Mindtouch (The Dreamhealers 1)

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  “And that’s not the end of the world,” the Tam-illee muttered.

  “Not doing something, and maybe burning yourself out because of it sounds a lot worse, honestly,” Vasiht’h said.

  “There’s something to that,” Kievan said. And pulled the covers up over his shoulder with a faint frown and a distracted look before glancing at Vasiht’h with more animation than he’d ever shown before. “Thank you, alet. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “Good, I hope?” Vasiht’h asked.

  “I think so. At very least… different from what I was already thinking.” The Tam-illee settled down, closed his eyes.

  “I’m glad I could help,” Vasiht’h said softly, as his subject passed out of consciousness. And then he backed out of the cubby. The Tam-illee was one of his controls, so he was supposed to be leaving his dreams alone. And yet he wondered if he’d be able to use the results at all, because for better or worse, that had seemed very much like an intervention.

  He thought he’d be frustrated at the loss of the time and work he’d already invested in Kievan First. On the way back from the hospital, what he mostly felt was contented… like lifting his head up to the sun and feeling grateful to be alive. That he had done a little good for someone that day, no matter how minor.

  He also resolved not to tell Sehvi about that feeling. Goddess knew what she’d say about it.

  Vasiht’h got home to a quiet apartment: not a surprise, since today was one of Jahir’s medical track classes, one he’d thought it safe to leave him at. So he was very upset to be wrong when his roommate arrived looking wan and slow. How he sensed it, he wasn’t sure, but he knew that Jahir had had an unusually poor day though not, he thought, as bad as the one with Sheldan. The memory made his lips peel back from his teeth and he shook himself. He took the pot of chocolate he’d had simmering on the heat and poured it into two cups before joining the Eldritch in the great room.

  “Thank you,” Jahir said, vaguely, when the cup had been set at his elbow. And then he seemed to notice the smell and looked at it with more attention. “Oh? Chocolate? This is a treat.”

  “I felt like one,” Vasiht’h said. “It’s imported chocolate, too, from Earth. They have to ship the whole thing in stasis. Won’t even put it through Pads, the company says it does something to the flavor.”

  “How fascinating,” Jahir said, and sipped. And closed his eyes, cup still at his mouth, smelling. “It has a bouquet? Like wine. How extraordinary.”

  “I thought you’d appreciate it,” Vasiht’h said, satisfied. “Now. Tell me what has you looking so worn out.”

  “Do I really look it?” Jahir asked, chagrined. And sighed. “No, I must. And you read me better than anyone on this world.” He set the cup on the saucer, the motions very deliberate. “There was an incident during class. Involving a classmate who ran into me.”

  “Oh, no,” Vasiht’h said, quiet, feeling that there was more.

  “And another, who decided to help me up once I’d fallen—”

  “Oh, no,” Vasiht’h said again, with feeling, and closed his eyes. He shook his head and said, wry, “I’m betting that went well.”

  “I ended up under a halo-arch,” Jahir said. “With no less than Healer KindlesFlame in attendance. And he not very pleased with the situation, as you can imagine.”

  “I can,” Vasiht’h said.

  “He suggested,” Jahir said after a moment, “that I discuss the matter with another esper, and mentioned you in particular. When I had no good answer as to why I might bear the touch of children, and you, but not random encounters with others.”

  “Have you and I ever had a random encounter?” Vasiht’h asked.

  “I touched you, now and then, by accident when we first met, jumping rope.”

  “That’s not really accidental,” Vasiht’h said. “We were both doing the same thing. Focused on the same thing.”

  “And this student was focused on doing the work of the class, which I was also,” Jahir said. “I cannot find the pattern in it, alet.”

  Vasiht’h wrinkled his nose. “I admit, I was never very interested in telepathic theory either… but I’m due to call Sehvi tonight. She might know. She’s kept company with doctors since she was a kit.”

  “Sehvi… your sister?” Jahir asked.

  “One of them.”

