The Best of All Possible Worlds (12 page)

The music was good. The stuff in the bottle was good. There was alcohol in there,
but mainly it was surprisingly thirst-quenching
in the heat yet terribly more-ish at the same time. The crowd was energetic, and there
was much dancing. I lost my first acquaintance and found several more friends in succession,
finally sticking with a rather nice young man called Tonio who looked … well, maybe
he looked a bit like Ioan, but only a little, okay?

I forgot about the rest of the team entirely until Joral turned up where I was sprawling
on the steep angle of a berm, still listening to the drums and pipes on the field
below and Tonio’s snoring as he napped beside me. Joral looked a little apprehensive,
moving as if he hoped to preserve a small exclusionary zone around himself. I watched
with a smirk as two young women breached the zone, danced up against him, and moved
on, leaving him frozen, as if unsure whether to be glad or appalled. Finally he pulled
himself together and clambered up to where I was sitting.

“Enjoying yourself, Joral?” I asked blandly, handing him the bottle.

He looked at it blankly for a moment and then, in response to my hand gestures, tipped
some of the contents carefully into his mouth. His eyes widened slightly, and he made
a considering moue.

“Piquant and refreshing,” he proclaimed, and handed it back. “I am finding the experience
very educational. The Commissioner informed me that she already has a significant
amount of genetic data for this settlement, and while the phenotype is mostly Terran,
there are sufficient taSadiri genes in the population that a combination of selection
and switching could easily produce a child of Sadiri appearance and physiology. Moreover,
the anthropological data clearly show that a number of Sadiri traditions have been
retained.”

“Is this festival a Sadiri tradition?” I asked, having drunk and passed the bottle
to him again.

He took a good gulp, no longer shy, and returned it. “In fact, it is not. While it
does appear to have a few features of certain ancient festivities—except with less
blood and … um … other activities—its origin is Terran, specifically the festival
of Carnival.”

“Farewell to the flesh,” said my linguistic self mockingly. “It needs to be followed
by a fast to be true, not preceded by one.”

“I … do not understand.”

I passed him the bottle once more in apology and answer. He drained it. “This beverage
is delicious. May I have another?”

I hauled another two bottles out of a nearby cooler and gave him one. He popped it
open and immediately took a swig.

I looked down at the Savannah. “If we stay here for a couple more hours, we’ll get
to see the fire dancing. That should be good. Oh, I forgot to ask—did you come to
find me for a specific reason?”

Silence. I turned to Joral. He was contemplating the already half-empty bottle in
his hand with a strange little smile. “Oh. Yes. Councillor Dllenahkh wishes me to
tell you that after the festival, we will have a meeting with some of the elders of
the settlement.”

“Joral, are you feeling all right?” I asked, concerned at the look on his face.

He turned to me and smiled fully, which completely freaked me out. “I feel fine, Delarua,
just fine. I wonder if I should go down and try a bit of dancing. It doesn’t look
that hard.”

I hit my comm immediately. “Nasiha! Something’s wrong with Joral! He’s
smiling
. I think he’s drunk.”

Nasiha spoke with her usual calm. “How much has he had to drink?”

“About four hundred mils of … something,” I stammered, trying and failing to find
enlightenment on my bottle’s label. “There’s alcohol in it. Six percent.”

“That is far too little to affect a Sadiri,” she mused. “Can he still walk?”

“Ye-es—I’m not sure. Joral, stand up.”

He did so obligingly, canting on the incline of the berm with a stability that hinted
at least at physical sobriety. “I feel fine! I am standing up. Tell her I am standing
up!”

“Hmm,” Nasiha said. “Joral, return to the camp immediately.”

I escorted him back to camp, which is to say I herded him like an inexperienced sheepdog
as he pinballed his way through the crowd, dancing from partner to partner. Nasiha
and Tarik were waiting, and they immediately gripped him by the elbows and hustled
him into one of the shelters. I followed them in time to see them wrestling him down
onto a cot, still protesting that he was fine. They quickly took a blood sample, tested
his breath, and looked at his eyes.

Then they looked at me accusingly. “This is not inebriation,” said Tarik.

“Well, don’t look at me,” I wailed. “Look at this!” I waved the bottle at them.

“Yeah, that’ll do it.”

I jumped. It was Tonio. I had been so preoccupied with Joral that I hadn’t noticed
when he woke up and followed us. He stood casually in the entrance of the shelter,
completely unworried by the scene before him.

“That’ll do it,” he said again. “It’s got fireberry juice in it.”

“And what,” said Nasiha severely, “is fireberry juice?”

“It’s like another kind of alcohol, you know? Kinda takes the edge off your emotions
and calms your thoughts but doesn’t take out your legs or fuzz up your head. Mothers
give it to their kids to settle them down, no worries. Works great on teenage boys,
especially when they start to get … y’know.” He shrugged
and flicked an expressive eyebrow upward while realigning the crotch of his trousers
with a practiced cup-and-shake of his hand.

Nasiha and Tarik looked at each other, then stared at Tonio. “Tell us more about this
fireberry juice,” said Tarik.

“Well, here, try some.” The enterprising Tonio took a small flask from his pocket
and handed it to Tarik.

Tarik opened the flask cautiously, poured a tiny amount into a clean sample cup, and
sipped it. “Intriguing,” he commented.

Nasiha took the cup from him and drained the remainder. “Most interesting,” she agreed.

“But this makes no sense,” I complained. “Why would it make Joral
more
emotional?”

“Oh, forgot about that,” said Tonio helpfully. “Also removes inhibitions, like alcohol.
Bit of a paradox. Feel less, express more.”

The two standing Sadiri were looking at him very curiously. “This calls for further
research,” said Nasiha. “Can you take us to someone who makes this beverage?”

