The Gate to Futures Past

by Julie E. Czerneda

  What mattered here and now was Tle’s state of mind. Nyso had hidden; I’d no hope Tle’s break with reality would be so peaceful. We’d five, soon to be seven, eligible unChosen aboard and nowhere to hide them if she lost control. I wasn’t the only one amazed she, Jacqui di Mendolar, and the Om’ray’s sole Chooser, Alet di Uruus, continued to exhibit such unusual restraint.

  So far.

  I offered my hand, palm up. With Council momentarily adjourned, and members busy communing in seeming silence, the rules didn’t apply.

  Tle’s dark eyes gleamed as she put her left hand overtop. Cool, damp, with long elegant fingers. I braced, ready for her to test her Power against mine, the preliminaries being important to M’hiray, particularly this one.

  Instead, words formed, soft and slow. I have this madness.

  Ruis told you?

  A dismissive curl of her lip. The Om’ray didn’t find it. Her scan was pitifully shallow. Tle held herself straight, well aware she was an imposing figure, even unChosen, tall and with the striking green eyes of her Parth heritage. You could.

  Go deep into a mind that believed itself mad? Hardly worse than going into a sane Tle, as far as I was concerned. I’m no Healer—

  He is.

  RAGE surged across our link before I could think to stop it. I did, somehow.

  Pain whitened lines at her eyes and mouth, but Tle’s hand didn’t budge. I don’t ask for myself, Sira. If I am mad, Asdny’s at risk. I know no one believes we will Join—

  Because Asdny would die, but I couldn’t interrupt. This wasn’t the Tle I knew.

  —and that may be true. A staggering admission. But he is ever in my thoughts and heart. I fear if I succumb I won’t be able to keep myself from—from spreading this to him. No one should face such horrible things in their dreams. No one.

  I sent calm, buying time. ‘Horrible things?’ I’d faced what would fit that description in my dreams, as a Chooser.

  They’d been real: monstrous forms in the M’hir that fed on the unbalance caused by the Power-of-Choice. They’d found me thanks to the dear little Drapsk. I’d survived them, in part, because of the Rugherans.

  The M’hir, I sighed to myself, used to seem so simple.

  I pulled forth a memory, careful to keep it small and quick, then shared it with Tle.

  She gasped and stumbled back. “You’re mad, too!”

  HUSH! I snapped, hoping no one else had paid attention. I reached out and caught her hands, pulling her toward me. Neither of us are, if that’s what you’ve dreamed. Such creatures are real. They exist in the M’hir. You saw the images the Drapsk machine showed us.

  She frowned, but no longer resisted. None like this memory—like my dream. None with such teeth.

  The dear little Drapsk had edited what they’d provided. These are only attracted to Choosers of great Power. It wasn’t flattery; I needed her confidence to return. Asdny’s safe from them, and they can’t hurt you unless you linger in the M’hir.

  If she did, they’d fasten what weren’t mouths and drain her Power, leaving her to die there. A detail for another conversation. I trusted Tle’s instinct for self-preservation.

  She glanced toward Morgan and then back to me. Are those things in the M’hir why I’ve lost the urge to Call?

  They hadn’t stopped mine, another bit of information Tle didn’t need at present. It’s just as well, isn’t it? I said to Tle, proud to keep a straight face when hers wrinkled first with confusion.

  Then dismay. What if they don’t go away? What if I can never Call?

  I released her hands. “One problem at a time,” I said brightly. A motto to live by, that was. “Let’s hear what our Healers-of-minds have to say about us first.”

  It didn’t satisfy her, but only Choice would at this stage in her life. I’d need to talk with Eand and Moyla about our other Choosers, not to mention monsters, the M’hir, and restraint.

  To my surprise, Tle bowed. “Agreed, Sira. I look forward to the education of this Council—” a tight little smile, “—in the ways of a certain Human.”

  As did I, I thought, seeing Morgan and Ruis come toward the rest.

  So long as there wasn’t shouting.

  There wasn’t shouting.

  I hadn’t realized stunned silence could be worse.

  Nik slowly rose to her feet. “Half, you say.”

