Aulanora Nalaurev
carried the commudisc that had just arrived into her bedroom, her hands
trembling and her throat burning. The return address read, "B. Nalaurev,
Box 287, Fleet Post at Shalaun."
A commudisc from
Braysel came every two weeks, and every one was as difficult as the one before.
She slid the disc out of its envelope and sat down on the edge of her bed in
despair, staring at the disc in her hand for a minute, then clenching her fist
to hide it from her view the next, then opening it again.
Aulanora stared at
the disc for fifteen minutes, fighting the urge to slip the disc into the
telepathic transmission recorder and assimilate its contents, her emotions in
chaos. Why was her son in the Fleet? How could he kill other human beings? What
had she done wrong? How could he live with himself? How could she live without
him? Would it be so wrong to see his image for just a moment? To feel his
thoughts and emotions?
She went to her
dresser and picked up the little picture that always lay there, a child's
drawing of a yellow-haired woman with a ball. The sky was a thick blue line at
the top of the piece of paper, the sun was a bright orange ball, and behind the
woman were blue waves. The misspelled words on the paper read: "Mama, I
love you because you make me sweet rolls and nut cookies and play ball with me
on the beach. Braysel."
The burning in
Aulanora's throat rose into her mouth, and tears blurred her vision, leaving
the picture a blue, orange, yellow, and white blob in her hand. She set the
picture back down on the dresser and gingerly placed the commudisc in the
velvet-lined gold jewelry box with all of the other un-assimilated discs.
Colonel Sharad Quautar communicated with Ton as usual at the Palm Pavilion, proceeding with unusual care. King is being extremely cautious in his effort to destroy you. His agents have made no attempt yet to harm you. I believe that he plans to have you shot at his trial.
The colonel's suggestion was logical in some ways, ludicrous in others. Ton could feel no fear because he didn't believe King planned to have him shot at a trial he might never attend, a trial that might never occur. I've thought about this a lot. It makes sense to me that King would want to display his power that way, but there are too many variables. What if King never goes to trial? Even if he does, how does he know I'll be there?
The plan does seem shallow in some ways, but right now, it makes more sense than anything. It gives us something to plan for.
Ton's spirit cringed
with foreboding. What was coming? Even the colonel couldn't know for sure.
You'll wear a protective force field vest under your
clothing, which will repel neurodarts and diffuse laser beams, Colonel Quautar explained.
Ton dropped his napkin onto his plate. And if the assassin aims for my head?
My greatest fear. There will be no way to secretly protect your head, and a direct hit to the head on high power would mean instant death. Your only hope in such a circumstance will be if I observe the assassin in time and am able to push you out of the way of the shot. The colonel placed a hand on his shoulder with a squeeze. This is a dangerous business. Are you sure you want to go through with it?
I don't have much choice.
The colonel raised his eyebrows. There may be more choices than you think.
I don't understand.
What do you want to do?
Why didn't the colonel just communicate what he was thinking? Why did he always have to play these stupid games? I just want to be done with this.
When you're done with this, where do you want to live?
Ton always hated
this question. There were so many possibilities, yet nothing appealed to him.
More than anything, he just didn't want to think about it. I don't know.
Let me think about it some more, he
communicated wearily, knowing he wouldn't think about it at all anytime in the
near future.
Ton progressed
through his days thinking as little of the future as he could and working to
understand himself and deal with his past. He still communicated with Counselor
Shauna Brunel, although his sessions were now only twice a week. Session after
session, he relived the events and feelings of his past.
Counselor Brunel had green eyes and white hair
that she usually wore in a French braid. She was pleasant and professional, a
perceptive questioner, and Ton had always felt comfortable with her. He was so
anxious to put his life in order that he was completely honest with her and
with himself and did everything she told him to do.
For years, Ton had
not been able to come to terms with the destruction of Adrian and Angela's
marriage, Angela's false accusations that Adrian had beaten her, and Adrian's
subsequent refusal to communicate with him for three years. Ton had never
wanted to confront his feelings on what had happened and had successfully
avoided thinking about the events of that afternoon most of his adult life.
Counselor Brunel led him into the pain again and forced him to express his
feelings about what had happened.
Why were you so disturbed that Angela and Adrian's marriage broke up?
Because I wanted it to work.
Why did you want so badly for it to work?
Because I wanted Adrian to be happy.
Did you ever think Adrian would be happy with
Angela?
Ton thought about
that question for many minutes. No, he
finally answered.
Why not?
Because Angela had always liked men with money, and
Adrian didn't have much money.
Maybe she loved Adrian enough to overlook the fact that he didn't have much money.
That was what I wanted to believe when they got married.
What did you believe?
That Angela was the way she had always been.
If you so doubted Adrian would be happy, then why did it disturb you so much to be proved right? Naturally you would have felt sorry for Adrian and been disappointed that things didn't work out the way he wanted them to, but you were too skeptical about the marriage in the first place to be overly disturbed or disillusioned.
Ton had to admit
that the counselor's observation was logical.
Was there a reason other than Adrian's happiness
that made you want so badly for the marriage to work?
Ton nodded bitterly. I wanted my mother to know Adrian and see that a poor man from the neighborhood could be a good husband and a worthwhile person.
Adrian found your sister with another man. The fault for the break-up appears to have lain with her. It seems to me that Adrian proved his worthiness.
My mother didn't think so.
Were you really so surprised that she wasn't convinced?
Ton shook his head.
Why not?
Because she didn't want to accept him, and not enough time had passed.
So you were upset because the marriage ended prematurely, before Adrian had a chance to prove himself to your mother.
Ton nodded.
Why, Ton, would that disturb you so much now, six years later?
Ton experienced a
sinking feeling of degradation, and he wanted to turn and run out of the office
rather than face the truth. He gripped the armrests of his chair so hard his
hands hurt. It doesn't.
Then what does disturb you?
Ton stared at the floor. I don't think Angela was lying.
Why don't you think Angela was lying?
Because Angela wasn't a liar and
because . . . because Adrian kept saying, "I'm so sorry,
Ton, I'm so sor . . ." Ton
released the armrests and dropped his head into his hands, unable to continue.
There was no way he could express the disillusionment, the loss of respect for
Adrian, and his own subsequent feelings of worthlessness and despair.
Counselor Brunel's spirit brushed his in compassion. Why did Adrian's weakness make you feel worthless?
Because I'm like Adrian. Because Adrian failed.
How did Adrian fail, Ton?
