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  The mindline had gone blank. Not as if it had been cut... but an imitation, complete with soft hissing white noise... the background noise of the universe, as imagined by another mind.

  Vasiht'h looked up from the hot chocolate he was making in their abbreviated kitchen. When the mindline didn't swell back to its normal state, he poked his head out the door, feathered ears flaring. "Jahir? Is something wrong?"

  His Eldritch partner was seated in front of their comm screen, which had gone dark. He was breathing: Vasiht'h could just see the lift of broad shoulders against the fine white hair that fell past them to the man's ribs. But otherwise, he was so still he might as well have been a statue. Vasiht'h tried again. "Jahir?"

  "Oh, mm? Sorry." The Eldritch twisted a little in his seat to face him. "I didn't hear you."

  "Apparently," Vasiht'h said, padding into the room, paws hushed on the carpet. "Are you okay? The mindline blanked."

  "God, did it?" Jahir said, recovering his sense of humor. Vasiht'h watched animation return to that face, one he'd known for so many years now: human in seeming with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, but with skin pale as salt and eyes so deep a yellow they neared orange. Not human, Jahir, but Eldritch: an esper species rare and xenophobic and almost never found off their world. But this Eldritch had left his, and he was Vasiht'h's.

  As far as Vasiht'h was concerned, anyway. He prodded the mindline that connected them gently until some color and life bloomed in it.

  "Right," Jahir said, and drew in a deep breath. "How do you feel about a vacation?"

  "Away from the starbase?" Vasiht'h asked, catching a whiff of exotic perfume and a hint of green things from their connection.

  "Away from the starbase," Jahir agreed. "In fact... all the way home."

  Vasiht'h stared at him.

  Jahir returned to contemplation of the comm screen. "My mother sent me a message... one of my cousins is getting married. She'd like as much of the family to attend as possible."

  "I... I'd love to go," Vasiht'h said. "But... did the invitation include me? I didn't think aliens were welcome on your world."

  "Not usually," Jahir agreed. "But I've spoken of you, of course, when I wrote home, and my mother specifically mentioned you coming."

  Vasiht'h tried to figure out what was going on in his partner's head. The mindline remained devoid of anything but that tantalizing fragrance and hint of green. Nor did he see anything in the man's face. "You," he said after a moment, "...are blocking something?"

  "Not... precisely," Jahir said. He ran a hand over his head, hair hissing away from his hand as it swung back in place. "I honestly don't know what to think of it. I haven't been home in a long time—not since we were in school together." He blew out a breath and managed a lopsided smile. "There's a reason I left."

  "You didn't like it," Vasiht'h said, letting his centauroid haunches settle and refolding the wings that covered his second back. "I'd guessed as much."

  "But it would be nice to see family," Jahir said. "Some of them, at least. And Mother would not have asked, had she not thought it important for me to be there."

  Vasiht'h sampled the new taste in the mindline between them. "She misses you."

  "I think she might," Jahir agreed.

  "Well, if you really think I'd be welcome..."

  "I'd like you to come," Jahir said, the mindline saturating with a smell like nostalgia: Vasiht'h's mind rendered it as the pine-amber scent of the oil his grandfather had worked into wood while polishing it. "It would be a hint of normalcy, you know, amid my lunatic relatives."

  Vasiht'h eyed him. "You're not making me feel better about this."

  Jahir laughed. "That makes two of us." He lifted his brows. "You're not excited about being the first Glaseah to visit the world of the reclusive Eldritch?"

  "Maybe a little," Vasiht'h admitted. "And maybe a little worried. When do we leave?"

  Jahir said, "One week."

  One week was long enough to reschedule their regular clients and hang out a virtual sign indicating they'd be gone. He and Jahir worked on Starbase Veta as xenotherapists, seeing to a multicultural, multi-species community rife with opportunities for misunderstanding, heartbreak, confusion and friction. They had been plying their trade for almost a decade already, and they were well-known; people came from all the way across a starbase the size of a moon to fall asleep on their couch and allow the two of them to walk into their subconscious minds and learn what there was to be found there.

