Chapter One

ASHA
It is too bright outside. Light keeps bouncing—reflecting, Asha—reflecting off of all the materials they have used to build. It was not a problem when we were inside the ship. Inside it was darker and cool and the artificial lights glared but they did not burn like the sun does now. Most of the time it was dark. Looking at the sky from my old home it had never occurred to me that something so full of light would be pitch black. But now the metal of the ship is smooth under my hands and feels strong. The plastics do not feel strong. They cannot burn the tips of my fingers and make me wince. Nanda takes my hand off of the ship's hull and tries to move me down the plastic stairs.

My feet stall. I do not trust plastic. I stare it it and other people stare at me and suddenly I want to cut my hair and change my clothes and why is my skin so dark? It should not be that dark if I want to belong I obviously am not from here and why can no one understand me when I talk? Nanda grabs my dark hands in his dark hands and makes me look into his eyes. His eyes are brown instead of blue. They do not stand out like mine do. No one stares at him.

“Shhhhh.” He calms me despite the light and the carrion thoughts of the crowd. Or I try to let him calm me but the light is really too bright and I cannot figure out why no one else is bothered by it bouncing everywhere off of the metal and rock and into eyes. How can they see with all this light?

“Asha,” he speaks again, and his hands grip mine more tightly. He is not afraid of hurting me because at least the pain will make me focus and if I do wince he will be less annoyed. But it is not working because I cannot feel his hands on mine. Only my hands in his.

“We have to get in line now. Please stop staring and walk with me.” His words sound forced and the structure is strange. He is not talking for me.

“Why are you talking to me in this language?” I ask him in Kiranese. My accent must not be right because the people behind me are annoyed. No. That is not it. They want me to move because I am in the door and I am blocking the steps and I should just go back to my rock if I cannot handle how different things are here. I hit Nanda across the face and start to cry as my right cheek smarts from the impact. His right eye waters as his nerves tell him what I have done but he does not get angry. When he gets angry at me or he gets sad I hate it I hate it—

“Come, Asha. We are almost there. We have to get in line.” Our language now. He tugs at my hand gently and tries to guide me down the steps again. I stumble after him and wonder why I hit him. The steps ring loudly as metal does and our struck faces are throbbing with each footfall. Everything is swimming. People's faces are washed out by the light but they would all look the same anyway. They are too angry. I cannot focus. I am dizzy. He catches me as I pitch forward.

“I cannot. I cannot. Nanda, please.” My words confuse the crowd but I do not remember how to speak for them.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and suddenly there is understanding. He is twenty-one and Kiranese and thinks my eyes are pretty because they stand out. How strange. I close my eyes and try to fix the way the world is spinning by using this man and Nanda as counterbalances. The way he towers over me levels out the ground and for a moment I can stand again.

“You've got your hands full,” he says to Nanda. His dialect is thick and I do not understand the words.

“She is usually fine. I am not sure why she is so bad right now.”

“Oh, come on. Aren’t you an empath? It's obvious she’s scared.”

Nanda stiffens against me and gravity starts misbehaving again. They do not like each other and it is making all the oxygen dissolve. I gasp for air and feel more arms holding me steady but I need to fall because the earth will be cool and if I am flat it will not roll so badly beneath my feet. “I am trying to get her out of the way.”

“They can move around her.” The tall man's voice gets louder. “Hey! She's a Type Three!” There is the grumble of old trees in a storm. “You're all making it worse, so just get moving and give her some room so she can think for herself, alright?” The ground vibrates as their minds flow around me like mud before they disappear into the distance.

My eyes are closed and that is why I can't see. They both let go once the people have escaped and I am free to do as I please. I open my eyes and sit down in the dirt next to the shuttle, floating down slowly with relief. Nanda is anxious that I am drawing attention to myself, but the stranger sits down too. He is comfortable, but everything he is doing makes Nanda’s cheek feel worse and worse. My eyes sting again and I feel suddenly ill. My heart is not beating right because they are not feeling the same and I cannot hold three people in my head at once if they cannot agree no matter how calming the earth smells and feels between my fingers.

“She know any Kiranese?” the blonde asks Nanda, who is standing behind me in case I forget to keep sitting.

“Some,” he replies. “She is scattered. Give her time.”

The air smells good here, much cleaner than at the station we landed at initially. Plants live here. The sky has no haze, and the clouds are coming in thickly. It will storm soon. My head hits Nanda's legs and I realize I forgot to hold myself up while I was looking around.

“You're a handful, aren't you?” Hands on my face, and the blonde comes back into focus as I reach up to feel them. He is holding me still and looking into my eyes. His are hazel. His skin has spots. I have never seen a spotted human.

His words make no sense to me so I focus on his spots. Freckles. Where did Nanda learn that word?

“Hey, you.” He is actually trying to find me, so out of politeness I do too. I blink. He is a person now and not just hands-spots-eyes.

“Hello,” I say, and I know I said it right because they both understand me this time.

“What's your name, little one?”

Name, name. No more clouds and no counting freckles because it is harder to use words when my mind is so busy being interested. “I....” My hands fall to tear at the soil.

“Her name is Asha,” Nanda saves me. I sigh in relief.

“No. She has to learn to do this for herself, you know. Let her be the one that talks to me.”

Now my cheeks are cold and there are hands at my waist pulling me back to my feet. By the time I tear my eyes away from his freckles they are gone, but Nanda has not moved so it must be the pale man who was helping me. I have to tilt my head back or I am staring at his chest. The fabric covering it looks soft.

“You have a nice shirt,” I tell him, and he laughs but Nanda is embarrassed.