He failed to be different.
Different from whom?
The other boys in the neighborhood. Mamma was right.
Adrian may not be perfect, Ton, but he is different. What sort of education did he have to acquire to become a teacher?
Three years of advanced school.
How many of the other boys and girls who grew up in your neighborhood went to advanced school?
I don't know. Jacquae and me, and there was another girl, Sandra.
And you don't think graduating from advanced school made Adrian different?
I always thought it did. I was wrong. Ton forced himself to sit up look at the counselor
again. If an educated person can't be decent and moral, who can be?
Anyone who wants to be badly enough. The rich, the poor, the educated, the illiterate, the powerful, the laborers. Whether a person is moral has little to do with what his external circumstances in life are or even what other internal qualities he may possess. For example, a person may be honest, but he may not be humble; he may be patient, but not kind; he may be intelligent, but not moral.
So what you're telling me is that determining a person's sense of morality by his level of education is kind of like determining a person's ability to practice neuromedicine by his knowledge of botany.
Exactly.
How do you learn morality? And what makes one person's morality right and another person's morality wrong? Who decides?
A sense of morality comes from parents, religious
training, and from conscience. A person will know in his heart if what he is
doing is right. He just has to have the courage and the humility to look for
the answers and the self-discipline to live them once he finds them.
It still doesn't make sense to me, Ton admitted.
Counselor Brunel
smiled. I think Adrian is different,
and I also think that in many ways he's an idealistic, moral person. Not only
that, but a person can change tremendously in six years. Do you think Adrian
wanted to change?
Ton fingered the
corner of his mustache. After many moments of reflecting, he nodded.
What did he communicate or do that makes you believe he wanted to change?
He was just so shaken up, and he was more hurt and ashamed than angry at Angela. And when I saw him again, he was different. Kind of relaxed and relieved, but solemn and mature--just different.
Do you think he was happy?
Yes, I think so. He was married to a woman named
Sliata, and they had a child.
Ton left Counselor
Brunel that day, still puzzling over the issue of morality. No matter how hard
he tried, he couldn't understand it. Where did morality come from? From
religion? But where did religion come from? If it really was from God, then why
were there so many different religions? And why were there religions like
Zarrism whose purpose it seemed was to demean and manipulate and exploit? Were
religions creations of God that were corrupted by man over time, or were they
mere creations of man? Or were they both? Could there be an uncorrupted
religion? By the same token, could a religion created by man ever teach
morality?
Parents could teach
morality, it was true, but where did the parents learn it? If parents never
learned morality or taught it to their children, then what hope did the
children have? What hope did civilization have? Over time civilization, losing
more and more moral consciousness with every generation, would deteriorate into
chaos and corruption.
If it was true that
a person learned morality from his conscience, then what was the origin of
conscience? Was it passed from one generation to the next genetically? If it
was, how? Why hadn't the evil genes multiplied with each new generation until
they had consumed humanity completely? If the source of conscience was genetic,
how could he, an Earthon who had been born on the other side of the galaxy,
share any values with the Novaunians at all?
Why did he feel so
emphatically that human life should be preserved, that it was wrong to hurt
people, to lie, to steal, to cheat, and to murder; that it was wrong for a man
to strike his wife, to be unfaithful to her, or to abandon her and his
children? Where had he learned these things? He certainly hadn't learned them
from his parents. Had he learned them from Earth's culture? Why then did he
know that Zarrism, one of the sources of Earth's culture, was exploitative and
wrong? Where had he obtained a conscience that was so different from that of
his mother and sisters? Or had he? Did he have the same conscience and just use
it differently?
Ton decided that he
would study the religious development and various philosophical creeds of
different planets and cultures in an attempt to understand the concept of
morality. He began spending forty-five minutes in study every night of the hour
he normally spent assimilating InterMind news. He didn't tell anyone of his new
pursuit. He understood something of the Novaunian philosophy and knew that
Novaunians attributed the source of conscience to God. Perhaps they were right;
perhaps they were not. He knew he would not be able to make a comprehensive
study with too much persuasion from one point of view. He wanted to form his
own conclusions and decided not to direct any more questions on the subject to
Counselor Brunel.
Lren Tervel finished his apprenticeship with
Dr. Hovaus and, after New Year's Day, started his new job on the General
Network in northern Palensea. The conflict between Ausha and Lren had made
everyone who worked with them tense, and no one was disappointed to see Lren
leave.
Occasionally Ausha
asked Ton where he wanted to work after they certified, a question Ton always
evaded. Before lunch one day in Ton's office, Ausha pressed a commudisc into
Ton's hand.
Ton glanced at the disc in curiosity. What's this?
Ausha's eyes shown
with excitement. It's from my father. An application for position as
neurophysician at his clinic. He doesn't
want our partnership to be dissolved, and he believes you would work with him
and Faurney as well as you work with me.
Ton stared at Ausha.
A research position with an authority in neuromedicine like Dr. Vumen Ferudant
seemed like a magnificent dream, almost too magnificent to be real. It was the
position for which he had been working his whole career. How could he not be
ecstatic about it? On the other hand, how could he even consider it?
Is there enough work for both of us?
They have more work than they can handle right now and are referring much of what comes their way to other specialists. Father plans to hire a fourth specialist, and he would like it to be you. Ausha squeezed Ton's arm. I know you weren't expecting this, but please consider it. I can't bear the thought of going back to Dinevlea without you.
Ton couldn't bear it either. He wanted it more than
he had ever wanted anything. He gazed at her in tenderness and confusion,
wanting to tell her everything but knowing he couldn't.
Ausha communicated hopefully, as if in answer to his
thoughts, You have to come. We're partners.
Paul sat across the
kitchen table from his grandfather, his grandmother having just left for the
day to go shopping in Jastray with Maranda Vundaun. His grandfather had
communicated little that morning and seemed not only preoccupied, but
disturbed. His manner was so unusual that Paul couldn't help but feel uneasy.
Paul, his grandfather finally communicated, pushing his plate aside. There's something I want to communicate with you about, and I'm not sure how to do it.
Several things raced
through Paul's mind at once, and he found himself growing anxious. Was
Grandfather ill? Had Colonel Quautar's people found Sanel? Had Deia been in an
accident? Had she lost the baby? Paul suddenly felt angry at Sanel and what he
had done to Deia. He missed her more than ever now that he wasn't allowed to
communicate telepathically with her anymore.
