Outreach tdt-3

by Jacqueline Lichtenberg

  “Jindigar,” asked Cy, “are you saying Krinata’s doomed unless I give her up to you?”

  “Yes. She must be mine—and only mine—for these next few days. I’ll protect her as you would yourself. Then she will be yours and I’ll retire to the inner compound and no longer be a factor in your lives.”

  Jindigar, gaze locked with Cyrus’s, saw that he had Cyrus’s understanding. To have, one must first surrender. It was not a male attitude, but Cyrus was not only male. He was human, and the male in him, confronted and acknowledged at last, was now mollified enough that the human could dominate.

  Into the protracted silence Krinata said tentatively, “This may be the wrong moment to mention it, but I am not a possession to be bartered for.”

  Cyrus broke his gaze and turned to Krinata, babbling hastily, “I didn’t mean—I know—of course, you’re—I mean, naturally it’s up to you.”

  Jindigar rose and circled the table, resetting all the muscles in his face and body as he shook himself out of the Emulation. “I’m sorry, Krinata. I do not regard women as chattel to be bargained for. Can you imagine how Dar would react to that?” He paused to let the absurdity sink in, then pointed out, “But she knows how the line between identities blurs in mating– how part of one becomes part of another, in order to create a new identity. A mate becomes a temporary proprietor of one’s soul.” A gateway to Completion.

  Cyrus rose and paced to the other side of the room, his mind engaging now that Jindigar had veiled the primal energies. “Jindigar, were you just Emulating? Or were you telling the truth?”

  “Both. Look at me,” he prompted. “Do you still see barely contained arousal? A man who possesses this woman and will protect her with his life because his life is hers?”

  With all the years of his field experience Cyrus studied Jindigar and saw only an adjourned Center. At last he shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Any Dushau would be able to see it in me. It isn’t gone because I can’t make it go away. But there’s lots more there to be read. I am frightened as I’ve never been before. At any moment, without warning, my Oliat may collapse. And that’s not merely an idea to me. It’s happened to me, with Kamminth’s—”

  Krinata went to Cyrus. “I told you about how the Emperor destroyed Kamminth’s, when Jindigar was trying to change Offices to be their Outreach.” She, no doubt, remembered vividly how they had collapsed in convulsions in the Imperial Palace courtyard, all but three of them dying instantly.

  The one image from that moment that Jindigar could not banish was Lelwatha’s body, twisted in the rigor of death by shock. He had left Jindigar his whule and his music, along with the feeling of beauty.

  Cyrus faced Krinata, his hands behind his back, his stance no longer so vibrantly tense with denied impulses.

  Krinata said, “I don’t agree with your primitive psycho-sexual analysis. Love isn’t possession. Love is acceptance.” She tossed a glance at Cyrus. “And I can accept both of you. So don’t fight over me, all right?”

  “An Outrider doesn’t fight with an officer,” replied Cyrus, eyeing Jindigar significantly. “An Outrider fights for the officers.”

  “Then these officers had better get back to work,” observed Krinata. She pulled on her wrap but stopped at the door to watch Cyrus finish cleaning the table. “You really do understand now?”

  He glanced up, head cocked to one side. “It’s all right, Krinata, go ahead. Just teach me that word next time.”

  “Shaleiliu? It’s another word for marriage, isn’t it, Jindigar?”

  “In your case—yes—I believe so.”

  As she led the way outside she asked, “I wonder—does that constitute a Priest’s blessing?”

  “Aliom Priests don’t give blessings, Krinata. I thought you knew that.”

  Before she could answer, Storm called from the other end of the building where his room was. “Jindigar! I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”

  He sent Krinata on to re-join the others and reassure them that she was willing to attempt the debriefing. “We have all of tomorrow to teach you the routine,” he told her. “It’s a little different from your old job.”

  Storm waved him into the warmth of his room. The baby was gone, but clothes, blankets, and cleverly handmade toys were everywhere. The connecting door to Ruff’s room was ajar, but apparently Ruff, Pece, and Tallar were gathered in the next room with the human apprentices. Jindigar noted how they had vacated the room next to Cyrus’s, the doors closed, affording privacy despite the thin walls.

