New Dawn (Divine War Book 1) (3 page)

“Princess Ausanne, welcome to my humble ship
Orion
. I do hope you like your quarters,” said the Magi Lord, his skull-like face beaming.

“What do you want from me?” Ausanne said, teeth gritted against the pain in her arms.

“Ah, my princess, straight down to business. I like that. Very well. I need your aid in a few matters.”

“Never,” said Ausanne.

Lord Hansola smiled. “I think that you and I need to speak in private.”

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the two Black Knights. Even as the Magi Lord began speaking, the
Sanosis
was sinking, travelling deeper and deeper, down into the black abyss. And as fire caught hold of the ship's engines, one final, huge explosion created a shockwave that pushed the small, damaged escape capsule further away, closer and closer to safety.

*

The dead body of the young girl lay on the floor. The masked man carefully wiped his letter opener on a corner of his yellow silk gown and smiled as he looked down at the spy in her white naval uniform.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, still smiling, “for finally bringing the last phase of my plan into action.”

And then the Supreme Emperor laughed, a bitter chuckle.

M
aicee pushed a little harder,
and his scalpel slid through the wall of the abdominal cavity, crimson blood splattering against his gloved fingers. The lights of the theatre were hot, and he felt sweat beading on his brow as he bit his lip in concentration.
Why me?
he thought.
Of all the damned cases, why me? A damn liver laceration.

“Suction,” he said, hoping that his voice didn't betray his fear.

As the blood was sucked away, he could barely see what he was doing, but his hand wasn't trembling. Not yet, at least.

“Monitor vitals; transfuse another pint of blood. Warm four more pints for standby.”

“Yes, doctor,” said a sweet, soft voice.

Falorni was the newest scrub nurse on staff, and Maicee was glad that it was she who had been scheduled to assist him in his final surgical examination. She calmed him, and the Gods knew he needed calming right now.

He placed a retractor, giving him a better view of the patient's liver, and used a piece of saline-infused gauze to explore the cavity he'd created. And then he smiled to himself under his face screen. Easy. A simple anterior laceration of the left lobe. Grade three. He might actually get out of this with a decent passing mark.

Working methodically, he controlled the haemorrhaging and reached for fibrin glue to try to close the gaping incision. He frowned as he saw that the glue wasn't taking, blood leaking through the seal. Dammit. He was going to have to suture.

“Suture,” he snapped at Falorni, not meaning to be rude but intent on his work.

He could feel the muscles in his back begin to spasm as he bent lower towards his patient, pulling the suture needle in and out, piercing the organ and closing the wound in one continuous row of stitches. There. Not bad. He hunched his shoulders forwards and then stretched them backwards, relieving his aching muscles. Falorni handed him scissors, and he was about to cut the excess thread from the stitches when it happened.

“Help me... please help me.”

The voice was faint, the high pitch trailing off towards the end. What the hell? Where had that come from? His concentration shattered, Maicee felt rather than saw what happened next, the solid bite of the scissors as they cut through the liver rather than thread. Gods. Foul-smelling brown matter splashed onto Maicee's face screen. The smell told him what had gone wrong immediately. He'd cut into the patient's colon. Cursing whoever had prepped the patient for not making him undergo the full internal cleansing procedure, Maicee was shaking. He took a deep breath. He could not panic. The lights of the theatre sparkled off metal instruments, and he surveyed the damage. Okay. First he cut the stitch as he'd intended to do. Then he took a step back.

“Clamp the transverse colon and wash out the cavity,” he said briefly to Falorni. “I need to change gloves and mask.”

The stench was about to make him retch. Falorni moved into position, hands performing her job automatically as she looked at the young doctor, wondering what had just happened, why the seemingly standard operation had taken a turn for the worse. Shaking her head, she hoped that he'd not done anything wrong. She liked him. He was kind to her. Which was more than most male doctors were.

