“That’s what I expected. I was surprised the first time you brought me here.”
“The counseling rooms are very comfortable—and very neutral.”
“Impersonal, you mean.”
“Yes. If I’m to be working with someone over many sessions, I want to do it where I’m at home.”
Sliding deeper into her soft chair, Rahel said, “I’m at home here, too.”
“That’s the idea.” Lanaril settled her hands in her lap. “At the other end of the spectrum, we get people with grievous injuries who need long-term healing. They tend to be in crisis when they come to us, so we stabilize them until the dedicated mental healers can take over. You’re right, we don’t have the time or resources to care for all of them. But sometimes we meet a patient we connect with, a patient we want to see through to the end. That’s what you are to me.”
Lanaril had chosen her. She could not help the swelling of pride at that thought.
“When did you connect with me?” she asked.
“Within two ticks of meeting you. Your first words to me were an apology. You were drenched in shame and such a contradiction. I’d read your records that morning and wondered how such an honorable warrior could do what you had done. When you apologized, I knew you were wondering the same thing.”
“Fahla, yes. But I wasn’t the only one with a self-inflicted wound, was I?” It clicked in her mind then, the number of times she had seen Salomen’s Guards in the corridors a hantick before or after their empathic tutoring. “You’ve been counseling her.”
“You know I won’t talk about that.”
“Sharro would never talk about her clients, either. Mouse was gone for a cycle before she would say anything about him. But I’m glad Salomen has you.”
After a moment of silence, Lanaril spoke quietly. “I can tell you this. When a person causes a harm they regret, one thing helps more than any other: watching that wound heal. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I cannot do this, Salomen had said the day of their first projection exercise. Now she was doing it with confidence and sometimes a playful spark in her eyes—eyes that no longer held the sadness they had that first day in the healing center. And she had leaned against a boulder, laughing so hard she could barely speak.
Rahel took a deep breath of cinnoralis-scented air and relaxed. “Yes. I understand that completely.”
71
DREAMS
Salomen’s dress boot heels clicked against the polished stone floor, announcing her haste to anyone in hearing range. She had asked her pilot to land the Serrado fighter right behind Blacksun Temple, violating security protocol and no doubt earning her a lecture from both Andira and Ronlin when they found out. With her own Guards still returning from her speech via normal transport, she was supposed to fly straight to the State House and collect additional Guards from Andira’s unit if she needed to go out again.
But she had received a quantum com call while in transit, and she was damned if she’d wait another tick to deliver this news. It was perfect timing; Rahel would be in a counseling session.
The palm pad beside Lanaril’s door glowed blue, indicating that she was not to be disturbed. Salomen tapped it and momentarily dropped her front.
Barely four pipticks passed before Lanaril opened the door, the scent of cinnoralis drifting out with its motion. “What—”
“It’s done.” Salomen pushed past her and waved at Rahel, who sat in her usual armchair. “Lanaril, it’s done!”
Lanaril’s smile was nearly as wide as her own. “Thank Fahla. I thought those gears would never finish grinding.”
“If it were up to Ekatya, it would have happened in a day. She said we should be suitably amazed that it only took two of her months. She finalized it with the adjudicator before calling me.” Salomen pulled the rolled reader card from her pouch and held it up in triumph. “I have the signature!”
Rahel sat in polite silence, no doubt assuming this conversation had nothing to do with her. Salomen dragged the third chair closer to her and sat on its front edge, too excited to relax. As Lanaril took her own seat with considerably more grace, Salomen asked, “Remember when we said we were working on a long-term solution?”
Rahel turned to stone, the dread rolling off her. “Yes. I’m ready.”
“You really are expecting the worst, aren’t you? I told you to trust me.”
“I’ve always trusted you. But even the Bondlancer has to work within the law.”
“And I have. Rahel . . .” She paused, savoring the moment. “You’re not going to prison.”
“I’m—what?”
“Neither I nor my Guards are pressing charges for what happened in Pollonius. As for kidnapping Herot and shooting Colonel Micah, those crimes were committed by Hedron Periso. She’s dead.”
Rahel looked to Lanaril, who nodded.
“In both a medical and legal sense, you are not the person who committed those acts.”
“But I—”
“If you’re going to try to talk your way into prison, shut up now,” Salomen said. “Listen. Colonel Micah interviewed you and said he was satisfied that you’re an honorable warrior. He withdrew his charges. My brother said he never saw you after he was taken to the safe house. You never touched him violently.”
“No, but I took—”
“I said, listen.”
The chair creaked as Rahel sat back, pressing her lips together.
“Thank you. Now, we all agree that justice won’t be served if you don’t pay some sort of restitution. So you have a choice. You can pay that restitution on Hol-Opah, working in my fields for a period of two cycles. Or . . .” She flashed a grin at Lanaril, whose eyes were alight with anticipation. “You can pay it by serving one cycle in a pilot program that will test the compatibility of an Alsean warrior with a Protectorate warship crew. I highly recommend the latter. Andira spent a moon in my fields and said it was the hardest work she’d ever done.”
Rahel stared at her. The room was so quiet that Salomen thought she could hear air molecules bouncing off her eardrums.
