Dreamstorm

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Dreamstorm Page 22

by M. C. A. Hogarth


  No, what mattered was that he had money enough for an extravagance. If he thought that indulging it wouldn’t be making someone’s life choices for them. He tapped his finger on the tablet, frowning, then reached over and pulled a piece of the muffin off the top, trying it. The recipe was good. He thought it had something unusual in it. Cardamom? He stared at it, smiled. Giving someone an opportunity wasn’t coercing them. Especially if they wanted it and just didn’t know it yet. But… if he bought it in advance, that would apply undue pressure, wouldn’t it? He frowned, then nodded. There was a middle way.

  He put away the bank info and started searching. An hour later, he was ready, and selected one of his commtags. It took a while for his brother to pick up, which was fine. Vasiht’h was still savoring the muffin. When Dondi finally answered, he didn’t wait for his brother to greet him. “Would you put cardamom in a blueberry muffin?”

  Dondi, whose mouth was already open, closed it and looked contemplative. “That sounds great, actually.” Then he scowled mulishly. “And if you’re calling about my fight with Pes, I already read your message and I don’t care what you think this is about, it’s totally about—”

  “Ariihir!” Vasiht’h held up a hand. “How do you feel about a trip to Asanao?”

  Dondi’s flat-footed expression, complete with gaping mouth, was painfully comical. “W-what? Asanao? Why do you want me to go all the way out there?”

  “’All the way out there’ is the middle of the Core,” Vasiht’h pointed out. “It’s not like I’m talking about the boondock colonies.”

  “It might as well be! Why on the worlds did you think of it? And me?” Dondi frowned at him. “What’s this about?”

  “It’s just a thought,” Vasiht’h began. “There’s a cooking school there that’s having trials for scholarships in three months—”

  Dondi squeaked. “You mean the Ward Culinary Academy?”

  Vasiht’h’s brows rose. “You know about it?”

  Dondi looked away, ears flagging. “I… you know. Like to watch cooking contests.” He scowled and said, “You’re not serious. You want to send me to Asanao to compete for a scholarship? Do you know how hard it is to get into Ward?”

  “I assume very hard,” Vasiht’h said. “So if you decide to do it, you’re going to be very busy for the next three months.”

  Dondi stared at him. “You’re serious about this.”

  “What I want to know is if you’re serious about it,” Vasiht’h answered. “Ariihir, you’re good in the kitchen. You always have been. And you enjoy it. But you’ve never made any noise about doing something with that talent, which is why Dami and Tapa haven’t pushed you. I think you could use a push, though, because you’re flailing. You love to cook, so why not be a chef?”

  “I don’t know if I’m good enough!” Dondi said, staring at him. “Vasiht’h, this is… that’s a real school. With an actual reputation. An Alliance-wide one!”

  “And you’re my brother,” Vasiht’h answered. “Neither stupid, nor useless, nor bad at what you do. You are, in fact, excellent at it. The nights you did the evening meal were always the best. Even when you were only ten or eleven.”

  Dondi was looking down, no doubt to hide the blush Vasiht’h couldn’t see through his dark-furred cheeks. “You’re just saying that.”

  Vasiht’h snorted. “No, I’m not, or I wouldn’t be offering to pay your way to the contest. And your hotel while you’re there. And if you win the partial scholarship, well… we’ll talk. Right?”

  “You mean that?” Dondi said, incredulous. “You… you really believe I can do it.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I can’t let you pay for my entire schooling!” Dondi exclaimed. “If I get the partial, I’ll work my way through. Or at least, as much of it as I can.”

  “We can talk about it when you win,” Vasiht’h said. “But if I were you…”

  “I’ll get to work right away!” Dondi said, eyes still wide. “They have archives of past wins, I need to look those up, see what kinds of things the judges expect, and oh, Goddess, Vasiht’h, are you serious?”

  “Go register,” Vasiht’h said. “And send me the confirmation when you get it, all right?”

  “Is that to keep me honest?”

  “Yes,” Vasiht’h said. “Because if you blink, I’m going to nag you until you follow through.”

  Dondi laughed a little, uncertain. “Awfully pushy, big brother.”

