Starbridge (2 page)

"Cat!"
exclaimed Mahree in delight as she crowded under his arm to see better. "A real Terran cat!"

The small black animal lay curled on top of the man in the unit. As Mahree watched, it opened eyes of palest green, emitting a tiny questioning sound.

"I've seen them on Earth," Raoul muttered, mostly to himself. "Where did he get this one? They were only cleared by the ecologists last year for shipment to Jolie."

"The Governor has three," Mahree said. "I saw one of them at that party at the mansion when she gave Dad his award for discovering the L-16

vaccine."

The man in the unit suddenly gasped, then began to struggle.

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"Oxygen!" snapped Raoul, grabbing the cat and thrusting it unceremoniously into Mahree's arms as Viorst clamped the mask over the doctor's face. The gasping noises abruptly changed to retching ones.

"Hell, he's sick. Get his head up!" Raoul and Simon dragged at the doctor's shoulders.

Mahree hastily scuttled outside. Once safely in the corridor, she leaned against the bulkhead with a sigh of relief--and discovered she was still holding the cat.

"Hi!" she whispered, delighted. Gingerly she shifted the little animal to a more comfortable position, then stroked the plushy fur. After a moment it snuggled against her trustingly.

She was still petting the cat when Raoul and Simon reappeared. Each man held one of Robert Gable's arms, steadying the newly revived man. The doctor was pale, his eyes puffy, but he wore a fresh ship's jumpsuit and his hair hung in damp ringlets from his shower. From the interview vid-record, Mahree had gained little impression of his size; now she saw that he had a slender, athletic build. He was also short; both Raoul and Simon towered over him.

The doctor's expression brightened as he saw Mahree scrambling to her feet, his pet in her arms. "Is she all right?" he asked--croaked, rather, his voice harsh from long disuse.

"She's fine," Mahree reassured him. "What a beautiful animal, and so friendly. I never got to pet one before."

"Her name is Sekhmet," Gable said, stepping forward under his own power to rub the backs of his fingers beneath the creature's chin. After a moment the animal began making a buzzing, rasping noise.

"Respiratory difficulty?" Mahree gazed anxiously at the cat.

Gable chuckled. "No, she's just purring. They do that when they're happy."

"This is my niece, Mahree Burroughs," Raoul Lamont said. "Mahree, this is Dr. Gable."

The girl nodded, her ease vanishing with the formality of the introduction.

"Hello." Gable's smile was a little strained as he formally extended his hand.

"So you're Stan Burroughs' daughter. I've heard a lot about you."

Mahree blushed as she tried to disentangle first one hand, then 7

the other. She nearly dropped the cat, who abruptly stopped purring and gave all of them a dirty look.

Gable, with an embarrassed laugh, clasped her hand with the briefest of touches. "Here, I'd better take her. I wouldn't want you to get scratched."

Regretfully, Mahree handed over the cat.

Raoul Lamont cleared his throat loudly. "Well, Doctor," he said, his voice gruffly official. "You've got a lot of explaining to do."

Gable nodded dejectedly. "I know. Can I get a cup of coffee before I start?"

Simon Viorst nodded. "That and some food. We brought you out early, so you're going to feel like you've got a hangover for a couple of hours."

The younger man grimaced. "Tell me about it."

Minutes later, the two ship's officers faced the errant ship's physician in the common room and galley over cups of coffee and a plate of sweet rolls.

Mahree sat in one of the booths across the compartment, eating a sandwich, her history text before her on the table's monitor. She was careful to keep advancing the pages, but her ears strained to catch every word.

Robert Gable took a cautious swig from the steaming mug Raoul Lamont handed him, then made a face. "I'm so far gone I can't even tell if that's bad or good. At least it's strong."

Viorst sipped his coffee and scowled. "It's bad, Doc. Your taste buds must still be asleep."

"All right, Gable, let's have that explanation," Raoul Lamont snapped.

"Where'd you get the cat, and what do you mean sneaking it aboard my ship?"

"Right," the doctor said, and sighed. "Sekhmet was a gift from Governor Tumali. 'An informal award for your services to Jolie during the epidemic,' as she put it. I had been called to the Governor's mansion to treat her little girl when she fell out of a parachute tree. When I happened to mention that I was fond of cats, the Governor hands me this one! I was on the spot--how do you turn down a valuable gift from the Governor without seeming churlish?"

