Mindtouch

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  “He did what?!”

  “He says such body language is typical of sociopaths and spies,” Jahir said.

  The Glaseah were so strangely put together, with the short centauroid half and the odd ears and the wings. They came across as harmless and affable, particularly since they were endowed with such phlegmatic personalities.

  But Vasiht’h put his ears back to his skull and his lips wrinkled back from teeth Jahir abruptly noted had fangs. The great soft paws apparently had retractable claws, yellowed things with wicked points that sank into the rug and caught the fibers. And his eyes, usually so friendly a brown, became almost incandescent. “He did not,” Vasiht’h hissed. “He did NOT do that to you. And he did, didn’t he?” He reared back and turned. “I’ll tell Doctor Palland. That’s absolutely inexcusable!”

  “I cannot see as to how any of his fellows would do a thing about it,” Jahir said. “He saw something of value to teach the class, and he used me to do so. He told me himself that if I had nothing to hide, I would not have been distressed—would in fact have been honored to be so exhibited.”

  “Aksivaht’h forget that!” Vasiht’h snarled. “That was wrong!”

  This blazing rage—that it should have kindled on his behalf—Jahir could not decide whether to be astonished or dismayed. “Vasiht’h—”

  “No,” his roommate said. “It was wrong, Jahir. To humiliate you in front of the class? My mother’s a professor! I know how they’re supposed to act! We’ll tell Doctor Palland and he can take us to the dean—”

  “Vasiht’h!” Jahir exclaimed. “Please! It is enough!”

  The Glaseah paused, eyes narrowing.

  “There is no profit in it,” Jahir said, his conversation with KindlesFlame looming suddenly large. “To reprimand him, and for what? They will not take his class from him. And then I must continue in it, if I wish to take it, for there is no other professor to do it, is there?”

  Vasiht’h bared his teeth, but said, “No… that’s his class.”

  “So I must take it to have the degree, and if I speak against him, then I will have that to deal with for the remainder of the term—no, I can’t countenance it. We all must learn to deal with some unpleasantness in pursuing our courses. Is that not our duty?”

  “It is not your duty to be abused by someone with more power than you,” Vasiht’h snarled.

  “Then tell me how I am to do this, without prejudicing the man against me.”

  “If he gives you a false grade because you got him in trouble—” Vasiht’h began.

  “And how would I prove it?” Jahir asked. This at last penetrated his roommate’s anger, but not as he’d hoped, with understanding. Instead, Vasiht’h looked horrified.

  “Do you really think that’s how it works?” the Glaseah said. “That the university would let a professor bully a student and then fail him? That you’d be punished for defending yourself?”

  How wonderful it would be to believe that the Alliance was without such sins… but where there were men and women, there were all the darker motivations of their hearts: their fears and jealousies, their attachments to power, their complacencies and rivalries. If it was not so foul here as it was at home, still Jahir could not believe such things wholly absent. “Please, Vasiht’h. I am… I am very much moved by your affront. But I would ask you not to bring this to anyone.”

  Now the Glaseah was trembling: no doubt outraged at being asked to hide the affair, and Jahir had no idea how he knew it, but he did.

  “Please,” he said again.

  Vasiht’h looked away, and Jahir saw how quick his breathing was, and how the fur on his shoulders bristled. But he calmed himself, somehow, enough to say, “All right. But I think you’re making a mistake.”

  “Perhaps,” Jahir allowed.

  “And if he does any other thing against you, you will tell me, and you will tell someone else.”

  “Yes,” Jahir said, feeling more confident of that promise—he did not think Sheldan malicious, only thoughtless, in the way of someone too accustomed to his own prestige. And still Vasiht’h’s fur had not come flat, and it filled him with wonder, to see it. Softly, he said, “You have not shied from me at all.”

  Vasiht’h looked at him with a frown, and to quell his angry question, Jahir said, “The professor said my body speech is a rejection, and that only those superficially interested in me for the glamour of my species would ever be interested at all in courting my attention. But you have stood by me since you met me. Did you not feel that rejection?”