Patan perceived Paul's agitation and patted his arm. No, no one's hurt. It's nothing like that. He withdrew his hand, his gaze tentative. I want you to be the Doshyr heir.
Paul couldn't have
been more astounded if his mother and father had miraculously walked through
the door. During the nine months he had lived on Novaun, virtually no one he
had met in Menaura had let him forget that he had been born to be the Doshyr
heir, no one but his grandfather. They had discussed the possibility once
during Paul's first days on Novaun, and his grandfather had never mentioned the
subject again. To have him now communicate his desire so bluntly bewildered
Paul.
It's very difficult for me to ask you to do this
because you haven't been on Novaun long and I know you're not completely
comfortable with your life here yet. I've thought about this a great deal and
discussed it with Uncle Cherl and Saum, and we all agree that you should be the
heir. We all feel you would be an excellent high patriarch when the time comes.
It's what they believe is right, and it's what I want--I want it very much. I
know this is a shock, but please consider it; seriously consider it. I'll give
you as much time as you need--months or even a year if you need it.
On one hand, Paul
was flattered; on the other hand, his grandfather's request filled him with
apprehension. What answer could he give? His grandfather had asked him only to
consider it. How could he refuse? He
nodded slightly. I'll consider it.
His grandfather's
countenance suddenly filled with joy, and Paul knew that his grandfather was
sincere in his desire and that he believed him capable. For a fraction of a
second, Paul himself almost believed he was capable.
*
Deia Zaurvau awoke
Third Day morning of the third week in First Month, her feelings mixed. On one
hand, she was excited about the prospect of seeing Paul. She hadn't seen him
since her visit to Menaura, and since her home was secured under mind shield, she
had been forced to correspond with him by commudisc instead of through direct
telepathic communication. On the other hand, she knew they wouldn't be able to
mentally put aside the reason they were getting together in the first
place--their mother had died a year ago that day.
Teren left for work,
and Deia set the breakfast dishes in the synthesizing machine to be cleaned.
Paul arrived only a few minutes later. She embraced him, tears coming to her
eyes. "Thanks for coming. I don't think I could have made it through this
day without you."
"I don't think
I could have either," Paul whispered.
Deia withdrew and
gently wiped her eyes. "I don't think she would want us to weep. Our lives
are exactly the way she would want them to be. Sort of."
Paul allowed Deia to
lead him into the living room. "Are they?"
Deia seated herself
on the couch and motioned Paul into the lone red armchair. "Is your life
really so bad?"
"No, it's not
bad, just confusing." Paul leaned on one arm and stared at the floor.
"Grandfather asked me to be the Doshyr heir."
Deia thought Paul
should feel honored, but she didn't dare tell him that. "What did you tell
him?"
"That I would
consider it. What else could I do?" Paul sat up and recounted the
conversation he had had with their grandfather. "I'm still in shock. It
makes me feel good that Grandfather has that kind of confidence in me, but, at
the same time, I don't know if I could ever cope with having that kind of
responsibility. More than anything, I don't know if I'll ever feel like a Novaunian."
"It's only been
nine and a half months, Paul."
"Nine and a
half months seems to have been long enough for you."
Deia shook her head
quickly. "No, not really."
"You don't feel
like a Novaunian yet?"
"I do in some
ways. In other ways, I may never." Deia thoughtfully stroked the red linen
armrest. "But I don't think that matters."
"Maybe it
doesn't matter in your life, but it does in mine. I don't know how I can be the
Doshyr heir if I don't feel like a Novaunian. Deia, I don't even feel like a
Doshyr!"
"Grandfather
doesn't seem to care about that."
"That's
true," Paul admitted. "He doesn't."
"What do you
want to do?"
"Honestly? I
don't know." He looked at Deia's stomach with interest. "You're
starting to look pregnant. Have you felt the baby move yet?"
"No, but I have
seen her move on the Awareness monitor."
"Her?"
"Yes! Our baby
is a girl. We're naming her Michelle Rose."
*
Paul remained in
Shalaun five more days, spending Seventh Day evening with Ton and Ausha and
their friends at a Coalition social, having a wild and enjoyable time with
young people who didn't know him and didn't care whether he would ever be the
Doshyr heir. Once Paul left, Deia was dumped back into her lonely routine.
If Deia handled her
confinement well, it was only because she was so lacking of energy that she
didn't want to go anywhere anyway. Colonel Quautar allowed her very few
excursions away from her home other than Devotional, and those she was allowed
were always under guard. Even her physician saw her in her home. She was depressed
and irritable at times, which was difficult for Teren, but in concern for her
emotional well-being, he didn't go anywhere she couldn't go except school,
work, and an occasional shopping trip.
Deia spent her days
doing a little housework, playing a little piano, and spending a lot of time
sleeping and studying for her elementary school certification exam. Twice a
week a tutor came and gave her formal training in telepathy. She was
progressing, but she still felt telepathically weak. Teren and Deia's friends
and family members spent many evenings at their home, and on the evenings they
were alone, they studied the Novaunian cultural arts together, an exciting
topic for Deia and a relatively unfamiliar one for Teren.
Sometimes Deia
reached into her memory in an attempt to discover who had bound her mind to his
and was never successful. One day when she was feeling more energetic than
normal, she decided to conduct her search in earnest. She sat at the piano and
played minuets in an attempt to put herself into her childhood and clear her
mind of other thoughts. Event after event from her childhood with Lena, Paul,
and Sanel flowed through her consciousness, but she saw and felt nothing that
even remotely resembled a violation of her mind.
Where was it? How had
it happened? Who had done it? As illogical and impossible as it seemed, Deia
believed Sanel was the person who had captured a cell in her brain and that he
had simply taught one of his agents how to manipulate the bond. Deia went over
and over every event in her childhood in Tryamazz that had involved anyone
other than Sanel, Lena, or Paul and found nothing.
She played for
hours, her back aching and her hairline wet with perspiration as she reached
further and further into her memory. It had to be there somewhere, perhaps
before Sanel had taken her to Earth. She remembered her mother's sadness, her
father's broad shoulders, and playing with Mara. She remembered lying with Paul
on a different floor, in a different house, with Mara shaking toys in her face,
and she remembered Evelayna's wispy blond hair and her Aunt Tashaura's smiles.
She felt large hands
lift her from the floor, hands like her father's. She looked curiously into
peculiar eyes that didn't belong to her father, feeling confused. She kicked her
legs and whimpered. She wanted her father, not this strange person.