“Thank you! You'll get one like it if we can just get you into a line.” His smile makes me trust him but something in what he says is bothering me. Why is thinking not easy yet? I take another breath of air and stare at his face as hard as I can.

He suddenly snaps into focus suddenly and I am able to stand on my own. Line! We were trying to get in a line. I have delayed us.

“What... what are you called?” It is not quite right, but Nanda is not helping me talk to him and I do not know why.

He smiles and becomes happy. “My name is Keven.”

“I hope I have not made you late for your line, Keven,” I stammer.

“Not at all. I'm in my third year. Just here to help out. Feeling any better?”

I nod and take the chance to get a good look at his face. His features are so much stronger than I am used to. Nanda does not like them, but Nanda is jealous and insulted that he cut in.

“Yes, I am. I do not... I do not do well in crowds.”

He nods. “That's why you're here. They can fix that, you know. They can fix anything.”

“That is what I am afraid of,” Nanda mutters. His hand takes me by the elbow. It is time to go.

Keven reaches for my shoulder to give me a goodbye pat and I flinch away.

“Hey, which of you was that?”

“I-I do not know,” I stammer.

“I was just trying to help.” He is staring at Nanda and getting taller. Nanda's cheek is already burning from where I hit him, and I do not want it to get worse. Both of them are looming and I feel suddenly small.

“Can we, can we go Nanda?” His hand on my elbow is infuriating but I cannot figure out why it should be. What am I, his pet? No. That is not me. My knees buckle and I am almost back at the dirt when Nanda's arms encircle me. He presses his lips to my ear and begins to speak in a language I do understand, but I do not listen to the words because it is his compassion that is soothing. For a moment I am myself again but Keven is still angry and so I shake.

“Yes, you are very helpful,” I hear Nanda say to him, but everything is too bright again, and I cannot get my body to move right. How can I be holding me, falling, and looking at myself all at once? Why is no one agreeing?

“No, no, no,” a girl's voice says. Me. My right hand arcs out and hits Keven square in the chest. Nanda lets go, and I stumble forward, following with my left. Then Keven disappears and what is left is thoughtless flesh. Instantly the rage goes away and I am back in the dirt. I stand up slowly and brush myself off. I am not going to be fit to be seen by the time I actually get to the line.

“How did you do that?” I look up at the blonde man who is still Keven. He is looking down at me but he is not there when I shut my eyes. His teeth are showing and I think that means he is amused.

“Training,” is his one-word reply. Nanda understands it before I do, so I get the strange echo of the Kiranese overlapped with our own dialect. It makes my head hurt.

“It was... nice... meeting you,” I say, but I cannot tell if he knows I am telling the truth because he has shut me out of his head so completely.

“Same here! I'll come check in on you in a week or two, see how you've settled in. Both of you,” he adds, as Nanda glares up at him.

They give each other curt nods and then I am being guided back up the path toward the place where we need to line up. The grass crunches under my feet in places, but it has mostly been worn away like a deer trail. Nanda agrees, but this one does not lead to water. This planet makes no sense. The air is too hot and I am beginning to wish I had agreed to put on their strange clothing. I wanted to feel comfortable and instead I feel stuffy and everyone stares.

“They would stare anyway,” Nanda mutters. We stand out. Everyone is so much taller and paler. Changing into their clothes would only make us stand out more because then we would be pretending we belonged.

Nanda looks up and sees the buildings we are supposed to be finding. His excitement forces me to look up from my sandals, and I stop walking when I see what he sees with my eyes. He runs into me and we both stumble. Someone up the path giggles. As far as we can see, tall, slender buildings of white rise from among the trees. Sections of them are open so we can see inside, where students sit in rows and wish they were somewhere else. Some of them are covered, but the covering is clear like in the shuttle where I saw the stars.

“Glass,” Nanda mutters in Kiranese. I feel useless and wonder where he learned all these new words.

“On the flight. While you slept, I listened.”

All I remember about the flight is the doctor with the dead eyes and the tired mouth who gave me the shot that made me sleepy.

“It was supposed to. They were worried you would panic.” We had both said no, but there had been no one else to stop him. It did not hurt like the other shots the recruiter gave me to keep me from being sick but I still did not like it. Nanda's anger is comforting and makes me smile.

He pauses. We see the line now but he wants to ask me a question before we get back around all those other interested strangers. He turns to me and talks out loud so I will focus. His voice catches the attention of the crowd and they silently enjoy how it sounds to their ears.

“Do you really think you will be happy here?” He has already decided that he will not. But he did not want to leave at all. It is my fault he is here, but he refused to let me go alone. I do not know which one of us is to blame for his misery, but I know how useless I am most of the time and how frustrating it is for everyone to take care of me. I want to fix it. I want to fix me.

“I like taking care of you.” This thought is tinged with guilt. Nanda wishes we were married so he always could. But we cannot and he knows it.

I shake my head and walk over toward the line of people and stay focused on the grass so they keep quiet in my mind. Grass does not think. It is not working because someone is staring and wondering what could possibly be so interesting about the lawn. My eyes meet his and he looks away quickly. He is a poor Type One or less and does not understand how hard it is to think. It is a shame since I am so pretty that I am so damaged.

Damaged?

“No no no,” Nanda says, pulling me to him. I push my face into his shoulder and try to get rid of the people crowding in and giving me all these opinions that are not mine.

“Excuse me, miss?” says the redhead at the table. My eyes jolt open and Nanda lets me go. She is staring at a machine and giving it a word so she can pull up my name in their database. She thinks the word so loudly that it sticks in my head like it was always mine. I will have to figure out what it means later. There is something I am supposed to be saying since the people in the line behind me are waiting.