  “I know,” Vasiht’h said. “And I wouldn’t be leaning on you if I hadn’t seen how excited you got at the idea. But you want to do it, ariihir. I don’t want you to talk yourself out of it, that’s all.”

  Dondi said, “I… yes. You’re right. In fact… will you stay on the line with me? I’ll fill it out now.”

  “I’m still eating this muffin in this really nice bakery, which smells like yeast and sugar,” Vasiht’h said cheerfully. “Trust me, I don’t need any other incentive to stay put.” And he meant it, enjoying every moment of both the muffin and his brother’s distracted mutterings as he searched for and completed the registration process. Vasiht’h even had time to order a second pastry, and decided on something that looked like a croissant but turned out to be filled with a light, tangy custard. Not strong enough to be lemon…

  His data tablet chimed as a copy of the registration confirmation arrived. Vasiht’h spread the message and grinned. “So how does it feel to be committed, ariihir?”

  “Terrifying,” Dondi said, but he looked excited, not frightened. “What are you eating now?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s good.”

  Dondi fidgeted. “Um. About Pes.”

  Vasiht’h held up his hand. “I don’t care. I’m not here to yell at you about treating your family better. I’m here to confront you with your future.”

  “Ow, Goddess!” Dondi laughed. “That’s far more scary!” His ears sagged. “Ah… I probably should apologize to him, though, shouldn’t I.”

  “I don’t know,” Vasiht’h said. “I don’t know what the two of you were really fighting about, or what you said to each other. But I will say this: if something happens on that shuttle, do you want Pes’s last memories of you to be from that fight?”

  Dondi shuddered. “Ugh! No! Thank you for that awful image.”

  “Of if something were to happen to Pes,” Vasiht’h continued. “Because accidents do happen, ariihir. If you knew he was going to die tomorrow, would whatever you were fighting about matter?”

  “No!”

  Vasiht’h shrugged, a gesture that would probably have been more effective without the croissant in his hand. “There you go.”

  Dondi sighed. “You ever have that thing happen where you start a fight and then you say things during it that are more awful than the actual fight? And then what you’re upset about is what happened during the fight, not the thing that inspired it?”

  “Not only have I had that thing happen, everyone’s had that thing happen,” Vasiht’h said. “So practicing how to get out of that loop before you crash is a good thing.” He grinned, lopsidedly. “One of the many wonderful things about being a bonafide grown-up.”

  “I am a bonafide grown-up! Just because…” Dondi stopped and put his head in his hand. “Oh, no, don’t you start.”

  “So that’s what it was about, mm?”

  “That’s what it became about,” Dondi muttered. “Just because I haven’t figured things out…”

  Vasiht’h said, “You’ve got a confirmation message in your mail right now that says you have. That you probably always had. You just hadn’t figured out how to act on it. But you’ve got work to do now, don’t you?”

  “I do!” He paused. “And an apology to make.” Clearing his throat, he added, “Do you mind if I… keep you informed? Like I should make a plan and tell you what I’m doing to follow up? It’ll help me stay on track. You know. Especially if Ditreht comes round and wants to know why I don’t want to go clubbing.”

  “I’d be d
elighted to review your plans,” Vasiht’h said. “Especially if they include recipes.”

  Dondi brightened. “Great! It’s a deal.” The realization seeped into his face, and his eyes shone. “Oh, Goddess, I’m really going to do this? I am! Thank you so much, ariihir! I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t,” Vasiht’h said. “More importantly, I don’t think you’ll let you down either.”

  “No,” Dondi agreed. “I’m going to go review the archives right now! I’ll talk to you later!”

  The croissant was so good that after eating it, Vasiht’h ordered himself coffee to wash it down before checking Sehvi’s timezone. Tam-ley was now in late evening, so he settled for leaving her a message. ‘Solved your problem. You’re welcome. Love you, V.’

  Now all he had to do was tell his partner that they’d be funding the launch of Dondi’s culinary career. Somehow, though, Vasiht’h didn’t think that would be a problem. Setting the tablet down, the Glaseah drank the coffee and thought about lunch.

