Dream Called Time

by S. L. Viehl

  Reptilians generally didn’t age in the same way humanoid species did, and the years had left little mark on the former OverLord’s brutal features. The only way I knew he was five years older was the subtle darkening of his scale patterns.

  “SsurreVa.”

  “TssVar.” I didn’t know how a measly warm-blood was supposed to address the supreme ruler of the Hsktskt Faction, so I didn’t even try. “How have you been?”

  “I have enjoyed better decades.” He took a moment to study me. “So, it seems, have you.”

  He looked tired, I thought, feeling a little sorry for him. The former OverLord had never been especially fond of politics, and now he was permanently swamped in them.

  “It’s not been all bad,” I lied. “I didn’t have a plague make me into a supreme ruler overnight. I just took a nap for five years.”

  “It was never my wish to rule,” he informed me. “The surviving elected me to the throne.”

  “Being possessed by an alien persona wasn’t on my to-do list, either.” I had learned to read some Hsktskt body language when TssVar had enslaved me, and the set of his facial muscles was saying he was unhappy as well as tired. “Are you planning to stay with it, or give it up?”

  One of his huge yellow eyes rolled upward while the other glared at me. “One does not ‘give up’ supreme rule, SsurreVa.”

  I considered that. “Who would yell at you if you did?”

  TssVar’s species couldn’t smile, but he flashed me a couple rows of teeth in an approximation of the expression. “Now I remember why I have missed you.”

  “Same here.” He seemed surprised by that, and I added, “It may shock you, especially after all we’ve been through, but I do consider you one of my oldest friends.”

  “Since I regard you as the same,” he said, “it does not.”

  We sat together in a comfortable silence until some underlings appeared behind him, evidently to check on him. As I watched them grovel, I wondered how I was going to tell him that his daughter had fallen in love with a rogue hybrid. Maybe he already knew. Maybe he didn’t, and PyrsVar would have his Jorenian organs removed in a less civilized fashion.

  TssVar dismissed the talon kissers before he spoke to me again. “It would seem my courtiers grow impatient. You have examined the crossbreed?”

  “I’ve looked at him in a meeting room,” I corrected. “I’ll do an examination once he’s in the hospital. Fortunately HouseClan Adan has agreed to let me use theirs.”

  “The Jorenians have been very accommodating, but they like this situation no better than I.” He propped his taloned hands against the edge of his console. “Do you believe that the rogue can be restored to what he was?”

  There was some hope in his voice. So he doesn’t want him dead—at least, not yet. “I think I’m going to have to run a lot of tests on him before I answer that question.”

  He blew some air through his nostrils. “One can never obtain a reasonable response from you healers.”

  “Having one in the family now, you should know.” I felt as if I were walking through a field of invisible proximity-triggered explosives. “Since your daughter has been the lead physician on this case, I’ve asked her to stay and work with me. Is that going to create a problem?”

  He eyed me. “She has a security detachment. I trained them myself.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I know what you say and do not say.” He seemed to be mulling it over. “I suppose I cannot persuade you to end this rogue’s life during the course of his treatment.”

  “No more than the colonists on K-2 could talk me into killing you and your mate before I delivered your kids,” I agreed. “Nor would I take kindly to you ordering one of your entourage to arrange a helpful accident or discreet assassination for my patient.”

  “You seem to forget, your patient wears the hide of your dead mate,” he grated.

  “Not by his choice,” I reminded him, “or mine. Look, I know PyrsVar is not a sterling example of your species. Every time he opens his mouth, I want to thump him. But he’s the victim here, TssVar. The way SrrokVar used him—the sick things he did to him—were beyond reprehensible.”

  The Hanar didn’t say anything.

  I decided to push a little more. “All he wants is what was taken from him: a normal life. He’s willing to die for that. I think he deserves a second chance.”

  “I am not concerned with him.” He swept his hand to one side. “It is ChoVa. If anything untoward happened to the crossbreed, she would never forgive me.”