“Sure!” Tonio said cheerfully.

He went out, Tarik and Nasiha followed, and just as I was bringing up the rear, Nasiha
turned and said pointedly to me, “Someone should stay with Joral.”

I grimaced. “Fine.”

Watching Joral very quickly turned into watching Joral sleep. I put him in the recovery
position just in case some nasty after-reaction should occur and curled up on a nearby
cot, listening bitterly to the shouts and cheers and drumbeats of the fire dance show
I was missing.

A shadow appeared at the entrance. “Tarik?” I called out, tapping on a light.

“No,” came Dllenahkh’s voice. “Nasiha has just informed me about Joral’s condition.
How is he?”

I sat up and yawned and looked over at Joral. “Still sleeping peacefully, it appears.
Where are Nasiha and Tarik?”

A very strange expression came over Dllenahkh’s face. It was the look of a man who
had seen things he could not unsee. “Dancing,” he said shortly.

I gaped. “Beg pardon?”

“They decided to test the effects firsthand by sampling the various beverages that
contain the active ingredient. They are now … blending in.” A faint, cool disapproval
touched his voice.

“Well, good for them, I say. After all that madness they put me through, I’m glad
they’ve got the guts to experiment on themselves. But I still don’t get it. What’s
the big deal about this stuff?”

Dllenahkh moved to pick up a handheld and came to sit beside me on the cot. “Perhaps
a look at the data will clarify matters. Here is a summarized form of the data collected
from the sensors during your experiment. And here”—he tapped and went to split-screen
view—“is the summary for Sadiri data. Nasiha was the test subject, naturally, in order
to maintain sex as a constant variable when comparing your readings.”

“These are Sadiri readings,” I said, tracing the line of data.

“Those are the markers of the biochemical reactions we experience during sensory input
and processing, yes.”

“And these are mine,” I said, tracing a much lower set of values. “How do you live
with that?” I asked with muted awe.

“Carefully. With meditation and strict adherence to the disciplines,” he replied.
“But without this high neural sensitivity, we could not be who we are. We would not
be able to pilot the mindships, nor could we sense one another, communicate with one
another, form telepathic bonds with one another.”

I gave a slow nod of admiration. “Now that you’ve discovered the properties of fireberry,
will you use it as an alternative to meditation?”

“It may serve for recreational use, but I do not believe it is to be depended on in
the long run. One might find oneself in a situation where the ingredients are not
available. However, the disciplines can be taken anywhere that the mind goes.” He
gave me a considering look. “Would
you
recommend this sense suppressant for regular use?”

I thought about it. I pondered Qeturah’s comment about how playing the hand she’d
been dealt became for her a badge of honor. “That can only be an individual decision,”
I hedged.

“Then let us consider a specific example. Would you recommend it for me, for example?”

“No,” I said finally. “Like you said, it’s who you are. I wouldn’t want you to be
anything less than yourself. I don’t know if that makes sense, but there it is.”

There was a rustle at the entrance, and Nasiha and Tarik came in. They were glowing
with energy but smiling only very slightly. I was a bit relieved. I had been afraid
they might come in laughing or doing something shocking. Nasiha was carrying a small
bowl in her hands.

“First Officer Delarua,” she said with a touch of breathlessness, “we apologize for
making you miss the festivities by asking you to watch Joral. Please accept this traditional
regional dish as a token of our regret.”

I took it with a smile and a twinge of anxiety, but when I looked at it, it was familiar
to me. A genuine grin spread over my face. “Thank you, Nasiha! I
love
chocolate decadence cake!”

I broke off a bit and put it into my mouth. Now,
this
was a drug worth taking. My taste buds positively hummed in bliss at the creamy richness.
I closed my eyes and moaned.

There was an odd echo. I opened my eyes and caught Nasiha and Tarik watching me avidly,
their palms pressed lightly together in a poor attempt at intimacy. There was a slightly
guilty look on
Nasiha’s face, but it was spoiled the next instant by a suppressed giggle. The two
then exchanged a smoldering look and departed hastily.

My mouthful turned to ashes. I swallowed it with difficulty and set down the dish.
“Perverts,” I said truculently. “Now I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Eat your cake,” said Dllenahkh, and there was definitely a tinge of amusement in
the tone of his voice. “They’re gone now, Joral is asleep, and my shields are strong.”

NEVER FORGET

I
hated talking to
Qeturah about certain things, but for certain things she was the only source of information.

“She’s decided she hates me, hasn’t she?”

Qeturah looked down at her handheld. “I’m not privy to the counseling notes of this
case.”

Liar. “Has she told Rafi not to write to me?”

She met my eyes at last. “I don’t know. But I do know that if you write to him, we
will make sure that he sees it.”

I nodded and walked off before she could start on me again. I could write to my godson.
That was all I needed to know. That made things easier.

Dear Rafi …

I had to write. I couldn’t call, because they were all under protection until the
lengthy and thorough process of Ioan’s assessment and trial was concluded. Fergus
had been right—the authorities hadn’t seen anything like Ioan on Cygnus Beta, and
they weren’t about to take any chances.

Dear Rafi,
how are you, how is therapy
,

They’d probably read whatever I wrote. Analyze it too for both our sakes.

How are you all doing?
I’m fine
,

I grimaced at the handheld. After several efforts, the only unchanging bits of the
message were
Dear Rafi
and
Love, Aunt Grace
. Perhaps I should just send that. Perhaps it was too soon. I could try again next
week after I got back.

I tossed the handheld into my backpack and sealed it up. “Ready, Lian?” I asked the
aide.

Lian, who was securing our shelter to a much larger military-issue backpack, gave
me a narrow-eyed look. “This is a date, right?”

“Why are you harassing me, Lian?” I sighed.