Alawahea

by Sara L Daigle

  Not wanting to get caught staring, Tamara looked away. After a few minutes, she snuck another peek at him. His face reminded her of someone’s, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen those features before. Relatively small and straight, his nose had a slight flare to the nostril. His jaw was fairly prominent, making his face look long. The generous mouth softened the hard, masculine features of his face. He wore a vividly colored t-shirt tucked into a pair of long safari shorts. His thighs were quite heavy and muscular. His upper body was broad and unfinished looking, a little more muscular than the redhead but not as stocky as the blond. Her eyes traveled around the table to the young woman. The same height as the blond, she bent over the table with her back to Tamara. She had wavy brown hair that was cut in an attractive, shoulder-length bob and swept behind one delicate ear as she bent over the paper. Tamara couldn’t see her features from that position, but her lithe, slender body looked athletic.

  Tamara’s cautious regard swept on to the final member of the group. Standing at the head of the table, the ambassador leaned forward to answer a question posed by the woman. His expression intent on what the young woman was saying, Tamara got the opportunity to study him more closely. Taller than the other young men, the ambassador in his suit revealed less of his body structure than their jeans, t-shirts, and shorts. She had a moment of disappointment. Then, as if he noticed her attention, the ambassador looked up, caught her looking at him, and dodged around the desk to come up to her. Hastily, Tamara dropped her eyes to her desk as he approached, feeling the furious blush crawl up her face.

  “You are a student here?” he asked in that musical voice.

  Tamara looked up, her cheeks burning. She had a hard time meeting his eyes but forced herself to do so anyway. “Yes. Uh, my name is Tamara Carrington.”

  The ambassador leaned against the desk. “Carrington? Would you be any relation to James Carrington?”

  “He was, uh, my grandfather.”

  “Ah, this is wonderful! We in the diplomatic corps know Ambassador Carrington well.” He paused, then continued, “Was? Is he not still alive?”

  Tamara ducked her head. “He passed away a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” The ambassador straightened and bowed to her, placing his hand on his chest as he did so. “He was well respected on Azelle. We knew he had been ill, but we had no idea he had actually transitioned.” He rested his hands on her desk. Leaning forward, those dark eyes appeared intent on her. He gave her a charming grin that might have even melted her grandmother’s cold heart. “Well now. Do you mind if I ask what you are majoring in?” Usually feeling fairly secure in herself, she wondered why she was suddenly blushing.

  Tamara swallowed hard as she tried to regain her composure—and her ability to speak. “I am, uh, in diplomatic studies. Or I will be when I declare my major this year.”

  His grin widened, and he looked at her from under thick lashes. “Any specific planet you might be interested in?”

  Dizziness assailed her as she struggled to remain calm. An odd pressure built behind her eyes and she lifted her hand unconsciously to rub the bridge of her nose. “Azelle is, um, interesting. I know more about it than my teacher does sometimes, mainly because my grandfather used to share stories with me. All the other planets are really great, too. I really like learning about other places. I’m not positive I want to be a diplomat like he was, but I do want to learn about other cultures and planets, and diplo studies is the best place to do that.”

  The pressure vanished abruptly just as it edged into pain. “Would you be willing to come to the embassy for a welcome party for these students tonight? It would give you an opportunity to mingle with embassy members and get you prepared for a possible diplomatic career.” One side of his mouth lifted higher than the other as his voice took on an almost wheedling tone. “I can also get you access to other diplomatic embassies. I have several contacts in both the Atheran and Dorbin embassies.”

  Tamara hesitated only briefly. “Sure, that would be great! I’ll come to the party tonight.”

  He straightened. “Seven o’clock, in the main lobby. Bring any of your friends too who you think might be interested in diplomatic studies.”

  Tamara blinked. A slight headache throbbed between her eyes. She managed to ignore it as the young woman stepped up to the desk carrying the eight cards. She smiled at Tamara. “Thank you. Here are the cards you asked us to complete.” The words flowed out of her mouth more heavily accented than the ambassador’s, although with the same musical lilt.

