Dreamhearth

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  “And yet,” Jahir said. “Something must give rise to the stereotypes we know.” Vasiht’h glanced at him, and his friend said, “You know them. Glaseah are not passionate. Harat-Shar are hedonists.”

  “Eldritch are mysterious?” Vasiht’h tried, teasing.

  “You see? That one abides because there is truth in it. Even Lucrezia fought her own stereotypes among her own people.”

  “Because they weren’t her people, really,” Vasiht’h said. “She was colony-bred. Those were her people.” He sighed. “Well. No one said it wasn’t complicated, living with people who aren’t like you.” The mindline twinged a little. Humor? Maybe? Except there was a pinched feeling under it. “And you would know.”

  “A touch,” Jahir allowed as they found the café.

  “Look!” Vasiht’h said. “No scones.”

  “I look forward to having something simpler.”

  “Though the scones were good,” Vasiht’h said, surprised to feel a touch of wistfulness.

  Jahir only smiled and opened the door for him.

  That evening, Vasiht’h went to shop “at a reasonable grocery,” leaving Jahir to make notes on their single client and wonder at the fortune that had allowed them entrée to her concerns. Was it luck that had led them to an approach unusual enough to intrigue her? Or the hand of some guiding power? His partner would surely suggest the latter. And possibly, in addition, that the goddess helped those who attempted to solve their own problems.

  Of course, a promising beginning portended nothing. They might fail with Ametia, eventually. No course then but to walk the path and see where it took them, as he had been doing for years now. He had not always made the wisest choices, but then, what he’d learned from those mistakes had been knowledge irreplaceable, and he doubted he would have accepted the lessons so wholeheartedly without proof of their relevance.

  The chime of the real-time comm request startled him out of these ruminations. Few were the people who had access to that particular tag, but he trusted them all, so he was delighted—if surprised—to find his mentor from Seersana, Lafayette KindlesFlame, resolving on the screen of his data tablet.

  “I had not expected to hear from you,” he admitted after their exchange of greetings. “Is all well?”

  “Don’t worry, there’s no tragedy,” KindlesFlame said with a grin. “More in the way of good news. I have a professional conference on Tam-Ley at the end of the year and Starbase Veta’s on the way; I’ll probably layover there. I thought I’d come visit, if you’re amenable.”

  “I’d be glad to host,” Jahir said. “If we’re still here.”

  KindlesFlame quirked a brow. “Well. That begs a question.”

  “It is not that we find Veta unpleasant,” Jahir said. “But rather that we might not be allowed to stay. Because they must decide whether there is room for Vasiht’h.”

  “And if he has to go, you go.”

  “They said we’d know within six months,” Jahir said. “So… I will perhaps be here when you come, or perhaps not. Dependent on, apparently, whether we can make ourselves useful to the community.”

  “There’s a nebulous metric,” the Tam-illee said wryly. “I don’t suppose they gave you any clearer directives?” Something in Jahir’s face must have revealed him, because the healer chuckled. “No. I guess not. So what are you doing to meet this goal?”

  “We are attempting to build a practice,” Jahir said. “And have, in fact, seen our first client.”

  “Went well?”

  “Rather,” Jahir said, and glanced at the Tam-illee when he chuckled. “It is early yet. I would not venture to guess at how completely our effort will succeed.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t.” KindlesFlame grinned. “So is that what you’re working on? I can see something turning in your head.”

  Jahir paused. Ruefully, he said, “I should ask how you divined this, but you will tell me…”

  “There are too many very minute pauses between my responses and yours.” The Tam-illee was smiling. “But don’t worry. You’d have to have hours of observation at various cafes to have picked up on it.”

  Strangely, it pleased him to know that someone other than a mindbonded friend could read his body language. He would not have wanted to be the closed and foreign individual Professor Sheldan had accused him of being, once upon a classroom. “Then may I ask you something, alet?” When KindlesFlame waved a hand, he continued. “It is something in the way of a strange question.”

  “This should be good then.”

