The door opened for a youth in a coat designed to make her look polished and trustworthy—that much was common to both their cultures, he supposed, even if the Alliance version was less fussy. She was one of the felinesque species, the shorter Karaka’A, a lovely one with a gray mask on cream fur and pristine blue eyes, pale as opals.
“Lord Seni Galare,” she said, betraying her youth only by the slight hesitation before addressing him. “My name is Healer Shelbie Narrows. I’m an intern here at the university health clinic. I see you’ve come in following an incident with the emergency medical service?”
“That’s right,” he said, fascinated by her professionalism.
“Healer KindlesFlame will be in to go over your case with you in a moment,” she said. “Would you mind telling me about the incident, in your own words?”
KindlesFlame, he thought. What an astonishing name. Folding his hands on his knee he proceeded to relate his experience to her, what little of it he could remember. When he had finished, she said, “And prior to this, did you have any other similar symptoms? Fatigue? Dizziness?”
“Fatigue,” he said. “I thought nothing of it. New experiences are often tiring.”
“Yes, they are, aren’t they?” she said, with a suddenly lopsided smile that made her look all her few years. He found it endearing and disarming, the reminder of how young everyone off his world was. “Could you sit here so I can check your readings?”
He obliged her, watching the display change and wondering what she was divining from the graphs. Like another language, he thought. His curiosity, never far from the surface, rose at the suggestion.
“Thank you,” she said. “If you’ll wait here a moment, I’ll return with Healer KindlesFlame.”
“Very well,” he said. Once she had gone he pushed himself off the bed and studied the readings more carefully. They were labeled: blood pressure, saturation of gases in the bloodstream, pulse and respiratory rate, body temperature… weight, height, body fat composition, so many statistics, in fact, that he was still reading them when the masked Karaka’An returned with her senior. KindlesFlame was one of the tall foxine Tam-illee. He had a distinguished, self-contained air, a thoughtful face, shrewd eyes that did not quite conceal their kindness.
“Lord Seni Galare,” he said. “I’m Lafayette KindlesFlame, the director of the clinic. Thank you for coming in.”
“Pardon?” Jahir said, bemused. “Have I done something that deserves gratitude?”
The Tam-illee chuckled. “You have given my staff a great deal of delight. We have seen all the known races and species in space, save two… and now, we can reduce that count by one.”
“What species remains?” Jahir asked.
“The Chatcaava,” offered the intern.
“And it’ll be a cold sun in the sky before we’ll see one of those, given the likelihood of one enrolling at the university,” the healer said. “May I sit?”
“Of course,” Jahir said.
KindlesFlame sat on the edge of the bed, one foot on the floor, the other drawn up. ”Doctor Narrows tells me you’re having issues with the gravity here.”
“So I’ve been told,” Jahir said.
“You’re just on the cusp of body type that I’d be comfortable leaving unmedicated,” KindlesFlame said. “So I’m going to prescribe you the drug regimen we give to light-worlders. It’ll help build your bone density and deal with the cardiovascular issues. You’ll be on the course for six months; that’s usually long enough to complete the adaptation.”
“Six months,” Jahir said, astonished. “That short a time?”
“That’s actually a long time for an adaptation regimen,” KindlesFlame said. “While you’re on it, I’d like you to be mindful of your fatigue level, and rest when you’re tired. You’ll also need to eat more frequently. Healthfully, of course, but you’ll need more fuel. An extra snack twice a day should be sufficient.”
“More food,” Jahir repeated. “Less exercise?”
The healer held up a hand. “Not necessarily. As your body changes, you’ll be able to build more muscle, and your body will need regular exercise to complete the cardiovascular changes. But you will want to go about that judiciously. Begin with normal activities, like walking. Within a year you should be ready for more strenuous activities if you care to undertake them. Explain your aims to one of the counselors at the gym, they can design a program for you. I recommend something with low wear on the joints. Swimming, or low-g sports.”