  “Neither would I,” I mentioned.

  “Someday, when your child attains mating age,” he growled, “I will have this conversation with you again.”

  After I promised to send him regular updates on our progress and accepted his not so fond farewell, I terminated the relay. I had promised after signaling TssVar to meet everyone at the medical facility, but I needed a break from all the unrequited Hsktskt hormones and some time to think.

  Apalo escorted me to the guest quarters the Adan had arranged for me at the pavilion, and after signaling Apalea and letting her know I would be another hour or so, I went to change into some fresh garments. That was when I found a disc that had been tucked into the clothing I had packed.

  It was unmarked, so I carried it over to the room terminal and placed it in the reader. Instead of the medical text I was expecting to see, the feed from a surveillance drone popped onto the screen.

  The drone had been recording in darkness, so the scene on the monitor was displayed in the reds, oranges, and blues of thermal signatures. Even with the fine detailing, it took me a moment to recognize the field of yiborra grass, one that had been cultivated near the Torin pavilion.

  A small figure stood alone in the center of the field, and as the drone drew closer and took a stationary position on the closed bloom of a d’narral flower, I took in the waist high grass, the outline of the nose, and the long hair. The woman in the vid, who stood there looking up at the stars, was me.

  I frowned. When did I do this? I heard grass thrashing, and saw a taller figure come up behind me on the screen.

  “When Kao Torin died, a part of Cherijo died with him,” I heard Reever say over the terminal speaker. He stopped next to my figure. “That did not happen to me when she died.”

  The female figure turned to look behind them. “Marel is alone,” she said in my voice, but in a form of Terran that was so slurred and garbled I almost didn’t understand her. “We should go back.”

  My jaw dropped into my lap. This wasn’t me and Reever standing in a pasture. This was my body and Reever.

  This was Jarn and Reever.

  “Fasala was happy to come and stay with our daughter for a few hours.” Reever put his arm around her. “You dislike it when I speak of Cherijo’s first love.”

  “He is dead,” Jarn said in her awful Terran. “We do not speak of the dead on Akkabarr.”

  “No,” I told the terminal, “you just steal other women’s bodies and husbands and children.”

  “Indulge me this once.” Reever began petting her hair, the way he had so often done with mine. “Do you know why Cherijo’s death did not affect me as Kao’s passing did her?”

  “Let me guess,” I snapped over whatever Jarn replied. “Having sex with my possessed body kept you from weeping yourself to sleep every night.”

  He turned her around to face him. “I became Cherijo’s lover, and eventually her husband, so that I might take Kao’s place in her heart, as I promised him that I would. But I could not.”

  That jolted me a second time. He’d promised Kao that he’d marry me? When had that happened? Then I froze as I remembered that, just before his death, Kao had made Reever his Speaker.

  “She was an idiot to refuse your love,” Jarn said.

  “I never refused anything!” I shouted at the terminal.

  “It had nothing to do with her,” Reever said calmly. “I told you that I loved her, but the truth
is I did not. I could not.”

  I groped blindly until I found the console buttons and stopped the replay. Then I sat and stared at the frozen thermal images without seeing them.

  It was easy to understand now why he’d fallen so hard for the slave girl. He’d been faking with me. All these years, everything he had told me had been a lie.

  I restarted the disc, and sat and listened and watched as Reever explained it all to Jarn. His voice never wavered as he told her how he had never felt a thing for me. He admitted that he had been curious, and the sex had been a nice bonus, but toward the end he’d decided that he was never meant to love me. I’d just been the means for him to reproduce and learn how to be a daddy.

  Unlike me, Jarn seemed confused and upset. She asked him why he’d stayed with me when he hadn’t loved me. And then Reever said something that struck me in the chest like a blade.

  “It was you. All this time with her, I was waiting for you.”

  After that, I sat and watched them make love in that pasture. The thermal imagery made it quite clear that they both enjoyed themselves thoroughly; by the time they were finished, both of their bodies glowed with heat and satisfaction. As they cuddled and murmured to each other, I shut off the replay.

