Plague of Memory by S. L. Viehl

want to go down there and kill every one of those soldiers who put her in the middle of their stupid fight? I'm a doctor, I shouldn't feel this way.
    There was a gap in the data, an odd space that showed something had been erased. I had seen others like it scattered through the files, especially the earliest ones. She must have regretted what she had written and deleted it out of the permanent memory.
    I wished she had not erased part of it, for this entry, like many others, confused me. Why did she hate herself for wishing to protect her Marel and avenge herself on those who would have harmed her? A mother did not ask for her sheltering instincts; she was given them for the benefit of her child. Under the same circumstances, I would not have sat and written about my feelings. I would have drugged or knocked out Reever, taken Marel, and left the ship.
    I told him that if he ever did this again, I would take Marel and leave him, and he would never see either of us again. I meant it. He'll be a proper father to our child, or no father at all, damn him.
    I sat back. It was almost as if Cherijo had read my thoughts. All this time I thought her to be nothing like me.
    "You have a great deal in common with her," Reever said from behind me, making me jump. "However much you resent or dislike her."
    I looked up at him. "I did not hear you come in." I switched off the display. "I do not really like or dislike Cherijo. To do so properly, you must know the person."
    "You don't know me."
    The words hung between us. What was I to say that would not offend or anger him? "It is enough that I belong to you. With time, I will come to know you."
    "Is that enough, Jam?" The words came slowly, painfully.
    For me, it had to be. For him, I could not say. "Among the Iisleg, a man takes two women. I do not resent sharing you with the memory of another." I rose and went to him. "Reever, we are not children. I wish to make the best of this. You have said the same. We cannot do that if you live in a past that is lost to me."
    "We can't be together if you go to bed with me merely to placate me." He glanced at Marel's room. "That was what you were thinking when you told her that you would be sleeping with me."
    "I did not think of how my place is with you, but it is. I did not think of how I wish to please you, but I do. It is selfish to think I might gain some pleasure from it for myself, but that thought, too, appeals to me." I shrugged. "If you would rather just sleep—"
    He made an odd sound and pulled me into his arms. "No." A moment later he was carrying me into his bedchamber.
    Once there, he enabled all of the light emitters. There would be no shadows in which to hide, so I kept my expression calm and resisted the urge to cover myself as he undressed me. Seeing my body seemed important to him, for he looked all over me.
    I did not know why. I was small and healthy, but hardly a beauty. Men enjoyed plump, well-endowed women; there was not enough of me to be appealing.
    After Reever pulled off his own garments, we stood naked before each other. His long, pale-skinned body was quite attractive, if a little too lean yet from many months of fighting during the rebellion. I touched a scar on his shoulder, and saw another further down, on his side. There were others; scars he had carried for many years—too many for a man who used words instead of weapons.
    Scars were a sign of courage and masculinity among the Iisleg. They reassured me as well, for a man who could survive so many injuries possessed strength and luck. What did the ensleg think of them?
    I stopped counting at fifteen and covered the scar on his shoulder with my palm. "You have endured much." I moved my hand over to stroke his shoulder blade and felt ridged flesh. A strange rage began to burn inside me. Who had whipped him? "So much I do not know."
    "While you have not?" He covered my hand with his, and I felt it shaking. "I live for you and Marel." Unwilling to begin this in anger, I