Two Against the Stars Read online

  “Of course not.” Carialle was nonplussed at the suggestion. “I hoped maybe one of the street vendors might need help cooking, or a local restaurant might need dishwashing perhaps. They didn’t seem like places owning expensive servo robots. Do you have any suggestions?”

  The elderly woman patted her hand. “If you aren’t afraid of hard work, no one cares about the formalities. The Sector authorities have bigger fish to fry than whoever wanders into this slum. I know a place that’s constantly looking for help. One of my friends told me a few days ago she’d lost a few employees. High attrition rate, not everyone can take working in the environment.”

  “What kind of place is this?” Carialle was prepared to accept pretty much anything in her current dire straits.

  “It’s a clinic and residential medical facility, handles pretty sick patients. Job’s not much, primarily cleaning, but they pay a fair wage. The environment can get depressing. Stressful.” She brushed crumbs from her skirt. “Or so the girls in apartment 6d have told me. Both of them work there and I’ve had a few other tenants get jobs as orderlies or cooks.”

  “I’ve done cleaning before.” Carialle shoved away her memories of all the years she’d cleaned the nooks and crannies of the temple on Tulavarra.

  “Go out the gate and turn left, walk about four blocks and find the Milning Rehab Clinic, ask for Mrs. Trang. You can tell them I sent you. Actually it’s the manager I know best, Gretta, but Mrs. Trang likes to do her own hiring.” Mrs. Galaganos sniffed. “She’s on the cold, unpleasant side, spurned my friendly offer to help with an open house for the neighborhood when the clinic first opened. But Gretta says the clinic is well run.” The landlady checked her own chrono. “You could go today, if you hurried.”

  “I might.” The landlady was so pushy, Carialle speculated for a moment whether she got a commission from sending people to apply for the less than desirable jobs. She wanted to be alone, to relax and glory in her freedom for the first time in over four years, but the necessity to have an income drove her to leave the tiny apartment with her new landlady, and to head for the clinic. Going tomorrow when someone more enterprising might have already beaten her to the job wasn’t a lost opportunity she could risk.

  A relatively short walk away, the clinic was a neat building, blue with darker blue trim, surrounded by ruthlessly trimmed, thorny bushes. Wishing she was in a more presentable state, Carialle entered the lobby, impressed by how clean and organized it was. “I’m here about a job,” she told the receptionist. “Mrs. Galaganos sent me. I’m supposed to ask for Mrs. Trang.”

  The woman frowned. “The owner isn’t here today, but I think we do need a new person on the night cleaning crew. Sit over there and wait a minute—I’ll get the manager.”

  Carialle took the indicated chair and a few moments later a harassed woman emerged from the hall on the right. Using her power to influence the newcomer to want to help her, Carialle stood, adding pressure to react positively and be impressed by her attitude. She subtly eased the woman’s internal stress over her own problems to make room for cheerful acceptance of Carialle.

  Hands on her hips, the manager surveyed her from head to toe. She didn’t offer to shake hands or invite Carialle to go to a more private location, much less to fill out paperwork. The interview, such as it was, was plainly to be conducted in the middle of the bustling lobby, with workers and patients’ family members brushing past. “I’m Gretta Nestrum. You have experience?”

  “In cleaning, not nursing or anything taking care of patients.” She figured honesty was her best approach here. “Mrs. Galaganos suggested I—”

  Gretta unbent a little, a small smile on her face. “Granny Galaganos sends us people from time to time. I think she wants to be sure her tenants can pay their rent—she has no idea what skills I need. But she means well enough.” Gretta cleared her throat. “I have orderlies and aides to take care of the patients but you could be in luck—one of my janitors quit yesterday. Can you start tonight? Now?” Gretta eyed her again, taking in the plain gray tunic and pants.

  “Of course, if you need help.” Carialle made her voice humble and eager.

