The Stars Change

by Mary Anne Mohanraj

  Gaurav looked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment, he nodded. Chieri was sure that he would keep puzzling at it, though—he wouldn't be able to help himself. She could feel it in him, the low-level empathy her parents had gifted her with whispering his needs to her, under her skin. Gaurav needed answers, Narita needed love, or the memory of it at least, Amara needed something worthwhile to do. They all needed sex—it had been some time for each of them—although it wasn't foremost in their minds at the moment. They were practically shouting their needs, the air thick with their thoughts—this was why Chieri only took one worshipper at a time. It was too hard to focus with three of them in the room, their needs hammering at her. And tonight, everyone's emotions were heightened, even her own. She needed the ritual to find herself again. Acera lo, acera re.

  "All right," Amara continued. "Now, catalogue our information. Do we know where they are?"

  They turned to Chieri, and she took a focusing breath, trying to remember what the boy, Mikash, had said. Her head hurt; it pounded, making it hard to think. It was as if something didn't want her to think, was drawing her back to that night, so many years ago.

  "Or you could open a flower shop. Your garden is coming along very nicely." Her mother had bent her head, burying her nose in a spray of blue jasmine that wound its way along the back of the garden bench.

  That was a bit more enticing—Chieri enjoyed the hours she spent digging and snipping and weeding. She took pleasure in the process of shaping the garden to best effect, encouraging healthy growth, ruthlessly eliminating pests and blight. It was not so different from the work she did with people—but truthfully, much less satisfying. Because for all her efforts, in the end, the plants were just plants. At their very best, they were still so much less than the most twisted person's soul. Even when people were battered or broken, they carried a core of light within them. And when Chieri touched them, with hands and mouth and sacred yoni, she could, if for only a moment, set them free. In that moment, a person glowed like fire. Chieri couldn't give up that glory just to work with plants. Acera re, acera lo, tempe saldi everá.

  "Chieri?" Narita leaned forward, put her hand on Chieri's arm. Narita was warm, almost feverish. Chieri wanted to pull her close, drop kisses on that fevered brow. But the concern—no, the fear—in Narita's face steadied her. They had asked her a question, hadn't they? Where was Mikash, the boy?

  "He didn't say a place, exactly." He had been making so little sense, and at first, she hadn't even been trying to listen. Chieri had focused on what her body was conveying, what she could read of his exhilaration, his anxiety. "He had driven the missile somewhere, on a test run? That was when he set it off, by mistake.”

  Gaurav was nodding. “Yes, they tracked the path back to where the rocket launched, and found an abandoned truck there. That part of the story makes sense.”

  Narita said, “I don’t see anything about a truck on the net.”

  “They haven’t released that information to the public yet,” Gaurav said, impatiently. “Go on, Chieri. What else?”

  She said, slowly, “I think he talked about tunnels, and maybe a door?" That hadn't been words, actually, more of a picture. Sometimes her empathy slid almost over into telepathy; Chieri would get flashes of images sometimes from the worshippers. That wasn't anything she cared to advertise, though—she had already told them too much, far more than the Council would approve of, if they knew. Let these three believe the boy had said the words. "Yes—a huge wood-and-metal door."

  Narita bit her lip. "I think I know where that must be. The science complex has a shielded set of tunnels underneath it, almost a maze. And at the center of the labyrinth is one of the oldest buildings on campus. They brought it from Earth, rebuilt it here, piece by piece. Those doors are a thousand years old."

  Gaurav was nodding. "The students call it Kali's Gate."

  "Why?" Amara asked.

  Narita answered, "Some long-gone artist shaped intricate patterns, depicting the goddess at war, out of forged iron. It's beautiful—you would like it." She said that last reluctantly, as if she didn't want to admit to even that much between them, that she would know what Amara would like. Chieri wondered how long Narita would fight the pull she could feel between the two of them. Maybe forever. People could be stubborn that way.

