“To give you those three days,” Jahir said, looking up at him without lifting his head. “No one’s ever been able to mitigate the damage. But someone, someday, might find out how.”
The physician sat back in his chair. None of them spoke for several long moments. Then he stood. “You can stay until you’re ready to go. And thank you for your assistance.” He paused. “I may ask for your help again. If that’s all right.”
“We’d be glad to help, anytime,” Jahir said. “And you’re welcome.”
The two said nothing to one another after the physician left, but Jahir liberated a hand from the mug to rest it on the back of Vasiht’h’s shoulder. Through it their sense of one another in the mindline intensified until the aura of the hospital receded.
The healer-assist checked on them later. “Need more tea?”
“No,” Jahir said, rousing himself with a sigh. “Thank you for calling us in.”
“It was an act of courage to go around the doctor,” Vasiht’h added.
The man snorted, sitting on the chair the physician had vacated. “If a doctor tells you a zebra’s a horse, it’s not courage to tell him he’s wrong. Besides, he’s not all bad. You gave him something to do, didn’t you?”
Jahir started. “Did he tell you?”
The man guffawed. “No. But I haven’t been going to the two of you for my problems for a year without knowing how you work. You always give me something to work on so I feel like I have some power over something, like I can do something productive, right? It helps me, so it’ll help him. Us professional healers are all alike.” He smiled. “So what did you give him?”
“The task of looking for a cure for wet-related brain damage,” Jahir said dryly.
The healer-assist whistled. “Well, guess a guy’s gotta have ambitions. You two need anything else?”
“No, we’ll be leaving in a few minutes,” Vasiht’h said firmly.
“Daley?” Jahir said. “Where did this patient come from?”
“No clue,” the healer-assist said. “Someone dumped him on our doorstep and left without giving us his name. He had a standard jumpsuit on. No patches or names on it. I’m betting he came off one of the transients at the dock. Some independent freighter captain, maybe, getting rid of a problem. “
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Jahir murmured. “If you would... be sure to inform Fleet. They’ll want to know.”
“I will.”
“Thank you, Daley.”
“See you in two weeks,” Vasiht’h added.
The healer-assist paused at the door. “Want me to tell you when he passes?”
Vasiht’h said “No” at the same time Jahir said, “Please.” They looked at one another and Vasiht’h sighed, relenting. Jahir said, “I’d like to know.”
They saw their clients as normal for the following two days, but both were aware of the silence that lingered in the mindline, the awkwardness in their interactions. They no longer moved in lock-step; they were not even aware enough of one another’s physical bodies to avoid occasionally bumping into one another. When the call from the hospital came Jahir intercepted it, accepted the news, and then disappeared into the kitchen. Ten minutes later he brought a single mug of steaming kerinne to the common room where Vasiht’h was reading a book on his data tablet.
“For me?” Vasiht’h said, taking it.
“I’m sorry,” Jahir said.
Vasiht’h looked away. “I... I am too. Just the memory of that stint we did in Heliocentrus—”
“I know,” Jahir said. “And I remain sorry to this day. Sorry that I didn’t listen to you, and sorry that we went through it.”
“But not sorry for the experience,” Vasiht’h said.
“No,” Jahir answered softly. “I learned too much about people. And about myself.” He smiled. “And about you too, and where we both belong.”
Vasiht’h sighed out, slowly, the steam blowing off the surface of the drink. “I guess the patient died.”
“Just now,” Jahir said, sitting on the floor beside him, knees up and arms resting on them. Their shoulders were just touching.
Vasiht’h swallowed. “Every time you did that, arii, back when it was new to us...all those dying people...” He flexed his fingers on the mug. “Every time you did it, I knew you weren’t going to come back.”
Jahir met his eyes, then leaned over and rested his brow against his partner’s. /I can’t make any promises/ became /I know/ became /I love you because you have to try/ and neither of them bothered to untangle it.
“Go get a cup of coffee,” Vasiht’h said. “And let’s do something normal for the night.”
