Dreamhearth

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  /Do you think she hasn’t figured out how to fix this problem in her life because she doesn’t want to?/ Vasiht’h asked.

  /Because she enjoys the fight? I had wondered, yes./

  /But?/

  /But,/ Jahir replied, and could not articulate the reasons he was unwilling to commit to that diagnosis.

  Those reasons became clearer to him the next time the Harat-Shar consented to sleep. Ghosting through her dreams, they saw her again at the battle at the side of the Harat-Shariin demigod. Jahir glanced up at a sky bloodied by sunset and storms, out at the battlefield at the moaning and broken. In her dreams, Ametia’s zeal was tempered by a sense of grueling determination, and while she went again and again into the fray in her angel’s wake, she did not do so singing or crying for victory. She took wounds that bled until they became gore, crusted on her fur. She lifted her mace with power but a great grimace on her face. The entirety of the dream was permeated with the effort of battle.

  /It’s not always like this./ As always, Vasiht’h withheld himself from Ametia’s dreams until he became the faintest of presences, only enough to see events but not to inhabit them. He left that to Jahir. /Sometimes there’s joy here./

  Jahir could taste his partner’s incredulity. He could appreciate it—he found no joy in the fight himself—but unlike the Glaseah his culture gave him a context for understanding the appeal of battle. /Sometimes,/ he agreed. /But not always. That is an important distinction./

  /Because…?/

  /Because if she truly loved the fight, she would never feel the senselessness of it. And this…/ He surveyed the wounded, the weeping. Felt Ametia’s frustration and grief as she was forced to leave them behind. /This is more complex than that. This is regret, arii./

  They withdrew from her dreams to await her waking, and were not kept long. Her eyes slitted open, considering them; she did not move beneath her blankets. “You found something.”

  “We’re not sure we’d go that far,” Vasiht’h said. “More like… we have some things to talk about?”

  She pushed herself upright, shaking her hair over her shoulders. “This should be good.”

  “We hope, or what have you been paying us for.” Vasiht’h managed a smile. “Do you feel like there’s any hope for what you’re doing?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “This fight you’re fighting,” Vasiht’h said as Jahir watched them both. “Do you think there’s any winning it?”

  “Of course not,” Ametia said. “We’re all tribalists at heart. There’s no doing away with prejudice. You might quash it somewhere, but that just makes it pop up somewhere else in a different form.” She shoved the blankets away and rolled her shoulders. “We always need a ‘them’. The brainpower we’d need to hold everyone in our heads as one of us would make our skulls so big we wouldn’t make it out of our mothers without surgical intervention. In the end we’re all just animals.”

  “That seems awfully cynical,” Vasiht’h said cautiously.

  “I’d call it realistic,” the Harat-Shar answered, unruffled by the critique. “But anyway. To answer your original question: no. I don’t think I’m going to solve the interstellar problem of human prejudice.”

  “But the local one?” Jahir said.

  “Not even that,” Ametia answered. “A university’s a large populace, and by the time students get to it they’re already set in their ideas. They think they’re not because they’re young and not very introspective, so they don’t see that they’ve already absorbed too much of the world to be really open to change. The ideas they embrace will either be logical extensions of their upbringing, or they’ll be antithetical to that upbringing, as a form of rebellion and a way to assert their identity as adults separate from their families. That’s not real change… that’s just reaction.” She smiled, showing teeth in a crooked grin. “All the real changing they’re going to do once they get to us is going to have to come the way it does to all adults: in the school of life, which doesn’t take prisoners. It’s a lot harsher than college.”

  “Yes,” Jahir murmured. “We have some notion.”

  “I’m sure you do. An Eldritch and a Glaseah, practicing on sleeping minds?” She guffawed. “You’re in for your share of askance looks. When people aren’t jealous of you, they’re betting you’re doing something wrong just because they don’t understand it, and they’re probably too self-involved to educate themselves.” She shook her head. “I’m glad I’m not you. Being one of the cheetah intrarace is enough trouble for me.”

  /That is an uncomfortably trenchant observation./

  /She never struck me as dumb,/ Vasiht’h said, rueful. “Is that what made you interested in human prejudice?”

