Alawahea

by Sara L Daigle

  “I am very excited about the class and the opportunity I am being given, professor.”

  “What’s more, I am willing to endorse your application to Azelle and to sign off on a special projects course for both this semester and next, as long as you are willing to write a paper for me at the end of each term on what you are doing and learning. Ambassador Corina seems to think he’s willing to offer you the opportunity to be a junior assistant, provided you do well these first few months.” Professor Bennington looked at her sternly. “This is quite a singular honor, Tamara. No other student in the history of Azellian and human contact has ever been afforded the opportunity to observe Azellian activities at close hand. You will be exposed to sensitive information. Your papers will show me whether or not you are able to sort through that information and work with two conflicting sets of interests, something any ambassador must be able to do.”

  Tamara had to fight a sudden sense of drowning. What have I gotten myself into?

  The professor must have noticed her expression, because he smiled. “You can handle it, Tamara. I’m confident of your ability. You will sign a contract with the embassy, as any employee would, and except for the disseminating of confidential information, it’s fairly lenient. They are even willing to pay you. You can at any time decide to terminate your employment upon a two-week notice. However, I want to say that my agreement with you is that you finish out the semester for me to give you your special projects credit and for me to endorse your going to Azelle.” He shifted papers around and pulled out one from the back of the pile. “Here is the contract. Read it and return it to me signed if you wish to intern with the embassy. I will get the special projects paperwork from the Registrar’s Office.”

  Tamara took the papers with shaking hands. “Thank you. I’ll return these to you by the end of today.”

  “No, why don’t you return them to me in class on Friday? That will give you a few days to read the contract thoroughly and be sure you understand every aspect of it.” The professor returned to his desk. “I’ll be in class in a moment.”

  Tamara left, clutching her contract tightly. She walked into the classroom in a daze. Kari sat in the middle, having saved a seat for her. Most of the other students were already there, so Tamara slipped into the chair next to Kari’s, placing the contract on the shared desk.

  “What’s this?”

  “I got the internship at the Azellian embassy, Kare.”

  “How—what—how?”

  “I asked. This is the employment contract.” She shook her head. “They’re even going to pay me! I don’t know how much, but if it’s enough, I’ll quit my job in the Registrar’s Office.”

  “So you get the extra credit. You lucky dog!”

  Tamara shivered. “I don’t know, Kare. I have this funny feeling I’m in way over my head. Ambassador Corina told me it’s going to be a high profile position and that he is going to make my internship political. If I get on the news what are my parents going to say?” Kari could only offer a quick sympathetic look, as Professor Bennington came in at that moment and class started.

  Things did not get any easier for Tamara either as she read the complete contract later that week. The terms were lenient and even generous—she would get pay that was much better than the small Registrar’s Office pay she was receiving now—and the only strict item was the need for her to keep quiet regarding anything she saw or heard in the embassy that would be considered confidential. In the event of any revealing of information, she could be held legally responsible as well as instantly terminated. Not unusual, but for an intern? It was perhaps a little bit of overkill—but then, Merran had said he was creating a precedent and she wouldn’t be the only intern they ever had.

  By Friday night, Tamara felt no more ease about the magnitude of what she was doing, but it was done. All that remained was to set up her schedule.

  She went over to the embassy right after dinner, about forty-five minutes before the party was to start, after having thrown on an outfit for the party itself. She didn’t have time to mess with her hair, but fortunately the short casual style normally looked good with just a quick brushing and fluffing. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Why she cared, she wasn’t sure. Shaking her head at herself, she turned away from the mirror, left the room, and headed for the embassy.

  Once again, a guard stood in the embassy gatehouse. She even recognized him from the time she and Alarin had come earlier in the week.

  “Ms. Carrington,” the guard greeted her with a smile as she came up to the gate. “The ambassador is expecting you.” Tamara returned his smile and walked through the door he opened to the side of the main gates.

  The sun, low on the horizon, cast long shadows in front of her as she made her way through the path draped in magnificent trees. She dawdled as much as she dared, wandering slowly through the leafy green shelter, but she knew she couldn’t waste any more time without looking obvious, so she walked up the wide marble steps that led to the front door. It swung open silently when she approached. She took a deep breath and plunged in.

  The temperature dropped inside the embassy, although it did not have the usual air-conditioned bite that most buildings did. She looked around as she entered. The entire interior of the first floor had been decorated for the party with tables clustered to the left where nametags and little party favors lay in straight rows. Soft velvet ropes swung across areas off limits to humans—the stairs and the offices to the right. To the left, though, strings of lights guided everyone to a conference room, where most of the party had been set up, including several tables of catered food. Staff members bustled about getting the food laid out for the party. None seemed to notice her. Tamara wondered if the ropes were reinforced by other means.

  “They are there as a visual reminder that there are areas where students are not allowed.” Merran came down the stairs wearing a formal robe that hugged his body, secured by a wide, ornate belt that swung lightly over the tips of soft, moccasin-like shoes. The long hair had made more of an impression in traditional Azellian robes than his current short cut, but his impact, as always, left her struggling to maintain her composure. His presence disturbed her in a way she couldn’t name, and today he looked remote, even untouchable, as the Azellian ambassador.