“Yes?”

She smiles and is relieved that I speak Kiranese. She does not know where her interpreter went and it is making her angry. “Your name, please?”

It comes to me immediately this time. “Asha.”

“Last name?”

“I... do not....”

Nanda cuts in. “Indrani.” I flinch and he runs his hand over my back reassuringly. They had to have a surname, after all, and why not use his since I do not have my own? The redhead is satisfied and exclaims, “Ah! There you are!” I am amazed at how adept she is at showing enthusiasm she does not really feel. I did not know it was possible to lie with your body.

“You'll be bunking with the other Natives. Here's you-”

“No, no!” I am yelling, and Nanda cannot make me quiet. “Put me somewhere else!” It is Kiranese. Where did I learn so much Kiranese?

She blinks rapidly. My kind never want anything to do with the outsiders. “I... don't you want to live with them?”

“It would most likely be easier for her if she did not,” says Nanda over my shoulder.

I bring my eyes up to the girl behind the desk and she has a sudden flash of understanding when she sees how blue they are. Even here they know what a disgrace it is that I am a half-breed. At least it is working in my favor this once. She scrolls furiously and stares at her screen. The people behind me stare restlessly.

“There is space in a second-year dorm, if you'd like it,” she offers at last.

“That is fine.”

A low, rich voice sounds over my shoulder and I jump because I cannot feel the mind connected to it. Nanda puts a hand to my waist protectively. “Why is she getting preferential treatment?” I do not know what the words mean, but the girl behind the desk does and so we get angry at the same time.

“Reid, why are you even here?” Her words are carefully cold but her cheeks have gotten hot. She has classes with him. They are the same year. Third, like Keven.

“Just walking by and overheard the conversation. Indulge me.” He smiles in the way she hates.

I turn and look up at him. Something is not quite right. He has long, wavy black hair, pale skin, and depthless green eyes. He is so tall he reminds me of the animals back home but he is slender instead of raw like a a workhorse. Once I am used to this place I think he might be pretty. Except....

He makes eye contact and smiles at me but I do not feel it. An inorganic man.

“Hello.” The word is flat.

“You have no emotion,” I reply, and am surprised when all the upperclassmen who are helping us move in begin to laugh. Nanda looks around, confused.

“Have we met?” His smile is gone.

I shake my head. The laughter increases.

“An empath, then. Type Three.”

“Yes.”

“Been having fun hopping in and out of people's heads all day?”

I stare at him for a minute, working on the words. The redhead is so angry that her mind is useless and it takes time to understand his meaning from the crowd. “No.”
“I thought that's what you people do.” A hint of stress on the last word. I do not know why.

“It is.” Nanda nudges me gently and I remember to blink.

“So why don't you enjoy it?” The same flat tone.

“Do you enjoy what you do?” Nanda’s hands tighten on my hips. He wants me to stop talking, but I am too curious now. He is like talking to a wall. It is a strange sensation.

“No,” is his curt reply.

“You do not feel normal,” I murmur and stare at his face. His eyes remain flat. Everyone around me is laughing now, even the new students who do not know who he is. Nanda grabs my shoulder and tries to turn me back to the redhead but I keep my eyes focused on Reid.

“I am sorry, what did I say that was funny?”

“Nothing,” he replies. More laughter from the crowd. I am suddenly giggling, too, and Nanda is tugging harder. When he sees me laugh the green-eyed man turns on his heel and walks off quickly. Someone at an adjacent table cheers.

“Why does everyone like me now?” I ask Nanda, but I ask it in Kiranese by accident and everyone that hears me laughs harder.

“Let's just get you to your room,” chuckles the redhead, who is trying to reassert control. “I take it you'll both want to be in the same dorm?” she asks Nanda, who nods. “Alright. Here are your wristbands.” A thick ring of cold metal is pressed around my forearm, full of buttons and screens that mean nothing to me. “The main panel shows a map of campus. Follow it to the flashing dot and you'll be at the dorms. Your Teachers will be by tonight to introduce themselves, so feel free to relax until then!” She is still giggling as Nanda leads me away.

“What did I do?” I ask Nanda aloud, in our language this time. If he shouts like he wants to I do not want other people knowing why he is annoyed.

“Why were you provoking him?” His voice is low.

I did not know I was provoking anybody. The redhead seemed happy and the crowd in the lines were nicer than the crowd by the shuttle and Nanda was the one provoking Keven.

“The green-eyed man. Reid.” Nanda kicks a rock off the path.

All I did was ask questions. He was closed off so I had to ask questions. I was curious because it was new and there is nothing wrong with being curious!

“You made him angry!” His frustration almost chokes me.

I could not feel him getting angry. I could not feel anything from him. At least Keven was still there a little bit when he shut himself out to calm me down. I cannot know whether I am upsetting someone if I cannot feel their anger! How was I supposed to know?
“Use your eyes, Asha!” he snaps, gesturing at my face. My breathing gets uneven again and I am back down in the grass before I realize that I am crying.

“Oh, no. No no no, I am sorry. Asha, no. Do not cry. It does not matter. Come.” He is helping me up and he is sorry he is frustrated with me but his face still hurts from where I hit him earlier. I am crying so hard I cannot even see and I do not know why. The people have stolen my energy and I am heavy and tired and hollow. Neither of us can handle each other and all the newness surrounding us.

“Come, let us get you to your room. I will make sure any people that come by to meet you do it tomorrow. You can have the whole night alone, just you and me.” He is worried that I will not sleep. I almost never sleep but my legs clamor for it so loudly now that I can barely see.