  When Vasiht'h had left his own homeworld to attend the college of xenopsychiatry on Seersana, he had not imagined he would end up at the side of an Eldritch. No doubt no one else would have thought to pair them either. He was one of the Glaseah, as different from a bipedal humanoid as was nearly possible in the Alliance: short, four-footed centauroid with small wings on his second back and a coat of black fur striped down the back in white. Different in custom, also; the Glaseah spoke mind-to-mind with little thought, and slept curled around one another, touched and indulged in behavior that, from everything Vasiht'h had heard, the Eldritch would have found appalling: too intimate by far and vulgar to boot. And yet, here he was... an Eldritch's chosen companion, standing alongside him at one of the thousands of docking facilities in the enormous base, awaiting their ride.

  "So how does this work?" he asked, suppressing the urge to recheck the buckles on his saddlebags. They were snugged to his barrel behind the wing joints and very comfortable, but Vasiht'h had the unwonted urge to fidget.

  "If all goes as planned," Jahir said, "we get dropped off. We stay for the wedding... and then we come home. With a little socializing after the wedding, if company permits."

  "That sounds so expected," Vasiht'h muttered.

  "How would it not be?" Jahir asked, his amusement tinting the mindline sunlit yellow.

  "I don't even know where your world is," Vasiht'h pointed out. "In fact, almost no one does..."

  "The Daughter's Promise has docked," the docking slip's computer interrupted. "Passengers report to Bay 12 for embarkation."

  "That's us," Jahir said, shifting his bag more comfortably over his shoulder and heading down the arrow painted on the floor with a twelve.

  Mystified, Vasiht'h followed. Bay 12 looked like all the rest: a slick, technological antechamber, paneled in gray and silver with wallscreens showing boarding schedules and a view of the ship outside the bay. Vasiht'h glanced at it as they entered: a sleek courier-style vessel emblazoned with its name and a peculiar emblem, like an inverted U with twin triangles mounted on its apex.

  A female Tam-illee foxine was awaiting them, dressed in what looked like livery: black with silver piping, with her ship's emblem embroidered at her breast. She was a pretty youth, bright gold with brown ears and eyes, and on seeing Jahir she bowed. "Lord Seni Galare."

  /She knows you,/ Vasiht'h murmured through the mindline, surprised.

  /She would,/ Jahir answered, muted. /It's her job./ To the Tam-illee he said, "Navigatrix."

  "If you'll step through the airlock, my lord," the woman said, ears perked. "We're scheduled for departure in twenty minutes."

  "Thank you," Jahir said gravely, and headed through the airlock door. Vasiht'h followed him, struggling with his questions. He chose one of the lot and murmured, "Does she know you?"

  "Not personally," Jahir replied. "But Eldritch, she does know. She's in the Queen's employ."

  "Your Queen has employees? Alien ones?" Vasiht'h asked, astonished.

  Jahir smiled at him, just a twitch of his lips, and Vasiht'h desisted. He tried very hard to respect his partner's reticence; he even knew the habit of secrecy about their race had a name among the Eldritch, the Veil. Prodding Jahir about an issue that had triggered that secrecy sometimes netted him answers, or sometimes none, along with his pa
rtner's agitation. It wasn't always worth the trouble. And it certainly wasn't, when there were easier ways to get the information he wanted.

  The inside of the vessel was very comfortable: not meant for multiple passengers, Vasiht'h thought immediately. The section usually devoted to rows of seats had been converted into something that looked more like a living room, with only two chairs around a table set against the wall beneath the viewport; on the other side, a bench and a coffee table. Aft of it was a door that led into a bunkroom. While it was no more luxurious than any other high-end private Alliance vessel Vasiht'h had seen, the style of the furnishings was different: more baroque than typical. Deeper and more vibrant colors: burgundy, violet, burnt ochre, sky blue and silver. Real wood finish on the panels... he trailed his fingers over it surreptitiously and felt the oil used to condition it.

  Jahir stowed his luggage in the bunkroom and without asking helped Vasiht'h with his bags, then returned to the bunkroom... to unpack? Would they be in transit that long? Vasiht'h sat in the living room, tail curled over his paws, and waited for the Tam-illee to return.

