Chapter Nine: Backpedaling

I stumble across Elene by sheer chance in the cafeteria. She's talking to Seamus, who takes one look at me, glances at her, and excuses himself. He's been coming to his lessons, but it's obvious he's not pleased with me. Ever since he and Asha met, he's picked up some of her mannerisms, and it is becoming clear the link between them is strong. Because of this, I can't be sure it is actually him avoiding me. For all I know, each time he looks at me and frowns, she is the one who walks away.

Elene gives me a weak smile but holds her ground when I approach, which makes me thankful—the last thing I need is the student body watching me lose control of my empaths.

“Elene, may I speak with you?”

She nods. “Want to eat lunch together?”

“Definitely. Pick a table.”

She guides me over to a small corner table and begins to unload her tray. “What's going on?”

“I want to talk to you about Asha.” Ever since Midbar closed its borders to empaths, I haven't been able to get ahold of her. She doesn't respond to messages, and is tellingly absent every time I drop by to look for her. I suspect someone else in the house has been wearing her wristband. Following Nanda hasn't worked, either—they've spent far less time around one another recently. The last thing I want to do is admit this to one of my other students, but I am desperate.

She freezes, apple in hand, and gives me a smile that makes me feel rather depressed. “You've got a one-track mind, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Asha doesn't want to talk to you, Desmond.”

“She's missed a week of lessons.”

“She's been studying on her own.”

“Who is organizing her studies?” For a moment I am convinced Caroline has gone behind my back and is Teaching Asha without my permission.

Elene gives me a long stare. It's obvious she picked up on that thought, and I feel supremely guilty. “Asha is.” There's a pause as she takes a bite of apple and sits down. “Look, Desmond, can I be honest with you?”

“Of course, Elene.” I take a sip of tea.

“You're acting like a bit of an idiot.” She punctuates this sentence with another bite of apple, teeth shining white against its mottled skin.

“That's a bit too honest, Elene,” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“No, it's not. You're being unfair.”

I run my hands through my hair and briefly wonder if my students have gone insane. In all the years I've been teaching, I have never been called an idiot by one of them.

“Okay. I'll be blunt, too.” She sets the apple down and levels her eyes with mine. “Desmond, we like you. You care about us. When things go wrong in our lives, you take it into account in our studies. Compassion makes you great.”

“But?” I take a nonchalant sip of tea.

“But Asha gets none of that! Not only are you refusing to admit you messed up, but you're punishing both her and Reid for your pride. You let the girl get blind-sided and then openly refuse to be there for her when she needs you.”

“She didn't want to talk to me!”

“Desmond, how old are you? That's a sign that you need to go crawling in on your hands and knees!” Her foreheard wrinkles with worry. “You don't treat her like a person, and people are beginning to notice.”

“Anyone could have filled her in on that little slice of our culture. Why didn't you, for example?”

“I'm speaking hypothetically here and assuming you're not actually trying to shift blame off on me.” She pulls her hair behind her shoulders before continuing. “I've lived in this society my entire life. To me, that's just how things are, and I didn't get to thinking about it until her breakdown. There's some sort of saying, 'familiarity breeds apathy?' It's just like that. Your job is to prepare her for all the things we take for granted!” She takes another bite of apple and waits for me to respond.

It takes me a moment to compile my thoughts—part of me is proud, because I have never heard Elene more eloquent. More of me is embarassed because I am being scolded by a girl less than half my age.

“Well-put, Elene. But I do disagree on one point.”

“Hmmm?” she says through a chunk of apple.

“I don't believe I treat Asha any differently than you or Seamus.”

Elene sighs. “Desmond. You're handling her so badly you managed to attract the attention of one of the most taciturn, biased, and oblivious guys on campus, who took time out of his brooding schedule to come try and talk to you about it.”

I don't want to think about that particular altercation. Caroline and I are not speaking, yet again, because of what I said to Reid that day. And, until now, I'd been convinced she was overreacting. “I admit I hadn't thought about it quite that way before.”

“We're not idiots, Desmond. We know there's something special with Asha's case, and the way you're treating her is making that rather obvious. Now you have Reid interested, and he doesn't usually stop until he figures things out. So the way I see it, you have two choices here.” She finishes off the apple and tosses it into a nearby compost bin with terrifyingly accurate aim.

“And they are?”

“You figure out your issues and give Asha the treatment she deserves, thus convincing Reid and all of us that this is just a fluke.”

“Or?”