The dorm is full of blue stone and the strange cloth chairs the Kiranese use to keep themselves off the floor. Everything sparkles and gleams and is cold on my eyes. He helps me up to the second floor and undresses me with the door shut which feels strange to us both because we are still not used to doors. He folds my clothes, rubbing grains of dirt off the leather as he does, and I feel the bedclothes. Smooth, not at all like dirt under the fingers, and so white they are still there when I shut my eyes. My skin has never felt something this soft that was not alive. Nanda makes sure I am comfortable before leaving and shutting the door. He is out in the hall, back against the door, making sure no one disturbs me. I feel protected by him and the blankets both and I realize I am smiling. The pillows form around me and my muscles relax and forget how long they were forced to sit in a shuttle chair. My mind does the same and soon Nanda and the blonde girl next door fade from my thoughts. For those few seconds before I sleep I am actually alone.

For those few seconds before I sleep I am always terrified.

REID

My Teacher is glaring at me, attempting to drive home the importance of her point with her eyes. Never thought that hazel eyes could look angry until I'd been assigned her. Green and blue are forceful, but other shades have always seemed unconvincing. Maybe that's why I always underestimate her. When we met, Caroline had seemed like a passive woman who believed more in education through compassion than coercion. Then she'd discovered I thought she was weak, and the veneer had dropped. A year later, I have to commend the Fleet on their ability to pair Teachers with empathic students. They're always dead-on in finding a combination that can handle one another. Unfortunately, they're not as good at finding a combination that can stand one another. Our lessons always leave us frustrated and miserable, and today is proving to be no different.

“Look, Reid,” she says, eyes backlit with rage, “There's no getting around it! I have to send the Fleet reports once a month concerning your progress, and they're starting to notice that you're not making any.”

She's standing at the front of our conference room, pacing back and forth. One of her favorite awkward habits. Her low heels click decisively as they hit the blue-tiled floor, and their reflection in its high polish makes her seem taller than she really is. A breeze coming from the wall-spanning arched entryway onto the campus grounds ruffles the hem of her matching skirt. Her accessories and outfits are perfectly coordinated; always the same thick fabrics like the hair of a draft animal, which feels coarse to both the fingers and the eyes . She likes order and neatness, but she gets neither from me. Sometimes wonder just how she sees me, given how different her personality is from mine, but I'm not intrigued enough to drop my guard. As soon as I go traipsing around other people's minds, every other empath at the University will be doing the same to me. They can't help it.

“So lie.” My apathetic tone is unintentional, but the effect proves amusing. Her pale skin flushes, and her nasal Oceanan accent surfaces as her words gain fervor. When she's angry, her nostrils flare, and she reminds me of a horse my sister once had. Maybe that's why I dislike Caroline. Left Newearth to forget my sister, and am being taught by a woman who resembles her favorite pet. Not what I would call an ideal situation.

“You're not worth losing my job over. If one of us is going to be expelled, it will be you.” She points at me for emphasis, and the afternoon sun glints off well-manicured nails. I know from experience that they are as sharp as they look.

“Don't understand what the problem is. You people teach Type Threes to suppress their abilities all the time and get commended for it.”

“That's different. You're nowhere powerful enough to need to do that, and you know it.”

The blue-eyed girl from yesterday had been covered in dirt, and there were rings of exhaustion under her eyes. Neither detail spoke of power; if anything, her abilities were destroying her, and they seemed to be taking that long-haired boy with her. Had never envied the Type Threes. Too open to the thoughts and emotions of others, and actually had to be taught how to be themselves. The Type Twos have it the easiest because they can still read thoughts if they try, but aren't constantly bombarded by other people's opinions. And I? All my kind can do is sense emotion. Any idiot with a set of eyes can do that. So I don't bother with it.

I pluck idly at a stain at the wrist of my left sleeve, which she has been staring at disapprovingly since I walked in. “Right. I'm not that powerful. Think that's why they gave me to you?”

Her pacing stops. Have hit a nerve, but know better than to feel smug. Caroline will return the favor before the end of our session, and she usually wins. One day I will find a way to shut her up.

“Look, Reid, it's in your contract. If you don't train and don't progress, you don't graduate, and you get deported. And I think the last place you want to go is back to your father's.”

And there she goes. Have gotten better at stopping my spine from stiffening when I'm annoyed, but it's not completely under control. She grins as she sees her point has hit home. Not a friendly expression.

“They won't deport me,” I retort, mostly to find out whether or not they would.

She laughs at me and resumes pacing the head of the room, again reminding me of my sister's horse in the exercise ring. Her movements are graceful enough; it's her mannerisms that make her awkward. She needs to stop wearing those shoes and admit to being short, for one. When she isn't pacing, she can even be sexy. Over the past year, she'd tried every way she could think of to get me to open up to her, and as a result I had ended up experiencing the full force of her sex appeal. Had I been a virgin, it probably would have worked. That was a large part of what made our meetings so annoying now. Once or twice, I'd considered reporting her. Decided it wasn't worth it in the end. In all honesty, I respect her for the lengths she's willing to go to achieve her ends. Just find it pathetic that she couldn't make it work.

“Reid, they'd deport you in a heartbeat.” She looks at me and sighs, rapping her fingers on the dark wood of the table between us. One day she's going to leave gouges in the finish. “They're not going to pay for you to be useless, and you can be replaced, you know. We got a lot of promising talent in today.”