  So now I knew.

  It was funny how detached I felt. Later, I suspected, the humiliation would set in, and I would wish I were dead, but now I felt nothing. I got up, put on my footgear, and wandered out of my quarters.

  The HouseClan was very fond of greenery, and had allocated the center portion of each outlying city halo to serve as public parks and gardens. I found one that wasn’t crowded with flowers, Jorenians, or offworlders, and sat on a flat rock beside a small artificial waterfall.

  Focusing on PyrsVar had kept me from thinking about Reever and Marel, but I could admit now, I had been nursing a tiny flicker of hope about the future. Before tonight, I’d been utterly convinced that Reever had loved me. Maybe that erroneous assumption had nursed and kept alive a shred of hope. If I hadn’t seen the vid, I’d have continued on in ignorant bliss. My pride would have healed; it always did. It wasn’t impossible to think that with time I might have even grown willing to give him another chance.

  All my hope was gone. The love I had believed in had never existed.

  This wasn’t my fault, and I knew that, but it still ripped at me. I’d always taken that love for granted, and now that I knew it had never been real, I felt as if my heart were curdling inside me.

  All I wanted was to be loved. Why couldn’t he love me?

  Something tickled my ankle, and I looked down to see a thin ribbon of faintly glowing blue trying to crawl under the edge of my trouser leg. It reminded me of the dancers I had seen on the vid, and I felt like kicking it into another halo.

  “I know. It wasn’t your fault, either.” I bent down and coaxed the wind dancer into my hand, where it curled around my fingers and brightened as it warmed itself with my body heat.

  Wind dancers were nocturnal creatures, and generally spent the daylight hours draped over a nice warm stone basking in the sun. Another, dark green dancer appeared and fluttered slowly around me until I offered it my free hand.

  “I think they like you.”

  “Yeah. I have great body heat. According to Jorenian folklore, if you’re nice to them, they’re supposed to grant your dearest wish.” I glanced up at Shon. “But no. You’re still here. So, want to tell me why you’re following me?”

  “I bring news.”

  I straightened my fingers and watched as the dancers, now glowing with borrowed warmth, began to unwind themselves. “Am I going to like this news?”

  “That is for you to decide,”3 he said. “Senior Healer Squilyp has arrived. He wishes to speak with you and Reever as soon as possible.”

  “He’s out of luck, then,” I said. “Reever is in Marine province.”

  “Not any longer.” He turned to the side, and I saw two Terrans waiting at the entrance to the gardens.

  My daughter didn’t look happy. Neither did my husband.

  “So much for wishes.” I watched the wind dancers flutter up and away.

  PART TWO

  Tomorrow

  Six

  I wasn’t sure why I went with Reever to see Squilyp at the Adan’s medical facility. Idle curiosity, maybe. Nor did I object when Shon volunteered to take Marel for a walk around the grounds while we spoke to the Omorr.

  Reever didn’t say a word to me as we went to the conference room where Squilyp was waiting for us. He seemed tense and unhappy, not that I cared.

  “Did you bring me the data on the alterformation cases treated on Joren?” I asked after greeting my friend.

  “I have it here, but there is something else we must discuss. Sit down, both of you.” Squilyp stood behind the console until we did, and then punched up a holoprojection of two human brains illuminated by tiny blue veins and minuscule flashes of bright blue light. “This”—he indicated the right image—“is a scan I made yesterday of the synaptic activity from your brain, Cherijo.”

  I folded my arms. “Why?”

  “I wished to map your higher-level functions so that I might identify any areas of the mind that are not being utilized.”

  “I don’t see any,” I said.

  “Neither did I, on your scan or this one.” He turned to the left image. “This, in fact, shows the exact same patterns of activity, which indicate brain function was not compromised by the head injury.”

  “If you have a point, Senior Healer,” Reever said, “I would appreciate you making it.”

