He fell silent, wrestling with the idea of a Dushau reincarnating as an ephemeral.
Darllanyu stood up. “It’s not Krinata that has to be replaced. It’s me. Krinata only reacted when I lost attunement and blew the balances. Don’t blame her.” Without even glancing at
Jindigar she left the room, but a swirling turbulence wafted behind her.
Jindigar was on his feet before he thought, but Trinarvil stayed him with a gesture. “She needs some time alone.” And the unspoken implication was clear—certainly not with you too close by!
She was right, but Jindigar was afraid what Dar might do if left alone long enough to realize that they were trapped. The pensone dose she’d planned to take was still at the Temple, and it offered at least relief enough to die in peace. He had to go to her—but he dared not. Her need—his own need—tore at him, eroding his will to endure. He needed Dar’s deep understanding. Her presence would be more enriching than the Dushauni lighting. And such things always worked both ways. He had to go, yet he dared not.
He found himself poised in the open door, staring after Darllanyu, his Oliat tensed to stop him, when the Historian Threntisn emerged from a group gathered at the other end of the hall. They’d no doubt been speculating on the Oliat’s problem. The Historian approached warily. Jindigar made himself meet Threntisn’s gaze as Trinarvil looked over his shoulder and called, “Greetings, Archivist.”
“Greetings, Healer. May I speak to Jindigar’s?”
“We have adjourned,” said Jindigar, finding suddenly that the words had to be forced into a straight sentence. He retreated into the office and busied himself collecting the mugs, lingering over Dar’s where she’d abandoned it half full on the floor by her seat. He had to get hold of himself.
Zannesu met Threntisn. “We listen, Historian.”
“I seek a formal courtesy. The odd occurrences in the cave today—it’s said that despite dysattunement, you’ve found a food for the Holot. It’s vital that this be recorded in the Archive, so I’ve come to request a debriefing—”
Jindigar rose to stare at the Historian. He was bareheaded, even in the evening chill, and by the Dushauni lighting, his skin showed the indigo of young middle-age. The skin nap of his face and head was sleeked down. His nose was almost as sharp-bridged as some humans’. His eyes, wider set than most Dushau’s eyes, gave him a wary look. But Jindigar’s raw sensitivity picked up the bottomless depths of Grisnilter’s Archive. He had a poise, an intensity, that characterized Archivists– and hadn’t been in Threntisn a year ago. Hosting Grisnilter’s Archive had changed him and had not catapulted him into Renewal.
In the painful silence Trinarvil said, “I doubt if the Oliat can do an Archive debriefing. Their health is—•”
Jindigar interrupted her, forcing out words by averting his eyes. “It could be dangerous—to the Archive, Threntisn—but if you’re willing, we will.”
The others stirred in alarm. He turned to them and said, “If we are doomed, what we have learned must be preserved– even though it means reliving it.”
“Jindigar!” exclaimed Trinarvil. “Krinata couldn’t—”
“Does any of us know what a human can or cannot do?” He stared her down and turned to Threntisn, whose eyes gleamed . with the eagerness of a true Historian, and Jindigar had an idea. He turned his back and fixed his gaze on Zannesu as he addressed Threntisn, explaining in layman’s terms how Krinata’s grabbing of Center trapped them in Oliat.
Threntisn had grieved his son in the full linkage with Jindigar and Krinata. He knew of the Takora nexus. “Takora was surely experienced at debriefing to an Archive.”
“But Krinata has never worked Outreach at a debriefing, and she has been a professional Oliat debriefer, responsible for making publishable recordings from Oliat memories. She might become disoriented, confused—anything might happen.
“But it’s worth the risk,” continued Jindigar. “If we can record her grab, I can study it in slow motion and high resolution to discover how to Dissolve us safely.” The memory would reside in the Archive but would not be accessible to Historians. It was an Oliat function trace, available only with
Aliom keys. If he’d had such a tool last year, he could have saved Krinata a lot of suffering.
“Alternatively,” put in Trinarvil, “reliving it could kill you all.”
“It didn’t the first time,” argued Eithlarin, but without conviction.
