Dreamstorm

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  “And the thing right here is that Pelted exist because of humans,” Vasiht’h said, amused.

  “And this resort exists because of Pelted,” Kristyl finished, and opened her arms to the sky. “Therefore, by the laws of syllogistic inference, which I’ve forgotten most of because that was first-year math, or maybe philosophy, this resort exists because of humans! And I get to take credit for it!”

  “Ah, but you in particular weren’t the one who made the Pelted?”

  “True,” Kristyl conceded. “I just paid them exorbitant sums to help keep this place running.”

  “Except by her twisted logic,” Gladiolus said behind them, “she is a member of ‘class: humans’, and ‘class: humans’ are responsible for making the Pelted, therefore she gets some of the credit.”

  “I get the blame for it all the time,” Kristyl said. “I might as well enjoy the credit. Myself, if no one else will give it to me.”

  Vasiht’h flinched, because he had no doubt that merely by being human and among the Pelted, Kristyl suffered some of the inevitable repercussions of the Pelted’s discomfort with their creators. He’d thought that mythical once: human prejudice. But while like almost everything, the situation was more complicated than ‘everyone has a problem with humans,’ there were people, a lot more people than he would wish, who found the existential questions raised by their creation far too painful not to take it out on the ‘class: humans’ to which Kristyl belonged.

  “It’s all right.” Kristyl patted him on his arm. “I can tell by your expression that you feel bad about it. I know you don’t blame me for making you. Which is great, because you’d be wrong. The other Pelted made you, not me.”

  Vasiht’h pursed his lips and looked at the sky. “Except by the laws of syllogistic inference, which you’ve forgotten, I exist because the Pelted exist, who exist because of you, therefore…”

  Kristyl slapped her forehead. “Oh right. Sorry. Humans have done so many great things that I keep forgetting them all!”

  Vasiht’h laughed, and so did the human, and that brought the roving Harat-Shar over to demand to know the joke. He wondered what she would tell them, and found out a moment later when she said, “Did you know this cloudless sky was brought to you by human engineering? For once, I can say that without transivity of implication. Actual humans designed the technology that keeps the weather here gorgeous. I know, because we toured it.”

  “What she means is that she talked her way into the control center and got them to show us everything,” Gladiolus said. “It’s not a tourist attraction. She’s just impossible to say ‘no’ to.” The Asanii paused, then added, “But it was fascinating, actually. The way they handle it? It’s so complicated. They don’t actually stop the imperfect weather, just… soften it everywhere, and make sure the worst of it moves elsewhere. Anyway, it was astonishing. I’m glad we saw it.”

  “Astonishing, she says, like it’s something rare.” Kristyl sighed with feeling and put her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know humans are responsible for lots of great things. Glory in our marvelousness!”

  “How can we when you’re hiding so much of it under your clothes?” one of the lynxines crowed, and they all laughed as Kristyl mock-pounced her.

  As they pretend-wrestled, Gladiolus said, “You see what I put up with.”

  “I do, and you’re not fooling me,” Vasiht’h answered, grinning. “You love it.”

  Serenity Palms was everything promised by the brochure, which Vasiht’h accepted as the theme for his vacation. It seemed unlikely that anything could be as paradisiacal as Tsera Nova’s legends, and yet, here he was under an umbrella on sun-warmed sands, in a heat that was just hot enough to enjoy the water but not hot enough to be sweltering under a pelt. The ocean breeze was just right, brisk without achieving “blow your sunhat off” speeds. The lagoon was, in fact, shallow enough to dash through while chasing the fishes visible through the clear waters, and the fish were so exuberantly colored that Vasiht’h felt compelled to join the Harat-Shar train when they went splashing through it. There were even freshening stations discreetly tucked behind fancy screens, where one could step through an abbreviated Pad and have the salt crust and sweat whisked off one’s body.

  Vasiht’h had done that an hour ago and was having a different paper umbrella drink. This version was yellow and tasted like mango. Maybe. And something else… maybe coconut? It was cold, whatever it was, and like the view, sublime. So when the bikini-clad attendant stopped by with a tray, he was smugly pleased to discover a data tablet on it, blinking on standby. “A call for you, alet. Your sister?”