  When she did, she sealed off the door to the airlock. "That's that," she said with satisfaction. "We'll be off in ten minutes, alet."

  The formal name for 'friend' set him at ease, despite the peculiarity of the circumstance. "Thank you," he said. "I'm Vasiht'h. You are?"

  "Livia Navigatrix, of the Queen's Tams," she said proudly.

  "That... has got to be a story," Vasiht'h said.

  "It is!" she answered. "And if you want, I'll tell it to you while I do the pre-flight checks."

  "I would be delighted," Vasiht'h said.

  Sitting in the fore of the ship with Livia after their successful departure, Vasiht'h listened to the story with growing incredulity. When she finished her recitation, he said, "So... let's see if I heard this correctly. Your many generations-past ancestress was friends with an Eldritch spy, and he enlisted the aid of her daughter and her daughter's husband to set up a secure courier service between the Alliance and the Eldritch homeworld."

  "That's right," Livia said, sitting easily at the helm.

  "And for generations, your family has been running shuttles to the Eldritch homeworld," Vasiht'h said.

  "Yes," Livia said, grinning. "Ever since the very first Navigator of the Queens' Tams took the helm on behalf of Queen Liolesa Galare." She leaned over and added, "Mind you, we met up with Lord Meriaen Jisiensire before Liolesa was queen. His sovereign was Maraesa, who would never have heard of such a thing. She wanted him to spy for her, not to foster any longer-lasting ties. Liolesa now, she's a different kind."

  "I imagine she must be," Vasiht'h said, amazed.

  "She's the one who decided to employ us this way, because Heather SecurestheFuture married a pilot and made the case to her through Lord Meriaen Jisiensire that we could provide this service. She thought it was a fine idea, and even gave us our own name: the Queens' Tams." She tapped the emblem. "It's a horseshoe. With Tam-illee ears! I understand the Queen has a sense of humor."

  "A horseshoe!" Vasiht'h said, chuckling. "I guess the love of horses is endemic to the species."

  "It seems so," Livia agreed, comfortable.

  "How many generations has it been, then?" Vasiht'h asked.

  "Nine," Livia said. She grinned. "You want to know the craziest part?"

  "What's that?" Vasiht'h asked, wondering how the entire story hadn't already been the craziest part.

  "The lord's still alive," Livia said, shaking her head. "Can you imagine? Nine generations of us, and he's still around."

  "That... does surprise me," Vasiht'h admitted slowly. He didn't like the reminder that Jahir would outlive him handily, barring any accident. The Glaseah were long-lived among the Pelted, but even the healthiest member of his species could only expect a century and a half of life.

  "That would be Heather's doing," Livia said, nodding. "She accused him of planning to abandon us because her mother Sydnie had died."

  "That hardly seems fair," Vasiht'h murmured. "I can't imagine living long enough to see someone die, and then still remaining with their children."

  "By her way of thinking, there was no reason to hurt the children who'd grown up with him around just because their mother and father had died," Livia said, leaning forward to check the course. Her fingers flickered easily over the board. "So he's stuck around for all nine generations, and he's with us still. Sort of a family fixture."

  The idea troubled Vasiht'h; he imagined an heirloom passed on from generation to generation, forever immured in its household, except that the heirloom was a living being.

  "I can tell by your face that you think it's awful," Livia said, her voice softening. "But you know what the Eldritch call us among themselves, Vasiht'h-alet? 'Mortals.' They know how fast we live, compared to them. They choose to put a distance between us because of it. But how fair is that to us? To say that we're not worth knowing just because we die quicker? I mean, would you not love someone, even if you knew they had some terminal disease that would kill them in five years?"

  "No," Vasiht'h said slowly, drawing the word out. "Of course not."

  "Why not?" she asked.

  "Because..." He trailed off. "That's different."

  "Is it?" she asked. She returned her attention to her controls. "Lesandural Meriaen Jisiensire might put the dirt on my grave in seventy years, alet. But the Queens' Tams clan will always be there for him, year after year. That has to mean something... or he would have left a long time ago."

