The Morcai Battalion: The Rescue

New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer returns with the next edge-of-your-seat installment of The Morcai Battalion series.

Rhemun, commander of the Cehn-Tahr Holconcom, has worked tirelessly to get where he is—and he’s not going to let any human drag him back down. Especially not Lt. Commander Edris Mallory, whose very presence aboard the Morcai serves as a too-painful reminder of a past tragedy he can neither forgive nor forget.

But Mallory has secrets of her own—ones she can’t afford to see come to light. Frantic to protect herself, she flees, abandoning her position. When Rhemun learns of her devastating situation, he realizes the all-consuming feelings he’s harbored for her may not be hatred. But in a vast universe rife with peril, is it already too late?

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer

“Palmer proves that love and passion can be found even in the most dangerous situations.”

—Publishers Weekly on Untamed

“You just can’t do better than a Diana Palmer story to make your heart lighter and smile brighter.”

—Fresh Fiction on Wyoming Rugged

“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“The popular Palmer has penned another winning novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense.”

—Booklist on Lawman

“Diana Palmer’s characters leap off the page. She captures their emotions and scars beautifully and makes them come alive for readers.”

—RT Book Reviews on Lawless

The Morcai Battalion: The Rescue

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

I honestly thought I would never see this day. To have a fourth novel in my Morcai Battalion series in print seems like a fantasy. Since the original was published in 1980, I tried for many years to get it back in print. I had no idea that it would be over twenty-five years before that happened.

I would like to thank my former Harlequin editor Tara Gavin for working so hard to help me get a spot for The Morcai Battalion at the former Harlequin imprint Luna Books. I would also like to thank Luna Books editor Mary-Theresa Hussey for giving me a chance to see the first book back in print. I owe these two editors a great debt for their kindness and their support. Thank you for believing in these books, against all odds. You both paved the way for me to get a three-book contract for new Morcai novels, of which The Rescue is the first.

In this book, I finally get to tell the bittersweet story of Rhemun, former Captain of the Cehn-Tahr Imperial Guard, now Commander of the Holconcom, and Dr. Edris Mallory, who replaces Dr. Madeline Ruszel as Cularian Medicine internist on the flagship Morcai. Edris is harboring a secret that could cost her her life, and Rhemun is her worst enemy. Only time will tell how the two of them resolve their conflict, and whether or not it will put Edris’s life on the line. You’ll have to read the book to find out. :)

On a final note, in my dedication in Wyoming Brave, the autumn 2016 release, I accidentally omitted the names of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of my late brother-in-law, Doug Kyle. Here they are. Grandkids: Joshua and Angel McLendon, Chelsea Armour, Kaitlin Armour, Wayne Armour, Jr., Kylie Armour, Torrington Kyle and Justin Kyle. Great-grandchildren: Jordyn and Nolan McLendon, Breana and Gracie Taouis.

They’re all terrific people, by the way, and all gorgeous. We miss Doug, but his legacy lives on in these young ones.

To the many kind and supportive people who kept my hopes up all the long years between the publication of the original book, The Morcai Battalion, in 1980 until the reappearance of the revised novel in 2007. You know who you are. Thanks for sticking with me for so long!

To Harlequin: thank you for taking a chance on my novels in a genre I’m not known for! And for that new three-book contract. If any of you ever need your car washed or your floor swept, here I am! Honest!

To new readers: thank you for taking this book home with you. I never forget that without my readers, I am just a former reporter with a word processing program. I hope you find something in the novel that you like. Check out the latest news on my websites: www.themorcaibattalion.com and www.dianapalmer.com. You can also find me on Twitter under @cehntahr, which is my gaming handle. I’ve played “Destiny” on Xbox One since it released, and “World of Warcraft” on Zangarmarsh and Hellscream servers for over eight years.