  “We pay minimum wage, credits in the hand weekly. You handle your own taxes. We don’t do any paperwork.” Gretta raised one elegantly shaped blue eyebrow and tilted her head, clearly waiting to see if Carialle had any issue with the legalities.

  The less of a trail I leave, the better. “Who needs the extra hassle?” she said.

  “I supply the uniforms. You’ll have to buy the right shoes tomorrow— we’ll tell you where and you get a discount since you work here. You’ll be on probation for a week, then if you do a good job, keep your nose clean, I’ll make you a regular, give you a set shift of hours. Of course you’ll have to have an interview with the owner, Mrs. Trang, but she isn’t here today. We can at least get you working and solve part of my problem in the meantime, till she approves you. Follow me.” Gretta led the way past the reception desk and along a gleaming corridor, into an employee dressing room, with lockers. Taking a tunic and leggings from a rack of similar garments, she handed the clothing to Carialle. “Go ahead and change and I’ll send Dak Peters to fetch you. Shadow him for tonight, do whatever he wants done. Our cleaning robos are old but well maintained and we do require hand cleaning of specific areas, for the benefit of the patients. You may have to deal with hazardous biological messes from time to time, since many of our patients are quite critically ill but I assume you can handle the tasks.”

  “Biological messes?”

  “Blood, vomit, other substances. Does the idea bother you?” Eyes narrowed, head thrust forward on her skinny neck, the manager made her question a challenge.

  Carialle shook her head. “Cleaning is cleaning.”

  “Good attitude. Peters will give you the necessary training for anything hazardous but I like to warn people. Saves my time and theirs. Had more than one pass out the first time a patient threw up or hemorrhaged in front of them.” The amused expression came and went, apparently amusement over the delicate sensibilities of certain former employees. “You’re off at seven in the morning. Report at six tomorrow night. I may need you to cover in a few day shifts, assuming you work out— will the odd schedule be a problem?”

  “Of course not. Any time you need me I’ll be here. I’m so grateful for the opportunity.”

  Gretta gave her a perfunctory smile and left the room without further comment.

  Dak Peters was a gangly balding man of indeterminate age, friendly enough but anxious, with nervous tics.

  The night passed quickly, as exhausted as Carialle was from the events of the day. She managed to keep up with Peters, while influencing him to think she was efficient and exactly what he needed in a staffer. Gretta checked on her twice, once watching her clean a visitors’ bathroom for fifteen minutes or so. The manager provided no feedback or instructions but nodded in silent satisfaction as Carialle burnished the fixtures with a final swipe of her cloth.

  She met the other night staff as she was making rounds with Peters and again in the dressing room at the end of the shift, but no one was inclined to chat. Co-workers who kept to themselves and clearly wanted to leave as fast as possible after work rather than bond over chitchat were exactly what she preferred, making the job even more perfect for her situation.

  Walking home in the early morning light, she reflected on her new place of employment. There were three wings to the clinic. On one side were patients of all ages, in varying degrees of recovery from surgery or serious medical conditions. In the center was an urgent care establishment. In both areas, the nursing staff projected a caring and professional attitude, and their auras held the sunny yellow and positive pink of those who heal.

  The third wing was much different, housing nine men, most of them elderly, all of them heavily sedated or nearly catatonic. She’d been shocked when Peters led her there, as it was such a contrast to the rest of the clinic. As soon as she’d crossed the threshold and the hea
vy door shut behind her, Carialle felt trapped, struggling to quell a sudden panic attack. One staffer sat at a console in the center. At first she naively assumed the man was monitoring the patients’ vital signs until she realized he was watching a video on his AI that Carialle recognized as hard core porn, having seen Dobkin pleasure himself to the same scenes more than once.

  Surprised, she scanned the man’s aura and found the gray and sickly green hues of cruelty, greed and other negative traits tainting most in the Combine ranks. What was such a person doing in charge of desperately ill patients?

  “Matikian, this is the new janitor,” Peters said as they walked by. “You’ll probably see her a lot.”