“I know.” I think again of the Type Three girl and our awkward conversation. She was infuriating because she humiliated me so effortlessly, so of course it is impossible to keep her out of my thoughts for long. I like people who react well. Our fight had been fun, even if its memory makes me cold with shame. She probably won't even remember we've spoken. Could have been talking to the boy, for all I know. Have to get her alone to find out if she's got a personality of her own. Something about his manner makes me think the chances of that happening are slim. Is he a brother, or a lover? Is disturbing how hard it can be to tell sometimes.

Caroline is smiling at me. She saw me tense; she knows me too well. “Did you meet the girl from Old Earth, then? Everyone's talking about her. Most promising talent we've seen since Seamus Walsh.”

“I saw her.” I keep my voice level and my body still, attempting to keep her from gleaning any more information. Caroline stares at me intently. Wonder if she would be jealous if she knew what I had already fantasized about doing to that girl in revenge. Her hair in particular. Had never seen hair that long that was that healthy, and I can't even imagine how it must look loose, spilling around her hips and obscuring her dark, bare shoulders from view. No one on Kiran wore off-the-shoulder shirts. Based on the stares she was getting from the crowd I'm not the only one who finds this trend regrettable.

“And?”

“She's nothing special,” I lie. At some point I should probably figure out her name.

Caroline snorts. “That means she's smart, pretty, and made a mockery of you in front of the first-years. What did you do, proposition her? Natives take chastity rather seriously.”

“Unlike some.”

She turns quickly to the archways, pretending she doesn't understand the implications of these words. Know she's worried someone might be walking by and overhear, but I had checked myself before I spoke. Better the evil you know.

“She's a half-breed,” Blue eyes like that just didn't happen. Old Earth Natives were brown, brown, brown, from their clothes to their hair to their skin. Her hair had been a shade lighter than usual, too, though it had been as plentiful as would be normal. That braid had been as thick as my wrist. Whoever fathered her had been dark-complexioned, but he was not their kind.

Caroline blinks rapidly and rocks back on her heels. Another mannerism I am all too familiar with. She is upset at this news, which I did not expect, and turns completely away from me for a moment to think. The day is warm and the back of her white shirt has wrinkled. Want to ask her why this news bothers her so much, but before I can she spins about on her heel with a low scraping noise and changes the subject back to me with a finesse someone unfamiliar with her would not have found unusual.

“Look. Either you use your abilities with me, at least, or you get deported. That's it. I'm not going to lie, but I'm not going to make you change. I can understand why you'd want to shut everyone out.” She meets my eyes and gives me what is clearly intended to be a look of compassion. Never quite gotten over my urge to find her psychology professor and give him a good smack.

My turn to snort. “With all due respect, Caroline, I doubt that. But thanks for letting me walk all over you anyway.”

She doesn't glare this time. Don't know what to make of that. “Keep this up, Reid, and I'll stop letting you.” The last time she'd said something in that tone we'd stopped having sex. She's not one for idle threats, especially since she has the power to make good on what she says. My face grows hot, and I have the sudden urge to punch the nearby wall. This surge of anger makes me angry. My Teacher chooses this moment to laugh at me again, and I speak without thinking. Always a mistake.

“I hate you.” It occurs to me that I say this a lot, and not just to her. Suddenly feel very childish. Caroline's conversations elicit this sort of reaction frequently. Another of the reasons why I detest her.

She grins merrily, her perfect, white teeth standing out in sharp contrast from her dark-rimmed glasses. “I'm glad you hate me. That means you'll pay attention when I talk. Now can we please start the lesson at some point in the near future?” A chunk of her reddish hair has come loose from its twist and is springing about near her left ear. I'm exhausting her.

“Fine. Fine.” My eyes ache. Caroline takes a few moments to prepare herself for me to invade her mind. Should probably tell her one day that I admire her for her ability to do what she does. Privacy is too important to me to ever do her job. The trees outside tell me the wind is picking up. Has been a stormy fall, and I can only assume we're in for another few days of rain. Can't stand the rain, and not just because the thought of being shut up with my idiotic roommate makes me want to claw at the walls.

“Reid.” She seems calmer. Her breathing is slow, and her eyes are shut. This is what our Teachers call blanking the slate. They let us in, sure, but not too much. They know things we're not supposed to.

“I'm thinking of a memory. Tell me what it is as clearly as you can.”

Haven't used my abilities in months, and I'm rusty, because it's far harder to drop my guard and slide into her mind than it has been in the past. The sensation is awkwardly intimate. Her eyes are open, and she's inspecting me as we make eye contact. What comes next is pure confusion; she's thinking of a memory, and I'm being bombarded by a string of sensations. My skin feels clammy, and I'm soon left utterly frustrated. She knows better than this. I'm nowhere near powerful enough to make sense of what is pouring through her head.

“How can I read you if you're giving me that?”

“Reid, be sensible. Can you tell how the memory makes me feel?”

Oh. “Yes.”

“And?” A flicker of annoyance taints her remembrance, but I know to ignore it.

“Makes you sad. Depressed.”

“Can you tell how old the memory is?”

“Based on the strength of the emotion, it's old.”

“Excellent. Anything else?”

I relax and comb through her head some more. “Know how it's making you feel now.”

“And why is that important?”

“Gives me a better idea of the topic of the memory itself, since chances are the two
thoughts are linked.”

“Correct.” That part of the exercise over, her mind instantly becomes a jumble. She's pleased at how well I'm doing, and it makes me feel guilty for being so grumpy.

Wait. That's her guilt, not mine. That wasn't my emotion.

That's why I hate being empathic. My mind snaps shut, and I sigh as I regain control of myself. It's chilly. No, actually. I'm just covered in sweat.

Caroline wrinkles her nose. “It would be less of a nightmare if you didn't fight me the entire time.”

