Mindline (The Dreamhealers 2)

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  "It is an exercise, breathing all day. If I exert myself to any extent, anyway." Jahir managed a wan smile. "Healer Gillespie assures me with time I will acclimate. I have only been on world a week and a half or so, however. That is not long enough."

  "So how long did she say it would take?" Vasiht'h asked, flattening his ears.

  "She wasn't sure." At Vasiht'h's expression, Jahir said, "I know. You need not say it."

  "All right, then I won't." Vasiht'h got up. "Finish the soup. I'll bring dessert."

  "Ice cream?" Jahir asked, hope blooming through their nascent bond like flowers opening.

  Vasiht'h grinned. "Finish the soup."

  "I apply myself directly."

  Thumbing through the ice cream listing was… terrifying was a strong word, perhaps. But the styles approved for someone with Jahir's dietary needs were denser than anything Vasiht'h wanted to eat as dessert. He chose a cocoa-flavored one and stopped to cue some music, selecting at random a neo-Baroque stream that slowly rose in volume until he could just hear the soft trill of strings. Not his sort of music, and he began to turn from it and stopped, because he found, abruptly, that he liked it. Not just liked, but had strong memories of the taste of a floral biscuit and strong tea, the warmth of sunlight on his neck and cheek, the murmur of conversation and the close harmony of a string quartet.

  He didn't just like this music, he really, really liked it. The suddenness of his change in opinion struck him as somehow humorous.

  Jahir was watching him.

  "You like this music," Vasiht'h said. "So I like it."

  The Eldritch's brows lifted. "Is it supposed to work thus? The mindline?"

  "Goddess knows, because I don't," Vasiht'h said with a chuckle. He brought the bowl and set it on the table. "There's a lot written about mindlines, but I never read about it in detail for the obvious reason that I didn't think I'd ever have one." He sat, folding his tail over his rear paws. "Besides, the literature we've written is about mindlines between two Glaseah. I've never heard of anything recorded about a mindline between two different species."

  "Ah!" Jahir said. "We can be anomalous." He brought his spoon to his mouth and stopped at the flavor, eyes losing their focus.

  "Is it bad?" Vasiht'h ventured, ears sagging.

  "It is… bizarre."

  "Bizarre?"

  Jahir pushed the bowl over to him. Vasiht'h eyed him, and the Eldritch said, "We are sharing thoughts. Sharing spoons on occasion hardly seems noteworthy."

  "Point." Vasiht'h took up the spoon and tried the ice cream and stopped, too. He licked his teeth. "That's… yours." He laughed and pushed it over.

  "And this from the person who drinks more than one cup of kerinne!" Jahir exclaimed. But he continued eating it, with an expression of puzzlement that curled the Glaseah's tongue like the touch of sour candy. Vasiht'h hid his laugh until the Eldritch looked up and said, "Like champagne."

  "What is?" he asked, muffling his amusement.

  "Your laughter, between us. Tastes like champagne. I wonder if tastes will be the primary method we use to translate emotional data?" Jahir frowned, pursing his lips. "I suppose there is a paper in it—"

  "For someone who isn't us, because we are very busy people," Vasiht'h said. "With me playing catch-up to finish up this degree and you trying to make it through your residency without breaking a bone."

  Jahir winced. "Alas, a shot rather too close to the heart for humor." He looked down at his bowl. "I appear to be eating this."

  "You seem to be halfway through it," Vasiht'h agreed.

  "I blame you," Jahir said, and continued. "Though... it is too heavy for me. And yet I keep eating it."

  "Food works that way sometimes, when your body wants something your tastes might not." Vasiht'h looked around. "You haven't even unpacked...!"

  "Enough to get by—"

  Vasiht'h covered his face. He didn't need to lift it to feel Jahir's chagrin, strong enough to fluff the fur on his shoulders. "All right," he said, taking a deep breath and looking up. "You finish the ice cream. I'll unpack for us both. I'm assuming I can stay here..."

  "I don't know that there is anything in my tenancy contract to prevent it," Jahir said. "They allow spouses and other family members, I believe."

