Jaguar Addams - Learning Fear Part 3

She supposed the lines got pretty crowded at the University. Every seat there was occupied and students hovered at the door, waiting their turns. She would use the computer in her office, but something was wrong with it. Every time she touched it, it turned itself off. That sort of thing often happened to her when she interacted with electronic technology, and she couldnat always tell if it was mechanical trouble or the machine responding to her particular charge, which was an unfixable problem. Shead have to get it checked, but in the meantime she had work to do.

She was finding it impossible to get work done in her office, anyway. Yesterday shead had visits from George Norton and Emily Rainer, just asking if she needed anything, but George leaned his b.u.t.t on her desk and talked for an hour about whose promotion was likely and whose wasnat, who was sleeping with whom, whose theory ruled department politics, and how long that would last. Emily Rainer came, jangling her bracelets and making deliberately tolerant observations about the value of nonacademic work such as Jaguaras, while she put as cold an a.s.sessing eye on Jaguar as Jaguar had ever known. Rainer stayed for a long time, and left Jaguar believing that she was the only faculty member who had work to do.

Then Katia came by with a question about the homework, which was an obvious cover for what she really wanted, which was apparently to apologize for Steveas argumentative nature. He meant nothing by it, she said. He was just pa.s.sionate in his opinions. Jaguar liked Katia well enough, but she thought it was a bad sign when a woman carried the burden of apology for the man in her life.

aDonat worry about it,a Jaguar advised. aI can take him.a Katia looked a little shocked. aOh. I donat mean heas dangerous or anything,a she had amended.

Jaguar had to explain that it was a joke. Shead forgotten how seriously undergraduates took themselves. aItas okay,a she rea.s.sured her again, aYouare supposed to argue in cla.s.s. You can argue with me, too.a But that notion seemed too far out of Katiaas realm. She said something about having no arguments and left for her next cla.s.s.

Then Ethan tapped on her door to ask if she was free for dinner next week, Wednesday. Head managed to make arrangements after all. He stayed to chat about the difference between materialist and nonmaterial feminist theory, neither of which meant much to Jaguar on a daily basis, though she had to admit she enjoyed his banter and the appreciation his eyes showered on her. His words were all about gender egalitarianism, but his eyes were all about bed. She didnat hold that against him, though. She just hadnat made up her mind if shead take him up on it. But now she was behind in her work, and hoping for a chance to catch up.

No such luck.

She tapped impatiently against the side of the computer, sitting with her chin in one hand. It was just a little message, and she had a lot of other s.h.i.t to do. Too much to sit here waiting.

ad.a.m.n,a a voice behind her said. aBytelock.a She lifted her head and turned around.

The man standing at her back was tall and broad as a mountain, with a face like the crags in the side of a mountain and a ponytail of dark hair that went all the way down his back. He wore a plaid flannel shirt under his sweater and jeans over his boots. One hundred percent Skin, she thought. Native all the way.

He stuck his hand out to her and she took it, the spreading warmth of it encompa.s.sing hers. Bear hands. He had big bear hands.

aDr. Addams,a she said, aCultural studies department.a aI know. Iam Leonard Peltier. aSioux culture and history. You got bytelocked, huh?a aLooks like Iall be here awhile. Did you say Leonard Peltier?a aYup.a aAny relation?a she asked.

He grinned. aGreat-grandson from my motheras clan. Youare the first person here to ask that.a She wasnat surprised at that. It was the kind of story everyone wanted to forget. The first Leonard Peltier was a leader of the American Indian movement who was arrested for the murder of two FBI agents in a shooting at Pine Ridge Reservation. He didnat do it, but somebody had to pay and it ended up being him. He served over twenty years in prison for a crime everyone knew he didnat commit. Jaguar had a vague memory of seeing her grandfather raise his own large hand and make a fist to shake at a world that imprisoned men like Peltier. Though she was very young at the time and didnat understand what it was about, the force of his gesture impressed the name in her mind.

