Serpent's Gift

by A. C. Crispin

  He went on to detail the requirements, then advised any students that needed certification to schedule lessons and testing with Janet Rodriguez.

  By the time he was finished, class was over. Free at last! Serge hastily thrust his notes and computer link into his case, then plunged into the crowded corridor. Yesterday at about this time he'd escorted Heather to her room, and it would only be natural, he told himself, for him to stop by and see how she was doing.

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  He crossed his fingers that Hing would be there, too. Last night he'd barely slept at all. Memories had filled his mind, repeating over and over in a chaotic whirl of images. The first time he and Hing had met, at the Spiral Arm, the Academy's student hangout. The time that she'd done Lady Macbeth and he'd designed and constructed the scenery for the play. Their first kiss, backstage after opening night. Dates, walks in the botanical garden, trips in the shuttle up to StarBridge Station for dinner or a show, shopping together, the time he had won the low-gee gliding championship for the second year running and Hing had come running up to him as he'd stood clutching his trophy. ..

  Most vividly of all, he recalled the first time they'd made love. Self-conscious about his hands, he'd been afraid to caress her skin or even touch her clothes to undress her, though he'd known that was what she wanted. It was his first time, and she had to have realized that--just as he'd been sure that it wasn't her first time.

  As he'd hesitated, she had kissed him tenderly, solemnly, then gave him an impish grin and ostentatiously linked her fingers behind her neck. "No hands," she announced. "Anyone using hands loses the game."

  "What game?" Serge asked, amused despite his apprehension.

  "The one I just invented," she declared, leaning toward him. Slowly, hesitantly, Serge followed her example .. .

  They hadn't been able to play the "game" long, but by the time they abandoned it, laughing and gasping, it hadn't mattered anymore. Things had been fine--better than fine. Wonderful. Serge had never felt so right, so in accord with the universe. It had been like playing perfect music ...

  But step by step with the good times, the bad memories had kept pace, making him toss and turn; words he should have said, things he should have done, statements and accusations he would give anything to take back. He'd been a fool to let her go, to drive her away, a stupid, stupid fool, and that lesson, learned every night for the past six lonely months, was not one he could or would forget.

  But yesterday, Hing had smiled at him, at first diffidently, then, when he'd escorted Heather to her room, with real warmth. And for the first time, he'd thought that maybe it didn't have to be over ... maybe, if he were patient, more willing to share, maybe he could get her back . . .

  Maybe . ..

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  Checking his watch, Serge muttered a Heeyoon imprecation under his breath (roughly translated it meant: "may parasites torment thee in midsummer") because he was running late. Quantum Physics started in fifteen minutes, and the class was not one he could afford to cut. He quickened his stride until he was nearly running down the corridor.

  Even though his official status at StarBridge Academy was Assistant Instructor, Serge still attended classes at the Academy-- though he'd stopped kidding himself over a year ago that he'd ever become an interrelator. He'd had to recognize that he simply didn't have the empathy, patience, and stability to live on an alien planet as a career diplomat. . . even though his language skills were excellent and his grades in the top five percent.

  For one thing, the young man's Social Adjustment Index was too low, and for another, Doctor Blanket said he wasn't ready to take on an assignment. That had clinched it, because no would-be interrelator graduated from StarBridge until Doctor Blanket pronounced him, her, or seloz (the Mizari pronoun that was used for neuters) ready.

  At first Serge had considered leaving the Academy, but there wasn't anything else he wanted to do. His parents had never forgiven him for not pursuing his music career; he couldn't face returning to their silent recriminations. In his years at StarBridge, the school had become home .. .

  Rob, Janet, and the other staff were now his family.

  So Serge had stayed on, serving as an Orientation Guide (the best one they'd ever had, Rob had told him). His interest in archaeology (he'd minored in it) had led to his becoming Professor Greyshine's teaching assistant when the Heeyoon had arrived a year ago. He'd done so well that for the past eight months Serge had been teaching the intro-level courses himself. Following Horizons Unlimited's discovery of the artifacts, both archaeologists spent every free moment out at the dig. For the first time since his accident, Serge had felt that he was making a real contribution.