  “Oh, certainly.” Vasiht’h took the tablet. “Thanks.” And made much of slurping from his straw before saying, “Why hello, ariishir! I’m so glad to see you.”

  “I bet you are, you hedonist.” Sehvi laughed. “That’s what I get for calling you in the middle of your vacation, isn’t it.”

  “I’ll be nice and share. Look—” He turned the tablet so she could see the lagoon, the gently swaying palms, the uninterrupted cerulean blue of sky and sea. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

  “I am consumed with jealousy,” she said dryly. And paused, sighed. “Actually, I am jealous. I can feel my fur settling just looking at that.”

  “Uh oh. Why is your fur sticking up?” He split the image so she could retain the beach view while he looked at her. She did seem… tired? Exasperated? “Who’s been fighting?”

  “Pes’shek and Dondi—”

  “Wait, neither of them ever get into a fight,” Vasiht’h said, startled. Of his brothers, only Bret was insufferable. The others were the most genial souls imaginable.

  “—about Dondi not respecting Pes’s job, or something—”

  Pes’shek was a primary school teacher who dealt with kits all day, the ones young enough to still be singing their alphabet songs. “What??”

  “And it became something about how Pes is using it as a substitute for having kits of his own?” Sehvi continued. “Then it got into Dondi having too many relationships…”

  Vasiht’h covered his face.

  “Which got our cousin Ditreht involved…”

  “Not Ditreht,” Vasiht’h groaned.

  “…because apparently Ditreht is just as wild, and the moment Pes pointed that out, Bret got involved and summarily forbade Dondi from going out anymore with Ditreht and now Aunt Sattri is upset and you know how I feel about Aunt Sattri.” Sehvi leaned into the camera. “Vasiht’h, help meeeeee.”

  Aunt Sattri was Sehvi’s favorite aunt, the one she’d modeled herself after: a tough, fair-minded mother with a big family and a solid career in biomedical research. “Are you sure this fight is about Pes and Dondi and not about something that’s bothering them separately? And they just happened to take it out on one another because it was safer?”

  “It wasn’t safer,” Sehvi pointed out. “Because now our cousin’s in trouble and Dondi’s not allowed to go anywhere with him. Or rather, he is going out with him anyway, which is infuriating Bret.”

  Goddess, their family. For the most part so tranquil, and then abruptly, these little nitpicking fights that erupted like a summer rainstorm out of an empty sky. Except, as Vasiht’h well knew from his profession, the sky was never really empty. “I’ll send a couple of messages and see what’s going on.”

  “Thank you,” she said, fervent. “I don’t want my calls with Aunt Sattri to be about my brothers being stupid.”

  “I wouldn’t, either,” Vasiht’h said, because their aunt was not afraid to express her forceful opinions.

  “Everything there’s all right?”

  Vasiht’h chuckled. “What about the view you’re seeing isn’t all right?”

  “Good point. Testing going well for Tall, Pale, and Beautiful?”

  “He seems satisfied,” Vasiht’h said. “I’ll send him a message, though. Just to let him know I’m thinking of him.”

  “Awww. You two are so sweet.” Sehvi beamed. Then shook a finger at him
. “Go fix my problem!”

  “I see. This is revenge for me being on this incredible vacation without you.”

  “Exactly.” She grinned. “No, seriously. Thank you.”

  “No problem, ariishir. Give my nephews a hug for me.”

  One of the staff came back with another tray, this one to replace Vasiht’h’s nearly empty glass with a new fruit drink, and ask if he wanted snacks. And who didn’t want snacks? The Glaseah waffled between the choices while the nice young Tam-illee waited and occasionally made helpful comments, before finally deciding on, “One of everything.” What he didn’t eat, he was sure Kristyl and her band would.

