Inheritance a-2

by Malinda Lo

  At Angel Island, a light-skinned Imrian man with black hair met them at the dock. He introduced himself as Nura Halba and said he would be their primary liaison going forward. He looked partially Asian, and Reese wondered whether the Imria had chosen their race as well as their gender in order to be intelligible to humans. She didn’t know what to think of that possibility, and she surreptitiously studied the Imrian as he drove the SUV away from the dock toward the ship. He caught a glimpse of her in the rearview mirror and asked, “Is anything wrong?”

  “No.” She looked out the window. Asking Amber about Eres Tilhar’s gender was one thing—at least Reese knew Amber well enough to ask that sort of question—but she couldn’t ask Nura Halba whether he had picked his race as if selecting from a menu of choices.

  When they arrived at the ship, Halba escorted them down the corridors to the triangular room where they had first met Eres Tilhar. Today, two of the walls were like giant windows. Straight ahead was the beach at the edge of the field, and beyond that, sailboats bobbed on the water. Halba took David’s father to meet with Dr. Brand—she was going to share her research materials with him—and left David and Reese alone with the teacher.

  “Please sit,” Eres said, and David and Reese sat down in the two empty chairs. “Learning susum’urda is a very intimate experience, and first I want to assure you that you can trust me. I won’t share anything I learn about you during our lessons with anyone else without your permission. I want you to feel free to explore your new abilities. I am only here to teach you; I am not here to judge.” Eres sounded friendly, but Reese felt a little nervous. How much would Eres be able to know by touching them?

  “Today we’ll begin with some very basic skills,” Eres continued. “The adaptation that you’ve been given is an ability that we Imria are born with. Susum’urda allows us to share consciousness with one another—to experience directly how others experience the world. We begin to teach our children how to manage this ability from a very early age, and the first thing we teach them is how to identify their core selves; how to situate those selves in their surroundings and to maintain that sense at all times. If you don’t maintain that sense, you are in danger of losing track of who you are when you share consciousness with another. At best, that is disorienting; at worst, it can lead to serious psychological complications.”

  Disorienting, Reese thought, remembering the night in the shed with David. That was one way to describe it; another would be all-consuming.

  Eres looked at Reese. “Have you experienced anything of that sort?”

  “Uh… well, David and I don’t really know how to do susum’urda, so it’s definitely been disorienting.”

  Eres nodded slowly, but Reese could not read the expression on the ummi’s face. “We Imria train from childhood how to properly manage susum’urda. By the time we’re your age we are well-equipped to handle it. I admit I’ve never trained anyone of your age before.”

  “Are we too old to do this?” David asked.

  “I don’t know. I think there is some risk involved, but of course, risk is part of everyone’s life.”

  Reese didn’t find that comforting. “What’s risky about it?”

  “You are both… involved romantically, is that correct?” Eres asked.

  Reese blushed. “Um… yeah?”

  “What does that have to do with it?” David asked.

  Eres sat back, hands folded. “You both should refrain from being physically intimate before you’ve learned how to manage susum’urda.”

  Eres spoke with the clinical detachment of a doctor, but Reese’s face still burned.

  “Okay,” David said doubtfully. “Why?”

  Eres glanced from Reese to David. “Because the connection of susum’urda is very powerful. You must first learn how to be centered in your own self—your own consciousness—before you engage in physical intimacy. Otherwise you risk losing yourself in the other; you risk erasing parts of your own identity.”

  “Can’t you shut it off?” Reese asked, remembering what Amber had done. “You don’t always have to be doing this susum’urda when you touch someone, do you?”

  “That’s true, but neither of you are trained to do that. Neither of you can control that yet. So I must ask that you both exercise some restraint. Any questions?”

  “No,” Reese and David said at the same moment. She glanced at him, and he looked about as embarrassed as she was.

  “Excellent. Today we’ll begin by spending some time with our selves. Every individual goes through life always already situated on a map created by his or her mind. Please close your eyes and I will show you.”

  Reese reluctantly closed her eyes as Eres’s soft, clear voice continued. She felt a little ridiculous. The lesson so far seemed like some kind of catechism class: a lesson in abstinence followed by prayer. This was not what she had been expecting.

  “Now, look within yourself,” Eres said. “Do you see that you have a sense of the interior of your body? The first thing you will sense are the basic needs of your physical self. Whether you are hungry. Whether you are warm or cold. Whether you are in pain.”

  Reese found it difficult to focus on the sensations that Eres was talking about. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to keep them closed, and her muscles twitched as she tried to relax into the chair. It was made of a hard, slippery material like lacquered wood, and she was distracted by wondering what kind of tree the wood came from—or whether it was wood at all.

  “Notice that you always know where your hands are. Whether your fingers are curled or straight. Notice how your body is situated in relation to the chair beneath it. You know where you are in this room. Your brain has mapped out all these details, and you are always interacting with the world. As you breathe in, you are interacting. As you sit up or lean back, you are interacting. All these signals are sent to your brain through your body. Your self—your mind—can never be separated from your physical body.”

