by Jean Johnson
(I . . . find myself curious about your courtship rituals,) he finally said. (V’kol said he’d managed to find his way through your computer networks to data caches of, uh . . . sexuality in action. But while he said everything looked and acted pretty much the way we V’Dan know and . . . uses similar, ah . . .) He cleared his throat, even though he was speaking mentally, not physically. (But he couldn’t find as much on how you court each other.)
(It varies from culture to culture, and it can vary wildly. Some areas still try to arrange marriages for their children; the prospective bride and groom don’t even see each other until they marry, though the Council is always trying to enforce our universal law against unwanted or underage marriages. Although underage marriage isn’t nearly the problem it used to be . . . but we were talking courtship, not just marriage. Some areas, beloveds exchanged “soiled” or “scented” undergarments. Some areas, that’s considered bizarre, and they instead exchange messages, or, flowers, candies, little gifts.
(Most often, the way we find our life-partners is through shared experiences, compatible cultures, common interests, curiosity, and willingness to learn new things, and of course an underlying foundation of similar ethics and principles . . . and like a circle, we’re back to the ideals behind Valentine’s Day,) she observed wryly, smiling as she sorted the different types of spoons that had been used and cleaned.
(Jackie . . . what increases a Gestalt bonding?) Li’eth asked her, returning the rinsed felt mop to the smooth-tiled floor.
(Physical touch, actively trying to use each other’s abilities, telepathic communication—if the bonded pair have no natural telepathy on either side, then they usually have at the very least an empathic connection—followed by sexual interactions, pure physical proximity, and communication, in that order,) she listed, closing the silverware drawer. Then amended, (At least, as far as we know.)
(Wouldn’t sexual interactions be listed under physical touch?) he asked, crouching so he could work the mop under one of the counters. If he was going to mop the floor like a servant, he was going to do a good job of it.
(Most of it is, yes, but I’m talking about things like masturbating simultaneously while not touching each other, just communicating. Like during a vidcall.)
He straightened, shocked by her blunt revelation—or tried to, thumping his head into the edge of the table. “Aiy!”
“Need an ice pack?” she offered aloud.
“No,” he muttered aloud, gingerly touching the top of his head. “It’s just a little bruise. I’ll be fine.” Silently, he said, (Your people truly have turned this into a science if you’ve conducted enough studies on how to strengthen a holy pairing that you know which activities are the most potent for it.)
(Well, even with the KI machines, a lot of this is maybe observed phenomena, but much of it is still ephemeral, anecdotal, and intuition-based observation,) she allowed. (We’ve created machines that can sense the energy involved, but in over 175 years of experimenting, nobody’s been able to create a machine that can generate psychic energies. Whatever it is, it’s outside the electromagnetic spectrum . . . and even creating the machine was more of a serendipitous accident than anything else.)
(Maybe it cannot create them because psychic energies have to come from a living being?) Li’eth offered. At her sharp look, he shrugged and straightened, taking the mop to be rinsed again. (The words of the Immortal have suggested as much—though only indirectly, I’ll admit. It’s because of this that we’ve ruled machines do not have souls; there is no way for them to emanate holy power.)
(A coincidence, since the League has made a similar ruling: No matter how sophisticated the Artificial Intelligence, it is not alive, does not have a soul, is not truly conscious and sentient, so on and so forth . . . which is what led to the AI War just over a hundred years ago, but that’s a whole ’nother story.)
(Yes, another story. Let us stick to the one we have . . . though I’m still a bit skeptical of machines that can detect this energy . . . kinetic inergy,) he corrected himself.
(That’s only fair; I’m having a hard time believing in someone who is immortal,) she replied, lifting a hand toward him. (We have plenty of legends and myths about such things, but in reality nobody lives forever. Even the Greys can die. I’ve killed at least one of them, personally.)