  Gaurav frowned. "It's strong, and worse, it's going to be fucking impossible to get to it. It's a maze to get in there. A series of underground tunnels, with blast doors at various points, all controlled by a complex security system. A lot of people have access to the blast doors, since there are classrooms behind them, but Kali’s Gate guards the deepest labs."

  Narita continued, "Normally, all the blast doors are slid open, and the students wander freely, right up to the Gate—that's how I've seen it. But in case of emergency, they all slam shut to protect the computer and science labs on the lower levels."

  Gaurav said grimly, "I'm pretty sure tonight counts as an emergency; the blast doors, Kali's Gate, and the labs behind it will be locked down tight. If this Mikash is right, whomever's behind this picked a smart place to work from."

  "But there aren't any missiles down there," Narita said, frowning.

  Gaurav shook his head. "No. But there's a serious computer lab, one of the best on the planet. If you were good enough, you might be able to hack into some of the private weapons research labs from there. And then they must have people on the ground, backcountry boys like Mikash, moving the missiles so they can’t be tracked? Sacrificial goats in case they get caught. I'm betting it’s something like that. The question is, how did they get access? Not even faculty can get in there; only senior administrators should have biometric access to that room."

  Amara said, impatiently, "Irrelevant. The question is, how do we get access to that room?"

  Chieri had no idea. And now the river was tugging at her again, pulling back to the past, even more strongly. Why was she fighting it? Surely that night was better than this? And she had trained her whole life to listen to such impulses—sometimes, they were the voice of the gods, speaking through her. If they wanted her to go back, she must go.

  Her mother leaned forward, hands clasped in her sari silks, her eyes brightly intent. "You could be a dancer. A secular dancer—we gave you the body for it, and you've practiced the skills. You could travel the worlds, performing for audiences of thousands or more. Have your work broadcast across the stars, reaching millions. Think of the glory!"

  Ah, here was a real temptation, Chieri admitted in the privacy of her mind. It did frustrate her that her best work was often done with just one person to appreciate it. There were some devadasis, she knew, who had their worshippers sign releases, so that they could record and broadcast the experience. They could get rich with such practices, and would argue that it was entirely in keeping with their holy duties, a way of reaching a broader community.

  But such recordings had always seemed distateful to Chieri, a perversion of their sacred labor. If their bodies and dancing were pathways to the gods, then was that not a most intimate experience? One to be experienced and shared in the privacy of your home, with at most a few chosen souls, not broadcast for the worlds to see and hear. Even leaving privacy concerns aside—visuals and auditory sensations weren't enough. Without the body and its kinetic experience to ground you, you risked losing touch with what was truly important. The pulsebeat that opened you up, a stairway straight to the heavens.

  She could feel it now, finally, thrumming through her. Ace re alla than. Thi thi thay, thi thi thay. From the soles of her feet to her trembling thighs, from her belly to breasts and up and up. As if a pulse of power was shooting straight through her, reaching from the ground to the open sky and naked stars above. Acero la, allaree!

  Her mother could see it too, could feel the energy sparking. Karista sighed, a sigh that seemed composed of equal parts regret and relief, and rose gracefully to her feet. She bent her head and dropped a kiss on her daughter's forehead, a kiss that caught fire
and blazed in the darkness. Then she turned and walked away, down the mossy stone path, leaving a trail of subtle jasmine behind her. Leaving her daughter's body effervescent, in an endless, glorious night.

  That night had ended, though, and morning had come. Chieri had taken her vows, and from that point had walked the path that led her here, to this moment of bewilderment, confusion, frustration. They were so small, the four of them, to set against an evil host. And what skills did she have to fight with? Chieri was no computer expert, no soldier. Her body was strong and fast, but unpracticed in the arts of war.

  They were all quiet for long, painful moments, until Chieri felt the flash of insight running through Gaurav, like lightning shooting up his curving spine. He said, rising to his feet, "I know someone who can help us. A grad student; she works with weapons systems. Sharp as whip, that's what Kris said. He thought she'd be running the computer lab in a few years."

  Amara asked, "So can you reach her?"

