Rhemun gaped at her. She’d just spoken to him unthinkingly in the dialect the Rojoks used, the ancient tongue, which he spoke but no human ever had.
The Rojok commander laughed. “So everything written of the Cehn-Tahr Holconcom is true, I see,” he mused. “Such speed is almost impossible to believe, unseen.”
Rhemun nodded solemnly. “This is almost never seen outside a battlefield. Why is my medic here?”
The commander’s lieutenant moved forward. “We brought her to treat our officer,” he said. “She speaks the ancient tongue,” he added with faint reverence.
“So I see.” Rhemun lifted both eyebrows. “Impressive,” he added, almost reluctantly.
“Odd that your commander would allow her to wander around hostile, contested territory alone,” the older commander remarked, obviously not recognizing that Rhemun was the commander. Holconcon leaders never wore rank insignia.
“He had no knowledge of her deployment,” Rhemun replied. “I came in search of her.” He didn’t add that Mallory’s absence from the camp had first annoyed him, and then concerned him, as she’d gone in the direction of a suspected Rojok camp. Instead of deploying someone to check on her, he’d come himself. He didn’t dare examine that thought too closely.
“I wasn’t supposed to come alone,” Edris told the Rojok with a grimace. “I suppose I’ll be stood against a wall and shot for insubordination.”
The Rojok commander laughed.
“I thank you for my life,” the Rojok told her gently, and smiled. “We will tell tales of you around campfires.”
“You honor me, when I am unworthy,” she said, in the same ancient tongue.
He only smiled. He sighed as he looked at Rhemun. “Perhaps the old ones are right, and Chacon’s government will be one to support.” He shrugged. “My men and I will surrender ourselves and hope for clemency.”
“I can tell you from my own experience that Chacon is the most fair-minded of military leaders,” Rhemun told him. “He does not punish idealism.”
The Rojok smiled secretly. He did not share his affiliation with the new head of the Rojok government. The Rojok bowed formally. So did Rhemun.
“May I know your name?” he asked the little blonde human.
She managed a faint smile for him. “Dr. Edris Mallory.”
He made a stab at pronouncing it, which widened the smile.
“That’s close enough,” she said, encouraging him.
“My name is Soltok,” he replied. “I will remember you.”
“I will remember you.” It was a formal leave-taking.
The men saluted her and Rhemun. The salutes were returned. The human and the Cehn-Tahr left the camp, walking.
When they were far enough down the dirt trail to be out of earshot, Rhemun glared at her. “I gave strict orders that no one was to do foot searches down here,” he said curtly.
“Sorry, sir,” she said, and managed a salute. “There was a wounded person. I recognized the physiology as Cularian. I didn’t realize it was a Rojok. Nobody had seen Mekashe and I thought it might be him. The sensors weren’t working properly...” She stopped walking, grimaced and caught her breath. There was a lot of pain. She felt unsteady on her feet.
Her remark about Mekashe had caught him on the raw. He didn’t like her affection for his friend. He would have said something about it but her gasp caught his attention. “I smell blood,” he exclaimed, turning to her. “And cauterized flesh.”
She drew in a breath and went to sit on a large boulder beside the trail. “I was shot with a chasat.”
“What?”
She held up a hand, because he was looking back in the direction of the Rojok camp with fiery intent. “They saw the uniform and fired first. Having seen you appear in their camp the way you did, I wouldn’t have blamed them for shooting first. Holconcom have a fierce reputation among soldiers, and I don’t wear a medical insignia that’s visible at a distance. Something I’m going to recommend change for,” she added.
“How bad is it?”
She swallowed. “I made running repairs. I think I may have some minor internal damage. I have nothing left in my medical banks. I used it all on the Rojok officer.”
He drew in a rough breath. “I can carry you to the ship,” he said.
She held up a hand. “No!”
He scowled, waiting for an explanation.
“I know that the commander doesn’t find anything attractive about me, however, I am bleeding,” she pointed out. “Even if I make a breach in protocol by mentioning it, if you come in contact with my blood, it could...” She bit her tongue. She was going to catch hell anyway, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
He lifted his chin. He was angry that she’d dared to say anything to him about intimate Cehn-Tahr behaviors. They were not discussed even between males, unless they shared Clan affiliation. Even then, it required at least family status.
Here she was, an outworlder, a human, presuming to lecture him on the dangers of touching her. And not for the first time. She’d made the same remark when he started to carry her across the chasm on an earlier mission. The trouble was, she was right. That made it worse.
He rubbed the crystal on his comm ring and Hahnson appeared.
“Mallory is wounded. I cannot touch her. This is our position. Make haste.” He cut the communication and glared at Mallory.
“Sir, it’s not my fault,” she said, trying to stand at attention. “I was made aware of certain things during my time on Memcache when Dr. Ruszel delivered her son. I learned by things I overheard. I did not pry or ask questions.”
He looked down his nose at her. She was in obvious pain and he felt guilty that he didn’t just swing her up in his arms and run with her back to the refugee camp. However, she was correct. The scent of her pheromones was already disturbing. If he touched her, if he came in contact with her blood, it would almost certainly provoke a mating behavior. It was more dangerous than coming into contact with just her skin. It made him angry that she knew.
“We do not discuss such things, even among ourselves,” he snapped.
“Yes, sir. I know that, sir. I’m very...sorry, sir.” Her voice was getting weaker.
He rubbed the crystal again. “Hahnson, where the hell are you?” he demanded, sounding so much like Dtimun in a temper that Edris just stared at him.
“Five clicks away. Four. Three,” Hahnson was counting.
Two seconds later, he landed in one of the small scout ships, piloted by Ensign Jones. “Hold it there,” he told Jones. “We’ll be right in.”
He ran to Edris, examined her and grimaced. “You have a knack for accidents,” he pointed out as he extricated his tools from his wrist unit. “You couldn’t treat this yourself?”
“Used up all my meds treating a renegade Rojok.”
“And they shot you?” Hahnson added coldly. “Some gratitude!”
“His men shot me when they saw the uniform, Doc,” she replied, wincing. “We need bigger medical devices on our uniforms...”
“I’ll put in a suggestion. Hold still.”
He had to go close to work on