson said with a smile.
“Except for the new CO,” she said heavily. “You’d insult him by even saying that.” She frowned. “Why does he hate us so much?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Dtimun let something slip once to the effect that Rhemun had suffered a personal tragedy that was somehow associated with humans. But I don’t know anything about the circumstances.”
“How odd that he’d end up commanding an interracial group like ours.”
“Their command structure is largely Clan-related,” he said. “I don’t understand exactly how it works, but Rhemun was next in line for command of the Holconcom. He didn’t have a choice.”
“The men don’t like him.” She sighed. “He’s put up more backs than a cat at a dog fight.”
He laughed out loud. “Please, don’t say that where he can hear you. I’d hate to have to repair the damage.”
She smiled with faint mischief. “Shame on me.”
“You get a good night’s sleep,” he said. “Let your assistant handle anything that comes up if there’s an emergency.” He sobered. “I can tell you that time really does make the difference. In a few days, the worst of the pain will ease. You’ll get used to it.”
“I suppose I don’t really have a choice about that,” she agreed heavily. “Thanks for listening.”
“I’ll always do that. Anytime you need an ear.”
She smiled. “I owe my career to you. They’d have washed me out in a heartbeat if they knew how much damage that accident did to my brain.”
“I only altered a couple of neurological profiles,” he said with twinkling dark eyes. “No big deal.”
“It was for me. You and Dr. Ruszel kept me safe.” She grimaced. “If the CO ever finds out, he’ll wash me out of the service, you know.” She looked up with wide, worried blue eyes. “I’ll be up for Reboot...”
“I will never let that happen,” he said firmly. “I promise.”
“Yes, but...”
“Mallory, you’re the best friend of the wife of the heir to the Cehn-Tahr Empire,” he pointed out. “Do you really think she’d ever allow you to end up in Reboot?”
She stood up. “It would depend on circumstances, I guess. But I can hope.”
“Meanwhile, lots of rest. And take a sedative,” he instructed. “I don’t usually approve of them, but in this case, it’s necessary.”
She smiled. “Okay. Thanks.” She hesitated and turned back. “This elderly woman, she was a seer. She said something to me about the future, about horror looming, that I shouldn’t run from harsh words...”
“Seers are a dime a dozen on these fringe planets—you know that.” He smiled. “Lady Caneese is the only person I ever knew who was accurate with her predictions. I shouldn’t worry about warnings from strangers.”
She laughed. “I suppose you’re right. Well, thanks again.”
“My pleasure.”
He turned off the mute sphere and opened the door. “Lots of rest. I’ll make it an official diagnosis. Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
She turned and walked slowly to her quarters. Hahnson waited until she was out of sight before he made his way to the bridge.
RHEMUN WAS DISCUSSING a new navigation program with Holt Stern when Hahnson joined them on the bridge.
Back when Holt was captain of the Bellatrix, even with the usual military formality, Hahnson would have thought nothing of greeting his commander with a smile. Here, on the Morcai, it was like boot camp. Military formality was the order of the day. Nobody used first names. Nobody acted in a chummy fashion.
So Hahnson made a snappy salute. “Sir,” he addressed Rhemun, “I need to speak to you for a moment.”
Rhemun never smiled. His cat-eyes darkened to a solemn blue. “Very well.” He turned to Stern. “Keep working with that program,” he said curtly. “I will expect it to be functioning perfectly before we lift. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Holt snapped him a salute, sat back down and went to work. Hahnson, who knew his friend very well, could see the hidden irritation that accompanied the remark.
Rhemun led the way into the small cubicle off the bridge that was used for an office. He closed the door, but he didn’t sit down or offer Hahnson a seat.
“Well?” he asked curtly.
Hahnson’s dark eyes narrowed. “I’ve just spoken to Dr. Mallory,” he began.
Rhemun held up a hand. “I know that Dr. Mallory has reacted badly to an incident earlier today,” he said. “She will have to learn to cope. Even a combat medic must be expected to defend herself from attack.”
“Commander Dtimun never allowed medics to be armed,” Hahnson commented.
“I refuse to send any personnel into the field without weapons,” Rhemun replied tersely. “But as to Mallory’s condition, she must work through it herself.”
He sighed. “Yes, sir, I realize that. But Dr. Mallory has never been in combat situations until quite recently.”
Rhemun didn’t speak. He folded his arms over his broad chest and stared at Hahnson.
“She really is doing the best she can, sir,” he said finally.
“None of us has the time to shelter a physician from the harsh realities of military life,” he replied curtly. “If Dr. Mallory finds her work too tedious, perhaps she should consider another branch of service.”
“That is not an option,” Hahnson said shortly.
Rhemun raised an eyebrow.
“Dr. Mallory washed out of combat school,” Hahnson said stiffly. “Then she was rejected as a breeder...”
Rhemun’s expression, in a normally expressionless face, was faintly surprising. “A breeder?” He said the word with blatant contempt.
“It isn’t what you think,” Hahnson replied. “She was kept in a lab while they decided if her genetics were sound enough for breeding purposes. They were not.”
Rhemun’s face hardened. “An inferior genome...”
“Recessive genes,” Hahnson shot back, not caring if he had to take the loss of points on his military record. “They’re not in fashion this year.”
“Excuse me?”
“The