Dreamhearth

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  There was a coughing noise so distinct Jahir almost thought it was real, and not an artifact of the mindline. "Forgive me, alet, but I appear to be misinterpreting you—"

  "—you're here to look at Jahir," Vasiht'h said.

  She sighed. "You found me out." She grinned. "I've seen the two of you in the commons, and... well... a real Eldritch. I've never seen one. As far as I know, there's not another one on the entire Starbase. Or in the entire sector. I couldn't resist. I don't want to touch you, I know that's not something one does. And I don't want you for myself. But I thought it would be nice just to look. And maybe fall asleep with the pretty pictures in mind. I'll be good, I promise."

  "So you really did pay our consultation fee just to spend an hour staring at my partner," Vasiht'h said.

  She sighed, resting her cheek in her hand and continuing to gaze at Jahir. "Yessss. Now, no doubt, you'll send me away. But it will have been worth it."

  Vasiht'h cleared his throat. "Ah... will you excuse us a moment, alet? I'd like to talk with my partner."

  "Of course," she purred.

  They walked together out of the office. Once the door slid closed, Vasiht'h's haunches dropped and he grasped his stomach, laughing silently into a cupped palm. Jahir watched his paroxysms with arms folded.

  "Done?" he said, resigned, once the Glaseah began to wipe his eyes.

  "What do you want to do about this, arii?" Vasiht'h said.

  Jahir sighed. "We should send her away. We're not models, we're therapists."

  "But?" Vasiht'h asked.

  "But her interest is harmless," Jahir said. "I could finish some work while she fell asleep on our couch. She'll leave happy."

  Vasiht'h peered up at him. "Are you sure? I thought you'd find it... more upsetting. Especially after that incident on Selnor."

  Jahir shook his head. "She's not human, arii. The Harat-Shar... when they tell you they just want to look, they're not lying. If they wanted more, they'd have absolutely no trouble asking."

  "If you're sure," Vasiht'h said, struggling with his amusement. "I can send her away for you if you want."

  "You were the one who told me on Seersana that I'd be dealing with this sort of thing," Jahir said. "This is just the first time it's been quite so..."

  "Obvious?" Vasiht'h said.

  "Simple to resolve," Jahir said, with weary amusement.

  So they went back into the room together. Their patient was standing already, waiting by the door.

  "You can lie back down if you wish," Jahir said. "You don't mind if my partner stays in the room?"

  "Oh, not at all," she said, eagerly resuming her perch on the couch. "Your very own chaperone, yes?"

  "Something of that nature," Jahir said. He pointed at a data tablet. "I'll make notes on your case while you rest."

  She beamed. "Yes, please do."

  "And one more thing, alet," Jahir said. "I permit this because you already paid the hour. But there will be no parade of Harat-Shar through this office after you leave. Vasiht'h and I are professional therapists; we have patients to schedule who have real issues, and I would be displeased to have their time displaced by those who don't have their needs."

  "You mean... I'll be the only one who gets this close look," she said, threading her fingers together. "Oh yes! Absolutely!" She leaned forward, brows lifting. "As far as anyone else is concerned, I am here to talk." She leaned back with a sigh. "I really wasn't jesting, the part about unavailable men. When you have the number of lovers I do, it starts to sound soothing, to be able to look and appreciate without having to navigate all the attendant... complexities."

  "That does sound like an actual problem," Vasiht'h said, sober. Mostly. The mindline was sparkling, sunlight on water. "Maybe you should cut down on the number of your lovers."

  "Oh!" she said. "No, no. For all their irritations, they're worth it." She sighed, fond. "Very much. But yes. I shall enjoy my little respite... mmm. Yes. It will be very... healing." She grinned at them both so winningly that even Jahir had to laugh.

  So Jahir sat, took up the tablet and went to work. Their patient put her cheek in her hand again and watched him with deep satisfaction, and eventually slid to sleep with a very happy grin.

  "What do you think?" Vasiht'h said later after she'd taken her leave, and a more pleased and relaxed client they'd rarely had the privilege to see off.

  "I think that's possibly the easiest we've made someone happy... perhaps ever," Jahir said.