Maicee quickly removed his stained gloves and mask, revealing the long, slender fingers that made him such a good surgeon. He'd almost fainted the first time his tutor had told him that he had feminine hands, afraid that his secret had been uncovered. But it hadn't, and he remained his male alter ego. It was something he kept hidden deep inside, not even knowing why it had to be hidden, just knowing that it must. Knowing that there was a faint tingling of danger in his spine every time he undressed in private, every time there was a threat of his secret’s being discovered.

Gods, what was he doing? This was his final exam.
Pull yourself together! Secret or no secret, male or female, if you screw this up you're in for another year of study. Get a grip.
He pulled on another set of gloves and a face screen, pushing all thoughts of the pitiful voice he'd heard, all thoughts of secrets, all thoughts of anything but the operation at hand, to the far reaches of his mind.

“Thank you,” he said to Falorni, resuming his place at the patient's side. “Let's repair that colon.”

Falorni was already handing him the materials he needed, and deftly he closed the accidental incision that he'd created. He relaxed a little as the stitches held, then quickly closed the patient up before glancing at the monitors to his right. Nodding, he saw that the patient's vital signs were stable. He might have screwed up, might have failed, but the patient would make it, and that was the important thing.

“He's all yours,” Maicee said to the anaesthetist who had assisted him.

Then, with a sigh of relief, he stepped away from the table and took off his gown. He thanked Falorni for her help and turned to leave the theatre. As he did so, he caught the eye of the expressionless examiner standing in the corner of the room. He let his glance drop to the floor as he exited. God dammit.

*

Maicee stared out of the window at the busy streets of Carooine City. Late evening shoppers were bargaining at the markets, their long robes powdered with the dust of the city streets. Leaning his head against the glass, he couldn't get the afternoon's events out of his mind. He could swear that the voice he’d heard was real. Swear that there had been someone else there in the room. But no one else had reacted. No one else had heard what he’d heard. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe he'd been working too hard. But a surgeon was all he'd ever wanted to be. He knew with sure certainty that he was destined to heal, to save, as surely and as inexplicably as he knew he must hide his female identity. He looked at his reflection in the window. Hollow cheeks, high cheek bones. Long blonde hair, tied back in a queue, as was the fashion. Was he going mad?

“Is it just me, or is it hot in here?” said a jaunty voice.

Pulling himself away from the window, Maicee turned to see Benho. Tall, dark, handsome, and very, very charming, Benho was his best friend and had been since Maicee had arrived on Carooine when he was eight years old. They'd completed all their studies together, not falling prey to competitiveness, helping each other out when necessary. And now they had taken their final exams at the same time. Benho was grinning, and Maicee wondered if anything ever fazed his friend.

“I was definitely sweating in the theatre,” said Maicee in answer to Benho's question. “What did you get?”

The man came over and gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Appendectomy, dead simple. Think I could have done it with my eyes closed. What about you?”

Maicee shrugged. “Liver laceration and an iatrogenic colonic tear,” he said, wishing that he didn't have to talk about it but knowing that Benho would force him to. His friend liked dissecting his operations almost as much as he liked performing them.

Benho winced in sympathy, his smooth olive forehead crinkling. “That sounds nasty,” he said. “How did you of the delicate girl hands manage to do that? Did the patient make it?”

“Yeah,” said Maicee, walking over to slump into a chair. “But I'm not sure I did. I think I might have flunked this one, Benho.”

Benho's feet clicked on the tiled floor as he came to sit on the couch opposite Maicee. “Don't you worry,” he said quietly. “You'll be fine. As long as your dummy's okay, they'll pass you.”

Maicee managed to smile at this, but Benho's green eyes looked deadly serious.

“No, I mean it,” said the dark man. “I heard that the dummies they provide as patients are living human clones that have been made braindead. It's the only way to let us perform a potentially dangerous operation in the right circumstances without putting someone's life at risk. And these things are expensive; think about it.”

“I guess,” Maicee said, shrugging.

“And this is the first time they've used the dummies for the surgical final. They'll just be glad that you kept yours alive and they don't have to spring for a new one.”

Seeing that his best friend was about to lose it, and wanting to spare him the embarrassment of tears, Benho reached over and patted his shoulder.