  “I…” Vasiht’h deflated, his frown now consideration and not anger. He shook himself. “Of course you’re not forthcoming. You’re Eldritch. Expecting you to be otherwise is unreasonable.”

  “You accept that I give little away,” Jahir said.

  “But you do!” Vasiht’h said. “If anyone bothers to pay attention. They’re just so used to Harat-Shar throwing themselves on them, and Aera waving those huge ears around, and all these obvious signals… they miss the subtle things. They forget even to look for them.”

  “But why did you pay attention at all?”

  “Because… maybe… I don’t know.” Vasiht’h sat back on his haunches. “I met you in that parking lot, and you were so kind to the girls. You didn’t back away from them. You didn’t hold yourself apart from them. So I know it’s in you.”

  “In essence, then, you kept to me because luck showed you there was something worth the pursuit,” Jahir said, low.

  “No!” Vasiht’h said. And hissed, rubbing his face. “I am making mud out of this, and it’s important. Part of what makes the Alliance what it is, and wonderful, is that it’s full of different people. But you saw what happened with Luci. She grew up one way, because she could, and she loves being that way… but being around people who are very different, there’s more misunderstanding, and more ways to be hurt, and more ways to assume that someone is going to be one way because you are, when they really aren’t.” He sucked in a breath and blew it out sharply. “I think because the Pelted all came from the same place, sometimes they think… like a clan. And you aren’t part of that clan, and they don’t understand you. They want to treat you like a human because you look a little like one. But you’re not. And it’s hard to blame them for that when most of them have never met an Eldritch and probably won’t ever again.”

  Jahir listened to this, hoping it would make him feel better, and all it did was make him feel further alienated. He looked down at his hands, and the House ring he still wore there.

  “Jahir,” Vasiht’h said, his voice urgent for all its quiet. “Even if I hadn’t met you with those kids, I would have known you for what you were. You might not advertise every one of your feelings, but your eyes… there’s nothing mean in your eyes.”

  He looked up, heart tight in his chest. And said, after a moment, “You mean that.”

  “Every word,” Vasiht’h said. “That idiot might not see it, but he’s also not looking for it. And your classmates only see someone they can’t reach because they don’t know what it’s like to have someone’s thoughts in your head. If they knew, they’d give you the space you needed to feel safe.” He reached out and pulled his hand back, rueful. “You see, even I know and I can’t help it, sometimes. Acculturation.”

  Jahir glanced at the hand, thought to the few times he had touched the Glaseah in passing, and how unexpected and gentle those touches had been.

  So he extended a hand and rested his fingers briefly on his roommate’s wrist… and took into himself all the aftermath of Vasiht’h’s adrenalized anger, his fear, his… yes, his passion. And even feeling it, he knew it for his roommate’s and not his own and knew not how Vasiht’h managed it, but he was glad and grateful and overwhelmed that he could.

  The fur beneath his fingers was softer than he expected, like felt over the inside of the wrist. And, cold and sudden through it, lanced his roommate’s shock at the touch, and his happiness.

  Jahir let his fingers slip
away and said, only, “Thank you.”

  Vasiht’h stared at him, quivering, and said, “I… you…” And trailed off, before managing, “I’ll make us tea.”

  “Tea sounds very good,” Jahir said, and let his roommate escape to the kitchen while he sagged back in the chair and breathed through his own reaction. The felt-soft memory lingered on his fingertips.

  CHAPTER 20

  “There’s no way around it,” Palland said, shaking his head. “You’re going to have to personally administer the treatments, Vasiht’h, and that’s going to limit the size of the study. At least while you’re in school; you’re not going to be able to oversee anything larger while still attending classes. And the study design is going to be necessarily inexact. When you’re working with people self-reporting their mental state, you introduce a lot more error into your results.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to make do, then, if you think the study is still worth writing up,” Vasiht’h said uncertainly, looking at the amendments Palland had made to his original research method.