Peltier had been a political prisoner in a country that supposedly was free, whatever that meant. But certain key officials in the Justice Department took a dislike to him, and had the power to make their feeling into his continued imprisonment. Or so the inside rumors said. It took thousands of people and the retirement of certain key officials before he was granted executive clemency, but if Jaguar was remembering right, he was sprung in time for the millennium. His name became synonymous with endurance, with Native rights.

aGood blood,a she said. aI donat think I wouldave lasted a week in prison. I canat even stand five minutes of bytelock.a aYeah, well, my grandmother told me old Leonard cursed like crazy if he got stuck in traffic.a Jaguar grinned. Sure he would. aHowad you get his name?a He held up one of his meaty paws. aMy family nameas Tom Bear Hand, but ever since I was a kid the old people called me Leonard Peltier. After a while n.o.body called me anything else. They said I had his face.

Later on they said I had his elk medicine.a Jaguar wasnat sure how to take that. Elk medicine meant good with women. Very good. He seemed to be joking more than he was bragging, though, and he didnat seem the type to engage in the sort of smooth seduction Ethan would attempt if she gave him half a chance. Something about his presence was warmer, more about listening and less about talking. But then, she thought, listening can be the most seductive art of all.

aWe have a few students in common,a he said.

aWhich ones?a aSteve Haigue and Jesse Goodman. Peter Pesetto and Katia Stone.a aQuite a few students, then.a aSmall department. Sooner or later we share everything. Colds. Gossip. Bad jokes.a aAnd even so, n.o.body knows who you are?a aSame to you,a he said, and pointed to her name, written out at the top of a student paper she had in front of her. aThatas the name of someone whoas supposed to meet with trouble.a She startled and tried to cover it. What did he know about that?

aI met your grandfather,a he said in answer to her unasked question.

That was a sweet and sharp surprise. aYoua"how?a aHe came to ceremony with us a few times when I was a kid. He talked about ways of keeping our people safe during the Killing Times. He saw it coming. You knew that?a She knew. He met her in the lobby of their apartment building. The walls were gray and white. Disinfectant mingled with the smell of death, which she already recognized as a distinct scent, burning the nostrils. He bent down and put his large hands on her shoulders.

Itas not safe, he said. Not safe to be here alone.

But when they returned to the apartment, the killer was already there, waiting for someonea"just anyonea" to kill. His vision had failed them, abandoned them both.

aYes,a she said, shaking off the memory, aJake told me. Jake Silver and One Bird at Thirteen Streams. I lived there when I was little, and I went back after my grandparents were killed.a aIave heard about One Bird. She took in a lot of city Skins during the Killing Times. Made a village. Itas still going, right?a aThatas right. My mother was born there. So was I.a He nodded, as if he knew all about that, and more. aWell, he was a good man, your grandfather. His vision helped us get through the bad times. He had lots of power.a Yes, she thought. He did. In Manhattan, head put her on his shoulders and stride the city streets as easily as he did the mesas, stepping out with such ease that the crowds seemed to part before him. She thought he was one of the spirits. A thunder being, striding the sky.

aMm,a Leonard said, keeping a careful eye on her. aSometimes it still hurts.a aSometimes,a she agreed, ait does.a aHe talked about you. Thatas how I know about your name. He mustave been around right after you were born, because people were talking, said he shouldnat give you such a big name. But he said youad need it, with the trouble youad find. He said you were gonna be a real beauty, too.a Leonard nodded at her. aGuess he was right on both counts.a aMaybe,a she said, aabout the trouble part, anyway.a aBoth,a he insisted, then asked casually, aFinding any trouble here?a She saw the quiet in his eyes that masked concern. Empath, she thought. An empath who knows a lot about me.

aNot so far,a she said. aShould I expect any?a Leonard shrugged. aThereas the usual cyberdrug thing. See a student looking a little too happy in cla.s.s and hugging his computer, you gotta report it. And thereas Private Sanction, the group thatas making all the noise about the Empathic Arts course. You got a couple in your cla.s.s.a That was no surprise. aSteve,a she guessed, aand Katia.a aSteve,a he agreed. aKatiaas trying to figure it out, but Steveas her boyfriend.a He lifted his large shoulders and let them fall. Jaguar understood. Katia was caught between the search for love and the search for truth. As if the two were ever separate. She sighed. She was glad she wasnat eighteen anymore. The age had too many questions and not near enough answers.

aSheas a smart girl,a she said. aSheall catch on.a aProbably,a Leonard said. aMaybe she could use a little help with that.a What did that mean? His face stayed quiet, but he was asking her for something. Making a.s.sumptions that they were of one mind. And she supposed he was right. After all, she recognized his name when n.o.body else did. And if he was an empath, they would seek each other out. Share ritual with each other in a world that didnat necessarily make s.p.a.ce for them. Thatas what she and Alex had always done on the Planetoid. Intertribal, Interempath unity.