  As he neared Hing's room, Serge had to force himself to keep striding quickly. His heart was pounding, and not from the brisk walk. Perhaps she's not here. . . It was possible, though he'd checked her schedule, and knew there were no play rehearsals held this early in the day. Perhaps she'll be angry when she sees me... perhaps she will think I am pushing her. . .

  Giving himself a mental shake, he keyed the door. She was glad to see me, I know she was. Just say hello, and inquire how

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  she is--i am not possibly think you are overstepping by

  "Who is it?" the intercom inquired. It was Hing's voice, and Serge's mouth went suddenly dry as he identified himself.

  The door slid open halfway, and she was there, her hair, not yet braided for the day, flowing over her slender shoulders and down her back like an ebony waterfall. "Hi," she said with a faint smile, but there was a wary gleam in her dark, almond-shaped eyes.

  "Hello," he said. "I stopped by to see how Heather is doing. She had quite a shock yesterday, when Khuharkk' came at her. Is she here?"

  "No, Dr. Rob asked to see her this morning, and she's there now," Hing said, signaling the door all the way open, then waving him in. "She seemed fine by last night.. . and this morning she was bouncing around, all excited about being here. You know how resilient kids are. Would you like to sit down? Do you have time for a cup of tea?"

  "Of course," he lied.

  Hing was wearing a silky robe made of Apis spider-silk, pale silver in color, with exotic alien blossoms in shades of pastel green and saffron rippling across it. Within its folds, she looked even smaller and more delicate than usual. Serge sat down on the couch in the living room and sipped the tea she gave him.

  "You were wonderful yesterday, with Khuharkk'," he said, his eyes finally meeting hers. "That could have been a nasty incident, but you handled it so calmly."

  She smiled wryly. "One of my better performances. My heart kept wanting to sink into my shoes. Khuharkk' was really pissed, not that I can blame him."

  Her smile broadened into a grin, then she giggled as if she couldn't help it.

  "Poor Khuharkk'-- his expression when that ice cream slid down his mane--"

  Serge shook his head. "Pistachio is definitely not his color," he agreed, and they both laughed ruefully. He finished his tea, and put the cup back on the table, careful, as always, not to exert too much pressure on the fragile china.

  When he'd first been learning to use his artificial hands, he'd broken half of what he touched.

  "You mentioned wanting to see the dig," he said, carefully casual. "How about next week? The Professor and I have decided to take my Intro class out on a field trip, and some experienced help would be welcome, to keep an eye on the freshmen. Some of the students have barely passed their basic spacesuit tests."

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  Hing considered, then nodded. "Sure, I'd like to see the dig. And I'll be glad to help you out."

  He nodded, keeping the exultation he felt under control. Be light, casual, he cautioned himself. Don't push, don't push .. . "Excellent," he said, and rose.

  "The tea was delicious. Thank you. I will call you later today with the exact date and time, if that is okay."

  "That's fine," she said, "I'll be looking forward to the trip."

  Outside the door, Serge glanced at
his watch, realizing that there was no way he could make his Physics class. And there was an exam day after tomorrow. But it was worth it, he thought, grinning. Definitely worth it!

  "Hi, Heather."

  The girl looked up from the viewmag in the assistant's outer office to see a short, slender, dark-haired man standing in the doorway, smiling at her.

  She'd never met Rob Gable before, but she recognized him immediately--

  almost any human would have. "Dr. Gable!" she blurted, jumping up.

  Heather was surprised to find herself nervous; but then again, she'd never met anyone famous before.

  He waved her into the office. "Dr. Gable is my dad," he corrected her pleasantly. "Don't make me feel any older than I do already, okay? The students call me Rob, or Dr. Rob. Sit down, won't you?"

  Heather sat down before the cluttered desk, then glanced cautiously around her, taking in the small black cat curled on the other visitor's chair, the huge holo-tank on the wall, and the holo-posters. .. I Was a Teenage Werewolf, Gone With the Wind, and A Night at the Opera. She'd read Gone With the Wind while she was at Melbourne, but had never heard of the other two.