  Swiping the mindline once, Vasiht'h felt an unnamed weight. "...and?"

  "I feel a little confused," Jahir confessed.

  "Peanut butter liqueur."

  He chuckled. "Yes." He shook his head. "Harat-Shar!"

  "Yes," Vasiht'h said. And added, "But not together."

  Jahir eyed him severely and left him snickering by the door.

  Case Study: The Witness

  "I need your help," the slim man in Fleet uniform said. There was a caduceus on his breast tab and a focused look on his face. "We need to get this man debriefed, and to do that he has to calm down. But I can't even start... he can't talk without hysterics. He's either like this or catatonic. I was hoping since you work while people are asleep—"

  "That we can begin the healing where he's more malleable?" Jahir said.

  "Yes," the Fleet physician said.

  They all looked through the window at the man pacing... pacing. Constantly moving. His face was locked in a rictus of shock.

  "What happened to him?" Vasiht'h asked, low.

  "He was on his way down-planet when a pirate came through," the physician said. "Destroyed the settlement and the ship he was serving on."

  "The ship too?" Jahir asked, startled. "A Fleet vessel?"

  "A small one, but yes. So you can see why we need him to talk. He's one of the only survivors."

  Jahir looked at the haunted figure, shoulders rounded, head bent, tremors in the arms and knees. "He'll need to sleep."

  "I'll give him a soporific."

  /God and Lady,/ Jahir whispered down the mindline as they looked at their patient, now slack on the facility's bed.

  /He's been through hell,/ Vasiht'h agreed, compassion threading the words with pained sparks like an irritated nerve. The Glaseah looked up at his much taller partner. /This is not going to be one of our easier times.../

  Thinking of what the man had witnessed, Jahir answered, /No./ And held out his hand.

  Vasiht'h took it, and together they bent toward their patient's tortured dreams.

  From within, the maelstrom was unnavigable. Guilt. Pain. Horror. Flashes of images neither of them wanted to see.

  /What do we do?/ Vasiht'h asked, crowding close to him in the eye of the storm.

  /We make an anchor,/ Jahir said. /All your gentlest memories, arii. And all of mine. We need to help him feel safe somewhere./

  /Nothing seems gentle enough!/

  /No single thing will be,/ Jahir answered, and began with the sound of a lullaby. Vasiht'h did not understand the words, but they were liquid-long and carried with them the smell of jasmine and the feel of summer sunlight. He saw the Eldritch on campus at Seersana University where they'd met, surrounded by the bustle of the student body, so many species and races. He felt the warm working of muscle against the insides of his legs as his partner rode a galloping horse over a long field. /Thus,/ Jahir whispered.

  He wove his own in, then. The rough-and-tumble play of his cousins and siblings, wings and paws and too many legs and laughter. The taste of kerinne after a long night's work, the satisfaction of having helped someone and the exhaustion of it. The first time he'd seen a Phoenix flying: flash of light off metallic feathers as the male soared through the low-g gymnasium. And on and on. Choosing memories like bright strands, weaving them into banners hung into that storm.

  They rose from their patient's mind dripping with sweat and weary beyond measure. The man was still sleeping.

  "Will it be enough?" Vasiht'h wondered.

  Jahir sho
ok his head.

  It wasn't. They returned the following day. And the one after. And again. And again. Digging deep and finding good and giving it away. The first time Jahir had used a shower—there were no such things on his world—the marvel of feeling the hot spray on skin and wondering how it was issued; Vasiht'h replayed the message from his family, sent on his graduation... one so interminable that Jahir had started laughing as one after another, this cousin or that nephew or this uncle or that relative took the place of the next in a never-ending stream of congratulatory Glaseah. They gave the memory of languages buzzing on the promenade next to their favorite coffeehouse. The sight of the spindle seen from the base's interior, shrouded by the shell of atmosphere so that it looked like a pale white arch in the cloudless sky.

  They often woke from their work on the floor with their heads on the edge of the bed. Their exhaustion permeated their sendings, and the distant worried hush of the medical staff and the man's commanding officers as they spoke over the therapists' heads. But they kept their vigil... until the night they woke to find their patient staring at them from his pillow.

