/There is no part of this that isn’t perfect,/ Vasiht’h commented, standing in the bathroom and scanning it from sink to shower.
/We could easily live here./
Vasiht’h looked up sharply.
/The physical therapy room would fit us both for a bedroom. And the waiting room would serve as great room./
Vasiht’h’s ears perked. /We could put a table in it by the counter, for meals. And a sofa and pillows and a wallscreen in the center…/ He canted his head. /Our patients would be able to see our house, though. Is that all right with you?/
/Should it not be?/
Vasiht’h padded out of the bathroom. /You’re the private one…? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable./
/I would prefer not to share the sight of my bedroom with strangers. A well kept great room…/ Jahir trailed off, thinking of the sitting rooms in his mother’s house. /Should be inviting./
“Busy talking it out, I see,” Helga said, grinning. “Should I leave you to it?”
“You really wish us to use this property,” Jahir said. Thinking of Vasiht’h’s many uncertainties, he said, “We have not even seen the rent.”
“You can afford it,” Helga said. “I’m giving it to you.”
This time, both of them paused, and the Hinichi let them have their silence before leaning toward them, her demeanor sobering. “You understand what I’m doing here?”
“You are leaving us your community to caretake,” Jahir said.
“Yes. And I’m confident you’ll do right by them, or I wouldn’t be doing this. The property belongs to the therapists who are carrying on my work. It’s a… a piece of continuity. For me, for the city, for the clients who used to come here.” Helga looked from one of them to the other. “You can choose not to say yes to it, if you want to do something different. But I’d like you to have it. I’d feel like it would remind you of what I’d want for Veta.”
Vasiht’h blew out a breath. “It certainly would do that! But, are you certain?”
“Completely,” Helga said. She grinned. “Let an old woman be extravagant. I’ve already given my kits and grandkits enough presents. They’re tired of me showering them with things.”
“But this is no small thing,” Jahir said. “This is a legacy, and a mantle.”
Smiling fondly at him, she said, “And that’s exactly why I’m comfortable handing it on. You understand. So what do you say?”
“Yes!” Vasiht’h exclaimed, so fast Jahir stared at him. The Glaseah said, sheepish, “I can learn.”
Jahir laughed. “I did not say you couldn’t!”
“This is a very good thing in our lives,” Vasiht’h said. “I’m not going to be stupid and say no to it. So… yes, please, Helga-alet. We would love to inherit your property, and any of the clients from your list that want to come back, and we’re going to do our best for them.”
“I never doubted,” Helga said, patting the Glaseah on the shoulder. “So let’s go do some paperwork, shall we?”
Vasiht’h recalled the furnishing of their first apartment on Seersana with rue in the following days, because his objections to spending his partner’s money had utterly evaporated when confronted with their first, actual home as adults. He wanted to live in it, properly, not like a student forced to buy a single piece of furniture at a time. Jahir didn’t comment on it, save to share what felt like a mental hug when Vasiht’h noticed the absurdity of it. Which might have bothered him more, except their new place was so perfect. The kitchen had been designed to serve commercially, if to a small audience, and all its appliances were top of the line, its pantries and cupboards capacious, and its surfaces elegantly designed. He could use it comfortably despite his centauroid body. The waiting room made an admirable great room and Jahir let him decorate it exactly as he’d envisioned when he saw the space: not too cluttered, but casual and welcoming, a place they could relax at night and either watch the wallscreen, read or work, or look out the false window he had sketched onto the wall on the opposite side.
The bedroom was well and again large enough for them both to sleep, and Vasiht’h’s satisfaction when he arranged his pillow nest alongside Jahir’s bed the first night they stayed…
/I feel it too,/ Jahir said.
Vasiht’h’s heart felt like it would brim over, and he pressed a hand to it. /Home./
/For a long time, I feel./
/I hope so./
The patient offices were perfect too, with an outer chamber and an inner one that gave their clients privacy while they drowsed off and insulated them from the world far better than an office that opened directly into a building’s foyer. The ability to gradually walk them out of their therapeutic headspace, from one room into a less private room where they could prepare themselves to enter the normal world again…
“It’s perfect,” he said to Sehvi.
She was craning her head, trying to see out of the wallscreen. “What I can see of it is gorgeous. I have the walkthrough you sent me, but it’s not the same as looking yourself. Are you done decorating?”
“Of course not. That’ll take years. Furniture’s easy. Knickknacks take time.”
She laughed. “Right.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe it!”
“Oh Goddess, neither can I,” Vasiht’h admitted. “Some days I wake up and think ‘is this real’? And then I walk out into this amazing kitchen…” He gestured toward it with proprietary satisfaction.
“And you make the thickest kerinne in the known universe and drink it while laughing?” Sehvi said.
“Not out loud. That would be messy.”
She snickered. “You are feeling better, you’re making bad jokes again.”
“I do feel better,” Vasiht’h said. “I mean, I know this is just the beginning, and I still have a lot of things to work out. We both do. But… it’s the beginning, Sehvi. You know?”
“I do,” she said, her voice gentler. “I’m really happy for you, ariihir.”