To my family: thank you for all the long years that you loved me in spite of my work. I know it was a sacrifice for you, as well as me, that I had to spend so much time at the computer. I hope you know that I love you more than anything in the world. I always will.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE VOICES IN the medical bay aboard the Cehn-Tahr Holconcom ship Morcai were growing louder as the discussion progressed. Techs nearby were straining unashamedly to hear the outcome. Dr. Edris Mallory was small, blonde, blue-eyed and stubborn. Her opponent, Rhemun, was the new commander of the Holconcom. He was tall, with long, curly black hair down to his waist. Like all Cehn-Tahr, he had catlike features, predominantly his eyes, which changed color to mirror his mood. Right now, they were brown. Threatening.

“We must have a better allocation of space aboard the Morcai,” Rhemun said in stiffly formal Standard. “Your sick bay has very few patients...”

“Begging your pardon, sir, it has quite a number of patients,” she shot back, her cheeks faintly rosy with temper.

“Prove it,” he said with a smug look.

“Delighted.” She slammed a data padd against his broad chest.

“Mallory,” he cautioned.

“Sorry, sir, my hand slipped.” She didn’t give him a bland smile with the lie, as her predecessor, Dr. Madeline Ruszel, would have. But he got the point.

He looked at the padd with irritation. It did prove her point. Her sick bay had logged over one hundred visits from the Cehn-Tahr aboard ship in a week’s time. In fact, Dr. Strick Hahnson, who took care of the humans aboard, had logged twenty fewer visits than Mallory.

He glared at her. His distaste for humans was painfully apparent to everyone aboard, but especially to Mallory, whom he rode mercilessly. She didn’t understand his ongoing prejudices, but she caught the brunt of them. He seemed to go out of his way to make her life miserable. She couldn’t think of a single serious infraction lately that would explain it. Of course, their mutual antagonism had a long history, all the way back to his first appearance aboard the Morcai when, as head of the kehmatemer, he accompanied Cehn-Tahr Emperor Tnurat Alamantimichar on a rescue mission to save Dr. Ruszel’s life after a failed mission. She and Rhemun had been instantly antagonistic toward each other. Sadly, his appointment as Dtimun’s replacement aboard the Morcai hadn’t done a thing to reduce the friction.

“Very well,” he said curtly. He handed her back the padd. “You can keep your present location, for the time being, until I can think of something more suitable.”

“You could always have me set up shop in one of the cargo pods, sir,” she returned, still standing at strict attention.

It was a calculated insult. He lifted his chin. His cat-eyes were still an angry brown. “You push too hard, Mallory,” he said in a deceptively soft tone. “I have no love for humans, as you well know. Do not tempt me to have you replaced.”

“I’m sure the commander would enjoy that,” she said, averting her eyes. “However, I should point out that the only Cularian specialists at the Tri-Fleet Medical Authority at the moment are all assigned to permanent duty elsewhere.”

“There are new classes graduating yearly, however,” he returned, and his chiseled mouth approximated a very human smirk.

“Also true. Sir.”

His eyes narrowed. He glared at her, as if the very sight of her offended him, angered him. He wanted to tell her why he hated humans so much; he wanted to tell her about his son, about the ragged tatters of his life that a human was responsible for. But Cehn-Tahr were forbidden to speak of personal matters with outworlders.

It was just as well. He wanted no personal conversations with this female, who reminded him so painfully of the past.

He turned on his heel while she was snapping to a salute and walked away.

* * *

EDRIS LET OUT a shaky sigh. She was afraid of Rhemun. It wasn’t because he had authority over her. It wasn’t even because he was her own personal devil. It was because he made her feel things that she was forbidden by law to feel. She hid it as best she could, reciting multiplication tables in her head to keep her mind on the subject at hand, and not on how very attractive he was. She’d learned that trick from Madeline Ruszel, who used it to keep the former commander of the Morcai, Dtimun, out of her head.

Mallory knew that Rhemun couldn’t read minds, of course. That was a trait only of the Royal Clan. But keeping her mind on work instead of her commander required all the mental tricks of which she was capable.

At least she’d saved her space here.

Tally, one of her medics, stuck his head around the corner. “Are we staying?” he asked in a whisper.

She laughed softly. “We’re staying. At least, for the time being, until he can decide on a better place to put us.”

“Like the cargo hold?” her assistant Tellas asked from beside her coworker, laughing out loud. “That was priceless, Dr. Mallory!”

