Mindtouch (The Dreamhealers 1)

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  “What is the experiment?” Brett asked, willing to be distracted.

  “It’s an apple pie!” she said, lifting her chin.

  “An apple pie!” Vasiht’h said. “I thought this was a recipe from home!”

  “It is!” she said. “The only reason people think of humans when they think of pie is because they were born first.”

  “Sibling rivalry on top of abusive parent/child,” Brett said to Jahir. “Things get convoluted around here.”

  The apple pie was in fact delicious, if misshapen. When they had eaten their fill and Merashiinal had put away the last of the wine, they dispersed, all save—

  “Can I help you bring the trays back?” Luci asked.

  “Sure,” Vasiht’h said.

  The Harat-Shar preceded them into the apartment, where Jahir disposed himself to cleaning the dishes. Luci pulled one of the stools out from under the counter and perched on it to watch as he and Vasiht’h tidied the kitchen.

  “It didn’t work out, I’m guessing,” Vasiht’h said.

  “We don’t know,” she admitted. “We’ve both agreed to take a step back. For a semester or two. See how we feel when we see each other again.” She rubbed her chest with a thumb, grimacing. “I feel like I’ve ripped out part of my heart. But what else can I do?”

  “Distance can sometimes give perspective,” Jahir offered.

  “Yeah, and you would know, wouldn’t you?” she said, glancing at him. “How about it, Tall and Pretty? Have better advice for me?”

  Jahir considered while putting the tray away. What could he say that could be of use to a woman with such different life experience? And on a topic that he was not exactly expert in, having made his own, unpardonable error? He rested his hands on the counter and said, “Love is not enough, without commitment.”

  Startled, Luci said, “Yeah, that… would make sense.”

  She glanced at Vasiht’h, and so did Jahir, wondering if his roommate would have something to add. The Glaseah was boiling water for tea, and when he looked up and saw their gazes, said, “Acts are the language of love. That’s what the Goddess teaches us. Words might do for thoughts. But love needs to be communicated in actions.”

  Later, after she’d left, Jahir said, “The precepts of your goddess are wise.”

  Vasiht’h chuckled. “We like to think so. But it’s not anything you don’t already know.”

  “Ah?”

  The Glaseah shook his head. “It would be a pretty bad religion if it was telling you things you didn’t already understand in your heart to be true. None of us need to be told that love is powerless when it has no form, and that we are the form it takes. We know it instinctively.” He looked up. “You do. You’re doing it all the time. You’re risking yourself to know us. Isn’t that love?”

  “This from the person who professes himself to be without passion?” Jahir said. “You no less than I are manifesting love through your acts.”

  “Maybe I am,” Vasiht’h murmured.

  “That’s the third subject you’ve lost so far,” Palland said. “What are you doing to them, Vasiht’h?”

  “You’re assuming I’m doing something!”

  “Yessss, I am,” the Seersa said, folding his arms. “Because if you give a healer-assist a guilt-free excuse to sleep, by the Speaker-Singer they put their heads down on a pillow and black out like a freshman after a party binge.” He pointed a finger at Vasiht’h. “That leaves you. Are you telling them to leave? Is there something about them that’s making them inappropriate subjects?”

  “No!” Vasiht’h exclaimed, startled. “Nothing like that. It’s not their fault at all!”

  Palland hesitated, then said, “And you’re not covering up an error. On your part.”

  That made him flush. “No! Well, not of the sort you’re thinking.” At Palland’s arched brow, he said, “I’ve been talking to them, when they say something. And I think I’m contaminating the study by listening to their problems.”

  “And offering advice,” the Seersa said dryly.

  “Not really advice, just… a sympathetic ear?” Vasiht’h said, rueful. “So I can’t tell what’s having the beneficial effect, me talking to them before they lie down, or me touching their dreams.”

  Palland covered his face with a palm and sighed. And then laughed. “You know how ridiculous this sounds, doesn’t it?”

  “That I’m messing up my research project by doing impromptu talk therapy with my subjects?” Vasiht’h smoothed the fur on his forelegs and said, “Yes, I know.”