  "We'll assume that's a 'yes' unless they come tell us 'no,' then. You finish eating. I'll... ah..." He came to a halt, looking at the room. It was barely half the size of the living room they'd shared in the student apartment at the university, and it held the little kitchen, one sofa and coffee table (neither very large) and that was it. There was little room to walk from the door past the couch. "There's a bedroom?"

  "There is," Jahir said. "I fear I have little memory of using it."

  Vasiht'h investigated and grimaced. This room was not much larger, though the bed could sleep two, if he was going to be charitable about the size of the two people. One more door led to a single person bathroom just large enough for most of the common Alliance species to use. Vasiht'h could get into it, but he doubted someone like Merishiinal, their nine-foot-tall centauroid Ciracaana friend, could have navigated it.

  "You are disturbed," Jahir said from the door to the living room.

  "It's a very... efficient... apartment," Vasiht'h said.

  "...and you have no idea where you will sleep," Jahir finished.

  Vasiht'h folded his arms. "I'm guessing against the couch; that's about all we've got."

  But Jahir was already gone. When he returned, his arms were full of the throw pillows from the couch, which he dropped on the floor beside the bed.

  "If I sleep next to you, you'll trip over me on the way to the bathroom in the morning," Vasiht'h protested.

  "If I cannot step over you, then I should stay in bed." Jahir went back to the living room and returned with the final pillow. "There are not enough unless we denude the sofa in its entirety—"

  "It's all right," Vasiht'h said. "I can go get a few more in town." He hesitated, then added, "You really want to sleep in the same room?"

  A hesitance, touched with iridescent hope. Just a glimmer of it, like the hint of a hidden sunrise on water. "Would you prefer not to?"

  Vasiht'h smiled and took the pillow from him. "Here's good."

  "Good." Jahir hesitated, then added, "I would normally be asleep by now."

  "Then go to bed," Vasiht'h said firmly. "I'm still worked up from the flight in—I'll have to tell you all about it later!—so I'll just make myself a cup of tea and come sleep when I'm ready."

  "Very well." Jahir smiled, and there was an anxiety in it that Vasiht'h could feel easing out of him through the mindline. "I'll look forward to the tale."

  Vasiht'h shooed him off and went to make the cup of tea. He snagged his data tablet from his bags and started making a shopping list while listening to the familiar sounds of his roommate moving through the apartment. If it was a smaller apartment than either of them was used to, well, that just made it cozier. Just being in the same place again was good enough for Vasiht'h.

  Ten minutes later, all those noises ceased and the mindline abruptly lost an active hum Vasiht'h hadn't even realized it had until it was gone. He peeked in the bedroom and saw Jahir's back and a spill of pale hair against gray pillows. Had the Eldritch always fallen asleep that quickly? Or was it a reflection of just how much strain his body was under?

  Vasiht'h sighed and sat with his tea. According to his data tablet, it was very much the wrong time to be calling Sehvi, much as he wanted to. He would have to talk to her tomorrow, maybe while investigating the local markets. He wasn't sure how much money Jahir had, but eating nothing but genie-produced food was harsh on anyone's budget. Cooking would give him something relaxing and productive to do for them both, and buying groceries would get him out of the apartment, especially important if he was doing all his schoolwork remotely.

  He was here. He was really here. He had crossed the entire sector on his guess that he'd be wanted, and he had been. And now he was sitting on a mindline
out of legend, linking him to a member of a famously rare and secretive species… who cared about Vasiht'h just as much as Vasiht'h cared about him.

  Had he asked for a more thorough vindication of his nascent skills in psychology, Vasiht'h doubted the Goddess would have supplied one. Sipping the tea, he went to his bags and withdrew a pouch where he'd kept the little paper effigy he'd made of Her on Seersana. She was a little rumpled from the journey, but that seemed appropriate somehow. They all changed, passing through experiences, and a Goddess must be a master of such changes. He set Her carefully on the coffee table, straightening Her folded legs so She wouldn't list. Once he'd propped Her up to his satisfaction, he said to Her, "Thank you." And meant it with all his heart.