  "This is crazy," Vasiht'h murmured several days later as the vessel began its final approach to his partner's homeworld... at last. "I had no idea just flying to your world would be this... convoluted a process."

  "And that was the easy part," Jahir said, belting himself into the safety harness. "Just wait until you see what we have to do to get to my parents' house."

  "Let me guess," Vasiht'h said. "It doesn't involve something as sensible as Padding down to their front porch."

  "Try 'landing at the planet's sole spaceport and then riding several days across the countryside'," Jahir said.

  Vasiht'h stared at him, the mindline thick with the static of his stunned disbelief.

  "Which part has you more incredulous," Jahir said with weary amusement, "the spaceport? Or the travel?"

  "You have one spaceport to serve the entire planet?" Vasiht'h said finally, choosing the most obvious. "One single spaceport?"

  "And a small one at that," Jahir said. "It's a day's ride from the capital, more or less. It's the Queen's private facility. She uses it to receive visitors to the world, and to occasionally leave it herself." He lifted a hand at Vasiht'h's shocked-orange response, spilling like paint through their connection. "Yes, she leaves. That's a family secret, though the Tams know. Of course, since they're the ones who ferry her around. They're not just for those of us who've left the world."

  "Your Queen uses a private service to jet around the Alliance," Vasiht'h said. And then, gathering himself, she says, "She sneaks around the Alliance?"

  "More or less," Jahir said. "For official state visits she allows the Alliance to assign her the proper escorts, Fleet flagship, etcetera, etcetera. But she doesn't always want to be known."

  Vasiht'h continued staring at him.

  "As for the travel, well... one spaceport. The Tams could land anywhere, but they've been asked only to use the one spaceport, to minimize their intrusiveness. You know we're xenophobes. It wouldn't be appreciated." He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "And while they could drop us off somewhere closer, they'd still have to remain out of sight of the house. We'd have a long walk."

  "And they wouldn't anyway," Vasiht'h guessed. "Because they've promised otherwise."

  "Right," Jahir said, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

  Vasiht'h studied the face of his partner, unnerved and trying to tamp it before it reached the mindline. He must have failed because Jahir said, without moving or opening his eyes, "Ask."r />
  "Why are you telling me all this now?" Vasiht'h said, disturbed. "You've always been reticent to share these things. You told me about the Veil—"

  "—and yet here we are," Jahir said, looking at him then, just a slight movement of his head, white lashes casting shadows over amber eyes. "You're going to the center of the mystery now, arii. There won't be any hiding things from you. I don't know why my mother asked you so specifically to come, but she did. Something's going on, and I don't know what it might be... but no matter what, you're going to leave here with your own Veil to keep. It won't be my secret anymore. It will be ours." He closed his eyes, and a soft velvet feel suffused the mindline, gentle as new snow falling. "Finally. I won't have to keep secrets from you anymore."

  Watching the lines ease from Jahir's face, Vasiht'h said, "Maybe... that's why she did it."

  "Maybe," Jahir said, though the velvet became mist, and then a storm-wind blew through it, carrying uncertainty and unease.

  "Twenty minutes to landing," came Livia's voice. "Fasten your harnesses, alet, lord."

  It was not an unpleasant world, Vasiht'h thought—fortunately, since he was forced to tramp through it on his own four paws. His partner had the benefit of an animal... though admittedly, taking care of it seemed tedious.

  It surely helped that it was spring, and there was birdsong in every tree, and the hills were softly felted with bright grass and dotted with tiny flowers, white like sugar and blond. The sun on his back was warm and gentle, a far cry from his own homeworld's more tropical brilliance. The colors here felt kinder, watercolors to Anseahla's oils.

  His partner's mood had cleared, also. Something about the journey, the horse, the physical exertion and the environment had soothed him. The mindline was thick with pleasing tastes and smells and fragments of memories, so fleeting they reminded Vasiht'h of distant birds against high clouds.

  "You seem happy," he said, finally.

  "It's the wilderness," Jahir said. His hands were resting lightly on the pommel of the saddle, the reins loose in his fingers. "I had some of my best times out here."