  “Yes.” Ruis’ face was as pale as Morgan’s was grim. “Better than we’d feared.”

  “Better?! If that proportion carries across the ship’s population, close to a hundred could be on the verge of this—this affliction!”

  “Whom among us?” Odon looked around the room. “We should know.”

  “You do; you just haven’t realized it.” Morgan’s gaze touched one after another. “Have you been afraid to fall asleep because of nightmares—or because you can’t be sure you’ll wake up again?” Calm, relentless, like a tide. “Do you believe you survived by mistake? That others judge you less worthy than those they lost? Is facing each day harder than imagining being buried alive by the Oud or attacked by Assemblers—”

  STOP! From more than one.

  My Chosen didn’t flinch, but his voice softened. “These feelings are normal, however terrible and powerful, and they can leave wounds; I believe that’s what we’re seeing here. Most would heal on their own, with time. We don’t have any. This—” he lifted one hand to our surroundings, encompassing the uncertainty of our lives, “—only makes it harder.”

  “There will be some,” Ruis elaborated, “whose wounds go too deep for time alone. They’ll need our help.”

  If I had to guess who wouldn’t need any, I’d pick Sona’s tough First Scout, busy assessing the rest, her eyes narrowed in speculation.

  One who would? Hap. Despite her outward strength, something about her concerned me, not that I was a Healer-of-minds.

  “You talk of wounds. A ‘cause’ inside us.” Degal repeated Morgan’s gesture. “What if that cause is here?”

  Ruis frowned at him. “‘Here?’ What do you mean?”

  “The ship.” The M’hiray Councilor looked around for support. “It meddled with us once. Implanted memories. Altered us.”

  Had he not been listening?

  Support came from the last person I’d expect. “A valid point, Degal,” Morgan acknowledged with every evidence of sincerity. “Keeper?”

  Another silence; all eyes turned to me.

  It wasn’t a “valid” point at all. What was he thinking? Why, I thought darkly, waste time on this?

  “Give us a moment,” I requested, trying not to glower. Sona, have you been inside our heads again?

  >I am in your head, Keeper, and no other. That is what a Keeper is.<

  Shipbrain. “The answer’s no,” I relayed.

  Ruis gestured agreement. “Of course it’s not the ship. To use the Maker,” she said carefully, “a Keeper must Dream.”

  Meaning nothing so innocent as a nightmare. The Dream Chamber had been so-named because hidden within it was an apparatus to physically connect the Keeper’s sleeping mind—mine—with the ship’s.

  A connection unlike any I’d experienced with a living mind: invasive, intrusive and, for all my supposed Power, disconcertingly more under the ship’s control than mine.

  “I haven’t Dreamed,” I confirmed. And had no intention of doing so again. Having Sona establish a comlink in my head? Enough for a lifetime, thank you.

  “Thank you, Keeper.” Ruis turned her attention to Council. “I assure you, what confronts us is not the Maker’s doing.”

  “What matters is dealing with it,” Ghos said. “Let me be the first to ask your aid, Healers-of-minds.” His mouth twisted. “No need to name names, Morgan. I’m among those who cannot sleep, for fear of what awaits me there.”

  “As am I.” Hap, barely a whispe
r.

  Degal gave a short nod, before putting his face in his hands.

  The rest remained silent.

  “We will heal everyone afflicted.” Ruis’ hair strained against its net. “But we ask your patience. Any of our Healers can scan for the cause, but only Morgan and I have the necessary Talent to deal with the damage. Healing Eloe and the di Kessa’ats drained us both. We must rest before we deal with any more.”

  “At that rate, it could take—” Nik stopped short, her expression grave. “Do we have that long?”

  “No. If matters remain as they are, I fear most of our afflicted will fail before we can help them.” Having pronounced what seemed our doom, Ruis lifted a hand toward my Human. “Which is why we have brought a proposal for Council. Morgan?”

  Did anyone else remark how he adjusted his balance, ever-so-slightly, setting his body as if to prepare for—what?

  Here it was, his endgame. I braced myself, too, for all the good it would do.

