"Those who rush, leap on the shadow and miss the prey,'" Serge cautioned dryly, quoting an old Heeyoon proverb that Greyshine had taught him. "Or, as my people put it, 'Don't jump to conclusions.' Humans make things complicated in other ways. It is definitely not as easy as it seems."
"I suppose not," Greyshine allowed. "And while it is true that mating as one chooses, rather than experiencing a mating season or drive, is a titillating concept, it is sad that you humans ¦will never feel the flood of seasonal passion that my species (does."
"We feel passion," Serge protested, smothering a grin. "You have read more human love poetry than I have, and you are always telling me how amorous human poetry is!"
"That is true," Greyshine agreed meditatively. "Donne, Shakespeare, Rilke, Lady Murasaki, Sappho . .. your species writes most eloquently of the heart and its passions."
"The heart and its passions," Serge said firmly, "should be relegated to the proper time and place. At the moment we have Work to do."
'True, true." Greyshine rose to his feet. "But I will be crossing my claws for you, to paraphrase a human idiom I have heard Kkintha ch'aait use."
"Thank you, Professor," Serge said warmly, and went back to work.
Twenty minutes later their computer link buzzed softly, signaling an incoming message. Greyshine took the call. Absorbed in trying to finish his grid before quitting time, Serge paid no attention to the alien until a soft whine of distress made him turn off the sifter and hurry over to his friend and mentor. "What is -it?" he demanded, seeing the alien's flattened ears and downcast expression. "What has happened?"
"That was a message from Esteemed Rizzshor," the Heeyoon said bleakly.
"The Mizari Archaeological Society has decided to send Rizzshor and his assistant to inspect the site, before dispatching the entire team and funding a full-scale dig. Rizzshor will be making a preliminary survey and digging test trenches in more of the discovered caverns. But if no further artifacts are xvered, further funding, he says, will be denied."
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"But the chances of their finding more artifacts in just two trenches, in two caverns picked at random, are probably negligible!" Serge protested. "They can't do this to us! We have worked so hard!"
"I know," Greyshine said sadly. "But don't despair, Serge. It is entirely possible that the test trenches in the two caverns will turn up something. All it would take would be one small indication; anything, even a broken string from a songharp!"
"And if nothing turns up? No more funding! It takes funding to make discoveries!"
"We can still keep working," the Professor pointed out. "And there are other sources of funding I can apply to receive."
"Certainement," Serge muttered bitterly, knowing how remote was the chance of their receiving human or Heeyoon funding if the Mizari turned them down. Mon Dieu, he thought, turning away, his shoulders sagging.
What will we do? ¦
Hours later, Heather Farley huddled behind a balon-wood sculpture of a Simiu that marked the entrance to the Simiu-adapted wing on Level Three.
Hot, damp air surrounded her, but despite her discomfort, she remained still.. . waiting.
Waiting was always hard, but she could do it when she had a good reason to wait. Like now. Anger twisted in her stomach like a gigantic parasite. She could sense Khuharkk's mind; the Simiu was only a few doors away. His consciousness was open, unguarded, as he concentrated on his Spatial Physics problem.
Let the punishment fit the crime, Heather thought, glancingat her watch for the dozenth time. Who was it that had originated the saying? Well, in just a few minutes, the old proverb was going to come true.
Leaning back into the safety of her niche, she sent a mental inquiry into the room that lay only meters away. She'd discovered that grasping an alien's thoughts wasn't easy--normally, each species thought in their own language, at least on the conscious levels, and "translating" presented problems. But she'd been practicing ever since she'd left Earth, aboard *^H S. V. Mclntyre, which had carried a number of alien passengers, and now at the Academy itself. When Heather concentrated, she could figure out what Khuharkk' was thinking in a general way. It helped that the Simiu had a very open mind.
A slow, anticipatory smile animated the girl's freckled features as she mentally "eavesdropped" again. Khuharkk' was getting
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sleepy; his eyelids were drooping. Heaving a deep sigh, he signaled his computer link to "save," resolving to get up early tomorrow to finish the last few problems. The Simiu rose from his desk, stretching thankfully. His thoughts brightened, grew -easier to read as he anticipated the warmth of his sleeping pallet, the comfort of his nightly grooming ritual.