Jindigar came to Trinarvil’s desk. “Since you can’t replace Krinata, what else should we try?”
“Do you really think,” said Threntisn, “that you can convince Krinata to do it for us?”
Jindigar turned and spoke directly to the Archivist. “Yes. Don’t underestimate her courage.”
“Then we’d better get started. It’ll take some time to set it up.” He glanced at Venlagar and Llistyien. “Jindigar’s right– I must protect the Archive carefully. It will take me at least a day to shut it down and another day or two for a Conclave to put me into the best state for this. Can you afford to wait that long?”
Too long, thought Jindigar. They ought to do this now. But Darllanyu could not work tonight—or even tomorrow. And she had to fight her battle alone—for any attempt by him to help her would only fuel the forces she was straining to subdue.
Threntisn moved about the office, inspecting the medical charts on the walls, peering into the cabinets, handling the restraining belts on the cots, as he planned aloud. “I’ll have a team of Historians tune the apparatus. Trinarvil, we’ll provide you space for your vibration therapy in case Krinata freezes again. So we’ll need extra power lines—” He scanned Zannesu and Jindigar. “I’ll get on it right now.”
He was at the door when Jindigar said, “I’ll let you know definitely by dawn if we decide to do it.”
And then the Historian was gone.
Jindigar turned to Eithlarin. “It would be good if you could find that pensone before Dar does. The rest of you—the Historians will need help focusing the equipment—” He sighed. “I’ve got to talk to Krinata.”
When Jindigar arrived at the Outriders’ barracks, all doors were closed against the evening chill, and smoke was flowing aromatically from the chimneys. Without trying he knew she was in Cyrus’s room—alone with him. As he hesitated, aware that she knew he was here, Storm’s door opened, and one of Storm’s co-husbands, Ruff, heaved a basin of wash water out to the side of the building. A baby fretted within, then quieted.
As he turned to go back inside Ruff noticed Jindigar and froze. Then he poked his head in and whispered, “Storm, it’s Jindigar!” He came out onto the porch, easing the door shut behind him, then waited for Jindigar to speak.
“Don’t disturb Storm,” said Jindigar, knowing he was nursing his baby. “I have to see Krinata.”
“She’s—” Ruff’s gaze went to Cyrus’s door.
“I know. I’ll wait.”
“Oh.” Ruff had never been voluble. He, as Storm’s other co-husbands, Pece and Tallar, always had Storm do the talking. Now he said only, “We’re here if you need us.”
“Tell Storm we aren’t—able—to deal with the community. Terab should be informed—we have survived, but we can’t work.”
Ruff answered, “I’ll tell him.” Then he was gone.
Jindigar drifted along the porch and leaned against one of the poles. Cy’s voice was raised in annoyance at Krinata for offhandedly using a Dushaun expression, shaleiliu. Her higher pitched voice came through clearly, explaining that she’d only meant “very good,” or “all right.” But Cy was in no mood for a language lesson.
At last he shouted, “I can’t deal with you!” He ripped open the door and stalked out onto the porch, fairly vibrating with unreleasable energies. Krinata caught the door before it crashed into the wall. Cyrus spotted Jindigar and straightened, tugging his dull green field tunic into place, his bare forearms showing bandages to match Krinata’s, though he wore them as if they were the heavy gold armlets of rank bestowed
by the Emperor. “Did you need us?”
Jindigar reassured him, relieved at how easily the words came this time. “No, I must speak to Krinata—”
“Cy hasn’t touched—” she started, defensive.
“I know,” Jindigar said, forestalling her. He’d have known if the Outrider had made any advances toward her.
Jindigar admired Cyrus—easily a mate for Krinata. He smiled, his best human imitation, and told him, “As Center, I must apologize for letting my Oliat eavesdrop on you and Storm earlier.”
“Forget it. Krinata already explained.”
“Then let us assume it never happened.” Jindigar was carefully formal, for he had known Cyrus only a year, and sexual jealousy wore many guises among different cultures. Possibly Cyrus didn’t even know what was eroding his temper. “But may we address the issues raised by the incident?”
Embarrassed, Cyrus gnawed a lip. “It’s not necessary—but come in if you like. It’s chilly out here, and dark.”