"Shhh . . .
shhh . . ." the stranger whispered with a smile. It's
all right. I'm your Uncle Jovem. He held her
close and rocked her, soothing her with his whispers. She smiled and cooed. She
felt warmth around her head, and then it was gone. A moment later, the strange
man who was so like her father put her back on the floor next to Paul, and she
watched his feet move across the carpet as he walked out of the room.
Deia awoke to her
present surroundings as if awaking from a dream, her elbows on the piano and
her face in her hands. Everything around her seemed so silent. Even her heart
felt silent, silent with emptiness. Uncle Jovem had done it gently in his own
home, there in the presence of his wife, daughter, and children of the brother
who had loved him, and no one had ever known.
Deia reached out to
Teren for comfort but was prevented from doing so by the mind shield that was
protecting her and holding her captive. She slowly arose and trudged to the
couch. She lay very still, staring at the white velvet upholstery, feeling
polluted, her heart convulsing in loneliness.
Teren returned home
hours later and found her still lying on the couch. He knelt down beside her
and caressed her, and she clasped him and pulled him close.
*
Two evenings later,
after Deia had numbed herself somewhat to what she had remembered, Colonel
Quautar came to her home to discuss the situation with her and Teren as they
were finishing dinner. Deia told the colonel about her efforts to remember when
a cell in her brain had been captured, then detailed her memory of her Uncle
Jovem.
Colonel Quautar folded his arms on the polished wood table. I have no doubt of the accuracy of your memory, Deia, but what you remember about that moment in your uncle's home may not be when you lost control of that cell in your brain. There's no way your uncle could have manipulated that bond without being here. It has to be someone else.
Deia stood up and
began stacking dishes. Theoretically, yes, but there's no way you can
really know. My uncle worked with Earth's Ex-men and Eslavu for seventeen years
and was certainly able to develop new methods of mind control. He's already
developed a way to do the impossible--lie about his essence. What is so
preposterous about his being able to figure out a way for another person to
manipulate that bond?
Teren arose and picked up his plate. You have to admit, she has a point.
The colonel gazed at Deia thoughtfully. You do have a point, but I'm still skeptical.
Deia took Teren's plate and headed into the kitchen. I know that Sanel supposedly has to touch his spirit to mine to manipulate the bond, but could he do it through another person with whom he has a telepathic bond? She set the dishes on the marble countertop and dampened a clean dishtowel. Could he manipulate Aunt Tashaura's bond and cause her to manipulate my bond? Could he manipulate my bond and by so doing use the dijauntu bond that exists between Teren and me to try and manipulate Teren?
Deia returned to the
tiny dining area just in time to see both Teren and the colonel nod. Teren took
the damp dishtowel from her hand. One mind can always be used as a
channel for another, and one bond can always be a channel for another bond.
Even so, to manipulate a bond, spirits have to touch.
King could use Tashaura's mind to manipulate yours,
but to do so he has to touch his mind to hers, which still means he needs to be
on Novaun, the colonel explained.
Deia sat back down at the table as Teren quickly wiped it. But perhaps he is here.
The colonel shook his head. He isn't here. I know where he is.
You do? Deia communicated in surprise. Then why hasn't he been apprehended?
Teren took the towel into the kitchen and slapped his hands together over the recycling tank. Because he's on the Sovereign with an entire fleet to protect him.
Deia had no doubt that Teren was right and was satisfied that Sanel was not on Novaun. I know that Sanel never did a dijauntu bond with Aunt Tashaura. Could he have a dijauntu bond with someone? That person would know everything about him, would in a sense be him. Wouldn't that person be able to manipulate the bond?
Teren returned to his chair. No, because the dijauntu partner would only be him in memory, not in spirit. To manipulate a bond, spirits have to touch.
But they do touch, always, in that thread that binds
them, Deia communicated.
The colonel shook his head. It isn't enough.
Theoretically, Deia
communicated pointedly.
Theoretically, anything is possible, the colonel admitted.
Teren took Deia's hand across the little table. Have you been able to trace the bond, minon?
Yes, but it hasn't done any good. The thread leads us only to space.
Well, then that proves it, Deia communicated. My bond goes into space and Sanel is in space. What more do you want?
That doesn't prove anything, Deia, the colonel communicated.
Perhaps not, but you have to admit, it does make sense.
The colonel's face was solemn with concern. What is it that's worrying you?
Deia sighed. I'm not sure. Maybe I'm just afraid that you're going to find this mysterious agent and that it won't matter, that I'll be Sanel's slave forever.
You aren't your uncle's slave, the colonel assured.
Aren't I? He's a tiny step away from controlling my
mind, and he most certainly controls my life.
Braysel took the
commudisc he had just received from Miaundea out of the telepathic transmission
recorder and threw it down on his bunk. Why did she have to work in Mautysia?
Why did she always have to tell him how wonderful the people there were? Why
did she always have to tell him things about his history that even he didn't
know? He was sick of it. He couldn't wait to marry her and get her away from
Novaun. Then she could study Gudyneans or Latanzans or Manoureans or whomever
and would stop nagging him with her grand ideas about getting the Isolationists
and Fleet supporters to understand each other.
Braysel didn't
receive another commudisc from Miaundea for another five days. He slipped the
disc into the telepathic transmission recorder, and her image materialized in
front of him. She had recorded the disc sitting in a chair, and Braysel seated
himself in a chair facing her, touching her hands as he always did and
imagining she could actually feel his hands on hers. The minute he looked at
her face, he knew something was wrong.
Her face was pale,
her yellow-green eyes glistening. Hello, Bray. I just received your last
commudisc and . . . She stared
at her lap for a moment, then looked back up at him, heartbroken.
Braysel couldn't
bear to see her so hurt. What had happened? He waited for her to continue,
holding his breath in dread.
I feel that something's wrong between us, and I don't know what it is. She paused again, the same painful kind of pause as before. You've just been so . . . cold and distant. At first I thought you were having problems with work. Please communicate with me soon and tell me what's bothering you. I don't want it to be like this.
Miaundea's image
faded, leaving Braysel shocked and humbled. His first instinct was to
communicate with her immediately and tell her that nothing was wrong, but he
quickly stopped himself. Cold and distant? Had he really treated her that way?
But how could he have? His feelings for her certainly weren't cold and distant.
On the other hand, Miaundea was sincerely hurt. Either she was being abnormally
sensitive or something really was wrong.