  The tisane settled him, and the prayer, and he crept into the bedroom, wings tucked tightly against his second back. As nests went, it was a little bare, but he'd fix that tomorrow. For now he couldn't think of a finer place to sleep, and he congratulated himself on reaching it so stealthily when a glimmer of light fell like a star in the corner of his eye. When he glanced up at the bed, Jahir was watching him, eyes barely open.

  Answering the muzzy hope, cautious and uncertain, that he felt on that gleam, he whispered, "I'm really here."

  "All right," Jahir murmured. And added, after so long Vasiht'h thought he had fallen back asleep: "Two months."

  "Two months," Vasiht'h agreed, wondering if they'd make it that long.

  Chapter 8

  Jahir opened his eyes the following day, expecting the sodden exhaustion and finding it. What he did not expect was the relief that flooded him with the late morning's light on his face. He was no longer alone; had, in fact, the most incontrovertible proof possible that he was not, for he had not yet looked over the edge of the bed and yet he could sense the sleeping mind of the Glaseah, close and low, like night air and distant chimes. He inhaled, careful of his sore ribcage, and let the breath out before rising and stepping around Vasiht'h to wash up for the day.

  Strange to realize he had no regrets. He had expected at least one or two. What he had... were fears. He splashed water on his face and looked himself in the mirror, saw their shadows in his eyes. Not fears that he would one day learn to regret wedding himself to the mind of an alien, but fears that he would lose that union too quickly. A grand symbol, he thought, of his relationship with the Alliance and its swift-lived people... and a demonstration of how he'd decided to embrace it.

  But to pretend that he hadn't already lost his heart to this life and the people in it would be just that: pretense. He would be glad of what he had while he had it. Jahir resumed his ablutions, dressed in the hospital's loose uniform and left—after leaving a note. The resumption of the routine interrupted by his departure from Seersana buoyed his spirits so measurably that when he arrived at the gym both Aralyn and Paga stared at him.

  "You feeling better?" the Asanii asked, cautious.

  Jahir considered. "My body remains distressed. But I am happy, and that makes its distress more bearable." He lifted his brows. "I suppose I am enacting the therapeutic values I use on my own patients."

  Aralyn chuckled. "The mind does have a pretty big say over the body. But it does work both ways, so get your body in the water so we can continue retraining it."

  His good mood lasted all the way to the break room, where the departing shift was already hurrying out—early, he thought?—and Paige was dashing to the triage room. Radimir said, "Oh, good, you're here... they've had a rough time, so we let them go ten minutes early. The hospital's considering calling in the health corps reserve; apparently another batch of unresponsives have been reported into some of the local clinics, and they're not sure whether to call it as a medical emergency in the making or a possible law enforcement issue. If you see any police wandering around, be polite and tell them what you know. You shouldn't—they were here earlier—but you never know when they're going to show up again with something new. Meanwhile, you're wanted on rounds today and there's a tough one in bed two, suicide watch. Tam-illee tod who lost his wife a few hours ago. See what you can do for him first, please."

  "Of course," Jahir said, startled at the barrage. And added, "A medical emergency?"

  "I doubt that's where they're going to go with it," Radimir said. "But finding seven similar cases like this within a couple of weeks is strange. It might be coincidence, but if it's not..." He shrugged.

  "Right," Jahir said. "I'll go see to the suicide watch."

  "You do that. Don't worry too much about the legal stuff. It probably won't affect us here."

  Jahir read the notes on the case on the way down the hall. There was not much there; the foxine's wife was an engineer employed by the city to do maintenance on its power infrastructure, and a freak accident had killed her on the job. Jahir tucked his tablet in his pocket and stopped at the door. Even had he not been an esper, the anguish radiating from the bent figure would have reached him. There was an empty chair facing the foxine where the day shift had probably sat to keep him company; the Pelted's history guaranteed a poor reaction to anyone suffering alone, and their therapy emphasized presence as treatment and comfort for the afflicted. In the rounds Jahir had done during his practicum he'd observed the occasional individual to prefer to be alone, but in general the Pelted reacted favorably to knowing they weren't being elided. For that matter, Jahir thought it a healthier response, though he couldn't think of an Eldritch who would have found it bearable, to be seen in an excess of emotion, with its implied lack of control.