  Tamara smiled back and collected her thoughts. “Now you need to go to the Dean of Students’ office and get your room assignments.”

  The five Azellians left and the room suddenly seemed empty, as if there had been a lot more than just their bodies in the room. Tamara shivered, her head pounding. She flipped through the cards, reading the personal information listed there as she tried to figure out which was which. The only one she successfully identified was the woman, Mellis, since she was obviously the only female in the group. If Tamara attended the welcome party that night, she was sure she’d be introduced to the others—Greg, Justern, and Alarin—and learn who was who. Pushing aside her curiosity, Tamara focused on entering the data into the computer and tried not to wonder more about them. She’d probably get the chance to find out more, if she actually took the ambassador up on his invitation.

  As soon as the five of them walked out of the office, Merran reached out to Greg on his private level so he could converse with him telepathically without the others hearing. Did you pick up that she sensed me?

  I caught that she was becoming rather uncomfortable. I think you were hurting her. As a Healer, with a highly specialized sensitivity to others’ suffering, Greg often could tell things about people that everyone else missed. Is that even possible? Do humans even have psi?

  Theoretically, yes, they do. We talked about it a little bit in my training. I’m surprised Healers don’t talk about this in theirs.

  Healers aren’t exactly all that interested in humans … as you know … considering the challenges I faced getting permission to come here. Back to Tamara Carrington. What did you pick up?

  She was open on the surface, but her deeper levels are heavily screened by a very thick shield. When I pressed on it, it resisted me with surprising force.

  Is that normal?

  I don’t know. I haven’t run into a human with psi before. Whether they normally have it or not, Tamara certainly has a shield, at least on the deeper levels.

  Greg was silent for a moment. Shielded, huh? So, you actually think she’s psi?

  Sure, why not? I think she very well could be.

  Hmm. Maybe I should keep an eye on her.

  Merran glanced at him. Is she giving off a Call? He had been friends with Greg long enough to know the Healer responded to things that Merran himself couldn’t sense, but that those sometimes odd decisions and directions were important.

  Not really. I just have a gut feeling.

  I’m not one to argue with a Healer’s gut feelings. Go for it.

  Heads up, humans headed this way, Alarin sent on the public level, bringing their attention back to the group. Three women walked past them, laughing and talking, casting an admiring glance at the group of Azellians.

  All five Azellians heard the comment clearly, easily picking up the mental admiration. “My, my, the students are getting better looking every year, aren’t they, Jan? Makes you almost wish you weren’t an employee.”

  “Since when has that stopped anyone? You know Lisa from accounting? She’s going out with a senior. And James from admissions married one of the students last year,” one of them added as the women rapidly passed out of sight and hearing range.

  Wow, are these humans going to be a rush! Justern drawled on the public level. They are so open it’s like swimming naked. He rolled his eyes and shivered. You could get off just listening to their thoughts.

  Can’t you think wit
h anything but your hormones, Justy? Mellis, the female of the group, nudged him teasingly.

  Why would I want to? Justern shot back as they entered the dean’s office. Wouldn’t you want to walk around in a constant state of orgasm?

  Merran sputtered and coughed as they entered the dean’s office and a distinguished looking gentleman came forward. “Excuse me, sir.” He collected himself and gripped the man’s hand. “Something caught in my throat.” He ignored his friends as Mellis and Justern suppressed laughter, then turned back to the dean. “I’m Ambassador Merran Corina, and I’m here with the four Azellian exchange students.”

  The dean smiled—his warmth genuine, even if a bit overdone. “Welcome! We hope you will be comfortable here. Please, don’t hesitate to ask any one of us for help should you need it.”

  Greg bowed. “We are honored to be here, sir. I’m sure we are going to have wonderful experiences. Our goal is to learn.”