Braysel didn't like
what she was doing in Mautysia, it was true, but he wasn't irritated with
Miaundea personally, or at least he didn't think he was. Could his dislike of
her work be affecting his relationship with her? The possibility made him feel
more ashamed than ever. Perhaps the only way to make things right with Miaundea
was to somehow force himself to feel comfortable with her work in Mautysia.
Braysel slept little
that night. The one thing he had to admit was that Miaundea's plan to give
their children their pacifist heritage was a good one. One way or another they
would get it, and Braysel certainly didn't want them to get it from members of
his family. Why, however, did she have to work to change all of Novaun? All of
the Union? Even as Braysel asked himself those questions, he couldn't help but
ask himself the same question in reverse--why shouldn't she?
Was Miaundea's plan
to help the Fleet supporters and Isolationists understand each other a good one
or not? Was it the right thing to do or the wrong thing to do? Braysel couldn't
make himself believe that what Miaundea was doing was wrong. Perhaps her plan
was not completely realistic, but something about it felt right. Understanding
between the two factions would make Novaun more unified and that was a very
good thing--that was the right thing. So
why did he feel so threatened by this good, right thing?
Braysel eventually drifted
to sleep, his mind still churning with questions and self-reproach. When he
awoke in the morning, he understood his inability to support Miaundea's work.
Deep down he believed that if he accepted pacifism in any way he would
undermine the Fleet.
It was what his
parents felt, only in reverse. They could not accept the Fleet in any way
because that acceptance would undermine the Isolationist Movement.
Intellectually, Braysel had known the ideologies weren't so different and that
a person could, theoretically at least, believe in both--Miaundea had helped
him understand that--but in his heart, he still hadn't accepted it.
What would he
communicate to Miaundea? He understood what his problem was, but he didn't know
how to fix it. After work, dinner, and a hard workout at the gym, he finally
knew what he had to do. Once he was alone in his compartment, he transmitted
his thoughts to a relay, who in turn transmitted his thoughts to Novaun and
Miaundea.
Angel . . . I'm so sorry I hurt you.
Bray? Are you all right? Are you angry with me?
No. I'm not angry with you. I'm just a selfish idiot. He poured his feelings out to her. Miaundea, I need to feel good about my heritage. I want you to teach me pacifism.
How can I teach you anything about pacifism?
I need you to teach me everything about pacifism.
But you know far more than I do.
What I know is warped and you have such a fresh
perspective on it. Please, Miaundea.
Well, when you put it that way . . . yes. Yes, of course I'll do it.
*
In the months that passed, Miaundea saw Braysel's sister Mauya once in a while, but when they met, they never discussed Braysel. For this reason, Miaundea was surprised when Mauya asked her to lunch with one surprising purpose in mind--We need to communicate about Bray.
Miaundea met Mauya at a quaint little restaurant in the theater district. Mauya, as glamorous as ever, was wearing a soft, cream-colored body suit trimmed with rubies and onyx, her lips bright with red gloss, her wavy gold hair pulled away from her face with a band of red, black, and purple silk. Once they had ordered, Mauya came directly to the point: You have to persuade Bray to quit the Fleet.
I can't do that.
Mauya shook her head adamantly. No Miaundea, you don't understand. Bray has no choice. He will never be accepted back into the family if he doesn't quit the Fleet.
I can't do it. I have no right to ask him to do something he wouldn't feel good about.
You have no right? Of course you have the right! This is serious, Miaundea. This is your future we're discussing, your future, not just Bray's. The future of your children. Grandfather hasn't changed his position one iota. He will not perform a marriage for Bray or allow him contact with the family if he doesn't repent.
Foreboding filled
Miaundea's heart. Braysel's grandfather was requiring repentance, nothing less.
Miaundea didn't think that quitting the Fleet would be enough. She had no doubt
that Braysel would be required to admit that joining the Fleet had been wrong
and sever all ties to his Fleet past. His parents didn't like the fact that her
father was a Fleet officer. Would total repentance require that he sever all
ties to her? Or would it require that she embrace the pacifist ideology?
Miaundea thought that either possibility was likely.
When I agreed to marry Bray, I knew what I was
getting into. I'll marry him with or without his family. Miaundea felt as if marrying him without his family
would be easier.
Mauya stared at her
in disbelief. I'm sorry, Miaundea; I don't mean to offend you, but you
are extremely naïve, and I don't mean about the whole financial side of things,
but about the marriage relationship itself. Bray is my brother, and I love him
dearly, but do you really think that a man who would put the Fleet above his
family won't eventually do the same thing to you and to your children? How can you marry into a situation like that?
Mauya's assertions
pierced deeply, not because they were new, but because they were so astute.
Many people Miaundea knew had at different times suggested the same thing, and
Miaundea couldn't deny that she had thought about it herself. More than
anything, this entire attitude made her angry because these people hadn't the
slightest comprehension of what Braysel was going through. They didn't know how
much he loved his family and how much pain the separation caused him. Miaundea
was confident in Braysel's commitment to her. Why did people keep attacking her
for something they didn't understand?
Mauya perceived
something of Miaundea's anger and loyalty to Braysel in the exchange. I'm
sorry, Miaundea. She sighed in frustration. I'm
just worried about you two. And what's going on between Bray and the family is
just so wrong, so utterly wrong.
Braysel's entire
situation baffled Miaundea. She had believed for some time that, in the eternal
scheme of things, Braysel was somehow a catalyst to bring the Isolationists and
Fleet supporters together, but how? The course Braysel was following seemed to
be doing the opposite.
Miaundea and Mauya's food arrived, but neither one of them could bring themselves to eat yet. Finally Miaundea communicated, I agree that it's wrong. But I don't have any solutions. My father told me that I should let Bray work out his family business on his own. I'm thinking more and more that it's some of the best advice he's ever given me.
Mauya relaxed and gazed at Miaundea affectionately. You're the best thing that's ever happened to Bray. I just wish Mother and Father agreed with me.
What exactly do they think of me?
I'm not sure they know themselves. I know they don't entirely approve of you.
How can they? Miaundea communicated humorously. My father is a Fleet officer.
But that seems such a little thing. You would think they would be relieved that you're a Novaunian.
Miaundea wasn't comfortable with Mauya's comment. She frowned, taking a bite of her sandwich. Relieved that I'm a Novaunian?
Well, yes. It would have been so easy for him to marry a girl of a different race.
Yes, I guess it would have been, Miaundea communicated, feeling disturbed and not sure why.