Li’eth still didn’t quite know what a Grey was, but he believed her; Jackie’s underthoughts swirled with the sort of grim memories that could only come from causing an actual death. Not wanting her to dwell on uncomfortable memories, he returned the subject to the things they needed to discuss now. (Never mind about the Immortal, then. We have plenty of time to share lessons in history and religion. If what you’re saying is true . . . then we shouldn’t even be talking mind to mind, because that will increase the Gestalt.)
She shrugged, leaning back against the counter by the sink. (There were a few case studies of people attempting to resist the Gestalt. Of them separating and going their own ways, or of being requested to stay separate . . . or of being forced apart. Only if the bond was very new were they able to stop its growth for a while. Both sides of each pairing had emotional difficulties, however. Despondence, depression, despair. Agitation, anxiety, paranoia. A lack of joy in what they were doing . . . and in at least one documented case of separated pairs, for all they’d been separated for a good six or more years . . . when one of the subjects died in a vehicle accident, the other went into a decline, eventually suffered a stroke, and died within just a couple months.
(But that was in a very lightly set bond. In cases where the bond had been allowed to deepen, prolonged absence only increases the depression, agitation, and anxiety in each half of the pairing.)
(So we literally cannot live without each other?) Li’eth summed up. (If we are?)
(Pretty much. And in every case studied, the farther away a pair gets from each other, the higher the distress. Meditation helps somewhat, and in all the telepathic cases, once a certain level has been achieved, there’s no distance at which a bonded pairing cannot communicate—telepathy can ease the distress—but again, it’s only been tested by the length and breadth of the Sol System, here. Or rather, by a fraction of the Sol System. I think the farthest apart has been from Earth to Jupiter, and both pairs each time eventually had to be sedated to calm them down until they could be brought back into proximity.
(And, of course, there are cases of extreme distress even here on Earth; partners being forcibly kept from each other growing more and more despondent and reckless in their thwarted attempts to reunite. Luckily, the easiest way to fix the problem is to allow the pair to physically touch.) She gave him a wry smile. (The military even had two cases of spontaneous teleportation, before they wised up and wrote up new policy to keep Gestalt pairings firmly together. No enforced separation means no distress. Constant contact is all it needs.)
(Including telepathy, which strengthens the bond, as you said,) Li’eth recalled. He dug the flat mop into the last corner of the kitchen.
(Exactly—here, if you’re finished with that, we can toss it into the sonic cleaner,) Jackie offered. (I haven’t run it yet, but there’s a bleaching agent in the machine that’ll help kill whatever muck got onto that. The others are supposed to be busy wiping down all surfaces on their checklists for the public areas. After we’re all done with morning chores, Dr. Du suggested a game of charades.)
(Yes, that’s right, ladies versus gents—and miracle of miracles, Shi’ol agreed to it,) Li’eth half joked, peeling off the felt and handing it over. (Dr. Jain will still be asleep, since he volunteered night watch on the antigen cultures, plus that fellow of yours, Brad, declined to play, so that leaves us evenly paired, six and six.)
(Oh, he is definitely not my fellow,) Jackie denied flatly. She headed for the laundry room while he put the shaft and head of the mop thing back in its cupboard. (He hates psis because his betrothed was one, but she dumped him for a fellow psi, and he insists on painting the rest of u
s with that tarred brush.)
(Tar?) he asked . . . and received a thought-burst, a complex image that started with what tar was—some sort of sticky resin derived from plant life—all the way through a cruel ancient practice of brushing or splashing it on someone, and then smacking them with fistfuls of feathers. (That . . . is a very bizarre custom.)
(It’s a punishment not practiced in hundreds of years, thank goodness, but it’s too vivid not to keep in mind,) she agreed. (Anyway, that is the actually point of not bothering with stopping our telepathic interactions. If we’re bonded, then we’re bonded. The advantages of being able to share packets of information as quickly and tidily as that—telling you what “tarring a reputation” means—is far more valuable to ensuring each of our respective societies understands each other than preventing a Gestalt bond from deepening.