  “Probably. Or at least, it primed me for it. But I hate injustice anywhere I find it. Don’t you?”

  “I admit I never thought about it,” Vasiht’h said, stumbling over the words.

  She snorted. “Because you’re lucky enough not to have to.” Eyeing Jahir. “I bet you care, though.”

  “I doubt my partner cares less about injustice,” Jahir said. “Lack of exposure to such things does not beget callousness. Ignorance is reparable.”

  “If you care to repair it.” She looked from one of them to the other. “But I bet being stuck with him will make you notice it more. Sometimes that’s all we need… a close relationship with someone who exposes us to different perspectives.” She grinned suddenly. “I like you two. You know how much trouble it is, finding people to keep up with me?”

  “I think the only way we’re managing is because you spend most of your time with us asleep,” Vasiht’h said ruefully.

  Ametia laughed. “But you admit it, and I like that.” Rising and brushing the lines of her slacks into place, she said, “I’m glad I came. No matter what rumors are circulating.”

  “Rumors?” Vasiht’h asked sharply.

  She grinned at them. “Like I said. The ignorant will always make trouble. Just ignore them, aletsen, and do what’s needful. That gets the job done.”

  As she reached the door, Jahir said, “Ametia-alet? May I ask you one thing before you leave?”

  “This should be good. Go ahead.”

  “Granted the possibility of success… do you love the fight more than you want to win the war?”

  The Harat-Shar’s eyes narrowed. “Rewording the question to see if it provokes a different answer?”

  “It is a time-honored rhetorical technique.”

  She guffawed. “Yes, it is. A pleasure to talk with educated people. Then I’d say… if the war could be won, it wouldn’t matter if I enjoyed the fight, would it? My duty would be clear.”

  “And you would find joy in duty,” Jahir said.

  One of her fine brows arched. “It wouldn’t be exciting, certainly. But… there would be a certain satisfaction in it. I’d imagine. I don’t guess I’ll ever find out.” She flipped a hand in a casual salute. “Enjoy your morning, aletsen.”

  Jahir knew better to expect so, given the tumult in the mindline. When the door closed, he waited for the inevitable explosion, and was surprised to find Vasiht’h frowning in contemplation.

  “You are not angry at Tiber?” he asked, careful.

  “What? Yes. Of course I am. But I was thinking about Ametia’s comment. About injustice, and whether I care about it or not. Because what he’s doing is unjust.” The Glaseah looked up at him. “Am I overreacting, because I see injustice so infrequently that even the smallest things feel cataclysmic?”

  “You did say his accusations were serious crimes on your world.”

  “Sure,” Vasiht’h said. “But he doesn’t know that. And how’s he going to find out if he doesn’t bother to look it up? And why would he look it up if he’s convinced he’s right?”

  Jahir considered those questions and said finally, “Life is complicated.”

  “Don’t mistake me,” Vasiht’h said, getting up. “I’m still angry at him. It’s unfair that he’s balking us this way, and spr
eading rumors! That’s even worse! But maybe if I stop reacting to this like it’s a personal thing, and start treating it more like a… a…”

  “Psychological problem to be solved?” Jahir offered.

  Vasiht’h wrinkled his nose in a grimace. “Yes. If I can ever get enough distance from it to manage.”

  “Give it time,” Jahir suggested.

  “Time is the one thing we don’t have.”

  Joyner missed his next appointment. Vasiht’h tried not to assume the worst—maybe the Tam-illee had gotten sick?—but it was hard not to leap to the obvious conclusion. He definitely didn’t want Jahir reading his agitation through the mindline and knew it would bleed over unless he kept himself busy… so he pulled out his data tablet and resumed reading.

  She was never more beautiful than she was like this. Thaddeus watched her strolling the garden, caressing her tumescent belly and singing to it in a beautiful, alien tongue in her golden voice. They were going to be a family. Finally, he would have one, and with the love of his life. He thanked the Laughing God for her, and for this chance. I won’t waste it, he promised. I’ll make her and the baby the center of my world. She deserves it. And with a melting sigh, We’re going to be so happy. He let the curtain fall and reluctantly returned to the data for his next meeting.

