Communion. Part 7

I go to him, stiff from last night's protest, but needing his warmth and encouragement. I pa.s.s through the field, slipping out of the robe, reaching out with my Telen, and . . . nothing. I fall in to his arms and feel my skin against his, his lips in my hair, his p.e.n.i.s against my thigh, but I am trapped within my own mind, I cannot embrace his.

Like this, making love is just jamming.

But it's all we have left.

The justice building is cool inside its granite coc.o.o.n. We walk through a corridor that skirts the court-room. Serba leads the way, Madrin separates Glim and me in the line, and Elleen picks up the rear. Serba stops at a carved door.

The sign simply says ARCHIVES. Understated for the only collection of Ellysian artifacts in the known universe.

Once humans joined the galactic community, they ceased their "sticky fingers"

approach to archeology. Few inhabitable worlds are void of the signs of prior civilization. Humans adopted the habit of other sentient explorers, they collect artifacts into archives and museums local to their site of discovery where such can be viewed in context. The more spectacular discoveries are connected by regular touring ships.

Scientists and others with interest in sites off the established tours can request an information dump to gain data on smaller or private sights. If the researcher requires first-hand observations; however, he or she has three choices: book pa.s.sage on one of the cyberfrigates on the appropriate trade route (a long and time consuming option); charter a transport to the desired location (an expensive, but more direct option for those with no flight expertise); or take a personal scout (the most exorbitant option for those who can survive on their own in s.p.a.ce).

The system, such as it is, does not engender much contact with remote locations like MON. When taking on such great expense, one would like to gamer results somewhat in proportion to the outlay.

Serba opens the door, and we enter a dimly lit room. A sneeze draws my attention to Eckart who sits in front of a viewing screen. "Please, shut the door quickly.

The pollen is rather thick today," he says in a nasally apologetic way while reaching for his trademark mask on the table next to him. "I'm doing some research for my next project -- a statue for the center Green," he says by way of polite dismissal as he returns to the viewer.

On the other side of the room are several small file containers and a single display case. Inside the case, highlighted in tiny pools of spotlights, are five . . . things. "What could these possibly be?"

Serba looks up with a misty-eyed reverence, "We don't know. The theories range from farming handtools to pieces of larger machinery. They were all found near the banks of the Pool or within its historical sh.o.r.eline."

Each piece looks as if a giant hand has twisted it into a bizarre contortion.

How would the Ellysians have used them? Did they hold them in their hands ? Did Ellysians have hands? Every edge is rounded, and each piece mottled in color.

Were the artifacts damaged in some way by some unknown cataclysm -- or were they constructed so? Nothing about their shapes suggests the images Glim and I saw.

Glim's voice breaks my concentration, "I wonder if the Ellysians were blasted out of existence? All of these pieces look like the leftovers of a plasma-blast."

Madrin fields the question. "That has been discussed among the academics.

Unfortunately, geologists can't find any corroborating geologic data, so they favor the theory that these objects are as originally designed. The next most common theory is that they were dropped here from the sky by some kind of vehicle. Unless we actually contact the race, we may never really know."

"How you expect to communicate with a dead race is beyond me," snipes Elleen.

Serba ignores her.

"You'd think with all the false Telen phenomena put together with the artifacts that we'd generate more interest," sniffs Eckart as he joins us after all.

"Who is going to sh.e.l.l out that much currency to come here?" is Elleen's response.

Eckart puts aside his mask and blows his nose. Serba clears her throat.

I return to examining the objects. Our faces reflect back at me and obscure my view until I readjust my position. Displays always seem to be built for taller people.

Even with the different angle, I discern nothing new. No residual energy or feelings that connect them to Glim's and my experience. I wish the answer were this easy. Glim's shoulders droop a bit. He looks over at me, "Nothing. You ?"

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head. "Sorry, Serba. These aren't responsible. Nor do they suggest any meaning or use."

"I never really expected they would. I only hoped. Perhaps we'll learn more from the experiments next week. You should have started your tests by then as well."

And perhaps the disrupters will no longer be necessary, she sends. I shrug. Hope seems far away, given Madrin's position. She is, after all, a telepist; her opinion carries the weight of the Interplanetary Department of Justice behind it.