  Reese breathed in and out, feeling her lungs rising and falling. She remembered when her mom had gone through her most virulent anti-Catholic phase and brought her to a parent-child meditation retreat in Marin. Reese had squirmed on the cushion she had been told to sit on, her eyes blinking open and closed as the meditation instructor asked her to focus on her breath. This felt sort of like that: an exercise that was beyond her powers of concentration.

  “Notice the details that arise in your mind. Details about where you were this morning before you came here; knowledge of where you will go when you leave. You are always situated in space, within the map of your world, but you are also always situated within the timeline of your life. On our world, we remember the first time we experience susum’urda with another being, usually one of our parents, who hold us in their arms and love us. For you, in your world, you may remember your first close friendship. You may remember an experience that filled you with joy. This is who you are. Only you have these experiences in this particular order.”

  Unlike Eres’s instructions to focus on her body, which felt like a slick rope Reese couldn’t quite grasp, these instructions resonated with her. She had never thought of herself as a timeline of experiences, but it made sense to her. She saw her mother’s face from above as she flew into the air on the swing set in Dolores Park, her short legs pumping into the blue sky. She remembered her father waving at her in the Seattle airport the first time she had flown to see him after the divorce, her stomach knotted with trepidation because she was angry with him, but she still missed him. One summer night when she was twelve years old, she and Julian had snuck out of the vacation house in Guerneville and climbed down the steep steps leading to the river, where the water lapped softly at the floating dock. They swam in the dark, the full moon shining over them, while their parents’ voices called from the deck of the house above.

  “This is the path you will take when you share your consciousness with another person,” Eres said. “First, you will sense their physical body, their interior
experience. Then, as your own experience with susum’urda grows, you will be able to know their core self, how they interact with the external world. The ultimate goal is to see who they are as clearly as you see yourself. To share yourself with them as they share themselves with you. We will try that now. Please open your eyes.”

  Reese blinked. The view of the bay was gone, and the walls undulated with a cool blue light. The color gave Eres’s skin a faint aquamarine tinge. “I’ll begin with David,” Eres said, and extended a hand to him. “If you feel yourself overwhelmed, you can always return to yourself. Remember your own physical experience. If you are focused on yourself, you will not sense the other person; nor will they be able to sense you except externally.”

  Reese watched as he took Eres’s hand. A shock seemed to pass over his face as they touched, and then his mouth went slack, his eyes glazing. Reese felt as if she were intruding on David and Eres, so she looked away. All around them, the blue walls shimmered as if sunlight were pouring through the ocean. It was peaceful and buoyant and hypnotic, this sea of blue light. After some time, she heard David catch his breath, and Eres drew back.

  “Now Reese,” the teacher said, holding out a hand to her.

  Eres’s skin was dry and soft, and immediately Reese felt safe within the teacher’s guided touch. Eres showed her the map of Reese’s own physical experience at first: the path of blood in her veins, the movement of her muscles, the swelling and release of her lungs. It was strange to have someone revealing these sensations to her, as if shining a spotlight on each organ in succession. Reese had never been especially physically attuned to her body, and having Eres take her through it was almost like touring a foreign land. Then Eres expanded Reese’s perception, showing her the map of her body in relation to the chair, the floor, and the room itself. After that, Eres unreeled the history of Reese’s experiences, image after image, and Reese shuddered at the sensation of someone else recognizing so deeply who she was.

  Now, Eres spoke in her mind, here is who I am.

  This was like stepping through a doorway into a wilderness of such exotic beauty that Reese could barely focus.

  Remember who you are. You can always return to that.

  Reese focused on the feel of her own heart pumping; of her legs meeting the wooden seat. Bit by bit, as Reese remembered herself, Eres’s consciousness receded until Reese was able to approach it knowing who she was.

  Eres had been born long ago, and was raised by three Imrians whose faces swam in Reese’s mind, at once familiar—through Eres’s perspective—and strange. Eres had grown up on a world not unlike Earth, a world of oceans on which many islands floated, their mountains rising high. Reese became aware that Eres was showing her certain images, specific memories, so that she would not drown in the flood of them, because Eres had lived many human lifetimes. It was less intimate than Reese had feared it might be, perhaps because Eres was directing her progress through those memories.

  Later, you will also know how to do this, Eres told her. You will be able to order your conscious experience. You will be able to share only what you want to share, and maintain your own private conscious space if you wish.

  Understanding Eres was not like hearing David’s thoughts. Reese got the impression that Eres was thinking in a language different than English, but the meaning still came through clearly.

  How? Reese wondered. How can I learn that?

  First, observe what I do as I close myself to you. This is what you will learn today.

  Eres began to shut off the images that Reese could see. One by one they faded into darkness, and Reese saw how Eres was folding those images and experiences away until Reese could only see Eres with her eyes.

  Eres let go of Reese’s hand and smiled at her and David. “Now the two of you will practice that with me. I will look into you, and you will close yourselves to me.”