“A warship?” Rahel managed. “I don’t—what does that mean?”
“You’re familiar with Captain Serrado?”
“Um . . . yes, the Savior of Blacksun. She was the captain of the Caphenon.”
“Now she’s the captain of the Phoenix. She and her crew patrol our region of space and guard Alsea from the Voloth. Our treaty with the Protectorate includes allowing Alseans to serve in their Fleet, but there have been some . . . concerns about our empathic abilities.”
“Because the Gaians are sonsales.”
Salomen nodded. “They have no protections against us. But you’re a mid empath, and you have a history that makes you uniquely sympathetic to how Gaians might feel about being probed without consent.”
“You—ha.” Rahel huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “You want me to be the first Alsean in space?”
In truth, Andira had been the first Alsean in space, but now was not the time to mention that detail.
“Not quite. Our Serrado and Candini pilots have trained in orbit, and several builders went along when we launched the cable for the space elevator. But you would be the first one to live in space. The first Alsean space explorer.” Salomen leaned forward and took Rahel’s hand, using skin contact to get past the denial. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about you having a choice. It seems to me you haven’t had many good ones lately.”
“But you did all this.” Rahel waved her free hand. “You got an alien government involved in my case!”
Perhaps she should have gone to the State House after all, Salomen thought. She had come here in the height of her excitement, knowing all the history and details, and blindsided her friend. Rahel had been expecting prison, not the offer of her greatest dream. No wonder her emotional signature felt as if it had slammed into a stone wall.
“You’re overwhelmed.” She released Rahel’s hand and sat back. “I’m sorry, I should have real
ized. You don’t have to decide anything now. Take some time to consider your options. It’s a big decision.”
“Build my own future,” Rahel whispered, staring at the hand Salomen had been holding.
“Speak again?” Lanaril asked.
“I told my mother to build her own future. I didn’t think I had one of my own. Not for cycles yet.”
“You do. Rahel, my temple doors are open.”
The words made a crack in her disbelief, allowing a cautious hope to seep through. “Rahel means explorer,” she said slowly.
Salomen gave her an encouraging smile. “So I’ve heard.”
“Who would I be serving?”
“Ah. That was a bit of a sticking point in the negotiations, since you’re not in Fleet and haven’t been through their training. You cannot serve as a full member of the crew or with a Fleet rank. We all agreed it would be best if you swore your oath to an Alsean, who would then name Captain Serrado as her proxy for the period of your service.”
“Her proxy.” Rahel exhaled. “What an irony. Well, if that’s what it takes, I can swear to Lancer Tal.”
“To Andira? No, me. You would swear your oath to me.”
It was as if she had thrown a shock bomb. Rahel’s emotions shattered, leaving behind splinters and shards. With jerky movements, she pushed out of her chair and stumbled to the windows.
Lanaril held up a hand and shook her head, stopping Salomen before she was halfway out of her own chair.
She realized her mistake a tick later. She had filed this proposal before they became friends, never dreaming of the turn their relationship would take. But a warrior like Rahel would be very aware of the distinction between a friend and an oath holder. It had taken Fianna moons to step over that line, and her oath to Salomen was private, not public. It was not listed in her caste records.
She had just told Rahel that her future came at a cost.
“Rahel, you can swear your oath to someone else—”
“No!” Rahel spun around. “That’s not what you’re sensing.”
“Then what . . . ?”
Her laugh was wild. “I gave it up. Everything. My dreams, my freedom . . . even the idea of useful service until I paid for my crimes. Now you’re telling me I can have it all back. I can have more than that. Goddess above, a space explorer? Not even my childhood fantasies went that far. And serving you, after everything I—” She held the back of her hand against her mouth, breathing hard, then spoke in a choked voice. “Maybe Fahla never stopped watching over me. Maybe this was all for a reason.”
Salomen glanced at Lanaril, got a nod this time, and moved to the window. “You don’t mind swearing to me?”
“Are you joking? There’s no one on Alsea I would rather serve. No one. It would be—” Her emotional shards abruptly coalesced into elation, and she unleashed a heart-stopping smile. “A privilege and an honor.”
Relief loosened Salomen’s limbs. This was the response she had anticipated, the one she had disregarded all security protocols to see. “It sounds as if you’ve decided.”
“What decision is there? Either I go after my dreams, or I take the coward’s way out and spend the rest of my life wondering what I could have been. How could I not want to be the first Alsean to serve in space?” She held out her right hand, which no longer bore a scar. “It feels as if my hand and I have healed together. You said I could swear my oath to you, and the first thing I thought about was that day in the healing center, when you brought me the cushion. I hurt you, yet you were looking after me. You’re still looking after me. But you’ve never asked for anything in return, not once. Even Shantu asked for five cycles of service.” When she looked up, her lashes were wet. “If you knew how much I want to give you a warmron right now . . .”
Salomen thought about it for all of two pipticks. “I’ve never been fond of that taboo. And I’ve gotten quite a bit of practice with a pair of Gaians in the last few moons.” She held open her arms, enjoying the slack-jawed astonishment.
