Some Things Transcend

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  "Oh happy day?" Jahir offered with a lopsided smile, but now there were motes of golden amusement sparkling between them.

  Vasiht'h chuckled and leaned back. "We can hand this case off when we get back. But right now, we're the ones here who can deal with it." He looked up. "Do you want me to do that alone? I can, if you're uncomfortable."

  Jahir sighed. "No. I wouldn't ask that of you. Particularly not on a case so intricately bound up with drugs."

  "I'm sure Hea Borden can assist if things get too technical for me."

  "She could, but it would be ridiculous not to make use of my training when the situation so clearly calls for it." Jahir shook his head. "No. I will do my best until we arrive back home. We should be equal to the task of keeping him stable until then."

  "If you're sure…."

  "I am."

  Vasiht'h squinted up at him, gauging his resolve. The mindline felt firm enough, but… he picked up one of the bars and handed it over. "Here. Eat."

  Jahir made a face. A very subtle one, more a little flinch of a lower eyelid and a twitch of his nose, but to Vasiht'h those signs were as loud as any siren. "And if I am not hungry?"

  "If you're serious about soldiering on," Vasiht'h said, "you will dutifully eat all of that. Then I'll know you're dedicated to the cause."

  Jahir eyed the bar with more visible distaste, then began to peel the wrapper. "We have done harsher things."

  Vasiht'h snorted and went back to his own half-finished meal.

  CHAPTER 5

  "This is not the homeworld."

  Lisinthir was lying on his back with his arms folded behind his head, staring at the stars. They'd made a sort of nest on the balcony, and he wondered what it said of him that it no longer disturbed him to be within a foot of a drop so high he would have had ample time for terrified contemplation of his end had he fallen. It was also cold—or had been, before their exertions. Now the Slave Queen's head was pillowed on his hip and the Emperor was lying alongside—between him and the fall, he noticed, and knew it was intentional.

  "There," the Emperor said. "That star. Can you see it, or are your eyes not far-sighted enough?"

  "I think I do. So, you traveled here? Why?"

  The Emperor snorted, amused. "Why else? To conquer."

  "Why else, he says," Lisinthir murmured. "Some of us leave our worlds for other reasons."

  "Or leave them not at all?" the Emperor retorted. "Be serious, Ambassador. The impetus to leave a world must be a driving one, a passion that can justify the expenditure of the resources needed to establish spaceborne industry. No one ever colonized other worlds 'just to see them.' They had needs."

  "And yours, of course, revolved around the need to subjugate others."

  "What else?"

  They studied one another for a moment, challenge, acceptance, a brief duel in their gazes, then amusement. They were still sated from their play earlier... these times after, they had become precious too.

  Into the silence that followed their mock contest of wills, the Slave Queen said, soft, "There are other stories."

  Lisinthir glanced down at her, traced the line of her brow ridge and felt the reflection of her pleasure through their skins. "What stories, then?"

  "Among females, it is said that we left seeking Air to breathe that would let us grow into what we were meant to become."

  "Religion?" Lisinthir guessed, surprised.

  "We had it, once, yes." The Emperor sat up, one arm on his raised knee, and glanced up at the sky; his eyes narrowed into the wind that teased his mane back. "The Living Air that held us aloft."

  "So do the others swear by the Dying Air because that is all you have left of your beliefs?" Lisinthir asked.

  They both regarded him at that.

  "We worship ourselves now," the Emperor said, reaching past him for the cup they'd been sharing. "And the Air did nothing to stop it, or so they say. So yes, that is all that's left of the beliefs that once sustained us. That, and the legacy of our expansionism, if we are to believe it as a cause for our doing so."

  Lisinthir studied the vault above them and tried to grasp that everything he could see the Chatcaava had claimed. "How do you keep it all unified? So much distance, so many worlds, so much ambition, so much want. How does it not implode?"

  "It has," the Emperor said, sipping from the cup. Lisinthir's sharp look made him widen his eyes in amusement, so that they seemed to smolder in the dark. "Did you think we didn't have our periods of squabbling, collapse, conflict?"