But not here. She was here against her wishes and she wouldnat do anything beyond the letter of her contract, much less be an empath for a student involved in Private Sanctions. If Alex or the Board had an agenda for her other than that, she wouldnat fulfill it. And if Leonard was asking her to get involved with a studentas emotional dilemma, he was going to be very disappointed. Starting now.

aI donat know what I can help her with, Leonard,a she said. aBesides her papers.a He rubbed at the back of his neck, then pointed at her screen. aItas open,a he said.

aWhat?a He tipped a nod at her computer. aYour bytelock. Itas open. You can send your message.a aOh,a she said, turning to the screen. aThanks.a She punched in the command and watched it go. While her back was still to him, he spoke, his voice so subtle an intrusion she couldnat tell at first if he was speaking empathically or not.

aIf youare really your grandfatheras girl,a he said, ayouall find out what you can do for her.a She felt her back stiffen. That was direct enough. But what the h.e.l.l right did he have? She turned and raised her eyes to his, looking deep enough to read him, but not enough to be read. As she did so, she was flooded with sensation. Something tingling in her hands, behind her eyes, and pressure at the base of her neck. Tingling in her skin.

The sense of being touched, reached for, wanted. The sweetness of it, and the fear.

Close down, she told herself. Close down, and donat let him see.

She turned away and fumbled with her papers, gathered them up, and stood. She opened her mouth to say something neutral. Look at the time. Gotta go. Nice to meet you. Weall talk again. But no words would come out.

He put a hand on her shoulder. It was warm, and warmth spread through her shoulder, her neck, her face. Warmth like a hotpack on sore muscles.

As it spread through her, he made words she didnat know. Whatever they were, her jaw opened up again. His hand slid off her shoulder.

aWell,a she said, alook at the time. I gotta go, but itas nice to meet you. Letas talk again.a She clutched her papers to her and left.

He continued standing at the computer, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again.

Jaguar made her way back to her rooms, stumbling and still shaken as she climbed the three flights up and closed herself in.

She leaned against the door as if to block out whoever was waiting, though she knew no one was. She stayed there and breathed until she could find a way out of the fear. Breathed it out of her. Let it go. Whatever the h.e.l.l it was, let it go. She let it run out of her with her breath, and shook it out of her arms and legs.

Then she got out of her coat and flung her papers down on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. Every muscle in her body suddenly ached, as if shead run five miles with rocks on her back. Maybe she was catching one of the ubiquitous flus the students pa.s.sed around like answers to exams. Maybe that would explain what she felt, what she was feeling.

aA bath,a she said to herself. aI need a long hot bath.a Her rooms at the top floor of this old Victorian house were small. She had to be careful not to knock her head against the slanted ceiling of what had once been an attic. When she cooked in her dinette, she kept slamming her hip into the corner of the cupboard as she turned from stove to table. And her sitting room fit a small love seat, a small table, a small lamp, and nothing else.

But the tub was a bonus and she used it as often as she could.

She ran water and poured oils into it, stripped quickly, and lowered herself into the steamy scent of rosemary and mint. Already she was better, muscles untying themselves from the knots theyad gotten themselves into. Though she wasnat sure from what, because she wasnat sure what happened. Had Leonard made a subtle empathic contact, and was she feeling the residue of his presence?

No. This was more than just presence. It felt intrusive, and he didnat seem intrusive. She let the hot water flow over her skin and empty it out of her, whatever it was. Maybe something to do with being in a room full of computers. Sometimes she had a funny reaction to the energy that technology emitted.

She watched steam rise from the water, clouding the window at the side of the tub. She could see a thin crescent moon riding high in the night, seeming to cup a dark sphere within its own belly. It would set soon, dipping under the surrounding pine trees where crows sat and talked to each other, dropping feathers for her to collect and stick in her hair and shock the students with. She lowered herself in the water and gave herself a better view.

Under this moon, she had only to be Jaguar.