  “Is there poverty in the Alliance?”

  Both KindlesFlame’s brows went up. Few expressions crossed the Tam-illee’s expressions that he did not allow, in Jahir’s experience, so that was probably as much a planned reply as any words. “I guess that would depend on where in the Alliance.”

  “That… seems to be a common response to my questions.”

  “That would be because it’s a common response to most questions. ‘It’s more complicated than it looks on the outside.’” The Tam-illee leaned back, folding his arms. “You know some of our history?”

  “I have a gloss of it. I would not call my knowledge extensive or deep.”

  “Mmm.” He nodded. “That would be the other thing. Because history is inextricably a part of why groups do anything. Or even why individuals do anything.” He lifted a brow. “Yes?”

  “Yes,” Jahir allowed, smiling. He found himself wishing for a cup of something warm to drink; this was obviously going to be another of his impromptu lessons, so like the many he received from KindlesFlame over a coffee shop table.

  “Those early Pelted wanted to be different from who they were, arii. They’d been created as property. To decide otherwise required them to leave that identity behind. On one hand, it’s good to know who you are and where you belong; we all need that. On the other, they longed to assert the independence they’d been denied. The early history of the Alliance is hip-deep in that struggle. To create a new identity. To discover that individuals wanted to have different identities, and to find a way to respect that need. To balance that against the competing need to be a part of a community. So you get the Alliance. Not just the scattered worlds, but the scattered races, divided as much on beliefs as on what they looked like. And we allow all those worlds and peoples as much latitude in deciding how to live as possible.” KindlesFlame lifted a hand, palm up. “But where you have freedom, you have people making bad choices.”

  “Yes,” Jahir murmured.

  “Everywhere you go, then, the people have made their own rulings on how much of that is allowed. So… yes. There’s poverty in parts of the Alliance. Even places like Selnor where anyone can apply to the local government for the basic necessities will produce people and communities who don’t, or won’t. Or can’t. For reasons as varied as there are communities and individuals.”

  Thinking of Vasiht’h’s parents, Jahir said, “I suppose the cost of schooling is also one of those things that varies depending on where one is.”

  KindlesFlame nodded. “Most worlds are fairly elastic. Where things become less so is when you cross boundaries. Just like in everything else, the interstitial spaces are difficult to bridge. So someone who might have a good living where they were born might have to make sacrifices to live on some other world.”

  “It seems strange,” Jahir said, tentative, “that such a vast polity, with such resources, could not…”

  “Solve all problems?”

  “Put that way,” Jahir murmured, “it does sound absurd, yes.”

  “Just say… complicated instead. Which brings us around to the beginning again, you’ll note.” KindlesFlame tilted his head. “Are you worried about money, then?”

  “No,” Jahir replied, honestly. “I am worried about context.”

  “Ahhh.” The Tam-illee chuckled softly. “Good. You should be.”

  Chapter 6

  Given the choice between sleeping and talking, Ametia preferred talking. Which ordinarily wo
uld have suited Vasiht’h, because he liked listening, but by the third appointment his pelt started itching the moment she arrived. Letting her vent her frustrations with her work situation didn’t seem to be hurting her, but it certainly wasn’t solving her problems either.

  “You are distressed,” Jahir said as they tidied up after her fourth visit.

  “She has a problem,” Vasiht’h said. “But we don’t seem to be helping her find a solution.”

  “Is that what we should be doing?” Jahir asked, interested. That smelled like percolating coffee, fragrant and innervating.

  “Fine,” Vasiht’h allowed, smiling a little. “We aren’t necessarily here to help people solve their problems. But to help them find better ways of coping with them? That’s not too much to ask.”

  “If Ametia was displeased with us, she would have stopped coming after the first visit, I believe.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Vasiht’h watched Jahir fold the blanket and set it on the couch. “But I’m not sure it’s good for her either, to come here and relive all the things that are upsetting her. That re-opens the wound.”

  “One would think working at the university is what does that.” Vasiht’h frowned, and Jahir looked up. “Arii?”