“No, it wouldn't.”

She ignores me and smooths her hair back away from her forehead. “Tell me about the memory.”

“Didn't I already?”

“No.”

“Well, I told you what I could. I'm sorry it's not good enough.”

“I am too. Do it again, and try harder, or I'm writing a poor report.”

My eyes dart back out toward the grounds beyond the archways, and I have the sudden urge to bolt. But I can't. She has me trapped here. My wristband tells me I have an hour left before she can dismiss me. Could probably make her angry enough to storm off within the next few minutes, but at this point that seems less than wise.

“It's going to be a long day.” My father's lined face appears in my memory, green eyes staring. Do it again, he yells. Worthless! Do it again and prove to me you're not worthless.

Moments like this are why I am glad the Teachers are not empathic. Training is tolerable because no matter how far they make you dig into them, they can't dig back. The Fleet says it helps build trust, and also forces stronger empaths to interact normally. Says a lot about them that they can so effectively teach something they can't do themselves. Maybe that's why they're so effective, actually. We're supposed to be learning how to blend in, to become “normal.” The Consortium wants us all to have the opportunity to live our lives just like any other citizen. But they force practicing empaths to change their names so that we're guaranteed to stand out. Haven't selected my new name because I've every intention of being the first non-practicing empath to graduate from this school. The last time I told this to Caroline, she almost broke a nail in rage.

“Reid,” she repeats.

I push my hair away from my eyes. “Fine.” Don't want to try again.

DESMOND

What do you mean you haven’t met her yet?” Caroline stares at me over the rim of a Kiranese blue mug that clashes markedly with her hair. Blue is not for everyone, but this University uses it liberally as a symbol of planetary pride. Blue floors, landscaping, cutlery. Half the attendees and three-fourths of the professors here, myself included, have the eyes from which the color gets its name and inspiration. There are days when I feel like more decoration, which is why I try to avoid the cafeteria as much as possible. However, when a young coworker asks me to lunch, I do my best to make an exception, especially if it is one I have known as long as Caroline. I grimace and take a swallow of tea before responding.

“She was asleep when I arrived at the dorm. Poor thing was exhausted, hadn’t even been on the planet for two hours. I spoke with her friend, Nanda—he’s a Type Two, and a powerful one at that—the trip out was a nightmare. They dosed her, can you believe it?”

She chokes in mid-sip. “What!”

“I know. As soon as I discover who was responsible, they will be out a job. You can’t just give a Type Three narcotics!”

She nods at me, eyes wide with indignation on our behalf. “Can I go with you when you meet her today? Reid's already had a run-in with her, and I have to admit I’m curious.”

“Caroline, you know I can’t do that. She'll have enough problems paying attention to me as is. I can’t have another mind in there for her to latch on to.”

She swirls her coffee, causing a surge of steam to rise and coat her glasses. She takes them off in irritation before continuing. “I know. I’m just frustrated with my own students and want to live vicariously through my coworkers.”

I chuckle. Caroline is never happy with her students, but has yet to realize that is typical for all of us. There's no one right way to train an empath, and until we find out what works for each student individually, the going is slow. And that's a best-case scenario. Sometimes the student doesn't want to learn no matter what we do. For at least one of hers, this is the case. “Reid still a handful?”

Her skirt creeps up as she crosses her legs. “You have no idea, Desmond. Absolutely none.”

“He’ll come around, Caroline. They always do.”

“Unless I get sacked like his last Teacher.”

“Jonathan was incompetent. Reid just made sure to point that out to the Council. From what I hear, there’s been no such trouble with you.”

Caroline purses her lips and stares through the glass of the tabletop. “Yes, that’s what bothers me.” She drains her coffee and checks her wristband in one practiced motion. “Oh, wonderful. Desmond, I need to run. I’ve got to meet with Diane for training. She’s skipped our last two sessions, and I can’t scold her for it I am late to this one, you know?”

I smile at her as she stands and smooths her skirt. “It’s fine. I should head off to meet Asha.”

She gives me one of her candid stares. “You know, I’m surprised you didn’t wake her up. You would have for any other student.”

“The thought did cross my mind, but Nanda is rather… protective, and I didn’t want to make a bad impression.” This response must sound as unconvincing to her as it does to me, because she gives a bemused sniff. But she also didn’t push the issue. I take another sip of my tea—almost lukewarm, now, and sickly sweet—as I watch her walk away from the table, skirt stretching and relaxing with the rhythm of her hips. Once she is out of sight, I give up on the tea completely and make my own way out of the common area.

It’s just now turning into fall. The campus has been windier than usual, and yellowed leaves are starting to invade all the open spaces so strategically designed to receive them. This morning when I left my quarters I encountered a pile of them in the middle of the carpeted hallway, just to the left of my door. They collect there every fall, accruing and desiccating like sand grains in an hourglass. The wind blows them in through the nearby archway that leads to one of the floor's many open patios. Most other buildings on campus have a similar design. Usually I like the organic nature of the architecture, and how the line between the outdoors and the indoors is so tenuous. On a planet as mild as this one, the elements are rarely something we need to protect against, though I can’t imagine this sort of architecture being put into use on Midbar or Newearth. There, there’d be too much sand—or snow. Nevertheless, the leaves and the occasional thunderstorms tend to make a mess of the classrooms.

The sunlight hits me full in the face as I walk out from under the cafeteria awning, momentarily blinding me. It’s the kind of light that promises heat, but never delivers. The plants love it. All the non-native vegetation brought to Kiran drink it up and swell, becoming taller and thicker than their relatives back home. I once had one of my Midbaran students tell me Kiran seemed more alive than the other planets. “Everything happens here,” she’d said awkwardly, trying to get me to understand what she really meant. “It just happens… more.”

