by Jean Johnson
He spoke quietly as he cooked, pointing briefly with the spatula at her once-again-clasped hands. “You hid it well from the kids, but something is worrying you about the future.”
“Oh?” Jackie asked, picking up and sipping at the grape juice.
“You normally have a very clear idea of your schedule,” he said. “And you almost never fidget with your hands.”
Hyacinth sat down next to her sister and tucked her arm around Jackie’s shoulders. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Sighing, she leaned into her older sister, absorbing the pure, loving concern that filled Hyacinth’s subthoughts. “Just be my family. I’ve spent three-plus weeks confined in close quarters with people who don’t necessarily like me—and by that, I mean in particular a certain unnamed Terran who dislikes all psis for reasons beyond my personal control—and I just need . . . normalcy. The rest of it . . . nobody can help with. It’s just something I’ll have to figure out how to get through.”
“Well, if you’re still here next weekend, you’ll get plenty of ‘ohana here. My brother and his wife’s family will be coming to Honolulu for a vacation,” Maleko told her. He turned off the heat and moved to get a bowl from the cupboard, along with a pair of chopsticks and a bottle of soy sauce from the fridge. “Almost too much ‘ohana, if you ask me. Eighteen people are coming. I’m glad they’ll be staying in a hotel down the road.”
“Eighteen?” Jackie asked, eyes widening, accepting the chopsticks and the soy sauce. “That is a large family.”
“A lucky family,” Hyacinth explained. “They’ve won the third-child lottery for three generations. The great-grandparents had three kids, two of the three had three kids of their own, and about half of those nine also had three kids. Not everyone is coming, but still, eighteen.” She hugged her sister again, kissing Jackie on the cheek even as her husband scooped the stir-fry into the bowl and set it in front of his sister-in-law. “We love our own third in the family, though. Lucky you, getting to meet with nice aliens.”
“Well, it does make a nice change from having to face down not-so-nice ones,” Jackie admitted. Settling the chopsticks just right in her fingers, she plucked at the food in her bowl . . . and hummed happily at the flavors contained in that first bite. Swallowing, she gestured at the medley of foods. “I don’t know how you do it, Maleko, but every time you cook and I get to eat it, it always tastes so good.”
“Sprinkle a little soy on it, if it’s too sweet,” he advised. “It’ll help kill the chili peppers, too, if you’re out of practice.”
“Commander Robert Graves is from West Texas,” she countered. “He cooked us a Terlingua recipe for chili con carne on a dare, five nights ago. I managed to outeat Lieutenant Colvers . . . but then I was smart and dumped cheese into mine, after the first bite.”
“Did any of the V’Dan cook?” Hyacinth asked, curious.
Jackie nodded, grateful neither her sister nor her brother-in-law were pressing for what exactly was bothering her, leaving her indecisive about what her schedule was going to be. Food was always a safe topic, anyway. “Dai’a did a fair share of it. She’s their life-support officer, and she recognized about half of the plant-based foods, some of the spices, and some of the meats. Because of that, she was able to throw together things that she and the others said were close approximations of V’Dan cuisine . . .”
MARCH 1, 2287
COUNCIL HALL, ALOHA CITY, KAHO’OLAWE
The offices of the Premiere of the—now Terran—United Planets was not a quiet, placid place. Staff members came and went, flowing through the waiting room where Jackie had been directed to sit and rest. Some guided Fellows in their short white vests here and there, a couple times into the Premiere’s office but mostly to other locations nearby.
Li’eth’s presence wasn’t even a whisper anymore. Very early this morning, he had reached out to her, waking her from her sleep while reboarding the Katherine G. By the time she boarded her flight for Aloha City midmorning, he was already at the edge of casual contact, sped along by the insystem thrusters of the large patroller. And now that she was here, awaiting a prelunch meeting with the Premiere, he was somewhere halfway to Jupiter. If she tranced, she could reach out to him, but—
“Madam Ambassador? The Premiere is ready to see you now.” The aide who had approached lifted the tablet in her hand.