  Jahir seemed to consider, for long enough that Vasiht’h wondered if he would agree. It must be difficult enough to reveal his problems to people he thought he knew fairly well; but to a stranger? But Vasiht’h hoped, and thought he caught a faint hiss, like the tide receding from the shore: resignation. And a glimmer on the waves that suggested hope. “Yes. Yes, I think that would be helpful, if you’re willing. Thank you, alet.”

  “My pleasure,” Vasiht’h said, and tried not to smooth his fur down. To have the mindtouch recur—in all he’d heard about it, he’d never been told that it would feel nice. Comfortable and easy and good. That of course he should feel the feelings of his roommate, who would probably find the idea distasteful if not repellant. He sipped the chocolate to settle his agitation, and went to make the call.

  “Sehvi,” Vasiht’h said, sitting on his glee. “This is my roommate, Jahir.”

  On the other side of the screen, Sehvi’s eyes were wide. She’d believed him about having an Eldritch roommate, of course, but he was sure some part of her hadn’t been able to imagine it until she saw Jahir sitting on the pillow just in view, one knee up to his chest and his arms loosely looped around it.

  “Alet,” Jahir said. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Ah, and it’s good to make yours. Thank you,” Sehvi said, still staring. She shook herself and said, “Ariihir? What’s this about?”

  “I thought I might ask you, since you paid more attention to the mental training, and knew some doctors,” Vasiht’h said. “What might cause someone to have a worse reaction to some people’s mental touch than others.”

  Sehvi sat back, gaze narrowed. Then she glanced at Jahir. “This is about you, I’m guessing?”

  “You do, correctly,” Jahir said. “I am concerned that there seem to be some few people whose touch I can bear—if not frequently, than at least without losing my own sense of self in theirs—and others who can apparently render me unconscious.”

  “Ohhhh,” she said. “Wow. You’re that sensitive?”

  “I have no notion,” Jahir said. “Given that I have no context for comparison!”

  “But he’s passed out twice,” Vasiht’h added.

  “Once,” Jahir said.

  “Twice,” Vasiht’h said. “When the medical technicians got to you, you swooned when they put their hands on you.”

  His roommate grimaced. “Well. Perhaps a touch of discomfort then, also.” More normally, “I knew how to operate the instruments they were using for several hours afterward.”

  “Goddess bless,” Sehvi said, shaking her head. “I don’t envy you that.”

  “Is this sensitivity something you’ve heard of, then?” Vasiht’h asked. “And the pickiness of it? Why does it only work with some people?”

  “Oh, it’s not that it doesn’t work with some people,” she said. “It’s more like… some people are a warm draft and other people are a bonfire.” She considered the Eldritch with a pitying look. “Or maybe it’s like… some people have super-sensitive taste buds, and a little pepper for us is nice, but it burns them.”

  “That sounds… dire,” Jahir said.

  “Oh no! It’s not bad,” she said. “Any more than someone with a good ear for music, or a refined sense of touch, or a super-fertile body is disadvantaged. It just means that some things are going to affect you more.”

  “But how can he tell which people are going to be the problems?” Vasiht’h asked.

  “That I can’t tell you,” Sehvi said. “I’m only a level more advanced than you in the practice, ariihir. I do remember that some people are always projecting, and some people are always with
drawing, or more like there’s a scale and some people are on the projecting side and others are on the withdrawing and most people are somewhere in the various middle parts. The ones that project tend to dump everything they’re thinking out, and they put the push of their emotions behind it, so it’s like their thoughts are a point they can turn into a spear just by heaving all the empathic content in after it. The people who pull back are the ones who draw all that in.” To Jahir she added, “That can be disconcerting too, to have someone suck in your emanations. Especially if you’re not much of a projector. It gets intimate quickly.”

  “And there’s no way to tell,” Vasiht’h said.

  “I gather that if you get good at it, you can start making predictions,” Sehvi said. “But I was never that good an esper. You know, ariihir. I can send and receive well enough to use it, but some of the fancier stuff the higher levels of practice can do…” She shook her head. “Not in me, that’s for sure.”