The sky is flawless again today. We certainly picked the right season to emigrate. The other colonists, though, tell me MON will make up for it later with rain and eventually a vicious wint or. At that point we will move into the colony proper. But today the deep indigo sky seems endless.

The Pool mirrors its surroundings with an almost rippleless skin. After today's break, the Monitor testing will continue tomorrow along with the start of the new series of experiments to contact the Ellysians. Since this will involve, at the very, least, wading in to the Pool, Glim must be introduced m swimming.

I watch Glim make his way slowly through the shallows, with great trepidation.

He looks back at me smiling like a child, but his eyes beg me to tell him, "It's okay, you don't have to learn how to swim." I smile back at him like a tolerant mother. Glim would probably capitalize the "m" in that word for doing this to him. A curious invective Glim claims comes from an old Earth colony, but he cannot be sure.

I only wish I could be going in with him, holding him up, rather than Serba with her thick blue neoprene gloves. Serba tells me she's a superb swimmer, but I still wish it was me teaching him. I've given up swimming for so long in deference to his fears. As it is, I can only shout encouragement and blandishments as the lesson progresses.

A zipper lands nearby. Madrin exits and comes over to me. Why can't she just leave us alone? "Are you feeling any better?" When we left Madrin and the testing yesterday, I was nearly too tired to walk.

"I'm still tired; Glim's stamina is better than mine. He's been after me lately about going to sleep every night instead of spending time with him."

"Interesting," she says with a hint of distaste. "Do you mind if I watch with you?"

I shrug. "You'll have to throw one negative comment for at least every three, otherwise Glim will get too c.o.c.ky about his progress." As if we would ever have to worry about encouragement from Madrin, interrogator at large.

"I think I will remain silent and stoic on the sh.o.r.e."

I shrug again. How are our tests progressing? I want to ask. I almost do, but I am too angry at her for the silent wedge she's driven between Glim and me. I wonder how much of her distrust of our relationship comes from her telepist training. How much from irrational fear? How much from jealousy at our communion?

A splash calls my attention back to the Pool. Serba takes Glim in over his head.

He seems to be floating pretty well, if cautiously. She keeps moving away from him for longer periods while he gets his balance and breathing regulated. Soon he is actually paddling about. Except for the first public moments after our "mind s.e.x" I have never seen Glim look awkward. I love him all the more for it.

I long to touch him, but I know standing here, especially with Madrin right next to me, that I can't . . .

The Pool stretches out, silver and unruffled, before us. The strange reflective proerties of the water do not allow us to see the bottom. Two other zippers are on the other side of the water, and a separate group of people standing by the bank watches Glim's progress.

Some children toss a ball back and forth by the bank. It is one of the dense b.a.l.l.s used to play fryondy. They throw it harder and harder at each other, waiting to see who will give up first. The one closer to the Pool finally ducks.

The ball sails out over the edge, clips Glimmer on the forehead and then sinks.

For a brief moment I think he is going to come out of the Pool and chase the boys about, all in good fun. Instead I see his eyes roll and he goes limp, slipping below the surface.

Serba immediately starts to swim to where he went down. My heartbeat races; the boys who were throwing the ball run away.

I start toward the Pool, but Madrin catches my arm. I react without thinking.

Let go, I send at her. The Telen must be especially strong with our physical contact; all of my anger, frustration, and fear pour through it. Her face pales, and she wrenches her hand from my arm.

"Can you sense him?" she asks, her voice wavering.

Jump, commands the voice.

Serba resurfaces without Glim. I cannot wait any longer. I run for the Pool. I pour all of my Telen into the Pool searching for any wisp that might be Glim. If anyone can find him, it's me. I hear others diving in around me, but they search aimlessly. Blinded by the mirror of the water.

Glim's mind touches me. I can't, he says to no one in particular. I can't.

Something breaks the surface of the Pool, and without thinking I dive into the Pool toward it. When I break the surface, the hair on the back of my neck and on my lower arms is p.r.i.c.kling, and the air seems to darken around me. A splash, and Glim surfaces in front of me, his forehead marred by an angry reddening bruise.

Energy begins to fill me. The darkness intensifies, tinged with orange and white.

Can you touch the bottom? he asks.