  Matikian raised one hand but didn’t take his eyes off the vid screen. “Don’t bother me, I won’t bother you,” was all he said.

  “Who are these patients?” she asked as she toured the rooms with the supervisor.

  “Former soldiers. Mrs. Trang has a contract with the planetary veterans’ administration, to care for them.” Peters gave her a look she couldn’t interpret.

  “How fortunate for them,” she said, hoping she’d chosen an appropriate response. Peters relaxed so she decided she’d identified the correct tone to take. Carialle scanned the man whose room she was in and caught…nothing. Shocked, she tried again and found only gray. He might as well be dead. Yet the machines indicated he was alive. Each room was the same story. She squared her shoulders and stifled the questions flooding her mind. This was none of her business.

  Reaching her new home, she took off the gray tunic and leggings and sprawled on her bare mattress in her utilitarian underwear. After four endless years of grinding captivity, she’d escaped, found a home and a job all in one day. Her good fortune seemed nearly too good to be true, especially given the undeniable truth her god had ignored all her previous pleas for help. He must have intervened on my behalf today, but why? The sudden generosity from the deity made her wary—what price would he place on his help? What might she be asked to do in return? Thuun was a just and fair god, or so the legends said, but he had high expectations of his priestesses. Lucky I never officially became one. Carialle decided to worry about Thuun’s demands when the time came, closed her eyes and willed herself to fall asleep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Around noon she awoke and made herself get dressed, trying to ignore the raging hunger in her belly. A bag of greasy munchies and stale cookies in the employee break room at the clinic were all she’d eaten since the late lunch the day before. She had to buy the shoes Gretta wanted her to wear, she needed basic amenities to make the apartment more livable and she definitely needed to shop for food. All before she reported to the clinic to start her next shift that evening.

  When she ventured into the main courtyard on her way to the marketplace, she found Mrs. Galaganos on her knees, weeding a flowerbed, while an aged furry pet of indeterminate species dozed in the sun by her side. The landlady paused in her efforts as Carialle walked past. “Get the job?”

  “Yes, thank you for the recommendation.”

  “How was Mrs. Trang?”

  “I didn’t meet her —she wasn’t in. The manager, Gretta, hired me.”

  “Gretta’s a good girl, local, knew her since she was a knee-high kid. I figured she’d like the looks of you, all soft spoken and deferential.” Mrs. Galaganos struggled to rise and after a moment’s hesitation, Carialle stepped across the flowers to help. “Thank you, sweetie. Off to do your shopping, are you?”

  “I need a few things before going to work tonight.”

  As her landlady gently quizzed her about what she needed and made suggestions, Carialle used her power to peer more deeply into the woman’s aura. The colors indicated Mrs. Galaganos liked to keep her fingers on everything going on in the neighborhood. She had a deep thirst for knowledge as a means of control of her environment. Living in a place like this, Carialle could see why the woman wanted to keep up with the business of everyone in her orbit. Knowledge was power in certain situations. She wondered if Mrs. Galaganos planned to pump her for gossip from the clinic. If she gets too nosy about me, I’ll have to be on the move.

  “You certainly maintain the garden in great shape,” she said, trying to change the subject.

  Pride evident on her face, Mrs. Galaganos surveyed her small domain. “Yes, all but the biggest tree. I’ll be devastated if anything happens to it but the leaves have been dropping for ten days now and this isn’t the leaf-casting season. I gave it extra water.”

  Impatient as she was to be off about her own errands, Carialle felt a compulsion to react to the concern about the possibly ailing tree. Tulavarrans and nature worked hand in hand on her planet and a priestess was never to ignore the needs of the differently-sentient. “Additional irrigation isn’t always the best tactic,” she said, walking toward the tree in question. “Let me take a look.”

  Mrs Galaganos trailed behind her. The pet yawned, rolled over in its patch of sun, and ignored them.

