Mindline

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  "First smart thing anyone's said in the past ten minutes," Jiron muttered. Louder, "You heard the Glaseah. Out."

  Once they'd trooped out, Vasiht'h backed away from the bed and sat heavily, rubbing his face. "We need a plan."

  Cautious optimism, like too much rain on tender flowers that bent beneath the strain. It was a pretty image, but it reminded Vasiht'h too much of his roommate's nightmares of gardens, back when they'd been on Seersana. Which seemed very long ago right now. "A plan?"

  "Yes," Vasiht'h said. "If we're going to do this, we need a plan. One that gives us a way to back out gracefully before something else happens."

  He waited, hoping for something from Jahir because Aksivaht'h knew he didn't have any thoughts. Unfortunately, if the empty weight hanging between them was any indication, the Eldritch was as short on ideas as he was. They met one another's eyes and acknowledged the implication of that quiet, and Vasiht'h looked away with a sigh.

  "Arii," Jahir said. "You know it is not my intention to perish here."

  "Are you sure?" Vasiht'h asked with asperity. And then held up his hands, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just… I don't… these past two days.…"

  "I know," Jahir said, solemn.

  It was that solemnity that pierced Vasiht'h's desperate fears. "You meant it," he said slowly. "About the promise."

  "I did."

  "Because I… I've never heard you promise anything unless you were going to do it," Vasiht'h continued, and frowned, searching the past two years of their friendship. "Come to think of it, I don't know if I can count on my hands the number of times you've ever said anything that could be construed as a promise."

  Strange that he could feel the heat of someone else's blush in his own skin. Jahir cleared his throat and said, "It isn't done. Or shouldn't be, unless one is willing to make good on one's word."

  "Then if I make you promise to back out if things get too bad.…"

  "Without defining the conditions that meet that criterion, I am not sure you would be content with the words."

  "Like dealing with a fairy king, is that what you're saying?" Vasiht'h asked, and started laughing at the look on Jahir's face. The taste in the mindline was even funnier: lemonade with not enough sugar.

  "You have those stories?" Jahir asked.

  "No, but the humans do, and we're all descendants," Vasiht'h said, grinning. He sobered when he remembered what they were joking about. "By my standards, the conditions are already bad enough."

  "Then perhaps we should base the decision on aught else. Like, perhaps, success?"

  "And if there is no success?" Vasiht'h asked. "What if we never figure out how to heal these people? What if there's no healing them? People die. Drugs certainly kill them. Even legal ones, given in the wrong combinations."

  "Success might also be our helping the authorities find the purveyor of these drugs."

  "We're not detectives, arii," Vasiht'h said, ears flattening. "Goddess, you don't even know how a society like this works, most of the time. You're a true-alien here." A twinge in the mindline—disagreement? He rode over it anyway. "Or are you saying we should be plucking clues out of their heads and handing them over?"

  "We can," Jahir said, guarded.

  "And we might not," Vasiht'h said. "So then, how do we define success? When you've had enough?" The pregnant silence then made him lean back. He prodded it gently with mental fingers and then pointed the physical one at the man lying on the bed, starting to object…

  …and then he stopped. Because it really was the only answer. The only one he knew Jahir would accept, and so the only one he could. He folded his arms, hugging himself, and hung his head. Of all the jobs in the world the Goddess could have picked for him, the one where he had to sit back and let his best friend in all the worlds make such tremendous, potentially lethal mistakes and find his own way was…

  …what he'd signed up for. Wasn't it?

  Jahir himself had told him the opinions of good friends could help someone shape a decision. But that didn't give him the right to make that decision. Did it? Or did the mindline change all those things? Did that make it more like being married? A partnership implied that you looked out for one another. But his parents would be the first to tell him that marriage didn't mean you got to force your partner to do things your way. A series of compromises, they'd say. But they'd never given him any guidance on compromising when it was a matter of life or death.

  —which led him to Sehvi, who was studying reproductive medicine on Tam-ley. The Tam-illee—and many other races of the Alliance—made such life or death decisions together all the time, when they chose to have children.

  "You're asking a lot of me," is what he finally said.