"You say, i'm terribly sorry, but I can't. Thank you anyway, Governor,' "

Lamont said evenly.

"Uh, yeah." The doctor cleared his throat. "Anyway, that same afternoon you called, saying your ship's doctor had de

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cided to get married and stay on Jolie, and offering me the chance to get home months before I thought I'd be able to ... as long as I could leave immediately.

"I knew that there wasn't time to get clearance for Sekhmet, but the chance to leave early was too good to miss. I'd already been on Jolie a year longer than I'd planned because of the epidemic, so"--he turned his hands palm-up, smiling ruefully-- "so I rigged my unit, then smuggled her in with me. Half of my allotted baggage weight consists of food and supplies for her. She's housebroken, so she won't be any trouble, Captain."

"Why didn't you
ask
me?" Lamont growled.

Gable looked abashed, and very young. "I was afraid you'd say no," he admitted. "I'm sorry, sir."

"She'll have to go through quarantine when we reach Earth," Viorst warned him.

"I know. But six weeks won't be so terrible. Sekhmet's young, she'll adjust.

They'll let me visit her."

"Well, I guess it's all right," Raoul said, pouring himself another cup of coffee and clamping a lid over the steaming liquid. "But I'm going to have to fine you for disobeying orders, Doc."

"I figured you would," the younger man said resignedly, stroking the cat.

Sekhmet was asleep, relaxed trustingly into the hollow of his lap.

Raoul grunted and picked up his coffee. "Simon, we have work to do." He stood up, slanting a sardonic look down at Gable. "Doctor, you have until tomorrow to officially report for ship's duty. Welcome aboard
Desiree."

"Thank you, sir."

With a brusque nod, Lamont left, Viorst close on his heels.

Mahree heard the doctor sigh with relief, then he softly addressed his cat. "I suppose that could have been worse, girl. At least he didn't chuck us out the airlock."

She glanced covertly at him again, only to find Gable regarding her curiously. Mahree blushed as she turned back to her history text. "Want a cup of coffee?" he called. "There's half a pot of this mud left."

"All right," she said, surprised, and moved over to take the mug he held out.

"Sit down," he said, waving her to the chair opposite him. "Here you go, Sekhmet"--he passed the cat to Mahree--"say

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'thanks' to Ms. Burroughs for rescuing you." He shook his head, smiling. His easy, boyish grin revealed very white, even teeth. "If you hadn't shown such an attachment to her, your uncle might have insisted she go right back into hibernation."

Mahree smiled shyly as she took the cat and began rubbing her chin, eliciting another purr. "I doubt it. Uncle Raoul is too softhearted for his own good. He probably will 'forget' to collect that fine from you unless you remind him. He just puts on that official-sounding tone because he's afraid people won't respect him if they find out what a nice guy he is."

Gable took a sip of coffee. "I'm glad to hear that. On the way out from Earth I had a captain who was a real martinet--saluting, formal ship's uniform, all that rigamarole." He fell silent, watching her as she sweetened her coffee.

"You're what . . . sixteen? Seventeen? Stan told me, but I've forgotten. He talked about you all the time."

"I'm almost seventeen," Mahree said.

"Just my sister Linda's age," he told her. "She's the baby of the family."

"Do you have any brothers?"

He shook his head. "I'm the only male. Three sisters, all younger. You have a younger brother, right?"

"Stephen. He's twelve."

He grinned at her. "If memory serves, twelve-year-old boys are a real pain in the neck."

"Steve has his moments," Mahree said. "But he's not bad. He didn't have much opportunity to drive me crazy because I was away for two years, going to school on South Continent."

"During the Lotis Plague."

"Yes. First thing they did was quarantine North Continent, but then it spread down there anyway, during the second wave."

"The quarantine was only lifted a couple of months ago. You didn't have long to be home before leaving again."

"I was only there for six weeks before
Desiree
left. It wasn't long enough ..."

He didn't miss the faint tremor in her voice. "Homesick? Me, too. That's the real reason I couldn't leave Sekhmet behind--she reminded me too much of Nefertiti, the cat I had when I left home. She seemed like a link back to Earth."

"What did you do with her?"

