Mindline (The Dreamhealers 2)

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  Back in the lounge, Radimir said, "You made it! Good for you. Ready to do it again tomorrow?"

  "God and Lady willing," Jahir said.

  The pardine grinned. "Go give the run-down to the people coming in. And remember to eat a bedtime snack."

  "Bedtime snack...?"

  "It's full night out, alet," the pardine said, brows lifted.

  "I had forgotten," Jahir murmured.

  "You'll get the rhythm of it."

  He nodded and logged himself out, heading wearily for the exit. The staff had its own set of elevators, and he let himself lean on the inside wall of one of them as it began its descent. His eyes drifted closed; it took the floor shivering beneath his feet to jar him alert, and when it did he found the buttons in front of him.

  One of them said 'roof.'

  So he hit it.

  At the top of Mercy's acute care tower, Jahir let himself out of a tiny lobby and onto a terrace overlooking Heliocentrus's skyline. He walked to the edge of the balcony and rested his hands carefully on its rail, looking out. A wind cooled his face, made him aware that he'd been sweating, that some of his hair had escaped the braid he'd pulled it into.

  The city was too large for him to hold in his heart or his eyes. He had to turn and turn to see it all, and even then he couldn't encompass it.

  He had come from a place where to light a building required candles and lamps filled with oil, and servants to tend them, and it was costly and so it was rarely done. Looking outside his family home at night he'd seen the gossamer of the galaxy against the night's blue breast, and the moon, had heard nothing but a profound silence that seemed to bleed into the dark and isolate everyone in their separate shells of warmth and light.

  Here—

  So many colors against the dark. The lights smeared in his vision, though the wind dried his lashes as quickly as blinking wet them. There was no isolation here, no silence, no looking out into the night only to be denied. Here was all the connection he'd been longing for without ever having a name for what he was missing.

  Standing on the roof so high above the city, he had never felt so alone, and so exhausted, and so alive. His skin pebbled at the touch of the warm breeze, at the salt tang of the foreign air, at the glitter of the lights.

  The trudge back to his apartment felt eternal. By the time he reached it, he had to lean on the wall to stay upright and he almost stumbled into the door before it read his biosign and let him in. The last thing he wanted to do was eat, but Gillespie's warnings about his fate did he not increase his caloric intake moved him to the tiny genie in his kitchenette. He drank a sourly-flavored meal replacement and fell into his bed, and immediately passed into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 4

  "What do you mean, late?" Vasiht'h asked, trying to keep his claws from inching out of his toes.

  "We've had an issue with our docking facility in Starbase Alpha. Your flight is one of several that has been affected," the woman behind the counter said.

  "If I miss this flight, I'll miss all my connections!"

  "And we'll do our best to accommodate you, alet," she said, trying to keep her own ears forward as she scanned the listings. "We're going to have to re-route you anyway, since our estimated time to repair for the starbase dock won't permit us to send you through Alpha today."

  This sounded far more serious a mess than he thought. He wondered just how many passengers the spaceflight attendants were going to have to shuffle and felt a pang of sympathy for her, even if that didn't have any effect on the state of his stomach as he contemplated the delay. He'd chosen the economical way to go in-Core to the capital, a flight plan that required five connections across the sector. He was only on his second leg of the journey, and if all of them had substantial delays….

  "How long before I can get on the next flight?" he asked.

  She was drawing multiple routes he could see in reverse on the solidigraph floating between them. "It looks like your best path puts you on the shuttle leaving at mark twenty for Starbase Veta."

  "Mark twenty! That's after dinner! I'll miss my connections—"

  "We'll do everything we can to make sure you arrive at your final destination as close to your original arrival time as possible," she said. "But mark eight is the earliest I can send you out, alet. Shall I put you down?"

  What could he do? "Yes, please." And added, "Thanks. I know this must be stressful for you."

  She managed a smile. "A little. But not as bad as it must be for you. I really am sorry."