“Or, you have Reid expelled to protect yourself, and Seamus, Asha, and I find new Teachers.”

“So you're saying if I threaten Reid again, you're going to leave?”

She looks at me calmly. “Yes, we are.”

“Are you threatening me, Elene?”

“No, Desmond. I've been thinking about it for the past week, and those are the only two ways I can see this ending. But I really don't want it to be the second one. Asha likes you. It's part of why she is so upset. She wants approval, Desmond, and you should be giving it to her.”

I shake my head. “In the words of Reid, I shouldn't be acting like her father.”

Elene rolls her eyes. “Now that's taken out of context! Approval is different from unconditional love. You get approval when you do something right. She's been working harder than she can stand to be what you want her to be, and you've never said a word to her.”

“She's a Type Three. She can tell.”

“She's a Type Three who is learning the value of words, Desmond. It's not enough anymore.”

I take another sip of tea and find it cold. “And how do you know all this?”

Elene leans over the table and jabs me in the forehead with her finger. “If you're in there as much as I am, you pick up on a few things. We don't have privacy. We don't have shame. We understand what people really are like.” Here she gives me another long stare. “And we're worried about you.”

“This sounds rather like an intervention.”

“It is,” she says simply, then begins to collect her tray.

“So may I speak with Asha, then?”

“She's in the Arboretum, waiting for you. I hope you've listened.”

“...Thank you, Elene. I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Asha and Reid.” She gets up from the table and turns to go, then pauses.

“Oh, Desmond?”

“Yes, Elene?”

“Start talking to Caroline again. It's easier for us all when you two are on speaking terms.” Before I can reply, she sets her tray down and gives me an enthusiastic hug around the shoulders. And with that, she leaves me, alone and stunned, in the middle of a crowded lunchroom. I buy time for myself by refilling my tea mug, and sip it on the way to the Arboretum, pondering what just happened to me.

I'd just had a normal conversation with Elene. She didn't once complain she wished I were empathic. She didn't once answer what I was thinking instead of what I said. And yet she was clearly using her abilities in other ways. This was the Elene I had trained her to be, and now I am left wondering if she'd been there all along without my noticing. This entire business with Asha has made me feel as if I don't know my students at all, and that deeply troubles me. Because if I have just been going through the paces and not actually caring, Elene is right—I do need to get my priorities straight.

Then again, it's not really a debate. If an empath gives you advice concerning what is going on in your head, you take it. This was a warning. They'll all respect my privacy—for now. But if I give them more to be curious about, they may give in to curiosity and keep digging. The most ironic thing about this is my students, who have no real understanding of privacy, respect it more than many of my coworkers. I hope this means I have done something right.

I drain my tea and set the mug down on a bench at the Arboretum's entrance, making a mental note to pick it up on my way out. Asha's not as far back in as she usually is, possibly as a sign of good faith to make this easier on me. She's sitting on a small boulder underneath a broadleaf tree, almost bare now, playing a wooden flute. As I step closer, the low tones of the instrument become audible, and I can't help being impressed. I know for a fact she didn't play at all a week ago. One of my friends growing up learned a new instrument every month by going to concerts. By the time he was done, he knew how to read the music and had the motor memory necessary to play adequately. This must be what Asha had done.

She pauses and looks up at me as I approach, lowering the flute to her side. It is at least half as long as she is, made from a dark, heavy wood. Midbaran-style. I know the refugees have been giving some of their belongings away in gratitude for all the help the students have been providing, but as far as I know she hasn't been able to get near the camps yet.

“Nice flute,” I say in Kiranese.

“Thank you.” She replies in Native, feeling the grain of the instrument with one hand. She's angry with me.

“Where did you get it?”

She looks up at me and gives me a long, blue-eyed stare.

“Did someone give it to you?”

Asha nods and places the flute across her lap possessively. She still hasn't blinked.

“Who?”

“I don't remember,” she says softly.

“How long have you had it?” I ask, in hopes of narrowing possible gift-givers down. A few seconds pass, and I quickly come to the conclusion that she isn't going to answer. I decide to move right to the apology.

“Asha, look, I'm so—”

She cuts me off. “I've been reading about Midbar's history from that,” she says, gesturing to a library linkpad she's left lying in the dirt. “But it confuses me.”

“Why?”

She leans back against the boulder and shuts her eyes in what I am quickly coming to recognize as her classic thinking position. “Some of the books tell things one way, some the other, but both couldn't have happened, could they?”