A Teacher. A cloaked empath. A woman on her own, which is where she was most comfortable, thank you very much. In the Mertec tradition, she was a traveler, bringing her gifts to where they might be needed. And in the Mertec tradition, she sought sacred s.p.a.ce wherever she went and, if she couldnat find it, relied on what was within her.

She ran her hands along her neck, across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly. Right now this was her sacred s.p.a.ce, her only grace contained here, in this skin, which was warm and smooth under her hands. It was a good body. She knew, from seeing Ethanas eyes gather her in, from Leonardas studied perusal, from Alexas approving glances, that others found it beautiful. For herself, she approved its capacity to endure, as well as its ability to respond to pleasure.

Alex once told her she had animal grace. Animal grace, and animal tact. Going directly for the jugular whenever possible. Shead corrected him, saying that jaguars bit through the back of the skull, not the jugular. It wasnat as messy, and it was safer.

She pulled a washcloth from the ring on the wall to her left and soaked it in warm water, pressed it against the back of her own neck, and rubbed, letting the muscles loosen and let go of the job of hiding. Since she got here she had remained adamantly closed against any empathic contact. She didnat want Alex poking at her, trying to explain, apologize, manipulate her into cooperation with the current scheme. She didnat want involvement in any of the currents of emotions she might pick up in her students or the faculty. But staying closed as tightly as she was took effort, and she was feeling the strain of it. Maybe thatas what was wrong with her. Too much holding on. Too much hiding. Maybe she should let the walls down some and relax.

She would take a surface read of her environment. Nothing too deep. Just a scan of campus energy. She flexed her hands, stretched long fingers out in front of her, and let herself open.

First she felt small, vibratory movements under the earth. The motion of little thoughts, little actions, smooth and without tension. Just a feeling. Just a feeling of hearts beating, and whispered thought like eddies of water in the streets after rain.

She opened further, and let her thoughts travel to a specific place. Her students. Their faces in front of her, becoming less guarded, less indifferent as cla.s.s progressed. Nervousness, shaded with interest. Glen. Jesse. Selica. Katia. Steve.

Katiaas face, staring at her with large, dark eyes. Leonard said she needed help, as if he knew something. As if she should know something, should do something. She could go into those eyes, searching her. Into them and through them, because they were like tunnels, leading her somewhere. Long tunnels into unfamiliar rooms. All she had to do was search them.

She pulled back. Nothing too deep. Just a scan. She swirled her hand in the water, making spirals in the bath oil that coated the surface, and asked her thoughts to move away from her students, and to continue searching the place. The tunnels, going underground from building to building. Those would be good to know. Ethan said they led to her own house, to other faculty housing, to the dorms, though those corridors were locked after one too many parties held there, one too many incidents reported after the parties.

Easy. Easy to slide through the tunnels and sniff the dead air, the presence of many anonymous people she didnat have to know or care about. She let her thoughts follow the sloping paths up and down, circle the buildings, sniff at the old equipment left to molder, the new equipment being transported, the strangely curling paths leading to black doors that went nowhere.

Vision began in pulsing white shaded into gray, taking slow form.

She wasnat alone.

Someone walked with her. No face. Just the rhythm of breath and Hands.

White hands, reaching.

Hands white and cool, glowing like ice.

This wasa"what? Memory?

There was a gun. She saw a gun, and surgical gloves on the hands that held the gun. The gun that killed her grandfather. The gun held to her head while those hands stripped her and held her down and raped her. The hands smeared with her blood, the bleeding of a little girl, at eleven too small for penetration but these hands didnat care. Hands and her blood and her grandfatheras blood.

Memorya"now? Why?

Her heart pounded in rhythm to the old fear, not a current fear, not a now fear. She stilled herself and brought the image to focus. Hands. She saw hands. Memory shifted, but she still saw hands.

Not memory.

Hands, but these hands held no gun. They werenat encased in surgical gloves. They were silky cool. Smooth as laughter. Not memory. Not past. These hands were now, and they wanted her.

Wanted to touch her, know her, explore her.

Hands moving over her body. Hands wanted her.

Desire pierced her, skin tingling with longing. Desire growing like a jungle in very deep places.

What do you want?

With her question, desire moved into pain deep inside her chest, squeezing at her heart. Who? Who was it walking with her who knew her, could contact memory desire and pain without pause.

She sought a face to go with the hands. Peered through the glow of white ice and looked for Saw.

Who?

