Shadow World

by A. C. Crispin

  cheekbones, adding a slightly rakish air. Her wide, dark eyes sparkled with humor and intel igence, and her smile always seemed easy and genuine.

  To think that she's the same age as Mahree when I first knew her, Rob thought with an inward shake of his head. Was I ever that young? He smiled at the young woman's eager expression as she passed two Vardi, careful not to stare openly. Already she was fascinated by other species. Just like Mahree. He realized that Cara reminded him, in some ways, of her. The young journalist had the same kind of quick, instinctive understanding, and the same relentless curiosity. She's strong, too, he thought. Strong and practical, just like Mahree.

  Cara grinned, her eyes indicating a small knot of students they were just passing. Rob followed her gaze to the girl holding court.

  "--and then Windracer broke his own record on the Space Sweeper. With one claw! Honestly, I thought the lasers would short out!"

  The little group groaned in unison, "Dot, lasers don't ..."

  By then Rob and Cara were out of range. Glancing down the right branch of the corridor, Rob hastily warned Cara to turn off her camera. They were about to pass by a Shadgui.

  Cara quickly complied. "Esteemed Ssoriszs warned me yesterday. He said they have a strong opposition to representations of their bodies, that it's a part of the Shadgui belief system." She regarded the people ahead of them with interest. "Is 'they' the correct term to use for a symbiont?"

  "Correct enough," said Rob. "At least, when you're using English.."

  A human male about Cara's own height and coloring faced

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  the Shadgui, a huge, eyeless being who rather resembled a sloth. The presence of pink-tipped mammary glands amid the coarse dark brown hair covering her chest identified her as a female. On her shoulder, attached to her neck, rested a fat, reddish, warty-skinned creature with bright button eyes.

  "Hress, you're coming to the game this afternoon, aren't you?" Rob heard the human student ask. "I've been assigned to describe all the plays in Shadgui, informal dialect. I want you to tell me if I say the words right."

  "Honored will I be to have my tongue in your mouth, Ahmed," replied the alien female solemnly in halting English.

  Beside him, Cara choked with stifled laughter, and Rob saw, even with the dark skin, Ahmed's vivid, involuntary blush. Chuckling, Rob stopped.

  "Hress, you just made his day," he informed the Shadgui in Mizari. Rob glanced at Ahmed. "Are you going to supply the language lesson on this particular colloquialism or would you rather I did?"

  Hress smoothed her shaggy chest hair, concerned. "Is it that I say wrong?"

  "That's okay, Dr. Rob, I'll explain," Ahmed said, recovering his aplomb. He caught Hress by one of her massive arms and led her away with him. Rob heard him beginning his explanation, this time in Mizari. "It's just a misunderstanding, Hress. The reason it's funny is that, on Earth, when two humans kiss ..."

  - "This voder is great!" Cara exclaimed. "I can understand everything, no matter what language. With this technology available, do new students ever balk at having to actually learn Mizari and all the other languages they study?"

  "When they do, I tell them about the time Mahree and I had our First Contact with the CLS, and how we learned that communication between worlds is too delicate an art to be entrusted to mechanized translation programs." Rob spoke with conviction. "Even the best translation program can have glitches, which can have serious consequences during delicate negotiations."

  As he finished, a soft bell chimed; the corridor lighting flashed off, then back on, and the already-thinning crowd practical y disappeared.

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  "Uh-oh, I'm supposed to be open for business by now," Rob said. He smiled at Cara. "I don't have anyone scheduled but you, though, and since we're already together, I guess I'm not late. Got your interview questions ready?"

  "Of course." They rounded the last curve and she stopped suddenly. "Uh ...

  Dr. Gable, you may not have anyone scheduled, but I think someone's here to talk to you anyway."

  Rob's eyes narrowed in concern as he recognized the young man pacing before the door to his office. He'd been counseling Mark intensively since his mother's death, but lately the student had become more and more

  withdrawn, avoiding discussions of the things that were really troubling him.

  Yesterday's missed session hadn't been the first. Now here he was

  voluntarily.