  “Oh, if for no other reason than that it’s provocative, absolutely,” the Seersa said. “This is a fascinating new approach. If all it does is prompt discussion, that’s still worth the effort.”

  “All right,” Vasiht’h said. “I’ve already talked to the hospital board and they were willing. I just have to write up the call for volunteers and get their consent forms and I can get started.”

  “Good,” Palland said. “You’re not finding it too much of a burden on top of your classes?”

  “No,” Vasiht’h said. “Though I wouldn’t want to be doing this without the directed study hours.” He glanced at his professor, vacillating. Then, “Sir? Hypothetically… if a student were to get you in trouble for something you did wrong, would you fail them?”

  Palland’s brows shot up. “Pardon me?”

  “I mean… would you take it out on a student who got you reprimanded,” Vasiht’h said.

  “Hypothetically,” Palland said, voice dry.

  “Hypothetically,” Vasiht’h agreed.

  “Well, hypothetical-me probably shouldn’t be doing things that get him reprimanded,” Palland said, leaning back in his chair. “But presuming he did, it would be bad form for me to punish the student who turned me in. Hypothetical Evil Me would certainly be examined by the administration if I were to go and fail someone who had a history with me.”

  Vasiht’h breathed out. “That’s what I thought.”

  “That’s not to say it hasn’t happened,” Palland continued, and Vasiht’h looked up at him, wide-eyed. The Seersa sighed. “We’re all fallible, alet. Your masters here no less than you students.” His smile was decidedly crooked. “It doesn’t happen often, but yes. Sometimes a troubled history keeps making trouble.”

  “Oh,” Vasiht’h said, almost inaudibly.

  “Now, is there something you want to tell me about this hypothetical situation?”

  More than anything he regretted his promise not to talk about it. But he had given his word, so he said, “No… no, it’s not for me to say anything.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Palland said. “A word of advice, then.” Vasiht’h looked up and the Seersa finished, “It’s a lot easier to hang someone out to dry if they’re already isolated. You students think you have no power, but when you close ranks around one another, we notice. It’s the same with people as with animals, alet. One deer by itself is easy prey. A herd of deer with all their horns turned out at you… that’s a different matter.”

  “I see,” Vasiht’h said, frowning.

  “I think you do,” Palland said.

  It wasn’t too hard to make the arrangements, once Vasiht’h decided what to do; more a matter of remembering two schedules instead of one. And if he occasionally missed the rendezvous, he still figured showing up most of the time was better than not trying at all. So that afternoon, he packed quickly from his last lecture and trotted to the nursing hall, where the pharmacology class was held. He arrived just in time to be waiting for Jahir when the Eldritch appeared in the door.

  Surprised, Jahir said, “Alet?”

  “It occurred to me that your class is on the way home from mine,” Vasiht’h said firmly. “I thought we could walk together.”

  “That would be pleasant,” Jahir said, still bemused. But Vasiht’h could see the students glancing at them on their way past and tamped down his satisfaction before it could leak. He had no idea if Jahir was still getting emotional data from him, but he didn’t want to give his roommate any reason to feel uncomfortable. Particularly since he wasn’t planning on changing his mind about doing it.

  So he padded home at Jahir’s side, and made sure everyone saw him doing it, and felt a little better. A few weeks of that, he thought, would do some serious damage to Professor Sheldan’s assertion that the Eldritch was rejecting everyone around him.

  “Meekie and Kayla aren’t here,” Berquist said. “But it’s not any emergency. There’s a specialist visiting from Tam-ley and he wanted to see them.”

  “No worries, then,” Vasiht’h said.

  “And even perhaps some hope?” Jahir added.

  “Maybe,” Berquist said. “But I wouldn’t bet on anything. Go on, the others are waiting. And you can tell them if they’re interested today they can go outside in the hospital garden, it’s warm enough finally. We can get a chair for Amaranth.”