*
Braysel expanded his
spirit to encompass every fiber of his armed shuttle. His spirit flowed through
the metal, the circuits, the electromatrixes, the lasers, and the engine like
blood, making the ship's body one with his. As navigator Mykal Vandur, telepathy
scientist Trevaun Surkel, and engineer Wilyl Faumtren expanded their spirits
and overlapped each other's and Braysel's, Braysel could feel that their
nervousness and anticipation was as intense as his own. After months of thought
control exercises, flight simulation, maneuvering exercises in the armed
shuttle, and practice in the VisionRun lanes moving themselves with the spirit
dimension formula, they were finally getting to use the formula in flight.
The four executed
their separate parts of the spirit dimension formula as they had done so many
times before, carrying it through with a speed and precision that came only
through countless hours of practice. A surge of living energy engulfed the
craft and pressed down, everything in their field of vision seeming to sink
away and, at the same time, advance toward them, every hint of sound sucked
into nothingness.
Braysel's mind was
blank except for the coordinates of the shuttle's destination, but his spirit
reveled in the rapture and excitement it felt in the combined spirit energy of
his companions. Everything around them changed to an opalescent blur, and in an
instant, the craft traveled from the airlock to its projected coordinates two
thousand meters from the Glautel Monsa.
The four gazed in wonder through the canopy at the curve of the Glautel
Monsa's white wing and the hundreds of airlocks
that led to launching and landing tubes, when suddenly, they felt their bodies
again. Mykal whooped in excitement, and the other three followed with vigorous
cheers.
The weeks that
followed brought stringent flight control exercises. Braysel and his crew spent
hours in the armed shuttle, their minds blank except for the spirit dimension
formula and the repeated coordinates given them by the Command Center. The
Command Center formulated fight paths that took them as far as thirty
light-years away from the Glautel Monsa,
directing them to move about the test area with increasing precision and speed.
Then came days flying with one other ship of their squadron, then the weeks of
flight coordination with the entire squadron.
Braysel and the
other pilots, navigators, engineers, and telepathy scientists that composed the
flight crews of the two new squadrons spent many hours brainstorming new design
ideas for a compact two-man crew fighter that would be energized by the spirit
dimension formula. Braysel, as young as he was compared to most of the other
men involved in the flight testing, was the only one who possessed equal
knowledge in the fields of piloting, navigation, engineering, and telepathy
science. He was anxious to have a new craft designed and contributed many
creative ideas which Colonel Sedel, the engineer directing the project, found
useful.
As much as Braysel
enjoyed his work, he was anxious and depressed much of the time. He continued
to send a commudisc to Maurek every two weeks, and Maurek still refused to
reply. Braysel had known it would take awhile for Maurek to feel comfortable
with his betrothal to Miaundea, but half a year was a long time. Braysel had almost
given up hope that he and Maurek would ever be friends again.
Braysel lived for
commudiscs from Miaundea. Every commudisc she sent contained hours of
information on the history and culture revolving around Novaunian pacifism,
along with her observations. She was excited about all she was learning, and
her excitement was beginning to move Braysel to appreciation. He had never felt
such understanding and support from anyone, yet he couldn't help but think that
Miaundea was the cause of his current dilemma. Had he not met Miaundea, he
wouldn't have had to betray Maurek. Had he not become betrothed to Miaundea, he
wouldn't have ever had to worry about how he was going to provide her with a
family and an honorable marriage.
Braysel corresponded
regularly with Mauya and sent commudiscs to his parents often, telling them
what he could of his life without mentioning his work, but he never received
any type of reply. He bitterly realized that they probably disposed of the
discs as soon as they received them, without assimilating so much as a thought.
He anguished for
Miaundea, but the prospect of an extended leave filled him with anxiety. He
believed it was still a year away, but what could he possibly accomplish in a
year that he hadn't moved a millimeter toward accomplishing in half a year? His
situation seemed more and more hopeless, and he couldn't help but feel
frustrated and trapped.
After work one day,
Braysel received a small package from Miaundea. He took it back to his cabin
and eagerly opened it. Inside the small box was a commudisc and an exotic ring
carved out of green jade with the word "beloved" engraved on the
inside of the band. Breathless with anticipation, Braysel quickly inserted the
commudisc in his telepathic transmission recorder. Miaundea's image
materialized in front of him, vivid and beautiful.
Emotions of love and emptiness immediately overwhelmed Braysel. Her eyes were intense with yearning. I miss you, Bray.
I miss you too, angel, he whispered.
Braysel lost himself
for thirty minutes in Miaundea's communication, then sat in front of his own
telepathic transmission recorder and formulated his reply. He spent much of the
evening praying, begging God to inspire his parents to accept him back into the
family. He fell asleep feeling serene, as if everything would eventually work
out. After all, hadn't Miaundea agreed to marry him? Hadn't her father approved
the marriage? Weren't those two things, in themselves, miracles?
Braysel dreamed
strange, graphic dreams of soaring through space in a new fighter, at the same
time mentally seeing every process that made the fighter function, only there
were no electromatrixes or engines, but instead, an artificial brain.
Braysel awoke and
sat up in bed abruptly, overwhelmed with excitement. That was it! The
artificial brain!
He and his
colleagues had been perplexed by how they could construct a craft to function
with the spirit dimension formula without the necessary four people. They had
decided that such a craft would need a device that would store spirit energy
and would use the stored spirit energy to produce new spirit energy to work in
conjunction with the spirit transformation formula emitted by the pilot and his
navigator, thus eliminating the need for the two crew members presently needed
to execute the spirit energy formula.
Scientists had, in
the past decade, made advances in harnessing spirit energy for medical and
commercial use. Much work had been done to develop ways to incorporate the
spirit energy in space flight, but Novaunian engineers had encountered the same
problem those on the Glautel Monsa now
faced--how to construct a device that would store and produce spirit energy.
Braysel's
grandfather had already designed an artificial brain that was powered by spirit
energy. His grandfather had not discovered a way to produce spirit energy, but
he had found a way to store it and to make it work with the Awareness monitor.
The power generators
and matrixes in Braysel's dream were almost identical to the artificial brain
his grandfather had engineered. The spirit energy generators of his dreams not
only stored spirit energy and allowed it to interface with the Awarenesses of
the men in the flight crew as the artificial brain interfaced with an Awareness
image produced by an Awareness monitor, they produced new spirit energy!