Jackie obediently rose from the chair she had taken not quite half an hour ago. Nervously, she smoothed the flowing skirt of her black, flower-edged dress as she rose—civilian attire, not military, because this was not a military concern. A glance at the clock on the wall proved she was being let in five minutes ahead of her scheduled appointment, which suited her; she had arrived half an hour early on the off chance Callan could see her early. There was no telling how long this meeting would last, after all.
Unlike Jackie, the aide was clad in a beige outfit of trousers and a soft-sleeved blouse, the sort of tasteful outfit meant to help one blend into a background. Given that most of the walls were painted in cheerful shades of cream accented with white, her outfit went well with the décor. Given that much of the furniture ranged from brown to deep beige, the woman’s classic Egyptian good looks went equally well. A lot of staff members were wearing shades of beige and cream and brown.
In contrast, Jackie felt like she stood out in her dress, with its flowers painted in bright tropical colors at the flared hemlines of cuffs and skirt. That was supposed to be a good thing, psychologically; black meant seriousness, and bright meant she didn’t want this particular problem to be easily dismissed or conveniently overlooked.
It might not be a problem—hope springing eternal—but if it was, it needed to be faced and addressed. It was, however, a more feminine look for her, but again that was deliberate; this was a personal matter for her even as it was a political issue.
“Will you be wanting anything to drink?” the aide asked as they walked through a final security arch and down the last corridor.
“Not unless this goes over half an hour,” Jackie demurred.
“If it does, you’ll be invited to lunch, I’m sure.”
The Premiere’s office lay at the end of a modest hall, in a room nicknamed the Dome. It did not have any windows that were real since it was built into the bedrock of the caldera, but it had a hemisphere of monitors that functioned like windows, set to overlook live images from certain locations around the world. They covered the back half of the room in a wide-paned, faceted curve, with the front of the chamber being more square in shape and painted over in a pleasant mix of blue and cream with a subtly patterned cream carpet underfoot.
She couldn’t place the current projected view on all those carefully positioned monitors; it was in the northern hemisphere somewhere, given that it was a nighttime view of some snow-covered, parklike meadow, ringed by bare-limbed trees and some evergreens, what looked like a bit of iced-over river, and a span of many buildings in the distance. Park lamps lit the view, along with the gleaming orbs of the city in the distance, and tiny little streaks of sparkling white let the viewers know that it was snowing a little, wherever the scene might be.
Looking neat and professional in a blue-toned gray suit, Augustus Callan caught her focus on his dome display and smiled as he stood. “Novosibirsk, Siberia. It’s been a warm week here in the capital, so I was hoping for a little visual cooling.” He came out from behind his desk, switching his attention to his aide. “Thank you, Tangira; unless it’s a disaster, please hold all calls and messages for the duration of this meeting.”
“Of course, sir.” She withdrew and shut the door, leaving them alone. Not completely alone; everything in this office would be recorded, of course, but they were as alone as one could get in politics these days.
The Premiere offered his hand to Jackie, clasping hers in a quick, friendly shake. “Thank you for being patient about not being able to meet with me until today. I’ve had too many commitments to get out of the way in anticipation of the V’Dan
finally visiting Earth, so my schedule has been packed.”
“Thank you for being willing to see me in private on such short notice,” Jackie returned. At his gesture, she took one of the cushioned seats in the conversation corner of his office.
“Considering your original intent was to accompany the V’Dan in order to smooth over any questions, queries, concerns, and so forth, I felt it was worth opening a bit of time in my schedule to see you,” he said, settling into the chair across from hers. Crossing his legs, he braced his elbow on the padded armrest and flicked his fingers at her. “Now, what could be so overwhelmingly urgent, or at least important, that you couldn’t make that trip?”
“If you will recall, I requested that a psychic-instruction specialist be brought into quarantine to increase the quality and speed of instruction for the V’Dan prince,” Jackie stated.