  “Then you came to the right place. Our goal is to teach.” The dean turned to the student seated behind the desk. “Ken, can you get the keys for these young people?”

  “Sure.” The young man hopped up and grabbed four sets of keys. “We have you set up in two different areas. Nearby, but not on top of each other. We hope that it allows you to mingle better with the hum—uh, other students.”

  They exchanged glances and Merran could feel the apprehension in all four of them. He hastened to reassure them mentally. It will be fine. I’m planning on having many get-togethers at the embassy and you are always welcome to come to the embassy even when I’m not there. Remember the overt reason we’re here. To foster understanding, which means mingling, guys.

  “Thank you,” Mellis offered, recovering first. “It will help us settle in better, I’m sure. Start us off right.”

  “We’ve had quite a bit of experience with exchange students,” the dean continued pleasantly. “And we find they tend to stick with their own groups rather than stretch and learn about the new one. This practice of separating our exchange students helps with that. You at least get to know your neighbors.” He looked at the four of them and his mind oozed parental concern and high ideals. “It is up to you, of course, but I certainly hope you will all mingle with your fellow students and foster a better understanding of each other.”

  The aarya take him, I think I’m going to be sick! Justern shared mentally. Rather predictably, he was the most reactive to the pseudo-parental vibes the older man emoted. How much more patronizing can he get?

  Alarin responded before Greg or Merran could. Enough Justern. We are here to learn and he is genuinely concerned. Just smile, nod, and say thank you.

  Justern glared but he obeyed—reluctanctly.

  Merran was glad to usher the group out of that particular office. “I have to go. I have a meeting with the Earth Liaison Office. Go to your rooms and get settled. We’ll have our get together tonight. Be there at seven o’clock.” They scattered, the four students heading for their individual rooms.

  As he walked, Alarin extended a careful probe to his friends. His fellow Azellians were lost in feelings of overwhelm, even Justern, who was desperately trying to sidetrack himself by thoughts of sex and sarcastic little subvocal mutterings as they walked across campus. No one said anything, not even when they each reached their different dorms. In front of the blank wooden door that was to represent his home for the next nineteen months, Alarin felt the enormity of what he had done by coming to Earth at Merran’s request, against his parents’ wishes, against his other friends’ wishes, even against his own inclinations. So many ifs. If his father hadn’t been Leader of Azelle. If his older sister hadn’t been a Healer and therefore ineligible to take up the family mantle of leadership, focusing all the family attention on him. If he hadn’t been told over and over that he had no choice but to develop and highlight his family’s genetically enhanced charismatic and coercive psi talent rather than the chemical engineering he wanted to study. If his mother hadn’t been so forceful about his having to marry a woman she picked for him. If he hadn’t been a Raderth, one of the eight ruling families of Azelle and the family that considered itself first among the ruling families. The pressure had ultimately been the deciding factor. He just hoped he’d done the right thing by leaving.

  After looking down at the key in his hand, he glanced around. When he saw that no one was nearby, Alarin extended his mind and, with his telekinetic ability, clicked the mechanism. As the lock gave a satisfying thump, he turned the knob and opened the door. His little rebellion had gone unnoticed, of course, but it made him feel more like himself in the middle of this alien environment, so very unlike the majestic stone caverns of his hometown.

  Standing in the doorway, he surveyed what would be his domain for the next several months. A bed, a dresser, a closet. A wall made of peculiar fabric-type material. A dark-brown, plastic-and-rubber chair pushed up against a scratched-up desk. Dragging his luggage behind him, he walked into the room, closed the door behind him, and threw himself facedown on the bed. Thin bands of sunlight striped the bare mattress—a western exposure of the window promised a good view, if he could gather up the energy and desire to go to the window. With his head swimming, he rested his forehead on his arms, trying to process everything that had happened to him these past few days. Along with the people and responsibilities he left behind, he’d traded the hot desert wind and near-white sky of Azelle for Earth’s much bluer, although not much cooler, atmosphere, as well as the strangeness of how Earth felt to his psi sensitivity.