  “What are you reading?” Jahir asked.

  Startled, Vasiht’h looked up and flushed. “A book.”

  “A good one?” Jahir wondered. “I would not object to reading something less arduous than some of these journals.”

  “Oh, no, Goddess,” Vasiht’h blurted. “This is an awful book! I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone!”

  The look Jahir gave him then was justifiably puzzled. “Then why do you continue…?”

  “It was a gift,” Vasiht’h said. “From my sisters. If they hadn’t insisted I finish it I wouldn’t have gotten past the first chapter, honest.”

  “Ah,” Jahir murmured. “I see. Duty.”

  Vasiht’h squinted. “Less duty and more obligation, really.”

  “What is the difference?”

  Trust the Eldritch to ask the impossible questions, and the interesting ones. There was nothing but curiosity in the mindline… curiosity, and an odd shadow beneath it that didn’t seem to belong. Vasiht’h said, thinking out his reply, “An obligation… that’s small and personal. But duty is bigger.”

  “And yet,” Jahir said, soft, “Duty can be so very personal.”

  The shadow had grown under the curiosity, until it crept over a battlefield that looked a lot like the ones from Ametia’s dreams. Vasiht’h tried not to shudder. He enjoyed learning about his partner; unraveling the Eldritch mystery was one of the pleasures of their relationship, in part because he anticipated it taking so long. But this glimpse made him wonder if there were parts of Jahir’s life that he didn’t want to know about.

  “Not a book you would recommend,” Jahir said at last.

  “No,” Vasiht’h said firmly. “Not at all.” He let the tablet droop as he looked at the door. “He’s not coming.”

  “No.”

  “I bet it’s because of Tiber.”

  “I cannot think that likely. Joyner was already our client, and had experienced our therapy already, and found it agreeable.”

  But Vasiht’h heard the hint of doubt in the words, in the way his friend’s tone rose slightly at the end as if posing a question. “Some people will believe an authority over their own experiences.”

  “He may be ill.”

  Then why didn’t he call? Vasiht’h wanted to ask, and knew it was unfair. If you were sick enough to miss appointments, you might be too sick to cancel them, too. Instead he said, “What are you up to? You seem engrossed in it. Maybe it’s better than my book.”

  “I am researching pets.”

  Vasiht’h’s ears sagged. “You’re serious? You want a pet?”

  The mindline brought him… what? A sense of whimsy. Curiosity. It tasted like sea salt and summer. “Not at all. I was merely curious how one acquires a pet, given their dearth on the base.”

  Curious now himself, Vasiht’h asked, “And…?”

  “On Terra there are apparently pet shops and pet breeders from which one might acquire a companion like Doctor Tiber’s,” Jahir said. “But here there are neither, though there is a veterinarian hospital.”

  “A… hospital. For pets?”

  “For animals,” Jahir said. “Ilea may know more, since it seems to exist more to support her efforts to maintain the starbase ecosystem than to service animals like Trusty.”

  “Or the goats down the street,” Vasiht’h said, thoughtful. “I wonder why no one thinks of them as pets?”

  “They are livestock,” Jahir said. “Intended to serve a purpose. The only purpose Doctor Tiber’s dog serves is the same all of us do.”

  Vasiht’h wrinkled his nose. “I’m not sure whether to find that disturbing or…”

  Jahir glanced at him with interest. “Or?”

  “Or kind of charming?” Vasiht’h hated admitting it, especially sitting in an office waiting for a client he was completely certain Tiber had scared away. “The goats… they’re just there to do what their owners need. If they didn’t do something useful, I bet she wouldn’t be keeping them. But the dog doesn’t have to do anything to be worth Tiber’s time and care.”

  “It was an intriguing animal,” Jahir said. “And Doctor Tiber’s relationship with it very affectionate.”

  “I’m not going to forgive him for hating us because he’s nice to his dog. I bet there are mass murderers and insane despots who are nice to their dogs.” But saying it, Vasiht’h wondered, and grumbled at having to wonder. He didn’t want to like anything about Tiber. That might distract him from the important job of being upset at him. “So are you done with your research about dogs?”