“Yes, Master Sonam Sherap, who has served with distinction in the League and among the Tibetan Buddhist sect of the Witan Orders,” he agreed. “I want to thank you for smoothing over that, ah, diplomatic incident you experienced. It would not be diplomatic to accuse the son of a powerful foreign leader of murder, however accidental.”
“Master Sonam agrees with my assessment that Prince Li’eth did not have conscious control over his pyrokinesis. He has since gained some conscious control, though of course only ongoing practice will make it reasonably reliable,” Jackie said. “But that particular incident is not why I am here.”
“Is this meeting then in regards to the ongoing . . . cultural differences . . . which the V’Dan logistics officer, Shi’ol, has displayed?” Callan offered, gesturing vaguely.
“No, sir. That problem cannot be addressed and fixed here on Earth; it can only be addressed by the V’Dan, on their capital world. This visit is in regards to a different potential problem,” she told him. At his gesture, she drew in a deep, steadying breath, and relayed it. “Master Sonam has come to the conclusion—and given the evidence, I must concur—that while the odds may seem astronomically against it . . . the odds also appear to be high that Imperial Prince Li’eth V’Daania and I appear to be developing a psychic Gestalt.”
He blinked at her, hazel brown eyes dazed for a moment. Their focus sharpened with a soft frown. “A psychic Gestalt? Between the two of you? The odds of that . . .”
She nodded quickly. “Yes, it seems astronomical, but both Li’eth and Dai’a, who apparently is one of the most religiously spiritual members of their remaining crew, have confirmed that there were prophecies regarding us, just as we had precognitive visions of them. In these forewarnings, it was said that a member of the Imperial family would be involved in bringing about the return of their ‘Before Time Motherworld’—meaning Earth, and the Terran United Planets—and that there are additionally subset stories of a ‘holy pairing’ or ‘holy unity’ of two strongly gifted individuals bonding together and performing miracles. If one strips away the religious mysticism and hyperbole,” Jackie admitted dryly, “it does start to sound like a Gestalt bond is being described by their precogs.”
“I see. Our precogs did confirm that the face of the prince, after he revealed his identity, was the one seen in the majority in their visions . . . and that you will be involved in those visions at his side. Apparently in a large number of them,” Callan muttered. He dragged in his own breath and let it out on a sigh. “That would complicate things, though, if you are forming a Gestalt.”
“Indeed. If I were not in the position I am in, a precognition-chosen Ambassador to these people,” she clarified, “then I would be stuck in the awkward position of having to prove not only that the Gestalt exists, but that my presence would not cause any harm or conflict of interest between Terran-V’Dan relations. As it is, I am stuck in the even more awkward position of not only having to prove the Gestalt exists, if it does . . . but having to figure out how not to have my presence as a Gestalt member unduly influence or compromise Terran-V’Dan relations.”
“Which could ruin relations, or make them seemingly better, only to have accusations of favoritism flung about like the mudslinging of old,” Callan murmured, studying her.
“Yes, sir.” Just thinking about it made her feel uncomfortable. Saying it out loud . . . she could feel her blood pressure spiking with a touch of adrenaline. Fight-or-flight. Except this wasn’t something she could physically fight, and it wasn’t something she could physically flee.
He studied her thoughtfully. “You, Jacaranda MacKenzie, have presented me with a quandary. A very awkward quandary. And that’s just looking at this from our point of view, our side of things. We don’t even know how the V’Dan would react.”
“Master Sonam did perform some indirect queries of Dai’a, and I made direct inquiries of His Highness,” she admitted. “According to the predominant theology of V’Dan, their Sh’nai faith, ‘holy pairs’ of two gifted individuals who bond mentally and psychically, are considered to be the holiest of holies outside of their four topmost high priests. To split them up, to interfere in the Saints’ divine plans for them . . . or something along those lines . . . is considered anathema.