“I see,” Jahir said.
“I will also issue you a prescription for an anti-inflammatory, for days when the joint pain is bad. You don’t have to take them, but they’re useful to have if you need them. Healer Narrows, will you put together the pharmaceuticals? And update the case file? Also, put together some information for Lord Seni Galare on the common side effects of the adaptation regimen.”
“Yes, sir.”
After she’d left, Jahir observed, “You have sent her away.”
“I have,” KindlesFlame said. “You’re a special case which I had to research before entering… thus the delay, for which I apologize by the way.” He resettled himself on the bed. “The records the emergency technicians had on you are gone already. I assume that’s not an accident.”
“I’m afraid not,” Jahir said.
“I’m not sure you’re aware our medical oaths require us to privilege patient autonomy and privacy above many other considerations?” KindlesFlame continued. “We can lock your file, if you’re concerned—”
Jahir hesitated, then said, “It is not my decision to make, I fear.”
“I see,” KindlesFlame said. He inclined his head. “Will this cause you to avoid future visits to the clinic?”
“I… will try to avoid it,” Jahir said. “Not entirely because of privacy issues. I should prefer not to be ill.”
“Of course,” the Tam-illee said with a chuckle. “I ask because if that’s an issue, I will make you an offer.”
“That being?”
“That you call me directly,” he said. “And I’ll make time for you outside the clinic.”
Jahir sat back. “Because…?”
KindlesFlame lifted his brows. “You’re a student here, doing masters-level work if your college record’s any indication. Tell me your suppositions.”
“Because I am the only Eldritch on campus,” Jahir said. “Because you’re curious about me. Because you suspect if something were to befall me it would cause political difficulties as well as medical and administrative ones.”
“Very good,” KindlesFlame said, pleased. “You only missed one.”
“What’s that?” Jahir wondered.
“Why do people become healers, Lord Seni Galare?”
“I… presume it’s to cure disease and succor the dying,” Jahir answered.
“I don’t like it when people suffer, particularly if that suffering can be prevented,” KindlesFlame said. “If you’ll avoid the clinic because of whatever privacy concerns have been mandated, then we’ll have to find some other way to keep you healthy.”
Such a simple statement, to be so vast and shocking. And beautiful, like poetry, that also. Jahir was not accustomed to altruism on a level so broad it could be applied to strangers. It was not something rewarded among his kind.
“If that’s so,” he said at last, “perhaps we might be served by… a regularly scheduled meeting.”
“Lunch, maybe, once a week,” KindlesFlame said. “One old man and one young one, talking medicine. We’ll let the spectators guess at which is which.”
“I’d enjoy the opportunity,” Jahir said, realizing he meant it.
“I’ll drop you a message, then.” KindlesFlame stood. “Healer Narrows will see you out. You shouldn’t need to give any additional information to Reception before leaving.”
“Thank you,” Jahir said.
At the door, the Tam-illee said, “Xenopsychology, ah? Have you chosen a track yet?”
“Not…
quite,” Jahir said.
“Mmm,” KindlesFlame said. “They’re all good programs. I’m sure you’ll get something out of whichever you choose.”
After leaving the clinic, Jahir found a bench beside a pond and watched the shadows of leaves sway on the pavement. Such an incredible notion. Only in the Alliance, he thought, was there luxury for such expansiveness of feeling: to be open to strangers, to care for their welfare, to devote oneself to principles. And he was here, in its midst, and there was no need for him to go home anytime soon.
“This,” Doctor Palland said severely, “is not a course schedule plan, Vasiht’h. This is not even an attempt at one.”
“I know,” Vasiht’h said, chagrined.
The Seersa sighed. “Do you even want to graduate? And I mean graduate with a license to practice, because if you keep veering all over the course catalog this way they’re going to graduate you just to get you off campus, and you’ll have spent five years here with nothing to show for it.”
