for Dad and Rapput as Li laid me in place and strapped me in, but I fear I moaned and whimpered. Each sound seemed to pierce Dad's heart, judging by his expression, and the more he actually saw of me, well . . .
"Be brave!" Rapput directed, but I knew he understood as well, having suffered not-so-different injuries himself within the last few days.
Then I was inside the scout ship, followed closely by Li, and the engines screamed like I'd never heard before. "San Francisco!" Rapput ordered. "Warn our hospital to be on alert for wounded heroes!"
"Seattle!" Dad countered. "They're humans, after all. They don’t need your Artemu doctors in San Francisco. And Seattle is closer."
"You are of course correct," Rapput said after pondering it for a moment. "Yet I fear for their security, Congressman, in any facility but our own."
"A good point as well," Dad agreed. "But they could still go into shock and die at any moment. We've got to figure something out and do it quick."
And so it was that for the first time ever an Artemu scout ship landed in the trauma center parking lot of a downtown Seattle hospital, upsetting the morning rush hour something fierce. But instead of disembarking us, the ship took aboard practically an entire emergency room-worth of doctors, nurses, and equipment, and then raced down the west coast at its best—hypersonic!—speed to the Artemu enclave and planetary medical center located not far from the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge. And I couldn't even get a window seat!
The Artemesian hospital was almost exactly like a human one, or at least our room was so transformed almost immediately. It was sort of cool, really—we started out in bare cubicles with the Artemu equipment shoved roughly into the corridors. Within a day there were cartoon animals painted on the walls, and we each had our own TV sets. Not long after that, clowns began to drop by to visit. Pet dogs too and all sorts of interesting characters. Plus Mom sat worrying in the chair between us so that except when we left our room it might as well have been a human hospital, and an especially good one at that.
I was right about my shotgun's muzzle blast having knocked Timmy out, and I felt terrible when I learned he was now deaf in one ear. But they were able to install an implant that gave him almost all his hearing back, so it wasn't so bad after all. It was really awkward at first not having any working arms. The left shoulder was only badly bruised, it turned out, so at least I got that one back almost right away. We never got to see our feet until they were all the way healed up again. This was because they kept so many layers of bandages on them, and it was probably just as well. When the wraps finally came off, I couldn’t tell anything had ever happened to them at all.
What our "children's" hospital room had that no human one ever would, however, were Giril and Queth, my and Timmy's lifeservants respectively. They sat with us even more faithfully than Mom, though at the foots of our beds instead of between the pillows like she did. We tried to tell them it was okay for them to go away, but they wouldn't hear of it. "We're assigned to you," they explained over and over. "You're our leaders. So this is where we must be. It's a matter of duty and loyalty."
So we made the best of it and taught them to play video games. Giril caught on right away, though Queth didn't lag far behind. Both seemed perfectly happy to perform even the foulest and most personal of tasks for us, to the point of elbowing aside human nurses in their determination. All they ever sought in return was a firm skullcap-squeeze upon the night's dismissal. Mom hated their presence with every cell in her body, though she forced herself to be polite and even came to like them a little on a personal level because all they seemed to want was to make us happy. It wasn't their actions or duties she resented, I came to realize.
Rather, it was because they were proof that Rapput still intended to take us off-planet with him. Which was an idea she liked even less than ever.
24
Rapput was of course at least as badly injured as we were, so no one was offended when almost a week passed before he contacted us. Besides, he'd sent his Lifeservant, Harsen twice a day to make inquiries and had gone so far as to buy and sign a pair of get-well cards for us in an attempt to honor the human custom. That said cards were intended for children about half our age was humorous, but it meant nothing in greater balance of things. The point was that the all-highest among our conquerors had "lowered" himself to take notice of how our kind did things. He was sincere about bridge-building, in other words, and was showing his own people as much as humanity that he was willing to bend and compromise in order to get along.
