Dreamhearth Read online

  Author’s Note

  This book contains excerpts of a Peltedverse story for which I feel an enduring affection. It was written when I was fifteen, and has all the virtues of its enthusiastic and naïve vices. Any criticism directed at Young Me’s efforts should not be taken as critique of the romance genre as a whole. It shouldn’t be taken as critique of Young Me, even, whose only sin was inexperience.

  Some part of me will forever be Rexina Regina, and that’s as it should be.

  Enjoy the story, ariisen.

  BRIEF GLOSSARY

  Alet (ah LEHT): ”friend,” but formal, as one would address a stranger. Plural is aletsen.

  Arii (ah REE): ”friend,” personal. An endearment. Used only for actual friends. Plural is ariisen. Additional forms include ariihir (“dear brother”) and ariishir (“dear sister”).

  Dami (DAH mee): ”mom,” in Tam-leyan. Often used among other Pelted species.

  Fin (FEEN): a unit of Alliance currency. Singular is deprecated finca, rarely used.

  Hea (HEY ah): abbreviation for Healer-assist.

  Kara (kah RAH): ”child”. Plural is karasen.

  Tapa (TAH pah): ”dad,” in Tam-leyan. Often used among other Pelted species.

  Chapter 1

  The todfox had never seen anyone like her. Like a fairy: delicate, fragile, with the bloom of roses on her lips. Her furless skin seemed to shine like polished marble, and yet, she breathed! He couldn’t see her and not love her: love her as one loved a fair maiden goddess, pure and not of this world.

  Would she? She did! She turned that perfect face and met his eyes across the crowded lobby. Such a gaze! So limpid, a pellucid blue, to be so wise! His heart raced in his breast. If only he could be brave enough to talk to her. Would she answer? What would her voice be like?

  Would he ever recover?

  Vasiht’h put the data tablet down on his forepaws and touched his fingers to his brow. He couldn’t decide whether to laugh or hack the taste of the lurid prose from his mouth; what he was sure of was that his mouth was twitching. When his sisters had assured him they’d taken care of his entertainment for the trip back to the starbase, he’d assumed they’d bought him a book or two. But this? He brought up the cover and stared ruefully at the Tam-illee foxine holding a swooning Eldritch woman in his arms. HEALED BY HER IMMORTAL HEART. What in the worlds had they been thinking?

  Paging away from the novel, he sent a group message to his sisters.

  This book is terrible!

  He was close enough to the world to be certain of an answer soon, but while he waited he returned, reluctantly, to the story of Thaddeus WeavesDNA and the Eldritch woman who was either a statue or a sprite, depending on the paragraph. It was hard to concentrate, though (and not just because the story was ridiculous). He couldn’t believe that he was finally a graduate, with a degree and a license to practice xenotherapy with a partner of his choosing. That he had that partner, a real and rare Eldritch, who had chosen him as the other half of a mindline out of legend. And who was, Vasiht’h glanced at the novel and managed a grin, not at all as pure and innocent as a maiden goddess. Though he could grant the polished marble as the sort of metaphor that would occur to someone who’d only read about Eldritch and never seen one. Jahir was pale, yes, but not like stone. Like a pearl, with veils of color and shadow and the blood flush of a living man beneath it.

  And now he was beginning to sound like a romance novel. But he loved Jahir. And he was—apparently—no more eloquent than this particular author. With a sigh, Vasiht’h applied himself again to the narrative. The woman had the voice of an angel, apparently. Of course.

  Having left notifications on, he was interrupted at length by his sisters. Not just one, but several of them, leaving him messages. Ranging from his eldest sister Kavila’s “HA HA HA” to Sehvi’s more coy, “We thought it would help you with your relationship.”

  He scowled at the glowing letters and tapped back: I’m completely sure this author has never been within a sector of an actual Eldritch.

  Sehvi, responding: She’s writing about a woman! Maybe their women are different.

