Lasren had been a much better sounding board, given that he understood what psionic connections felt like. He had listened patiently as she spoke of her fears and reminded her that she might yet be responsible for saving the life that was so important to her. If not for her initial protests, who was to say that the fleet would have pursued the mystery of Galen’s loss to the point of confirming their continued existence?
But Kenth’s duties were onerous. She hated to demand too much from him and feared that his patience might be wearing thin.
For the first time in her life, the lack of deep personal relationships was becoming a problem and she could find no ready answer for it.
When her quarter’s data panel alerted her to an incoming transmission, she assumed it was an intrafleet issue, hoped it was, in fact. It might force her to think about something else, at least for a few hours.
She was ill prepared for the shock of seeing the face of her mother, Vara Gwyn, when she opened the channel.
“Mom?” Gwyn asked, incredulous. “Is everything all right?”
“What have you done to your hair, Aytar?”
Gwyn struggled for a moment to remember the last time she’d colored it. Oh, right… wild indigo. But she had let it slide long enough that it was probably a mess of dark roots and faded purple by now. “I like it this way,” she insisted.
The disappointment on Vara’s face was only eclipsed by her obvious concern.
“Why are you calling me?” Gwyn demanded. “You never call me.”
“I was contacted over a week ago by someone from your Starfleet indicating that you wished to speak. I gather it was difficult to arrange because of your location and involved a great deal of rerouting of their communication satellites. This suggested your concerns, whatever they may be, are serious. So, here I am.”
Her mother was not normally this forthright. A great deal in the everyday communications of Kriosians was unsaid rather than plainly spoken. Their psionic abilities were partially responsible, but Gwyn had always sensed a deep well of secrecy and shame in that mix. It was one of the things she liked least about her people and one of the many reasons she had never felt at home among them.
“I didn’t call you,” Gwyn said. “I didn’t even…” Oh, wait. Just before she had chosen to complete the finiis’ral she had wanted more than anything to speak with her mother. But the only person who heard that had been Icheb, and they hadn’t shared so much as a “hello” since then. She doubted he could have arranged for this communication, even had he desired to do so.
“Does that matter now?” her mother asked. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
Vara sighed. “You want to try telling that to someone who hasn’t known you since you first drew breath?”
Lying was pointless with her mother, always had been. It was a byproduct of fear. However, her current crisis somehow made that fear seem less important.
“How come you never told me about Mayla? About what you did for her?”
Vara appeared taken aback but then a slow smile started to spread across her face. “I did nothing for her that any Kriosian woman would not have done in my place. Mayla was my dearest friend long before you were born.”
“Was?” Gwyn asked tentatively.
Vara’s smile vanished. “She passed last year.”
“No,” Gwyn said as tears that were never far from the surface formed and began to fall. “No, no, no, what happened?”
“She took ill. A virus she contracted in Gikhu Province. It was quick, if not painless. I was with her from the moment she came home until the end.”
Gwyn felt her heart breaking anew as an overwhelming loneliness engulfed her. “How am I supposed to live without her?” she demanded petulantly.
“The same way we all do. You remember the good things, forget the bad, and try to live as best you can when loss becomes one of your constant companions.”
Mayla Fui, her leedi, said things like that often when Gwyn was younger. She rarely heard them from her mother. The resemblance between them that had eluded her until now suddenly struck her forcefully. She had always been at odds with her mother, always running to Mayla for a comforting ear.
“I am so sorry for your loss, Mother. And mine.”
That small smile was back.
“How did you come to know the truth about your leedi?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I like long stories.”
“There were many things you never told me,” Gwyn said bitterly, “things I needed to know.”
“My, that does sound serious,” Vara said in the semi-mocking tone that always raised Gwyn’s ire. “Would you like me to inquire about finding you a new mother?”
“Please, don’t start.”
“There was nothing you needed to know from me that I didn’t tell you once if not a thousand times before you left this house promising never to return.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“I know you didn’t. I’m your mother Not that it hurt any less,” she added.
This was news to Gwyn. “How did you know?”
“You have always been a child of mercurial moods. Your storms blow the strongest just before they are about to pass. Life held lessons you could not learn here, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t understand eventually.”
If it weren’t true, Gwyn would have been annoyed. As it was, she accepted it begrudgingly.
“I guess I understand why you kept the secret from me for so long, but how could she?”
“You do understand the risk we took, and the consequences should we have been discovered. The authorities continue to believe that their ability to detect metamorphs in utero is perfect. They hate to be proven wrong.”
“You didn’t trust me not to tell anyone?”
“No, I suppose I didn’t. Was I wrong?”
The question hurt, but not as much as the answer.
“I’m not sure.”
“What happened, Aytar?”
“There was an accident,” Gwyn said.