  As they say in one of my favorite movies, I've got a bad feeling about this, Rob thought grimly, taking in Mark's pale face and determined expression.

  Absently, he wondered what to do with Cara as they came face-to-face with the student. He didn't want to put Mark off; all his professional instincts warned him that the young man needed immediate attention.

  "Hi, Mark," he said.

  "Hi," Cara echoed hesitantly. She and Mark eyed each other warily.

  Rob masked his surprise. "Cara, this is Mark Kenner, one of our fourth-year students, and Mark, this is--"

  "We've met," Mark broke in, "and I owe her something. An apology.

  "I'm truly sorry about last night," he said to Cara. "I took my bad mood out on you, and I was rude. Please don't judge the students at this school by me. I'm just ... uh ..." He trailed off awkwardly.

  "Going through a hard time?" suggested Cara. Her smile forgave him.

  Mark looked at the doctor accusingly.

  "I haven't said a thing to her," Rob protested. "You know better than that.

  Hell, I don't even know what you two are talking about."

  Neither smiled. Rob glanced at Cara and realized that her journalist-trained eyes probably saw in Mark's face the same

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  tired-to-the-bone strain that he did.

  "Cara," Rob began, "would it be possible for you to ..."

  She was already ahead of him. "You know, Dr. Rob, I really need to pull my notes together before our interview this morning. Is there somewhere I could work?"

  Rob nodded, appreciating her quick perception. "There's a conference room here," he answered, opening the adjacent door.

  "But first"--Cara paused in the doorway--"I owe you an apology, too, Mark. I was the rude one, and very unprofessional. I wouldn't want you to judge all journalists by me."

  Mark smiled, the expression momentarily wiping the stress and fatigue from his face. "Let me set you up with some friends who'd love to be interviewed,"

  he offered by way of acceptance. "After lunch?"

  "After lunch," Rob interrupted firmly. Can't let him get too comfortable; he'll lose the impetus to tell me whatever it is that's brought him here. "Come on in, Mark."

  Steering the younger man into his office, Rob shut the door and activated the

  "No Interruptions, Please," sign. Quickly he signaled his assistant to hold all calls. Before he could sit down at his desk, a small, sleek form bounded into the chair and sat smugly, tail curled primly around her feet.

  "Morning, Bast. Why didn't you put the coffee on?" Rob asked as he scooped the little black cat up one-handed. Her purring increased

  geometrically. Plopping her in the middle of his desk, the doctor waved the lights up slightly, then ordered a pot of coffee.

  As he sank into his seat and leaned back, he regarded Mark, who was still standing awkwardly near the door.

  "Have a seat," he invited, waving at the nearest chair.

  The student didn't move. "No, thanks. This won't take long, Rob. I just came to tell you that I've decided to withdraw from StarBridge. I'm meeting with Kkintha ch'aait," he named the school's Administrator, "this afternoon to tell her that I'm going back to Earth."

  As a psychologist and M.D. Rob had had years of practice in keeping his inner feelings off his face, and he was grateful for that now.

  "But you're telling me first?" he asked evenly, concealing 32

  his shock and distress. "You must know I'd be ... I am ... totally opposed to such a thing. Running away isn't a solution to problems
, you know that. If you leave, you'll be throwing away years of hard work, good work ... you'll be abandoning the dream you've had ever since you were a child. Mark, that would be a terrible mistake."

  "You've been my friend, as well as my counselor," said Mark quietly. "You've tried to help. I felt I owed it to you to be the one to tell you myself. But this isn't a subject for argument, Rob. My mind is made up."

  "I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't try and talk you out of this. I'm going to try my damnedest to change your mind."

  Mark smiled briefly. "Can't we consider the attempt made, and leave it at that? I already know everything you'll say ... hell, everything you have said in our sessions, Rob. And I've listened. But I have to listen to myself first. This decision is the right one for me."

  The coffee arrived. Stalling for time, Rob slowly poured two cups, even though Mark shook his head as he pushed the mug toward him, again

  indicating a seat for him to take. The doctor's mind was racing. Let me find the right words to say. This one is truly gifted, if only he knew it ... losing him would be a tragedy ...