  "I know," he said.

  "I've put you on Flight 02-20018, departing mark twenty for Starbase Veta," she continued, flicking through her interface and dropping his name in the right place. "Looks like I can re-route you from Veta to Selnor Welcome Station with two days layover. We'll pay your hotel stay. The good news is that Veta's actually closer to Selnor than Starbase Alpha, so that part of the trip won't take as long. Flight 01-06212 to Selnor Orbital One will get you there within three days of your original time." She looked up. "That's the best I can do, alet. Unless you want to take a direct flight to Selnor…?"

  Even knowing the price tag on a nonstop flight, Vasiht'h considered it for a heartbeat before he remembered he was not that well-heeled. "No. This will do."

  "We're processing a refund now for your last four flights," she continued. "And I've flagged you for priority treatment for the remainder of your trip. I hope that helps a little."

  "That's very nice of you," he said. "Thanks."

  "All right." She glanced at him. "You're re-booked, alet Vasiht'h. Please be back at the gate half an hour prior to departure."

  Three days! Vasiht'h resettled his bag over his shoulder and went for a wander, ignoring the crowds of people streaming past. Not that it mattered; he was weeks behind Jahir as it was, so what was three more days? And yet he felt the urgency of it like an itch he couldn't reach to scratch. He stopped at one of the walls. Like most in the Alliance, the double world system that hosted the Seersa and the Karaka'A maintained a station near the edge of the heliosphere to accept incoming traffic and route it to the inhabited worlds, the research stations or any of the industrial habitats that might be making use of any asteroid belts or uninhabitable planets. This one had been tethered around the most distant planet, a world no better than a giant rock, and one rarely glanced down when using the windows… because the walls that stretched several stories up in the terminal were giant panes of flexglass and they looked out on a stunning amount of interstellar traffic. Enormous freighters shared mooring with sleek, single-person cutters, and in the distance one could see the gleaming lights of Fleet ships passing through on their patrols. In real space terms, most of the ships were too far to be seen unaided, but the datafilm on the glass not only magnified them for the aesthetic pleasure of those sight-seeing, but also hung their registries and—in the case of commercial liners—flight schedules as small tags beside them.

  Vasiht'h had been off-world before, of course; had gone to Seersana from his home on Anseahla, and made the return trip several times for visits. But those journeys had been nowhere near so thorny, from a logistical perspective. His parents had paid his way, and he'd stepped over a Pad onto one of Seersana's orbital stations, and from there had gone nonstop home.

  He'd never really felt out on his own. Not like this. It was scary… and exhilarating, that too.

  Had he had the fin, he would have taken a direct flight to Selnor and saved himself the hassle. Even now, he was more stressed than moved by the glory outside the windows. But some part of him remained aware that had Jahir been with him, his friend would have spent all six hours of the layover sitting in front of one of these windows, watching the ships go by. Which was one of the reasons he was making this trip: because he craved that reminder, the sense of awe that only a stranger to the Alliance could really feel, experiencing it.

  Over a small lunch of clear mushroom soup and crackers, which was all his fretful stomach could handle, Vasiht'h went through his
mail. Palland had left him some instructions on remote registration for fall semester, along with recommendations of classes best left for in-person sessions. His grandmother and two of his brothers had written him long rambling notes that he queued for later consumption; he was too nervous to give them his undivided attention. There were updates from friends, former classmates, former patients, even, sending him letters after the conclusion of his research studies.

  The one person he wanted to hear from hadn't sent him anything.

  There were any number of reasons for that, he thought while wandering the shops clustering the center of the station. Foremost being that Jahir was probably busy. It was also possible that his former roommate didn't want to talk to him, but somehow Vasiht'h couldn't take that idea seriously. He could still feel the warmth of Jahir's shoulder under his cheek in the embrace they'd shared before the Eldritch had left, and he knew with all the certainty of an esper that Jahir cared about him.