“Thank you,” replied Jindigar, and followed them inside.
The room was a duplicate of Storm’s, except that it had only one window. It was on the rear wall opposite the door and had a view of the compound’s palisade but was shuttered now. A merry fire burned in the corner fireplace next to it. There was a rough-hewn table and chairs, a bed and washstand, and a curtained shelf for storage. On top of the shelf lay a reader with a large stack of cartridges. Empty cups stood on the table amid the remains of a light meal.
There was a hint of an offhanded, courtly manner in Cyrus’s movements as he offered Jindigar a seat, then busily lit a few more candles to aid Dushau vision. “Would you like something to eat?” he asked, gathering the litter.
“No, thank you. I’ve actually come here to ask Krinata to risk her life—again. But before I do that—I believe I owe you—” He shrugged, portraying his helplessness, keeping his attention on Cyrus while Krinata settled warily into another chair at the table. “I owe you an explanation.”
Cyrus turned a chair and straddled it as a Holot might.
“Look, if anything, I owe you an apology.” His gaze raked Krinata in the forbidden intimacy he could not resist, and suddenly Jindigar knew that the Outrider was not fully aware of what was driving him.
Jindigar focused strictly on Cyrus, Emulating him lightly to pick up the nuances. The lives of his officers depended on this one human. Consciously Cyrus understood that he must not arouse Krinata in Oliat. But his eyes revealed an unconscious, confused and hurt, compulsively reaching for her, only to be rebuffed in favor of a man who could only use her ruthlessly.
Krinata’s lips tensed, betraying her inner struggle. Torn apart by the pain she was causing Cyrus, how could she possibly bring them through the debriefing alive? Jindigar had to soothe Cyrus’s unconscious to alleviate Krinata’s pain and let her concentrate.
Cyrus’s unconscious had to know that Jindigar did not regard Krinata as just an ephemeral—trivial and peripheral to his life—but that she mattered to him as a person. Even ephemeral Outriders had only been allowed to know Dushau who were between Renewals, so while they had been told it was different during Renewal, they believed Dushau incapable of personal relationships. Cyrus had to learn otherwise—and quickly. He had to learn on a nonverbal level that Krinata was not rebuffing him but only delaying, and that Jindigar loved Krinata so much, he wanted her to have a proper mate.
Jindigar told him, “You owe me no apology for your feeling for Krinata. It is a beautiful thing, an expression of life. It is how I feel about Darllanyu. And she about me. Neither of us would look at another—in such fashion.”
“See? I knew that. So I owe you an apology.”
“On the contrary,” countered Jindigar quickly. “What is between Krinata and me—” He had to meet her eyes now, wishing he had the Oliat link to reassure her. “We are more than zunre. Arid there is a threat there.”
She paled. Cyrus choked, unbelievingly, “Are you trying to tell me you love Krinata?”
Jindigar smiled again, hoping his teeth hadn’t turned as pale as he felt them to be. “I love all my zunre—and my Outriders as well. Cy, you are as special to me as Krinata is. And more– for you are special to Krinata. It takes more than love to make a mating. Krinata can’t be mate to me, nor I to her.” It was true. The particular awakening that came to him with Dar’s touch was not there with Krinata. Yet something was. He had learned, with Ontarrah, that there was nothing but bitter pain to be had from that lure, for it could not deliver what it promised.
“I never thought—I mean—of course you couldn’t—”
The embarrassment was back, and Krinata would have been squirming except for the aristocratic upbringing of the Zavaronne. To confront that tension and force Cyrus to become conscious of his deeper feelings, Jindigar rose and circled Krinata’s chair. He put his hands on her shoulders, and watching Cyrus, he stroked her neck—the bare human skin having only the slightest fuzz of soft hair that tickled when it got between the sensitive nap that was a part of his skin, not a dead excrescence that remained attached.
He opened himself further to the human Emulation so her body did not seem repulsive, and watched Cyrus fighting the male reflexes that were both social and biological. He was treading hard on Cyrus’s territory, the sanctity of which wasn’t even under Cyrus’s own control—but was a function of Krinata’s will. The Outrider was not prepared to face his vulnerability, certainly not at the hands of a nonhuman.