  “And you’re still sure you want to go through with it.” The Seersa leaned back. “It’s not too late to change tracks. You can still get in under the five-year deadline handily.”

  “I know,” Vasiht’h said, stubborn. “But I’m going to do this.”

  “If you’re sure…”

  “I am.”

  Palland sighed. “Fine, let’s see if we can fill your three slots with some of these other people you originally interviewed. If we’re quick we can get it done in time for you to go play escort to your alien friend.”

  “You know about that?” Vasiht’h asked, surprised.

  “Everyone knows about it,” the Seersa replied with a huff. He tapped the data tablet. “Now. Focus. And remember—” Pointing the finger at him now. “No more fixing your subjects.”

  “Yes, sir,” Vasiht’h muttered.

  Vasiht’h kept Palland’s critique in mind when he went back to the hospital, but he found it hard to not respond to comments his subjects made while preparing for their naps. Maybe he should change his research topic from the effect of dream manipulation on emotional stability to the capitalization of patient vulnerability during the period leading up to sleep? He sighed. The only way he could really see to keep from repeating his mistake was to not see the subjects at all, and that felt so… wrong, somehow. Like the rejection the Patient Assessment professor had accused his roommate of. He did try not to say anything for the first few sessions after his discussion with Palland, but the alienation was too painful. The separation felt artificial to him, gave him the uncomfortable sense of being the one with power in the relationship.

  The research itself was as promising as Palland had thought it would be, though with such a small sample size it was hard to tell. But the people he soothed during their sleep seemed to have a more manageable stress level as the weeks went past. The ones who got both talk and the sleep soothing did noticeably better, even. But some part of him couldn’t help wondering what good it was, to do research like this so someone else could use it—and who would? When in practice it only suited espers (and, some part of him whispered, himself)?

  He took some comfort in taking care of his roommate, who needed it. Not just the walks back from Patient Assessment, but the concerts, too… and on the days Jahir came back from his medical track classes he seemed particularly tired, so Vasiht’h did everything he could to make him comfortable. It helped, though not as much as he would have wanted to see.

  He wasn’t the only one to notice, either.

  “How come you look so tired?” Meekie asked Jahir as the girls abandoned the corner nest to go work on their letters.

  Jahir put down the tablet he’d been reading poetry from. “Do I look tired?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said.

  “She’s right,” Amaranth agreed from the table where she was setting out paper. “You bend a little over when you walk, like you forget to stand straight. I do that too, when I’ve had a bad few days.”

  Jahir’s wince was so slight Vasith’h would have missed it, had he not been waiting for it. “The schooling can be taxing,” he said finally. “This semester has been a bit of a challenge. We have just had midterms, and they required a great deal of preparation.”

  “You need to rest more,” Meekie said. “That’s what they always tell us when we get run-down.”

  “And eat carefully,” Kayla agreed.

  “And lie down even if you don’t think you’
re tired,” Persy offered from her bed. “And can you make me one of your puppets, ‘Ranth?”

  “Sure,” Amaranth said, reaching for the glue-strips. To Vasiht’h, she said, “Maybe you can make him rest.”

  “I try,” Vasiht’h said, hiding his amusement at her fussing. “But when people grow up there’s only so much you can do to make them do the things that are best for them.”

  “Is it because he’s bigger than you and you can’t march him into his room?” Kuriel sounded interested.

  “That can’t be it,” Amaranth said. “Look at him, he’s got four legs and a heavier body. He could just sit on him.”

  Vasiht’h covered his face until he was sure he wasn’t smiling quite so hard. When he lifted his head he found Jahir looking at him ruefully, and that… that was a taste like sour yogurt, an undeniable mindtouch. He cleared his throat and spoke as if it wasn’t distracting him. “It’s more like… when you get older, you learn to respect other people’s autonomy.”

  “I’ve heard that word,” Kayla said. “The healers use it, sometimes.”

  “It means we have the right to act the way we think we should, without someone else interfering,” Nieve said quietly.