  Stunned, neither of them spoke. He studied them, first one face, than the other.

  "That makes sense of the dreams about having four feet," he said finally, his voice hoarse but steady.

  "You're awake," was all Vasiht'h could think to say.

  "I'm ready to talk," he said, pushing himself upright. "Send someone in."

  They withdrew. The Fleet physician hastily sent for the intelligence officer and then drew them aside. "What did you do? Will it last?"

  "We don't know," Jahir said after exchanging a look with Vasiht'h. "But I think you'll be able to use more conventional techniques from this point forward."

  Vasiht'h said, "We'd appreciate if you'd keep us apprised of his recovery, if you have the chance."

  "Of course," the physician said. "And thank you both. You came recommended, and I see it was well-deserved."

  They retired then, and canceled their appointments for the next week, and spent several days doing nothing in particular. They were aware of one another's state through the mindline: the fatigue and the grief of having existed amid the man's memories of what he'd seen... and knew better than to try to talk. Some things were best left to heal unaided, unmolested.

  Several weeks later, the physician sent them a note. Their patient had returned to duty and was still in weekly therapy sessions, and was doing well.

  'He cites your aid as critical,' the note concluded, 'because it reminded him there were still things that needed protection.'

  Looking over Vasiht'h's shoulder, Jahir shook his head. The rue in the mindline felt distantly bitter, like the memory of medicine. "And I thought creating a point of safety was the key."

  "And we were wrong," Vasiht'h murmured. And smiled a little. "This is the part where you're supposed to say something poetic."

  A surge of amusement washed the mindline, glittering with foam. "And what exactly would you suggest?"

  "Like, I don't know," Vasiht'h said. "Health can blossom out of the soil of safety... but it's useless to plant it without a sun to grow toward?"

  Jahir smiled at him. "You hardly need me at all."

  "Hmph," Vasiht'h said. "Only if you know what I'd say, hearing it."

  Jahir cocked his head, white hair hissing over one shoulder. His smile grew lopsided. "That needing a sun is common sense. It's knowing what makes the sun shine for someone that comprises the art of the thing."

  "Now I know we spend too much time together," Vasiht'h said a sigh, and laughed, and knew they too had healed well.

  "Moving on," Jahir said.

  "Yes," Vasiht'h said, and brought up their next patient's file.

  The Case of the Poisoned House

  "So, why don't you tell us about your family?"

  /Nicely done,/ Vasiht'h sent on a curl of orange amusement. /I doubt she even noticed your double-take when she walked in./

  Jahir didn't even look at his partner as he replied in silent kind, /And what a double-take it is. No wonder they have had problems./

  Their client, currently seated cross-legged in one of their chairs, was a woman in her late twenties. That she was Harat-Shariin, one of the the many offshoots of humanity's genetic experiments hundreds of years ago, was not particularly unusual in the primarily Pelted Alliance... no, what had surprised both Jahir and Vasiht'h was that the woman's brother had referred her for therapy. Her Hinichi brother. People who looked like wolves did not naturally produce siblings who looked like ocelots.

  /How many problems they're having depends on how old she was when they took her in,/ Vasiht'h said, continuing their silent dialogue as the woman settled into the chair and began picking at the end of her spotted tail. /We might get lucky./

  /I won't gamble on those odds,/ Jahir said.

  "I'm not sure this is a good idea," the woman began. "I don't think you can understand what I'm going through."

  "Why is that?" Jahir asked.

  "Well, I've heard that Glaseah have no hormones and Eldritch have sex once every six hundred years and only to procreate, so how can either of you possibly understand me?"

  /Nice opening,/ Vasiht'h muttered.

  /At least we won't be bored./ Aloud, Jahir said, "Do you think these things are relevant to your feelings about your mother?"

  "Of course they are," the woman said. "I'm Harat-Shariin."

  "Your brother's very worried about you," Vasiht'h said, speaking for the first time.

  Her ears flattened and she looked away. "I know. I came as a favor to him. He says you two have a good record, whatever that means."

  "We want to help," Vasiht'h said. "Won't you let us try?"