  Storm’s corner fireplace gave off a pleasing warmth; the candles, a dim light. Without even asking, Storm poured a mug of tea for Jindigar. “This is the kind you like. You probably need it after that.”

  Jindigar laughed. “Cy’s not hard to talk to.”

  “He’s very professional—but Jindigar, he’s going to pieces.” The Lehiroh sat down across the table from Jindigar, cradling his own mug of tea.

  “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  “He was shouting at Krinata! Oh—he’s not Lehiroh, but I’ve known enough humans to recognize a critical level of sexual tension when I see it. I tried to help him—he wouldn’t let me touch him. Some humans are like that. So Orel went to him—but he thinks of her as female, and that’s even worse. If the Oliat has to call us to work again—frankly, Jindigar, this is very hard to say. Cy is the best—I mean, the best Outrider I’ve ever worked with. But right now I don’t trust him. His temper is hanging by a thread. And he won’t do anything to help himself.”

  Trying to think what to say, Jindigar drank some of the tea. Orel was the mother of Storm’s baby. Obviously they all loved Cyrus, but being Lehiroh, they weren’t upset by a mere sexual rejection. They were simply worried for a dear colleague, and Storm, knowing from vast experience that Dushau hardly noticed such things, felt it his duty to consult the Oliat Center.

  “Storm, it’s not that Cyrus won’t help himself. He can’t. Not any more than I can help myself right now. But only another couple of days at the most–and I’ll Dissolve without ever calling on you again. And you may find that Cy has made some peace with himself now.”

  “Should we try approaching him again?” asked Storm with the intonation that asked, You mean, you convinced him to find another outlet?

  “You can ask him why he refused. You may find it’s just that right now, anyone but Krinata is simply repulsive.”

  “I could understand that. But if that’s the case, I think we*d better replace him on the team.”

  “I wouldn’t put it to him that way. Krinata needs him– and he’s her Outrider. You know Cy. He rants about the aristocracy being dead, but he’s Lord Kulain through and through. Nothing in the galaxy will induce him to abandon a responsibility, but especially not this one—to the Lady Zavaronne.” And Krinata’s the same way.

  Storm ran a hand through his hair and flipped it back. “Well, I guess you can see that I’ve never really gotten into cross-species sexuality, especially not with humans. But—I’ll have to talk to Ruff. I suppose we’ll have to seduce him somehow. The problem is, none of us know that much about humans, and I don’t think our trainee Outriders would help.”

  “It might be better just to wait a few days—the whole problem should be resolved by then.”

  Storm looked at him sideways, then shrugged, “I’m not going to inquire about Dushau personal habits, but if you think it’s possible to ignore a thing like this for a few days, we’ve just found another time-scale discrepancy between Dushau and ephemerals. Jindigar, that man’s going to break, one direction or another—in a matter of hours. I just want to see it do no harm.”

  Summoning his human Emulation for a moment, Jindigar thought that perhaps Storm was right. Jindigar’s exercise had given Cyrus some peace, but the previously aroused sexual energies had not been grounded out. In fact, Cyrus might be more sexually volatile now that he was in touch with his primal drives. Jindigar conceded, “Running your tea
m is up to you. If you can work it out, so much the better. But I really can’t see us having to call on you again. Right now I’m afraid to convene at all.”

  They fell into a discussion of the Oliat’s technical problems that lasted over three mugs of tea.

  When Storm saw Jindigar to the door, he was grave and reserved. Jindigar felt that there was much news of the ephemeral world that Storm was withholding. After the tedious dealings with ephemerals of the last few hours, Jindigar felt himself utterly uninterested in the affairs of the rest of the community. He knew that was a bad sign but also that it was a perfectly natural development.