Rahel didn’t let surprise slow her down. Her body was solid and strong, her grip affectionate, and she radiated pure joy. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For being my friend, for giving me my dreams . . . for being you.”
Salomen held her tighter. “You’re a rare soul, Rahel. I didn’t ask you for anything because you gave it freely.”
She didn’t have to say it. Everyone in this room understood.
When they separated, Rahel wiped her cheeks and said, “Lanaril? I’d like it put into my record that the last time I cried in your study, they were happy tears.”
“Consider it done.” Lanaril walked toward her sideboard and added, “I’ll omit the part about breaking taboos. Shannel, anyone?”
As the dispenser whooshed, Rahel’s natural curiosity reasserted itself. “I can’t imagine how much time and negotiation this must have taken. Or how you convinced Lancer Tal to agree.”
“Let’s just say she put herself in a position where she owed me.”
“You take big payments.”
The day after Andira broke her promise to Fianna, she had submitted to Salomen’s ire with a distinct lack of regret. I’m sorry, she had said. But soothing your grief was worth any price.
“I take very big payments,” Salomen said. And Andira had come around to the idea, hoping that Rahel’s removal from Alsea would neutralize the monster she still grappled with.
“Remind me not to get myself in that position. Why did you think I wouldn’t want to swear my oath to you?”
“I was afraid you couldn’t mix friendship with service.”
Rahel gave her a look of fond exasperation. “Shantu was my family.”
“Ah.” Salomen tucked an escaped wisp of hair behind her ear. “I forgot about that. For a tick.”
“You grainbird.”
Her chest warmed at the message in those words. “I thought you respected me too much to say that.”
“I lost some of that respect when you made a hairy watcher leap at me.”
“Don’t exaggerate. It didn’t leap at you.”
“Besides,” Rahel added as if she hadn’t spoken, “there was a time when I thought I couldn’t call you Salomen. People change.”
Salomen looked at her, glowing with happiness and standing tall, and remembered a woman who would not get off her knees.
“Yes,” she said. “They do.”
72
GAIAN
Rahel stared up at the alien anthropologist Lanaril had brought to her room and marveled that such a creature could exist in the universe.
She was taller than Salomen and as slender as a sea reed. Her hair was dark brown, streaked through with silver, and bound up in a complicated braid. Her vivid green eyes seemed too large for her face, but the oddest thing was that she had no facial ridges, just like a Voloth.
Yet there was no mistaking this woman for a Voloth. She was broadcasting her emotions with all the strength and abandon of a child, and they were not the emotions of an enemy bent on conquering. They were the complex, layered emotions of an intelligent adult who was, at the moment, wildly excited about meeting Rahel.
“Call me Lhyn,” she said. “I’m only Dr. Rivers when I’m being official, and this isn’t an official visit. I just can’t believe they’re finally letting me meet you! I’ve been waiting forever.”
“Since our first day in the healing center,” Lanaril told Rahel.
“Well, yes, but still! I swear it’s taken half a cycle. I have so many questions to ask you. Your experience is unique. I don’t have any understanding of the parts of Alsean culture that fall through the cracks, but you lived in those cracks. If you’re willing to share your story with me, you could teach me so much. And other Alseans, too. No one I’ve ever spoken with knew a thing about how outcastes live. This is a part of your culture that needs to have a light shone on it, don’t you think?” She looked around and pointed at the small table with its two chairs. “Shall we?”
“Um . . . yes, of c
ourse. Lanaril?” Rahel gestured toward the other chair, then pulled the room’s third chair away from the desk in the corner and brought it to the table for herself.
“I’m thrilled that you’re coming to the Phoenix.” Lhyn folded her long legs under her chair and leaned forward. “Ekatya says you’re not there for my personal enlightenment, but I’m hoping you can find some time for me. I’m going on this patrol just for the chance to speak with you. Well, that and the fact that they think I’m the best person to bridge the two cultures.”
Rahel did not understand half of what she had just heard. She looked to Lanaril for help.
“Ekatya is Captain Serrado,” Lanaril said.
“Oh! Right, sorry. Yes, Ekatya is my bondmate, even though we haven’t had the ceremony yet. I have a hard time thinking of her as Captain Serrado sometimes. And I don’t usually go out with the Phoenix, because I’m not fond of enclosed spaces these days, but nothing could keep me away from this trip.”
A memory sparked, something that had been big news a few moons ago. Rahel hadn’t paid much attention then—she was deep in her drunken hole at the time—but it was suddenly of far greater relevance.
“You were the first Gaian to be given Alsean citizenship,” she said.
“Yes. That was me.”
They were the shortest words Lhyn had spoken so far, yet the emotions accompanying them were like an avalanche of colossal crystals crashing to the ground in front of Rahel—all different colors, all jumbled together, all vibrating loudly while blinding her with their multihued brilliance.
“Rahel,” Lanaril said. “Use your blocks.”
Lhyn’s tumble of emotions added a new color: embarrassment. “I’m deafening you, aren’t I? Believe me, I wish I could control it. But it has to be you.”
Rahel looked between them in sudden realization. “It was never about blocking high empaths. Why didn’t you tell me what I was training for?”
Outcaste Page 48
