Rediscovery (35 page)

And with that, they dismissed Ysaye, and anything Ysaye might wish. Elizabeth

left the sickbay with profoundly mixed feelings. Fear for Ysaye, resentment at the way her decisions were being made for her—

Frustration, at the realization that they were right. There was no choice.

Not for any of them.

Leonie could have wept with frustration. She had so little of healer training; if she’d had more, or at least more time to work on the problem, perhaps she could have done something about Ysaye’s condition. Ysaye’s entire body was reacting to the

physical changes of the pregnancy as if Ysaye had been invaded by some kind of

disease.

But the demands of her training as Keeper were taking most of her time, and the

little she could spend with Ysaye only showed her that the star woman’s condition was worsening with every passing moment.

Leonie had never felt helpless before; there had always been something she could do in any situation to improve it—or at least, to change it to something more her liking.

But she was helpless now. Ysaye was as determined to carry her child to term as Leonie was that she do so; more so, perhaps. Leonie sensed that she was communicating with it already, which meant that it was already showing a spark of powerful
laran.
But there were multiple problems she must face even if this child was brought to term. Somehow she needed to convince Ysaye that she must have Lorill—or at least, a powerful telepath

—with her when she gave birth, or the child might kill both of them with its fear and the pain of being born. And she needed to convince Ysaye that only the Hasturs could properly rear it.

Neither of those was very likely, as Ysaye spent more and more time drifting in

hallucination. And as her own duties kept her from contact with the star woman’s mind.

At least she had convinced Ysaye that
she
was real, and not a hallucination.

She could not give less than her full attention to her teachers; firstly, because they would notice and she would receive just punishment for her inattention, and secondly, because that would cause them to ask just what she was so worried about. And
that
would reveal her forbidden delving into the star folks’ minds, and her continued communication with Lorill, also forbidden. She was in isolation in this first year;
nothing
from the outside world was to take her attention away from her studies. Nothing from the outside world could be permitted to touch her in any way. When her studies were over, she would be a Keeper of Arilinn, and she could not be allowed to be

anything but impartial, impassive, unemotional. She would hold too much power to be anything else.

Her teachers had branded those lessons on her flesh already. She had no intention of learning that particular lesson over again.

So, she must tuck Lorill, Lorill’s child, and the star woman into a locked corner of her mind, and all her concern for them as well. She must keep her serene face, and her serene inner mask as well. She did not know what the Keeper of Arilinn would do if she discovered Leonie’s double-dealing, but Leonie was quite certain it would not be pleasant, and would only add further problems to the ones she already had.

Finally, at the end of the day, she was able to seek the sanctuary of her rooms

(now purged of every memento she had brought with her) and force her exhausted mind to contact Ysaye’s.

There was nothing there.

Or rather, there was a fog of drugged sleep where Ysaye’s mind had been; a sleep so profound that Ysaye did not dream and was not in the overworld. There were no drugs that her people possessed that could induce such a profound slumber. Ysaye was not even aware of what was going on around her, a state even a trained healer had difficulty in inducing. The mind was a powerful thing, and fought its extinction, even in so small a thing as sleep.

Leonie quickly sought for a mind physically near to Ysaye, one that she could

jump to in order to see what was happening. She found one; not as sensitive as Ysaye’s, and one which did not accept its own
laran.

But that made him all the more suitable. He would not notice Leonie’s presence in his mind, because he could not.

She caught a name from the healer at his right hand;
Darwin.
She recognized Darwin’s companion as the healer Ysaye trusted, the one called Aurora. His

concentration was incredible; his mind was set on one thing and one thing only; the task at hand. A Keeper might envy such a fierce and all-exclusive concentration.

Then she realized what they were to do; and shrank back in horror. She could only watch, frozen, as they prepared to take Ysaye’s child—and make her
emmasca.

She was horrified; revolted. It was too soon to be angry. She would be angry with these people later, now—she was too shocked.

This man, Darwin; he had reasons in plenty why this should be done. That Ysaye

could not live to carry the child to term; that if she tried they would both die. That it would be thus if she ever became pregnant again, and therefore would not only be a kindness to make her
emmasca,
but medically advisable.

There were other reasons why he must do this. He had been
ordered
to do so, by the Captain who was to Ysaye as the King was to the Domains. And by people beyond the Captain, who ranked beyond him, and could give orders that no one of the star folk would dare to disobey.

Whether or not Ysaye agreed.

She would have fled—but something, some stirring of premonition, warned her.

Watch,
it breathed.
Listen. You will need this some day.

The ancient operation that made a woman
emmasca
was both forbidden and lost.

Oh, the Keeper of Arilinn, some priestesses of Avarra, and a few others
might
have the knowledge of it, but Leonie doubted that she would ever impart that knowledge to her successor. There were reasons why it should be forbidden—and yet, there could be reasons, compelling reasons, why the forbidden must be done. Perhaps, when Leonie recovered from her rage and outrage at this violation of Ysaye’s will and her own, she would see those reasons.

Perhaps, someday, some woman might come to Leonie, and Leonie would see

that it was necessary to give her this terrible gift. To her, maybe, this would not be violation, but freedom…

So she stayed, imposing on herself the icy and uncaring calm of the Keeper, and

of this healer.

And when it was over, she fled.

Ysaye woke, clear-headed, and aching. She knew what had happened before

anyone told her. She knew not only because of the soreness where they had cut into her body, but because she was alone.

From the moment that she had been told she was with child, she had been aware

of the presence inside her. Not a person, but a presence, a spark of life, something that could, one day, become the little girl she had seen in her dreams. A lovely child, in whom her genes and Lorill’s combined to form a beauty that united the best of both their peoples. She was in pain, from the pain of her mother, but willing to bear that pain.