Unable to tolerate Cyrus’s building discomfort and clearly alarmed at her physical response to Jindigar’s deliberately sensuous touch, Krinata looked up and protested, ”Jindigar, you shouldn’t—” Her eyes told him how she had wanted this from him but now no longer did.
Yet he continued to caress her throat meaningfully, giving Cyrus time to absorb her response to him and her rejection of that response. His hand trembled with suppressed memories of Ontarrah—those four heartbreakingly disastrous experiments–and he hoped the only memory of that left to Krinata was her frustrated yearning for what could not be. A yearning for a Dushau’s renewing touch might plague a Dushau reincarnated as an ephemeral.
He flinched from the thought and said aloud, “Cyrus, this is safe for me—even though right now Darllanyu is at the very brink of giving in to Renewal. If I were to do this to Eithlarin or Llistyien, Darllanyu would feel it. And if I were to touch Darllanyu so, most of us would be dead within the hour.” He knelt beside her chair and turned her face to him, feeling the heat of embarrassment flush her cheeks. “You arouse me, Krinata, but not like Dar does.” Has she told Cyrus of Ontarrah?
“I love you, too, Jindigar—” Then she looked at Cyrus, stricken. “But that doesn’t mean I love you less!”
“I never challenged that—I never thought—”
“No, you didn’t think,” said Jindigar, forcing himself to abandon Krinata before his response did get out of control, and Dar felt it. He took his chair again, assuming a nondefensive posture. “You felt—and sometimes feelings are more accurate than the plodding linearity of thought. The Oliat feels, Cy. Everything—all at once. That’s why it’d be as dangerous for us if you were to touch Krinata as it would be if I gave in to Dar. And that’s why, in the cave, it was my duty as Center to take Krinata away from you.”
“I understood that even before the medic explained how the entire Oliat had to be treated to help Krinata, because you’re all tied together when you work.”
“You understand, but you still feel threatened,” countered Jindigar gently, “because I wanted to take her from you– because I am a rival—for Krinata—but not for your mate.”
“Jindigar!” protested Krinata.
“Please, listen,” he urged her. “Cyrus, you and I must confront the fact that we feel like rivals.”
Jindigar Emulated human maleness, supporting it with his own emerging maleness as much as he dared, and let Cyrus see how Krinata mattered to him.
Over that subtext he asked, “Now do you un
derstand how far this has gone? I can’t bear to hurt Krinata. I can’t bear to see her hurt—and she will die—we all will—if I can’t Dissolve us safely. I don’t know how to do that yet, but I do know that there’s no hope without your help.” And he outlined to them both the idea Threntisn had given him.
“Debriefing to an Archive?” asked Krinata. Even she, as a professional debriefing officer, had never known the original usage of the equipment the Dushau had modified for ephemeral use.
“Yes. Now I must ask you a question, Cyrus. Do you believe I love Krinata? Treasure her life beyond my own?”
Cyrus gazed at him, all primal, threatened male peering out of intelligence-haunted eyes at the alien rival, for Jindigar was showing him the fierce emotions Krinata roused in him. It dawned on him that his feeling for her was similar to how he’d feel about any of his ex-wives if they were here to officiate at his wedding, using the way they aroused him to ease him through onset and give him to Darllanyu in reasonably decent condition.
He pushed the pungent nostalgia aside and concentrated on Cyrus, for the human was finally accepting his own instinctive recognition of Jindigar as a rival. Perhaps no human could ever accept that such rivalry was to be enjoyed, forming the deepest bonds of friendship, but at least he now knew that Jindigar– a nonpredator—could be a rival without being an enemy, without hurting the one he loved, and thus, without tempting him to break Outriders’ vows.
“Yes, Jindigar. I believe you do love her. What do I have to do?”
Jindigar reached across the table and gripped Cyrus’s callused hand, Emulating human tactile communication to convince his unconscious. “You love her as much as I do. You treasure her life as much as I do. Protect her by giving her into my keeping. As mate to my zunre, you become my zunre, too—closer than family. Trust me. Our lives depend on it.”
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