  Vasiht’h lifted his fingers, paused, then wrote: I am not walking into that trap, ariishir.

  He could imagine her delighted giggles. What page are you on?

  Goddess, what page was he on? Vasiht’h made himself look. Twenty-six.

  Keep going! It gets better!

  Better good? Or better worse??

  No response to that, naturally, but he hadn’t expected one. He looked toward the window alongside his seat and his reflection was grinning. Well, maybe the book was serving its purpose—would continue to serve its purpose, since he would soon be at the edge of the solar system and the Well drives would take him beyond his family’s reach. He’d have to imagine their merriment as he dutifully slogged through their offering, comparing it continually and unfavorably to the reality he was on his way to meet.

  Jahir Seni Galare. His very own Eldritch. His best friend in all the worlds, with whom he had survived grief and terror and trial. In whom he had found a joy he somehow doubted the well-meaning author of his romance novel would understand, owing nothing as it did to sexual attraction. What had drawn him to Jahir was better than that—to him, anyway. He had found a soulmate, and he was going home to him.

  And home, for now, was a starbase neither of them knew at all. Vasiht’h had stopped there on his way to join Jahir on the capital world Selnor for the Eldritch’s residency period… and that layover had been long enough for him to decide it would be the perfect place for the Alliance’s newest xenotherapists to set up their practice. Jahir had left a week ago to start scouting a likely place for them to live. Had he found it by now?

  Silly question. A more likely question was had he found a place that was within their means, and what exactly was their means? Because the two of them were still feeling their way through questions like ‘who should pay for things, even though you’re possibly rich enough to buy anything you want.’ Exactly the sort of questions, Vasiht’h thought ruefully, that he most needed advice on… and that he probably wouldn’t find any answers to in HEALED BY HER IMMORTAL HEART, Sehvi’s hopes notwithstanding.

  Still, it was something to do while he was en route. Vasiht’h resumed his reading, and in his breast, his heart stretched out toward the man awaiting him a sector away.

  For his part, Jahir was in an office he would have called gracious on any other day and might perhaps call so again, when he was feeling more charitable. He was not, at the moment, feeling very charitable. “Perhaps you might explain these distinctions to me again?” he said with iron courtesy to the Karaka’an felid on the other side of the desk. Behind the woman’s head, the trees seen through the open veranda doors were rustling.

  “Certainly,” she replied. “We have four types of residency on the starbase—on any starbase, you understand, Lord Seni Galare.” She held up a finger. “Permanent residents are just what they sound: they stay here for as long as they like, and their families and children are welcome as well. Then there are semi-permanent residents: those are people whose work is based here, but who are rarely present. Merchants who maintain dwellings on the starbase but spend most of their lives on their ships, for instance. Then we have transients, people who are passing through. Usually passengers, or people whose business might take them here for several months, but who aren’t staying. And then we have provisional residents. Those are people who’d like to live on the starbase, but who haven’t been approved for permanent residence.”

  “And you are telling me,” Jahir said, “that there are no problems with my application, but that my partner is on this… provisional status list.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “My partner,” Jahir sa
id. “Without whom I cannot run my business. For some reason I am approved and he isn’t?”

  “If I may be frank, Lord Seni Galare?” She paused, tilting her ears toward him and waiting for some sign. He inclined his head and she continued. “You’re a member of an allied alien species, sir. Because of this, you have a freedom few other Pelted have. You’ve taken on a Pelted business partner, which is commendable, and on most worlds what you’re requesting wouldn’t be a problem. But a starbase is a closed environment. We can’t bring in more people than we can sustain. Where the professions are in demand—engineers, farmers, that sort of thing—residency status is granted faster. But we don’t need more psychiatrists right now.”

  “You mean to tell me,” Jahir said, “that this enormous habitat cannot support one more person? I have seen the maps, alet. The city sphere is vast, and it is only the first. There are empty modules throughout the skin of this starbase for expansion.”