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"My mother's keeping her for me. I hope she's all right. I've been gone a lot longer than I'd planned."

Mahree heard the regret in his voice, and recalled that he'd traveled to Jolie from Earth to intern in colonial medicine. He'd landed during the early stages of the epidemic's first wave--¦ when the doctors were barely realizing that Lotis Fever had mutated into a planet-wide threat, no longer the flulike virus only dangerous to the very old and the very young.

She realized that her earlier awkwardness had vanished . . . she felt as though she'd talked with Robert Gable before, and often. "Well, if the Governor had given me Sekhmet, I wouldn't have been able to resist her, either," she said warmly. "She's beautiful, Dr. Gable."

He winced exaggeratedly, shaking his head. "Cal me Rob, please! 'Dr.

Gable' makes me think of my parents, not me."

"They're physicians?"

"Yeah . . . my father's a surgeon, my mother an abdominal specialist. They met over a patient during an emergency bowel re-section; isn't that romantic?"

Mahree giggled at the thought, then sobered. "Is that why you went into medicine?" She glanced down at the table and said, because she didn't want to betray her previous knowledge, "You seem awfully young to be a doctor.''

He shrugged. "I'm twenty-four. I kind of grew up with it, so it's not as impressive as it might seem at first glance."

Yeah, sure,
Mahree thought dryly.
My dad was plenty impressed, and he
doesn't toss around words like "prodigy" and "brilliant" easily.
"This is my first trip to Earth," she said.

He nodded. "I know. Your dad told me all about you and your brother. He talked about his family all the time. If I hadn't been so groggy from the hibernation, I'd have recognized you, from all the holos on his desk. Your father used to read me excerpts from your letters--I particularly liked the one about how you masterminded the scheme to switch the food-preparation programs so the faculty ended up with the students' dinner menu, and the kids got the teachers' liquor al owance."

"I got in a lot of trouble over that," Mahree said, ducking her head in embarrassment. "It was a pretty juvenile stunt. Dad didn't-think it was funny."

"Maybe he didn't admit his amusement to
you,"
Rob told her, "but he went around the lab chuckling every time he

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thought about it. Life was grim around there, and your letters were the only things that weren't depressing. At least . . . until the Plague hit your school.

Then it got rough, I know."

"It was better for me than for the others," she said, not meeting his eyes. "At least I stayed healthy."

"I don't know," he said grimly. "I think it's worse in some ways to be one of the ones who isn't sick. I remember that by the end of the epidemic, you wrote that you were pulling regular duty alongside the teachers and nurses."

Mahree nodded, then changed the subject. "My dad talked about you in his letters," she said. "He said he couldn't have completed his research on the L-16 without you."

"Bull. He'd have discovered it. Your father is a brilliant researcher, as well as an excellent physician."

"He's a great father, too. Even during the worst of the first wave, he still found time to call me once a week; usually from the lab."

"And now you're on your way to Earth for college?" Rob asked. "Where?"

"The Sorbonne in Paris."

He whistled admiringly. "Good school. What are you planning to major in?"

Mahree frowned as she stroked the cat. "I don't know. I don't seem to have much aptitude for the things I'm interested in, and the things I'm good at, I don't care about doing. I've even considered medicine, but ..." She shrugged.

"You ought to be sure before you spend four or five years of your life immersed in a subject," Rob warned. "It doesn't pay to pick something just because of your parents, because you want to make them proud, or admire the prestige and the money." He reached over to caress Sekhmet. Mahree saw that his hands were beautifully shaped--long-fingered and capable. His voice took on a bitter note. "I should know."

"You?" Mahree was startled. "But you're a
doctor.
My dad says you're very good! Don't you like it?"

He sighed. "Yes and no. The whole time I was growing up, it was all I could imagine doing ... my parents were so thrilled when I was accepted at Johns Hopkins, because that was where they both went ..."

He took a sip of his coffee and made a face at the taste. "A lot of the time it's rewarding, but for some reason I've never

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seemed to get everything I want out of it. I also got a Ph.D. in psychology, and sometimes I think that's more my line. But ..." He shrugged. "I don't know. I've always wanted to do something that would make a difference, that would be
unique,
that I could look back on at the end of my life and feel good about. Like your father, when he discovered the L-16 vaccine."