  Mark's mask of control was firmly in place, but Rob was too experienced to miss the anguish hiding behind the hazel eyes. If he didn't want to stay in his heart of hearts, it wouldn't hurt him to leave. I've got to try ...

  "C'mon," he urged. "Just sit down and have a cup of coffee. I don't have anything scheduled ..."

  "No, thanks," Mark said, politely but firmly. "I really need to be going."

  But still he hesitated. Encouraged, Rob took a deep breath. "I know how much you love people," he began, feeling his way, "and I mean people, whether they have wings or claws or two legs or ten. You're good with people. Not everyone is. I hate like hell to see the CLS lose out on a talent like yours. We need you, Mark."

  The younger man stayed stubbornly silent, but his face flushed, and the steady gaze of his eyes faltered for just a second.

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  Hmmm ... Rob ran his last words back through memory. Talent. That's the word that made him squirm. He tested his observation.

  "I know your classes haven't been going well, but that's only natural after ..."

  Mark shook his head. "I'm going to catch up on my assignments before I go.

  My grade average hasn't slipped that far. If you'll recommend me to a good university on Earth, I can channel the credits I've earned here into a decent major there. I'll probably only need a year or so more, even with changing over, since our programs here are accelerated."

  Okay. He's not running from the work and the drop in grades. But still ...

  something about the word "talent" got to him ... and people; I was talking about people ...

  Rob thought back over his counseling sessions with Mark, not only those since his mother's death but those from over a year ago, and suddenly he knew the answer.

  "You've decided it's three strikes and you're out, haven't you?" He hoped Mark knew the old baseball idiom. "You've added up your freshman mistake with the Mizari shrizzs, your guilt about Jon Whittaker's suicide last year, and, now, new guilt feelings about your mother's death. You've decided you don't have what it takes, the perception and the insight necessary to be an interrelator." He paused for effect. "You're worried that if you took a diplomatic post, somebody else might get hurt because you made a

  mistake."

  The look of astonishment that filled Mark's hazel eyes before he blinked and glanced down was eloquent. Eureka! Rob thought.

  "You don't have to look so surprised," the doctor said dryly. "Psychology is my job, you know. We've talked about each one of those incidents before, but let's look at what they mean together."

  Mark opened his mouth to protest.

  "That's what you've been doing, isn't it? Adding it up?" At the reluctant nod, he said, "Well, then, give me a shot at it. But first, open that door and ask Cara to come in."

  "Mark and I are going to be a while," Rob said without preamble when Cara appeared. "Can we reschedule for another time?"

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  She darted one quick look, half curiosity, half sympathy, Mark's way, but observing his averted face, her expression smoothed into noncommittal professionalism.

  "That's fine, Dr. Rob. There's a low-grav gliding contest in the Arena that I would have hated to miss anyway. It'll be great footage."

  With that settled and the door once again closed, Rob took a long swig of coffee. Bast leaped lightly into his lap and began to purr. Petting her absently, the doctor sat back in his chair, outwardly relaxed, silently waiting.

  Mark sighed and sat down.

  Nearly two hours later, with Mark just gone, Rob checked the conference room to see if Cara had returned yet. There was a folded note with his name on it on the table.

  "I'll call you late this afternoon to see when we can interview," it said. "Good luck with Mark. I'm sure that whatever's bothering him, you can help."

  Rob smiled wistfully at her affirmation of faith in his abilities. He had failed to change Mark's mind with talking, and now he was contemplating more drastic action. But if he were wrong ...

  "Mistakes are too costly when you deal with people," Mark had admitted at one point in their session. "You're right when you say that I'm scared. What if my next mistake cost hundreds or thousands--or millions--of lives?"

  Mark had learned as a freshman how easily mistakes could occur. He'd known of the taboo connected with the Mizari shrizzs, the combination drinking vessel/family heirloom that was assigned to each child as part of his or her coming-of-age ceremony, and had understood that, no matter what, the fragile object must never be touched by anyone outside the family.