She laughed softly. “I’ll get in trouble again.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine why he dislikes me so. I guess it’s because we started off on the wrong foot, even before he turned a pot of soup over on my head.”

“He what?” Tellas exclaimed, choking back laughter.

“See, there was this disagreement,” Edris related, “when Dr. Madeline Ruszel was recuperating at the Imperial compound on Memcache. I thought she needed healthy vegetables and our new commander thought she needed meat for protein. There was a slight altercation.” She made a face. “I threw a soup ladle at him.”

They almost doubled over laughing. “Oh, my goodness, and he didn’t demote you?”

“He couldn’t,” she pointed out. “At the time he was head of the kehmatemer, the emperor’s personal bodyguard. Anyway, he took exception to having an object thrown at him, so he turned a whole pot of soup over on my head.” She sighed. “It took forever to get the grease out of my hair.”

“Did he get in trouble?”

She grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “Dtimun raked him over the coals and threatened him with the emperor. It was...”

“Nothing to do, Dr. Mallory?” a deep, irritated voice came over the intership frequency. It was almost purring.

She swallowed. She’d forgotten the damned AVBDs, the devices that were always listening, watching, aboard ship, to discourage potential spies.

“Sorry, sir.” She stood at attention, as if he were actually physically present.

“Back to work.” The circuit closed.

She rolled her eyes at the others, who gave her a thumbs-up and went back to their jobs. They were still grinning.

* * *

EDRIS SLEPT BADLY. There was a mission the following day, or what passed for a day in space. The unit was to rescue a pod of colonists on an outlying planet who had barely withstood an attack from Rigellian pirates bent on conquest. The colony was located on a princely node of emerillium, which the pirates wanted badly. They planned to drive away the largely unarmed colonists and claim the mines for their personal wealth.

However, the Cehn-Tahr Empire had sent the colonists there, and it took a dim view of pirates, in any case. So the Holconcom were requested, as the nearest vessel, to protect the settlers and solve the problem.

“Probably, it will only take a glance at us to send them running,” Edris told her medics, “and I doubt we’ll be needed.”

“Considering how the Holconcom fight, I agree,” Tellas said quietly.

Edris had rarely seen the Holconcom fight, and there were rumors that no human except Engineer Higgins had ever seen the way they went into combat before the Cehn-Tahr were combined with Terravegan humans from the lost SSC ship Bellatrix. She’d once asked Higgins about it. He’d excused himself on the matter of urgent business. He’d been very pale.

She did at least know the true form of her alien colleagues. Dr. Ruszel had persuaded Dtimun, after they bonded, to share it with the humans of the Holconcom. He’d done that, with great reservations. He’d been afraid that the humans would no longer want to serve with them, if they knew the truth.

But no one had been afraid. Their service with the Cehn-Tahr in the prison camp at Ahkmau had made them more family than comrades, removed all the intangible barriers of custom and behavior. So the true appearance of the Cehn-Tahr, who had some decidedly feline characteristics from the centuries of genetic tampering, had hardly created a ripple in them.

Personally, Edris thought Rhemun was the handsomest creature she’d ever seen, of any species. His nose was a little broader than a human male’s, and he was immensely larger and more powerful, but in a crowd of humanoids, he would hardly have stood out except for his impressive presence. The differences were minor and not immediately noticeable, and the Cehn-Tahr had no tails or fur. Well, there was the strip of fur that lay alongside the spine, and which was never spoken of with outworlders, but that was the only real fur on their bodies. Edris only knew because of something Ruszel had once let slip, but she’d been sworn to secrecy.

She turned over in her narrow bunk, wishing her mind would go to sleep so that she could. She dreaded the confrontation. She was used to combat medicine, or as used to it as an overly sensitive woman could ever get. When she’d joined the military, after washing out as a breeder, she’d washed out of combat school with the lowest grade in the history of the Academy. She’d been given a berth in a degree program in Cularian medicine instead, which had kept her mostly on Trimerius. She’d worked for years to get her certification after a minor accident had caused some small loss of motor function. She’d never expected to end up in a combat unit like the Holconcom. She wasn’t expected to actually fight, but her profession did occasionally put her on the front lines.