  “And no doubt we will expand, as our population does,” the Karaka’An said. She sighed and leaned forward, threading her hands together on the table. “I know it seems like a straightforward process, alet. You see the fields that stretch over what you perceive as the horizon, and tour the aquaculture and agriculture spheres, and you reason that there’s space for everyone. But there are already permanent residents here who have families, whose families are growing. Nor can we reasonably turn away any relatives they might want to invite to join them. We have to plan for their additions to the population. And every person we grant permanent residency to is adding to that future population. We can open new habitat spheres, Lord Seni Galare. But it’s not cheap, and we have to balance what we’re producing versus what we’re consuming.” She shook her head. “It’s not simple. And I don’t like making decisions like this. But you are—An forgive me—a reasonable risk, because while you’ll be around a very long time, it’s unlikely you’re going to end up with two hundred great-grandchildren.”

  “No,” he said. “But my partner isn’t even married.”

  “Glaseah,” she said, “don’t reproduce quickly. But when they start, they have big families.”

  He slowly sat back in his chair, having failed to realize he’d been leaning toward her. A subconscious effort, he thought wryly, to induce a compromise by mimicking her body language. Much good that had done. “So in essence, you have a place for me, but not yet a place for him.”

  “Basically.”

  “And how soon will we know if you will let him stay?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. We try to be fair. Six months is typical while we wait and see how things fall out.”

  How things fell out. What things? What imponderables were they weighing, and how could he influence them in their favor? And what good was it to be what he was—rare allied species to the Alliance and rich by their standards beyond measure—if he couldn’t so much as procure a place to lie down for a few years for their heads? “And there is nothing we might do.”

  She hesitated, hitched a shoulder uncomfortably. “We don’t like to tell people anything, sir. But we tend to keep people who are useful to the community.”

  “Useful to the community,” he murmured, then rose. “Thank you for your time, Administrator.”

  “My pleasure,” she said. “I’m sorry that we had to have this discussion, but I’m confident that things will work out the way they should for the good of all parties.”

  Was she? He wished he had her confidence. “Good afternoon, alet.”

  Outside the housing office, Jahir lifted his head and stared, squinting, into the pellucid blue sky, straggled with clouds. Past those wisps he could just espy the thin white tracery of the starbase’s spindle as seen through the artificial atmosphere of the city’s bubble. Somewhere, up past those clouds and a layer of flexglass so thick he probably couldn’t span it with his arms, was the vacuum of space, and the interior of the gargantuan starbase where Fleet’s vessels lay tucked into their slips, awaiting repairs or refits. He would never have known it by the breeze, which to every sense was authentic. It smelled of spring, of the pollen of unfamiliar flowers, and slightly, of a wet humidity that would have suggested rain somewhere without climate control.

  That the ecosystem of this starbase—this vast and unlikely and astonishing piece of engineering—might be so fragile that the addition of even a single permanent resident to it might be enough to offset its balance felt frankly unbelievable… and yet, he could not imagine the science that had gone into Veta’s making, and knew better than to think himself up to the task of second-guessing the housing authorities. It was their work to understand how many people could live on Starbase Veta’s civilian grounds.

  It was his, apparently, to prove to them that they were too valuable to send away. His, and Vasiht’h’s. Thinking of what the Glaseah would say in response to this setback, Jahir sighed. It would be a week before he saw Vasiht’h again, and in that time he had to formulate a plan. Not because he expected Vasiht’h would not be capable of one, but because it would be a distraction from his friend’s initial response to the housing authority’s decision. But what to do? He could go this very instant and buy a house in his own name. But what good would that be if Veta decided to deport Vasiht’h in half a year? He’d have to sell it, and the bother of extricating himself from a permanent residence would be far greater than to leave a hotel.