“But first you have to prove it’s a true holy pairing,” she added, flicking her hand out. She swept it toward herself next, then clasped her fingers. “The problem on top of that is because I do not have their jungen marks, I will not be viewed consciously and subconsciously as an adult . . . and pedophilia is a serious social taboo, from what I’ve gathered. Countess Shi’ol Nanu’oc and her reactions to our lack of jungen is apparently only the tip of the iceberg, though we won’t know how bad the bias is until we send an actual embassy to them.”
“Nor will we know how they’ll actually treat holy-pairing members until we do send an embassy to them,” Callan agreed. He rubbed at his forehead. “The next question is, therefore, are you going to be a part of that embassy? In an official capacity, that is. If it is a Gestalt . . . I’m not up to date on what all that entails, but I have heard that it’s a bad idea to separate such a pair.”
“It can lead to increasingly severe problems, yes,” she agreed. His gaze dropped from her face to her lap. With one elbow on an armrest, the other clamped at her side, that meant her fingers were . . . twisting and fiddling right where he was staring. She hadn’t been aware of it until now. Is this a sign of mere nervousness? Or is it a sign of impending agitation from Gestalt-separation?
“If I remember correctly, there is another problem with Gestalt pairings,” Callan added. “In specific, separating them for great distances or great lengths of time—I am not sure which—causes extreme stress on the bond.” He looked up at her again. “If you are developing a bond, aren’t the V’Dan on their way to Jupiter at this very moment? To the New Lunnon Mining Station? How many kilometers away is that?”
That was an annoying question. “Measuring distances in kilometers is useless at intersystem distances, Premiere. They are in the middle of an eight-hour trip from Earth to Jupiter at the Katherine G’s preplanned cruising speed. I lost easy contact with the prince not quite an hour ago. He will still be within my telepathic range if I should concentrate or even trance, however.”
“I presume you know how to confirm whether or not you have a Gestalt?” Callan asked her. He tapped the end of his armrest. “Any decision made will depend upon that.”
“There’s a KI machine on the New Lunnon, sir,” Jackie confessed. “I looked it up. It’s a new station, an upgrade from the other five circling the gas giant, and their infirmary therefore has every bell and whistle they could want, so they can serve all the stations in the area for any possible condition. With Master Sonam already going along on the tour as a hedge against the prince’s psi getting away from him again, he can operate the machine, instruct the prince on displaying his power while I am in a League facility being quiet, then we can switch, with him doing nothing while I attempt to use his gifts.”
“The mark of a Gestalt being the ability to lean upon and use the other half’s powers,” the Premiere
murmured. “Can you?”
She looked around, stood, and crossed to a low bookcase near his desk. Ignoring the falling nighttime snow, she plucked a tissue from the dispenser and returned to her chair. Using up some of her nervous energy, she twisted the soft paper sheet into a tight column, held it up . . . and focused heat into the tip of it. Between one breath and the next, the twisted bit of paper caught fire . . . exactly where she focused.
Callan blinked. Jackie extinguished the flames with telekinetic pressure, and offered him the brown-and-black-edged bit of tissue. He held up his hand in polite refusal, shaking his head slightly. The scent of burned paper spread out, slowly fading in the air currents of the large, temperature-controlled office. The flame hadn’t existed long enough nor been large enough for the automated fire system to have a nervous fit. Then again, this wasn’t a space station; this was a place where fire could be escaped by simply running outside. Crumpling up the tissue, Jackie settled back into her seat. “I’ve also tested myself for biokinetic ability. Dr. de la Santoya confirmed that I am able to heal a minor laceration at two and a half times my normal, natural speed. That’s already the threshold for a Rank 4. With more practice, I could do a lot better. For obvious reasons, I am reluctant to experiment further.”
“You have no interest in moving on to a paramedical career?” Callan asked, his tone amused.
She didn’t have to guess why. It was well-known that Jacaranda MacKenzie was a dedicated public servant. Jackie smiled wryly. “No, thank you, sir. I have no interest in subjecting myself to more pain than absolutely necessary. On any given day, that is. I will train this new ability since it is my responsibility to master it, but I’m in no hurry to do it all at once; nor do I care to learn more than the basics of nonpsychic first aid.”