  “That’s right,” Vasiht’h said. “I respect Jahir’s autonomy, which means—”

  “That if he wants to make himself sick running around without resting, you’d let him?” Kuriel asked. “That doesn’t seem like a very good friend thing to do.”

  “Maybe good friends interfere,” Meekie said.

  “Maybe good people interfere?” Amaranth frowned. “I don’t know. I think sitting back and letting people hurt themselves is mean. If you could talk them out of it.”

  “Or sit on them,” Kuriel said.

  “Did Miss Jill tell you we’re allowed to go outside every other day now?” Nieve said to Jahir, who was wearing a look of what Vasiht’h judged to be pained amusement.

  “She did not,” Jahir said to her, grateful for the change in topic if Vasiht’h was any judge. “And how have you found it?”

  “It’s wonderful,” the girl said, fervent.

  “Though we haven’t been able to get as far away from the hospital as we did that day we jumped rope,” Kayla said.

  “It’s hard to walk that far anymore,” Persy said, resigned.

  “We’ll just have to wait for a day when we all feel good again at the same time,” Kayla said. “Then we’ll sneak out.”

  “Yeah.” Persy sighed, smiling. “That would be perfect.”

  “But even if we can’t run away,” Nieve said to Jahir. “The sun is the most wonderful feeling in the world.”

  “It’s so hard for them,” Jahir said to him on the way home. “And so easy for us.”

  “Yes,” Vasiht’h said, his thoughts busy and messy: the research project, his feelings about helping people, his feelings about Jahir and the mindtouches, and the stinging pain of being fond of those girls and knowing the challenges they faced. Too much, he thought, but he was glad too, and wasn’t sure why yet.

  “A fin for your thoughts?” Jahir said.

  Surprised and tickled to have his own words turned back on him, Vasiht’h said, “Just that… there’s a lot going on in my head, and I haven’t worked any of it through yet.”

  “Mmm,” Jahir said. He looked up at the sky, so clear and soft a blue. Then out over the shining field bordering their sidewalk, nodding with flowers. Spring had cleaned up after winter, Vasiht’h thought, very nicely, and he hadn’t even noticed. When Jahir paused and looked out over the grass, Vasiht’h couldn’t begrudge him the view. He stood next to his roommate and drew in a long breath: pollen and warm breezes.

  Jahir checked the buckle on the bag slung from his shoulder to hip, then pushed it behind his back. “A beautiful view,” he said.

  “It is,” Vasiht’h agreed.

  “And that tree, yonder. Would be perfect for climbing.”

  Vasiht’h squinted: in the distance he did see a tree, surrounded in an apron of grass, with a low branch that nearly touched the ground and bright new foliage spreading over it like a veil. “I wouldn’t know… I’m not good at climbing! But it would be nice to nap under.”

  “So it would,” Jahir said. “And we are not due anywhere for some hours.”

  “That’s true,” Vasiht’h said, feeling a glimmer of something suggestive… of mischief?

  “Mmm,” Jahir said. And nodded. “A very good tree. And I will get there first.”

  “You’ll what—hey!”

  But the Eldritch was already sprinting over the field, leaving him behind, and who would ever have thought that something bipedal could run that fast? Startled, Vasiht’h lunged after him, worried. “You shouldn’t—the gravity—what if you’re not—”

  His roommate didn’t fall, and didn’t call back to him either, and Vasiht’h ran after him and at some point he felt the spring of the grass beneath his feet and the sun warm on the fur on his back, flashing off it, and there was something glorious about just running, running for no other reason except to run. He could hear his roommate laughing even though he made no noise, and his heart pounded through every limb in his body as the mindline raveled between them, brief and brilliant, before unwinding again when Jahir grabbed the low-hanging branch and swung himself onto it, his momentum shaking the leaves.

  Panting, Jahir looked down at him and said, “A tie, perhaps?”

  “You’re crazy!” Vasiht’h said, laughing, and collapsed on shaded grass that was cooler than the sun-soaked field’s. “I probably lost half my materials between here and the sidewalk.”