  Jahir joined the throng heading down the thoroughfare, careful of their edges and his. The thoroughfare was for walking traffic only, and broad, but it was midday and busy. The outdoor cafes were doing good business; Jahir suspected they never did poor business, given that there were no inclement days on the starbase. He selected one purely on the basis of how it smelled and had a seat, ordering a cup of coffee. From this vantage, he watched the people of Veta stream past. Unlike Seersana, where he and Vasiht’h had gone to school, Veta’s populace was far more varied: there were no preponderances of Seersa, as he’d come to expect, but a broad mix of Pelted species, along with some of the aliens rarely seen at the university. Overwhelmingly the language spoken was Universal, but he heard the occasional chatter in unknown tongues, and the impression he derived from this sun-drenched bustle was of exuberant health, prosperity, and purpose. This was the Alliance at its absolute best, he thought. Vasiht’h had been right. If ever they belonged anywhere, it was here.

  He would just have to figure out how this was to be accomplished. Taking out his data tablet, he settled in to make plans and had gotten no further than bringing up his income when he was interrupted.

  “You have the look of a man with a question.”

  Glancing up he found a woman standing near his table, one hand resting lightly on the back of the chair opposite his. She was one of the wolfine Hinichi, and an elder from her voice, and the whitening of her pelt around her mouth and nose. There was nothing old about her eyes, though, which were merry and kind, and the polite but distancing comment he’d been about to speak evanesced. Instead, he said, “I hope not.”

  She laughed. “Now I know you have questions, and vexsome ones, and a man of your good looks shouldn’t be troubled by anything that would wrinkle that brow. Can I help?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I admit I am... puzzled.”

  “Puzzled,” she repeated, her eyes dancing now.

  “By a conundrum.”

  “By a conundrum.” She nodded sagely, then added, “One that defies easy solution.”

  “That would suppose it to be a problem,” Jahir said. “And I have decided it will not be.”

  “Ah!” She laughed then. “A man of decision! I appreciate such men. One gets to be my age and the action of youth is often all the diversion one needs to maintain one’s zest for living.”

  “And you so old, mistress,” Jahir said, mouth quirking.

  “Perhaps not older than you,” she said, considering him. “Though what would I know of Eldritch, eh? Shall I sit and help you with the conundrum you’ve decided will not be a p
roblem?”

  “That depends,” he said. “Are you a resident, alet?”

  “Ahhhh,” she said. “So that’s it, is it.” She pulled the chair back and disposed herself in it, one leg folded over the other and her hands resting easily on her knee. “You want to stay. And there’s some problem? I can’t imagine the housing authorities saying no to one of you!”

  How much to tell her? If he was home... nothing. But he was not home. He was here, on Starbase Veta, in the Alliance... and the Pelted had a different culture of privacy, and a far more useful culture of community. “But not to my friend, without whom I will not travel.”

  “Ah!” Her ears pricked. “A friend!”

  “A very good friend.” Jahir thought of Vasiht’h and smiled. “The very best.”

  “Another Eldritch?”

  Drawn from his reverie, Jahir said, “No. No, a Glaseah.”

  “A Glaseah!” She appraised him with interest. “Well, there is nothing for it but to make sure you are both accepted, then. Veta needs an Eldritch and Glaseah who are bosom friends.”

  Jahir found this bemusing. “Does it?”

  “Most certainly.” She leaned forward, grinned. “The unexpected is challenging, and challenge grows us up, young man. Just the sight of you is unexpected enough to challenge a dozen people. You with a centauroid Pelted friend!” She chortled. “Yes. My starbase needs you.”

  “Your starbase,” he said.

  “My starbase,” she agreed. “My name is Helga. I was born here, have lived here all my life, and my daughter and her family live here too. I am allowed to call myself a fixture of the community. So then. Your friend must not have a useful career, or the authorities would have written him a ticket immediately. What is it that he does?”

  “We,” Jahir said, “are xenotherapists.”

  Her brows shot up. “You’re what?”