Shadow World (5 page)

She's a very attractive young woman,
Rob mused, glancing at her animated, heart-shaped face. The gold sensor patch accentuated her high

cheekbones, adding a slightly rakish air. Her wide, dark eyes sparkled with humor and intel igence, and her smile always seemed easy and genuine.

To think that she's the same age as Mahree when I first knew her,
Rob thought with an inward shake of his head.
Was I ever that young?
He smiled at the young woman's eager expression as she passed two Vardi, careful not to stare openly.
Already she was fascinated by other species. Just like
Mahree.
He realized that Cara reminded him, in some ways, of her. The young journalist had the same kind of quick, instinctive understanding, and the same relentless curiosity.
She's strong, too,
he thought.
Strong and
practical, just like Mahree.

Cara
grinned, her eyes indicating a small knot of students they were just passing. Rob followed her gaze to the girl holding court.

"--and then Windracer broke his own record on the Space Sweeper. With one claw! Honestly, I thought the lasers would short out!"

The little group groaned in unison, "Dot, lasers don't ..."

By then Rob and Cara were out of range. Glancing down the right branch of the corridor, Rob hastily warned Cara to turn off her camera. They were about to pass by a Shadgui.

Cara quickly complied. "Esteemed Ssoriszs warned me yesterday. He said they have a strong opposition to representations of their bodies, that it's a part of the Shadgui belief system." She regarded the people ahead of them with interest. "Is 'they' the correct term to use for a symbiont?"

"Correct enough," said Rob. "At least, when you're using English.."

A human male about Cara's own height and coloring faced

29

the Shadgui, a huge, eyeless being who rather resembled a sloth. The presence of pink-tipped mammary glands amid the coarse dark brown hair covering her chest identified her as a female. On her shoulder, attached to her neck, rested a fat, reddish, warty-skinned creature with bright button eyes.

"Hress, you're coming to the game this afternoon, aren't you?" Rob heard the human student ask. "I've been assigned to describe all the plays in Shadgui, informal dialect. I want you to tell me if I say the words right."

"Honored will I be to have my tongue in your mouth, Ahmed," replied the alien female solemnly in halting English.

Beside him, Cara choked with stifled laughter, and Rob saw, even with the dark skin, Ahmed's vivid, involuntary blush. Chuckling, Rob stopped.

"Hress, you just made his day," he informed the Shadgui in Mizari. Rob glanced at Ahmed. "Are you going to supply the language lesson on this particular colloquialism or would you rather I did?"

Hress smoothed her shaggy chest hair, concerned. "Is it that I say wrong?"

"That's okay, Dr. Rob, I'll explain," Ahmed said, recovering his aplomb. He caught Hress by one of her massive arms and led her away with him. Rob heard him beginning his explanation, this time in Mizari. "It's just a misunderstanding, Hress. The reason it's funny is that, on Earth, when two humans kiss ..."

- "This voder is great!" Cara exclaimed. "I can understand everything, no matter what language. With this technology available, do new students ever balk at having to actually learn Mizari and all the other languages they study?"

"When they do, I tell them about the time Mahree and I had our First Contact with the CLS, and how we learned that communication between worlds is too delicate an art to be entrusted to mechanized translation programs." Rob spoke with conviction. "Even the best translation program can have glitches, which can have serious consequences during delicate negotiations."

As he finished, a soft bell chimed; the corridor lighting flashed off, then back on, and the already-thinning crowd practical y disappeared.

30

"Uh-oh, I'm supposed to be open for business by now," Rob said. He smiled at Cara. "I don't have anyone scheduled but you, though, and since we're already together, I guess I'm not late. Got your interview questions ready?"

"Of course." They rounded the last curve and she stopped suddenly. "Uh ...

Dr. Gable, you may not have anyone scheduled, but I think someone's here to talk to you anyway."

Rob's eyes narrowed in concern as he recognized the young man pacing before the door to his office. He'd been counseling Mark intensively since his mother's death, but lately the student had become more and more

withdrawn, avoiding discussions of the things that were really troubling him.

