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“I’m not used to all this formality,” she said.
“It’s the custom to honor the position I hold.” His tone was matter of fact. “When you are by yourself the soldiers won’t salute but courtesy will be shown in deference to your rank.”
Dianora considered his answer. What position exactly did she hold here? Garrin had been quite clear about the high regard he had for her and his desire to work as a team inside and outside the bedroom, which was flattering and reassuring but did he want to marry her? Make her a queen? Or was she to fill a more informal role? Some of the possible answers were less than ideal but she didn’t feel the middle of a busy corridor with potential eavesdroppers everywhere was the place to have that particular conversation. She’d taken a massive leap of faith coming to his time but ever since she’d worn the ring the first time she’d been obsessed with Garrin and his fate. Since the evening they’d spent talking and getting to know each other she’d been unable to think of much else. The ring’s influence had tempted her into ruining her career and taking tremendous risks, all for a man gone to dust centuries before her time.
But more than real enough now. His grip on her hand was comforting.
Turning her attention to the matter at hand, she cleared her throat and said, “I should mention my medkit is for humans, not specific to your people but we’ve found nearly all the humanoid races across the galaxy share roughly the same genetics and traits. It’s approved to use the meds on nonhumans with care.”
“Am I nonhuman to you?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “Do you classify me with the Craadil?”
“Of course not.” She rushed to reassure him, wondering if he was teasing. “But you obviously don’t have ancestors on the same obscure planet on the rim of the galaxy where all of my forebears originated. I’m using the term ‘human’ in that sense here. We’re all sentient beings.”
“Fair enough. I trust your judgment when it comes to your magics.”
“The other thing is, I could only bring a limited supply. Hopefully I can treat the wounded you have here tonight but eventually I’ll run out of injects and the sensors will lose power and like the blaster, none of it can be replaced.”
Garrin paused and faced her. “You must keep enough to take care of yourself. Promise me. I appreciate your desire to help my soldiers and my people but if there are any magics you may need for your own health in the future, you must not use them on the Argorn.”
She was touched by his concern. “I’m sure your healers have their own remedies which would work on me should there be any need.”
“The healers of Argorn are quite skilled, it’s true and acknowledged, but you aren’t from here and must have a care for yourself. Promise me.”
“All right, you have my word I’ll keep a reserve of the essentials for myself.”
He indicated a doorway a few feet further down the corridor. “We’ve arrived. Prepare yourself.”
Dianora took a deep breath but she wasn’t overly nervous. The Archaeology Service training had been rigorous and thorough. Her colleagues in the service had been in all kinds of dicey situations on various planets where digs were carried out and the six week course had been designed to make them self-sufficient. Help would not always be close at hand if an expedition was on a remote planet and the staff had to be able to care for themselves. Not every team was assigned a doctor or even a medic depending on the budget. She’d been surprisingly proficient at using the field medkit and graduated from the module with the highest grade in her class.
The infirmary was clean and well lit by the mysterious lamps the Argorn used. Three people were waiting for them, a woman and two men, and Garrin introduced them rapidly to Dianora. Alsaccia, the woman was in charge. All three appeared tired and worn.
“We’re grateful for any help you can give our men, my lady,” the chief healer said as she escorted Dianora and Garrin to the ward. “The wounds have been cleaned and bandaged. We had to perform two amputations and those men are in considerable pain despite the special poultices.”
“How many are there?” Garrin asked.
“Twenty, my lord.”
Dianora was surprised. “So few?”
He gave her a somber look. “In battles such as we fight, especially with the Craadil, who are bigger and faster, death comes easily.”
Abashed, she turned to the healer accompanying them. “And what do you do for infection?” She had to use the word in Basic as her translator couldn’t provide one.
“Infection?” Alsaccia stumbled over the word. “Do you mean the putrefying fever? There is a special acidic wine which is used to bathe the wounds. Occasionally we use a special compound incorporating the whites of eggs.”
“Wine’s acidic,” Dianora said. “Creates a hostile environment for the bacteria. Good idea.”
The Argorn around her were baffled by her rambling of course and not for the first time she questioned how she planned to try to bring a medieval society out of its time and closer to the future. She’d have to choose her battles and make sure she had Garrin’s full support. “And do you wash your hands before touching a patient?”
Clearly offended, the healer said, “We’re not barbarians here, my lady. We practice the rules of proper medical care as set forth in the texts governing our discipline.”
“I’m sure you do. Of course.”
“My lady isn’t from our realm, as you may have heard,” Garrin interposed smoothly. “She merely seeks to clarify and to understand the differences in practice.”
Alsaccia allowed herself to be mollified and there was no more discussion as she opened the door to the ward where the wounded men lay. Garrin and Dianora approached the first bed and the soldier attempted to raise himself to salute properly. Garrin pressed him against the pillow. “No need for ceremony tonight, old friend. You fought valiantly.”
As the two men chatted and the healers watched, Dianora opened her medkit and pulled out the general scanner. Extremely self-conscious, she activated the device and passed it over the patient.
