The Caphenon

by Fletcher DeLancey

  “But…how can that be? I don’t even—” Lhyn stopped, and Serrado closed her eyes in pain.

  “Only because you can’t feel it,” Tal said. “Would you like to?”

  Serrado’s eyes flew open. “Lancer Tal, you can’t. The last time put you in the healing center.”

  “I’m not on the edge of exhaustion, and that’s not what I’m proposing. It was taxing then because I had to project emotions that weren’t mine. I don’t have to do that now. I can just connect the two of you.”

  “You mean, like a bond minister?” Lhyn asked in astonishment.

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  The emotions tumbled over each other until one rose ascendant.

  “Then yes. Whatever is there, I’d love to feel it. That is, if Ekatya is willing.”

  “If I’m—” Serrado shook her head. “I’d hoped by now you wouldn’t have to ask. Of course I’m willing, but I’m not entirely convinced it won’t be hard on the Lancer. It takes energy to make that connection, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, but it won’t come from me. It will come from you.”

  “How does that work?” Lhyn wanted to know, while Serrado fixed Tal with a skeptical look.

  “I’m not certain. I’ve never had the privilege of doing it before—at least, not with permission. But I accidentally did it after the battle with the first ground pounder, when I touched palms with both of you at the same time. The power coming out of you almost knocked my legs out from under me.”

  “I don’t remember that,” Lhyn said.

  “That’s because she hid it too well. You front on several levels, Lancer Tal.”

  “Requirement of the job. But I’m not fronting now. I want to do this. We owe you so much, and I…have a personal debt.”

  After a pause, Serrado nodded at Lhyn, eliciting a bright smile that faded a moment later.

  “Now I’m nervous,” Lhyn confessed. “If it doesn’t work, I’ll be crushed.”

  “I promise you it will work.”

  “A promise from a politician?” But her spirits were rising, along with her sense of anticipation. “I’d rather hear that from a warrior.”

  Tal held out her forearm, smiling when Lhyn took it in a respectable warrior’s clasp. “On my honor as a warrior.”

  “Then I’m ready.”

  “So am I,” Serrado said, “but you’re going to have to tell me what to do. I expect Lhyn already knows.”

  “She needs bare skin. In the ceremonies, they always wear robes or shirts that fasten in front so the bond minister can touch the skin over their hearts. I have to change my shirt.” Lhyn was off the couch and heading for the bedroom almost before she finished speaking, leaving Serrado looking down at her own shirt.

  “Good thing I wore the zip front today.” She pulled the zipper down, baring a smooth expanse of skin, and Tal wondered if this might not be such a good idea after all.

  “You’ll need to sit here, next to Lhyn,” she said, standing up and pointing to her former seat.

  “They stand in the ceremony,” Lhyn called from the bedroom.

  “That’s because they’re also connecting all of the guests,” Tal answered. “You don’t have any.”

  Serrado came around the low table and sat on the sofa. “You’re sure this isn’t going to hurt you?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Lhyn reappeared in a shirt with half the buttons undone. “Will this work?”

  “That’s perfect.” Tal waited for her to sit next to the captain before pulling the table closer and taking her own seat, her knees brushing the couch in the space between them. “As Lhyn said, I’m going to rest my hands over your hearts. You’ll complete the connection by putting your hands on the back of my neck. But don’t do that until I tell you.”

  They nodded and scooted closer, their legs touching hers. She closed her eyes, taking time to center herself. If her experience in the strategy room was any indicator, she’d need all her concentration to keep her blocks intact against the emotional force she was about to tap into. She wished she’d thought to ask Lanaril about this before making her rash offer, but it was too late now.

  She reached for Lhyn first, sliding her hand in the opening of her shirt and resting it against the swell of her left breast. Lhyn held still, watching her with a trust she didn’t deserve. It took a few pipticks before she could bring herself to reach for Serrado, and she hoped no one noticed the slight trembling of her hand.