  "But when I saw Shissar drop it, that day at dinner," he'd reminded Rob today, "instinct took over. My cultural background said not to let such a beautiful thing break, and it completely overrode the knowledge I had. Even though Shissar's family forgave me, what if I'd broken a taboo that strong with a culture less"--he'd searched for words--"flexible, less tolerant than the Mizari? That one incident could have caused irrevocable harm!"

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  He'd shaken his head at the memory. "Good intentions just aren't enough."

  Mark felt that his instincts had failed him again with Jon Whittaker ... or rather that they had failed Jon.

  Thirteen months ago, in the middle of the school's artificial night, with incredible coolness and misguided courage, sixteen-year-old Jon Whittaker had slit the veins in both wrists and both ankles. The next morning Mark had opened the bathroom door and found his roommate's nude body sprawled halfway out of the bathtub, as though Jon might have changed his mind and been trying to summon help--too late.

  "I should have seen it coming," Mark had repeated over and over during their subsequent sessions. "I should have guessed Jon would try something. He was so down. Why didn't I see? I might have stopped it!"

  "It was my job to see it coming, and I didn't." Rob didn't try to conceal the bitter regret in his own voice. "We've talked about this before, Mark. It will haunt both of us until we die, I expect, but if anyone is to blame, I am. I'm the counselor. I'm the doctor. You were just Jon's friend, and believe me, you were the best friend anyone could have been to him." He straightened his shoulders with an effort. "I learned long ago that you have to forgive yourself and go on, or you're no use to anyone. You've got to learn to let it go, Mark."

  The younger man nodded. "I know. I think I was learning to, when my mom ...

  died. That brought it all back again, more painfully than ever."

  "Mark, I think you should try looking at your remaining unaware of your mother's illness as her triumph, rather than your failure."

  Mark looked thoughtful, as though that had never occurred to him before.

  Rob pressed his momentary advantage. "She went to great lengths to keep from burdening you with that knowledge," he pointed out. "It would have broken her heart if she thought her decision to keep her ill health a secret led to the end of your dream. And don't forget, Mark, your becoming an in
terrelator was her dream, too."

  Now, standing in the empty conference room, Rob gave a long sigh. "He agreed with every single damn word I said," he muttered, "but not one of them changed his mind."

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  He's just too conscientious, the doctor thought. But he doesn't realize that that very quality will make him a topnotch interrelator. I know he's got the courage to live with the risk and carry that burden. But I've got to make Mark realize that, too.

  Bast padded through the doorway and meowed loudly. Rob turned to face her.

  "Which is why," he announced solemnly to the cat's unblinking green eyes,

  "I'm going to talk Kkintha ch'aait into going along with my ... plan. After all, it's not as though I arranged to have the Elpind drop in for a visit." He smiled faintly. "Can I help it if the timing just happens to be right?"

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  Chapter 3 CHAPTER 3

  Tapped!

  The crowd hopped, flew, scuttled, loped, and jostled its way down the corridor toward the Arena.

  All these different kinds of beings, all in motion together, all excited. Great stuff for my documentary, Cara thought, excited herself. She turned her head from side to side, trying to see everything, wanting her camera to capture all of this, the most colorful, exotic crowd she'd ever been in.

  This is going to be a wonderful lead-in for my coverage of the Elpind's visit.

  Hundreds of beings practically stampeding to the assembly so we can all get our first look at yet another species from the galaxy's incredible variety.

  Carried by the crowd's momentum, Cara plunged into the noisy melee of the Arena. Large enough to hold the entire student body and faculty at one time, with movable floors, adjustable gravity, and a sound and light system that put Earth's finest arts or sports complex to shame, the Arena was a gymnasium, the low-grav hang-gliding site, a theater, and even an ice-skating rink. Right now, it was a bowl-shaped assembly hall with seats of various configurations for alien forms rising away in stacked layers from the low center stage.

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  The noise level was almost uncomfortable as the students poured in. Cara smiled at the strange mixture of sounds that so many alien tongues created.