  "I think I know that I do," Jahir said, picking his words so carefully Vasiht'h could sense his concentration through the mindline. And then added, "Two months. Less now."

  "Still?" Vasiht'h asked, looking up at him.

  "As a final deadline," Jahir said. "There is not enough balance in this path, arii. I don't even know if I am beneath this halo-arch because my body gave way or my mind did. As I said, I am not planning to die here, with so much yet to learn."

  Vasiht'h held that vow in his mind, and it was sharp as a sword, an image he knew had not come from his life experience. "Two months," he said finally. "Or until you've had enough."

  "Yes."

  "All right." He wouldn't say that he could live with it when he was only barely resigned to it, but he could give his friend that much.

  "Go have some tea, arii. You're thirsty."

  "I am?" He paused, wings flexing, and grimaced. "I am. How did you pick that out of all the rest of the things in my head?"

  "I don't know?" A tendril of curiosity unfurling, tender as a new leaf and as eager for sunlight. "But your mouth is dry, and it is bothering you."

  "It is." Vasiht'h eyed him. "Don't move."

  "The halo-arch would not permit it anyway."

  "Don't move your thoughts either. No reaching past this room for the minds of unconscious patients."

  Jahir managed a laugh. "I don't think I could even do so when healthy. As I am now..."

  Vasiht'h folded his arms.

  "I promise," the Eldritch finished, and there was a sparkle in the mindline. Light on water, bright as mirth against the dark of what they'd been discussing.

  "Good," Vasiht'h said. "I'll be right back."

  Down the hall he found a break room with a coffee pot sitting alongside a bottle of coffee branded with the café's moniker. He ignored them both and searched the drawers until he found tea packets and poured himself a cup of boiling water in a mug with Mercy's dove and sigil. Settling in a corner, he looked out on the halls and tried to imagine working someplace like this every day, day after day. Tried to imagine Jahir doing it, and could just barely. But it didn't seem right to him, and he wondered if that was his own wishful thinking or one of Her suggestions. He was still wondering when the human who'd been helpful turned up at the door and paused at the sight of him.

  "Jahir's friend," he said.

  "Vasiht'h." He held out a hand palm up. "I got sent to take a break."

  The human snorted, covered Vasiht'h's palm with his. "He's good at knowing when other people need them, at least. Griffin Jiron. Residency supervisor."

  "He's mentioned you." Vasiht'h blew the steam off his tea. "You should find someone with the authority to issue me a pass, because Jahir's not coming to work without me anymore."

  Jiron drew a chair out from one of the tables and sat, crossing his legs and resting his hands loosely on his calf. "This have something to do with how you know when he's about to fall over?"

  "We have an esper's bond," Vasiht'h said. "Glaseah call it a mindline."

  "That's how you keep pulling him back," Jiron said, quiet.

  Vasiht'h nodded.

  "Since I'm not eager to add 'dead resident' to my list of experiences at Mercy, I'll be sure you get your pass." He coc
ked his head. "How'd a Glaseah end up with a mindline with an Eldritch? If you don't mind my asking. That sounds like quite a story."

  "I guess it is." Vasiht'h smiled a little. "I think the real story is 'how did an Eldritch end up off world.' You've never seen one, have you?"

  "Not until your friend walked in the door to the conference room."

  Vasiht'h nodded. "I think that's as much answer as I can give you. He's the rare event. Everything else just... accretes around him. Like gas around a star."

  The human considered that for a long moment, then said, "Does gas accrete around stars?"

  "Doesn't it? I thought that's how stars formed?"

  "I don't know," Jiron admitted. "My astrophysics is a little rusty."

  Vasiht'h laughed. "And mine was never very good in the first place." He flexed his hands on his mug. "Alet, thank you. For not giving us trouble about this. And for watching out for him."

  "My job," Jiron said. "But you're welcome." He stood, stretching one arm against his chest. "Speaking of job..."

  Vasiht'h saluted him with the mug.

  "Do you mind if I come in?"

  "As long as you do not mind that I don't rise," Jahir replied to the silhouette of the Hinichi investigator.