The formulas were
all there in his mind, and he had no doubt they would work. It all was so
simple. Why hadn't anyone thought of it before? His mental image of the spirit
energy generator was as vivid as if he had already built it. He immediately
transmitted a thought to activate his telepathic transmission recorder and
poured his new knowledge into the machine. Then he telepathically turned on the
lights, sprang out of bed, and awoke Wilyl.
I know how to do it, Wilyl! I know! It came to me in
a dream! I know how to build a spirit energy generator!
Wilyl awoke with a start and sat up, his light brown hair disheveled, his gray eyes wide with vigor. You aren't serious.
Of course I'm serious! It's based on the same principles as the artificial brain!
*
Miaundea stepped
noiselessly up the walk to the Avenaunta home thirty minutes before dawn.
Maurek had not come home on leave once since her betrothal to Braysel, and
Miaundea knew that he still hadn't replied to any of Braysel's commudiscs. She
had been heartbroken for Maurek in the beginning, but five months had passed
and she was on the verge of exasperation.
She thought that if
she could communicate with Maurek and explain to him what had happened, she
might be able to soften him a little. She had enlisted the help of Maurek's
mother, and finally, after four weeks, his mother had been able to persuade him
to come home.
Mineste Avenaunta
met Miaundea at the door and gazed down at her with sad blue eyes. Miaundea was
instantly alarmed. What's the matter?
He's changed. He's cynical, and there's a harshness
about him I've never seen before. He may
refuse to communicate with you.
I have to
try. Miaundea turned and walked down the quiet
hall to Maurek's bedroom, her emotions a tangle of anticipation, anxiousness,
and dread. Miaundea knew Maurek's mother didn't understand why she wanted to
communicate with Maurek in this way, but it didn't seem to bother her and she
didn't ask any questions. Miaundea carefully pushed open Maurek's door and slipped
into his room.
Maurek lay in bed
under a blue quilt, the starlight pouring through his window and illuminating
his face. In his sleep he didn't appear cynical or harsh, just exhausted and
desolate. Miaundea hesitated there for a moment, unable to breathe. What would
he do? What would he communicate? Suddenly she wasn't sure this was a good
idea. Was this the way Maurek had felt when he had invaded her bedroom?
Not seeing a chair,
she knelt down next to his bed. Hearing movement near him, Maurek opened his
eyes and turned toward the noise. Miaundea froze. She hadn't expected Maurek to
be such a light sleeper, to discover her presence so soon.
Maurek sat up abruptly and scowled down at her. What are you doing here?
I . . . I wanted to communicate with
you.
I have nothing to communicate with you. He lay back down, nestled himself into a comfortable
position, and closed his eyes.
Miaundea hadn't
known what to expect, but she hadn't believed he would ignore her. She reached
out with her thoughts: Please don't be this way, Maurek. But he had closed his mind to her communications.
She stood up.
"You make me sick, Maurek. Bray didn't pursue me; I pursued him. We didn't
mean to fall in love; it just happened. It nearly killed Bray when he realized
how much you would be hurt. Now here you are, so proud, and so bitter that you
can't think of anyone but yourself. You don't care one iota that Bray is
despondent, thinking you hate him, that he misses you desperately, and that he
needs your support. Some friend you are." Maurek didn't so much as flutter
an eyelash in reply.
Miaundea remained
there a minute longer, gradually gaining control of her anger. "I was so
thrilled, Maurek, when we started trying to understand each other. I wanted us
to be friends, and I believed at the time that I had made my feelings about you
perfectly clear. I never imagined you would place such conditions on our
friendship."
Miaundea lingered
there another moment, waiting for Maurek to open his eyes and communicate with
her, but he didn't. Finally she turned and left, communicating nothing to
Maurek's mother on the way out.
Miaundea took an
airbus back to Mautysia that morning, worked her shift at the restaurant as a
hostess, then took an airbus back to Shalaun that evening. She went to
Devotional with her family the next morning, and as she had anticipated, Maurek
was there. She tried many times to get him to look at her, but he avoided even
that.
Miaundea's family
sat in the holy room several rows in front of Maurek and his family. Miaundea
couldn't concentrate on the service. It was as if she could feel Maurek's stare
bore through her head. Was he angry? Or was he still deliriously attracted to
her? She wasn't sure which possibility disturbed her more.
Finally, when the
service was over, Miaundea turned and smiled at Maurek weakly. His face was
pale, but his features had relaxed and his icy blue eyes had become soft with
love. After a moment, Maurek self-consciously averted his gaze, and Miaundea
knew that he wasn't ready to communicate with her yet. Still, she felt progress
had been made, and she left the house of worship feeling relieved.
The days passed, and
Miaundea didn't worry about Maurek anymore. He would accept the situation
eventually, and Miaundea had no doubt that he still considered Braysel his
friend. Miaundea told Braysel about her meeting with Maurek and tried to assure
him that everything would be all right, but Braysel remained skeptical.
When Miaundea had
first moved to Mautysia, her work had been physically demanding, but exciting.
She spent her early afternoons working as a hostess in a restaurant downtown
and her evenings working in the backstage crew at one of the city's minor
theaters. She met many types of people from different pacifist countries and
planets in the Union and was learning a great deal. Nearly everyone she met was
unsure of her motives for being in Mautysia and treated her as an oddity, but
they were helpful and kind. She was frank about her involvement with Braysel,
and although people sometimes made critical comments, most respected her
honesty and sincerity enough to remain silent.
Miaundea's attitude
began changing, however, after her discussion with Mauya about Braysel's
situation. As hard as she tried, Miaundea couldn't forget Mauya's relief that
Miaundea was of Novaunian race. That a pacifist would be less offended by
marriage to a strong Fleet supporter than by marriage to a person of another
race suggested that even if they didn't think interracial marriage was a sin,
it repelled them.
What if Braysel had
married a woman of another race? Would that have been such a terrible thing?
Despite the potential discrepancy between lifespans, Miaundea couldn't make
herself feel that such a marriage would have been wrong, not if the woman
shared Braysel's values and religion. Mauya, however, obviously believed it
would be wrong, and that nagged at Miaundea until she could think about little
else.
Why did Mauya think
marrying outside of the race was wrong, and how far did her reluctance go? Did
she feel it was only wrong if one married a person who was not a Novaunian
citizen? Or did she feel it was wrong for a Novaunian citizen of complete
Novaunian race such as Braysel or Teren to marry a Novaunian citizen of mixed
race such as Ausha Ferudant?