  Shaking himself, Vasiht’h said, “Nothing. Still, she can’t live on outrage. She’ll eat through her own stomach lining eventually. Listening isn’t enough. And going into her dreams… I don’t know if I can handle it. What would we do to fix them subconsciously? Turn her righteous war against prejudice and bigotry into a tea party where she politely explains how things should be and her enemies have an epiphany and change their ways?”

  “Somehow I doubt that would work.”

  Vasiht’h snorted. “Because it wouldn’t, no.”

  Jahir looked the office over, then picked up his bag. “It takes time to develop the therapeutic relationship, arii. She will have to trust us before any of our help will fall on fertile ground. Perhaps we are still in that stage.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Vasiht’h said with a sigh, standing to follow him out. “Because I could use a sign that we’re on the right track.”

  The next week, Ametia did not arrive alone.

  “This is Lennea,” she said of the retiring Karaka’An felid standing alongside her. “A friend of mine who works in the city’s primary school system.”

  Lennea was a soft gray in color with darker stripes, a soothing coloration that made the contrast of her odd eyes startling: one blue, the other brown. She also had white-furred hands, kept folded in front of her, and a white tail-tip. She was dressed as conservatively as her demeanor, in a long cream-colored tunic over a white blouse and grey pants, and sandals. The latter was the only thing that seemed out of place, because few of the digitigrade races bothered with shoes, and usually only did so for decoration. Lennea’s had little sequins on them, and the right one had a blue felt flower.

  “She’s been talking about therapy but never got around to it, so I told her about the two of you and here she is.”

  “May I make an appointment?” Lennea asked politely.

  “We can see you after Ametia, if you like,” Jahir replied in kind. “There is an intake form you can fill out while you’re waiting.”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

  /What?/ Jahir asked as they saw Lennea out.

  /Seeing the two of you talking,/ Vasiht’h said, amused. /You’re both so… cordial. I want to put out a tea table./

  /You always want to put out a tea table…/

  /Oh, no, be fair. Sometimes I prefer kerinne!/

  Jahir hid a smile and said to Ametia, “Thank you for the referral.”

  “My pleasure,” Ametia said, dropping onto the couch. “She’s so tightly wound. I worry about her. Anyway, let me tell you about the latest ridiculous thing…”

  Vasiht’h inhaled. /Here we go./

  /Yes. But we have had our first referral./

  /That is something./ Vasiht’h forced himself to exhale. /That’s a very big something. I’m grateful./

  “So, you got your second client?” Sehvi propped her muzzle on her palm and lifted her brows. “Another firebrand like your first?”

  “No,” Vasiht’h said as he deglazed the pan and stirred it to lift up the tasty bits on the bottom. He added a little more stock. “She was a relief after our first client, honestly. Quiet. A little shy.”

  “Big problems?” Sehvi asked.

  “Are anyone’s problems small by their own standards?” Vasiht’h wondered.

  Sehvi snorted. “No. But we don’t measure by internal standards, do we?”

  “Don’t we?”

  His sister shook her head. “We live in a society that gives us context. I don’t see how that can’t affect us, and how we view our own problems.”

  “I don’t know,” Vasiht’h said. “I think it’s possible to be utterly self-absorbed. And easy.”

  She grinned. “You sure?”

  Vasiht’h wrinkled his nose at her.

  “What about your problems? Has the book helped with them?”

  Vasiht’h rolled his eyes. “Thaddeus What’s-His-Name has finally kissed the perfect Eldritch girl.”

  Sehvi squealed, clapping her hands. “Wasn’t that fantastic? I don’t think she could have fit more adjectives into that scene!”

  “It was disgusting,” Vasiht’h said. “I really didn’t need all the details about the tongues that felt like heavenly velvet. Seriously, ariishir. Velvet. Tongue. Tongues are wet.”

  His sister giggled. “I know, that’s what made it perfect. I love the way she writes.”