  “Observe.” Squilyp tapped the console, and the two images merged, overlapping each other. “Do you see any variation in the pattern?”

  “Why would we?” I countered. “They’re synchronous. Which means they’re identical.”

  He nodded. “The left image shows the same activity because it is your brain, Cherijo.”

  “That’s terrific.”I got to my feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I really have to—”

  “The second image of your brain was scanned a year ago.” The Omorr paused. “From Jarn.”

  I sat back down as the implications sank in. “There are variations; you’re just not seeing them.”

  “I ran both scans through the neuroanalyzer,” Squilyp said gently. “There are none.”

  “Run it again,” I suggested through my teeth. “Use a different medsysbank.”

  “I ran it through four.”

  I glared at him. “Is this some type of new therapy? You lying to me, too?”

  Reever looked at me and then the Omorr. “I do not understand.”

  “Thought processes are like Terran fingerprints, or Hsktskt scale patterns, or oKiaf fur coloration. They are unique to the individual,” Squilyp said. “Two different people cannot display the exact same synaptic activity. It is impossible.”

  Reever eyed the overlapping images. “Jarn and Cherijo shared the same body, the same brain.”

  “But not the same thoughts, the same language, or the same memories,” I tagged on. “We had the same brain but different minds. There can be similarities, but not exact synchronicity.” He still didn’t get it. “What Squilyp is trying to tell us is that—synaptically speaking, anyway—Jarn and I are the same person.”

  “You are not.”

  “Exactly. Nice try, Squid Lips.” I jumped up and headed for the door panel.

  “In a recovery state, a patient who has experienced massive neural-tissue destruction will form a new persona in response to its environment,” the Omorr called after me.

  I whirled around. “Then how do you explain me?”

  “I cannot,” he admitted. “But I can confirm that you suffered severe memory repression. Think on the stressors involved. You witnessed the Jado Massacre. You were abducted and enslaved. You were nearly killed in the crash on Akkabarr. You believed Reever and Marel were dead, and when that native shot you, you must have wanted—”

  “You shut up.” I strode tow
ard the console. “I’m not a coward. I’ve never run from anything in my life. I would never have done this to myself.”

  “You were alone, terribly injured, and left to survive in a hostile environment.” His gildrells drooped. “Cherijo, you did not do this. Your body did.”

  I leaned in. “Do me a favor, Squid Lips. Go back to Omorr. See your mate and your sons. Enjoy your life, and forget about this.” I straightened and looked at Reever. “We’re done here.”

  Reever maintained his silence as we retrieved Marel and returned to the HouseClan pavilion. My daughter offered me a distant greeting, and a polite peck on the cheek. She also responded politely to my questions about their journey and her opinions of the capital, but resentment glittered in her eyes and had erased her usual cheerful attitude.

  If she’s still that way, I amended silently. I could see that someone Jorenian had taught her manners, and she remained well-spoken for her age, but other than that, I knew next to nothing about my own child.

  Except that she didn’t want to be here.

  Shon remained with me as I took my family to my quarters, and then asked to have a private word with me before he left. I didn’t consult Reever, but stepped out into the corridor with the oKiaf and let the panel close behind me.

  “If you wish to change your accommodations,” Shon said in a low tone, “I will give you my quarters and stay in one of the halo hostels.”

  “He’ll just come after me again.” I checked the time on my wristcom. “Reever and I have to settle some things. Get something to eat, come back in an hour, and then we’ll head over to the medical facility.”

  He wanted to argue with me—I could see that—but I think he also realized I needed to do this. Finally he touched my shoulder and then left.

  Back inside my quarters, I heard Reever speaking to Marel in the spare sleeping chamber. His voice sounded firm, while hers was definitely tearful. I caught only a couple snatches of the conversation, but it soon became apparent that she wanted to go back to the Torins. Reever reassured her, and once I was pretty sure I heard her sobbing into his tunic, but he didn’t give in to her.