  The moment she made contact with Serrado’s skin, the raw power electrified her body, stiffening her spine. Her intake of breath was audible, and they both looked at her in concern.

  “It’s fine,” she said, though the hitch in her voice didn’t convince them. “Just give me a piptick.”

  Her hand wasn’t yet in position, and as she carefully moved onto the curve of Serrado’s breast, the power intensified. It shouldn’t have; Gaians didn’t have the empathic neural network that Alseans had. But clearly something was there—or at least, it was in these two women.

  The torrent of emotions washed over her, sucking away her control. Only once in her life had she attended a tyree bonding ceremony, and while it had been an incredible experience, it was nothing like this. Either the bond minister or the bondmates themselves had guided the Sharing, but the Gaians had no ability and Tal had never done this before.

  “Lancer Tal,” Serrado said sharply. “It’s been more than a few pipticks. Tell us what’s happening or I put an end to this.”

  Tal hadn’t detected their mounting worry; the sheer strength of their emotions was overwhelming her ability to parse them. But now that Serrado’s anxiety had spiked out of the background, she used it as a guide for separating the rest.

  “I’m all right. It’s just so…immense. Great Mother, the power of you two…” She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and inhaled again. By the third breath she was gaining control over the energy coursing through her body. She envisioned it recharging her muscles, fueling her brain, shoring up her blocks, strengthening every part of her until she was ready to send it out again. Then she lowered her head.

  “Make the connection,” she said.

  Their hands felt cool as they slid onto her neck, and a moment later their heads came to rest against hers. It startled her until she realized it was a more natural position, allowing each of them to support the others.

  And now she had an outlet. With one more deep breath, she released the power in her body.

  “Oh my stars,” Lhyn gasped.

  “Great galaxies. It’s so strong…”

  “Because I’m not projecting remembered emotions. This is you, as you are in this moment. Now stop worrying about me and think about each other. What do you want your tyree to know?”

  It didn’t take them long to adapt, and the ticks that followed were so profound in their intimacy that Tal knew she would never feel anything like it again. All her life she’d dreamed of a tyree bond, of being part of something so blessed by Fahla. But this had to be the next best thing. She might be a mere guest, but the emotions were inside her as well. For as long as she could hold this connection, the warmth, the love, the sense of being utterly indispensable to another’s well-being—these were hers, too.

  And they melted the small, hard cores of betrayal that both women still harbored. For all of Serrado’s understanding of Lhyn’s needs, she’d never understood her own.

  “Ekatya,” Lhyn whispered at last. “I didn’t realize…I’m so sorry.”

  “I am, too.”

  “I know you are. I actually know. Why can’t we have this all the time? The time and heartache we could have saved—”

  “No, we couldn’t. There are no words that could communicate this.”

  “Not when the trust was lost, I suppose.”

  “Not ever. They’re just words. We have to believe in the emotions behind them, and I—” Serrado’s voice cracked. “I never believed you felt like this. Not until Lancer Tal Shared with me, and then
I thought it was too late.”

  “I didn’t think you did, either. Not in my heart. I hoped, and Shippers know I wanted it, but there was always this little voice…”

  “Do you believe me now?”

  “Yes,” Lhyn murmured. “How could I not?”

  Serrado made a small sound, the only outward sign of the profound shift taking place in her heart. “We can’t forget this,” she whispered.

  “We won’t.” This time, Lhyn’s belief was absolute.

  They fell silent then, reveling in their shared experience, and Tal felt it all. The astonishing part, the part she hadn’t remotely envisioned, was that the strength of their bond grew while she held them in her hands. It had already been strong enough to overwhelm her, but that was before they’d felt the truth in each other.

  Love feeds love, her mother had often told her. She’d never really understood that until now.

  A chuckle rumbled up before she could stop it, startling the others.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I was just thinking about a certain assumption Captain Serrado once made. Do you still think anyone could possibly come between you?”

  “Not in this lifetime. I was an idiot.”

  “Yes, you were,” Lhyn said, but her voice held no edge, only the exasperated affection that was flowing through their link.