  Morgan bowed to Ruis, then the Council. He rose, his face expressionless. “Let’s use the Maker to repair everyone at once.”

  I shot to my feet, the others doing the same, and I’d no doubt the look on my face held the shock on theirs. There has to be another way. If there was a pain-dealing SNAP to it, I was in no mood to apologize.

  Morgan met my disapproving glare, his blue eyes sober, shields lowered. The backlash of their memories almost trapped us both. His dread filled me until I could hardly breathe. Memories and emotion can’t affect a machine like the Maker. Its function, properly targeted, could be the answer.

  Aware we consulted—no doubt also well aware of my outrage—the others waited.

  Consulted being the key, here. I wished for Aryl’s council, then stopped before I disturbed her. Aryl wasn’t who I needed.

  I swallowed my abhorrence. I trusted Morgan. That didn’t mean jumping right into a Dream, not if I could help it. I can ask questions, for a start.

  A fleeting hint of warmth. Good. Let’s test a hypothetical, Witchling. The designers of the Maker should have installed a protocol for passengers distressed during the journey. Ask if it can help someone afraid of enclosed spaces. If yes, ask how.

  I swallowed, doing my utmost to sound as though about to request new blankets and not the rebuilding of our minds, again. “Your pardon. Give me a moment to communicate with the ship.”

  They sat down without protest, though Barac looked as uneasy as I felt.

  Sona, can you help someone afraid of enclosed spaces?

  The answer was immediate: >Yes.<

  How?

  >Such fear can be removed.<

  That sounded promising. Almost. I shared the ship’s response with Morgan. How would it help someone who has suffered a traumatic loss?

  I dutifully relayed the question.

  Immediate. >What is a “traumatic loss?”<

  Save me from servo brains. I thought hastily. An event that leaves a disturbing memory.

  >A memory can be removed.<

  As if our minds were full of bits and pieces to be discarded at random. We were made of our memories; something I knew better than most. Though I sensed Morgan ready to twitch, I couldn’t let this pass. What if the memory is important?

  For the first time, a delay. I looked at my Chosen, raised a brow. Lips tight, he nodded.

  Finally, >The disturbing quality of a memory can only be moderated. The disturbance cannot be eliminated while the memory itself remains. A memory can be removed.<

  As if trying to talk me out of an imperfect procedure.

  Sira? Beneath my name, caution. Morgan, fussing.

  Not fussing, I corrected. Reminding me I had a partner, one who understood such cold and logical minds. I shared what Sona had told me.

  Well done, he sent. State that the memory in question must be left intact. Ask for options.

  You can’t take away memories, I told Sona. We mustn’t forget what’s happened. Do you understand? To move forward, we need to remember without—I faltered. Without pain? Without grief?

  Without guilt?

  >Keeper, my understanding is this. Your initial request was “how would I help someone who has suffered a traumatic loss?” From your subsequent qualifications and their tone, I conclude this is of present, critical concern. Am I correct to rephrase your request as follows: “How can you make my memory of traumatic loss bearable?”<

  Nothing could. I knew it, in that moment. Felt hopelessness replace everything and reeled.

  Hundreds lost . . .

  . . . a sister.

  A world decimated . . .

  . . . our home, destroyed.

  Morgan wanted to heal the impossible—we were shattered beyond repair.

  I was—

  Sira. Like arms around me, holding me upright. Beloved. Like the feel of a warm cheek against mine. My hair lifted, sweeping soft around me as other unseen but felt arms took hold. Morgan. Aryl, awake and with me. Putting themselves between me and the cliff beyond which plunged black, unending despair, somehow calming even the M’hir that connected us so we three seemed to float outside of time.

  We aren’t done, chit, with confidence. Not even close.

  The support was theirs; the effort could only be mine.

  With an act of will I didn’t realize I had left, I made myself open my eyes to focus on those waiting nearby. To see them, as they really were. Odon and Degal, determined to succeed in a world new to both. Ruis and Ghos, committed to making us one Clan. Nik and Tle, refusing to consider defeat. Teris, ever-questioning. Destin, scarred and callused, ready for any battle. Kunthea, his face creased not from grief, but from a lifetime of smiles and laughter.