It wasn’t what she wanted for her life. Her hunger for a child had led her to apply to a government breeder colony, where she’d tried desperately to be accepted. But she had recessive genes—obvious in her blond hair and blue eyes—and recessive genes were right out of fashion at the moment. The bureaucrats in the Familial Requisitions Ministry decided from generation to generation which traits should be passed down and which suppressed. In this generation, only dark-haired, dark-eyed children were wanted. Edris would mess up the works with her sloppy recessive genes. So she’d been turned down, and the only venue left to her was medical service attached to the military.

She wasn’t a military sort of person, really, but she was a physician. So she became a frontline consultant in Cularian medicine, and agreed to the mental neutering, which was usually done at the age of six. While Edris had been in medical school, and not serving in active military, it had been deferred. But once she went into a combat position, the neutering was requisite. It was dangerous in a woman of twenty-two, and sometimes ineffective, but she’d faced it bravely. She had two strikes against her already: she’d failed to be chosen as a breeder and she’d washed out of combat school. One more mistake and she’d face Reboot, the most secret and terrifying fate possible to a Terravegan. She couldn’t think about that. She didn’t dare.

She could manage this assignment. Dr. Ruszel had trained her well. If only Edris didn’t have the painful lingering legacy of an incident in medical school that had caused minor brain damage. Dr. Hahnson knew, and Dr. Ruszel. They’d shielded her from discovery, which would have meant washing out of medical school, and again facing the reality of Reboot. Fortunately, the doctors assessing her for breeding status hadn’t bothered with her neurology, except a cursory look at its base cellular structure, because her coloring had already cost her any real consideration. They hadn’t told her at the time, of course. She’d found out only later, when Dr. Ruszel had asked for her records and told her the truth.

The brain damage was very minimal, but she was slow. She would always be slow. Rhemun had already called her onto the carpet for it, during a rescue hop. She’d taken the punishment, days of detention and black marks on her record, without argument. But he was watching her, always watching, waiting for her to make a mistake so that he could punish her by having her decommissioned, thrown out of the Holconcom. It would be the end of everything. He didn’t know what the consequences would be for her. Probably, she thought sadly, it wouldn’t bother him in the least if he did.

She rolled over, closed her eyes and forced her mind to shut up. Soon, she was finally asleep.

* * *

SHE’D EXPECTED TO be put down in a combat zone; she thought she was prepared for it, but her wildest imaginings of horror hadn’t prepared her for what she saw.

Most of the victims were children. The anguish almost paralyzed her when she saw the small victims tossed into a common grave, uncovered, because the fighting was still going on. She stared at them with anguish on her face.

“Mallory!” Rhemun’s deep voice called. “Get to work!”

She turned, the pain so intense that he hesitated when he saw it. He knew about her history, her child-hunger. It disturbed him, so he didn’t dwell on it. He motioned her toward the action with a curt gesture and averted his eyes. The sight of the children bothered him, as well. It brought back the pain of losing his son.

Edris ran toward him, dodging bursts of gunfire from plasma weapons, and rolled to the ground near a couple of refugees, one of whom had third-degree burns on his arm.

“Not to worry,” she told him in Jibbet, the dialect of Altairian that these people, with their manner of dress denoting their Clan status, would speak. “I can heal him.”

“You speak...Jibbet,” the woman exclaimed. “No human speaks Jibbet!”

Edris smiled as she went to work. “I speak several very rare dialects,” she said without conceit. “Yours is quite beautiful.”

The woman touched her fingers to her mouth and then to the center of her chest, where the Altairian heart was located. She smiled. It was a gesture of perfect trust, perfect acceptance. Edris smiled again and began to heal the burned flesh of the woman’s spouse.

He relaxed as her pain meds eased the anguish of the wound. “I am farmer,” he said in halting Terravegan. “I will lose leg...”

“You will not,” she replied. “You honor me, by speaking my tongue.”

He managed a terse smile. “As you honor we, by speaking that of us,” he replied brokenly.

“You will not lose your leg,” she replied. “I will regrow the tissue.”