“I know!” Vasiht’h said, ears flattening. He resettled himself on the pillows scattered on the floor in the seating area in his major professor’s office. Said professor was behind his desk, as usual, and nearly hidden by stacks of books and data tablets, also as usual. He was one of the natives, a Seersa with a ruddy pelt and champagne-colored ears that had escaped the graying that was beginning to show around his mouth and eyes.
“You know, but…?”
“I know, but everything looks interesting,” Vasiht’h finished, lacing his fingers together and trying to look contrite.
Palland pointed at him. “You are not interested in everything. You’re not interested enough in any single one thing. And you know that.”
“Guilty as charged,” Vasiht’h muttered.
Palland sighed and came around the desk, pulling up a chair beside the table. “I don’t mean to harangue you, Vasiht’h. You’re a hard worker, a good student, and you have a fine brain in that skull. And it’s not atypical for students not to have a clear idea of what they want out of their degrees. But usually by the time they’ve been in school four years they have some notion of what they want.”
“My sister thinks I need some real world experience,” Vasiht’h said, rueful.
“Which one?” Palland said, leaning back and drumming his fingers on the table. “The younger one?”
“Yes,” Vasiht’h said.
“Sehvi, then? Is telling you to live your life before settling into it,” the Seersa said, smiling crookedly. “You know you have trouble when your younger siblings are more on top of things than you are.”
“I know,” Vasiht’h said, setting a paw on top of the other to keep from chafing them against one another.
Palland leaned forward. “What is it you’re really thinking? And don’t show me that course schedule you sent me. That’s not thinking, that’s grasping at straws.”
“I… am really thinking that I don’t want to leave the university?” Vasiht’h guessed, rueful.
“I’d buy that for a fin and call it a bargain,” Palland said. “Is it true?”
“I don’t know,” Vasiht’h admitted. “You know my family’s got a history of producing professors.”
“Before you can teach, you have to have a degree,” Palland said, smiling.
“I know!” Vasiht’h said. “I know. Maybe it’s just a lot of pressure. To do what my family’s done. What if I don’t want that?”
“What if you don’t?” Palland said. “There’s nothing forcing you to stay here after you graduate. Get your degree, go practice. You’ll enjoy it.”
“What if I’m wrong about what I want?” Vasiht’h said.
“Then you don’t enjoy it, you give up the practice, and you come get your doctoral degree and become a professor like your mother and grandfather,” Palland said. “Vasiht’h… you’ve got time. Even if you spend ten years outside the system, living a life, even if you spend those ten years, fifteen, traveling the Alliance and doing nothing specific… you’ll still have time to make changes in your life. Don’t treat every decision like it’s your last.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” Vasiht’h wondered.
“I don’t know what in the Speaker-Singer’s silent hells you are doing, but it’s as good a guess as any to explain this schedule of courses you’ve turned into me. Which reminds me… let’s do some surgery on them while you’re here, ah? While you still have time to drop/add.”
“All right,” Vasiht’h said. And sighed. “Thank you.”
“Nonsense. It’s what I’m here for. Let’s start by asking why you’re taking a doctorate level assessment course when you haven’t finished the suggested prerequisites.”
Vasiht’h plodded back to the apartment, head bent and shoulders curled inward, wondering what was wrong with himself. His family would be the first to say this wasn’t like him—at least, not the low spirits—but after spending half an hour hammering out an acceptable fall schedule with his major professor all he wanted to do was go home, make cookie dough and eat it. What was it about this process that was bothering him so much? And how ironic was it to be a xenopyschology student and not understand the inside of his own head?
The door opened on the smell of something burning, of popping sap. He peered inside, unbuckling his saddlebags. “Hello? Jahir?”
“Here.” His new roommate entered from the hall, holding a data tablet. “There’s a pot of hot chocolate if you’re so inclined.”
“It’s not cookie dough, but it’ll do,” Vasiht’h said ruefully. “Let me just put my bags down.” After doing so, he said, “Where’d the fire come from?”
