Far Enough, Page 2

  Never had she expected to see her name on a document like this.

  “Dr. Rivers, are you aware of what a deep scan involves?”

  “I’m familiar with every level of empathic activity and its respective acceptance or legality. This is the most invasive scan you’re capable of. You’ll compel me to tell the truth.” Holding up the form, she added, “Without this, it would be empathic rape.”

  “Lhyn,” Rahel murmured. “It’s not.”

  Remorse heated her face. In her indignation and nervousness, she had spoken without thinking. “Shek, Rahel, I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I know. But believe me, it’s not the same thing.”

  “I’m aware of your history with high empaths, First Guard.” Razine appeared sympathetic. “I’m sorry that you’ve experienced what no Alsean should. Please accept my promise that this will be quick and painless.”

  “Scan me first.” Lhyn was determined to make up for her error. “Give her time to prepare for it. It’s not fair to spring this on her.”

  Rahel actually smiled at that. “Protecting the warrior, are you?”

  “I’m protecting my friend.” She pinned Colonel Razine with her best glare. “Do it.”

  If she were empathic, she might know whether that slight twitch of the lips was amusement or respect.

  “Very well. Tell me why you agreed to Bondlancer Opah’s request.”

  “Because she needed a pilot. And she’s my friend.” She strained to feel something, anything in her head, but Razine’s scan was undetectable.

  “Isn’t Lancer Tal your friend, too? Why would you side with one against the other?” Razine’s gaze never wavered, her hazel eyes demanding all of Lhyn’s attention.

  “It wasn’t a matter of taking sides. They were both right, and they were both trapped by their ethics and duties. Salomen and the four Primes had a way around that.”

  “They were both right, yet you didn’t breathe a word of this plan to Lancer Tal. You didn’t warn her that two-thirds of the High Council and her own bondmate were planning an uprising. You caused her emotional pain by helping to hide her bondmate for three days. She saved your life after the crash of the Caphenon. She gave you the first Alsean citizenship offered to a Gaian. Is this how you repay her?”

  “I didn’t—” She hesitated. Put like that, it sounded terrible. It felt terrible. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Dr. Rivers, you’re a celebrated anthropologist. Your specialty is cultural impacts of traditions and behaviors. You truly never thought about how your actions would impact this culture and the woman who currently leads it?”

  “No.” She shook her head, squinting at the buzzing in her ears. “Yes. I did, but…it was such an easy decision that I didn’t really register the process of making it.”

  The hazel eyes seemed closer, taking up her whole field of view. “Why was it an easy decision?”

  “Salomen needed me.”

  “And that was more important than the stability of a planetary government?”

  “I don’t think that’s a fair question.”

  “Then let me ask this a different way. Is there a limit to what you would do for Bondlancer Opah?”

  She thought about it. No was clearly the wrong answer, giving the impression that she had no free will. And yet…

  “I can’t imagine Salomen asking me to do something wrong or harmful. She didn’t do that for herself, or for any personal gain, or to hurt Andira. She did it for her people. And it worked. I’m proud to have been part of that. No, I don’t think I’d ever say no to Salomen if it were in my power to do what she asked.”

  “What if it weren’t in your power?”

  What an odd question. “Then I wouldn’t do it, obviously. But I’d try to find a way to make it happen.”

  “Because she’s your friend?”

  “Yes.” Finally, an easy answer.

  “But she’s more than just a friend, isn’t she?”

  “No, she’s—” Her ears buzzed again, the pressure growing in her skull. “Yes. Fucking stars, I hate this.”

  “It’s all right.” Razine’s quiet voice was soothing. “How would you describe your feelings toward her?”

  A memory blossomed in her mind, the vision and words as clear as if she were living the moment again. “I called her my skrella-ni-corsa. It’s a phrase from my home world; it means sister of the heart. More than a friend. Chosen family.”

  “Is that accurate? Did you choose her?”

  “Yes. I don’t choose many people, Colonel. She didn’t compel me. She accepted me.”