That's right, hairball, his unknown observer thought, narrowing her eyes, you're tired. . . sleepy. . . so tired. . .
Heather knew she couldn't really influence a living being's thoughts, of course--no one could. She could "read" thoughts and emotions, and project her own thoughts into a receptive mind |to communicate, but "mind control"
was not among her abilities. Which is too damned bad, she thought sourly.
My life would be a lot easier, wouldn't it?
Pulling her computerpen out of the pocket of her green PStarBridge jumpsuit, she turned it over in her hand idly. Too |bad people weren't more like computers. Artificial intelligences were so reasonable, so direct and simple, just explain what you wanted them to do, in terms they understood, and they were always happy to oblige.
And computers never yelled at you and nagged you to clean up your room, like Aunt Natalie. They never called you an "Abomination," the way Uncle Fred had. Thinking of Uncle Fred made Heather scowl blackly. Too bad she hadn't been able to really get the old creep for what he'd done to her ... An involuntary shudder wracked her small, stocky form as she remembered the vicious slaps, the wrenched arms and wrists, the yelling, the cursing, the name-calling. As she'd grown, he'd begun hitting harder, then one fateful day he'd used his fists, only stopping when Heather's head had snapped back against the wall, knocking her out.
Uncle Fred had warned his niece not to go to school the next day, but Heather had sneaked out and gone anyway. The school nurse had taken one look at the child's torn, swollen lip, the two black eyes, and the lump on the back of her head, and had pounced on Heather. After she'd questioned her, she'd called in the authorities, and then the cops had been on Uncle Fred like flies on shit.
What an uproar there'd been! Before she knew it, Heather had been made a ward of the court, and deposited in a foster home. And no one had hit her there. They'd even tried to be kind, they'd been nervous around her, afraid she'd read their minds, made most "normal" people nervous.
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After she'd run away from the Morgans, they'd put her with another family.
But it hadn't taken her long to realize that the] youngest child, far from fearing her as a telepath, was developing an unhealthy craving for telepathic contact. TSS, they'd called it, Telepathic Stimulation Syndrome. It was rare, but not unknown. In some individuals telepathic contact stimulated the|
pleasure centers. These people often grew addicted to telepathy] and would do almost anything to stay in contact with telepaths.
At first, Heather had been pleased that Pamela had wanted to spend all her time with her younger foster sister. But then, when Pam had insisted that Heather should only communicate with her telepathically, and had become jealous of the child's time and attention--fiercely, irrationally jealous--Heather had realized the bitter truth. Pam hadn't cared about her at all. Any telepath would have done. She represented nothing but a way for Pam to feel good.
So she'd run away again.
And final y she'd been taken to Melbourne, fol owing extensive telepathic testing. Everything had been different then. It was there that Heather had discovered her true gift, her destiny, as she sometimes thought of it.
No, she couldn't control people, no matter how much she wished she could.
But computers were different.
She'd always] been good with them, but last year, Heather had discovered that she, alone of all the telepaths she'd ever encountered or heard of, could telepathically link with computers--and control them.
Organic-based memories had been standard in computers for a < hundred years, mimicking the speed and complexity of human' thought processes.
Heather's discovery that she could telepathically link with and influence an AI had happened during her first months at Melbourne. She'd been working on a tough trigonometry problem, getting nowhere fast. Finally, in frustration, the] girl had directed her thoughts at the computer. She'd imagined her mind reaching into the machine and forcing it to render up the correct solution, despite the constraints of the teaching program she was currently using--one programmed not to reveal ¦'¦ the correct answer unless directed to do so by the supervising professor.