“I’m happy for you too, little sister. We’re both on our way.”
“Who knows where we’ll end up, too?” Sehvi said. “I can’t wait to find out.”
“Me neither.”
They shared a look of perfect accord.
A week later, Jahir set the package of scones on the kitchen counter alongside the tray Vasiht’h had set out. He breathed in the aroma of fresh coffee and said, “Today it was chocolate chip pumpkin.”
“Scones?” Vasiht’h said, incredulous.
“They are… dense.”
“I bet they are!” Vasiht’h shook his head and opened the bag so he could start arranging them on the plate. “I have no idea how they come up with these flavors, but they never seem to run out of ideas.”
“We shall have to see,” Jahir said. “I was told they have a flavor for every day of the year…”
“And we’ll be here to see them,” Vasiht’h said, his satisfaction warm in the mindline, like afternoon sunshine.
“Speaking of us being here to see things,” Jahir said, “My mentor would like to stop by on the way to a conference. He mentioned it when we first came.”
“Healer KindlesFlame? Of course he should come! I hope he stays several days. Did he say?”
“He didn’t,” Jahir said, pleased. “But I will tell him he’s welcome.”
“That couch is comfy enough for a bed,” Vasiht’h said, finishing the tower of scones and setting it on the edge of the counter beside the coffee pot. “He can stay with us if he wants to. How’s that look?”
“Delicious, if one is minded to eat heavy food.”
Vasiht’h chuckled. “Well, some of our clients will be.”
“Lennea is due in ten minutes,” Jahir said. “Our first appointment in our new home.”
Vasiht’h glanced up at him. “Ready for it?”
“More than,” Jahir said, and offered his hand. He savored the feel of his friend’s as it settled in his. “Things did work out, did they not?”
“They did,�
� Vasiht’h said. “I’m so glad we came here, arii.”
“As am I.”
The door chimed, pushed open. Lennea peeked past it. “Am I early?”
“You’re just in time,” Vasiht’h said.
“And always welcome,” Jahir finished. “Shall we get started?”
CASE STUDIES
These vignettes were originally serialized online and then briefly made available as a standalone collection with an anchoring short story, "The Case of the Poisoned House." That collection is reproduced in its entirety here as a pastiche of the work done in the first years of Jahir and Vasiht'h's new practice after the events of Dreamhearth.
Avid fans may recall several more case studies; those represent the later years of their practice, and will make their appearance at the end of Book 4, Dreamstorm.
Case Study: Nest
The Phoenix entered their room, swept it with a single cursory glance, and said, "There is no place to sleep," and turned to go.
The mindline between his auditors spiked with their combined anxiety, for as therapists who worked primarily with dreams they couldn't work if their patients refused to sleep. "Wait, please!" Jahir said. "We'll have something tomorrow. Come at the same time."
The alien eyed them both with his uncanny gaze... and then left. In that silence, they deflated, the agitated colors in the mindline growing pale and finally collapsing into neutral gray. Vasiht'h reached for the data tablet on the table and said, "So now we have a day to... ah... let's see. Build a nest."
"What kind of nests do Phoenixae sleep in?" Jahir asked.
"Looks like an adherent nest," Vasiht'h said, scrolling through the samples. Jahir didn't have to look over his shoulder; through their link he saw a hazy image. "Like a cup with a long back-rest. It's made of found objects... every nest has to be unique."
"So... to the park," Jahir said. As he opened the door for his shorter partner, he added, "Of all the things I expected we'd be doing as therapists, I admit this is one of the last."
"Tell me about it!"
Several hours later they were in their office again with a cart of supplies and bric-a-brac.
"How big do you think we should make it?" Jahir asked, lifting a branch with a faint frown.
"You're only a little shorter than a Phoenix," Vasiht'h said. "We'll just make it to your measure with a little extra."
"Right."
They fell asleep on the floor next to their attempt and spent all of the morning completing it, until at last Vasiht'h said wearily, "Well, give it a try."
Jahir glanced uncertainly at it, then stepped into the low pouch. The image Vasiht'h reflected back to him, of his face peeking out of it like a powder-pale baby bird, elicited a quiet chuckle. He twisted around. "Are you certain it's wide enough? Do they have broader shoulders or narrower?"
"Narrower, on average, if the data's right," Vasiht'h said. "Do you need a hand getting out?"
"No, I'm fine," Jahir said, clambering out of it. Together they surveyed their handiwork: a roughly woven thing of branches from the park, held together with twine and what seemed like a day's worth of sweat, mounted on a wooden tablet so it could be rolled away and stored when they were seeing patients who were fine with napping on a couch.
When the Phoenix returned, they watched with seeming nonchalance as he inspected their offering, but the mindline between them shimmered with worry like heat waves rising off crete. Their patient lifted his head, about to speak, when he halted. Frowned. Tilted his head and looked sideways at the nest with that bird-like quality that so many found unsettling.
"What is this?" he said, pointing at something with a golden talon.
They peered into the nest. "Oh," Jahir said, "Pardon me. That appears to be some of my hair—"
"Ah! Very unsual!" The Phoenix hopped into the nest, all its feathers rustling. "I sleep in a nest full of Eldritch hair. Very unusual!" And closed his eyes.