  If only, when news of Krinata’s death reaches me, I can be

  this uninterested.,

  FIVE

  Cassrian Hatchery

  Krinata tackled the debriefing theory professionally, and Jindigar suddenly felt that his scheme was going to work. He found some Aliom students with experience on the debriefer, and Threntisn consulted the Archive for the method of tuning the machines without the aid of a Sentient computer. Then he went into seclusion, barricading his Archive from any possible intrusion by the Oliat.

  Darllanyu returned to them calm enough to ask Krinata, “How is Cy?”

  “He understands now,” she answered with certainty.

  “Don’t ever hurt him, Krinata,” pled Darllanyu. “He nearly killed himself saving my life when we were trapped in that hive. He deserves the very best that life can give.”

  “I know he does.”’

  With sudden insight Jindigar realized that Dar felt about Cy very much as he felt about Krinata. One day he’d have to ask if she’d known him in one of his previous incarnations.

  Jindigar swallowed churning emotions, none of which were appropriate to the debriefing drill they had yet to master. “Krinata, I’m going to relax the adjournment and let you maintain the linkage pattern—” That was the Inreach’s job. Krinata didn’t have the training, but during debriefing, she had to handle it. He warned the others, “If she fumbles, I’ll reinstate adjournment quickly, so brace yourselves.”

  Llistyien sighed, “Good thing I didn’t eat this morning. This always make me nauseous.”

  Zannesu said, “I agree. Jindigar, are you sure I shouldn’t take Outreach for this one?”

  “It wouldn’t work,” insisted Jindigar, not thinking about all the horror stories he’d heard through the years. “Ready?” And he put them through the drill.

  When, after four tries, Krinata had not managed it, he set Llistyien to Emulate human, bringing up the ephemeral point of view for the Oliat. This limited them severely both in the span that constituted “now” and in the spread of territory that was “here.” It became very hard to see purpose in what they were doing, so that as they repeated the drill a fatiguing sense of futility settled over the Dushau Officers.

  But Krinata’s spirits rose. //Why didn’t you tell me that was all you wanted!// She redoubled her efforts, each try yielding a fraction more success that only whetted her appetite for more. Jindigar had used this method to teach her before, but they had never tackled anything this complex.

  It took the entire day until Krinata finally held steady three tries in a row, and Jindigar adjourned and sent them all off to exercise away the tension and to sleep.

  But he was too keyed-up to retire. He had spent the whole day focused on Krinata, yet at Center, he could not avoid awareness of Darllanyu leashing back surges of possessiveness with all the discipline at her command. She had triumphed over her need for a mate’s care—this time. He admired her strength in winning that battle while a part of him squirmed in pleasure at how much she wanted him. Mostly, though, he wanted to hold her close and make sure she’d never have to fight such a battle again.

  He wandered outside into the twilight evening. A balmy breeze wafted up from the river, a kind breeze laden with moisture and fragrant with night-blooming flowers. He set out to walk the perimeter of the compound. If he went into then-quarters now, he would surely tell Dar how he felt—and that could be disastrous.

  He strolled toward the wall dividing the compound for the comfort of those in Renewal. It was shorter than the outer wall and not as sturdy, a token wall to be honored by those not in Renewal. One day it would probably be replaced by the more usual hedgerow that signified, Here children play and youths try their strength.

  On top of the wall near the gate a young piol sat erect, nibbling busily on something held between two paws, almost as if waiting for the children to come out to play. He recalled Cyrus feeding the piol on the porch. The Outriders had made a home of their on-duty quarters, the kind of home one should only make inside a Renewal park.

  He toyed with the idea of going inside. The central gate was constantly open, just two sections of wall overlapping in a curve. He’d never seen with his own eyes what they’d built in there. Unbidden, the rules of courtesy for entering a Renewal park rose to his mind. There were no children, let alone youths, here yet. So he would simply have to keep his eyes off mated women and not discuss the affairs of the world as if they were as vital as children.

  Given his state of mind, that wouldn’t be difficult. He really belonged over there more than he did here. He stood staring at the gate, knowing that to breach it now would give license to his desires. His will could be swamped, and he might not regain the objectivity needed to Center.