  He hesitated, and then said, "I have to talk to the captain first."

  She frowned. "Even if you don't think he'll help us."

  He stared at her, with those unblinking saurian eyes. "You don't understand. I'm a cop. I have to try."

  Amara threw up her hands. The frustration was practically boiling off her, but she pushed past it, moving on. "Okay. Okay. Gaurav will try the captain, and if that fails, he'll talk to his computer expert, see if she can get the doors open for us."

  Narita snapped, "And then what? We're supposed to go invade some kind of terrorist group, that's trying to set off a bunch of missiles, to slaughter thousands of innocent people. What, the four of us? And what fucking army?"

  "We'll think of—" Amara started to say, but Narita cut her off by, unexpectedly, bursting into tears.

  They all froze for a second, while Narita buried her face in her hands and sobbed, her shoulders heaving. Chieri was surprised that she hadn't felt this coming—it was as if a switch had flipped in Narita, taking her from irritation to despair in a single moment.

  No, that wasn't right. Chieri would like to believe that. But here was the truth; Chieri had buffered herself from them all, had withdrawn as much as she could from the press of their emotions. This was not the way. Acera lo, risel nithi. Open, let go. It was hard, so hard, to lower her defenses. But was this not her holy calling? By pulling away, she had failed Narita, who was more than a seeker. Who was a friend.

  This was what she had chosen, that night in the garden. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much she longed to run away. Losing herself in the rituals would bring only false comfort. It would be as much a perversion as any recording of intimacies might be.

  So Chieri braced herself with a single sucking breath against the tides, and then opened the floodgates, to feel ah, yes. The despair, howling underneath. Not just in Narita, no. In all of them, fear and grief, confusion and despair, a great frenzied whirlpool that would swallow them down into the night. This was war, battling for their souls.

  It was her task, to heal these wounds, but Chieri had never been trained for this. War and death, the weight of a world falling onto shoulders that had been trained to strength—but not enough, surely. Risei riquel my mothers and fathers. Oh, I am in need of you now. But they were gone, her creche-parents, lost years ago. And as much as Chieri would have liked to take all three of these lost souls to her bed tonight, to assuage their hurts with flesh and scent, with savoury tastes and long, refreshing draughts of sweetness—there was no time for the deep pleasures, not tonight.

  All she could do, all she knew how to do, was dance for them.

  Amidst the Shouting

  Gaurav fled Chieri's apartment as soon as her dance was over. It had lasted mere minutes, her body stripped bare, curved shapes in the firelight. But it had stroked strange longings in him—desires that he had no time to explore. At least the dance had seemed to bring the weeping female human some peace. Gaurav could almost envy humans their ability to 'cry'—tension choked his throat, and he had to swallow repeatedly before he could speak. He needed to talk to the captain; he wasn’t sure of much else, but that part was clear.

  He called into the station from his flyer's hardwired line; Gaurav could have called sooner from his internal link, but he'd wanted the privacy of the flyer's curving walls. It was bad enough that there were civilians involved as much as they were—Amara and the others were already rushing off to implement their human schemes. Maybe it was better; they'd be out of harm's way for a little while, at least. "Mitty, I need to talk to the captain."

  "Aren't you supposed to be off-duty?" The voice of the desk sergeant came in oddly crackly—systems must be disrupted by the weather somehow, which was getting increasingly turbulent. The trees in the park were whipping their branches fiercely in the wind, and there was an occasional crack of distant thunder overhead. Gaurav hoped he didn't have to do too much flying tonight; the flyers here weren't really designed for anything harsher than the steady pulsing of monsoon rain.

  Gaurav asked, "Who's really off-duty tonight?" His shift had ended at eleven, not long after he'd arrived at the site of the explosion earlier. The battered buildings had been swarming with cops, firefighters, and medstaff; all the off-duty people were supposed to go home and rest, so they would be ready for the next shift. But he couldn’t have slept, not tonight. So Gaurav had gone back to walking the city streets, weaving in and out of the district, looking for signs of trouble. If Chieri hadn't called him, he'd still be out, walking the night.