Jahir and Vasiht'h exchanged looks, and in silence, the former endured a great deal of laughter.
Case Study: Language
Through the mindline came concern, faint as rain pattering. Vasiht'h twisted his upper body around and looked over his back to find Jahir approaching with a mug and a pitcher. His partner sat beside him amid the pillows and glanced at the vista: the balcony, the perfect blue sky through which the base's distant Spindle could be seen as a paler blue lattice.
"Refill?" Jahir asked. "It's kerinne."
"Please," Vasiht'h said, offering his cup for more of the thick cinnamon drink. They drank in companionable silence, the mindline hanging fallow between them.
At last, Jahir asked, "What are you thinking?"
"About language."
"It was rather astonishing," Jahir said.
The dreaming mind of the Seersa who'd been their last patient lingered, clear enough to Vasiht'h's recollection that he could almost think the way she had. He grappled with expression—something she would rarely have done, if his sense of her mind was true. "I was thinking about my people's language. How it became vestigial."
"We didn't discuss languages in depth in any of the classes I took," Jahir said. "Other than to note that the Glaseah abandoned it in favor of direct communion."
Vasiht'h smiled, because the words were almost baroque in their formality, but the mindline between them was suffused with the soft peach color of his partner's desire to be gentle. "It was never much more than a construct anyway. The Pelted gengineers who made us wanted to give us a language of our own, so they created one for us. We never took to it. Mostly we spoke Universal until the discovery that so many of us were born espers there wasn't any need to maintain our own language. So we discarded it."
"And yet," Jahir murmured.
"And yet," Vasiht'h said, "that Seersan woman... she wasn't even a linguist and she knew at least half a dozen languages—"
"More, I think," Jahir said.
"More!" Vasiht'h shook her head. "And her thoughts... it was as if when she ran into a mental block, she just switched languages and found a way around it."
"Do you think in a language?"
"I don't know," Vasiht'h said. "Universal, I guess. But I wonder...is that what we gave up when we abandoned Glaseahn? The few words we retained... they do give a... a flavor to things. Would we have been different people if we'd kept it?"
"Possibly," Jahir said. Then rousing himself with a distinct, iron-tang taste to the mindline, "Probably. Probably."
Vasiht'h glanced at him. "Do you think in Universal too?"
A twinge came over the mindline, sour like a stomachache. "Sometimes," Jahir said. "More often than not, now." The taint cleared from their link as he continued, "Universal has a much broader vocabulary, more technical terms. It's easier to be precise in it, particularly about technology and multicultural issues."
"And your own tongue?" Vasiht'h asked, careful. He knew Jahir better now, enough to more fully respect the Eldritch's reticence. When they'd first met in college, his curiosity had often been a trifle blunt. He'd meant no harm, but had little notion of the depth of the waters he'd been treading. "What does the Eldritch language teach?"
"To be careful. Very, very careful."
Vasiht'h let that stand. He sipped his now tepid kerinne. "Maybe we should learn more languages. To understand our patients better."
"God and Lady," Jahir said. "We have enough trouble merely dipping into their minds while they sleep. If we spend more time in alien heads, we might never find our way back."
Vasiht'h glanced at him, then looked pointedly at the open-air balcony with the multiple species moving about on it, drinking, laughing, their conversation a textured white noise tapestry. He tweaked the mindline with a bright lemon amusement.
Jahir sighed and smiled.
Case Study: The Captain
"There's a battlecruiser laying over," Vasiht'h said as he entered the room.
"There usually is," Jahir said, without looking up from his data tablet, one long hand still on the mug
of steaming coffee.
"I sent them a note advertising our services," Vasiht'h continued.
"What?" Jahir put down the tablet. "To what purpose? Fleet ships carry their own medical personnel. They would have no need to contract out for therapy."
"They don't need to, but they might want to," Vasiht'h said, padding into their kitchen to fix his own breakfast. "You never know. And we could always use more business."
"We'd be better off relying on our advertising in the commons," Jahir said, returning to the news.
"You never know," Vasiht'h said again, unperturbed.
/Don't be smug,/ Jahir said through the mindline as their guest stepped into their office and came to a halt at something that looked like parade rest.
/I'm not smug,/ Vasiht'h said, but his sending was threaded through with ticklish little sparkles.
Jahir blew a mental sigh his way and said, "Alet? What can we do for you?"
"My C-med tells me I need to see someone," the man said, looking harried. "I heard you two work on people while they sleep."
"That's right," Vasiht'h said.
"Lead me to your bed, then—don't bother with a sedative, I won't need one. It'll be such a relief not to be easy to find for a change."
Bemused, they took him in, watched him arrange himself on the couch and... within minutes, he had passed out.
"What do you make of it?" Jahir said at the door.
"Human. Probably in his mid-forties?" Vasiht'h guessed. "I can't read these tabs on his uniform."
"Let us look them up, then," Jahir said. He smiled ruefully. "We have at least twenty minutes, since he didn't need any time to settle like everyone else!"
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