  The tree had a beautiful shape, with a swirling trunk rising twenty feet in the air, and graceful branches currently sporting rather patchy clumps of leaves. The older leaves were a glossy deep green but the newer ones were shriveled, mottled with red and brown. Carialle stepped across the ornamental barrier of white shells and rested her hand on the tree, reaching for the sentient with her power. A carving to the left caught her eye. “What’s this?”

  “My late husband planted this tree when we moved in here, all those years ago.” Mrs. Galaganos sighed. “He was such a romantic—he carved our names into the trunk, with a heart, in honor of our love. Said it represented our promise to each other. This tree is my last link to him—he died a year ago. I’ll be devastated if it dies too. I feel close to him when I’m out here gardening in the shade of the tree.” Her voice quavered and Carialle feared the elderly lady was on the verge of tears.

  She peered more closely at the inscription and could barely make out two names and several slashes resembling a date. The heart shape was distorted by the tree’s growth pattern. “It’s lovely,” she said, repressing a shudder at the idea of defacing the living wood in this fashion. The carving was old and clearly not the cause of the tree’s current health problem. “Bugs. Living deep within the trunk, feasting on the rising sap.”

  “How—how can you tell?”

  “I know a lot about plants. I’ve studied them.” Carialle improvised. The tree was attempting to tell her what course of action might help it fight off the infestation. She sent the entity a comforting thought and then used her power to push the insects.

  Mrs. Galaganos screeched and retreated as a flood of tiny black and white insects came pouring from the ground between the tree’s gnarled roots, and out of every knothole. “I’ll get the watering robo and drown them!” She hobbled to take action, as the pet arrived to growl and make threatening noises at the invaders. His elderly mistress washed the horde off the sidewalk and into a drain, muttering imprecations against them and obviously taking great joy in defeating the hitherto unseen enemy. Carialle bit her lip hard to repress her urge to grin at the landlady’s enthusiasm.

  She stepped away from the tree, hopping across the puddles and rivulets left behind on the sidewalk by Mrs. Galaganos’s flood. “I believe if you sprinkle a spice which possesses a heavy concentration of capsaicin or a similar substance, around the roots once a week, work it into the ground with a trowel and then water, the tree will remain insect-free and should recover. Follow the procedure for four weeks.”

  “It looks better already.”

  Carialle pivoted on her heel to survey the tree. The leaves did seem healthier and the branches were less droopy.

  “How—how did you do that?” Mrs. Galaganos was staring at her.

  Hastily Carialle sent a thread of her power to calm the old woman, and to help her believe the lie she was about to utter. “I heard them moving and chirping under the bark and so I thumped hard on the tree. I guess I startled a bunch of them and the others fo
llowed, like larger creatures stampeding. You took care of the problem then.”

  Mrs. Galaganos took a deep breath and patted the robo by her side. “I certainly did.”

  With reluctance Carialle left an outsized feeling of gratitude for her efforts in her landlady’s mind. The woman made it her business to know everyone and everything in the district apparently and Carialle might need a favor or significant help at some point. Always good to have a kernel of obligation already planted. “I’ve got to be going now. I’m running out of time before I have to be at work so I must get my errands done.”

  “See you later, dearie.”

  She waved and left the courtyard, heading for the marketplace. She’d probably gone overboard with her assistance to the tree, but it was hard to tamp down her power once she was engaged in a task actually proper and in line with her beliefs. At the same time, leaving Mrs. Galaganos feeling so indebted to her made her feel queasy. Uncomfortably close to the type of coercion the Combine had forced her to do.

  The square wasn’t as crowded today and Carialle was surprised how exposed and vulnerable she felt. The euphoria of yesterday over being a free woman had faded and more practical realities were setting in. As she hastened to the shoe store, she speculated whether Dobkin’s body had been found yet and if anyone was hunting for her as a result. The Combine had the best technology, including image jammers, so she knew there’d be no usable surveillance video of the two of them anywhere. Dobkin kept his personal unit activated at all times, which had also protected her. But what about eye witnesses? Had anyone in the seedy hotel paid attention to Dobkin and his alien companion?