  “So there is no way to tell,” Jahir said, quiet. Considering, Vasiht’h thought. “And no way to protect against it?”

  “If you’re holding a barrier against those things already, and they’re pushing through…” Sehvi shrugged.

  “What about treatment?” Vasiht’h asked.

  “Of what, being bruised by mental contact?” Sehvi said. “That’s pretty far beyond anything I’ve heard. Even having hung around doctors most of my life. I gather the important thing is to separate yourself from the overpowering presence and do things that remind you of who you are. You know, centering yourself.”

  “I see,” Jahir murmured.

  “Can you think of anything else?” Vasiht’h asked her.

  She shook her head. “No. Other than it helps to have calm and safe influences around you. That part you know—” to him, not to his roommate. “It’s just common sense. Home should be a place you can use as a refuge. It makes a big difference.”

  “It does,” Jahir agreed. “And I do have such a refuge. Thank you, very much, alet.”

  “Any time,” she said, her eyes lifting as the Eldritch rose and bowed to her before taking his leave. Vasiht’h watched the door close behind him, then rested his folded hands in his lap and waited.

  Sehvi looked at him and said, “Wow.”

  He started laughing.

  “So that’s him? No wonder you want to keep him. He’s adorable!”

  “That… wasn’t exactly the word I would have used to describe him,” Vasiht’h said. “But I understand the impulse.”

  “The impulse!” she said, and shook her head. “No, he’s wonderful. You look at him and you can’t decide if you admire him or you want to protect him. Is half the campus following him around with moon eyes?”

  “Not that I know of,” Vasiht’h said. “Though the healer-assist at the hospital has a crush on him. She hasn’t said anything, thankfully. I warned him about it, but I can’t imagine what he’d tell her if he found out for certain.”

  “Probably something courtly that would make her feel horribly embarrassed,” Sehvi said, grinning. “That accent! Too fun. Are you still getting mindtouches?”

  “Yessss,” Vasiht’h said slowly. “And I think he is too. I’m not encouraging it.”

  “You have more willpower than me!” Sehvi said. “I’d probably be trying.” She grinned. “You sure about that? Maybe you can talk him into the mindline? You’d make perfect partners. You’ve even got matching coloring!”

  Vasiht’h looked down at his white chest and then eyed her.

  “Well, white and black and white and white still matches,” she said. “Very striking!”

  “You sound worse than a Harat-Shar,” Vasiht’h said. “Are you hanging out with too many?”

  “No, but let me tell you, ariihir, the Tam-illee are just as bad. The moment they spot you they start matchmaking.” She laughed. “It’s just they want you to have kids, while the Harat-Shar want you to have a harem.” She tilted her head. “You really think he’ll be okay?”

  “I hope so,” Vasiht’h said. “But I’ll keep an eye on him anyway.”

  There was only one thing for it, Jahir decided. If he wanted to survive his intended course, he would have to treat it as a matter of life or death, and act accordingly. He had been taught dueling, a necessary evil not just because he was male, but because he was the heir to the Seni, and he had hated it. His one experience with it could creditably be called by his textbooks traumatizing. But the adrenaline-fueled quickness of fighting, and the expansion of his situational awareness… yes. If he employed those things, he might be able to work in a crowded ward.

  He put the concept to the test the following week, spending a few minutes before class summoning the necessary focus. When the lecture ended and their instructor set them loose, he went, and all his consciousness seemed to spread out with him, warning him whenever his classmates were too close. He called the results a success, though at the end of the session he was exhausted and nervy, like a skittish colt. Taking a walk helped settle his agitation, but it did nothing for the exhaustion except, perhaps, exacerbate it.