  More picking at her tail-tip. Then a sigh. "If I don't, Barron will only worry more. I guess we can talk." Another pause. "You asked about my family. I love my family!"

  "When did you come to live with them?" Jahir asked.

  "I was about five, I guess," she said.

  /Enough time to imprint on Harat-Shariin customs?/ Vasiht'h wondered.

  /Not sure,/ Jahir said. "It sounds like quite a story. We don't get many Harat-Shariin daughters of Hinichi parents, you know."

  She flashed her pointed teeth in her first grin of the session. "Yes, well, I am special. My birth parents gave me up for adoption, and Mom and Dad sent all the way to Harat-Sharii for me."

  /Homeworld-bred!/ Jahir thought. /This may be more trouble than we thought./

  /Do you think a five-year-old would have enough time to become a Harat-Shar culturally?/

  /I hope not./ "And you have... let's see. Three brothers and two sisters!" Jahir said. "That must have been an adventure."

  "A wonderful one," she said. "I love my family a lot. They're always good to me. I never feel alone." She looked into her lap, petting her tail-tip for a moment. Abruptly, she ceased and her voice lost its character. "I miss Mom. I know Barron doesn't think I do, but I do. Just because I'm not crying about her doesn't mean I didn't care about her. I did. I cared a lot."

  /And there's the block,/ Vasiht'h said.

  /Obvious,/ Jahir replied, touching the sending with just a little gray worry despite the words. /Just how we prefer them./

  "Are you aware of how we operate, Sarja?" Vasiht'h asked.

  "Barron says you work on me while I sleep," she replied, once again worrying at her tail-tip and sounding skeptical. One of her rare grins passed over her face. "I guess that's why the hours."

  "It tends to help if we see people before their rest periods, yes," Jahir said with a smile.

  "I'm not sure if you're familiar with lucid dreaming," Vasiht'h continued, "but what we do is a little like inspiring you to have a lucid dream. You'll be aware of us and we'll be directing your dream so that you can uncover some of the issues you may not know you're facing."

  "Sounds like magic," the woman said.

  "It feels like magic," Vasiht'h said. "We have a tea we ask our patients to drink. It'll help you fa
ll asleep."

  "When you're done—"

  "The dreaming sessions usually take an hour once you fall asleep," Vasiht'h said. "We'll wake you up when we're done."

  The woman shrugged. "Fine. Bring me the tea. Let's get this done so I can go home."

  /You think she'll go under quickly?/ Jahir asked.

  /I have no idea. I guess we'll find out./

  In the kitchen, waiting for the room monitor next door to sound, Jahir leaned back against the counter and looked the long distance down to his centauroid partner. "So, do you think the problem stems from the cultural mismatch?"

  "I don't know," Vasiht'h said, "but it's hard to imagine her not being affected by it. The Hinichi are so stoic when it comes to showing familial affection."

  "And Harat-Shar have what amounts to socially-mandated incest," Jahir said. "Do you think we'll be able to do justice to this?"

  "What, me the hormone-stripped and you the cypher?" Vasiht'h asked with a laugh. He stood and stretched, spreading dark wings and wiggling white and black toes. "Haven't we been through this before? We've dealt with plenty of Harat-Shar."

  "But not Harat-Shar having problems because their mothers didn't have intimate contact with them," Jahir said. "I'm not certain I know how to help someone who feels deprived because of its lack. Maybe we should refer her to a Harat-Shariin therapist."

  "But she's not just a Harat-Shar," Vasiht'h said. "She's a Harat-Shar raised by Hinichi with Hinichi brothers and sisters who are worried about her." He sighed. "Her brother didn't seem all that remote when he came to us, did he?"

  "No, but he might not act that way around her," Jahir said. He filled a mug with steaming kerinne and passed it down. "Ah. We're jumping to conclusions, though. We haven't even started the case history. Maybe we'll find out from her dreams that she's afraid of death."

  Vasiht'h's paws twitched. "Maybe. But you know, arii, I begin to wonder if the mindline doesn't make us more sensitive to other people. Our intuitive leaps are usually correct."