“Gladly,” Jahir said.
Case Study: The Christmas Tree
“There is a tree on our doorstep,” Jahir observed.
“There is a tree on our doorstep,” Vasiht’h agreed, coming to a halt. On the threshold of their combined office/living space was some kind of evergreen in a pot, chest-high... to Vasiht’h anyway, the shorter of the two.
“Why is there a tree on our doorstep?” Jahir asked after a moment.
“Your guess,” Vasiht’h said, “is as good as mine.”
They did not discover the provenance of their unexpected gift until after they’d brought it inside and settled down with warmed ceramic mugs... of kerinne for Vasiht’h, who liked the creamed cinnamon drink common to the Alliance, and of spiced cider for Jahir, who was feeling the cold of the season more than his Pelted companion, as always. It was not an unusual way for them to spend their free evenings together once the holiday season began... with the humanoid Eldritch casually seated on the couch, dressed in layers that did nothing to detract from the low-gravity length of his limbs, and his centauroid partner on the floor, forelegs stretched in front of him and paws crossed at the wrist.
“So this is from that Hinichi client we had that while back,” Vasiht’h said, reading the information scanned off the tree’s virtual tag on his data tablet. “The one with the adopted sister we helped.”
“A tree,” Jahir repeated.
“As a gift for the holidays,” Vasiht’h said, reading off the tablet. “Hinichi have the custom of decorating trees for Christmas, which they evidently took with them during the Exodus when the Pelted originally fled Earth.”
“So it’s a human custom,” Jahir said. His tone was peculiar, and through the psychic mindline they shared Vasiht’h could sense a taste he didn’t recognize, smell something like their evergreen but mustier, like the duff of a forest floor.
“For some humans anyway,” Vasiht’h said. “Not all of them celebrated Christmas even before the project that saw the Pelted engineered. Also, according to the database humans stopped decorating trees for Christmas not long after the Exodus. The custom died out everywhere except in small pockets, most notably among the Moon colonists. Humanity didn’t resume the Christmas tree habit until after they met back up with us and saw the Hinichi doing it. Of course, the Hinichi decorate them with paper prayers... apparently humans used to use glass balls, or miniature toys, or food.”
“Food?” Jahir asked, his bemusement in the mindline tasting like seltzer water, busy and curious.
“That’s what it says,” Vasiht’h said. “Popcorn or candy.”
Together they looked at their unexpected tree.
“So what do we do with it?” Jahir asked at last.
“Decorate it?” Vasiht’h suggested.
“With what?” the Eldritch said. “We have neither glass balls nor miniature toys. And putting food on a tree doesn’t strike me as... hygienic.”
A considering silence. They nursed their drinks, studying the inscrutable fir.
“I guess we’ll think of something,” Vasiht’h said.
“Oh, you have a tree this year!” one of their regular clients exclaimed. She was a Harat-Shar who came to curl up on their couch and rest, and really it was all she needed... time away from work and the complexities of her many relationships. Vasiht’h usually tucked
her in; she liked the room cold and two or three warm blankets tucked up over shoulders patterned with bold ocelot spots. “But it’s naked!”
/Trust a Harat-Shar to put it that way,/ Vasiht’h muttered through the mindline, and Jahir answered with a wry amusement like underripe peaches.
“We aren’t certain how to decorate it,” Jahir said as she walked past, staring over her shoulder at it. “As we haven’t yet had a tree.”
“So you don’t have any trimmings!” she exclaimed.
“I fear not,” Jahir agreed as she stretched herself out on the couch.
“That’s no good!” she said, and then firmly, “And it should be fixed.”
The following day, they received another box on their doorstep. This one contained a little carved miniature of two Harat-Shariin children, fluffy toddlers mottled with ocelot and leopard spots, exclaiming over a tiny wooden horse.
“Oh,” Vasiht’h whispered, surprise softening the word through the mindline until it became diffuse and gentle, like mist. “Beautiful!” He offered it to Jahir, who lifted it off his partner’s palm by the hanger.