  But it would work, he thought, so he kept at it. It helped that other than Patient Assessment, his classes were sedentary, their only stresses involving memorization of a great deal of data. At the teaching assistant’s suggestion he had bought the book of study songs, and found it so delightful he’d bought the others, even for the medical subjects he was not likely to take. Paging through one of those volumes he’d found an alphabet song of Exodus diseases, which stayed with him when he went to his class on psychological disorders of the Exodus. Studying those gave him renewed respect for the Pelted. He could only imagine what it was like to live with the knowledge that one had been engineered for unsavory uses, and then been forced to flee because there had been no other path to liberty.

  The Exodus had also inspired other, less predictable issues: trauma over the loss of a sense of family, resentments over the segregation of individuals that had resulted in the races of the Alliance—sometimes called species, but able to interbreed—as well as anxieties over whether the Pelted were becoming too much (or not enough) like their progenitors. Humanity’s return to the galaxy had only compounded those problems, and while their instructor told them the disorders relating to current issues in the Alliance were covered in another class, still Jahir could imagine what it must be like, to live side by side with one’s makers. The Eldritch themselves were an artificial creation, but it had been self-willed; a conscious decision to become separate. They had not begun from slavery and abuse.

  It was on his mind while washing vegetables for the quadmates’ evening; for once, he and Vasiht’h had been detailed to bringing the savories, as Leina had a new recipe from home she wanted to try on them.

  “Fin for your thoughts?” Vasiht’h asked.

  “Wondering what it is, to be Pelted and have so many traumas to overcome,” Jahir said. “It astonishes me that they ever welcomed humanity into the Alliance.”

  “Not all humans are bad,” Vasiht’h said, tasting the dip before wrinkling his nose and going for the spice cabinet. “After all, a lot of them had to pull together to help the Pelted flee.”

  This, it turned out, was not Luci’s reasoning, when he put the question to the rest of them later. “Oh, you have to feel pity for them.”

  “Pity?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said, picking at a strand of celery trapped between her fang and the omnivore tooth alongside it. “They were it, for the longest time… the pinnacle of civilization in the entire galaxy, as far as they knew. They made us—made entire sentient species!—from bits of animals they thought attractive. They had space ships and space stations and even colony worlds. And then we up and turn our backs on them, and then they get into a civil war that smashes their entire solar system back to the industrial age—”

  “A bit of an exaggeration there,” Brett said, dry.

  “Only a little,” she said. “And they spend ages struggling back toward w
hat they left behind. Then, out of nowhere, here we come. And we’ve been building peacefully on their technology and science ever since we abandoned them. They get to see us come over the horizon in these sleek, expensive ships that can do things they only dream about. And the people they engineered for bed-toys are now so far beyond them that the only reason they’re not calling us master and mistress is that we don’t care about conquering them.”

  “That’s got to hurt,” Leina said, cheek in her palm. “ ‘Hi, we could be holding a grudge, but you’re so unimportant we don’t want to bother subduing you.’ “

  “Harsh,” Merashiinal said, shaking his head. “It is not all true. Humans were important when we met them again.”

  Jahir thought of his reading, and the pages comparing some of the feelings of the Pelted with those children feel for separated parents. “I imagine so.”

  “Maybe, but no one thinks of humans as our daddies anymore,” Luci said, dipping a purple carrot and snapping the tip off with her fangs. She crunched, contemplating the flavor—and a strange sight it was, watching a leopard eat vegetables—and then said, “Well, maybe some people do, but only when they’re writing angsty teenage poetry about the origin.”

  “Now that, I take issue with,” Brett said. “There’s good literature written about the relationship between humanity and the Pelted. And there really is some sense still that they’re our parents. It’s just that we’re the grown-up children who’ve moved out and done better than them.”

  “Humanity must have its share of disorders on the matter,” Jahir said.

  “There’s an elective for that,” Vasiht’h said. “Disorders of the Rapprochement. Talks about the problems humans have integrating into the Alliance and dealing with the reality of the Pelted.”

  “That sounds interesting,” Brett said.

  “It sounds dull,” Leina said, making a face. “Humans think it’s all about them. Like the worlds revolve around them. If you ask me it’s about time they got shaken up. Now, who’s ready for my experiment?”