Instead of the lack of contact she'd expected, Heather had actually felt herself link into the computer's "mind." She'd sent her telepathic command racing along pathways of artificial neurons, searching out the vital area in the program, and suddenly she was there, at the critical spot. With a sort of mental "push," (actually it was more like a poke), Heather had changed the: 59
programming from a "no" to a "yes"--caused a temporary override. Her mind had reached all the way past the language-based programming, clear into the binary thinking processes of the Ai. Deep in its "mind," Heather had changed a binary "off" to an "on."
Scant moments later Heather had blinked herself back to awareness of her surroundings, and found herself in her seat before her holo-tank. In its glowing depths, the solution to her trigonometry problem was neatly spelled out.
With careful exploration and practice, she'd honed her gift. Usually, Heather was such an experienced hacker that she didn't need to reach inside a computer's mind or memory. Tricks like getting that free sundae were easy.
But every so often, the computers needed that little extra "push"--the mental poke that only she could manage.
Heather shifted her attention back to Khuharkk', who had begun grooming himself. C'mon, furball, hurry up! she thought.
But Khuharkk' was as fastidious as most Simiu were reputed to be. Slowly, painstakingly, he washed himself with his tongue, then combed his fur with his thick fingernails. Glands beneath his nails secreted a substance to keep his luxurious coat soft and shiny. As soon as his personal grooming was attended to, Khuharkk' took several minutes to tidy up the room where he and another Simiu student were quartered.
What a pain in the ass! Heather thought disgustedly. Aunt Natalie would have loved this jerk--if he'd been human, that is... Aunt Natalie had been petrified of aliens, claiming that they were going to take over Earth "as soon as our backs are turned." The bigoted old bitch, Heather thought, picturing her aunt's reaction to finding herself on an airless asteroid with hundreds of aliens. The girl smiled evilly. Too bad there's no way to swing that. ..
Hearing footsteps, she tensed, crouching behind the statue. Two human students passed the entrance to the Simiu wing, but they -were deep in conversation and neither glanced up. Heather's heart was slamming in her chest, and she was tempted to bolt back to her room and forget the whole thing. She half rose, then Serge LaRoche's face rose before her eyes.
Heather experienced again that awful moment when she'd read his mind and discovered that he knew she'd pissed her pants.
Slowly, she settled back down, her mouth set in a grim line.
Almost time, she thought, checking on Khuharkk', who was cleaning his teeth. One final computer check . . .
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With practice she'd learned to enter the computer's "mind" even from remote peripherals. Now, staring at her computerpen, Heather let her
consciousness extend, tracing along the linkage of the pen, until she was in the mainframe, tracing the pathways to the environmental systems. Yes, the alteration she had programmed to affect Khuharkk's quarters was ready to be activated, then erase all trace of its presence an instant later.
She concentrated again on Khuharkk', who was giving loving attention to the huge ivory canines that had frightened her so badly when he'd bared them and advanced on her. Soon. .. soon . ..
Moments later he was finished, and his attention shifted to the last of his presleep rituals. Heather could feel the vicarious pressure in her bladder, her bowels .. .
Khuharkk' positioned himself on his toilet.
Poised, hardly breathing, Heather touched her mind to the environmental computer's, and reversed one vital command in the sanitation system's disposal system.
Khuharkk' pushed the waste-disposal button.
A bare instant later a Simiu's outraged shriek reverberated through the corridors, loud despite the soundproofing. Hysterical yammering, then other howls, followed.
Rising to her feet, Heather stepped out of the niche, tucking her pen into the pocket of her jumpsuit. She walked quickly until she reached the main corridor, then sauntered away, smiling.
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CHAPTER 4
Alarums and Excursions
"To friendship," Jeff Morrow said, raising his cup of sake with a flourish.
Behind him, a miniature waterfall splashed into a streambed pebbled with colorful stones, where fish vivid as living
jewels swam lazily. Paper screens with carved frames gave diners an illusion of privacy, and twelve-tone music plinked softly in the background.
Seated on a cushion before the low, lacquered table, Rob Gable raised his cup of green tea. "To friendship," he echoed. "Long may ours endure."
"Hear, hear," Jeff responded solemnly, then emptied his cup. Rob drank his tea, then scooped up a cucumber roll in his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth. "Best I've had in years," he said as soon as he could speak coherently. "Try the futo-maki," he urged, capturing one himself. "If I keep this up, I won't have room for the tempura."