Yesterday's missed session hadn't been the first. Now here he was

voluntarily.

As they say in one of my favorite movies, I've got a bad feeling about this,
Rob thought grimly, taking in Mark's pale face and determined expression.

Absently, he wondered what to do with Cara as they came face-to-face with the student. He didn't want to put Mark off; all his professional instincts warned him that the young man needed immediate attention.

"Hi, Mark," he said.

"Hi," Cara echoed hesitantly. She and Mark eyed each other warily.

Rob masked his surprise. "Cara, this is Mark Kenner, one of our fourth-year students, and Mark, this is--"

"We've met," Mark broke in, "and I owe her something. An apology.

"I'm truly sorry about last night," he said to Cara. "I took my bad mood out on you, and I was rude. Please don't judge the students at this school by me. I'm just ... uh ..." He trailed off awkwardly.

"Going through a hard time?" suggested Cara. Her smile forgave him.

Mark looked at the doctor accusingly.

"I haven't said a thing to her," Rob protested. "You know better than that.

Hell, I don't even know what you two are talking about."

Neither smiled. Rob glanced at Cara and realized that her journalist-trained eyes probably saw in Mark's face the same

31

tired-to-the-bone strain that he did.

"Cara," Rob began, "would it be possible for you to ..."

She was already ahead of him. "You know, Dr. Rob, I really need to pull my notes together before our interview this morning. Is there somewhere I could work?"

Rob nodded, appreciating her quick perception. "There's a conference room here," he answered, opening the adjacent door.

"But first"--Cara paused in the doorway--"I owe you an apology, too, Mark. I was the rude one, and very unprofessional. I wouldn't want you to judge all journalists by me."

Mark smiled, the expression momentarily wiping the stress and fatigue from his face. "Let me set you up with some friends who'd love to be interviewed,"

he offered by way of acceptance. "After lunch?"

"After lunch," Rob interrupted firmly.
Can't let him get too comfortable; he'll
lose the impetus to tell me whatever it is that's brought him here.
"Come on in, Mark."

Steering the younger man into his office, Rob shut the door and activated the

"No Interruptions, Please," sign. Quickly he signaled his assistant to hold all calls. Before he could sit down at his desk, a small, sleek form bounded into the chair and sat smugly, tail curled primly around her feet.

"Morning, Bast. Why didn't you put the coffee on?" Rob asked as he scooped the little black cat up one-handed. Her purring increased

geometrically. Plopping her in the middle of his desk, the doctor waved the lights up slightly, then ordered a pot of coffee.

As he sank into his seat and leaned back, he regarded Mark, who was still standing awkwardly near the door.

"Have a seat," he invited, waving at the nearest chair.

The student didn't move. "No, thanks. This won't take long, Rob. I just came to tell you that I've decided to withdraw from StarBridge. I'm meeting with Kkintha ch'aait," he named the school's Administrator, "this afternoon to tell her that I'm going back to Earth."

As a psychologist and M.D. Rob had had years of practice in keeping his inner feelings off his face, and he was grateful for that now.

"But you're telling me first?" he asked evenly, concealing 32

his shock and distress. "You must know I'd be ... I am ... totally opposed to such a thing. Running away isn't a solution to problems, you know that. If you leave, you'll be throwing away years of hard work, good work ... you'll be abandoning the dream you've had ever since you were a child. Mark, that would be a terrible mistake."

"You've been my friend, as well as my counselor," said Mark quietly. "You've tried to help. I felt I owed it to you to be the one to tell you myself. But this isn't a subject for argument, Rob. My mind is made up."

"I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't try and talk you out of this. I'm going to try my damnedest to change your mind."

Mark smiled briefly. "Can't we consider the attempt made, and leave it at that? I already know everything you'll say ... hell, everything you
have
said in our sessions, Rob. And I've listened. But I have to listen to myself first. This decision is the right one for me."

The coffee arrived. Stalling for time, Rob slowly poured two cups, even though Mark shook his head as he pushed the mug toward him, again

indicating a seat for him to take. The doctor's mind was racing.
Let me find
the right words to say. This one is truly gifted, if only he knew it ... losing him
would be a tragedy ...

