Mindtouch (The Dreamhealers 1)

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  “Did I pass, then?” he asked her.

  “You did, you did.”

  “Then,” he said, with care for the words, because he was tired enough to slur them, “I believe I shall have a seat.”

  She chuckled. “You do that. You’ve got two days to recover. Then it’s back on your feet.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, much to her amusement.

  But it was summer, and there was no respite. The teaching resumed immediately: in the case of his lecture classes, the hour after the exam was given. He gave himself to the learning, and discovered a ferocity of joy in it. He had never been stretched so in his life. Everything at home had always proceeded at a stately pace, unhurried, very aware of the hundreds of available years. No one rushed. There was always time. And, ridiculously, there was nothing to fill it with because the culture was stagnant. The pursuits permitted the noble and common both had been proscribed and had not changed for generations… and very little new was discovered or revealed.

  It wasn’t like this. Where he could open a book and feel with aching clarity how much there was that he didn’t know. No matter how fast he learned, millions of people were working to expand that pool of knowledge even as he studied. There would be no catching up with it. He could fill all his life with learning and never be done in the Alliance. It was intoxicating.

  Summer’s end felt as abrupt as a blow. His results came back and he took them with him to lunch with KindlesFlame, who accepted the data tablet without comment. The Tam-illee’s thumb flicked through the grades and notes as Jahir waited, sipping his coffee as much for the stimulant as for the flavor. Some small part of his mind could now—was now—cataloging the effects of the drug for him; he ignored it, save to be pleased that he could now do it.

  “You survived summer with a five-class course load,” KindlesFlame said without looking up.

  “I seem to have,” Jahir answered.

  KindlesFlame looked at him over the tablet. “And you excelled.”

  “They were not perfect scores.”

  “Of course they weren’t. You’ve got the handicap of not having started the degree at the undergraduate level here, where you could acclimate to the culture and language while the curriculum was less intense.” KindlesFlame put the tablet down. “I have to admit, alet. I didn’t think you’d manage.”

  “Is it the proper time to admit my own doubts, or would that be prejudicial?” Jahir asked.

  The Tam-illee huffed a laugh. “You’d have to have a mania to have gotten through that semester without doubts. But you did, and you’re on your feet, and even Lasa said you’d do.” He nodded. “I’ll give you that letter.”

  Jahir hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath through KindlesFlame’s speech until it ended. He let it out slowly. “I am grateful.”

  “Have you thought about where you’ll want to go?”

  “Only a little,” Jahir said. “Enough to have learned that All Children’s has no medical psychology residency program but the general hospital here does.”

  “And it’s a good one,” KindlesFlame said.

  “However, I have done some research,” Jahir said. “And it is my observation that the most promising students go to Heliocentrus for their residencies.”

  “Ah.” KindlesFlame stared at his cup, then picked up the cream cup and started diluting his coffee. “Yes.”

  “You know of it, then?” Jahir asked.

  “Oh, yes,” KindlesFlame said. “It’s what I was thinking when I told you, way back when, that the residencies are killers. Heliocentrus’s Mercy Hospital is probably the prize assignment for ambitious new healers-assist. It’s not a teaching hospital, so there are only a few slots open every year, and everyone wants them.”

  “Because….”

  “Because it’s the biggest hospital in the Alliance’s winter capital, on the capital world in the Core,” KindlesFlame said. “You get every conceivable kind of case there. The population’s so diverse, probably the only thing they haven’t seen is an Eldritch, and I wouldn’t bet my coffee on it. But—” He held up a finger. “—as one of only a very few psychologist-residents, they’ll work you to the bone. And they won’t cut you any slack for being wet behind the ears, either. They’re not there to coddle you or explain anything to you. You figure things out or you fail and they send you packing. The General Hospital here is attached to the university. They take a full complement of students every semester. They’re committed to teaching. If you go there, it will be like a continuation of your schooling here, but with real world examples. And you’ll be able to go home at night and get eight hours of sleep.”

  “And I will be here,” Jahir said, surprised to discover that this mattered. “Where I already have made connections.”

  “Yes,” KindlesFlame said. “Any notion then, which you’ll want?”

  “No,” Jahir said. “So I had better apply to them both, and several others besides. There being no guarantee of winning any.”

  “They’ll make room for you at General,” KindlesFlame said. “That’s part of their mandate, to teach. Offworld…” He shrugged, a dip of shoulder and ear.

  “We’ll see,” Jahir murmured.

  “You live!” Brett said when he entered the room behind Vasiht’h.

  “So it appears,” Jahir said. “Though pray do not apply to my roommate for evidence, or he may prove me wrong.”

  Vasiht’h snorted. “He’s half-dead, he just doesn’t have the sense to know it.”

  Luci said to Jahir, “Oh, you are in hot water now. He’s upset at you!”

  “I know,” Jahir said, contrite. “I have yet to make proper apology. Perhaps I can put the break to good use.”

  Vasiht’h eyed him as the others chuckled. Mera leaned over and said, “How are you pacifying the grumpy Glaseah? They do not grump easily, so once they have started, you are in the very, very bad place already.”

  “You’re going to need more than cookie dough to fix this one,” Leina agreed, snitching one of the chips.