“This one,” Jahir said, “goes at eye level.” And feeling the amusement coloring the mist in the mindline, added, “Your eye level.”
Their next client was a Hinichi wolfine, different from the one who’d left them the tree, who saw it in its pot in the corner and said, “By glory, a paw fir! A real one?” He leaned over and sniffed it and said, “Oh yes, a real paw fir. I hear they’ve been growing different kinds of evergreens over on the farms for the holidays, but I didn’t know they’d gotten any from Hinichitii.”
“A paw fir?” Vasiht’h asked, puzzled.
“Oh yes,” their client said, sitting on the couch and resting his elbows on his knees. He chuckled. “Named because the fronds aren’t prickly. They’re soft, like the fur that grows between the toes of the digitigrade Hinichi. The name is a terrible pun, but it stuck. Paw fir. Paw fur. You see?”
“I wish I hadn’t,” Vasiht’h muttered while Jahir hid a laugh in the mindline that sounded like sleigh bells.
“I’ll have to get you a book for it,” the Hinichi said, grinning. “I haven’t had a tree of my own since I left home as a stripling. But a paw fir should have a prayer book.”
“You don’t have to—” Jahir began.
“Nonsense,” the Hinichi said. “You two keep me from living surly and sad. It’s the least I can do.”
A Hinichi prayer book was the size of Vasiht’h’s palm with soft cream parchment pages, all blank. It had a loop for a hook, which their client had clipped on for them. Since Jahir hung the first, Vasiht’h hung this second... though he got a stepstool to do so. “Eye level,” he said, much to Jahir’s amusement. “For Eldritch.”
One of the two, Harat-Shar or Hinichi, must have spread the word that the pair had a Hinichi Christmas tree—a naked Hinichi Christmas tree—because after that it was a rare day that they didn’t find one package (or several) on their doorstep. An Asanii colleague sent them a sun-and-moon ornament, prompting them to consider the multiculturalism implied by an ornament themed on one world’s religion meant for another’s holiday. A former Phoenix client sent them a downy feather the length of Jahir’s smallest finger beaded with a loop, accompanied by a note offering it in trade for the single Eldritch hair he’d found in the nest they’d made him. Gifts from the various Fleet officers they’d helped ranged from tiny solidigraphic star charts to Fleet sigils to genuine Terran carved fancies, all the way from Earth. Most of their gifts came from residents of the starbase... but they were startled to receive packages from former clients who’d left the starbase, either to take up residency elsewhere or to resume work with merchants or liners.
There was a day when Jahir came home first and Vasiht’h found him in their common room with a delicately painted ornament shaped like sheet music, a gift from a client who had come to them with an unresolvable sorrow, loving music and having no talent. The mindline tasted like tears and Vasiht’h left his partner alone with it. He would have liked similar treatment when he received a glass ball with dancing Glaseahn kits in it from the woman whose propositions he’d rejected, but gave in to the inevitable teasing about the persistence of his would-be suitor with good grace, because in all candor it was rather funny. In an embarrassing sort of way.
They did not think much of the decorating. They took turns hanging the gifts, and it was difficult to find a place at first because there were so many naked branches, and then it was difficult because there were so few. Neither of them realized how full the fir had become until one of their clients, leaving, said, “Now that’s a proper-looking tree.”
“It is, you know,” Vasiht’h said later that evening, sitting in front of it with his foreleg paws crossed and a warm mug in his hand... kerinne again, if spiced with a little nutmeg. “A proper tree. Maybe we should do this every year.”
Looking at the ornaments, Jahir said, “I don’t think we can’t.”
Even with the mindline for help Vasiht’h had to work through that one, but once he had he agreed with the sentiment. The gifts deserved display. “There is one problem,” he said at last.
“And what is that?” Jahir said over his warmed wine.
“If this keeps up, we’re going to need a much taller tree,” Vasiht’h said.
“Arii,” Jahir said dryly, “if this keeps up, we’re going to need a taller ceiling.”