“You can do such?!” he exclaimed.

She nodded, and continued to probe the damaged cells with a regenerative gel. Soon, the horrible gash that had almost amputated his leg began to close, cleaning itself of necrosis as it healed, until the skin was as blue and as perfect as it had been before he’d been wounded.

He cried out, delighted. He got to his feet and stood up, without pain or loss of function. His purple eyes had great tears in them. “Thank you! Many gratitudes! You are great female,” he choked. “My Clan is your Clan, forever.”

She put her hand to her lips and then to her own heart. “You give me great honor.”

The woman hugged her. “You are Web Clan. Never forget.”

Edris smiled. “Thank you. I promise, I won’t forget.”

* * *

SHE WENT FROM patient to patient, doing whatever she could to mend the horrible effects of the radiation the pirates were using in their plasma weapons.

“Somebody should shoot them,” she muttered as she finished the last suture on an elderly man.

“Are you finished?” Rhemun asked curtly. “We must move on.”

“I am, sir.” She smiled at her patient and fell in, behind the other Holconcom, as they advanced to the next pivotal point in the assault.

* * *

SHE FELL A little behind, stumbling over a piece of ship wreckage, and as she started to run to catch up with her comrades, a man stepped out of nowhere, one of the cold-eyed Rigellian pirates with a stolen chasat leveled at her chest.

Without thinking, she pulled her Gresham and fired. She gasped as she realized that she’d forgotten to lock the setting on stun. The pirate looked at her with wide, disbelieving eyes as he clutched his chest, groaned harshly and fell backward.

“Oh, no!” She ran to him, bent on saving him. But his eyes were open and dust was already settling on the pupils. They were dilated. Fixed. He was dead. One quick check with her wrist scanner confirmed that catastrophic damage had been done to his internal organs. Nothing could have been done for him, even on the ship.

Her face contorted. She shivered. She’d killed a humanoid. She’d killed someone!

“Mallory! Fall in!”

She heard Rhemun’s deep voice, but as if in a dream. She was on her knees, staring helplessly at the man she’d just killed. She couldn’t seem to move, to drag her eyes away.

“Come on!” Rhemun snapped.

She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes that held a horror he’d never seen in them before. “I killed him,” she said in a husky whisper. “I killed a man.”

“Mallory...”

“I killed a man,” she repeated. “I took an oath, ‘Do no harm.’ But I killed him. The setting was wrong. I’ve never killed anyone in my whole life,” she added, her face contorted as she looked up at him.

He ground his teeth together. “You must do your duty, madam,” he said curtly. “Other lives are at stake! Hurry!”

She swallowed. Her eyes went back to the dead man. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Now!” Rhemun snapped.

She gathered her wits and got to her feet. She straightened into a salute. “Yes, sir,” she said formally.

He took off at a speed she couldn’t imitate, but she ran as fast as she could to the next bunch of victims.

* * *

SHE WORKED MECHANICALLY, nodding as people confided their fears, their broken lives, their losses to her. She healed wounds and comforted the grieving. But her mind held the image of the dead man.

Rhemun was rarely concerned about the mental or physical health of a woman who reminded him so savagely of his son’s death, but even he began to notice how Mallory was acting.

He paused beside her when she finished working on her last patient. The rest of the pirates had been routed, the colonists rescued. They were ready to lift. But Mallory was obviously not herself.

Hahnson had noticed it first and alerted Rhemun. It was up to the commander of the Holconcom to deal with her. He wished he could leave it to Hahnson, but the doctor was far too fond of Mallory to manage any harshness.

Pity and compassion would do no service here, he thought, as he contemplated her mental state. He’d seen this in battle, combatants who faced the horror of war for the first time and broke under the strain. They called it battle fatigue. But it was more severe in a woman of this sensitivity. It could not be allowed to continue. He needed her. There was no replacement available until the following year, until the next graduates in Cularian medicine.

“Mallory, we must lift,” he told her curtly.

The woman she was treating, a little old Altairian woman, looked up at the Cehn-Tahr who had assumed his most human aspect—the woman was neither family nor Holconcom, so his true form was hidden from her.