Not the most articulate way of putting it, but the stronger empaths are rarely good speakers. They can’t understand why us lesser folk rely so heavily on words. She was right, though. Plants grow better, and people too. The empaths that migrated here when the planet was opened settled, bred, and within three generations the first Type Threes were born. We used to find one every fifteen or twenty years. Asha will be the campus’ second in five. She and Seamus, one from Old Earth, one Oceanan. Both with Kiranese ancestry, by the looks of it. Word has already spread of Asha’s vivid blue eyes. The Fleet has been in an uproar over it since she was discovered by a recruiter in her little village. We know what it means, even if the student body doesn’t just yet. A line was crossed. Rules were broken. And Asha was the result. My stomach gives a sudden lurch.

I sidestep a large bug on the path and rub at my temples in frustration. Why am I so nervous? Well, no. I know why. But I have to get this under control before I meet her, or it is going to be an absolute disaster. I know this from personal experience: Asha will be my fifth Type Three, which means I will have officially taught more students of her caliber than any other Teacher at the University. They tend to pick up on it when I am not confident, and it manifests badly in their behavior. If Asha is as uncertain of herself as I am sure she must be after a life of being labeled a half-breed, my nervousness will reduce her to uselessness. I have to be strong enough to get her away from Nanda, now, at this meeting, or the next few weeks will be intolerable for all three of us.

I close my eyes and settle into my role, inhaling deeply, taking in the surrounding trees. This is the persona I was trained to assume to be able to stay open, and yet keep my students out. It’s supposed to protect us, and them, from the things they don’t need to know about our lives. But really, it has always felt to me about as protective as an eggshell for a skull. If one of my students had ever gotten a hint that there was something more underneath what I was showing them, they’d be through it in an instant. I’d been warned by the Fleet not to let this happen with Asha, since I know who her father is and she does not—nor should she. When I’d asked them why, given the risk, they didn’t have someone else teach her, they told me she was too valuable to go to waste.

Despite all this, I somehow manage to be calm and collected as I step into the entryway to her dorm. As I’m wiping my feet on the mat in the small courtyard where they store their shoes, one of my second-year students pokes her head out from the common area to greet me with a genuine smile.

“Desmond! Are you here to meet Asha?” She already knows the answer because her brown eyes are unfocused, a telltale sign that she’s listening in on my thoughts and not paying attention to my actions. But, we’re not in lessons, and I am proud of her attempt at politeness. Elene is one of my favorite pupils.

“Good morning, Elene. Is she up yet?”

She smiles happily. “I made her tea!” That’s a yes. We had a talk once about why she never quite answers the questions people asked her, and her response was “If you learn the answer anyway, why does it matter?” I think she gets tired of me saying that’s not how things are done.

“Could you tell her I'm here?”

“She already did,” comes a deep voice from the stairs. The boy I spoke to yesterday, Nanda, is holding on to a girl a head shorter and just as slender as he is. They are trying to navigate the steps, but she keeps getting distracted by them. He's muttering to her quietly as he guides her by the elbow, and she is responding, but she never quite looks at him or where she is going. I pick up on what he's saying as they get closer.

“Asha,” he pleads in their native tongue, which I have always found beautiful. “Asha, watch the stairs”—this word in Kiranese—“or you will trip.”

“Nanda-ku, I want to see the trees.” She spins determinedly in the direction of the Arboretum—the wall to their left—and they both sway dangerously mid-way down the flight.

“Asha-na, we will, we will, but can you focus and meet the Teacher right now?”

She blinks and turns her head in my direction, but her eyes are locked somewhere off to my left, and I get the feeling what she is looking at is not in the building at all.

“Hello,” she ventures.

“No, in Kiranese. You will confuse him.” Nanda reaches to reposition her shirt, which has slid to one side and exposed her shoulder completely. I make a mental note to get clothing in her size, somehow. Whichever idiot gave her that must have never seen a Native female.

“No.” She shakes her head slowly from side to side. Her upper body sways slightly as she does so. “He understands.”

Only now do they reach the ground floor. Nanda's hands remain on her shoulders and he lifts his head to stare at me from underneath his bangs, obviously unhappy at my ability to eavesdrop.

“He spent a lot of time on the planet as a translator.” She smiles at my shoes. She likes me. I wonder how much of this is Elene's doing.

“She did tell me a lot about you,” Asha continues. I'm slightly taken aback by this. Now I know what the report meant when they called her “uncanny.” I thought the recruiter was just being poetic, but there really is no better way to describe it. She's only been near me for a few minutes, but she is completely enveloped in my mind. Even for a Type Three, this is swift.

“Asha, let him speak too,” Nanda urges. “You will make him uncomfortable.”

She wilts in his arms. “Oh, no. What if he will not like me?” Elene moves for her from the other side of the room, probably to help Nanda keep her standing. I shake my head at her, and she stops in the middle of the room, clearly distressed. Asha is already feeling the effects, and I am worried she will soon burst into tears. She is not currently stable enough to handle someone as high-strung as Elene.

“Elene, could you let me talk to Asha and Nanda with you out of the room?” I know better than to say alone. It would only confuse all three of them. A girl like Asha is never really alone, and Elene will likely remain connected to her for the entirety of the conversation. But I know from experience that if I can get fewer people physically near her, I can converse with her more easily.

Nanda nods at her, and Elene walks out the front door. Asha sighs. “She is going to see the trees.” For some reason, she has switched to the Kiranese.