  Her head suddenly seemed clearer. Colonel Razine’s eyes no longer took up her field of view, and she was fully aware of her surroundings, including Rahel at her side.

  “Thank you, Dr. Rivers. You made that very easy for both of us.”

  “That’s it?”

  “It is indeed. Bondlancer Opah hasn’t compelled your emotions. They’re all your own.”

  There was something underlying her words, but Lhyn couldn’t grasp it.

  “I’ll save you time, Colonel,” Rahel said. “She didn’t compel me either.”

  Now that intent gaze was fixed on Rahel, and Lhyn breathed easier.

  “How would you describe your feelings toward her, First Guard?”

  “Respect. Admiration. Gratitude. Pride. I love her as a friend and I’d do anything she asked of me, unless it broke the law. Which will never be an issue because she’d never ask that.”

  “You wouldn’t break the law for her? You did it for Shantu.”

  “I was sick then. So was he, I think. And even then, it didn’t feel right. Nothing I’ve done for Salomen has felt anything less than right and honorable.”

  Razine’s eyes narrowed. “What you did for Shantu didn’t feel right, yet you still did it?”

  “Yes. And I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.”

  “If Bondlancer Opah asked you to do something that didn’t feel right, what would you do?”

  “It’s a moot question. She wouldn’t.”

  “But if she did?”

  “Then I’d speak with Lancer Tal. She knows Salomen better than anyone. She’d know what I should do.”

  “What if the thing she asked for had to do with Lancer Tal? You wouldn’t betray a secret, would you?”

  “That would be harder, but I could go to Lead Templar Satran. She’s required to keep confidences under temple orders. I’d trust her to guide me.”

  Razine blinked and inhaled. “Thank you.” She seemed suddenly quieter, though her voice hadn’t changed. “I appreciate that both of you did this without hesitation. First Guard Sayana, you have a formidable choice of helpers should you ever need one. Lancer Tal, Lead Templar Satran—and me, if it ever came to that. I have seen many Alseans stand at the edge of a hole and jump in willingly. Very few ever climb back out again. You’ve journeyed a long way from Pollonius.”

  Lhyn looked at Rahel, who had turned to stone.

  “Um. Thank you, Colonel. I didn’t expect that.”

  “I wasn’t sure what to expect,” Razine mused. “But it’s been a profitable interview. Bondlancer Opah hasn’t compelled either of you unknowingly. She has simply earned two very deep friendships.”

  Friendships. The word lodged in Lhyn’s mind, refusing to dissipate even as she and Rahel made their farewells and left the office.

  The interview was over, Rahel was jubilant about completing a deep scan without fear, Salomen was cleared, Andira would be relieved—this had been a success in every possible way.

  Why couldn’t she let go and enjoy it?

  2

  Pella-na-corsa

  Five days, Salomen thought, staring up at her bedroom ceiling. It had been five days since she almost died.

  Odd, that it should affect her this much. This wasn’t even her first brush with death. But the first time, when an attempt to kill Andira had nearly killed her instead, she had been too caught up in Andira’s injuries an
d their new tyree bond to consider it. Then had come Herot’s rescue and Shantu’s challenge to the death, followed by Corozen’s miraculous recovery from a coma, all while she was getting used to State House quarters, her own Guards, and her role as the future Bondlancer. There hadn’t been time to think, much less feel. By the time her life slowed to a semi-normal pace, the event was distant enough to have dulled in her psyche.

  This time, there was nothing to do but think. With the rains upon them, Hol-Opah was in its autumn break. She could not bury herself in hard physical labor or the demands of directing a harvest. Nor could she return to the State House, which would not be safe for her until the AIF had rescanned every person in it.

  But Andira was there twelve hanticks a day, coming to Hol-Opah only to sleep before rising early and returning to work.

  Salomen was at loose ends, bored out of her skull, and haunted by unwanted memories. To top it off, Andira wasn’t here tonight. Though she had delayed as long as she could, the uprising and its aftermath demanded her presence in the other major cities. She had left for Whitesun this afternoon, the first stop in a six-day tour of Pallea.