  “You know, I don’t even think you’re kidding…”

  “I’m not!” She laughed. “Don’t worry, the sex scenes become such a confused muddle of metaphors that you can’t really tell what’s happening.”

  Vasiht’h pressed a hand to his forehead. “There’s a sex scene? Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I did! By giving you a romance novel! Her bodice was unlaced on the cover! Didn’t you notice?”

  “I don’t stare at people’s clothes!”

  “Now that’s a lie,” Sehvi said mischievously. “You do all the time.”

  “All right, fine. But only to see if they’ve missed a button or their shirt hem is showing….” He pointed the spatula at her. “Stop that. It’s not like you notice these things either.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Kovihs’s tongue…”

  “Stop,” Vasiht’h groaned, covering his face. “Stop right there. I don’t want to know about your paramour’s tongue.”

  She snickered.

  “What!” he demanded.

  “Paramour,” she repeated.

  He couldn’t help it… hearing her say it made it sound ridiculous to him too. He started laughing. “You’re terrible. Go away so I can finish cooking dinner.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  He was still smiling when Jahir pushed open the door to the cottage to reveal not just himself, but an elderly Hinichi. “That smells delicious, arii, and I hope there’s enough for a visitor.”

  “There’s always enough for visitors,” Vasiht’h said, looking at the woman, whose twinkling eyes belied a mischievous nature that even Sehvi would have been hard-pressed to evoke with such style. “This must be…”

  “Helga,” the woman said. “And I’m very pleased to meet this partner of the starbase’s only Eldritch.” She grinned. “Alet. I hope you like scones, because we brought some.”

  “No salmon mousse, though,” Jahir murmured.

  “Thank the goddess,” Vasiht’h said. “Salmon mousse would not go at all well with chicken pomodoro.”

  In retrospect, running into Helga at the scone café was completely expected. She’d sent them Ametia and it had been almost a month since that referral; no doubt she was curious about how things were proceeding, if she hadn’t already heard from the cheetahine. And the last place they’d met had been the café, so why wouldn’t she linger there,
now and then, in hopes of catching sight of him? It wasn’t as if he was difficult to pick out of a crowd.

  “So, alet,” she’d said, joining him at the take-out counter. “Settling in well?”

  “As well as can be expected given the circumstances,” he’d answered.

  “Oh, no, it can’t be as bad as that!” she said with a laugh. “Not with Ametia so pleased with you. She’s a difficult woman to please, you know.”

  “Working with her has been a pleasure.”

  Helga looked up at him, snorted, grinned. “That was nicely done. The soul of discretion, are you.”

  “She is our client,” Jahir said, smiling back. “It is not for me to disclose anything leading.”

  “What you consider leading makes me wonder just how good you are at sleuthing!” She glanced at the counter. “I see you’re on your way home. To this partner of yours, I assume? I’d like to meet him.”

  His first instinct had been to invite her on some other date. But seeing the merriment in her eyes, and knowing how Vasiht’h liked company, he couldn’t resist the implicit request. “He’s making dinner now, but I’m certain he’d enjoy meeting you if you came with me. Would you like to do so?”

  “For a home-cooked meal I don’t have to cook myself I’ll walk a lot farther than the Garden District! But let me buy. I’d hate to arrive empty-handed.”

  “As you will, alet.”

  The pleasure that flowed through the mindline when he brought Helga home was all the confirmation he needed of those initial instincts. As the Hinichi set out her offerings, he said, tentatively, /I’m glad you’re pleased./

  /To meet this mysterious stranger who sent us our first client? And I get to feed her! Of course I’m pleased. And this is going to be a good meal, too. I haven’t had a chance to make this recipe for a while./

  “Bread,” Helga said. “For sopping up juices? It smells like there are juices to sop…”

  “There are,” Vasiht’h said. “You can leave that on the table. I’m guessing the scones are dessert?”

  “They are double-chocolate scones with chocolate chips, pecans, and powdered with espresso, crystallized sugar, and cocoa,” Jahir said.