  “I am open to suggestions?” Jahir said.

  “Maybe a massage?” Brett said to Luci.

  “Not so much,” Mera opined. “Hard to find someone who can work on us four-feet.”

  “I am sitting right here!” Vasiht’h said. “You could ask me!”

  “What would be the fun in that?” Leina said, grinning.

  “Besides, you probably won’t tell anyone what you really want,” Luci added. “Because it would make you feel bad to ask for something for yourself. Either that, or you’d be hurt that you had to tell us what you wanted, because you’d want it to come from our own heads.”

  Jahir glanced at Vasiht’h, and for his efforts won one of the mindtouches: a sour yogurt taste that hinted of exasperation, but with a touch of fondness. Fondness in that context tasted like strawberries. He would have to remember that.

  “In that case,” Vasiht’h said, reaching past Leina for the wine, “I’ll let you all keep guessing.”

  It was late when they finally returned to the apartment; Jahir was only on his feet due to the judicious use of coffee, and by eating sparingly of foods that might have sedated him. He did his half of the chores in silence, allowing his roommate—his friend—to keep his silence. It was for him to break, however, so he did. “You are hurt. And I truly am sorry. Shall I find you strawberries for cake?”

  Vasiht’h stopped in the act of reaching for the tea kettle. He made a strangled noise—laughter, Jahir hoped—and said, “It’s too late in the season for strawberries.”

  “I am sure I can find someone importing them,” Jahir said. “Or I can have them materialized in that magical box we never use.”

  Vasiht’h glanced at him. “I’m not angry at you.”

  “Much,” Jahir said.

  His roommate grimaced, then said, “All right, fine. Much. But it’s just because I’m worried about you.”

  That part, Jahir thought, was only partially true. There was something per
sonal there, and he had an uneasy feeling that he knew what it was about. “Tell me what I can do to make you feel better.”

  Vasiht’h shook his head. “No… it’s all right.” He sighed. “You’re doing what you have to do. I won’t stand in your way.”

  And that felt very wrong, and he had no idea how to say so when confronted with such noble sentiment. He looked away, then reached up to the top cabinet and got down the tea.

  Vasiht’h accepted it, silent, and together they fetched the cups and saucers. When the tea had steeped, the Glaseah poured for them both. Jahir took his tea to the great room and had a seat in the chair there.

  But Vasiht’h did not join him. He took his cup and went into his room, and very quietly closed the door. Jahir stared after him, feeling as if that was the beginning of a very bad trend, and that he should do something about it. But what could he do? If his roommate chose to withdraw, was that not his right? Particularly when Jahir had done so first, by giving himself so completely to his studies?

  It was particularly galling to wake up in that chair several hours later, having fallen asleep in the midst of his own debate… and discover that sometime during those hours, his roommate had covered him with a blanket.

  CHAPTER 29

  Vasiht’h had decided that it was time for a little careful self-protection. His roommate was going to leave, and take with him the mindtouches that had become so frequent they were beginning to function like a primitive mindline. He was also going to take with him the pleasure of his company, and the first really good friend Vasiht’h had ever allowed himself to make. Sehvi had been right: he hadn’t been open to the notion before. It had taken an alien three times his age to break through to him, by having the wonder of a child about all the things that Vasiht’h had long since taken for granted.

  But he was leaving, and Vasiht’h was staying, and they both knew it. He tried to be gentle about it, but he knew when he shut the door on Jahir that evening that he was drawing a very clear line.

  Jahir ignored it.

  The following morning, he came out of his room, rumpled, and found the Eldritch waiting for him on the couch. He was still in his nightshirt and pants, and was sitting cross-legged, and though Vasiht’h had never seen him look disheveled, there was something about seeing the white skin at his wrists and over his bare feet that made him look vulnerable.

  “Good morning?” Vasiht’h said, surprised. “I thought you’d be up and out by now.”

  “I know,” Jahir said, sheepish. “I slept through the farmer’s market, however. I thought I’d ask you to go to Tea and Cinnamon with me instead since I bought nothing for us to make for breakfast.”

  “Jahir,” Vasiht’h began, because he felt like his forepaws were on the slope of something and he was just a hair’s breadth from skidding down it.

  His roommate didn’t say anything, just looked at him with his usual careful expression. But Vasiht’h had long since learned to read the subtleties in those eyes, and the mindtouch whispered to him of so much cautious hope that he sighed. Sehvi had talked of other people tossing themselves off cliffs in their passions, whether it was a good idea or not. He could see the ground rushing toward him and yet, here he was—”I’d love to. Let me just brush myself and wash my face.”

  “Very good,” Jahir said. “I’ll dress.”

  The relief felt like the first warm breeze after winter. It made Vasiht’h’s fur stand on end. He petted it down on his way to the bathroom.