“If you’re concerned that I might have been chopping wood so soon after my fall,” the Eldritch said, “have no fear. I bought the wood on the way back to the apartment. I had no idea such things were sold here.”
“Well, there are fireplaces,” Vasiht’h said. “Though honestly I think they’re more for nostalgia than anything else. This place is plenty warm in winter.” He sat near the hearth, watching the fire twirl and sizzle. “Though it is sort of mesmerizing, isn’t it?”
“Quite,” Jahir said, pouring a demitasse of the chocolate and setting it on the small table beside him. “I fear I wasn’t up to cooking an entire meal yet.”
“No problem,” Vasiht’h murmured. “I’ll do it later. And cookies.” He shook himself, rubbed his forehead. “How was your day? Did you go to the clinic?”
“I did,” Jahir said. “The visit was quite illuminating.”
Vasiht’h squinted at the other male. Jahir never seemed to say everything that was on his mind. Usually Vasiht’h would have enjoyed puzzling out the subtext, but right now he didn’t want to work that hard, so he asked outright. “So… no more fainting spells?”
“No more,” Jahir agreed. “And you? You seem peaked, if I may so observe.”
“I am peaked,” Vasiht’h said, flicking his ears back and sighing. When the Eldritch didn’t fill the silence, he said, “I’m a little adrift lately, and my mentor’s been trying to set me back on track.”
“Which… is not going so well?” Jahir guessed.
“Something like that,” Vasiht’h said with a grimace. He took a sip of the chocolate. “So, what about you? Have your schedule yet?”
“The graduate advisor kindly helped me with it during Orientation,” Jahir said. “I have five classes, most of which appear to be foundational health and science topics.”
“Not surprising,” Vasiht’h said. “You won’t get into specific behavioral issues until after you finish the basics. Some of those courses are heavy on biology, though, so I hope you’re up to date with it.”
“I suppose I’ll see,” Jahir said. “I’ve attached the textbooks to my account and have been examining them. They don’t seem insurmountable.”
“They never do when you’re skimming them,” Vasiht’h said, amused. “It’s only when you’ve got five separate professors assigning you two chapters a week that it starts to get o
verwhelming.”
“I suppose I shall take it as it comes,” Jahir said.
“Only way to do it,” Vasiht’h agreed. Something about the smell of the firewood mingling with the chocolate, and the presence of the alien, and the mundane conversation… the combination had lifted his mood. He stretched. “I should start on dinner.”
“If you need anything washed or chopped…?”
“No, I’m fine,” Vasiht’h said, standing. “You keep off your feet. Although… have you ever eaten cookie dough?”
“I have not,” Jahir said, sounding surprised.
“Well, you can help with that part,” Vasiht’h said, grinning. “Later.”
And he did, and seemed as bemused by it as Vasiht’h had expected, and that cheered him immensely. There was something deeply satisfying in predicting someone’s response and being right about it, especially when it involved a lordly alien frowning at a spoon of chocolate-studded dough and asking if the point was not that they should be baked.
Maybe he was in the right major after all.
CHAPTER 5
“Are you busy today?” Jahir asked the following morning.
“No?” Vasiht’h said. “I don’t really have any plans until classes start next week.” The Glaseah was in the kitchen, overseeing the cooking of an omelet large enough to share. The whole process of making food fascinated Jahir, in part because he’d been sure the Alliance would be beyond such things. “Do you have something in mind?”
“I thought we might go visit the children before the semester starts,” Jahir said, looking for plates. His shorter roommate commonly used a stepstool to reach some of the higher cabinets, so he thought he’d put his greater height to use.
“Hah,” Vasiht’h said, and nodded. “Yes. That’s a good plan. We can go early, that will give me time to finish my latest letter to my family.”
Jahir set out the plates. “Tell me about them?”
“Would you tell me about yours in return?” Vasiht’h asked, glancing at him with a quirked brow.
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