  “In my defense, I didn’t have the Alsean advantage. And now I can see just how big an advantage that is. What you showed me in our Sharing—it wasn’t half the strength of this.”

  “Believe me, I know.” Tal’s body had been buzzing with it for what felt like half a hantick.

  “That’s twice now you’ve given me a gift beyond price. And considering what we’re doing at the moment, I really think you should start calling me Ekatya.”

  “Finally. I wondered how long it would take you. She was calling me Lhyn more than a moon ago.”

  “Yes, but you’re not representing Fleet and the Protectorate.”

  “Ekatya, you’re practically in a threesome here. I hardly think you’re representing Fleet and the Protectorate right now.”

  Tal laughed so hard she nearly lost her positioning, and that seemed to be the cue for the others. They released her neck and she straightened, wincing as her back protested being bent for so long. Carefully, she pulled her hands away and dropped them in her lap, feeling diminished with the loss of the connection. But there seemed to be some echoes of the link still connecting the two Gaians, its residual power humming quietly to her senses.

  “Oh, ouch,” Lhyn said as she rested against the cushion. “No wonder they stand at bonding ceremonies.”

  Tal checked her wristcom. “They also don’t hold the connection for forty-five ticks.”

  “It was that long? Wow, that flew by.”

  Serrado—Ekatya, Tal reminded herself—was watching her silently.

  “I would be honored to call you Ekatya,” Tal said. “And you’re right, given what we’ve just experienced, formality has no place between us. Please call me Andira.”

  “Me too?” Lhyn asked.

  “Of course, you too.” Tal pushed the table back and stood, gratefully stretching her spine. “And now I think the two of you have more to discuss, without me in the room. So if you’ll…” She trailed off as Ekatya held up a hand.

  “Andira, you’ve shared so much with us. Will you let me share something with you before you go?”

  Tal nodded, wondering what she had in mind to make her so serious.

  “I know your culture limits this in adults,” Ekatya continued as she stood up. “But mine doesn’t. We can give them to anyone who is special to us, and I want to give one to you. Please accept this as the gift I mean it to be. It’s the only way I have to demonstrate how much your friendship means to me.”

  Tal was still trying to figure out what that meant when Ekatya moved in and wrapped her up in a warmron.

  A warmron!

  Hesitantly, she raised her arms and slid them around Ekatya’s back. It should have been an egregious violation of their tyree bond, but Ekatya was warm and pliant, and Lhyn looked on with an approving smile.

  “Good,” Ekatya said. “But you need to relax more. You’re stiff as a support beam.”

  “That’s difficult when it feels as if I’m breaking fifteen laws.”

  “You’re not breaking any laws,” Lhyn said. “You’re engaging in a cultural exchange.”

  Ekatya tightened her grip and rested their heads together. “Thank you, my friend,” she whispered.

  It was the my friend that did it. For the first time, it occurred to Tal just how much Ekatya had reached out of her own comfort zone in their interactions, first in the training room and now here. Perhaps it was her turn.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, tightening her own grip. Then she gave in, allowing herself to relax and absorb the sheer pleasure of holding Ekatya in her arms. If this was a test of her resistance, well, she’d just have to fail.

  “Better,” Ekatya murmured. She ran a hand up to the back of Tal’s head, holding them impossibly closer, and Tal felt chills all the way to her toes. One more squeeze and Ekatya let go, stepping back with a wide smile on her face. “Once you relax, you give a very nice warmron. And I think I just corrupted the Lancer.”

  You have no idea, Tal thought. She chuckled to cover her discomposure. “Not a single person on Alsea would dream of doing what you just did. But I wish they would.”

  “You’re usually more accurate than that,” Lhyn said as she rose. “There’s at least one other person.” And before Tal knew what was happening, she was swept into her second-ever illicit warmron.

  With their height difference, she could tuck her head beneath Lhyn’s chin. This time she relaxed quickly, finding it easier when the warmron wasn’t so charged with temptation.

