To Trade the Stars by Julie E. Czerneda Page B

resting state deepened. Perhaps this was simply a stranger dream than most.
    â€œAre you sure you can help her?” Terk’s rough growl had no place in my sleep. I became almost too alert, losing my sense of Morgan. Deliberately now, I calmed myself, seeking the dreamscape.
    â€œNo.” Morgan’s voice had an odd reverberation within my thoughts, as though heard and felt at the same time, but slightly out of synch. “I’ll do my best. And Bowman won’t hear about this from me, Russ. You know that.”
    â€œBowman can have my badge, for all I care.”
    ... I’d lost minutes again. Morgan was now looking at a Human female seated in a chair, her body held in place by restraints. Her head had been shaved and metal disks were leeched to her scalp, trailing wires that disappeared into a massive console. The female’s face was strong-boned, likely attractive when full of life, but hanging slack and expressionless now. Drool formed a glistening runnel from the left side of her mouth.
    I’d seen faces like this before. Her mind had been damaged, possibly completely erased or at least blocked. This must be the operative Bowman spoke of, the one whose mind-deadener had failed.
    A broad expanse of black uniform made a backdrop behind her—Terk, who required special tailoring for his wide shoulders. “Shouldn’t your wife be here?” he said. “I thought she was the expert in this—this mental rape.” His harsh challenge startled both of us, though Morgan didn’t oblige me by looking up to glare. His gaze remained fixed on the female’s face.
    â€œI told you when you asked me to help Kareen—this isn’t something Sira can do,” Morgan replied calmly enough, though I shared his emotions: doubt, concern, a determination to succeed. A perplexing certainty I wouldn’t approve any more than Bowman, hence the attempt at secrecy.
    Why wouldn’t I approve? Bowman might not understand the horrors of being mind-wiped—or have her own reasons for keeping this Kareen from us—but I understood too well. Any hope this female had of regaining her personality rested with my Chosen, not with Human technology. I thought of letting Morgan know, but this was a dream, after all; I didn’t control much more than paying attention or not.
    ... Not, it seemed, for I must have lost the moment when Morgan approached Kareen, startled to suddenly be leaning over her, watching his hands running lightly over her forehead.
    Could she feel their warmth? I despaired with him.
    Morgan made a sound of triumph, having found what he wanted, and pressed his fingers tightly to her skin. He’d tried to explain the process to me more than once, before taking my advice and giving up. Our Talents differed in ways that couldn’t be translated into Comspeak or into whatever language our minds shared. My Talent included moving whatever I chose through the M’hir; among his, this bizarre ability to discover some physical reference to a nonphysical attack and use it as a focal point for healing.
    He readied his Power. I’m not sure if this severed our dream connection or if I somehow managed to draw myself away, unwilling to risk any potential distraction.
    Â 
    I opened my eyes to darkness, dry-mouthed and troubled. Asleep, Morgan had shown a disconcerting ability to share my dreams, especially—and unfortunately—any emotionally-charged nightmares. This involuntary sharing of his waking presence by my dreaming self was something entirely different, new to my experience. It could be my Joining with a Human telepath. Perhaps Morgan had a name for this, knew more than I.
    He might—however, I was reasonably sure the very private Human wouldn’t be happy about it. He’d be even less pleased to learn it seemed involuntary. I had a vision of Morgan waking me up every few minutes to be sure I wasn’t dreaming him. This seemed one of those