“You're the best out there, Maicee, and the professors know it. Have a little confidence in yourself. Being a surgeon is not about never making a mistake. It's about being able to fix a mistake if you happen to make one.” He grinned. “And I think you need a little stress relief. Come on, let's hit the town tonight and celebrate the end of exams. My treat.”

Maicee gave him a weak grin. “Sure.” He sighed. “I need to drown myself.”

Benho laughed. “That's not quite what I had in mind, but it'll do.”

*

The second sun was setting, its weak white light fading into a soft grey as a sliver of moon rose from the opposite direction. The lone man wrapped his brown cloak a little more tightly around himself against the slight chill of the wind. The beach on the outskirts of Carooine City was empty at this time of the evening, though it was never especially busy. Sharp rocks protruded around the bay, and strong currents made the sea unsuitable for swimming. The man surveyed the beach, his eyes carefully searching, moving in a pattern to ensure that he didn't miss a square inch. And when he spotted what he was looking for, he moved towards it, his steps purposeful, sandals slipping in the sand.

“So here you are,” he said as he halted and stooped down to look at the damaged escape capsule. “I heard your call.”

Gently, he picked up the unconscious Chamonkey. The furry grey body still held a little heat, but the creature's heartbeat was weak. Wrapping the animal in his cloak, tight against his body to preserve what little heat the thing had, the man turned back and headed towards home.

“I never thought I'd see you again,” he whispered, shaking his head as he walked.

The sea breeze ruffled his sandy hair, and he frowned in deep thought, trudging through the dunes, cradling the damaged Chamonkey closely and carefully.

*

Maicee briefly wondered where Kabi could be at this time of the evening. His guardian was generally at home, grouchily preparing dinner, but there was no sign of him. Oh well, he supposed that Kabi should have a life of his own now. After all, it wouldn't be long until he, Maicee, was... what? Studying for another year? He groaned. He'd always wanted to be a doctor, but the thought of studying for a whole other year on top of what he'd already been through was enough to make him feel sick. Maybe he'd join the navy instead. Or run away with a circus.

He pulled on clean robes and stooped to wash his face in the bowl of water that stood beneath the mirror in his bedroom. A soft linen towel hung by the bowl, its fabric gentle on his face. Checking in the mirror, he saw that his hair looked fine. Then he sighed and shook his head. As far as he knew, Kabi was the only one who knew his secret, though he never spoke about it. And Maicee had learned in the years they'd spent together that it was useless to try and persuade the man to speak. Yet every year, Maicee hoped that this would be the birthday that made him old enough to learn the truth. But every year it wasn't. Sometimes he wondered if he was supposed to live his whole life this way, and could think of myriad problems that would arise if he was. At least studying medicine had kept him busy and out of trouble until now.

Slamming the door behind him, Maicee jumped down the steps and went out into the streets of Carooine City. Night was falling, and the scent of the spices of the street traders permeated the air. Large joints of meat roasted, juices dripping into trays beneath, and Maicee felt his mouth start to water. This was home. At least the only home that he'd ever known, and he loved it here.

Until the Unification War, the little island of Carooine had been nothing more than a wasteland. But during the War, it had proven the ideal place for a military hospital. Just twelve years ago, when Maicee had been a young child, the Imperial Military had abandoned Carooine as a base, leaving it to the odd collection of misfits who chose to make it home. Being so far away from Great China, the main and largest island of Archeonis, meant that Carooine was also far away from the Supreme Emperor, making it the perfect place for those who wanted to escape his tyranny. The perfect place to hide.

Maicee walked the dusty streets, avoiding the children playing ball in the gutters, and left the residential quarter behind him. The climate on Carooine was warm, tropical, and he was sweating a little as he walked a further three blocks to his final destination. The Sansoe Bar. Bright neon lights flashed gaudily outside the building; he could see it from blocks away. And as soon as he turned onto the street, he could hear the heavy thumping of loud music, the ground vibrating under his feet from the bass as he got closer. He hated this place. Benho loved it. But then, if he was going to drown his sorrows, he had to hand it to Benho—the Sansoe was the only place in town where he could do that in peace.