  Over and over, they did as Eres asked. It was similar to what Reese had done instinctually when confronted by a curious crowd, but now that she knew what she was aiming for, it was easier. She wondered if this was what Amber had done every time they had touched. How had she maintained the presence of mind to do it? The only way Reese could imagine it to be possible was if Amber had never cared that much for her in the first place. Her gut clenched as the memory of Amber in her kitchen, denying that she knew Dr. Brand, came back to her. The pain of learning that Amber was a liar had barely been dulled by time; it was still sharp as a razor.

  You aren’t focusing, Eres told her.

  Reese realized that Eres had sensed everything she had thought about Amber. Her first instinct was to deny her feelings; to cover them up somehow.

  You cannot lie, Eres thought. You can close your consciousness to others, but you can never lie. Not during susum’urda.

  I was not lying, Reese objected.

  Eres guided her out of susum’urda, and then Reese felt the teacher somehow compel her to open her eyes. It was like being roughly shaken awake from a deep dream state. Eres dropped Reese’s hand, breaking their connection, and said, “When you are in susum’urda, your body will always reveal the truth. The physical actions that occur when you experience an emotion continue regardless of whether or not you want them to.”

  “What?” Reese said, confused. She was disoriented by the sudden ending of susum’urda, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that Eres was disappointed in her.

  “When you feel fear, for example, your body undergoes a series of physical actions. Your heart races, you might sweat, adrenaline might be released. All of these things will happen regardless of whether or not you’re able to control your external reactions. You might be able to hide it externally, but it’s still happening internally. You were trying to hide your emotions internally, but that is impossible. You were applying your human desire to hide your emotions, but in susum’urda, the person you are connected to can sense all of your internal, physical reactions. You can’t hide. You can only close off the connection.”

  Reese’s gaze flickered self-consciously to David. He was watching the two of them with his forehead furrowed, as if he were trying to figure out what had happened. I wasn’t trying to hide, Reese thought at Eres. The teacher did not seem to hear, so Reese tried again, not wanting to speak out loud. I didn’t realize you were seeing everything. I wasn’t ready for you to see everything.

  “Do you understand what I said?” Eres asked. “If you wish to close the connection, you may. Susum’urda is an intimate experience; you don’t need to have that with everyone. But you must understand that you cannot lie while you are having susum’urda.”

  Reese realized, suddenly, that Eres had not heard her thoughts. Maybe Eres couldn’t hear her thoughts at all unless they were touching. Reese tried again. Can you hear me? But Eres’s expression did not change, and Reese felt no affirmation from the teacher. “I understand,” Reese said. “I wasn’t trying to lie. I just wasn’t ready for what you were doing.”

  Eres gave her a thoughtful look. “I see. Well. I think our lesson is finished for today. I hope you’ll both remember what I told you. I look forward to next week.”

  *

  On the ferry home, Reese and David went up to the top deck, leaving David’s dad down below with a tablet loaded with Dr. Brand’s research. Outside, the wind gusted against Reese’s face as the boat left the dock. She leaned against the railing, gazing across the water at the hills of Tiburon in the distance. As David came to stand next to her, she told him, I don’t think the Imria can do what we can do. Eres Tilhar couldn’t hear my thoughts when we weren’t touching.

  Are you sure?

  I’m sure. I tried to communicate with her this way, but Eres didn’t react at all.

  I tried too, but I couldn’t tell for sure if Eres heard me.

  Reese glanced over her shoulder; there was no one on the upper deck but her and David. “What do you think it means if the Imria can’t do this telepathic thing?” she said out loud. “They gave us our abilities—why don’t
they have the same ones?”

  “Maybe their DNA doesn’t work in us exactly the way they thought it would. How would they know for sure, anyway? They’ve never been successful with this adaptation thing before us.”

  Reese looked out across the water. If the adaptation procedure had changed them in a way the Imria hadn’t expected, what would happen when they began adapting other human beings? “Do you think we should tell Eres about our telepathic stuff?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She glanced at him. “Why?”

  “They have so much power over us. They know so much that we don’t. This is the only thing they don’t know.”

  She thought back. “Lovick and CASS don’t know, either. They think we have the same abilities as the Imria.”

  “Nobody else knows,” he said in sudden realization. “We never told Sophia Curtis. We never got that far because Jeff Highsmith stopped us. They all think we have to be touching someone to know their thoughts.”

  “We didn’t tell anyone about the crowds thing either, did we?” She tried to remember what had happened the day the gunman had been arrested at Fisherman’s Wharf. She had been overwhelmed by the emotions of the crowd, but she didn’t think anyone had really understood why. At least, nobody but David. “Did you tell your parents? The last time I talked to mine about our adaptation, I’m pretty sure I only told them about the touching thing.”

  “No, I haven’t talked to them about it since we got back from Nevada, and I couldn’t figure out how to explain everything without sounding crazy, so I didn’t tell them about the telepathy stuff.” His gaze on her sharpened. “Are you sure you didn’t tell anyone? Not even Julian?”

  She tried to remember all the conversations she’d had with Julian about the adaptation. “I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “I might have said something. But I think it’s okay. Julian won’t say anything. I know he won’t.”