Jeff sampled the sushi and nodded agreement. "So tell me, how is everything going at the school?"
"Hectic," Rob sighed. "It's always hectic when we get a new '"shipment of freshmen in. The kids are homesick, they need lots of reassurance, course and schedule changes, personality conflicts, culture shock. .." He shook his head ruefully as he cautiously sampled a bite of pickled ginger. "After a month or so, they'll |have adjusted, and things will calm down, as much as they ever do. Running StarBridge reminds me of that old Chinese curse:
'May you live in interesting times.' "
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"What are the new kids like?"
"Great, most of them. It's a real boost to see their enthusiasm, their idealism.
Almost makes me feel young again," he said wryly.
Morrow snorted. "You're the biggest kid down there, Rob, don't think you can bullshit me." He balanced a California roll between his chopsticks. "You said 'most' of them. You've got a problem child?"
Rob nibbled thoughtfully on a tamago. "I don't know yet. I've got a kid who's a helluva hard case. I just hope we'll be able to reach her. .. because if we don't she could wind up in real trouble."
'Trouble how?"
"Drugs, maybe, or promiscuity . . . she craves affection and approval, though she doesn't realize it. I can picture her as a drugged-out joygirl in some spaceport." He shook his head. "But it's even more likely that she'd get into computer crime. She's one of the cleverest hackers, by all reports, ever to attend StarBridge." He grinned at his friend. "Since you, at least."
"Sounds like she's quite a risk. Why take it?"
"Because she's one of the most powerful telepaths we've ever discovered."
Jeff blinked. "Really? Projector or receiver?"
"Both."
"No wonder you're sticking your neck out."
"I just hope I've done the right thing .. ." Rob said, smearing a blob of green horseradish over the end of another cucumber roll, then popping the whole thing into his mouth. Moments later, his eyes widened. Swallowing hastily, he reached for his tea, drained the mug, poured another, and emptied that.
&nb
sp; "Whew!"
Jeff chuckled at his expression. "Cleared your sinuses, eh, Doc?"
"I'll remember that the next time I get a cold," Rob gasped. Just then their waiter arrived, with the miso soup. Both men raised the bowls to their mouths, sipping appreciatively.
"So how are the nonhumans doing . .. Esteemed Ssoriszs, Kkintha, Hrasheekk', and that new one, the Heeyoon archaeologist you mentioned the other day . .." Jeff's brow wrinkled as he groped for the name.
"Greyshine," Rob supplied. "They're all fine. I saw Hrasheekk' today and mentioned I was seeing you, and he said to tell you he sends you greetings."
Jeff smiled. "Is he still making the kids hustle through their workouts, screaming like he's possessed when they slack off?"
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Rob chuckled, nodding. "When Tesa Wakandagi was here, she gave him a name that, in sign, meant 'Dr. Noisy.' It fits so well that I have to bite my tongue to keep from using it to his face!"
"Tesa . .. just one of your graduates who has made the news," Morrow said.
"Gaining Earth full membership in the CLS practically single-handed. She still on Trinity?"
"You bet." Rob smiled reminiscently. "It would take a null- grav booster to get Tesa off her adopted world. She loves being an interrelator."
"What about Mark Kenner, the one who got the hostages free? What's he doing?"
"Serving as the interim interrelator to Elseemar. He'll be back at school in another six months. I don't know whether he'll decide to go back to Elseemar, or go on with his original major, Mizari. I'm also getting another celebrity on the next ship--Cara Hendricks. She and Mark were together on Elseemar."
"You mean the journalist? The one who won the Pulitzer for her coverage of that hijacking?"
'The very same," Rob said proudly. "She's decided she wants to be an interstellar journalist, and a CLS internship as a translator would be a good starting point."
"She's right about that!" Jeff pounced on the last futomaki. "And then there was that young Chhhh-kk-tu who conducted the arbitration between those two Simiu clans that had declared death-challenge on each other."
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