  The break between summer term and winter’s was a month long. Their last vacation had been Vasiht’h’s in execution. This one was Jahir’s. It involved a lot of walking on campus, but the university was huge and Vasiht’h hadn’t explored it all. Neither had Jahir. So they did it together, and found the gardens and fields, the art installations and fountains that they would otherwise never have known about. The business school had an amazing outdoor restaurant, and eating there at the end of the season, with the air still warm but the breeze beginning to cool, was sublime. The humanities building was adjacent to a hedge maze, which startled them both… Vasiht’h started laughing the moment they entered, for the thing had been sized for typical Pelted, and Jahir’s head and shoulders were visible over the tops of the bushes.

  “Not much of a mystery for you,” Vasiht’h observed.

  “At least we won’t get lost,” Jahir replied, amused.

  Their excursions at night brought them to a pool near the engineering complex stocked with softly glowing fish, each smaller than the length of Vasiht’h’s thumb; the students had accessorized the pool with dim colored lights set in the surrounding pavement that rippled on and off in patterns like waves under moonlight. There was something similar near the theater building, but with pinwheels that glimmered when the evening breezes blew. When it was dark enough, they blazed like fire as they spun.

  They also ate ice cream, and visited the children, sat under trees and watched the wind blow over the grasses, had coffee and kerinne at home. Jahir dusted the fireplace and brought home wood, ‘as it will be growing cold soon enough.’

  At the end of the break, Vasiht’h struggled not to feel morose. It was unreasonable to think something like this could last forever, but he wanted it to. He thought about telling his sister, but her pity, he thought, would have been far harder to bear than her teasing. And this situation had definitely crossed into the realm of pity.

  Kandara surprised Jahir by stopping him outside his Advanced Diagnostics and Procedures lecture during drop/add week, the first week of the winter semester.

  “I hear you’re mad to wreck your health on our profession,” she said, falling in step alongside him.

  “One could construe it that way,” he said, guarded.

  “And how would you be construing it?” she asked, and he detected a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

  “As dedication to a cause,” he answered, and was not at all flippant about it.

  “Mmm,” she said. “Well, you need a major professor. Have you chosen one yet? Because if not, Lafayette and I have put our heads together and decided I should take you under my wing. He’d do it himself, I suspect, except this isn’t his specialty.”

  “Healer KindlesFlame is already generous with his time,” Jahir said. “And I learn a great deal from our talks together.”

  “He and I have been friends for over twenty years,” she said, tail swishing. She was never still; he only wished he had her burning energy. “He asked me to keep an eye on you in spring, and to be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you. But you proved me wrong.” She grinned at him. “I like that in a student. I hate being right all the time. Gets boring.”

  Jahir said, “And what would my new major professor say if I told her my course load for the semester?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Hit me.”

  So he told her, and she walked alongside him for several minutes, wordless. He had shocked her, perhaps? But then she spoke. “Drop the Health Management of Adults course and replace it with… mm…Skills for Psychological Intervention. You’re going to need that first, if you want to get through the labs next semester.”

  Fascinated, he said, “The advisor suggested the schedule?”

  “The advisor thinks you’re going to fail one or two classes this semester, which would put you in school for an extra term.” Kandara grinned. “She wouldn’t have done it that way otherwise. But you’re not planning on failing anything, are you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then go rearrange your schedule. And I want to see you weekly. Pick a time, my office hours are online.”

  Fall brought with it a sense of unreality. This was his life, Vasiht’h thought, and yet it didn’t feel like it. He had never been so troubled, and it went with him everywhere… except to the studies, which he had moved to the general hospital adjacent to All Children’s on campus. The staff there was larger and didn’t know him; somehow that made it more comforting when he realized his methods worked on them. Ther
e was something important here, and even if he didn’t know who’d be using the methods he was pioneering, at least he was, for now, for the length of his research.

  After the halcyon month of break, Jahir had vanished back into his workload. The only thing the Eldritch didn’t miss was their weekly visit to the children, even though he often drifted off during them. Vasiht’h had been telling a story during one such session, and Jahir had fallen asleep with his back to the wall and Meekie in his lap. The Glaseah lowered his voice so as not to disturb his roommate and carried the story to its conclusion, and then fell silent, just looking at Jahir.

  “You’re sad about it,” Persy said, somber. “Is it because he’s making himself sick?”

  “No,” Vasiht’h said, startled. Was it so obvious? “No, other than having a tendency to fall asleep when he stops moving, he’s in fine health as far as I can tell.”

  “Then what is it?” Kayla asked. “Every time you look at him now, there’s something in your face that says you’re sad.”

  “Is there?” Vasiht’h said, dismayed. “Goddess, I hope not.” He passed a hand over his face, as if that would wipe the expression from it, and grimaced. “No, it’s nothing like that, ariisen. It’s just that… he’s going to be done with school soon, and then he’ll be gone.”

  “You could write, maybe?” Amaranth said.

  Persy shook her head. “That didn’t work with the girls who were here before you all. I mean, it started off okay, but after a few months they just got too busy.”

  “I’d write you!” Meekie said.

  “Is that it?” Kuriel asked Vasiht’h.

  “That… yes. That’s it,” Vasiht’h said. He sighed and tried to smile. “What would you do if you were me?”

  “Can you do what he’s doing?” Amaranth asked.

  “No,” Vasiht’h said. The thought of going medical was overwhelming. He didn’t want to spend all his working hours ministering to the desperately sick. He needed more balance in his life than that.