(If we’re not a true bond—and all signs so far say yes, we are,) she allowed, (then it won’t matter if we communicate telepathically because it won’t strengthen a bond that does not exist. If we are, then it is an inevitability that the bond will exist whether we want it to or not. The strength of the bond becomes irrelevant in a way . . . though at the same time, we shouldn’t engage in any activities that would strengthen it rapidly.)
(Which would be physical touch, and telepathy, and . . .)
(Not singly. Stacking them is “bad,”) Jackie countered when she caught his undercurrent implication. She put the mental sense of air quotes behind the word as she came back into physical view. The sonic cleaner hummed and sloshed nearby, filling with water, but not nearly as noisily as the dishwasher had. She didn’t use a mental image of herself making them, nor did she hold up her fingers to make the writing marks midair, but she kept the sarcasm and sardonicism invoked by them. (The “worst” kind of physical touch is lovemaking, sex on top of touch. Lots of nonsexual physical contact is also an intensifier—so hand-holding isn’t good, true, but full-body cuddling is even worse, almost as bad as sex.)
(Jackie, I am getting . . . undercurrents of your thoughts, with that word,) Li’eth stated, leaning back against the sink counter.
( . . . ?)
(Sex,) he clarified. She blushed, the change in color mildly visible on her tanned, markless face, but he pressed on. (I’m getting the impression you’ve never really cared for it. Putting aside all the political ramifications—though they are the biggest concern, I agree—is that why you’re reluctant to deepen the bond? You don’t like lovemaking?)
(It’s . . . good. I’ve had good experiences,) she allowed, folding her arms and leaning against a different counter. (I’ve achieved orgasms both on my own and with partners. A few. But . . . it’s never really been exciting for me. Attention-grabbing. I’m nowhere near as asexual as Master Sonam—I’d never take a vow of chastity,) Jackie clarified. (But when you’re a telepath of my strength . . . stray thoughts are very distracting. It takes a lot of concentration and effort to achieve, well . . . true mindlessness. The kind of mindlessness where you can just let go and enjoy a climax.
(But I wouldn’t say it’s the reason for avoiding physical intimacy with you.) She gestured at him with a hand before tucking it back into the other elbow. (If anything, all reports of Gestalt pairings, whether between a male and a female, or two males, or two females . . . or even a female and two males, whatever . . . by all reports, the sex is booting fantastic, if you’ll pardon my crudeness. The bond apparently makes it easier to enjoy sexual activities for a strong telepath because it encourages both minds to focus on those activities. Rather than, say, a grocery list, or wondering if you remembered to wash a certain shirt, or . . . All of which has been my problem in the past—the other person thinks of something outside the moment, and the moment gets ruined for me. I’m not a virgin, but . . . I’d need the right partner, really.)
(Well, I’m not a virgin either,) he confessed. (In fact, it’s a required course of instruction, back home. We’re given practical sexual instruction as well as theoretical after we’ve gained our marks and are considered adults. Formal training ensures that a member of the royal family cannot be easily seduced and thus persuaded or even blackmailed into some harmful situation by a putative lover.)
(How very pragmatic. I was given hands-on training in how to enjoy sex without projecting my reactions to it all over the place telepathically—or losing control of my other abilities, such as my telekinesis. And how to use it midcoitus,) she added, smirking a little. (After all, it’s amazing what positions you can taken when gravity and flat surfaces are no longer a concern . . . but that takes a lot of concentration and makes it that much harder for me to achieve a climax. And I’m not into bizarre positions plus exhibitionism if one asks another telekinetic to take over the support system, so to speak, so there’s no point in making love like a circus acrobat every single time.)
(I’m glad we agree on that much,) he indicated, with an undercurrent about avoiding exhibitionism . . . though he didn’t hide the thread of curiosity about “floating” while making love, either. Dragging in a deep breath, Li’eth folded his own arms across his chest. (So . . . no lovemaking while we’re still figuring things out. No full-contact cuddling.)