“Good,” Nanda agrees. “Try to focus.”

“Does speaking in Kiranese help you focus, Asha?” I ask.

She nods in her disjointed way and rubs at her left shoulder absently. I can see the tips of several thin scars on her neck, and I shudder involuntarily. I'd seen plenty of those sorts of wounds when I was stationed on her planet. Something had gone for the jugular and missed.

“Cat,” she says. For the first time, her eyes seek my face. They are blue, just like mine, but the color of her skin makes them stand out more sharply. One day she will be able to pin people to the floor with those eyes, which is an excellent trait in a Naval officer. The Kiranese Fleet knew what they were doing when they decided to sponsor her education.

“Nanda, will you get it?” She tilts her head backward against his chest and looks up at him, speaking in a slow, lilting voice that tells me she has to concentrate a great deal to actually speak aloud. He nods and reluctantly lets her go, turning back to the stairs.

“You have what did that to you?” I ask, bemused.

“No.” Asha sits down abruptly in the middle of the floor, and I make a point to join her as if it is the most natural thing in the world. She smiles at me again once I am closer to her eye level.

“You will be teaching us?” she asks, running her hands along the tiled floor and staring at the ceiling. I am not surprised by this behavior; many strong empaths will touch their surroundings constantly as a means to stay grounded. She is doing everything she can to remain focused, and I am pleased to see that it seems to be working. This will be a good foundation for her training.

“Well, I will be teaching you. Nanda will be taught by Eric.”

Her eyes had been drifting shut, but at this they fly open. She springs to her feet with an agility that stirs even more memories, leaving me alone and silly on the floor.

“What! No, no!”

Nanda reappears in the entryway, holding what looks like a leopard pelt, though I can't be certain. It's one of the species we didn't take with us when Old Earth was abandoned, anyway. It slides from his fingers heavily as he hurries back to Asha. She collapses into him, and he gives me one of his piercing stares as he smooths her hair in comfort. I wait, knowing there is a great deal of internal dialogue going on. Finally, he speaks.

“Why can you not teach us both? I came here on the condition I be allowed to take care of her!” His voice gets lower when he is angry. His tone stirs more memories of my time as a translator on his planet, these unpleasant, but I shake them off before Asha catches hold.

“And you may. But Nanda, she must learn to be independent,” I say quietly. He frowns and tightens his arms around her, and is about to retort when Asha puts her fingers over his mouth.

“You can… teach me to take care of myself again?” she asks his shoulder. Nanda grips her more tightly, but she turns and looks at me again. I nod at her. He stares at me over her hair, clearly panicked.

“Desmond, she needs me.”

“No, Nanda. She doesn’t.” There’s no way to make it sound kind.

This seems to strike a nerve. He looks from me to her several times, then sighs and drops his arms. “He’s right.”

“Nanda, no!” She grabs at him, but he pushes her away. She begins to cry outright.

“Asha, that is not you, that is me. You told me yesterday this is what you wanted, remember?”

There is a long pause. I have wished for years that I were an empath so I could know for sure what goes on in these moments. As it is, I can only guess. I believe Nanda is trying to calm himself down so she can regain control and think rationally about herself. As herself. After a moment, he moves over to the discarded cat pelt, brushes it off gingerly, and drapes it about her shoulders. She sinks to the floor beneath it as though it is dragging her down with its weight. Nanda seems to know something I do not, because he leaves her be, instead taking me by the elbow and leading me back into the courtyard in the same way he would have lead her. In that instant, I decide I like him.

“I have a few questions about her training, if I am allowed to ask,” he tells me in his native tongue. “Are you putting her in classes right away?”

“Certainly not!” He sighs in relief as I continue. “I'll be tutoring her privately. She won't be entering classes until the next quarter. Possibly even the next semester. The same goes for you. Eric wants to make sure you have a solid background in Kiranese language and culture before we throw you in with the rest of the students.”

“That is... good news.” He glances up at me, and his eyes suddenly look very tired. Some part of me doubts very much that he actually wants to be here.

“Honestly Nanda, you've done excellent work caring for Asha so far. She is better at staying focused than I was expecting. Don't think we're trying to cut you out, because we're not.”

He looks at his feet. “Thank you, Desmond.”

“So if you have any more questions or insight, please let me know. You know her better than I do, and I will need that.”

His eyes haze over suddenly, and he looks back to the door. Asha has appeared in the archway, still draped with the pelt, which slides against the floor on either side of her feet, burying her beneath its spots. Whatever the original owner had been, it had been enormous. She smiles at us both weakly.

“I am sorry, Desmond,” she stammers in Kiranese. “You and Nanda are right. When... when do we start training?” She moves into the courtyard to stand beside us.

“Tomorrow. Today, I think you and Nanda should tour the grounds. Maybe go see the trees?”

Her face lights up, and she lights up with a spectacular smile, eyes, mouth, and all. I see a flicker of the person she really is before she gives a girlish giggle that is clearly Elene. Plans must have been made to meet.

“And Asha?”

She looks up at me. She really is shorter than I expected. I tug at the catskin. “When we know each other better, tell me about this, okay?”

Asha nods at me and walks to stand beside Nanda. He pulls at her knee-length braid playfully, clearly relieved to have her so collected. I should let them go while it lasts. I check my wristband and discover my daily meeting with Seamus will be occurring soon. We say our goodbyes and head off toward our destinations. When they are out of sight, I collapse on a bench and will my muscles to untense. First meetings are never easy, but I get the feeling many of our lessons will leave me more drained than this. We'd only been around one an other for a few minutes. Tomorrow, we'd have an hour.