  Chapter 20

  For days after their return, Jahir went about their routine without question, because he was so accustomed to the rhythm of their days that falling into it was second nature. But he was also aware that when he came to rest, his eyes moved toward Vasiht’h. Even with the mindline’s evidence, he could not quite take for granted that the Glaseah was here and alive, and not a victim of the storm. Jahir had checked the news after their departure. He knew about those who’d died. Most of them had been on the ocean when the storm hit, the way his partner had been.

  Jahir had accepted that he would lose the Glaseah too soon, but he’d assumed that death would be dealt by old age, not untimely tragedy. The closeness of that brush with a world without Vasiht’h had harrowed him in a way he found unnerving. There were so many ways the Alliance could bring him joy and comfort—the discovery that children could age into companions had been one—that the ways it could serve him sorrow cut the more deeply.

  That was also the reason he had not looked too closely at his failure. He knew, intellectually, that he should reschedule, or possibly contest the exam’s results. But too much had attached to it for him to see it clearly. His guilt over having the opportunity, when so many didn’t; his shame that he was not planning on returning to the homeworld, when so many needed what he could learn; his ambivalence about the hospital setting, and his dismay over discovering how much he yearned for it anyway; his fears that he would find the Alliance’s technology so magical that when it failed, its failure would be unbearable…. and overwhelmingly, the feeling that he’d both failed Vasiht’h by not passing, and done the only possible thing in response to his partner’s danger….

  Time would smooth out this tangle, as it did so many. But he was not ready yet.

  He still wasn’t ready when he received a message on his way back from his daily swim. From KindlesFlame. Almost he didn’t open it, for explaining to his mentor why he wasn’t on the rolls of those who’d passed was beyond him, but he could not countenance avoiding the Tam-illee after all KindlesFlame had done on Jahir’s behalf. Spreading the message, he read the words, and re-read them for comprehension.

  Meet me for coffee? Tell me where, I don’t know anything about this place.

  Jahir stepped out of the middle of the throughway to stand beneath the awning of a café and reply. You’re on Veta?

  A few moments later: For another day, yes. So, date?

  Hastily, Jahir sent him the address for the café with the scones, and made his way there to procure a table.

  Fifteen minutes later, KindlesFlame sauntered onto the patio, hands in his pockets and tail swinging lazily behind him. The sight of him on Starbase Veta was so out-of-context Jahir almost didn’t recognize him, seeing only a middle-aged Tam-illee, confident and easy in his own skin, and the revelation drew his breath from him: that he had begun thinking of Pelted of a certain age as ‘old’ because by his standards they were only a hair’s-breadth from dying. But they were not dying. Men and women like KindlesFlame were in the prime of their lives, and more wick in fact than many Eldritch ever were, trapped in ruts of their own making.

  “So!” KindlesFlame said, pulling back a chair. “Do I see before me the newest provisionally licensed healer-assist in the Alliance, and possibly the only Eldritch who can make that claim?”

  “In reverse order,” Jahir said, “I do not know, and… no.”

  KindlesFlame’s brows rose. “Don’t tell me you failed.”

  “I’m afraid it was nothing so simple,” Jahir said. “Will you sit? This café is famous for its scones, and I am eager to introduce them to someone who won’t quail at the sight of them.”

  “Don’t think you can distract me with food.” The Tam-illee dropped into the chair opposite his. “Order me the scones, sure, but explain.”

  Jahir called the waitress over and asked for coffee and a plate of both of the scone specials before facing his academic advisor. “Let me tell you then, about Tsera Nova.”

  The telling took longer than he expected. Not because of the events, though those needed their fair share of the time. But because KindlesFlame quizzed him on the exam’s subjects, and they found themselves wandering through the subject matter, speculating or discussing current research. The scones arrived, one set of triple strawberry served with a side of cream whipped with honey, and another based on chives and yogurt that Jahir actually enjoyed, though he had to break his off in small pieces to eat it slowly enough to last the conversation.

  “So are you going to go back and tell them you want to retake the final sections?” KindlesFlame asked, having rescued Jahir from the necessity of consuming the strawberry scones. He was licking his spoon of the remaining cream.

  “Would they permit it?”