  "I didn't know what to think," Lisinthir admitted. "I assumed that the Emperor held everything together with the threat of the Navy."

  "This Emperor does," the Emperor said with a grin, flashing white teeth. "But not all Emperors have been that strong." He offered the cup to the Queen, who lifted her head just enough to slip her tongue into it, lap. "There are some who say it is an inevitability that we should dissolve into separate political entities."

  "And do you think it is?"

  "Maybe," the Emperor said. "Maybe. If the pressures outside the Empire and the pressures inside remain favorably aligned, I can hold it all. If something changes significantly...."

  "A significant change might cause you all to pull more closely together," Lisinthir offered.

  "If we were like you, perhaps." The Emperor shook his head in a mannerism stolen from his Eldritch shape. "But we aren't. But fear not, Perfection—" A lick across his brow, affection from a dragon. "For now I don't see any of this changing."

  "But you were wrong," Lisinthir whispered, and knew himself awake. Awake, and in trouble, curled around cramping sharp as knives in his gut. It would pass. It had passed before. But damned if this time didn't somehow hurt more than the others. Why was that, he wondered, now that he was away from those who were poisoning his food and drink regularly? He closed his eyes and breathed through it, refusing to suffer. In the moments when he was lucid, he wondered when his keepers would descend on him. Fleet vessels monitored the vitals of their crew as a matter of course, if he remembered correctly. Would that function still be online with the decreased power budget? He supposed he would find out.

  He had his answer much later, if the cooled sweat on his skin was any indication, when he woke at the sound of the door opening. The Seersa paused, backlit by the corridor's slightly brighter lights, then dove for him with a dismayed sound. "I'm fine," he told her, licked his lips so they wouldn't stick and smiled crookedly as she ignored him. "But by all means, check for yourself."

  She scowled at him, ears flat. "I should have kept you in the clinic, Ambassador."

  "This is far more entertaining, I assure you."

  "What, collapsing in your quarters with no one to realize you might be dying?"

  "I presume it's not so dire or you would never have released me in the first place."

  She paused at that, a puzzled look on her face. Then she eyed him. "No. Not normally. I didn't think it was this serious."

  "Neither did I," he offered, and watched a reluctant smile pull at the corners of her mouth.

  The Seersa was studying the results of her diagnostics on the data tablet now. Her frown grew more pronounced as he watched, curious, until at last she said, "I'm going to call your specialists."

  "You don't mind if I use the facilities?"

  "Can you stand?"

  "I'm fine," he reiterated, and proved it by rising. The headache was truly monumental, but he'd had worse. He could read the uncertainty in her squared shoulders and the bottlebrush bristle along her tail, but she didn't object, so he left her to summon his psychiatrists. While he regretted the lack of water—nothing quite compared to a proper shower—the Pad bath was admirably swift. By the time Borden had finished her call, he was back in the room, sitting with his feet up and his hands folded, impeccably clean and no apparent worse the wear for the episode.

  Did she know what he was doing? Her skeptical look was both charming and amusing. When Lisinthir lifted a brow at her, she shook her head an
d said, "I'm very glad you're not my patient."

  So he was laughing when his therapists entered, and that was even better for his purposes.

  "Alet?" the Glaseah said—Vasiht'h, that one. "Was there a problem?"

  The Seersa was eyeing him, still trying to hold back that flickering smile. "I found him collapsed. I'm not sure how long he was out, but he was unconscious for a while."

  "Collapsed," Vasiht'h repeated, brows lifting.

  The Seersa rested her hand to her breast. "Speaker-Singer bind me, it's Her own truth."

  He'd done well to have her laughter tickling at the edges of her oath like that. Lisinthir lifted his gaze to the Glaseah's and quirked his brows, saw the Seersa's reluctant smile pass to his face. "And you, of course, don't know anything about this, or any other collapses you might have had in the past."

