Chapter 11--Virgin's Blood
"Don't you people know enough not to drink Virgin's Blood?" a voice said. Beru didn't recognize the speaker.
"What--?" she whispered. She was lying down. Thank Hoth. Her entire body seemed dehydrated. Every bone ached.
"I said, don't you know enough not to drink wedding toasts with Bakaniri? Those idiots have digestions of durasteel. You don't."
Beru brought her eyes down and discovered a thin middle-aged woman in a medic's uniform hovering above her. She was scowling in disapproval. Beru struggled to sit up, without success. She felt very weak. The medic, grimacing, put a pillow behind Beru's head. Beru saw that they were in the bedroom of some kind of luxury suite.
"Where's Luke? The--my baby?"
"Nice of you to remember him," the medic muttered. "He's over there." She pointed with her chin. Luke lay in a nearby crib. His eyes were closed and he was disturbingly quiet.
"He's been sick all night," the medic said. "You wouldn't *believe* the stuff he had on his stomach."
Beru tried to roll over. "Is he alright?"
"Yes. Now. No thanks to you."
Beru tried to replay the events of the previous night in her head. "Owen?" she asked.
"If that's your husband, he's lying on the couch in the other room, giggling to himself like an idiot. He's been doing that all night. I swear, if I have to listen to much more, I'll forget that I swore an oath to preserve life."
Beru closed her eyes. "I didn't have anything to drink. No alcohol."
"What you had wasn't alcoholic. You had an overdose of Bakaniri wedding cordial, popularly known as 'Virgin's Blood.' The stuff's lethal. The Bakaniri believe it enhances the wedding night performance. Sort of dam-fool thing they *would* believe. With most people, it induces profound euphoria. That's the effect it had on your husband. That's why he's sitting out there, giggling away to himself. It'll wear off eventually, leaving him with one hell of a hangover--they've been known to last up to a week. But in your case, you don't have enough body mass for the Blood to have that effect on you. It poisoned you."
"Poisoned!" Beru exclaimed.
"Don't worry. I've flushed most of it out of your system. Luckily, your husband wasn't too out of it not to notice you were in trouble. He called me. Not that he was much help thereafter."
Beru's mind felt sluggish. She could not process all this information at once. Finally she asked, "Did my milk dry up?"
"It sure did. I can induce it again, but not immediately. I want to make sure your system's clear before you breast-feed again. I've sedated the baby, and put him on a small i.v. to prevent dehydration. When he wakes up, you should be able to feed him."
Tears rose to Beru's eyes. She felt terrible.
"Look, don't cry. I can imagine what happened. Just be more careful in the future. The Bakaniri, under that cultural veneer, are the looniest bunch imaginable. Offworlders are often fooled by them. They only *seem* harmless."
"How long--?"
"It'll take you some time to recover. A week to ten days to get you on your feet. But as soon as you do, I'd leave this planet."
"I won't drink it again."
"I'm not worried about *you,*" the medic said, sighing. "If everybody reacted the way you did, it wouldn't be a scourge. It's your husband. He liked it, and here's the bad news: it's addictive."
Beru finally realized the vulnerability of her situation. Once Owen recovered, he could summon Ben Kenobi, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She gasped. The medic considered this an appropriate response. For the first time, she gave Beru an approving glance. Beru said, weakly, "We can't leave until I'm better. Can you get me on my feet quicker than that?"
The medic sat down beside the bed. "No. You had a bad go of it, and it triggered a physical collapse. You really need more time, not less."
"How soon will Owen recover?"
"I think they gave him quite a bit. Say three or four days, tops."
Beru looked her in the eye. "Is there any way you can prolong his symptoms?"
The medic was silent for a moment. "That's against my oath--" she began.
"I'm not asking you to give him more of the cordial."
The medic looked doubtful. Finally, she said, "I could give him the antidote. Usually I only use it on poisoning cases, like you. However, I have used it occasionally on patients with severely euphoric symptoms. The type that get so happy they thing they can fly."
"What's the effect?"
"It's a strong depressant. You're not feeling so jolly right now, are you? He'll be worse."
Beru did not like to think of Owen depressed; his normal personality was dour enough as it was. But she also felt that she had no choice. It was a damnable, dirty thing to do to him. And yes, she was going to do it. She didn't even bother pretending to herself that she wanted to save him from possible addiction to the Bakaniri elixir. She doubted that he was the addictive type. He rarely drank alcohol, and she had never seen signs of any other indulgences. No: she did not want Ben Kenobi arriving on Bakanir while she was still incapacitated.
She managed to persuade the reluctant medic that the antidote was the better of two bad choices. The medic had just agreed to administer it when Owen rushed into the bedroom.
"Beru!" he said. "You're better!" He actually seemed genuinely pleased. Beru felt a spasm of guilt.
"Wasn't that a great wedding?" Owen said, kneeling beside the bed, and taking her hand. "I never had such a good time in my life!" He's much better looking when he smiles, Beru thought idly, though I wouldn't have known it, because I've never seen him smile before. Not really.
"It's too bad you passed out at the party," Owen was saying, "The Rijdans were very upset. They provided this place to us for the honeymoon. It's a resort of some type. Belongs to one of their cousins."
Beru managed to laugh weakly. "Is everybody on this planet related?"
"Yes," the medic interjected, sourly. "It's the only reasonable explanation."
"Got one hell of a sharp tongue, hasn't she?" Owen said in a stage whisper. "She's been giving me hell all night. It's not *my* fault Luke was sick."
"No-the wedding guests fed him sweets. I should have stopped them, but I was feeling very sick."
"Did they give you some kind of red drink before the ceremony?" Owen asked. "I had a tankard of it. Rijdan insisted. Said it would help me do my duty, whatever *that* means."
"They use it as an aphrodisiac, I think. Yes, they gave it to me, too. That's what made me sick."
Owen looked puzzled. "That's funny. Made me feel great. Haven't felt this good in years!"
He laughed. "Maybe you should try it again."
Snorting, the medic held out a capsule to Owen. "I can't stand it anymore," she said. "Take this."
Beru pushed herself up high enough to grasp the medic's wrist. "No, I've changed my mind."
"Changed your mind about what?" Owen asked, cheerfully. Beru didn't answer him.
"He'll be worse before he's better," the medic said.
"I understand. I'll handle it."
"Handle what?" Owen said.
"Owen, I'm going to need your help over the next few days."
"Sure, anything you want, Beru, anything! You know I'd do anything for you."
The cordial was certainly making him behave strangely, Beru thought. And the strangest thing of all was that she thought she could actually sense his feelings. He was not able to suppress them, as he usually did. She looked at the medic, who was glaring at them both disapprovingly.
"Thank you, anyway," Beru said to her.
Owen began laughing to himself again and the medic gave him an exasperated look. "He won't be able to look after you properly--"
"Can you check on us, say once or twice a day? I'd appreciate it. I'll need some extra help, especially with the baby."
The medic agreed reluctantly. She gave Beru a com-link to summon her if needed, and left.
"Glad to see the end of *her*." Owen said. He laughed again.
Beru still found his manic cheerfulness disconcerting. Was this what he was really like? Or was cordial producing an artificial personality? She was inclined to the latter conclusion. She would greet his descent into his familiar moroseness with positive relief. At least she knew how to handle that.