Now she was gone, and Ysaye was left alone and empty, her sense of that new life gone completely, aching with a sorrow too new and raw for tears.
My baby. She didn’t
want to die
—
where is she now?

The door to her room opened. “Ysaye, how are you feeling?”

It was Aurora, of course, and with just enough concern tempered by

professionalism that Ysaye could not be angry with her.

Assuming that she could have mustered so active an emotion as anger. She tried

to, but she was too tired, too empty.

“All right, I suppose,” she replied dispiritedly. “You took the baby, didn’t you?”

“We terminated a life-threatening condition,” Aurora corrected. “If we hadn’t, you would have died, no question at all, and the baby with you. The choice was death for both of you, or just for the baby; and I followed my orders from the Captain and the Service.”

A brief, weak anger managed to flare for a moment. “That’s a lie, Aurora. We can regenerate limbs, there is no reason why—”

“A sophisticated medical facility can regenerate a limb, Ysaye,” Aurora replied, matching anger with coldness. “A sophisticated
off-planet
medical facility. The kind we don’t have here. You would not have survived the trip to one—assuming that the Captain was willing to abandon a new settlement and all the important negotiations to ferry one illegally-pregnant woman—without permission—at incredible expense—to one of those off-planet facilities. You are a valuable crew member, and subject to orders that you have to obey, orders you technically violated with your condition. The Service has a considerable interest in keeping you alive and functioning.”

Ysaye shrank back in her bed, feeling both at fault and put-upon. Her brief anger died. Aurora had rightfully reminded her of her responsibilities, her duties, her place in the Service and in the crew. She had no right to dispute their orders.

“You’re right,” Ysaye said, dully. “I’m sorry, Aurora. I—” She stopped, unable to continue, tears making a thickness and an ache in the back of her throat.

Aurora softened. “I’m sorry, too, Ysaye. I’m sorry we had to do this to you, but none of us had a choice. It was either lose you or— Ysaye, I have to tell you something else. I’m sorry, but—you were in such bad shape that we had to do a complete

hysterectomy. Whatever triggered this made you severely allergic to estrogen.”

That was nothing compared with the loss of the child, oddly enough. She had

never thought of herself as a
female,
much, anyway—more as a kind of extension of the computer. Neutral, and neuter.

In a way, it was appropriate. A fitting sacrifice for the life that was never to be, now.

She closed her eyes, as her tears threatened to rise up and drown her; she fought them back, with the only thing that had ever brought her any sense of self, and of worth.

Her identity as
female,
as
mother
was gone, before she had ever had a chance to experience either of them. There was only one identity left to her, the only one that had any value or meaning to the Service that gave and took, whether or not she wanted it.

“When can I go back to work?” she asked, each word an ache. “There must be a

lot of it piled up by now.”

Aurora raised a surprised eyebrow. “Well, now that we have your allergies under

control again, there’s no reason why you can’t work from your bed. I want you to get up and walk around a little every couple of hours. Otherwise stay off your feet for a week or so but working shouldn’t interfere with that. If you want to—I thought you’d want to rest.”

Ysaye shook her head. “I’d rather work,” she replied. “I’ve made enough of a

nuisance of myself; I’d better take care of what I can.”

Aurora helped her to sit up, supported with inflatable cushions. She ignored the ache in her stomach as she sat up, the dull stabs of pain from the area of the incision.

There was less pain than she had thought there would be; Aurora must have given her a partial spinal block.

When at last she was in place and the terminal, on a movable shelf, had been

lowered into place so she could reach it, Aurora left her alone.

She worked steadily, losing herself and her pain in the work, even though after a while she became impatient with the number of things tagged for her attention that could easily have been taken care of by the junior techs. What was the matter with these people? As Aurora had pointed out, Ysaye was not indispensable! What would they do if she’d been so sick that she couldn’t have tended to these things for weeks or even months?

Before, she would have simply taken care of the problems herself. Now she was

annoyed; she redirected every bit of silly nonsense to her junior technicians, distributing the load equally among all of them. When she had dealt with the few things that were beyond their abilities, she leaned back in her pillows, restless and discontented.

After a moment, she felt that Leonie was seeking her. For a moment she was as

inclined to ignore the girl as she had been to see the last of Aurora. She did not want to hear any more “I’m sorrys,” and she did not want to have to explain to Leonie why her brother’s precious child had been destroyed. But in spite of her own feelings, she felt that the young Darkovan girl had come to depend on her; that somehow or other—

perhaps through that brief bond of flesh, or even through the love of music they shared

—the young Keeper-in-training had come to reach out to Ysaye as she could not to anyone nearer to her physically or by relationship. Whether this dependence was a fault in Leonie or not—or whether it was due entirely to loneliness—Ysaye did not bother to wonder.

With a sigh, she opened her mind to the girl, feeling ancient and worn with pain.

Hello, Leonie. What do you want?

The girl “felt” troubled.
It would do no good to say I am sorry, Ysaye, but it is
true. And I know it was not your fault.

Big of her,
Ysaye thought ironically—but then again, it probably was. Given her culture, and her own pride, that might have been quite an admission. It was entirely possible that most Darkovans might have considered her entirely at fault for what had been done against her will.

Thank you,
she replied instead.
I’m sorry, too.
She did not have to say how sorry; it was there like a gaping wound for Leonie to see.
Is there anything I can do for you?

A moment of hesitation.
Could I hear some of your music?
the girl asked carefully.
I
cannot sleep
—
do you remember that I told you that I used to listen to your
music through you? Maybe music would be a good rest for your mind also.

That was a good thought, and an amazingly kind one on Leonie’s part.

But perhaps
—
with this much disquiet, you would not feel much like listening to
music.