“She will adjust,” Mekashe said gently.
“She’ll have to. I just pray that she doesn’t say anything impulsive and cause offense. Of course, on Memcache, there are people just like us, so there shouldn’t be any surprises.”
Which meant that Jasmine didn’t know, nor did her father, that the Cehn-Tahr weren’t what they appeared. He felt a momentary twinge of fear at the thought that Jasmine might find him frightening. But then, he was facing problems before they appeared. It was stupid.
“You may go first,” Mekashe told the professor with a smile.
The other humanoid chuckled. “Fine. Queen to queen’s pawn four,” he said, in the classic opening move.
* * *
JASMINE STOPPED BY the surgery on her way to purchase the dress. She hadn’t wanted to mention how painful her hand really was, where Mekashe had held it the night before. She hadn’t slept because it felt so badly bruised. She hadn’t wanted to say anything about it to Mekashe, who would be horrified to know that he’d caused her so much pain. She couldn’t bear to hurt his feelings. But the pain was really bad and she was going to have to let a doctor look at her hand.
“I slammed a drawer on it,” she explained to the surgeon on call with a faint grimace. “Is it a bad bruise?”
“It’s a bad break, young woman,” the older man said quietly. “No worries, I can fix it. But you must be more careful. Even with our modern tech, broken bones can be tricky, especially the tiny ones in the hand.”
“I’ll be careful,” she promised.
She was shocked. She hadn’t realized how strong Mekashe’s hands were. She knew that he hadn’t meant to hurt her. But the injury made her nervous. If just holding hands could cause such damage, what about anything more?
BUT MEKASHE DID realize he’d been too aggressive with her, when he noticed that she gave him her other hand to hold, not the right one. The virtual ball he carried in his pocket, to protect against unexpected telepathic intrusions, blanked out Jasmine’s thoughts. However, he’d seen the pain in her expression when she drew back from him the night before and he’d noticed her discomfort this morning. It was disturbing, especially when she rejoined them with a dress in a bag and let slip that she’d seen the ship’s surgeon.
“Oh, it was nothing,” she lied. “I slammed the drawer on my hand last night, but the doctor mended it,” she added quickly, and chided herself for blurting out the news of her visit to the surgery. Mekashe looked drawn and worried. “I’m okay. Really!” she added to reassure him.
He started to apologize, but she only laughed and said she wanted to try on her new dress. She left them staring at the chessboard.
* * *
MEKASHE WAS CRESTFALLEN. He wanted very much to hold Jasmine. But it might take extra precautions, especially now that he knew he’d damaged her hand.
He used the communicator this time, instead of the holon, to speak to Hahnson directly.
“My strength has always been an issue,” he told the physician. “Even among my friends, when I was a boy, I had to be careful. But I bruised Jasmine’s hand because I was overly...stimulated.” He hesitated. “Is there some way, some covert way, that I can lessen her impact on me, just for a little while?”
“Dravelzium,” Hahnson said easily. “Two ccs, in the artery at your neck,” he added. “The ship’s surgeon should have the chemicals necessary to prepare it. Would you like me to speak to him for you? I won’t mention the woman,” he added, smiling to himself.
Mekashe relaxed. “That would be kind of you. As you know, we have issues with outworld physicians. Not with you,” he said, with a brown-eyed smile, which denoted the affection that all Cehn-Tahr had for the Morcai’s medical chief of staff.
“That’s only because I belong to the Holconcom,” Hahnson teased.
Mekashe hesitated. He was having second thoughts. “It may provoke questions...”
“I was just thinking that myself,” Hahnson replied, interrupting him. “You hold a high position in the Cehn-Tahr government, and she’s the daughter of the first Terravegan ambassador to Memcache. I’m certain the ship’s surgeon wouldn’t gossip, but the confidentiality rule sometimes escapes people who work in the infirmary.”
“A thought that presented itself.” Mekashe grimaced. “Is there another way?”
“I can send you an injector and several of the discs for it,” Hahnson said. “It’s not difficult to do. I’ll send detailed instructions with it. Do you have access to a holo printer?”
“I have one in my quarters. The emperor insisted when he made me promise to take the scenic route home. Any urgent documents could be forwarded to me without the risk of hacked communications.”
“A novel solution. I’ll forward the whole package directly to you. We won’t have to involve the ship’s surgeon.” Hahnson sighed. “I fear that he might ask some serious questions. Humans only use dravelzium to tranquilize large mammals, particularly on outlying farms.”
“Which Terravegans have no part of.” Mekashe chuckled. “They’re all vegetarians.”
“Not quite all,” Hahnson replied. “I have it on good authority that Professor Dupont—excuse me, Ambassador Dupont—is quite fond of a good steak. Although I don’t know about his daughter’s dietary habits.” He frowned. “Do you dine with them?”
Mekashe shook his head. “I hesitate to share such intimate knowledge of our culture, even with humans to whom I grow close. Our comrades in the Holconcom already know that we eat our food raw and whole.”
“It might be a conversation killer over dinner with humans who don’t know that,” Hahnson murmured drily.
“Of a certainty.” He hesitated. “I was on leave when Dtimun had the Cehn-Tahr reveal themselves to their crewmates. Do you remember when the human contingent of the Holconcom saw us as we are for the first time?” he added. “Was it...traumatic?”
“Well, no,” Hahnson said. “Not actually. But you have to remember, all of us—us meaning my original self—and you, were in the Rojok prison camp, Ahkmau, together. We had the memory of the sacrifices and horror of that place. It outweighed any surprise at the real face of the Cehn-Tahr. We were so fond of all of you by then that it wouldn’t have mattered to us if you’d had two heads and three legs.”
Mekashe smiled. “As we became fond of all of you. I do have memories of the prison camp, because I was a member of the Holconcom at the time, although a very junior one. It was traumatic. There were many atrocities.”
“They were nightmarish,” Hahnson said. He studied Mekashe’s face in the Tri-D setup and frowned slightly. “Is there a more pressing reason that you need the dravelzium?” he asked delicately.
Mekashe hesitated. “I haven’t experienced any of the mating behaviors,” he replied. “However...I held Jasmine’s hand and I think I bruised it. She is delicately built.”
Hahnson smiled. “Normal humans are weaker than Cehn-Tahr. You might consider disabling some of your microcyborgs. Just to be on the safe side.”
He frowned. He had no microcyborgs. Just as Dtimun had the advanced genetic restructuring, so did Mekashe. He had wholeheartedly accepted the modifications, without hesitation, in the past, when he joined the military as an adolescent, shortly before the deaths of both his parents.
The ship alarms sounded. Hahnson glanced at