  "Why ever would you have formed that impression, I wonder," Lisinthir said, to see if that bought him more amusement or more frustration. What it did earn him was the movement of his cousin at last. Jahir entered the room, passing his partner, and accepted the data tablet and the diagnostic wand from the Seersa. He remained silent, reading the results and paging through them, but it wasn't hard for Lisinthir to see the control he was exerting over himself. His face was a mask, but his finger where it was stretched across the back of the tablet was stiff. Very subtle, that tell—either he'd done well with the training all Eldritch had, or he really wasn't as concerned as Lisinthir had assumed he would be from their first extended conversation.

  He suspected the former. The Seni were small but rich and well-favored by the Queen, and their heir would have been subject to a great deal of attention. If that attention had been more positive than that awarded Lisinthir, it still fueled more than enough gossip to disturb a private person.

  "If you don't mind?" the Seersa said, rising. "I'll leave the two of you to it."

  "Thanks," Vasiht'h said.

  "You," she said to Lisinthir. "Stay out of trouble."

  "I shall so endeavor, Hea…." He paused, waiting for her name.

  "Triona," she said with another of those irrepressible smiles. Her fur had smoothed down, too.

  "Triona. And thank you."

  "My job, sir. Aletsen, if you need me further, I'll be in the clinic."

  "We'll call," Vasiht'h said, and watched her go before turning his gaze on Lisinthir. It had gone contemplative. "You really are good at that."

  "Good at what?" Lisinthir asked, permitting the gambit because he was curious where it would lead, and if it would eventually draw his House cousin from his silence.

  "Diverting attention from things you don't want to discuss. I'm guessing this is something that kept you alive among the Chatcaava?"

  How much was he willing to share with them? The easy answer to that was 'nothing,' because they had not earned it. "You live with an Eldritch, alet. I don't think I need to tell you where I learned the skill."

  Vasiht'h glanced at Jahir, then sat and folded his arms across his chest. "You're doing it again."

  "Nothing I've said is untrue."

  The Glaseah tapped a paw on the carpeted floor. "We can't help you unless you let us."

  That presumed he wanted help, which he didn't. Saying so outright probably wouldn't win him the outcome he wanted, however. Before he could decide what to say next, Vasiht'h continued, "And we know we're probably not your first choice. Once we get back, you'll be free to talk to any counselor you prefer."

  "And if I want none?"

  "That's your prerogative," Vasiht'h said. "We might be required to give a deposition on whether we believe you to be a danger to others, but no one's signed you to us for mandatory psychiatric care. You do need medical attention, but that can be handled separately if you're adamant."

  This turn of events surprised him. "You… would let me go."

  The two of them exchanged glances before Vasiht'h said, carefully, "The fact that you think of it as something that you need to be allowed an escape from is… suggestive."

  "Therapy requires the consent of its participants," Jahir murmured from beside him.

  It was difficult not to react to the words, given all that he'd done. What would his psychiatrists think of the "therapy" he'd forced on the Emperor, he wondered? Would the ends have justified the means, given just how little consent had been involved… on either side? Except, he supposed, the consent of the violent to the threat of injury and loss.

  "Having said that, though," Vasiht'h continued, and he wondered if the two of them had designated him the spokesperson based on his reaction to Jahir—no doubt. "You have some serious physical challenges that need attention."

  Denying that seemed pointless. "It has been a trying year."

  Jahir held up a long vial. "Fluids and vitamins. May I administer them?"

  "Go ahead."

  As Jahir loaded the AAP, Vasiht'h said, "I don't suppose you could tell us if you have a history of these collapses, or what you felt prior to passing out."

  "I am not a physician, to know whether my symptoms were medical or something else." Lisinthir ignored the soft hiss of the pump injecting, and the vague coolth that raced under his skin from the site on his upper arm. Jahir had wielded the thing so precisely there'd been no accidental touch.

  The Glaseah was considering him without speaking. Then, finally, he said, "How do you feel?"

  Lisinthir ignored his headache. "Well enough. I could use a water shower, however."

  "Hungry at all?"

  "Not at the moment."