  No, the possibility that distressed him most was that his friend was not just busy, but overwhelmed. And that made him too agitated to enjoy what he would normally have found comforting: the bustle of people, the hum of their conversation, the evidence of the Alliance's wealth and variety.

  Three days. Goddess hear him, but surely another three days wouldn't matter.

  "Has he woken up yet?" Jahir asked as he washed his hands.

  Behind him, the day shift assist he was taking over from shook her head. "No. They think they've made some progress by putting him on fluids, though, so you might get lucky today." He glanced over his shoulder at her and she finished, "If they don't wake up within a couple of days, they generally don't. Not here, anyway."

  "Right," Jahir said, drawing in a measured breath. "Thank you, alet."

  "Don't mention it. And keep out of Healer Jonsen's way, he's in a mood."

  He lifted his brows. "Thank you for the warning."

  "You don't need anyone taking any more stripes out of your hide than the gravity's doing," she said, and headed out, leaving him to stare after her. He hadn't recalled discussing his problem with anyone but his direct superiors, and yet within twenty-five hours—and twelve minutes, that being the length of Selnor's day by some clock he had not yet had explained to him—it seemed as if everyone knew. It wasn't in his medical files; he knew because he'd checked himself and found them empty, as he'd come to expect from the censors that dealt with the requirements of the treaty between the Eldritch and the Alliance. He glanced at the metal bracelet framing his wrist as he reached for his gloves. The narrow plaque said "Mediger's Syndrome" but the letters were too small to be read from a distance, or so he assumed. Or perhaps he didn't notice how close people came to read it? He found such things far from mind while working.

  Paige, passing him on the way out, said, "You got triage first today. It's not too bad yet, though, you should have time to check on your patients."

  "Understood."

  Triage was quiet enough for him to do a quick round; as reported, his unresponsive remained so. The mother and son from the accident were doing better physically, but the mother was ready for discharge that afternoon and was anxious about leaving her child behind. His acute depression case was sleeping, and the woman without legs had acquired them overnight, in a feat of magic so astonishing that he stared at them when he came in.

  "I know," she said. "Me too. But look!" She wiggled her toes for him. "They work!"

  "You must be relieved," he said.

  "You can't imagine." She sighed, then smiled up at him. "Thanks for the help yesterday."

  "I was glad to be of service," he replied. And then, because he knew it would make her smile again, "Show me the toes once more?"

  She did one better and laughed.

  He returned to triage, still smiling, and found yesterday's Tam-illee there, reading a data tablet and having a cup of coffee.

  "Quiet afternoon," he observed.

  She chuckled. "Enjoy it while you can." Lifting her mug, she said, "Catching up on paperwork. There's coffee in the break room."

  "Later," he said, and sat on his stool to consult his own tablet. The pocket-sized one the hospital had issued him did indeed come with medical-grade sensor equipment, and was linked into the hospital's secure network. But he could use it for the more traditional uses of a tablet, which was how he realized he had a backlog of personal mail he'd been too tired to read. A great deal of it, including a missive from his mother. He started organizing them by priority and reached the end before he found—or rather didn't find—the one message he'd hoped he'd have received by now. Not seeing it made him wonder if he'd done the right thing, coming to Selnor.

  Perhaps he simply needed friends here. In the past, he would have questioned the need for friendships, particularly with short-lived aliens who would never pace him through his life. Vasiht'h had taught him otherwise—

  —the door opened for a healer-assist helping a very pregnant Tam-illee hobble in, half bent over her belly. Her leg as she extended it to walk was sodden, and revealed a brutal fragrance, like blood and the line between birth and death.

  "This is Eleyna," the front-desk assist said. "Her obstetrician is on her way as soon as she's done with the delivery she's assisting at New Chaganall. We need to get Eleyna here to a bed as soon as possible."

  Jahir's partner in the triage room had gone from alert to incredibly tense. Reacting to some cue he didn't have time to quantify, he said, "Why don't you log her in and get the stretcher?"