  "No," Celvef said. "You've been through quite enough. And I'm not going to bother you with too many questions."

  "Then by all means."

  Did Vasiht'h know he was entertaining guests while he was supposed to be recuperating, Jahir had no doubt he would catch a lecture—deservedly so. But he did not think Celvef was going to tax him; the man carried himself with quiet confidence, and there was no eagerness in his mannerism, not in speech, nor in motion. He sat on the chair near the wall and said, "Doctor Levine told me you were responsible for discovering this was an illegal drug. From memories you saw in the minds of the victims?"

  How one word could transform an entire situation. Not patients: victims. Jahir said, "That's right. Though it was my friend who understood what I was looking at. I have... very little experience with the Alliance."

  The Hinichi nodded. "You won't mind if I ask you a few questions? They're going to sound strange, and it's fine if you don't remember clearly; I'd rather you admitted to not knowing than have you come up with something you're not sure of."

  "Go ahead?" Jahir asked, mystified.

  Celvef took out a data tablet. "This image you saw of the sale being made. What time of day was it?"

  "It was dark, but the light source was yellow, and intense, and small."

  The Hinichi glanced at him, hand still poised over the tablet. "Sure of that, are you."

  "Yes," Jahir said, puzzled that he was. "It was a very vivid picture." He watched the man's hands scribing the words and said, "You are asking in the hopes of identifying where and when this happened."

  "Exactly."

  Jahir nodded. "Continue then. I shall answer as best I may."

  Between them, they gathered much more from that single memory than Jahir thought possible, though he had to demur on some of the responses. When they were done, the Hinichi leaned back. "Thank you. I know that doesn't seem like it will lead anywhere, but you never know where a clue will take you."

  "Is there aught else I might do?" Jahir asked, though he really didn't want to hear a repetition of Levine's command that he hover over the beds of the dying.

  Celvef shook his head. "No. Though if you catch anything else, I'd be glad to hear about it. We're going to find these people, alet. Your help might help, but even without it... we'll find them." He smiled faintly. "This isn't the first time we've had illegal drugs running through the port. If someone's going to get them on-planet, this is where they try it."

  "I would think somewhere lower profile would be more prudent?"

  "Somewhere lower profile won't have enough traffic to hide in," Celvef said. He tucked his data tablet back in his pocket. "Heliocentrus is huge, alet. There are a lot of ways to get lost in a port this size. And their only other choice is Terracentrus, and running drugs under Fleet's nose is just asking for trouble. This is where most of the commercial traffic comes, so this is where the thieves come, too." His smile was a predator's smile, and recalled the wolves from which some part of his DNA had been mined. "They don't learn, though. Heliocentrus's police department has one of the best drug trafficking groups in the Core. We'll find them, alet. And we'll find this product they're running." He stood. "Thank you for your time. Can I send you my call-code? In case you 'hear' anything else."

  "Of course."

  The Hinichi tipped him a salute and left.

  Some time later, the halo-arch sang a rising arpeggio and withdrew, leaving him to gingerly push himself upright. The medical bracelet tinkled as it heaped itself on his hand and he stared at it while assessing his own condition and finding it woeful. His entire body ached; his ribcage in particular felt oddly uncertain, as if he wasn't sure whether he could draw in a full breath and was surprised that he could. And he had a dry mouth, a headache, and felt altogether too weak to walk out of the hospital, which is what he dearly wanted to do.

  When Vasiht'h arrived bearing a cup of tea, Jahir said, "Tell me no one is hovering outside, waiting to ambush me?"

  "You're safe," Vasiht'h said, handing him up the cup. "Though I can't guarantee that until we get out of here. Radimir told me you're off duty now, so what say we flee?"

  "I would very much like that, though I may have to do so... rather slowly."

  Vasiht'h snorted. "That's fine. And if anyone tries to stop you, they can explain themselves to me." He glanced at the halo-arch's readings. "Jiron told me you could go as long as all those tell-tales were green, and they are, and as long as you don't leave the hospital grounds. In case you have a relapse."

  "That's fine," Jahir said. "The place I'd like to go is on the grounds."