  He sat in the chair across from the foxine, who did not move, twitch, look up. No doubt he'd heard people enter and leave often enough to ignore the sound. But when Jahir stripped off his gloves, the sound of them peeling from his flesh made one of the conical ears twitch. The foxine looked up, just enough to see past his fingers.

  Gravely, Jahir met those stricken, blood-shot eyes, and offered his hand. He didn't know if the Tam-illee realized what that offer implied and suspected it didn't matter. What did was that no one should be alone in his grief, and Jahir was the one who was here to be that helpmeet.

  The foxine took his hand, and the world dropped out from under him, and yet there was nothing to fall into—just an absence, an amputation so abrupt and so severe it left behind nothing but shock and a scream of negation that never seemed to end. Echoes, he thought, and drew in a breath that shuddered. He licked his lips to clear them of salt and found enough distance to remain aware of the Tam-illee's hand in his, warm skin on the underside of the fingers, faint impression of fur on the tops. That he wept didn't surprise him, but that it tickled when his tears lengthened enough to run down his throat, that did.

  When something changed in the feelings, it was subtle, so very subtle. A gleam in the murk. Not developed enough to be curiosity or interest, but a dull confusion. Jahir opened his eyes and found the foxine staring at him. At his cheeks, at the wet creases around his eyes.

  The patient did not say 'you feel it too.' No thought that coherent ran through him. But seeing his grief on someone else's face closed a loop for him. Jahir waited until those new feelings—of not being alone, though his heart screamed that he was—settled. Then he rested his other hand over the one he was holding, and clasped the foxine's fingers gently.

  One of his Pelted instructors would have told him to speak, but there was no speaking into that grief. Jahir trusted his instincts and held the man's hand… and at some point, the fingers eased in his and the sense of grief drained away, and when the Eldritch opened his eyes, the Tam-illee had fallen asleep.

  When Jahir stood he wobbled. He managed not to lose his balance—or tug the foxine out of his chair—and set the limp hand on the patient's knee before leaving the room. One careful breath at the door and he continued on his rounds. The unresponsive patient remained unchanged; Jahir thought about touching her but his skin felt raw from the experience with the Tam-illee and he very much did not want to touch anyone until the throbbing faded. He moved on instead to the other patients
, and when he'd stepped out of the last room Paige ambushed him with a cup. "Here. Drink this."

  He smelled it: coffee, but rich. In color, a dark cream with a slight head: he sipped it and stopped short.

  "That's the hot buttered coffee the place down the street makes," she said.

  "It is... astonishing," he said truthfully, and looked down at her to find her scrutinizing him, her arms folded. "I am sorry, have I done something wrong?"

  "Something right, more like it. You look happier."

  "Do I?" he asked, startled.

  She nodded, ears flipping forward. "Good news?"

  "A friend came to see me," Jahir said, and paused. "That word is very imprecise in Universal, and yet I have never heard 'arii' used except as a form of address. Do I have that nuance right?"

  "You do." She nodded. "And yes, friend is imprecise. The Seersa have a bunch of words for degrees of friendship but none of them crept into Universal. So I'm guessing this is a close friend?"

  "My closest," Jahir agreed. He tried the coffee again and found it just as astonishing on the second sip. "This is not a drink, alet. This is food."

  She laughed. "Good. Maybe it will put some meat on your bones."

  "Which reminds me," he murmured. "I should eat before my alert rattles my wrist. While it's still slow."

  "It's been a quiet night," she agreed. "Thank An. Let's hope it stays that way."

  It did stay quiet. Jahir moved into triage halfway through his shift, but even there the night was slow. He and Maya processed a few people—one with a digestive problem that felt like cardiac trouble, one elderly woman who'd broken a femur, and an allergic reaction that they'd passed through immediately. Toward the end of the shift, Radimir appeared at the door and waved him out. He took his leave and stepped out of the triage room, wondering what had brought the shift supervisor to him, and so agitated.

  "What did you do with that Tam-illee we had on suicide watch?"