  “And was it worth it?” Jahir asked.

  Vasith’h looked up at him; the Eldritch had his back to the trunk and was slouched in the dip of the branch, one foot up and the other hanging. He was still breathing deeply, but he looked content, his face turned just enough to catch the sun.

  “Yes. Yes, it was definitely worth it,” Vasiht’h said.

  CHAPTER 21

  “So you survived midterms,” KindlesFlame said. “And how did you do?”

  “Well,” Jahir said, and proud of it. “You’ll be gratified to hear I’ve had no other incidents in the Clinical Management class. Kandara congratulated me afterward the examination, even.”

  “Did she?” KindlesFlame said, brow up. “It’s hard to get praise out of Lasa. You must have impressed her.”

  “I could hardly fail to, given how little cause she had to be impressed when I began,” Jahir said, turning his cup on its saucer. The Tam-illee was drinking iced coffee, to go with the miniature cheese puffs they’d ordered… Jahir found he still preferred warm drinks, though he looked forward to summer putting paid to that when it got properly hot. “The pharmacology information was very dense, and I fear I won’t remember it when I need it, but the test was easy enough.”

  “It’ll take a while to settle, and you’ll need more of it if you’re serious about going medical. We get a lot of derangement from drugs,” KindlesFlame said. “We try to avoid using things with severe side effects, but sometimes the only tool you have is a clumsy one, or a dangerous one, and all you can do is palliate the side effects.” He leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, all ease. “So, have you chosen yet?”

  “Alas, no,” Jahir said. He thought of how good it was to sit down after the Clinical Management sessions. “I find the medical work fascinating, but… I have concerns that it might prove physically taxing.”

  “You might have an easier time of it elsewhere,” KindlesFlame said. “That regimen you finished in winter will help you live here comfortably, but it doesn’t change that you’re bred to a less strenuous gravity. You’d probably find a station or ship far more comfortable.”

  “Mayhap,” Jahir said. “But I have not made a decision yet as to where I will go to practice when I’m done. And I’m not entirely sure how to make that decision.”

  “A lot of people end up making those connections during their residencies,” KindlesFlame said. “That’s
why the good ones get snapped up so quickly. The big hospitals on Selnor and the other populous worlds can get you a lot of exposure to people who know people who know just where you’d be welcome, and for a tidy salary.”

  “That sounds promising?” Jahir said. “How does one acquire such a residency position?”

  “Most of the serious ones?” KindlesFlame smiled. “You need exemplary grades and recommendations from notable faculty. Like, say, me.”

  “Ah!” Jahir said, and laughed. “I see. So I must impress you.”

  “You need to convince me you can handle it,” KindlesFlame said. “And… if you can get through Clinical Management on your feet, and with Lasa’s approval, then you might have it in you. I’m still skeptical, but I’ve been surprised before.” He tapped his finger on the table. “If you’re serious about it, you might consider applying to Fleet, too.”

  “Ah?” Jahir said. “The military?”

  “They have a medical division,” said KindlesFlame. “And they need the medical-track psychologists. It’s a good living, and they take care of their own.”

  “I have no notion how that would work, given the political situation between the Alliance and my world,” Jahir said, finding the thought absurd. Fascinating, but absurd: he hated dueling, and could not imagine himself in a martial organization. Granted, Fleet had not found any wars to fight yet, but the border between the Alliance and the Chatcaavan Empire was perilous enough to inspire skirmishing now and then, and there was the perennial trouble with pirates and slavers… “I’m not sure what my monarch would think of it.”

  “Well, something to keep in mind,” KindlesFlame said. “Even if you don’t decide to join, you can end up as a contractor for them, especially if you’re near one of the military bases. The sector starbases are all Fleet establishments… they rent space to civilian concerns, but it’s a good place to get the hybrid practices. And you’ll have the benefit of the lighter gravity, since they typically don’t run them as dense as the average planet.”

  “I have to imagine such a place would be remote,” Jahir said, frowning.