  "Not home?" Vasiht'h asked, canting his head.

  Jahir sipped the tea, cautious of its heat, grateful for it. "No. But not far."

  "This is Paga," Jahir said an hour later.

  Extricating themselves from Mercy had taken more time than Vasiht'h had liked; even knowing they weren't going far, and that the halo-arch was reporting nothing that needed surveillance, the hospital had been nervous about discharging the Eldritch after he'd required serious intervention. But they'd released him before any of his coworkers could chase him down, and that had been all Vasiht'h had wanted. The trek to the gymnasium had piqued his curiosity, but he hadn't asked; he could sense his partner's fatigue through the mindline, a cold fog that had been burning clearer the closer they'd come to the facility. Now that they were here, there was no arguing with the relief Vasiht'h could taste as clearly as water after thirst.

  The Naysha bobbing in the water was staring up at Vasiht'h with interest. He returned the look as Jahir continued, "He is one of my physical therapists. Alet, is Aralyn in?"

  Paga clapped, activating a holographic translation, and signed, /Off duty now. She works morning to afternoon shift./ Tapping the water lightly. /You look bad./

  "I have had... a difficult day," Jahir said. "May I use one of the private pools?"

  /Go on./

  "Arii," Jahir said to him. "I shall be there, in that room. They monitor me... it is safe, I pledge you."

  Another pledge, in less than a day. Goddess. Vasiht'h said, "I'll be here when you're done."

  "Thank you." Words that sounded courteous aloud, but were accompanied by a fervor in the mindline. So much of his friend was like that, hiding under the surface. More water metaphors. Vasiht'h shook his head and sat by the pool's edge.

  Paga drifted closer and ducked his head to get close enough to see Vasiht'h's face. Peering, he signed, /So here is the heart./

  "Ah?"

  /The heart. His. Yes? When you came. That was when he started lightening./

  It had been a while since Vasiht'h had worked with anyone in sign, but he recalled the limitations of the translation and wished he'd been more diligent about gaining the skill.
But then, he lacked Jahir's constraints. He offered the Naysha his hand and said, "Do you want to talk this way? It might help."

  The Naysha's enormous eyes focused on his palm. /An interesting experience. I have not had it./ He set his webbed hand in Vasiht'h's: the palm was slick, like the skin on a dolphin.

  /And now what do I—/ The Naysha paused, then grinned, showing teeth. /I see./ Another pause, his eyes losing their focus. /Oh, and I do see. How strange it is! So many legs! Legs at all!/

  Vasiht'h laughed. "All right," he said, cradling the alien's hand in his. "Go ahead. Tell me what you meant."

  /This,/ Paga said, and the sense then was of a tether against a maelstrom.

  "Anchor," Vasiht'h offered. "Is that what you meant?"

  /It is. But do not feel it like a four-footed land-bound feels it. Feel it like I feel it./

  Vasiht'h closed his eyes and sank into the communion. He'd grown up playing in and out of the minds of his siblings, accepting embraces from his parents that extended into his psyche. Now and then he'd brushed minds with strangers or friends, usually by accident; while he didn't have Jahir's contact sensitivity, touch did make it easier to hear stray thoughts or feelings from other people. But he hadn't tried reaching this deeply since... well, home. And more importantly, since before the mindline.

  The mindline changed everything.

  /Ah ha!/ Paga's interest, sharp as a hunter's. /So it is the same for you too. You anchor one another./

  And they did. Nothing in his childhood had prepared him for how different it was to touch other minds while bonded to someone else. He'd always felt grounded, when reaching mentally for others, as if it was nearly impossible for anyone to knock him off his feet. But that same groundedness, he discovered, had prevented him from being able to reach deeply into someone else.

  Jahir had pulled him free from the ground; he felt as if he was floating, in orbit around someone else's spirit. Still safe, captured in someone's pull, but... free, too.

  /Something new for you too, ah?/ Paga asked.

  "I had no idea," Vasiht'h admitted, wide-eyed.

  As if sensing his need to re-evaluate, the Naysha let go of his hand and finned backward, casual. /As it should be. Yes? With the right people./