  “Are you including other methods of discouragement?” Tamara ignored her discomfort and touched one of the ropes. They were as soft as they looked.

  Merran smiled. “Of course. No one will even think about coming upstairs or going into the offices to the right. But instead of having humans get disturbed because they’ve run into an unseen wall and can’t move forward, we’ve done this so they think the ropes are responsible.” He stepped around one of the barriers; the robes he wore did not permit him to step over it. He bowed to her. “However, we won’t establish the mental barriers until later. In the meantime, we need to set up your schedule. Were you planning to continue working for the college?” He stepped back, motioning for her to precede him up the stairs.

  Although he was being very proper, even formal with her, she felt self-conscious and nervous. Maybe it was the formality itself. “No, you were very generous with the pay. I think most interns would not expect to get anything at all. After all, we are learning from you, so you could use us for slave labor.”

  The smile twitched into a grin and the illusion of the remote, cold ambassador abruptly eased, if it had really ever been present. “Oh you’ll be used for slave labor, all right. I just thought we might as well compensate you for some of it.”

  Tamara stepped onto the stairs. “Thank you for that. It certainly was a pleasant surprise. But—” She bit her lip as Merran fell in beside her. She felt a brush, almost like he’d touched her, but when she glanced down she saw that he was walking a good six inches away from her. Close, but within acceptable bounds to honor her personal space. Why then did it feel like he’d brushed her side as they walked upstairs? She was very aware of him as they walked. He was tall, an
d she definitely felt his height walking beside him like this. She tried to ignore her sensitivity to his presence.

  Merran glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Her aura flared strong tonight, although she was still heavily shielded and did not seem to be particularly sensitive. It glowed around her, a steady blue shine, picking up the red highlights in her hair and making her jewelry sparkle. Her short black skirt and heels made her muscular legs look longer; her blue silk shirt matched her eyes and her aura exactly, softly falling around her upper body and hinting at the shape underneath. As they walked upstairs, his aura flared, brushing the edges of hers. His breath caught as filaments of her aura reached out and slid up and around him. His whole body quivered, and he stepped a little more quickly up the stairs. Her aura did not let go easily, and he was more than a little off center when they reached his office.

  Merran controlled his reactions and stepped carefully around the desk, putting some distance between them to change the dynamic completely. She seemed to be unaware of what she had done—and probably was. He had to stop and pour himself a glass of water, stalling for time to reset his internal equilibrium. “All right,” he said when he returned to his desk and felt he could talk without betraying his agitation. “Let’s see.” He pulled out his daytimer without too much of a tremor in his fingers. “What days do you have class?”

  Tamara’s heart pounded steadily in her throat. If she didn’t know better, she would have said her presence affected Merran. Or by his reaction to something that had nothing to do with me, she reminded herself sternly.

  “I have class every day until noon and Tuesday I have lab in the afternoon.” Did he notice the tremor in her voice?

  Merran wrote steadily in the electronic daytimer, using the pen to tap out something. “The staff is here until six all week and until three on the weekends. I have written in twenty hours a week as a suggestion. Would that be too many?”

  “I think I can manage it. That would be four hours a day for five days? That makes sense. I could come at one, work until five, and to make up for Tuesday when I have lab, I could come in on Saturday. Morning would probably be better since I spend afternoons with my family.”

  “Sounds good.” Merran made more notations in the electronic daytimer. “Now, downstairs you seemed concerned about something. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Tamara shook her head. “No, I just—are we ever going to be on the news?”

  A frown flashed across Merran’s face. “I can’t say we won’t. The media does enjoy us Azellians, and me in particular. Why?”

  “Well, my parents aren’t—uh, my grandmother.” Tamara scratched at her head. “I mean my parents don’t know I’m working for you. It would be … awkward for me. And when you said you would be making this high profile, I kind of worried a little.”

  Merran’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I can’t guarantee that your working for us won’t get out sometime, Tamara. An intern is not necessarily something that the media will attach to, but you know what the situation is like, and I am certainly high profile enough for them to attach to me. I could keep your working here quiet, but that would defeat some of what I’m trying to do with your internship.”

  Tamara shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll just have to deal with it, I guess. I’m not going to be terribly popular with my family anyway. They’re going to have a fit when I tell them I’m going to Azelle on an exchange program.”

  He didn’t react to the slang she used. Maybe it was familiar to him or context told him what it meant. “It is your choice, Tamara.” He leaned over the desk, his dark eyes catching hers. “I promise you, though, that if you choose to stay on this path, I will do my utmost to help you achieve your goals. Whatever they may be.”

  She took a deep breath and decided to ask the question she’d wanted to ask since he offered her the internship. “Why?”

  He blinked at her. “Why what?”

  “Why are you helping me? I know I’m showing all these signs of an Azellian Awakening, and Greg … I can accept his help … but why are you helping me?” The real question she wanted to ask—was he attracted to her—she didn’t dare voice. This question tumbled out instead. “Why help me? So much that you are paying me to be an intern?”