  “Probably not,” KindlesFlame said. “But they might. You have a way of talking people around.” He lifted a brow. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried it already.”

  “It would perhaps be easier simply to take the test again.”

  “You could, yes, though it seems a waste of money and time.” KindlesFlame canted his head. “You haven’t scheduled it.”

  Jahir looked at his mug. “No.”

  “But you will, won’t you?”

  To answer when he didn’t know the answer… would what he said be a lie? Or would it become a self-fulfilling prophecy?

  KindlesFlame leaned forward. “Jahir.”

  “I… had not thought so far ahead.”

  “You are not doing this.” Surprised at the heat in the Tam-illee’s voice, Jahir looked up and found his mentor glaring at him. “You’re not going to talk yourself out of this after all the effort everyone around you has put into supporting you into this decision. A decision, I’ll remind you, that you wanted to make anyway.”

  “Alet—”

  “Don’t,” KindlesFlame said. “Don’t put that barrier between us. Unless you’re willing to bow to my authority?” He lifted a brow. “Well?”

  “I…”

  “When we finish this conversation, you’re going to go home and discuss this with Vasiht’h,” KindlesFlame said. “And you’ll reschedule the damned exam. And take it. And become the first Eldritch healer-assist in the Alliance, because Iley curse it, it’s what you want, and it would be a damned waste of your talents not to go through with it. Especially after Tsera Nova. Do you understand me?”

  “I… you are… reprimanding me?” Jahir said, surprised.

  “I’m pulling you up by your neck and pointing you back in the right direction,” KindlesFlame said. “Because apparently your partner hasn’t yet. Which means…” He paused, then scowled. “You haven’t told him yet, have you!”

  “It hasn’t come up?”

  KindlesFlame pointed a finger at him. “That’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get back from this meal. Do you understand me? And in case you’re tempted to renege on that, you’re going to invite me to breakfast tomorrow before I get on the shuttle to go back to
Seersana."

  “You… feel very strongly about this.”

  “I do, yes,” KindlesFlame said. “You didn’t come this far just to stop short of the goal.” He sighed. “Arii. Look at me, will you?”

  Startled, Jahir met his eyes. They were gray—he had never noticed. Intelligent eyes, incisive and compassionate, and right now, far, far too intense. It made him flush.

  “As an educator, you hope you’ll have students worth your time,” KindlesFlame said, each word taut. “And if you’re lucky, you’ll meet a few who are that perfect combination of smart, driven, and a pleasure to work with. It’s not just about them—it can’t be. It has to be about the interaction between them, and you. A spark that makes you look forward to coming to work in the morning. Reminds you that what you’re doing makes a difference. When you retire, those are the people you look back on and think ‘yes. That’s why I went into teaching.’”

  “Alet,” Jahir whispered.

  “You’re one of my sparks,” KindlesFlame said. “And if you think I’m going to sit back and watch that complicated head of yours sabotage you before you’re even started… you’re wrong. Because you really are barely started, Jahir. You’ve got centuries to learn everything you want to, and more importantly, to synthesize medical disciplines in a way most people can’t. Because you have the time to assimilate disparate principles and see how they interact.” He shook his head. “You have the potential to see things in a way none of us do, because most of us can’t specialize in more than one field. Can you imagine the kind of synergies you’ll see because you can develop the expertise across those boundaries?”

  Jahir stared at him, stunned. “Oh, alet…”

  “Yes?” KindlesFlame said. “Do you see?”

  Did he! Oh, but he did. The idea was staggering. He had been so concerned with fitting into the Alliance’s mold, and the ways he couldn’t, that he’d completely failed to imagine the ways he might exceed it. “But… I am not ready!”

  “No,” KindlesFlame agreed. “Not least because you keep tripping yourself this way. You’re going to need some time to stop second-guessing yourself. But Iley willing, you have that time too. You’ll be a therapist until being a therapist doesn’t teach you enough anymore. Then you’ll become a doctor, and everything you learned as a therapist, you’ll bring to that practice. And after that… research? Something else?” KindlesFlame tilted his head. “I don’t know how much of it I’ll be around to see. But I plan to be there for as much of it as I can.”

 

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