  Every living, breathing planet had its own unique voice in the psi dimension, and although he’d never been to another planet before, Alarin instinctively thinned his shields to listen to the noisy, boisterous psi signature that was Earth’s voice as a way of introducing himself. The sharp contrast of Earth’s cheerful chaos to Azelle’s soothing, harmonious song was jarring enough to make him homesick. He thickened his shields so that he could barely hear anything at all, even though the extra shielding made the bed spin unpleasantly. The tight, choked feeling of being cut off from the planet beneath his feet was enough to force him to open up again. Relaxing his shields, he lay on the bed and focused on nothing more than re-grounding himself, breathing slowly and deeply to reach his awareness past the cacophony of the upper levels of Earth’s psi voice, deep into the thrum of the planet’s very vibration. As he focused on his breath and the strong pulse of the planet’s heartbeat, his body slowly relaxed and he let his awareness descend into the ground to bring himself into sync with the planet. To his surprise, Earth welcomed him, and he let the rest of his tension slide away into the ecstasy of communion.

  In another part of Denver, Merran strode up to the imposing skyscraper that housed the Earth Liaison Office. Inside the cool air-conditioned interior, people hastened by, carrying briefcases and folders, minds occupied with various errands or meetings. Out of habit, Merran checked the directory and stood in front of the bank of elevators, his own briefcase held loosely in his right hand.

  A young woman joined him at the elevators. Merran glanced over at her and smiled. She met his eyes boldly, something few humans did when they knew who he was. Her eyes dropped from his eyes, travelling down his tie and shirtfront to the briefcase held in his hand. Merran raised his eyebrows, his smile increasing on one side.

  The elevator door swooshed open. Merran stood back and let her in first, following her onto the platform. Her eyes checked out his backside; he could clearly sense her disappointment that the blazer he wore prevented clear viewing. He waited until the doors slammed closed and the elevator jolted upward before he spoke. “And?”

  The woman jumped, startled by the fact that he had spoken. “And what?”

  “Do you approve of what you see?” Merran shifted so he could see her but not face her completely, giving her plenty of space if the clear message pouring from her actually was unintentional. After so many years on Earth, he’d learned to treat human sexual messages carefully.

  She
leaned against the back wall of the elevator. “I can’t see all that much, so I’m not qualified to make that judgment. Unless you’d be willing to ...” she trailed off suggestively.

  Merran lifted his shoulders in an expressive shrug. He grinned and glanced at the cameras on the ceiling of the elevator. “I don’t think an elevator with three cameras is quite the place.”

  “Pity,” she sighed. “It would be an impressive end to a long day, with a very hot stranger in an elevator. A story to tell the girls. You don’t work in this building, do you? If you did, I’m sure I would have seen you before now.”

  Merran wondered what she would say if she knew who he was. “No. I’m on my way to a meeting.”

  “Oh? On which floor?” She straightened and dropped the flirting. At least the obvious flirting.

  “Thirtieth.” Merran shifted against his hip as the elevator slid upward.

  “The thirtieth floor? I’m headed there, too.” Her boldness was the most attractive quality about her. Merran noticed that she dressed tastefully but aggressively, in a short black skirt and black tights, a red silk blouse with a fluffy red ruffle down the front, and three-inch heels.

  A slow smile touched his lips. “Oh? For what meeting?”

  She tossed her dark hair over a shoulder, pulling her hand through it in a move calculated to draw attention to herself. Her face was plain, although highlighted tastefully with makeup. Merran somehow doubted she would ever lack for partners. “Some boring meeting with an old fogey from the Azellian embassy, I think. We’re going to grille him on some program he’s been trying to foist on us for years.”

  Merran suppressed the grin that threatened to break through his control. “And your role is?”

  “I’m assistant to Ellen Pearson, the Assistant Director of the Earth Liaison Office. My name’s Lori Taylor.” She extended a hand.