  Rob instructed his Simiu assistant to hold his calls, then closed the door and walked over to her, his hand out. "I'm pleased to meet you," he said as she timidly shook with him.

  "It's an honor to meet you," she replied, looking up at him, thinking he wasn't bad-looking, for an old guy. It was funny, but she'd thought he'd be taller.

  "Even when I knew I was going to get the chance to come here, I somehow never really thought I'd get to meet you-- in person, you know."

  He chuckled. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other. I see a lot of all the freshmen. Would you like something to drink?"

  "An orange soda?" she asked, and he nodded and keyed the servo.

  Moments later he handed her the glass. Heather cocked

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  her head as she looked up at him. "With all the holo-posters in here, I'd have expected to see one from the First Contacts vid," she said demurely.

  Rob grimaced. "I'm still trying to forget about that one," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "I'll never live it down. Everyone's still kidding me about the actor who played me."

  "Trey Leonard doesn't look a bit like you."

  "No kidding. Tall, blond, with muscles on top of his muscles, and all the emotional range of an artichoke--they couldn't have found anyone less like me if they'd put out a planet-wide casting call." He stroked the cat, who'd jumped up into his lap, and when he looked up, Heather knew that the pleasantries were over; it was time to get down to business. "So, what do you think of the Academy?"

  She gave him a winning smile. "It's great, Dr. Rob. I'm glad you picked Hing to be my roommate .. . she's been really nice to me."

  "I'm glad you like her. Almost everyone does," he replied. "Have you thought about what you'd like to accomplish here, Heather?"

  She was slightly taken aback. "Accomplish? You mean, what I'd like to do when I graduate from here?" To Heather it seemed like a foregone conclusion that she would graduate, assuming she decided to stay--after all, she was a powerful telepath. They needed her.

  Rob nodded.

  Heather shrugged, bewildered. "I'm a telepath. I'll become a deep-space explorer, right?" She leaned forward, careful not to seem too ingratiating.

  "I've always dreamed of deep-space exploration, ever since I read Mahree Burroughs' First Contacts-- I've read it at least three times!"

  "Really?" he said neutrally, and Heather, meeting his dark eyes, felt her smile waver. He's not buying the bullshit, she thought. What does he want?

  What's he fishing for? She reached out to scan his surface thoughts--

  --and hit a blank wall, filled with a roaring mental "noise." Heather gasped softly, recoiling, and the glass in her hand tilted, slopping cold soda over her fingers. Behind that wall, the girl could sense the psychologist's mind, but it was impossible to read anything from it, with that "noise" resounding in her head.

  Heather pulled back until she was safely inside her own mind again, wincing from a sharp headache that sprang up. "Oh, look what I've done," she gabbled, putting the glass down and mopping

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  at the spill she'd made. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so clumsy."

  Rob Gable watched her grimly. "Heather," he said finally, "look at me."

  The girl took a deep breath, then sat back in her chair, forcing herself to meet his gaze squarely. Rob's eyes narrowed as he ¦

  slowly, deliberately pushed his dark, curly hair back from his face, revealing his left ear, which bore a small, glittering earcuff.

  "See this?"

  She nodded.

  "Do you know what it is?"

  Heather had a sinking suspicion, but she had never seen one before, only heard of them, so she shook her head. The headache had eased off, but still throbbed dully behind her eyes.

  "It's a teledistort," Rob told her. "It protects my mind from unwanted telepathic contact. I hoped when I put it on a few minutes ago that it was an unnecessary precaution."

  Oh, shit! Caught cold! It was a struggle to keep her resentment and anger from showing on her face, but she schooled her features to meek apology.

  "I'm really sorry, Dr. Rob. I know I shouldn't do that, but I got into a bad habit of scanning people automatically, back when my uncle Fred was being so mean. Sometimes I could sense when he was going to hit me in time to get out of range." That ought to make him feel pretty shitty, she thought smugly. It was actually half-true ... her telepathy had saved her from a slap or a boxed ear more than once in the past, when she'd been living with Uncle Fred and Aunt Natalie. But Heather had been an accomplished telepathic snoop since before she'd learned to read.