  "Right," she said, and fled.

  To the front desk assist, he said, "We can take care of it, thank you." Then, before the patient could panic, he held out his gloved hands. "Come, sit here."

  "I'll get it messy," she answered, breathless.

  Jahir smiled. "We've seen worse."

  She grasped his hand—petrifying fear! And an overwhelming ferocity, both despair and determination. He flinched, and as brief as the movement was, still she caught it and looked up at him once… and then twice, startled, ears splaying. "You're—oh, should I… wait—"

  He held up his free hand. "I'm fine, I promise. Please, sit."

  She did, staring at him, wide-eyed. Only when she tried to find a comfortable position for her legs did she begin to breathe too quickly again. He drew her attention back by saying, "Can I help?"

  "I… I'm just… I'm afraid," she finished, ears drooping. "I've made it so far! What if… what if something goes wrong after all these months?"

  "You are in the hospital," he said. "And your physician will be here shortly. You'll have the best of care until she arrives. And even if they must do an emergency delivery now, you are far enough along for the baby to survive." He leaned forward. "Have faith, alet."

  She swallowed and nodded. And added, with a whisper of curiosity, "You're an Eldritch. Working here?"

  "So I am. Admittedly, this is not my specialty." At her attentive look, he said, "Psychology."

  "Oh!" she said. "I guess that makes sense."

  "It did to me," he said, smiling.

  The triage assist showed up with the stretcher. He rose and said, "Your ride, alet. Let me help you—" Another touch, this time more determination than despair. The fear remained, but subordinated. "You're doing fine."

  "You think so?" she asked.

  "Just fine," he said, and set her hand on her belly, where he felt the unexpected impression of something somnolent, more curious than alarmed. "Both of you."

  And then he was alone with his companion, who was standing at the door watching their patient recede. He studied her, waited for her to turn away and see him before he canted his head a little, inviting the confidence.

  "My sister's lost two kids," she said, ears slicking back. "I just… it's the one thing that unnerves me. I know how much better it's gotten for us as Tam-illee in the years since the Exodus. And I know living someplace like this where you get the real advances in medical care years ahead of, say, the frontier, or even the Alliance suburbs. But I still… I just…
" She shuddered. Then rubbed her eyes and said, "It bothers me."

  "It would bother me too," he offered.

  She looked up at him sharply.

  "We all have something, alet." Jahir found the stool and lowered himself onto it, trying not to react to the ache in his hips and shoulders. "Most of us have several." He spotted the chair vacated by the pregnant Tam-illee, now soiled, and started to rise, but she waved him down.

  "I'll take care of it. Save the wear on your joints." As she went for the chair, she added, "Thanks for handling it when I couldn't."

  "You could have, and you would have, had you been alone," he said, allowing himself to lean against the wall. "But you are not alone, and there is no reason for you to face everything as if you were."

  She glanced at him. And then she laughed. "Therapists!"

  He lifted his brows, amused. "I fear I am guilty of the charge."

  "You do well," she said, quieter. "And you really helped her back there."

  "More by being a radical distraction from her own woes than anything else," Jahir said, rueful. "Two years of training, and none of it as useful as something I was born with."

  "In this business, if you have any advantage, you use it." She reseated the cleaning wand in its charger and said, "Maya. Maya FirstOnSite."

  "FirstOnSite," he mused. "There is a story there."

  "I could tell it to you," she said, smiling, and then stopped as their alerts went off. "But not quite yet."

  The first four hours of his shift passed in a blur, then, as the late evening traffic picked up. He passed the triage watch to Paige and did rounds on the newly assigned patients and the ones from yesterday. Healer Jonsen was, in fact, disgruntled and he was glad of the warning to treat him carefully.

  At some point—he could not have said when—he discovered he was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, and could not remember how he got there. Dismayed, he rose, bracing himself, and had only just gained his feet when Radimir popped his head around the corner. "Need help?"