Alex? Alex? Is that you?

Her hand slapped down into water and she sat up hard, pulled herself out of contact fast.

aJesus Christ,a she snapped, acut it out.a She deliberately slowed her breathing as she reentered the s.p.a.ce of her room in this time. No more opening, she told herself. Something was wrong.

She pulled up a handful of water from the tub and poured it onto her face, which was tingling uncomfortably. Her hands tingled, too. Odd. She lifted them from the water, letting them drip and steam and tingle.

It was Alexas face, Alexas voice inside her, but the touch she felt wasnat his. Shead had enough empathic contact with him to know the shape and texture of his touch. Besides, he was too busy running away from his guilt over betraying her, and she was too busy making him feel worse about it for contact between them to have anything in it except confusion, defensiveness, and fear.

She pulled herself up out of the tub and grabbed a towel, wrapped herself in it. Steam rose from her skin like mist in the morning. She walked to the window and looked out, pressed her warm hand against the cool gla.s.s.

Someone had pulled memory and desire and pain and his face from her and made her feel them as connected.

So who was it, and how the h.e.l.l did they manage that when she was only scanning the surface of her environment? Contacting and combining many points at once was an advanced sort of empathic trick. She knew how, but not many empaths did. Alex did, but it wasnat his touch.

This felta alien seemed like the right word to her. It lacked the warmth she a.s.sociated with empathic contact. It lacked the pull of Adept s.p.a.ce, and the fiery stroking tongues of a chant-shape. There was something cool in the touch. Something detached, but highly charged.

But Alex was the only man she knew who could find her that easily, and that deeply. Head followed her into the land of the dead, pulling her out of a Death Walk when shead gone too far. She ran a finger across her lips, remembering the feel of his lips on hers when head given her the kiss of life, transfer of empathic energy from him to her, an infusion of his life. Head done that, and now head thrown her into the academic boxing ring out of foolishness and fear.

And what about your own foolishness and fear? she asked herself. Memory and desire and pain, all wrapped up in his face.

No. That was a connection someone was trying to force on her. It was Alexas burden, not hers. She wanted nothing except to go on as they had, without emotional entanglements, without the heat that could be so potentially explosive. She wanted no involvement.

She went to the bed, lay down, and stared at the young moon resting in the sky, cradling her own darkness within a silver crescent of light. There were no answers in that lady tonight. Nor could she currently find any where her only power was hidden, kept safe, within the confines of her own body, her own thoughts, her own heart.

Planetoid Three, Toronto Replica Alex sat at his desk in his apartment, staring at his computer screen and scowling. It was late at night, and tomorrow he had to go back to work.

In the past three weeks head taken a lot of walks. Gone and looked at Jupiter through the telescope situated at the top of the weather tower. Walked some more, and read a lot. Rachel called him a few times, tried to get him to go to dinner with her, but he politely declined. He spent some time sitting at the Silver Bay with some whiskey and Gerry, techno-poet and guitarist for the band Moon Illusion that Jaguar sometimes sang with. Used to sing with.

Gerry missed her, he said. Where the h.e.l.l can you find someone who can howl in three octaves the way she can, he wanted to know. Alex couldnat tell him, but he decided head take his whiskey at home after that.

The last two days head spent at Ecosystem 4, a tropical environment where they lowered the deflection screen once a week for people who wanted to view the earthas phases. But when he stared at that beautiful blue planet spinning in s.p.a.ce, something in his chest went hollow and indeterminate. He found his eyes seeking only one spot on that great globe, as if he could see. As if seeing would bring him understanding. As if understanding would chase that hollowness away.

He came back to his apartment, determined to read and sleep and do nothing else. He still wasnat sure why he was sitting here at his computer, surfing the University Webs, looking for news of a certain campus in upstate New York.

He was angry at himself for doing so, and angry that so far head found nothing of value. The lines were crowded with students trying to make cyberlove within the safety of electronic air, but there was nothing about the antiempath movement other than a few bad jokes.

What do empathas call s.e.x?

A real mind f.u.c.k.

How many empaths does it take to change a lightbulb?

None. They just wait for the bulb to see its own light.

The topic must be hot or else there wouldnat be jokes, but that didnat tell him how Jaguar was coping.

He had telecommed her twice, and left messages, but shead only responded via computer with two words.

Back off.