  Rob's grim expression thawed slightly. "I can understand how that kind of habit could get started, considering the unfortunate circumstances. But"--he leaned forward, his eyes holding hers-- "it's got to stop, understand?"

  "Well, sure ... I..." she found herself stammering again. *Damn you, Heather, get hold of yourself, the part of her mind she thought of as her "survivor-self" (because that's what it helped her do) barked. You can't let this shrink push you around! "I understand," she said more composedly.

  "I had a great-aunt who was telepathic, and my daughter, Claire, is a telepath," Rob said, "so I know something about 'how an ethical esper is supposed to behave. I'm sure they taught at Melbourne that it's wrong to read someone's mind without knowledge or permission, right?"

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  "Yeah," Heather muttered, looking down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap.

  "We have the same rule here. You'll be starting classes tomorrow, and the teachers in your Telepathic Techniques course will be emphasizing that rule. We're a small community here, living in fairly close quarters. It's important that everyone respect the rights of others." He smiled faintly. "Don't forget that certain aliens can sense indiscriminate telepathic snooping, as most humans can't And if they sensed it, they'd be rightfully furious."

  "Really?" Heather was startled; she'd never heard that before. "Which aliens?" Could it be the Simiu who can do that? But no, she hadn't sensed any telepathic awareness in Khuharkk' yesterday--only his anger, which she couldn't help "reading."

  Rob smiled faintly. "I think it might be better if I didn't spell that out for you,"

  he said dryly. "At least, not yet. Right now, I'd like to discuss what happened yesterday between you and Khuharkk'."

  Heather felt a sullen anger bubbling inside her, but forced herself to remain impassive. "I'd like to hear about what happened from your point of view,"

  Rob continued. "I'll be talking about all this with Khuharkk' later, and I'll get his version then."

  She hesitated, biting her lip, and the psychologist added, "I'm not asking so I can scold you or punish you, believe me. Janet wasn't there when the incident happened, and I haven't had time to talk to Serge or Hing."

  "Do you have to talk to Serge?" she blu
rted. Heather didn't want the young instructor telling Rob that she'd pissed herself like a baby. Not with what she was planning to do to Khuharkk' .

  "That depends," he said, and sat back, clearly waiting.

  "I had this ice cream..." Heather began, then went on to give the counselor the whole story, as accurately as she could up until the point where she'd wet herself, realized that Serge had noticed, then mentally promised herself that Khuharkk' would pay for what he'd done. She left all that out, of course.

  When she was done, Rob nodded thoughtfully, then said, "Do you understand why Khuharkk' was so angry?"

  "I think so," Heather said. "Hing explained last night how Simiu regard anything that makes them look stupid or foolish as an insult and a threat.

  She also told me that this"--she opened her mouth to mimic laughter--"is like a red flag to a Simiu. It's the way they challenge each other."

  Rob nodded. "I'm glad she explained. Understanding other species so we can improve communications between the Fifteen

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  ' Known Worlds is the entire mission of this school. You've had a firsthand chance to see how messed up things can get when misunderstandings occur. We work to prevent problems like that, on a planetary as well as an individual level. And telepaths are very important in helping us understand and communicate."

  Heather relaxed slightly. It seemed as though Rob wasn't going to lecture her too much, which would have been boring, as well as useless. "I know,"

  she replied. 'That's why I was glad to come here. I really do want to be a space explorer when I grow up." ¦ That was just right, she congratulated herself. Not too gushy, but enthusiastic.. .

  The psychologist regarded her steadily. "Only the best, most stable telepaths are selected to go out on the deep-space vessels," he said finally. "But having that dream gives you a goal to work (toward, which is all to the good.

  Helping you set goals and work to achieve them is part of my job. Which brings me back to your curriculum here." Rob pressed a button on his computer link, and scanned the holo-tank. "Is your class schedule okay?

  You're not going to change anything?"