  Not once in her adult life had she considered embracing a woman she hadn’t joined with, but now she wondered about the limitations. A joining could be as simple as a mutual release for pleasure, but her first Sharing with Ekatya was ten times more intimate, and what they’d just finished was the most intimate thing she’d ever done, clothed or not. Why was a warmron allowed for one but not the other?

  “If this is what I get for linking you, we could do it again tomorrow,” she said.

  Lhyn rubbed a gentle hand up and down her back. “You’d never have to ask permission. I’d jump at the chance any time you’re willing to offer.”

  “So would I,” Ekatya said.

  Tal felt dazed when she was released, but cycles of diplomatic experience got her through the farewells. Ekatya escorted her to the door and stopped her as she crossed the threshold.

  “Consider your debt paid,” she said in a low voice. “I know she would say the same.”

  “Are you ever going to tell her?”

  “No. And I hope you won’t let your guilt push you into telling her yourself. You wouldn’t be doing her any favors.”

  “I know. So the matter is closed.”

  Ekatya hesitated. “Not quite yet. I need to ask you one thing.”

  “Missiles away.”

  The Gaian phrase lightened Ekatya’s serious mood, but not for long. “You said a tyree bond can’t be broken from the outside. I understand that now. But what would have happened if you’d had to do what you planned? Would she…I mean, would we—?”

  “Yes,” Tal said. “Not even empathic force can break a tyree bond. Even if I were the worst person on Alsea and forced her to love me, the only way I could keep her at my side would be to make sure she never saw you. Because the first time she did, that bond would wake. She’d be drawn to you without knowing why. No matter how many stones you throw in the water, you cannot dam the ocean.”

  Ekatya leaned against the doorframe. “I hardly know what to do with that. It’s as if I just walked into a room stacked floor to ceiling with gifts, and they all have my name on them. It’s so overwhelming that I don’t know which one to open first.”

  Tal looked p
ast her to Lhyn, who was still in the living area and speaking into a pad, no doubt recording her experience of the first dual Gaian Sharing. “Open that one,” she suggested.

  Ekatya followed her gaze and turned back with a smile. “Believe me, I will. But that’s the easy part.”

  “It’s not a ship, and you’re not the captain. You don’t have to know how it all works. Just accept the gift Fahla gave you. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “Maybe she does. If anything could convert me to the Seeder side of the argument, it would be your Fahla.” She straightened and added, “But that’s a conversation for another time. As for that prior matter—it’s closed.”

  They shook on it, a comfortable warrior’s clasp, and said their good nights. Ekatya walked back inside, and just before the door clicked shut, Tal heard Lhyn’s voice.

  “Wow, nice view. Do I get to unzip that last little bit?”

  Tal leaned against the wall by their door and closed her eyes, needing a moment to get that vision out of her head.

  Who was she kidding; she’d never get that out of her head. With a sigh, she pushed off the wall and headed back to her own very empty quarters.

  Chapter 65

  Dirt-side desk job

  They Shared again the very next evening. Ekatya would never have asked, not wanting to impose, but Lhyn had no such compunctions and Andira seemed happy to take part. An hour later, when the link ended and they crashed back into their tiny, limited selves, Lhyn said, “If I live to be a hundred and ten, I will always date my life as either before or after my first Sharing with you.”

  “Not your first Sharing, period?”

  “That was spectacular. But it was with a stranger. I mean, Lanaril is a friend now, but Sharing with you is on a whole different level.”

  “You’re tyrees,” Andira said, as if that explained everything. To her it apparently did.

  The next day Lhyn invited her to Blacksun Temple for a midmeal with Lanaril. Ekatya had met the Lead Templar only once before, and while she’d liked her, she wasn’t entirely comfortable around someone whose career was religion-based. But Lanaril was so delighted to be able to discuss their tyree bond openly that they spent the entire midmeal speaking of nothing else. Ekatya came away more impressed than ever by the profundity of their bond and the status it gave them in Alsean culture—or would give them, if they ever went public with it.