(Which stinks,) Jackie admitted frankly. (I like hugs. Lots of hugs. I just . . . don’t get them very often because physical contact amplifies my ability to read thoughts, even if I’m shielding against eavesdropping. If we are a Gestalt . . . I’d want lots and lots of hugs with you.)
(I don’t get many hugs either because I’m the prince. On top of that, in the last few years, I’ve been a senior officer, or the commanding officer,) he agreed. Li’eth couldn’t help the touch of longing that colored his underthoughts. (Just holding your hand has been . . .)
(We’re not going there right now,) she asserted, holding up a finger. (We’re not going to accelerate the Gestalt, no matter how much either of us longs for . . . for that kind of physical closeness, comfort, and affection with another person. I’ll continue to help you understand our culture, and seek a better understanding of yours, because the benefits outweigh the disadvantages, but for now, that’s it.)
(I can see you have a very strong inner will.) He sighed, and received a slight, wry smile in return.
Her reply was broken off by the appearance of Dr. Du, who poked her mottled head into the kitchen.
“There you are! Time for charades, you two,” she told them. “Splitting it ladies and gents ensures that there’s a chance that a particular cultural gesture will be understood by one of the members of that culture, but with only five players, it’s kinda boring. So come on! We’re playing for extra desserts and trading off chores, so hurry it up; Maria says she’ll be making flan, and I love flan, so I’m going to be fighting fiercely to win.”
(No sharing suggestions telepathically,) Jackie warned him, pushing away from her counter. (No matter how tempting it might be to help each other.)
(Another one of your exercises in self-control?) Li’eth asked Jackie as she followed the pathologist toward the main lounge.
Jackie snorted, smiling. (No, I’m like Dr. Du, there; I just want to win a doubled dessert.)
Amused, Li’eth followed both women out of the kitchen.
CHAPTER 15
FEBRUARY 26, 2287 C.E.
KAHALA, WESTERN HONOLULU
O’AHU, HAWAI’IAN ISLANDS, EARTH
By the time she arrived at her sister’s townhome in Kahala, Jackie was bordering on exhausted. Parting from the V’Dan had therefore been a matter of staying with them until they boarded the shuttle for the TUPSF Katherine G, which would take them on their starter tour around the pre-vaccinated stations around the Sol System. At that point, she had been free to head back down from the station’s spindle to fill out paperwork while waiting for her shuttle down to the planet. That, and a decontamination shower to reduce chances of introducing pathogens early, though distribution had already started on Earth with the capital, the islands, and all the major cities. Quarantine had ended a little early, just a few
days after the vaccinations had gone into production and distribution well ahead of schedule.
Landing hadn’t been a problem, either. Clearing the spaceport-security measures at Aloha City had been, however. Not because of the decontamination procedure—she had all her certification stamps for speeding that up—but because of the throngs of people who had somehow found out that the Ambassador of the United Planets was coming down to the capital. Hundreds had flocked around her as soon as she had gotten past the security checkpoint, all calling out questions, shouting them, demanding them, shyly requesting them, all wanting to know about the “alien Humans” that were here, or going to be here—anywhere on Earth, really. And then she had faced it again on her way into the airport section to catch a commuter flight to Honolulu . . . and on the aircraft, where she had to repeatedly request her nearest seating partners to just leave her be . . . and again coming out of that airport’s security checkpoint.
Jackie had been forced three times to resort to holokinetically “disappearing” from everyone just to be able to continue her trip . . . which could have gotten her in trouble with spaceport security, but at that point she hadn’t cared. It was late, she couldn’t stop for a bite to eat at the spaceport, there were too many people trying to talk to her at the two airports, and even her hovercab driver had given her more than one double-take looks. Particularly after insisting on visiting a storage unit first for more civilian clothes before making the trip here. She’d paid him double the rate on the meter with an order to “. . . forget you ever saw either address, so my family and things aren’t mobbed by any insane stalkers trying to get to me.”
Most people out here on the islands were laid-back, but they were still prone to plenty of curiosity. Thankfully, the driver seemed inclined to obey.