When Miaundea saw
Mauya again, she almost asked her but didn't dare, feeling as if she might lose
control and communicate something that would offend her. The possibility that
Mauya or any other person of pacifist heritage would consider it wrong for
Braysel to marry someone like Ausha made Miaundea feel queasy with disgust and
humiliation.
The weeks flew by, and Miaundea noticed every remark that possessed even a hint of racism. I never thought Bray Nalaurev would actually convince a Novaunian woman to marry him . . . You know the Earthon doctor? Do you know anyone who's actually gone to him for treatment? How could he be qualified to practice Novaunian medicine after only a year? . . . You spent two years studying a primitive planet's culture? Why?
Miaundea slowly
began realizing that Mauya wasn't the only person of pacifist heritage who was
concerned about keeping the race pure. Once Miaundea began looking for
evidences of it, she found it everywhere, even among pacifists who were not
native Verzaunians. Perhaps Ausha and the other Coalition officers had been
right. Perhaps the pacifists really were racists. Then again, did aversion to
interracial marriage mean they were racists? Or did it mean they understood the
enormous difficulties inherent in a marriage between two such different people
and were simply cautious?
Miaundea was too
troubled to let the matter rest. She invited all of her roommates out to
breakfast one Eighth Day morning and, after they had all ordered, asked, I'm
just curious. Let's pretend you meet a man at the Shamunja one evening and he
asks you to dance. You like each other and dance several dances, and in that
time, you find out that he's from the planet Bristaun. He asks you for an
engagement. Would you go?
Nanci's turquoise eyes sparkled impishly. What does he look like?
He's gorgeous! Not only that, but he's charming and very kind. What would you do?
Nanci shook her head. I don't know. That's a hard one.
The waiter set a glass of milk in front of Miaundea. Why would that be a difficult decision? You like him, and it's only an engagement.
I'll have to agree with Nanci, Jere communicated, receiving a glass of juice from
the waiter. On one hand, it's only an engagement, but on the other hand,
what if you really started liking him? What if the relationship started getting
serious? Jere was nearly twenty-five, a history
teacher and pacifist activist from Narquasa.
So what if it does? Miaundea asked. He's a good man, he's a Novaunian, and he shares your values.
But he isn't a Novaunian, Nanci communicated. Not really. He might be just as much Gudynean as Novaunian.
They really did have a problem with interracial marriage. Why would it matter that he's part Gudynean?
Tausha shook her head quickly. I don't think it would matter so much to me. If I liked him, I would certainly go on an engagement with him. Perhaps I would marry him. I don't know.
Nanci set her glass
down quickly, astounded. What would your parents think? Nanci, the only native Mautysian, was the youngest of
the group, an art student who still depended heavily on her family for
financial support. Miaundea wasn't surprised that her first concern was how her
parents would react.
Oh, I don't know. I don't think they would be thrilled about it, but I don't think they would oppose it. It wouldn't be like he was from Gudynea itself or anything--it's only Bristaun, after all, not a planet on the other side of the galaxy.
Tausha was from
Systrina. Perhaps pacifists from other planets in the Union were in general
less xenophobic than their home world counterparts. The possibility was worth
exploring. What's wrong with marrying a person with Gudynean blood? Many Gudyneans share our religious beliefs.
Nanci shook her head
quickly. It just wouldn't be right.
Why?
Because Novaun is for Novaunians and Gudynea is for
Gudyneans--we have a certain obligation to Novaun and our posterity to keep the
race pure.
Jere frowned at Miaundea. You don't think so?
To tell you the truth, I'd never thought about it before.
So you would go on an engagement with the man from
Bristaun? Tausha asked.
Miaundea shrugged. Before I met Bray, sure.
Jere's golden eyebrows shot up. Would you actually marry him?
Yes, I think so.
Nanci grimaced. Even though you would outlive him by half a century?
I'm betrothed to a Fleet man. He may die in battle while still in his prime. Does that mean I shouldn't marry him?
Tausha's mouth quivered, as if she were struggling not to laugh. Well, none of us would marry a Fleet man!
Nanci did laugh. And we certainly wouldn't marry Braysel Nalaurev!
Miaundea knew they were teasing her and laughed with them. When the laughter died, she asked, So what do you think about the existence of Bristaun, Jeltar, and Dinevlea? Do you consider them Novaunian planets?
How can you not? Nanci communicated, stretching her neck and peering in the direction of the kitchen. They're part of the Union.
Miaundea glanced toward the kitchen and saw that their food was coming. That's not what I mean.
Jere unfolded her embroidered white napkin and set it in her lap. Well, I think it's a crime that Novaun ever cooperated with Gudynea on a colonizing venture to begin with. Both groups lost major portions of their heritages when they began to intermarry. What happened to those six planets was that they ended up creating worlds that are neither Novaunian nor Gudynean.
Miaundea unfolded her own napkin. I'm not sure that's true. I know several people from Bristaun and Dinevlea, and they all think of themselves as Novaunians. Not only that, but they act like Novaunians.
And you really think that's right? Tausha communicated. Here you have people of Gudynean ancestry who have no ties to their Gudynean heritage. That's just as wrong as a person born half Novaunian who has been smothered by the Gudynean part of his heritage such that he knows nothing of his Novaunian heritage.
Nanci and Tausha
nodded in agreement as the waiter began serving them.
Dinevlea, Bristaun, and Jeltar have had nearly a thousand years to develop their own unique race, history, and culture, Jere communicated. Personally, I've always felt that they ought to join with Roysa, Lylenta, and Dretundel to form their own union.
A union of six planets? So close to the Dirons? Then Miaundea remembered that the Isolationists
didn't think of such things.
Jere ground pepper over her eggs. Why not? They would be politically independent, which would probably suit their purposes better, and they could maintain an alliance with our Union or the Gudynean Federation or both, whatever they wanted.
Miaundea left her
roommates later that morning, disturbed. No wonder Ausha and so many of the
other Coalition members were such zealots. She understood, but oddly enough,
she believed that some of those people, Ausha included, were too sensitive
about the issue and too bitter and blind with their own prejudices.
Miaundea communicated telepathically with Braysel the next evening and told him everything. Braysel communicated, uncomprehending, I don't understand why you're so troubled. What did they communicate that was so wrong? It is important to preserve our race and heritage. How can you find fault with that?
Realization crushed Miaundea's heart. Braysel believed as they did! He really was one of them! Miaundea was so outraged that she ended the communication abruptly. Braysel tried to resume the communication, but she ignored him. How could he feel that way? How?