Dad spent almost an hour during one of his visits holding the cards and staring off into space, trying to grasp the implications. Then he'd smiled and taped them to the walls above our heads like the parents of uncounted sick children before him, despite the prominent presence of the Family Seal of the Clan of Gonther. This supposedly demanded special handling like burning instead of being tossed in the trash. "One good turn deserves another," he explained as he hung them in place. "And I suspect this is exactly where Rapput wanted these to end up."
Even Dad didn't have much time to spend with us. Apparently the Rocky Mountain Free State was in full rebellion and though poorly organized and badly supplied was proving to be more than a mere nuisance. A lot more people supported them than really should've; according to Dad, a large minority of the world's population believed the human race had been sold-out by the rich and powerful and didn't at all understand the consequences of rocks dropped from space.
"They think it's all a big conspiracy meant to make them poorer," he explained to us once as he paced back and forth across our room, the day's New York Times headline lying exposed in the visitor's chair: "Byrd Boys Not Only Ones," it read. "Gonther Clan To Take at Least a Dozen Child-Hostages; Washington Fails to Comment." Dad let his eyes drift to the paper again and sighed. "The big problem is that the Treaty really is making them poorer, and fairly quickly at that. I'm no longer certain that even the United States can maintain a working democracy. We must cooperate with the Artemu, no matter how the people feel about it. At least until we're in a much better bargaining position than we are now. Why can't everyone see that?"
"And my fellows want to kill you all and loot Earth of all that is precious," a familiar voice replied as our door swung open. Rapput stood in the doorway, tall and straight. "Yet somehow they fail to understand that a planetful of courageous, willing allies is worth far more than any conceivable plunder." Rapput sighed and stepped through the opening. "Congressman, my nephews . . . Greetings to you all. I'm sorry I've been unable to come by before now."
"We understand," Tim answered for us all. "You were hurt too."
"Yes," Rapput agreed. "And buried in work besides." He looked at Dad. "Speaking of work . . . From what I've seen, you and your people are doing an excellent job of quelling the rebellion. I'm aware you've resisted the imposition of a number of, shall we say, radical solutions and interventions during my convalescence. In my opinion, you were quite correct to do so. Had they been imposed the war would've gone on forever. In this, the work of your English-language clan was better founded than that of my own. Be aware that changes have been made."
Dad expression blanked, and then he stood taller despite himself. "Thank you."
"The compliment wasn't given lightly," he replied. "Eventually I seek true partnership. This means acknowledging even that which is unpleasant." Then he smiled at Timothy and me. "How are my favorite nephews doing?"
"Fine!" we replied as one. Then he made us each in turn tell him about our injuries and, as best we could, how well we were recovering. Midway through a doctor showed up and tried to interrupt, but Rapput silenced him with a motion.
"I review the official reports daily," he declared. "Now I wish to hear what they have to say from their our own mouths."
When we were done, he smiled and skull-capped each of us in turn. Then he stood and spread his arms in what was clearly a formal if unknown Pose. "My nephews," he said, "I hardly know where to begin. Rarely in all the history
of our kind, or I suspect of human kind, have warriors so young performed so well in so crucial a conflict. It’s no secret that our acquaintance is short—you’re adopted, and this is the nature of things. Yet let it be recorded for the ages that I, an Ocrevennar of the Clan of Gonther, stand in awe of what you've done, much of which I eye-witnessed, and am both proud and humbled to have you as family." He paused and smiled, then made a gesture. Two Artemu bearing golden spears stepped in. "So, I hereby officially declare you warrior-youths of the Clan of Gonther. This means you're considered to have proven your mettle and courage beyond any doubt, and while still under-age are entitled to the same level of honor and personal respect as any other soldier. This is a rare achievement indeed—not twice in a decade is this honor bestowed upon any Artemu anywhere. Yet I've never seen it better earned." He lowered his arms and gestured again. The two Artemesians carrying the weapons placed them next to us with great reverence. "These are ceremonial," Rapput explained. "They're warrior-symbols, usually earned by ordeal at a much later age. They’re to be hung over your beds, to remind you that immediate action may be required at any moment."
Then he turned to Mom, who was