I sigh and take a seat on the ground next to her. “Have you ever seen yourself as someone else sees you?”

She nods slightly.

“Did it seem different from how you see yourself?”

“Yes.”

“That's perspective. The nice thing about being you is you can see people's perspectives and everything that caused them any time you are in their head. You understand their motivations. Book authors still have perspective, but you no longer have all the information. So it seems confusing.”

She ponders this for a second, eyes still closed.

“But how can you tell what is right and wrong without all the information?”

I sigh and toss a rock at a nearby pile of leaves. “That's the question none of us know how to answer, Asha.”

“Oh.”

I let the silence stretch out. Her head is still back—something's on her mind. The wind kicks at the rapidly drying leaves, and they rustle around our legs.

“Desmond?”

“Yes, Asha.”

“I like reading.” This she says in Kiranese. My apology has been accepted.

“So do I.” I wonder who taught her how to read, and if they knew they were doing it when it happened.

“But talking to you—I still need to.”

“That's good to hear.”

“So I want to have lessons again,” she murmurs.

“That won't be a problem,” I reply.

Her head comes up suddenly, and she fixes me with a very blue stare. “But I want to go to classes next quarter. I'm bored, Desmond. I want to learn about people from people.”

My gut reaction is to tell her no. It's too soon. She can't handle herself in public. But then I remember Reid and Elene's words, and I ask a question instead. “Do you think you're ready?”

“Make me ready.” She narrows her eyes slightly as she stares me down.

I let the silence stretch out while I consider. “It won't be easy.”

“I do fine in small groups.”

“People you know. Strangers will exhaust you.”

“That is fine.” The carriage of her head has a stubborn tilt I've not seen to it before. I sigh.

“Well, then. Starting tomorrow let's begin our lessons with lunch in the cafeteria. But Asha?”

She smiles at me, elated at the chance of being out in public. “Yes, Desmond?”

“You'll have to find your thoughts, keep track of my conversation, keep other people out, eat, and still learn. It is going to be a horrible experience.”

“But it will prepare me for class,” she says slowly.

I nod at her.

“Then I have to do it.” She sits up abrubtly, brings the flute to her lips, and plays a few notes. The wood is worn where her fingers rest, and there are scuffs at the ends of the body. This is an old instrument—not a premeditated gift, but a spontaneous act. It could very well have been a refugee. And, if she blacked out at the camp, it would explain her lack of memory.

“There is one thing you should learn if we're going to do this,” I tell her when she comes to a pause in the song. She lowers the flute and looks at me with interest, so I continue. “When you're out in public, you're going to...collect minds. You need to know how to get rid of those connections when you don't need them anymore.”

“How do I do that?”

“Most people shower. Use the water as your focus, and imagine it washing away all the people you don't want to be joined with constantly.”

She considers this for a moment, and then gives me a wide smile. “That is a very good idea.”

“Thank you.”

“May I ask you something, Desmond?” she says in her tongue, this time as a sign of closeness rather than anger.

“Of course, Asha-na,” I reply unthinkinly. We both start at my use of the diminutive.

“Who taught you to teach us?” She hops off the boulder and moves over to sit beside me.

“Well, I learned a lot from your people while I was on Old Earth, but a good portion of it I picked up from my students over the years.”

“From your students?” She crumbles a leaf in her hand, and it makes me realize how cold it is out here.

“Yes. The Fleet likes to tell us the best Teachers learn from their students—” I trail off suddenly, and Asha smiles up at me.

“Elene is happy to hear you say that.”

I give her a wry smile and toss a handful of leaves at her. She giggles.

“Does this mean you all aren't mad at me anymore?”

She shakes her head. “We have forgiven you, but you'll have to talk to Reid and Caroline yourself.”

I sigh and fall back into the leaves. Asha does the same, and we stare up at the sky through the naked branches. The rains seem to have ended, and I imagine winter will be soon on its way. The worst of Kiran's weather has passed.

“I suppose you already know you're learning twice as fast as Seamus did,” I murmur after a moment.

“Yes.”

“And you know you're the most powerful student I've ever had in all my years of teaching?”

“Yes,” she repeats.

“But you like to hear it out loud?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She turns her head toward me with leaves stuck to her braid. On anyone else it would look silly. “You seem to give more value to words spoken out loud than to the words you think. So if you say it, it is important to you, even if it is a lie.”

“I'm not lying, Asha.” Which is a scary thought, indeed.

“I know.”

And there we fall silent.