  Mitty laughed shortly. "Hey, lizard-man, if it were up to me, I'd be at home in my bed tonight, fucking my wife. With the fucking covers up over my head."

  "Yeah, well, I'm here. Off the clock, but trying to do some good. And I need to talk to the captain, right now." Mitty was a good guy, but he wasn't used to dealing with real emergencies. None of them were.

  "Your funeral, lizard-man." Gaurav could practically hear the sergeant shrugging his shoulders. "Captain Raj is in the foulest of moods."

  "Where can I find him?" It might be better to do this in person, rather than trying to convince the captain of the urgency over the phone. As long as the captain was in the city—it was small enough that the flyer could get anywhere in ten minutes.

  "At the hospital; you might try the basement morgue. They're still bringing people in."

  Gaurav's brow ridges raised. "I thought no one had died?" That had been the one blessing of the single missile—it had knocked down some buildings and torn up the street, but as far as he'd heard, everyone had managed to get out.

  "Secondary fallout—two more buildings with shared foundation and systems collapsed. Some bad wounded out of that, and three dead, including one of the firefighters who went in to help. Hell of a night."

  "Yeah. Hell of a night." Gaurav cut the connection, and banged the igntion. In moments the flyer was in the air, headed towards the hospital. Knowing that people had died made an already surreal night even stranger; even though he was racing through the sky, it felt as if he were wading through the quicksand bogs of home, moving in slow motion. He'd wasted too much time already; Kris would have known better, would have done better.

  C'mon, lizard. Move your cold, scaly ass.

  He was assaulted by waves of noise as soon he stepped out of the flyer. Hands reached for him, as if he could somehow help them, his uniform a source of momentary solace, before they realized he had nothing for them. Gaurav fought his way through the loud, frenzied crowd outside the hospital, and the anxious horde of relatives and friends in the emergency room.

  One little girl, small enough that her feet didn't reach the floor, sat alone. Her eyes were wide and blank, her hair a cloud of black curls around her head, her face and arms a bloody mess of oozing scrapes. Gaurav resisted the urge to go over to her—the room was swarming with people, and surely someone was taking care of her. He had no idea how she felt about saurians, or if she'd ever even seen a non-human in person before. Gaurav didn't want to scare her worse than she w
as already.

  He'd never seen the hospital this busy; most days, the biggest crisis it dealt in were the STDs and surprise pregnancies of young university students who apparently weren't smart enough to use appropriate prophylactics. No one seemed to have any idea where anyone else was, and the hospital staff were clearly harried—one young doctor shouted at a nurse as Gaurav walked past, and the poor man burst into tears.

  He finally found the captain in the morgue, as Mitty had suggested, alone, except for the three bodies on the tables.

  Raj said softly, as he walked in, "Her name was Velma."

  Gaurav said, "I'm sorry, Captain?" Captain Raj was gazing down at the naked woman on the slab in front of him. Young—mid-twenties, perhaps. Dark brown skin, cropped black hair. Discreetly covered from neck to toes by a sheet, but somehow terribly naked nonetheless. They always looked so cold and vulnerable, the dead. Gaurav hated the morgue.

  "Velma deSelby-Bowen. I knew her dad, you know; they lived in my neighborhood, just three apartment buildings down. Satish was so proud that his little girl was going to be a firefighter, just like him. Coached her all the way through the training. I'd see them on the street sometimes, practicing hauling the hose while other kids were learning to drive their first flyers. Velma was a plucky thing—didn't care how ridiculous she looked. And strong. By the end of the summer, she could toss that hose around like it was made of cotton candy, with a heavy pack on her back too. She got some good height on her when puberty hit, and in the end, Velma coasted through the tests. Graduated second in her class at the academy. I bet she saved more than a few lives before the end."

  "I'm sure she did, sir." He'd never seen the captain like this—reflective, morose. Gaurav didn't know how to break in with his news, but he had to get the words out. They were burning in his throat.