  Vasiht'h nodded. "The ration bars are enough to put anyone off their feed."

  Lisinthir chuckled. "I've been living on them so long I no longer notice the taste."

  Jahir was packing the kit.

  "Are you sure there's nothing you can share with us that might help us alleviate your physical symptoms?" Vasiht'h asked. "Even a little bit of information would go a long way toward our being able to figure out how to help you. Your condition is both poor and mysterious, and we could probably make it less poor much faster if it was also less mysterious."

  Lisinthir spread his hands. "I am sure with rest and proper nutrition, I will make a full recovery. Provided we have enough time to do so."

  "Will they find us, you think?" Jahir asked, quiet.

  A serious question about the political situation... that was something he could answer without divulging things he didn't want to share. "Captain Raynor's plan to be as unobtrusive as possible has merit. Space is vast; we find things in it by being creatures of habit, with predictable behaviors." He rolled a shoulder, fighting both the aches that never seemed to leave his muscles and the increasingly distracting skin-loneliness. "Our chances are good as long as they can make the repairs in a timely fashion. The longer we drift, the worse our odds."

  "We'll pray for a swift repair, then," Vasiht'h said. "We'll be back to check on you in a few hours, if that's all right."

  "Certainly."

  The Glaseah nodded and left, taking his partner with him... and leaving Lisinthir perplexed. Had they truly conceded? It seemed far too easy a win; he was suspicious. And his House cousin had been much too quiet. He doubted the matter was settled, but found himself grateful they'd taken themselves away. The strain of making polite, if guarded, conversation was becoming vexing.

  He rubbed a finger along his temple, slowly, noticing the tremor. Then he pushed himself up and went for his luggage.

  "So now what?" Vasiht'h asked him as they exited the room. "Because I assume there's something or you wouldn't have been feeding me half those lines in there."

  "There is something, yes," Jahir said, trying to let the tension bleed out of his shoulders. "And I'm afraid the ethics of it might be questionable."

  Vasiht'h eyed him and then stopped when he did. Jahir chose a likely looking wall and sat against it, feeling the cold of the metal leach into his body through his clothes.

  The mindline hung between them, dense with confusion and wariness. Then it cleared, just a
little, and Vasiht'h joined him on the ground. "And... what is it we're planning to do?"

  "In about fifteen minutes, we are going to go back into that room, without asking permission to enter first." Jahir ran a hand idly up his wrist, pushing the sleeve from his skin. He couldn't tell if he was hot or cold. "The scan was absolutely clear on his current condition. He has God's own headache and his nervous system is raw with agitation. We know he has some of whatever it is he was using. If there's any left, he's going to use it now."

  "And you want it."

  "Of course I do," Jahir said. "With a sample I can do analysis, find out what we're fighting. We're treating symptoms now. We'll get much farther if we can address the root cause."

  "And this is worth damaging our tenuous relationship with our client," Vasiht'h said, but the mindline tasted like cookies and kerinne... as if his partner was thinking while eating.

  "Our client has already confessed to not wishing to continue the therapist/client relationship with us, but has submitted to medical treatment."

  Vasiht'h held up a hand. "He didn't outright say he didn't want us. Just accepted that we were offering to remove ourselves from the equation. He may change his mind by the time we get back."

  Jahir tried not to look at the pale glow being emitted by the emergency lighting above them. "I doubt it."

  A sigh, then. "Me too. You were saying...."

  "That damaging his tenuous trust in us may be less important than discovering what's destroying his alimentary canal."

  "Destroying?" Vasiht'h's ears fanned back. "As in 'still in the process of doing'?"

  Jahir said, quiet, "Something is preventing him from absorbing the fluidics, ariihir. The halo-arch gave him a solution—you recall?" At his friend's nod, he continued, "It begins by dropping the solution into the gastrointestinal tract, usually in the stomach, rather than defaulting to intravenous because of the occasional complications that attend the latter. I know what the halo-arch reported putting into his system. I know what we should see in response, after this many hours. I know that there's a difference between that value and what it read just now in that room."