  Twilight faded. Night swallowed him, but he shunned the automatic Oliat awareness that replaced vision, confronting the alien dark of this world. Then he heard the singing.

  Faintly at first, wafting this way and that on the evening breeze, the voices of dozens of Dushau women joined in the old, familiar harmonies of the Aliom evening chants as they walked to the site of their Temple. A painful warmth rose in his chest. Even without an Active Priest, Aliom was organizing a community.

  He hadn’t thought about it in more than a thousand years, but suddenly he yearned for the daily routine of Renewal– walking to the Temple at dawn, chanting the men’s songs, giving the dawn music lesson, conducting the mealtime study, training and teaching drills, and theory classes, coming home to play with his babies or joining them in silent discovery of the universe, feeding his children, dancing and playing sports with his youngsters—and giving dayclose table ceremonies for his family, dancing and singing with his wife—and the tight cycle of commemorative days altering the content of the routine but not the daily rhythm.

  They would have to make new commemoratives. He quailed before the size of the task. He would have no one senior to him to teach him. He couldn’t lead this community.

  But the distant music swept him back into visions of sweet days filled with routine, building a secure world for growing minds. How beautiful it was to dwell with family, every shared event deepened by shared insights into the errors of old habits. How wonderful to share the unfolding evolution of a mate’s soul—waking each morning not quite sure who this person would be today, or who you, yourself, would be.

  He appreciated the truth of the old saying, “Children give birth to the parents.” Raising Darllanyu’s children would make him a completely different person than he could become raising any other woman’s children.

  Even knowing that much of their time here would be spent constructing buildings or producing basic goods, he was ready to get started. But he could not enter those gates alone.

  As he stood captivated by the distant women’s song, their voices faltered. Softly he sang the tune, as if to teach them. They needed an Active Priest. And—if any of them were to survive adjusting to this planet—they needed him to ignite the complementary worldcircle in the Active Temple. Its ruddy glow would be perceptible only to die Aliom-trained, who could enter the Temple, but the influence of the pair of circles would vitalize the whole community. They could use the circles to help those fighting dysattunement. Pregnant women would come to the Active circle to dedicate their children to Completion.

  He saw Darllanyu, pregnant as could be, standing in that rosy glow
, happily leading the women’s chant. The image faded. He scrubbed his face with both hands, hoping, though he had no gift, that this was prophecy.

  “Jindigar?”

  It was a very tentative whisper, and Jindigar turned to find Threntisn hesitating at a distance. “We’re adjourned.”

  Threntisn approached, hands tucked into the deep pockets of his loose black jerkin. He was wearing a dark turban with a deep purple shirt and trousers, making himself virtually invisible. Jindigar could sense the presence of the Archive, a glittering swirl, muted now by the wards placed around it for tomorrow’s debriefing. He knew what it was like to carry that Archive but not what it might be to feed it data and watch it grow, to ask it questions and find answers put there lifetimes ago by custodians long dead and forgotten.

  “Do you recall the Century Song?” asked Threntisn.

  “You know I was raised in a Historian family. How could I not?” The children’s song enumerated the centuries of a life leading to Completion, assigning a lesson to each century, a challenge to be conquered. It had been one of Jindigar’s favorite songs.

  “Will you teach it to your children?”

  “I’ll let you do that when you come into Renewal,” answered Jindigar mildly, not liking where this was leading.

  “Will you come with them to lessons?”

  “If necessary. When they’re very young.”

  “Jindigar, don’t evade. If you get out of this alive, you’ll be lucky. Aliom isn’t taking you to Completion. And—I admit I’m impressed with how you protected Grisnilter’s Archive. With training you could be an Archivist.”

  “And where would I get an Archive? You’ve got the only one on Phanphihy.”

  “Oh, Phanphihy will produce its own Archive one day.”

  “A new Archive’s Eye will open? You can’t predict that!”

  “Certain historical stresses surround the opening of all the

  Eyes we know of. The signature is with us, Jindigar, but none of our trainees has any real talent—the kind that runs in your family. We need you.”