That night, after Jahir had gone to bed, Vasiht’h slipped from his sleeping couch and into the common room. He fetched the step-stool and set his forefeet on the topmost step and one hind leg on the bottom. At eye-level for Eldritch, he hung a slim mirrored icicle. Jahir spoke very little of his life before the Alliance, and of his upbringing as an Eldritch almost not at all. But years of sharing the mindline had taught Vasiht’h how to listen to the undercurrents in it, the symbols that his comments evoked on his partner’s end of the line. And he had not been insensible to some of the glimpses he’d gotten of trees... alien trees, tall and stern and musty-scented, damp with snow and strung with mirrors like daggers to catch the light of the stars at midwinter.
“Happy holidays,” Vasiht’h whispered, “my friend.” And the words drifted down the mindline, and in a slumberous mind inspired gentle dreams of holidays on a world long abandoned, but never fully left.
APPENDICES
Containing a recipe, information about the species of the Alliance, author sketches, acknowledgments, a rundown on other Pelted stories, and the author's biographical data.
Mango Pineapple Fruity Drink
How could I not put in a recipe for a tropical drink at the back of this book? Vasiht'h must have had dozens! Here then is a refreshing slushie for you to enjoy while reading (or since you've already made it to the back of the book, re-reading) Dreamstorm.
Mango Pineapple Fruity Drink
From the Jaguar Kitchen
1/3 cup frozen mango chunks
1/3 cup frozen pineapple chunks
1 small piece, fresh ginger
mango juice or lemonade
crushed ice
You will need a blender for this slushie! Throw the mango and pineapple chunks together in the blender cup, and a small (and I do mean small) knob of fresh ginger, peeled. If your tolerance for ginger is high, you can experiment, but fresh ginger is potent! Respect the ginger!
Once you've thrown in the solid ingredients, fill the blender cup to the fill line with either 1. mango juice; 2. lemonade; or 3. watered down versions of either if you want it less sweet.
Blend until smooth; sample to make sure all of it tastes good to you. Then either add ice and blend again if you want more of a smoothie feel, or crush the ice separately and shake them together for something a little more like a slushie.
If you are feeling virtuous, you could probably throw some kale or spinach in this, but honestly there is nothing healthy about this drink, it's solid sugar. Have your salad on the side and go for broke! You can also mess with the pro
portions; I love mango, so I tend to go mango-happy, but you might prefer the bite of the pineapple and want more of that. These days I don't measure it at all, I just eyeball it.
However you make it, I hope you enjoy!
The Species of the Alliance
The Alliance is mostly composed of the Pelted, a group of races that segregated and colonized worlds based (more or less) on their visual characteristics. Having been engineered from a mélange of uplifted animals, it’s not technically correct to refer to any of them as “cats” or “wolves,” since any one individual might have as many as six or seven genetic contributors: thus the monikers like “foxine” and “tigraine” rather than “vulpine” or “tiger.” However, even the Pelted think of themselves in groupings of general animal characteristics, so for the ease of imagining them, I’ve separated them that way.
The Pelted
The Quasi-Felids: The Karaka’An, Asanii, and Harat-Shar comprise the most cat-like of the Pelted, with the Karaka’An being the shortest and digitigrade, the Asanii being taller and plantigrade, and the Harat-Shar including either sort but being based on the great cats rather than the domesticated variants.
The Quasi-Canids: The Seersa, Tam-illee, and Hinichi are the most doggish of the Pelted, with the Seersa being short and digitigrade and foxish, the Tam-illee taller, plantigrade and also foxish, and the Hinichi being wolflike.
Others: Less easily categorized are the Aera, with long, hare-like ears, winged feet and foxish faces, the felid Malarai with their feathered wings, and the Phoenix, tall bipedal avians.
The Centauroids: Of the Pelted, two species are centauroid in configuration, the short Glaseah, furred and with lower bodies like lions but coloration like skunks and leathery wings on their lower backs, and the tall Ciracaana, who have foxish faces but long-legged cat-like bodies.
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