“She is wounded, here.” The old woman touched her own heart.

“That may be,” he replied in Altairian, “but we must leave.”

The woman stared at him. It was a little unnerving. “You have suffered a great loss,” she said in a monotone. “But you will suffer a greater one. Your life contains another tragedy of your own making.”

“Madam,” he began, chilled by her perception.

She held up a hand. “The tragedy will lead to great joy,” she continued, her eyes blank as she recited what she saw. “And to a place in history for your branch of the great Clan.” She blinked. She frowned. She looked up at him as if she didn’t recognize him. “What did I say?”

He gaped at her. “Excuse me?”

She smiled apologetically. “I see things. Sometimes I see things. I tell them. But I never remember what I have said. Perhaps it is a blessing. You look very troubled. I am sorry. I should not have spoken. It is a curse.”

He went down on one knee. His eyes lightened. “Never rue such a gift,” he said gently. “On my homeworld, there is a great seer, one whose prophecies have all come true in the recent past. It is no curse. And I thank you for your words.”

She beamed.

Edris, who was trying not to listen, finished cleaning the old woman’s wounds. “There,” she said gently. “You’ll be fine.”

“I am grateful. Very grate...” Her eyes went blank. “A terrible time is ahead for you,” she said hesitantly. Tears stung her eyes. “Such horror, for one so kind...!” She swallowed. “You must not run. You must not leave your ship because of harsh words...!”

Edris’s eyes were like saucers. “What did you say?”

The old woman’s eyes cleared. “Have I done it again?” She sighed and shook her head. “Twice in as many minutes, perhaps I am going mad.” She laughed. “Thank you for your care. I hope that someone will be as kind to you.”

“We must go,” Rhemun said as he stood up. He turned away and raised his voice, calling for the Holconcom to get ready to lift.

Edris touched the old woman’s hair. “Thank you.” She turned away, chilled by the prediction, which she didn’t understand at all. Perhaps the woman heard voices. There were some diseases which could cause such symptoms. Then she thought of Lady Caneese, the bonded mate of the Cehn-Tahr emperor, whose visions about Ruszel had been absolutely accurate. And she wondered.

* * *

BACK ABOARD THE MORCAI, Edris went looking for Dr. Hahnson.

“May I speak with you?” she asked hesitantly.

One look at her pale, strained features caused him to turn over his latest patient to his assistant. He motioned Edris into the small cubicle that served as his office.

He closed the door and pulled some odd, white, ball-shaped device out of a desk drawer. He activated it with a sequence of touches, so that it began to glow white.

“Disrupts the AVBDs,” he told her when she gave him a puzzled look. “It also blocks telepaths.” He chuckled. “We never know when the emperor may be looking in. Now. What can I do for you?”

She sat down heavily in a chair. “I shot a man. A Rigellian. I think he must have been one of the pirates, hiding until he thought we were gone. I stumbled into him.”

“And?” he prodded when she closed up.

She bit her lip. “He...died.”

He drew in a long breath and perched himself against his desk. “I understand. I’ve only had to kill once or twice during my career. It was never easy, and I suffered long and hard for it. I’m sorry, Edris. I’m very sorry.”

“I’ll have to see his face every day for the rest of my life,” she said, as if in a trance. “He looked so shocked. I tried to do something, to save him.” She lowered her eyes. “But there was nothing I could do.” She made a futile little gesture with her hands. “I’ve never killed anyone.”

“Listen, kid, it goes with the job,” he said gently. “I know that sounds harsh, but we are combat medics...”

“The oath we take says ‘First, do no harm,’” she interrupted.

“Why did you shoot him?” he asked patiently.

“He was about to shoot me,” she stammered.

“And you think your conscience would be fitter if you’d allowed yourself to die?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t...know how to deal with it.”

He made a face. “We don’t have grief counselors aboard. Well, except doctors,” he added.

“Yes. Not even an interfaith chapel. Nothing.” She swallowed. “I don’t suppose military Cehn-Tahr are religious, anyway.”

“You’d suppose wrong,” he said wryly. “They’re deeply religious, in their own way. They have a deity, Cashto. You may see small statues of him from time to time...”