  For a person who took pride in her independence, Salomen was finding the bed very empty.

  A wave of lonely discomfort hit her senses, reminding her that she wasn’t the only one in a hole tonight. Lhyn was just down the hall.

  “I don’t want to go back to my suite,” she had said, calling from Blacksun Temple. “Ekatya and Rahel are on their way back to the Phoenix. I knew she had to go, but…”

  “Knowing doesn’t stop the feeling.” Salomen understood all too well. “Come to Hol-Opah, Lhyn.”

  She had waited on the back deck, listening to the rain drip off the eaves and anticipating the sound of engines. They had seen very little of each other since since the uprising, but when the distinctive black-and-silver transport appeared in the mists, it felt as if the sun had broken through.

  Lhyn wouldn’t talk about her morning interview with Colonel Razine. Instead she regaled the Opahs with humorous stories of cultural misinterpretations, asked questions that inspired them to tell their own stories, and managed to say nothing at all about the discomfort underlying her surface emotions.

  Now, with the nighttime hush upon the house, it seemed they both suffered from the same malady: a profound lack of distraction.

  The solution was obvious. She could join Lhyn in bed. They would bring each other comfort at a time when their bondmates were absent, just as they had on four previous occasions.

  But Lhyn hadn’t asked for her company, and those previous occasions were unusual circumstances.

  Would she ask?

  Salomen hadn’t considered it before, but in truth, she had practically dragged Lhyn into her bed the night of the summer windstorm. When Rahel had shown them their two-bed suite at the inn, she had summarily announced that they would share one while Rahel took the other. Lhyn had agreed but never initiated.

  Exhaling in frustration, she flipped onto her side and focused on the moons, visible through a rare break in the clouds as they neared conjunction. It was bad enough that even her family called her bossy. She didn’t need to prove them right.

  A quarter hantick later, with the moons concealed once more and Lhyn’s discomfort still buzzing against her senses, she gave up and turned on the bedside lamp. Might as well read a good story.

  But the book slipped from her grasp when an explosion of revelation slammed into her. It was followed by such sharp distress that she was on her feet before realizing it, pausing only to grab her shawl on the way out.

  A tap on Lhyn’s door stirred hot embarrassment weighted with resignation. That was a positive sign, Salomen thought. If she was embarrassed, then whatever was hurting her couldn’t be too bad.

  Footsteps crossed the wood floor, the handle turned, and a chagrined Lhyn looked out at her. “I’m thinking too loud, aren’t I?”

  “I’m not a telepath,” Salomen said. “I cannot hear what you’re thinking. But I’m missing my bondmate, too.”

  Lhyn stepped aside in silent invitation and closed the door behind them. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come here. It was a given that I’d—oh,” she breathed as Salomen swept her into a warmron. She was strangely rigid, awkward in the embrace they had shared numerous times before. Salomen was about to release her when she abruptly melted, holding on as if afraid it might be the last time. “Oh, stars, thank you for this,” she mumbled. “I needed it.”

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t mean to keep you awake. I can’t turn off my brain, and it’s been going around in circles.”

  “Then you need to talk about it. Did you think I didn’t notice the avoidance techniques tonight?”

  A small chuckle sounded in her ear. “You’d think I’d learn after all this time. Ekatya knows me too well, and you and Andira see right through my head.”

  She stiffened, pulling away with a frown.

  “What is it?” Salomen watched her retreat to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Seeing through my head.” Elbows on her knees and chin in her hands, she stared at the floor. “That’s what Colonel Razine did. Effortlessly. It’s been bothering me ever since.”

  Salomen sat down and rubbed her back, covered only by a thin sleep shirt. “What happened in that interview?”

  Lhyn leaned against her. “That feels nice.”

  It did to her, too. She kept it up, waiting until Lhyn’s shifting emotions arrived at the sharp edge of resolve.