  With that taken care of, he set to writing separate messages to his brothers. A very basic amount of bickering came with a large family living together, but this sounded more serious. Dondi was at the age where he’d be wondering what to do with himself; like Vasiht’h, he’d never evinced any grand life plans that might have steered him onto a set course. And Pes… maybe Pes was avoiding kits? Maybe Pes was thinking about them? Dondi’s observations must have touched something sensitive to set off a fight like this.

  Between messages, Vasiht’h sat back and nibbled one of the bacon-wrapped dates that had arrived, licking the honey glaze off his fingers as he watched birds fly into the wind so that they just… hung there, stationary. Thinking back on his childhood, he realized just how often he’d been the one to ferret out and remove all these little emotional burrs. Maybe Dondi had a secret calling, and was unaware of it? Maybe Dondi, one day, would be taking an amazing vacation on a resort planet and some sibling would interrupt it to request his expertise. “Dondi! One of my kitchen experiments just exploded! What did I do wrong??”

  Come to think of it, Dondi wasn’t bad in the kitchen. In fact, he was excellent in it. Vasiht’h tapped his finger against his mouth, thoughtful, and went back to work, and the work was pleasure, and the setting, a lagniappe.

  How’s it going? read the message, and even too distant to hear the mindline’s embellishments, Jahir could imagine them: the prickling citrus of friendly curiosity, the warm-blanket embrace of affection, maybe a touch of bubble-bright enthusiasm. He smiled at his tablet and typed a response.

  Very good, I think. The morning section was on epidemiology.

  He returned his attention to the meal he’d been brought. The midday break was a welcome one, less because the test was difficult and more because it was intense. There were a great many questions, and one remained exquisitely aware of the time limit per section as one went on. He was enjoying himself because the material was challenging yet within his powers, but he had seen the faces of his fellow students as they exited for the break, and he could sympathize with their concern or despondency or relief. The Alliance allowed many paths into the medical profession, but it demanded excellence and rigor. Nothing less would do for a civilization created by a medical process, with all the biological, scientific, and ethical issues that obtained.

  To have an hour to oneself, thus, was not luxury but necessity. And for once, he was hungry enough not to need Vasiht’h’s constant reminders to eat, though he heard the Glaseah’s voice in his head anyway: Don’t forget that what you’re doing is using up calories, arii.

  Today’s meal he was taking on one of the grassy terraces, at an ‘outdoor’ café where his seating overlooked a vertiginous view of the planet below, as if he was floating on an island in orbit. Which he supposed he was. The food was a delight though, a savory crepe with mushrooms, some wilted green, and a pale, tangy cheese. With good coffee, iced, something he usually avoided but the weather—could this place have weather?—was warm enough to need it. How were they simulating sunlight? Were they even doing so, or was it actual sunlight, filtered somehow for safety?

  His tablet had words on it again, when looked down. That sounds fun! For you, anyway. That certainly had been written with a grin. Would you believe I’m under an umbrella in the sun, mediating my siblings’ squabbles long-distance?

  Jahir did not even pause before answering, Absolutely.

  I guess that wasn’t a very hard question, was it. It’s beautiful, though, look, fish:

  An image now, that moved when he touched it, of a school of pale blue fish with a subtle rainbow streak in the scales down their sides. They pivoted and dashed away as perfectly as if choreographed, and the light danced off those scales, pricking the colors to vivid life.

  You found the serene lagoon, Jahir wrote.

  With less than serene company, admittedly. Another image, this one a still of a passel of Harat-Shar chasing a human out of frame. Even without sound, he could hear her squeals: they were written on her widely grinning face. You’ll have to see this, though. It’s perfect. And this island has an entire separate menu of fruity drinks, so I am having every one of them they make. To compare them against the mainland’s and find out which is the best.

  Naturally, Jahir replied, smiling. Thus you can guide my choice when I arrive.

  Only the best for you, arii!

  Jahir smiled at the tablet.

  You’re on your break, I am guessing? I’ll let you go back to eating. You are eating right?

  He laughed at that, quietly under his breath. Yes. I promise. You see? Here is my meal.