  “Mostly,” Jahir said.

  That ‘mostly’ had an odd flavor, but Vasiht’h decided not to ask. “Well, if he’s not coming, we might as well go get coffee.”

  Jahir eyed him. “And scones?”

  “I wasn’t going to say that part in case it put you off the idea.” Vasiht’h grinned. “But scones do sound nice. And who knows, maybe today they’ll be lighter?”

  “I doubt it highly.” But Jahir put down his tablet and stood. Satisfied, Vasiht’h followed him out. Maybe Joyner really had been sick. And while he would have preferred to make money, he wouldn’t say no to a second breakfast.

  Their appointment with Lennea the following day was revelatory. In a bad way. She stomped in, surprising them both—Vasiht’h had never seen her angry—and exclaimed, “I am so upset with Joyner!”

  “I… beg your pardon?” Jahir said.

  “Sit, please,” Vasiht’h added. “Do you want something to drink? While you tell us about it? Or you can pace if you want. Lots of people do.”

  Lennea looked down as if expecting a worn path in the carpet. Today her sandals were the bright blue of damselflies, and one of them had an enamel pin of a sun peeping from behind a gray cloud. The other sported a jeweled flower in pink and yellow.

  /Perhaps we should ensure our next office has a rug over the high traffic areas./

  Vasiht’h hid a smile. /Her sandals are very fancy today. I mean, both of them. Usually it’s just one./

  A pause as he sensed his partner assessing them. /Interesting./

  “I guess tea would be good,” Lennea said. “And it can cool down while I pace.” She said that firmly, folding her arms over her chest and flattening her ears. “Because I want to pace!”

  “By all means?” Jahir said, taking down the tea selection.

  Vasiht’h got the kettle. Hot water, at least, they could do in their modest office. Lennea liked a mild tea, made from Hinichi mountain lilacs and Terran chamomile. He showed it to her and she paused, pursing her lips. Then pointed. “That today.”

  “Cinnamon it is,” Vasiht’h said. “Now, pace your heart out.”

  She smothered a giggle and p
ut her hands on her hips. “I can’t stay angry when you make jokes.”

  “Anger is unlike you,” Jahir said. “What has caused this particular disturbance?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She sighed. “No, I do know. It’s the stress of the new job—no, they haven’t found a replacement yet—and it’s making all the little things in my life feel like ridiculously huge things. It’s horrible. I snap at people for the stupidest things, but it just… I’m out of control!” She walked to the door and stopped there, shoulders slumping. “I don’t think I even pace very well, do I.”

  “Everyone paces in their own way,” Vasiht’h said. “You should see me try it. And I bet Jahir would make it to the end of the office in two strides and have to turn around.”

  She managed another tired giggle before returning to the table and sitting, elbows on the surface and shoulders sunk inward. She stared at the tea morosely and then straightened, fierce. “I am legitimately irritated at Joyner, though. He said he had such good results with you but he won’t come anymore because he heard that your methods are untried and might result in unintentional harm.”

  “That sounds like a direct quote,” Vasiht’h said, ignoring his own spurt of indignation.

  “It was.” She sniffed. “He got it from some message in the local newsstream. Some other therapist on the base said you all were doing things in a way they’d never been done and that it might be appropriate for espers but not for non-espers, and that there was no testing? It all sounded ridiculous to me. If you’d been manipulating me, why would I feel better?”

  “Maybe we want you to feel better so you’ll think well of us?” Jahir said, and Vasiht’h glanced at him sharply at the tickle of merriment in the mindline.

  Lennea laughed at that. “What, like everyone? If that’s manipulation, we need the whole galaxy to take it on.” She shook her head. “But he’s nervous about not doing the right thing. It’s a good thing about him, because it means he cares about doing the right thing. But it’s a horrible thing about him because he can never decide if he is doing the right thing, or if there’s some better way to do the right thing that he should be choosing and he’s not because he’s already chosen some other way to do the right thing, which will now probably end in disaster….”