  “She asked about our feelings toward you. Rahel didn’t even have to think about it. She rattled off her answers like she was reciting a memorized list. Respect. Admiration. Gratitude. Pride. I didn’t have a list like that.” Lhyn straightened, meeting her eyes, and Salomen let her hand drop away. “I couldn’t come up with the words to describe how I feel. Me, the linguist. All I could say was that I called you my skrella-ni-corsa.”

  “Sister of the heart? That’s as good as a list, I’d think. Razine didn’t accept it?”

  “No, she did, but she looked at me like I was a student who only got half the answer. I’ve been lying here trying to figure out the other half.”

  “Did you?”

  She nodded, her anxiety rising.

  “Just before I knocked?” Salomen asked softly.

  Another nod. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

  “I felt your distress. I hate to think I’m somehow causing it.”

  “No! Not you.” Lhyn scooted back, turning to face her with one bent leg on the mattress.

  Putting space between them, Salomen noted. She matched the position, increasing the distance, and watched Lhyn grow calmer.

  “There’s a related phrase.” Lhyn straightened a wrinkle in the blanket and did not look up. “Pella-na-corsa. It means ‘piece of my heart.’ It’s actually a code phrase. I mentioned that Allendohan has a polygamous culture, right?”

  “You did.” Salomen kept her voice low, trying to encourage her.

  “Right. So you know it’s all about women bearing children to increase the population. It’s math plus biology. Other than rare multiples, a woman can only have one child at a time. Then she has to nurse that child. It’s an enormous investment of time and energy. But Gaian men don’t do the birthing or nursing. They just provide the sperm. The only limitation on how many babies they can produce is the number of available women.” She smoothed her hand across the now nonexistent wrinkle and raised her head. “Romantic relationships between women are socially punished on my world. The women become pariahs. They can lose jobs, homes, family, friends, even their children. Two women together ruins the math. It means a community loss of offspring.”

  Salomen inhaled, shocked by the implication. “What about between men?”

  She shrugged. “As long as they’re still spreading sperm around, it’s not an issue.”

  “Dear goddess, no wonder you left.”

  “The irony is, I didn’t even know I loved women until
after I left. I just wanted to be more than livestock. I didn’t want to be like my mother, having eight children and not enough time for any of them, let alone for myself.”

  “But you’ve visited since then. Since you met Ekatya, even. Does that mean you’re a pariah?”

  Lhyn gave a dismissive huff. “I’ve been a pariah since I was sixteen and got my Academy admission letter for Dothanor Prime. The fact that I planned to leave meant nobody wanted to invest any more time in me. What was the point? In terms of community, I was a loss.”

  Though she had heard some of this before, Salomen had not fully realized how disconnected Lhyn was from her birthplace. Now it was becoming more clear.

  “Since you were sixteen, Great Mother. Lhyn, you were an outcaste.”

  “I’ve thought of that. There are similarities. There’s also an unexpected advantage. When I went back and told them about Ekatya, nobody batted an eyelash. They already knew I wouldn’t give them children, so me being with a woman was immaterial.”

  But they wouldn’t have supported her, either. She was one of two known Gaian tyrees, unique in the galaxy, and her family neither knew nor cared.

  “On the other hand,” Lhyn continued, “I did have some interesting conversations with women who suddenly wanted to talk to me. Punishing love doesn’t stop it. It just drives it underground.”

  “These were women who shunned you before? And now they wanted to know what it was like to be free,” Salomen guessed.

  “I was never sure if telling them was kindness or a curse. Is it better to see through the bars of your cage when you know you’ll never fly?” She cut her hand through the air, drawing a visual line under the conversation. “Skrella-ni-corsa, though, that kind of love is encouraged. Sisters of the heart support each other. They take care of each other’s children. Their relationship strengthens family and community bonds. If they happen to be in the same household, that’s even better. But sometimes…”

  “They love each other more than they’re supposed to.”

  Lhyn nodded. “When a sister of the heart becomes more, they call it pella-na-corsa. Can you hear how close it sounds?”