“Are the Sovereigns married? Do aliens marry?”
“Neither Sovereign has entered into a formal union, though negotiations have been initiated with prominent families on Reima Two. Imperial tradition requires twin males must share one wife.”
Share a wife.
The words send an unexpected shiver through me that I don't want to examine too closely.
I'm about to ask more when a soft chime announces a visitor.
“The physician has arrived,” the computer tells me.
“Open the door,” I say as the projection fades, but those twin faces remain burned in my memory.Will I ever meet them?Clay said they chose me specifically. And I feel both excited and frightened by the prospect.
6
A VISIT FROM AN IMPERIAL DOCTOR, EVE
A male doctorand his assistant enter my quarters. The younger man bows so deeply, his single black braid slips off his shoulder.
“Come in,” I say. I've only seen a few doctors in my life, fewer still who actually were interested in my health. So I have no reason to expect an alien one would be any different.
The doctor is tall and slender, his skin a flawless shade of polished pewter, and his face is long and austere, suggesting meticulousness.
His assistant clutches a black case. When he opens it on the table, I catch a glimpse of sci-fi instruments that look like advanced versions of needles, scanners, and wands, all emitting a soft, pulsing glow in shifting pastel colors.
I want to laugh because they look so feminine and out of place on an alien military vessel, but I control myself.
The doctor doesn’t miss my reaction. “That shade of pink is supposed to be relaxing, because that’s the most painful tool in our arsenal.” He says, pointing to the palest pink instrument.
My smile immediately vanishes.
“Now, now, it’s only a joke,” he says. “Well, half a joke. The colorissupposed to be soothing.”
I meet his eyes with half a smile. “It issomewhatcomforting,” I say, and it’s the truth. It’s difficult to imagine something pink doing too much damage. “Is this checkup covered by the Ascendant Alliance?” I don’t tell him that I don’t have any money, not in the galaxy or on Earth.
Surprise crosses the doctor's face. “Yes, this is included in your travel fee. I'm here to ensure you're healthy.”
“Okay. What do you need me to do?”
“Please, sit.” He gestures to the bed.
I sit on the edge of the bed and watch in fascination as the assistant hands the doctor a scanner,which he uses to project faint beams of pink and orange lights over my body. As it scans, it emits a rhythmic thrum like a slow heartbeat.
“Is that my heartbeat? I’ve never heard it before.”
The doctor adjusts something on the scanner, and then I hear a much faster beat. “Thatis your heartbeat. It’s strong. As for the rest of your health, you're deficient in some vitamins, and you have unusual markers in your immune system. I would like to fix those for you.”
“What kind of unusual markers?”
“Your RNA suggests a flawed vaccine. I can repair it and strengthen your immunity to galactic pathogens at the same time.”
I recall Clay's warning about telepathic doctors. “Can you read my thoughts right now?”
He arches a black brow. “Another strange question. Only by touch and only with your permission, unless communication is impossible. I'm telepathic, but I wouldn't invade your mind uninvited.”
“My colleague warned me about Imperial doctors.”
He and his assistant exchange glances. “I’m guessing your colleague is from Reima Two?”