  And that idea was met with great enthusiasm, so with Berquist’s aid they all went down to the first floor, where the hospital kept extensive gardens near the chapel for both patients and visitors. The girls were allowed to ramble for as long as they had energy, and they were so inclined, until at last they stopped in a small round area adjoining a fish pond. There in the warmth of a spring sun, they took seats on the grass, or lay on their bellies to watch the fish, and Vasiht’h settled himself with his paws before him like a sphinx. Jahir sat beside him, and thought the heat was too wan but a great improvement on the wet, cold weather of the previous weeks. Berquist was with them also, though she was sitting on a nearby bench, updating reports.

  “Do you think they’ll cure Meekie and Kayla?” Amaranth said, wistful.

  “I doubt it,” Persy said, lying on her back with her eyes closed. “But they might not come back.”

  “Persy? What do you mean?” Vasiht’h asked.

  “I was in a group with some other girls before,” Persy said. “And there was a special doctor who came, and one of the girls, her parents decided to send her along with him. So she left. I don’t know what happened to her.”

  “Maybe she got better,” Nieve said, quiet.

  “Or maybe she died,” Kuriel muttered.

  “Look at this fish!” Amaranth exclaimed. “It’s got orange patches!”

  Much oohing and aahing. As the three by the pond peered into it, Nieve stood and padded over to Jahir, pausing in front of him. Wordlessly, he offered her his hand, and she took it, sitting in his lap with her back to his chest. Her thoughts ran through him, faint as veils: her pleasure at the warmth, her resignation over Kuriel’s pessimism, her awe at the color of the sunlight through leaves. Jahir lifted his head to look at it himself, and let her thoughts teach him their beauty.

  Wordlessly, Vasiht’h edged closer until they were almost touching, and then all three of them considered the light. Jahir wondered that he didn’t think it at all strange, that his roommate should know instinctively what they were contemplating. It would have been unimaginable to him before: that closeness like this could inspire serenity and contentment instead of discomfort or pain.

  It came to him very slowly, the realization that the body resting against his was just a touch less frail. “You seem stronger,” he said, surprised.

  “I am stronger,” she said, meeting his gaze before looking up at the leaves again. “I sleep better. It makes things easier.”

  Astonished, Jahir glanced at Vasiht’h, who lifted his brows.

  “I used to know a poem about leaves,” Nieve s
aid. “But I don’t remember it anymore.”

  “Spring has given rise to a great deal of poetry,” Jahir said. “If you can’t remember it, there are surely more.”

  “Do you know any?” she asked, glancing up at him.

  “I do, yes, but not in Universal,” Jahir answered, but Vasiht’h was already reaching for his saddlebag. He took out a data tablet and said, “Lyrical poetry?”

  “Oh yes!” Nieve said. “Will you read it to us?”

  “I’ll let my roommate do that,” Vasiht’h said, and handed over the tablet. “There. You have the better voice for it. Being the Eldritch prince.”

  Jahir sighed, and then laughed a little. “Very well. If it would please you, alet.”

  “Yes,” Nieve said, and cuddled up against him, startling him as much for the sudden visceral memory of her grandmother reading to her, holding her in a rocking chair, as for the way his heart cramped at the ease of her affection. How could Sheldan have been right, if these children had no issues with him at all? Or was it because he permitted them the touch? But surely not, for the other students were not necessarily free with it either. Perhaps it was as Vasiht’h said, and a matter of culture, his presence creating a conundrum for those who could not stretch to allow him to be uniquely himself.

  And yet, if he stayed here, how Eldritch would he remain?

  But oh, he could not really miss it, if it meant this. Careful as much of himself as of Nieve’s frailty, he curled an arm around her shoulders and paged through the poetry collection Vasiht’h had found him before settling on a poem with an innocent ending. He read for her, finding the rhythm of the words, and as he did the other girls padded closer to listen, and even Berquist lifted her head and closed her eyes.

  They spent a good part of their time together that way, Nieve’s thoughts narrowing to an echo of his own voice in her head, no burden to him at all. He read until he found himself clearing his throat, and Vasiht’h said, “You should drink something.”