  He gave her a crooked smile, knowing she was asking about his motives as much as anything. He didn’t have much of an answer to give her beyond the job answer, and somehow he didn’t want to give her that one. It was his job, but that wasn’t entirely why he was helping her. She hadn’t picked up on his signals, apparently, which threw him off balance a bit. Most Azellian women would have figured out his interest just from the aura play alone. She hadn’t. He took a breath and let it out slowly. “I didn’t have it easy, either. My interest in humans and things human never sat well with my family, or with the Azellian Council. I know how hard it is to run counter to your family, to say nothing of your culture at large.” It was the truth, as far as it went, but did not even begin to cover the tangled political and cultural web his birth, presence, and choices created on Azelle. He let his shields thin to the point of nonexistence, although he did not actively project at her. “Maybe I think if I can help you get there, then I will have won something, too.”

  Tamara blushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I mean, I know it must seem as if I’m not grateful—”

  “But you want to know what’s motivating me. Not an unreasonable question,” Merran finished for her, coming around the desk. He projected at her, keeping it lowkey. “It’s a very good one. We are not so different, Azellians and humans. We’re all human. In some ways we are more similar to you than to any of the other native Azellian sentient species. We call ourselves the umanaarya, but perhaps it should just be uman. Family can be complicated, but one thing I have learned since I’ve lived here on Earth is that the family you choose … your friends … are as important as anything else. If you put your trust in the right people, they will be with you through thick and thin and offer you as much strength as you could ever hope to have with your birth family.” He leaned against the front of his desk.

  Sitting left her too vulnerable, so she stood up abruptly. At eye level, she could see his mouth and soft, generous lips. She could feel his pain, the unspoken hurt behind what he said, the bitterness shadowing his words, the sincere desire to help, to maybe make her passage easier than his. Was it her talent? Or was it something else? A sudden wild desire to kiss him, to slip her mouth against his, to feel the body behind those robes, rocketed through her.

  Merran knew what shot through her mind almost immediately. Her aura flared brilliantly, and her shields shivered and wavered, her mixed emotions pouring out in waves. She had felt him, she had felt more than he intended to project. He stood still, slamming up shields around himself, not moving, not daring to move, as she balanced on the edge of a full Awakening.

  Tamara stood, obviously fighting herself. The moment quivered between them, stretching into a thin, burning hot wire. From his viewpoint, Merran watched and waited as her aura snaked out pieces of itself, to be pulled back and reabsorbed. Her shields flared—thick, then thin. They remained stretched, gossamer thin across her turbulent emotions. Desire, fear, worry, excitement all careened fitfully around his shielded office and around his own shields. He held his own emotions in tight control.

  “Tamara,” he said finally, speaking calmly and quietly as she stood, her nostrils flaring with each heavy breath. Her eyes dilated so dark they almost swallowed the blue iris; she squeezed her hands into fists.

  “What’s happening?” she croaked. Her breathing quickened.

  “Tamara, I want you to visualize yourself in a room. Sun is pouring in … too bright for you to see. There is a set of heavy dark curtains, Tamara. Pull those curtains across the windows. Pull and latch them tight.” Merran continued shielding himself so heavily that he thought he’d momentarily gone deaf.

  Merran suspected she couldn’t hear him either. He knew hyperventilation would ma
ke her pass out and the episode would fade, but she could learn a lot if she were able to ride this one without losing consciousness. With his own emotions blanketed solidly under his shields, he stepped forward. “Tamara, listen to me.” He hesitated for a moment, making sure his shields were tight, then his fingers closed around Tamara’s shoulders.

  Tamara’s breath caught in a sob as his hands touched her shoulders. He could feel the waves of dizziness assailing her and the nausea rising at the back of her throat, even through the thickness of his own shields. Shudders wracked her and her knees collapsed to the floor.

  Merran shifted and caught her limp body. He slowly lowered her to the floor as the terror and adrenaline raced through her and into him with their physical contact. Merran cursed to himself. He was not Greg, able to control some of her physical reaction to her fear, but he remembered something that had happened to him years ago. He’d come upon a child, lost and lonely. The child had thrown herself into his arms when he’d offered her kindness. She’d shown such relief from her terrified state that it had startled Merran and made him realize humans used touch the way Azellians used auras and mental contact. Sinking to the floor with her, he pulled her close. Stroking her hair, the way he had done to that child so many years ago, he let calm leak from his own mind. “You’re safe, Tamara. Just visualize the bright sun going away. It can’t hurt you. It is you, and you have thick, dark curtains. You can pull those curtains across the windows that are blinding you.” Still stroking her hair, he repeated his instructions over and over. And slowly, the shields around her mind built back up and she slipped out of the episode. As he cradled her in his lap, gently stroking his hand over her hair, he made a sudden decision. Full disclosure. She needed to know about his attraction to her. It might go somewhere, it might not, but he wasn’t interested in playing games with her. She was unlike anyone else he’d ever met.

  The release of fear left her weak and shaking, sprawled in his arms. Merran let her sit quietly for a moment, then she felt him shift, gathering himself to lift her to the couch. She tried to protest. “I’m too heavy,” Tamara managed to vocalize weakly.