  All but Tle had a Chosen, another life bound to theirs. Of the Chosen, three had children or unChosen or grandchildren, relying on them to make a future.

  My eyes rested last on Barac, who’d lost as much as I or any.

  Somehow, I’d known he’d smile at me. “Well, cousin?”

  “We’re not done,” I told him, surprised to believe it.

  Meeting Morgan’s gaze with a smile of my own, I sent to the ship. You are correct, Sona. We all need to bear our losses and remain strong. Can you help without tampering with our memories? Everyone is unique, as is their loss.

  >Words are insufficient, Keeper, for me to respond in a meaningful manner. Will you Dream with me?<

  There it was, then. “Sona wants me to Dream,” I announced. “But I don’t see how that can help. I wouldn’t know what to do or say,” my voice shook. “I’m no Healer-of-minds.”

  “I am.”

  No. He couldn’t think—

  “I propose to Council that we Dream together, so I can show the ship how to help those in need if it becomes necessary.”

  He did.

  “No.” Morgan understood machines—but this wasn’t the same, I thought, horrified. Dreaming with the ship, that mental invasion, was safe for me only because it had been designed for our species, not his. “No!” I said, and louder, in case anyone missed it the first time.

  “The Keeper answers to Council, does she not?”

  I turned my head, very slowly, to look at Ruis. Whatever she saw in my face made her blanch, but she didn’t back down. “We ask a vote.”

  Eyes flashing, Barac stepped forward. “We won’t be remade again. Not even for this.”

  “Agreed.” Morgan, reasonable. Confident. “We’ll only use the Maker if I’m convinced it can and will heal this particular trauma—and do nothing more.”

  Nothing more? They didn’t know him as I did.

  A starship we couldn’t control; a captain intent on just that, asking to be put inside whatever passed for its mind—

  My Human wanted to fix things. He always did. Starting with those afflicted, of course, but oh, he wouldn’t stop there. We
were at Sona’s mercy, and he trusted the ship’s ancient programming no more than I did.

  This wasn’t the way. Dreaming is guided by the ship, not the Keeper, I sent, with all the urgency I could. Let me do this alone. It answers my questions. Tell me what to say.

  I can’t tell you how to Heal, Witchling. The ship can take that information from me.

  And what if it takes more?

  He didn’t answer. Likely couldn’t.

  Hap signaled the others to sit. “The Council votes. Raise your hand with mine, if you agree our Healer-of-minds should Dream with our Keeper.”

  “Wait!” Ghos stood and stepped forward, smiling. No, beaming, from ear-to-ear. “Worra’s sent word. Gricel’s baby’s coming!” Their daughter’s second. Ghos’ joy and the news lightened spirits around in the room. “Sira, we have to go. Now. The vote can wait.”

  “Pardon?” If that had a shrill note, I was entitled. This discussion was far from over, and I intended to stay for every word. I was the Keeper—Morgan my—

  SIRA!! Come Come Come! Andi, her sending happy enough to ring in my head, followed by Jacqui di Mendolar’s calmer, but no less determined: All those pregnant must be present. Hurry, Sira!

  The baby’s coming? Aryl, with joy. Sira, we mustn’t be late.

  All around the chamber, heads bobbed in agreement. Hap’s smile was almost as wide as Ghos’ “Go. We’ll receive our First Scout’s report.”

  “Sira.” Ghos held out his hand. “They’re in the Core.”

  You’d best do as they say, Witchling. Oh, and didn’t Morgan look properly contrite?

  I glowered. Did you plan this, too?

  He had the grace to blush. No.

  SIRA!

  Defeated by biology, outnumbered, I gave an irritated bow before taking Ghos’ hand and preparing the locate for the Core.

  I paused, looking at Morgan. He opened his mouth, then closed it, lips tight. Not done, that expression said.

  Oh, but I was.

  I let a fraction of my Power swell outward to press against the shields of Sona’s Council, and one Human, providing a relevant comparison. The only authority they had over me was what I chose to give them, and in this?