  That looks good! But there’s not much of it. At least tell me there’s a side salad, or an appetizer you’ve already finished.

  Jahir sighed a little, smiled. I promise to eat dessert.

  Send me a viseo! And good luck on the rest of Day Two!

  He shook his head as he set the tablet aside. His meal was well and again large enough, but he would come in for his share of badgering did he not at least make an attempt. Nor could he begrudge his partner the constant nagging; he had seen himself through Vasiht’h’s eyes in the mindline, on Selnor, when he’d been radically undernourished by his fight against that world’s heavier gravity. He had no doubt the sight had left scars in his partner. Perhaps if Jahir had been well enough to notice his own body, he would carry them as well. The fact that he didn’t… well. He was grateful for someone to watch him, sometimes. Was that not one of the many kindnesses of love? That it saved you from your own weaknesses, now and then? He glanced down at the world turning beneath the terrace’s edge, its surface so pristine with so few clouds attendant, and smiled at the thought of the Glaseah awaiting him there.

  When the waitress returned, he said, “May I see your dessert menu? And pray tell me you have something on it that can be carried away.”

  That evening, Jahir allowed himself to be plied with one of the fruit drinks—white and honey yellow—while Vasiht’h recounted the day’s adventures across the Bridge of Dreams, as well as his attempts to reconcile his brothers. “That does sound like the work of a day,” the Eldritch said of the latter.

  “I know,” Vasiht’h said, chagrined. “It’s so rare for them to have a fight this vicious. I know some other issue is driving it, on both sides. It’s just a matter of figuring out what.” He put his cheek in his palm, looking out over the dark waters as they ran to shore and broke with a hushed noise. The remains of the dinner they’d ordered was scattered on the table on their balcony, where Jahir had requested they remain. The test had been wearying, and he had not wanted to go abroad, even to be part of a background crowd. The food had been delightful, though, and the experience of watching the distant sun set at an angle over their view, sublime. He had no complaints.

  “It’s funny,” the Glaseah said after a while, thoughtfully, “how much easier it is to handle my worry about their fight here.”

  Jahir laughed, quiet. “Tell me not that you require this level of luxury to ameliorate your anxieties!”

  Vasiht’h chuffed. “Wouldn’t that be a mess!” He lifted his head, staring at the stars. “I think this would get old after a while. It’s beautiful, but it’s unrelentingly novel. You know?”

  “Eventually it would become less novel, which would put paid to your problem with it.”

  Vasiht
’h said, “Maybe. Or maybe it would become mundane, and I’d be disappointed. It makes me wonder about the people who work here, and if they enjoy it, or if it’s become… just another job in a beautiful place they don’t really see.”

  Jahir was silent then, listening to the rolling of the surf, the hiss of it as it crawled up the sand under their balcony. At last, he said, “Such things are more a matter of one’s existing mental state, I think, rather than any reflection on the working conditions. Or, at very least, the two matters are intertwined.”

  “Isn’t everything,” Vasiht’h murmured, rueful. He sat up, stretched. “Why don’t we walk along the beach? It’s pretty out, and our stretch of it looks deserted.”

  “That sounds fine,” Jahir answered. As they walked down the balcony steps, he added, “Do not allow your brothers’ fight to distress you overmuch. Surely you are not the only one at work on the problem.”

  “I’m sure I’m not, just the same as I’m sure I’m the only one who’ll have anything useful to add to the process of reconciliation.” The Glaseah chuckled. “I guess there’s only so much you can do from a distance, though. Maybe I am taking too much on myself.”

  “As usual,” Jahir offered.

  Vasiht’h snorted. “I thought that was my line. You’re the heroic measures one.”

  Jahir smiled at that and said nothing, letting the mindline speak for him. And as he expected:

  “You’re humoring me, aren’t you.”

  “I said not a word!”

  “Your silences are very, very talky.”

  Jahir hid his smile this time, folding his arms behind his back and pacing alongside the Glaseah as they started down the beach.

  “You could say more, you know,” Vasiht’h said, cocking his head up at the Eldritch. “I wouldn’t be offended.”