Mark's mask of control was firmly in place, but Rob was too experienced to miss the anguish hiding behind the hazel eyes.
If he didn't want to stay in his
heart of hearts, it wouldn't hurt him to leave. I've got to try ...

"C'mon," he urged. "Just sit down and have a cup of coffee. I don't have anything scheduled ..."

"No, thanks," Mark said, politely but firmly. "I really need to be going."

But still he hesitated. Encouraged, Rob took a deep breath. "I know how much you love people," he began, feeling his way, "and I mean people, whether they have wings or claws or two legs or ten. You're good with people. Not everyone is. I hate like hell to see the CLS lose out on a talent like yours. We
need
you, Mark."

The younger man stayed stubbornly silent, but his face flushed, and the steady gaze of his eyes faltered for just a second.

33

Hmmm ...
Rob ran his last words back through memory.
Talent. That's the
word that made him squirm.
He tested his observation.

"I know your classes haven't been going well, but that's only natural after ..."

Mark shook his head. "I'm going to catch up on my assignments before I go.

My grade average hasn't slipped that far. If you'll recommend me to a good university on Earth, I can channel the credits I've earned here into a decent major there. I'll probably only need a year or so more, even with changing over, since our programs here are accelerated."

Okay. He's not running from the work and the drop in grades. But still ...

something about the word "talent" got to him ... and people; I was talking
about people ...

Rob thought back over his counseling sessions with Mark, not only those since his mother's death but those from over a year ago, and suddenly he knew the answer.

"You've decided it's three strikes and you're out, haven't you?" He hoped Mark knew the old baseball idiom. "You've added up your freshman mistake with the Mizari
shrizzs,
your guilt about Jon Whittaker's suicide last year, and, now, new guilt feelings about your mother's death. You've decided you don't have what it takes, the perception and the insight necessary to be an interrelator." He paused for effect. "You're worried that if you took a diplomatic post, somebody else might get hurt because you made a

mistake."

The look of astonishment that filled Mark's hazel eyes before he blinked and glanced down was eloquent.
Eureka!
Rob thought.

"You don't have to look so surprised," the doctor said dryly. "Psychology is my job, you know. We've talked about each one of those incidents before, but let's look at what they mean together."

Mark opened his mouth to protest.

"That's what you've been doing, isn't it? Adding it up?" At the reluctant nod, he said, "Well, then, give me a shot at it. But first, open that door and ask Cara to come in."

"Mark and I are going to be a while," Rob said without preamble when Cara appeared. "Can we reschedule for another time?"

34

She darted one quick look, half curiosity, half sympathy, Mark's way, but observing his averted face, her expression smoothed into noncommittal professionalism.

"That's fine, Dr. Rob. There's a low-grav gliding contest in the Arena that I would have hated to miss anyway. It'll be great footage."

With that settled and the door once again closed, Rob took a long swig of coffee. Bast leaped lightly into his lap and began to purr. Petting her absently, the doctor sat back in his chair, outwardly relaxed, silently waiting.

Mark sighed and sat down.

Nearly two hours later, with Mark just gone, Rob checked the conference room to see if Cara had returned yet. There was a folded note with his name on it on the table.

"I'll call you late this afternoon to see when we can interview," it said. "Good luck with Mark. I'm sure that whatever's bothering him, you can help."

Rob smiled wistfully at her affirmation of faith in his abilities. He had failed to change Mark's mind with talking, and now he was contemplating more drastic action. But if he were wrong ...

"Mistakes are too costly when you deal with people," Mark had admitted at one point in their session. "You're right when you say that I'm scared. What if my next mistake cost hundreds or thousands--or
millions--of
lives?"

Mark had learned as a freshman how easily mistakes could occur. He'd known of the taboo connected with the Mizari
shrizzs,
the combination drinking vessel/family heirloom that was assigned to each child as part of his or her coming-of-age ceremony, and had understood that, no matter what, the fragile object must
never
be touched by anyone outside the family.